Sins of Omission (44 page)

“I hear a car. Must be Reuben. You look so beautiful, honey,” Sol said, kissing her on the cheek.

“I second that,” Eli called over his shoulder.

Bebe herself opened the door for Reuben, then she stepped back to drink in the sight of him. How handsome he looked in his tuxedo and snowy-white shirt! All kinds of feelings rushed through her, some good, some not so good. “I'm ready, Reuben, if you are,” she said in a shaky voice.

For a second Reuben lost his composure. This elegant, sophisticated young woman couldn't be the Bebe he knew. Usually she was either overly made up or overdressed. Tonight she looked more beautiful than any of Fairmont's stars. “You look…nice,” he said gruffly.

Nice. That was it, “nice”? Well, what had she expected? “You'll do, too, Mr. Tarz,” she said.

On the way to the Ambassador Reuben took note of her silence. “Is anything wrong, Bebe?” he asked.

“Wrong? What could be wrong? What makes you think something's wrong?”

“You're being too quiet—something's got to be on your mind. Maybe if you tell me, we can solve it before it gets out of hand.”

Bebe bit down on her tongue. “Reuben, it's the…oh, it's the damn birds! The doves in their cages, hundreds of them. They bill and coo. We couldn't shut them up, so we've been playing a lullaby on the phonograph, and we turned down the lights hoping that would quiet them. I made a mistake. I thought the birds would be that one touch, that little extra something that would make the party a real success. My God, what if they…”

Reuben threw back his head and roared with laughter. Twice he had to knuckle his eyes so he could see the road.

“You won't think it's so funny if they christen your tuxedo,” Bebe sputtered.

“Well, we wanted this to be a memorable evening.” Reuben said, choking with laughter. “I wonder how they'll write this up in the morning papers.” He burst into another chorus of laughter, and this time Bebe joined him.

Minutes later Reuben slid the car to the curb and got out. A liveried doorman opened the door for Bebe. Reuben held out his arm to her, and they stepped onto her red velvet runner. “Nice touch,” he said, indicating the runner. “Smile pretty for the sidewalk gawkers.”

Inside the ballroom, Sol, Eli, Daniel, and Jane were still in the oohing and aahing stage. But it was Reuben's reaction Bebe wanted. This time he didn't disappoint her. “Splendid! Actually it's magnificent!” he said sincerely. His eyes wandered upward as did the others to the gilded cages. From somewhere far back in the ballroom the lullaby was still playing. Bebe wondered who was manning the phonograph.

“Bebe, about these birds…” Daniel said, indicating the one nearest him.

“Don't say it, Daniel,” Bebe said adamantly. “Don't even think it! Just move away and don't stand underneath. Tomorrow we can discuss this, but tonight I don't want to hear another word. Not another word!”

“I think it's kind of funny myself,” Reuben grinned, but Daniel noticed he, too, moved from underneath the cage.

 

The party was a rousing success. The thousand or so guests mingled, ate, drank, and danced. Reuben found himself on the sidelines with Bebe at his elbow, his eyes glued to Sol and all the handshaking that was going on. When he wasn't watching Sol he found his eyes on the bird cages overhead. He laughed the loudest and clapped his hands the longest during the evening's skits, and he enjoyed the looks of frustration on the faces of all the other studio heads. Red Ruby and Dolly Darling were household words now.

“They're going to let the birds loose now, Reuben,” Bebe whispered. “I think we should move way to the back.”

The moment the French doors were thrown open, the Rosens, accompanied by Daniel and Jane, moved to the far end of the ballroom. The orchestra struck up a good-night chorus, and the birds, free of their cages, circled the huge room. Squeals and shrieks filled the room. Napkins fluttered, handkerchiefs appeared out of nowhere. Stoles and chiffon scarfs hastily appeared on ladies' elaborate hairdos as men opened their dress jackets, hiking them above their heads. Reuben and Daniel shook with silent laughter. Bebe fell into her father's arms, tears streaking her face. The last guest hurried through the door just as the French doors were closed by the aviary men.

“I don't know about any of you, but I think that was better than any movie this studio ever made. Mark that down, Daniel, maybe we can do something with it,” Reuben said, laughing. “Let's retire to the kitchen and get some of this fancy food everyone's been eating all night.

“Bebe, this was one hell of a party!” he continued. “I appreciate all the work you put into it, and I know your father does, too. I think it's safe to say it's a memorable event this town will not likely forget.”

An hour later they walked through the confetti and ribbons lying all over the floor. Reuben plucked a spray of orchids from one of the banquet tables and handed it to Bebe. “You don't mind going home with your father, do you?” He didn't wait for her reply.

As Bebe watched him leave, tears in her eyes, she brought the orchids up to her nose. Tear after tear fell onto the fragile petals.

Daniel said his good-nights and followed behind Reuben.

“You're tired, Bebe. It's time for us to leave, too,” Sol said tenderly. “We've all earned a good rest.”

The morning papers called the party an extravaganza and went on to describe the tons of food, the wild orchids, the white doves. Bebe read the paper, tossed it aside, and went back to bed.

The party was over.

Usually in an upbeat mood, Reuben now felt depressed as he changed from his business clothes to comfortable slacks and sweater. With Daniel engrossed in schoolbooks and settled comfortably for the evening, he felt at loose ends. At least he could have brought coffee with him. If he opened the door and returned to the kitchen, Daniel would raise his eyes and stare at him thoughtfully, making assumptions Reuben didn't want made, even by Daniel.

How was he going to spend the long evening that stretched ahead of him? Before he could think twice about it, he found himself spreading out his writing materials on the arm of the chair. He'd write one last letter to Mickey. If she didn't answer this one, he wouldn't write any more. For a long time he simply stared at the paper uncertain how to begin. Did he tell her how well things were going, or should he start with entreaties as to why she hadn't answered any of his other letters? It was obvious she'd received the money they sent, none of the letters had been returned. On the other hand, he could write a long, letter telling her
exactly
why he and Daniel had left. He'd confess to that sordid afternoon in the barn. His stomach heaved at the thought. How could he explain something he himself didn't fully understand? He felt a surge of anger rush through him and did his best to stifle the feeling.

Reuben flexed fingers that were stiff and cramped, an indication that his anger was still with him, albeit controlled. Mickey could have sent at least one letter—telling him to go to hell, to stop writing, something to let him know she was alive and well. If she'd found someone else to lavish her affections on, she should write and tell him so he wouldn't waste his time. That's probably what it was—she'd found someone else and he was half a world away. The decent thing to do would be to tell him. The thin streak of fairness in Reuben asked why he hadn't done the decent thing and told her the truth about that afternoon in the barn.

Within an hour he'd composed six different letters, all full of recriminations, all sounding belligerent. He tore them all up. “Out of sight, out of mind,” he muttered angrily as he ripped at his clothes and put on his pajamas. Going to bed early wouldn't kill him. Two hours later he was still wide awake, tossing and turning, his frustration still with him. At last he swung his legs over the side of the bed and marched to the chair where he'd left his writing paper. He pulled the chain on the lamp, flooding the room with light. Pen in hand, he started his letter.

Reuben read the letter over twice and then a third time. Christ, he felt terrible, as though a part of him had died. His anger was gone now, replaced with bitterness. With all his heart he believed that what he and Mickey had was a love for all time, forever and ever. Obviously he had been wrong. He'd been replaced in Mickey's affections, there was no other explanation. To continue writing, begging her to respond, made him out to be worse than a lovesick puppy.

Frowning, he tapped the letter on his knee. Did he really want to send this, or was he simply trying to exorcise his own guilt over the decision he'd made about Bebe? Quickly, before he could change his mind, he stuck the letter in his pocket to be mailed the following day. Then he hopped back in bed again, the darkness total, and ordered his body to sleep.

Finally it obeyed him.

 

The rain continued all night, the sound dreary and mournful. Reuben woke with a raging headache that grew worse with the intensity of the rain. It looked like he'd be spending his weekend indoors watching Daniel bake a cake. Daniel always baked cakes when it rained.

 

With one umbrella between them, Daniel and Reuben sloshed through the rain, jostling each other as they hurried to the bus, only to miss it by seconds. Disgusted, Reuben flagged a hack and crawled into the backseat, Daniel next to him. Somehow he'd known it was going to be that kind of day. When he reached into his pocket for a cigarette, he found he'd forgotten them. But the letter to Mickey was still there. They'd been in such a hurry to get to the bus, he'd forgotten to mail it.

Margaret took Reuben's rain-soaked jacket and brought one he kept in the closet for emergencies. There was nothing he could do about his wet squeaking shoes. “Hold on, Margaret,” he said, and retrieved his letter to Mickey for the outgoing mail.

“Mr. Tarz, you have a meeting in a few minutes with the committee for the Motion Picture Directors Association. A car will pick you up in fifteen minutes. And John Mundy returned your call. He's amenable to a meeting to discuss what you can do for him. He said his contract is up in December. And I have the figures you wanted on Paramount Studios.”

“Thank you, Margaret. I should be back by noon,” Reuben said, shrugging into the jacket she held out for him.

It was mid-morning when Bebe tripped up the stairs, dressed in a sky-blue raincoat with matching hat and umbrella, in search of Daniel. She tossed her soaking wet hat in the direction of a chair and giggled when it missed.

“Let me look at you, Daniel,” she said. “My, my, but you're a handsome devil.” She giggled again at Daniel's flushed face. “Tell me, what do you think of my new hairdo?”

“I like it,” Daniel said sincerely. “You always look wonderful. Stop fishing for compliments.”

Bebe pouted. “You're the only one who ever pays me any, and then I have to fish for them…. Tell me, do you have any plans for the weekend? Everyone who has a boat is going to Catalina. We don't have one, so we aren't going, and I'm not sure I'd want to in this weather. Some of my friends are going to Big Sur, but I've been there so many times it's already old hat. The desert is out, and that leaves only San Fran. What are you and Reuben planning?”

“We were going to the beach to lie in the sun, but it looks like I'll be home baking a cake.”

“A cake!” Bebe shrilled with laughter. “Why ever would you bake a cake?”

“Because I like to eat chocolate cake on rainy days, that's why,” Daniel said stiffly.

Bebe stifled her laughter. “I'm sorry, Daniel, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It just struck my funny bone that you'd bake a cake. Men don't usually…cook or bake. Listen, will you bake one for me? I love sweet things. Please?” Daniel grimaced but nodded.

“Dickie Hastings is throwing a big party in San Francisco over the weekend with lots of big stars,” Bebe went on. “His parties are always a hoot. Eli said we were invited. Soooo, where's your partner?”

“Who? Reuben?”

She nodded. “Haven't seen much of him since the party. I was going to stop in his office to have a little chat…. I've really missed you two. I do hope we can stay friends here in California. I don't see any reason why we can't, do you? Especially me and you.”

Daniel smiled. “I thought we agreed we'd always be friends no matter what.”

Bebe ran her fingers through her fluffy hair and winked at Daniel. “Just wanted to see if you remembered. Well, I have to be going. I'll stop by Reuben's office on my way out. Have a nice weekend.”

“Bebe, wait a minute. I've been meaning to ask you—how was Mickey? Did you see her at all before you left?”

Bebe averted her eyes. “Well, not exactly. She was at the château and I stayed in her Paris house. She didn't bother coming to see me, so I have to assume she was busy. Once, because I was in the area, I stopped by to see Yvette and Henri and, of course, Jake. They were all wonderful. But you mustn't worry about Mickey. Obviously she isn't worrying about you.”

Daniel frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Have you heard from her?” At his blank look, Bebe smiled. “I thought not. You know what they say—out of sight, out of mind.”

“Mickey isn't like that,” Daniel said loyally.

“Then why hasn't she written you?” Bebe snapped. “Grow up Daniel. She had her fun with the two of you, playing the magnanimous benefactress. And now it's over. Why don't you just accept it?”

“I don't believe that for a minute.”

“You better believe it or you'll end up with egg on your face. I'll just bet Reuben hasn't heard from her, either,” she said carefully. “So I guess she couldn't really have loved him after all. You two were just a pleasant interlude. Don't forget now”—she wagged a finger at him—“you're going to make me that cake. Put coconut in the frosting and I'll be your slave forever. Ta-ta.” She blew him a kiss and sailed through the door.

This Bebe, Daniel decided as he went back to work, definitely was not the Bebe he'd known in France. He hoped Reuben would recognize the difference.

 

“Bebe Rosen to see…Mr. Tarz,” Bebe said to a startled Margaret.

“Why…why, Mr. Tarzisn' there right now, Miss Rosen. Would you care to leave a message?”

“No. I'll wait,” Bebe said regally. “No, no, don't get up. I can show myself into his office.”

“But, you…you can't…”

Bebe turned, her eyes cold. “I can and I will.”

The stocky secretary capitulated. After all, she
was
Mr. Rosen's daughter. But what could she possibly want with Mr. Tarz?

Bebe walked around the spartan office. How like Reuben. No clutter, no nonsense. A workingman's office. She noticed his wet jacket hanging on a hook, she walked over and laid her cheek against the wet wool. It smelled just like Reuben. And his chair—she loved the feel of it. From the prop room, she decided. Everything was from the prop room.

Against her better judgment she went through his appointment book. Director's meeting…so that's where he was. The realization that Reuben would probably be gone for hours so disappointed her that she wanted to cry. She'd been looking forward to a few minutes with him in private. Gradually disappointment gave way to anger as she struggled out from behind the desk. A tantrum was brewing just below the surface—she could feel it. But what would be the point?

Peevishly she slid the mail basket across the desk, then placed it on the other side, glancing down at the pile of papers with the cream-colored envelope on top.
Madame Michelene Fonsard…
and in Reuben's unmistakable handwriting. Bebe's eyes narrowed. She glanced at the door, then stuffed the letter into her purse. Her heart was beating madly when she exited the office. “Tell Reuben I got tired of waiting,” she called over her shoulder.

Fifteen minutes later the mailman stopped by Margaret's desk. She stepped into the inner office and returned with a pile of mail, which she handed over to him. “See you on Tuesday.”

He returned her smile. Everyone's thoughts were on the long weekend ahead.

 

By noon the weather had the entire studio lot in chaos, as anxious men tried to stem the heavy rain from flowing into the different ground-level studios. Yellow slickers could be seen from one end of Fairmont to the other. Reuben watched the activity glumly from his window, knowing his plans for the weekend would have to be canceled completely. Someone had to oversee the lot, and it wouldn't be Sol. By three o'clock the driving rain gave way to a mournful drizzle. The air was oppressive, ushering in a low swirling fog that set Reuben's teeth on edge. All day he'd been nervous, and the fog wasn't helping matters at all. On a clear day from his position at the window he could see five of the major studio lots. Today, with the smoky-gray fog rolling in, his visibility was zero.

Reuben sat down at his desk, nodding slightly when he realized the mail had been picked up. Might as well clear his desk and check out the lot.

Reuben and Daniel worked alongside the maintenance crew stacking film on higher ground. By five-thirty the worst of the rain was over and only the fog remained. Satisfied that nothing more could be done, Reuben washed his hands and nodded to Daniel. “Time to go home.”

Daniel smiled. “We'll have to feel our way.”

“I think our best bet would be to walk. It'll take us a little longer, but at least we'll be able to see where we're going.”

The moment they stepped outside, Daniel's glasses steamed.

“What kind of weather is this?” he grumbled.

Reuben laughed. “You really didn't think we'd get sunshine 365 days a year, now, did you? It has to rain sometime, I can do without this humidity, though. What the hell…”

Behind them, horns honked, tires screeched, shrill laughter and raucous shouts filled the air with yellow arches of light fighting with the swirling fog.

“Is everyone ready?” Eli Rosen shouted drunkenly.