Sins of Omission (31 page)

As the château receded from view, Reuben forced his eyes forward. That part of his life was over.

Hollywood
1921

Reuben and Daniel endured a grueling ocean crossing and then boarded the train in New York, traveling slowly across the continent. They didn't stop for more than a night on the East Coast; their future lay in Hollywood, California.

They didn't discuss Mickey or Bebe during their travels. They spoke only about the future. That morning, before disembarking from the train, Reuben had shown Daniel the two thousand dollars Mickey had given him and the letter of introduction to Sol Rosen. He wondered why his friend's eyes hadn't wavered as he displayed the money.

Daniel watched as Reuben hired a hack to take them to a decent apartment house and listened to the description he gave the driver concerning his requirements. On the way Reuben hung his head out the window and hooted, “Look at that sunset! Did you ever see such a bright one, Dan'l?”

Daniel didn't understand Reuben's cheerfulness. Why couldn't they grieve for a little while? They had left two and a half years of their lives in France. It wasn't easy for him to turn it off the way it seemed to be for Reuben. He wished he were back in France. He missed Mickey; he missed the château and the Sorbonne. He missed Jake. He sighed wearily; he would have to put up a brave front for Reuben's sake.

Reuben pulled the envelopes out of his pocket again and handed them to Daniel. “Here. You keep the money, pal. I'm appointing you our banker. If we're careful, it can last quite a while. I want to start paying Mickey back as soon as possible. With interest…. I have a good feeling about California, Daniel. I think we're going to make it here. You're going to school, and I think I want to run one of those big motion picture studios.” Reuben laughed at Daniel's incredulous expression. “We'll work our way up. Why not?”

“Just like that, you want to run one of those big studios? What are you going to do, walk off the street and say, Look, I'm here!”

“Hell no. But Hollywood is a land of dreams. Why can't I have a dream? Why can't I run a studio? Give me one good reason!”

“Because you don't know a goddamned thing about the movie business. There're already people running the studios. What do you plan to do with them? They aren't going to let you walk in and snatch their jobs.”

“Daniel, Daniel, we have to work on your imagination. If you want something bad enough, there's a way to get it. I just have to figure out the best way. I learned a few things back in France, and Hollywood will be the perfect place to test them out.”

“Here you are, guys.” The sound of the driver's voice brought Daniel back to reality. “Crestwood Apartments. There's the
VACANCY
sign I told you about.”

Fifteen minutes later they were settled in a clean one-bedroom apartment that was sparsely furnished. The rent was twenty dollars a month and it was on the bus line, three blocks in from the corner of Hollywood and Vine. It had a bathroom with a pink carpet and a sink full of years of rust stains. The beds looked comfortable enough, and the sheets, while thin, were clean and unwrinkled. It was a far cry from the luxury of the château, but, it would have to do.

“Why don't you settle us in and then read through those,” Reuben said, referring to the
Citizen's News
and the
Ledger Gazette
they'd picked up on the way to the apartment house. “Maybe they'll have some information that'll help us out. I think I'll go out and check around the neighborhood. That okay with you?”

Reuben left the third-floor apartment and walked aimlessly, trying to decide where to go. Spotting blue lights in the early darkness, he headed for the canopied doorway they surrounded. Gilt lettering on the heavy blue doors welcomed patrons to the Mimosa Club. What the hell, thought Reuben, shrugging. A man checked him out through a small glass window before opening the door. Stale sweat, staler perfume, and smoke-laden air rushed against him. It was so rank he almost gagged, but he forced himself to take a deep breath, then made his way across the crowded room to the bar. Loud honky-tonk music and shrill laughter grated on him. How was a man supposed to think in this damned racket? Obviously he wasn't. If a man wanted to think, he went to the library or stayed home. If he wanted a drink and a little fun, he came to a place like the Mimosa Club. Reuben squeezed himself next to the bar and ordered a drink.

The customers didn't surprise him. Well-dressed men and women, pimps and their floozies, the usual number of husbands and fathers having a beer and a quick game of cards before going home. Everyone was talking to someone, he noticed. Couples, groups. He appeared to be the only person alone in the crowded room. A little man with pomade-slicked hair and a trim mustache approached the bar. For a few moments he said nothing, merely leaned back and examined his buffed nails. Then: “You new here?” he asked casually.

Reuben almost laughed. Later, at home, he'd mimic the man when he described him to Daniel. “You could say that,” he drawled. He towered over the little man by almost two feet. Two of his upper arms would make up the man's skinny chest. But there was something likable about him.

“This is my club. Max Gould.” He introduced himself as if he were announcing the arrival of the president and didn't offer to shake hands. So far, he hadn't looked Reuben in the eye, possibly because he didn't feel like craning his neck.

“Reuben Tarz. Do I detect a hometown Brooklyn accent?”

For the first time, Max Arthur Gould looked up into the handsome stranger's eyes. “Yeah. But how did you know? You don't have one yourself.”

“I've been in France for a while.” Reuben said. “But I'd know that accent anywhere. I grew up in Brooklyn.”

Max Gould took a second look at the stranger. He wasn't a flatfoot, that was for sure. He'd detected a slight limp as he'd watched him cut through the crowd. Must've been the war, he decided. “You a vet?” he asked curiously. Reuben nodded. “What's your game?”

Reuben pretended to take his time. What did he want? “A little information would help. About this town, you know, what makes it tick. A job, money, action…whatever.” He swung around and ordered a second beer he didn't want. As he ignored Max and concentrated on the beer, he felt the little man studying him.

“I got a table in the back. Follow me and we can talk. This racket is driving me crazy.”

The minute they were settled at the private table, Max got down to business. “You're a pretty beefy guy. You look like you can handle yourself.”

Reuben looked over to an open doorway. “You mean like those two muscleheads you got doing double duty?”

“Yeah,” Max said softly.

“I've done my share both in the war and in Brooklyn.” Reuben looked hard at the little man to make sure he'd made his point.

Max Gould always prided himself on being able to read people correctly. What he thought he had before him was a classy young man who knew a little more than how to put his tie on straight—which as he glanced at the handsome man's neck he realized was done to perfection. A perfect Windsor knot.

“Look, I run a good business here. I make money. The people that work for me make money. Everyone is happy. Money,” he said, leaning across the table, “is the name of the game. Money is power, but you know that already, don't you, Tarz? How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” Reuben lied. “But you didn't bring me over here to ask me my age. What's your angle, and don't tell me you don't have one. Everyone's got an angle.”

“Relax.” Max laughed at Reuben's brashness. “If you're looking for some part-time work, I can accommodate you.”

“What's the setup?” Reuben asked. He liked the turn of the conversation.

“A few pickups. Sometimes a few deliveries. Your share is 1 percent of whatever you pick up. A bonus at the end of the month. If you have to sit on someone, you sit; you're sure as hell big enough. But maybe you don't want to get your nice clothes dirty.” Max grinned.

This was exactly what he needed to get him by during the next few weeks. He wanted time to settle into this place, get to know it and feel comfortable without being desperate for money. The two thousand dollars he and Daniel had looked like a small fortune now, but he didn't want to get caught with his pants down.

“Let's talk turkey,” he said.

For thirty minutes they discussed Max's possibilities and Reuben's availability. It came down to maybe three pickups a week. Two, maybe three bucks a night and a ten-buck bonus at the end of the month, providing everything went all right. If he was careful, he could send Mickey fifty dollars the first of every month. “I'm in” was Reuben's final comment.

“If you don't mind my askin', what kind of…daytime work are you in?”

Reuben started to itch. Lie or not lie? If he lied, the little man was apt to find him out. If he told the truth, he might decide he could do without him. A gambler at heart, Reuben stared down at Max. “I just got here straight from France. I have a letter of introduction to the head of one of the studios. I guess you could say I'll be working there, doing what, I don't know: but this much I do know, one of these days I'll be the head of one of these studios. Anything else?”

Max almost laughed until he looked into Reuben's eyes. The bugger had admitted to not having a job, yet he truly believed what he'd just said. He stood up and stared at Reuben. For the life of him he couldn't think of a thing to say. He decided to believe everything Reuben had told him…except his age, of course. If his instincts were right, this guy might be someone to keep handy.

A buzzer sounded somewhere nearby, and Max told Reuben to sit quietly. He watched, bug-eyed, as cups were emptied and refilled with steaming coffee. His cup was snatched quicker than he could blink. The transformation from speakeasy to sleazy supper club was the slickest, quickest operation he'd ever seen. He found himself grinning and mockingly saluted Max, who had risen and was jittering around the entrance.

He continued to watch in admiration as Max put the police officers through their paces. First he offered a table for two in the back of the room, followed by the services of two shapely, friendly waitresses in scanty uniforms, who proceeded to fawn and tickle both men under their chins. Out of the corner of his eye Reuben saw a man part a curtain. Instead of the gun he expected to see, a flash went off, and he laughed. He decided this was as good a time as any to leave.

“Leaving already? I hope you enjoyed your coffee,” Max said, waylaying him at the door. “You won't believe this,” he whispered, “but those two creeps are on the take and still they put me through this. Every second I'm a supper club I lose money. I been takin' pictures, though. Got them by the balls that way. City hall might be interested someday.”

Reuben laughed. Max couldn't help but ask, “What would you do?”

“Squeeze!”

Max's full-bodied laugh followed him out the door.

 

“Gangsters! I don't think Mickey would expect you to hang out with gangsters just so she could be repaid,” Daniel said anxiously when he'd heard about Reuben's evening.

“Don't worry. If you could have seen how smooth this operation was, you wouldn't give it a second thought. Look, you know it takes all kinds to make this world spin. I didn't just fall off the tree now, did I? I know what's going on, and I'll be careful. If I keep my mouth shut, not give Max the edge, I think I can work and pay Mickey off. Who knows, later on it might pay even more. This is for now.”

A lot of things were for now, Daniel decided. He'd voiced his thoughts; the rest was up to Reuben. “I've read through the papers, and I've got some addresses for schools and studios. And everything's ready for tomorrow—I got the landlady to press our suits.”

“We're going to spend the next couple of days getting to know the territory,” Reuben said. “I'll take the studios and you take the schools. But tomorrow you'll come with me to test the waters. Fair enough?” Daniel nodded his agreement. “We're on our way, Dan'l! You nervous?”

“Like a cat in the rain.”

 

It was one of Hollywood's better days, with the sun shining down on busloads of hopeful actors and actresses trundling their way to their dreams. Sun was important to those struggling to make it in the sinful city. It was easier to accept rejection when the day was ripe and golden.

All these nameless men and women—“the hopefuls,” as Reuben had begun to refer to them—believed the myth. Just keep plugging along in the land of magic; there's fame and fortune at the end of the dusty path.

It was a twenty-minute ride to the studio, and Reuben did his best to breathe through his mouth. He hated the scent of unwashed bodies, stale perfume, and the greasy hair pomade that everyone seemed to favor.

“Thirty seats on this bus, Reuben,” Daniel hissed, “and fifty people.” Reuben laughed. Daniel always counted. They'd been here only a few weeks and were soaking up the atmosphere on a daily basis. Daniel was being tutored by a college professor who had come to Hollywood to become a star, and Reuben had established a good working rapport with Max Gould, had even been invited home to sample his mother Rachel's noodle pudding, but only with the understanding that he not mention business; she thought Max ran a delicatessen.

Reuben and Daniel had scouted Metro Pictures, Universal Studios, and Fox Film Corporation; the last studio had been Paramount. Today they were on their way to Fairmont, Daniel to gather as much information as he could and Reuben to see the big man Sol Rosen. He patted the letters in his breast pocket: he'd need them.

His thoughts turned to Mickey. What was she doing right now, this very minute? he wondered. Was she thinking about him? If he was in her mind and in her heart, then everything else was bearable. A man could accomplish anything when he had someone to go home to at the end of the day—or the year, he thought ruefully. Or maybe the decade? As always, when he thought of Mickey, Bebe insinuated herself into his thoughts. Today would tell the story. Getting a job at Fairmont was his way of turning the knife…in Bebe. She wouldn't get away with what she had done to him and go on her happy, meddling way. His goal was to be in her face at the first opportunity—and in a position of power. He only hoped she'd stay away long enough for him to get there.