The word rattled around in his head. Divorce meant he’d failed. Christ, he hadn’t even given the marriage a fair trial. Divorce would free them both, but then, what about the invisible bond between them, the intangible thing that ate at him night and day? “We’ll talk about it another time, when we’re calm and reasonable. Tonight is not the time.”
“There will never be a right time, Reuben. You’ve shackled me to you for whatever your reasons are. But it’s not enough. Divorce is our only solution. You will always love Mickey. I thought I could change that. I thought you could come to love me, but you can’t. It’s not your fault. I’ve heard about men, and sometimes women, who are capable of loving only one person in their whole lives. I’m sorry that I’m not that person, because I love you with all my heart.”
Bebe stood up and set her glass on the table, the reefer hanging out of the corner of her mouth. Staggering slightly, she made her way across the flagstone terrace. “I will not allow you to destroy me. If destruction is to be my end, I will do it myself. I’ve taken nothing from you, Reuben. I owe you nothing. So whatever happens to me will be my own doing. Do you understand what I’m saying?” She peered at him in the silvery light with her blank eyes, eyes that once sparkled and made demands.
“Bebe…I…”
“Bebe, I what?” Bebe mocked. “The damage has been done. Tomorrow we start with a clean slate. I do what I please and you do what you please. You do not tell me what to do and I won’t tell you what to do. We’ll live in the same house, but that’s all we’ll have in common. Unless, for appearance’s sake, you want me to accompany you to whatever social events you think I should attend. That’s it. Good night, Reuben.”
Go after her, he told himself, try to make her understand. In silence he watched her weave her way to the staircase, half expecting her to look back, to beckon him, to give some sign that she could be forgiving. But she didn’t. Her hand gripping the banister, Bebe climbed the stairs wearily, like an old woman, planting both feet on each step before taking another.
Reuben’s eyes were bleak as he made his way through the dark gardens—the one place on his so-called palatial estate that reminded him of France, where he had found happiness and peace in his love’s arms. Wearily he sat down on an iron bench at the foot of the flagstone walkway, where the scent of the ever-present orange blossoms mingled with the fragrant gardenias dotting the path. His shoulders hunched, and he made no effort to stem the tears that burned his eyes and slipped down his cheeks.
He sat there all night, and when dawn crept over the garden he got up slowly. At that moment he felt more weary, more fatigued, than at any time on the front line during the war. Without a backward glance at his beloved garden, he trudged into the house; after soul-searching the whole night through he had only one thought on his mind—to be a better husband to his wife.
But it was not to be. Bebe made her own plans that night, and they did not include Reuben. She was rarely home now, and when she was, the house was full of noisy revelers who drank and smoked reefers and sniffed cocaine till the wee hours of the morning. With reckless abandon, she drank to excess and, immediately upon awakening, reached for her cache of marijuana. Eventually she took less pains with her dress and her makeup; her face became haggard and bloated. Three months later, when she announced her pregnancy, Reuben’s jaw dropped in shock. His first thought was that now he’d never be able to leave her. Then devastation gave way to elation. He was going to be a father! Suddenly the reality of Bebe’s physical condition struck home. How could a baby inside her womb survive what she was doing to her body with alcohol and drugs?
On a drizzly, dreary Wednesday morning Reuben forcefully carried Bebe to the car. She was going to the doctor whether she liked it or not.
The doctor was a kindly old man with penetrating blue eyes. His voice was stern when he spoke to Reuben and Bebe in his office after the examination.
“Together you have created this child, and you, Mrs. Tarz, have no right to abuse your body and endanger its life. If you don’t give up alcohol and drugs, this child will die. And Mrs. Tarz, that is murder in my eyes.” He addressed himself to Reuben. “I know of a place where you can take your wife to regain her health. At first the solitude may bother you, but you will adjust. It is a bit of a rural resort. You’ll find good food, sunshine, and a healthful atmosphere. Palm Springs,” he said flatly. “I can personally make arrangements for you today if you wish.”
Reuben nodded, his mouth a grim, tight line.
“You must be out of your minds, both of you,” Bebe shrilled. “I’m not a drunk, nor am I a dope fiend. I can stop whenever I want. I like to have fun—go to parties—and my husband doesn’t. This pregnancy isn’t—” She was about to say she’d been pregnant once before, but caught herself in time. “—wasn’t exactly planned, Doctor. I appreciate your concern, but I can manage nicely. Tonight I’ll stay home and knit a pair of baby booties. Will that make you happy?”
“I’m concerned only with the health of the child and yourself, of course, as I’m sure your husband is. I don’t see that you really have a choice, Mrs. Tarz,” the doctor said sternly.
“Make the arrangements, Doctor,” Reuben said.
“I’m not going!” Bebe shouted.
Reuben ignored her. “Make the arrangements. We’ll leave in the morning.” He turned to Bebe. “This is my child, too, and I will not allow you to harm it in any way. We’re going to Palm Springs!”
That night he locked Bebe in her room and then called Sol and asked him to come over to the house. Determined to enlist his father-in-law’s support, he explained Bebe’s condition and told Sol what the doctor had suggested. “I don’t know what else to do,” he said when he’d finished, half expecting Sol to fight him, to yank his daughter out of the house and take her away.
“What do you want me to do, Reuben?” Sol asked quietly.
“Go upstairs and talk to her, tell her you agree with me that this is best for…your grandchild. I had to lock her in her room. She…I…thought she might go off somewhere, try to go to one of those back-street butchers. When she’s drinking and smoking she’s apt to do anything that pops into her head.”
Sol nodded numbly and trudged upstairs. When he returned he looked beaten. “She spoke to me like I was scum,” he said in a choked voice. “She said you and I were birds of a feather. I know it’s not my daughter talking, but a stranger full of drugs and booze. You don’t need my permission to take Bebe away, but I’m giving it to you anyway. I want a healthy, robust grandchild.” His shoulders slumped in misery, he walked out of the house in Laurel Canyon.
It was a beautiful morning, with the night’s dew sparkling like tiny diamonds on the newly mowed lawn. Reuben looked up at the sound of chittering birds. Their farewell, he thought sadly. They’d fly to some other refuge when he carried his wife kicking and screaming to the car. That’s what he was doing—seeking refuge, a sanctuary for Bebe and his unborn child.
He savored the morning, unwilling to go upstairs and start the temporary life he didn’t feel qualified for. Everything was on hold now. For the next six months he would devote every minute of the day to Bebe and the child she carried. And it would all work out—it had to. He’d come this far in his life, suffered through Mickey’s rejection, made Fairmont a major contender in the studio wars, waded his way through scandal and was still alive to talk about it. He would make it through this, too. Palm Springs wasn’t the end of the world. There were telephones, there was the mail. He might be out of reach, but he wouldn’t be out of touch. Daniel would say he was attending to his priorities.
When he opened the door to Bebe’s room, Reuben was shocked at her appearance. She hadn’t bothered to bathe or change her clothes, and her makeup was garish in the early morning light. Her fluffy hair was limp and flat against her head, her usually pretty face was bloated, and her eyes were puffy. But she wasn’t in the throes of a tantrum; in fact, she seemed resigned to whatever Reuben would do. “It’s time to g
o, Bebe,” he said quietly.
“I know. I’ve been thinking, Reuben. I don’t want anything to happen to this baby. Yesterday I said a lot of wild, hateful things. I guess at the time I meant them, but I don’t…what I’m saying is. I’ll try.” She looked at herself in the mirror. “I know how I look, and I’m so ashamed…so ashamed,” she cried. “I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you were embarrassed to be seen with me. What’s-his-name, that guardian of Hollywood’s morals, will have a wonderful time at your expense if…if anyone finds out…how bad I am. Look, let’s go before I change my mind.”
“Bebe, I would never be embarrassed to be seen with you, no matter what your condition. And anyone who says one word about you will have to tangle with me.” He realized he meant what he said. “If you’re serious about starting over…I want you to know I will do everything I can to help you with this pregnancy. All I ask is that you meet me halfway. Can you do that?”
“I’ll try, Reuben. I’ll try my best,” Bebe promised.
“Good girl,” Reuben said heartily. “Let’s be on our way, then.”
“I never noticed how the lawn sparkles in the morning. I don’t think I ever heard the birds, either,” Bebe said in a surprised voice. “I’m glad the sun is shining.” She drew in a deep breath. “The air smells good enough to eat. I wonder if a person can get drunk on flower-scented air. What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised at all. We’re leaving now…Mrs. Tarz.”
At Bebe’s startled look, he smiled, a warm, wonderful smile that warmed her heart.
Overnight Reuben turned into a considerate, caring, devoted husband who catered to his wife’s every need. He spent every waking moment with her, enticing her to eat good, nourishing food, sunning with her under a striped umbrella, frolicking in the hot springs that were felt to be therapeutic. They walked, sometimes miles at a time, holding hands and talking animatedly about everything and anything. When Bebe fell to yearning for a drink or wishing she could smoke a reefer, Reuben held her close, crooning confident words of encouragement. And from each setback she emerged stronger and stronger. In a month’s time, most of her vitality returned. Eventually she slept less, ate more, was able to keep pace with her husband. To the other guests at the resort, they appeared to be the perfect couple, loving each other tenderly and completely.
Bebe made no sexual demands on her husband, content to be at his side, adoring him as she always had.
By the end of their second month at the resort they were friends, if nothing else. Reuben talked openly of his success at Fairmont and told Bebe about some of his more important deals. A captive, eager audience, she clapped her hands in delight as each new episode was revealed.
By the end of the third month Bebe was brown as a nut, her hair cropped short by her own hands. Reuben told her she looked like a lovable street urchin. Her waistline disappeared and her breasts became fuller. They were together, sitting by the side of their favorite spring, when the baby kicked for the first time. Bebe smiled and reached for Reuben’s hand. “Feel your son,” she said.
With a fearful look on his face, Reuben felt his child move. His eyes were so soft, so full of awe that tears sprang to Bebe’s eyes. How was it possible that something unknown and unseen could affect her husband so? She knew then that he would love their child, be it a boy or a girl, and felt a deep sorrow that neither of them knew John Paul, their firstborn.
“How do you know it will be a boy?” Reuben asked in a choked voice.
“Oh, women know these things,” Bebe said airily. Crossing her fingers, she wished for a son for her husband, knowing he already had one—one he might never know.
“What if it’s a girl?” Reuben asked.
“Then you will have a daughter instead of a son. Would a daughter displease you?” Bebe asked.
Reuben thought about it. “No. I think I would like one of each. Not right away, of course,” he added hastily.
“I think I would like a little girl at first. Not that it matters really,” Bebe said gently. “Girls have such pretty little dresses and bonnets. She’d be like a Dresden doll. I think Daddy would like a girl, but maybe he’s just saying that. I guess all men want a son.”
“It doesn’t make any difference, Bebe, as long as the child is healthy,” Reuben said sincerely.
“Oh, Reuben, I am so happy. I’m glad you made me come here. And I’m so glad you’re staying with me. After the baby is born we can start our lives again. You pulled me back from the brink and I’ll never forget it. I did all of this,” she said, waving her arms expansively, “for you. I’d do anything for you, Reuben. Anything.”
What was there for him to say? He squeezed her hand and Bebe smiled contentedly.
It seemed to Reuben that his wife grew more beautiful with each passing day. Motherhood, he decided, became her. When he received word from Sol that he was needed back at the studio, he left with regret, promising to return within the week.
“You really will come back, won’t you, Reuben?” Bebe asked anxiously.
“Of course I will.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Give me your word that you’ll rest and eat and continue to exercise and take care of yourself. Promise.”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” Bebe reassured him.
It wasn’t until the next day, as Bebe reclined under a shady umbrella, that she thought about Reuben’s parting words. His priorities were obvious: he wanted to be sure she delivered a healthy child, his child. Yes, he was attentive; yes, he smiled at her; yes, he held her hand; and, yes, he tucked her into bed at night—a bed he didn’t share with her. All along he’d acted more like a father and brother than husband and lover. Most devastating of all, he hadn’t responded when she’d said they would start over after the birth of the baby. To her, starting over meant living as man and wife. Tears gathered in her eyes. It was the baby—he cared only about the baby. His concern, which she’d chosen to believe as loving and caring, was all for the child. Certainly she couldn’t fault him for lying. He’d been truthful; it was her own fault that she had misunderstood. Bitter tears of remorse stung her eyes. Mickey had told her once that you couldn’t make someone love you. The bitter truth of the statement hit her now like a physical blow.
Still, she’d given her promise to Reuben to do all the things he requested, and she honored the promise. She ate, not really tasting the nourishing food. She walked aimlessly, her thoughts on Reuben and what he was doing, where he was doing it, wondering when he would return. In her mind she questioned her love and Reuben’s indifference on an hourly basis. Someday, she promised herself, her husband would love her. Someday.
The studio lot was cast in the pale shadows of early evening when Reuben drove his car through the gate. He didn’t like this time of day, when the sun was newly down and the world was in shadows. He preferred sunlight or total darkness. As he mounted the steps to the executive offices, he wondered what was so important that Sol had called him back to the studio.
At the landing he turned and went directly to Sol’s office. The older man stood staring out the window but turned at Reuben’s entrance. “How’s my little girl doing?” he said as soon as he recognized Reuben.
“Fine. You wouldn’t recognize her, Sol; she’s eating and sleeping without the aid of her ‘old friends.’ She’s stronger and calmer and nicely tanned.” Reuben smiled. “The baby is going to be fine. I think we got her in time.”
“She’s a handful. I’m afraid I spoiled her,” Sol said in an apologetic tone.
“Well, I’m sure you didn’t get me back here for this little conversation. What was so important?”
“What’s your feeling on biblical stories?”
Reuben shrugged. “I can take them or leave them. Is that why you called me back?”
“It’s one of the reasons. The grapevine has it that Jim Crocker wants financing for Moses on the Mount. How will something like that go over at the box office? Talk is he doesn’t want to put his eggs in Paramount’s basket be
cause of the recent scandals. Paramount is going down fast. He’ll go with the highest bidder. And Rupert Julian has been trying to reach you for weeks now. He says he won’t talk to anyone but you.” Sol’s voice took on a peevish note. “He left his business card.”
Reuben frowned. “You could have put all that in a letter. There’s something else. What is it?”
“It’s that sanctimonious, pussy-licking Will Hays,” Sol muttered belligerently.
Reuben tensed. “What about him?” he asked quietly.
“He’s sniffing around, him and some of his doom boys. I got a couple of calls, one from your friend Max. He thinks he’s on to something with…with Bebe. He’s looking for headlines, is what he’s up to. He blew into Hollywood about two weeks ago. You know in this town everyone knows everyone else’s business before you know it yourself. As much as I hate to admit it, neither of my children has loyal friends. All of them will spill their guts with the promise they won’t be prosecuted. When your ass is in a sling, you spill your guts.”
“Is that all?” Reuben demanded.
“Christ! Isn’t that enough?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. The tabloids must be giving Hays all kinds of coverage. Where’s he staying?”
“The Ambassador Hotel. If you’re planning something, Reuben, I think I should know what it is.”
“When and if I do plan something, I’ll let you know. I’ve had a long day driving, so I think I’ll head home for a hot bath. How’s Eli doing?” he asked, more to be polite than anything else.
“God only knows,” Sol replied bitterly. “He’s hardly ever home these days. For all I know he could be sleeping in a gutter somewhere.”
“Funny Hays hasn’t picked up on him, wouldn’t you say?”
“He’ll get around to him. Eli isn’t what you call real smart.”
Reuben nodded and left Sol’s office to stop off briefly at his own. There, on top of a stack of mail on his desk, were four telegrams from Daniel. Cursing, he scooped up the bundle and left the office.
Sins of Omission Page 48
