Sins of Omission (17 page)

“Aunt Mickey is too old to be a Musketeer,” Bebe said, giggling uncontrollably. “Aunts aren't musketeers. We're young, so
we're
the Three Musketeers! So there!”

Reuben held his glass aloft, a smile on his face but not in his eyes. “To the Three Musketeers!” Daniel, drunk and giggly himself, halfheartedly joined in the toast.

Bebe held her glass next to Reuben's and clinked it. “Drink it all and then we have to smash the glasses in the fireplace. That's how they do it in the films.”

 

Mickey got up from her window chair. She'd been so certain Reuben would follow her upstairs—so certain she'd even turned down the bed. Instead, he'd watched her leave with a cold, hard look in his eyes. For a long time she'd stood at the top of the stairs, listening jealously to the merriment below. She'd wanted to cry, but she hadn't. She was behaving just like Bebe, and that young girl was more observant than she'd thought. And now the last straw—Bebe calling the three of them the Musketeers. Her eyes burned with anger, anger at herself.

She could stay here and have a tray in her room, lock the door in case Reuben tried to come in.
Punish him, the way you did the others when they didn't do what you wanted.
“That was a long time ago. This is different,” she whispered to herself in the lonely darkness of her room. “This is real.”

Mickey avoided staring at herself in the mirror because she knew she wouldn't like what she saw. She combed her hair, letting it flow loose behind her back. It didn't make her look younger, just haggard. Quickly she piled it on top of her head and added a jeweled comb. A dab of scent, some powder to her cheeks, a little rouge, and she was ready to join her three tipsy guests.

The heady scent of the evergreens almost drove her backward. She smiled at her guests and clapped her hands. “Well done!” When Reuben glanced at her suspiciously, Mickey turned away. She recognized that look: it meant Reuben would not play her game—or anyone else's, for that matter.

“It's almost time for dinner. I took the liberty of getting the bath ready for whoever is going first.”

“Mademoiselle Bebe is going first,” Reuben said gallantly. “Fifteen minutes!” he said, holding up ten fingers.

Bebe giggled. “That's ten!”

“Then you have only ten. Daniel goes second, and I go last.”

Daniel tripped over his own feet in his haste to follow Bebe and leave Reuben and Mickey alone.

“I do believe we are the bad children, Daniel. I don't feel like a bath, do you?” Bebe whispered at the foot of the stairs. Daniel shook his head. “Then let's just change our clothes, and no one will know the difference.”

Daniel ran the suggestion over in his mind. All he had to do, really, was change his shirt and put on a tie. He nodded again.

“Fifteen minutes. I'll meet you at the top of the steps. Rub some soap over your hands and brush your teeth. That's how I always fooled my father.” Bebe giggled.

“Did it work?” Daniel asked incredulously.

“Every time.”

Downstairs on the sofa, Reuben leaned close to Mickey. “How's your headache?”

“I didn't have a headache, Reuben. You know I didn't, so let's not pretend. I acted like Bebe, and I'm sorry. I don't expect you to understand this, but there are times when I look at Bebe and feel—”

“Old?” Reuben asked bluntly.

Mickey shivered. “Yes. Old. When I start to feel like that, I have to go off by myself and get my thoughts together. I'm sorry if I spoiled the afternoon.”

Reuben leaned closer, his breath wine-scented. His tone was as serious as Mickey's. “I don't expect you to understand, but it's not important to me…the difference in our ages. I love you. I don't love Bebe. I don't even like her. I grant you she's young, she's pretty, and someday she's probably going to be a beautiful woman—but she'll never be you. If you keep on like this, I'm going to walk out of here. We had an understanding, Mickey. You're going to spoil it if you keep comparing yourself to Bebe. Send her to Paris if you can't bear to have her around.”

Tears glistened in Mickey's eyes. “Forgive me, Reuben.”

“There's nothing to forgive. When you love someone, there are no rules and no apologies, only understanding.”

 

When Daniel didn't appear at the assigned place fifteen minutes later, Bebe went to his room. At the sight of him, she burst out laughing. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes glassy, his mouth hanging slack. Apparently he was trying to put a clean sock over his shoe. Bebe knew Reuben would throw a fit if he saw his friend in such a condition. “Come on, Daniel, we'll sneak down the backstairs to the kitchen and get you some coffee. Here, let me run this brush through your hair. I'll do your tie in the kitchen. Hurry, I think I hear Reuben coming.”

Like two naughty children they crept down the stairs to the kitchen. Old Nanette took one look at Daniel and hurried to the stove. She poured the coffee generously and laced it with strong brown sugar. Three cups later, Daniel raced to the sink and vomited until his sides ached. Bebe just shook her head, watching as Daniel gargled and rinsed his mouth. She wasn't amused when he stuffed a wad of parsley in his mouth to kill the sour taste of the wine.

 

Later that night, after Mickey and Reuben retired, Bebe and Daniel sat in front of the fire. At last Daniel broke the silence. “Thank you, Bebe. I shouldn't have gotten so blotto, but everyone else was drinking. I didn't have as much as you,” he said in an accusing tone.

“That will teach you not to do what everyone else seems to be doing just to be part of it. The reason I'm not in the same shape as you is because I dumped half of my wine in the fire. I know how much I can drink before I lose control. Both of us did what Reuben wanted, you for your own reasons, me because he finally talked to me and paid me some attention. I felt absolutely giddy when my aunt went upstairs, because Reuben looked at me. She was jealous of me. I liked the feeling,” she whispered. “It doesn't make sense, does it? I like her a lot, and yet I was glad I could get under her skin.”

Now that she'd started to confide her true feelings, Bebe couldn't seem to stop talking. “I wonder if he thinks I'm pretty. He was this close to me—” She placed her fingers an inch from Daniel's face. “He was thinking about me all afternoon. I could tell. When we were in the wine cellar I could have gotten him to kiss me if I'd wanted to. Daniel, are you listening to me?” Bebe stamped her foot to get his attention.

“No. I mean yes. I'm listening, but no, Reuben wouldn't have kissed you. I know what I'm talking about. Bebe, you have to stop thinking about him. It isn't going to work out. Don't torture yourself.”

Bebe stamped her foot again. “You don't know everything, Daniel Bishop. You don't know anything about women or girls. All you know is what's in books. You make me mad!”

“I make
you
mad? Do you know what you make me? Crazy, that's what.” As Daniel spoke, his hands gripped the sides of his throbbing head. “I went through a war and didn't have half the problems I have now. I never know what to say to Reuben anymore. I keep sticking up for you. That makes him mad, and he thinks I'm being disloyal. If being loyal to you makes me disloyal in Reuben's eyes…I can't help it,” he said miserably.

Gently Bebe took Daniel's hands away from his head. “Do you know what, Daniel? I bet I can get Reuben to sleep with me. I bet I can. How much do you want to bet?”

Daniel pulled away from her instinctively. “I don't want to bet anything. Because you'd lose. You shouldn't be talking like this. The only way you could get Reuben into your bed is to tie him there when he's either drunk or sound asleep. Forget it. Get the thought out of your head!” He should get up—get up right now and go to bed. He didn't like this conversation and knew it was going to get worse before it got better.

“You're probably right about getting him in my bed. His, then. I can get him to…to…you know, do it. Let's make a bet. Ten dollars? Fifty?”

“Stop it, Bebe. I'm telling you, Reuben will never…he won't. Forget it!”

Bebe ignored him. “Sure he will. You're upset, Daniel, and I know why. You don't want your idol to have clay feet. He's only human, you know. Come on. A wager—me and Reuben. If I don't succeed, I owe you a favor that can be called in anytime during our lives. If I succeed, you owe me the favor. It's simple.” Bebe sat back and shot Daniel a look of distaste. “You're a coward. I can see that now. You want to bet, but you're chicken. You know I'll win. Admit it, you know Reuben will cave in.”

“Damn you, okay! How will I—”

Bebe clapped her hands in triumph and finished his sentence. “Know if I'm successful? You'll know. Trust me. Is it a deal, then? If so, we have to shake hands on it. That's more binding than a written contract, did you know that?”

“It's no such thing,” Daniel said hotly. “A written contract can be disputed. You have to go to court. A handshake is just a man's way of sealing a bargain.”

“Fine, then let's make up a contract. Let's see what Monsieur Faroux taught you. Legal and binding, a contract that can't be broken by either of us. Still game?”

Daniel knew he was in over his head, boxed into a corner with no way out. I'll kill you, Reuben, if you fail me on this, he vowed silently.

“We have to set a time limit. Sometime during the next month. Maybe we should make it two weeks. I think we're going to Paris after the New Year. What do you think?”

“I don't think anything,” Daniel snarled. “You're the one who's doing all this. I'm betting against you, remember?”

“You're very foolish, Daniel,” Bebe said sweetly.

They sat together for another hour. With each word Daniel wrote, he felt sicker and sicker. Something deep inside warned him that he was going to lose, that Bebe would win and go about her business and destroy what Reuben held dear.

It was a mess, and what was worse, he still liked Bebe. If he were older, smarter, he'd be able to talk her out of what she was contemplating. Still, there should be something he could say, something to make her stop and at least think about the consequences. At least he had to try.

“Let's say for the sake of argument that you do seduce Reuben in either a drunken state or by some trickery. Do you want him like that? I think—and this is just my opinion—he'll hate you forever if you do that to him.” He could tell by the excited look in Bebe's eyes that his words weren't making a damn bit of difference.

“Oh, poo, men aren't like that,” she said airily. “What's one little tumble in the sheets? He might like it so much he'll come back a second time. I am still a virgin. That's supposed to count for a lot. He might even want to make an honest woman of me, ask me to marry him. Is that so impossible?”

“Yes,” Daniel replied, a horrified look on his face. “And you're deluding yourself if you think it will happen. I've known Reuben a lot longer than you have. I know how he thinks and feels. You might win now, but in the end you'll lose. Mark my words.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Bebe said, standing up and stretching languidly, like a cat. “I don't like riddles late at night. Besides, I didn't say I would do it for sure. I…we just made a wager. I can exercise it if I want. It isn't carved in stone.”

She dropped to the floor next to Daniel and gently nudged his leg until he uncrossed it. Then she cuddled against him. It was a scene and a feeling that would stay with him for a long time. The fire burning and crackling, the wind howling and whipping through the château like some mad demon bent on revenge. A nice end to a nice day—with the exception of the past few minutes.

“Do you like me, Daniel? You know…like?”

“Sure. Do you like me?” He wondered where the conversation was going.

“Of course I like you. My father would like you, too. He wouldn't like Reuben, though. Do you know why he wouldn't like Reuben?”

Daniel shook his head. “Why?”

“Because Reuben is just like him. When you see all the things you don't like about yourself in someone else, you don't like that person. That's how I am, too. I'm like my father. I think he'd do whatever he had to to get to the top.” She giggled. “You can't have ideals in Hollywood. Speaking strictly for myself, if I wanted something bad enough, I'd kick and scratch, claw and fight, and lie through my teeth to get it. And, Daniel, I want Reuben Tarz!”

Daniel's stomach churned. “Why, Bebe?”

Why? Why did she want Reuben Tarz? She'd asked herself that same question over and over, at least a hundred times. Did she love him? He made her heart soar, her pulse pound, her blood sing. She felt drawn to him as a moth to a flame. There was something about him that made her want to be near him, to have him smile at her, to touch her.

What she felt for Reuben wasn't a win-lose game the way Daniel thought it was. If he would toss Mickey aside for her, that had to mean she was worthy, a person to be loved and cherished. Suddenly she wished she were older, more experienced, so she could define what she was feeling. Daniel was probably right about having to trick Reuben into bed. If she did manage to get him into her bed, what would she do afterward? Would he hate her as Daniel said, or would he realize that she was worthy of his love? Would he look at her and smile the way he looked at Mickey? Or would he turn away in disgust? The thought made her shudder. I want him. I want to know what it feels like to make love. I want…I want…I need…I don't care about Mickey or Daniel, I care only about Reuben. Whatever I have to do to get him I'll do. And you're going to owe me, Daniel Bishop.

She scrambled to her feet and held out a hand to pull Daniel from his chair. “Come on, I think it's time we went to bed.” Quick as a flash she snatched the penciled contract he had written up. Smiling, she folded it into neat squares and slipped it between her breasts. “If you want it back, you'll have to fight for it,” she teased.