“No. No, you can’t do it. It’s ... it’s—” Martin broke off and looked up at Charlie. He smiled tentatively. “Oh, I get it. You’re joking, right?”
Charlie shook his head. “Nope. The man deserves to have his legs broken. He could have killed her.”
“Good God.”
“I’m real sorry, Martin. I’ve held back for this long, but this morning he really could have killed Miss Wilkes. He’s hurt her before, but that was a long ways from killing somebody. He deserves whatever he gets, and if I can help it, he’s going to get hurt bad.”
“Can't you at least wait until the filming’s over?” Martin’s level of stress was making his voice hoarse.
Charlie thought about it and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Sorry, Martin. The man’s dangerous.”
“Lord, Charlie, you can’t do this. Think of what it will mean to Peerless! It will be the end of the studio!”
Damn. Charlie frowned, disliking the possibility just presented. He didn’t want to cause Martin any further trouble. His whole aim in ridding the world of Horace Huxtable was to prevent him from doing any more evil deeds. “Well ... I’m sure I could make it look like an accident.”
“No!” Martin began tugging at his hair.
Feeling frustrated, Charlie muttered, “Can I break one of his legs?”
“No.”
“How about an arm?”
“No.”
“Not even one?”
“No.”
“Dammit, Martin, the man’s a menace. He’s hurt her before, and this morning he might have killed her! I mean, how much more is the poor lady supposed to endure? Is it going to take Huxtable laying her out on a slab in order for these things to stop happening?”
“No, no. I’ll think of something. I’ve got to think of something.”
“You’ve already set guards on him. And tonight he’s going to be drinking again, and you know what that means.”
“There are only two days left of filming. Surely he won’t do anything in two days’ time.”
“It only took him a second this morning.”
Martin let out a low groan and began pacing in front of Charlie. Charlie was sorry to see how worried and distracted Martin was, but certain facts had to be faced.
To spur Martin on to greater inspirational thought, he said, “It’s both of his legs or you think of something, Martin. I can’t keep worrying about Miss Wilkes. It’s driving me nuts wondering what Huxtable’s going to do to her next and trying to anticipate him. It was pure dumb luck that I saw what he did this morning, so I could go after her before the horse threw her. She could have landed on any of those boulders out there.” He shuddered at the thought.
So did Martin. “Gus. I’ll set Gus to watch him closely tonight.”
“It’s going to take more than Gus. It’s going to take somebody who knows what Huxtable’s capable of.”
Martin snapped his fingers as if he’d been struck with a brilliant idea. “You! You can watch him! You’re the best man for the job, because you hate his guts and won’t let him get away with anything.”
His smile faded when Charlie shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got other plans for the evening.”
“I’ll pay you a bonus.” Martin must have sensed the finality of Charlie’s decision, because his voice carried no conviction.
“Nope. Sorry, Martin.”
“Hmmm. Well, I’ll still send Gus to watch him.”
“You’d better send someone with him. Sam’s pretty big. If you go with Gus and Sam, the three of you ought to be able to ride herd on one lousy actor.”
“Me?” Martin looked as if he’d rather do just about anything else on earth—even have a tooth pulled or a broken arm set—than babysit Horace Huxtable.
“Well....” Charlie lifted his hands, as if to say he was sorry but there didn’t seem to be much choice. “There’s Eddie.”
“Eddie’s good. You sure you aren’t interested?”
“No way.”
Martin deflated like a pricked balloon. “All right. Anyhow, it’s my responsibility.” He scowled horribly. “But it’ll never happen again.” He turned and began walking away talking to himself. “If Phineas Lovejoy ever, ever wants Horace Huxtable to play in another picture, he’ll have to direct the damned thing himself and that’s all there is to it.”
Charlie was sorry to have added to Martin’s burdens, but he wasn’t going to let this evening’s opportunity pass him by. Somehow or other, he was going to get Amy Wilkes to agree to marry him.
* * *
Amy was looking forward to her evening out with the cast and crew of One and Only. She’d never been to a real nightclub before, although there was one in Pasadena, and she knew that Vernon went there occasionally. It had never occurred to her that ladies could go to nightclubs. She said as much to Karen, who was helping her find evening things to wear.
“Why not? Women need recreation every bit as much as men do,” Karen declared as she adjusted her hair ornament, a beautiful evening creation of jet beads and fabric roses that went superbly with her evening’s ensemble.
Amy eyed her, trying not to be envious. After all, Karen’s trade was fashion. Of course she’d have lots of lovely clothes. “I’ve always been told that gentlemen need to relax away from home, while women are supposed to sit home and knit or something.” She told herself to forget about Karen’s gorgeous costume and squinted into the mirror. Perhaps she could use a little dab of rouge on her lips.
And if this wasn’t another indication of her impending downfall, she didn’t know what was. If Vernon knew she was contemplating the wearing of lip rouge, he would have a hissy fit. The notion of Vernon going so far as to have any kind of fit made her giggle.
Karen eyed her slantways. “What? Is my ribbon crooked?”
“Not at all. You look lovely. That’ a marvellous dress. I’m wildly jealous.”
“Thank you.” Karen beamed with justifiable pride, and Amy decided it was sort of fun to be open and honest and not absolutely tied to convention all the time. Sometimes when one blurted out what one felt, one not only made oneself feel good, but others, too.
Karen turned suddenly as if she’d just remembered something. “Oh! I forgot!” she cried, confirming Amy’s impression. “I have a perfectly stunning gown that would look wonderful on you. I’ll have to take up the front a tiny little bit so it won’t drag.”
“Oh! Well, really, I don’t think....”
“Oh, come on,” urged Karen, darting to a huge pile of boxes stacked in a corner of the costume tent. She rummaged through the stack until she found a cherry-red box with white polka dots. She pulled it from the pile and thrust it aside, as if she knew there was something in it she’d need later.
Amy eyed the box doubtfully. She’d never seen anything good come from polka dots. “Really, Karen, I don’t mind not wearing anything stunning. I’d probably feel stupid in anything stunning, actually.”
“Don’t be a goose,” her friend said firmly. “You’re a beautiful woman and deserve nice clothes. Especially since you’ve never been to a nightclub before. You’ll want to wear something suitable for dancing.”
Dancing? Merciful heavens. The evening sounded delicious already. Amy loved to dance. Unfortunately, Vernon didn’t. She’d bet any amount of money—except that she wasn’t so abandoned as to gamble, yet—that Martin Tafft could take a turn on the dance floor and not stumble over his feet. She wondered about Charlie Fox. Then she sighed as she got lost in the pleasant fantasies that thoughts of him always produced in her.
“Now, where is that thing? I thought it was here.”
The only part of Karen that Amy could see at present was her satin-clad bottom, which was sticking out of a rack of gowns in the corner next to the stack of boxes. Amy wasn’t at all sure about this. Yet she discovered within herself an enormous well of trust in Karen, which was cheering. Amy was certain that her friend wouldn’t make her wear anything scandalous.
Idiot
, Amy. She can’t force you to wear anything at all!
Which conjured up all sorts of other wildly improbably—not to mention shockingly improper—images in her mind and made her laugh again. She saw Karen’s rump disappear, and a moment later saw her head poke out of the rack of clothes.
“Now what?” Karen asked. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No. I’m laughing at myself. I’m sitting her fearing that you’ll make me wear red-and-white polka dots.”
“Polka dots!” Karen’s lovely brown eyes widened. “Don’t be a goose!” She disappeared into the rack of clothes again. “Aha!” she shouted a moment later. “Here it is!”
When she pushed her way out of the rack of clothes and Amy saw the gown she was holding up on its padded silk hanger, Amy gasped. “Oh, my!” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. Never in her entire life had she even so much as dreamed she’d wear anything so lovely.
“It absolutely up to crack,” Karen said triumphantly. “And it will look perfect on you! It was made for you.” She tossed the shirt of the gown over her free arm and walked to Amy’s side. “Not literally, of course, but I’m sure it will fit with a judicious tuck here and there.”
“It’s beautiful,” Amy said simply.
“Yes, it is. It’s one of Madame Dunbar’s finest. Gray silk chiffon mounted over dark blue silk. The bodice is fitted, and may need to be taken in a little bit, but not much. It probably won’t matter. Nobody will look at it that closely.”
“I’d just as soon not wear anything too tight anyway,” Amy said. “I detest tight corsets.” When she heard herself, she smiled at how much her taste had changed in a few short weeks.
Or perhaps they hadn’t changed, exactly. This was the first time in her life she’d ever actually thought about things that she’d merely accepted without question. She’d never once, for instance, believed that a respectable woman might smoke cigarettes. Or that one didn’t have to wear a corset so tight it cut off one’s air and made it impossible for one to sing in church, for another example. My, but life was an interesting proposition when one spent a few weeks outside of Pasadena, wasn’t it?
Karen had adopted her working mien and was all business. “Take that thing off and slip this on, and we’ll see what needs to be done.”
So Amy slipped “that thing”—formerly, her most daring and exciting evening ensemble—over her head and placed it carefully on the back of the ladder-back chair. The blue silk and gray chiffon felt like a cloud slipping over her skin. She sighed with pleasure.
“If I have to take any tucks at the waist in order to keep it from dragging in the front, this black velvet cummerbund will hide the evidence.” Karen’s mouth was full of pins, but by this time Amy’d had lots of practice interpreting her speech when she was so encumbered.
“This,” Amy said, and she could hear the awe in her own voice, “is magnificent.”
“Isn’t it?” Karen sounded merely delighted. “I love it. Wilma Patecky’s going to wear it in another Peerless flicker that they’re going to shoot right after this one.”
“Wilma Patecky?” Amy could hardly believe she was, at this very moment, wearing a gown crafted for Wilma Patecky, one of the major stars of the Broadway stage. “I didn’t know she played in the pictures.”
“Sure. They all do,” Karen said simply. “They make lots of money, and nobody knows their names.”
It made perfect sense when said in Karen’s blunt manner. “I see. Yes, I can understand the appeal.” Amy didn’t particularly care for being in the limelight, but if one was accustomed to it, as a stage actress must be, she supposed the moving pictures would be a logical step. Especially since no one who hadn’t seen you on the stage would know it was you there on celluloid.
“Yes,” Karen mumbled. “I’ll have to gather the skirt up in front. But it has thing long train, so the back is okay.”
It always inspired Amy to watch Karen work. She was so capable, and her hands seemed to fly when working with fabric. She was an artist in her own arena. Amy sighed, feeling small and unimportant all at once.
“That polka-dot box, by the way, contains the gray pearls you’re going to wear.”
“Pearls?” Good heavens, Amy wasn’t sure about this. She’d be wearing clothes and jewels worth more than she was. What a lowering reflection that was.
“They aren’t real,” Karen mumbled, alleviating Amy’s doubts somewhat. “But they’re perfect for this gown.”
What a relief. Rather than say so, Amy gave a judicious “Hmmm.” She thought something else that gave her a thrill of apprehension. “Um, did you say there will be dancing at the nightclub, Karen?”
“Yes, I did.”
Something in Amy’s voice must have alerted Karen that Amy was apprehensive about dancing. She stopped sticking pins in the gown Amy wore and glanced at her. “Don’t you dance?”
She sounded neither disapproving nor surprised; only curious. Nevertheless, Amy felt a little foolish. “Well, not a lot. I love to waltz. And one of my friends tried to teach me some steps to the new ragtime music people are always playing, but we didn’t have enough time for me to learn very well.”
“Ragtime’s easy,” Karen declared. “And it’s lots of fun. Here. Look at this.” She backed away from Amy, held her arms out as if she were holding on to a gentleman, leaned a little forward, and scooted across the floor of the tent.
Amy blinked at where her friend’s feet were supposed to be. She saw nothing but Karen’s gown, swishing around her evening slippers. “Um, I can’t see a thing.”
“Oh.” Karen stopped and glanced at her feet. “Of course not.” She picked up her skirt and moved her feet again in a series of quick but uncomplicated steps. Amy peered at Karen’s moving feet closely, then lifted her own skirt and imitated her.
“That was the way!” Karen said, smiling.
“It’s not too hard, is it?” Amy asked doubtfully.
“Not at all. And don’t forget. You’ll probably be asked to dance by Martin, who’s an excellent dancer.”
“Oh, dear.”
But Karen shook her head. “Nonsense. If a man’s a good dancer—and Martin is splendid—he’ll carry you along as if you were a dandelion puff. Martin makes dancing easy.”
“Really?”
“I know you don’t believe me,” Karen stopped dancing and came back to Amy, armed with pins once more. “But it’s the truth. And you’ll certainly dance with Charlie Fox. Now, I don’t have any idea whether or not Charlie can dance, but I have a feeling it won’t matter.” She poked Amy’s shoulder to get her to turn around and lifted the train of her dress.
Honestly curious, Amy peered over her shoulder to watch Karen do something mysterious with her train. “Why not?”
“Because,” Karen said as she gave the train a tug, almost toppling Amy. “he’s in love with you and will probably just stand there in a daze with you in his arms.”
“Karen!” Amy was really quite shocked—and extremely gratified. After her initial astonishment subsided, which took approximately three seconds, she said with a hesitant hitch to her voice. “Do you really think he admires me?”
Karen did something extremely unladylike: She rolled her eyes. “Good Lord, child, are you that innocent?”
“I guess I must be,” Amy mumbled.
“I guess so. Of course he admires you! He’s in love with you! And you’re in love with him. And the sooner you write and tell your precious Vernon so, the better off all three of you will be.”
“Mercy sakes.” Amy wished life were that simple.
Did she love Charlie Fox? Was Karen correct?
She feared so.
Did Charlie Fox love her, Amy Wilkes, from Pasadena, California?
Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful? Amy wasn’t vain enough to take Karen’s word on the matter, but it might be so.
But whatever would Vernon think? And her aunt and uncle? And Vernon’s parents, who were stuffier even than Vernon, and ever so proper? They summere
d in New York and wintered in Pasadena, and had more money than they know what to do with—which was why Vernon had gone into banking, actually, because a position with a bank gave him opportunities for investment that he wouldn’t otherwise have. Among them, Vernon and his parents must own three-quarters of the city of Pasadena, not to mention entire towns back East.
In other words, if Amy married Vernon Catesby, she’d be set for life. If she married Charlie Fox, she’d be … what? She had no idea.
“Oh, stop it,” she told herself aloud.
Karen jumped. “Beg pardon?”
“I’m sorry, Karen.” Amy shook her head, trying to clear it of the fuddle that seemed to envelop her every time she considered marriage to Charlie Fox. “I was just thinking.”
“About Vernon, I’m sure,” Karen said caustically.
Amy sighed. “I fear you’re right.”
“Fiddlesticks!”
Amy feared she was right about that, too.
Fourteen
Amy couldn’t recall another evening in her life when she’d felt so perfectly gowned and shod. The evening dress Karen had found for her was stunning, the shoes she’d dug out of that polka-dot box were perfect, the gray silk stockings felt like eiderdown against her skin, and the gray pearls and eardrops were idea.
She’d been elegance when she’d finally peered at herself in the mirror in the costume tent. She knew she hadn’t been mistaken in her judgment when Charlie Fox and Martin Tafft stopped dead in their tracks and stared at her. And at Karen. Amy was not so vain that she didn’t know Karen looked wonderful tonight, too, and she was happy to share the limelight with her good friend.
“My goodness, ladies,” Martin, who recovered first, said. “I fear El Monte won’t be grand enough for the likes of you two. You’re both very beautiful this evening.”
Amy noticed that Charlie, who had stood there gaping during Martin’s chivalrous speech, finally shut his mouth and nodded. “Yes, sir.” His voice was low and throaty, as if he didn’t have enough air to use it properly.
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