Sins of the Flesh (33 page)

Jane Perkins opened the French doors leading to her terrace. Christmas in California. Another year almost gone, she thought sadly as she stepped onto the terrace.

The early twilight was her favorite time of day. Out in the cool evening air it didn't seem like Christmas at all. Come to think of it, it didn't seem like Christmas indoors, either. Even trimming the fragrant balsam hadn't lifted her spirits. Now the empty boxes had been carried back to the attic, the floor had been vacuumed, the presents placed beneath the tree.

The long, swirling red gown she had donned for her annual party was supposed to make her feel gay and relaxed. Instead, she felt tense and irritable, emotions unknown to her until four months earlier, when Nellie had arrived.

If only she didn't love Daniel. If only…if only…

Suddenly she wished for snow and freezing temperatures—anything that would keep people away from her party. All she wanted was to be able to retreat into her bedroom and nurse the sorrow building in her breast. If Reuben were here, she could tell him what was going on and how she felt. But, she thought ironically, if Reuben were here, she wouldn't have the problems because he would have cut Nellie off at the pass, even if she was Daniel's daughter—stepdaughter.

There were so many things she didn't understand. Or was she merely pretending not to understand because she didn't want a head-on confrontation with Daniel's daughter and Reuben's son?

These days the studio resembled ten acres of quicksand, deadly and treacherous. Things simply weren't going on as before. There were subtle little changes, changes that affected revenue, buys, and rejections. They hadn't turned out a quality movie in the last four months, and the projected schedule was so horrendous that her head ached every time she thought about it.

She was still smarting over the loss of
Ambrosia,
a script she'd wanted very much to buy. It was a perfect vehicle for Joan Crawford, who wanted to do the movie desperately. It would have been next year's feature film, capable of winning several Academy Awards. Now it was in the hands of M-G-M, who had paid twice what she could have gotten it for. Negotiations were under way to loan Crawford to M-G-M. Nellie had called the script schlock, and Philippe had said it was a sticky mess of sentimentality. Daniel had patted her on the head like an errant child and said, “Jane, honey, business is business, you can't win them all. Don't fret, something better will come along.” It was then she'd realized what was happening—she was fighting not just a battle, but a war, one she couldn't hope to win because she had no allies. Not one.

Maybe she should have gone to Bebe, but that wasn't her style. She didn't know how to backbite, wasn't up on infighting. Unfortunately, integrity and honor seemed to count for nothing on the open market.

Two days earlier she'd made up her mind to resign the day after the New Year. In fact, she'd typed her resignation and sealed it in an envelope, intending to hand-deliver it to the legal department at nine
A.M
., January 2. It was short and to the point, asking that the studio waive the thirty-day-notice clause in her contract.

Jane's heart fluttered wildly when she thought about the four heavy brown envelopes that had arrived in the mail over the past months, sent to her personally here at home. They were from Reuben, of course, all from Europe and bearing the
Times
's name in the upper left-hand corner.

The first packet had arrived on a dreary, rainy day, when she'd been home with a severe cold. Hands trembling, she'd opened it and sat at the dining room table reading the cramped writing that covered twenty sheets of paper, front as well as back. The short note scribbled on the top margin read: “Jane, I think you'll know what to do with this when the time comes.” He'd scrawled his initials underneath. Sniffling and sneezing, she'd read the whole thing three times. She smiled, she cried, and she agonized at what she was reading. Reuben had entrusted the story of his life to
her
hands, not to Daniel and not Bebe, the closest people in his life. Obviously it was to be kept secret, otherwise he wouldn't have sent the packets to her home. All four of the heavy packages were locked in her wall safe.

The past few days she'd toyed with the idea of setting up her own production company once she'd definitely made up her mind to tender her resignation, but such an endeavor would wipe her out financially. She'd have to mortgage the house, sell her car, liquidate whatever investments she had. Max would help if she needed extra capital, that much she knew. Everybody thought of Max as Reuben's gangster friend from the old days. But gangster or not, Max was as loyal a friend as she was to Reuben. For years now he'd anguished over the fact that he'd never been able to repay Reuben for getting him back into legitimate mainstream society. This payback would be a pleasure for Max as well as for her, if she decided to film Reuben's life. It must be what he had in mind. If he'd wanted to write a book, he would have said so. Any number of publishers would jump at the chance to buy what she had in her safe. No, it was a film Reuben wanted.

All her life she'd trusted her gut feelings, and now her stomach was rippling at the thought of filming Reuben's life. If she handpicked her crew and used unknown actors and actresses and filmed on location…The challenge frightened and delighted her.

The defeated look had left Jane's eyes when she stepped back into the house. How she loved Christmas. She vowed to make this holiday as enjoyable as the ones in the past. Daniel would be arriving soon. Weeks before they'd agreed to have a private hour before the party got under way, enough time to toast the season and exchange their presents. Her heart was beating now in anticipation of the moment Daniel walked through her door and saw the huge tree and the festive decorations. His eyes would light with approval at both the house and herself. He loved her as much as she loved him, and it was a wonderful giving and sharing love—a love that was gentle and quiet one moment and wild and exhilarating the next. There was only one flaw in their relationship, and that was Daniel's obsessive love for Nellie.

Jane glanced at her watch. Daniel was always punctual; he should be arriving…right now. When the doorbell rang, she tensed. Daniel usually let himself in with his key. This formality could mean only one thing. Anger sparked in her eyes as she walked to the door, and she made no attempt to smile when she opened the door to admit Daniel and Nellie.

“Merry Christmas, Jane,” Daniel said exuberantly.

“Merry Christmas,” Nellie gushed over her shoulder as she made her way to the Christmas tree.

“I didn't think you'd mind if I brought Nellie along. There didn't seem to be much sense in having Philippe drive all the way out to our side of the canyon, and there's so much traffic.” His smile faded when he saw the anger in Jane's eyes.

“But I do mind, Daniel, I mind very much. However, it seems I can't do much about it at the moment,” she said coolly, then turned on her heel and marched into the living room. “What will you have to drink? Nellie? Daniel?” Thank God her hands weren't as shaky as her stomach.

“Wine, just a little,” Nellie said happily. “This is the most gorgeous tree. I've never seen one more beautiful, have you, Daddy? I'm so glad you allowed me to share this intimate time with you and Daddy. Once everyone gets here it will be just a party. I brought you a present, Jane. I put it under the tree.”

“Thank you,” Jane said flatly, handing Nellie her wine.

“I brought you one, too,” Daniel said boyishly as he dug a small box out of his pocket. Jane had been expecting—had hoped and prayed for—an engagement ring, but Daniel's gift-wrapped box was long and narrow. Disappointed, she watched as he carefully placed the gaily wrapped package on the table. An engagement ring was what she wanted, had dreamed of all these months. A ring meant marriage, togetherness for always, and nothing would have made her happier. But that was then, this was now, she thought sadly. She held out Daniel's drink, but made no move to touch the package.

Daniel accepted his glass of Scotch with sober eyes. It had been thoughtless of him to bring Nellie along without even calling Jane first to let her know. He saw that now. But the change in plan had been made so suddenly, it seemed. One moment Nellie was on the phone with Philippe, and the next she'd had no way to get to Jane's party. And after all, it
was
an inconvenient, out-of-the-way drive for the boy, while he, Daniel, was already heading that way himself…. He simply hadn't thought Jane would mind. But she did. She minded very much. The spark was still in her eyes, ready to burst into flame any second if he didn't do or say something. Later, of course, she would apologize and so would he. But there were hours to get through until then.

“You know, Jane, when I first heard about your famous Christmas parties, I thought it was only for the stars at the studio,” Nellie said exuberantly. “You know, all that glitter and sparkle. Then I heard, and I don't know who told me, that your party is for all the people who work behind the scenes. I just can't tell you how wonderful that is. And your Christmas party for the children at the studio was…well, I just want you to know I think it's absolutely swell of you. You are just so…wonderful, isn't she, Daddy?”

Daniel grinned. “She is the marvel in marvelous. Everyone says so. Reuben made a wise choice when he hired you to head production.”

“Thank you,” Jane said curtly. At the bar, she poured herself a drink and took it neat, slapping the empty glass on the countertop. Daniel's eyes popped. This was one angry lady. Compliments alone weren't going to make things right. Not this time.

If Nellie was aware of the tension between her father and Jane, she gave no outward sign but rattled on about the array of gifts under the tree. “I guess I'm just Daddy's little girl, especially at Christmastime. Jane, you'll never guess what my Christmas present is…was…from Daddy,” she said breathlessly. “I don't have to go to college next September if I don't want to. Needless to say, I don't want to. UCLA won't miss me at all. I'm learning so much from you. She's such a patient teacher, Daddy. I know exactly how things are done now, but it will take me at least a skillion years to be as good as she is.”

Daniel grappled for something to say, suddenly aware that whatever was wrong with Jane had something to do with Nellie and wasn't stemming just from this one incident. He watched as Jane belted down another drink, her eyes on Nellie. If she kept this up, her party would be minus a hostess. Now he was annoyed—with himself, with his daughter, who had placed him in this position, and with Jane, who couldn't accept a little inconvenience without an unnecessary display of temper.

“Excuse me, I think the caterers are here,” Jane muttered, and headed for the kitchen in a rustle of red chiffon before Daniel could voice his thoughts.

“Is Jane upset about something?” Nellie asked innocently as she poked at a package under the tree.

Daniel chose his words carefully. “I imagine preparing this party, decorating the tree and house, was an awesome job. Jane is such a perfectionist. You ladies are such fussbudgets when it comes to parties. Maybe you should go out to the kitchen and see if there's anything you can do to help.”

Nellie shook her head. “Oh, Daddy, you don't know much about women. Jane has this party organized to the last detail. She won't want me interfering. She sees enough of me at the office. But”—she wagged a playful finger in her father's direction—“you're wrong about her being a perfectionist. She's made some colossal mistakes, and her mind definitely isn't on studio business. Some of her approvals have been so bad, I didn't want to say anything. It's a good thing Philippe and Bebe caught them and vetoed her bad decisions. This is just between us, Daddy,” Nellie whispered conspiratorially. “I think you're her problem. She's in love, and her mind is on you.”

Daniel felt a sudden urge to slap his daughter, and he didn't know why. Yes, he knew Jane was in love with him and he with her. But he also knew that her love wouldn't interfere with studio decisions. He gave his daughter a brief smile that never reached his eyes, and, apparently satisfied, she shifted her playful gaze and poked at another present under the tree.

A long time later, just seconds before the first guest arrived, Jane returned to the living room, a drink in her hand. She smiled, but like Daniel, the smile didn't touch her eyes. With her guests, however, she was her normal, affectionate self, offering drinks, often linking arms with them, and then moving on to another cluster of people, where she'd hold vibrant, intense conversations. There was always a drink in her hand, and she refused to meet Daniel's questioning gaze.

Philippe arrived an hour into the party with a lavishly wrapped gift that he presented with a flourish. Jane accepted the gift graciously and nodded in Nellie's direction. Watching the young man walk toward his daughter, Daniel stared in dumb surprise at what he saw in Philippe's eyes. Hostility! For whom? Definitely not Nellie. Jane? Well, he'd certainly look into
that.

Bebe arrived a short while later, full of apologies. “You won't believe this, Jane, but my car broke down. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a mechanic on Christmas Eve?”

Jane laughed, her eyes full of merriment. “I heard your car all the way in the kitchen. Have you given any thought to retiring that piece of junk to the scrapyard? How about a glass of ginger ale or a Virgin Mary?”

“Ginger ale will be fine, and no, I'm not about to junk that car,” Bebe announced. “I've grown very fond of it. I plan to ride it into the ground.”

“It is into the ground.” Jane giggled. “Oh, Bebe, I'm so glad you came. I wasn't sure…it's been so long…and I was never sure if you…I guess this isn't the time to talk about such things. Listen,” she said impulsively, “do you have any grand plans for after this party or for tomorrow?”