Beauty and the Brain

by Duncan, Alice

  Brenda, who had managed to learn just about everything there was to know about how to enhance her appearance, did not despair of those freckles, although she knew fashion told women that elegance eschewed them. Any proper woman should, according to popular wisdom, try to eliminate freckles with bleach or powder or whatever else it took. She knew, however, because she’d honed her skills of observation to razor sharpness over the years, that those few freckles could serve to fascinate.

  Any man she’d meet would look at her and see beauty and refinement. When he looked more closely, he’d see freckles, and they’d set him to wondering.

  Let him wonder, the pigheaded highbrow. She’d get him.

  She decided she didn’t need a parasol, but she put on her best kid gloves. Then she took up her Bible. She carried it with her always when she traveled, because it had been given to her by her paternal grandmother, whom she’d loved deeply, and having it reminded her of her family. She didn’t read it often, but every now and then she dove into it, and even enjoyed some of it as long as she didn’t get stuck in long lists of begats.

  She preferred the Psalms. And the Song of Solomon. For a moment, she considered the possibility that Solomon had looked like Colin. Without the eyeglasses. She expected Solomon had been a dark-haired man with that same olive complexion and similar piercing, brown eyes. Perhaps Solomon, being a king and possessing good vision, would have had a slightly more imperious cast to his expression, although Colin could be pretty darned imperious when he wanted to be. She sighed and told herself not to think about Colin. Or the Song of Solomon; she’d allowed her thoughts to dwell on lusty matters too much today already.

  Imagine, wanting to attack Colin Peters and kiss him senseless. Why, if she kept this up, she wouldn’t know herself anymore.

  Because she’d learned long ago how to make an entrance, she waited until all the men in her entourage were gathered in the lobby at the foot of the stairs before she descended. She kept her satisfaction, which was considerable, contained when she heard conversation cease and all eyes turned to gaze upon her. She paid particular attention to Colin, whose eyes opened wide, then thinned as his lips pinched together.

  Which wasn’t precisely the reaction she’d been hoping for, but at least it was a reaction. Darn him, why couldn’t he be as predictable as all the other male animals in the world? Still and all, she knew her role and played it.

  It had taken Brenda great care, thoughtful planning, and intricate execution to achieve the reputation she now enjoyed. In every venue she’d ever appeared, she was regarded not merely with respect and admiration for her beauty and skill as an actress, but with honest sympathy and congeniality, as well. Not for her the reputation as a prima donna who threw temperament around like confetti and who used people like cleaning rags. She appreciated her audiences too much to treat them badly, and she wanted them to like her.

  Therefore, while she made every effort to play up her natural good looks, she then invariably went out, of her way to act natural, as if she were the girl next door. She’d discovered some time ago that the discrepancy between her appearance and her behavior charmed people. Especially men, who were simple but vain creatures. No man would admit to having been captivated by a woman’s devices. Heck, no. Men liked to believe they were the captivators.

  Fat chance. Most of the men Brenda knew, with a few exceptions like Martin Tafft, were obtuse and conceited and difficult to take seriously.

  Unfortunately for her, Colin Peters was not at all obtuse, seemed to possess little or no conceit, and she found herself taking him far too seriously. She wasn’t easily defeated, though, and she was going to keep working on him.

  She wondered if she should have lost her temper at him this morning. Too late now, but she did wonder. In fact, she’d wondered about it all through her bath and luncheon and afternoon in the parlor as she attempted to read Gwen Wister’s The Virginian. It was a great book, but Brenda couldn’t keep her mind on it.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs, grinned heartily and held her hand out to Martin. “All ready?”

  “We’re ready.” Martin didn’t go so far as to wink at her, but he gave her an answering grin.

  Good old Martin. He knew all about her designs and devices; they’d discussed them. What’s more, he approved of them and of her, and she liked him for it “How far away is this chapel? I think we should walk.”

  “You’ll get your skirt dusty,” Colin pointed out, sounding grumpy, as if he considered women’s skirts idiotic things:

  She gave him a deliberate smile “Why, thank you for thinking of my skirt, Colin. I believe I can keep it out of the dust, though, and I’d like to walk. The air is so fresh and delicious up here.”

  He frowned heavily. “Very well.”

  Brenda wasn’t sure, but she thought she detected a hint of sulkiness in his voice. She hoped it was there, because it would mean she’d affected him. Perhaps not in the way she wanted eventually to affect him, but it was a start.

  “Here, Brenda, please let me carry your Bible.”

  It was one of her group of attendant admirers, and Brenda bestowed a gracious smile and her Bible upon him. “Thank you, Henry. It’s very kind of you to offer.”

  Henry blushed. Brenda shot a quick peek at Colin and found him scowling and looking aggrieved, as if he didn’t approve of Henry’s overt puppy love. The big putz. It would do Colin Peters a world of good to be taken down a peg. What he needed was to fall in love. And to have his love remain unrequited. That would teach him.

  Since Martin was in charge of the Peerless setup here in the mountains, and since Brenda liked and trusted him, she took his arm as the group set out to walk to church.

  The Peerless crowd took up three whole pews in the small church and garnered stares from the rest of the congregation. Colin wasn’t enjoying himself one little bit and couldn’t understand why he’d decided to join this party. He didn’t care about attending church, and he didn’t like being the center of attention. In fact, he hated it. Unless he was lecturing, of course, but that was a different matter entirely.

  He pushed his glasses up his nose and noted with disapproval that Brenda accepted the stares and amazed looks as if they were nothing out of the way. And, for her, they weren’t.

  He’d feel better if she’d preen or bask in the admiration of the masses or do something else that would indicate her vanity, dash it. But she didn’t. She didn’t even studiously ignore the rest of the congregation. It would have been ludicrous to have done so, but Colin didn’t want to allow her even that much astuteness. In fact, she handled her celebrity brilliantly. In this instance, she offered a congenial smile to the world at large and sat down with no fuss at all.

  It really wasn’t fair of her to act like a normal human being, and Colin didn’t like it. He also didn’t believe it. All this grace and charm was only a pose; he knew it. She’d forget herself one of these days and act like the temperamental so-and-so she really was. He could hardly wait.

  In the meantime, he sat next to her on the bench. In order to do so, he had to scuttle in front of Henry, the ridiculous, lovesick toady, knocking him slightly sideways and sending him bumping into another pew. Henry frowned at him, and he frowned back. Drat the silly puppy. Colin was doing him a favor, if he only knew it.

  “I beg your pardon, but would you please hand Miss Fitzpatrick her Bible?” Henry’s voice was as cold as Flagstaff in winter.

  Colin turned to glare at him and realized he had something in his hands. It was Brenda’s Bible. He took the Bible. “Yes. I’ll be happy to.”

  Henry gave a low growl, then said, “Thank you,” as if he begrudged having to say the words politeness dictated. Silly little twit.

  “You’re welcome.” So much for Henry. Colin sat and practically flung the Bible into Brenda’s lap. “Here. That fellow wanted me to give this to you.” He heard “that fellow” growl again.

  Brenda gave a start and turned to stare at him “Good heavens, Colin, I’m
sure Henry didn’t mean to put you out. Is my grandmother’s Bible that heavy a burden?” As Colin seethed, she leaned forward on the pew and looked at Henry with one of her glorious smiles; the ones that seemed to fade the sun, blot out the moon and stars, and obscure everything else around them. Colin shook himself internally and told himself to get a grip. “Thank you, Henry. I appreciate your kindness.”

  Henry, needless to say, blushed. Colin wanted to throw something. A fit, maybe.

  Colin only became aware that the congregation had been buzzing like a hive of agitated bees when the organist started playing and folks shut up. When he glanced around, he saw that nearly every person in the place was still staring at Brenda, but they’d evidently stopped talking about her.

  “I don’t know how you can stand being the center of attention all the time,” he grumbled under his breath.

  “I’m used to it.” She shrugged. “It’s a living.”

  “I’m sure it feeds your ego considerably.” It was snippy, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he’d said it. He wasn’t normally petty.

  “I’m sure it would if I let it.” She chuckled, a low, sweet sound that made gooseflesh rise on Colin’s arm s and made him think of lush tropical forests and making love on a mossy bank beside a waterfall. With birds chirping sweetly in the trees. Surrounded by flowers; flowers that emitted the same sweet fragrance he could smell now, very faintly, and which he’d come to recognize as Brenda’s scent. His sex responded immediately to the happy notion of making love with Brenda. Thank God nobody could see. How embarrassing.

  This, he realized immediately, is why he found Brenda Fitzpatrick so blasted bothersome. She had this terrible effect on him. He hadn’t even been able to concentrate on his reading this afternoon because he kept replaying their conversations in his head. He had been totally engrossed in the study of the socioeconomic conditions prevailing in the Belgian Congo and the decline of the head-hunting and pygmy populations therein. Fascinating subjects, both of them. Until he met Brenda. She made him feel out of control. He hated the feeling with something akin to passion.

  “But you don’t let it go to your head?” He manufactured a pretty good sneer to go along with his doubtful tone.

  She was still smiling at him and making him feel sort of like a snotty schoolboy when she answered him. “What’s the point? People are only intrigued by who they think I am. I’m fortunate to be attractive, and a pretty face is nothing I attained by my own efforts. It’s a gift from God. That’s all.”

  That’s all? That’s all? This, from a woman who earned more money in a week than Colin and a dozen academicians like him could make in a year. She was shrugging off the insanity of people who worshiped her as a goddess for doing nothing but being pretty! And she was saying she wasn’t at fault; that God had created her! Colin had a notion his sense of outrage about the whole thing wasn’t rational, but it was there.

  He said dryly, “How fortunate, then, that God waved his magic wand over you.” That was probably blasphemous, especially as he was at present sitting in a church, but he was too angry to care.

  She laughed again softly. Lord, he wished she wouldn’t do that. Her laughter did strange things to his senses. He pretended to become absorbed in the hymnal, which was pretty much like any other hymnal he’d ever seen.

  He jumped almost out of his skin when she poked him in the ribs with her elbow. He swiveled his head and glowered at her, incensed.

  She grinned. “Get over it, Colin I can’t help what I am any more than you can help what you are. I wish we could be friends.”

  “Friends?” The idea wouldn’t have occurred to him a million years. Friends with Brenda Fitzpatrick, star of comedy stage and celluloid? Absurd. Ridiculous. He was a serious scholar.

  “Sure. I’d love to learn more from you about the Navajos. It must have been fascinating to have lived with the on the reservation.”

  Recalling the miserable conditions prevailing on the reservation, Colin shuddered involuntarily. He eyed her for a long moment, and, then an amusing thought struck him “Very well, Brenda. I’ll tell you about life on the reservation.” He smiled, thinking of, all the stories about starvation and disease, filth, flies, and misery, he’d be able to impart. Little did she know what was in store for her.

  She beamed at him, making him feel only a bit guilty.

  “Thank you, Colin. I really appreciate it.”

  He doubted she would for long. This would bring her down, though; he was sure of it. This would teach her to—to—to— To what?

  As the minister started speaking, Colin couldn’t remember why he was trying to teach Brenda Fitzpatrick anything at all, much less a severe lesson in the tragedies of history. He began to experience a vague and unsettling notion that his attitude about Brenda owed more to emotion than to reason. He’d never allowed his emotions to dictate to him before. This was very irksome.

  He blamed Brenda.

  The next morning Brenda approached Martin and Colin somewhat tentatively. She didn’t want to get barked at before breakfast. They were discussing last evening’s sermon, much to her surprise. She greeted the two men and then stood by, silently listening to them talk until her excitement overcame her and she had to join in.

  Colin said, “It was Paul who did it. Peter wanted the church’s headquarters to stay in Jerusalem. For the first fifty years or so, Christianity was only another sect of Judaism, and that would have made sense.”

  “Is that so?” Martin took a bite out of his apple and squinted into the distance where the cameramen were setting up to film the first sequence of Indian Love Song.

  Colin nodded. “Sure. Haven’t you ever wondered why the Christian center ended up in Rome, even though the Romans used to take sport in persecuting the Christians?” He seemed to be interested in the proceedings, too.

  Brenda wished she could snag him, lead him off into the woods, and pick his brain about the history of Christianity. All of this stuff was so interesting. “I didn’t know that, although it makes sense. About being a sect of Judaism, I mean, and the headquarters being in Jerusalem. After all, Jesus was a Jew.”

  Martin laughed, evidently finding Brenda’s assessment somewhat outlandish. Colin nodded, but it seemed like an approving nod. Unless Brenda was imagining things.

  “Right,” he said. “Most people seem to overlook that salient point when studying their religions. There were huge arguments over whether or not Gentiles—Greeks and Romans, for instance—needed to convert to Judaism before they could call themselves Christians.”

  “Oh, my! My goodness, I never knew that.” She wished she dared ask how in heck he knew all this stuff but knew he’d only sneer if she did.

  Colin made some kind of noise that she interpreted as signifying his lack of amazement at her ignorance. She chose not to get upset.

  “The earliest Christians were divided as to whether they still had to follow Jewish law, or if they could safely abandon it without being damned. The laws were extensive and governed all aspects of life, from circumcision to what kinds of foods one could eat.”

  Circumcision? Brenda blinked at him, wondering if he was trying to embarrass her No. He was still studying the set construction crew casually, as if he talked about such things every day. Which he well might, for all she knew.

  “It was Paul who introduced the concept of spirituality’s ascendance over works, deeds, and rules, so to speak.”

  “What do you mean?” This was so fascinating. Brenda almost wished she could chuck making the picture and simply hang out with Colin for a couple of months. Or years. Or lifetimes.

  He twitched his shoulders, as if he were slightly peeved to have to be telling her these things. “He eschewed following the Jewish laws and preached simple belief and faith in the man he’d come to consider the Messiah. He’s the first one who told people they needed only believe that Jesus was the risen Christ in order to be saved and given eternal life. So to speak. I imagine he considered the legend
about the temple curtain tearing when Jesus died as signifying the removal of intermediaries interceding between God and man. His concept of the faith was direct, from man to God.”

  “My goodness.” Now this, thought Brenda, was keen stuff. She wished she could pick his brains some more, but Martin started talking, and she decided to give it a rest for the time being. She’d get him later.

  “This is going to be a great picture,” Martin announced with enthusiasm.

  Martin was always enthusiastic. It was one of the things Brenda liked about him. He shared her appreciation for the good things life had sent him. Unlike her, Martin was apt to get upset and depressed when things didn’t go his way, but other than that they were a lot alike. Brenda figured his tendency to become distraught was because he hadn’t faced enough real hardships in his life. Long ago Brenda had figured out that worry didn’t change anything.

  As for Colin . . . Well, she just didn’t know about Colin.

  She was glad he seemed less hostile this morning than he had yesterday evening. She couldn’t figure him out. At the moment, he was standing in his shirtsleeves with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked grouchy. He always looked grouchy.

  “You know, Martin, this is all wrong,” he said at last, as if he couldn’t keep silent another moment longer. “Those structures aren’t the kinds built by the Hunkpapa. The Hunkpapas’ tipis are totally different.”

  Martin heaved a sigh. “They aren’t supposed to be Hunkpapas. They’re supposed to be Apaches.”

  “But they aren’t right for Apaches, either, whether you’re talking Mescalero or Chiricahua or any other variety. In fact, I can’t imagine any self-respecting Indian building something that nonsensical for his family to live in. Canvas! And flowers! My God.”