Sins of Omission (49 page)

“Of course they do. And Daniel isn't Jewish,” Reuben said quietly.

“He didn't even say good-bye,” Bebe said, pouting.

“I'm sure he'll write.”

Reuben had finished only half his sandwich and was just starting on his salad when Sol announced that it was time to get back to the studio.

“Bebe, I've been invited to the opening of Café Arevire on Saturday. Would you like to accompany me?” Reuben asked, surprising himself with the unexpectedness of the invitation, Jesus, why had he asked her? He hadn't meant to. Daniel's last warning flashed through his mind.

Bebe's eyes lit up. Everyone was talking about the elegant new bistro. Then she looked at her father uncertainly. “Daddy said I can't leave the house. Can I go, Daddy?”

“How did
you
get invited?” Sol asked suspiciously.

Reuben shrugged. “I have no idea. I don't even know the owner.” He didn't explain that he was doing Max a favor by checking out the competition. “Look, I understand about Bebe, so there's no problem. I wouldn't have asked if I'd known you—”

“No, she can go. It won't hurt to be seen at that kind of affair. It's a hell of a lot better than that orgy.”

“Good. I'll pick you up at seven, then, Bebe. Dinner is at eight.” Then, with a hint of the old Reuben Bebe remembered from France, he added, “And if you aren't ready when I get here, I'll leave without you.”

“I know you will.” Bebe grinned. “I'll be ready. I'll even greet you at the end of the driveway, so you don't have to come all the way up here and turn around.”

Reuben laughed. “That won't be necessary. The invitation said black tie, so…”

“I know what it means.” Bebe smiled playfully. “Do you?”

“Good-bye, Bebe.”

 

The police visited the studio three more times, asking for other pertinent details. To Reuben's relief, Daniel was never mentioned. He congratulated himself on managing Daniel's “appointment” to Harvard, which got him out of town quickly. Daniel had to stay clean and above reproach, to lead an unsullied life. Three years from now, when he graduated with honors, his roundabout entrance to the prestigious law school would prove justified.

“I think the police are satisfied with my story,” Reuben confided to Sol after the authorities' third visit. “No one seems to be contradicting anything I've said. I don't mind telling you, Sol, that I'm having a hard time with all of this. Even if he is a slimy character, Dickie deserves better than the roasting he's getting.”

“What you're saying without saying it, is Dickie didn't kill the woman and Eli did,” Sol growled.

“Dickie's done for, Sol. You might as well say his life is over, at least in this town. Your son, on the other hand, is a free man.”

“It's not necessary to remind me of your part in all of this. I understand all too well.” Sol's eyes grew hard. “If…any additional evidence comes out, you'll be as guilty as the man who killed that woman. You with held evidence. Conspiracy. Aiding and abetting for the betterment of your career.”

Reuben's jaw tightened. “And what does that make you? In my book, you're just as guilty as me. I think we should lay it all to rest…for now. I know I can ignore my conscience and hope you can do the same.”

“You seem to have more experience in matters like this than I do. You better hope some wise guy doesn't recheck the figures somewhere down the line and come up with the right answer.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Reuben said coldly. “Why don't you just spell it out for me, Sol.”

Sol could feel his blood start to boil. Tarz was a cocky son of a bitch, and he'd like nothing more than to bring him down a peg or two—but not at his own expense. Still, he couldn't let the man bulldoze him all the time. “You got moxie, Tarz. You walk in here with a letter of introduction several months ago, and today you're vice president in charge of production. Someday someone is going to wonder how you got that little promotion.”

Reuben smiled grimly. “And of course you'll tell them it was given to me on merit, won't you? After all,” he said smoothly, “there is Dolly Darling's success, and Red Ruby is making so much money we can't count it fast enough. The Sugar and Spice reels are grossing astronomical receipts. I snared two of the finest directors in Hollywood for this studio. Jack Evers is considering switching over to Fairmont. If we play our cards right, we can team him with Lester Kramer. And let's not forget the real joker here, Max and his distribution. Without him we'd be down the toilet, and you know it. I took this studio out of the gutter, and in another year you'll be one of the big five. What more do you want?” Reuben slammed his fist on the desk. “I don't owe you or this studio a damn thing, Sol. In fact…you owe me.”

“No call to get snotty,” Sol said, backing down. “We're just having a friendly little discussion. It happens all the time in this business.”

“Really! Then mark this down in your appointment book: this is the last discussion of this type that you and I will ever have.”

Sol was determined to have the last word. “Don't step out of line and there won't be any more discussions.” Before Reuben could reply, he turned on his heel and shuffled back to his office. Behind his desk, on his comfortable chair, he took huge, gulping breaths. He hated confrontations with Tarz because he never came out on top. The son of a bitch would never step out of line. On the line maybe, but he wouldn't cross over. Even though he had had the last word, it was an empty, meaningless victory. He knew it and so did Tarz.

Sol reached for one of his foul-smelling cigars. One of these days he was going to upgrade his tobacco to real Havana. He puffed contentedly. Every business had a bottom line, and Fairmont's now showed black instead of red. Only a fool would quibble with that.

 

At three in the afternoon Bebe started to prepare for her second date with Reuben. First, she soaked in a scented bath for over an hour, luxuriating in the warmth. If she was very careful, and if she didn't make any mistakes, maybe Reuben would ask her out again. She'd spent the entire morning writing little notes to herself: Do this, don't do that, remember to do this, forget about doing that, smile, show teeth, smile like a Madonna, smile, always smile. Be winsome when the evening called for winsomeness. Don't drink, don't even think about taking a drink. Nibble, do not chew noisily, do not, do not, do not. There were more do-nots than dos. She read the newspaper from front to back, skimming over the lurid details of Dickie Hastings's party in San Francisco.

By four-thirty, her hair was washed, dried, and crimped to perfection. She spent another hour applying makeup that wouldn't look like makeup. When it came time to choose her dress for the evening, she remembered Mickey's advice. Less is more,
chérie.
Simple but well cut. She'd follow Mickey's advice. She had one dress designed by Cristóbal Balenciaga that she kept going back to as she searched through her closet. The soft scarlet material felt sinful, but then, so did she. A narrow satin headband with a cluster of tiny feathers clipped to a small diamond pin was to be worn around the middle of her forehead. She put it on carefully so as not to disturb her crimped hair, then stood back to admire her reflection. “You are gorgeous, Bebe Rosen,” she crooned. “Now for the dress.”

On the scented hanger it appeared sacklike, but once she had it on, it clung to her body. She had a bad moment when she couldn't make up her mind if she should wear jewelry or silver shoes. Again Mickey's words echoed in her ears. Jewels must be worn carefully. If in doubt, go without. In the end she settled on a pair of silver shoes that were mere straps. She practiced walking up and down the room, her eyes riveted to her full-length mirror.

The feathery soft fringe that caressed her knees as she walked up and down sent her into excited peals of laughter. “This time, Reuben Tarz, you are just going to eat your heart out, you really are. And when your heart is half gone, I will eat the other half and you will be mine. All mine!”

“Dressed to the nines, I see,” Eli said grouchily from the doorway.

“Do I look beautiful, Eli? Do I smell scandalous? Will I knock them dead?…Say something!”

“Except for Frisco, I've never seen you look better. And yes, as usual, you will wow them all, but I think all of this is wasted on Tarz.” He grinned at her crestfallen expression. “Have a good time, Bebe. When you get home, come and tell me about the opening, okay?”

Bebe was as good as her word. She was sitting on a velvet-covered settee in the foyer when Reuben arrived. “See, I'm ready,” she said coyly.

“I see,” Reuben commented. “We should be on our way, then.”

Bebe's spirits sagged. Not one word about how she looked. Panic surged through her. Maybe the dress was all wrong. Maybe the shoes were too sinful or the headband too theatrical….

“My God!” Sol exclaimed, lumbering into the foyer. “Darling girl, you look like royalty!”

Bebe beamed. “Oh, Daddy, thank you for saying that. Do I really look all right?”

“You'll stop them in their tracks, sweetheart. She's a real knockout, isn't she, Tarz?”

“A real knockout,” Reuben agreed. Truth to tell, he hadn't been prepared for just how much of a knockout she would be. His throat felt paralyzed, and all he could do was mutter a few words at a time.

“You look very dashing, Reuben. Handsome and dashing,” she said sincerely.

“Wardrobe,” Reuben muttered. Bebe leaned against him, brushing her hands along his sleeve.

“Tarz…it wouldn't hurt if you did a little business at this opening. It's done all the time. If you get the chance,” Sol added hastily. Reuben nodded, his hand on the doorknob.

Outside in the cool evening, he drew a needed breath of fresh air. He should be talking to Bebe, saying something, something gentlemanly, something girls wanted to hear. But what, he wondered desperately. “You're going to kill yourself in those shoes,” he blurted out.

Bebe burst out laughing, a sound that almost warmed him. “I practiced all afternoon. If I fall, you'll catch me, won't you?”

“Knowing you, you'll probably drag me down with you.” Stupid! he thought wildly. Stupid conversation…“Sorry, Bebe. I didn't mean to say that. I'm a little tense about this opening,” he lied.

“Good manners are all that count. I read the paper today, so I think I can carry on a conversation about world events.”

Reuben looked down to see if she was serious or making fun of him. When he realized she was serious, he laughed out loud. “Somehow I don't think either one of us will be called on to discuss the latest international crises.” He laughed again as he held the door for her, and tried not to look at her silken legs and thighs as the scarlet dress slid up over her knees.

“I'm trying, Reuben, I really am. I don't want you to be ashamed of me or sorry you asked me. We always seem to get off on the wrong foot, from the first time we met in France. I'm willing to put…
all
of that behind us and start over. I never…I would never…if you're worried that I might reveal…It's past, Reuben. What happened that night shouldn't have happened. You did what you did; I did what I did. We're both sorry, at least I am. Can we just be friends and start over?”

“I've wanted to talk to you about…about that night. I really would like to…to make amends, if that's at all possible.”

“You have, by asking me to be by your side for this party. The past is over and I want to forget it.” Impulsively, she held out her hand. Reuben clasped it for a moment, then—his eyes holding hers—brought it to his lips.

“Friends,” he whispered.

“Friends,” Bebe agreed. Joy spread through her at that moment, blinding her to the cold calculation brewing behind Reuben's smiling eyes.

 

The inhabitants of Hollywood consisted of those who had reached the top and those who had not. At no time could this be seen more clearly than on an opening night.

Reuben and Bebe glittered down the runway of the new bistro, which was flanked by barriers and hordes of excited observers lining up to catch a glimpse of anyone walking down the brightly lit runway.

“Now, this is what I call an opening,” Bebe said as liveried footmen bearing torches walked up and down the long runway, guiding the guests into the club. The interior shimmered with candlelight and the happy faces of the specially invited guests. More men in livery escorted each couple to their assigned table.

Reuben and Bebe were seated at a table for two in full view of the dance floor, and two waiters introduced themselves as their servers for the evening. Bebe looked at Reuben, delight radiating from her face. She had been dreaming of this moment for so long. He was so handsome she felt she would scream her happiness or burst with pride. And tonight she had him all to herself. She ordered herself not to gush over him and decided to keep the evening light.

“I'm so glad you invited me, Reuben. I've always dreamed of attending one of these openings and this man Assaro's wonderful, if you believe what's written in the papers. He already has a successful club in New York City and they say he has two in Europe. One in Spain and one on the Italian Riviera. Smile, Reuben, our host is waving at us. I recognize his face from the
Gazette.
” Bebe smiled at the suave and pampered-looking man walking sinuously toward them.

“Darlings, how nice of you to join me this evening,” Ramone Assaro said grandly. His face was as shiny and red as an autumn apple. His teeth gleamed at them in a liquid smile. “Mr. Tarz, I've heard a lot about you of late. Perhaps one day we can do business together…if the price is right.”

“I'm sure that can be arranged….” Reuben smiled and shook the man's hand. “This place has to be seen to be believed. Congratulations!”