Sins of the Flesh

by Fern Michaels

  His life was coming apart at the seams. All the things he should have done, could have done, over the years…If blame was to be placed, it would have to be on his shoulders.

  Michelene Fonsard had said one day he would make her proud of him. Perhaps professionally, he conceded, but never personally. What good was wealth, power, and glory if there was no one to share it with, that one special person who cared if you lived or died?

  Reuben didn’t sleep at all that night, and when dawn broke he showered, shaved, and dressed. After two cups of coffee he tortured himself by reading the latest accounts of the war in Europe and by 7:20 he was on his way to the house in Benedict Canyon to see Bebe.

  Sol’s old housekeeper opened the door to Reuben after he rang the bell four times. Eyes bleary, she stared at him, her sparse hair standing on end around her ears. For the life of him he couldn’t remember her name. “I’m here to see Mrs, Tarz,” he said in an authoritative voice. “Don’t bother to announce me. I know the way.” He shouldered past her.

  When he saw Bebe stretched out in her old bed in her old room, Reuben felt a small surge of guilt. In sleep she looked so defenseless. Curious, he took a step closer; he’d never really studied his wife as he was doing now. What was it he was hoping to see? The lavender shadows under her eyes? The once creamy skin, now speckled with red from a lifetime of drink and drugs? At least her hair was the same, soft and silky.

  Reuben drew a small chair closer to the bed, careful not to make any sound. His gaze was intent, tortured, as he continued to watch his wife. Slowly he began a one-sided conversation in his mind.

  I’m sorry I can’t love you. I tried; perhaps I didn’t try hard enough. Maybe it was my guilt, my impotence, for so many years. Maybe I’m capable of loving only once. Rosemary was…Rosemary was someone who filled a space in my life for a little while. She gave us a daughter. I tried to give you everything the way your father did. Everything but my love. I couldn’t give you that because I’d already given it to Mickey. I’m sorry, Bebe, so very sorry. You allowed me to ruin your life. Why didn’t you fight back instead of destroying yourself? Why? Surely you can’t still love me. You should have divorced me years ago. I should have gone back to France and Mickey instead of being such a coward. The best years of our lives are gone now, yours as well as mine. Here we are at the end of the road. And today, when you wake, I’m going to break your heart all over again when I tell you about Philippe.

  A vision of Bebe in a brilliant flowered dress in Paris years earlier swam before his eyes. She’d been so pretty, so innocent then. She’d also been calculating and manipulative, but that he hadn’t realized until much later.

  Reuben rubbed at his burning eyes. Christ, he really should have tried to sleep last evening. Now he would pay for it with smarting, burning eyes, a condition left over from being gassed during the Great War. Sighing, he leaned back in the barrel chair, his upper torso towering well above the caned back. The time had come to think about everything, to come to terms with his life and Bebe’s. The fierce pounding in Reuben’s chest told him his personal nightmare was over. His chest heaved, and he struggled for air.

  Bebe stirred restlessly, one arm flailing at the pillow. Reuben tensed, willing her to wake on her own, and when she cracked open one eye he spoke quickly so she wouldn’t drift back into sleep. “Bebe, wake up, I have to talk to you. Please, it’s important.”

  Bebe struggled to a sitting position, staring foggily at her husband. “What are you doing here, Reuben? What time is it?” Any other time she would have worried about her appearance. Now she didn’t have to care what he thought of her.

  “It’s early…. Look, get dressed, Bebe, and meet me downstairs. You’re going to need some coffee with what I have to tell you.”

  Bebe bristled. Surely her attorney hadn’t served Reuben his papers so quickly. “I’m tired of doing what you think I should do, Reuben. According to you, I have never done a single thing right in my life. Well, that’s all over. I’ve filed for divorce, and now there’s nothing for you to say and nothing for me to say. From here on in, our lawyers will do the talking. I’d appreciate it if you would get your ass the hell out of my house. Now!”

  Reuben sighed. “Bebe, listen to me. I understand about the divorce. I’m willing to take the blame for everything. Whatever you want, you can have. I won’t fight you. I would like to see the children, though. But that’s not why I’m here.”

  Tears gathered in Bebe’s eyes. Even now, after all was said and done, she realized she still loved this cold man she called a husband. He was like a cancer in her body that wouldn’t heal or kill. Oh, God, maybe he was finally going to tell her he was sorry and that he loved her. The thought made her feel light-headed. All right, she decided, she’d stick her neck out one more time, just once more. “Why are you here, then?” she asked, her voice a whispery croak.

  Reuben shook his head. “I’d really like us to talk downstairs. Outside in the sunshine. It’s very important. Please, just slip into a robe and meet me on the terrace. I’m sure the housekeeper has coffee on by now. Trust me when I tell you you’re going to need it. Please, Bebe.”

  “How prettily you beg, Reuben.” She laughed then, a harsh sound in the quiet bedroom. Reuben flinched. “All right, get out of here while I dress, and this better be important.”

  When the door closed behind Reuben, Bebe leaned into her pillows, feeling weak all over. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In her heart she knew that Reuben hadn’t come out of love for her, so there was nothing to laugh about. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she made no move to wipe them away. So much of her life was over now that her father was dead. “Damn you, Reuben!” she cried. He should have been with her at the funeral. She should have had his arm to lean on. After all, her father was responsible for his success. “Oh, damn you, Reuben, damn you to hell!”

  Angry now, she stalked to the closet for her robe. With feverish hands she pulled it from the hanger and tied the belt so tightly that she gasped. Then she marched out of the room in her bare feet, down the long hallway, and on down the sixty-four steps that led to the foyer. From there she stomped her way through the kitchen and out to the terrace with its wrought-iron furniture. The sun almost blinded her with its brilliance, so she turned on her heel and walked back into the house for her sunglasses. A few more days of rising early and she’d be almost used to the bright light of day. The glasses secure on the bridge of her nose, she stalked her way back to the terrace.

  “All right, Reuben, I’m here,” Bebe snarled, “and this had better be good. Say what you have to say and get out of here.”

  Reuben licked at his dry lips. How to say it, how to get the words past his thick tongue? “I’m here about Philippe, Philippe Bouchet.”

  Bebe stared at him. “You came all the way over here to talk to me about someone who owns part of the studio? You must be crazier than I am. What does that have to do with me? Are you planning on selling out? If so, I hope you get a good price because I want it all.”

  Reuben cleared his throat. “Bebe, Philippe Bouchet is our son—the son you left with Yvette and Mickey. Mickey kept him, raised him as her own. She called Daniel over the Fourth of July weekend and asked him to come to France and bring him here so he would be safe. Daniel’s friends arranged the trip, and Daniel brought him back to Washington. That’s where I was when you called about your father. I was waiting for Daniel to get back. Philippe…Philippe is at my house. He was sleeping when I left.”

  Reuben watched his wife’s face turn white, saw her eyes roll back in her head, and knew she was going to faint. In a second he was off his chair and gripping her arms. “It’s all right, we’ll handle it. Get hold of yourself, Bebe,” he said, shaking her. “You at least knew about Philippe. Daniel slapped me in the face with it. I think the boy hates me, and he seems to have no love for you, either. Yvette insisted on telling him the truth because he refused to come to America. He…he knows you didn’t want him. Bebe, how could you have
done something like that? He was our flesh and blood. You just…you just tossed him away. And all these years you never told me. My God, Bebe, how could you do that to me?” Reuben said brokenly.

  “I called him John Paul,” Bebe murmured, eyes glazed and her voice expressionless, almost as though she’d been hypnotized. “I don’t know why I picked those names. Yes, I did say I didn’t want him, but I didn’t mean it. I held him once, in the middle of the night. He felt so warm and he smelled so nice. All pink and white. But I couldn’t keep him, Reuben. I was only seventeen, a child myself. They told me a family in the village would take him and raise him. I sent money, lots of money. Once I sent a birthday present. To Yvette. She never wrote or said…He wasn’t a child created out of love.”

  She paused, then looked down at Reuben as though he were a stranger. “I thought he was…was lost to me. You don’t know how many times I wanted to seek him out. I never forgot him. I don’t care what you think of me as a wife or mother. I did care, but there was nothing I could do. I drank more, used more drugs, hated you more, and gradually it got easier.”

  She was shivering now, shaking under the chenille robe. Reuben pried her hands loose from the arms of the chair and pulled her close. He held her as though he cared about her, stroking her matted hair and crooning words she couldn’t hear. Her body shook with hard, racking sobs, and Reuben held her tighter, thinking her grief had something to do with her father’s death along with the shock of hearing about Philippe. It never occurred to him that his wife might still be in love with him. A violent surge of protectiveness rushed through him, and he tightened his arms around her until her sobs quieted.

  “When would you like to meet Philippe?” he asked gruffly.

  Bebe shook her head. “Don’t arrange a meeting, Reuben. He will have to forgive me first.” She pulled away from her husband. “This isn’t going to change my plans about the divorce. I can’t let you upset my life anymore. I’m past that stage. We’ll break clean; you’ll give me what I want, and you’ll be free to do whatever you want. This has been a shock, but then, you’ve always been able to shock me and then walk away.”

  Bebe gathered herself together and squared her shoulders. She cinched the belt of her robe tighter and felt better with something in her hands to stop the trembling. Her voice was soft and gentle, almost reverent, when she spoke again. “As much as I’ve loved you over the years, Reuben, that’s how much I hate you now. I have to hate you to get through this divorce. You can see yourself out.”

  Reuben stood by helplessly as Bebe walked away from him, her head high and her shoulders straight. He was so light-headed, his vision blurred. This was a new Bebe, a Bebe he’d never known. Christ, he’d just shocked the living hell out of her, and she’d bounced back and given him what-for. He felt the crazy urge to cheer her on. Instead he sat down and finished the pot of coffee.

  It wasn’t until Bebe was inside her bathroom with the door locked that she gave way to her emotions. Her son, her firstborn, here, just miles away! That tiny bundle she’d held in her arms and christened John Paul in the middle of the night was here, and she could see him, talk to him if she wanted to. Her tears flowed and her shoulders shook with grief. It was all too much—her divorce, her father’s death, and now the boy. How was she ever going to deal with her personal problems while all this was going on? Guts. She needed guts and determination. Her willpower had long ago deserted her because it was easier to give in to her cravings for drugs and alcohol, but not this time.

  Sol’s death had shaken her to the very core. One minute he was alive and the next minute he was gone. Now, for the first time, she was aware of her own mortality, and the realization scared her out of her wits. Death loomed over her like some dark, forbidding shadow. Her only salvation lay in changing her life—in growing strong, getting clean, and staying that way for herself. Oh, she’d kicked it all before, but always at Reuben’s insistence and for her husband, not for herself. And that’s what was going to make a difference. This time it would be for her and her alone. God, she didn’t want to die, not yet.

  Maybe Eli would help her; after all, he was the one who’d gotten her hooked in the first place. Pep talks, that’s all she’d ask of him. He’d gone through his own personal hell in the past few years and managed to come out on top. Now he was a serious painter and had private showings on both coasts. These days he painted by commission, and he had a list of clients that would take him into next year. Everyone wanted a seascape by Eli Rosen. Once, he’d been a two-bit, gun-packing hoodlum who’d run illegal whiskey all over the county. He, too, had used drugs and alcohol, but he’d kicked it all and straightened out his life. Well, she could, too. And by God, she would—even if it killed her!

  She cried heartbrokenly then for Bebe Rosen Tarz and her lost youth. And when she dried her eyes and stepped into the shower, she offered up the only prayer she could remember for her firstborn.

  An hour later Bebe Tarz was dressed in a yellow sundress and soft white sandals. She pulled her long blond hair back into a knot and twirled it on top of her head. For a moment she stared at the wire-rimmed glasses on her dressing table, then picked them up and put them on. Suddenly the bedroom came into focus, and she could see clearly the shabbiness of it as well as the dirt and dust. On her way to the kitchen she stopped to look into several rooms. Everything was dusty and grimy. If she stamped her foot, the dust would spiral upward from the thick carpets.

  Mattie, the old housekeeper, was cleaning lettuce at the sink. Bebe called her name several times before she turned. With her glasses on, Bebe could see that Mattie was much older than she’d thought. “Mattie, how old are you?” she asked gently.

  The wrinkled face puckered. “I’ll be eighty-three on my next birthday, Miss Bebe,” she said proudly.

  “I know this is a silly question, but what happened to the rest of the help? You shouldn’t be climbing up and down the steps at your age.”

  “Your father said he had to cut back. He kept me on because I’ve been here since you and Eli were born. He needed someone to look after him. I told him I couldn’t keep after this big house, and he said not to worry about it. He said he’d make sure I was well taken care of.”

  There’d been no provision for Mattie in her father’s will simply because there was nothing to leave her. “Did…what I mean is, where will you go, do you have a place to live?”

  Mattie nodded. “With my sister in Santa Barbara. But I don’t think your father…no one has said anything, so I assumed that…”

  “These things take time, Mattie. I want you to call your sister and make arrangements. I’ll have Daddy’s lawyers speed things up. I’m sure it won’t take long. A check the first of every month…does that sound all right to you?”

  “Bless you, Miss Bebe, it’s more than fine.” Mattie beamed. “I thought your daddy forgot, and it wasn’t my place to ask. Who’s going to run this big house? It’s going to take a mite of doing to get it back to its old splendor.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing, Mattie,” Bebe said warmly. “I’ll find someone, and if I don’t, I guess I’ll tackle it myself. I’m…I’m getting a divorce from Mr. Tarz, so I’ll be living here from now on. I don’t want you worrying about me. You go to your sister’s and sit in the sun. You’ve earned your retirement.”

  “What about lunch?” the old housekeeper asked anxiously.

  “I think I can handle lunch. Call your sister and start to pack your bags. You can be on the afternoon bus if you want. I’ll take you to the depot myself.”

  Bebe smiled as Mattie bustled out of the kitchen. Now all she had to do was come up with the money for a pension. Although she had very little cash, she did have enough for Mattie’s bus ticket and first month’s wages. Then perhaps sell her car and get a cheaper one, and of course, some of her jewelry would have to be sold, too. She’d do that this afternoon after she dropped Mattie at the depot. And she wouldn’t take a damn thing from Reuben until the divorce lawyers told her what was what.
“I was never Bebe Tarz except on paper,” she muttered. Imbued with the pious unselfishness of her new intentions, Bebe literally danced around the kitchen. This would be her first step toward personal independence.

  It took Bebe exactly one week to sell her expensive Cadillac and purchase a ten-year-old DeSoto with seventy-five thousand miles on it. Next she sold all her jewelry with the exception of a strand of pearls that Mickey Fonsard had given her years before and a pair of pearl earrings that had been a gift from Reuben that same Christmas. Her own personal bank account now held $46,000, $5,434 of which was deposited in an account for Mattie. The minute she returned from the bank she tore through the house, searching for liquor bottles and drugs to pour down the drain.

  Over the next thirty days Bebe fought with her mind and body to conquer her life. Several times she lost touch with reality, and when she surfaced from her pit of agony she was stronger—until the next bout. Every afternoon she forced herself to swim laps in the pool for stamina. Grimly determined, she consumed milk by the gallon and stuffed her face with oranges, peaches, and ripe grapefruits, often throwing up in the process. In the morning and early evening she walked around the estate until her feet were full of blisters.

  By the fifteenth day of her fitness regimen, Bebe knew she was over the worst of her addictions. Never again would she subject her body to such torture.

  On the morning of the sixteenth day, Bebe dressed and left the estate in her secondhand car. At the market she bought thick red meat, bags and bags of fresh fruits and vegetables, and eggs. On her return to the mansion she now lived in, she made up a full week of menus.