Sins of Omission (23 page)

“February,” he continued, to her surprise, “is for pruning and taking the cuttings for grafting. You make grafts onto wood stock and put them in sand indoors. If there is fine weather and a new moon and a north wind, you can start racking the new wine into clean barrels to clear it. You have to assemble the new wine in a vat to equalize the casks.”

“I don't care,” Mickey said throatily. “Please, Reuben, you are not going to go through the other ten months, are you? I believe you. The winemaker's calendar was just my little joke. If you insist, I will stuff my fingers in my ears. I want to do other things.”

Reuben laughed, a secretive little sound in the darkness. “Are you saying I'm boring you?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying!”

“You are a brazen hussy, and I love you very much.”

“Show me how much,” Mickey whispered in his ear. “And don't ever mention the winemaker's calendar in bed again. Swear to me!”

He did. He wouldn't. He swore.

 

Reuben did not go back to his own bed that morning. He supposed it was an act of defiance on his part, and he didn't care. He wanted to wake up next to Mickey, wanted to start the day beside her. He took in the newborn sun shooting across the room, bathing the bed in warm radiant lights. It felt fresh and clean. A new day. A bright new day.

“Come here, kiss me good morning,” Mickey demanded. She looked around her. “You didn't go to your own bed! Do you realize this is the first time we woke together to face the new day? Oh, Reuben, I'm so happy…. Reuben, I think it is time to go to Bordeaux. I must see that all is well there.”

Reuben smiled. “I'm all for it…whatever you say,” he agreed. “When do you want to leave?”

“Such impatience,” Mickey said languidly. “Will tomorrow morning be all right with you? Shall we all go in the car?”

“Absolutely. We'll have a jolly trip if Bebe behaves herself.” He rolled over until he was on top of Mickey, bracing himself with the palms of his hands. “When,” he whispered, “are you going to wear that black…what do you call that thing that holds up your stockings?”

Mickey smiled wickedly. “You mean my garter belt?”

“Yes. It drives me…crazy.”

“Then I will wear it every day. You should have said something. What is your feeling about black stockings?” she purred in his ear.

Reuben growled, then rolled off her when he heard Daniel walk by the room, whistling. Bebe's laughter, as she joined him at the top of the stairs, wafted through the door. Reuben lost his erection immediately.

As he dressed he began to mutter. “May is when the frost danger is at its height. Work the soil a second time and every ten days remove the suckers so the sap can rise. Watch for mildew…. Start the second racking off the lees into clean bar—”

“Reuben! That is enough. I don't want to hear anymore!” Mickey cried, exasperated.

Reuben sighed and shook his head. “You give me a present, and when I try to show you how much I appreciate it, you tell me you don't want to hear it. I want to prove that I take your gift seriously.”

“Then allow me,” Mickey drawled. “June is when the vines flower and we thin the roots and tie the best ones to wires. The casks have to be checked daily for evaporation because warm weather accelerates the evaporation. July—”

“All right, all right.” Reuben turned to her questioningly. “Tell me, why isn't Château Michelene as prosperous as Château Fonsard?”

“In the beginning, as I said, it was a plaything. Now it yields quite a bit of wine, some better than Fonsard, as a matter of fact. Remember, it is not as large, there are not as many workers…a lot of reasons, Reuben.”

“I think I can make it the best in all of France. Would you like that?”

Mickey thought about it. “It isn't important to me. If it stays the way it is, that would be fine. If it will make you happy to expand it, to promote Michelene wines, then I am, as you say, all for it!”

 

Daniel waved good-bye to the travelers. At the last second, Bebe ran back to throw her arms around him. “I'm going to miss you. I'm glad you're going to keep Jake here. Talk to him about me so he doesn't forget me, okay?”

“I promise. Bebe, please, don't cause any trouble at the château. It's only a month. Be as nice to Mickey and Reuben as you are to me, I want your promise.”

Bebe stared at him for a long time. “I can't promise, Daniel. You're my friend, and that makes a difference.”

Last farewells and hugs and kisses were given with tear-filled eyes. Everyone waved frantically as the car took off, their voices fading as the space between them and Daniel widened. For a long time he stood in the driveway, watching until the car was out of sight.

Reuben ground the Citroën to a halt in front of the château. “Home!” he exclaimed. “You timed this just right, Mickey. I've never seen such a kaleidoscope of color.” He breathed deeply of the crisp country air.

“We have had the honor of witnessing two springs,” Mickey said happily. “Spring comes early to Paris and late to the country. We had the best of both. I'm glad you approve.”

“I don't much like flowers,” Bebe said as she began to pull bags from the car.

Here we go again, Reuben thought to himself. We're not even home a minute and she's complaining already.

“Oh, and why is that,
chérie?
” Mickey said, joining her. “I thought everyone loved flowers.”

“There were so many at my…all kinds, all colors, the room was sickening.” She plucked at a hatbox, eyes averted. Mickey stared at her, waiting. “My mother's funeral,” she blurted out.

Mickey put her arm around the girl's shoulder. “I'm sorry,
chérie,
I didn't realize.” She looked over at Reuben and saw his jaw tighten.

He was watching Bebe as she gathered her packages together. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw tears glistening in her eyes. Suddenly she caught him staring at her and stopped what she was doing, her vulnerability unmasked. As she stood there, open and helpless, Reuben thought at that instant she was one of the loveliest girls he had ever seen. His hand faltered, the bag slipping from his grasp. In that same instant he knew Bebe had read what was in his eyes, and he cursed loudly to cover his confusion. For once she didn't laugh or grimace, but as she turned he saw a lone tear slide down her cheek. So, Bebe Rosen did have feelings after all, she could hurt like everyone else. “I'll be damned,” he muttered.

A butterfly flitted overhead, drawing his attention. For some unexplained reason, he found himself wishing he hadn't seen the vulnerable side of Bebe Rosen, for it made her a person now like Daniel and Mickey. He shoved his newfound knowledge onto a shelf at the back of his mind. One day it might prove useful.

 

Bebe spent the next few hours alone in her room. She had thought it would be nice back at the château, but now she wasn't so sure. It was obvious that Mickey didn't want her around. If only Daniel were here to talk to. If he were here, would she tell him how her heart had pounded as Reuben looked at her…as a man looked at a woman? She studied herself in the mirror to recapture what he might have seen—wondered how she had stood and what expression was on her face to make him almost drop his bag. Both Mickey and Reuben had fallen for her flower story. She had used it on several occasions, and it always worked. Reuben had responded very well to it…. She giggled. That's why Mickey was pushing her out. Would Daniel believe her if she told him about Reuben's look? That for a moment his eyes had beheld someone other than Mickey? She hadn't been able to believe it herself. No, she wouldn't have said anything to Daniel. This was something she could hug to herself, and it was better than any secret. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

 

Mickey felt the next days pass with tremendous discomfort. The three of them were thrown together incessantly. Bebe, playing the forlorn only child without Daniel, accompanied them everywhere. Reuben became more and more sullen and then began snapping at everyone. Mickey tried keeping it all inside, but the situation was becoming impossible. She wouldn't dream of taking school away from Daniel, but without him there to balance out the foursome, everything was tense, like sitting on a powder keg liable to explode at any moment. Something had to give…and soon.

 

Bebe couldn't help noticing that Reuben was watching her every step with more than his usual suspicion, and that Mickey looked and acted as if she were waiting for a bomb to go off. The more he pushed at her, the angrier she got. And when she was angry she plotted ways to get back at him. All she needed was an opportunity. Why disappoint them? She was scheduled to leave for Paris in another few days and then on to England. She'd leave them with something to chew on….

Mickey was saying something, but not to her. Although they had just sat down to breakfast, something was going on between Mickey and Reuben: the air was charged with electricity. Bebe withdrew quietly, but her curiosity was piqued. Shamelessly she stood just outside the dining room door, listening.

“What do you mean, you have to go to Dijon tomorrow?” Reuben asked angrily.

“I don't like it any better than you do, but I must. My bankers have graciously agreed to meet me halfway so I don't have to make the trip all the way to Paris. I'll only be gone overnight,” Mickey said in a conciliatory tone.

“If you knew you had to do this, you should have planned to take Bebe. Or,” he continued coldly, “you should have said you'd go all the way to Paris, and taken her along. I can't go with you because I have to see to the second racking of the lees into the barrels. You knew we were right in the middle of it. I should already be there, but since you've made these arrangements, what am I to do? You're taking the car, and Bordeaux is not exactly on the way to Dijon.”

“
Chéri,
I heard from the lawyers only this morning. Please try to understand.”

“I don't want you to make the trip by yourself. I care what happens to you, and you drive like a…wild woman!”

“A wild woman, is it?” Mickey said, aghast. “You never complained before. Why now, all of a sudden?”

Reuben admitted to himself that he didn't know the answer to her question, or even if that was the issue. Was he upset because he felt this particular banker was going to try to talk her out of expanding Château Michelene? Would the banker refer to him as a gigolo? Without another word, he turned and stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

At the sound of the door rattling on its hinges, Mickey stormed up the steps, her face a mask of fury. He had no right: he had no goddamn right to act that way! After all, she was going to Dijon because of him. Reuben Tarz was just as selfish as Bebe Rosen.

Mickey ran into her room, slamming the door behind her. She threw herself on the bed and let the tears flow. How could he behave like this after all she'd done? Selfish, miserable man. They were all alike. Why had she thought him different?

Downstairs, Bebe walked from room to room, a smile on her face.

 

Dinner that evening was a total disaster. Reuben and Mickey glared at each other across the table, neither of them touching their food. Bebe ate everything and took a second helping of meat and potatoes. After she had finished she excused herself, but neither Mickey nor Reuben so much as acknowledged her existence. She went to her room, propped herself in bed with a book, and kept her eyes on the door she'd left ajar. An hour later Mickey went to her own room and slammed the door. In the quiet Bebe heard the bolt shoot home. Thirty minutes later Reuben's door closed quietly. Bebe strained to listen, and seconds later his bolt shot home. She smiled. They were playing the game no one won. She should know, she played it often enough.

She sat up all night listening for the sound of a footstep. Finally she dozed off a little before dawn but was up instantly when she heard Mickey's heels clicking on the wooden floor outside her room.

Wearing the same clothes she'd worn the day before, Bebe left her room after a sketchy hair brushing and a quick dab at her face with a damp washcloth. She joined her aunt at breakfast and kept up the same cheerful commentary as the night before. She looked ghastly, Bebe thought, appraising Mickey's appearance. Her eyes were puffy, and the circles under them were like smudges of carbon. Her mouth was set into grim tight lines; little wrinkles fanning out around them gave her a hard, barmaid look.

Mickey tapped her fingers on the table impatiently, getting angrier by the moment. Reuben knew she wanted to leave by eight-thirty; his absence was inexcusable. She seethed inwardly and felt the urge to slap the chattering Bebe. But, she did her best to hold her temper in check. After all, none of this was Bebe's doing—there was no use blaming her. Her lapel watch told her it was now twenty minutes to nine. Eh,
bien
—she wouldn't give Reuben the satisfaction of waiting a moment longer. She swallowed the last of her coffee, grimacing as she tasted the bitter dregs.

“Have a pleasant day, Bebe,” she smiled, touching the girl's hair as she passed her chair. “I will see you tomorrow.”

Mickey's steps lagged as she walked to the barn. He still had time to come down and apologize. Five minutes later, when there was still no sign of him, she pressed the gas pedal to the floor and roared out of the barn and down the long driveway to the road. Chickens scattered and birds took sanctuary in the trees. “Go to the devil!” Mickey spat angrily. “And stay there!”

Reuben stood by the window, a sullen look on his face, his pocket watch open on the time. He could go down now…he should go down now. He should apologize to Mickey before she left. It was all his fault, and he didn't even know how it had happened. One minute they were talking, he was merely complaining, saying how he felt, something Mickey always encouraged him to do…and then…then they were like two dogs fighting it out in the center of a ring. There had been no winner. If anything, he felt like a loser. He was a cad. A man would have pocketed his pride and apologized.

The sound of the Citroën hurling out of the barn made him draw back from the window. As the powerful car careened down the drive, he jerked open the window…but it was too late. He took the stairway running, but when he pushed through the front doors she was already gone, a cloud of dust in her wake.

Reuben tortured himself, going over and over what he should have done. What if she didn't come back? What if she told him to leave when she did come back? She could do that, he realized. She could do a lot of things….

He paced like an angry bull, called himself every name in the book and then some: he was a low-down dirty louse, an insensitive clod. Never in all the time he'd been with her had she raised her voice in anger, until last night. That meant she was very, very angry at him.

Something skittered around in his stomach and worked its way to his chest. He gave it a name: fear. He hadn't been afraid when he'd crouched in the trenches or charged up the line. He'd been green and stupid, not believing in death, his or Daniel's. Invincible, he'd decided when he set foot on French soil. But he didn't feel invincible now: he felt vulnerable, the way Bebe had looked the day they'd returned to the château from Paris. He didn't like the feeling, and he didn't like the thought. Worse yet, he didn't like the comparison to Bebe. At that moment he turned and saw her watching him from the window. Her smiling face drove him over the edge.

Every problem that ever rode his broad shoulders, either real or imaginary, became Bebe's fault. At that moment he began to plot ways to abuse her, to make her pay for what he was going through. His fury gained intensity as he found himself racing back up to his room. Now he was furious with himself, unreasonably so. Slamming the door behind him, he began to storm and stomp about the room. One long arm swept across his dresser; brush, comb, and hand mirror sailed in the air and crashed to the floor. He lashed out with his foot, scattering shards of silvered glass everywhere. Next he made for the bed and ripped at the bedclothes. His fist shot out, slamming into the headboard over his bed. Red-hot streaks of pain coursed through him. Again he kicked out, this time at the dresser—and howled his outrage as pain rushed up his leg into his groin. Until that moment he hadn't been aware he was barefoot.

His head began to pound as he watched himself destroying his aunt's tenement apartment. He would get those little bastards of hers back for going through his meager belongings. He'd had enough of their snooping around in the one drawer he called his. He was sick of the crowded rooms and the stench of cabbage cooking on her stove. He picked up the boiling pot and smashed it against the wall, splattering the smelly mess across the tiny kitchen. He felt great, powerful.

Reuben held his aching head between two clenched fists and broke into a cold sweat. What was he doing? Horrified, he stared at the path of destruction his uncontrolled anger had wrought. His thoughts came together, and he began to tremble. He saw himself standing outside the tenement where he had lived with his aunt, his belongings at his feet. Thrown out like garbage on the street. His fear was palpable—it touched him with angry hands, it screamed in his ears…. He sat down on the floor in what just a few minutes before had been his own private room in his own private paradise and looked around him. What now?

 

Bebe sat in her room listening to Reuben's rampage. Each sound he made echoed to her through the heavy walls.

Mickey had walked out on him. Reuben Tarz was angry. A lover's quarrel. Now the silly bet she'd made with Daniel was beginning to look like a sure thing. All it would take was a little planning…. She danced around the room, a smile on her face. “Reuben Tarz, you are almost mine, and you lose, Daniel….” She chanted the words over and over until she started to believe they were fact. “You, Bebe Rosen,” she said, addressing her image in the windowpane, “have a new role to play. This performance will be worthy of Clovis Ames.” She giggled with anticipation. “Mine, all mine.”

What about her aunt? If she did succeed in her little plan, where would that leave Mickey? “Back in Montmartre, where she belongs,” she whispered. “If she isn't woman enough to hold him, it's not my problem.”
That's not fair,
her conscience prodded. “It is so fair; she's had him long enough. It's my turn now. In a week's time she'll find someone else to lavish her affections on. Besides, she's too old for Reuben. She can spend all her time now running her wine business. Maybe she'll pickle herself in one of the vats.” Again her conscience prodded her.
You'll break her heart. She loves Reuben, you know that; you've seen what they have together. She could even die from her broken heart.
Bebe's eyes squinted into small hard beads. “Hogwash! What about my heart? Look, if Reuben is truly in love with her, nothing I do can entice him. All the plans, all the bets in the world, won't make a difference. But if he doesn't truly love her, he'll fall into my trap. All is fair in love and war. If you are my conscience, you can shut up now. It's too late for you to interfere, anyway.”