Sins of Omission (53 page)

“I just need some more time, and no, I don't want you to go back to your father's house. We have our whole lives ahead of us.”

“Good night, Reuben.” The words fell like stones from her mouth. Suddenly she swung around and said, “The day is going to come when you really do need me, and I won't be there. Think about that!”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Reuben demanded.

“I said good night. I'm sleeping down the hall. You can have that big wonderful bridal bed all to yourself.” With that, she stormed up the steps, the train of her dressing gown swirling behind her.

His little bride was angry.

In the months that followed, Bebe Tarz led the life of a hermit. Each night she had the cook prepare an elaborate dinner, complete with three and sometimes four kinds of wine. Rarely, if ever, did Reuben return in time to eat it. To while away her time she read trashy magazines and drank bootleg whiskey that Eli brought to the Laurel Canyon house three times a week. In the beginning she was content to spend money by the barrel, courting famous designers and buying extravagantly. Eli egged her on during the afternoons they spent together at the side of the pool. One late September afternoon he introduced her to marijuana, a ritual that fast became a habit.

“I am absolutely bored out of my head,” she told Eli in mid-October. “Did I tell you that our marriage has never been consummated? Reuben seems to detest me. He's never here. I don't believe he's seeing anyone else, but I do believe he still loves Mickey.”

She told Eli then, because she was high on marijuana, about the time she spent in France, even the part about Reuben raping her. Eli soaked up his sister's confession like a sponge. When he left to return home he felt as though he had something on his nemesis, something he could use later on if things ever got messy. In the circles Eli traveled in, it was called blackmail.

One morning, a few weeks from the couple's first-year anniversary, Bebe curled her lip at Eli and announced, “I am going to throw the biggest, wildest party this town has ever seen. And when it's over, I will either seduce my husband or…I will know once and for all if he can still…get it up.” She giggled at the sight of Eli's acute discomfort. “Did you bring it?” she asked greedily.

Eli was about to say no, until he saw the pleading in his sister's eyes. He was sorry now that he'd introduced her to the addictive weed. When he'd come by for breakfast that morning she was already smoking out on the terrace. If his father ever found out, he'd kill him. Reuben would probably decapitate him. With a heavy sigh, he handed his sister a small paper bag and warned, “This has to last you for two weeks, Bebe.” He knew she didn't hear a word he said; she was too busy snatching the bag and rifling through it.

“We'll need some other…stuff for my party, Eli,” she said distractedly.

“Bebe, your husband will be here. I don't want to go any rounds with him. The answer is no.”

She glanced at him a moment, then shrugged. “Then I'll get someone else to bring it.”

“Damn you, Bebe! I'm sorry I ever gave you the stuff, and I'm not about to provide you with cocaine. You won't get it from me.”

His voice was so forceful, so adamant, Bebe did a double take. “Meanie,” she whined.

Reuben chose that particular moment to walk into the house, forcing Bebe to shove the paper bag into her pocket. Eli mumbled good-bye and left through the terrace walkway.

“You're home early,” Bebe said. It sounded almost like an accusation.

“What does it take to make you happy, Bebe?” Reuben asked quietly. “You complain if I'm late and you complain if I'm early. I could move out—would that make you happy?”

Sullenly she poured herself a tumbler full of gin and swilled it in two gulps. “You want to know what would make me happy?” she said, turning to him. “Well, I'll tell you. A husband. You are not a husband. We're married almost a year, and we have not slept together once in all that time. My question is, what do
you
want? It's Mickey, isn't it? You still want her after all this time. You are a fool, Reuben. She's old, a has-been. She used you, and like a fool, you let her. Has she written to you even once?” she asked tipsily. “No. I can see by your face that she hasn't. You're carrying a torch for someone who doesn't care a twit about you. You're a real fool!”

“At least she isn't a drunk,” Reuben said, eyes flashing. “And she doesn't need reefers to keep her flying high, either.”

“You made me this way,” she said. “Why don't you get a damn divorce if I make you so unhappy? It's your fault. I want to know something, my dear husband. Men your age are supposed to be virile, with only one thought in mind—to bed a woman. You don't seem to be interested in sex at all. Are you getting it somewhere else, or do you prefer men? What would Sin City say if it knew we'd been married a year and you haven't touched me?”

“I wouldn't brag about it, Bebe. They're liable to think there's something wrong with you…. I think this discussion is over. Maybe you should sleep it off,” Reuben said, and turned to leave.

Bebe's eyes were glassy now as she let loose with her own brand of drunken harangue. “Reuben can't get it up; Reuben can't get it up; Reuben can't get it up,” she sang as she danced around the terrace table. “Hollywood's Golden Boy can't…get it…
up!
” She backed up fearfully when she saw Reuben stop and come back to her.

“Do you want to see me get it up? Now? Here on the terrace with the servants in the house?” His voice was ominously quiet, and a tiny muscle in his jaw worked convulsively. Bebe was terrified.

“No! Yes…no, oh, go away,” she faltered. Goddammit, why couldn't this exchange have happened when she was sober and free of marijuana? Oh, God, it was going to happen again, just like the last time. She backed away, tears spilling from her eyes. “I'm sorry, Reuben, I had too much to drink. I didn't mean what I said. You have your reasons for feeling like you do…please, not here, not like this.”

“Why not here?” Eyes glinting with suppressed rage, he ripped at his clothes, his jacket, his shirt, his tie. He kicked at his shoes, not caring that they landed in a flower bed. His head was buzzing now with uncontrollable fury as he stared at his wife. One long arm reached out to pull her to him. Although he was aware of her tears, of her trembling, of her fear, the ache in his chest and throat drove him on. Heedless of Bebe's protests, he ripped the smooth pink fabric of her dress down the front, exposing her breasts. A sound rushed from his throat, alien and almost savage.

He was pushing her backward now, onto a narrow chaise, his breath hot and fiery on her throat. Caught in the prison of his arms, she was making sounds, mewing little sounds like a kitten caught in the rain. He paid them no mind, the pain in his loins driving him to loosen his trousers and at the same time remove her panties. Now the sounds coming from his throat were bitter…strangely familiar to Bebe's ears as she struggled to get away from him. It was a futile attempt, however—he only held her tighter; that feeling, too, was remembered. At last she gave up her struggles and lay still. When it was over she stared at him with tear-filled eyes.

There was no remorse in Reuben's face when he stared down at his wife. Her eyes full of shame, Bebe struggled to her feet, shoulders trembling uncontrollably. Stifling her sobs, she stumbled from the terrace.

 

It was dark when Reuben got up stiffly from his bed. His leg ached and his neck felt as if it were in a vise. Perhaps a bath might ease some of his tension, he thought. He was aware then of the deadly silence in the house. What was Bebe doing? If he went to her and apologized, he knew she would hold out her arms to him and forgive him. He knew it, but he wouldn't go to her. The hard truth was, he was emotionally afraid of Bebe and the hold she would exercise over him if he let his emotions have free rein. Afraid of his wife. It had to be the sickest thing he'd ever heard of.

In the bathroom he turned the tap and water rushed into the huge galvanized tub built to hold two people comfortably. He watched the spurting stream of water swirl and rush down the drain, then fixed the stopper. Hopefully, the hot bath would wash away some of his growing self-hatred. When the tub was full he lowered himself into the steaming water and with a towel folded behind his head stretched out to his full length. He closed his eyes and allowed his memory to travel back to France. It was where he belonged, where he wanted to be….

Later, dressed in his underwear and a robe, Reuben walked outdoors to the bedroom terrace. It was a beautiful night, the kind to be shared. Stars twinkled overhead, the moon aiding them in casting a silvery shadow over the blooming terrace. Everything smelled faintly of flowers, a pleasant scent that teased his nostrils. In the right mood a man could get lost in such beauty.

Reuben leaned on the railing, the outward picture of a happy, contented man. His thoughts soared again, something that always happened when he could get business or Bebe out of his mind. He had enough money to go back to France now. His pockets full, he wouldn't be beholden to Mickey in any way. He'd paid his debt; he'd proved honorable. He'd even added extra money to pay for all the things Mickey had bought for him and Daniel, plus a bit of interest. Not that he'd gone overboard—just paid enough to cover what he thought of as his tab. If he wanted to, he could travel first class to France and buy a car, drive to the château, and sweep Mickey off her feet. In these musings he always rushed her to the nearest justice of the peace and married her. Abruptly, his thoughts crashed around him. He couldn't do that now, he was married to someone else, someone he didn't want to be married to. Mickey would send him packing within seconds; she wouldn't want to hear excuses or explanations. The time for that was long gone.

All that was left to him now were memories of France and a flesh-and-blood wife. He clamped his teeth together so hard his jaw ached.

It was well past midnight when Reuben made his way to the kitchen for a sandwich. He hadn't eaten since early morning and wasn't sure now if he wanted something to eat or was really going downstairs to see if Bebe was still there.

The French doors in the living room yawned in the silvery night. Frowning, he walked over to close them and saw his wife stretched out on one of the chaise lounges. One hand held a drink; the other, a reefer. The sickly-sweet odor of marijuana wafted to his nostrils. At the sound of his approach Bebe raised her head a little to stare at her husband with blank, lifeless eyes. She said nothing.

“It's late, Bebe, you should be in bed,” Reuben said quietly.

“It doesn't matter when I go to bed,” Bebe said flatly. “I don't have anywhere to go in the morning. I don't have anything to do but play cards and drink…. I want a divorce, Reuben.”

The word rattled around in his head. Divorce meant he'd failed. Christ, he hadn't even given the marriage a fair trial. Divorce would free them both, but then, what about the invisible bond between them, the intangible thing that ate at him night and day? “We'll talk about it another time, when we're calm and reasonable. Tonight is not the time.”

“There will never be a right time, Reuben. You've shackled me to you for whatever your reasons are. But it's not enough. Divorce is our only solution. You will always love Mickey. I thought I could change that. I thought you could come to love me, but you can't. It's not your fault. I've heard about men, and sometimes women, who are capable of loving only one person in their whole lives. I'm sorry that I'm not that person, because I love you with all my heart.”

Bebe stood up and set her glass on the table, the reefer hanging out of the corner of her mouth. Staggering slightly, she made her way across the flagstone terrace. “I will not allow you to destroy me. If destruction is to be my end, I will do it myself. I've taken nothing from you, Reuben. I owe you nothing. So whatever happens to me will be my own doing. Do you understand what I'm saying?” She peered at him in the silvery light with her blank eyes, eyes that once sparkled and made demands.

“Bebe…I…”

“Bebe, I what?” Bebe mocked. “The damage has been done. Tomorrow we start with a clean slate. I do what I please and you do what you please. You do not tell me what to do and I won't tell you what to do. We'll live in the same house, but that's all we'll have in common. Unless, for appearance's sake, you want me to accompany you to whatever social events you think I should attend. That's it. Good night, Reuben.”

Go after her, he told himself, try to make her understand. In silence he watched her weave her way to the staircase, half expecting her to look back, to beckon him, to give some sign that she could be forgiving. But she didn't. Her hand gripping the banister, Bebe climbed the stairs wearily, like an old woman, planting both feet on each step before taking another.

Reuben's eyes were bleak as he made his way through the dark gardens—the one place on his so-called palatial estate that reminded him of France, where he had found happiness and peace in his love's arms. Wearily he sat down on an iron bench at the foot of the flagstone walkway, where the scent of the ever-present orange blossoms mingled with the fragrant gardenias dotting the path. His shoulders hunched, and he made no effort to stem the tears that burned his eyes and slipped down his cheeks.

He sat there all night, and when dawn crept over the garden he got up slowly. At that moment he felt more weary, more fatigued, than at any time on the front line during the war. Without a backward glance at his beloved garden, he trudged into the house; after soul-searching the whole night through he had only one thought on his mind—to be a better husband to his wife.

 

But it was not to be. Bebe made her own plans that night, and they did not include Reuben. She was rarely home now, and when she was, the house was full of noisy revelers who drank and smoked reefers and sniffed cocaine till the wee hours of the morning. With reckless abandon, she drank to excess and, immediately upon awakening, reached for her cache of marijuana. Eventually she took less pains with her dress and her makeup; her face became haggard and bloated. Three months later, when she announced her pregnancy, Reuben's jaw dropped in shock. His first thought was that now he'd never be able to leave her. Then devastation gave way to elation. He was going to be a father! Suddenly the reality of Bebe's physical condition struck home. How could a baby inside her womb survive what she was doing to her body with alcohol and drugs?