Sins of Omission (16 page)

“Mickey, why don't we wait till tomorrow to hang the garlands? I think we're all tired this evening. That cold air was brutal. If Daniel's eyes feel anything like mine, we should be resting with compresses.”

“I think tomorrow will be fine. Let's schedule our decorating for midafternoon so Bebe and I can shop in the village.” Mickey smiled warmly around the table, knowing everyone would be in agreement. The trip to the fields in the biting cold had done her in, too. “Tonight there will be hot chocolate instead of coffee, and then we'll retire. I think we've all earned a good night's rest.”

Bebe was so relieved she wouldn't have to struggle through the evening, she almost cried. She looked up to find Reuben staring at her directly. Flustered, she knocked over her wineglass, and in her attempt to mop it up she spilled her water. This time the tears erupted. “It's your fault,” she screamed at Reuben. “If you wouldn't stare at me like that, I wouldn't have spilled the wine. You're so damn spooky, you scare me!” She pushed back her chair and ran up the stairs, with Daniel right behind her.

“
Chéri,
were you staring at the child?” Mickey asked softly.

“I guess I was, but I wasn't seeing her, if you know what I mean. I think she's overtired. Aren't young girls usually nervous and irritable every so often?”

Mickey laughed, a rueful sound that did not go unnoticed by Reuben. “I suppose so, but it's been a long time since I was a young girl. I'm sure tomorrow will be better for all of us. Bebe is excited about our shopping trip. She said she has something special she wants to get Daniel. So special, she said, his eyes will light up with happiness. What do you think it could be?”

A small stab of jealousy flashed through Reuben. Bebe was going to get his friend something that would make his eyes light with happiness. Only a book could do that. He chuckled inwardly. He was getting a pocket watch for Daniel, a real Swiss timepiece with his initials and the date engraved by a friend of Mickey's. What could that spoiled brat give Daniel that would be better than his own gift? It had to be a book. After you read a book, you either memorized it or you forgot it. A timepiece was forever.

Reuben forced his mind back to the present. “I thought you said you were finished with shopping,” he teased.

Mickey leaned back in her chair. “One is never done. Please, you must give me a clue to the present you and Daniel got me. I have never seen such secrecy. Just one little hint?”

“Nope. You give me a hint about mine,” Reuben countered playfully.

“Absolutely not. It wouldn't be a surprise then. Anyway, you shouldn't be getting a present—you're Jewish,” Mickey said, smiling.

“Ah, penalized for being what I am. I'm nothing, Mickey. I don't even know if I believe in God.”

“Of course you do. You told me long ago, you prayed to Him for Daniel, so you do believe. Don't ever say that,
chéri,
for He might punish you.”

Reuben didn't like the direction the conversation was turning in. “What would I have to give, to promise, to get you to rub or even tickle my back?” His eyes were hot and smoldering as he leaned across the table.

“Give? Promise? Such unadulterated nonsense. Simply ask me.” Mickey could feel the heat starting to build within her.

“I'm asking.”

“It sounds like a demand to me.”

Reuben laughed. “Will you please rub and tickle my back?”

“But of course! We'll tickle each other's fancies!” Instantly Mickey became aware of the smoldering fires deep within his eyes, of the sudden tightening of the cords in his neck. The sensation of touching became overpowering. She imagined she could feel his smooth skin and rippling muscles beneath her fingertips. She hungered to run her hands through that thick mane of black hair, to hear him moan his delight. And then, when he would turn over to take her in his arms, her lips would graze the flat of his belly and the hairs that pointed downward….

He knew her little joke even before she uttered the words. It was a cue, a perfect little opening to their lovemaking. He adored her when she writhed and stretched like a cat beneath his touch. Even this moment his fingers ached to touch her, to run the length of her body, to bring her pleasure.

They both forgot the chocolate and climbed the staircase to the bedroom. Neither of them was aware that just a few feet away from them, Bebe lay exhausted on her bed, sobbing her heart out to Daniel.

 

“I want to go home, Daniel. I hate it here! No, that's not true, I like it here. I like Mickey and I like you. It's Reuben who's making me miserable! Why, Daniel, why? Why does he treat me like he does?” Her golden hair was a tumble, her lower lip pouting to hold back tears, her delicate chin trembling.

Daniel shrugged, his puzzlement evident. “Bebe, why did you scream like that at the table? All you did was spill the wine. It wasn't a catastrophe. If I'd been sitting in Reuben's chair, I'd have been looking at you, too. You shouldn't take offense so easily.”

Playing devil's advocate didn't come easily to Daniel, and he was uncomfortable with it. “It's not good for you to keep thinking that Reuben hates you. Don't play games to get your own way, Bebe. It won't work here.” Then a bolt of lightning hit him. “You aren't…you don't…what I mean is, you don't find yourself attracted to Reuben, do you?”

Bebe bolted upright, her golden hair tumbling to below her shoulders. “Where did you get such a stupid idea? I may be young, but I know about the birds and the bees. They're sleeping together, you know it and so do I. I have eyes and ears, and what's going on is…is…decadent. In America everyone thinks all Frenchwomen are whores, even my father.”

“Are you referring to Mickey?” Daniel challenged.

“No…yes…Oh, I don't know. She's so religious and saintly, giving money to the church and doing all kinds of good things for the poor, and then she takes a man half her age to bed. What does that tell you?” There were shards of ice in Bebe's eyes, a sharp bitterness in her voice.

“You're jealous of Mickey!” Daniel accused her.

“I am not!” Bebe retorted angrily.

“Yes, I believe you are,” Daniel mused. “I believe you want Reuben for yourself. You like Mickey, you may even love her, but she has something you want. You want Reuben. Admit it. Once you do, you'll feel better. It'll be our secret.” Daniel didn't know where this insight was coming from, but even as he spoke, it all began to fall into place. “I'll never tell,” he assured Bebe. “And you'll have me to talk to. I think you need a friend, Bebe, a friend you can be honest with.”

“Daniel, I don't want to talk—”

Daniel ignored her protest with a wave of his hand. “There's no room for you in their relationship. You have to accept it. You can't continue to cause friction. I can see through you, Bebe. You keep acting up, causing scene after scene, hoping Mickey will come to your defense, and that will drive a wedge between her and Reuben. It won't work, and you'll be the one who's hurt in the end.”

“Don't be so smug.” Bebe began crying again, huge tears rolling down her cheeks. “So what if it's true, and I'm not saying it is, so what? Who cares?”

Suddenly she threw herself at Daniel, bursting into racking sobs. He'd never been this close to a girl before, and he didn't know what to do with his hands. Bebe was hugging him tightly, sobbing on his shoulder. Almost of its own volition, one of Daniel's arms surrounded her and the other stroked her golden head. Strange, wonderful feelings washed through him, but a stranger feeling warned him that he shouldn't take advantage of the situation.

It occurred to him that he was mopping up after Reuben. Reuben had created this problem with Bebe, for whatever reason, and here he was trying to make things right. Was this a harbinger of things to come?

It never occurred to him that Bebe Rosen would and could use him to get to Reuben. He totally forgot that she had grown up among actresses; blinded by her soft arms around him, he wasn't focusing on the fact that she was capable of playing a role and giving an excellent performance.

“Daniel, I don't know what I would have done without you these past weeks,” Bebe said, sniffling. “You've been so good to me. You're always there when I need someone. I wish I had a friend like you in California. All my other friends are fake and racy. The gossip columns say I'm just like them, but I'm not. I do like to have a good time, but I've been…a good girl. Do you know what I mean?” Her voice held a childish, innocent note. “C'mere,” she whispered, drawing him close. “I'm still a virgin. Bad girls aren't virgins, are they? Don't blush, Daniel, we're friends, and friends can talk about anything. Are you a virgin, too? I'll bet you are. You don't have the same look in your eyes that Reuben has.”

“Reuben's older….” Daniel wished his neck didn't feel so hot; he knew his face was scarlet. It felt the way it did when he was running a fever.

They sat together far into the night, sharing secrets and confidences while Reuben and Mickey made love again and again.

It was still dark, with hours to go before dawn, when Bebe finally fell asleep, her hand curled sweetly under her cheek. Daniel kissed her brow, lightly breathing in her warm, clean scent. For a moment he felt almost light-headed. When he became aware of a thread of heat flowing through his body, he quickly left the room.

Under the covers in his own bed, in the darkness, he reached out for sleep with both arms, welcoming it like a long-lost friend.

The following morning at the breakfast table Bebe watched the glances exchanged between Reuben and Mickey. Daniel was acutely aware of Bebe's interest and felt the skin on the back of his neck crawl.

“Dress warmly,
chérie,
” Mickey advised Bebe. “It is quite cold out, and even the little village shops are drafty.”

Mickey was dressed in a tailored gray wool dress and knee-high black leather boots. Already waiting on the chair in the foyer was her Russian sable coat and elbow-length gloves. Her long dark hair would be pulled beneath the matching head-swathing cloche of the same sable.

A few minutes after the dishes were cleared, Bebe and Mickey left in the Citroën for the village. They went from shop to shop, with gaily wrapped bundles and sly expressions on their faces. They purchased the standard Christmas gifts: warm mufflers, gloves, socks, and sweaters; books, some of them rare, others popular fiction from America; hand-engraved bookmarks for each of the books was a last-minute gift idea.

In the tea shop, Mickey double-checked her list, then sat back with a satisfied sigh. “Now we can have lunch,
chérie.
Hot soup and crusty bread with melted butter. It sounds delicious, no?”

“Yes, I'm starved,” Bebe agreed. “Tell me, Aunt Mickey, what did you get for Reuben and Daniel, or is it a secret?”

“Only from Reuben and Daniel. I have a pocket watch for Reuben, which I did not actually purchase. It was my father's, the one thing he left me when he died. I have had the crystal replaced, and the jeweler polished and engraved it for me. It is a beautiful timepiece, and very, very old. Over one hundred years I would suspect. For Daniel, a set of law books. As always, I wonder after the fact if I bought the proper gifts. What do you think?”

Bebe fought with herself not to say something sarcastic. She knew Reuben would love the timepiece simply because it came from Mickey. Who wouldn't be impressed to receive a gift that meant so much to the giver? And, of course, Daniel would be in heaven with his own set of law books.

Mickey's eyes sparkled when she paid the check. “Now,
chérie,
we will drive down the road to see about your gift for Daniel. I know you've been waiting all morning for just this moment.”

Bebe giggled. “Yes, I have, but we can't take it today. Oh, Aunt Mickey, are you certain it's all right? You don't mind?”

“Of course not. If it will make Daniel happy, then it will be a most welcome addition to the household. I'm so pleased that you want to give Daniel something special; he is a very special person. I know that if I ever needed him, say when I am old and gray and sitting in a rocking chair, he would come and do what he could for me. That is the kind of person he is.”

“I know what you mean. But shouldn't you be saying all this of Reuben?” she asked guilelessly.

“Reuben is not Daniel. Yes, Reuben would come if I were in trouble and sitting in that rocking chair by the fire. The difference is I would never ask him. It is something I could not do. You see,
chérie,
I would not want him to see me old and wrinkled. That is a secret between women, a confidence I share with you. You will not share this with anyone else,
chérie.
”

“No,” Bebe said honestly. To grow old and wrinkled had to be the most awful thing in the world. Already there were lines around Mickey's eyes and a slight droop to the sides of her mouth in the corners. Her own skin was fresh and supple without a trace of a line or blemish. She had youth and resiliency while Mickey had middle age and wrinkles. There simply wasn't any comparison.

The ride to Yvette and Henri Simone's farm was made silently, each woman busy with her own thoughts.

It was a beautiful little farm, and Bebe loved it at first sight. She tried to liken it to her home in California and then to the château, but it was completely different in every way. For the first time she realized that she wasn't in the least homesick for California or her friends. Once in a while she thought about Eli, but the only time she missed her father was when she didn't get her own way about something.

“Here he is, your little Jake. He can leave his mother any time you are ready,
chérie,
” Yvette said cheerfully.

Bebe bent down to scoop the round ball of fur into her arms. The puppy nuzzled its head against her, its little pink tongue lapping at her cheek. He felt so warm, so good to hold. “Daniel is going to love you, little Jake. He is going to be beside himself with happiness.” She cuddled the puppy closer and sighed happily. “I can hardly wait to see his face when he sees you.” She'd never given a present this meaningful, and she loved what she was feeling. She wished there were something just as wonderful to give Reuben and Mickey. But her heart told her this was a one-time offering, something she'd probably never do again for anyone. Daniel was special to her and Jake was her gift to him, one she was giving from her heart. “You're special, Jake, just as special as Daniel. Please make him happy,” Bebe crooned.

Yvette nudged Mickey. “Did you ever see anything more precious?” she whispered. “Already she is in love with our puppy and she has to give him away. She must be very fond of Daniel.”

Mickey's heart fluttered. She, too, was stunned at the look on Bebe's face. If Reuben could see her now…“What did you say, Yvette?” Mickey asked fretfully.

“Henri will bring…Jake on Christmas Eve and leave him in the barn after dark to be sure the surprise isn't given away.” Yvette chuckled. “He will travel with a hot water bottle and a little clock to remind him of his mama. For the first few days only.”

Mickey smiled. “Why didn't I think of that?”

“Because, Michelene, you have other things on your mind.” Yvette winked knowingly, adding a classic Gallic shrug for emphasis. For years she'd been Mickey's closest friend; they'd shared tales of their lovers over wine at the end of a long day. Henri was Yvette's third husband, but only when she was in the mood to have a husband.

“He's so beautiful,” Bebe said, turning to Mickey with the puppy in her arms. “I want to keep him for myself. Look how bright his eyes are.”

“Did Henri finish the collar?” Mickey asked.

“Just last evening. Here it is.” Yvette took a braided leather collar from the shelf. A small piece of brass was fashioned next to the buckle, complete with a spidery inscription that read
Jake, Christmas 1918, from your friend Bebe.

“Ooooh, it's just perfect!” Bebe squealed.

“I guess we'd better be on our way. This afternoon we are to decorate the château. We'll see you and Henri Christmas Day. Come early, Yvette, so we can talk a little.”

The two old friends moved out of earshot. “How does it go with your…amour, Mickey?” Yvette asked. “You have a special look in your eyes, you act differently—does this mean you have finally fallen in love?” At Mickey's expression Yvette continued happily. “It's wonderful, is it not?”

Mickey nodded shyly. “More wonderful than I thought possible. I pray each night that nothing happens to spoil it.”

“Then you must not be foolish. Marry the
homme
so that nothing goes awry. Do you understand me?” Yvette whispered.

“But of course. If it is meant to be, it will happen.”

“
Non.
You must make it happen, Mickey. None of us gets any younger. Why do you think I snapped up Henri?”

Mickey hugged her friend affectionately, and they went back to where Bebe sat, holding the puppy.

“You must give petit Jake back to his mama for now,” Yvette said as she reached for the contented puppy, which had fallen asleep in the girl's arms.

An hour later Mickey ground the Citroën to a halt in front of the château. Like conspirators, she and Bebe trundled their packages inside and spirited them upstairs,

 

It took a full two hours, with everyone doing his share, to get the huge fir tree into the stand, erect, and shown to its best. Bebe clapped enthusiastically when Mickey stood back and exclaimed,
“parfait!”

Daniel was dispatched to the attic with specific directions for finding the hand-blown glass ornaments that had been in Mickey's husband's family for years. Reuben was on a ladder waiting for the Christmas angel. Bebe was sorting through colored candles to be mounted in the little saucers that would be hooked onto the tree.

“A delicate job,” Mickey warned. “We must be careful of fire, so they must be placed only on the tips of the outer branches…. I thought you were stringing the popcorn and berries, Reuben.”

“That's women's work,” Reuben teased. “Besides, I'm the only one tall enough to reach the tip of this tree.”

“I'll do it,” Bebe offered, “just as soon as I finish with the candles. I think Reuben should put the candles on the tree. I don't want to make a mistake and have the tree catch fire.”

Soon Daniel returned with the box of ornaments. This was a part of the Christmas holiday that Mickey adored. She explained each heirloom glass ball and teardrop ornament to Reuben, Daniel, and Bebe, the way her husband had explained them to her when they were first married.

Bebe listened to Mickey's stories with rapt attention. At home in California a servant stood a tree up and decorated it. It was done mostly for show, and all she'd ever been interested in were the presents underneath, presents bought by someone else in her father's name. Her thoughts drifted back to California, the Christmas dinner for all the stars dressed in their silks and satins and bejeweled from head to toe. Inevitably, the guests would drink too much wine and liquor, and the holiday celebration would end with tears, recriminations, and curses. Bebe had hated it, dreading all but the gifts.

She continued to watch Reuben out of the corner of her eye. She loved comparing him with the men she knew back in California. Reuben always came out on top: he looked clean-cut, he was American, and he was handsome. If only he'd smile at her. He was so unaware of her it was insulting. She could have been a bump on a log for all he knew or cared. The only time he noticed her was when she did something to call attention to herself, and always in an unflattering way.

Now Reuben teetered precariously on the top of the ladder. “Well, where's the angel?” he demanded.

“Bebe has it in her hand,” Mickey said.

“Well, fetch it here! Don't stand there looking at it! And be careful on the ladder,” he admonished her.

Bebe walked haltingly to the foot of the ladder, the angel clutched in her hand. One step, two, three, four, five, and he was leaning down to take it from her, their faces inches apart. A feeling of light-headedness came over her. It had to be the scent of the fir tree, the aroma of the cherry wood and pine cones in the fireplace. Or was it the nearness of Reuben? In that one brief instant, as she stared directly into his eyes, she'd seen something, something she had never seen before: his awareness of her.

Finally.

Mickey was also aware of that brief instant. She tried to cover it by chattering to Daniel, then excused herself, saying she had a blinding headache and had to take some tablets and rest. In a curt voice she left instructions for the rest of the decorating.

Reuben stared at the doorway for a long time until Daniel took him by the arm and led him to the sofa by the fire. “We're taking a break. Hot chocolate and cigarettes. We can decide who's going to do what before Mickey comes back. She's been getting a lot of headaches lately, hasn't she?”

He didn't expect an answer and was surprised when Bebe offered one. “She gets them only when I'm around and Reuben is in the same room.”

Reuben glared at her. Daniel held his breath, waiting for the outburst. He tried to cover the bad moment. “I…I don't…think that's necessarily true, Bebe. She had headaches before you got here,” he stammered. “Isn't that true, Reuben?”

“Yes,” Reuben grated. Damn this troublemaking child. Mickey's headache was purely a feminine trick she used when she didn't want to deal with something. He was annoyed now, just short of being angry. God, he hated these times when Mickey pouted and went off to her room. They were supposed to be having a fun afternoon after all their weeks of hard work. Well, dammit, he was going to enjoy himself!

“No! No, Daniel, no hot chocolate. Wine. We're going to have a party, just the three of us. And”—he wagged a finger—“you can't have a party with hot chocolate. The best house wine, what do you say?” He enjoyed the devilish look on Bebe's face and ignored the concern in Daniel's eyes. “At least three bottles. Now that I'm the expert on Mickey's vintage, I'll go to the wine cellar and choose the right Bordeaux. Bebe, come along with me. Daniel, you stoke the fire and get the mistletoe separated so we can hang it. Mickey was adamant about placing it everywhere.”

Reuben followed Bebe from the room, then stopped in midstride, telling her to go on ahead. When she was out of earshot, he returned to Daniel. “That's not betrayal you see on my face or think you see in my eyes. It's anger, Daniel, and anger is an honest emotion. I don't ever want to see you look at me like that again.” His voice was so chilly, Daniel flinched.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to stare at his shoes, refusing to meet Reuben's eyes. By God, he
had
been thinking all those things. How did Reuben read his mind like that?

When at last he looked up, Reuben was gone.

 

The decorating came to a screeching halt a few minutes before the dinner hour when Bebe, after too much wine, giggled and said, “I feel like one of the Three Musketeers.” Reuben laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound.

“That position has been filled, Bebe. Mickey is the third Musketeer. She named us that after we arrived.” He laughed again, pouring more wine all around.