Cowboy For Hire (29 page)

“Really?”

“
I know
you don’t believe me,” Karen stopped dancing and came back to Amy,
armed with pins once more. “But it’s the truth. And you’ll
certainly dance with Charlie Fox. Now, I don’t have any idea
whether or not Charlie can dance, but I have a feeling it won’t
matter.” She poked Amy’s shoulder to get her to turn around and
lifted the train of her dress.

Honestly
curious, Amy peered over her shoulder to watch Karen do something
mysterious with her train. “Why not?”

“Because,”
Karen said as she gave the train a tug, almost toppling Amy. “he’s
in love with you and will probably just stand there in a daze with
you in his arms.”

“
Karen!”
Amy was really quite shocked—and extremely gratified. After her
initial astonishment subsided, which took approximately three
seconds, she said with a hesitant hitch to her voice. “Do you
really think he admires me?”

Karen
did
something extremely unladylike: She rolled her eyes. “Good Lord,
child, are you that innocent?”

“I guess I must
be,” Amy mumbled.

“I guess so. Of
course he admires you! He’s in love with you! And you’re in love
with him. And the sooner you write and tell your precious Vernon
so, the better off all three of you will be.”

“Mercy sakes.”
Amy wished life were that simple.

Did she love
Charlie Fox? Was Karen correct?

She feared
so.

Did Charlie Fox
love her, Amy Wilkes, from Pasadena, California?

Oh, wouldn’t
that be wonderful? Amy wasn’t vain enough to take Karen’s word on
the matter, but it might be so.

But
whatever would Vernon think? And her aunt and uncle? And Vernon’s
parents, who were stuffier even than Vernon, and ever so proper?
They summered in New York and wintered in Pasadena, and had more
money than they know what to do with—which was why Vernon had gone
into banking, actually, because a position with a bank gave him
opportunities for investment that he wouldn’t otherwise have. Among
them, Vernon and his parents must own three-quarters of the city of
Pasadena, not to mention entire towns back East.

In other words,
if Amy married Vernon Catesby, she’d be set for life. If she
married Charlie Fox, she’d be … what? She had no idea.

“Oh, stop it,”
she told herself aloud.

Karen jumped.
“Beg pardon?”

“I’m sorry,
Karen.” Amy shook her head, trying to clear it of the fuddle that
seemed to envelop her every time she considered marriage to Charlie
Fox. “I was just thinking.”

“About Vernon,
I’m sure,” Karen said caustically.

Amy sighed. “I
fear you’re right.”

“Fiddlesticks!”

Amy feared she
was right about that, too.

Fourteen

Amy couldn’t
recall another evening in her life when she’d felt so perfectly
gowned and shod. The evening dress Karen had found for her was
stunning, the shoes she’d dug out of that polka-dot box were
perfect, the gray silk stockings felt like eiderdown against her
skin, and the gray pearls and eardrops were idea.

She’d
been elegance when she’d finally peered at herself in the mirror in
the costume tent. She knew she hadn’t been mistaken in her judgment
when Charlie Fox and Martin Tafft stopped dead in their tracks and
stared at her.
And at
Karen. Amy was not so vain that she didn’t know Karen looked
wonderful tonight, too, and she was happy to share the limelight
with her good friend.

“My goodness,
ladies,” Martin, who recovered first, said. “I fear El Monte won’t
be grand enough for the likes of you two. You’re both very
beautiful this evening.”

Amy noticed
that Charlie, who had stood there gaping during Martin’s chivalrous
speech, finally shut his mouth and nodded. “Yes, sir.” His voice
was low and throaty, as if he didn’t have enough air to use it
properly.

She
smiled graciously and peeked at Karen, who was grinning like Mr.
Carroll’s Cheshire Cat. Amy climbed down from her high horse fast
and grinned, too, sensing that Karen had the right idea. This was
sort of like a little girl’s dress-up party, and she and Karen were
playing at being sophisticated and worldly grown-up ladies out for
a night on the town—even if the town was El Monte.

Martin took
Karen’s overnight bag, and Charlie took Amy’s. They put the bags in
the tonneau of the big car and returned to open the doors for the
two ladies.

“You’re both
looking pretty swank yourselves,” Karen told the two men as she
lifted her skirt and allowed Martin to assist her into his
automobile, a Pierce Great Arrow, which was about the most splendid
motorcar Amy had ever seen, much less ridden in.

The
flickers, as Karen liked to call them, were certainly a profitable
enterprise. Karen was adept at slang.
Swank
and
flickers
were but two of the new words Amy had learned since being
in Karen’s company. Why, she might go home to Pasadena having
learned a whole new language.

Vernon would
never stop scolding her if she ever forgot herself and spoke her
newly acquired vocabulary in his company.

She
heaved a huge sigh—almost as big as the Pierce Great Arrow—and
realized how boring life with Vernon was going to be. Why, he
probably wouldn’t even approve of Amy taking their children to the
park, but would assuredly prefer having a nanny for them. Amy had
always rather looked forward to the prospect of caring for her own
children.

Not that
she’d ever wanted to be one of those pitifully poor creatures she’d
read about in Mr. Jacob Riis’s
How the Other Half Lives
. That would be too ghastly. But surely
there must be a happy medium.

Perhaps, in
fact, life as a rancher’s wife.

Oh, dear, there
she went again.

“You look good
enough to eat this evening, Miss Wilkes,” Charlie said softly after
he’d settled in next to her.

She and
he were in the backseat, Martin and Karen in the front. Amy had
been a shade disturbed by this arrangement at first, thinking it
would have been more seemly for her and Karen to share the
backseat. On the other hand, she and Karen—and Martin and
Charlie—were all adults. They could be trusted to keep themselves
in line.

“
Thank
you.” Feeling nervous, Amy blurted out, “Karen found this gown in a
rack of clothes that are going to be used in Wilma Patecky’s next
picture.” She felt silly afterward and wished she’d left her
remarks simply at
thank you.

“Is that so?”
Charlie sounded impressed. “That’s sort of swell, isn’t it?”

Swell
. There was
the awful word again. Amy tried not to be disappointed that Charlie
had used it.

“
Er, I
don’t think I know who Miss Patecky is, though,” he added after a
moment.

Amy
turned to stare at him. Well, wasn’t that something? Charlie Fox
had never heard of Wilma Patecky. It had by now become perfectly
plain to her that she wasn’t the only person in existence who
didn’t understand the sophisticated life. Of course, Charlie was a
cowboy, which explained a lot. He had more of an excuse than she
did, if it came to that.

“She’s a
Broadway actress who’s been working in some of the recent motion
pictures,” Amy explained. “I’ve read about her in magazines and
newspapers.”

“Ah. So she’s
sort of like Mr. Huxtable.”

Silence bloomed
like a spring blossom in the car. Amy thought it was interesting
that the mere mention of Horace Huxtable’s name should produce such
a numbing effect on four grown people. She made an effort to dispel
the uncomfortable atmosphere. “I’m sure Miss Patecky is nowhere
near as awful as Mr. Huxtable.”

“No,” Charlie
concurred quickly. “She couldn’t be. Nobody could be that bad.”

“He’s in
another machine,” Martin muttered. “I wasn’t going to have him
cutting capers in my Pierce Arrow.”

“No, indeed,”
said Karen. “Anything but that.”

Amy didn’t
think it was funny, sine Horace Huxtable had given her a very bad
time lately.

Martin chuffed
impatiently and said, “I’m sorry, Miss Wilkes. Karen. You know, I’m
sure, that we’ve had to set guards on him.”

“Yes,” Amy
said, her voice clipped. “Unfortunately, they can ‘t always be
around on the set when the camera’s running.”

She
thought she heard a growl from Charlie but couldn’t be sure because
the engine in Martin’s motorcar was louder than the growl. Overall,
Amy thought, automobiles were interesting, but if she were to go
for a romantic ride somewhere, she’d as soon go in a buggy—as long
as the gentleman with whom she was being romantic didn’t have to
drive the vehicle too.

“I can’t
apologize enough for his behaviour, Miss Wilkes,” Martin said.

All at once,
Amy felt a totally unfamiliar recklessness overcome her stodgy
Pasadena attitudes. She burst out, “Oh, please, everyone, call me
Amy! I’m so tired of being the only ‘Miss” on the set.”

She saw
Charlie’s white teeth gleaming, Karen whooped and clapped her
hands. “I wondered how long it would take you to unbend enough to
allow us mere peasants to call you by your Christian name.”

“
Goodness, I’m not
that
bad,” Amy muttered, then added a somewhat horrified, “Am
I?” She hoped she wasn’t. Although she didn’t care to be taken for
a loose woman, she didn’t want to have a reputation as a prissy
miss, either.

“You’re not
that bad,” Charlie assured her, picking up her hand and kissing it.
The memory of the kiss they’d shared earlier in the day came back
to Amy in a rush, and she felt her face flame. Fortunately, it was
too dark for anyone to see. “You’re wonderful, in fact.”

Wishing
she could fan herself, Amy muttered in a smothered voice, “Thank
you.” She wanted to add,
I think you are, too
, but couldn’t make herself say such a telling
truth aloud.

“I think Amy is
a very pretty name,” said Karen. “I wish my parents had named me
Amy instead of Karen. I’m named after my Norwegian grandmother,
though, and had no choice in the matter.”

Martin laughed.
“I’m afraid nobody has much of a choice when it comes to their own
name.”

“
Oh, I
don’t know,” said Amy, beginning to recover her composure. “Actors
seem to take great liberties with their given names. And the
Peerless Studio didn’t seem to care for my name, so they changed
it. Without even asking me if I preferred Amelia.” She feigned
outrage so well that Karen actually turned to peer at her over the
motorcar’s front seat. Amy grinned at her to let her know she was
fooling.

“
That was
Mrs. Lovejoy’s idea,” said Martin uncomfortably. “She seems to
think Amelia will be accepted more readily than Amy. She
thinks
it’s more
romantic.”

“I don’t know
why,” Karen grumbled. “If she wanted a romantic name, she ought to
have picked something like Rosalie or Celeste or something.”

“Celeste
Wilkes.” Amy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Rosalie’s kind
of nice.” Charlie didn’t sound sure of himself.

“Well, you can
call me Rosalie if you like,” offered Amy. “But chances are I won’t
know who you’re talking to and won’t respond.”

With a laugh,
Charlie squeezed her hand. Amy knew she should withdraw it, but
couldn’t make herself do it. Her hand felt so good in his. And
nobody could see, so it wasn’t as if her reputation would be
damaged.

It
occurred to her that if her reputation remained undamaged through
the remaining few scenes of
One and Only
, it would be a miracle. Surely, sooner or later, Horace
Huxtable was going to try again to injure her, and she wouldn’t
allow him to get away with it. And probably Charlie wouldn’t,
either. Her mind’s eye pictured the bloody battle that might ensue
between the two men, and her heart swelled with appreciation.
Charlie was so gallant.

“I’ve always
wanted to hear my name on your lips, Amy,” he murmured into the
palm of her hand, which he’d lifted to his lips.

Amy nearly
fainted. “You have?”

“I have. I love
the name Amy.”

“
Charlie’s a nice name, too,” she said, hoping Karen and
Martin weren’t listening. They didn’t seem to be. Amy thought she
heard something from the front seat about a version of
The prisoner of
Zenda
that Peerless
wanted to film. Amy hoped they would film it. Amy hoped they would
film it, because she loved the book.

Merciful
gracious, she was trying to distract herself from being made love
to by Charlie Fox! She recognized the symptoms. Why was she doing
that? She thought Charlie Fox was the most wonderful man she’d ever
met. Why would she want to distract herself?

She supposed it
was only that she was unused to feeling these tumbled emotions
about a fellow. The good Lord new she felt no particular emotional
intensity when she dealt with poor Vernon.

Oh, dear,
whatever should she do about poor Vernon?

Charlie
didn’t pres
s her,
however. He kissed the palm of her hand, seemed to sense her level
of discomfort, and replaced her hand on the plus upholstery of the
backseat. She shot him a quick, grateful smile, but wasn’t sure if
he saw it. Night had fallen, and the lamps affixed to the front of
the motorcar, which didn’t shed much light on the road, didn’t shed
any light at all inside the vehicle.

* * *

“I reckon
Martin was right about this place,” Charlie murmured to Amy as the
car approached the portals of the Royal El Montean, a rambling
facility that contained a hotel, restaurant, and nightclub. “You’re
much too pretty for it. You should be in a fancy nightclub in a big
city somewhere.”