Sins of Omission (20 page)

“
Non!
I should have taken more notice. You should have said something,
chéri.
” It was a gentle reprimand. Reuben grimaced as her hand touched his thigh, then sighed in relief when her fingers gently massaged the aching muscles. “I'll get you a hot water bottle and a book. By dinner you will feel much better.”

“I could make love to you right here. Right now! I don't care if Daniel, Bebe, or the servants walk in. I want you.”

“Good,” she whispered, kissing him. “Keep that thought, and this evening we will make wild, passionate love in a comfortable bed. I will do all sorts of tantalizing things to you and—”

Reuben laughed. “And I will kindly reciprocate….”

“Tell me now…whisper them in my ear,
chéri….
”

“You first. Ladies always go first.”

Mickey threw back her head and laughed. “I will surprise you, how's that?”

“I can't wait,” Reuben said gruffly, pulling her close.

“Nor I…but we must.” She drew away from him. “Rest now, while I get the hot water bottle. Sleep, Reuben; I intend to keep you up all night.”

“Mickey,” he said as she stood there before him..

“Yes,
chéri?
”

“When are we going to Montmartre?”

Mickey sighed. “I was hoping you would forget about going there.”

“I want to go…just the two of us.”

“Whenever you want. But why you want to see the artificial side of Paris is beyond me. It must be the same in America. It is not real, Reuben. It is a place where pimps and prostitutes do business. Derelicts and drunks frequent the district night and day.”

“I don't care,” Reuben said stubbornly, a glint in his eye. “I want us to go there together.”

“It will serve no purpose, but if you are determined, will this evening be soon enough?” At Reuben's nod, Mickey bustled from the room, her brow furrowed in frustration.

For a long time after that, Reuben sat with a book open on his lap and the hot water bottle on his thigh. He thought about all the times Mickey had gone to Montmartre with her friends and the times she went alone. She'd told him they drank and danced and picked up lovers, sometimes for just the one night. He hated hearing the words, but he'd pressured her to tell him about the district, and she had complied, saying she had no secrets from him. She'd also said she would make no apologies for her past life. He wanted to see, needed to see the kind of life Mickey had once led, not as a young girl but as a woman. He knew he would be better off not going, but he wanted to know everything, every single little thing there was to know about this woman he loved.

At last Reuben dozed, in that fitful half-dream state invaded by demons and ghosts from the past. He was running as fast as his injured leg would allow, from a pack of men, down the Champs-Élysées. When he risked a glance over his shoulder, he saw Bebe at the head of the pack. They cursed, calling him hateful names as they threw huge bunches of grapes at him. Purple juice splattered all over him, on his face, his arms, and on his snowy-white shirt. Wiping his eyes did no good: he was blinded by the dark, sticky juice, which dripped into his nose and his mouth, staining his teeth and choking him. He tried to struggle up from his nightmare, but every time he reached that place of awakening, Bebe pulled and tugged, taunting him, leading the attackers and calling him names he'd never heard before. When he finally woke he felt disoriented and was drenched in perspiration.

When Mickey descended the stairs at ten o'clock, Reuben stood waiting for her, and her costume—for that's what it was—left him stunned and speechless. She wore a bright red satin dress with a slit up the thigh and a skinny ruffle at the hem; black mesh stockings and bright red shoes; a black boa made of ostrich feathers that hugged her neck and fell all the way down her back; and thick red rouge and heavy eye makeup. Taken at a glance, she looked like the worst kind of tramp.

“Ah,
chéri,
I see you are not amused,” Mickey said coolly. “I didn't think you would be. If you want to see Montmartre, you will see it as it is, as I was when I went there. I'm ready.”

“I…I changed my mind. I don't…Where in the hell did you get that outfit? You look like a…No, I don't want to go,” Reuben said hoarsely.

“That is too bad, because I'm going, alone if I have to. You started this and I'll finish it. You won't rest until you go there.” The satin ruffle rustled as Mickey swished through the door. She was halfway to the corner when Reuben caught up to her.

“This is stupid, Mickey. I'm sorry I ever brought it up. Just because I was stupid doesn't mean you have to act the same way. I want to go back! Dammit, listen to me!” Reuben shouted. “I don't care what you did before. It's none of my business. I'm truly sorry I've been pressuring you about this. Let's forget it!”

“No, Reuben, it will fester with you forever. We are going to Montmartre together or I go alone. Decide,” she said in a high-pitched voice Reuben had never heard before.

Thirty minutes later they were seated at a fly-specked, rickety table. A waiter with greasy hair and a scab on the side of his cheek came up to their table and leaned over to take their order. Reuben stretched his neck and straightened his tie. He couldn't look at Mickey, who was busy gazing around the café, her outrageous gold hoop earrings dancing each time she moved her head.

“We would like a glass of wine. That's all,” Reuben barked.

Mickey's eyes zeroed in on a man sitting alone at the far end of the café. “I'm going to show you how we did it in the old days, Reuben. Watch carefully.” She was off her chair and halfway across the café before Reuben realized what she was doing. In horror, he watched as she pulled a chair close to her and lifted her leg so that the satin dress hiked up to her crotch. All he could see was the black mesh stockings. She leaned over for the man to light her cigarette, her breasts almost spilling from the dress, her tongue moistening her crimson lips in obvious invitation. She dragged on the cigarette and blew a perfect smoke ring.

The man was reaching in his shirt pocket for money when Reuben roared across the room like a freight train. He half dragged, half carried her to the street. “Son of a bitch! I don't believe you just did what you did!” he thundered, not caring who heard.

Mickey's reply was just as shrill. “Well, you son of a bitch, I can't believe you wanted to come here, and I can't believe you need to know what I did before I met you. Listen to me, Reuben. It wasn't like this when Yvette and I used to come here. It was clean and fresh. The food was good and the wine was even better. We were all friends in those days. We weren't prostitutes and we didn't know what a pimp was. If we wanted to make love with someone, no money changed hands. Sometimes there were gifts, but they meant nothing. You had no right to invade this part of my life, no right at all. I hope you're satisfied. I'm going home now and I'm going alone. I want you to sit here and think about us, and this place. Good night, Reuben.”

Reuben was boiling as he walked back into the café. “Wine!” he bellowed. Instantly the waiter slapped a carafe on the table.

Reuben gulped at the thin, sour wine, his head pounding violently. Then he tossed several francs on the dirty tabletop and strode out of the café.

He was dangerous now, and he knew it. If he didn't walk this anger off, he would do something he'd regret. But instead of walking he loosened his tie with a yank and started to run. His leg burned with the punishment he was inflicting on it, but he ignored the pain. When he was exhausted, he slumped against an old gnarled chestnut tree, fighting for breath. A long time later he realized the violent pain in his head had abated, leaving him with a dull ache he could deal with. He promised himself never, ever, to allow his temper to get out of control again. He also swore that he would never again question Mickey about her past. He would apologize, on bended knee if he had to, and beg her forgiveness.

It was almost midnight when Reuben let himself into the house. He took a deep breath, then climbed the stairs and rapped softly on Mickey's door. She opened it wide for him to enter, and he drank in the sight of her freshly scrubbed face and soft blue nightgown. This was the woman he loved, the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. “I need to know that you forgive me,” he said huskily.

Mickey nodded, tears in her eyes. “Of course,
chéri.
We will never speak of this again.”

They slept in each other's arms. Forgiveness, Reuben thought as he reached for sleep, was just a word.

 

Except for Montmartre, the all-too-short holiday was idyllic. By day the sun wrapped Mickey and her guests in its warmth, and at night the star-sprinkled sky wove a magic all its own. They gorged themselves on a number of picnics from the heavily laden baskets packed in Mickey's kitchen. Baked ham, roast chicken, pickled eggs, ripe cheeses, and loaf after loaf of crusty French bread filled them to the brim, making them drowsy enough to fall fast asleep in the waking light of the spring sun.

One day Mickey arranged for Reuben and herself to picnic alone. After sharing a special meal, toasted with a fine chilled champagne, the loving couple strolled hand in hand along the mossy banks of the Seine. Since the water had warmed considerably over the past few weeks, they paddled their feet in the clear water. Twice they retired to a private chestnut-shaded spot, making love as only two impatient, passion-driven lovers could, spontaneously and with joyful abandon. Mickey thought her heart would burst with happiness when the blossoms from the trees fluttered down on them as they lay spent, their arms around each other.

“This will be such a wonderful memory,
chéri.
” Mickey sighed happily. “I will never be able to look at a chestnut tree in blossom without thinking of this time.”

Reuben silenced her with his lips and held her tight, nuzzling his face in her hair. He had been thinking the same thing, but his throat constricted, making it impossible to get the words out.

Mickey could see his love-filled eyes change as he tried but failed to speak. How she wanted to prod him—to help with the unfamiliar words—but then they would be her words, not his. She waited, savoring the moment. If they came it would be wonderful, if they didn't she knew what was in his heart. After all, she could feel it beating next to hers.

“I don't ever want this to end,” Reuben whispered huskily. “I know this is a holiday, a special one, for all of us. It's like a dream. When things are this perfect you want them never to end. I wonder if these special times are what happiness is. Little respites, time away from our ordinary lives. What do you think, Mickey?”

She loved it when he asked for her opinion, and she was always careful to be as honest as possible, sometimes painfully so. “I think I agree with you. When we share something, it makes life more meaningful. I have enjoyed this holiday tremendously, but it's time to go back to the château. Unless you want to remain here.” She waited, not realizing she was holding her breath.

“I'm ready to go back. We have one more meeting with that prissy banker of yours. I think I have finally convinced him that shipping wine to America is in your best interest.”

“You prefer the château to Paris, is that it?”

“Yes, and you?”

“There was a time when I wanted to be here only. I found the château very dull. I was younger then and lived only for each day. I thought I was happy as I rushed from party to party, buying clothes and jewels to dazzle my friends. I wanted—” She paused, searching for the right words. “To find love, real love. I wanted to be madly, wildly, irresponsibly, and wickedly in love, totally and to the exclusion of all else. I searched for it frantically, in many places, but always it eluded me…until you came into my life. I wish I knew what I did to become so blessed. You, Reuben, are my gift from heaven. Each of us must get that one special gift at some time in our lives. For me it was you. I want to think it's the same way for you…. I sit, Reuben?”

Reuben looked up into the mammoth eye of the sun, then down at Mickey. She was so different from when they'd first met, so open, so confiding, so very real. “Yes,” he breathed, holding her close. “You carved a niche in my heart.”

An enchanting silence fell about them, broken only by their soft breathing and Daniel's shout.

Reuben swore savagely. Mickey smiled. “I told them to meet us here. Tell me you don't mind,” she teased. They drew apart and righted themselves as Daniel and Bebe approached with Jake cavorting between them.

“Mickey, I think Daniel should stay here and continue at the Sorbonne,” Reuben said.

“My thoughts exactly. He can bicycle to his classes. I'd like him to stay through September at least.”

Reuben sat up, a blade of grass between his teeth, his arms around his drawn-up knees. He looked so handsome, so virile, thought Mickey. Just watching him, familiar tentacles of warmth spread through her body. However, the sight of Bebe cooled her mood immediately. The girl came running up and dropped to her knees in front of them with a dazzling smile.

“We've been sprinting up and down this riverbank for the past hour, and you two lazybones are just sitting here. You have to get your blood flowing.” She said the words to Mickey, but her eyes were on Reuben.

“I have other ways to get my blood flowing,” Reuben said lightly. He enjoyed watching Bebe flush; she was even prettier with her cheeks crimson. “How about you, Mickey, how do you get your blood flowing?”

“For shame, Reuben. A lady must have her little secrets. Isn't that right, Bebe?” she said casually.

The flustered girl turned sullen, poked at Daniel, who had plopped down beside her, and was on her feet again, running down the riverbank with Jake. Daniel sat motionless, and when he spoke it was with a disapproving tone. “You embarrassed her,” he said flatly, “and it wasn't necessary.” Then he rose and ran down the slope to the river's edge, joining Bebe.