She’d probably only felt sorry for him. Why else would so precious a woman allow him to go to bed with her?
Colin heard the water filling the tub in the bathroom and wandered back to the window to stare outside some more. This present plaguey mood was new to him. He was unaccustomed to entertaining insecurities and doubts. Still rarer for him were the dreamy moments that occasionally overtook his anxiety.
She was so wonderful. Perfect. She was magnificent. The most delightful, gracious, brilliant, kindhearted, ladylike, exciting, and seductive woman in the world. And she’d allowed him—him—an eggheaded scholar, to make love to her. Colin relived the past hour or two in his mind so many times, it began to take on the quality of something mystical, almost holy.
Maybe, if he was very lucky, she’d allow him to remain her friend. Perhaps she’d let him call on her from time to time, if only to go to dinner together, or talk. Maybe she’d still let him come over and tutor her in all the things she wanted to learn. She truly did have an insatiable curiosity about the things she’d never had an opportunity to study, as well as a capable, curious mind. He knew better than to maintain the fiction that she’d let him touch her again.
The very thought of marriage was out of the question. It was laughable. Nonsensical. Idiotic. Colin was a fool even to combine the name Brenda and the word marriage in the same sentence.
He’d sunk into a total funk by the time Brenda had bathed, dressed, and rejoined him. She looked, of course, perfect. She looked as if no man had ever touched her.
They walked down to the Cedar Crest Lodge’s dining room together, each absorbed in thoughts of his and her own
Something had changed. Martin couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was, but it was something. He could tell. He’d been dealing with actors, emotions, and story lines for too long not to detect a difference in the relationship between Brenda and Colin.
He’d also been dealing with human beings for too long to believe the change was entirely for the good. If life were a simple affair, as it was in the pictures, Brenda and Colin would finally decide they were made for each other, get married, and live happily ever after.
But could real life sail so smoothly? Heavens, no. People always had to complicate everything. Martin, watching closely as Brenda and Colin entered the dining room, sighed. He had a suspicion that they’d become—ah—closer, this afternoon. He had another suspicion that neither of them was willing to accept his attraction to the other as a gift from God. If they had the sense God gave a goose, they’d be happy.
They weren’t happy, either one of them. The silly fools.
Considering his interference in this instance as in the light of an act of mercy, Martin rose from his table and gestured for the couple to join him
“I’m all by my lonesome tonight,” he said, smiling up a storm in order to counteract the almost palpable aura of gloom hovering over the couple. “I’d sure appreciate some company.”
Brenda, bless her, managed to manufacture a friendly smile. What a trouper the woman was. Martin esteemed her as a real treasure. He hoped Colin would admit the same to himself pretty soon, or he might lose her. Colin smiled, too, but he wasn’t as good an actor as Brenda, and his smile came across as brittle and forced,
“Thanks, Martin,” Brenda said in her best light, bantering tone. “I’m famished.”
“I’m hungry, too.”
Martin eyed Colin sharply. The poor guy looked so unhappy, Martin was surprised he’d even said that much. Probably Brenda’s influence, he decided. He took a bet with himself that Colin would push his food around on his plate and not eat a bite. He had more faith in Brenda: She was never a big eater, but she wouldn’t give her unhappiness away by pining and going into a dramatic decline. She was tougher than that.
“I’ve already ordered. Chicken a la king. They make a pretty good one here.”
“Sounds okay to me,” Brenda said brightly. “I think I’ll, have the same. Colin?”
The look she gave him ought to have convinced the fool that she loved him almost beyond bearing, Martin thought with cynical amusement. But Colin, analytical as he was, would probably interpret it as something else. Martin had always suspected that scholars, if given the opportunity, could analyze the life out of pretty much anything. This was the first time he’d witnessed the process as it happened.
“Sure,” Colin said, sounding vague and not altogether present, as if he was mulling over something else. “Thanks. I mean, sure, I’ll have it.” He blinked uncertainly. “Er, what was it again?”
Brenda patted his hand. “Chicken a la king. They make a pretty good one here. Martin said so.”
“Oh. Oh, sure. That’ll be fine.”
Martin saw that Colin turned his hand over and squeezed Brenda’s briefly. It looked to him as if the poor guy would have liked to hold her hand all through dinner and didn’t dare. It also looked to him as though Brenda would have loved it if he had.
Whoo, boy, these two needed help. Unfortunately. They were both adults, and Martin didn’t have a clue how to help them.
Colin and Brenda visited George after dinner. He was awake but groggy.
“How’s the arm feeling? Did that beastly doctor come to see you like he promised?” Brenda grinned at the boy, and spared a moment to be glad, although she also felt guilty about it, that he’d broken the arm, since it gave her something to think about besides Colin. All the thinking in the world wouldn’t do anything to alter her situation with Colin, darn it.
George grinned up at her. Her heart gave a squishy little lurch in appreciation of George’s game attempt at good humor. He was a fine kid, even if he wasn’t behaving in a fashion endorsed by the Peters clan
“The doctor says I’m going to be okay,” George said. “And it doesn’t hurt too much. It’s better when I’m drugged.”
Brenda laughed. “I’m sure that’s true. It’ll probably hurt like heck for a while, but it’ll get better. Did the doctor say if you’ll regain full use of it?”
George nodded. “Yes. I’m relieved, too. I was really worried at first, because—” He shot Colin an apprehensive glance. “Well, because, you know, I—well, need both my arms and hands to function properly if I aim to make a go of set designing for the pictures. And I’m right-handed, so that arm’s the more important of the two.”
A swell of compassion filled Brenda when she saw George’s neck redden and two splotches of color visit his snowy cheeks. The poor guy. He wanted so much to make a success of his life and to prove to his family that academia wasn’t the only road one could take in order to achieve it. She wished him well and aimed to help him as much as she could. He’d have to do most of it on his own, of course. No amount of moral support could make up for a lack of effort, determination, or talent. She sensed he possessed all three qualities.
“You’re looking a little better.” Colin’s voice held no conviction.
Brenda grinned at him and then at George. “I think you look like last week’s laundry left to sit, wet, in a tub until it turned all mildewy. I guess it’s the bruises set against your pallor.”
Colin looked shocked.
George laughed. “I’m sure you’re more right than Colin is.” He glanced at Colin. “Although I appreciate the encouragement. This is no fun.”
Finally Colin understood he was being teased. He grinned, too. “She’s right. You look like hell.”
“Thanks, Colin.” George laughed again and then winced. “It hurts when I laugh.”
“Do you need more medication?” Suddenly Brenda remembered the nurse. “Where’s Miss Cleary? I thought she was supposed to be watching you.”
“She is,” George assured her. “Like a hawk. She only went out to get some supper for the both of us. I understand I’m only to be allowed soup.” He gave a grimace of distaste.
Brenda winked at him “Maybe I can sneak you a steak one of these days.”
“Shoot, I hope I’m not going to be laid up like this for days. Maybe
another day or so will be enough. I wouldn’t have to be in bed now, except that I got a little battered when that thing hit me. If it was just the arm, I’d be up and about right now.”
“You’re better off resting. It’s always best to rest after receiving an injury. Animals know it by instinct. Sometimes humans need to be tied down.” Colin looked stern.
George grinned up at his brother. “You can save the rope. My instincts are working just fine, thanks.”
“Oh, George!” Brenda felt like crying, although she’d never do such a weak thing in front of the invalid. Besides, she had a feeling her tears would be more for herself than for George, and she despised them. “I’m so sorry this happened.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
Colin put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll be back later, George. If you need something, let me know. Can I get you anything now?”
George shook his head, winced again, and said, “No thanks, Colin. I think all I need now is some chow, and that’s being provided, such as it is.”
The door opened as he spoke, and Nurse Cleary entered the room bearing a tray. Colin rushed over to help her with it. Brenda was pleased to note this evidence of social aptitude in the man she loved. He wasn’t hopeless by any means.
Not that she’d be the one to civilize him. In a few days, they were going to part forever. Or, if not forever, then for the most part. The idyll would be over; that was all she knew for certain.
“Thank you, Mr. Peters.” Nurse Cleary flapped a napkin and tucked it into George’s pajama top. “Help me sit this rascal up so he can eat his thin gruel and water.”
“Ew.” George made a terrible face. “Gruel? You said—”
The nurse laughed. “Only joking, Georgie, my lad. You’ll get some dry bread to go with your gruel.”
She and Colin assisted George to sit. Watching, Brenda saw the sweat break out on George’s forehead, and she cringed inside, wishing she could take his pain away. But he’d be better soon. Everything healed in time. Even hearts, she imagined, although it seemed unlikely right now
As soon as George saw what lay on the tray Nurse Cleary settled across his lap, he cheered up considerably. “Say, this beats the tar out of thin gruel and water.”
The nurse grinned and gave him a wink. “Sure, and it’s real food you need, my boy. I don’t care what the doctor says, a growing lad needs real food.”
“I’ll say.”
Brenda and Colin laughed along with the nurse as George dove with relish into his roast beef. Brenda blessed Nurse Cleary for providing relief to her dour mood, if only momentarily.
The distraction didn’t last, of course. After George ate, the nurse shooed them out of his room, and she and Colin were left with each other, the memory of a magical afternoon, and a future she couldn’t even guess at. Pragmatic as ever, she decided to get as much from Colin as she could as long as they remained at the Cedar Crest Lodge.
Feeling shy but determined, she asked, “Would you like to come up to my room for a while, Colin?”
He gaped at her as if he couldn’t imagine such a thing. Brenda experienced a sharp stab of irritation. “Don’t worry,” she said dryly, “I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“What?” He gulped. “I mean— No. I mean, yes, I’d love to go to your room. And—and—well, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, either.”
Swell. Just what she wanted to hear. She felt glum when she and Colin entered her room a few minutes later. He taught her another lesson in lovemaking that night, though, so Brenda decided she ought to count her blessings and not long for things that couldn’t be.
“Cut! And . . . It’s a wrap!” Martin cried through his megaphone, joy ringing in the words. “Great job, everybody. This picture is going to be a winner.”
Dismay flooded Colin so suddenly that he winced, although he immediately chided himself for being foolish. He’d known there were only a few more days of filming left to be done after George’s accident. He slanted a glance at his brother, who was out of bed and sitting on a stump, looking bruised but unbowed, his arm in a sling. George looked happy, too.
Might as well be, Colin thought bitterly. George would undoubtedly work with Brenda countless more times as he built a career in the pictures. This was it for Colin, and his heart hurt at the thought.
He sought out Brenda among the crowd of Peerless employees who swarmed onto the set as soon as Martin’s announcement hit the air. The cameras stopped churning, sprockets stopped clunking out onto the ground, the cameramen grinned and shook out their arms, which were tired from cranking, and a general cheer went up.
Brenda appeared to be happy, too. How depressing.
Nevertheless, Colin knew better than to make a spectacle of himself by sulking in a corner. Gathering his courage in both hands and shoving his misery aside, he joined the throng, trying with all his might to look as if he was happy, too.
So what if his pose was a lie? So what if the picture was a ridiculous piece of fantastic fluff? So what if it reinforced white America’s misunderstandings about Indians? So what if the story couldn’t have happened the way it was depicted in Indian Love Song in a million years?
So what if he never saw Brenda again.
Colin’s heart gave a sudden, sharp spasm. He told himself to stop brooding. If he never saw her again, the world would continue its orbit around the sun, the moon would continue its orbit around the earth, the sun would continue to shine, people would continue to misinterpret history, not to mention science, and nothing would change. Except him. He’d never be the same again.
“Colin!”
Brenda’s voice cut through his gloom, and he looked up. She was smiling at him. It fascinated Colin that every time she did that, his insides lit up as if a lamp had been lighted in his soul. He didn’t understand it. Such a phenomenon didn’t fit into any scientific dogma he’d ever read.
To hell with science, he thought savagely, and then he couldn’t believe he’d done such a heretical thing. Whatever would his parents think? Or his professors? Those dried-out, dried-up, gray-haired sacks of trivia and nonsense.
Good Lord, he was failing fast.
His mind went blank when Brenda rushed up and threw her arms around him.
“Oh, Colin! We made it! In spite of George’s accident and the wrong Indians and flowers on the tipis and everything else, we made it! We can all go home again!”
His arms had wrapped around her naturally, as they’d become accustomed to doing in the past several days, since she and he had first made love.
The notion of never making love to her again almost forced a cry of anguish out of him He suppressed it with an effort. He didn’t let her go, but he did whisper, “Will that make you happy?”
“Oh, yes. I miss my family so much.”
“Ah.”
She seemed to sense something of a troublesome nature in his attitude, because she drew slightly back—without releasing him, thank God—and peered up into, his eyes. Her own glorious blue eyes, even set as they were this moment against a background of dead white makeup, were large and luminous and remained the most beautiful eyes Colin had ever seen.
What a marvelous specimen of the female human being Brenda was. She was, without a doubt, the most perfect example of the species ever to have graced the earth.
When her hand touched his cheek, he pressed into it, aching for closeness. “You don’t sound very happy about it, Colin.” Her voice feathered across his senses as soft as a dandelion puff
He took a big breath and decided he didn’t care if he made a total fool of himself. What was pride in the face of so great a loss as this? “I’m going to miss you, Brenda.”
“You will?”
Colin didn’t understand why she sounded surprised. It must be obvious to her by this time that he worshiped the very ground she trod upon, not to mention every other thing about her. “Yes. Very much. Terribly.” He almost said he feared their parting would k
ill him, but such a dramatic utterance went so exactly against everything of truth and science he’d learned to value in life that he couldn’t do it.
She didn’t speak immediately. When she did, Colin’s heart lurched again. “I’m going to miss you, too.”
“You will?” He didn’t believe her.
Again she waited for several seconds before she spoke. Her words were very soft, and they sounded tentative, as if she doubted he’d be happy to hear them. “Oh, yes. I . . . I love you, Colin.”
He blinked at her, sure he’d misunderstood. For a second, his mind raced like a guinea pig on a wheel, spinning, spinning, spinning, trying to decipher what she’d said, sure she couldn’t have said what he thought he’d heard. At last he said, “I, uh, beg your pardon?”
She made a tsk sound, as if she didn’t want to have to repeat herself. She did it anyway. “I said, I love you.”
Evidently he still looked doubtful—or perhaps dumbfounded—because she hurried on, “You don’t have to love me back. I’m not trying to put any pressure on you. I’m not that type of person, no matter what you think. But I do want you to know that I love you. Very much.”
He realized that tears had pooled in her eyes, and the understanding of what it had cost her to admit her love smote him. Hard. He still couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of her confession; it sounded impossible to him. “You love me? Me?” if he’d had a hand free, he’d have pointed at his chest, but his hands were occupied in holding on to Brenda.
The faintest hint of exasperation visited her face. “Yes, darn it. You don’t have to look and sound so incredulous. I know you don’t want to hear me say it, but it’s the truth, and that’s that.”
“No;” he said. “I mean no, I don’t not want to hear you say it.” Dash it, he’d never been so ungrammatical in his life. He tried again. “I mean, you can’t possibly love me.”
The hint grew into a certainty. She snapped, “Why not? Is there some sort of scientific principle that says an actress can’t love a professor?”
Beauty and the Brain Page 32
