Mari awoke the morning after her very first night on the town any town feeling like a princess in a fairy tale. Last night had been a dream come true.
First Tony had brought her to this incredible hotel. She blinked into the pale dawning light in the luxurious room and, if she hadn’t felt the sheets around her, would have believed herself to be dreaming yet. He’d been utterly casual about it, as if he stayed in places like the Melrose Hotel all the time and it was nothing special.
That was probably true of Tony, but it was special to Mari. She tried to imprint every detail of its elaborate architecture, fine furnishings, lavish carpets, hoity-toity bellboys, and everything else in between on her brain so she’d never forget it, even if she lived to be a hundred and ten.
Then he’d escorted her to dinner at a restaurant so fancy, Mari’s heart had quailed even as they’d walked up to the door, arm in arm. Tony had been sweet to her, too, anticipating her anxiety and trying to put her at ease. He did a fair job, handling the snooty maitre d’ with his own superior brand of snootiness, and securing them a table in a tucked-away corner. The table sat next to a gorgeous palm tree, and from their vantage point, they could see everyone entering and leaving the restaurant.
Tony had pointed out several local, even national, celebrities. She’d seen Mr. Huntington, the railroad magnate, and a newspaper man whom she’d never heard of, but who Tony said had all but started the Spanish-American War a few years back. He’d indicated a burly fellow he called Lucky Baldwin and told her a number of stories about him, too, until she began to wonder if all rich men were unscrupulous vultures.
Vultures or not, Mari had been pop-eyed with fascination. Until Tony’s civics lesson, imparted at that classy little tucked-away table, she hadn’t understood how great an influence other people’s money, and other people’s newspapers, could have on politics. Tony reinforced Martin’s lectures on the potential power of the motion-picture industry. And she was part of it. In a way.
Dinner had been superb. Mari ha- never before tasted half the stuff she’d eaten last night. Heck, she’d never even heard of scallops or endive or of the process Tony called sauteeing. She’d always called it frying, but he’d explained the subtle differences between the processes to her. She wasn’t altogether sure, she understood them yet, but she was willing to take what he said on faith.
And that was a revelation, too. She trusted him. Tony Ewing, who had grated against her pride from the moment she’d first seen him, she saw now as a friend and adviser. Perhaps not a friend. In truth, Mari feared her feelings for Tony Ewing went far deeper than friendship.
But that was nonsense. Nothing in the world was greater than friendship. She’d be greatly honored if Tony were to consider her his friend.
Opting to forget about her feelings in favor of savoring her memories, Mari ran over her own personal menu in her mind so she wouldn’t forget anything she’d eaten. She aimed to impress the tar out of Judy Nelson the next time she saw her. Judy’d probably never heard of a scallop either, and Mari would bet her boots she’d never heard the word sautee.
The dinner and the fancy surroundings were only a lead-in to the main event, however. When they’d entered the restaurant, Marie had observed an area devoid of tables in the center of the room. The dark crimson carpeting ended at the edges of the round, polished wood flooring. Tony told her that was the dance floor, and that they were going to dance after they ate. He pointed out the band to her then, its members sitting on a platform at one end of the room and looking every bit as dressed up as the diners.
The very idea of dancing in those cosmopolitan surroundings alarmed Mari. And that was putting it mildly. Heck, she’d only danced once or twice in her whole life, and that had been at square dances at outdoor picnics with other yokels like herself.
She’d told Tony so and begged to be excused. “Can’t I just watch this time?” she’d asked, trying to keep the quake out of her voice.
He’d laughed at her. For the first time, his laugh didn’t make her want to slap his face, probably because he’d reached for her hand, held it gently in his own, and patted it tenderly. “Don’t worry, Mari. By the time we’re ready to dance, you’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
She hadn’t believed him, but he’d been right. This morning, the fact astounded her.
“Must have been the wine,” she muttered at her empty room.
But it hadn’t been only the wine. It had had more to do with Tony’s kindness and gentle instructions. The delicious food had helped, of course, as had the hour or so they’d sat at the table dining, talking, and watching others dance.
By the time Tony held out his hand for her to take and led her to the dance floor, Mari’s heart had hardly hammered at all. And even that small remaining trepidation had faded quickly, because he’d started out with a simple two-step. By the time Mari’d graduated to the turkey trot, she was completely relaxed and having more fun than she could ever remember having.
It didn’t hurt that she looked better than she ever had, up to and including her footwear. A pair of evening slippers had mysteriously appeared at her hotel doorway earlier in the afternoon, wrapped in a beribboned box and held out to her by one of the upper-crust uniformed bellboys. Apparently Tony had decided she needed a flower in her hair, too, because he’d arrived at her room with a real one, a red rose. Mari felt very stylish as they swept into the restaurant, and, wonder of wonders, the feeling stayed with her all evening.
When she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, her feet ached. She smiled what she imagined was a silly smile as she limped over to the dressing table. Her feet were sore from dancing the night away, and she’d never felt so good. Ever.
When she took a hot bubble bath in the Melrose Hotel’s magnificent bathroom, using toiletry products she had a sneaking suspicion Tony had purchased and made available for her, she felt even better. There was a lot to be said for luxurious living; even she had to admit it.
Her ecstatic mood began its slide back to normal when she donned her mother’s old dress, preparatory for the trip back to Mojave Wells. And the heat. And the shabbiness of her cabin. And that empty mine.
And Tiny. She shouldn’t forget Tiny, the thought of whom made her happy again. She loved her dog very much
Still, she knew she looked less than glamorous when she answered Tony’s knock at her door, clad in her and-me-down dress and clunky shoes. She’d polished the shoes, but it hadn’t altered their disreputable condition noticeably. She’d tried to improve herself by tucking one of her crepe-paper flowers behind her ear—and it did help a little bit. It made her feel slightly perkier, even if her perkiness didn’t show.
Tony didn’t glower, though, which she took as a good sign. In truth, he didn’t seem to notice her much at all, except as a being he had to transport from one location to another. He said, “All ready?” in a businesslike voice as soon as she opened the door.
It took her only a second to regain her balance, which teetered precariously at being so abruptly confronted with reality. But she’d lived nineteen years as an impoverished nobody. One evening of grandeur couldn’t wipe out a lifetime’s worth of nobodyhood. She swallowed hard and said, “Sure am. Let me get my bag.”
“I’ll get it.”
She wasn’t surprised when Tony barged past her, grabbed her shabby carpetbag, and hefted it up. Rather weakly she said, “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
At least he honored her with a sort of cocky grin. Evidently, he hadn’t retreated altogether into his former aloof pose as king-of-the-world.
But that wasn’t fair. He hadn’t assumed the position on his own. Mari’d put him there because she’d felt so inferior to him. Bother. Sometimes she absolutely detested her penchant for recognizing her own shortcomings. She’d established him on the blasted pedestal, and it wasn’t his fault, but hers.
She followed him out of her room, still starry eyed, but trying to hide her condition. She did venture to say, “Um, I had a real good time last night, Tiny. You were right. It wasn’t so scary after I got used to it.”
He cast a brilliant smile at her from over his shoulder. “See? I told you I was a good teacher.”
She silently thanked her Maker that Tony had opted to ignore her slip of the tongue. She really wouldn’t have blamed him for not wanting to be called by her dog’s name. “Right. You sure are.” And she was an idiot for wishing he could see himself as something more than her teacher.
“And you’re a terrific student, too.”
It was nice of him to say so. Mari didn’t respond.
“Say, are you hungry, Mari? If you can wait for an hour or so to eat breakfast, we can stop at a little place I know on the way to Mojave Wells. It’s in the community that calls itself Arcadia. Lucky Baldwin has a big ranch there, and there’s a place called Baldwin’s that serves great food.”
She hadn’t yet taken the time even to think about food because she’d been so busy reliving the night before. Now, she realized she was a little hungry. But she could wait. Heck, she’d been waiting all her life, hadn’t she? What was one more hour?
Telling herself to cease being irrational and dismal this instant, she brought herself up short and said, “Sure. That sounds nice.”
“It’s a great little village, Arcadia. I wish we had more time. I’d take you to Lucky’s place. He throws some pretty good parties.”
Must be nice. Mari wasn’t sure what to say to an unproffered invitation, so she remained silent. Tony didn’t seem to notice, which was par for the course.
Tony told himself he felt particularly well today because he’d come to an understanding with Mari. She’d finally recognized his superior knowledge of the world, and he’d agreed to be gracious and introduce her to it. He wasn’t floating on air for any other reason.
The fact that last night had been almost perfect, and that he’d never had a better time with a woman, out of bed, didn’t have anything to do with his mood of good cheer. Not a bit of it. He was only pleased that Mari was proving herself to be an apt student of the finer things. Why, she’d become a gracious lady in no time at all at this rate.
She could dance, too, which had surprised him. It was true he’d had to demonstrate the steps to her, but she’d learned quickly. And no amount of instruction could impart the natural grace she’d then demonstrated.
Now wasn’t that a funny quirk of nature? Imagine a girl like Mari Pottersby, who’d been wearing britches and grubbing in a filthy mine all her life, having all that natural grace and talent. He breathed deeply of the fresh morning air and started whistling. The tune that came to his tongue was one they’d waltzed to last night: “Beautiful Dreamer.”
The appropriateness of the selection made him interrupt his merry whistle with a chuckle.
“What?”
Mari’s one-word question prompted him to turn and gaze at her. Her gorgeous brown eyes were wide upon him, and the blue flower she’d selected to stick behind her ear set off the ivory of her skin to admiration. She was quite a looker, Mari Pottersby. Tony couldn’t understand why he hadn’t noticed her intrinsic beauty in the beginning of their relationship. No, not relationship; business partnership. Yeah, that was better. Business partnership. It didn’t feel like quite the right phrase, but Tony felt sure it was.
“What what?”
She smiled slightly at his silly question. “What’s funny?” she elaborated. “Why are you laughing?”
“Ah. I see. I was only thinking about the tune I was whistling. It seemed appropriate, somehow, what with us being associated with the pictures and all. If ever there was a dream-making business, the pictures are it.”
“I see. Yes, I guess you’re right.”
Tony’s gaze kept sliding over to Mari. He could hardly feature this lovely young lady—shabbily clad this morning, to be sure, but she was still lovely—digging in the dirt in search of nonexistent silver. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t proper. She belonged in much more refined circumstances. He frowned. Life played some mighty unpleasant tricks sometimes. Tony didn’t approve.
Mari deserved better than that played-out mine. She deserved—well, hell, she deserved money. A nice home. Pretty clothes. A good man to take care of her.
The notion of a good man taking care of Mari didn’t sit well, and Tony discarded it roughly.
All right, so she got along quite well independently. She didn’t need a man. But she sure deserved an easier life than the one she had now.
He wondered if she’d let him help her out. Just a little bit. He could show her around, introduce her to people, get her settled into a job where she didn’t have to work so hard.
The notion of Mari working at some plodding job didn’t sit well with him, either. Dammit, there must be something she could do that he’d approve of.
She could go to bed with him. He’d approve of that.
The truth hit him so hard, he nearly drove off the road.
“Oh, what is it?” Mari cried, clinging to the hand grip of the Pierce Arrow. “Did you hit something?”
Tony cleared his throat. “Ah, no. I, ah, had to swerve to avoid hitting a rabbit.”
“Oh,” Mari let go of the hand grip and relaxed in the seat. “I guess I didn’t see it. I was looking out at the orange grove. Don’t the blossoms smell heavenly?”
Sweet-smelling orange trees grew on both sides of the road, and Tony blessed them for it. “Yeah,” he said, his mouth gone dry. “Those little critters are quick.”
Good God, was he really in lust with Mari Pottersby? He sneaked a peek at her from out of the corner of his eye. She sat erect on the motorcar’s buttery leather bench, her head turned so that she could watch the scenery as they sped past it. She had an elegant carriage, vivid features, splendid hair, and a shape any man would lust for. She was smart and quick and funny, when she wasn’t being defensive. She could dance. She was ambitious, foolishly so, since her ambitions centered around an unproductive hole in the ground. She had honor and integrity by the ton.
And he really, really wanted to make love with her. He wanted to carry her off to somewhere private—maybe an island in the South Pacific replete with palm trees and coconuts and dusky natives serving them iced drinks—and teach her more than how to behave in society. He wanted to teach her the pleasures of the flesh. He already knew she had a passionate heart. He’d like to redirect her passion toward him.
Impossible. The only way Tony could even imagine Mari capitulating to an affair of the flesh would be if marriage were attached, and that was impossible. Ludicrous. Laughable. They were so far apart socially, it wasn’t even funny. Tony had known men who’d fallen for actresses, but he’d never known a fellow to marry one.
Of course, technically, Mari wasn’t an actress, but a mine owner.
He gulped, that notion having put a liaison with her in a totally different light.
But marriage? To Mari Pottersby? Tony Ewing? He’d never even thought about marrying anyone. He had a couple of friends who’d got married, but they’d done so more for financial reasons than anything else. Oh, he guessed Harvey Morgan had liked Alicia Britton all right, but Tony hadn’t detected anything so exalted as deathless love between them. He shook his head and told himself not to be foolish.
There was no need to think about marriage merely because he found Mari Pottersby attractive. Lots of women were attractive. A man didn’t have to marry all of them in order to appreciate them.
The Marigold Mine elbowed its way into his mind, and Tony frowned when he thought about what would happen a month or so from now, when the Peerless crew deserted Mojave Wells, and the little community went back to its old ways. And Mari went back to working in that black pit. His heart lurched sickeningly, and the notion made him shudder.
“What’s the matter, Tony?”
He glanced over to find Mari peering at him with concern. He said, “Nothing. Just thinking about the picture.”
She nodded. “I’m a little nervous about acting in it.”
“No need to be. You’ll do fine.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Sure.” Because a curious sensation of loss had started crawling through him, and all because he’d thought about Mari slaving away in that dratted mine, he added, “If you want any coaching or anything, I’ll be happy to help.”
“Thank you. I thought you said Martin was the one to help with the acting stuff.”
Dammit, he hated having his own words used against him. “He is, but I’ll be happy to help, too.”
“I see. Thank you.”
They breakfasted in Arcadia, which was a pretty little community. Mari was impressed by all the greenery surrounding her. Tony could understand that, since she probably didn’t see any green growing stuff for months at a time on that ugly desert where she lived. After breakfast, the drive back to Mojave Wells went smoothly. No tires blew out, the engine didn’t overheat, and nothing rattled off the chassis when they left the paved civilization of the Los Angeles area for the dirt roads of the desert.
The nicest part for Tony, though, was when Mari nodded off to sleep in the car and slid sideways in the seat. He drove for miles and miles with Mari’s head on his shoulder and a smile on his lips.
Martin knew to the second when Tony and Mari returned to town, even though he’d been inside the Mojave Inn for hours, trying to figure out how best to solve the latest hitch in the progress of Lucky Strike. There were so few automobiles in Mojave Wells that as soon as he heard the throb of the Pierce Arrow’s engine, he dashed outside to greet the returnees.
He ran down the hotel’s porch steps in spite of the blistering heat and hurried to open the driver’s door. “Tony! I’m so glad you’re back. There’s— Oh.”
Rubbing her eyes and looking as if she’d just awakened from a deep sleep, Mari, holding onto Tony’s arm, blinked at Martin. Then she glanced down, saw how close she was sitting to Tony, and scooted backward across the seat, blushing up a storm. Tony, frowned at Martin, and Martin could tell he’d interrupted something, although he didn’t know what.
Before responding to Martin’s worried speech, Tony turned to Mari and said gruffly, “It’s all right, Mari. You only went to sleep.”
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to . . . to . . .”
Martin got the feeling she wanted to apologize for sleeping against Tony. He also got the feeling Tony wasn’t at all sorry that she’d done so.
“Don’t be silly,” Tony snapped. “I didn’t mind at all. You were tired and needed a rest.”
Martin saw her swallow, open her mouth, shut it again, and decided he might as well speak. “I say, Tony. I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but we need to talk about some queer things that have happened since you left.”
“Let me get Mari settled first, will you?” Tony said peevishly
Martin wished he’d been less precipitate about approaching the returning travelers. But, honestly, he hadn’t meant to interrupt anything. Besides, the last he’d seen of these two, they’d been at each other’s throat.
That should have been a clue, now that he came to think about it. When people honestly disliked each other, they avoided conversation. These two seemed to go out of their way to get together and squabble. With a sigh, he said, “After you’re settled and everything, come into the parlor. We’ve got to talk about this.”
“All right.” Tony had gone to Mari’s side of the car and opened the door for her.
Martin was both amused and interested to note that Tony took Mari’s arm to help her from the motorcar. If there was any woman on God’s earth who didn’t need help entering or leaving an automobile, it was Mari Pottersby. She was probably the most independent female Martin had ever known, which, of course, meant she’d be perfect for Tony, who was likewise independent.
In fact, Martin had been surprised when Tony’d agreed to Maurice Ewing’s request that he go to California and monitor his father’s investment. Martin and Tony had been friends ever since their college days, and offhand Martin couldn’t think of another time when Tony’d done his father’s bidding.
Tony’d explained it to him, though, and his reason made sense. Desiring to remove himself as far as possible from his father’s sphere of influence, Tony had determined to use this opportunity to become acquainted with the West Coast. Ever since Martin had met Tony’s train at the Los Angeles Depot, he’d been encouraging Tony to move to California. L.A. was a great place. Martin was only sorry Tony didn’t have more interest in the pictures.
Still, a fellow couldn’t have everything. Martin would be happy to have his old friend nearer than New York, even if they would never be business partners. It would be lovely if, along with discovering a practically perfect place to live, Tony were also to find his life’s partner here.
But that was jumping the gun. As Martin walked back to the Mojave Inn’s parlor, he told himself to tackle one problem at a time. Anyhow, Tony and Mari’s relationship was none of his business. Martin didn’t have time for romance, so he certainly wasn’t the appropriate person to advise Tony about its pursuit. Besides, Martin had a feeling Tony could take care of himself with the ladies.
About ten minutes after Tony and Mari’s arrival in Mojave Wells, the door to the hotel’s parlor opened, Martin glanced up from the catalog he’d been poring over, and Tony Ewing stalked in, looking like a thundercloud about to burst. “What’s the matter, Tony?”
“Nothing,” Tony snarled.
Martin lifted an eyebrow. Tony noticed, dropped into an overstuffed chair near the one Martin occupied and sighed heavily. “All right, it’s Mari. She’s the matter.”
“How’s that?” Martin forced himself not to grin. He recognized the same symptoms in his friend that he’d seen in others. If Martin were of a diagnostic turn of mind, he’d have said Tony was coming down with a case of lovesickness, but he’d never say so. He appreciated both Tony’s temper and his musculature too much to rile him.
“Dammit, the woman’s impossible.”
“That’s not awfully informative, Tony. What makes her impossible?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Tony slapped his driving gloves on the table beside his chair. “She’s just so damned proud.”
Nodding judiciously, Martin murmured, “Too much pride can be a bad thing.” He was neither surprised nor annoyed when Tony swiveled his head and glared at him. If Martin remembered correctly, it was better to say nothing when a man was in a state like the one in which Tony appeared to be.
“It’s better to have pride than to have no self-respect at all,” Tony retorted, as if Martin had accused Mari of being a coward or a sniveling weakling.
“Absolutely,” Martin said in an effort to redeem himself.
“But not like hers.”
Deciding he’d be better off not speaking at all in response to this comment, Martin only nodded.
“Dammit, she won’t let a person do anything for her.”
Interesting. Martin cocked his other eyebrow. “Did you try to do something for her?”
Tony threw his arms out, almost knocking over the lamp sitting on the table. Martin caught it before it crashed to the floor. “Dammit, I only told her I was going to drive her home, and she wouldn’t let me!”
“Oh. That does seem a little, um, excessive. And you chalk that up to pride, do you?”
“What the hell else could it be?”
Since he didn’t have any idea, Martin said so. “I don’t know.”
“It’s because she was embarrassed about going to sleep on my shoulder.” Tony slouched in the chair, sticking his long legs out in front of him “Silly girl.”
“I guess I can understand her point.”
It was the wrong thing to have said. Martin knew it at once and sighed inside. He’d forgotten that when a man was in Tony’s condition, nothing was the right thing to say.
“Dammit, I don’t!” Tony bellowed. “I don’t understand it at all. What’s wrong with going to sleep if you’re tired?”
“Um, nothing?”
“You’re damned right. Stupid chit. What was I supposed to do? Shove her away?”
“Um, no.”
“That’s right. Dammit, if the woman needed sleep, why shouldn’t she sleep? And it was only an accident that she sort of leaned up against me.”
Studying Tony’s disgruntled features, Martin decided that had been a bald-faced lie, but he wouldn’t mention it. He did, however, feel compelled to say something, if only to ease his own conscience. “Well, now, Tony—and don’t take this wrong, because I know you’d never do anything untoward—but I’m sure a pretty girl like Mari Pottersby, especially one who, like her, has few resources and no parents, might feel especially vulnerable when alone with a man.”
Tony vaulted out of his chair, fists bunched, and glowered down on Martin as if he were some sort of repellent monster. “What the hell do you mean by that, Martin Tafft? Do you think I’m the kind of bastard who’d take advantage of a helpless female? Dammit, Martin, you’re my friend, but I swear to God I’ll belt you a good one if you don’t take that back.”
Interesting. In the space of seconds, Mari Pottersby had gone from being too proud and independent to being helpless. The phenomenon of love puzzled Martin mightily. He held up a placating hand. “I didn’t mean it that way, and you know it, Tony. I know you’re not the kind of man who’d do anything unsavory to a girl, and especially not one like Mari. I’m only trying to point out how it’s possible that she might feel . . . vulnerable.”
Tony towered there for another few seconds, looking as though he really wanted to punch something. Martin hoped he’d choose another target than his own cherished body if he succumbed to the urge. Then Tony’s shoulders slumped, his hands unclenched, and he sat again, drooping like a wilted flower. “Yeah. I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to be so touchy. Don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Martin suspected he knew, but he didn’t say so in order to avoid another outburst on his friend’s part. Instead, he said, “Say, Tony, I need to talk to you. We’ve got some problems.”