Cowboy For Hire (11 page)

“I know, I know. Horace makes everyone mad.
But, listen, Charlie. He wasn’t in his tent when I looked. I’m
afraid he’s gotten loose and is looking for booze. Will you help me
find him?”

With narrowing eyes, Charlie muttered, “That
guy’s got a real problem with the booze, doesn’t he?”

“I’m afraid he does.”

“You might want to see about usin’ other
folks in future pictures, Martin. Once folks get to drinking all
the time, there’s no doing anything with them. But I’ll be glad to
help you look for him.”

“Thanks a lot, Charlie. You’re a trump. And
I’m sure you’re right about using other people in future films. But
it’s an awful shame. Huxtable is a wonderful actor, and he has a
great presence on the screen.”

His companion regarded Martin as if he didn’t
have a clue to what he was talking about. Which he probably
didn’t.

Martin continued, “We’d better check in at
the chow tent. Chances are, if he went looking for alcohol, he’d
look there first.”

“Doesn’t he have any of his own? He got a
snootful last night somehow or other.”

Martin shook his head. “I made him give it
all to me, and then I searched his tent on my own. Didn’t want any
more of these things to happen.” He snorted. “For all the good it
did.”

“A man can only do what he can do,” Charlie
said philosophically. “It isn’t your fault the man’s a pain in the
ass and a drunk.”

“I suppose not.” It would be his problem if
his star got plastered and delayed the shooting of the picture,
though. And it would be his problem if Huxtable harassed Amy Wilkes
so much she quit, too. IT would also be his problem if he insulted
someone who took exception to one of his diatribes and beat him up
and broke his arm or neck or something, as well.

Every now and again, he wished Peerless had
enough money to hire a few more people. Phineas Lovejoy, the owner
of the studio and Martin’s best friend from childhood, was a whiz
at finding money and backers for his pictures. Unfortunately,
finding money and backers took a lot of time. And that left all the
legwork and most of the other work to Martin.

As if he’d read Martin’s mind, Charlie said,
“You sure have a lot to do with this picture-making business,
Martin.”

Discovering it pleasant to be talking to
someone who understood, if only a little bit, what his work
entailed, Martin nodded. “Yes, I do. I don’t mind, really, and I
enjoy the variety, but looking after Horace Huxtable isn’t one of
my favorite pastimes.”

“You ought to get some assistants. Or chain
him to a wall or something.”

“I’m hoping to do that very thing—hire
assistants, that is—if this picture is the success we think it will
be. Assistants cost money, and you can see already how large a crew
it takes to make a picture.”

“Yeah. I was kind of surprised.”

“We need cameramen, people to write the
musical score, people to write and paint the subtitles, people to
create scenery, costumes, all sorts of things like that. Not to
mention people to scout out locations and set the scenes and pick
up and clean the tents and other stuff. When we use animals, as we
do in this picture, we need to find them, and the people to take
care of them, too. And don’t forget food service when we’re on
location, as we are this time.”

“That must cost a bundle.”

“It does, believe me. So I don’t begrudge Mr.
Lovejoy his job, believe me. He’s a whiz at finding money.”

“Now, there’s a fine, useful quality in a
man,” said Charlie with approval.

“It is indeed. But it leaves everything else
to me. One of these days, though, we’ll be able to hire
assistants.”

“Good luck to you. I hope you make a
fortune.”

Charlie sounded as if he meant it, and Martin
was glad to accept his good wishes. “Thanks, Charlie.”

They had to look into every tent they passed.
It pleased Martin that Charlie was so eager to help. Unless it was
because he wanted to punch Huxtable again. He decided not to dwell
on that unlikely possibility. After all, Charlie was a sensible
fellow. He’d only hit Huxtable the first time because the man had
been an insufferable boor. In Huxtable’s last picture for Peerless,
an assistant cameraman had popped him with much less cause.

Which brought to mind a whole slew of
scenarios in which they might find Peerless’s errant star. Lord,
what if Huxtable had insulted a native and been shot for his
efforts? This was El Monte, after all, where Wild Western
sensibilities might yet prevail.

Opening a trunk and peering inside, in case
Huxtable was sleeping it off in there, Charlie asked, “What-all
kinds of jobs do you have to do for these pictures, Martin?”

Silently blessing Charlie for taking his mind
away from the mental image of Horace Huxtable with a bullet hole in
his egotistical head, Martin said, “Oh, I’m the one who has to
search out locations and so forth. That’s the first job to be done
when a picture is in the planning stages.”

“You mean like here?”

“That’s right. We do a lot of cowboy stuff,
so I hang around deserts a good deal.”

“Hope they aren’t all as ugly as this one,”
Charlie opined.

With a soft laugh, Martin said, “Deserts
aren’t my favorite places. And we usually have to shoot during the
hottest part of the year, because of the sunlight, so it’s not
awfully pleasant sometimes.”

Charlie, an Arizonian, nodded as if he
understood completely.

“Of course, I search out new talent, too. I
found you, remember.”

“I remember.”

Shooting a sharp glance at him, Martin
wondered why Charlie didn’t sound more cheerful about it. Figuring
he should deal with one crisis at a time, he opted to ask
later.

“And I often direct, as I’m doing on this
picture. I’m part owner of the studio, but I generally leave the
business side of it to my partner, Mr. Lovejoy. He’s better at it
than I am.”

“You trust him not to cheat you?”

“Absolutely.” Martin was shocked that anyone
would question Phineas Lovejoy’s integrity. Then again, Charlie had
never met him, so he couldn’t know that Phineas would sooner cut
his own throat than perpetrate a swindle. That was the only reason
Martin had felt comfortable in joining his moviemaking enterprise.
That and the fact that he had no money of his own and Lovejoy was
rolling in it.

Charlie simply nodded complacently, as if
he’d only wanted to know.

Martin guessed it was a cowboy thing, and
went on explaining his role in Peerless as he and Charlie lifted
tent flaps and searched under benches and chairs. Damn Huxtable
anyway.

“I have to line up extra people if we need
crowd scenes and so forth. If we’re filming near a town or city,
the local folks are generally happy to oblige for five dollars or
so.”

“You mean you’d pay them five bucks a day to
stand around and be part of a crowd?”

“Oh, yes. When we filmed
Betsy of the
Badlands
, we needed a whole bunch of people milling around
during the lynching scene.”

Again, Charlie nodded. “Not bad. Five bucks
is a lot of money for some of us.”

“Right. Then there are the animals.”

“Animals.”

“Yes. If we need horses or cows or something,
I have to find them. For instance, in this picture, we have several
horses and we’ll be using a lot of cattle eventually. Those are
some of the horses.” He pointed to a fenced in area where six
horses grazed lazily beneath some trees.

“I see. Better go over there and see if he’s
got himself kicked by a horse and had his head stove in.”

“Don’t even say something like that!” Martin
cried, horrified by the mere thought of his star being killed by a
horse.

Chuckling, Charlie said, “I don’t think you
need to worry about it. Huxtable don’t seem to me to be the horsy
type.” He climbed the fence and strode over to the horses.

Martin bit his fingernails and watched with
great anxiety, expelling a huge gust of breath when Charlie ambled
back, shaking his head. “He isn’t there.”

“Thank God,” breathed Martin, thinking he
wasn’t up to this sort of nonsense, and that if Phineas did want to
use Horace Huxtable in another picture, he’d have to pay Martin
triple his regular salary for putting up with the big ham and
seeing that he stayed out of trouble.

“So that’s a whole lot of stuff you have to
do, Martin,” Charlie said, making Martin’s mind veer back to their
earlier conversation. “Do you have to do other stuff, too?”

“Yes, indeed. I have to make sure the cast is
fed and housed. Sometimes we can rent rooms in a hotel. Often we
can make an entire moving picture in a single day of filming. The
short stuff, you know. We’ll take the cast and the camera, head to
the park, and voila! We have a single-reeler all set to go.”

“I didn’t know that. How come this one’s
takin’ so long?”

“This one’s different.” Martin couldn’t keep
the swell of pride he felt from leaking into his voice. “This is
going to be a major motion picture. A feature. It’s not just one of
those cheap shorts. It’s going to make people sit up and take
notice. Why, Charlie, pretty soon the moving pictures will be the
biggest thing in the whole U.S. of A.”

“That so?” They’d finished with the Peerless
village and the outlying pastures, and now headed out to the
desert. Charlie vaulted over a fence and jogged over to inspect a
pile of boulders.

Martin raised his voice so Charlie could hear
him. “Oh, yes. Why, you can send a can of celluloid anywhere. It’s
not like the theatre, where a person has to travel to New York or
Chicago or San Francisco to see a good stage production. Pictures
have the potential of reaching everyone in the world eventually.
They’re already building picture palaces in some of our bigger
cities. That’s why the premiere performance of One and Only is
going to be held in Chicago.” He was disappointed when he saw
Charlie head back empty-handed.

As he vaulted back over the fence, Charlie
said, “I guess I never thought about it before, but I expect you’re
right.”

“The industry is growing by leaps and
bounds,” Martin said firmly. “And you’re fortunate to be in it at
the beginning.”

“I suppose so.” Charlie didn’t sound as
thrilled as Martin thought he should. Charlie stopped next to
Martin, hooked his thumbs in his belt, and surveyed the desert. “I
don’t know, Martin. It doesn’t look too promising.”

“No,” Martin agreed unhappily. “It doesn’t.
Where on earth can the man have gotten himself off to?”

Charlie had opened his mouth, presumably to
offer a suggestion, when both men stiffened as if the finger of God
had smote them into pillars of salt. A high-pitched, terrified
scream pierced the air around them.

Martin said, “Huxtable.”

Charlie said, “Aw, hell.”

They both took off at a gallop to see what
the star of their picture had done this time.

* * *

Amy, trying hard not to be mortified, had
just stepped out of her own plain chemise and donned the
undergarments she’d have to wear for the picture. She now stood
before Miss Crenshaw in a waist-length chemise and stiff-boned
corset with a type of garters Amy had never used before. They
dangled from the bottom of the corset and exposed a good deal of
bare skin of her thighs. Amy felt extremely uncomfortable thus
clad, as she was accustomed to wearing more demure underwear. And
always covered by outer clothing if she was going to be seen by
anyone.

She’d just straightened up from attaching,
via the garters, the pair of white silk stockings, also provided by
Miss Crenshaw and undoubtedly much more fashionable than the dark
cotton stockings she generally wore. She inspected herself
surreptitiously in the full-length mirror on its stand in a
corner—surreptitiously because she didn’t want Miss Crenshaw to
think she was vain.

Although she knew it was a meaningless
conceit, she was glad that—although she was embarrassed to admit it
to herself—she looked quite well thus clad. Or unclad.
Shocking,
Amy Wilkes. You’re becoming a perfectly shocking hussy.
She
believed, however, that Vernon might be jarred out of his general
superior serenity if he could see her now, and she smiled
inside.

Worse than that, she had the scandalous
notion that she’d like Charlie Fox to see her. She was sure he’d
find her every bit as attractive as he found Miss Crenshaw. And,
what was more, Amy didn’t smoke cigarettes, so her breath would be
sweeter than Miss Crenshaw’s.

Great heaven, she was slipping fast.

Fortunately, Miss Crenshaw had begun to speak
again, so Amy was compelled to haul her mind out of the sewer.

“Does that fit too tightly, Miss Wilkes? I
can loosen it if you want me to, although we need to keep it fairly
snug so the costume will fit properly.”

Amy swiveled this way and that, testing the
garment. “I don’t think this is too tight, depending on what I’ll
have to do in it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. The ladies never
have to do too much unless you’re in one of those
Perilous
Polly
pictures or something. In this one, you’re going to be
rescued, so you won’t need to be doing anything very strenuous. I
think they’re going to tie you to a log in a sawmill, and you’ll
have to struggle to get the bonds loose before the saw can cut you
in half, but you’ll be lying down for that.”

Amy snorted and then felt silly.

Miss Crenshaw glanced up at her. “What is it?
Is something wrong?”

Fiddlesticks. Would she never learn to keep
her big mouth shut? “I beg your pardon, Miss Crenshaw. I was
contemplating being rescued by Mr. Huxtable, and I couldn’t seem to
help myself.”

Miss Crenshaw’s laugh sounded genuine and
spontaneous, and Amy felt better. “I know
exactly
what you
mean,” Miss Crenshaw said. “That man is horrible. I don’t think
there’s a woman on the set whom he hasn’t pestered at one time or
another. He’s terrible when he’s not drinking, and he’s
insufferable when he’s drunk.”