Tonight, however, she was it—she and rest of the cast of One and Only. Which, since Horace Huxtable wasn’t present—thank God—meant Charlie Fox. Amy swallowed nervously and she and Karen, along with her aunt and uncle, all splendidly attired for the occasion, walked to the head of the magnificent staircase leading to the hotel lobby.
Twenty-One
Charlie had declined Martin’s invitation to wait in the lobby for Amy and her family.
“Karen’ll be there, too, of course. Can’t have an actress attend a premiere of a major motion picture without her dresser along.” Martin had chuckled gleefully and rubbed his hands together.
Charlie was glad Karen would be there. And Amy’s aunt and uncle. Their presence, not to mention the hordes of photographers and print men Charlie had glimpsed in the lobby, would postpone his intended purpose, and he was grateful to them for it.
Shoot, he’d never been a coward before this.
His life’s happiness had never depended so completely on one evening, either.
Dang it, he had to stop thinking these things. Charlie had smiled and bidden Martin farewell. At this moment, he held down the table at the glorious restaurant to which Marin and the rest of the party would go as soon as they’d all assembled in the lobby of the hotel. He’d ordered a cocktail, because he didn’t know what else to do, and fiddled with it as he waited. He was as nervous as a newborn calf facing a branding iron.
Would she or wouldn’t she? He wanted to run his fingers through his hair, or bury his head in his hands and moan for a while, but didn’t dare mess up his fancy new haircut. Shoot, he’d never before been to a big-city barber.
But he’d done it for Amy. And when he’d looked at himself in the mirror, all duded out in his fancy Los Angeles tailor’s clothes, he hardly recognized himself.
Good God almighty, what if she didn’t recognize him?
He gulped some of his cocktail—a concoction called a Manhattan and awfully sweet—and told himself to calm down.
Oh, good God, there they were. He saw Karen.
He saw Martin.
He saw an elderly couple who he assumed were Amy’s aunt and uncle.
He saw a swarm of photographers, all calling out for the party to stop walking and turn to have their likenesses captured on film.
He saw Martin smile and speak to the reporters. “After dinner, fellows. Let the lady have a bite to eat first.” Martin sounded cheerful. Charlie felt a fierce, sudden and unexpected urge to hit something.
And at long last—when he’d almost forgotten whom it was he was looking for—he saw Amy.
His mouth fell open. His fingers, which had been fingering his Manhattan glass in a frenzy of nervous energy, stilled. He felt his eyes open hugely.
It was a damned good thing he hadn’t waited with Martin in the lobby. It would have been too humiliating to have his knees give out on him there, and to fall to the floor in front of her in an attitude of worship.
He’d always considered her a pretty woman, and since he’d tasted the sweets of her love, he’d ached for her, but he’d never seen her lovelier than she was this evening. He hoped his heart would hold out long enough for him to beg her to reconsider and marry him.
Bracing himself on the table to he wouldn’t keel over, Charlie stood politely. Once he was up on his hind legs, he balanced himself by grasping the back of his chair. Because he’d been acting for a while and had learned the rudiments of pretense, he forced himself to smile amiably.
“There he is!” Martin cried happily. “Gentlemen, you can have one shot of Peerless’s newest cowboy star before you depart and leave us in peace.”
Any army of photographers rushed up to Charlie. He’s never seen such heavy equipment wielded so handily. Although he was mightily disconcerted by Amy’s presence, he steeled his nerves and smiled for the cameras, hoping all the while that Amy was impressed.
Or maybe she’d be disgusted that he’d done another picture. Shoot, he hadn’t thought of that before.
On the other hand, Charlie’d heard time and time again that females were beginning to swoon over moving picture cowboys.
Aw, dang it, Amy wasn’t like any of those stupid women. She was special.
At any rate, it was too late to decline. He must have been caught on film a hundred times or more by the time Martin succeeded in shooing the last of the newspaper vultures out of the restaurant. The restaurant manager, not happy about the swarming mob of reporters, helped.
The time had come.
Well, not the time for his proposal, but the time to greet Amy. He’d considered at least sixteen hundred different ways to do it, and decided a warm smile and a friendly handshake would be intimate but not pushy. After all, they’d worked together for a month. He knew better than to remind Amy of what else they’d done together.
Dagnabbit, every time he thought about that night they’d spent together—that portion of a night, he meant—a jolt of desire shook him. He suppressed it with difficulty.
“Charlie!” Karen cried, and ran up to him and gave him a big hug.
That was Karen all over, he decided with a grin. He wished Amy had a tiny bit of Karen’s effusiveness. “Howdy, Karen. Good to see you again. How ya been?”
“Just wonderful. And you”
“Fine, fine.”
“Here’s Amy,” Karen said with the air of a master of ceremonies introducing the starring act. She swept her arm out, narrowly missing Charlie’s cocktail glass, and indicated Amy who was standing there looking both gorgeous and a bit shy. She had a glorious smile on her face, though, and her eyes, which were by some miracle of chance or purpose the same color as her gown, were sparkling like the sapphires around her neck.
“Amy,” Charlie said, and couldn’t continue.
“Charlie,” she said, and seemed to have the same problem.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Karen huffed. “Kiss each other!”
Such an outrageous suggestion appeared to jog Amy out of her trance. Charlie, who thought Karen’s suggestion an excellent one, knew better than to act upon it. Instead, he walked to Amy with his hand held out. “It’s really good to see you again, Amy.”
“Oh, Charlie, I’m so glad to see you again, too!” She shook his hand warmly, even going to far as to put her other hand on top of the two clasped ones.
Mightily encouraged, Charlie leaned down a little. “I’d like to talk to you after the premiere, Amy. Do you think that’s possible?”
“Oh, yes! I really want to talk to you, too.”
If those weren’t the sweetest words Charlie had ever heard, he didn’t know what were.
* * *
Amy felt as if she were living in a dream for the rest of the evening. The dinner was indubitably delicious, although she didn’t taste it, and the wine superb. As she ate and drank, she was conscious only of Charlie, who sat directly across from her. More than once, she failed to hear a question directed to her and had to ask the speaker to repeat himself. Charlie, she noticed, had the same problem.
After this had happened several times, it was Karen who finally muttered. “Oh, leave them alone. They’re not fit for company this evening.” She laughed when she said it.
Amy barely heard her. She suspected Charlie didn’t hear her at all, because he only kept grinning at Amy was if she were the only other human being in the entire world.
After dinner, the party repaired to the brand-new, luxurious Bijou Dream Theater, the first and most extravagant motion picture palace ever built. They rode there in two huge, luxurious motorcars manufactured by the Benz Company in Germany. Amy would have been impressed if she hadn’t been so totally absorbed in Charlie.
They sat together in the motorcar, and when Charlie’s hand slide across the backseat—under the folds of her filmy lace wrap, for propriety’s sake—and found Amy’s gloved hand, she didn’t move her hand but clasped his with fervor. And love. A great deal of love. Her heart almost overflowed at this indication that he no longer despised he
r for her cowardice.
One thing did manage to pry her attention away from Charlie: the crowds of people lining the street leading up to the theater. Sure that something alarming, and probably disastrous, must have happened to have drawn such a throng, she exclaimed, “Good heavens, what are all those people doing there?”
“They’re there to see you, my dear,” Martin said with glee. “They’re fans.”
“Fans?” Amy used a fan occasionally during the summertime, but had never heard the word used with regard to people.
“Fans. I think it’s short for fanatic,” Karen explained. “They’re people who like the pictures.”
“For heaven’s sake.” She and Charlie exchanged a surprised glance. He smiled first. She’d never been able to resist one of his charming smiles, and she smiled back. The crowd roared.
“That’s the way,” Martin said approvingly. “They love a good show.”
A good show? Another glance at Charlie told Amy that he didn’t consider it a mere show, either, and she laughed, suddenly happier than she’d ever been. Feeling expansive, she turned toward the crowd and waved. They waved back and cheered.
Six huge spotlights were burning in front of the theater, their beams crossing in the night sky. More people crowded around the door of the theater, making it difficult to maneuver toward it. Fortunately, Martin seemed to have thought of everything, and he called upon several uniformed policemen to hold the crowd at bay.
Astonished, Amy walked up a red carpet on Charlie’s arm, to the cheering of the mob. At the door, as if they’d been doing it all their lives, the couple turned, waved to the crowd, and almost caused a riot—although they didn’t know that until they read the newspapers the next day.
One and Only was a delightful picture. Even Amy, who hadn’t cared for very many of the movies she’d seen, had to admit to its charm.
Horace Huxtable was superb. Although she knew it was evil of her, Amy wished he weren’t. It was irritating for a person she detested to show any admirable qualities. But he was a fine actor, and there was no denying it. She was pleased that the crowd didn’t seem to miss him. She knew that was evil of her, too.
* * *
It wasn’t until far into the night that she and Charlie finally had an opportunity to be private together. The festivities surrounding the premiere of One and Only never seemed to end. After the screening, Martin took his guests to another four-star restaurant, where they had a light supper and drinks. He evidently hoped the party would all stay for dancing, but since Aunt Julia and Uncle Frank were fading fast—they weren`t accustomed to late hours—Amy pleaded exhaustion, too, and she and Charlie accompanied them back to the hotel.
Because reporters seemed to be lurking everywhere, Charlie didn`t dare go to Amy`s room. Just before he left her at Julia and Frank`s door, he whispered, “Come to room 410 when you get a chance. All right?” He looked apprehensive, as if he feared she`d rebel at doing anything that might be considered scandalous.
But Amy was past being hampered by society’s strictures or her own inhibitions—even if they still bothered her. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she assured him.
His smile of wonder and pleasure buoyed her out of her weariness, and she made short work of Aunt Julia’s evening gown and chatter. “We can discuss it all tomorrow,” she said, yawning. “Right now, I have to get to bed before I fall over.”
Her aunt accepted Amy’s excuse with equanimity, believing Amy was sure, that Amy would never, ever do anything untoward. Little did she know.
Amy visited her own room first in order to rid herself of her finery, replacing her smashing evening gown with a plain but pretty white cotton wrapper with pink embroidery decorating it. She wasn’t going to have corsets in the way tonight, should things go as she wanted them to.
She scurried down the hall and up the stairs to the fourth floor. She peered around the hall door to check for reporters before she dashed to room 410. She barely knocked once before the door swung open, and there stood Charlie in his shirtsleeves, looking eager and nervous and more handsome than a man had any right to look.
She took one assessing glance at him, and threw caution to the wind. She loved him. He loved her. She’d bet her life on that, and the fact that he’d do everything in his power to help her overcome her trepidation. And she flung herself into his arms.
His arms closed around her, and she experienced at long last that delicious feeling of being cherished. She’d experienced it only once before and had missed it as if she’d lost one of her senses. “Oh, Charlie, I’ve missed you so much!”
“And I’ve missed you.”
They demonstrated how much they’d missed each other for several minutes before Charlie pulled away Amy was disappointed.
“We ... we have to talk.” He loosened his collar, which was not one of the removable kind but was sewn onto his dress shirt. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow. Amy could tell he was in a state. So was she.
“I suppose we do.” Blast. She didn’t want to talk. Words always seemed to spoil things. Nevertheless, she knew he was right. No more cowardice. She had to face these things. “I’m very sorry, Charlie. I allowed my childhood experiences to interfere with my adult life, and that was foolish and cowardly of me.”
“Oh, no, Amy. I’m the one who was wrong. I didn’t take into consideration how much your early experiences must have scared you.”
“Nonsense. I was a child then. I’m not a child any longer—”
“I’ll say.”
Since the exclamation seemed both heartfelt and involuntary, Amy let it go with a smile. “But I was wrong to allow my past to interfere with our future.”
“So ... so do you think you might not hate marrying me, even if I’m not exactly established yet? I will be I swear to God I will be, Amy.”
Although she’d have given anything to prevent it, a stab of fear shot through her so suddenly that she was momentarily immobilized. She shook it off. “Yes. I think I might not hate it.” Her fingers reached for the ribbons at her waist and she began stroking them nervously. “But—but, Charlie, I can’t help being afraid.”
“I know it, honey.”
“But I’ll try very hard not to allow my fear to interfere with our life together—if you still want me.”
His smile was tenderness itself. “I still want you, Amy. A whole lot.”
“Good.” She nodded. Terror had begun to gnaw up from her stomach and into her heart. “In that case ... well, in that case, you’d better hug me fast, because I’m getting scared again.” She felt like a pure idiot.
But Charlie understood, and he made sure Amy knew it. When he had her securely in his strong arms, he whispered, “Gosh, Amy, don’t ever be afraid and not tell me. I’ll do anything I can to keep you safe.” He sat on one of the plush wing chairs flanking the fireplace—Peerless had spared no money on rooms for its stars—and held her tightly. “I bought a ranch, sweetheart. Right outside of Pasadena.”
Amazed, she pulled slightly away and gazed into his dear, dear eyes. “You did?”
He nodded. “Yep. And I planted a bunch of orange trees, too. And I’ve got stock arriving next week. My brother’s going to help me get started. I hope you don’t mind about that. But I’ve hired an architect, and they’re going to start putting up the new house as soon as the plans are done.”
“Good heavens!” Amy couldn’t help it. She started to laugh softly. “Oh, Charlie, did you do all of that for me?”
He grinned at her. “Well, not exactly. I aim to be a successful rancher, Amy, with or without you at my side, but I sure as the good Lord hope it’ll be with you. Because I love you, honey, and it’ll be a whole lot easier on me if my heart isn’t broken while I work my butt off to achieve that success.”
“Oh, Charlie. I love you so much!”
“If that ain’t music to my ears,” Charlie said in his best cowboy drawl, “I don’t know what is.” And he kissed her.
This kiss lasted longer than
the other ones of the evening and ended with them tangled in the covers of Charlie’s bed. He made short work of the covers—and the sheets, too. And Amy’s wrapper. And his own evening clothes.
When he plunged his rigid sex into her hot, wet passage, Amy thought she might just swoon form sheer pleasure. When he drove her over the edge into bliss, she did swoon, but only for a moment. She was awake again when Charlie found his own release and then subsided into her welcoming arms.
“I’m so happy, Charlie.”
“So’m I, sweetheart.”
They dozed off under the influence of their happiness, and only awoke when passion aroused them in the early morning. They didn’t open their eyes again until somebody knocked at Charlie’s door toward noon. Charlie popped up in bed, suddenly worried for Amy’s reputation.
“Who is it?” he called.
“It’s Martin, Charlie. You all right? You didn’t come down for breakfast.”
Shoot. Although he was fuddled from lack of sleep and sexual fulfillment, Charlie thought fast. “Er ... I’m fine, Martin. I’m just not used to these hours. I slept late.”
“All right. Say, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Amy, have you? Nobody can seem to rouse her. I’m thinking of getting a maid with a key.”
This comment brought Amy out from under the covers, too. Charlie glanced at her and grinned. His prim and proper Amy didn’t look too prim and proper this morning, all naked and tousled and flushed from good loving. She yanked on his shoulder and whispered, “No!”
Still grinning, Charlie said, “Don’t do that, Martin. I talked to her last night and ... and she said she was go to sleep until noon.” He lifted an eyebrow in question at Amy. She smiled gratefully and nodded.
After a significant pause, Martin said, “I see. All right. I’ll wait until noon. We’ve got an appointment with the press at one. Um, if you see her, you might remind her.”
“Shoot, that’s right. I almost forgot. Okay, Martin. I’ll tell her. If I see her,” Charlie added quickly.
“Right. If you see her.” Martin walked away.
Cowboy For Hire Page 32
