With a start, she realized Martin had been talking for several seconds. Yanking her mind back to her job, she hoped she hadn’t missed anything important.
“. . . so, while I know it’s hot here, our set designer, George Peters, has created a spectacular Egyptian city for us. We’ve arranged with a local restaurant to supply iced water and lemonade so that—”
“Lemonade!”
Christina felt her lips purse with distaste at Orozco’s interruption. But she didn’t speak, knowing that women who spoke up were not admired.
Martin frowned at his male star. “Yes. Lemonade. If you don’t like lemonade, perhaps we can secure some orange juice.”
“Fah!” Orozco looked as disdainful as only he could. As much as she loathed him, Christina had to give him credit for a remarkable variety of facial expressions. “I require wine.”
Martin shook his head. “No wine, Pablo. Not during filming. After the shooting’s done for the day, you can drink, but not during the making of the picture.”
Christine refrained from applauding or even smiling, although she wanted to do both.
Orozco glowered. He did that well, too. “Nonsense. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Christina couldn’t help herself. “You’ve heard of it now, Orozco, so you might as well get used to it.”
She saw Martin’s eyebrows arch and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. But Pablo Orozco was such a miserable specimen. Besides, Martin shouldn’t mind her being on his side, should he? She gave him a good hard look to let him know it. He blinked at her, as if her attitude startled him.
Oh, goody. Now she’d annoyed the producer of the picture as well as its star. She wished she could start her day again. Maybe she’d just shoot herself and get it over with. Or maybe she could contract some of Gran’s lumbago and spend her day in bed.
But no. That was stupid, unproductive thinking. Because she wanted Martin to know she was on his side, she smiled at him, hoping the change in her facial expression would make up for her prior hard look. He blinked harder, and she sighed.
“Er, thank you, Miss Mayhew. Exactly. We’ll have no drinking of alcoholic beverages on the set while filming is under way, Pablo. I’m sure it won’t be much of a hardship for you.”
Pablo snorted, reminding Christina of a fussy horse.
“Anyhow, to get back to what I was saying,” Martin went on, “I’m sure you’ve both read the shooting schedule and the story line “ He lifted his eyebrows in an expression of inquiry.
Christina nodded.
Orozco snorted again.
“Then you know our picture is a retelling of the Moses and Ramses story, but from the point of view of the sidekicks to both men. Miss Mayhew’s role will be that of a slave girl sought after by Pharaoh’s brother and rescued by one of Moses’s favored underlings, played by Pablo.” He smiled graciously first at Christina, then at Orozco.
Christina’s nose wrinkled at the thought of being rescued—or anything else, for that matter—by Pablo Orozco. She smoothed out the frown out as soon as she caught herself doing it. If she could only keep in mind the money she was making, and of how far it would go to pay her way through medical school, she could do this.
“The picture is going to be adult in content,” Martin said in a voice that didn’t contain so much as a trace of irony.
Christina herself felt like snorting at that one. “Adult in content” meant she’d have to bare her bosom for the camera. School, she said to herself. School. She wouldn’t be the first actress to appear on screen in the altogether, and she undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last. She didn’t like it, but she would endure.
Orozco waggled his eyebrows at her, and she didn’t like it even more than she hadn’t liked it before he did so.
Martin cleared his throat. Christina wondered if he disapproved of naked scenes but didn’t ask. He obviously wasn’t going to cut it out of the picture. Well, and why should he? Once word got out that the star of the picture was showing her naked bosom, the whole world would flock to see the blasted thing.
“Ah, I thought your grandmother always came to location shoots with you, Miss Mayhew.”
She hadn’t expected Martin’s comment, and she glanced at him sharply, looking for disapproval. She didn’t detect anything in his expression but interest. “She’s laid up today. Lumbago.”
“Oh.” Martin frowned slightly. “I should think this awful heat would be good for lumbago.”
Christina grinned as she thought about her grandmother. “Gran’s a little eccentric, Mr. Tafft.”
He opened his mouth—Christina presumed to say he’d already heard that about her—but shut it again before any words came out. Christina was impressed. She’d always heard Martin Tafft was a good guy and a diplomatic one, but she’d decided to reserve her opinion on the matter. She did appreciate his refraining from making a snide comment about her grandmother, however.
“I’m sorry she’s not feeling well,” was what he eventually said.
Even more impressed, Christina said, “Thank you, Mr. Tafft.”
“And, um, well . . .”
Christina cocked an eyebrow, curious to hear what he was so reluctant to say.
“Well . . .” He took a big breath. “I just want you—and your grandmother—to know that we will use all possible discretion in the filming of the, ah, adult portions of the picture.”
Yeah. Right. “I’m sure you will.” Christina managed not to sneer, but it was an effort. Besides, she kind of liked this man. She’d heard he loved the pictures and considered them of value to the culture, but she guessed anyone might be allowed a misguided opinion or two. He did seem genuinely concerned about her level of comfort with regard to being displayed to the nation in the altogether.
If Los Angeles University ever heard about this, she’d be drummed out of medical school before she even enrolled. But they wouldn’t; Christina would see to it.
“Truly, Miss Mayhew. I know how such scenes might embarrass a girl—”
Christina hated being called a girl.
“—and we’ll clear the set of all but the people involved.”
“Thanks.” She hoped, but didn’t anticipate, that Orozco would not be involved in that particular scene. All she needed was to have this lecherous Latin lover slobbering over her naked body. Pseudo-Latin. Christina would bet money that Orozco’s original name was Capolotti or Goldfarb.
Martin nodded. “Certainly. I’m sure—well, I know—well, anyhow, we’ll do our best.”
“Thank you.” This could go on all day long if he didn’t get over his embarrassment soon, she thought with some acidity.
“Oh,” said Martin, evidently abandoning her nude scene with relief. “And please, everyone, call me Martin. I’m not used to being Mr. Tafft.”
‘Twas always thus on picture sets. Everything was so darned casual, sometimes Christina wondered how any work got done at all. Nevertheless, she didn’t really mind calling this nice man by his first name. She thought it was cute that he was embarrassed about filming nudity, and she also thought he was considerate to try to reassure her. She wished somebody would reassure him, actually. She’d do pretty much anything for money, and without embarrassment. Doctors couldn’t afford to be squeamish.
“Please,” she said, “call me Christina.”
“Christina,” Pablo Orozco purred at her side.
She turned on him with a scowl. “Not you. To you, I’m Miss Mayhew.”
Orozco gave her an oily chuckle.
Christina eyed him in rekindled disgust.
Martin sighed heavily.
Feeling guilty, Christina said, “So, Martin, when will we be able to see this famous set?”
He perked up some at her question. “Tomorrow. The crew will haul in the materials today, and George—George Peters, you know—will supervise the construction tomorrow. The camels will be arriving at approximately the same time.” He suddenly looked worried.
“What’s wrong with the camel
s?” Christina wanted to know.
Martin gave a small start, as if her question had surprised him, and he shook his head. “Oh, nothing, I suppose. I only hope they got the right kind.”
Orozco, who had begun buffing his nails on the lapel of his expensive and exquisitely tailored summer suit, looked off into the distance, obviously bored.
Christina wasn’t bored. The only part of filmmaking she enjoyed was the practical, behind-the-scenes stuff. Acting seemed a fatuous pursuit. “The right kind?”
“Yes.” Martin’s expression of worry melted into a smile. “Don’t mind me, Christina. I spent most of my childhood in Egypt, you see, and I’m eager to make our picture as true to the place as possible.”
“You did?” Suddenly, Christina’s interest in Martin Tafft spiked.
“Yes. My parents were archeologists.”
Mercy sakes, what Christina wouldn’t give to be able to pick Martin’s brain. She adored archeology.
“And I’m hoping we can stick to reality in the picture.” He didn’t sound as if he anticipated cooperation in this endeavor.
Both his hope and his doubt made sense to her. “Are you worried about the camels’ humps or something?” Since she had always possessed a curious mind and had read with vast interest accounts of pyramid excavations, she’d also learned that there were different kinds of camels: those with one hump and those with two, although she couldn’t recall which was which. “Bactrian or Dromedary?” She also couldn’t recall which type the Egyptians used.
Martin blinked at her again. He did that often, she guessed. Or maybe he wasn’t accustomed to people asking him questions. “Um, actually, I was thinking about the colors.”
“The colors?”
“Yes. You see, Egyptian camels are blond.”
Good heavens. Mary Pickford camels. The mind fairly boggled. “I had no idea.”
“Yes, well, I guess since my parents were Egyptian archeologists and I used to live there at the dig site, I’m a little more fussy than most people might be.”
“Fah,” said Orozco, startling Christina, who’d forgotten all about him. Which only made sense, really.
She lifted an eyebrow and peered down her nose at him “Fah? Why fah?”
Orozco threw out his arms, barely missing Christina, who had to jump back to avoid being belted. “Nobody cares about the camels. People go to the pictures to see the stars.”
As he lifted his chin, pasted a noble expression onto his handsome face, and peered off into the distance as he delivered the line, Christina had no difficulty in figuring out which star he meant. She grimaced before she could stop herself.
Martin, on the other hand, appeared slightly taken aback. “I hope that’s not the only reason, Pablo,” he said gently. Christina had to give him credit for being able to put up with guff remarkably well. “We at Peerless always strive to deliver a superior product.”
Since he was talking about an industry Christina despised as manipulative and mind-numbing drivel, she was proud of herself when she restrained a contemptuous guffaw.
Nevertheless, she was more encouraged than not when she returned to her hotel room to report to her grandmother.
Two
Elizabeth Noble Mayhew, “Gran” to Christina, clumped down the stairs of the Desert Palm Resort holding tightly to the banister with one hand and clutching her cane with the other. Christina had asked if she could be of help to her, but as usual her grandmother had refused assistance.
“l’m old, not helpless, drat you, child.”
Grinning at her back, Christina made her voice sound contrite. “Yes, Gran. I’m so sorry.”
Her grandmother sniffed. “Don’t mollycoddle me, damn it.”
“Never?” Christina wondered what the gallant Pablo Orozco would make of an old lady who swore like a sailor and had more brains than ten of him. Nothing good, she hoped.
Martin Tafft passed across the hotel lobby at the foot of the stairs. Christina watched him with more interest than she usually paid to men. She couldn’t afford to be interested in men until she’d finished her education—if she ever did.
Yet Martin appealed to her. She thought her reaction had something to do with his dedication to his chosen field of work, even if his field wasn’t one of which she particularly approved. She felt the same degree of dedication to medicine. Medicine, she reminded herself so that she wouldn’t get foolish notions about Martin, was an ennobling profession. Moving pictures were merely entertaining trash.
“Who’s that?” her grandmother barked, and she held out her cane to point at Martin.
“That’s Mr. Tafft. He’s the director and producer of Egyptian Idyll, Gran. He’s the power behind the Pharaonic throne, as it were.”
“Humph. Looks too smart to be in the pictures.”
He did look smart. “Yes. I believe he’s considered to be rather intelligent.”
“Why’s he wasting his time in pictures, then?” Gran reached the bottom stair and balanced carefully before taking the last step onto the lobby floor.
Christina shrugged. “Money, I suppose. Like the rest of us.”
She was startled when a voice spoke from a few feet off. “Miss Mayhew! Please, allow me to assist your grandmother.”
Martin Tafft hurried up to the two of them and held out a hand. Gran slapped it away brusquely. “Lay off, you. I might be old, but I’m not in my dotage yet.”
Martin jumped back, startled. Christina didn’t blame him. “Gran,” she said, “there’s no need to be rude. Mr. Tafft was only being polite.”
“Pshaw,” said her grandmother with admirable conciseness.
Christina wasn’t generally embarrassed by her feisty grandmother’s less-than-stellar behavior, but she believed Martin Tafft deserved better, at least at this point. If he should turn out to be a rat later on, then Christina would let her grandmother go at him all she wanted. She smiled at Martin, having learned from experience that men got dippy when she did that. “I’m so sorry, Martin. Gran’s touchy about her independence.”
Martin’s gaze flew between the two women for a second. He was clearly trying to figure them both out. Christina wished him luck. “Er, I see.”
Finally he smiled, too, and Christina felt her heart hitch. How strange. Her heart didn’t do things like that on a normal basis. She hoped she wasn’t catching something.
“If your grandmother won’t let me help her, may I walk with you, Christina? If you’re going to the restaurant, that is. That’s where I was headed when I spotted the two of you coming downstairs.”
Gran muttered something under her breath. Christina didn’t hear what it was, but she was pretty sure it was rude. She didn’t care. “Thank you, Martin. I’d like to ask you about something in the picture, if you’d care to take your meal with us.”
“I’d love to, thanks.”
“It’s all balderdash,” Gran declared. “The whole thing.” She’d achieved balance by this time and took off at a pretty good clip toward the hotel’s restaurant. Once she got her feet and her cane coordinated, she could make excellent time.
Christina watched her fondly. “She’s such a dear,” she murmured, and wasn’t surprised when Martin looked dubious.
“Is she?”
Christina laughed. “She really is. But she has this reputation as a hellion to maintain, you see, so you can’t be expected to get by unscathed on first meeting her.”
“I see.” A pause. Then Martin added, “At least I think I do.”
With another laugh, Christina said, “I come from a long line of extremely independent women. Matriarchs, if you will. Gran’s only the latest of a whole string of them.”
“My word.”
“She’s a mathematician, you know.”
“A mathematician? Good Lord.”
“Yes. Astonishing, but true. She and my grandfather used to work together, although Granddad got all the writing credits. He solved some spectacular problem back in the 1870s with Gran’s help, and is quite famou
s in mathematical circles.”
“My goodness.” Martin chuckled. “I fear I don’t go around much in mathematical circles.”
With a sigh, Christina said, “No, you probably don’t. Not many people do.” She wished it weren’t so, but there you were.
The world turned the way it turned, and not many people in it were as smart as the people in Christina’s family. Finding people with whom she could communicate comfortably had always been an effort since she wasn’t interested in fashions, babies, boys, and things deemed appropriate for females. It was a shame, too, because she really did like Martin. If it turned out that he had a brain, he might even be perfect.
It had been a long time since Christina had actively searched for a companion in intellect, however. She’d been disappointed so many times that she’d finally quit looking. But at least Martin knew about Egypt. Egypt was interesting.
Gran had entered the restaurant by this time, and Christina urged Martin to hurry up a tad. “It doesn’t do to let her start talking to the waiters, because she always makes them mad,” she explained.
“My word. Your grandmother is, ah, an exceptional woman, Christina.”
“I suppose she is. And I love her for it.” She’d never admit to wishing Gran didn’t try quite so hard to live up to her reputation as an eccentric individual. Christina supposed the old lady wouldn’t be the Gran she loved if she were like other people’s grandmothers and baked pies and knitted sweaters and did other grandmotherly things of a like nature.
“I can see that you do,” Martin said. He smiled at the old woman, who glared back at him as if challenging him to offer to help her again.
“There’s no need to frown, Gran. Mr. Tafft wouldn’t dare try to take your arm again.” Christina grinned at Martin to let him know she was kidding.
Martin grinned back. “Absolutely. I’m scared to death of you already, Mrs. Mayhew,”
Although she didn’t go so far as to smile, Gran did twinkle to a degree. Christina considered this a good sign. She’d like it if Gran took to Martin Tafft, because Christina already had. One couldn’t have too many friends, especially if one were Christina Mayhew and didn’t make friends easily. She didn’t want Gran to drive Martin away.
Her Leading Man Page 2
