THE HUNGRY HORSE STOOD on its own halfway along Main Street. Its front was coated with whitewashed adobe and it had slatted swing doors like a Wild West saloon. The interior was gloomy and smelled of spilled beer and smoke with undertones of things it was best not to think about but out the back was a pleasant enough courtyard with a jacaranda tree and long wooden tables and benches and strings of colored lights. The food was basic—steaks and ribs and burgers and a chili con carne hot enough to make smoke come out of your ears.
Presiding over this from his bar stool throne beside the jukebox that stood on the back porch was a cadaverous Norwegian who, for unknown reasons, called himself Chico and everybody else either hombre or senorita. There were signed pictures on the walls of him embracing various uncomfortable-looking minor celebrities. Palpably thrilled that, for the first time in years, a movie had come to town, Chico made everyone on The Forsaken feel welcome. And as there was no real competition for fifty miles or more, the Hungry Horse had quickly become the main social haunt for cast and crew.
It was here that Herb had hosted the party that first weekend. Ray and Diane had been toasted and feted and Terry Redfield had made a short but generous speech, welcoming everybody and telling them what a privilege it was to be working with such talent. Ray, after too many tequilas, had responded in kind but at much greater length and Diane had needed to tug his coattail to get him to sit down.
Now, a week later, the photograph of Ray and Diane with Chico already in pride of place behind the bar, everyone was here again. Tomorrow was a rest day and the mood was both lively and relaxed. Chuck and Tony, two of Cal's wranglers, had brought along their guitars and were playing country songs and the latest rock-and-roll hits. They'd even played "Running Bear" for Tommy before he slumped against Diane's shoulder and fell asleep. Leanne had just taken him back to the house. The boy had been spending every day with Cal and the wranglers, helping out with the horses. He was having the time of his life and came home so blissfully tired he could barely stay awake for his supper.
The house Herb had found for them was just along the road from the ranch that was the movie's main location and where most of the shooting was taking place. It was small and spartan but a much better place for them to be than the Casa Rosa. Herb himself was staying in a smaller house half a mile down the road. Both of the houses and the ranch too belonged to some property tycoon from Flagstaff, who was no doubt as happy as Chico that Hollywood had come to town.
Diane was happy too. She'd only had two beers but they'd gone straight to her head. It was good to be working again and she'd had a great week. Apart from the heat. It was hotter here than any place she'd ever been, well over a hundred degrees by midmorning. The house had no air-conditioning and if you stepped out without shoes, the soles of your feet almost sizzled like steaks. But at least it was a dry kind of heat and in the evenings there was generally a breeze.
She was sitting at the end of one of the long tables with Herb and John Grayling who was playing her husband in the movie. He was blond and handsome, like an old-fashioned matinee idol which was probably why Ray had taken against him. Diane liked him a lot. He was always friendly and funny and had an endless supply of indiscreet stories about the stars he'd worked with. He'd just had them in fits with one about the day he got trapped wearing only a towel in a hotel elevator with Lana Turner and an amorous chimpanzee.
Scurrilous stories aside, Johnny Grayling was a fine actor. He and Diane had already done two important scenes together and there had been a palpable charge between them. Diane hadn't seen the dailies but Terry Redfield and Herb were thrilled. Sadly, there was nothing like the same enthusiasm for Ray's work.
They weren't happy with anything he did. Terry demanded take after take of almost every shot. Only this evening poor Ray had again come home in a rage, saying if it went on much longer he'd end up strangling the guy. Diane hugged him and tried to soothe him, telling him it was early days and it would all work out but this only seemed to make him madder.
The two of them had been so very happy these past months, happier than they'd ever been. But for the past two days he'd been sullen and brooding and had barely spoken to her or to Tommy. And last night, when she said she was too tired to make love, he'd stormed out of the house in a fury and didn't come back until just before dawn. She had no idea where he'd gone.
"Come on, Diane, let's dance."
Chuck and Tony had started to play "Let's Twist Again" and Johnny was on his feet beside her, holding out his hand. Diane laughed and got up and he led her out onto the little patch of baked earth that passed for a dance floor. They were the first couple out there but soon four or five others took the cue and joined them. Johnny wasn't much of a dancer and pretended to be even worse, just to make her laugh.
Diane looked around for Ray but couldn't see him anywhere. He'd already had a lot to drink and had been getting loud. She could also tell from his eyes that he was more than a little stoned. He knew how much she hated him smoking pot and he'd promised many times to stop. Instead he just sneaked out and did it on the quiet. Which was probably what he was doing right now. He had a brown paper bag of the stuff hidden in his suitcase under the bed along with the snub-nosed revolver that for some reason he always traveled with too, even on their marriage trip to Vegas. He said you never knew what might happen.
She spotted him now, coming into the yard through the gate that led to the parking lot. He was with Denny, his new best buddy, one of the construction crew, a young guy with straggly hair and a leather vest, who never seemed to take off his sunglasses. It wasn't hard to guess that they'd been smoking. Ray saw her dancing with Johnny and she waved but he looked away without a smile. Instead he walked over and said something to Tony and Chuck and they stopped what they were playing and started up again with "Johnny B. Goode." It might have been funny were it not for that mean look in his eyes. Johnny just smiled.
"Do I detect some kind of message from the master?"
"I can't think what you mean."
It was just like that night at Herb's when he'd been jealous of her dancing with Bill Holden. But she was damned if she was going to let herself be bullied out of having a good time. She took hold of Johnny's hands and they started to jive. He was a lot better at this than he was at the twist and soon they had all the moves going and people noticed and started to clap and whoop.
Diane knew Ray was watching but she didn't care.
"And... action!"
Ray came out of the barn carrying the saddle and walked over to the corral with the camera tracking along beside him, just a few feet away. The horse was tied to the rail and when he got there he had to swing the saddle over its back. That was when Diane's character, Helen Dearborn, called out his name and he had to turn and look at her. It was an important moment in the story, the first time Harry laid eyes on the woman he was going to fall in love with. And it was Ray's first big close-up. Diane was standing off camera, ready to deliver the line—again. This was the fifth take.
"And cue Helen."
"You must be Harry," Diane said.
Ray turned and gave her the look, tightening his jaw muscles and slightly lifting an eyebrow. He'd seen Gary Cooper do it many times. Cary Grant too. It wasn't quite a double take, more a slow registering of what a beautiful woman his brother was married to.
"And cut," Terence Redfield said.
He stepped out from behind the camera.
"Once more, please, folks."
The makeup woman stepped in again to dab the sweat from Ray's face but Redfield asked her to give them a minute. He put his arm around Ray's shoulders and led him aside a few paces so that nobody else could hear. Ray was seething but trying not to show it. This was the first scene he and Diane had done together and this jumped-up little shit was clearly out to humiliate him in front of her. Redfield still had his arm around him, like he was some goddamn father figure or mentor.
"Ray, that was better, but—"
"It's okay, you told me a hundred times already. Less is more, right?"
"It's not just that. All I want is for you to be yourself. She's a stunning, beautiful woman. The look you're giving her is maybe a little, well..."
"A little what?"
"Well, maybe just... a little too much."
"Right. Less is more."
Over Redfield's shoulder Ray could see everyone, including Diane, pretending not to look, chatting as if nothing special were going on here, studiously ignoring them. Even Tommy, who was helping Cal with the horse, was avoiding his eyes. But the air around them hummed with tension.
"The thing is, Ray. You've got such a powerful, expressive face; all you—"
"Don't give me that bullshit."
"I'm sorry. All I'm trying to say is—"
"Listen, I'm not some fucking kid, okay?"
"Don't be like that, Ray."
"Don't be like what? You've been on my back ever since we started. All that patronizing shit about how this isn't TV. I mean, who do you think you are, Cecil fucking B. DeMille?"
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Ray."
"Listen, pal. I know you didn't want me in the first place—"
"That's not—"
"I know, okay? But at least you could try just treating me with a little respect."
Nobody was pretending not to look anymore. The whole unit was openly staring. Ray felt like he was in high school. Redfield turned and quietly summoned Joel Davis, the first assistant director, who walked toward them.
"Joel, let's take an early lunch, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
Joel called the break and told everyone to be back on set in an hour.
"Let's both cool down and talk about this later," Redfield said.
"Whatever you say."
"Ray, trust me. It'll be okay."
"Yeah, sure."
Redfield walked away and Ray stood for a moment with his head down, glaring at his boots and at his shadow on the red dust. Then he swung a leg and kicked a rock that went skidding off across the corral.
His trailer was hot as hell and he took off his shirt and lay on his back on the couch and stared for a long time at the ceiling. One of the catering girls knocked on the open door and came in with his usual steak and salad and a glass of orange juice and Ray thanked her and said just to leave it, he wasn't hungry.
He couldn't take much more of this shit. Maybe he should just walk, tell them he quit. Over the years he'd worked with scores of directors, some good, some bad and some downright hopeless. He'd gotten along with nearly all of them. He wasn't what people liked to call difficult. He could take direction. In fact he'd always been open to suggestion, welcomed it even, was always happy to take good advice on board. But never, not in all those years, had any of them gone so far as to challenge his talent or undermine his technique like this little fuck seemed set on doing.
There was clearly some other agenda and Ray couldn't figure out what it might be. Maybe it was something to do with Diane. They all had the hots for her, the riggers, the wranglers, that little faggot Grayling who couldn't keep his hands off her last night. Even Herb Kanter. Every goddamn one of them. You could see their tongues hanging out every time she breezed by. Maybe that was what Redfield was up to. Directors always wanted to screw their leading ladies, after all, and often did. If the male lead hadn't got there first. The little shit probably figured if he could get Ray out of the way, make life so unpleasant for him that he walked, he might be in with a chance. Well, fuck him. Walk? The hell he would.
"Ray?"
It was Tommy at the door.
"Hi, son. Come on in."
He swung his legs off the couch and sat up. The boy had quite a tan. Ray patted the couch and Tommy came and sat down beside him.
"How're you doing? Got those horses sorted out?"
"Yes."
"How's that Leanne girl shaping up?"
"She's okay. She's nice."
"What with you spending all day with Cal, I guess she doesn't have a whole lot to do, huh?"
"I suppose not. Are you all right?"
"Yeah, sure. Why?"
"I don't know. You didn't look very happy just now. With Mr. Redfield."
"Oh, I'm okay, buddy. Sometimes people have different ideas and things can get a little tense. It'll all sort itself out. Where's your mom?"
"Having something to eat with Mr. Redfield. She said to tell you she'd be coming over in a minute."
"Oh. Well, thanks for doing that."
They were silent for a moment, Tommy staring into space, kicking the heels of his new cowboy boots against the couch. Ray suddenly felt bad about not having paid the kid much attention these past days.
"How about the three of us taking a ride this evening?"
"Cal and I are going up the mountain to see the rock paintings."
"Oh, okay."
"I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you came too."
"We'll see."
"I'd better go now."
The boy went and Ray stood up and stretched then went to stand in front of the long mirror on the closet door, wiping the sweat off his chest. His face was drawn and tense around the eyes. God, he was starting to look old. He turned sideways and tried to shift his mind into character. Tending the saddle, Helen coming up unseen beside him. You must be Harry. He turned and looked into the mirror again. A little less tightening of the jaw, maybe. Lose the lifted eyebrow. Do it with the eyes, just the eyes. Real intense, seeing her, knowing her. That was it. That was good.
Diane suddenly appeared in the corner of the mirror. She was in the doorway behind him.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"Can I come in?"
"Sure."
She walked toward him, tentatively, as if unsure what kind of welcome to expect. The sight prompted in him both anger and desire. They hadn't spoken since last night. She had left the party before him and was asleep when he got back. Her call this morning had been earlier than his and when he woke she'd already gone. They hadn't made love for a week.
She stopped in front of him and laid her hands on his bare chest.
"Where have you gone?" she said quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. You've gone all cold and distant."
"I'm right here."
She tilted her face and hesitantly kissed him on the lips. For a moment, ridiculously, childishly, he didn't respond but then he opened his mouth and kissed her. He put his hands on her hips then slid them under her shirt and slowly up following the curve of her body until he was holding her breasts.
"I want to fuck you," he whispered.
"Darling, not now."
"Come on."
"Later."
"Forget it."
He shoved her away and she fell back against the table and the tray with his lunch and the glass of orange juice went crashing and spilling onto the floor.
"For godsake, Ray. What the hell's wrong with you?"
"Just get out of here."
They reached the top of the dome a little before five, the horses' hooves clacking and scraping on the hot sandstone. In the west the sky was stacking itself with bulbous, flat-bottomed clouds. There was no horse work in any of the scenes being shot that afternoon nor any involving Diane and since Ray didn't seem to want her support, she'd decided to join Cal and Tommy on their ride. She wanted the company but still felt too hurt to talk so she let the two of them ride ahead. Tommy turned around twice to ask her if she was okay and she told him she was fine and to stop fussing. He and Cal hadn't stopped talking all the way. Thank God, she thought, that the boy had at least one man in his life who was sane and stable.
Cal had found an old Navajo in Medicine Springs who'd told him where they could find the rock paintings but it still took them a long time. At last they found the gully the old man had described. It ran north to south down one side of the dome like a knife crack in the top of a boiled egg. They left the horses to graze among the sage and scrambled down into the shadow and cool of the gully. In places the walls grew steep and there were crude steps and footholds carved in the sandstone and some had crumbled or been worn away so that Cal had to lift and lower Tommy and do almost as much for Diane.
Along one side of the gully ran a shelf some six feet wide where the rock had been scooped out to make shallow caves. Cal said people used to live in these, people now known as the Anasazi, though this probably wasn't their real name. It was an old Navajo word for enemy.
"Just like what you told me about the Sioux," Tommy said. "How that was what their enemies called them."
"That's right. The Oglala and Lakota and the others never called themselves the Sioux."
"What happened to the people who lived here?" Diane asked.
"Nobody knows. They just vanished. About a thousand years ago."
"Maybe they were their own worst enemies," Diane said.
"It can happen."
"It sure can."
Cal looked at her and gave her a sympathetic smile and she could tell he knew the reference was to Ray.
They found the paintings in an overhang at the far end of the shelf. Only twenty yards farther the gully tilted into a dizzying chute down which you could see the outskirts of the town a thousand feet below. Cal found them a safe place to stand and the three of them stood staring up at the paintings. Diane remembered once seeing photographs of some cave paintings in France that showed hunting scenes, stick figures throwing spears and shooting arrows at running animals. But what was depicted here was quite different and it took her a while to work it out. There was a row of what looked at first like vases or bottles, each about six or seven feet tall. Some were in groups, others on their own, all a deep bloodred against the ochre of the rock. Then she realized that they were figures, silhouetted heads and shoulders, tapering to their base. They appeared to be cloaked or shrouded for there were no visible arms or legs. It was like some silent convocation of ghosts, watching and waiting. Diane shivered.
There was one among them that was larger and seemed to have wings and Tommy asked Cal what it was but he didn't know. Maybe it was some sort of eagle god or shaman, he said. He had seen figures like it once in a canyon in Utah a hundred miles farther north.
"Some of the rock paintings in this part of the world are thousands of years old," he said.
"It's like they're telling us to go away," Tommy said.
"Then maybe we should."
They climbed out of the gully and sat on a shallow bench of stone and watched the shadows of the clouds pass across the mellowing red of the plain far below them. Tommy said the flat-bottomed clouds looked like ice cream floats. The ones over the mountains were starting to tinge with pink. Diane's horse, a stocky bay mare, had strayed a little and Tommy waded off through the sage to fetch her, leaving Cal and Diane alone. For a while neither of them spoke, just sat there gazing out at the mountains.
"Cal, how long have you known Ray?"
"Ten, twelve years, maybe."
"Have you ever seen him upset like this before?"
He didn't answer for a moment. He picked up a stem of sage and began stripping off the leaves.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask."
"No, it's okay. He's having a hard time and this picture means more to him than anything he's done. It's like what you said. Sometimes Ray can be his own worst enemy. Forgets who his friends are."
"He doesn't seem to have any friends."
"I guess he is kind of a loner."
He was about to go on but then seemed to think better of it.
"What were you going to say?"
"Nothing much. Just that, with my kind of work, if something goes wrong, you just fix it, make sure you do it better the next time. But with acting, there are no mistakes. It's just you. Do something wrong, it goes right to the heart of who you are. Sorry, I don't know how to explain what I mean."
"I understand."
"I'm not saying there's no skill or technique involved. Of course there is. You gotta hit your marks, know what the camera's seeing, all that stuff. But when it all boils down, it's just you and what you are. And if someone rejects that, says that's no good, it's not your work they're rejecting, it's you. That's hard for anyone to take. But for actors it's even harder because... Hell, I shouldn't be talking to you like this."
"Please, go on."
"Well, because they're generally so darned insecure. They want approval. They want to be loved. We all do, of course, but with some actors it's like a hunger. And if they don't get it, they can fall apart."
"Oh, come on, Cal. There are harder ways to make a living."
"Not many that can do that kind of damage to a man's self-esteem. Please, don't get me wrong. I think what you guys do is a kind of magic. Especially you. I've watched you and that's exactly what it is. You have a great gift."
Tommy was tramping toward them now, leading Diane's horse. Cal stood up.
"Good work, Tom. We better be moving. It'll be getting dark."
The three of them barely spoke on the way down. Diane listened to the clatter of the horses' feet and the skitter of broken rock and breathed the scent of the sage and pinon and juniper and watched the clouds go red and purple and darkness unfold itself across the plain and one by one the pinprick lights of the town below begin to glimmer. And she thought about what Cal had said and about the life she had made for herself and for her son, this blossoming child who rode between them. And about those watchful, waiting figures painted on the mountain.