Sins of the Flesh (53 page)

“Well, you're on the right road now,” Philippe said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

“All I can tell you, Philippe, is if I can do it so can you. Believe in yourself and you can do anything.” She rose and began to pace the kitchen floor. “Look, why don't you go to Jane and ask her to come back to the studio. Listen to her. You'll be starting out fresh, from the bottom, just the way your father did when he began working at the studio. Fairmont was a low-grade sleaze operation when my father had it. He was no businessman, but Reuben was. And you're your father's son, Philippe. This is just a suggestion, but while you were gone I've been thinking. Your friend, Mike, you said, loves to fly. How about some pictures with stunt flying? War hero turned stunt pilot…publicity could get a lot of mileage out of that. It's worth a thought if you seriously plan on taking over the studio.”

He shrugged. “I don't have any other choice. There's no way I'm going to let Nellie get her money-grubbing hands on it.”

“Good for you! The studio is open for business. You should take Mike down and show him around when he wakes up.” Bebe smiled at her son. “I have the impression—correct me if I'm wrong—that you two are friends, the way Daniel and your father are friends.”

“I'd say so.” Philippe finished his coffee, his eyes on the children through the kitchen window. “Great bunch of kids. Jesus, what they've been through, and they can still laugh.”

“At night they cry,” Bebe said softly. “All of them.”

“I've learned that each of us has to make our own happiness. My mother used to tell me that, but I didn't understand.
She
made me happy. I wanted to cry, to grieve, but I can't. Maybe I never will.” He turned to Bebe, his eyes deep with memory. “She's still with me. In my mind I can see her, see her so clearly. My mother and cantankerous Yvette.”

“Life goes on, Philippe,” Bebe said, leading him to the stairway. “Get some sleep and we'll talk later. I…I'm very proud of you, as proud as your mother would be if she were here. You're going to make it, even if you think things are…at their lowest ebb. You're my son, mine and Reuben's, and if there's one thing both of us learned, each in our own way, it's how to survive. Someday Nellie will be nothing but a bad memory.” She patted his hand. “If you aren't up by dinnertime, I'll wake you.”

Philippe leaned over and kissed his mother lightly on the cheek. He grinned then, his eyes sparkling with sudden confidence. Bebe's hand flew to her mouth. “You look so much like your father,” she said, “it's uncanny. If only he could see you now. When you first arrived you were a young boy, and now you're a young man. You bring back so many memories….”

At the top of the stairs Philippe turned, smiled Reuben's smile, and saluted his mother smartly. She smiled back and nodded.

After all this time she had another son, she thought, a bittersweet ache in her heart.
Oh, Reuben, if only you were here. If only you could see him now the way I see him. But do fathers ever view their sons the way mothers do?

This was her time now, hers and the little ones'.

She walked out into the sunshine that filled her life and waved to the children. “I'm coming,” she called. “I'm coming.”

 

Nellie raced through the kitchen, stopping only when the swinging door into the dining room closed behind her. Dropping to her haunches, she took huge, gut-wrenching breaths to ward off her dizziness.

He was back. All the praying, all the wishing, had been in vain. He should be dead, she wanted him to be dead. Why wasn't he dead? Everything was ruined now. She choked back a sob of anger.

Get up, she urged herself. Get up and go upstairs, where you can close the door and think. Plan.

Her legs were rubbery as she planted one foot in front of the other up the stairs. He was in love with someone else. That she hadn't counted on; how could she, when she'd been so sure he was dead and never coming back? Men in love did stupid things, unpredictable things. Besides that, Philippe was too emotional, and emotional people often acted irrationally. Bebe would orchestrate his actions, she was sure of it, just as she was sure that in the end her father would side with Philippe against her.

Nellie paced the frilly bedroom, smacking one clenched fist into the other. How, she asked herself. How could she best them at their own game? As it stood now, she had all of Philippe's money and 49 percent of Fairmont Studios—and in case of a legal contest, she had Little Philly, who had already influenced the courts to her advantage. Philippe, on the other hand, had little more than a story that could never be proved…and the combined wiles of Bebe, Jane Perkins, and—perhaps—her own father.

She was pacing faster and faster now, her movements frenzied, her eyes narrow and mean. The scales might be weighted on her side, she conceded, but that wasn't enough. She wanted to be
sure
that nothing of hers could be taken away—and she wanted more.

Full, 100 percent control of Fairmont Studios. Nobody was going to destroy her dream of sweeping down that circular stairway in her sparkling gown with all of Hollywood at her feet. Least of all, a husband she despised.

The phone on her nightstand buzzed to life. Philippe, she wondered. Or her father? Although she didn't want to talk to either of them, she knew she couldn't hide. Her hands were shaking as she picked up the receiver and pressed it to her ear.

It was Bebe.

“Good afternoon, Nellie,” she said in a polite, noncommittal tone. “I called to say there will be a board meeting tomorrow morning. I wanted to give you the courtesy of hearing what I have to say in private, so you don't repeat the performance you gave the last time. I signed over my shares of stock to Philippe this morning.”

Nellie digested the information. “Then that makes us equal partners, doesn't it?” she said. When she heard Bebe chuckle, her heart began to pound.

“Not quite. Your father signed over his two shares to me this morning, and I am transferring those two shares to Philippe. By the close of business today, he will have controlling interest in Fairmont. Have a nice day, Nellie, and I'll see you tomorrow at the board meeting.”

“You're lying!” Nellie snapped. “My father would never give
you
his shares.” But she knew Bebe was telling the truth. Sold out by her own father!

Seething with anger, she slammed down the receiver and hurled the phone across the room.
Dammit!
There had to be something she could do, some action she could take, to get what she wanted, and she wanted the studio. Perhaps…

It was a calculated risk; she might be underestimating Philippe or her father, but it was worth a try. Retrieving the phone, she called Daniel and schooled her voice to calmness as she told him about her conversation with Bebe, gently chastising him for turning over his two shares to her. “But I understand why you did it, Daddy,” she added sweetly. “I'm just so sorry that it's come to all this. I certainly never expected…what I mean is, Philippe is so…so different. I guess he feels guilty. I even understand what he's feeling, but what he's done is unforgivable. He's forcing me into a fight, a legal fight that I never expected or wanted. I just want you to know that when I'm forced to expose him, you yourself will come under scrutiny, and I'm apologizing now for what will happen. Daddy, they'll disbar you! How can you allow Philippe to put both of us through this…this scandal? It's going to be an absolute disaster. I never wanted this. Just because Philippe found some…someone else…he can't do this to…to our son.”

Daniel's heart leapt into his mouth. Nellie—his own beloved Nellie—was actually threatening him! And he knew she was speaking the truth; he would be disbarred. Certainly Philippe would be dishonorably discharged, and it would be all over the papers. Al Sugar, well-meaning Al, would spend the rest of his years in shame for his part in all of it. He might even go to prison for fraud or forgery.

When he could finally speak he choked out the words. “What is it you want, Nellie? Exactly what do you want from me?”

“Make Philippe go away,” she said. Her voice was strong now, in command, as she pressed her advantage. “He's shamed me once too often. I don't want our son to hear about this someday and know his father rejected him and his mother for some…some bimbo he met while he was in the navy.”

“I can't make Philippe do anything, Nellie,” Daniel protested weakly.

“Oh, yes, you can. Bebe listens to you, she's your friend. Tell them Reuben wouldn't approve. Everyone is always singing about Reuben and his old love. Sing again, Daddy. Sing loud, or I will fight both of you. Do it for Little Philly,” she added as an afterthought. “And when you call Bebe, tell her I won't be able to attend the board meeting tomorrow. I promised to take Little Philly to the zoo. Good-bye, Daddy, see you soon.”

On her way downstairs, Nellie walked past the open door of the nursery. She didn't look in, she never did. Little Philly didn't need her, she needed him—but only on paper. To her Little Philly wasn't a person; he was a thing to be used as leverage, her ace in the hole, her trump card. And like any good player, she knew how and when to expose him, to use him to win the game.

That night she slept deeply and dreamlessly.

 

It was a little past midnight when Daniel Bishop knocked on the screen door of Bebe's kitchen. About to retire, Bebe was clearing the table and chatting with Philippe and Mike. His mouth set grimly, Daniel joined them at the table and began to recount his telephone conversation with Nellie.

Thirty minutes later Bebe snapped, “I don't believe this! You can't let her do it! She's sick, she should be institutionalized!”

“I can't stop her,” Daniel said glumly. “I don't think anyone can.”

“I can,” Philippe said.

Daniel shook his head. “I'm sorry, Philippe, but you can't. You can go to court, you can fight, but in the end your reputation will be in shreds, as will mine, and she'll still win. And don't think for one minute that she won't make good on her threat to smear Mike and his family. She'll leave no stone unturned.”

Philippe slammed his fist on the tabletop, his eyes wild. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Sell her the studio,” Bebe suggested forcefully. “Global Pictures is still operational. We have all the leased equipment and the building. Start from scratch. The company already has one movie under its belt. Sell out, Philippe, and cut your losses. Don't let her destroy you!”

“But my father…Mr. Bishop, what do you think?” Philippe asked in an anguished voice.

“I agree with Bebe,” Daniel said thoughtfully. “It's one way of getting your fortune back. Anything is worth a try at this point. If you like, I'll speak to her attorney tomorrow.”

“Phil,” Mike interjected, “don't base your decision on me and my family; we can handle it. Whatever you decide will be okay with us.”

Philippe clapped his friend on the back, gazing at him with love and affection. “Thanks, Mike. I think my father would understand if I let the studio go. Do you agree, Mother?” Bebe nodded, a smile on her face. “Okay, Mr. Bishop, run it up the flagpole and let's see what happens.”

Five days later Daniel reported back to the house in Benedict Canyon. Bebe ushered him out to the terrace, where she, Philippe, Mike, and Jane Perkins were having dinner.

“Nellie accepts your offer, Philippe,” he announced. “It'll take a week or so to transfer the funds back to your name. Once I convinced her lawyer that you would make your offer only once and that you wouldn't back down, Nellie began to see the light. There's a possibility that a different judge might not be as lenient as the last one, which also helped to sway her. You walk away with what was yours and Nellie walks with full control of Fairmont Studios. The accrued revenues are to be divided evenly. She has working capital and so do you.” He paused, gazing around at all the expectant faces. “It was the best I could do, Philippe, and I want to apologize now, in front of everyone, for what my stepdaughter has put you through.”

Philippe drew a sigh of relief. “It was more than I hoped for, and I accept your apology.”

“I do, too,” Bebe said, coming around to give him a quick hug.

“Me, too.” Jane grinned. “You did real good, Daniel.”

“There's one more thing, Philippe,” he added. “One of the conditions of the transfer was that Nellie agree in writing not to expose either one of us. To do so would mean giving up the studio. Naturally she agreed. There's going to be at least a ton of papers to sign, so don't leave until that's all been taken care of.”

Philippe heaved another sigh. “What about the divorce?” he asked.

“No, she wouldn't budge. There is no divorce for either of you in the immediate future. I'm sorry, she dug in her heels on that one.”

“So you live in sin,” Mike quipped. He sobered instantly when no one laughed. “I didn't exactly mean that the way it sounded,” he said lamely.

“What will
that
cost me?” Philippe asked, tight-lipped.

Daniel shook his head. “God only knows. She said no and refused to discuss it further. She's asking the courts for five hundred dollars a week support for…for her son.”

“Like hell!” Philippe cried. “That boy is not mine. If I pay, that's an admission he is. No, I absolutely refuse. I won't even discuss it.”

“You have to discuss it. It was one of
her
terms. We gave one, she gave one. If you don't agree, it's back to the beginning.” When Philippe remained silent, Daniel sighed and drew his chair closer to the table. “Look, you don't have to decide today; tomorrow will be soon enough.”

Bebe grimaced. “So in the end she beat us after all.”