Her Leading Man (7 page)

Grandmother Mayhew said, “Heh,” which
Mart
in
figured was par for the course.
He was about to
resume arguing with the camel
driver when Christina interrupted his train of
thought.

“
It looks like they sent you the wrong kind of
camels,
Martin.”

Martin glanced at her, wondering if she was
trying
to be funny
.
“Yes,” he said, “it
does.”

“
Well, now,” the driver said—and his face
had
gone red when he’d taken in the full glory of
Christina, who
really was pretty glorious if one
weren’t in a bad mood already, “it ain’t
my fault,
them camels. I just brung what they loaded.”

“
Of course,” Christina said with a lovely,
serene
smile. “I don’t believe Mr. Tafft is blaming you for
the mix-up. But
Egyptian camels are a lighter color
than these, you see, and this picture is
supposed to
be set in Egypt.”

The driver swallowed audibly. “Well
. . .”
His
brow furrowed, and he thought so hard, Martin
wondered
why
they couldn’t hear the gears in his brain
cranking. “Well, who’ll know that
except you and
him? “ He hooked a thumb in Martin’s direction.
Christina lifted her
eyebrows and smiled a question
at Martin. He didn’t scowl at her, but it was an
effort.

Grandmother Mayhew chose that moment to pipe in
with her own comment
on the situation.
“It’s not as if it matters,” she said to Martin,
ignoring
the
driver. “Nobody who pays good money
to see this idiotic moving picture is
going to know
Egypt from Ethiopia in the first place. They’re all
morons and
fools.”

Martin stiffened. He knew he shouldn’t take
exception
to
anything Mrs. Mayhew said, because she
was only being offensive to get
reactions from people.
But it galled him when people made blanket
disparaging
comments about the pictures, which he
loved above all else in the
world.

“
Gran,” Christina said, before Martin could
think
of anything polite to say that would yet repudiate
the
old bat’s
statement, “Martin works in the pictures
because
he loves them as an art form and a means
of
creative
expression. There’s nothing intrinsically moronic
about them, and you
shouldn’t say things like
that.”

“
Balderdash,” grumbled Gran.

Martin swallowed the bitter words he’d been
thinking,
and
glanced with wonder at Christina. She gave
him such an understanding smile that
his knees went
weak for a second. “Yes, well, none of this will
solve
our
problem, will it?” she asked sweetly.

“
I ain’t takin’ them camels back to Beattie’s,”
the
driver declared. “That wasn’t the deal. I’ve gotta
pick
up two
elephants in San Berdoo and haul ‘em back
to El Monte now
.
I
ain’t got room for no camels.”

Martin frowned at the man and was trying to think
of a way out of this
mess when Christina touched
the hand tugging at his hair, and he nearly
jumped
out of
his skin. Her touch had been soft and gentle,
but he’d felt it like an
electrical shock.

“
Please, Martin,” she said, and her voice was
soft
and gentle, too, “I don’t think you should worry
about the camels
right now. Maybe we can use hair
dye on them or something.”

“
Fah,”
said Gran. “I tell you, it doesn’t matter.”

With a little shrug and a tender smile, Christina
said,
“You know, Martin, she might be right.
There
aren’t
really too many people in the world who know
Egyptian camels are blond. And
these guys”—she
patted the nearest camel, who looked at her as if he
were
offended—
“
will be photographed in black and
white, so it might
not matter much “

For some reason, all the frustration and anger that
had been building up
in Martin’s chest vanished. It
was an odd thing, he thought, but as soon
as
Christina’s hand had touched his, his tension
evaporated.
He looked at her and opened his mouth to tell
her so, but realized
how foolish it would sound if
he mentioned it, so he held his tongue.

Instead, he turned to the driver. “Tell you what.
Miss Mayhew has a
good point there.”

The camel driver, glancing at Christina, looked as
if he agreed, but
not necessarily about Christina’s
spoken point. He looked as though he
wished he
could devour Christina for dinner.

Martin continued, knowing the driver wouldn’t get
anywhere with
Christina along the lines of seduction
as long as Christina’s grandmother
was around and
armed with that blasted cane of hers. “So I’ll
accept
the
delivery of these camels, and we can see how
they look on
celluloid.”

He gestured to a group of four men holding leads
that were destined
to be hooked onto the camels’ bridles.
“You can get the camels into their
pens, fellows.
I’ll have to decide whether we can use them after
we see how they look
on film.”

The men were animal trainers often used by the
Peerless Studio. The
studio regularly needed horses
and cattle for cowboy pictures, and this wasn’t
the
first
time Peerless had dealt with camels. A vampire
picture Martin had directed the
year before had required
bats. He would be very happy if his only problem
in this picture turned out to be the color of the
camels. Turning back
to the driver, he said,
“
I
f
these
guys photograph all right, we’ll keep them. If
not,
I’ll be
in touch with Mr. Beattie.”

The driver seemed to have to jerk his attention
away from Christina.
After focusing on Martin, he
mumbled, “Right. Right. So I’ll go pick up them
elephants
now. You gotta sign this.”

He took a dirty delivery notice from his shirt
pocket and handed it
to Martin along with a stubby
pencil. Martin unfolded the paper and read it,
frowning.
“I’ll sign it, but I’m going to make a note on
it, so Mr. Beattie
will know I’m not altogether satisfied
with his help in this
case.”

“
Do whatever makes you happy,” growled
the
driver, again focusing his attention on
Christina
.

Evidently his scrutiny of her granddaughter irked
Mrs. Mayhew because,
without warning, she lifted
her cane and poked the delivery man in the
stomach
with
it. “Stop staring, you!”

“
Gran .
. .” Christina didn’t seem displeased with
her grandmother,
although she did appear somewhat
embarrassed.

“
I don’t allow dirty men to stare at my
granddaughter,
you,” Gran said, ignoring Christina. “And
don’t you forget
it.”

The driver scowled at Mrs. Mayhew. “What’s the
matter with you,
lady? You crazy or something?”

She poked him again. He grabbed his stomach and
hollered, “Hey! Cut
that out!”

“
Stop staring at my granddaughter, you
brute!”
Gran waved the cane in the man’s face, and he
backed up.
Unfortunately, he didn’t look where he
was going and ran into the first
camel, who pushed
him away, hard, with his nose, grabbing the hat from
his head with its
teeth as it did so.

“
Hey!”
the man yelled again.

Martin, who had been writing a note to Clyde
Beattie as all this
was going on, glanced up and noticed
Christina grimacing at the scene unfolding
before
her.
She
appeared
resigned. For some reason, her
expression made
Martin feel happy inside. It was almost
as if she considered all of these
shenanigans a
mere comedy to be either enjoyed or endured, as one
chose.

He appreciated her attitude and decided to emulate
it. With a chuckle,
he went to the delivery man and
held out a hand to help him rise. “I hope
you have
another hat, mister. I think the camel’s keeping
that
one.”

The deliveryman stumbled to his feet, his face red
and his expression
furious. “That old lady hit me
with her cane!” he cried, indignant. “She damn
well
hit
me!”

“
Yes, well, I suspect you were paying too
much
attention to Miss Mayhew,” Martin said gently. “Mrs.
Mayhew is very
protective of her granddaughter.”

“
You’re darned right. I am,” said Gran
fiercely.
Christina merely sighed and folded her hands
together
in
front of her. On any other woman , the pose
would have appeared demure and
innocent. On her
, it
looked more impish than anything
else.

Martin, who admired her more than he could account for in
that instant, sent her a smile before returning
to the deliveryman. “I don’t
suppose you’re
going to want to make a fuss about it. After all,
you
probably
don’t want anyone else to know you were
bested by an old lady with a cane and
a camel.”

The deliveryman made a show of dusting off his
trousers and shirt,
then reached for his hat, which
was hanging out of the camel’s mouth as
the animal
chewed on its brim. He tugged, and the camel tugged,
and it looked as
though it was going to be a draw.

Since his eyes seemed determined to turn Christina of their
own accord, Martin opted not to
argue with them. His and Christina’s gazes
locked
for a
very few seconds, but Martin felt every one them in his body. She
had a quizzical expression on
her lovely face, a half smile on her lips, and he
could
feel
from where he stood all the good humor, determination,
and intelligence in
her.

What an astonishing phenomenon. He’d never
experienced
such a plethora of physical and emotional
sensations in the
presence of another person.

After he didn’t know how long, he dragged his
gaze away from hers.
He felt the separation, too, like
a jolt—and not a pleasant one.

His response to Christina troubled Martin—in good way. He’d
have to think about it later, when he
had time. Right now, he had to get this
ridiculous
deliveryman, who’d finally managed to pry his
mangled
hat
out of the camel’s mouth, off his hands.

“
Here’s the receipt, mister. I’ve written a note
to
Mr.
Beattie on it, but if you’d please tell him what
happened, I’d
appreciate it.”

As he snatched the note from Martin’s hand, the
deliveryman didn’t
look as if he’d be pleased to do
anything at all for Martin. He huffed to
his truck,
cranked the engine to life, hopped in the cab, and
putted off,
presumably to fetch his elephants, all
without saying another
word.

“
I doubt that Mr. Beattie will get your
message,
Martin,” Christina murmured, waving dust churned
up by the truck’s
tires from in front of her face.

Martin, doing likewise, stared after the truck and
sighed. “No, I
expect you’re right.”

“
The man’s an ass,” declared Mrs. Mayhew.
At
p
resent
she had her cane propped against her
shoulder.

Martin, eyeing the cane, asked, “Do you ever use
that thing to walk
with, Mrs. Mayhew? Or do you
just carry it around to hit people
with?”