Sins of Omission (60 page)

Reuben cursed. “Daniel, why do I have this feeling that Sol is laughing up his sleeve even though he's wiped out?”

“Funny you should say that. I had the same feeling myself. He loses and so do you. You thought you were getting the controlling interest, and you end up with 49 percent. It was nice of you to give him back his house in Benedict Canyon.”

“Do I detect a note of sarcasm, or is it disapproval I hear in your voice, Daniel?”

“Possibly a little of both. I hate to see a man go down for the count. The end doesn't always justify the means, you know.”

“On that cheery note I guess I'll hang up,” Reuben said coolly. “Oh, are you still planning on coming for Dillon's
bris?
It's late, I know, but Bebe couldn't make up…her mind about what she calls mutilation.”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world. Take care, Reuben. I'll get back to you if any problems crop up.”

“I'll be here,” Reuben muttered.

 

Dillon Tarz's
bris
was scheduled for noon on a Friday. It was a small affair, with only Daniel, Sol, and Eli in attendance. When Dillon was carried off by his nurse, Sol handed Bebe an envelope. The smile on his face made Reuben look sharply at Daniel.

Bebe ripped open the envelope. “Oh, Daddy, how wonderful! You are the most generous father! The children won't appreciate this now, but they will as they get older. Look, Reuben! Daddy has given Dillon shares to equal twenty-four percent of Fairmont Studios and Simon twenty-five. Did you ever hear of such a generous thing? What a wonderful grandfather you are!”

Sol beamed. Daniel turned his head to hide his smile. Reuben glowered. “Bebe, why don't you see about lunch?” he said tightly.

“You bastard! Daniel!” he shouted the moment Bebe was out of the room.

“He transferred the stock,” Daniel said, still trying to hide his smile. “He did it before he signed the agreement. If you want to prosecute your father-in-law, I suppose you can. I know the contracts I drew up are airtight. He simply outmaneuvered both of us. There isn't much trust in the legal department, Reuben.”

Eli sat with his head bobbing like a tennis ball as he tried to follow the conversation. What all of this meant, he surmised, was that Bebe now held the boy's shares of stock, which effectively put her in control of Reuben and the studio. The old man wasn't so stupid after all.

On the way over to the railroad station to see Daniel off, Reuben seethed and fumed. “From now on, we don't trust anybody!”

“Bebe is going to be a hard nut to crack, Reuben. This is the first time she's had the upper hand. I don't even think she knows she has it yet, but Eli will tell her soon enough, probably even as we speak.”

Reuben flinched. Suddenly it was all falling apart—everything he'd busted his ass for, sacrificed for, just to arrive at this point in time…and now it was being snatched out from under him. There was a certain ludicrous irony to it.

“Well, at least it's in the family,” he said at last, sighing. “Have we heard any more from Morgan?”

“Not directly. I asked a few of my friends to look into it. This isn't gospel, but the feedback is Bouchet is not interested in selling. He'll remain a silent partner. Evidently he's satisfied with the way you've been doing things. I expect a letter to that effect shortly. Your hands are tied, Reuben. My best advice is to roll with the punches. Time has a way of taking care of things. Look, nothing's changed really. You're still in control at Fairmont. Bouchet obviously doesn't give a hoot about what pictures you're making or how you make them. You work, he collects. It could be worse, so appreciate what you have and don't for God's sake look for trouble.”

Reuben turned to his friend. “You really have to leave, huh? It's been so good having you here, pal. And I know you're right about everything. It was just such a goddamn shock. I never had a double whammy hit me before and I wasn't ready.”

Daniel pumped Reuben's hand vigorously. “I like it here, but I have a life back East. You know, I love the change of seasons. Life can't be perpetual sunshine. Once in a while there has to be some gloom. Otherwise, how can you appreciate the sun?” He grinned. “On that note, pal, I'll say good-bye. Take care, and remember it's your turn now to come East. For my wedding, I hope.”

“Daniel, you mean…have you…Who is it?” Reuben exclaimed.

Daniel flushed. “I'm still thinking about it. So don't pester me. When there's something to tell, you'll be the first to know. Now, goddamn it, good-bye. I'm going to miss my train if I don't leave.”

“Go, go already.” Reuben laughed. “Write! Call!”

“I will,” Daniel called over his shoulder. “I will.”

Hollywood
1939

America hunkered down during the thirties—the bad years, as most people referred to them—and fought to survive the terrible market crash. General consensus was, the forties would set the world right-side up.

Europe was hunkering down, too, but for a different reason. War had come to its shores, and people were fighting to survive just as America had.

On every street corner, in every tavern. wherever a cluster of men could gather, the talk was the same. Would America get involved in England's war? F.D.R. said no, but heads nodded sagely. When men were dying, other men had to step in. It was coming, they said mournfully.

Reuben Tarz and his friends had survived the crash, their fortunes remaining intact. Even his marriage had somehow survived, more out of stubbornness and endurance than love. As far as Hollywood and the film industry were concerned, Reuben Tarz was married with a family, and if he slept alone in his room and his wife slept down the hall in hers, who were they to pass judgment? Who were they to know?

Reuben was forty years old—wealthy, powerful, respected, and feared…yet he ached with loneliness. No longer was he Hollywood's wonder boy. These days he was being touted by the media as Hollywood's Superman with a Midas touch.

It had been ten long years since that horrible black Monday of 1929, and he'd survived. Sheer guts alone, Reuben felt, was the reason Fairmont was still one of the top three studios, producing the best films in the industry. He'd worked his ass off during those lean years, often staying at the studio until the wee hours of the morning and surviving on two or three hours of sleep a night.

There were days when he wished he could have devoted as many hours to his marriage. He didn't love Bebe, and Bebe knew it, so there was no point in working at something that would net a zero emotional balance. Work was Reuben Tarz's life these days.

Simon was fourteen, enrolled in a private school where, according to his teachers, his artistic ability was being nurtured. Secretly, Reuben felt the boy drew crazy, morbid, ghoulish paintings that defied acknowledgment. Simon was so much like his uncle Eli it was uncanny.

Eli had, with the help of homosexual friends, straightened out his life. He lived in Carmel now and had had three private shows, selling all his paintings. Who would have believed the world was eager to buy Eli Rosen's angry, hateful seascapes? Certainly not Reuben Tarz. In the beginning it worried Reuben that Simon adored his uncle Eli, but Bebe had explained that Simon needed a male figure in his life since Reuben was never there for the boy. Still, Reuben feared that his eldest son possessed homosexual tendencies; he dreaded the boy's weekend visits and always found some excuse to be away from home when Simon walked through the door. Years ago he'd simply given him over to Bebe, who smothered the boy and encouraged him to do nothing but breathe and paint.

Dillon was a different matter, however. Reuben had fought for his youngest son and sent him to a private school in Oregon to get him away from Bebe's influence. Dillon was a robust boy with a shock of blond hair and bright blue eyes. He was continually in one scrape after another, owning up to each and every escapade and taking his punishment without a whimper. Once he'd had the audacity to wink roguishly at his father, as if to say, It was great fun and worth the punishment. They weren't exactly pals, but they did have respect for each other. Dillon, Reuben knew, would prove worthy at some point in his life. When he found time to analyze his feelings toward his family, Reuben realized he was most likely incapable of love, of feeling it, showing it, or admitting it.

The feeling he had for Daniel was so overwhelming, so different from anything he'd ever felt for anyone else, Reuben was incapable of analyzing it. A part of his heart would always belong to Daniel, and that was all there was to it. Lately though, since Daniel's marriage to Rajean Simmons, a wealthy socialite older by fifteen years with a teenage daughter, he saw little of his old friend. Reuben sensed trouble in the marriage, but Daniel refused to talk about it, saying simply that he would handle it.

All of them had come so far, accomplished so much, and all because of Mickey Fonsard. Even Sol was living in the lap of luxury, married now to Clovis Ames. When sound came to filmland, Clovis had been one of the first to be put out to pasture, as Reuben referred to the star's retirement. Then he'd pushed, prodded, and instigated until both Sol and Clovis gave in to him and married in a quiet ceremony. Neither one would admit it, but Reuben knew they were happier than two fleas romancing a dog.

Of the original cast, only he and Mickey remained unresolved. No, he thought irritably, two other members were successful now, too, thanks to him. Max, good old Max, was now the owner of the hottest nightspot in all of Hollywood—the Lily Garden, so-named by his late mother, was a showpiece. Reservations had to be made weeks in advance, and Max himself decided who entered his portals and who didn't. Reuben had a table assigned to him that no one else ever sat at. If a patron had the audacity to ask why he or she couldn't sit at that particular table, they were shown the door.

And then there was Jane. Another casualty of sound in films, she'd shown an early penchant for producing, and now her knack for recognizing a hot property was equal only to Reuben's. For some time she'd been his top producer, a position she richly deserved.

His world, his friends, his family.

The most important person of all was still unaccounted for, of course, and that was Mickey, his dearest love. How often he thought of her, dreamed of her, wanted her. So many times he'd made plans to go to France, only to cancel at the last minute when he remembered the pain, the anguish of her rejection. No, he couldn't put himself through that again. Instead, he fed off his memories and tortured himself with would-haves, could-haves, and should-haves.

The soft knock on his office door startled Reuben, and he looked up to see his secretary standing in the doorway. Margaret might knock and open the door at the same time, but she never stepped over the threshold unless Reuben invited her in. Most times, like now, he said, “Yes, Margaret?”

“Mr. Tarz, I'd like to introduce you to my temporary replacement, Rosemary Connors. I think she's going to do just fine,” Margaret said quietly.

Reuben rose and walked around his desk. His weary eyes locked with those of Rosemary Connors, and in that tiny fraction of time he fell in love. Confused by the alien feeling, he could only nod slightly, his tongue suddenly thick and awkward in his mouth.

“Miss Connors understands that the job is temporary until I get back,” Margaret went on. “I explained about the pay schedule, and I've written out your routine, your likes and dislikes. Is there anything you'd like me to do before I leave?”

Reuben found his voice and offered his hand to Rosemary. How soft, like petals on a flower, he thought. Warm, but not moist. “I'm sure you have everything under control, Margaret, and I don't want you returning until you feel up to it.” He found himself explaining about Margaret's mother's death, something his secretary had most likely explained in the outer office. Rosemary held his eyes as he spoke, a warm smile on her lips, showing small, pearl-white teeth. Reuben thought it the loveliest smile he'd ever seen.

She was beautiful, this tall, quiet-appearing woman with a pile of golden hair pulled back into a knot. What would it feel like to run his hands through it? he wondered. Spun gold. Rumpelstiltskin. Enormous blue eyes and a light dusting of golden freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose. So endearing. Dimples…he liked that. A strong jaw and a mouth that looked like it was made for…kissing. She was trim and tall, and her heels made her taller still. She'd come eye level with him if they were…kissing each other. His neck felt warm, his cheeks and ears warmer. Christ, he hadn't felt this way since France…since Mickey. In the blink of an eye, he summed her up: a warm, gentle, beautiful woman.

When she spoke her voice was as soft and gentle as she looked. “If there's anything you need or want, I am familiar with office procedure. I've worked as a secretary before.”

Reuben's neck grew warmer. She was in her early thirties, he decided. Unaccountably, he grew nervous, shifting from one foot to the other, clearing his throat and apologizing for no reason. And when Rosemary smiled, his heart almost burst out of his chest. What was she thinking? He wondered if he would get to know her well enough to ask.

In the outer office with the door closed behind them, Margaret frowned. “I don't know what Mr. Tarz…he never acts like that. He must have something on his mind, something important. He's a wonderful man, a wonderful boss. I think everyone on this studio lot loves him. He's actually paying me my full salary while I'm on leave. He came to my mother's funeral. I was stunned and so grateful. He sent baskets of flowers. Now, you tell me what kind of boss does that? Best of all, he treats me like a person and not hired help. Now,” she cautioned Rosemary, “if you're unsure of anything, you can reach me at home. I've left my number in the folder on the desk. Is there anything you want to ask me before I leave?”

“Is Mr. Tarz married? I didn't see a picture of his wife in his office. Executives always seem to have family pictures on their desks. Wives call all the time. How should I handle that?” Rosemary asked quietly.

Margaret frowned again. This one was beautiful, she thought, gorgeous enough to be in the movies. Maybe that's why Mr. Tarz was so befuddled. “Mr. Tarz is married and he has two sons. As to why there is no picture, I don't know. Mrs. Tarz is the daughter of Mr. Rosen, who owns this studio. Mrs. Tarz is a beautiful woman.” Margaret's voice grew stern. “If, and I say if, you have any ideas of becoming…more than a secretary, I wouldn't give it another thought. Mr. Tarz is an upstanding, honorable, ethical man.”

“I can see that, Margaret. I feel a good secretary needs to know certain…intimate facts. I'm sure you know many things you wouldn't divulge to me out of loyalty to Mr. Tarz, and that's the way it should be,” Rosemary said gently.

Margaret drew in a deep breath. “Yes,” she said through tight lips. “I guess I'll be leaving now, I expect you to do a good job, and please don't embarrass me with Mr. Tarz. After all, I'm the one who hired you and I'm the one who will have to work here after you leave.”

“I know I can never be as good as you, Margaret, but I will try.” Rosemary smiled. It was the perfect response, and Margaret left with a lighter heart.

Rosemary turned out to be so efficient and professional that Reuben felt at a loss around her in the first few days of her employment. A week into her job he found himself dictating letters that didn't need to be written just to have her sit in his office. He loved looking at her legs, which were crossed so demurely. Sometimes he'd leave the office just so he could walk past her desk. Then he'd feign forgetfulness so he could walk back in and out again. By the third week he was an accident waiting to happen and wanted desperately to talk to someone about his feelings. Daniel, his first and logical choice, was caught up in his own problems at the moment. Besides, Daniel did not believe in affairs outside the bounds of marriage.

Reuben zeroed in on Max, knowing beforehand what his friend would say: Go ahead, life is short, take whatever happiness you can get. So Jane Perkins was his next choice, last on the list only because she took his troubles to heart and worried about him like a sister.

Jane hadn't married, although she had what she called several “gentlemen” friends whom she allowed to call on her when she was in the mood for dinner or a night on the town. They were nice men, who had no idea Reuben had dossiers on all of them. Jane lived in a large house with a small pool, two dogs, and three cats. She did all her own gardening and had the most beautiful roses in southern California. Occasionally she sent bouquets to Reuben's office with funny little notes, much to his delight.

So, having decided to confide in Jane, Reuben buzzed Rosemary, his heart thumping. He felt like a damn schoolboy. “Rosemary, ring Jane Perkins for me. If she isn't in, leave a message.”

“What's the message, Mr. Tarz?”

“The message? Oh, yes, the message. Tell her I'd like to have dinner with her and to get back to me. Tonight, dinner is for tonight.”

“I have it, Mr. Tarz.”

Was that disapproval he was hearing in her voice? Of course it was—she probably thought he was happily married. Margaret would have described his marriage as a match made in heaven. Christ, he didn't even know where the other half of his marriage was at the moment, off on another one of her toots. This time she'd been gone for over a month. Daniel said she was abroad. She'd perhaps make it her business to see Mickey. The thought sent a flurry of worms skittering around his stomach. Mickey, his first love, his only love. Then what was this he was feeling for Rosemary? Lust? Passion?

Reuben flipped the switch. “Well, is she there or isn't she?” he asked irritably.

“Her…her office doesn't answer,” Rosemary said in her gentle voice.

“For God's sake,” Reuben blustered. This time when he charged through Rosemary's office, he forgot to look at her.

Rosemary blinked at the whirlwind, wondering if she'd be fired because the producer didn't answer her phone. God, she hoped not. She enjoyed working for the studio—and especially for the handsome Reuben Tarz. His smile warmed her heart, and the way he
looked
at her…! But, of course, that had nothing to do with her in particular; he probably didn't even know she was alive, except when he had a letter to dictate or a call he wanted to place.

Unfortunately she hadn't realized that there would be so much work. Margaret had indicated that there were days when she had little to do but straighten files. Rosemary sighed. So many letters…often she had to stay after closing to get them all typed and on Mr. Tarz's desk for his signature. They were always gone in the morning. Probably he dropped them at the post office himself on the way home because he wanted them in the early morning mail.