Sins of Omission
Page 39
As Bebe watched him leave, tears in her eyes, she brought the orchids up to her nose. Tear after tear fell onto the fragile petals.
Daniel said his good-nights and followed behind Reuben.
“You’re tired, Bebe. It’s time for us to leave, too,” Sol said tenderly. “We’ve all earned a good rest.”
The morning papers called the party an extravaganza and went on to describe the tons of food, the wild orchids, the white doves. Bebe read the paper, tossed it aside, and went back to bed.
The party was over.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Usually in an upbeat mood, Reuben now felt depressed as he changed from his business clothes to comfortable slacks and sweater. With Daniel engrossed in schoolbooks and settled comfortably for the evening, he felt at loose ends. At least he could have brought coffee with him. If he opened the door and returned to the kitchen, Daniel would raise his eyes and stare at him thoughtfully, making assumptions Reuben didn’t want made, even by Daniel.
How was he going to spend the long evening that stretched ahead of him? Before he could think twice about it, he found himself spreading out his writing materials on the arm of the chair. He’d write one last letter to Mickey. If she didn’t answer this one, he wouldn’t write any more. For a long time he simply stared at the paper uncertain how to begin. Did he tell her how well things were going, or should he start with entreaties as to why she hadn’t answered any of his other letters? It was obvious she’d received the money they sent, none of the letters had been returned. On the other hand, he could write a long, letter telling her exactly why he and Daniel had left. He’d confess to that sordid afternoon in the barn. His stomach heaved at the thought. How could he explain something he himself didn’t fully understand? He felt a surge of anger rush through him and did his best to stifle the feeling.
Reuben flexed fingers that were stiff and cramped, an indication that his anger was still with him, albeit controlled. Mickey could have sent at least one letter—telling him to go to hell, to stop writing, something to let him know she was alive and well. If she’d found someone else to lavish her affections on, she should write and tell him so he wouldn’t waste his time. That’s probably what it was—she’d found someone else and he was half a world away. The decent thing to do would be to tell him. The thin streak of fairness in Reuben asked why he hadn’t done the decent thing and told her the truth about that afternoon in the barn.
Within an hour he’d composed six different letters, all full of recriminations, all sounding belligerent. He tore them all up. “Out of sight, out of mind,” he muttered angrily as he ripped at his clothes and put on his pajamas. Going to bed early wouldn’t kill him. Two hours later he was still wide awake, tossing and turning, his frustration still with him. At last he swung his legs over the side of the bed and marched to the chair where he’d left his writing paper. He pulled the chain on the lamp, flooding the room with light. Pen in hand, he started his letter.
My dear Mickey,
So much time has gone by without a letter from you that Daniel and I are both concerned that something is wrong.
Bebe returned to California and told us that you are very busy. Too busy, Mickey, to drop a line to either Daniel or myself?
Things are going well at the studio. Sol has given me some responsibility and I’ve come up with some films that have proved to be winners. The studio held a party to celebrate the success and invited the entire industry. It was a memorable evening.
Daniel is doing well, but I’m sure you know that from his letters. I’m working on a plan to get him into law school. I’d explain it all to you, but it’s a little complicated. I think, though, you would appreciate my creativity in this area.
If you have other guests at the château and no longer want ties with Daniel and myself you have only to say so and we won’t bother you with our letters. I don’t understand your silence. I can understand if you are angry with me, to a point, but please don’t take out that anger on Daniel, he doesn’t deserve it. Every day he waits for a letter, as I do.
I love you, Mickey. A day doesn’t go by that you aren’t in my thoughts. I had hoped you felt the same way. I simply do not understand your silence.
My love for you remains constant,
Reuben
Reuben read the letter over twice and then a third time. Christ, he felt terrible, as though a part of him had died. His anger was gone now, replaced with bitterness. With all his heart he believed that what he and Mickey had was a love for all time, forever and ever. Obviously he had been wrong. He’d been replaced in Mickey’s affections, there was no other explanation. To continue writing, begging her to respond, made him out to be worse than a lovesick puppy.
Frowning, he tapped the letter on his knee. Did he really want to send this, or was he simply trying to exorcise his own guilt over the decision he’d made about Bebe? Quickly, before he could change his mind, he stuck the letter in his pocket to be mailed the following day. Then he hopped back in bed again, the darkness total, and ordered his body to sleep.
Finally it obeyed him.
The rain continued all night, the sound dreary and mournful. Reuben woke with a raging headache that grew worse with the intensity of the rain. It looked like he’d be spending his weekend indoors watching Daniel bake a cake. Daniel always baked cakes when it rained.
With one umbrella between them, Daniel and Reuben sloshed through the rain, jostling each other as they hurried to the bus, only to miss it by seconds. Disgusted, Reuben flagged a hack and crawled into the backseat, Daniel next to him. Somehow he’d known it was going to be that kind of day. When he reached into his pocket for a cigarette, he found he’d forgotten them. But the letter to Mickey was still there. They’d been in such a hurry to get to the bus, he’d forgotten to mail it.
Margaret took Reuben’s rain-soaked jacket and brought one he kept in the closet for emergencies. There was nothing he could do about his wet squeaking shoes. “Hold on, Margaret,” he said, and retrieved his letter to Mickey for the outgoing mail.
“Mr. Tarz, you have a meeting in a few minutes with the committee for the Motion Picture Directors Association. A car will pick you up in fifteen minutes. And John Mundy returned your call. He’s amenable to a meeting to discuss what you can do for him. He said his contract is up in December. And I have the figures you wanted on Paramount Studios.”
“Thank you, Margaret. I should be back by noon,” Reuben said, shrugging into the jacket she held out for him.
It was mid-morning when Bebe tripped up the stairs, dressed in a sky-blue raincoat with matching hat and umbrella, in search of Daniel. She tossed her soaking wet hat in the direction of a chair and giggled when it missed.
“Let me look at you, Daniel,” she said. “My, my, but you’re a handsome devil.” She giggled again at Daniel’s flushed face. “Tell me, what do you think of my new hairdo?”
“I like it,” Daniel said sincerely. “You always look wonderful. Stop fishing for compliments.”
Bebe pouted. “You’re the only one who ever pays me any, and then I have to fish for them…. Tell me, do you have any plans for the weekend? Everyone who has a boat is going to Catalina. We don’t have one, so we aren’t going, and I’m not sure I’d want to in this weather. Some of my friends are going to Big Sur, but I’ve been there so many times it’s already old hat. The desert is out, and that leaves only San Fran. What are you and Reuben planning?”
“We were going to the beach to lie in the sun, but it looks like I’ll be home baking a cake.”
“A cake!” Bebe shrilled with laughter. “Why ever would you bake a cake?”
“Because I like to eat chocolate cake on rainy days, that’s why,” Daniel said stiffly.
Bebe stifled her laughter. “I’m sorry, Daniel, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It just struck my funny bone that you’d bake a cake. Men don’t usually…cook or bake. Listen, will you bake one for me? I love sweet things. Please?” Daniel grimaced but nodded.
“Who? Reuben?”
She nodded. “Haven’t seen much of him since the party. I was going to stop in his office to have a little chat…. I’ve really missed you two. I do hope we can stay friends here in California. I don’t see any reason why we can’t, do you? Especially me and you.”
Daniel smiled. “I thought we agreed we’d always be friends no matter what.”
Bebe ran her fingers through her fluffy hair and winked at Daniel. “Just wanted to see if you remembered. Well, I have to be going. I’ll stop by Reuben’s office on my way out. Have a nice weekend.”
“Bebe, wait a minute. I’ve been meaning to ask you—how was Mickey? Did you see her at all before you left?”
Bebe averted her eyes. “Well, not exactly. She was at the château and I stayed in her Paris house. She didn’t bother coming to see me, so I have to assume she was busy. Once, because I was in the area, I stopped by to see Yvette and Henri and, of course, Jake. They were all wonderful. But you mustn’t worry about Mickey. Obviously she isn’t worrying about you.”
Daniel frowned. “How do you know that?”
“Have you heard from her?” At his blank look, Bebe smiled. “I thought not. You know what they say—out of sight, out of mind.”
“Mickey isn’t like that,” Daniel said loyally.
“Then why hasn’t she written you?” Bebe snapped. “Grow up Daniel. She had her fun with the two of you, playing the magnanimous benefactress. And now it’s over. Why don’t you just accept it?”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“You better believe it or you’ll end up with egg on your face. I’ll just bet Reuben hasn’t heard from her, either,” she said carefully. “So I guess she couldn’t really have loved him after all. You two were just a pleasant interlude. Don’t forget now”—she wagged a finger at him—“you’re going to make me that cake. Put coconut in the frosting and I’ll be your slave forever. Ta-ta.” She blew him a kiss and sailed through the door.
This Bebe, Daniel decided as he went back to work, definitely was not the Bebe he’d known in France. He hoped Reuben would recognize the difference.
“Bebe Rosen to see…Mr. Tarz,” Bebe said to a startled Margaret.
“Why…why, Mr. Tarzisn’ there right now, Miss Rosen. Would you care to leave a message?”
“No. I’ll wait,” Bebe said regally. “No, no, don’t get up. I can show myself into his office.”
“But, you…you can’t…”
Bebe turned, her eyes cold. “I can and I will.”
The stocky secretary capitulated. After all, she was Mr. Rosen’s daughter. But what could she possibly want with Mr. Tarz?
Bebe walked around the spartan office. How like Reuben. No clutter, no nonsense. A workingman’s office. She noticed his wet jacket hanging on a hook, she walked over and laid her cheek against the wet wool. It smelled just like Reuben. And his chair—she loved the feel of it. From the prop room, she decided. Everything was from the prop room.
Against her better judgment she went through his appointment book. Director’s meeting…so that’s where he was. The realization that Reuben would probably be gone for hours so disappointed her that she wanted to cry. She’d been looking forward to a few minutes with him in private. Gradually disappointment gave way to anger as she struggled out from behind the desk. A tantrum was brewing just below the surface—she could feel it. But what would be the point?
Peevishly she slid the mail basket across the desk, then placed it on the other side, glancing down at the pile of papers with the cream-colored envelope on top. Madame Michelene Fonsard… and in Reuben’s unmistakable handwriting. Bebe’s eyes narrowed. She glanced at the door, then stuffed the letter into her purse. Her heart was beating madly when she exited the office. “Tell Reuben I got tired of waiting,” she called over her shoulder.
Fifteen minutes later the mailman stopped by Margaret’s desk. She stepped into the inner office and returned with a pile of mail, which she handed over to him. “See you on Tuesday.”
He returned her smile. Everyone’s thoughts were on the long weekend ahead.
By noon the weather had the entire studio lot in chaos, as anxious men tried to stem the heavy rain from flowing into the different ground-level studios. Yellow slickers could be seen from one end of Fairmont to the other. Reuben watched the activity glumly from his window, knowing his plans for the weekend would have to be canceled completely. Someone had to oversee the lot, and it wouldn’t be Sol. By three o’clock the driving rain gave way to a mournful drizzle. The air was oppressive, ushering in a low swirling fog that set Reuben’s teeth on edge. All day he’d been nervous, and the fog wasn’t helping matters at all. On a clear day from his position at the window he could see five of the major studio lots. Today, with the smoky-gray fog rolling in, his visibility was zero.
Reuben sat down at his desk, nodding slightly when he realized the mail had been picked up. Might as well clear his desk and check out the lot.
Reuben and Daniel worked alongside the maintenance crew stacking film on higher ground. By five-thirty the worst of the rain was over and only the fog remained. Satisfied that nothing more could be done, Reuben washed his hands and nodded to Daniel. “Time to go home.”
Daniel smiled. “We’ll have to feel our way.”
“I think our best bet would be to walk. It’ll take us a little longer, but at least we’ll be able to see where we’re going.”
The moment they stepped outside, Daniel’s glasses steamed.
“What kind of weather is this?” he grumbled.
Reuben laughed. “You really didn’t think we’d get sunshine 365 days a year, now, did you? It has to rain sometime, I can do without this humidity, though. What the hell…”
Behind them, horns honked, tires screeched, shrill laughter and raucous shouts filled the air with yellow arches of light fighting with the swirling fog.
“Is everyone ready?” Eli Rosen shouted drunkenly.
“Ready!” came a chorus of replies.
Daniel and Reuben walked over to the parade of cars. “The studio is closed for the weekend,” Reuben shouted. “Get these cars off the lot.”
“We’re waiting for Clovis,” Eli yelled from his position behind the wheel of Bebe’s car. Bebe herself was in the passenger seat with her silk-clad legs hanging over the door. “Clovis, where are you?” Eli shouted.
“Clovis…Clovis, Clovis,” Bebe wailed. “Where are you, Clovis?”
“They’re drunk,” Daniel said to Reuben.
“I can see that,” Reuben snapped. “Clovis left the studio a while ago,” he informed Eli.
“No, she didn’t. She’s gointa Frisco with us. She promised. Dinnnshe promise, Bebe?” Eli slurred. The other revelers were catcalling and hooting.
“Clovis promised, yes she did. Clovis promised to ride in our car with us,” Bebe called out. Reuben winced at the drunken silliness in her voice.
The sound of bottle after bottle shattering on the pavement echoed in his ears. Grimly he walked around to the line of cars. “Get your asses out of those cars and clean up this glass,” he ordered. “Now!”
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Eli shouted. “He’s just a flunky my father hired. You don’t have to do what he says. You just listen to me.”
“Is that a fact?” Reuben snarled as he lifted Eli bodily from the car. “You clean it up, then, if you don’t want your drunken friends to do it. None of you belong here, this studio is closed until Tuesday morning. If you don’t have a studio pass, you don’t belong. Get these cars off this lot and do it now, or I’ll call the police—they’ll be happy to escort you off this property and off to jail. I’d say that’d be a great start for a long weekend.”
The silence that greeted his words was as thick a
s the fog. The mad scramble to do his bidding, after his words had registered, was worthy of the Keystone Kops. When Eli lashed out drunkenly, Reuben stiff-armed him and then twirled him about until he was outlined in the car’s headlights.
Bebe untangled her legs from the car and slid over to take Eli’s seat. “You spoil everything, Reuben. I’ll drive us to Frisco. We’ll leave your precious studio lot if that’s what you want, but you remember something, Reuben Tarz—you don’t own Fairmont, you just work here. Gigolo,” she muttered contemptuously.
Reuben ripped open the car door and yanked her out. She flopped about in his arms like a rag doll, which so enraged him that he shook her until he thought he could hear her teeth rattle. “I told you once before never to call me that.” His hand was raised over Bebe when Daniel shouted to him.
“Don’t do it, Reuben! She’s so drunk she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Let her go!”
Reuben grabbed Bebe’s wrists and pulled her around until her face was within inches of his own. “Go home, Bebe. This is not a night to drive to San Francisco. Daniel and I will take you home, or you can come with us and I’ll explain to your father in the morning. These people, these friends of yours, are drunk and so are you. What’s it going to be?”
“Still telling people what to do, eh, Reuben? Well, you can’t tell me what to do. In France it was different, but not here.” Bebe’s face was contorted as she faced him head on. “I’m going with Eli and his friends. Dickie is expecting us. Let me go,” she continued in a harsh whisper, “or you’ll be sorry.”
Reuben’s eyes narrowed. Bebe acted drunk, she looked drunk, but she didn’t smell drunk. Obviously she was a better actress than he gave her credit for.