Sins of the Flesh (18 page)

Tomorrow she'd look into plastic surgery and find out how much of a chunk it would cost.

Rajean leaned over the sink to scrutinize her reflection. Honesty demanded she assess herself now, before she committed to the divorce. The Pan-Cake makeup hid a multitude of defects and announced others. Her skin wasn't that good, it never had been even with the assiduous care she'd given it. Acne had left scars, and no matter how careful she was with her makeup, it settled into the little pits, often making her look grotesque. She'd tried sunbathing to tan her face and arms, but somehow the little pits speckled instead of tanning. She'd stayed indoors for a long time after that fiasco. She looked hard and she looked worn, and no amount of cosmetics and no new hairstyle was ever going to change that. What would she look like if she let her eyebrows grow back, she wondered, Scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror. She tried to imagine herself without the Pan-Cake makeup, without the artificial eyelashes and highly arched, penciled brows. Like a hag, she decided. God! She leaned as close to the mirror as possible to stare at the tiny wrinkles above her upper lip.

Rajean dropped the lid of the toilet seat and sat down with a thump. Was this the way Teddie saw her, or was she being overly critical? Tears welled in her eyes. Of course, Teddie saw her like this; Teddie had a trained eye. It would explain so many things—the fights they had over long-distance calls, the times Teddie had refused her calls altogether. Teddie never calling her during the day when Daniel was at work. Teddie staring at Nellie's graduation picture and practically salivating over it. Teddie liked young girls with firm flesh and silky hair. She was kidding herself if she thought the affair with Teddie was going anywhere but down the drain.

Damn, tonight she was going to have another one of her horrendous nightmares. Two nights earlier she'd had a dilly and woke up drenched with perspiration, or at least that's what she told herself the next morning, but by afternoon she realized what she'd had was a hot flash. The realization had been so awesome she'd fled the house and walked for hours trying not to think about the hateful word—menopause.

Yesterday she'd flounced into her doctor's office demanding to know all there was to know about menopause. She'd lied to the doctor and said her periods were normal and not as erratic, as they really were. The doctor had tried to console her by saying she was lucky she was late in starting, and there was medication for the hot flashes. He'd even given her a little pamphlet that she'd thought too stupid to read and tossed into the trash only to pick it out later to read. She threw a tantrum then in her room, stamping her feet and beating her clenched fists into the pillows. The three-page pamphlet had been informative, too damn informative. What she remembered now were the words
dryness
and
estrogen.
Another remembered word flashed through her mind:
lubricants!
“Oh, God,” she moaned.

Rajean got up and flushed the toilet, not knowing why. She noticed that her hands were shaking. Earrings would cover the wrinkles in her earlobes. Big earrings, the button kind that was all the rage these days. Dryness. “My ass, I'll take estrogen. If I have to, I'll take a bath in olive oil!”

Back on the chaise with her legs stretched in front of her, Rajean once again reached for the phone. Only Teddie had the power to drive these nasty thoughts from her mind. She could call collect so it wouldn't show up on the telephone bill. Her hand was on the phone, her thoughts with her lover. She could feel the accelerated beat of her heart, and her throat felt dry. Her foot twitched nervously as she waited for Teddie's voice to come over the wire. Only the voice she heard wasn't Teddie's—it was young and trilling with intimate laughter:

“Rajean? No, sorry, Teddie can't come to the phone right now.”

In the background Rajean could hear Teddie's husky laughter. The phone dropped from her hand onto the hardwood floor. It was a long time before she obeyed the operator's querulous order to replace the receiver.

“Damn you, Teddie!” she cried. “Damn you to hell!”

How warm the sun was, how comforting, Bebe thought as she strolled through the fragrant garden. This was going to be her next project. It was time the tangled vines and shrubs were fed and trimmed before the yard turned into an emerald jungle. The only problem was there weren't enough hours in the day to do everything that had to be done. The pool alone took her an entire morning to clean. Eyes narrowed, she examined her appointment book. If she hurried home from her temple committee on Thursdays, she could work in the garden until dark.

Bebe's pencil flew down the week's list of things to do. Because of extended meetings with her attorney to discuss her divorce, she was off schedule by almost two days. And she'd worked so hard these past six weeks, come so far, she couldn't let a series of meetings throw her off course. Perhaps if she tried to get by on fewer hours sleep…Quickly she made some adjustments in her book, and when she was satisfied that her life, according to her notebook, was back on schedule, she leaned back for a half hour that was hers to relax.

In the whole of her life she'd never felt this good, this confident. She drank thirstily from a tall glass of ice water. Quite by accident, she'd discovered that drinking water was good for the skin. Now she consumed eight to ten glasses a day, and her skin was more supple, softer to the touch.

These days she didn't have a single complaint about her life. Everything, including her divorce, was under control. Even her thoughts about Reuben were under control. Once she'd had the locks on the door and her telephone number changed, she'd installed a security fence around her property. Now there was no way Reuben Tarz could invade her life or her property. Then she remembered the stack of letters on the central hall table, all from Reuben and not one of them opened. It was almost a game now, avoiding Reuben.

Bebe drained the glass of ice water and set it on the table next to a single sheet of white paper that had been taped to the front door. It was from Reuben, and the message was so blinding, she couldn't have missed it if she'd tried. He'd used a heavy black grease pencil on the stark white paper:

 

IMPERATIVE YOU CALL ME IMMEDIATELY IN REGARD TO FIRSTBORN SON.

REUBEN

 

Bebe had no intention of responding to Reuben's summons. She wasn't ready yet to lock horns with her husband over John Paul. Just learning that the boy was here and would want to meet her at some point had jeopardized her recovery program. Every time she thought of him, her heart ached and she could barely keep from drowning her guilt in liquor. No, better to avoid the entire issue until she was stronger….

That night the phone began to ring—twenty, thirty rings at a time. By eleven o'clock Bebe thought she'd go out of her mind. Defiantly, she took the receiver off the hook and stuck it under the cushion of a chair.

At twenty minutes past midnight the doorbell shrilled to life and continued to ding-a-ling for over an hour. “Go ahead, Reuben, ring it till it wears out,” Bebe muttered. “I'm not opening this door to you now or ever again!”

At a quarter to three in the morning, fresh from her bath, Bebe marched down to the cellar, flashlight in hand. She yanked open the fuse box and twisted the quarter-size fuse. The doorbell stopped in midpeal.

“So there!” she snarled. Gathering the hem of her robe, she stomped her way back to the second floor. If he was still there in the morning, she'd call the police.

The clock on her nightstand read four o'clock, and she was still wide awake—so wide awake she almost jumped out of her skin when she heard the sound of a pebble hitting her bedroom window. Angrily, she stormed to the window and pushed at the screen. “Either get off my property, or I'm calling the police!” she bellowed. “Do you hear me, Reuben! I'll have you arrested for harassment and trespassing. I mean it!” When Reuben's harsh words filtered up to her, she grasped the window ledge, her knuckles whitening.

“Won't that look nice—you, me and our son plastered all over the front pages. Now open the goddamn door so we can talk in private. I swear, Bebe, I'll smash every window in this house! Your son is coming to see you tomorrow. Now, open the goddamn door!”

Trancelike, Bebe slid her feet into slippers and pulled on her dressing gown. At the front door she drew in a deep breath and held out her arms to prevent Reuben from entering. “This is the last time you're coming into this house, Reuben. I want that understood. So say what you have to say and then get out of here!”

Reuben shouldered his way past her, forcing her to follow him into the living room. She watched as he turned on every lamp in the room. When he was satisfied there was enough light, he turned to her and said, “Philippe is working at the studio now, Bebe. I think you should know he still hates my guts—and as far as I can tell he hasn't forgiven you yet, either. But I don't think this waiting game you've been playing with him will work anymore. I guess he wants to meet his natural mother even though he doesn't seem to harbor much love for her. He said he was coming here tomorrow to camp on your doorstep. Now, that's the only reason I'm here. Are you going to see him when he comes?” Reuben asked coldly.

What was there for her to say? She'd never actually thought that a confrontation would be forced on her. Slowly she sank onto a chair and buried her head in her hands. Bebe reached out as the world slid away from her and she toppled to the floor. Reuben was at her side instantly, gathering her into his arms. He was stunned at how tiny and thin she was underneath the robe she wore. Thin, but not skinny. Actually, she was hard as a rock, he thought, massaging her arms. He saw the blunt-cut nails and felt the calluses on the palms of her hands. He noticed her hair then, short and curling around her face, giving her a gamin look. He noticed the streaks of gray around the temples. He frowned as her skin looked soft underneath the cold cream. Brown as a nut. He knew she was healthy and happy. The thought disturbed him. He tried to remember the last time he'd seen her, actually paid attention to her. Months before, which didn't say much for him.

Bebe's lashes fluttered and Reuben found himself staring into the clearest, the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. Green eyes filled with pain and…oh so vulnerable. Surely, this wasn't the Bebe he knew and was married to for so many years. All the sharp words, all the recriminations, were forgotten. “I'm sorry, Bebe. I didn't want to blurt it out like that, but you didn't answer any of my letters. My God, I came here every day. I wanted to be the one to tell you. I'm sorry as hell you had to find out like this. Here, let me help you onto the sofa.”

Bebe sat hunched over, her hands folded between her legs. When she spoke her voice was soft and gentle. “You say he hates us both.”

“Surely you don't expect love and devotion.” It was a statement.

“When you first told me about John—about Philippe, you said Mickey kept him and raised him. I never knew, Reuben. They told me they would give him out for adoption. Over the years I stopped to see Yvette every time I was in Paris, and she never gave the slightest indication that Mickey had the boy. A lot of things are clearer now. I never asked about him in…in any of my visits. I could never bring myself to verbalize anything in regard to him,” Bebe said in an agonized voice. “I…knew if I ever…I wouldn't be able to leave.”

“You should have told me,” Reuben said gently. “I was his father. I should have been told.”

Bebe raised her head to meet her husband's eyes. “And what would you have done, Reuben? Tell me, what exactly would you have done?”

“I don't know, but I know I should have been given the chance to make up my own mind. Jesus Christ, Bebe, do you know what kind of shock it was when Daniel brought him to me?”

“I would imagine,” Bebe said shakily, “it's something like it was for me when you first told me. Look, why don't I just keep playing the game; just tell him I—I don't want to see him right now. I've worked very hard these past months to get myself back together, and I don't know if I can handle any emotional setbacks. I don't ever want to be dependent on anything or anyone again. I'm doing fine now.”

“How…who…You do look wonderful,” Reuben said sincerely.

“The details? You always did want to know every little detail. Okay, I'll tell you: guts. That's all it took. I knew if I didn't do it this time, I might as well lie down and die. I climbed the walls, I puked my guts out, I crawled on my hands and knees, I scrubbed and scrubbed, hard physical work so I could pass out from sheer exhaustion. And I did it by myself. Every hour, every minute, of my day is filled. I have no time now for might-have-beens. I cannot change anything for that young man. If Mickey raised him, then he's had a wonderful life. I don't see that he has anything to complain about. He simply wants to satisfy his curiosity about me.
I have no wish to see him.
Pass that along, Reuben. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think you've taken up enough of my time this evening…. By the way, have you figured it out yet?”

“Figured what out?” Reuben asked, puzzled.

“The reason Mickey never wrote you or Daniel. It's obvious now, isn't it? All those years, she knew. She let you leave and never said a word. She knew, Reuben.”

Reuben's voice was full of sorrow. “Yes, I figured it out…. Mickey and Yvette have joined the French Resistance, Bebe. No word has come through yet regarding their safety. I thought you might like to know….”

Bebe shook her head. “You're wrong. I don't want to know. I live one day at a time. I have no interest in the past. Nothing can be undone. My future is unknown to me. I'm making a new life for myself with my own two hands, and none of you are included in this life. We'll be divorced soon enough, and that will put an end to any communication between us.”

Without another word Bebe rose and walked Reuben to the door. She was so tiny, just a slip of a woman, yet she seemed ten feet tall, Reuben thought. And then he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. Before she could move he tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes. His touch was gentle when he put both hands on her shoulders.

She cried then, like a wounded animal in a trap. “Don't do this to me, Reuben. Take your son and go away. He's yours, my gift to you—late. I grant you, but…Get out!” she shrieked, jerking free of him and running up the steps.

“Bebe…I…Goddammit!” He cursed himself for barging into his wife's fragile new life like a bull in a china shop and ripping her world apart. Well, he argued with himself, she's not exactly blameless here. Maybe not, but you could have spared her feelings a little. She's right, the kid had a good life, better than either you or she could have provided. She's in a fragile place right now, and if Philippe comes to see her, she could go over the edge and she knows it. She's fighting to survive the only way she knows how. You are a fucking son of a bitch. You'd like to see her fall back into her old ways when she was dependent on you and…other things. You never saw this side of your wife. You didn't know she had guts. You didn't know she could make it on her own. That has to smart a little. And, of course, you are never going to forgive her for the boy, right? But then, what about Mickey? She kept your son all these years and never said a word to you. Let's divvy up the blame in the right proportions here. Shut up!

Reuben slammed out the front door and stormed to his car. Without turning on the headlamps, he jerked the Cadillac into gear and raced backward until he heard the crunch of metal on metal.

“Son of a
bitch!
” What the hell had he hit?

He hopped out of the sedan, aware for the first time of the other parked car in the circular driveway. It was just a pile of junk, but still, it belonged to somebody. Now he had to go back into the house and see Bebe again.

He waited a moment to see if the crash would bring her to the upstairs window. When he was certain she wasn't going to appear, he let himself back into the house and crept up the stairs to the second floor. He was almost at the landing when he heard Bebe's gut-wrenching sobs. They tore at his heart; this wasn't acting or pretending. There was no audience for her to play to.

At the door to his wife's room, Reuben hesitated. He was an intruder here, hated by his wife and all his children. His thoughts whirled crazily as he listened to Bebe pour her heart into the pillow she was clutching.

“Do you think it was easy giving you up?” she moaned. “It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, almost as hard as trying to hate your father. I said all those horrible, nasty things so I could leave. I wasn't any good for you, and neither was your father. I had to give you away; I had to do what was right for you. I gave you a name, though, and every time I thought of you I called you John Paul. I loved you. I never forgot your birthday, and I knew that someday you'd grow up to be a wonderful human being, so much better than your mother and father. I gave you that chance, and it was the hardest thing in the world for me to do. God, please don't make this any harder for me. Don't let him come here. Don't make me see him. Make him change his mind, let him write to me and tell me how much he hates me, but don't let him come here!”

Reuben was backing away from the doorway when Bebe sat up in bed, her eyes wild when she spotted him. “Sneaky
bastard!
You listened to me. Damn you, have you no shame? Get out of here. You're ugly, you're hateful. I hate you!” she screamed. “You're a low-down, nasty man. You cheated my father, you stole his studio, and, goddamn you, you stole my virginity. All you do is take, take, take, and you never give anything back. You are a son of a bitch, Reuben Tarz, a pure, unadulterated son of a bitch, and I
hate
you!” Eyes flashing with the force of her rage, she reached for an enamel vase on the nightstand and flung it at Reuben with all her might.