Sins of Omission (39 page)

Sol stared at the intimidating stacks of papers on his desk. Notes, memos, contracts, proposals, all from Reuben. Secretaries were supposed to handle this stuff, he thought nastily, and then he remembered who his secretary was. Relatives! He'd been adamant with Reuben about not firing his gum-chewing, nail-polishing secretary, not because she was worthy or efficient, but just to keep his hand in and not allow Reuben too much power. Now he regretted his cranky decision. If Tarz liked memos, he'd scribble one off to him telling him to relocate his secretary. Possibly to the costume or makeup department.

His nerves were like raw ends pricking him as he waded through the stacks of papers. At first glance he didn't see anything he could call Tarz on. Now that the decision making, at least outwardly, was out of his hands, he could look and think objectively about the progress the studio was making. He had no complaints about Reuben at all. In the beginning he'd worked overtime trying to catch him in a wrong move, but so far the kid was straight as an arrow. Sol envied him his cool head, his logic, and his straightforward way of doing business. With Tarz calling the shots he was sleeping better at night, eating wisely, and his eyes weren't twitching anymore. If things kept going the way they had been over the past few months, he'd be able to replace some of the money he owed Mickey. In a year, give or take a few months, he could pay off his debt entirely and possibly buy another 25 percent from her, if she was willing to sell.

He was looking at a proposal now that made him blink. “What in hell is this?” he sputtered. Tarz was asking his approval on some kind of short skit: cancan girls, California cancan girls. Different songs, different skits, to show before each movie. It will bring young men, middle-aged men, and old men to the theaters, read the proposal, and it will keep them coming back. Long-legged beauties, scantily clad, with ruffles on their rear ends. Sol sputtered again. It would work; he could feel the excitement building in him. The others had nothing like this. Zukor would go up in smoke when it hit, and so would Zanuck. Sol scribbled his initials on the memo.

At one o'clock Reuben sent out a casting call for twelve long-legged dancers. He ordered black mesh stockings and what wardrobe called rompers with ruffles. “I can't come up with a name that will suit this review,” Reuben grumbled to his director, Carl Maddox.

“Run a contest with the employees and give a prize of fifty bucks. You'll have names growing out of your ears in a day's time.”

By closing time the following day, Reuben had picked a name from the two hundred or so offerings and hired a choreographer named Sam Naylor, who agreed to take on the job for an outrageous sum of money. He looked Reuben in the eye and said calmly, “If you want quality and excellence for the Sugar and Spice Review, then I'm your man.” Reuben hired the diminutive, balding man immediately. He wrote a memo to Sol saying the man would earn every penny of his salary.

Reuben's voice was brisk and cold as he issued instructions to the choreographer. “I don't want these young women worked like the cancan girls in Paris. You are to give them plenty of breaks and rest periods. I'm sure you know that most of the Parisienne cancan girls live only a few…years after they start dancing, and I don't want that to happen here. Hire extras to take the load off the stars. Don't even think about crossing me on this, because if you do, your ass is out of here.”

Naylor's voice was low with a musical cadence to it. “I was going to suggest the same thing to you. I spent two years in Paris studying music and dance. I am well aware of the problem. I think you should know something about me. When I…ah, plant my ass, it stays planted. I hate job hunting. So I think we understand each other, Mr. Tarz.” They shook hands. The Sugar and Spice Girls were now Sam Naylor's exclusive responsibility.

 

Reuben Tarz was the picture of comfort with his body tilted backward in his swivel chair, his long legs propped on an open desk drawer. Hands clasped behind his head, eyes closed, he contemplated his progress to date. Things were running smoothly, with only a few snags here and there. But his pose wasn't one of simple relaxation, it was something he did every day around this time—a break to go over the day's agenda. The truth was he was tense, anxious, but he didn't know why. A sense of foreboding seemed to shackle him to his chair.

Rain whispered against the window. Reuben's feet plopped to the floor, and he swiveled around to stare out at the gray day. He was reminded of the war and the cold, dreary, rain-soaked days he'd spent in the trenches. He hated days like this; they made him think about things he'd rather not deal with. Like Mickey. Bebe. It was always either Mickey or Bebe and not necessarily in that order. Seven goddamn letters and not one response from Mickey. Not even an acknowledgment concerning the money he and Daniel were paying back. Even Daniel had had no letter. Out of sight, out of mind. Obviously she was finished with them and didn't want to be bothered anymore. For one crazy moment he wanted to chuck everything and head to the nearest shipping office to book passage to France. The
Mauretania
was sailing this week, he'd read about it in the papers. And what the hell would you do when you get there? he asked himself. Cry, beg, plead? For what? Wicked thoughts attacked him like angry ghosts in the night. It was just an adventure for Mickey. You were young, she wasn't so young. She gave, you took, that was the bargain. It was all Bebe's fault; as soon as she'd arrived in France things started going wrong.

He hated it when Bebe entered his thoughts, especially when he was alone. When he was alone he had to deal with his hatred of her, his guilt and his love for Mickey. In his mind it was all mixed up. She'd promised to write—no, that was wrong, she'd promised to answer his letters. By now he should have had at least five responses. Maybe she had found someone to replace him. The thought was so horrible, so sickening, he rushed to the window and opened it violently, leaning out to take great gulping breaths, mindless of the rain.

In that moment he saw her. Stunned, he blinked and rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. But when he looked again, his mind could no longer deny the evidence—it was Bebe roaring through the lot in a super-powered convertible roadster. Bebe was back! Reuben inched his way to the corner of the wall and cowered there like a shell-shocked doughboy. It took him a full ten minutes to move away and return to his swivel chair. He had to think, and he had to think clearly…now. “Margaret?” he bellowed. “Tell Daniel I want to see him. Now!”

Margaret had never heard this strange voice before. She peered nervously around the half-open door to make sure it was Reuben speaking, then hurried down the hall to find Daniel Bishop.

Ten minutes later Daniel strolled into Reuben's office with a sheaf of papers in his hand. “I told you I'd have it by the end of the day, and here it is. Relax, Reuben,” he said, eyeing his friend curiously. “The S and S Girls are going to net this studio a handsome return. I did a year's projection. I made two copies, knowing you'd want to give Sol his right away.”

“That will be all, Margaret. Close the door when you leave, please.” Reuben watched, silently until the secretary had left, then he swallowed hard—twice. Daniel's eyebrows shot upward. “Daniel, I just saw something I never expected to see…at least not yet,” he said in a voice he barely recognized as his own.

“Louis B. Mayer kowtowing to Sol Rosen?” Daniel quipped. He'd never seen Reuben in such a state. “What's wrong, Reuben? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“I just saw Bebe drive through the lot in a car with its top down in the rain.”

Daniel reached out a sympathetic hand to clap Reuben's shoulder. “And I thought you wanted these projections! Did she see you?”

“No. That's not the point. She's here. Why? What does she want now?”

“I don't know if you realize this or not, but she does live here. She's probably home to see her father. You must have known she'd come back at some point. Bebe's return won't change things,” Daniel said in a reassuring voice.

“And we haven't heard a word from Mickey. Don't you think that's rather strange?” He jerked his head toward the window. “She must have had something to do with it. I wouldn't put it past her to fill Mickey's head with a pack of lies,” he said viciously.

“Why hasn't she written? Why, Daniel?”

He'd been wondering the same thing himself for weeks now. “I don't know. Maybe she's traveling. There is that possibility. Mickey would not abandon us.”

“Daniel, it's time you grew up. Life is hard, and the world outside these walls is merciless. I'm not some sap that walked in out of the rain, and neither are you. I don't know how I know it, but that girl has something to do with why we haven't heard from Mickey. I'll take it one step further—I'd stake my life on it!” Reuben said bitterly.

“That girl can cost us our jobs, Daniel,” he continued, his eyes narrowed in anger. “She is her father's darling. One word from her and our asses are out on the street. If I get the first inkling she's up to something, I'll take matters into my own hands. I'll settle that girl's hash once and for all.”

So that was what it was all about. Daniel almost felt relief. “Sol won't do that to us. He likes what you've done. The studio has turned around completely. I think his biggest fear is whether one of the other studios will try to get you to go with them. He won't let Bebe dictate how he should run his business.”

Reuben snorted. “I suppose she told you that in one of your calculated confidence-sharing sessions.”

Daniel felt himself bristling. Why was he always in the middle? “As a matter of fact, she did. She told me she and her brother used to make suggestions to Sol all the time, and he told them the studio was none of their business. I think you're wrong on that score, Reuben.”

Reuben looked out at the darkening day. Driving rain beat against the window. “I have to stop by the Mimosa Club. Don't wait dinner for me, I'll grab a bite at the club…. Don't look so sour, Daniel. This is Labor Day weekend, and we'll have three whole days to do nothing but lounge around. Let's hit the beach, we haven't done that in a long time.” It was an effort to speak lightly, to erase the look of worry on Daniel's face. He felt relief when Daniel grinned at the mention of time off.

“Sounds great, pal. I guess I'll see you later, then.”

“Wait up for me, Daniel, I want to talk to you about college this evening. I haven't forgotten, you know. We'll talk tonight.”

Reuben worked hard in the next few minutes trying to strike the proper pose as busy assistant to a studio head. He stuck a pencil behind his ear and another one in his pocket. He perched his glasses on his nose and scattered papers all over his desk. He waited, his stomach churning with hatred. Bebe Rosen wasn't the only one who knew how to put on a performance.

Bebe was on her way to her father's office, or else she was right outside his door. Reuben wrinkled his nose, recognizing her scent,
Quelques
. His hand started to tremble. “Keep a tight rein, Tarz,” he muttered. The sound of her trilling voice sent shivers down his arms. Without shame he listened as she greeted her father affectionately. The makeshift wall separating Sol's office from his own allowed for crystal clarity. He made a mental note to tone down his own conversations.

“Ohhhhh, Daddy, it's so
good
to be back! I didn't even go to the house, I came here first. What a beastly day! Where's Eli? I can't wait to see him! Are you glad to see me, Daddy? Everything looks so different. Elegant. Who are all these new people? Oh Daddy, I have so much to tell you!”

“You look beautiful, sweetheart. I'm glad you're home,” Sol said, wrapping his arms around his daughter. “Maybe you can talk some sense into your brother. He's driving me crazy. He's going to end up in jail one of these days. I'll let him rot there, too. No man deserves a son like Eli.”

“Daddy, you've never been fair to him. You don't take the time to understand him. Now that you have an assistant. you'll have more time…”

Reuben wondered if Sol had picked up on the sudden hard edge in Bebe's voice.

“How is Mickey?” Sol asked in a nonchalant voice.

“Why, Daddy, how else would Mickey be but fine? She let me stay in her Paris house. We must send her a check because I broke one of her ornaments. It was just the silliest thing, I…bumped right into it, and crash, there it went.”

“What's she doing?” Sol asked.

“Doing? The same thing she always does. She's living her own way.”

“I sent her a cable some time ago and she didn't respond,” Sol said, sounding worried.

Bebe laughed, a tinkling sound that Reuben recognized as one of her “stall for time” laughs. “Well, Daddy, I certainly can't explain why Mickey does or doesn't answer her mail. She talks about you and the studio all the time. She thinks we're just filthy rich, you know. She always looks in the papers to see what the American films are and which ones are produced by Fairmont. She always clucks her tongue, like this.” She made a funny sound that made Reuben grimace. “You aren't laughing, Daddy. That was supposed to be a joke…. Daddy, why is Reuben Tarz your assistant? I read about it in the papers. He's so…nasty and arrogant. I want you to get rid of him. You'll get rid of him, won't you, Daddy? He's just so arrogant. Why, in France he had us all jumping through hoops doing what he said when he said it. He had Mickey wrapped around his finger. He was in charge of the wineries, in charge of the château, in charge of Daniel and me and Mickey, too, I suppose. I can tell you one thing, she certainly danced to his tune.” Bebe said maliciously. “Why did he come here? I can't believe you hired him! I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he had some kind of hold on Mickey and she booted him out. I think he's a gigolo. Mickey…well, she just swooned when he was around. It was sickening, Daddy. I wish you could have seen the way they looked at each other. It was so…so disgusting. I still can't believe you sent me there. You shouldn't have exposed me to such…shenanigans. Daddy, are you listening to me? It's not too late, you can get rid of him, can't you?”