Cowboy For Hire (28 page)

Charlie thought
about it and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Sorry, Martin. The
man’s dangerous.”

“Lord, Charlie,
you can’t do this. Think of what it will mean to Peerless! It will
be the end of the studio!”

Damn.
Charlie frowned, disliking the possibility just presented. He
didn’t want to cause Martin any further trouble. His whole aim in
ridding the world of Horace Huxtable was to prevent him from doing
any more evil deeds. “Well ... I’m sure I could make it look like
an accident.”

“No!” Martin
began tugging at his hair.

Feeling
frustrated, Charlie muttered, “Can I break one of his legs?”

“No.”

“How about an
arm?”

“No.”

“Not even
one?”

“No.”

“
Dammit,
Martin, the man’s a menace. He’s hurt her before, and this morning
he might have killed her! I mean, how much more is the poor lady
supposed to endure? Is it going to take Huxtable laying her out on
a slab in order for these things to stop happening?”

“
No, no.
I’ll think of something. I’ve
got
to
think of something.”

“You’ve already
set guards on him. And tonight he’s going to be drinking again, and
you know what that means.”

“There are only
two days left of filming. Surely he won’t do anything in two days’
time.”

“It only took
him a second this morning.”

Martin let out
a low groan and began pacing in front of Charlie. Charlie was sorry
to see how worried and distracted Martin was, but certain facts had
to be faced.

To spur Martin
on to greater inspirational thought, he said, “It’s both of his
legs or you think of something, Martin. I can’t keep worrying about
Miss Wilkes. It’s driving me nuts wondering what Huxtable’s going
to do to her next and trying to anticipate him. It was pure dumb
luck that I saw what he did this morning, so I could go after her
before the horse threw her. She could have landed on any of those
boulders out there.” He shuddered at the thought.

So did Martin.
“Gus. I’ll set Gus to watch him closely tonight.”

“It’s going to
take more than Gus. It’s going to take somebody who knows what
Huxtable’s capable of.”

Martin snapped
his fingers as if he’d been struck with a brilliant idea. “You! You
can watch him! You’re the best man for the job, because you hate
his guts and won’t let him get away with anything.”

His smile faded
when Charlie shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got other plans for the
evening.”

“I’ll pay you a
bonus.” Martin must have sensed the finality of Charlie’s decision,
because his voice carried no conviction.

“Nope. Sorry,
Martin.”

“Hmmm. Well,
I’ll still send Gus to watch him.”

“You’d better
send someone with him. Sam’s pretty big. If you go with Gus and
Sam, the three of you ought to be able to ride herd on one lousy
actor.”

“
Me?”
Martin looked as if he’d rather do just about anything else on
earth—even have a tooth pulled or a broken arm set—than babysit
Horace Huxtable.

“Well....”
Charlie lifted his hands, as if to say he was sorry but there
didn’t seem to be much choice. “There’s Eddie.”

“Eddie’s good.
You sure you aren’t interested?”

“No way.”

Martin
deflated like a pricked balloon. “All right. Anyhow, it’s my
responsibility.” He scowled horribly. “But it’ll never happen
again.” He turned and began walking away talking to himself. “If
Phineas Lovejoy ever,
ever
wants Horace Huxtable to play in another picture, he’ll
have to direct the damned thing himself and that’s all there is to
it.”

Charlie was
sorry to have added to Martin’s burdens, but he wasn’t going to let
this evening’s opportunity pass him by. Somehow or other, he was
going to get Amy Wilkes to agree to marry him.

* * *

Amy was
looking forward to her evening out with the cast and crew of
One and
Only
. She’d never been
to a real nightclub before, although there was one in Pasadena, and
she knew that Vernon went there occasionally. It had never occurred
to her that ladies could go to nightclubs. She said as much to
Karen, who was helping her find evening things to wear.

“Why not? Women
need recreation every bit as much as men do,” Karen declared as she
adjusted her hair ornament, a beautiful evening creation of jet
beads and fabric roses that went superbly with her evening’s
ensemble.

Amy eyed her,
trying not to be envious. After all, Karen’s trade was fashion. Of
course she’d have lots of lovely clothes. “I’ve always been told
that gentlemen need to relax away from home, while women are
supposed to sit home and knit or something.” She told herself to
forget about Karen’s gorgeous costume and squinted into the mirror.
Perhaps she could use a little dab of rouge on her lips.

And if this
wasn’t another indication of her impending downfall, she didn’t
know what was. If Vernon knew she was contemplating the wearing of
lip rouge, he would have a hissy fit. The notion of Vernon going so
far as to have any kind of fit made her giggle.

Karen eyed her
slantways. “What? Is my ribbon crooked?”

“Not at all.
You look lovely. That’ a marvellous dress. I’m wildly jealous.”

“Thank you.”
Karen beamed with justifiable pride, and Amy decided it was sort of
fun to be open and honest and not absolutely tied to convention all
the time. Sometimes when one blurted out what one felt, one not
only made oneself feel good, but others, too.

Karen turned
suddenly as if she’d just remembered something. “Oh! I forgot!” she
cried, confirming Amy’s impression. “I have a perfectly stunning
gown that would look wonderful on you. I’ll have to take up the
front a tiny little bit so it won’t drag.”

“Oh! Well,
really, I don’t think....”

“Oh, come on,”
urged Karen, darting to a huge pile of boxes stacked in a corner of
the costume tent. She rummaged through the stack until she found a
cherry-red box with white polka dots. She pulled it from the pile
and thrust it aside, as if she knew there was something in it she’d
need later.

Amy eyed the
box doubtfully. She’d never seen anything good come from polka
dots. “Really, Karen, I don’t mind not wearing anything stunning.
I’d probably feel stupid in anything stunning, actually.”

“Don’t be a
goose,” her friend said firmly. “You’re a beautiful woman and
deserve nice clothes. Especially since you’ve never been to a
nightclub before. You’ll want to wear something suitable for
dancing.”

Dancing?
Merciful heavens. The evening sounded delicious already. Amy loved
to dance. Unfortunately, Vernon didn’t. She’d bet any amount of
money—except that she wasn’t so abandoned as to gamble, yet—that
Martin Tafft could take a turn on the dance floor and not stumble
over his feet. She wondered about Charlie Fox. Then she sighed as
she got lost in the pleasant fantasies that thoughts of him always
produced in her.

“Now, where is
that thing? I thought it was here.”

The only part
of Karen that Amy could see at present was her satin-clad bottom,
which was sticking out of a rack of gowns in the corner next to the
stack of boxes. Amy wasn’t at all sure about this. Yet she
discovered within herself an enormous well of trust in Karen, which
was cheering. Amy was certain that her friend wouldn’t make her
wear anything scandalous.

Idiot, Amy.
She can’t force you to wear anything at all!

Which
conjured up all sorts of other wildly improbably—not to mention
shockingly improper—images in her mind and made her laugh again.
She saw Karen’s rump disappear, and a moment later saw her head
poke out of the rack of clothes.

“Now what?”
Karen asked. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No. I’m
laughing at myself. I’m sitting her fearing that you’ll make me
wear red-and-white polka dots.”

“
Polka
dots!” Karen’s lovely brown eyes widened. “Don’t be a goose!” She
disappeared into the rack of clothes again. “Aha!” she shouted a
moment later. “Here it is!”

When she pushed
her way out of the rack of clothes and Amy saw the gown she was
holding up on its padded silk hanger, Amy gasped. “Oh, my!” She
pressed her hands to her cheeks. Never in her entire life had she
even so much as dreamed she’d wear anything so lovely.

“
It
absolutely up to crack,” Karen said triumphantly. “And it will look
perfect on you! It was
made
for you.” She tossed the shirt of the gown over her free
arm and walked to Amy’s side. “Not literally, of course, but I’m
sure it will fit with a judicious tuck here and there.”

“It’s
beautiful,” Amy said simply.

“Yes, it is.
It’s one of Madame Dunbar’s finest. Gray silk chiffon mounted over
dark blue silk. The bodice is fitted, and may need to be taken in a
little bit, but not much. It probably won’t matter. Nobody will
look at it that closely.”

“I’d just as
soon not wear anything too tight anyway,” Amy said. “I detest tight
corsets.” When she heard herself, she smiled at how much her taste
had changed in a few short weeks.

Or perhaps they
hadn’t changed, exactly. This was the first time in her life she’d
ever actually thought about things that she’d merely accepted
without question. She’d never once, for instance, believed that a
respectable woman might smoke cigarettes. Or that one didn’t have
to wear a corset so tight it cut off one’s air and made it
impossible for one to sing in church, for another example. My, but
life was an interesting proposition when one spent a few weeks
outside of Pasadena, wasn’t it?

Karen had
adopted her working mien and was all business. “Take that thing off
and slip this on, and we’ll see what needs to be done.”

So Amy
slipped “that thing”—formerly, her most daring and exciting evening
ensemble—over her head and placed it carefully on the back of the
ladder-back chair. The blue silk and gray chiffon felt like a cloud
slipping over her skin. She sighed with pleasure.

“If I have to
take any tucks at the waist in order to keep it from dragging in
the front, this black velvet cummerbund will hide the evidence.”
Karen’s mouth was full of pins, but by this time Amy’d had lots of
practice interpreting her speech when she was so encumbered.

“This,” Amy
said, and she could hear the awe in her own voice, “is
magnificent.”

“Isn’t it?”
Karen sounded merely delighted. “I love it. Wilma Patecky’s going
to wear it in another Peerless flicker that they’re going to shoot
right after this one.”

“Wilma
Patecky?” Amy could hardly believe she was, at this very moment,
wearing a gown crafted for Wilma Patecky, one of the major stars of
the Broadway stage. “I didn’t know she played in the pictures.”

“Sure. They all
do,” Karen said simply. “They make lots of money, and nobody knows
their names.”

It made perfect
sense when said in Karen’s blunt manner. “I see. Yes, I can
understand the appeal.” Amy didn’t particularly care for being in
the limelight, but if one was accustomed to it, as a stage actress
must be, she supposed the moving pictures would be a logical step.
Especially since no one who hadn’t seen you on the stage would know
it was you there on celluloid.

“Yes,” Karen
mumbled. “I’ll have to gather the skirt up in front. But it has
thing long train, so the back is okay.”

It always
inspired Amy to watch Karen work. She was so capable, and her hands
seemed to fly when working with fabric. She was an artist in her
own arena. Amy sighed, feeling small and unimportant all at
once.

“That polka-dot
box, by the way, contains the gray pearls you’re going to
wear.”

“Pearls?” Good
heavens, Amy wasn’t sure about this. She’d be wearing clothes and
jewels worth more than she was. What a lowering reflection that
was.

“They aren’t
real,” Karen mumbled, alleviating Amy’s doubts somewhat. “But
they’re perfect for this gown.”

What a relief.
Rather than say so, Amy gave a judicious “Hmmm.” She thought
something else that gave her a thrill of apprehension. “Um, did you
say there will be dancing at the nightclub, Karen?”

“Yes, I
did.”

Something in
Amy’s voice must have alerted Karen that Amy was apprehensive about
dancing. She stopped sticking pins in the gown Amy wore and glanced
at her. “Don’t you dance?”

She sounded
neither disapproving nor surprised; only curious. Nevertheless, Amy
felt a little foolish. “Well, not a lot. I love to waltz. And one
of my friends tried to teach me some steps to the new ragtime music
people are always playing, but we didn’t have enough time for me to
learn very well.”

“Ragtime’s
easy,” Karen declared. “And it’s lots of fun. Here. Look at this.”
She backed away from Amy, held her arms out as if she were holding
on to a gentleman, leaned a little forward, and scooted across the
floor of the tent.

Amy blinked at
where her friend’s feet were supposed to be. She saw nothing but
Karen’s gown, swishing around her evening slippers. “Um, I can’t
see a thing.”

“Oh.” Karen
stopped and glanced at her feet. “Of course not.” She picked up her
skirt and moved her feet again in a series of quick but
uncomplicated steps. Amy peered at Karen’s moving feet closely,
then lifted her own skirt and imitated her.

“That was the
way!” Karen said, smiling.

“It’s not too
hard, is it?” Amy asked doubtfully.

“Not at all.
And don’t forget. You’ll probably be asked to dance by Martin,
who’s an excellent dancer.”

“Oh, dear.”

But Karen
shook her head. “Nonsense. If a man’s a good dancer—and Martin is
splendid—he’ll carry you along as if you were a dandelion puff.
Martin makes dancing easy.”