Reuben felt sorry for her, was willing to forgive her for carrying another man’s child. At the time, he’d mumbled something about her forgiving him for fathering Rosemary’s unborn baby. Maybe someday she could.
They were supposed to go away, possibly to Palm Springs, when she was well enough to travel. Just the two of them, he’d said. A real honeymoon, the one they’d never had. She’d asked him then, in a stone-cold voice, what he wanted in return for this affection he was bestowing on her.
“You” was his response. Then he’d stared at her, waiting for her to answer. But, preferring to wait out her options, she’d remained silent. Did he really think she was going to believe him after all this time? The days of wanting, of needing, were gone. She felt dead inside. She had nothing left to give. The stillborn child and her close brush with death made her realize she wanted to live, to have a normal life, to be free from drugs and alcohol. Yes, she wanted to be free. Reuben said he understood all that, and together they would be free—free to start their marriage again, free to love each other, free to make a new life. Just like that, without a word of apology for all the lost years. And he hadn’t said he didn’t love Mickey anymore, either. He hadn’t actually said, “I love you, Bebe,” and if he had, she wouldn’t have believed him.
“You’re too late, Reuben. Years too late,” she murmured sadly.
Everyone had their lives on an even keel. Even her father was happy; Clovis catered to his every wish. Eli was a new man and happier than he’d ever been. Simon was content at his new school, so content he didn’t want to come home anymore; when he had a holiday he preferred to visit his uncle Eli in Carmel. Dillon liked it in Oregon, said he was going to become a forest ranger and live in the wilderness with animals. Reuben, of course, was a new man—or so he said—ready to make a new life. Only she was drifting, odd man out. She had no niche, no nest to call her own, no place of sanctuary. The doctor said she was depressed and not to worry because it was normal after what she’d been through. She’d been tempted right then to burden the doctor with the story of her life, but she hadn’t. Why should he care, she’d asked herself; he was too busy saving lives and going home to rest.
For a time she’d tried to think with compassion about her stillborn baby, yet she’d felt nothing but relief—relief that it was dead and buried. Daniel always spoke of a person’s soul. Did tiny newborn babies have souls? She would have to ask Daniel…someday.
The real Barbara Rosen Tarz cried, deep, heart-wrenching sobs of failure.
A long time later, Bebe felt herself being lifted from the chair by strong arms. A handkerchief was pressed into her hand. “Don’t cry, Bebe. We’ll make it right, but I can’t do it alone, you have to help me,” Reuben said softly. He felt light-headed when his wife burrowed into his arms. She sobbed, hard, racking sounds that tore at his heart. He knew she was grieving for the past, for all the lost, wasted years. And, as a father would hold his newborn for the first time, he held her gently, crooning soft words of reassurance.
Reuben Tarz made a commitment to his wife then, the commitment he’d made years before but never honored. “I’ll help you get dressed, Bebe, and then I’m taking you home. I brought your clothes, that flowered dress I like so much. The first time I saw you in a flowered dress, I thought you were the prettiest girl in Paris.”
Bebe snuggled deeper into her husband’s arms. She felt as if she’d just been born and was safe in her mother’s arms.
But Bebe Rosen Tarz didn’t believe a word her husband said.
Chapter Forty-One
There was no sense of “coming home” when Reuben and Bebe arrived in Palm Springs. Reuben was so cheerful, Bebe found herself grinding her teeth in annoyance. It was time to rise to the occasion and start…acting her part. Reuben was so patient with her she wanted to scream. Don’t you understand, it’s too late! You should have treated me this way years ago. You’re too late, my dear husband!
Why was she here? Why had she even agreed to Reuben’s suggestion they try this particular resort? Because it was easier, and all the fight had left her long before. She knew she wasn’t fully recovered yet. “Time,” Reuben said cheerfully. It was the one thing they had plenty of.
There was no attempt at lovemaking, on doctor’s orders. Reuben didn’t seem to mind, though. Bebe thought he was secretly as relieved as she was. However, he was solicitous and tender. He cared, he kept saying over and over. Bebe thought the words sounded phony while in fact they were the sincerest Reuben had ever uttered to her.
There were no calls or mail from the studio. Even Daniel was leaving them alone. They were strangers here to the other guests, and no one bothered them. Three weeks into their stay, Bebe’s depression began to lift. Her strength was returning, and for that she was grateful. Of course, she still craved alcohol and drugs, but that, too, was getting better. For once she was determined to put her life in order—by herself. Being alive was so important now that she gave herself daily pep talks, emerging stronger with each one.
She knew she was carrying off her role by the look on her husband’s face. He, on the other hand, was going to have to do a lot more than mouth a bunch of rehearsed words. Later, when she felt fully recovered, she’d administer the ultimate test: she’d tell him about Mickey and how she’d burned his letters. But she still wasn’t sure whether or not she’d tell him about John Paul. In the meantime she would play the game—Reuben’s reward for bringing her here. After all, he deserved something for all the energy he was putting into his efforts.
Six weeks later, Bebe was up with the new sun. How strange, she thought, looking down at her sleeping husband, to wake first and observe him like this. She felt faint, familiar stirrings she had thought submerged. How boyish he looked, how vulnerable. With the exception of a few gray hairs at his temples, he could still pass for that handsome young man she’d fallen in love with in France. She inched her way over to Reuben’s side of the bed and sat down on the floor, cross-legged. Her thoughts raced as she stared at her husband intently. You said all the right things, Reuben, things you needed to say, things you thought I wanted to hear, but you still haven’t looked at me the way you used to look at Mickey. Rosemary wasn’t important enough to think about; this had nothing to do with her, really, nothing at all. But Mickey…I’d give up my soul, the one Daniel is always talking about, if you’d look at me just once the way you looked at Mickey. Just once, Reuben. She inched closer to the bed.
Some sound, possibly his wife’s heavy breathing, woke Reuben. His eyes flew open and the first thing he saw was Bebe sitting on the floor like a crab staring at him. Fear struck at his heart. He’d seen that intense look once before—in the barn in France. He remained perfectly still. “You’re up early, Bebe. Are you feeling all right?” he asked quietly.
“I’ve been up for quite a while. I’ve been sitting here looking at you, wondering…about a lot of things.” She trailed off lamely.
“What things?”
“Just things, nothing important.” She rose to her feet and stretched. “I think I’m ready to go home. Let’s go today. I can be packed in ten minutes.”
Reuben propped himself on his elbow. He kept his voice even and quiet. “If that’s what you want, I can be packed in five minutes. Loser carries the bags to the car!” he said, hopping out of bed.
Seven minutes later, Reuben announced a tie. Bebe laughed as she struggled with her heavy valise, but he noticed the smile never reached her eyes.
“Breakfast here or in the dining room?” he asked. “What do you think?”
Bebe pretended to think. “Here on the balcony. I’ll have pancakes with lots of soft butter and warm syrup. Bacon, too. Maybe some melon. A pot of jam and lots and lots of coffee. How about you?”
“Mmm, some toast, I think, and maybe some melon.” He tapped his waistline and grinned as he pointed to hers. Bebe shrugged; her waistline, or lack of it, was the least of her worries.
She was on her third cup of coffee. Reuben on his second,
when the phone shrilled, a sound they hadn’t heard since their arrival. They glanced at each other. Daniel, Reuben thought. My father, thought Bebe. Reuben stretched his arm behind him, grappled with the receiver a moment, then brought it to his ear. “Yes?…Daniel, hi!”
Bebe watched her husband, saw the relief on his face, and then the concern. Obviously it had nothing to do with her father, she realized, and continued to drink her coffee “As a matter of fact,” she heard Reuben say, “we’re leaving as soon as we finish breakfast. I know there was nothing you could do. Who…who’s taking care of things on the California end? Wise choice, Daniel. All right, I’ll call you when we get to L.A. And thanks. Bebe is fine, we really enjoyed our time here. She’s fit as a fiddle and looks better than she has in years. Good, clean living.”
“Give him my love,” said Bebe.
“Bebe sends her love…Yes, I’ll tell her. Thanks again, Daniel.”
Bebe waited, knowing her husband was going to share his phone conversation with her. She also knew she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“Bebe…I…that was Daniel. Max called him because he didn’t want to…intrude on our time here. It seems…what I mean to say is…”
“For God’s sake, Reuben, spit it out,” Bebe said irritably.
“Rosemary’s dead. She died last night after giving birth to a little girl. She…ah, she has no relatives except an elderly father in the East who is in his late seventies. No one seems…The child…is mine. Max hired a nurse to care for the baby until…until we can make a decision. The…the baby’s name is Lily.” He sighed. “We have to talk about this, Bebe. I thought…Rosemary was so healthy. She looked like she was born to have a dozen children. A decision has to be made, and I have to make it,” Reuben said firmly.
“What kind of decision?” Rosemary…dead? Rosemary wasn’t supposed to die.
“Jane knows a young couple that would be glad to take the child if I…I agree to give it up for adoption. I need to know what you think, Bebe.”
“You mean you would give up your own flesh and blood?” she found herself asking. How curious her voice sounded, how normal, as though she were discussing the weather.
“If there was no other alternative, yes, I would. I want you to agree so that later this doesn’t stand between us. Now, tell me what you think.”
“I think…we should take your baby back to our house and raise it as ours. We’re starting fresh. Perhaps this child will help us over the rough spots. I could never ask nor can I expect you to give away your child as though it were a bag of trash. She’s yours, Reuben, and I know in time I will grow to love her because she’s yours. It won’t be easy, but I will try. We could go there now and get her and take her home with us.” She smiled at her husband. “I’ll love your daughter, Reuben.”
Reuben was in such a state of shock, Bebe had to drive back to L.A. All the way there she kept up a running conversation with her husband about his new child and what she would do for it. She was still smiling hours later when, following Reuben’s directions, she finally pulled the car to the curb of Rosemary’s house. This is it, she told herself. This is the famous house your husband had wrapped up in a red ribbon to present to his mistress. She was surprised at how little the knowledge seemed to upset her.
Inside the house, Reuben felt like an intruder. When he called out, a motherly-looking woman hurried in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a flour-streaked apron. Life did go on, Reuben thought inanely.
“Mr. Tarz,” she said briskly, “follow me and I’ll take you to the infant. She’s a beautiful little thing, perfect in every way. You can tell the mother took good care of herself during her pregnancy. Lily weighs seven pounds, nine ounces. She’s nineteen inches long and has a gorgeous crop of sunny blond hair. I never saw so much hair on a newborn! The child is just beautiful,” the woman kept repeating over and over.
The moment Reuben set his eyes on the sleeping baby, he understood why the woman had gone on and on. Baby Lily wasn’t just a baby, she was a creation. His.
Bebe bent over the crib, reaching out tentatively to touch the downy head. A feeling she hadn’t experienced since the birth of John Paul rushed over her. This child that wasn’t even hers seemed to cry out to her. “May I?” she asked hesitantly, her hands itching to hold the infant.
“Of course, she’s not fragile,” the nurse said briskly.
Reuben didn’t know what he felt—awe, dread, sorrow, happiness, all four. He sat down on the bed…Rosemary’s bed. Where was her body, he wondered dimly. He would have to go to the services. Obviously he needed to talk to Max.
“Look, Reuben, she’s trying to suck her fist. Hold her for a moment while I gather up her things.” Bebe turned to the nurse. “Does the baby have—”
“Lord, yes, she has everything a new baby needs and then some. I took the liberty of packing it all up. Mr. Gould also asked me to pack up a few things I thought Lily might want to have of her mother’s when she gets older.”
“Yes, all right, but only a few items. I am Lily’s mother now. Give the rest to charity or keep them yourself. Is that all right, Reuben?” Bebe asked quietly.
Reuben looked up. “Yes.” Lord, what had he just agreed to? “Bebe, are you sure?”
“Good heavens, Reuben, do you want me to stand on my head to say yes? You can’t abandon this child. What would that make you? She isn’t garbage, you know.” She’d said this once before or…that’s what she’d done, sacked John Paul, had him tossed out like so much garbage. She’d abandoned him, a tiny human being who couldn’t fend for himself. And now her husband was going to do the same thing if she didn’t stop him. “This is a little person, Reuben. Your flesh and blood. Now let me hold her!”
Reuben watched as his wife cooed and crooned to his new daughter. His first thought was, how wonderful. His second thought was that he’d never seen such a possessive look on his wife’s face. A feeling of unease settled over him. Then he tried to flick his thoughts away with a toss of his head. He was luckier than he had a right to be. What woman would take her husband’s child by another woman and love it on sight?
“Carry Miss Lily’s things to the car, Reuben, and let’s go home,” Bebe said happily.
It was dusk when Reuben ground the car to a halt in front of the house in Laurel Canyon. He looked across at his wife and his sleeping daughter. “Wait here! Don’t move till I get back! Promise?” Bebe nodded, still crooning to the sleeping baby in her arms.
Reuben loped up the front steps to the front door, he threw it open, and rushed back to the car. Then he scooped up his wife and daughter, carrying them up the steps and over the threshold. “We’re home, Mrs. Tarz,” he said, beaming at them. Gentleness, compassion, love, and humility flooded through him as he stared at the pink bundle in his wife’s arms.
Bebe looked up at her husband, expecting to see a silly grin on his face. Instead, she saw what she’d been waiting for, the look she’d lived for all her life and had almost killed for.
Her sin of omission need never be mentioned now.
“Welcome home, darling,” Bebe said, and smiled. I did it, I finally did it. I finally made you love me. You’re dead, Mickey. Reuben just buried you and I helped him. Good-bye, dear, sweet, wonderful Mickey. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye.
Chapter Forty-Two
Château Fonsard sat nestled among the trees in their rich autumn coats, the sun gilding them to a burnished copper. Mickey sucked in her breath. It was so beautiful here, she always hated to leave, but leave they must. It was time for Philippe to return for the autumn semester. She wanted to keep him here, but her heart told her Paris and the boy’s education were more important than her selfish wishes. Leaving this time was particularly bitter for both of them.
Just last evening Philippe had stormed into the library and ripped the Three Musketeers off the wall. He’d turned it to the wall and then stared at her defiantly. “It’s time we had a talk, Mother.”
“No,” she’d cried, “not
now, not when we’re leaving tomorrow. I’m asking you, Philippe, to please hang the picture back where it belongs.” He’d done it, but his eyes were bitter, his mouth grim.
She’d lain awake all night long wondering and worrying. How was she to tell him about Reuben? How much should she say? How much did she want to say? Over and over she heard his words: “I am not a little boy, Maman. You can’t keep telling me stories and expect me to believe them. If you won’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll find a way to learn for myself.” Over and over the words ran through her head until she thought she would go mad. He was angry with her and she with him. It had to be made right before things got out of hand. Now; she would talk to him now when he came down to the car. They’d sit on the steps with the beautiful leaves swirling about.
She saw him then, standing by the car she’d moved out of the barn earlier. He must have gone around the back. Tears rushed to her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. “Reuben,” she whispered, “please look back. If you look back, it is love…. Oh, Reuben, what am I to tell this son of yours?”
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