Her Leading Man (2 page)

The desert air was as hot as a pistol barrel and
as dry as a mummy’s
tomb—which was appropriate—when Christina Mayhew opened the window
and
glanced
out at what was to be her temporary home
for however long it took to film this
stupid picture.
“I hope to heaven we won’t be here long,” she
muttered.

Her grandmother, a withered woman with eyes
like
an eagle’s and a nose like a hawk’s, huffed from
her
perch on
the bedstead. “However long it lasts, you’ll
do your job,
gir
l.
”

Glancing over her shoulder, Christina grinned at
her grandmother. “Of
course I will. When have I
not
done my job,
Gran?”

The old lady smiled, an expression that didn’t
soften
her sharp features appreciably. “Never. You’re
a
good girl,
Christina, even if your father was a
benighted
fool.”

Christina shook her head and tried not to
laugh
. “
You really shouldn’t talk
about your own son
that
way,
Gran. Daddy is a lovely man as well as a wonderful
doctor.”

“
He’s a ninny.” The old lady
sniffed
.

Since Christina knew her grandmother was given
to pronouncements of
such a nature and had become
accustomed to cowing others into accepting
them
without
argument, she broadened her grin. “Daddy
is a love. You’re just mad because
you could never
get him to do what you wanted him to do, and you
could never make him
lose his temper. He’s the best
doctor in Los Angeles, and you know
it
.”

“
Stuff!” Gran said. But her bird-of-prey
eyes
glinted, and Christina knew the old lady was
amused.

The trick to getting along with Gran, as Christina
well knew, was to
stand up to her. Gran didn’t respect
people who allowed her to push them
around, although
you’d never know it since she treated everyone
like dirt.
Egalitarian. That was Gran. She treated
everyone absolutely
equally.

With a sigh, Christina closed the window and
turned to observe
her grandmothe
r.
“I guess I’d better
get this over with.
I’m supposed to meet Pablo
Orozco this morning. And Martin Tafft.” She
was
looking
forward to the latter, although she’d have
liked to skip the former, having
heard stories about
the egomaniacal Orozco.

Gran’s eyes thinned until Christina could barely see
them in her wrinkled
old face. “I should be there
w
ith
you, girl. Don’t let those men do anything I
wouldn’t approve
of
.
”

As Gran didn’t approve of anything, this would be
impossible, although
Christina didn’t bother to point
it out
.
“Don’t worry, Gran.
I’ll be fine.”

Her
grandmother huffed again, clearly not
believing
that
Christina wouldn’t come to grief without her
there to
protect her. Which
was kind of funny, really,
as Gran wasn’t even five feet tall. Christina
herself
stood
five feet six inches tall, rather too large to fit
the image of a
fragile film star. Since she didn’t give
a hang about being a film star, she
didn’t care. She
was only glad her auburn hair, fair skin, and big
hazel
eyes
were so photogenic. A girl could make lots of
money acting in the pictures,
even a girl like her,
who thought moving pictures were one of the
most
nonsensical inventions ever inflicted on
humanity.

Nevertheless, she knew which side her bread was
buttered on. After
striding to the bed and dropping
a fond kiss on her grandmother’s withered
cheek—a
sentimental gesture Gran pretended to disdain—Christina
checked herself in the mirror for flaws, discerned
none, picked up her
parasol, sucked in a deep
preparatory breath, and opened the door, ready to
do
her duty.
Holding her parasol like a knight of old
might have held his sword, she said
to her grandmother
in a deep, dramatic voice, “Onward, into the
breech!”

She was pleased when Gran cackled her approval
and was feeling
pretty good by the time she descended
the hotel’s stairs and found the parlor,
where
the
cast was supposed to meet this morning. Several
people had already arrived.
Pausing at the door to
steel her nerves—while Christina made a living
acting in the pictures, she really didn’t much like having
to mingle with
hordes of strangers—she walked into
the room.

Talk ceased as all eyes turned toward her. Mentally
rolling her eyes as
she noted several men perk
to
attention, she marched into the room as if she
didn’t
have a
nerve in her body. In truth, it always made
her tense to have to meet people.
She’d be so glad
when she had enough money and could chuck this
stupid
career
.

Spotting a shelf of books at the opposite side of
the
room, Christina
decided to wait there for things
to
happen. No matter how ill at ease she felt
around
people, she adored books.

She had picked up a novel by Theodore Dreiser,
Sister
Carrie
,
which she’d been wanting to read—the
book had been banned in Boston,
and Christina always
tried to read such books—when a greasy voice
assaulted her
senses.

“
Ah, the
beautiful Miss Mayhew.”

Turning, she espied her costar in the
upcomin
g
production, Pablo Orozco.

Wonderful. Just what she needed: a man who believed
his own press
clippings. Touted as a fellow
who radiated “sex appeal”—a term Christina
considered
inane—Orozco fairly dripped suavity. Unless
that was the pomade
with which he greased his hair
melting
in the desert heat
.

She stiffened like a pointer eyeing a duck when
Pablo Orozco lifted
her hand to his
lips. If Gran were
here, she’d smack him with her cane. Since Gran
was
laid up
in the hotel room, suffering from a painful
bout of
lumbago, Christina would just have to
take
care
of
herself.
She snatched her hand back and
snapped,
“There’s no need for any of that
hand-kissing
folderol.
I’m as much a fake as you are, Orozco.
You’re as
much a hand-kissing gentleman as
I am a
queen.”

The actor
dropped his suave pose and scowled at
her. “Fake? Fake?
I
”—he splayed a hand over his
heart—
“
am a
star
.
”

“
Right.” said Christina
“A
nd I’m
a comet
.
Just
d
on’t
kiss m
e
, please.”

She hated
having to do this
.
It was ludicrous.
It
w
as insane. It
w
as
also the best way she
k
new of
to
make
money. Thank God she had looks, or she’d
never get an education.

Orozco sighed heavily. “You break my heart,
darling
Christina.”

She pulled back and stared at him “I what? And
I’m Miss Mayhew to
you.”

Orozco didn’t believe her; she could tell by the
way he lifted a dark
eyebrow and smirked. Christina
could scarcely conceive of an ego so large that
it
failed to
appreciate a direct rebuff lobbed directly at
its center. All this talk of
Orozco’s magnetic “sex
appeal” had obviously gone to his head. She
glanced
around and wished to goodness Mr. Tafft would show
up. She’d always
heard he was a punctual man, but
he was late today, blast
him
.

This was to be Christina’s first starring role. She
ought to be
thrilled, but she wasn’t. Although occasionally
she tried, in order to make
herself feel better,
s
he couldn’t imagine another
single sillier thing than
acting in a motion picture.

“
Oh, good,” she, murmured, catching sight of
the
man she assumed was Martin Tafft hurrying her way
through the milling
throng. “Thank heaven.”

“
Ah, so
you’ve changed your mind?”

Christina jumped when she realized Orozco had
oozed back up to her
and now nuzzled her neck. She
pulled away, lifting her hand to slap his insolent
face,
but
dropped it again. If Gran conked an incipient
masher over the head with her
cane, it would be
chalked up to Gran’s well-known eccentricity. If
Christina slapped
her costar, she’d be fired, and then
she’d never earn enough money to go to
medical
school. Instead she said coolly, “No. I have not
changed my mind.
Touch me again, and I’ll stamp
on your toes.”

Orozco laughed. “Ah, I adore this hard-to-get pose
of yours, my
dear.”

Lord, he was
thickheaded.

“
I’m so sorry I’m late,” Martin said as he
reached
the two of them out of breath. Of course, one had
merely to take a
single step to become breathless in
this outrageous town. Indio. Balderdash.
There was
nothing here but palm trees, dates, blazing heat,
and
sand. And
now a bunch of actors. They didn’t improve
the place any. Christina was not fond
of actors.

“
That’s all right,” she said to Martin. “We’ve
just
introduced ourselves.” And Orozco had slithered
himself
into
her black books already.

“
Good, good!” Martin rubbed his hands
and
beamed at them.

Christina got the feeling he didn’t mean the smile
particularly, but
she didn’t fault him for it. If one
consorted with picture people long enough,
she imagined, one got out of the habit of meaning anything
one said.

Good heavens,
when had she become so cynical?

Silly question. Since she’d started acting in the
pictures. Still,
Christina would put up with almost
anything for the sake of her education.
These days
young women weren’t invited to become medical
practitioners, and
she’d been discouraged at every
turning from seeking scholarships. All of
the rejection
had only served to strengthen her resolve. She’d
show them all, blast
them
.

With a start, she realized Martin had been talking
for several seconds.
Yanking her mind back to her
job, she hoped she hadn’t missed anything
important.

“
. . . so, while I know it’s hot here, our set
designer, George Peters, has created a spectacular Egyptian city
for us. We’ve arranged with a local
restaurant to supply
iced water and
lemonade so
that—”

“
Lemonade!”

Christina felt her lips purse with distaste at
Orozco’s
interruption. But
she didn’t speak, knowing
that
women who spoke up were not admired.

Martin frowned at his male star. “Yes. Lemonade.
If you don’t like
lemonade, perhaps we can secure
some orange juice.”

“
Fah!” Orozco looked as disdainful as only
he
could. As much as she loathed him, Christina had to
give him credit for
a remarkable variety of facial expressions.
“I require wine.”