Her Leading Man

by Duncan, Alice

  The citizens of Indio and the Desert Palm Resort threw a party for the cast and crew of Egyptian Idyll that evening. It was a swell party, made especially so for Christina because her costar wasn’t there. The citizens of Indio were disappointed, but Martin made up a good excuse to explain Pablo’s absence, and everyone had a good time without him.

  Christina danced with the mayor, with Paul, with the owner of the Desert Palm, with Ben, with Indio’s city fathers, and with several goggle-eyed Indio boys.

  When she finally got to dance with Martin, her feet were sore. “I can’t remember the last time I got stepped on so often,” she muttered as they whirled around the ballroom.

  He laughed. “You’re in demand, darling. All the gay blades in town want to hold you in their arms.”

  “Good heavens. I’ll never understand why people idolize picture folks. I mean, we’re all only people.”

  Martin shook his head. “The pictures only depict pretty people, darling. Isn’t that one of the reasons you disapprove of them so heartily?”

  She said, “Disapprove? Do I disapprove of them?”

  “You gave me that impression. At least when we first met, you did.”

  “Gad, what a stuffed shirt I am.”

  He laughed. “No, you’re not. You’re just a high-minded young lady with firm principles and a reformer’s spirit.”

  “I guess so.” His description sounded awfully grim to her. In fact, she didn’t like it. Worried, she said, “Am I really that bad, Martin? Tell me the truth. I don’t want to be nothing but a fussy stick of a woman. I really don’t want to be another Carrie Nation or someone like that.”

  “Good God!” Martin stared at her. “No, darling, you’re nothing like Carrie Nation. Trust me. I think it’s fine that you take the high road. You’ve made me think about my own principles and goals in life.”

  “I have?”

  “You have.”

  As he continued to lead her in the merry waltz, Christina gave her brain a rest. Maybe that was the real trick to life. Do your best, do it with all the energy you have, and when it’s over, relax and don’t keep chewing on it. Good advice.

  She knew it would be difficult to take, too. But she aimed to try.

  A caravan of crew members from Egyptian idyll drove back to Los Angeles the day after the wrap-up party. Everyone was tired, but happy. It was generally thought that Egyptian Idyll was going to be a smash hit.

  Gran sat straight as a ramrod in the passenger’s seat of Christina’s Runabout. She’d had only one or two trenchant remarks to fling at people before settling herself in the motorcar. Christina thanked whatever powers lurked nearby that the old lady didn’t create a fuss. Christina wanted to get out of Indio and back home so she could figure out what to do with the rest of her life now that medical school didn’t figure into it.

  They arrived in Los Angeles late that afternoon. Martin had driven the whole way alongside Christina and Gran in his Pierce Arrow because he wanted to be there to help if a tire blew or the engine overheated. Gran had sniffed and said they didn’t need his help.

  Christina, who knew better—she’d learned by this time that it didn’t matter what one’s sex was, and that it was very nice to know someone cared enough to help out—thanked him sincerely. No catastrophes befell them, however, and after Martin had helped them carry their luggage into the rented cottage Gran and Christina shared in Pasadena, he left for his own home.

  An irrational sensation that she was being deserted crushed Christina’s spirits as she waved at Martin’s retreating Pierce Arrow. She was extremely glad that they were in a civilized part of the country, where telephones were commonplace. She tried to convince her heart that she’d hear from Martin soon. Her heart didn’t cooperate.

  She was tired and depressed when she unpacked and went to bed that night. Her depression deepened the next day when Martin didn’t telephone. Where was he? Was he tired of her now that they weren’t stuck in Indio? Could he be a villain in disguise?

  She chided herself for being missish and irrational. A Mayhew woman did not pine away over a man—any man.

  Christina pined anyway, although she didn’t dare exhibit her emotional state to her grandmother. Gran would only sneer at her and say cutting things. Christina didn’t think she could stand that. Since she didn’t have anything else to do for the time being, she busied herself in the cottage’s small garden. Gardening always soothed her nerves when they were on edge.

  And still Martin didn’t call. The early summer evening dragged on and on, and Christina pruned rosebush after rosebush. She even enlarged the back flower bed, hoping the energy she used up in so doing would leave her too tired to fret.

  No such luck. By the time eight-thirty rolled around and she could no longer see where she was putting her spade, Christina knew she had to give up on the garden.

  So she went indoors and took a bath, washing her hair, too, since she’d managed to get so sweaty working outside all day long. She’d skipped dinner, telling Gran that she’d eaten such a huge lunch that she couldn’t hold another morsel.

  It was a lie. Her stomach had been in knots at lunchtime, and she hadn’t downed a thing.

  She hated herself. That she, Christina Mayhew, an enlightened and modern female, should be suffering these agonies merely because the man she cared for—oh, very well, the man she loved—hadn’t been in touch for a few hours was humiliating.

  Christina was sitting on the front porch in a light evening wrapper and sipping a cup of chamomile tea—she’d always heard chamomile tea was good for the nerves—when the throb of a motorcar snapped her to attention. Could it be . . .?

  But she wouldn’t let herself get excited, mainly for fear that if this motorcar didn’t contain Martin she’d be too disappointed. It was impossible for her not to hope, though, even though she wouldn’t show it. She was, after all, an accomplished actress, thanks to her thwarted desire to become a physician. She could hide her emotions when she chose to.

  The machine pulled up in front of the cottage, and she jumped up in spite of herself.

  “Christina!”

  It was Martin! Christina very nearly fainted with relief. “Good evening, Martin.” My, my, wasn’t she formal, though? But she wouldn’t let herself race down the porch stairs and fling herself into his arms, just in case he’d had a change of heart.

  That he hadn’t, she learned moments later when he charged up the porch steps and swept her into his arms. “God, I’ve missed you!”

  How sweet. “I’ve missed you, too,” she admitted after they’d shared a long and passionate kiss.

  “What’s going on out there?”

  They both looked up at the sound of Gran’s cranky question. She was leaning out an upstairs window, glaring down at them and looking as cranky as she sounded.

  Martin waved to her. “Good evening, Mrs. Mayhew. I have some news for the two of you.”

  “It’s too late for news,” Gran snapped.

  “Pish-tosh,” said Christina, eager for Martin’s company. “If you don’t want to hear it, I’ll tell you in the morning.” She knew good and well her grandmother wouldn’t allow that. Taking Martin by the arm, she whispered, “Come on inside. Gran will be joining us in a second or two.”

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed, which tickled Christina.

  “She’ll be all right. I can handle her.”

  He lifted an eyebrow in a gesture Christina recognized as one of clear disbelief She laughed. “Honest, I can.”

  “If you say so.”

  After she’d led him into the house and turned on the electric lights, Christina noticed that Martin looked fit and happy. Much more happy than she’d been all day. She wasn’t sure what to make of that—except to conclude that she’d been overly emotional.

  “I have some good news for you,” he said after he’d removed his hat and sat on the comfortable sofa in front of the fireplace.

  “Good. I could use some.” She hadn’t intended to sound so
dispirited. Martin’s absence, and her present lack of a goal in life had plagued her all day, however, and she couldn’t help it. “May I get you some tea?”

  “Tea?” Martin’s nose wrinkled. “That’s all right. I think I can live nicely without tea, thanks.”

  Christina laughed. “I think we have some sherry”

  “That’s better.”

  “Be right back.”

  By the time she returned with some sherry for Martin, her grandmother had hobbled downstairs. She hadn’t bothered to take the rags out of her hair or to remove the wrinkle eradicators plastered to her face, and Martin, who had stood politely at the elderly woman’s entrance into the front room, was trying to keep from gaping at her.

  Assessing the performance in one glance, Christina reassured him. “Don’t mind Gran, Martin. She only showed up like that because she figured it would shock you.”

  Mrs. Mayhew said, “Heh.” She was pleased by Christina’s spunk, though. Christina could tell.

  After taking a quick sip of his sherry, Martin said, “It worked.”

  Another “Heh” issued from Christina’s grandmother. She sat with a groan on a straight-backed chair she’d pulled up so that she could be in on the action, whatever it was.

  Christina settled herself on the sofa next to Martin. Her behavior might have been considered forward, but she didn’t care. Now that her future plans had been blown sky high, she needed all the comfort she could get. Martin lifted his hand, and she reached out to take it in hers.

  He surprised her. Instead of gripping her hand, he reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a folded letter. “Here,” he said, presenting it to Christina. “I believe you’ll find this to be of great interest.”

  His expression was sober, buts his eyes twinkled alarmingly. The overall effect was to make him look rather like an imp.Christina gazed at him for several seconds, until her grandmother snapped, “Well, open the damned thing, girl!”

  Christina complied. She felt her eyes grow round. Her mouth fell open. She gasped.

  “Well?” Mrs. Mayhew barked. “What does it say, girl? This is a fine time for you to go weak in the knees. I don’t approve of young women—”

  But neither Martin nor Christina cared what she didn’t approve of. Christina whooped and hollered, “Martin! I can’t believe you managed this!” And crushing the letter against his back, she threw her arms around him

  By the time the two of them let each other go, Mrs. Mayhew was quivering with suppressed temper and Christina was crying. Martin laughed, although he looked a little shaky himself.

  “So,” he said, “you’ll be admitted to medical school at Los Angeles University. Every single one of the regents signed that thing.” He pointed at the letter. “You can see there. I made them do it. What’s more, we can get married any time we want to, and they won’t say a word.”

  Mrs. Mayhew gasped.

  Wiping her eyes, Christina kissed him once more before asking, “How much did this cost you, Martin?”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m rich.”

  Caught somewhere between laughing and crying, Christina kissed him again. “How nice it must be to have influence.”

  “It helps sometimes.”

  “Good God,” said Mrs. Mayhew. “Good God.”

  Miss Christina Mayhew and Mr. Martin Tafft were married at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in the lovely community of Altadena, California, on October 19, 1913. Christina’s second cousin served as matron of honor. Martin’s two brothers were groomsmen. Both sets of parents attended the ceremony. So did all of the invited guests, a majority of whom worked in the motion picture industry. A swarm of reporters lurked outside the church, waiting to capture the happy couple and publish photographs in newspapers and magazines.

  Grandmother Mayhew cried.

  So did Christina’s mother and Martin’s mother, but there was nothing unusual in that.

  Since the university at which Christina attended medical school was located in the western part of Los Angeles, near the Pacific Ocean, the couple rented a house there for the duration. As soon as Christina received her medical degree, they moved to Pasadena, where Martin had been busy building a house with an office for his wife, the doctor. They were happier than Christina had known married people could be.

  Martin wasn’t surprised by that. What surprised him was that Christina’s grandmother turned almost human when their first child, a little girl whom they named Elizabeth, was born.

  Epilogue

  Pasadena, California,

  November, 1920

  Martin carried three-year-old Elizabeth on his shoulders up to the voting booth. Christina and her grandmother marched ahead of him, their chins high, their backs straight. He figured they deserved to lead the way.

  His marvelous wife had worked hard for this day, not so much by marching and protesting, but by being who she was. She devoted most of her medical practice to unfortunates who didn’t have enough money to pay expensive doctors for medical treatment. What made that marvelous was that she’d have done the same thing even if she hadn’t had a rich husband.

  As for Martin, he still owned half of Peerless Productions, and Peerless was still considered the top production company among moviemakers. Peerless was known throughout the world as purveyors of a quality product.

  The motion pictures hadn’t spread world peace as Martin had once hoped. The World War was just two years over, and most of the world still suffered from its aftermath.

  But he held on to his dreams, as Christina held on to hers. Between them, and Elizabeth, Martin knew this old world was a better place. Their own personal triumvirate might not be able to cure all the world’s problems, but they were certainly making inroads.

  “Can I vote, too, Daddy?” Elizabeth piped up.

  “Not this time, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her as he set her on the sidewalk. “You have to be twenty-one to vote.” But you no longer needed to be male.

  “Twenty-one?” Elizabeth made a face. “That’s a long way away.”

  Martin feared it wouldn’t be long enough. He grinned at Christina, who grinned back. This was an emotional moment for both of them.

  He nearly fell over in a dead faint when he saw Grandmother Mayhew brush her gloved hand across her withered cheek in order to wipe away her tears.