Sins of Omission (61 page)

As it happened, Reuben did drop the letters at the post office, but not in the mail slot. First he ripped them up and then he tossed them into a Dumpster that sat next to the mail slot. It wasn't until her fourth week on the job that Rosemary began to wonder why there'd been no responses to the letters. Surely Mr. Tarz's business associates couldn't ignore such important letters. Perhaps the recipients followed up with phone calls to his home. She sighed again. It wasn't any of her business. Once Margaret returned she'd be out of a job, anyway.

The following morning, Reuben stopped at Rosemary's desk, jamming his hands in his pockets to steady them. “Rosemary, would you have dinner with me this evening?”

“Dinner? Just…you and me…dinner? Ah, yes, of course. I'd…like that very much.”

“Fine. I'll pick you up at seven-thirty. Leave your address on my desk. Cancel my appointments for this afternoon, and tell anyone who calls that I'll get back to them tomorrow. I'll see you later this evening.”

“Mr. Tarz, if you aren't coming back to the office, how will you know where to pick me up? You did say to leave my address on your desk.” Rosemary smiled.

Reuben laughed. “That's a good point. Better write it down now.” On his way out, he wondered if she'd leave early to do whatever it was women needed so much time to do before a date. And it was a date.

Following Jane's advice, he'd decided to take the bull by the horns and ask Rosemary outright to have dinner. Well, he'd done that, and she'd accepted. Jane had advised him to “go home, sit in the sun, and think about the evening and the consequences if you allow the dinner date to go beyond just that. Wear a new shirt and your best suit. Women like snappy white shirts and crisp-looking ties,” she'd said. “Wear a good after-shave and wash your hair. That's my advice,” she'd laughed, “and, Reuben, I've seen Rosemary Connors, and so has every other man on this studio lot. And I'll bet she's just as nice as she is lovely.” Her voice had turned serious when she'd said, “Reuben, think about this very carefully. The one thing in this world a person can't count on are emotions.” Her eyes turned wicked. “And I want to hear the outcome. Promise.”

“I'm not the type to kiss and tell.” Reuben grinned.

Jane threw her hands in the air. “Go on home, Reuben, I have an early call tomorrow.”

“Wait a minute, where do you think I should take her?”

“Why not take her to Max's new restaurant. People are killing one another to get a reservation and you have a ringside table. She'll love the Lily Garden. Trust me.”

He did.

 

Rosemary made her way home in a daze. Dinner with Reuben Tarz! The thought of it made her so nervous she could barely open the door to the tiny house she lived in with her two cats, Bismarck and Napoleon, acquired along with the house when she'd divorced her husband of five years.

Normally when she returned home after a long working day she quickly changed into comfortable clothes and played with the cats for a while, fed them, and then made herself something to eat; but today she was in such a dither of anticipation she didn't even hold out her arms to Napoleon and practically tripped over Bismarck, who meowed his displeasure and with a swoosh of his tail marched into the small bedroom, leaping onto the mound of pillows on the bed. Napoleon waited uncertainly for his mistress's usual kind words. When he found himself alone in the living room, he padded after his companion. Both cats stared at Rosemary, their tails thumping as she pulled things from drawers and hangers in between running back and forth to the bathroom to prepare her bath.

Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. This was a date of sorts, her first in over two years and certainly her first since the divorce. She'd loved her husband with all her heart, until one day he had confessed in a gentle tone that monogamy was not something he could live with any longer. When she had been incredulous, he had patted her and explained that he needed the excitement and challenge of youth and beauty and a certain amount of scrappiness and go-to-hell attitude from a woman.

“You, Rosemary,” he'd said, “are too placid, too even-tempered, and you never do anything that surprises me. You are so predictable I know what you're going to say before sounds issue forth from your lips. I detest the fact that we have spaghetti every Tuesday and fish every Friday. And…you smile, but you don't laugh.”

At the time, she had been too mortified to ask him to explain what he meant by that. Then he'd made his final argument, an insult to which there really had been no rational response: “You don't excite me, dear, you bore me to tears.”

It hadn't been a messy divorce. John had labeled it boring, with no squabbling or backbiting, which only hammered home the point he was trying to make. “The house is yours as long as you make the mortgage payments. You can have the damn cats. They were always sneaking and skulking at my feet, hissing and arching their backs…and the furniture, after all, you picked it out,” as if anything she would have liked he held in the utmost contempt. It didn't matter that she'd offered to find homes for the cats. John wanted out of the marriage, and that's all there was to it. The man she'd lived with and loved with all her heart had suddenly become a stranger. It was a terrifying experience, one she had quietly swallowed and digested with difficulty. Now she was glad she hadn't given the cats away; they were warm bodies, always there waiting to greet her when she came home.

Well, that was all behind her. A date! Dinner tonight was a date, kind of. She wished she had bath salts to scent her bath. Reuben Tarz was married, she reminded herself, so this wasn't a romantic date, and she'd better clear her head of any such notions. The man probably wanted to discuss business or, for that matter, fire her over dinner to let her down easy. Still, her heart fluttered at the thought of sitting across the table from her handsome, powerful employer.

Her quick bath over, Rosemary rummaged through her lingerie drawer and was appalled at the state of her underthings. Serviceable, not a scrap of lace anywhere. Cheap, too, but that was all right, one conserved where one could. Everything was clean and ironed, smelling of Lily of the Valley. Boring, matronly, schoolmarmish. John was right, she thought despairingly, she was boring. Well, there was nothing she could do about the state of her underwear now, no one was going to see it anyway. What to wear over it was the question.

Finally she selected a mint-green dotted swiss with full layered elbow-length sleeves and big shoulder pads. After she'd slipped it on, she stood back to stare at her reflection. The white pique collar was definitely demure, more demure than she felt at the moment. But she did like the way the dress fell away from her hips in soft swirls and wished she had silk stockings to accent her legs; unfortunately they just weren't in her budget. Jewelry was no big decision since she owned very little of any real worth. At last she decided on a single strand of small pearls with matching earrings that she'd gotten in the five-&-ten several years earlier. If she slid them under her collar so that only an inch and a half of the fake beads showed, no one would know the difference.

The young woman in the mirror was no goddess by any means. Neat, yes…respectable, certainly…but not the least bit sultry or dazzling. In fact, a little…boring. Sighing, Rosemary reached for her brush.

Her hair, a rich blond with its own natural wave, came alive under her strokes, easing through the bristles and crackling with electricity. A sign of good health, her mother used to say. Tonight she quickly finger-waved the sides and let the bottom fall softly and naturally to her shoulders. Her crowning glory. John had liked to bury his face in her hair, saying it always smelled sweet and clean. However, he'd done that only during the first year of their marriage.

There was no need for more than a trace of powder, for she had a delicate pink complexion that attested to rest, good food, and a calm existence, but in honor of her evening's engagement she added a light dusting of powder to her nose and a sweep of color to her mouth. Unfortunately, she didn't like the waxy taste and wiped the lipstick off, biting down on her lips instead for color.

Perfume. She looked down at the sparse array of bottles on her dressing table. Lily of the Valley and a bottle of Heaven Sent. Why wasn't there something intoxicating and daring? She dabbed the Lily of the Valley behind her ears. She liked the scent, felt it was indicative of who she was. At last she was ready for Reuben Tarz. Her heart thumped crazily in her chest when she thought about sitting next to him in his car and then at dinner. Dinner! How would she ever be able to eat? Lord, what if she choked or spilled something and disgraced herself?

A nervous giggle rose in Rosemary's throat when she saw the two cats eyeing her suspiciously. “Out of character, eh? Sometimes things change. Come along, gentlemen, and I will fix your dinner. Warm milk and some shredded fish, how does that sound?” Silly, she told herself, but it hadn't sounded silly before when she'd held long conversations with her cats. One of these days, she felt sure one of them was going to answer her.

The two cats snaked between her legs, rubbing against them importunately. She smiled as their whiskers tickled her ankles. “Here we go, only a few minutes late. Enjoy your dinner.”

The snow-white Persian fell to his dish with a vengeance, while Napoleon, the calico, looked at his, backed up a step, and then did his usual dance around it as if to view it from all angles. When he decided it was all he was going to get, he lapped it up in seconds and licked his whiskers as he walked away.

Rosemary looked at her watch. Twenty minutes to go until Reuben Tarz's arrival. Her stomach was growling from hunger, and she felt as tense as a coiled spring. She bolted for the icebox and broke off a piece of cheese from a large slab wrapped in wax paper. As she chewed slowly and thoughtfully, she glanced around her. What would Reuben think of her little house here in the San Fernando Valley? It certainly wasn't palatial. Perhaps it couldn't even be considered homey. All she knew was she was comfortable with the natural woods and chintz-covered furniture and the nylon curtains. It was her home, and John—through guilt, she realized much later—had given it all to her, preferring to walk away unencumbered, as he called it. She wondered what Reuben Tarz's house looked like, then quickly pushed the thought away. John, Reuben Tarz…it was so silly the way she thought of one and the other's name popped into her head. It was silly—she was only having dinner with the president of Fairmont Studios, and that's all there was to it. Anything else was pure fantasy on her part.

Putting it into a business perspective made it easy for Rosemary to think that if her mother were alive, she'd be pleased to see her daughter having dinner with the head of the studio. She missed her mother, who had been her friend as well. Unfortunately she did not take after her mother, who had been outgoing and gregarious. Her father had lived back East for some years now. They kept in touch on holidays, and recently he'd written that he was planning on remarrying. Rosemary wished him well, although she rarely thought of him and didn't miss him at all. But she did miss her mother and the pleasant times they had shared together. She'd missed her most during the divorce, when she'd had no one to talk to. Being married to John had left her no time for personal relationships, and any friends she'd had from school days had long since scattered. Besides, her mother had been her best friend. There were times, like now, when she wished she'd had more than a normal childhood and home life so she would have something to talk about with other people. There had been no radical ups and downs, no problems, no real long-range goals to shoot for, just placid everyday living. “That's why I'm so darned boring,” she muttered.

The doorbell interrupted her reverie.

“Come in, Mr. Tarz. Would you like a drink before we leave?”

“No, thank you, and please, call me Reuben. Would you mind if I call you Rosemary?”

Rosemary smiled, and Reuben felt his heart melt. How lovely she was, how serene and gentle she seemed. She had the warmest eyes and the loveliest smile he'd ever seen. Suddenly he was aware of movement at his feet, and he looked down, confused. Rosemary laughed.

“This is Bismarck, and the calico is Napoleon. I'm afraid their manners aren't what they should be. I don't have many guests, and they don't quite know how to react. It's possible to make friends with them if you tickle their ears…if you like cats, that is.” She reached for her purse. “Well, I'm ready if you are,” she said briskly. To the cats she said, “Behave yourselves until I return.”

Reuben chuckled. “Will they?”

Rosemary smiled again, a warm, sweet smile that made Reuben puff out his chest. “It's hard to tell. They're pretty good during the day. Cats are very self-sufficient, you know, and I have a kitty door so they can pretty much come and go as they please. My yard is walled in and they stay around the property. However, I don't go out much in the evenings, so I don't know what they'll do. In some respects they're like children, they crave attention.”

Outside, Rosemary barely managed to conceal her excitement at the sight of Reuben's gleaming roadster. She forced herself to continue speaking in an even tone. “Once they pulled all the clothing out of my dresser drawer and made a bed for themselves, and another time they took all my shoes out of the closet and literally stacked them by the front door. I think they were trying to tell me something, but I still don't know what it was.” Reuben chuckled as he helped her into the handsome car, then walked around to the driver's side and got in. Instantly he was aware of her scent—like the sweet peas in his garden. Drawing in a deep breath, he complimented her on her choice of perfume. Rosemary glowed, her eyes bright.

Grinning to himself, Reuben started the car. Just wait till Max saw him when he walked into the Lily Garden with Rosemary on his arm! The old gangster would approve of her. So, for that matter, would Daniel. He himself approved, 100 percent.