Sins of the Flesh

by Fern Michaels

  Reuben felt a wave of self-pity wash over him. Daniel wouldn’t be where he was today if it weren’t for him, and who did his friend turn to when he found himself in trouble? His rich Harvard buddies, that’s who. He’d made sure Daniel got to Harvard, footed the bills, saved his life during the war, made sure he recovered at the château. Daniel had studied at the Sorbonne because of him, regained his health and eyesight because of him, lived off his bounty, and by God, the first time he stepped his foot into something sticky he called on other friends!

  It was these “other friends,” the ones keeping Daniel’s affairs a secret, that rankled more than anything. He hadn’t much liked Rocky and Jerry, but he would have cut out his tongue before he admitted it to Daniel. Upper crust, born with a silver spoon in their mouths, money handed to them on gold platters. Rich spoiled brats who had turned into rich arrogant businessmen who traded on their families’ golden social-register names. The only thing the three of them had in common was business, their professions, whereas he and Daniel were brothers, joined at the hip through the experiences of a lifetime. There was a world of difference.

  Reuben knew he was jealous; it was a fact he accepted and hated at the same time.

  “This is it, mister,” the driver said, sliding his cab to the curb.

  Reuben stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the building that housed Daniel’s offices, a building Daniel owned, thanks again to Mickey. The deed had been presented to him the day he’d graduated from Harvard Law School by a pompous attorney from the Morgan Guaranty Bank, Mickey’s American bankers in New York.

  Reuben had been here only once, for the guided tour, as Daniel put it. The suite of offices that belonged to Daniel’s firm suited him as no other could. The wainscoted walls; the polished oak floors; the smell of rich leather; soft, comfortable furnishings; assorted academic certificates on the walls—all were indicative of Daniel Bishop. It was a lucrative building that housed other professionals: doctors, accountants, other lawyers, and several consulting firms, all paying rent to Daniel.

  Reuben thrashed his way to the second floor and marched into Daniel’s outer office, stormed past Irene, and barreled on through to Daniel’s private offices. Irene gave a startled gasp and was half on and half off her chair about to protest until she got a good look at who was doing the storming.

  Rocky was on his feet the moment Reuben entered the room. Both men eyeballed each other for a full five seconds. Then Reuben extended his hand; Rocky reached for it. Perspiration beaded Rocky’s brow, but he would have died before he relaxed the bone-crushing grip Reuben was forcing on him. He wished he was wearing dark glasses like Reuben’s. The man was intimidating as hell; he hadn’t remembered that. Maybe it was the dark glasses that were giving him an alien, predatory look. When Reuben finally removed the dark glasses, Rocky realized he was still intimidated. This guy didn’t like him, and never had. Obviously he didn’t approve of his heritage and all the crap that went with blue-blood families. “I still haven’t heard anything. Sit down, Mr. Tarz,” he said evenly.

  “I decided California was too far away to wait for news. News that I know you have and aren’t sharing with me,” Reuben said icily. “I’ll just camp out here and…wait.”

  Rocky swallowed as he tried to clear his throat. “Suit yourself, but it’s boring as hell sitting around a lawyer’s office. If you want, I can give you a book on torts that’s kind of lively.” He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets as Reuben put the dark glasses back on. Suddenly Rocky couldn’t help himself: “Do…ah…do you wear those”—he pointed to the glasses—“all the time?”

  “Only when I don’t like what I’m forced to look at,” Reuben snapped.

  “Why don’t we just cut all this crap and get to the heart of the matter,” Rocky said, finally exploding with indignation. “You don’t like it and I don’t like it. I’m here because Daniel asked me. You’re here because you and Daniel go way back. That’s good, I understand that. What you don’t understand is I can’t tell you anything. Jesus Christ, if I could, I would. I closed my own office to come here; Jerry did the same. We’re waiting just like you.”

  “For what?” Reuben bellowed.

  “For Daniel to call,” Rocky bellowed back. “Look, if you want me to come up with some cockamamie story, I can do that; we lawyers are real good at cockamamie stories because we get them from clients all the time.”

  “I’ll settle for the truth; try that on for size,” Reuben grated.

  “Why don’t we try this on for size,” Rocky said. “You don’t like me and you don’t like what I come from; ditto for Jerry. You and Daniel came up the hard way, and anyone who isn’t cut from the same bolt of cloth is no damn good. Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Fairmont. Jerry and I graduated in the top 3 percent of our class right along with Daniel. Believe it or not, we do have brains and we use them from time to time. I consider Daniel a friend, as you do. I know, I accepted a long time ago that you’re first with Daniel. Jerry and I are poor seconds compared to you. All through law school all Daniel did was talk about you and what a great guy you were. He would have died for you, did you know that? He would have goddamned died for you if you asked it of him. Do you remember all that money you used to send him; did he ever tell you what he did with it? No, I bet he didn’t. He loaned it to us, me and Jerry. Of course, we always paid it back, but the bulk of it was given to other students who had piss to live on. He used to say he felt guilty taking so much from you. I’ll bet you five hundred dollars you didn’t know he waited on tables for his own spending money. Did you ever see the…the fucking ledger he kept for you? Ah, even behind those dark shades I see you don’t know about it. Well, here, Mr. Hollywood, take a look at this!” Rocky said, pulling an accountant’s ledger from one of the desk drawers. “All the money you sent him, the spending money, the tuition, the gifts; they’re all recorded, and do you see the next column? Those numbers represent what he paid out to, let’s say, lesser fortunates because he knew you wouldn’t take a penny in paybacks. That third column is the money he earned waiting tables. That big red zero at the bottom of the third page means the debt is paid in full. Here’s the book on torts. Sit on it, read it, chew it up, I don’t give a shit, but I gave my word to Daniel I would handle this office, and I can’t do it with you sitting here glaring at me from behind those damn glasses. The waiting room is all yours!”

  “That was a wonderful testimonial, and I thank you for it. Now tell me where the hell Daniel is or I’m going to punch your fucking lights out right now!” Reuben said, standing up, towering over Rocky.

  “Try it,” Rocky almost shouted, “and I’ll have your ass in jail in five minutes.”

  “Is that any way to talk to a client?” Reuben drawled, trying to keep his temper in check.

  “You aren’t my client!”

  “Sure I am. Irene,” he bellowed, “come in here! Take this hundred dollars and enter it in the books. I’ve just hired Mr. Rockefeller to handle some business for me. And when you record it, mark down the time.” Reuben looked at his watch. “I gave it to him twenty minutes ago. I want a receipt, too.” Three minutes later Reuben pocketed his receipt.

  “Where were we? Oh, yes, I was going to punch your lights out and you were going to land my ass in jail. Now, where’s Daniel?”

  “Okay, okay, but you damn well better tell Daniel you beat it out of me. Get comfortable, because you aren’t going to like any of it. And before you start threatening me, just remember that this is the way Daniel wanted it…. You want a drink or something?”

  “No, I don’t want a drink. I want to know where Daniel is.”

  “Daniel’s in France. At least we hope he is. That woman you both knew in Paris, Mickey, she called Daniel on the Fourth of July and asked him to go over there and help her bring someone here to the States. Jerry and I tried to talk him out of it, but you know Daniel. He said he owed her part of his life and he had to go. We told him to call you, but he said this…this trip had something
to do with you and he couldn’t tell you. We got him over there on one of our planes, at least as far as England, and from there he was taking a Red Cross plane to someplace close; hell, I don’t know where, it was sort of a momentary thing, whatever would be best when he set down. We haven’t heard a word since. We gave him all the cash we could scrape up, and Jerry gave him a bag of diamonds. Look, you would have done the same thing we did if he’d asked you. We offered to go along, but he said it was something he had to do himself. Now, that’s all I know.”

  Reuben digested the information, his heart thundering in his chest. “There’s a war going on. How could you let him go?” he asked in a sick voice.

  “Mr. Tarz,” Rocky said, sounding equally disturbed, “a team of Clydesdales couldn’t have prevented him from going. We tried to talk him out of it, begged him to call you, but he was determined. If we hadn’t helped him, he would have found someone else. For the first time in our lives, Jerry and I took advantage of our families and got him the plane and made the connections for him. At least we had a little control. I wish to God he hadn’t gone. We should have heard something by now,” he finished uneasily.

  “I don’t believe he…what if…” Reuben’s voice trembled with shock at Daniel’s behavior and the possible ramifications. God!

  “Is it Mickey he’s bringing back?” he asked in a whisper. It would make sense for Daniel to go to Mickey’s aid; anything else was sheer folly on his part.

  “I don’t think so. Jerry and I tried to figure it out after Daniel left, but we couldn’t come up with anything. None of us knows who he’s supposed to be bringing here. Someone this Mickey wants kept safe and someone you obviously know.”

  Rocky rose from his position behind the desk. “Tarz, I know the sun isn’t over the yardarm yet, but I feel like a drink, and you look like you could use one. What say we bury the hatchet, at least for now, and drink our lunch. There’s a pub three doors away.”

  “I’ll buy,” Reuben said, getting to his feet.

  Rocky knew it was the closest he would get to an apology, and he accepted the offer good-naturedly. “Irene, we’ll be at the pub,” he called out. “You come running if there’s word from England or Daniel. Call Jerry and tell him to join us. The hell with business. By the way, Tarz, do you want your hundred dollars back?”

  Reuben shook his head. “Hell no. I still might decide to flatten your keister, and if I do, it’ll look better if I’m your client.”

  “Then you’re paying for all the drinks,” Rocky grumbled.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Reuben mumbled as they made their way out of the office.

  It was 11:35 when they walked into Stella’s Pub. Jerry joined them at 12:05. By one o’clock the three men had finished off their third pitcher of beer, to Stella’s dismay, at which point Jerry opened his briefcase, took out a quart flask, and set it on the table. “This, gentlemen, is the finest of fine liquors. It’s in this flask because it eats through glass. My daddy got it from a grateful client moons ago. Kentucky moonshine with the kick of a mule. Two hundred proof, maybe more. Stella, we need some ice water over here!”

  Their first toast was to Daniel, their second to the Kentucky moonshiner, their third to Stella, and the fourth and fifth were for the Washington Monument and the White House.

  “If anyone lights a match, the three of them will blow up,” Stella hissed to the bartender.

  “It’s empty,” Jerry said, peering into the flask.

  “You’re rich, buy another one.” Reuben guffawed.

  “Champagne, Stella, your finest!” Rocky demanded.

  “Two bottles,” Jerry echoed.

  “Three!” Reuben yelled, not to be outdone by the Harvard boys.

  Rocky hiccoughed. “What we need are three virgins. Stella, we—”

  “We don’t have any,” Stella shot back. Reuben snorted drunkenly. It sounded like a good way to end an afternoon.

  “On the count of three, gentlemen, uncork your bottles, and the first drink is for Daniel Bishop, a hell of a guy!” Jerry yelled, jumping up on the table, his shirt half out of his trousers and his tie askew.

  At two o’clock they toasted Daniel’s imminent arrival. At 2:15 they toasted his belated arrival. At 2:30 they uncorked fresh bottles of champagne and toasted the Three Musketeers, at which point Reuben upended the table, along with Rocky and Jerry. “Don’t make that toast again.” He hiccoughed drunkenly. By 3:15 they had Daniel dead and ready to be buried, and all three were blubbering into their champagne as each offered his own version of a eulogy.

  By this time Stella had had enough and sent the bartender to fetch Irene, who took one look at the drunken men and turned to leave.

  “Wait a minute, you can’t leave them here!” Stella screeched. “They’re giving my place a bad name. Six parties left because of them, and who’s paying for all this?”

  Reuben raised his hand. “I have that honor. These…fine gentlemen have graciously…graciously…I said that…they said I can pay. How much?” He leered at the voluptuous Stella. “And don’t charge us for the virgins. I didn’t get one.”

  “Neither did I,” Rocky said, his voice wafting up from the floor. “Jerry had two, didn’t you, old buddy?”

  “Yep, I had two,” Jerry said, latching on to Irene. “Just point me in the right direction. I wanna go home and see…I wanna go home and…”

  “Take your virgins with you.” Reuben laughed uproariously. “I paid for them, so you can take them, isn’t that right, Rocky?”

  “Yessireee,” Rocky said from under the chair.

  “I’ll be back for the other two,” Irene said through clenched teeth. “Wait till Mr. Bishop hears about this!”

  “Mr. Bishop! We just gave his eulogy.” Reuben sniffed. “A fine man, a gentleman of much renown. My friend and…my friend…and I love him.”

  “I love him, too. Where are the virgins you paid for, Tarz?” Rocky squeaked.

  “Jerry, the sneaky bastard, took them home,” Reuben grumbled.

  “Then, by God, let’s go after him. Help me up. How did I get down here?” Rocky asked, bleary-eyed.

  “You fell when you were giving your eulogy. You were looking for dust. Dust to dust, you said. You should clean this place better,” Reuben said virtuously to Stella as he peeled a series of bills from his money clip.

  Rocky and Reuben, their arms around each other, lurched to the door and stumbled outside.

  “Quick, lock the door before they decide to come back,” Stella called to the bartender.

  “Here, here, and here,” Irene said sternly to the three men, motioning for them to sit together on the leather sofa in Daniel’s waiting room. Properly chastised, they sat like errant schoolboys as Irene laced into them.

  “You are a disgrace! This is shameful! You and you,” she said, pointing to Jerry and Rocky, “are members of the bar! People saw you! People actually saw you!”

  “Did we have the virgins with us?” Jerry demanded, sliding next to Reuben.

  “Virgins!” Irene squeaked.

  “Those lasses that still have their cherries.” Reuben roared with laughter. Rocky chose to slide off the leather sofa and rolled about on the floor. Irene quickly locked the door, then thought better of it and grabbed her purse, locking the door behind her.

  “There goes one virgin,” Jerry bellowed loudly enough to be heard all over the building.

  “Shame on you! Shame on you! Shame on you!” Irene called from her position of safety behind the locked door. “Go to sleep, all of you, and I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “She sounds like my mother,” Rocky grumbled.

  “Nah, my mother sounds like that,” Jerry said, joining Rocky on the floor.

  “What are you doing up there, Mr. Hollywood?” asked Rocky. “You too good for us?”

  Reuben peered over his knees to stare at Daniel’s two friends. “I wish I had a dog.”

  “I had a cat once,” Rocky volunteered, “but it died.”

  “I had
goldfish. I called them Frick and Frack. They died.” Jerry wept.

  “What’d you have, Tarz?” they asked together.

  “I never had a dog or cat or even goldfish,” Reuben blubbered.

  “Jesus, that’s terrible. Let’s go get him a dog, Rock. A man needs a dog. Goddamn,” Jerry moaned, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “We’ll have to get it tomorrow, that virgin of yours locked us in here,” Rocky slurred.

  “What would you call the dog? A boy dog, right?”

  “Yeah,” Reuben mumbled. “Maybe…maybe…wha’d you call your cat, so I don’t name my dog the same thing?” he demanded of Rocky.

  “Maizie. May-zee, May-zee,” Rocky crooned. “So what’s the name of the dog we’re buying you?”

  “Dog. Just Dog,” Reuben said sorrowfully. “Maybe Jake, maybe not.” He stretched out on the leather couch. “G’night,” he mumbled.

  Within minutes three sets of lusty snores permeated the room.

  At 7:30 the following morning, before the building came to life, Irene unlocked the office door and shook the three men awake.

  Reuben sat up, instantly aware of where he was and what had transpired during the previous hours. His stomach felt sour, and the pounding in his head was equal to that of a thousand drums. He struggled to a standing position, then wished he hadn’t. His shoulders shaking with exertion, he looked down at the floor where Rocky and Jerry were cursing to each other. He stretched one long arm toward Rocky, who reached for it after a moment’s debate. Jerry was next, his eyes holding a mixture of respect and suspicion.

  “Now what?” he grumbled.

  “I don’t know what you two Harvard boys are going to do, but I’m going back to the Ambassador and clean up.”

  “Hold on, Tarz, I thought we left all that crap at the crossroads last night. I thought we were friends waiting for news of a mutual friend. What the hell kind of a son of a bitch are you that you can turn your emotions on and off at a second’s notice?”

  Reuben wished he could squeeze the pain out of his head. Although he deserved what Rocky said, it didn’t make things better in his mind. Daniel, loyal, wonderful Daniel, had gone to them for help instead of him when the chips were down. But it wasn’t their fault. “I was out of line, sorry.”