“I honestly don’t think it’s fair to the rest of us for him to be let loose to perpetrate these horrors, Mr. Tafft.” Her tone was stern, rather surprising her since her state of mortification was still acute.
“I know, I know. Two of the bigger grips have wrestled him down and tied him up.” Martin shook his head as if he wished he had an answer to the Huxtable problem. “I’ve got to figure out how to keep him away from the booze and out of trouble from now on. He evidently drank all the vanilla extract in the kitchen and managed to get drunk on that.”
Amy huffed in disgust. “I believe you ought to set a guard on him,” she said severely. “He shouldn’t be let out alone, because he can’t be trusted.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Miss Crenshaw chimed in.
“I know, I know.”
Since Amy liked Mr. Tafft a good deal, she was sorry she’d caused the expression of concern to settle on his face. Still and all, facts had to be faced. If one man could cause this much damage, he really needed to be kept confined. “How about leg shackles?” she suggested, not entirely facetiously.
“Leg shackles?” cried Martin, evidently not recognizing even the tiny bit of humor Amy had intended to convey in her suggestion. He started tugging on a lock of hair.
“Why not?” asked Miss Crenshaw acidly. “Shackles would slow him down, at least.”
Martin turned to stare at her in patent consternation.
Charlie laughed outright, then said, “Aw, shoot, Martin, I think he only needs to be watched carefully. The trouble always seems to start when he’s left alone.”
Amy nodded and smiled at Charlie. “That’s it! He needs a keeper. Maybe a collar and a leash.”
“Good Lord,” whispered Martin, clearly appalled. “He’d never stand for that.”
“What difference does that make?” asked Miss Crenshaw, her words remarkably curt. Amy decided she liked Miss Crenshaw a lot, cigarettes or no cigarettes, and no matter how attractive Charlie Fox found her. “The man’s a menace. It’s getting to the point where you’re going to have to decide if you’re here to make a picture or are simply providing a playground for the drunken lout.”
Amy nodded her agreement.
“Oh, dear,” Martin moaned. It looked to Amy as if that poor lock of hair was in danger of being pulled out of his skull.
“I’ll help keep watch on him,” Charlie offered.
Amy thought that was very nice of him, considering Mr. Huxtable didn’t like him at all since he’d punched him in the jaw, God bless him. She gave him another smile to show her appreciation, and was rewarded by a warm twinkle in his lovely brown eyes. She turned to gave at Martin at once, fearing for her consciousness. It was the corset, she told herself. It was laced tighter on account of the picture. She wasn’t sure she believed herself.
“Well … I hate to ask you to do that, Charlie.”
“You didn’t ask,” Charlie pointed out. “ I offered.”
“And you do need an around-the-clock watch put on him.” Miss Crenshaw declared. “You know you do, Martin. He can’t be trusted.”
“Right. I’m afraid you’re right.” He let go of his hair and sighed. “Very well, then. Charlie, you’ve got a good deal to do in the picture, so you can’t be forever trailing Huxtable around. I’ll see if I can’t get a couple of burly fellows to watch him most of the time. You try to keep an eye on him when the shooting starts.”
The shooting? Amy felt her eyes go wide until she recollected that was what the movie folks called filming. This business was so odd.
Miss Crenshaw turned to gaze at her former workroom. “What a wreck,” she muttered. Turning back to Amy, she said, “I’m afraid we won’t be able to work on your fittings any more today. We could work in your tent, but all of the fabrics, implements and costume pieces are under there somewhere.”
Amy felt sorry for Martin Tafft, who stared disconsolately at the rubble before him and again started pulling on that tuft of hair and muttering to himself. She put a hand on his arm. He jumped in startled reaction.
“Please don’t despair, Mr. Tafft,” she said, sorry she’d frightened him. “I’m sure will go more smoothly now that you’ve figured out how to manage Mr. Huxtable.”
“Manage him?” Martin exclaimed. “I’m sure no one will ever be able to manage him, Miss Wilkes.” It seemed to take a good deal of effort for him to pull himself back from melancholy and into some sort of order. “But I do appreciate your forbearance. I know your first picture making venture hasn’t been exactly smooth sailing so far.”
He could say that again. And it wasn’t merely her first picture-making venture, either, Amy thought sourly. It was assuredly to be her last, as well. Rather than saying anything so mean-spirited while Martin was plainly in distress, Amy smiled and said, “I’m sure I shall survive.”
The luncheon gong sounded. Martin said, “Thank you very much, Miss Wilkes. Karen,” he said, glancing at Miss Crenshaw, “would you please see that Miss Wilkes has something to wear to lunch, and then join us there?”
“I’d be happy to.” Miss Crenshaw smiled at Amy. “Where’s your tent, Miss Wilkes? I’ll help you get out of that corset. I know it’s a devil.”
In a stifled voice—why did picture people speak so freely about underthings and talk of the devil in front of everybody, as if they were talking about the weather? she wondered. Amy said, “Thank you very much, Miss Crenshaw.”
“Oh, please, call me Karen. Everyone does.”
Did they indeed? Well, Amy guessed she could do so too, even though it seemed a remarkably casual thing to do on such short acquaintance. On the other hand, she was in the pictures now, and picture people, as she’d been noticing for days, were unlike any other people Amy had ever met.
Nevertheless, she bowed to the exigencies of her situation. She truly didn’t want the people with whom she worked to think she was a stuffed shirt. So to speak. She almost giggled when she remembered she was at the moment stuffed into one of Charlie Fox’s shirts. What was more, she was experiencing an alarming reluctance to remove it and give it back to him.
Oh, dear. Forcing herself to deal with the present, she said, “Thank you. Please call me Amy.” They started walking toward Amy’s tent.
“Amy?”
Miss Crenshaw sounded surprised. Amy glanced at her, puzzled. “Yes. My name is Amy Wilkes.”
“Oh.” A frown furrowed Karen Crenshaw’s brow. “But I thought your name was Amelia. Is Amy short for Amelia?”
“Oh, yes. I forgot.” Amy sighed windily. “Somebody decided Amy wasn’t romantic enough, so they changed it to Amelia for the picture.”
“Ah.” Karen nodded wisely, as if such things happened all the time and she ought to have expected it.
Out of curiosity, Amy asked, “Do you think Amelia is more romantic than Amy?”
Her companion shrugged. “I don’t find anything romantic in either one of them, actually.”
“Oh.” Daunted, Amy had no idea what to say now.
“I’m sorry,” Karen said quickly. “I’m always saying stupid things without thinking first. Please forgive me. Will it help if I tell you I think both Amy and Amelia are more romantic than Karen? It’s true, you know.”
The two young women looked at each other for a moment, then laughed. They chatted merrily the rest of the way to Amy’s tent and were fast friends by the time they entered the chow tent together, Amy clad in an unexceptionable pink flowered day dress and a much more comfortable corset.
* * *
Horace Huxtable, Charlie was pleased to note, was not only tied up and lashed to his bed, but he’d been gagged as well, so he couldn’t rant and rave at anyone. He was as furious as a maddened bull.
Charlie and Martin had detoured to Huxtable’s tent to check on his progress toward sobriety before they went to lunch.
“Because, you know, Charlie, he is the star of the picture. If I let him kill himself or somebody else, it’s liable to reflect badly on the Peerless Studio, an
d that would be a catastrophe. We’re just beginning to make a name for ourselves. We don’t need any scandal attached to the studio’s name.
“Mmmm,” replied Charlie, who had no other comment to offer. He knew precisely nothing about pictures, although he could understand Peerless’s attitude about this particular problem. If word got out that one of Peerless’s actors was a raging drunk who tore tents apart and tried to ravish innocent young women, the picture-going public would never pay to see another Peerless picture. Hell, a man had to watch out for his reputation and keep it clean even if he wasn’t starring in moving pictures.
A huge mountain of a fellow sat in a chair beside the bed to which Huxtable was bound. He’d been reading an issue of Motion Picture Story, but when Charlie and Martin entered the tent, he put the magazine aside and stood up. “How-do, Mr. Tafft.” He nodded at Charlie “Mr. Fox.”
Wasn’t that nice? Everybody in the little tent city knew who he was. Charlie was impressed and told himself not to get swell-headed.
“I appreciate your help, Gus,” Martin said. The two men shook hands, an event Charlie had anticipated. Maybe he was getting a handle on these strange California manners.
“It’s nothin’,” said Gus.
A muffled roar issued from the bed. Huxtable obviously didn’t think it was nothing.
An exasperated huff leaked from Martin. He slewed around to glare at his obstreperous star, who looked not at all starlike at the moment. “It’s your own fault, darn it, Horace. If you’d only behave yourself, we wouldn’t be forced to take these extreme measures.”
Another sound came from the bed.
“you’re not only causing all sorts of trouble with the ladies in the cast,” Martin went on, heedless of Huxtable’s discomfort and anger, “but you’re beginning to cost Peerless a lot of money, what with destroying tents and delaying the shooting schedule and all. I don’t know if anything can be salvaged from the costume tent, but I know good and well that Mr. Lovejoy will take the cost of repairs out of your salary.”
“Grmmph,” grunted Huxtable. “Mmmraguh.”
“It’s not fair to the rest of the cast, who are here to work. I can assure you that neither the cast nor the crew think your antics are funny.”
“Mrrrraw!”
“And I can also guarantee that if you don’t stop behaving badly, you’ll never do another Peerless picture.”
Charlie felt like applauding.
More sounds spewed up from the bed.
“What’s more, if you jeopardize this production any more than you already have, I’ll make sure every major motion picture studio in the United States, from New York to California, knows what happened and who was responsible. And theatrical companies, as well.”
This time Charlie felt like cheering and stamping his feet and whistling.
Martin chuffed impatiently. “I’m not putting up with any more nonsense from you. In order to be sure you keep to the line, and as much as I don’t want to do it, I’m going to have to post men to watch you, Horace.”
“Hrrrrooogh!” Huxtable’s face turned brick red with fury.
Clearly at the end of his tether, Martin snapped, “It’s your own damned fault! You refuse to be responsible for yourself, so we’re going to assign men to nursemaid you and make sure you don’t get into any more trouble.” He went so far as to shake a finger at the infuriated actor. “If you’re going to misbehave like a spoiled brat, you’re going to be treated like one, Horace Huxtable, and you might as well get used to it.”
Because he disliked the man a whole lot, Charlie said amiably. “I’m gonna help watch over you, Huxtable. I’m sure I can keep you out of trouble.” He smiled and winked at the star.
“Rrrrraaaaah!”
“You might as well stop trying to yell at us,” Martin told Huxtable grumpily. “We can’t understand a word, and I’ve told Gus not to remove that gag until you’re under control. We won’t tolerate any more nonsense from you.”
And with that, Martin turned on his heel and headed out of the tent. Charlie nodded affably at Huxtable, who, he was sure, would have spat at him if he’d been able, and followed Martin. He was feeling fine as he entered the chow tent.
* * *
It had been an eventful day, and by rights, Amy should have been exhausted. That evening after supper, though, when the sun had set and several crew members had built a nice big outdoor fire, she discovered herself sitting between Karen Crenshaw and Charlie Fox on a big log in front of the fire.
“It’s just like camp,” declared Karen.
“Is it?” asked Amy. “I’ve never been to camp.”
“Oh, it was such fun. We used to build fires just like this, and sit around them, singing songs.”
It sounded like fun to Amy, who wished her aunt had been more daring and had sent her to some of the summer camps for girls that were run by the suffragists and other organizations. The mere idea of making a spectacle of herself by demanding the vote—or anything at all, for that matter—horrified Amy’s aunt, however, and Amy had never gone to camp.
“It’s like home to me,” Charlie opined, gazing into the fire.
“Is it really?” breathed Amy, who couldn’t imagine such a thing. “You mean, you have campfires like this in Arizona Territory?”
He grinned down at her. The firelight picked out the planes and angles of his face, and made him even more handsome than usual. Amy found herself staring, and turned abruptly to look into the fire.
“Sure,” he said. “We’re on a ranch, and we have to drive the stock to market. It takes time to get from the ranch to the rail heads, and we camp out on the way.”
“My goodness. It sounds so … so …”
“It’s like something out of the Wild West,” supplied Karen, who didn’t sound as entranced by the tale as Amy was.
“I reckon it kind of is the Wild West. Sort of.”
Amy dared to glance at him again, since that “sort of” had been somewhat dry. Charlie, who had continued to regard her even after she’d looked away from him, said, “My brother’s ranch isn’t like a lot of ranches.”
“No?”
He shook his head. Since Amy knew nothing at all about ranching, she hardly knew enough to ask questions. She figured a “Why?” was appropriate, so she gave him one.
Charlie shrugged. “Well, it’s … different, is all. A different kind of ranch, so to speak.”
Amy couldn’t think of a single question to ask. She didn’t know a solitary thing about regular ranches, much less different kinds of ranches.
“Martin said your brother raises ostriches,” said Karen with a laugh. “I thought he must have been making it up.”
“Ostriches?” cried Amy. She, too, laughed. “My goodness, what an idea!”
The lengthy silence from Charlie made her laughter dry up, and she stared at him, oblivious to his masculine beauty for the first time since they’d been introduced. “Ostriches?” she repeated. “Honestly?”
“Well, hang it, it’s an experiment. I grew up on a cattle ranch, and I think ostriches are a damn fool thing to raise.” He shot Amy a guilty look. “Sorry for cussing, ma’am.”
She waved his apology aside. Ostriches. Merciful heavens. Mirth bubbled up in her bosom, and she had a time of it not to allow it to hit the air. But Charlie had looked disconcerted about his brother’s ostriches, and Amy found in herself a great reluctance to make him more uncomfortable.
After a few moments of silence, Karen sighed and stood up. “I guess I’ll be off to bed. I hope the crew has the tent repaired tomorrow so we can finish your costumes, Amy.”
“I do, too. Thanks so much for your help today.”
Karen smiled down at her. “It’s my job.”
Amy felt a little silly. “Well, but it’s not your job to be nice to actresses who don’t know what they’re doing, and I appreciate it.”
The two women smiled at each other, Karen waved at Charlie and was off, leaving Amy and Charlie side by side on the log.
Suddenly Amy felt ill at ease. She’d never been alone with a personable young man for whom she felt some stirrings of emotion. She and Vernon understood each other so completely that she never felt any emotions at all with him. She didn’t know what to do about Charlie Fox.
“You can sure see the stars out here,” Charlie said after a moment or two.
Silently blessing him for bringing up an innocuous topic, Amy said, “Yes, you can. They’re ever so much brighter out here on the desert than they are in Pasadena, even though we aren’t a very big city.”
“I reckon city lights and smoke and so forth get in the way of the stars, even in small cities.”
“I suppose so. Er ... I imagine you can see them very well in Arizona Territory.”
“Yup. They’re like diamonds shining in the sky sometimes.”
Diamonds in the sky. Wasn’t that a poetic analogy? Or did she mean metaphor? Fiddle, she didn’t care. “I’d love to see Arizona Territory someday.” She was surprised when she heard what she’d said, but when she tested the words, she discovered they were the truth.
“You would?” Charlie sounded surprised too, and Amy didn’t appreciate his scepticism.
“Indeed I would. Just because I grew up in a city doesn’t mean I haven’t often craved wide-open spaces. In fact, I’d love to see more of the world.” Good heavens, did she mean that too? By heaven, she did. How astonishing. Perhaps she and Vernon could travel abroad one day.
“Well,” Charlie said in his slow drawl after several seconds, “Maybe we can see ‘em together someday.”
Amy felt her eyes widen enormously. Since she didn’t have a clue as to what to say, she remained silent. Her insides, though, bubbled like champagne. When she finally went to her tent—to which Charlie walked her—and pulled the blankets up to her chin, she had a very hard time getting to sleep for the excitement in her soul.
Since she couldn’t sleep, she got up and dutifully wrote her letter to Vernon, but the image of Charlie Fox kept sneaking into her brain and she tried to shake it loose. Charlie Fox was an unknown quantity, but Amy knew good and well that he wasn’t established securely, like Vernon was. Amy didn’t need any mysteries in her life. Mysteries had always meant misery to her. She did notice that she didn’t mention Charlie Fox in her letter, although it was filled to the brim with tales of Horace Huxtable.
Cowboy For Hire Page 10
