Their drinks arrived, along with some cheese and charcuterie.
“This is an example of what Dax gets from the studios,” Dan said, picking up a slice of prosciutto from the plate. “The cast gets very nice trailers, and Dax has a double-wide that gets split up, towed, then put back together again on location. He likes Santa Fe, too. He’s bought a big house here, and our production designer is decorating it for him, right out of the studio’s warehouses. There’ll be a wrap party when we’re done. Save Dax some money here and there, and you’ll get an engraved invitation.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Teddy said.
“Where’s your place?”
“Out in Tesuque, on the north side of town. It’s smaller than Dax’s double-wide, but it’ll do.”
“Hey, Sally!” Dan yelled at a woman in tight jeans and a decorated cowgirl hat. “Join us.” She sat down, and Dan introduced them. “Ted, this is Sally Ryder. Sally, Ted Shirley.”
“We’ve met,” Sally said. She had been working the table on the porch when Teddy had presented himself that morning.
They shook hands. “I’m glad you’ve joined us,” she said to Teddy. “You have an interesting résumé.”
“Thanks, I’m glad, too. Nice not to be a tourist here all the time. I’m glad for the work.”
“Ted’s going to be my assistant on the shoot,” Dan said.
“That’s good. He’ll work you hard, Ted, but you’ll have fun, if you can steer clear of Dax.”
“That’s not a problem, Ted,” Dan said. “Just let me do the talking when he has questions.”
“I’m happy to be mute,” Teddy said. “Are you from L.A., Sally?”
“Used to be, but now I live in Santa Fe. I work on just about every film that gets shot here, and it’s enough to keep me in beans and bourbon.”
“Who could want more?” Dan asked. “She could produce at any studio in L.A.,” he said to Teddy, “but she likes it here, too, like you.”
“Tell me about you, Ted,” she said.
Teddy told her what he’d told Dan.
“I was an army brat,” she said, “so you’ll never have to tell me about your childhood.”
“I’m thankful for that,” Teddy replied.
“My dad did three tours in Germany.”
“So you’ve got the language?”
“I know how to order a beer,” she said.
Teddy liked her; she was trim and fit, pretty, and had blond hair, with some gray in it. He liked that she wasn’t dyeing it.
“Did you get overseas?” she asked.
“No, we were mostly stateside. When my father built some rank we were in the D.C. area. I can order a beer in Georgetown.”
She laughed, a very nice sound.
Then Dax Baxter was standing at their table. “A word, Dan?”
Dan started to rise, but Baxter sat down. “Have you had a look at the horses?” he asked.
“Yeah, I told the wrangler to replace eight of them with something better.”
“Good, we don’t want livestock dying on us.”
“Dax, you met Ted Shirley, here, this morning. He’s going to be my assistant on the shoot.”
Baxter glanced at Teddy. “Is he qualified, or are you just queer for him?”
Waters managed a smile. “He’s overqualified, and I got him cheap,” he replied.
“That’s a combination I like to hear,” Baxter said, then he got up and left.
“He knows I’m not gay,” Dan said to Teddy. “He just likes to put the needle in.”
“With Dax, it’s what passes for a sense of humor,” Sally said. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t think so,” Teddy said, “but I can ignore it.”
8
AS SALLY AND TEDDY were walking back to the parking lot, it occurred to him that he was going to be looking at four walls all evening. “Would you like to have dinner?” he asked her. “There’s a good restaurant in Tesuque, called El Nido.”
“Sure,” Sally replied. “Shall I follow you?”
“I’m in the old red pickup,” Teddy said, pointing.
“Nice. Where’d you come by that?”
“I got it from a guy I met in a bar. It’s in real good shape.”
They got into their vehicles, and Teddy led her to Tesuque, which was a quick drive, fast highway all the way.
There were no tables available, so they sat at the bar, ordered margaritas, and were given menus.
“Do you live near here, Ted?” she asked.
“Just up the hill behind the restaurant,” Teddy said. “El Nido and the Tesuque Market, next door, are the only restaurants I know here.”
They ordered dinner and another margarita. When their food came Sally got quiet for a couple of minutes.
“What are you thinking about?” Teddy asked.
“Listen,” Sally said, “I don’t want you to think of this as hostile, but I know your name isn’t Ted Shirley, it’s Billy Barnett. I had a small part in a Peter Barrington film at Centurion a couple of years ago, and you were the line producer. How come that wasn’t on your résumé, and how come the name change?”
Teddy took a deep breath and let it out. “Nailed,” he said. “The story is complicated.”
“All the best stories are,” she said.
“Well, first of all, I’m not on the run from the law, or from anybody else, for that matter.”
“That’s good to know,” she said. “Then why the fake name and the mustache?”
“The mustache is because I don’t want to be recognized.”
“A lot of good that did you,” she laughed.
“So far, you’re the only one who’s twigged,” Teddy said. “I saw two other people on the lot today who’ve worked around me, and they didn’t.”
“I have a good eye for faces and bodies,” Sally said, “especially when it’s an attractive man. Does this have something to do with Dan Waters or Dax Baxter?”
“Let’s just say it has nothing to do with Dan Waters,” Teddy said. “As for Dax Baxter, I never laid eyes on him until today.”
“That’s not the same as not hating his guts—almost everybody does.”
“Then why do they work for him?”
“He runs a smooth production, he doesn’t yell at anybody or create big scenes—ones that aren’t in the script. The money’s above average, if he likes your work, and the perks are nice, like the trailers for casts and the saloon set that’s also cast and crew canteen. If he’s aware that you’re doing good work, you’ll find a nice little bonus in your final paycheck.”
“Then what is it about him that so puts people’s teeth on edge?”
“He seems to want to be disliked. I don’t know why.”
“The man’s a bully,” Teddy said, “I can tell you that much.”
“I guess a lot of people sense that. Mind you, if there’s any bullying to be done, that’s taken care of by Heckel and Jeckel.”
Teddy laughed. “Dan calls them something else.”
“My advice is to stick with Hank and Joe.”
“Have they ever actually hurt anybody who gave Dax a hard time?”
“People have disappeared from shoots and turned up later in the local hospital—people who were stealing from Dax, that sort of thing.”
“So, Dax doesn’t bother with the cops or the sheriff?”
Sally shook her head slowly. “I think Dax is the kind of guy who thinks a broken nose or maybe a couple of ribs makes a better point than a night in the pokey.”
“Okay, I’ll do my best not to make Dax mad.”
“Always a good way to go,” Sally said. “I mean, Dax is big enough and, I guess, mean enough to handle that sort of thing himself, but if he did that, he could end up in jail, and that’s not good for business. If somebody displeases him, they just disappear from the set for the rest of the shoot. Everybody notices they’ve gone, and they always turn up later, maybe with a slightly different face, or some new dental work.”
They both took big bites of their food and were quiet while they chewed. The waiter came and refreshed their glasses.
“There’s a story going around the shoot,” Sally said, “that Dax’s wife killed somebody in a traffic accident, and that Dax got it hushed up.”
“I heard that from Dan today,” Teddy said.
“Does your being here have anything to do with that?”
“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” he replied.