Brit leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The seat was unbelievably comfortable. The air conditioner blew cool, refreshing air over her. The radio played low, relaxing music in the far distant background. She was lulled into a half-sleep.
Finally, a voice broke into her conscious. "Brit, are you all right? Do you need anything? A drink?"
Brit opened her eyes. She looked around. She was alone with a strange woman and man who spoke in cool, soothing tones. They were very nice, very concerned about her welfare, and obviously wanted to meet her every need. Airline reps, no doubt. She wanted to assure them that she had no intention of suing, but lacked the energy.
Brit was disappointed beyond belief. Jake was gone. She had expected—hoped—that he would regain his senses at the last minute and go with her. But he had not.
She looked down at her hands. One had been clinched in a sweaty fist since they left. Painfully, she opened her hand. In the grimy palm lay Jake's black bear fetish, a small jet figure with a single turquoise eye. "For luck," he had said.
For months there had been significant pressure for Knife Wing to marry a Hopi girl. It was an arrangement that would be good for both families and both tribes. He had resisted until he was asked by the tribal leaders to consider her. So, he went to the Intertribal Ceremonial at Gallup, New Mexico, to meet her and her family. I was quite upset at the prospect and informed him that if he should marry her, or anyone, that he could forget about me. I would not tolerate the Zuni custom of having more than one wife.
Knife Wing was very stubborn, and declared that he would do what he thought was best. He visited me the day before he left for Gallup and gave me a Zuni bear fetish for good luck. The black bear was made of jet with an inlay of turquoise leading to its heart. So, he went on his way, and I was sick for three days. I kept the fetish under my pillow for luck, and felt there was no luck in it.
But I was wrong. He returned, after eight days, without a Hopi wife.
Chapter Twelve
Los Angeles was a cultural shock to Brit. The problem was that she had discovered another world, a serene world which held beauty at every turn and allowed the individual time and space. It was a world in which she found a place for herself and felt peace. But there was no peace here. This place was too big, too busy, too noisy, and Jake was gone from it. Brit felt all alone. But she wasn't. Michael was there.
He had called her immediately on hearing of her rescue and driven to Los Angeles from San Diego the very next day. She had been less than happy to see him, and it was obvious that every-thing was wrong between them. Brit wanted to give herself time to be sure, but the more they were together, she knew she had to do something about it. When they had parted in Las Vegas, before she laid eyes on Jake Landry, she realized she didn't love Michael. And now, after Jake, she couldn't love anyone else, not the way she loved him. She had hoped to salvage something of their relationship, perhaps friendship, and wondered if that were possible.
Brit stood at the window of her apartment, staring at her view. Oh, it wasn't a bad apartment. It was rather nice. Comfortable furniture. Heart of the city. Ten minutes from the movie studio. What more could she want?
Jake. Only Jake.
The towering red cliffs, glistening turquoise pool, and crystal waterfall of her imagination melted into her actual view ... a half-acre parking lot rimmed with palm trees. The dark lean figure with black straight hair to his collar and piercing jet eyes of her memory faded to the reality of . . . Michael.
Blond, good-looking with muscular arms from lifting weights, Michael followed her around the room. "So where were you, Brit? Where did you sleep? You actually expect me to believe you were camping outside all this time?" He hooted with laughter. "You? Who has to have her nails perfect and every hair in place?"
"It's true. Slept under a canopy of stars." She grinned with the admission. It did sound preposterous for her, and Michael still didn't believe her, she could tell.
"What were you doing down there every day?"
She shrugged and brushed at her immaculate, sharply-creased jeans. Michael wouldn't believe that she'd worn a man's sloppy clothes and bathed in a stream. "We did nothing much. Relaxed mostly, once we realized that we couldn't get out right away. It was absolutely beautiful and so peaceful, Michael." She sat cross-legged on a flower cushioned window seat and watched two cars rush to beat a yellow light at the intersection. A jet thundered overhead, low, coming in for a landing. The sound vibrated the room for a couple of seconds.
Michael paced before her. He was so accustomed to noises, he hadn't even heard the jet. "How did you live? What did you eat? Nuts and berries?"
Brit smiled tolerantly. "Canned stuff, mostly. We cooked over an open fire and a one-burner stove. Did you know the bottom of the Grand Canyon is a desert?"
"I do now because you've told me enough. How did you manage in that heat? And I can't imagine Yolanda being content to stay there, too."
"Well, Michael, no one was content to stay. We had no alternative. We all went down together. We all came out together. Except Frank, the pilot. He left early to get help, but got lost. And injured his ankle. Finally he was rescued and met us at the rim. He was lucky twice." She laced and unlaced her fingers. God, she was jittery, and she hated this feeling.
"Then, the three of you—no, there were four, right?"
Brit slammed her hand down on the cushion beside her. "Dammit, Michael, is this a quiz?"
"I'm just curious. Don't you know that I was worried sick about you all that time? I thought you were-" He halted and walked across the room to her. "I didn't know how you were or if you were injured, and I was scared. Now, I just want to know exactly what happened, that's all."
"I'm sorry, Michael. I know it must have been bad for you, just waiting to hear something. And not knowing." She felt terrible for him. Of course, he'd been worried. But she just wanted to be left alone now. To figure out what’s next. She wasn't handling his grilling very well. She should just come to the point and tell him how she felt. But the timing was bad.
He came closer. "Actually, honey, you don't look worse for the wear, all things considered." He picked up a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his finger and thumb. "Better, in fact. Your hair's lovely, maybe even a little softer."
"It's that clear, pure water I had to wash it in. No chemicals." Inadvertently, she shook her head free of Michael's touch, remembering the time Jake had shampooed her hair. His hands worked magic . . .
"Your skin's always been gorgeous, but now it has a little glow. I guess it's from being free of air pollutants."
"Yep. All that fresh air and sunshine." Brit looked away as he brushed her cheek with his forefinger.
"Well, you definitely are slimmer. More fit."
"It's all that walking and climbing on rocks. But riding those mules out yesterday nearly killed us." She laughed and rubbed her rear. "We were all complaining by the time we reached the top."
"I’ll bet." His finger slid beneath her chin and lifted it slightly. "How about a kiss?"
Brit hesitated just long enough to take in a quick breath. "Sure."
He touched her lips with his. When she gave no response, no further encouragement, he backed away. "Okay, obviously you need to acclimate, get used to everything again ... to me."
She hopped up and walked around the strange room, stuffing her hands into her back pockets, the way Jake used to do. "You know, I probably need a brisk five-mile hike to make me feel better." She laughed nervously. "Yeah, it would help me stretch, loosen up."
Michael stood across the room where she had left him. "You hiked five miles every day? What about Yolanda? Did she walk like that?"
"Well, she and Rudi certainly hiked out of the canyon. And that's more than five miles."
"I can’t imagine her doing any of this."
"Hiking out was her idea," Brit explained. "We probably could have gotten out sooner, but Yolanda refused to fly after the crash. Dreamed of crashing again and simply wou
ld not fly out of the canyon."
"So you all stayed with her? Because she wanted you to?"
Brit nodded. Michael wouldn't understand, so she gave up trying to explain. "That's right. We all stayed together."
"Strange. This whole thing is so strange, Brit. And, I must admit, you seem . . . different. Almost like you're sorry to be here."
"I know it's kind of hard to believe. You can't understand what it was like there. I think you just had to be there, Michael. I suppose I do need some time to adjust. Everything has happened so fast."
"Um-hum. I guess." He waited a moment, then asked, "So, who was the man?"
Brit frowned at him. "What?"
"Don't play coy, Brit. It isn't like you at all. You know exactly who I'm talking about. The man who came out with the three of you. The tall one. Dark hair. Had a Native American look."
"Oh, you mean Jake Landry." She tried to say his name casually, tried not to show the deep emotion she felt in merely uttering his name. "He’s the man who saved our lives," she finished succinctly.
"So tell me about him. About the two of you."
She folded her arms. "What do you want to know?" What could she say to Michael about Jake? That he was the smartest, most interesting man she'd ever known? That he was the best lover she had ever had? That he had completely captured her heart, then sent her away?
"What was he doing down there right where you crashed? Quite a coincidence, wasn't it?"
"Well, he wasn't exactly where we crashed. We had to hike to his camp." She paused, remembering. It seemed like eons ago that they'd first followed Jake to his encampment and begun their odyssey.
"Why was he there?"
Brit propped her fists on her hips and took a deep breath. "Look, Michael, I'm sure we've hit twenty questions by now, and I'm tired of it. The man's an archeologist and professor from Northern Arizona University. He was working on a special project to chart and document ancient Indian ruins in the canyon. Did you know that there were people living in that area when Columbus discovered America? We had to wait until Jake finished his project so he could lead us out. Now, enough about him."
Michael eyed her suspiciously, then gave a shrugging motion with his hands out. "Okay, okay. Don't come unglued. I was just making conversation. It’s good to talk about your ordeal."
Brit turned away from him and stared again out the window at her limited view. Yes, she was touchy about Jake. She couldn't talk about him casually, that much was obvious.
"So what was Yolanda like? What did you say to her?" Then he asked rhetorically, "What does one say to The Yolanda?"
Brit turned around. Maybe Michael was just curious about her experiences, after all. His questions made her realize that he was impressed with Yolanda's status. She was, indeed, a TV star, something Brit had lost sight of during their canyon journey. Most people didn't think of Yolanda's routines as a performance and her writing as a job. They, including Michael, thought of her as being just glamorous and automatically funny.
"Yolanda was . . . just fine. In the beginning, she expected certain things. Especially Rudi, her husband. He hovered over her like a nanny making demands for his spoiled brat. But there were no conveniences for anyone; we were all the same down there. When they realized that, they came around. Yolanda was great." Brit smiled to herself, remembering their fun.
"I can't imagine her sleeping on the ground and eating from a can."
"She volunteered to help the cook and got pretty creative with dried and canned stuff. She even made a special meal for my birthday. There were nopalitos from the local cacti." Brit chuckled warmly. "And Rudi made a big pancake with a candle. It was . . . great."
"You had a party down there?"
"It was a very creative. We had to make the best of what was available to us. Yolanda and Rudi like to party. Actually, they're caring, congenial people." Brit paused. "But when we reached the top yesterday, the media besieged us. Yolanda was the only one who felt at ease, so we let her have them."
"I noticed you didn't have much to say."
Brit shook her head. "And then things happened so fast, we never even got to say goodbye."
"You came together as strangers. Maybe it's just as well that you parted the same way."
"But we weren't strangers when we parted. Far from it. We'd lived together and-" Brit gritted her teeth and a knot formed quickly in her stomach at Michael's glibness. Had she and Jake parted as strangers? She certainly didn't think so. Did they mean nothing more to each other than that? It hurt her to consider it. But sitting here, talking with Michael about it wouldn't do a thing except make her more miserable. This was between her and Jake. And apparently, he was satisfied with them going their separate ways.
"And what?" Michael waited for her to finish her sentence.
But Brit changed the subject. She had to get out of here; had to get busy, before Michael wanted more from her, wanted what she was not capable of giving. "Say, Michael, according to the shooting schedule, they're filming some scenes this afternoon on Long Ago and Far Away. Why don't we go over to the studio and watch?"
"You want me to go along?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Okay," he agreed as he considered the prospects. "It'd be fun. We might even see some stars."
The producer was a short, busy man. Shorter than Brit, Isaac Holtzbach was so energetic, he could hardly sit still. His desk was overrun with a mountain of papers and the phone rang incessantly, interrupting their conversation at least a dozen times.
Holtzbach sprang from sitting to standing while talking to her and Michael, anxiously pacing the tiny space behind his desk when he was on the phone. Each conversation bounded strangely from one subject to another with no coherence or transition, so that most of the time, it made absolutely no sense to listen to him. He used the same technique when talking to them until Brit's mind was a blur trying to keep up with him.
He was animated and spoke with his hands as well. "Avalon is perfect for this role. Why she's Bonnie, herself, reincarnate. You're going to love her, just love her, Brit. And Julio Riva is her Indian lover—eh, eh, whatsisname."
"Knife Wing," Brit answered, aggravated that the man couldn't remember the hero's name. He made her nervous.
"Yeah-yeah-yeah. Knife Wing." His voice dwindled away and he held up one finger to them while he answered the phone again and began jabbering into the speaker.
Brit squirmed and gave Michael a weary glance while Holtzbach paced and jumped subjects. She had never felt so out of place in her life. Was this the man who held Long Ago and Far Away in the palm of his hand? She shuddered to think it was true.
Holtzbach halted his telephone diatribe, hung up as abruptly as he had begun and continued his conversation with Brit as if there had been no interruption. "Riva's Mexican, but he looks Indian. So, you want to meet him? He's one handsome dude. He's doing the scene this afternoon where he plays the flute. And Bonnie gives him the first kiss. Come on and we'll watch."
Brit perked up. This was what she needed, to watch the action of the actual movie. The flute scene was one of her favorites. Right away, she thought of Jake and the night he played for her by the campfire.
Before they could leave the office, the door swung open and a man with a baseball cap on backwards and wearing a black tank top with a skull and crossbones on the front burst into the room. He looked beyond, or through, Brit and addressed Holtzbach with a pointing finger that punctuated each loud, angry exposition.
"Avalon cannot act! She cannot kiss! She cannot walk across the street with a natural motion, much less climb onto a horse without falling off the other side! Either she goes or I do!"
Holtzbach smiled hugely. "Come on, Laird-baby. Take it easy, easy. You'll stir your blood pressure up again. I’ll talk to her."
"I've talked to her and it's useless. She's a brick wall. Maybe you want to delay production while someone gives her acting lessons."
"Now, now, now, that won't be necessary. I'm sure that she—"<
br />
The man called Laird interrupted. "I'm not waiting around for her to get the hang of this. Dump her by tomorrow, Isaac. I mean it!" And he wheeled around and left.
Brit blinked. Had she seen what she thought she had? It was crazy.
"The director, Laird Sutcliff," Holtzbach said in a low voice, ushering them out of his office. "My wife's cousin. Trouble with a capital T. But don't you worry about this movie. I won't let him interfere with the production. I'll calm him down, and he’ll do a great job. Everything depends on Avalon, and of course, Julio. But they're great together. You’ll see."
"Isn't the director the most important person around here?" Brit asked, alarmed by the bizarre behavior and explosive display of the director of her movie. "Doesn't he steer everything in the movie, make it work or not?"
"Well, yes, of course. But Laird's a temperamental jackass. This project means so much to him. He wants to get everything just right, and of course, so do I. But he's a perfectionist, and you know how impossible they can be. Don't you worry your pretty head about a thing."
Brit worried. Tension between brothers-in-law who worked on her movie sounded like potential disaster to her. And neither seemed to have the integrity of the story at heart. It was obvious to her that they both wanted to control, and that was a frightening prospect.
Wide-eyed and curious, Michael and Brit followed Holtzbach to the set. They came from a polite world where people's opinions mattered. They had entered a world of rudeness and ruthless power struggles. The way Brit saw it, all of this hassle was so each one could make an individual contribution to the movie. But this was Bonnie's story, and Brit was here to see that it remained so. She couldn't let herself lose sight of that.
Holtzbach pointed a spot where they could stand and watch the performances, yet remain out of the way. Brit was quickly taken with the handsome Julio who held the lovely Avalon in a passionate embrace.
"Cut! Cut!" yelled the director.
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