by Janet Dailey
An arrogant brow arched coldly at Brandy before LaRaine tipped her raven head back to gaze at Jim. "You didn't tell me she was such a pretty little thing," she accused, her lower lip jutting out in a very alluring pout.
"No, I didn't," he agreed smoothly. "But I'm hardly likely to broadcast that Brandy was such a captivating and lovely companion."
LaRaine's expression stiffened at the caressing quality in his low voice, but she smiled quickly to conceal her displeasure. "Careful, Jim, or you'll put all sorts of silly ideas in her head."
"Will I?" His dark eyes glinted wickedly at Brandy's flushed cheeks. "I hope so," he added calmly.
"You're impossible!" LaRaine declared, tempestuous fires blazing in her eyes.
"You're learning," he drawled, glancing with open challenge at her ill-concealed expression of irritation. "You'd better go and get your cold drink while Bill is still inclined to let you have a break."
Red lips were pressed tightly together. "I think I'll do that," she said coldly, releasing his arm and whirling away with a haughty toss of her blue-black hair.
"Whew—for a minute, I thought she was going to explode," Karen whispered to Brandy. "Talk about fireworks!"
Her comment hadn't been meant for Jim to hear, but he did. "The next segment of the scene they're shooting calls for LaRaine's character to lose her temper. She should do it quite naturally, don't you think?" Jim suggested, an audacious twinkle in his eyes.
Brandy couldn't help letting a faint smile of agreement tug at the corners of her mouth, while Karen suggested, "It won't be a case of acting as much as it will be reacting."
Jim didn't appear upset that LaRaine was angry, and Brandy wondered if it had been his intention from the beginning to use her to make the actress jealous. If they had quarreled as Karen had suggested earlier, perhaps it was because the brunette had been taking him too much for granted. He wasn't the type to be dominated by anyone, male or female.
"Since they're still blocking camera angles for the next scene," Jim said, "I'll take you over to the sound stage and show you some of the props and tricks of the trade."
Stepping between them, he guided them back toward the main street, a hand resting with light but firm pressure on the back of Brandy's waist. As they passed the barricade, tourists who were aware that a movie was being filmed in the off-limits section of the western town looked curiously at them to see if they could recognize the privileged trio which had so easily been allowed entrance.
Recognition of James Corbett whispered through them like a breeze rippling through prairie grass. Those who had cameras immediately snapped pictures, regardless of the distance or angle, to prove to the folks back home that they had really seen a movie star.
Jim appeared oblivious to the stir he was causing, his purposeful stride neither rushing nor slowing as he escorted Karen and Brandy past the ice cream parlor. Brandy guessed that he was probably accustomed to it. Although nothing in his attitude invited closer contact, one young girl rushed toward them, anxiously thrusting a pen and paper toward him.
"Could I have your autograph, please, Mr. Corbett?" she breathed, gazing at him through dazed, unbelieving eyes.
Taking the paper and pen, he smiled at the young girl pleasantly, though still with a suggestion of aloofness. Bold, sure strokes spelled his name on the paper, completely legible with no pretentious flourishes.
"Thank you," the girl gushed when he had handed the paper back, holding it almost reverently in her hand.
"That's quite all right." Briefly he touched his hat. "Excuse me."
His hand was again on the back of Brandy's waist, bringing her level with him after she had drifted a half step behind him. She rather liked the sensation of pride that his action aroused inside her, as though he wanted the onlookers to know she was with him. Karen must have noticed the action, too, because she caught Brandy's eye and winked knowingly. Self-conscious, Brandy averted her gaze.
An employee of Old Tucson unlocked the door to the soundstage, which was housed in a building whose exterior matched the Old West design of the rest of the town. Inside, high ceilings stretched spaciously above their heads, and lighting equipment hung from the rafters.
There was no dividing wall in the large barnlike room, but it was sectioned by different sets. The one they proceeded to was an old-fashioned saloon with the long wooden bar stretching the length of one wall. Behind the bar was a large mirror flanked by shelves containing liquor bottles and glasses. Above the mirror hung a large painting of a fulsomely curved woman, scantily covered by a pink robe reclining on a divan.
A second side of the room had swinging doors and large-paned windows. They gave the illusion that the main street of town was directly outside. Actually it was a realistic painting of the town's street. The third wall of the U-shaped room had a series of doors that seemed to lead to back rooms and a staircase leading to the second-floor hall with more doors supposedly leading to second-floor rooms. From Brandy's position she could see there was nothing beyond the doors except steps leading down from the second floor on the outside of the set.
The center of the room was cluttered with tables and chairs. All of them looked battered and worn. A deck of cards sat on one table with neat stacks of poker chips, and a roulette wheel was toward the back of the room.
"The sets you see in here," Jim explained, "are where we shoot the interior scenes. This saloon, for example, has been used countless times for different movies. The public generally doesn't recognize it because the decor is changed or we rearrange the door on another wall or have the stairs leading to the second floor in a different place. It makes it very easy to duplicate the set in Hollywood, if another take is needed after we've left the location."
"It's so small, though," Karen commented.
"A camera makes everything look larger. That and the fact that the camera only shows you one section of the room at a time creates the illusion that the room is large. It's convenient because several small sets can be reconstructed and the viewer is rarely aware of how small they are." He paused, a dancing gleam in his dark eyes. "The only drawback to the camera making things larger is for the actresses. The camera gives them ten extra pounds whether they want them or not. It's the main reason they constantly diet."
"I don't blame them," Karen laughed shortly. "Nobody needs ten extra pounds unless they're Twiggy."
"As for the props, I imagine you know all about the breakaway furniture that gets broken over people's heads. And the breakaway bottles," he added. "They used to be made of candy, but too many of the technicians and acting crew were eating the props, so they use another substance now. Iced tea is used in place of hard liquor for drinks, except for beer—no one has come up with a substitute that looks enough like it and can keep a head of foam. As long as the beer is warm, the foam stays. If you've ever tasted warm beer, you know why the beer is only occasionally sipped by the actor." Jim smiled. "Unless, of course, the actor is English."
With his hand he gestured for them to move to the far end of the building.
"That's the interior of the sheriff's office." Jim identified the stage set they were passing. "This next one," their destination, "is used for scenes shot in the interior of a house. Right now, it's a dining room, but by changing the furniture and curtains it can be transformed into any room."
This three-walled interior set was unique in that it continued into an outside desert scene. The floor of the building was covered with realistic-looking sand and shrubs, and a large saguarro cactus stood guard near the outside wall of the room. A scenic backdrop had been painted to continue the desert landscape.
"Isn't there enough desert outdoors to satisfy you?" Brandy frowned curiously.
"More than enough, but occasionally the script calls for a night sequence. Thank heaven, we don't film at night. The cameraman puts a special filter over his lens and the scene becomes night," he explained. "Or it might be a sunrise or sunset that's needed, then the special effects men use a combination of ligh
ting to duplicate it. That way the sunset will last as long as it takes for the actors to do the scene right."
"I was certain you were going to say it was used in rainy weather," Karen laughed.
"The heat and blowing sand are about the only complaints that can be made about Arizona weather. The heat you suffer through. The blowing sand does bring us indoors, but rain is rarely the cause. Usually it has to be manufactured out here."
"What do you use for rain? A garden hose and a fan?" Brandy asked, finding it all very fascinating.
"Well," one corner of his mouth tilted upwards, "I suppose that sounds logical except for one problem. Falling water doesn't photograph very well on a camera. When you see it raining in a movie, it's generally raining milk. On film, it looks like water."
"You're kidding!" Karen stared at him sceptically.
"I'm not," Jim promised with a deepening smile. "I'm afraid Gene Kelly danced and sang in the milk, not the rain."
"You're destroying all my illusions," Karen moaned in mock despair.
Jim laughed, a rich, deep sound that sent shivers of pleasure down Brandy's spine. She joined in, a captive of the charming side of this compellingly handsome man.
"Then I'll take you on to the wardrobe department, where you'll see some true artists at work," he offered.
Chapter Six
AT THE WARDROBE department, an older woman gladly showed Karen and Brandy some of the clothes that would be worn in the film, at Jim's request. The sketches had all been completed weeks ago, faithful reproductions of the dress for men and women in that particular era and part of the country. The costumes were all individually sewn and fitted to the person who would be wearing them.
The wardrobe personnel on location were mainly to keep track of the costumes and be certain they were ready when they were needed. A seamstress took care of any last-minute alterations or repaired any rips or tears that occurred during filming.
From Wardrobe, Jim took them to the stables where the animals used in the film were kept; mostly they were horses, with an occasional burro or mule. A nearby rancher supplied a herd of cattle when they were needed. All of the mounts were trained stock, accustomed to crowds and the bustle of the camera crew.
One pathetic-looking horse in the corral caught Brandy's eye. He looked so out of place with the other sleek and trim stock that she had seen. There was no healthy gloss to his coat and a faint outline of his ribs could be seen.
"Jim, what's the matter with that horse?" Brandy used his first name quite unconsciously. Not even when his gaze focused with warm thoughtfulness on her face did she realize what she had done to evoke such a disturbing appraisal.
"Nothing is the matter with him any more. He was never sick, just underfed," he replied.
"You'll have the Humane Society breathing down your necks if they saw him," she commented.
"That's where he was found." His mouth curved crookedly at her curious glance. "It took a lot of searching before we could find such a poor excuse of a horse."
"Why did you need him?"
"In the film, the character I portray has a grueling ride through the desert. At the end of the ride, my horse was supposed to be on its last legs. I wasn't supposed to look too much better. That's the reason for the beard I'd grown when you met me. Luckily they got those scenes out of the way first." He rubbed his smoothly shaven jaw as if the memory of the disheveled beard made him itch. "You're looking at the horse, or a healthier version of the same."
"What's going to happen to him now?" Brandy leaned against the corral fence, staring compassionately at the horse.
"He's become something of a pet. Harry, the stock contractor, seems to think he has a chance to make it in the movies when his looks improve. The horse gobbles up any attention he receives almost as he eats his corn and oats," Jim told her. "If he doesn't, I imagine Harry will probably sell him to someone who'll take care of him."
"I hope so," she declared.
"Let's go over in the shade and have a cold drink," he suggested.
The cool shadow cast by the barnlike stable was already being used as a sun shelter by some of the film crew. Jim introduced the men as either wranglers for the stock or stuntmen who doubled as extras.
With the promised cold drinks in their hands, Brandy and Karen accepted the bale of hay offered as a seat by one of the men. No such deference was shown to Jim, and he seemed not to expect it as he leaned a shoulder against the building only a foot or two from where Brandy and Karen were sitting.
The conversation didn't slacken when they joined the group, but continued in the same light vein as before. The talk mainly consisted of swapping stories of other location films they had been on and the things that had gone wrong, sometimes hilarious and sometimes dangerous.
The men didn't seem to object to being interrupted by questions from Brandy and Karen. In fact, they seemed to enjoy their audience. Brandy knew she could have sat for hours listening to their escapades.
One man clapped his hands on his thighs and pushed himself upright from a squatting position.
"Well," he breathed in, "I guess they aren't going to need me today. They oughta be wrappin' things up about now, I would say, because the light's going."
Brandy glanced at the hands on her watch. Nearly six. It seemed impossible that more than four hours could have passed since she and Karen had arrived at the gate, but the lengthening shadows confirmed the hour. Quickly she stood up, instinctively brushing away the wisps of hay that stuck to her tan slacks.
"It's time we were leaving, too," she told Karen.
"I suppose you're right," Karen sighed, and straightened from the bale with obvious reluctance.
The rest of the group started dispersing as Jim stepped forward. Brandy smiled at him, aware of how much she had enjoyed the entire afternoon. He studied her with quiet thoughtfulness.
"Thank you for showing us around." Brandy didn't know what else to do, so she offered him her hand.
The gesture brought a twitching hint of a smile to his mouth as he accepted her hand with mock solemnness. "I hope you enjoyed it. I'm just sorry you feel you have to leave so soon."
"It's late." Her stomach was reacting crazily to the firm grip of his hand as he held hers longer than was politely required.
"Yes, it is," Karen said as though she hated to admit that fact, "and by the time I drive Brandy home and get back to my apartment, it's going to be even later yet. I've enjoyed it all tremendously, Mr. Corbett. I can't thank you enough for asking us to come."
"There's no need to thank me," he denied smoothly. "And I would prefer that you call me Jim."
"Yes . . . all right, Jim." A pleased smile beamed from Karen's face at the friendly offer.
His attention shifted to Brandy, and he ran a measuring eye over the honey-gold curls and the turned-up tip of her nose. "Didn't you drive your car today?"
"No," she shook her head, "Dad's using it. Mom was going to need their car to go to some meeting or other after classes, so Dad borrowed mine to drive to Phoenix this afternoon."
"Then there's no need for you to drive so far out of your way, Karen, to take Brandy home. I'll give her a ride," he stated.
"Oh, no—" Brandy started to protest, not wanting him to think she had been angling for an invitation.
"Accepted," Karen declared, blithely interrupting.
"But—"
"But what, Brandy?" Jim openly mocked her attempts to argue. "Your house isn't out of my way and I'm willing to take you, so why object?"
Brandy struggled for a delicate explanation. "I just don't want you to think—"
"I know what you don't want me to think," he interrupted dryly. "If you're ready to leave, we'll go and get my car. It's in the private lot."
Brandy hesitated an instant longer, then nodded agreement. She couldn't seem to control the ambivalent sensations she felt toward him. She wanted his company, his attention, and with equal determination, she wanted to avoid him. She felt like a child who threw away a t
oy, then wanted it back.
"If that's all settled," Karen said gaily, "then I'm off for home. See you tomorrow, Brandy, and thanks again for the tour, Jim."
With a cheery wave, she was walking away toward the main gate. Out of the corner of her eye, Brandy glanced at Jim who was regarding her so silently. She was not going to appear childish or make a fool of herself again by trying to refuse his invitation. She couldn't forget who he was, but if Jim Corbett wanted to give her a ride home, she was going to take it. The decision didn't lessen the jumping of her nerves.
"Shall we go?" Brandy suggested with a determined lift of her chin.
With a mocking inclination of his head, Jim agreed, his hand lightly closing over her elbow to guide her in the right direction.
The absence of the buffering presence of Karen made Brandy feel awkward and self-conscious. Her lighthearted friend had made conversation flow easily; now she couldn't think of a thing to say that wouldn't sound forced and artificial.
Various members of the film crew waved to them as they left. All of them seemed to regard Brandy's accompaniment as natural; they didn't seem concerned that it was she and not the raven-haired actress that Jim was escorting.
Now that Brandy was alone with Jim, she wondered again whether he was using her to keep the obviously possessive LaRaine Evans in line. All the gossip had indicated that their relationship was on a very intimate level. Yet Jim had been cool toward the actress, antagonistic at times.
It was all too confusing. She was out of her league. She was used to straightforward, undisturbing relationships with men, yet every time she was with Jim Corbett, she felt bewildered and pulled in two different directions at the same time. Never before in her life had she felt inferior or incapable of handling a situation, but she did now.
"Why the frown?" His dark head was tipped to the side as he opened the passenger door of the Mark V.
