Sins of Omission

by Fern Michaels

  “For the past few months there’s been talk a watchdog is going to be appointed by the film industry to oversee Hollywood’s morals, and that doesn’t mean just the actors, it means all of us. If I can’t control my own family, how can I control my studio?…Now you can talk, if you have something to say. No lies,” he roared.

  “Whatever Reuben told you is true, Daddy. I’m sorry. I thought it was going to be fun, but it wasn’t. I won’t do it ever again. Whatever you decide to do…what I mean is…I’m sorry,” Bebe said sincerely.

  “I didn’t kill anyone, Pop. Dickie did it. He was so drunk. I…couldn’t kill anyone. When I saw the body down there, I got sick. Ask Tarz, he saw me throwing up. I wouldn’t put it past that bastard to have cooked this all up so he could come in like a white knight and save the day.”

  Sol’s hand shot out, striking Eli full in the face. Eli reeled backward, his head landing in Bebe’s lap and his legs crumpled under him. He started to cry.

  “Tarz didn’t arrange anything. He saved your skin, is what he did. I don’t like it, but the truth is the truth. He has me over a barrel now, thanks to you. I’m going to pay and I’m going to pay big for what you two did last night. Chew on that for a while. I’m leaving for the studio now, and you damn well better think about what I’ve said. If the newspapers come around, let the servants handle them.”

  “Daddy?” Sol turned at the sound of his daughter’s voice. “Daddy, if I have to stay in the house, can I redecorate my bedroom?” He didn’t bother to answer, just slammed the door so hard on the way out that Eli cringed. Bebe shuddered.

  “How…how long do you think it will be before he lets us out?” Eli asked in a trembling voice.

  “A very long time. Until Reuben Tarz tells Daddy it’s safe to let us out,” Bebe said tearfully. “Oh, how did I ever let you talk me into going to that stupid party. How?” She prodded him forcefully with her foot. “Dammit, Eli, answer me.”

  Eli got to his feet. “We used to be friends as well as brother and sister, but all that changed when you came back. You aren’t even nice to me. I always looked up to you, Bebe. I’m sorry about last night. I wish it never happened. It’s Tarz, isn’t it? There’s something between the two of you, I can feel it. I’m not blind. I saw the way he looked at you and the way you looked at him. Just how well did you know him in France?” Bebe’s sharp intake of breath seemed to float through the room.

  “You thought I didn’t know about that. I’m not a complete fool, Bebe. I think it’s just…real shitty the way you’ve been treating me.” He looked down at his sister with tears burning his eyes.

  “Not now, Eli. I feel too terrible to discuss something that’s so important to you right now. We’re going to have plenty of time to talk in the coming days. I’m angry with you, yes, but I’m angrier with myself.”

  How blank and cold his sister’s face was. There was little he could do but leave the pretty bedroom with the warm sun streaming through the gabled windows.

  Bebe let her breath out in a long sigh. Now she could redecorate her bedroom in her mind. A bedspread with pleats around the bottom instead of flowered ruffles. Drapes instead of frilly curtains. A soft rose rug, thick and ankle-hugging. Get rid of the knickknacks and add a few plants. At least one original painting on the wall. Soft and warm, neither feminine nor masculine. Like the guest bedrooms in Mickey’s house.

  Sol’s brain churned as he drove to the studio. Thank God for Tarz. A stupid stunt like last night could wipe him out. Bebe was becoming more of a handful than ever, and Eli was a lost cause. When the Hastings thing blew over, if it ever did, he’d boot his keister out and forget he ever had a weasel for a son. Bebe would not toe the line for long, so he was going to have to do something about her. Maybe what Eli said was true; maybe she was smitten with Tarz. If she was, he should be thankful; she could have picked one of Eli’s sleazy friends. Tarz…He was going to want something, and who could blame him? In his position, he’d have made demands last night. The price was going to be high, that much he did know, and he would pay it with a good face.

  Maybe, just maybe, the idea he had last night would pay off if he went about it in the right way. He’d throw Bebe into the pot. It would take somebody a lot stronger and tougher than Reuben Tarz to turn down such a beauty. Tarz was young, with healthy animal appetites. He’d taken Mickey on, and she was twice his age. Obviously he’d satisfied her, or why else would she have turned her business over to him to manage? Maybe she’d yank it all away from him if she found out he was seriously thinking of marrying Bebe. Yes sir, sometimes good things came out of bad.

  Sol’s steps were lighter, but he still shuffled forward when he walked up the steps to his office. Tarz was his answer.

  Reuben sat at his desk with his hands behind his head, every inch the studio executive. Sometimes Lady Luck lets you step in it. San Francisco was behind them now. If he could convince Sol to let him handle the interviews when the police came around, things might be okay. He had a few bad moments when he thought about Dickie, but he consoled himself with the thought that he hadn’t seen the crime, only the aftermath. No one, least of all the police, were interested in opinions, his or anyone else’s. The police dealt in facts. The only thing that worried him was Eli and his loose lip. There had to be a way to ensure his silence. Obviously Sol had long ago given up on his son—he certainly had no control over the young man. On the other hand, Max had a hold on Eli, but how far would Max go for him? A deal. You wash my hands—I’ll wash yours. A bigger cut on the distribution? He’d have to think about it a while longer.

  That left Bebe. A handful. Sol was definitely going to have to do something about his children before…before they…What? They were in serious trouble already, at least Eli was. Nothing was more serious than murder.

  Right now, though, he had better concentrate. He had something else to contend with, and that was Daniel. He didn’t want Daniel involved in any way with what was going on, so he was going to have to put his plans into action regarding his friend. He should have taken care of it a week before, the way he’d originally planned.

  Sol would be late this morning, which would give him time to go down to the prop department and get things under way. If he was lucky, the police wouldn’t find their way to the studio until later in the day or early tomorrow morning.

  The head of the prop department was a wizened man with curly white hair and crinkly blue eyes, and an iron trap of a memory for every stick, every last item in the department. His jaw dropped as he listened to Reuben, and he hooted with admiration when Reuben spread out his notes on a long worktable. He was still chuckling and slapping at his thighs when Reuben asked, “Well, can you do it?”

  “Son, I’ve had requests for just about everything and anything. So far no one has been able to stump me—and let me tell you, some of these set men are out of their noodle, but I always come up with what they want. Yes, Mr. Tarz, I can do it. It’ll be a challenge, believe me.”

  “Can we keep it between the two of us?” Reuben asked uneasily.

  “As long as you ain’t planning on getting fired we can. You get yourself canned and it’ll come out the way dirty laundry does. Get my drift?”

  “I’m here for the long haul, Mr. Sugar. As a matter of fact, if you know how to keep a secret for your own future good,” Reuben said, “I expect to be promoted any day now to vice president in charge of production.”

  “That means you’ll call the shots around here, then,” the little man said in awe. Reuben nodded. “Then I guess I better start to work. It’s gonna take me about a week, how’s that?”

  “Too long. The deadline for registration is in a week, and he has to drive east. Two days. Can you do it?”

  “Consider it done. It won’t hurt me to go without sleep for a night or two.”

  “It has to be perfect,” Reuben warned.

  “It’ll be so perfect the dean of Harvard Law School will believe he wrote Mr. Bishop’s acceptance letter himself and forgot to
file it.” As the two shook hands, one thought circled in the old man’s head: That’s got to be one powerful friendship.

  Reuben’s next stop was Daniel’s office. “Close up shop for now, Dan’l. Go over to the prop department and get a chit from Mr. Sugar for a studio car. There will be someone there to teach you how to drive. All day, till you have it down pat.” Reuben raised his hands to brush away Daniel’s startled look. “Don’t even begin to ask questions, pal, just do it.”

  Margaret was every inch the professional secretary when she ushered Sol Rosen into Reuben’s office. A minute later she reappeared with coffee and Danish on a silver tray. Sol sipped his coffee, set the cup down, and spoke.

  “In your opinion, what’s the best way to handle this?”

  Reuben didn’t quite know what he had expected, but this—having Sol Rosen ask his opinion—definitely wasn’t it. “I think you should let me answer the questions because I was there. They might ask you something and you’ll trip up. It could be some minuscule little detail. But only if you agree. I’ll say we left around seven and got here about one A.M. I think it’s safe to say I was the only one not drinking. As much as I hate to admit it, Daniel had a snootful. He’s not used to drinking, so one or two would put him under the table. But he could still function. He’s the one who got Eli down to the car. As for Bebe, we can’t deny she was taking the orange blossom bath, but then, so was everyone else. Paramount is going to take the heat in this. So to sum it up, we were there, the three of them had a few drinks, Bebe did her bathtub number, and we left to return here. It wasn’t our cup of tea, that sort of party. The police are going to want to know where the liquor came from. I suppose you know by now that Eli had a carload. However, there was liquor at the party when we arrived. I don’t know where it came from. Eli got it from Max, who will deny it. We don’t want to jeopardize Max and his distribution, so Eli will have to deny the charge if anyone brings it up. Bebe and I will back him up. Do you see anything wrong with any part of what I’ve just said?”

  Sol rubbed his chin. “Sounds pretty good to me. I only hope we can carry it off. This town is already buzzing about the lack of morals and accusations of decadence. This is all we need.”

  “I want you at my side when I make my statement,” Reuben said.

  “I’ll be there.” Why hadn’t Reuben said Daniel would be with him and Bebe, to back up Eli’s story? Bishop was the kind of guy cops loved, clean-cut and studious-looking. Still, he wasn’t about to ask. Now he had to find out what this was going to cost him. “What do you—”

  “A vice presidency—in charge of production,” Reuben said coolly. “Five thousand a month to start.”

  He’d known it would be something of this magnitude; there was no point in arguing. He nodded. “I’ll send out a memo, and my secretary will release it to the papers.”

  A goddamn vice president! He wished Mickey were there so he could tell her, but…Mickey wouldn’t approve of the way the promotion had come about. He’d be able to pay her back now, in one lump sum instead of payments over a period of time. That was the first thing he’d do. Money would have to be set aside for an allowance for Daniel. Pretty soon he’d be rolling in the green.

  Two days later Reuben ushered Daniel down to the prop room.

  It was ten-thirty in the morning when Al Sugar handed over a packet of documents to Reuben, who in turn handed them to Daniel. Both men were silent while Daniel read first one paper, and then the other, until he was finished. His face was white, his mouth hanging open.

  “This…this says…what it says is…I’m going to Harvard Law School! Jesus, Harvard Law School!” Daniel cried excitedly. “I…Reuben, you have to write Mickey and tell her! When…when am I going?”

  “In about ten minutes, or as soon as your car arrives. We sent a chit around to the motor pool. You’re going in style, Dan’l,” Reuben said fondly. “A Daimler. We’re signing it out for an indefinite period of time. Now that I’m vice president. I’ll answer to myself. Over there is your wardrobe, two trunks and two valises. You, my friend, will be wearing Diego Diaz’s underwear. Mr. Sugar has taken care of everything.”

  Daniel’s shoulders slumped. “Reuben, how can I go to Harvard Law School? I didn’t even finish high school!”

  Reuben and Al laughed. “Sure you did, Daniel, you must have overlooked your diploma,” Reuben said, pointing to the packet in Daniel’s hand. “It’s inside that envelope. So is your acceptance letter from the dean himself.”

  “Jesus!”

  Reuben threw his hands in the air. “This is Hollywood, Dan’l, land of magic, and we just created some for you. All you have to do is make us proud. Straight A’s. Leave the girls alone and study till you drop. Is it a deal?”

  “Reuben, I…Mr. Sugar…”

  “No sniveling, kid, or the ink on that acceptance letter will run; it isn’t dry yet.”

  This couldn’t be happening to him, yet it was. A car horn tooted, and panic suddenly ribboned through Daniel. It was true, he was leaving; he was going to Harvard!

  “Here’s a map. This envelope has enough money for the trip and your allowance for the first month. As soon as you get settled, write me so I know where to send it every month.” The two men looked at each other. “Good luck, Daniel,” Reuben said softly.

  “Go ahead, tell me to stop blubbering, I don’t care. I’ll miss you, Reuben, I really will, and I won’t let you down, I promise!”

  “I know.” Reuben laughed reassuringly. “Make sure you stop when you get tired. There’s enough money there for hotels and food.”

  “Reuben…can I talk to you a second, in private?”

  Reuben motioned for Al to step back. He leaned over the car. “Reuben, I know that your personal life is none of my business. I was going to talk to you about this later tonight, but…this all came up so suddenly. I don’t want you to…please don’t…don’t marry Bebe,” Daniel blurted out.

  Reuben threw back his head and laughed. To Daniel it sounded ominous. “Now, where in the hell did that come from?” Reuben’s gaze was penetrating as he contemplated Daniel’s worried face.

  “It’s the only thing left, Reuben. I won’t ask you to promise me because I…I can’t ask that of you. Just think before you leap, okay? Now, stand out of my way. I’m driving this car all the way to Harvard…. Gas! does it have gas? Where does the gas go?”

  Reuben pointed to the cap on the side of the car. “You better get going. You’ve got a lot to do in Cambridge before the term begins.”

  An unfamiliar mist covered Reuben’s eyes as he watched the Daimler until it was beyond the studio gates.

  “That’s a fine thing you’re doing for your friend,” Al Sugar said quietly. “Illegal, but still a fine thing.”

  Reuben grinned. “Two bits says they never catch on.”

  “I made the credentials, so I ain’t about to bet against you. I want a copy of his diploma when he graduates.” The old man grinned.

  “I do, too, and he’ll be at the top of his class, you can take my word on that.”

  Al Sugar removed his greasy cap. “Mr. Tarz, if you say so, that’s good enough for me. Pleasure doing business with you. I’ll be taking the rest of the day off to catch up on my sleep.”

  “You earned it, Al. Take tomorrow off, too, if you want. With pay.”

  There was a quiet to the office building when Reuben walked in. His eyes searched out the lobby and then the stairs. At the top, staring down at him, was a man in a dark blue uniform. So they’d finally gotten around to Fairmont. He took a deep breath and scaled the steps two at a time. He shouldered his way past the man at the top and headed for Sol’s office. He passed Margaret, who was sitting at her desk with a petrified look on her face. Sol looked normal enough, he thought.

  “Reuben Tarz, vice president in charge of production. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “The police are here about the Mavis Parks accident,” Sol said in an amazingly normal voice.

  “Murder, M
r. Rosen,” the police officer said coolly.

  “I know only what I read in the papers, Officer,” Sol replied.

  “I understand you were at the party, Mr. Tarz. Would you care to elaborate a little for us?”

  Reuben shrugged. “Yes, I was at the party. I drove Mr. Rosen’s son and daughter to the Sherwood. It was a bad night. I guess you could say I chaperoned them.”

  “What time did you leave the party, and who left with you?”

  Reuben pretended to think. “Around seven or so. It wasn’t our kind of party, if you know what I mean.” He half grinned at the officer, but the man remained stone-faced.

  “Did you carry liquor to the party?”

  Reuben looked outraged. “Of course not! But I won’t deny there was liquor when we arrived.”

  “That party’s been described as an orgy. Would you care to confirm that?”

  “That’s pretty much my opinion, too, Officer. As I said, it wasn’t our kind of party, so we left.”

  The officer addressed his next question to Sol. “Your daughter took a room at the hotel. Why?”

  “I was there,” Reuben cut in smoothly. “Miss Rosen wanted to take a bath and freshen up. We were on the road for almost twelve hours because of the fog. At one point, I believe she took a nap. Her brother was with her all the time, if that’s important.”

  “It is,” the officer said curtly. “I’d like to talk to both your son and daughter, Mr. Rosen.”

  “Sol,” Reuben interjected smoothly, “why don’t you call your house and have the housekeeper prepare lunch, and we’ll all go out to the Canyon. Call from here.”

  “Good idea, Tarz. I’m tired of eating this lunch wagon slop. While I’m doing that, bring a car around.”