Beauty and the Brain

by Duncan, Alice

  “I’m not at all appalled by your actions, George, so you needn’t think I’m going to lecture you.”

  His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Although,” she temporized, because she felt she should, “I do think you ought to call your parents and tell them where you are. They’ll be panic-stricken if the school makes contact with them and they don’t know where you are.”

  He picked up a twig and threw it into the trees. “You’re right, of course,” he said dispiritedly. “I suppose there’s a telephone in the lodge. I guess I can place a long-distance call from there.”

  “Sure you can. You’ll have to go through the long-distance operator. Peerless always makes sure there’s telephone communication available, no matter where they’re filming.”

  “I’ll try to place a call tonight.” He sounded glum.

  Brenda felt better about him now that she knew he’d actually studied the profession he wanted to become a part of and wasn’t merely a starry-eyed kid. George had aroused her sympathy and she wanted to help him “Why don’t you let me talk to Martin about you? I have no idea what tests prospective set designers are put to before Peerless hires them, but I’m sure he can tell you.”

  Again, his eyes opened wide. “You mean, you think I’m not an idiot for wanting to try to make a career in the motion pictures?” He sounded perfectly astounded.

  “An idiot? Good heavens, no! The industry is growing like a patch of mushrooms these days. They’re going to need more and more talented people to do the work. You might as well be one of them. I’m sure it would be more fun to earn a living doing something you like than something you merely tolerate. Or something you outright hate.” With a pang, she remembered her mother, who’d taken in laundry before her husband died. Thank God those days were over for good.

  He blinked, as if he’d never heard another human being express his own inner thoughts out loud—and casually, at that, as if there was nothing innately wrong with his desires. She grinned, knowing full well what he was thinking. Laying a hand on his shoulder, she said, “Don’t worry, George. Not everyone in the world thinks academia is the only life worth living.”

  She thought it might be, but that was not the point at present.

  “Thank you,” he said humbly. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  “You just did.” She left him with a wink that made his mouth drop open.

  Men. They were all alike. Except Colin, damn him

  Chapter Twelve

  “You what?” Colin’s fury rose like the mercury thermometer on a hot day.

  Brenda appeared as cool and collected as ever; as if she hadn’t just proved herself to be an interfering meddler, a pest, a bother, and a detriment to humankind. “I said,” she said, and there was a distinct chill in her voice, “I persuaded Martin to take your brother on as sort of an apprentice.”

  “I swear, I can’t believe anybody—” He didn’t finish the sentence, mainly because he didn’t know what to say. He was angry. Irate. Furious. He wanted to thump George until he was nothing but a pasty lump. Then he wanted to hurl him off the mountain. Then he wanted to jump up and down and stamp his feet and holler and yell and rip things up and use that damned baseball bat of Jerry Begay’s to smash all the windows in the lodge.

  “Fiddlesticks,” said Brenda, as if he weren’t standing there seething like a volcano ready to erupt. “George came out here to work in the pictures, and I just got him a job. I should think you’d thank me instead of pitching one of your fits.”

  “I’m not pitching a fit!” Colin roared at a fitful pitch. “I’m—I’m—”

  Dash it, he was jealous. Of his younger brother. Good God. This was the most damnable thing that had ever happened to him.

  “You’re what?” Brenda asked, clipping the words very short.

  Not in a million years would Colin admit to being jealous of George. He was humiliated internally by his reaction to Brenda’s interest in George; he’d be flayed alive before he’d admit his condition to anyone else. “I’m astounded that you should take such a responsibility upon yourself.” Which was a lie. Nothing Brenda did could astound him anymore. “Don’t you believe you overstepped the bounds of propriety at all? Or don’t you know what they are?”

  He saw her face drain of color, and then two hectic red patches bloom on her cheeks. He mentally punched himself in the jaw for being a boor, much as he wanted to punch George for not being a scientist.

  “No,” she said frigidly. “I do not believe I stepped over the bounds of propriety. And yes, I do know what they are.”

  She wheeled around as if she couldn’t bear to be in his company for another second longer. Colin’s, insides cried out to her not to go, that he couldn’t stand her absence, although he wouldn’t have said so aloud if he’d been granted the privilege to study in all the libraries in the universe and all the time in the universe to do it. He might be a fool, but he had his pride, for whatever good it was to him

  She must have heard his insides pleading, because she turned around again as precipitately as she’d done the first time. “Anyhow, I don’t know why you’re so all-fired mad at me! You sure didn’t look as if you were going to do anything for poor George.” New York had seeped into her voice with a vengeance. Colin guessed it did that when she was mad.

  “Poor George,” Colin mimicked. “Poor George ran away from college like a silly half-witted schoolboy afraid of the dark without mentioning his intentions to anyone, much less our parents—who are, might I remind you, the people footing the bill for his flightiness.”

  “I know.” Her lips tightened. “And I agree he should have consulted your parents before making the break, but—”

  “But what? What justification can you come up with for that sort of behavior?” He managed a fairly decent sneer. “And you said you understood the bounds of propriety.”

  The angry color in her cheeks deepened. If she’d ever looked ravishable—and she did, more’s the pity—she looked a hundred times more so now. Colin could scarcely keep his fists bunched at his sides. They wanted to unclench and reach for her, In fact, he had an irrational impulse to grab her in his arms, throw her up on a horse, and make off with her.

  Lord, what was the matter with him? He’d never harbored fantasies about knight errantry when he was a boy. Why had he started doing it now, as an adult?

  “I do not justify George’s behavior,” Brenda said, and Colin could tell her teeth were clenched. “I think he behaved very badly, in fact.”

  “But you’re rewarding him by getting him a job? Is that logical? Is it appropriate? Or is it the work of a meddling busybody?”

  “Damn you, Colin Peters!”

  Her voice had risen, and Colin saw several people on the set turn to look at them. He said with satisfaction, “You’re calling attention to yourself. I’m sure that’s only natural for you, given your profession, but it isn’t for me, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your voice down.”

  If looks could kill, Colin knew he’d be dead, probably skewered on a spit and roasted over a slow fire for maximum torture value.

  “Very well, I’ll keep my voice down, darn you. And the answer to your question is, I’m not rewarding George. I’m trying to help him. The poor boy didn’t think he had any options left. It’s apparent to me, if not to you, that your parents wouldn’t have understood his wishes in the matter of employment. He thought you might. Obviously he was wrong. He misjudged you, believing you might have some human feelings lurking somewhere inside that cold, fishy exterior of yours. Ha!”

  She uttered the last syllable in a tone of absolute contempt. It made Colin’s innards flush—and maybe his outers, too, although he couldn’t see his face to tell for sure. “That’s absurd.” He knew the two words were inadequate, mainly because he believed Brenda’s assessment of his parents’ attitude, and his own, was accurate. He might even have felt a little ashamed of himself if he weren’t so angry.

  “It’s not nonsense and you kn
ow it. Unfortunately, George didn’t discover how mistaken he was in you until he’d traveled all the way to California. I feel sorry for him. It must be awful to have a family that doesn’t care for one.”

  “We do, too, care!”

  “Ha!”

  There it was again, that one syllable that made Colin feel like a crawling worm.

  “Brenda!”

  Martin’s voice made them both freeze. Brenda turned and forced a smile. Colin knew it was forced because he saw her struggle to produce it. There was no doubt about it: she was a consummate actress.

  She waved at Martin. “I’m here! Do you need me for the scene? I have to change.” She still wore the lovely lilac silk. Colin didn’t want her to take it off—unless he could help her do it.

  God Almighty; he was becoming a lost cause.

  “No, not yet,” Martin called. He was smiling up storm and looking as cheerful as anything. Colin envied Martin his steady disposition. “I just wanted to thank you for telling me about George. He’s doing a great job already!”

  “Good!” She beamed in earnest this time. “I’m glad!”

  Martin and George, who waved and also looked happy, blast his irresponsible soul to perdition, turned back the set. Colin had no idea what they were doing together, but whatever it was entailed a good deal of pointing and twiddling with various stage properties.

  “There,” Brenda said with a superior smirk for Colin. “I told you so. George is a talented young man, and if he doesn’t want to go to college there’s plenty of work for him to do right here in California. In the pictures. And, what’s more, he’s smart to get in at the beginning. Pretty soon, everybody who works here will probably need a zillion college degrees, just like you have. Then we’ll all be just as dull and impossible to get along with as you are. And I, for one, am glad I’ll be retired by then.”

  She even went so far as to poke him in the chest with her forefinger. It hurt, too. If Colin had been a trace less inhibited, or perhaps if he’d read The Adventures of Robin Hood as a lad instead of that umpteenth chemistry book, he might have grabbed her wrist and pulled her into arms. Instead, he could only watch as she wheeled around and marched away from him. He couldn’t recall the time he’d been this depressed.

  It would serve him right if Brenda and George ran away together and got married. He slumped off to nearby chair and sat himself down, glad nobody needed him for the moment.

  Darn and blast and double heck. Brenda stalked to the lodge’s porch, stamped up the stairs, marched over to a roomy wooden deck chair, and sat in a fluff of lilac silk. She couldn’t remember ever being so frustrated and furious as she was after this latest row with Colin. And all because she’d been kind to his brother.

  All right, so the kid had misbehaved. “I suppose you never did anything wrong, Mr. High-and-Mighty, Education-Is-the-Only-Proper-Course-in-Life, Peters,” she muttered savagely. Then she decided he probably hadn’t ever done anything wrong. Doing wrong had unquestionably never even occurred to him. The pickled shrimp.

  Perhaps not shrimp. He was a fairly large man. Really quite large. At least six feet tall. Probably more. And very well-built, actually. Darn it. It wasn’t fair that he should look so good, since he was such a raging pill.

  “So I don’t know what the bounds of propriety are, do I?” she grumbled. “I’m an interfering busybody, am I?”

  She picked up a fallen pine cone and heaved it at a tall tree next to the porch. A frightened blue jay bolted out of the tree as if it had been shot from a gun.

  “I’m sorry, bird.” Brenda sat glowering as a blue feather drifted to earth beneath the tree: When it floated out of her range of vision, she growled, “So I rewarded him for misbehaving, did I? Bah!” She kicked at a post holding up the porch railing. A squirrel scolded her sharply from a tree limb. “I did no such thing! I helped the kid see what working in the pictures might be like. At least he’ll know now if he wants to pursue the business or not. What’s wrong with that, I’d like to know?”

  She wanted to race back over to Colin and slap him silly.

  No, she wanted to kick him

  No, what she wanted to do was screech at him for several hours.

  She sank her head into her cupped hands and confessed to herself that what she truly felt like doing was sitting down in a quiet corner somewhere and crying. Being forever in the public’s eyes had amazing disadvantages, especially when one was feeling blue. And Brenda felt exceptionally blue right then.

  Where was her sunny nature when she needed it? Why should a stodgy old scholar, of all silly things, make her want to burst into tears and drum her heels on the floor?

  Because she wanted him to like her was why, and he didn’t. She felt very foolish when she confessed the truth to herself. Why should it matter to her if Colin Peters liked her or not?

  Because she both craved the information he could impart to her and also lusted after him was why, and she knew it.

  Good heavens. She’d never lusted after a man in her life. Why couldn’t she have picked someone else to start with? Someone nicer and more approachable?

  But no. She had to go and pick Colin Peters, who despised her.

  “Bother!” There was no accounting for human nature, as she well knew. Since she didn’t want to sink into a black decline, she picked herself up from her chair and decided to meander back to the set. She’d have plenty of time to change into her Indian-maiden costume later, since they still hadn’t finished with the Indians-in-the-village scene.

  Jerry Begay and his band were all painted up and feathered to within an inch of their lives. They were at present dancing around a roaring fire. She wondered what fault Colin would find with that scene but forced herself not to look for him. Darn him, he could just disapprove on his own.

  “Hi, Brenda.”

  She turned to discover George had walked up and now stood beside her. It was an effort, but she managed a smile for him. “Hi there, George. Did Martin teach you anything?”

  “Oh, yes!” George practically quivered with excitement and elation. “Brenda, I don’t even know how to begin to thank you for helping me like this. I never expected—I don’t deserve—I don’t know—”

  She laid a hand on his arm to stop him before he became hopelessly tangled up in words. “Don’t thank me, George. I’m sure Martin needs you, or he’d have told you he didn’t. He’s not a man to equivocate. If he says you’re going to be good at this, you will be. Trust me. Martin knows this business backwards and forwards, and it’s too important to him to allow him to fib about something like that. He’s a professional in every sense of the word.”

  George glowed so fiercely, Brenda feared he might catch fire. He was awfully cute. Funny, that. He looked a lot like Colin, but Colin couldn’t have looked cute if he’d tried. He could look dangerous. He could look supercilious. He could look angry or fussy or seductive.

  Seductive? Good heavens, where had that come from?

  Oh, well. Colin could look a whole lot of things, but Brenda couldn’t even imagine him looking cute. Blast him.

  She wanted to burst into tears and run away and hide. Instead, she smiled at George some more.

  “Well, I still want to thank you,” George told her, his cheeks burning like hot coals. “I—I—nobody’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

  Of course not. Before this, George was a baby. Brenda didn’t remind him of his relative youth. “Nonsense. I was glad to help.” The good Lord knew George’s brother would never help him. She let go of a sniff of indignation before she could stop herself.

  “Whatever you say, it was swell of you, and I won’t forget it.” George sounded as if he was trying to appear mature and sophisticated. He spoiled the image by dragging his toe in the dirt at his feet, thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets, and saying shyly, “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell my folks I was leaving college. Colin’s right about that. I should have.”

  “Your brother,” Brenda said heatedly, “ought to
be horsewhipped.”

  George’s eyes popped open. “Beg pardon?”

  She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, irked with herself for disparaging George’s brother to George. That was underhanded and dirty, and Brenda was ashamed of herself for succumbing to so base an urge. No matter what the provocation, it was beneath her to belittle Colin to George. No matter how much he deserved it, the rat.

  “How did it go, George?”

  Brenda almost jumped out of her skin when Colin’s warm breath caressed the back of her neck and his voice sounded clear as a bell in her ear. She leaped a foot and turned to find him standing no more than an inch away from her. She gave him as good a glower as she could come up with, when she wanted to turn into his aims and beg him to forgive her for her hot tongue. Not that he didn’t need forgiving for his, too, the miserable cad.

  “H’lo, Colin.” George looked uncomfortable. Small wonder. Brenda kept her mouth shut. “Um, it went pretty well.” He took in about a bushel of air. “Actually, it went very well. Martin’s a great gun.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Colin was glad? Brenda squinted at him, trying to detect any hint of scorn or disapproval or doubt. She didn’t. “That’s a change of tune, coming from you, isn’t it?” she asked coldly. When she saw George’s raised eyebrows and confused expression, she regretted her sarcasm.

  Colin peered down at her, his beautiful brown eyes reminding her of something hot and hazardous. She, the most self-assured and unflappable person she knew, couldn’t hold his gaze and angled her head to stare into the trees. Why was she turning coward at this odd moment?

  “Yes, it is,” he said after staring her out of countenance.

  Blast the man, why was he always changing on her this way? You’d think he was a chameleon instead of a stodgy old stick of a highbrow professor. She felt her body tingle at his hot glance, from her toes to the top of her head. Her nipples puckered and her mouth went dry, and she could happily have smacked his handsome face. “I’m glad of that, at all odds,” she said at length, trying to sound cool and aloof.