Beauty and the Brain (14 page)

“Listen, Colin,” she said more gently, “I
know you’re basically a scholar, and I understand your desire to
depict Indian lore honestly on celluloid. But in this case, it’s
too late to alter much of the script. By the time a cast goes on
location, things are pretty much set in concrete. The most you can
do at this point is—well—have the saddles taken off the horses and
the tipis repainted.” Which gave her a brilliant idea.

“I suppose you’re right. I don’t like it,
though, because it’s all wrong.” The admission sounded as if he’d
had to drag it from his throat in chains

“I know.” She made herself sound more
sympathetic, than she felt. “But you’ll at least have an
opportunity to be accurate with the tipis. Why don’t you stop
watching the rehearsal, since it obviously upsets you—”

“I’m not upset!”

Brenda eyed him thoughtfully. “Right. But
you’re not enjoying it much.”

“No,” he conceded. “I’m not enjoying it. At
all.”

“Well, then, why don’t you spend this
rehearsal time making sample designs for us to paint on the tipis?
That would be useful, and it would save Martin’s poor hair.”

Colin took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to
be an impediment to the production’s progress,” he said
grudgingly.

“I know.” Brenda kept her own voice low and
free of accusation. It wouldn’t do to humiliate the poor man just
because he was an egghead and didn’t understand the practicalities
of life. “This is the first time you’ve worked on a motion picture,
and you’re not familiar with how things are done.”

He nodded. “With luck, it will be the last
time, well,” he said wryly.

She tilted her head and observed him. He was
a stupendously handsome man, for a brain. Not that brainy men
weren’t generally handsome, but one didn’t normally associate the
one with the other. “It would be a shame to lose your
expertise.”

He snorted. “No one wants my expertise.
Obviously.”

“That’s not true. Or not entirely true,
anyway,” she added honestly. “Martin has too much to do already. He
really needs assistance. The trouble is, you aren’t of much
assistance to him when you interrupt his work all the time.”

He didn’t like it. He hated it, even. Brenda
could clearly discern the rebellious lines around his mouth and
eyes. He wanted to holler at her and tell her she was a nitwit and
a dunce and that she didn’t know what she was talking about. If he
took a minute to think honestly, however, he would have to admit
she was right.

After another moment or two, during which he
was unquestionably stewing, Colin huffed, “You’re probably right. I
don’t belong here.”

“That’s not what I said. I think the
pictures need people like you.” Not that there were any other
people like him, at least none that she’d met. “But you’ve got to
learn to take things a little easier. Relax some. Let some things
slide. It won’t kill you to enjoy life a little bit.”

He huffed again.

She went on. “I know, the scholar in you
rebels at allowing inaccuracies to pass by without comment, but
there’s only so much that can be expected of the movies. It’s a
brand-new industry. Martin’s the hardest-working man I know, and he
tries diligently to make things right. He’s the best, Colin. He
really is.”

“I know he’s a very nice person.”

“He also knows what he’s doing on a
motion-picture set.”

“I’m sure he does.”

“And if you’ll give him a chance—work with
him instead of against him—I’m sure he’ll be happy to be more
accurate in his portrayal of the Indians in future pictures.”

Colin turned a troubled glance upon her. She
was surprised to see that he didn’t look angry anymore. Actually,
he appeared distressed. “You know, that’s part of the problem.
Right there.”

“Right where?” she asked, confused.

“What you said. ‘The Indians,’ is what you
said. And there is no ‘the Indians’. That’s the whole problem in a
nutshell.”

“Yes,” she said on a huge sigh. “I recall
you saying that before.”

“It doesn’t seem fair to me that first we
steal their land and destroy their livelihood and culture, and then
we portray them in an altogether false light. It’s like stealing
everything a man owns and then saying not merely that you didn’t
really do it, but that, even if you did, it doesn’t matter, because
he was wrong to live that way in the first place.”

Put that way, it didn’t seem fair to Brenda
either. She nodded. “But it’s another point that will have to wait
to’ be made for another picture. Maybe we can have a parade of
tribes in a picture someday or something. Right now we’re trying to
make this particular picture,
Indian Love Song
, and we’ll
never get it finished if you don’t let Martin and the rest of us do
what we’ve been hired to do.”

He turned again and gazed at the set. He
looked unhappy, and Brenda was sorry about that, but honest to God,
sometimes you just had to tell a man the truth. Neither of them
spoke, and Brenda heard the light spring breeze rustle the pine
needles above their heads. The birds chirped merrily. Or perhaps
not merrily. Recalling Colin’s lecture about the blue jay and the
scarlet tanager, she wondered if the birds were having a huge
argument in bird talk, and she just couldn’t understand the
words.

“You know,” she said, having been struck by
an interesting notion, “sometimes life’s more fun when you don’t
know everything.”

He frowned at her, leading her to believe
that he wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet. “I don’t believe I know
what you mean.”

“I’m sure you don’t. But it’s more fun for
me to think that when the birds chirp in the trees, they’re happy
and not fighting with each other.”

His brow wrinkled, displaying those two deep
ruts above his nose that made Brenda go a little crazy inside. He
gazed up into the trees towering over their heads. “Why shouldn’t
they be happy?” he asked, as if he were honestly curious.

She shook her head, wondering what it must
be like to take every single solitary thing a body said absolutely
seriously. She’d have to teach this guy a joke or two one of these
days. “I don’t know.”

He was patently puzzled. Brenda didn’t think
she could explain if she tried, so she didn’t. She patted him on
the arm as if he were a strange little boy instead of a bullheaded,
albeit brilliant, young man. “It’s all right, Colin. Why don’t you
go back inside the lodge and work on those Indian symbols? All
right? Then you can supervise us when we paint them on the
tipis.”

Which was something to look forward to—if
one enjoyed being pecked to death by a petty martinet as one tried
to follow his instructions. God, she’d be glad when this picture
was over. She wanted to take Colin Peters by the scruff of his neck
and shake him until his brains scrambled and he turned human. He’d
be wonderful if he were only human.

“Well . . .”

“Please,” she said, her tone faintly
begging. “You’re only succeeding in irritating everyone on the set
here, and it’s all to no avail. You’ll be doing all of us, and
yourself, too, a big favor by butting out.”

She wasn’t surprised to see his scowl
deepen. “I don’t believe that’s true. And even if it is, that’s
hardly a ladylike way of expressing it.”

Darn him anyway, the stuffed shirt! “Mercy
me. I didn’t know you cared about such things. You astound me.” If
she put any more ice into her voice, it would freeze solid before
it left her mouth. She added an imperious sniff, hoping to make him
feel like the toad he was.

“Oh, very well.” He turned on his heel and
started walking back to the lodge, his hands jammed into his
pockets. He looked dejected.

Brenda didn’t care. She was beginning to
wonder what she’d ever seen in the man. Oh, granted, he was
good-looking. And he was smart as a whip and knew everything, and
she really, really, really wanted to pick his brains—but not at the
price he exacted. She couldn’t stand people who disapproved of
everything. She generally chalked such punctilio up to the fusspots
knowing nothing about the perils life could fling at a person.

If you’d never been tested by life, you
couldn’t expect to understand how difficult it was to uphold
society’s strict conventions as one struggled to survive. If he’d
ever been down as far as she’d been, he’d learn to appreciate the
important stuff and let the rest slide.

“Drat the man,” she muttered. Even though
she knew she was right and he was wrong pigheadedly, irrationally
wrong—her heart hurt. Fiddle.

“Brenda, may I speak to you for a
minute?”

When she turned, she saw Martin approaching,
a troubled expression on his face. Hardly surprising. Dealing with
Colin Peters and his meticulous demands was enough to trouble
anybody. She decided to forget about the ache in her own heart and
smiled, because she sensed Martin could use a few smiles today.
“Sure thing, Martin. What is it?”

He took her arm and guided her over to a
spreading tree. “Listen, I’m beginning to think hiring Colin was a
bad idea. He’s brilliant and knows everything there is to know
about Indians and so forth, but he doesn’t have the least idea how
pictures are made. He’s driving me crazy.”

As Martin had begun tearing at his hair,
Brenda didn’t doubt him for a moment. And she was sympathetic. “I’m
sorry, Martin. I know you need assistance. I guess we were all
hoping that Colin would turn out to be the help you needed, but
he’s turning out to be a hindrance.”

“You can say that again.”

She didn’t bother.

“Um,” Martin continued, “I wonder if you’d
be willing to do me a favor, Brenda.”

“Sure.” She lifted her eyebrows in inquiry.
“What is it?”

“You might not like it,” he temporized.

She shrugged. “We’re friends, Martin.
Friends help friends.”

“Thanks.” He appeared sincerely touched by
her simple statement of fraternity. “But—well, I don’t want to
jeopardize our friendship by what I’m going to ask you to do.”

Brenda was beginning to be alarmed. In order
to make herself feel better, she asked jokingly, “Good Lord,
Martin, you’re not going to ask me to assassinate the fool, are
you?”

Her question shocked Martin so much, he
actually gave a start of surprise. “Good God. No!”

She laid a hand on his arm, sorry she’d
shaken him His nerves must really he on edge if he could no longer
recognize a joke when he heard it. “I didn’t mean it, Martin. Just
ask your favor, and I’ll tell you if I’ll do it or not.”

“Good. I mean, thank you.” Martin took a
deep breath. “Listen, I know you won’t want to do this, but—well—”
He stopped speaking, as if he’d suddenly forgotten all the words
he’d ever known. Then, in a rush, he asked his question. “Will you
please take Colin in hand and try to calm him down?”

It was Brenda’s turn to be startled. Her
mouth opened, but Martin forestalled speech by hurrying on.

“You see, you’re the only person I know who
has the delicacy to take the matter in hand without crushing the
poor guy. He’s not a bad fellow, you know. He just needs to
be—well—socialized, or something. He needs to loosen up and learn
not to take everything as if it were a life-or-death problem.”

Her opinion exactly. “Hmmm.” She still
didn’t know about this. It sounded mighty tricky to her. “He
doesn’t like me much, you know.” The knowledge made her furious. It
also made the ache in her heart throb.

“Nonsense. He’s just never met a beautiful
woman before and doesn’t know how to act around you. I’ve known men
like him before. When they’re young, all the other children tease
them about being brains, and when they grow up, they’ve never
learned how to behave around women. You can teach him.”

Poor Martin. He sounded desperate. Still
Brenda hesitated. This sounded like a mighty shaky endeavor. “I
don’t know . . .”

On the one hand, Martin was asking her to do
what she’d been wanting to do ever since she met Colin: hang out
with him. She could, with Martin’s blessing, ask Colin questions
until the cows came home, if she did as Martin asked her. On the
other hand, she didn’t like rejection and rebuff any better than
anybody else on earth, and she had a feeling that, if she did this
favor for Martin, she was going to experience both before she wore
down Colin’s defenses—if she ever did.

She’d been telling herself she could wear
him down for a couple of days now, but that was before she’d
realized what a tough nut Colin could be. Now she wasn’t sure.

Dammit, of course she could wear the man
down! She was an expert, for heaven’s sake.

But did she want to? It would be tough.
He
would be tough.

What did that matter? Martin needed her.
Martin was her friend. Brenda tried never to let her friends
down.

She heaved a pine-scented sigh. “Oh, all
right. I suppose he can’t hate me any more than he already
does.”

Martin’s relief was palpable. “Bless you,
Brenda.” He eased up on his hair and smiled. “And he doesn’t hate
you, you know. He finds you as delightful as we all do. It’s only
that he doesn’t know how to express himself. I have a feeling he
mistrusts his emotions.”

“If he has any to mistrust.”

“I’m sure he does.” Martin appeared
doubtful. “Somewhere.”

“Hmmm.” Brenda went back to the rehearsal in
a less sunny mood than was customary for her.

Colin sat in the front parlor of the Cedar
Crest Lodge, gloomily staring at the pieces of paper in front of
him. He’d drawn several symbols that could be painted on the tipis.
He should be happy to have scored this one small victory. He wasn’t
happy at all.

Dash it, why was he being so unconscionably
persnickety about this silly motion picture? He didn’t care one way
or the other, really, if Martin and his company depicted Indian
life accurately. For heaven’s sake, the picture was a piece of
fiction.