Her Leading Man

by Duncan, Alice

  She saw Benjamin Egan, the head Peerless cameraman, and Karen Crenshaw’s husband—Christina thought it had been very modern and interesting of Karen not to assume her husband’s last name—testing light levels near a fence some ways off. Another cameraman was inspecting his equipment.

  Exterior scenery shots featuring George’s spectacular set would be taken tomorrow. They’d be used as fillers in between scenes and when Martin needed them for story purposes. Christina expected they’d be used a good deal during scenes depicting the exodus of the Jews from Egypt, which showed what Moses’s flock would be leaving behind as they forged onward to a new life.

  A number of Indio’s citizens had gathered around to watch the action today, as they had yesterday. This was probably the most excitement any of them had ever seen in the quiet little burg.

  And there was Martin, in the thick of things, looking handsome, suave, and competent in a natty sports suit and soft cap. He certainly didn’t look anything like the frenzied madman who had interrupted scene after scene yesterday. Today he was smiling and talking animatedly with another man, whom Christina had not seen before. Maybe he was the camel-riding instructor.

  Camel-riding instructor. Good heavens, how funny the pictures could be without half trying.

  She told herself not to be nasty. The pictures paid well, and she needed money, thanks to men being afraid to allow women into the heady atmospheres of academia and medicine.

  Christina knew darned good and well fear was the reason for their reluctance. Why else deny women the opportunity to earn scholarships? She didn’t buy for a minute the lame excuse that women were weaker and stupider than men—mainly because she knew it wasn’t true. Ever since she started going to grammar school, she could demolish any of the boys in her class intellectually—and generally physically too.

  So there.

  She caught herself thinking childish thoughts and told herself to cut it out. Reality was reality, and there was no sense dwelling on how unfair and asinine it was. She really wished she could stop her mind from dwelling on those blasted regents, though.

  “Do you want to rest here on the porch, Gran, or do you want to walk over to see what’s going on?”

  “I’ll stay here. Holler if you need me.” Gran sat in a porch chair, her eyes snapping fire and her chin firm. Her only concession to the intense heat was a lightweight summer dress and a fan, which she unfolded and began using to good purpose.

  Christina grinned at her. “Will you dash to my rescue if Orozco tries to make away with me?”

  “Unless that Tafft fellow dashes first, you’re damned right I will.” She sounded as if she meant it.

  And she probably did. Christina wouldn’t put it past Gran to try to dash, even if she never got up a full head of steam, if she sensed Christina was in trouble. She appreciated the old devil-woman, even if she was difficult to get along with most of the time.

  “Thanks, Gran,” she said simply, and she walked a little faster toward the set.

  She slowed down when she realized she was hurrying because she could hardly wait to see and talk to Martin Tafft. Good heavens, she felt toward Martin as if she were starving, and he was food. What a strange sensation. She’d never experienced it before. She didn’t trust it. In fact, her own state of mind so alarmed her that she was frowning heavily when she finally reached his side.

  “Christina!”

  Was it her imagination, or did he speak her name with a certain quality of joy, as if he were as delighted to see her as she was to see him? When he took note of her sour expression, the glint in his eyes that Christina had suspected was joy faded, and he cleared his throat.

  Great. Now she’d put him off. And she hadn’t yet spoken a word. Trying to recover without letting him know how much she’d yearned to see him, she adopted a bright smile. “Hi, Martin. Nice day, isn’t it?”

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was eight o’clock in the morning, and the thermometer must be hovering right around ninety-eight degrees already. The weather out here stank. “That is, I’ll bet it won’t rain or anything It’ll be super for filming.”

  Good God, she was going soft in the head. She’d never uttered two such inanities in so short a space of time in her life.

  The man standing next to Martin laughed. “Not a chance of rain, I’ll bet”

  She gave him a cold stare, and his smile vanished. Then she felt guilty. It wasn’t his fault she was behaving like an imbecile. So she altered her expression again, smiled at the man, and his eyebrows arched, as if he feared he was in the presence of a lunatic. With a sigh, Christina thought he might well be.

  Giving up on him, she turned again to Martin, who seemed more receptive to her smile. She was surprised when he took her hand. “I’m really sorry for making such a fuss yesterday, Christina. I don’t know what possessed me.” He frowned and added, “I just couldn’t seem to get through to Orozco to do the scene the way I pictured it.”

  The way Christina pictured it, Martin would be the one rescuing her from the evil villain. Both of the evil villains, actually. “Forget it, Martin. I’m sure we all have rough days.” She glanced up into the stark blue sky “This weather is enough to send anyone over the edge.”

  “Thanks, Christina. I appreciate your understanding.”

  His beautiful brown eyes looked almost as warm as the temperature. Christina could easily have allowed herself to make something out of the expression on his face, but she didn’t. Couldn’t. She had goals in life.

  Forsaking the weather and her own unruly emotions, she said, “I don’t see any camels. I thought we were going to have a riding lesson this morning.”

  Martin seemed to relax, probably, Christina thought caustically, because she was no longer acting insane. “We are.” He also seemed to have regained his usual pleasant demeanor. There was nothing of yesterday’s madman about him now “This gentleman is Howard Schuman, and he’s going to teach you the fine art of camel riding. Mr. Schuman, this is our leading lady, Christina Mayhew.”

  Oh, this was wonderful. She’d alienated her camel riding instructor by frowning at him for no reason. Trying to make up for her earlier clumsiness, Christina turned toward Schuman and held out her hand. “How do you do, Mr. Schuman? Thanks for your help. Where did you learn how to ride a camel?”

  There. That had been a nice comment delivered with aplomb. He couldn’t take exception to it.

  He didn’t. He seemed to relax, in fact, and shook her hand with evident pleasure. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Mayhew. Believe it or not, I used to be in the French Foreign Legion. When I got out, I went to work for Barnum and Bailey’s.”

  “Good heavens.” Christina was genuinely impressed.”I thought all the men who joined the French Foreign Legion were criminals on the lam.”

  There she went again. Alienating her teacher. She remembered of old how touchy teachers could get when their students were too curious.

  Fortunately for her, Mr. Schuman didn’t take exception to her artless comment. In fact, he laughed. “Not all of us, although I suspect there were a few blokes who joined to escape from various aspects of their lives.”

  He had a nice accent. English or something. She offered up one of her actressy smiles, and he flushed becomingly. Men. They were really quite simple—and terribly predictable.

  Mr. Schuman went on, “Camels are tricky customers, but I think we can teach you some of the basics without much trouble.”

  “I’ve heard they spit at people if they’re annoyed,” Christina said in order to make conversation.

  Both men chuckled, and she began to feel better about herself, the day, the picture, and life in general. “That they do,” said Schuman “They aren’t very nice animals, as a rule.”

  “And here they are!” Martin exclaimed, as if he were more delighted to see a camel than he would have been to have a pile of gold coins heaved at him.

  Christina turned to look. There they were, all right. Six camels headed their way, lined up on ropes as if
they were walking in a caravan across the Sahara. They had an uncomfortable-looking gait. “By gum, she said. “There they are.”

  Schuman heaved a sigh. “Camels,” he murmured dreamily.

  Christina looked at him with interest. “You sound as if you like them, Mr. Schuman.”

  “I do. They’re difficult, but I love the silly creatures.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” she said, thinking about her grandmother.

  So, apparently, did Martin think of Gran. His face darkened, and he glanced around apprehensively. “Er, where’s Mrs. Mayhew this morning?”

  So. Even the wonderful Martin Tafft was afraid of Gran. Although she told herself she shouldn’t be disappointed, that being afraid of Gran was only a sensible reaction to the irascible old coot and her dangerous cane, and that Martin had demonstrated a great facility for handling Gran so far, Christina felt a little deflated. “She’s on the porch.” She pointed.

  “Ah,” breathed Martin. “I see. I also see she has her cane with her” He turned and grinned at Schuman. “Better watch your step with Miss Mayhew here. She’s got a dangerous grandmother.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” retorted Schuman. The two men laughed again. Christina guessed it was funny, although she didn’t laugh with them.

  Glancing around again, Martin muttered, “Where’s Orozco? I told him eight o’clock.”

  “I haven’t seen him “ Christina refrained from tacking on the Thank God she was thinking.

  “I’ll go see if I can find him.”

  She almost told Martin not to hit him once he found him, but held herself back. She was sure yesterday’s problems had been an aberration brought about by the heat, the stress of making this picture, and the fact that Orozco could bring out the worst in anyone.

  Martin started off toward the hotel, calling back to Christina and Schuman, “Have fun, you two.”

  It wasn’t fun. Camels were dirty, smelly, recalcitrant critters, and Christina didn’t like them. They didn’t seem to like her much, either. What’s more, she didn’t like riding them, and they didn’t like being ridden. They were uncomfortable and bumpy, even though Mr. Schuman had rigged up a fancy palanquin thing for her to sit in once she climbed aboard. Christina thought wryly that it must have been a darned wealthy slave girl who could afford all the gilt and glitter the Peerless folks had slapped on this camel’s saddle.

  They’d been at it for almost forty minutes before Martin came back, a crabby looking Pablo Orozco trailing in his wake. Martin was yanking on that tuft of hair and appeared pretty darned harassed and crabby himself Christina waved at the two men from her perch on the camel’s back. She wondered if either of them had resorted to fisticuffs before heading out to the camels.

  In an attempt to cheer them both up, she called out, “Hey, you two. Like my mount?”

  Martin managed a smile and a wave. Orozco didn’t.

  “You’re missing all the fun, Pablo.” She entertained the unkind hope that he’d been up all night drinking and now had a hangover. It would serve him right for being such a despicable cad to have to bump around on a camel’s back while nursing a terrible headache. She knew she was being petty and would have been ashamed of herself if Orozco had been worth it.

  “Ah,” said Schuman. “Good. Miss Mayhew’s got the hang of it quite well. Why don’t we try you, Mr. Orozco?”

  Orozco grumbled something, huffed, and stood still with his arms crossed over his chest. He glared as Christina’s camel knelt on the sand, as the trainer had commanded it to do, and Christina climbed down. She did it fairly gracefully, too, if she did say so herself. It was no mean feat to be graceful while dealing with a camel.

  She glanced at Orozco. “Don’t look so unhappy, Pablo. It’s only a camel.” Her bottom hurt, her arms felt as if they were going to fall off, her legs were having spasms, her head ached, and her back would never recover, but she’d die before she’d admit it to Pablo Orozco. Let him find out the joys of camelback riding for himself.

  “Hunh,” said Orozco, sounding cynical and resentful.

  Christina didn’t bother with him anymore, but staggered off to the porch to sit with Gran. Somebody—Christina suspected Martin, since he was the only kindhearted person around—had been thoughtful enough to provide iced lemonade and some glasses.

  The refreshments sat on the table next to Gran, and Christina poured herself a glass with pleasure.

  “That man’s an ass,” said Gran when Christina flopped down in a chair next to her and downed half her lemonade. She eyed her grandmother, puzzled. She’d kind of liked Schuman.

  “Which man?”

  “That actor fellow.”

  “Oh. Him.” Christina peered at Orozco, who was at present scowling hideously as he tried to follow Mr. Schuman’s directions for mounting a camel. “You’re right. He is.” She drank the rest of her lemonade and pressed the cold glass against her forehead, contemplating whether or not she was up to running inside to fetch some salicylic powders for her headache.

  The camel lurched upright, and she winced, almost pitying Pablo Orozco, since she knew from experience how uncomfortable this particular aspect of his experience could be. She heard Orozco’s loud curse as it wafted across the desert air to the porch. She decided to hold off on the headache powders for a minute or two. She wanted to watch Orozco suffer.

  “He’s a lout, too,” Gran said.

  Christina put her glass on the table, crossed her arms over her chest, and tilted her chair until its back rested against the hotel wall. “You’re absolutely right, Gran.”

  She couldn’t distinguish the words Martin, Orozco, and Schuman were now exchanging, but Orozco sounded angry. He gesticulated wildly, and Mr. Schuman looked alarmed when the palanquin rocked. Christina dropped her chair’s legs back onto the porch and leaned forward to get a better view of things. “What the devil is he doing?” She was referring to Orozco, who had begun shouting.

  Gran shrugged “Making an ass of himself; is my guess:’

  Christina guessed she was right.

  All of a sudden the camel let out a bellow, and she saw it take off at a dead run across the desert, away from Martin and Mr. Schuman. Their shouts blended with Orozco’s screams of terror. She gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Good heavens!”

  “Heh! Looks like he’s cooking his own goose now.” Gran’s voice held a huge measure of satisfaction.

  She was correct in her assessment of the situation, too. As Christina watched in growing horror, she saw the palanquin slowly, slowly tilt sideways on the camel’s back, until it had slipped completely off the hump Then she saw Pablo Orozco flailing madly, topple out of it, and crash to the ground.

  She didn’t wait around to hear what Gran was going to say now, but took off at a run toward the scene of the accident. She heard Gran chuckling behind her however, and wondered suddenly if her family carried some tainted hereditary trait that turned women into witches once they reached a certain age.

  Six

  Howard Schuman stared with what looked like total incredulity at the camel’s retreating hump with its palanquin bouncing crazily and with Pablo Orozco hollering fit to kill. “Damnation! He spooked the camel!”

  Then the palanquin bounced right off the camel’s hump and Orozco spilled out. Martin winced and immediately thought about his shooting schedule.

  Although the weather was hot enough to boil water, he and Schuman ran like greased lightning across the desert sands to where Pablo Orozco lay, cursing a blue streak and wrestling with what looked from a distance like a clump of grayish vegetation. Martin hoped it wasn’t a cactus.

  “Damn the camel!” he hollered. “If Orozco’s broken something, we’re in big trouble.”

  Schuman shot Martin a fulminating glance. “That camel, for your information, is worth twice as much that pigheaded blowhard of an actor.”

  “To you, maybe,” Martin shot back.

  This was awful. It was horrible. If Pablo Orozco had suffered a
major injury, the picture was doomed.

  Oh, very well. Perhaps it wasn’t doomed, exactly, but if Pablo had hurt himself, it would be a major blow to the calendar of the shoot. Martin himself had already put the filming behind schedule by making all that fuss about the kiss yesterday. Even thinking about yesterday’s folly made him cringe inside.

  A third person’s footfalls reached his ears. He glanced around and was surprised to perceive Christina, whose long, elegant body and apparent high level of physical fitness had allowed her to catch up with him and Schuman. Suddenly recalling her sarcastic wish that Orozco should fall off his camel and break his arm, he wasn’t altogether pleased to see her.

  “What in the world happened?” she asked, puffing hard. “How’d he manage to run off with the camel?”

  Before Martin could answer her, Schuman did. “That blasted actor spooked the animal, and it bolted with him .”

  Even though Martin knew Schuman was speaking only the truth, he resented him doing so out loud and to Orozco’s co-star. He also resented the sneer of contempt he thought he detected on Christina’s face. Unless she was merely out of breath and wasn’t sneering at all.

  “What was he complaining about?” Christina wanted to know. “He looked like he was arguing with the two of you even before the camel took off running.”

  “He thought he knew better than I did how he was supposed to get on the camel’s back and what to do once he got there.” Bitterness dripped from Schuman’s words and echoed in his voice.

  “It figures,” Christina muttered.

  Martin shot her a frown.

  She frowned back and said, “You know it’s true, Martin”

  Yes, he knew it was true. That didn’t mean he had to like it. He didn’t speak because the noise Orozco was making would have drowned out his words anyway.

  “Damn it, did you see what that damned beast did to me?” Orozco shrieked as they approached.