Palomino (1981)

by Steel, Danielle

  Yes. A little sob shook her, but she pulled herself together quickly. No, really, I'm all right. Bill had a little heart attack last week. Nothing major. He's already back from the hospital, and the doctor says that it's nothing to be unduly alarmed about, but' Suddenly fresh sobs shook her. Oh, Sam, I thought if something happened ' I don't know what I'd do. I couldn't live without him. It was the first time that they had faced that, and she was terrified now that she'd lose him. I just couldn't go on if something happened to Bill. She sobbed softly into the phone.

  My God, why didn't you call me? Samantha looked stunned.

  I don't know, it all happened so quickly. And I stayed at the hospital with him, and I've been awfully busy since he got home. He was only there for a week, and the doctor says it's nothing.' She was repeating herself in her anxiety and Sam could feel tears sting her eyes too.

  Do you want me to come out there?

  Don't be silly.

  I'm serious. I don't have to be here. They lived without me all winter, they can manage fine. Especially now that I've done all the groundwork for them, all they have to do is find the locations and then have a production house do the film. I could be out there tomorrow, Aunt Caro. Do you want me?

  I always want you, darling. The older woman smiled through her tears. And I love you very much. But we're fine really. You take care of your commercials and I'll take care of Bill and he'll be fine. I just didn't think that right now the disruption

  Of course not. I'm sorry I asked you, but I'm not really. If I hadn't asked, I would never have known about Bill. You're a rat not to have called me! You're sure you can manage?

  Positive. And if I need you, I'll call you.

  Promise?

  Solemnly. Caroline smiled again.

  And then Sam asked the next question gently. Is he staying at the house? She hoped so, it would be a lot easier for Aunt Caro, and a lot more agreeable for him.

  But Caroline sighed and shook her head. No, of course not. He's so stubborn, Sam. He's staying at his old cabin. Now I'm the one sneaking in and out all night long.

  That's ridiculous. Can't you pretend to put him up in the guest room? Hell, he's been the foreman there for almost thirty years, would that be so shocking?

  He thinks so, and I'm not supposed to upset him so I let him have his way.

  Men! Sam snorted as she said it and Caroline laughed.

  I completely agree.

  Well, give him my love and tell him to take it easy, and I'll call you in a few days to see how he is. And then just before she hung up, she called out to her old friend, I love you, Aunt Caro.

  I love you too, Sam dear. And now they were bound in a common secret, the lives of women who loved ranch hands, who had to live shackled by the insane rules of courtship peculiar to ranch hands and ranchers. And now that Caroline had almost lost her beloved foreman, she suddenly knew how great was Sam's pain.

  For ten days Sam flew from the Midwest to the Southwest, and then up north again, and only Caroline's insistence that Bill was so much better kept her away from California as well. In each place she stopped she rented cars, stayed at small motels, drove hundreds of miles, and spoke to every conceivable rancher she could lay her hands on, and for her own purposes she spoke to the ranch hands as well. For the purposes of Crane, Harper, and Laub, at the end of ten days she had just what she needed, four splendid ranches, each one totally different, surrounded by varied but always majestic countryside. They were all settings that would make extravagantly beautiful commercials. But for her own purposes, again and again Sam struck out. And as she flew back to New York her sense of victory at having found what she had wanted was vastly outweighed by her depression over not finding Tate. She had called Caroline from her hotel room every evening, inquired about Bill, and then told her who she had talked to, what they had said, and pondered for another hundred times what might have happened to Tate, where he might have gone, which direction he might have taken. By now she had spoken to so many ranchers since he had vanished three months before that she felt certain that if someone found him, saw him, met him, or hired him they would surely drop her a note. She had left her card at all the ranches she had visited, and surely some of that effort would pay off. Maybe he was just taking time to visit relatives along the way and was headed for a specific destination. But again Caroline reminded her that he could be anywhere, on any ranch, and there was always the possibility that he would never surface in Sam's life again. She felt that, for Sam's sake, it had to be faced.

  I'll never give up completely, Sam had said stubbornly only the night before.

  No, but you can't spend the rest of your life waiting either. She didn't say it, but Sam had thought quickly Why not? Instead they had turned the conversation back to Bill and his health. Caroline thought he was much improved, but still weak.

  And now, as the plane landed in New York, Sam thought of him again, and inevitably of Tate. She knew also that for the next month she would think of him every day, every moment, as she interviewed actor after actor after actor to play the role in the commercials. They had already agreed with the client that what they wanted was not four cowboys, but one man. One man who would embody all that was powerful and masculine and good and true and sexy in this country. And all Sam could think of was someone who looked like Tate.

  In the ensuing weeks, as she spent hours meeting the actors sent over by the city's biggest modeling agencies, she compared them all to him. She wanted someone tall, broad shouldered, in his early forties, with a deep mellifluous voice, kind, with interesting eyes and strong hands, a good seat in the saddle ' what she really wanted was Tate. It was as though each time her secretary announced another group of actors to audition, Sam went to meet them expecting to see him. What she saw instead were dazzling blondes with broad shoulders; tall, dark, handsome men; ex-football-players, and even an ex-hockey-goalie; men with rugged faces, deep-set eyes, and strong chins; but most of them seemed too plastic, some had bad voices, faces that were too pretty, one looked more like a ballet dancer than a cowboy. In the end, after four weeks of looking, she found her man, and it was a good thing. The shoot was only two weeks away, scheduled for July fifteenth.

  The man they chose was actually English, but his Western accent was so perfect that no one would have known. For years he had been a Shakespearean actor at Stratford-on-Avon, and two years before he had decided to come to New York and start doing commercials, because he was tired of demanding roles with too little pay. Now he was advertising soft drinks, men's underwear, and a line of tools in national commercials that were paying him a handsome wage. He had shoulders from one side of the room to the other, a handsome angular face that was good-looking but not too pretty, deep blue eyes, and dark reddish-brown hair. He looked totally the part, and every man in America would want to identify with him and their wives would dream of the car being advertised, in the hopes that the cowboy in the commercial might somehow appear at the wheel. He was exactly what they needed for the commercial, and the only thing that amused Samantha, as she told Charlie, was that their new Western hero was decidedly gay.

  Does he look it? Charlie looked worried.

  Hell no, he's an actor. And he is gorgeous!

  Well, do yourself a favor, don't fall in love with him.

  I'll try not to. But the best part was that she liked him. His name was Henry Johns-Adams, and if nothing else he would be good company on the trip. He was extremely well-read, terribly polite, very cultured, and he seemed to have a good sense of humor as well. It would be a real relief from some of the self-centered, undisciplined egomaniacs she had had along on other shoots. You coming west with us, Charlie?

  I don't know, Sam. I hate to leave Mellie. If she has the baby by then, it'll be okay. If not, I may have to send two of my assistants. Can you manage?

  If I have to. And then with a gentle smile, How's she feeling?

  Fat, exhausted, fed up, bitchy. But I love her anyway. And it's almost over. The baby's due at the end
of next week.

  What are you going to name him? She hadn't gotten off his back about it being a boy again.

  Her. And you'll see. We're not telling what we're going to name her. It's a surprise this time.

  Come on, tell me, Charlie. Charlotte, if it's a girl? She loved to tease him and he pinched her behind as he shook his head and disappeared.

  As it turned out, Mellie had the baby that weekend, a week early for a change and a girl this time, finally. The surprise was that they named her Samantha. When Charlie told her in the office on Tuesday after the Fourth of July weekend, there were tears in Sam's eyes.

  Do you mean it?

  Sure I do. Want to come see her?

  Are you kidding? I'd love to. Mellie's not too tired?

  Hell no. The fourth one's easy. It sounds disgusting but she walked out of the delivery room. Freaked me out, but the doctor said it was okay.

  It makes me nervous just hearing about it. Like all women who have never had children, Samantha was amazed by the entire process and the whole mystique.

  They went to the hospital together at lunchtime, and Mellie looked happy and healthy and glowing in a lace-trimmed pink bathrobe, with pink satin slippers, a huge grin on her face, and the tiny pink and white baby nestled in her arms. For a long moment Sam said absolutely nothing. She just stood and stared at the delicate bundle, her eyes riveted to the baby's face.

  She's so beautiful, Mellie. Sam said it in a whisper, in tones of awe, and Charlie chuckled from where he stood just behind her.

  Yeah. But we would have named her Samantha even if she'd been ugly. Sam turned around and made a face at him. It dispelled the enormity of the moment, and Sam's sudden longing for what she could never have, the miracle of childbirth and her own child. Lately she had seldom let her thoughts wander in that direction, but for the first time in a long time, as she stood there gazing down at the new baby, she felt her heart ache for the lost dream.

  Want to hold her? Melinda looked lovelier than Sam had ever seen her. There was a kind of quiet glow that seemed to emanate from the very depths of her soul and at the same time envelop the baby as it lay precious and protected in its mother's arms.

  I don't think so. Sam shook her head and sat down on a corner of the bed, her eyes still riveted to the small child. I'd be afraid to break her.

  They're tougher than they look. It was the claim of every mother. Here' try it. Without warning, Melinda dropped the baby into Sam's arms and settled her there as they all watched the baby stretch, curl herself up again, and then smile. She was sound asleep as she lay there, and Sam could feel the baby's warmth in her arms.

  She's so tiny!

  No, she's not! Mellie laughed. She weighs eight and a half pounds!

  But a moment later the brand-new Samantha discovered that she was hungry and awoke, looking for her mother, with a yowl. The elder Samantha returned her to the safety of Melinda, and a few minutes later she and Charlie went back to the office, as Samantha felt again how much was missing in her life. It was one of those times when the fact that she was sterile weighed on her like a boulder on her guts.

  And then, as she stopped in the doorway of her office, she remembered and called out to Charlie. Does this mean you're coming west with me?

  He nodded, smiling, I would have had to anyway.

  How come? She looked surprised.

  Just to be sure you don't rape our cowboy!

  Not likely. She grinned at him and disappeared into her office. The agony of seeing the baby subsided slightly, though it didn't leave her completely for the rest of the day.

  Everybody ready? Charlie looked at them with a broad grin, and then bowed at the entourage and waved them onto the airplane. They were traveling on a commercial airline to Arizona, but there were so many of them, it seemed as though they had bought out most of first class. There were seven people from the production company, and in addition Sam, Charlie, their two assistants, Henry Johns-Adams the English actor and his friend. To add to the mountain of luggage and equipment and miscellaneous crates and boxes. Henry and his roommate had brought along their dog, a tiny white poodle named Georgie, which Samantha prayed would not manage to dart underneath the feet of any horses. If it did, it was so little that it would probably be all over, and most likely so would the shoot.

  In addition they were being met in Arizona by a makeup person and a hairdresser, both of whom had been workin in L.A. and would continue on with the group from Crane, Harper, and Laub for the rest of the trip.

  Think they got all our luggage? Henry's friend whispered to Samantha nervously, and she convinced him that it was assuredly all on the plane. But there's so much.

  They're used to it. Besides she smiled reassuringly this is first class. As though that made a difference, as though they wouldn't just as easily lose one of his matched Vuitton suitcases as they would one of the crew's pieces of Samsonite luggage or one of the zillion-dollar pieces of equipment. And once again she realized what a great deal of work she'd have on this journey. Having thought up the concept, almost completely written the ads herself, found the locations, cast the leading man, organized the troupes, selected the production house and approved their bid, what she was going to do now, for the next two weeks, in four different locations, was reassure everyone that they would be fed soon, it would only take a few more takes, the weather would be cooler tomorrow, the air conditioning in the hotel would be repaired by noon, and the food couldn't possibly be this bad in the next town. And having a nervous gay boyfriend and a French poodle along wouldn't help anything. On the other hand Henry Johns-Adams had already proven to be even tempered, amusing, and a good sport, and Sam was hopeful that he would keep both his lover and his pet in line. She didn't mind his being gay, but she was a little uptight about having him bring his little entourage. Nonetheless, he had insisted, and they wanted him badly enough to have brought his mother and fourteen of his dearest friends.

  The drinks on the plane helped everyone's nerves and their spirits. Charlie was in grand form and entertained them all, and finally, half an hour out of Tucson, they all relaxed. They had no work to do that day. They Were going to drive a hundred and fifty miles to their location, in three rented station wagons, with all the equipment, and then they'd all have a good dinner and a good night's sleep and get to work bright and early the next day. Sam's ranch hours were about to stand her in good stead, because she figured that she'd be up every morning by four thirty. And every night, for an hour or two after work, she had a plan. She had already made up the list of additional people she wanted to talk to, and after working on whichever ranch all day, she'd hang out with the ranch hands for a while and just chat. Maybe one of them had worked with Tate somewhere, maybe one of them would know a link a relative, an old employer, someone who might know where he was by now. It was worth a try. Anything was. As the plane lowered its landing gear Samantha smiled to herself, feeling hopeful. You never knew, maybe one of these days she would walk onto a ranch, look up at a tall handsome cowboy leaning against a fence post, and it wouldn't be a stranger this time. It would be Tate, with those green eyes, and the gentle smile, and the mouth that she so loved.' Tate.'

  You okay, Sam? Charlie had tapped her arm, and when she turned in surprise, he was looking at her strangely.

  Huh? She still looked startled.

  I've been talking to you for about ten minutes.

  That's nice.

  I wanted to know who you want to drive the other two cars. She quickly brought her mind back to business and gave instructions, but it wasn't what she was thinking about as they landed and her eyes lingered on the horizon, wondering if by the next day, or the day after, she would have found him.' Tate, are you there? She wanted to whisper the words, but she knew that there would be no answer. There was no way of knowing. She just had to keep looking. But that was why she was here.

  They were among the first off the plane, and she organized the group quickly, picking up the station wagons, assigning drivers, ha
nding out maps, buying boxes of sandwiches for the trip, giving out vouchers for their motel in case they arrived separately from each other in the three cars. She had thought of everything, as she always did.

  In the car she drove she had Charlie, the hairdresser, the makeup artist, the star, his boyfriend, the poodle, and all the Vuitton luggage. The equipment, the crew, and the assistants went in the two other cars.

  All set? Charlie looked around behind him and then handed out cans of cold fruit juice. It was hotter than hell in Arizona, and they were all relieved to be in an air-conditioned car. Henry was in the process of telling funny stories about being on tour in England, the boyfriend had kept them all in stitches with tales of what it had been like to discover he was gay in Dubuque, the hairdresser and makeup girl had plenty of stories to tell about their recent trip to L.A. to coif and paint a noted rock star, and the trip went along pleasantly until they reached the hotel. Here, predictably, unfolded the first drama. The hotel owner didn't allow dogs, didn't think much of Henry's friend, looked with horror at the hairdresser's flaming-red hair with the little blue punk fringe across the front, and scowled horribly at them ugly brown bags. Henry's friend almost caressed his beloved Vuitton and threatened to sleep in the car if he had to, but he was not leaving the dog. A hundred dollar bill, which would appear on the expense account as tips and miscellaneous, helped grease the way for Georgie to stay in the hideous turquoise vinyl splendor of the hotel too.

  You look beat, Sam. Charlie sprawled on a couch in her room and watched her pore over a sheet of notes on a clipboard. She looked up with a grin and threw a crumpled ball of paper that hit his left ear.

  You must be kidding. Me? Why would I look tired? I'm just dragging around the country with a bunch of eccentrics and a French poodle. Why should I be tired, Charlie?

  I'm not tired. He looked virtuous and she made a face.

  No wonder. You never work.