As he hurried across the busy airfield, Daniel tried to hide his smile when he caught his first glimpse of Rocky. His friend was standing just outside the plane’s open hatch dressed in what he called clam diggers and deck shoes, absorbed in arguing about something to one of the crew. When Rocky turned to him and Daniel saw the noticeable hole gaping near the armpit of his friend’s stretched-out T-shirt, he lost the battle. Grinning openly, he climbed the steps to join Rocky and slapped him on the back as they shook hands.
“Where’s Jerry?” Daniel yelled over the noise of the hubbub surrounding the plane.
Rocky cocked a thumb over his shoulder toward the inside of the waiting plane. “Believe it or not, he’s outfitting a bed for you back there—complete with satin quilt,” he joked. “It’s a long flight.” Daniel couldn’t help thinking Rocky was the one who really wanted to get on that plane with him.
“Come on, I have a bottle of the best waiting for us inside,” Rocky said with a wink, “and I think we’re all in need of a stiff drink.”
Daniel held back. “Rock, I don’t know how I can…”
The two friends looked into each other’s eyes as the wind began to whip across the tarmac. “What?” said Rocky, grinning. “Thank me? Forget it. If it wasn’t for you, I’d never have gotten through law school, and I don’t mean just your tutoring. You’re a damn good friend, Daniel, and I hope you consider me one. Hey, Jerry,” he bellowed, sauntering off, “Crusader Bishop is here.”
Daniel followed him into the cool, damp belly of the plane, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dimness. When they found Jerry, the men shook hands all around again, vigorously thumping one another on the back the way they’d done in college. With smirks and self-conscious grins, the three of them hunkered down together, hands jammed into their pockets. The display of emotion and friendship was over, now it was time for business.
Jerry was the shortest of the three, but what he lacked in height he made up in pure, hard muscle. He had bright, inquisitive eyes and curly red hair that stood out like a fire bush around his ears. Daniel always thought he looked like a precocious squirrel. But he was a good buddy, the kind of guy you wanted on your side no matter what. Well, they were on his side now and hadn’t asked why.
“Okay, fella, let’s hear it,” Rocky said, uncorking a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He offered it to Jerry, who took a swig and then passed it on to Daniel. Daniel took a good pull, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and passed it on to Rocky.
Thirty minutes later two pairs of eyes stared back at Daniel in wonder. “This has the makings of an Academy Award film,” Jerry said quietly, trying to wring one last drop from the now-empty bottle. “Daniel, this could be…hell, it’s…” Jerry turned to Rocky. “I think we should go along, Rock. This turkey could get caught by the Germans and he’d try and talk his way out of it.” He sounded worried, which surprised Daniel. When he replied, Rocky sounded just as worried.
“So you’re intending to pull off something much bigger than a reconnaissance tour to size up the situation,” Rocky said flatly. He took in and let out a great breath before continuing. “You could get stuck there, Daniel. Just because we get you in doesn’t mean you’re going to get out.”
Daniel placed a hand on each of his friends’ shoulders. “I know. And that’s why you two are staying here. If there’s one thing you two are good at, it’s covering your asses. Now I need you to cover mine. I’m simply out of town on business, emergency business. Check with my secretary, she’ll be expecting you. Return whatever calls look like trouble. Especially from Reuben. I wouldn’t put it past him to fly East if he gets an urge to. I think I rattled him last night. He’ll be able to get through on the phone to the island now, and Rajean will have him call the office. Reuben has this…this sixth sense when it comes to me, and he’ll act on it. He’s not to know, and neither is my secretary.”
“Daniel, what if something goes wrong?” asked Rocky. “What if you do get stuck; what do you want us to do?”
“Whatever you have to. The Red Cross will be our go-between, right, Jerry?”
“That’s the ticket,” Jerry said, patting the curving wall of the Red Cross transport plane.
The men talked then of details, coming up with solutions to potential problems. When they had finished their conversation, Daniel spoke. “Then I guess I’m in the hands of the angels, as the saying goes. You know, you guys are the greatest—Jesus, there’s a war going on; France is full of Germans; my world is upside down, and you…I didn’t know where to turn…and I know this is probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but I have to do it. You have to understand, I am what I am because of Mickey and Reuben. I can’t turn my back; I just can’t. If you hadn’t come through, I’d probably…”
“Be swimming your way over,” Rocky said, finishing Daniel’s sentence. “We thought of that,” he continued cheerfully. “Look, Daniel, we understand, and both of us feel you’re doing the right thing. We’re worried, and that’s natural and normal. We’re here for you for whatever that means, and don’t give another thought to things here. We’ll handle that.”
When the last round of backslapping and handshakes was over, the three men walked to the plane’s open door.
“Anytime you’re ready, this bird is cleared for take-off. Top priority and all that shit.” Jerry grinned. “Here,” he said, holding out a small velvet sack.
“What’s this?” Daniel asked, feeling the weight of the bag in his hands.
“It’s a bag full of goddamned diamonds. In case you have to pay for…you know…anything…” Jerry said, and cleared his throat.
Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. “I hope these aren’t the family jewels,” he said lightly. His throat was so constricted, he thought he would cry.
Rocky was next, dangling a money belt in front of him stuffed full of French francs. “You never know,” he said, shrugging. “I had my father tap a line of credit for you at the Paris bank. I don’t know if it will do you any good, but it’s there. The franc is…by the time you need it, it might be worthless. All of this is just a precaution, Daniel.”
There was nothing for Daniel to say, and he didn’t try. Jerry’s and Rocky’s eyes were as misty as his own as the three men stood and walked to the yawning opening of the transport. “I guess I’ll be seeing you…whenever,” Daniel said, his voice faltering.
“You better have some good French wine with you when you get back,” Rocky called as he and Jerry climbed down the stairs.
“I’ll take a real French maid, one with…” Jerry put his hands in front of his chest and drew them out as far as they would go, his eyes twinkling.
“You wouldn’t know what the hell to do with her, who are you kidding?” Daniel shouted back. He could hear both men whooping as the plane’s engines began to sputter. With a last wave Daniel turned to settle himself safely for the long journey.
Jerry and Rocky watched as the huge big-bellied plane taxied down the runway. As the wind swirled about them, they stood and waited until the plane was a speck in the now-clearing sky. “If he’s who he is because of this Mickey and Reuben, then we’re who we are because of him. Do you agree, Jerry?”
“All the way.”
They walked back to Rocky’s waiting car in silence, both of them fighting the urge to cross their fingers and pray.
“Do you think it’ll be okay?” Jerry asked. “I don’t know if I could do what he’s about to do. That loyalty, where the fuck does he get it? We have it all, Rock—the money, the power, the mainline families…You know what he comes from….”
“Daniel’s special. And we’re doing what we have to do just the way Daniel is. He rubbed off on us, and I’m glad. Look, there’s nothing else we can do for now. Should we camp out at his office, or what?”
They clambered into Rocky’s gleaming roadster, the last of the day’s raindrops beaded on its highly polished surface. “I closed my office,” Jerry said sheepishly. “I gave everyone a month’s vacation. My old man is
probably drawing up my commitment papers as we speak.”
Rocky grinned. “You’re bonkers, but you aren’t the only one. I did the same thing.”
Both men looked longingly toward the western horizon. If Daniel had given the word, they would have leapt into what they were now considering an adventure.
At last Jerry reached over and patted the steering wheel. “Start this baby up,” he said resignedly. “I think we should head for the nearest bar and tie one on. We’ll be more than sober by the time Daniel gets to France.”
“In that outfit?” Jerry said, pointing to Rocky’s hairy calves. “There isn’t a place in town that’ll let you in.”
Rocky shrugged. “Then I’ll buy the fucking place! And you can hold the mortgage.”
“I know this tailor on Fourteenth Street…”
Chapter Two
It was a warm, golden day, the kind California was known for, the kind pictured on glossy travel brochures inviting you to accomplish something wondrous with the brilliant sun at your back. But Reuben Tarz admitted there was very little left in his life to accomplish. The pictorial reviews and trade papers and magazines continued to report that he had it all, still touting him as a wonder boy even though he was over forty. Wonder Boy…If any of them could have heard him chuckling cynically over the image, they would have been puzzled to say the least.
He looked around at his quiet, manicured garden and wondered, not for the first time, if his Japanese grounds-man had a drawn plan of the terrain. His prime Beverly Hills acre of color almost blinded him with its brilliance. Nests of sweet peas, beds of begonias and cyclamen, huge healthy clumps of daisies, and intensely fragrant bougainvillea and gardenias all bloomed in pampered profusion. When he died he hoped some kind soul would drape his casket with daisies; they were his favorite flowers. The morbid image brought him up short, and he quickly banished it from his thoughts. Death was years ahead of him; he wouldn’t even consider it. Why, he hadn’t even reached the halfway mark yet! His career came first; then, when he was ready to retire he would do something about the things he wanted to do and the places he wanted to see.
Reuben turned and started toward his horseshoe-shaped rose garden, shears and gloves in hand. He’d come out to the garden for a reason, not to stand and gawk. Almost completely surrounded by the five-foot rosebushes, he began to cut away dead stems and dried leaves. They were hardy, these roses, and he’d taken over their care despite Osawa’s protests. Of course, he wasn’t proficient by any means, but the need to tend something, to watch it grow and thrive through sheer persistence, was important to him.
Intent on his occupation, he examined each new bud and marveled over every full bloom still shining with early morning dewdrops. The deep emerald leaves looked as though they were sprinkled with diamonds, and the earthy fragrance of the new day filled his lungs.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the maid bringing out the Examiner and a pot of coffee and placing it on the terrace table a short distance from where he stood. Soon she’d return with a frosty pitcher of orange juice and a crystal glass. The benefits of wealth: a maid, breakfast on the terrace, and a newspaper just waiting for him to pick up. Reuben sighed.
There were days when he liked his solitary coffee and juice, but today wasn’t one of them. Today he felt his aloneness acutely, like a swift, unexpected pain. The children were busy with their lives, and his wife was off God knew where, while he was swallowed up in a huge mansion with four servants.
He’d spent the entire Fourth of July weekend alone, puttering about even though Jane Perkins had asked him weeks earlier to attend her annual barbecue and Max had called and suggested he stop by the club if he wasn’t doing anything. But he couldn’t face the warmth of Jane’s homey get-together, even though she was a trusted friend and he loved her dearly, and Max’s invitation had only made him burrow deeper into his solitude.
Thinking over the next few business days at the studio, he realized that with the exception of one meeting, things were so under control he didn’t even have to show up. If he wanted to, he could take off for days at a time at this point and not worry about what was going on. But he did worry. After all, someone might come out of the blue and snap at his heels the way he’d snapped at Sol Rosen’s heels some twenty-odd years ago. And he hadn’t stopped snapping, either; he’d taken a good-size bite and then gobbled up the whole shooting match. Well, almost the whole shooting match. Forty-nine percent of Fairmont stock was his free and clear—stock ol’ Sol had cannily gifted in trust to his grandsons in a clever twist on an agreement he and Reuben had made together. The same stock that Bebe had later turned over to him the night he’d been awarded an Oscar for his accomplishments in the film industry—to help put their troubled marriage back on an even keel, she’d said at the time. But that had not happened. If anything, he and Bebe were further apart now than they’d ever been. It wasn’t even a marriage of convenience anymore. It was just a mutual, miserable existence.
Reuben stared down at the garden flagstones, littered now with dead twigs bearing sharp, treacherous thorns. After meticulously piling them to the side, he moved on to the salmon-colored roses and continued to snip. If only he could cut an armful of the lush, fragrant blooms and present them to someone, someone special who would know that he and he alone was responsible for their beauty. But there was no one he cared to share his roses with, no one who meant enough to him. His heart felt heavy.
How in the name of God had he become such an emotional cripple? Why couldn’t he feel love? Why had it been ruthlessly snatched from his grasp? Would he ever again feel that pulse-quickening, heart-thumping magical excitement that made him want to rip open his heart to bare his love? Jesus, where had it all gone?
His mind raced as he kept snipping away, his thoughts circling around another topic of concern. For the last few days he had been experiencing a second gut-churning emotion, one that tied his stomach in knots and made him want to look over his shoulder like an escaping criminal, as if hounds were at his heels. Fear. Fear that something was going to happen to upset his world. It had started the night of Daniel’s phone call, this intangible feeling that was setting his hands to tremble and his heart to pound.
Reuben pulled off the gardening gloves and tossed them and the clippers onto the mound of cuttings. Turning his back on the garden, he walked to the white glass-topped table on the patio. Marcy had poured his juice but not his coffee. He gulped the freshly squeezed juice, savoring the pulpy thickness, then poured himself a cup of the dark and spicy coffee—made just the way he liked it. It had barely hit bottom when he looked down at the paper nestled beside the cup. His gut began to churn faster. Maybe something was in the paper…. Either it was that or…Daniel.
There was nothing new in the paper, just a rehash of the previous day’s news. As he refolded the paper, a picture of Roosevelt standing at Hyde Park stared back at him. The article reported the president’s Fourth of July speech, a wealth of platitudes about the greatness of America, about dying for one’s country in order to preserve the human freedom established by the Founding Fathers 165 years ago today. Reuben pushed the paper from him. Daniel knew something, had heard something, was privy to some information…and his call was to…see if he had heard it, too!
“Marcy!” he roared. When the startled maid appeared at the French doors, he demanded a phone. He didn’t give a shit what time it was back East.
The phone rang twenty-five times at Daniel’s Georgetown house before Reuben hung up. The phone at the house on Fire Island was picked up on the seventh ring. In a sleepy voice Nellie told Reuben her father was back in Washington. Reuben hung up again and then tried Daniel’s answering service. This time a receptionist told him that Mr. Bishop was out of town but someone would be in the office by nine if it was an emergency. At that Reuben lost his patience.
“I’m Reuben Tarz, miss. Mr. Bishop always leaves word where I can reach him, and, yes, this is an emergency.”
“I’m sorry, si
r,” the operator answered contritely, “Mr. Bishop left no messages other than what I’ve just told you. All I can suggest is that you call the office at nine o’clock.”
“Out of town, my ass!” Reuben seethed at the sound of the dial tone. Hell, he’d talked to Daniel a little over twenty-four hours ago, and nothing had been said about going out of town. Not that he told Reuben each time he made a business trip, but he’d always left a number where he could be reached, or his secretary would track him down if Reuben needed him, and he’d be on the phone within the hour.
Reuben looked at his watch. Five minutes to six—five minutes to nine in Washington. Five minutes to wait.
Promptly at six Reuben placed a call to Daniel’s private office number. His nasal-voiced secretary answered on the second ring. “Daniel Bishop’s office, how may I help you?”
“Reuben Tarz here, Irene. I need to get in touch with Daniel.”
Irene’s voice became attentive and expectant. Besides knowing about him through her love of the movies, Irene was well aware that Reuben Tarz was Mr. Bishop’s best friend, and in all the years she’d worked for Mr. Bishop he had always left a number where Reuben Tarz could reach him. This was the first time that she would have to tell him Mr. Bishop simply couldn’t be reached. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tarz, but Mr. Bishop left the office early today, and as yet I have no number for him. If this is an emergency…” Her voice trailed off lamely.
Sins of the Flesh Page 4
