Sins of the Flesh (25 page)

 

Bebe sat on the front steps of her house, her hands laced around her knees. Would he come? All day she'd crossed and uncrossed her fingers while she waited. She'd done so much, just to keep busy so she wouldn't think. Now, she was tired and she still had to walk her dog, the golden-haired spaniel she'd picked up at the pound. In the ten days she'd had him he'd proved to be a wonderful companion. The man at the pound said he'd belonged to an elderly man who had passed away. She'd loved him on sight, and Wilbur, as she had named him, loved her, at least she thought he did. He followed her everywhere, waiting outside the door while she bathed, sleeping at the foot of her bed, walking down the steps with her, bringing her his leash when he wanted to go for a walk.

Now she whistled softly, and the dog trotted over to her. She fondled his silky ears, which dragged down to his first leg joint. Dark, chocolaty eyes stared up at her adoringly. “I don't know if he's coming or not, Willie.” The dog laid his head in her lap, licking her hand. “Tomorrow, we're going to work. I'll bring your bed. I expect you to snap and snarl if things get sticky.”

Willie cocked his head to listen to the sound of her voice, then licked her hand again, his signal that she should continue to scratch his ears. Bebe laughed. “My best friend. You are, you know. It's just you and me, Willie.”

Twice Bebe got up to stretch her legs, Wilbur panting anxiously at her feet. When were they going for their nightly walk? When her watch read 9:30, Bebe reached for the leash on the wicker table. “He isn't coming, Willie, so let's go for our walk. No tugging, no pulling, you are to be a perfect gentleman. Walk at my side,” she admonished the frisky dog.

Wilbur usually took an hour before he found just the right spot to relieve himself. They walked, they jogged, they circled each tree and shrub that lined the long driveway leading in from the canyon. Bebe was wondering how long Willie would continue his search for the ideal tree when a pair of headlights blinded her and the purr of a car's powerful engine roared in her ears.

He had come.

Bebe hated to do it, but she tugged on Wilbur's leash. “We'll do this again later. This is important.”

Reuben stopped the car alongside Bebe as she led Willie back to the house. His voice held amusement and something else…Sadness, Bebe wondered.

“Out for an evening stroll?” he asked.

“It's that time of night. Reuben, this is Wilbur, Willie for short. I guess you could say he's my best friend these days. He's loyal, loves me unconditionally, and doesn't fight back. A pity I didn't look for those attributes in my friends years ago.”

“Do you want a ride to the house?” Reuben asked. Bebe shook her head. “I'll wait for you, then,” he said, and continued on. In his rearview mirror he could see her and the dog loping after the car.

Bebe unhooked the dog's leash and sat down on the steps. “It's a beautiful night, isn't it? Sit down, Reuben. I know why you're here, so I don't expect it will take long.”

Reuben sat down and stretched his long legs out in front of him. She was right, it was a beautiful night—warm but not too sultry. The crickets were chirping, a pleasant sound in his ears. The half moon smiled down on them benignly. His heart began to thud in his chest. “I wasn't going to come, but then I thought that would be unfair to you. I realize we're getting a divorce and I take full responsibility for that. There are a lot of things I wish I could change, but I can't. For whatever it's worth, Bebe, I'm sorry for what I've put you through.”

They were words, words with meaning. Words she needed to hear. “I can't allow you to take full responsibility, Reuben. I've learned so many things lately, and I think the most important thing is that each of us must take responsibility for his or her actions. And because of what I've learned, I must tell you something. I wish it were a different time and place and not the night before you leave, but…”

Bebe cleared her throat nervously. Wilbur inched closer; his eyes on Reuben were unwavering. “All these years you wondered why Mickey never wrote to you or Daniel. I'm the reason, Reuben. It wasn't because of Philippe. She was away and her mail at the château was sent on to Paris. I was staying there for a little while. I opened the mail, read your letters, yours and Daniel's, and I burned them, all of them. She…I guess she thought you were too busy and didn't want to be bothered, which was what I wanted her to think. I did send her a note telling her we were married and deliriously happy. I wrote it on our wedding night while you were downstairs getting drunk. I…I also stole the letter you wrote to her that was in your jacket pocket at the studio. It was the one where you…where you said…I guess it was an ultimatum of sorts. I tore that to shreds after I read it. I…I couldn't let…I can't let you go back there without knowing what I did. I'm sorry. I don't expect you to believe me, but I am.”

She paused, staring at her hands in her lap. “You see, I was so in love with you, so jealous of what you and Mickey had. All I wanted was your love, and you couldn't give that to me because it was all parceled out to Mickey. I literally stole your life away from you. Twenty years that I can never give you back. I wish I'd listened and believed Mickey when she told me you can't make someone love you. God, how I tried. All the trouble, the drugs, the liquor, I did that, indulged, so you would pay attention to me. I lived for your smile, a kind word from you. If you patted me on the head, I would have died for you. I realize now that I was sick, so sick I was out of my mind half the time. Saying I'm sorry almost sounds silly, even to me, but if there is anything I can do for you, for Mickey, I'll do it. I wrote a letter to her explaining my part in this. It's on the table on the porch. I was hoping you would stop by so I could give it to you. Reuben, I don't want you to say anything, and I don't want you to even look at me. For too many years I saw disgust and hatred in your eyes when you looked at me. I can't bear to see it again.”

She stood up and turned away, tears glistening in her eyes. “You should go now, Reuben. I appreciate your coming by and letting me get this off my shoulders. I hope for your sake that Mickey is well and that both of you…well, I hope your meeting after all this time is what you want. She loves you with all her heart. I know what I'm talking about because I feel the same way. And because of those feelings, I can let you go. That's what love is, wanting the other person's happiness more than you want your own.”

In a flash Bebe had the leash on Willie's neck and was sprinting around the side of the house. She raced through the gate, slamming the bolt home. “Good-bye good-bye good-bye good-bye good-bye,” she cried. “If one of us is to be happy, I'm glad it's you. Good-bye, Reuben.”

 

The dark night hovered around Reuben, sheltering him from his shame. The dog's yips from the back garden sounded so happy. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a soft dirge playing on the wind through the rustling leaves.

For the first time in his life, Reuben Tarz truly mourned his loss.

Bebe Rosen, as she thought of herself these days, started the first day of what she referred to as her career. The anticipation she felt quickly turned to annoyance as she pulled up to the security gate at Fairmont Studios in her rusty car. The guard, his tie loosened at his neck, shirt-sleeves rolled up, and his cap set back on his head, approached and asked to see her pass. She explained who she was, noting scattered gum and candy wrappers littering the entrance. If Reuben were here, the man would be at attention, properly attired, and there would be no sign of debris.

Bebe climbed from the car and looked for the man's name tag, which was supposed to be pinned to his creased shirt pocket. “Your name, please,” she said coolly.

“Eddie Savery, ma'am.”

“Well, Eddie, it's like this. I'm taking over for my husband, who has left the country. I'm going to give you exactly ten minutes to straighten your tie, adjust your cap, roll down your sleeves, and find your identification pin. Then I'm going to give you another five minutes to clean up this debris. If you are one minute past my deadline, you are unemployed. Oh, one more thing, don't ever criticize my car, either mentally or verbally. The clock is ticking, Mr. Savery.” Bebe kept her eyes glued to her watch. You head them off at the pass and never give an inch, she thought, and their respect will be automatic. As Reuben was often fond of saying, everyone wanted discipline and an overseer.

With one minute to spare, the guard was back at his post, the offending debris clutched in both hands. He swallowed hard and did his best to smile at Bebe.

“Thank you, Mr. Savery,” Bebe said, shaking down the sleeve of her suit jacket. “Now, if you'll open the gate, I'll be on my way. Have a pleasant day.”

The guard touched his hat respectfully. “You, too, ma'am.” Obviously he wasn't going to be able to do much reading the way he'd planned. He let his breath out in a loud
swoosh
. He'd come
that
close to being fired. The moment he saw a director's car approach, he snapped to attention.

Bebe pulled her car alongside a snappy Cadillac roadster, probably her son's. She grinned when she stepped back to look at her own vehicle next to the impressive line of sedans, coupes, and sports convertibles. Her car, she decided, would give the entire studio something to talk about for days.

Upstairs in the executive office building, Bebe stared at Reuben's closed office door for a long time. Twice she reached out to twist the doorknob and both times she pulled back. It seemed sacrilegious, somehow, to cross the threshold of Reuben's private space, the place where he'd spent twenty-odd years of his life. She looked around, delaying the moment when she could stall no longer. This place where she was standing was the outer limits of the secretary's office, an austere kind of room, functional, but not elaborate or eye-appealing. Magaret, Reuben's loyal secretary, obviously hadn't been much of a decorator. But that could be changed with very little effort. Al Sugar, the head of the prop department, would help her. Some plants, a few comfortable chairs, some decent pictures on the walls, a new carpet, some up-to-date magazines, and it would all take shape.

Bebe noticed her hand was trembling as she reached out once again to grasp the polished brass door handle. A hand snaked ahead of hers and the door flew open. “You just open it, it's simple,” a voice said coolly.

Bebe looked up and stared into Reuben's mocking eyes, another ghost from the past. “Thank you,” she said, managing to sound quite normal. “I have this feeling that I'm trespassing somehow.”

“Yes, I felt that way, too, in the beginning. In fact, I still feel that way.” Philippe waited, wondering if his mother would prolong the conversation.

Her back to her son, Bebe drew in a deep breath. She was going to have to turn, face him, and she was going to have to do it now. What would Reuben do in this situation, she wondered. Whirl around, be blasé, and put him on the defensive, something he excelled at. When she turned, her features were composed, her voice even. “I noticed something when I walked into the building; in fact, I noticed it outside, too. It's quiet, too quiet, almost gloomy.”

Philippe found himself searching his mind for something his father would say in a situation like this. “Rather like a funeral after the funeral, a wake, I believe is the way Americans refer to it. I suppose it is. Mr. Tarz…my father is gone. Most of the people here, at least I find it so, think of him as
the
studio. I've noticed the past few days that people are being quiet because they're unsure of what's going to happen, and, of course, their jobs are uppermost in their minds.” He'd said too much, dragged out his response, but his mother was paying attention, actually seemed interested in what he'd just said.

“Yes, I can understand that. Well, I'll have a memo sent around as soon as I get a secretary. Business as usual until I…I understand the workings of this studio. It's been a long time since I've been here, and even then I was here in a visiting capacity only. As a child, Mr. Sugar let me play in the proproom. It was a wonderful place of make-believe.” Damn, she was talking too much. The boy was looking at her as though she had two heads.

Philippe shuffled his feet. “If there's anything…”

“I'll call you,” Bebe said, locking eyes with her son.

When the door closed behind him, Bebe's shoulders sagged. How was she going to work here, day after day, with Reuben's image so near? Her heart was beating so rapidly, she had to sit down. She bolted up a second later when she realized this was Reuben's chair, his indentations in the soft material. “Damn!”

For God's sake, this wasn't a shrine, she scolded herself. It was an office, used by a man who had run Fairmont Studios. Calmer now, she took the time to look around, to savor the place that had held her husband captive all these years. It was comfortable but fairly Spartan, much like the outer office. A workplace with no frills and no doodads. Well, she would change this and the outer office. It was what she wanted now, a conducive atmosphere for her to work in. Earth tones would be nice, with splashes of bright color. Perhaps a smaller desk that wouldn't dwarf the room and the occupants that came to…check on her out of curiosity. This had been fine for Reuben because he was larger than life and twice as intimidating. No leather, but soft nubby material on the chairs. Cushions with bright colors. Several green plants. Some brass or bronze on the walls. Maybe a collage of Fairmont's biggest box office hits.

Bebe perched on the edge of Reuben's chair and drummed her fingers on the desk. Obviously refurnishing the office was to be her first priority, a secretary second. And there was no time like the present to get things under way. With something like relief, she rose and left the office.

Outside, Bebe knew people were looking at her covertly as she walked along the newly paved walkways. When she reached her destination—the proproom she found Al Sugar and outlined her request; ever-accommodating, he promised her that Reuben's old offices would be transformed by four o'clock. Her second stop was the personnel office, which agreed to send several “possibles” for her to interview at four-thirty.

“How many people does it take to make this studio what it is?” Bebe muttered to herself as she walked around, staring at the crowds of people hurrying along from one destination to another. Actors and extras in makeup and costume, propmen and stagehands hauling scenery, directors, producers, writers…Fairmont was, literally, a dream factory.

This place, this studio, created temporary happiness and entertainment. And because of Reuben it was a better place than when her father had operated it. She had to give her husband that much credit. Reuben had diversified, buying this and that and adding to the studio's enormous wealth. Tonight she would take a set of books that she would requisition from legal and study them at home. Will I ever be able to take hold, absorb the whole of it, she asked herself.

Where was Reuben now, what was he doing? Was he in the East or on his way to Europe? Last night had been hard on her, so emotionally hard that she'd sat up in the kitchen all night drinking coffee. Where had she gotten the guts to confess to her past misdeeds? And how and when would Reuben retaliate for her sins? She shivered in the warm air.

An hour later Bebe had completed her walk around the perimeters of the studio lot. In her mind she now held a mental picture of each building that rested on each lot. She decided she'd earned her lunch.

She was just brushing the crumbs from a meat pie off her green silk dress when she spied Daniel and Jane Perkins walking arm in arm toward her. If she didn't speak, they wouldn't notice her; their eyes were intent on each other. They're in love, Bebe thought in surprise. She'd always thought of Jane as rather plain, but smiling as she was now, she was pretty. And Daniel…well, Daniel wore the silliest smile she'd ever seen.

A few moments later Philippe and Nellie approached on their way to the lunch wagon. She was beautiful, this proper-looking young lady who was laughing at something her son had said. He wore a wicked grin as he playfully poked Nellie's arm. So, Bebe thought wistfully, they all had someone, Daniel and Jane, Nellie and Philippe, Reuben on his way to Mickey. And what did she have? Wilbur. A damn dog.

To while away the rest of the afternoon, Bebe walked over to the studio's massive library. There she was observed looking through the chronological stack of books relating to the studio. Studio personnel watched as she flipped through the dusty tomes, scribbling notes on some kind of chart.

At four-thirty she folded the long yellow sheet of paper and stuck it in her purse. It was time to see what the head of the prop department had accomplished with her office.

She would have gasped in surprise if the four women from personnel hadn't been sitting in the outer office. Instead, she gave them a curt nod and marched through to her own office. Inside, with the door closed, she clapped her hands and whirled around delightedly. It was beautiful. Warm and inviting. She could definitely work here. It wasn't exactly sparkling—in fact, it was rather dusty—but that could be changed when she hired one of the four women in the outer office. Secretaries cleaned offices, watered plants, and made coffee.

By six o'clock Bebe made her final choice. Tillie, a petite middle-aged woman with no aspirations to be anything other than a secretary, had an infectious grin that Bebe adored, and impossibly curly hair that stood up in tight ringlets. When Bebe had asked what her skills were, she'd debated a moment and then replied, “I could lie and say I'm a whiz at office work, but I'm not, and you'd find out sooner or later. I taught myself to type and my dictation skills are so-so if you go slow. But I know how to file,” she'd added brightly. “Other than that, I'm addicted to soda pop, long, clanking earrings, and I think most men stink.” This was said out of the corner of her mouth, sotto voce.

“You're hired!” Bebe grinned. “What's your feeling on dogs?”

Tillie grinned. “They like me and I like them.”

“Good, because I have one and he'll be staying here in the office with me. You can start tomorrow if you like.”

Tillie nodded agreeably, and they went on to discuss salary. Bebe knew she was paying twenty-five dollars more than she should, but since Tillie had agreed to walk Willie and clean up, it would be worth it.

Bebe Rosen was on a roll.