Sins of Omission (25 page)

From the closet she chose a gold lamé sheath with a low cut neck and a generous slit up the side. Matching shoes nestled in a soft flannel bag on the hanger next to the dress.

Mickey's jewelry box made her gasp in delight. Every stone known to man rested discreetly in layers of black velvet. She fastened diamond teardrops to her ears, a matching necklace around her neck. She chose not one, but two diamond bracelets, one for each wrist. She added a ring to every finger.

A dress like the gold lamé required some kind of hat, she decided. At least Clovis would wear one. Finally she found it, in a box on the top shelf. It was a cloche, puckered and gathered on one side with a delicate array of matching feathers. As she modeled it, she had to peek from behind the feathers that all but covered one side of her face. A diamond brooch completed the ensemble.

Bebe stepped back to view her reflection. She gasped aloud, then threw back her head and laughed. In her opinion, she looked more ravishing than Mickey or any of her father's stars. But something was missing—rouge, lip salve, and perfume. Mickey's perfume smelled positively sinful. Bebe withdrew the stopper and dabbed herself everywhere, behind her ears, at the pulse points in her neck and throat, between her breasts, in the bend of her elbows and knees. She sniffed appreciatively. It took only seconds to apply the lip salve and the bright red rouge.

God! She wished Daniel were around. She put her hands on her hips and kicked at her hem. Here she was, all dressed up and no one here to voice approval. Secretly she thought she looked whorish, but she didn't care. Clovis always played the vamp or whore.

A wicked grin crossed her face. Maybe Daniel wasn't the one to see her like this. If Reuben could see her now…She pictured being at a nightclub and Reuben asking her to dance, felt herself being whisked away, swirling and drunk with happiness in his arms….

Bebe pranced around the room in the gold high heels, craning her neck for glimpses of herself in the long mirror. She reeked of perfume, but it was a wonderful smell, full of lust and sinful promise, at least that's what the bottle said. She looked at the clock and grimaced. What a pity no one was going to see her after all the trouble she'd gone to. Maybe she should finish the champagne and then find out what Reuben was up to. Maybe he'd be awake by now.

At the top of the kitchen staircase Bebe heard something. She stood frozen on the stair, her heart thumping. It was Reuben, prowling about. If he saw her in Mickey's clothes, he'd be furious. Especially if he was still drunk. She turned to retrace her steps, deciding it would be wiser to hide until he fell asleep again.

The next sound she heard was Reuben sniffing like a hound dog. Mickey's perfume! Her generous hand with the bottle was going to give her away. Bebe slipped out of the high heels and thought her heart would stop when they toppled down the back stairwell. In the silence they sounded like bombs going off. Reuben was bellowing behind her now. Fear engulfed her. Where to run? To the front of the house? Outside? She didn't stop to think, merely thrust open the kitchen door and ran as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. Twice she tripped and twice she lost time in her struggle to get to her feet. He was so close she thought she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. And he was calling names suitable only to a whore. Damn him! Damn him to hell!

If she could just get to the barn and slam the door, she could slide the huge bolt across and keep him out. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to make her legs pump faster. The long, tight dress was gathered up around the garter belt, but she didn't care. On and on she ran, until the barn was in sight. She was having trouble breathing now, panting, almost faint, but still she kept going, not daring to look over her shoulder. All her sins were going to catch up to her now. Reuben was the devil, and he would make her pay. She could feel tears of shame sliding down her cheeks. Oh, how she wanted to be Bebe Rosen, the real Bebe Rosen, who was playing at dress-up. If only…if only…

Another few yards and she'd be safe. The barn door loomed in front of her and she ran through it into the darkness of the barn. Frantically she swung at the heavy door, her breathing ragged. She dropped the long dress and used both hands to push. Finally she had it closed and was ready to shoot the heavy bolt across when Reuben slammed his shoulder against it.

“You're not going to get away from me!” he bellowed. “I'm coming in there, and if you don't get out of the way, you're going to get hurt!”

The door rocked beneath her hands, driving her backward. She ran to the back of the barn and almost made it to the hayloft, unaware that the moonlight shafting through the open door was bathing her in its silvery light. She started to cry then, great racking sobs that brought her tormentor to within an inch of her. She dropped to her knees, burying her head in the crook of both bent arms. Reuben jerked her to her feet and dragged her across the barn. It was dark and she was scared out of her wits, too frightened to utter a sound. She tried once to free herself, but her attempt was feeble at best. She knew what was going to happen and she was powerless to stop it.

When the gown had been ripped down the front she screamed. “Reuben, Reuben, you don't know what you're doing! Reuben, let me alone! Reuben, don't you hear me?
I'm Bebe!
” If he did hear, he gave no sign. He was holding her down and loosening his trousers with his other hand. Desperately she kicked upward with her knees, knocking him off balance. Then she was up and running for the open doorway, her legs straining with the effort.

He caught her there, in the glistening silver light. “Don't you
ever
walk out on me again,” he rasped. He ripped the few remaining shreds of the dress from her and took her violently. She tried to speak again, to repeat her name…to tell him he was wrong…the woman he was violating was not Mickey, that she was Bebe…Bebe Rosen, a girl playing dress-up in her aunt's finery. But he was holding a cruel hard hand over her mouth, pressing the feathers of her borrowed hat against her face.

If Reuben heard Bebe's choking sobs, if he felt her fists pummeling him, he gave no sign as he drove into her. When he was spent, he rolled over on the barn floor.

Bebe struggled to her feet but felt her knees buckle beneath her. She crawled away then, across the few feet it took to be safe, away from him in the shadows. She looked over to the spread-eagled man and spoke in a hoarse, quavering whisper, even though she knew he was too drunk to hear her. “You didn't have to do that, I would have given myself to you. You raped me, you bastard! You stole my virginity, and now I have nothing left to
give.
It was all I had. I was saving myself, maybe for you, maybe for someone else. How could you? How could you do this to me?”

She curled into a ball on the barn floor and listened to her own harsh breathing. She didn't know how long she'd been lying there when her thoughts began to turn black. Hate seethed within her, blasted from her as she looked around for some kind of weapon. It was her turn now. At the sight of a pitchfork leaning against the side wall, she rose shakily, straightened her shoulders with determination, and walked over to it. In an almost bemused fashion, she picked it up and hefted it a couple of times to get the feel of it. Then she willed her legs to obey and slowly walked back to the snoring man.

Oblivious to her nakedness, she stood over him, the pronged fork balanced above his testicles, and kicked him with her foot. When he didn't respond she moved the fork until it was an inch from his neck. “Reuben,” she shouted, kicking him again. His eyes fluttered open, and she moved the fork down to its original position. “You so much as move a muscle and your life will spurt over both of us. You took me like some wild animal! I hate you for that! I don't care if you were drunk or not. I told you I wasn't Mickey. I screamed my name, but you didn't listen!”

He began to speak, but she brought the pitchfork to within an inch of his skin. She watched his face as the words caught in his throat, and she grew calm again, tasting his fear. “Do you know what I'm going to do to you?” she asked slowly, taunting him. “I'm going to jab this fork right down between your legs. Right between your legs!”

Reuben lay quietly, strangling in his own fear. How had this happened? If he'd wanted to, he couldn't have moved. As the pitchfork hovered above him, he waited, trying to gauge the extent of her hysteria.

She was talking too much. He marveled at her calm and tried not to look at her ravished nakedness through the horrible presence of the weapon she held over him. What would the pain be like? he wondered. Probably he couldn't even count on surviving. When Mickey returned the car to the barn tomorrow, he'd be the first thing she'd see, dead and lying in his own blood. Of course, she'd know immediately what had happened. My God! She'd know. All his plans and dreams…Damn! Damn this…child! Why had he been cursed with her existence? What did she want from him? He wished he could turn the clock back. This wasn't happening…couldn't be happening. He watched her eyes and then slowly drew his gaze down her body, caught by the sight of a single droplet of blood trickling down her leg.

When at last he tried once again to move, Bebe quickly brought the fork down until all four prongs rested on the dark crop of hair. She inched it down slowly, grazing his skin until one prong rested on his now limp and flaccid shaft. He groaned.

“Bebe, don't do this,” he begged. “I'm sorry. Jesus, I don't know what happened. I'm sorry, I know that won't make it right. Tell me what to do to make it right and I'll do it, I swear. Bebe, don't!”

Bebe laughed, a nasty, exultant sound that echoed through the barn. “You beg prettily, Reuben. Well, begging isn't good enough! All my life I'll remember what you did, but you won't, will you? Unless, of course, you can remember in hell.”

“Yes. Yes, I'll remember it all my life. And you'll remember what you did to me. Two wrongs won't make it right!” he cried. Bebe laughed again, bitterly.

She had to make up her mind what to do. Her arm was getting tired, and her stance made her legs ache. Her thoughts were jumbled as she envisioned herself playing the role of a ravished shepherdess…. No, I'm a vengeful warrior princess, she decided. She brought the fork down then, arrow-straight, one prong sinking into the groin, the other three piercing the fleshy part of Reuben's thigh. “I wouldn't pull it out if I were you,” she said over his agonized moaning. “It has manure on it. You'll probably get some kind of infection and die. I'm going into the house to get dressed. I'll take one of the bicycles and fetch the doctor. I suppose I could call him to come out here,” she mused as she reached the barn door. “What do you think, Reuben?”

Reuben did not respond but lay completely still—probably unconscious, Bebe decided. She set about meticulously collecting Mickey's dress and bits of her underclothes and the hat that had finally been torn from her hair. She walked back to the house at a normal pace. It was late, the roads were dark and she didn't feel like riding to the village. Idly she looked up the doctor's telephone number in Mickey's book and dialed him. When his sleepy voice came on the line, she said there had been a terrible accident and asked him to come. It was a superb role she felt she was playing now. As she spoke the back of her other hand rested on her forehead in melodramatic repose.

When the doctor arrived, Bebe was fully dressed and waiting by the barn. She pointed to Reuben and leaned against the door. The old man gave a cry of dismay—probably identifying with Reuben's pain, she thought dispassionately. She could smell his fear when he turned to look at her. “A tragic accident,” she said, smiling. “My aunt will be most upset. You must use all your expertise to save him.”

“He has lost considerable blood,” the doctor muttered.

“Infection. You must guard against infection,” Bebe said solicitously.

“Yes, yes, we must do that. He should be in the house, in bed.”

“After you tend to him you can fetch some men from the village to carry him to his bed. My aunt is away, and she should find him in his bed when she returns. It will look…so much better. I can boil some water if you need it.”

“That won't be necessary; I have antiseptic with me.” He didn't wonder at the girl's calm: she was in shock. But he had more important things to concern him at the moment.

Bebe went back to the house and fixed herself a cup of tea, then went upstairs to put Mickey's things back in their rightful place. She retrieved the gold shoes from the back staircase where they had fallen. There was nothing she could do about the torn gown, so she stuffed it into the fireplace and watched unperturbed as it was swallowed by the flames. Then she placed the necklace, bracelets, and brooch back into their boxes, the shoes in their flannel bag, and the hat in its box. It looked a little smashed, so she lifted it out and kneaded it back into shape. With any luck, she'd be in England before Mickey discovered the missing dress. She did her best to wash away the sinful perfume.

Over a second cup of tea she thought about what had just happened to her. She was alive. Her fear was gone, replaced by the sight of the fear she'd instilled in Reuben. She felt a little sore where he'd brutalized her. Sex wasn't what everyone made it out to be. There hadn't been one enjoyable second. She vowed not to think about this night ever again. It had been a game, a role she'd played for a little while. Now she'd step out of it the way Clovis did. It was over, and Reuben had been paid back for his behavior.

It was almost dawn when two strapping young men, fearful looks on their faces, carried Reuben on a stretcher up to his bed. When the doctor approached Bebe, she put on a concerned face. “Is there something I can do?” she asked innocently.

The doctor handed her three small packets of pills as he searched her face. She seemed to be less disturbed than when he first saw her. “I don't know how much good they're going to be, the directions are on there,” he said, pointing to the packets. “I think he should be in a hospital. You say Madame Fonsard will return tomorrow. Today, actually,” he corrected himself. “Is that right?”