Cowboy For Hire (13 page)

“I fear it was Huxtable, all right, Miss
Wilkes.”

At least her question seemed to have taken
everyone’s attention away from her scanty costume and fixed it
where it belonged: on Horace Huxtable and his abysmal behavior.

“I honestly don’t think it’s fair to the rest
of us for him to be let loose to perpetrate these horrors, Mr.
Tafft.” Her tone was stern, rather surprising her since her state
of mortification was still acute.

“I know, I know. Two of the bigger grips have
wrestled him down and tied him up.” Martin shook his head as if he
wished he had an answer to the Huxtable problem. “I’ve got to
figure out how to keep him away from the booze and out of trouble
from now on. He evidently drank all the vanilla extract in the
kitchen and managed to get drunk on that.”

Amy huffed in disgust. “I believe you ought
to set a guard on him,” she said severely. “He shouldn’t be let out
alone, because he can’t be trusted.”

“Isn’t
that
the truth,” Miss Crenshaw
chimed in.

“I know, I know.”

Since Amy liked Mr. Tafft a good deal, she
was sorry she’d caused the expression of concern to settle on his
face. Still and all, facts had to be faced. If one man could cause
this much damage, he really needed to be kept confined. “How about
leg shackles?” she suggested, not entirely facetiously.

“
Leg
shackles?” cried Martin,
evidently not recognizing even the tiny bit of humor Amy had
intended to convey in her suggestion. He started tugging on a lock
of hair.

“Why not?” asked Miss Crenshaw acidly.
“Shackles would slow him down, at least.”

Martin turned to stare at her in patent
consternation.

Charlie laughed outright, then said, “Aw,
shoot, Martin, I think he only needs to be watched carefully. The
trouble always seems to start when he’s left alone.”

Amy nodded and smiled at Charlie. “That’s it!
He needs a keeper. Maybe a collar and a leash.”

“Good Lord,” whispered Martin, clearly
appalled. “He’d never stand for that.”

“What difference does that make?” asked Miss
Crenshaw, her words remarkably curt. Amy decided she liked Miss
Crenshaw a lot, cigarettes or no cigarettes, and no matter how
attractive Charlie Fox found her. “The man’s a menace. It’s getting
to the point where you’re going to have to decide if you’re here to
make a picture or are simply providing a playground for the drunken
lout.”

Amy nodded her agreement.

“Oh, dear,” Martin moaned. It looked to Amy
as if that poor lock of hair was in danger of being pulled out of
his skull.

“I’ll help keep watch on him,” Charlie
offered.

Amy thought that was very nice of him,
considering Mr. Huxtable didn’t like him at all since he’d punched
him in the jaw, God bless him. She gave him another smile to show
her appreciation, and was rewarded by a warm twinkle in his lovely
brown eyes. She turned to gave at Martin at once, fearing for her
consciousness. It was the corset, she told herself. It was laced
tighter on account of the picture. She wasn’t sure she believed
herself.

“Well … I hate to ask you to do that,
Charlie.”

“You didn’t ask,” Charlie pointed out. “ I
offered.”

“And you
do
need an around-the-clock
watch put on him.” Miss Crenshaw declared. “You know you do,
Martin. He can’t be trusted.”

“Right. I’m afraid you’re right.” He let go
of his hair and sighed. “Very well, then. Charlie, you’ve got a
good deal to do in the picture, so you can’t be forever trailing
Huxtable around. I’ll see if I can’t get a couple of burly fellows
to watch him most of the time. You try to keep an eye on him when
the shooting starts.”

The shooting? Amy felt her eyes go wide until
she recollected that was what the movie folks called filming. This
business was so odd.

Miss Crenshaw turned to gaze at her former
workroom. “What a wreck,” she muttered. Turning back to Amy, she
said, “I’m afraid we won’t be able to work on your fittings any
more today. We could work in your tent, but all of the fabrics,
implements and costume pieces are under there somewhere.”

Amy felt sorry for Martin Tafft, who stared
disconsolately at the rubble before him and again started pulling
on that tuft of hair and muttering to himself. She put a hand on
his arm. He jumped in startled reaction.

“Please don’t despair, Mr. Tafft,” she said,
sorry she’d frightened him. “I’m sure will go more smoothly now
that you’ve figured out how to manage Mr. Huxtable.”

“
Manage
him?” Martin exclaimed. “I’m
sure no one will ever be able to
manage
him, Miss Wilkes.”
It seemed to take a good deal of effort for him to pull himself
back from melancholy and into some sort of order. “But I do
appreciate your forbearance. I know your first picture making
venture hasn’t been exactly smooth sailing so far.”

He could say that again. And it wasn’t merely
her
first
picture-making venture, either, Amy thought
sourly. It was assuredly to be her last, as well. Rather than
saying anything so mean-spirited while Martin was plainly in
distress, Amy smiled and said, “I’m sure I shall survive.”

The luncheon gong sounded. Martin said,
“Thank you very much, Miss Wilkes. Karen,” he said, glancing at
Miss Crenshaw, “would you please see that Miss Wilkes has something
to wear to lunch, and then join us there?”

“I’d be happy to.” Miss Crenshaw smiled at
Amy. “Where’s your tent, Miss Wilkes? I’ll help you get out of that
corset. I know it’s a devil.”

In a stifled voice—why did picture people
speak so freely about underthings and talk of the devil in front of
everybody, as if they were talking about the weather? she wondered.
Amy said, “Thank you very much, Miss Crenshaw.”

“Oh, please, call me Karen. Everyone
does.”
Did they indeed? Well, Amy guessed she could do so too, even though
it seemed a remarkably casual thing to do on such short
acquaintance. On the other hand, she was in the pictures now, and
picture people, as she’d been noticing for days, were unlike any
other people Amy had ever met.

Nevertheless, she bowed to the exigencies of
her situation. She truly didn’t want the people with whom she
worked to think she was a stuffed shirt. So to speak. She almost
giggled when she remembered she was at the moment stuffed into one
of Charlie Fox’s shirts. What was more, she was experiencing an
alarming reluctance to remove it and give it back to him.

Oh, dear. Forcing herself to deal with the
present, she said, “Thank you. Please call me Amy.” They started
walking toward Amy’s tent.

“Amy?”

Miss Crenshaw sounded surprised. Amy glanced
at her, puzzled. “Yes. My name is Amy Wilkes.”

“Oh.” A frown furrowed Karen Crenshaw’s brow.
“But I thought your name was Amelia. Is Amy short for Amelia?”

“Oh, yes. I forgot.” Amy sighed windily.
“Somebody decided Amy wasn’t romantic enough, so they changed it to
Amelia for the picture.”

“Ah.” Karen nodded wisely, as if such things
happened all the time and she ought to have expected it.

Out of curiosity, Amy asked, “Do you think
Amelia is more romantic than Amy?”

Her companion shrugged. “I don’t find
anything romantic in either one of them, actually.”

“Oh.” Daunted, Amy had no idea what to say
now.

“I’m sorry,” Karen said quickly. “I’m always
saying stupid things without thinking first. Please forgive me.
Will it help if I tell you I think both Amy and Amelia are more
romantic than Karen? It’s true, you know.”

The two young women looked at each other for
a moment, then laughed. They chatted merrily the rest of the way to
Amy’s tent and were fast friends by the time they entered the chow
tent together, Amy clad in an unexceptionable pink flowered day
dress and a much more comfortable corset.

* * *

Horace Huxtable, Charlie was pleased to note,
was not only tied up and lashed to his bed, but he’d been gagged as
well, so he couldn’t rant and rave at anyone. He was as furious as
a maddened bull.

Charlie and Martin had detoured to Huxtable’s
tent to check on his progress toward sobriety before they went to
lunch.

“Because, you know, Charlie, he
is
the
star of the picture. If I let him kill himself or somebody else,
it’s liable to reflect badly on the Peerless Studio, and that would
be a catastrophe. We’re just beginning to make a name for
ourselves. We don’t need any scandal attached to the studio’s
name.

“Mmmm,” replied Charlie, who had no other
comment to offer. He knew precisely nothing about pictures,
although he could understand Peerless’s attitude about this
particular problem. If word got out that one of Peerless’s actors
was a raging drunk who tore tents apart and tried to ravish
innocent young women, the picture-going public would never pay to
see another Peerless picture. Hell, a man had to watch out for his
reputation and keep it clean even if he wasn’t starring in moving
pictures.

A huge mountain of a fellow sat in a chair
beside the bed to which Huxtable was bound. He’d been reading an
issue of
Motion Picture Story
, but when Charlie and Martin
entered the tent, he put the magazine aside and stood up. “How-do,
Mr. Tafft.” He nodded at Charlie “Mr. Fox.”

Wasn’t that nice? Everybody in the little
tent city knew who he was. Charlie was impressed and told himself
not to get swell-headed.

“I appreciate your help, Gus,” Martin said.
The two men shook hands, an event Charlie had anticipated. Maybe he
was getting a handle on these strange California manners.

“It’s nothin’,” said Gus.

A muffled roar issued from the bed. Huxtable
obviously didn’t think it was nothing.

An exasperated huff leaked from Martin. He
slewed around to glare at his obstreperous star, who looked not at
all starlike at the moment. “It’s your own fault, darn it, Horace.
If you’d only behave yourself, we wouldn’t be forced to take these
extreme measures.”

Another sound came from the bed.

“you’re not only causing all sorts of trouble
with the ladies in the cast,” Martin went on, heedless of
Huxtable’s discomfort and anger, “but you’re beginning to cost
Peerless a lot of money, what with destroying tents and delaying
the shooting schedule and all. I don’t know if anything can be
salvaged from the costume tent, but I know good and well that Mr.
Lovejoy will take the cost of repairs out of your salary.”

“Grmmph,” grunted Huxtable. “Mmmraguh.”

“It’s not fair to the rest of the cast, who
are here to work. I can assure you that neither the cast nor the
crew think your antics are funny.”

“Mrrrraw!”

“And I can also guarantee that if you don’t
stop behaving badly, you’ll never do another Peerless picture.”

Charlie felt like applauding.

More sounds spewed up from the bed.

“What’s more, if you jeopardize this
production any more than you already have, I’ll make sure every
major motion picture studio in the United States, from New York to
California, knows what happened and who was responsible. And
theatrical companies, as well.”

This time Charlie felt like cheering and
stamping his feet and whistling.

Martin chuffed impatiently. “I’m not putting
up with any more nonsense from you. In order to be sure you keep to
the line, and as much as I don’t want to do it, I’m going to have
to post men to watch you, Horace.”

“Hrrrrooogh!” Huxtable’s face turned brick
red with fury.

Clearly at the end of his tether, Martin
snapped, “It’s your own damned fault! You refuse to be responsible
for yourself, so we’re going to assign men to nursemaid you and
make sure you don’t get into any more trouble.” He went so far as
to shake a finger at the infuriated actor. “If you’re going to
misbehave like a spoiled brat, you’re going to be treated like one,
Horace Huxtable, and you might as well get used to it.”

Because he disliked the man a whole lot,
Charlie said amiably. “I’m gonna help watch over you, Huxtable. I’m
sure I can keep you out of trouble.” He smiled and winked at the
star.

“Rrrrraaaaah!”

“You might as well stop trying to yell at
us,” Martin told Huxtable grumpily. “We can’t understand a word,
and I’ve told Gus not to remove that gag until you’re under
control. We won’t tolerate any more nonsense from you.”

And with that, Martin turned on his heel and
headed out of the tent. Charlie nodded affably at Huxtable, who, he
was sure, would have spat at him if he’d been able, and followed
Martin. He was feeling fine as he entered the chow tent.

* * *

It had been an eventful day, and by rights,
Amy should have been exhausted. That evening after supper, though,
when the sun had set and several crew members had built a nice big
outdoor fire, she discovered herself sitting between Karen Crenshaw
and Charlie Fox on a big log in front of the fire.

“It’s just like camp,” declared Karen.

“Is it?” asked Amy. “I’ve never been to
camp.”

“Oh, it was such fun. We used to build fires
just like this, and sit around them, singing songs.”

It sounded like fun to Amy, who wished her
aunt had been more daring and had sent her to some of the summer
camps for girls that were run by the suffragists and other
organizations. The mere idea of making a spectacle of herself by
demanding the vote—or anything at all, for that matter—horrified
Amy’s aunt, however, and Amy had never gone to camp.

“It’s like home to me,” Charlie opined,
gazing into the fire.

“Is it really?” breathed Amy, who couldn’t
imagine such a thing. “You mean, you have campfires like this in
Arizona Territory?”

He grinned down at her. The firelight picked
out the planes and angles of his face, and made him even more
handsome than usual. Amy found herself staring, and turned abruptly
to look into the fire.