“Fill her up,” he said, still grinning, “I just drove down from Monument Valley on your local Route 59.”
Mary Ellen wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, it gets real dusty around Rough Rock.” She got busy with the pump after locating the gas cap on the Porsche.
The driver laughed, a deep musical sound. “Go ahead, ask me.”
Her eyes traveled critically over his face, as if suspicious that he wasn’t who she thought. “You are Neville Kalani, right?”
“Guilty as charged. But you’re the first person so far on this reservation who has recognized me.” Good heavens, were his eyes twinkling at her?
Mary Ellen thought a moment. “Well, your series often airs in the same time slot when our regional sports channel runs baseball and football games.”
“Never mind that, now,” he said suddenly and got out of the car. “I’ve been deputized to do some casting while I’m in the area. Do you know we’re filming a movie down at Canyon de Chelly this week?”
She shook her head, excitement coursing through her. She’d heard about some film crews coming to the reservation, but the details remained vague. She also remembered that Kalani was being cast in his first feature film, which was some sort of alternate history story based on a popular book that had come out a few years ago. The critics were predicting this heralded the start of his booming career as an action-adventure hero. Somebody had even called him “the ethnic Orlando Bloom.” Mary Ellen knew a lot of actors had success on television before moving to the big screen.
Lost in speculation, she almost missed his next conversational gambit. Then it dawned on her — “You want me to go to this casting call in Chinle?”
He did. It seems they needed an Indian beauty in a minor but significant role, and were still looking for an “original.” The gist of his flood of words was that Neville Kalani thought she, Mary Ellen Newkirk, would fit the part! Her first reaction was disbelief.
“I’m Navajo through my mother,” she said, “but Dad’s a white guy from New Jersey.”
In no short order, Neville Kalani demonstrated how he’d succeeded in Hollywood. He marched in the station, had a lively dialog with her brother Frank, and emerged from the building triumphant. “Your brother is going to call your cousin to help him here. He wants you to call home when you get to Chinle, and keep checking in. Do you have your cell?”
Before she could blink, Mary Ellen finished pumping the gas, and then flew into the station with Neville’s twenty-dollar bill in her hand. She threw it at Frank, ran to the back room and grabbed up her purse. Her iPhone rattled satisfactorily when she shook the bag. She stopped at one of the cold cases and pulled out two Diet Pepsis, mouthed a thank you to her brother, and ran happily out to the Porsche. Kalani was waiting by the passenger door to hand her in.
The drive to Chinle passed in a daze to Mary Ellen. Here she was, seated in an expensive sports car that drew everybody’s eyes, chatting with a gorgeous film star. Furthermore, he seemed to be intensely enjoying their outing. He’d turn his awesome profile toward her from time to time, an infectious grin on his face.
She was almost angry when they reached the left turn to the Canyon de Chelly Monument entrance. A mass of trucks, campers, and shiny RVs flooded the parking lot, and a harassed looking ranger waved the Porsche through the entrance. The car barely reached the parking lot when a small horde of people came flying out to intercept them. Mary Ellen eyed a dark, distinguished-looking man in a cap, a skinny guy with waved blonde hair, and another fellow who wore an odd Hawaiian shirt and looked like he was repressing a guffaw.
The dark man said, “Ah, you found her! Princess Sistina to the life. Good work, where was she?”
“Wandering the vales of Monument Valley, I suspect,” sniffed the blonde guy.
“No, I found her at a gas station up the road,” Neville laughed, helping her out of the car. Then, taking her firmly by the arm, he towed Mary Ellen toward an Airstream trailer parked in a row with two others. The men followed them like overeager collie dogs. Meanwhile, a small crowd of reporters and cameramen began shouting at them, held back by a fence and another ranger who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was.
(To be continued)
