Sins of the Flesh (35 page)

“Why don't I make breakfast and then you can go home to Willie,” Jane offered. “I have a lot of leftover meat if you'd like to take some with you.”

Bebe grinned. “On behalf of Willie, I thank you. He's getting a little tired of dog food. You won't believe this, but I cook for that animal. Reuben would die laughing if he knew.”

Jane patted her hand. “Eggs and bacon coming up.” It wasn't until they'd drained their third cup of coffee that Bebe spoke again.

“I want you to think about this after I leave. Let's start to film Reuben's…life. Right now. We'll requisition whatever we need in the way of sound stages, production crew, and all the rest of it—make it a top-secret, top-priority project. We'll scour the world for unknowns and turn this into another
Gone With the Wind.
You'll be in charge—which should get Nellie off your back for now. This will be our baby, from conception to birth to…Christ, we don't have the end!” Bebe cried suddenly.

“Not yet we don't, but we will,” Jane told her confidently. “Another packet is due to arrive shortly. But you're right—everyone has to be sworn to secrecy. You know how this town gets when something is going on that isn't public knowledge.”

Bebe smiled. “When they hear we're commandeering Fairmont's finest to make a top-secret film…God, Jane, can you picture the emotion of this town! I vote we do it.”

Jane glowed. “I truly appreciate the confidence you have in me. But what about…” She shifted uncomfortably, then turned to look Bebe straight in the eye. “What I mean is, you don't exactly come across as a sympathetic figure in this town. How are you going to feel when the whole damn industry starts raking over your past and questioning your ability to assume command of Fairmont this way?”

“I'll just stare them down. In my car!” Both women laughed.

“I have to be going,” Bebe said, rising. “Willie gets…precocious if he isn't let out early. Merry Christmas, Jane, and thank you for the most wonderful gift I've ever received.”

 

Ten miles away Philippe and Nellie sat in his car staring at the Little Chapel in the Hills. They'd been waiting since midnight, when Nellie had confessed that she couldn't make love without being married. Philippe had gaped at her in alarm, his erection dying instantly, as she'd sobbed and cried and apologized. “It's not that I don't want to, it's just that…I'm not that kind of girl. You said you wanted to marry me someday,” she'd reminded him tearfully. “Why don't we make Christmas Day our someday. I don't care about a big wedding or anything like that. I just care about you. I'll marry you in a minute and make love to you twenty-four hours a day. If you…if you don't want to marry me or if you've changed your mind, I'll understand. Jane said Frenchmen aren't the marrying type the way American men are.”

“I do want to marry you, but your father—my God, what will he think of me?” Philippe asked, disturbed.

“He's going to think you love me very much to marry me instead of taking me to bed without a wedding ring. He'll respect both of us,” Nellie said in a determined voice. “A Christmas Day wedding. Isn't that romantic, Philippe? Neither of us will ever be able to forget our anniversary. Oh, Philippe, we can be so happy. I can help you run the studio. We'll be together night and day. But it has to be your idea; you must propose to me properly.” She waited, eyes wide and imploring while Philippe stared at her in a daze. At last he dropped to one knee and took her hand in his.

“Will you marry me, Nellie?”

“Oh, Philippe, of course I'll marry you. Oh, darling, we're going to be so happy,” she gushed. “With the two of us running the studio Bebe and Jane can retire. Daddy and Jane will get married, and Bebe will…she'll probably do whatever makes her happy. Oh, how romantic this is going to be!”

Philippe ignored the warning bell that was sounding far back in his mind. Instead, he stood up and pulled Nellie against him, nuzzling his chin against her soft, silky hair. “I love you,” he murmured.

“And I love you, darling Philippe, as much as I love life,” she whispered.

Nellie and Philippe were married at two minutes past seven on Christmas Day. The ceremony was performed by the justice of the peace and lasted three minutes. Nellie handed the bridal bouquet of plastic flowers back to the justice before she kissed her husband.

Mr. and Mrs. Philippe Bouchet drove to Philippe's house singing “Jingle Bells” at the top of their lungs.

 

Daniel spent the entire night staring at the artificial Christmas tree in the living room. It was so cold, so impersonal, with its dismal blue lights and blue ribbons on the tips of the branches. When dawn broke he called Philippe's house to find out when Nellie would be home, but there was no answer. Now he had two worries on his mind—Nellie and Jane. This was not the way he'd planned on spending Christmas, he thought morosely. He'd been so happy until Jane's party, and now he didn't know how to go about making things right. What was his first priority, Nellie or his relationship with Jane? Nellie was a proper young lady and she'd never stayed out all night before. It wasn't like her not to call.

It wasn't like Jane not to call, either. All night he'd waited for one or the other, and here he was still waiting—waiting for Jane to call, waiting for Nellie to come home. Anger raged through him. He'd give them one more hour, and if he hadn't heard from them by then, he'd say the hell with both of them.

His shower over, Daniel prepared a scrumptious breakfast of scrambled eggs and luscious pink ham, sliced thin just the way he liked it. It was one of the most dismal breakfasts he'd ever eaten.

Fed, showered, and shaved and nowhere to go on Christmas Day. It was a hell of a thing. His anger carried him back to the huge living room and the white Christmas tree. Rajean would have liked this tree, called it chic. Suddenly he upended it and gave it a vicious kick, and then another, venting all his anger on the toppled tree. Then, still seething, he left the house. He was damn well going to Philippe Bouchet's house to find out where his daughter was, and then he was going to go to Jane's to apologize. He'd had enough of this damn bullshit. Today was Christmas, and he was going to celebrate it if it killed him and everyone he knew.

An hour later Daniel slowed his car as he saw Philippe swing his roadster into the driveway coming from the opposite direction. Damn kids were singing “Jingle Bells” at the top of their lungs. He found himself smiling. Nellie wore her sparkly gown, and Philippe was still dressed in evening clothes. They must have gone out to breakfast.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” Nellie called gaily when he followed them up the driveway. “Do we have something to tell you! Do you want to guess, or shall we tell you? Philippe, you tell him!”

Philippe walked slowly down the driveway. It was obvious to Daniel that Nellie's exuberance hadn't rubbed off on him; he looked sad and bewildered. “Sir, there's no easy way to say this except to say it outright,” he said reluctantly. He looked, Daniel thought, as if his head were going to be chopped off any second. “Nellie and I got married this morning. We sat outside the Little Chapel in the Hills until it opened.” Daniel's shocked face drove him on. “It was my idea, sir. I love Nellie and she loves me. We…we wanted it to be right, and Nellie said she didn't care about a formal wedding. Later we can marry in church…Sir?” Philippe said miserably when Daniel still didn't speak.

God Almighty, Reuben was going to hand him his head for allowing this to happen, Daniel thought, dazed. And Mickey, what in hell would she say when she found out? Why were the young so impulsive? When he saw that Philippe was waiting for him to say something, he forced himself to respond. “Congratulations…. But isn't this a little…sudden? I mean—”

“Now, look, Daddy, you aren't going to act like a silly father and say this marriage has to be annulled, are you?” Nellie broke in. “I love Philippe and he loves me. We're going to run the studio together, isn't that just too, too much?” She hugged him and planted a long, smacking kiss on his cheek. Then, seeing the concern in her father's eyes, she whispered, “Be happy for me, Daddy. It's what we both want.”

“I am, I am, it's just that it's such a shock. When you didn't come home last evening…”

Nellie's gay laughter chilled Daniel to the very marrow of his bones. It carried the same undercurrent of disdain he'd heard when Rajean laughed at one of his silly jokes. “And of course you thought the worst of me, didn't you?” Nellie said lightly. “Admit it, Daddy. It's okay, in your place I would have thought the same thing. I thought you knew me better than that. I would never do anything to hurt you. Now,” she said, clapping her hands together, “I am going to make a champagne breakfast for the two favorite men in my life. Come along.” She laughed, making shooing motions with her hands. “I never saw such sad sacks. Liven up, be happy! Today is Christmas, and Philippe and I are going to be married for the rest of our lives. I'm so happy! So very, very happy!”

Daniel watched Philippe out of the corner of his eye. It might be Christmas and he might be married, but Philippe Bouchet was not a happy young man. Hadn't Nellie seen Philippe's misery? Or was she ignoring it? He wondered then whose idea it was to get married. Philippe had said it was his, but for some reason Daniel didn't believe him. He glanced at his daughter. How happy she was, and she deserved happiness. Rajean had never really provided a happy home life. Now Nellie was going to have a home of her own, one that wasn't too shabby by most standards. In fact, his daughter was going to be a very wealthy woman. In his heart he wished her well.

It was noon when Nellie and Philippe saw him out and stood in the driveway waving good-bye.

“Now, Philippe, you and I are going to have a little talk,” Nellie said coolly after her father had left. “I am very weary at this moment, because you acted and are still acting as if we did something wrong. You didn't smile once the whole time Daddy was here. If you're having second thoughts, we can have this marriage annulled. You think I tricked you or something like that, don't you? Well, Philippe Bouchet, you can just drive me home now and…and I'll be out of your hair…. Well, why are you just standing there? Say something.”

Philippe swayed dizzily as his head started to pound. Everything she said was true; he did think those things. Right this second he didn't give a damn if he never saw Nellie Bishop again. Nellie Bouchet. Suddenly the eggs he'd just eaten surged upward. With a strangled sound, he rushed to the first-floor powder room and emptied his stomach. Then he rinsed his mouth and swallowed four aspirins.

Nellie was waiting for him on the stairs, her elbows propped up on her knees and the long dress draped between her legs. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Philippe was reminded of a lovable homeless urchin. Contrite, he sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulder. “Someday we're going to laugh about all this,” he said huskily.

“Do you think so?” Nellie whimpered, and wiped at her tears with the hem of her dress. “I want to love you, Philippe. I want to know you belong to me and I belong to you. It's so important to me, to belong. I thought…I mean, in your situation with Uncle Reuben and Bebe and your other mother…it just seemed to me that we…My mother is gone, and Daddy—Daniel Bishop isn't my real father…I don't know what I'm trying to say…”

“It's me, Nellie, it isn't you,” Philippe said quietly. “I do love you and I wanted to marry you, perhaps not as quickly, but now that we are, it will be fine. I guess I'm just in shock. I was thinking about my mother and worrying about why no word has arrived. My father…he should have managed to send some kind of message. I thought for sure that Christmas…I was so certain there would be word. Christmas is a day of miracles. Last evening at Jane's, my…Bebe…was so distant, so reserved. I will never get used to the idea that she—”

Nellie nodded. “Abandoned you, I know…but you must think of it as her loss, not yours. You have another mother who loves you. You know what they say about paybacks…. If the time ever comes when you want to get back at her, you have the power. Think about it—you could toss her out on her ear if you wanted to. Could you do that, Philippe?” She asked, leading her husband up the stairs.

“No. An eye for an eye isn't right. That would make me the same as she is. My father gave her half of the studio; he wanted her to have it. She'll do fine. Actually, I have to respect her in a way. She must have a lot of guts. In that respect she reminds me of my other mother. Besides, Nellie Bouchet, your father has the controlling two votes.”

“Exactly!” Nellie said triumphantly. “And how do you think he would vote them? Our side, darling. If Bebe were
my
mother, I'd squash her like a bug for what she did. You are so kind and wonderful; I guess that's why I love you.”

The warning bell he'd heard earlier sounded a second time. This time Philippe paid attention, watching as his new bride retreated to the bathroom to shower. Out of courtesy he used the shower in the guest bathroom, standing under the stinging spray for a long time, wondering how he knew he'd just made the most serious mistake of his young life.

Ten minutes later he was under the coverlet, naked as the day he was born. Nellie would expect him to be naked. His heart thumped crazily in his chest. He felt no desire, only dread. When he heard the bathroom door open, he almost shot out of bed. How pretty she looked with the towel draped around her, her damp hair hanging in ringlets around her face. She was smiling. Sweet Nellie. His wife, Nellie. The moment she dropped the towel, Philippe squeezed his eyes shut. After a slight hesitation Nellie lay down on her side of the bed. With Philippe lying rigidly on his side, there was enough space to fit several people between them.