Sins of Omission (58 page)

“I can't leave right now. If Simon is all right, why should I come home?” His voice was so cold, Bebe started to tremble.

“If you don't come right now, I'll take Simon and leave this goddamn house. I mean it!” she shrilled. “I'll give you thirty minutes and that's it!” She slammed the phone down so hard, she winced at the noise.

The minute she heard the sound of squealing tires in the driveway, she ran down the steps. When Reuben rushed through the door, she burst into tears. Between blowing her nose, wringing her hands, and pacing up and down, she told her husband about her affair with Adam James. “It's your fault, Reuben! If you were a real husband to me, I wouldn't have to go somewhere else to find what I need. You're as much to blame as I am. Get me out of here and keep my name out of the papers. Take me back to Palm Springs and stay with me. We were so happy there, remember? I won't drink, I'll give up the drugs. Make me well again, Reuben, please. You know I love only you. That…that woman…she was so crazy, she was going to kill me…she was going to kill me! Adam will tell, I know he will. Daddy will blame you. He'll fire you. Our names will be all over the papers, and that hateful man—what's his name?—will sling all kinds of dirt at us. And it's all your fault! Damn you to hell!”

At that moment, Reuben realized how much he hated his wife. Even looking at her sickened him. For all her sobbing and carrying on, he noticed her eyes were dry—dry and calculating. When he had his emotions under control, he sat down on the step beside her.

“You have too much faith in my abilities, Bebe,” he said softly. “I will try to do something, but because I'm willing to try does not mean I can accomplish anything.”

“Maybe…maybe they didn't find her yet. Adam was going to call the police this morning…and…and tell them she didn't come home last night.”

“Was he worth all this?” Reuben asked coldly.

Bebe raised her head. “When you don't have anything…yes, for the time, he was worth it.” Her dry eyes were defiant.

Three hours later Bebe was bound for Palm Springs with the same bodyguards she'd had on her last visit. Reuben sat in Simon's room, staring at his son. “I don't want to do what I'm about to do, son, but I don't want you to have a mother in prison,” he whispered.

It was a full three months before Adam James was officially arrested for the murder of his wife. During that time there was no mention of Bebe Tarz, just speculation about numerous women involved with the handsome actor.

Bebe was on the mend, suffering only occasional bouts of withdrawal, but living through it. Her memory lapses weren't frequent. She was beginning to feel more like herself with each passing day. Each morning she read the papers, searching for some word, some phrase that would incriminate her. Eventually she began to feel safe—until the morning she read that Adam had been arrested. Reuben would take care of things, she told herself, but she wasn't certain. There'd been no word from him since her arrival in Palm Springs, not even news of Simon. Her father hadn't called, and neither had Eli. She was a pariah now.

Adam James never made it to court. The county prosecutor had no choice but to let him go. “Without a murder weapon and witnesses, I can't put the taxpayers to the expense of a faulty trial. The industry Adam James works for will mete out whatever justice they think he deserves.”

Will Hays, paragon of virtue, snuffed out James's career with one breath. Months later he took pleasure in announcing that the actor was working in a filling station and living in a trailer.

Bebe Rosen returned to Los Angeles a changed person. She was tanned and fit, with only faint lines around her eyes to indicate she was anything but a respectable matron married to a studio executive. With genuine enthusiasm she plunged into her new life by redecorating the house in Laurel Canyon. Like a dutiful wife she moved back into the master bedroom, and only she and Reuben knew that she slept on one side of the bed and he on the other. As part of the game she ordered fashionable clothes and gave small intimate dinners that Reuben attended; she played with her son and joined every civic group Los Angeles had to offer. She was a model of decorum.

The hatred Reuben felt for his wife dwindled, replaced with pity. During the long dark nights he hungered for what he couldn't have, his only sin that of omission. He knew he could never love his wife. Once he'd made the declaration to himself, he eased into a new mode of living. Friends now, he and Bebe were able to chat amiably together about business, the other studios, and her civic work. He made a point of calling home at least once a day to check on both his wife and Simon.

Life wasn't blissful, but it was tolerable. Reuben had his work, his friends, and his son.

In early January a cold spell rocketed through California, causing crop damage and leaving frost on the ground for over a week. Bebe and Reuben reveled in the crisp cold air. At night they lighted the fireplace and made popcorn for Simon. They were speaking civilly to each other, often laughing and making jokes. By the middle of the week Bebe had the sniffles. Reuben ordered her to bed, fearful that the frail Simon would come down with her cold.

“How do you feel, Bebe? Can I get you anything before I turn off the light?” he asked, concerned.

“Do you have a way to keep me warm?” Bebe asked, her teeth chattering. “I already have three blankets on my side of the bed.”

Reuben slid under the covers and turned out the light, aware of the distance between them. He lay quietly, trying to pretend he couldn't feel Bebe's shivering. At last he inched over until he was next to his wife, then drew her close, hoping his own body would warm her. “Don't you have anything but this silky thing to keep you warm?” he asked gruffly.

Startled by his actions, Bebe could only shake her head. “You're so toasty,” she sighed as she cuddled closer to her husband.

Reuben shifted a little so she would be more comfortable. Even though she was shivering, her body felt incredibly warm. “I think you have a fever, Bebe, possibly a high one,” he said in a strangled voice.

“No, I don't. I took my temperature a little while ago. If I feel warm, it's because I'm here with you like this. Reuben, I'd like it if you'd make love to me. I can feel you. It…it doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to,” she said shyly. “The other two…what I mean is we never…This would be nice, the circumstances are right, if you know what I mean. Neither one of us is angry with the other.” Bebe held her breath as she waited for Reuben's reply. It was so long in coming, she thought she would burst.

Reuben tipped her face up to his with a gentle touch. When his lips met hers, his kiss was tender, moving across her mouth slowly, meltingly. Then he pulled away, looking deeply into her eyes. “Are you sure?” he whispered.

Her answer was to move back into his arms, holding him tightly, offering her mouth again to the tenderness of his. More than anything else, she had needed this, had wanted it for so long. Her heart ripped open then, and great wrenching sobs escaped her parted lips. It had been so long since she'd been held this way, and never by the man who was holding her now.

“What's wrong?” Reuben asked softly, searching her eyes for the answer in the dimness from the night-light near Bebe's side of the bed.

“Nothing. It's just that I need you, Reuben,” she said honestly. “So very much, I need you to love me, for now. I need you to want me, for now.”

Their nightclothes fell from their bodies like the petals of summer's first rose. His body felt strange and unfamiliar against her own; the stubble of beard on his chin was soft, the way she'd imagined it would be. His touch was searching, tender, as though he were charting her body.

She sighed deeply, urging him on with his search. His lips traced lazy patterns along the sweep of her shoulders and down to her breasts. His effect on her was hypnotic, sensuous, and Bebe willed herself to surrender to the moment and the man. She accepted his nearness, his touch, his kiss on the most intimate parts of herself. She accepted these things the way she would have taken food or warmth or air to breathe, because she desperately needed them to reaffirm herself as a woman.

Bebe lay quietly in Reuben's arms, listening to the furious beat of his heart. There were no beautiful words saying she was desirable and loving and warm. And she felt she had no right to expect them. He'd brought her body to life with his hands and lips. But it was her soul that needed to be reached, and he could not touch it.

Her body was satisfied, her ego fed, yet misery lived in the core of her being. There was no future with Reuben, and she knew it; he'd told her often enough, and this evening's lovemaking reaffirmed any doubts she may have had. What was she to do now—forget this had ever happened? Forget that she could feel alive only when she was with him like this? Choking back a sob, she leaned into her husband's arms, waiting for him to tighten his hold on her shoulders. Instead, he sighed deeply and rolled over to his side of the bed. Their brief moment was over.

 

Reuben lay quietly, his mind and body filled with wonderment. He'd finally sustained an erection under normal conditions. He didn't give a second's thought to Bebe; she was someone he'd used to regain his masculinity, the virility he'd thought was gone forever. And it was true: he could function now, like other men. The dreaded pitchfork nightmare was gone. The urge to hop out of bed and dance a jig was so strong, he buried his face in the pillow and dug his knees into the soft mattress.

He was a man again.

 

Dillon Tarz was born nine months to the day from the night Reuben made love to his wife for the first time. Seven and a half pounds of solid pink flesh with rosy cheeks and a crown of soft golden fuzz on his head…and so beautiful that Reuben could feel the sting of tears in his eyes.

His
creation.

 

Two weeks after Dillon's birth Reuben picked up the phone to hear Daniel's hushed voice. In silence, his guts churning in protest, he listened to what his friend was saying. “I don't understand, Daniel, how can that happen? All right…yes…I'll start right now. Don't forget, you're going to be Dillon's godfather. Of course, you have to bring a present. Look, we'll talk later, Daniel,” he said in his haste to get off the phone.

Forty minutes later Mort Stiner stared with openmouthed astonishment at his client. “Let me understand something, You want me to sell everything, the whole kit and kaboodle? Reuben, that's suicide! Some of your stocks are way down. I suppose your other, ah…friends want to sell, too?” The thought came to him that this wonder boy of Hollywood had always been on the money even when he himself hadn't agreed with his buy orders. The second or third time around, though, he himself had acted on some of Reuben's orders. So something was definitely up. The market had been crazy for a while now.

“That's a fair assumption,” Reuben replied matter-of-factly. “I'm speaking for Max Gould and Jane Perkins.”

Stiner's thin eyebrows shot up, and his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. Sol Rosen, the head honcho at Fairmont, wasn't selling, but Reuben Tarz was. His gut rumbled. Rosen had borrowed heavily when his blocks of stock were inflated, but they were down now. It would be just like this wonder boy to cash in and snap up the whole ball of wax. “You're sure this is what you want?” Stiner asked again.

“Where do I sign?”

The broker handed over a sheaf of papers. “Bottom line on all of them. When will your friends be in?”

“Sometime today. I'll want cash on this, no checks. The green stuff, and I'll take it in thousand-dollar bills.”

When Reuben pulled his car to the curb outside the Mimosa Club, Max was walking through the door. “Hit the bricks. Max,” he said tightly as soon as he finished explaining the situation. “The sell orders are all drawn up. Take cash. The order's in. You got transportation?”

“I'll take a hack, you look like you got better things to do than ferry me back and forth. Is it going to work?” he asked anxiously.

Reuben shrugged. “No reason to believe it won't. But there's no guarantees on anything, so bear that in mind.”

Max grinned. “On behalf of my mother's old age and my own, thanks.”

Reuben drove like a bat out of hell all the way back to the studio. The powerful car roared through the gates, the guard racing after his snappy-looking blue and black hat. “What the hell!…” he cursed.

Reuben ground the car to a halt outside the doors of Lot 6 and raced inside. “That's it for today. Close up shop! Jane!” he bellowed. “Come with me….”

“Daniel told me the market's going to crash,” he told her as she hurried after him. “You have to get out now. If you don't, you could be wiped out. I got you into the market, and I don't want you going to the poorhouse.”

Jane laughed. “Slow down, Reuben. Listen, I got out a couple of months ago. I started to get nervous. I was making money, so much that I got scared thinking how I would feel if something went wrong. I'm not the smartest person in the world when it comes to stocks and bonds. It was a gut feeling. I bought real estate and I have a good healthy chunk in the bank.”

Reuben stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at Jane and then burst out laughing. “You really got out, you aren't pulling my leg?”

“Honest. I got scared. Should I take my money out of the bank?”

Reuben frowned. “Are you still in that apartment?”

“No. I moved to a house, nothing grand, but it has a pool and some other things. I paid cash for it. Did I do the right thing? Reuben, can I lose…What's going to happen?”

“I think you should go to the bank—now. Tell them you want your money in cash tomorrow. They'll need time to get it together. In the meantime I'll give you the name of a man who will install a safe for you. Other than that I don't know what else to tell you. This thing has me to the wall. Daniel…when Daniel was at Harvard he made friends with some incredibly wealthy young men. They warned him and he warned me. All the other tips I passed on came from these same young men. We weren't bamboozled, even once, so there's no reason to doubt those guys now.”