“Why?”
Philippe frowned. “Why? Because…because those are my hours.”
“But you’re the boss, with your mother, of course, so you shouldn’t have to adhere to a time schedule. I do because I am a lowly apprentice, but you, you can sleep late, you don’t even have to go in if you don’t want to.” She opened her purse and withdrew a small compact in order to examine her face. “Philippe,” she said casually, “what do you think of Jane?”
“The dossier the studio has on her is quite complete. I’d say she is a remarkable, efficient, knowledgeable woman,” Philippe replied. “She’s also a very nice person, from the little I’ve seen of her. She’s rather gentle, warm, and kind. In many ways she reminds me of my mother…in France. Why do you ask?”
“Working with her as I do, I see only the business side of her. I don’t think she likes me. No, I know she doesn’t like me.” Nellie looked up to catch the surprise on Philippe’s face. “Oh, it isn’t anything she said or did,” she added hastily, “it’s something I picked up on these past few days. I catch her staring at me, and she has this strange look on her face. She doesn’t like me, but she loves my father!”
“That’s strange. I had the impression Jane liked everyone. She’s well thought of at the studio. In fact, production would fall apart without her. I guess that’s why my father gave her a ninety-nine-year contract.” Philippe smiled. “It was sort of a joke, I’m told, but he insisted. If she ever decides to leave for any reason, the studio would be forced to pay out an astronomical sum of money to her every year if she chose to exercise the contract to the letter. Like my father, Jane is Fairmont. Your father is, too, but in a different way. His job in legal has been waiting for him all these years. Sifting through all the records and files, I came to the conclusion that the workings of the studio, the personnel, are all part of my father’s master plan, for want of a better word. There won’t be any changes made in the near future, I can tell you that much.”
Nellie suppressed a yawn. “It all sounds very interesting, Philippe, but it is late and I do have to get up early…. By the way, I just realized that I don’t have a contract. Does that mean I’m just temporary?” she asked coyly.
“I’ll check it out tomorrow.” He squeezed her hand. “Will I see you Saturday evening for dinner?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Philippe, I can’t have dinner with you. Jane made…well, what she did was, she arranged a meeting—actually, it’s a date because she told me to get dressed up—with one of the young actors at the studio. Carlo Santini, do you know him?” She waited for what she knew would be Philippe’s response, and she wasn’t disappointed.
“That gigolo!” he cried indignantly. “That doesn’t please me at all. I insist that you break this…this date!”
“Philippe, I can’t do that,” Nellie protested, forcing herself to sound distressed. “Jane’s my boss; how would it look if I said no? She said she’s going to arrange for me to meet every eligible young actor on the lot. Imagine that!” On that note she breezed out of the car and blew Philippe a kiss as she started up the steps to the front door. “Good night, Philippe,” she called. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Philippe seethed and fretted on the drive home. He stormed into his empty house, his footsteps loud on the marble floor. Until tonight he had liked Jane Perkins. Tomorrow he would take a second look at her ironclad ninety-nine-year contract.
His head was pounding unmercifully as he climbed the stairs to the second story and slammed his way into his overly decorated bedroom. His mother would laugh if she could see it. The decorator had gone wild with her black-and-white zebra wallpaper and speckled black carpeting. The tailored black-and-white-checked drapes made his eyes water, as did the black lampshades. He hated it, and yet he was stuck with it.
The urge to smash something, to shatter that something into oblivion, was so strong he grew light-headed with the thought alone. His hands to his temples, he lay back on the black-and-white flowered pillows. If Jane Perkins were standing in front of him, he would have pushed his fist through her warm, gentle face. Nellie Bishop belonged to him.
As Philippe reached out for troubled sleep, he wondered whose side his mother would be on. Then he tried to imagine Nellie in his arms, here in his bed. He reached for the pillow and buried his face in it, willing the ferocious headache to dissipate.
While Philippe struggled with his headache and sleep, Nellie danced around her bedroom wondering what it would be like to be married to the head of a major studio. A true Hollywood mogul. Would that make her a mogulette? She smiled at herself in the smoky mirror in the bathroom. Anything was possible; her father had said so time and time again. And her father was always right.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bebe’s office crackled with electricity—hers, as she paced up and down to Tillie’s amusement. Today she would preside over her first company meeting. On the ride in to the studio she’d made up her mind that after she called the meeting to order, she would sit back and listen.
Thoughtfully she fingered the small spiral notebook she’d found in Reuben’s desk. It looked to be his business Bible, the pages old and tattered, the wire half gone from the side, replaced with adhesive tape. It was impossible to know if he’d left it behind deliberately or had simply forgotten it. Whatever the case, it was going to prove invaluable—Reuben’s dictionary for success, and who could quibble with what he’d done over the years?
Know your adversaries. If superior, retreat; if evenly matched, fight; if they’re weak, close in for the kill. And always find the skeleton in the closet. Give generously so you can take back and your adversary thinks he’s willingly giving up that which you want and need. Obviously, it had all worked for Reuben, Bebe thought with a grimace. The only thing was she wasn’t Reuben, and she didn’t know if the members of the board would be her adversaries. There was every possibility they would work with her once she herself knew the inner workings of the studio.
She was dressed tastefully and professionally in a glen plaid suit with a frilly white blouse. She had on pearl earrings, the one gift from Reuben that she still treasured, a businesslike watch with a black leather strap, and her wedding ring. That, of course, would be removed when the divorce was final. Her hairdo was almost severe, pulled back from her face with a black onyx comb on the side. She felt it gave definition to her profile.
If only she could stop her hands from shaking. A drink would do that, but those days were behind her. Either she was going to make it on her own or not at all. “Damn you, Reuben, you gave in too easily,” she whispered.
At least she knew what the seating arrangement was because she’d had Tillie place name cards around the table. Jane Perkins would be on her right, Philippe on her left, directors on the right, production heads on the left. Daniel Bishop would sit a quarter of the way down on her right so she’d be able to see his eyes during the meeting; Tillie, of course, was directly behind her.
Willie whined from his position under her desk, desirous of his mistress’s attention. Bebe dropped to her haunches to caress the spaniel’s silky head. “You have to wait here, pal, until this meeting is over. I’m going to need your support then. Look what I brought along for you to chew on while I’m out of the office.”
The dog’s satiny ears picked up and then flopped over to rest on his paws as he waited for his treat. When Bebe offered him a soup bone that had been wrapped in waxed paper, the dog yipped his delight. His soft brown eyes gazed at her adoringly.
“It’s time,” Tillie said, poking her head in the doorway. Bebe straightened up and followed her secretary down the corridor to the conference room. Tillie, she decided, was one of the flashiest dressers she’d ever known. Today she was attired in a red and white polka-dot dress and bright red shoes. Startling red earrings the size of lemons hung from her ears, and on her wrist jangled several gold bracelets. Yet Tillie herself was comforting, just as Willie was—a port of calm for the impending meeting. Thank God, thought Bebe,
I had the good sense to hire her.
At the door to the conference room Tillie halted and smiled confidently at Bebe, reminding her of a precocious squirrel ready to invade a backyard full of acorns. Then she thrust open the door and stood aside for her boss to enter.
Every seat at the long, polished table was taken with department heads. They stood as one when Bebe entered the room, Jane, too, a warm smile on her face. Bebe nodded and motioned for everyone to be seated. She took her seat and leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her, the picture of calm confidence. All night she’d practiced this pose and the words that would come next.
“Jane, gentlemen,” she said briskly, “this is going to be a very short meeting. I’m sure all of you are wondering about my plans and objectives. It’s simple. I want this studio to remain the thriving enterprise it’s been in the past. If we can do better, we’ll work together to that end. For the time being, I anticipate no changes. It’ll be business as usual. My office doors will be open to you at all times.” Bebe smiled warmly around the table before she fired off her closing statement. “I hope none of you will”—she paused a full five seconds before she continued—“be reticent about opening the door to my offices because of my…gender.” She was pleased to see the self-conscious smiles and nods. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Daniel’s thumbs-up salute.
“And now I think we can get on with the business of the day. Among other things, I believe Mr. Bouchet has a research report on television.”
The meeting droned on for over an hour, coming to a close when Philippe handed around his thick reports to all those present. Bebe thanked him and adjourned the meeting. Tonight she would study her son’s contribution—carefully, to make sure she didn’t miss a thing.
Outside in the hall, Tillie was ushering Bebe ahead of the mob behind them. “You were swell,” she hissed in her ear. “If you were scared, I sure couldn’t tell. They couldn’t tell either.” Bebe sighed with relief.
“Bebe! Hold on,” Daniel called. “Are you becoming so professional you don’t have time for old friends?”
Bebe’s eyes glowed warmly. “Daniel, I…I thought it might be better if I didn’t let the present situation get in the way of our very old and very wonderful memories. I wasn’t sure how you felt after all this time, and then there was Rajean’s passing and Reuben leaving…”
“I’ve been waiting for you to come by my office. When you didn’t call or stop by, I thought you…well, I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”
“Obviously, we have a classic case of misunderstanding here,” Bebe said, and took his arm. “Come along to my office and Tillie will make us some fresh coffee. I have something I want to show you.”
Daniel felt light-headed with the change in Bebe. This couldn’t be his old friend from France. Bebe the spoiled young brat, Bebe the jazz baby, Bebe the alcoholic and drug addict. Not this woman dressed so impeccably and walking so confidently at his side, not this warm, gentle-sounding woman. This striking woman who had so heartily endorsed his position at the studio was his friend. And, he realized suddenly, his boss. The thought brought a chuckle to his lips.
“What’s so funny?” Bebe asked.
“You’re my boss.” Daniel laughed. “You have to admit that’s funny.”
“Why?”
Bebe’s voice was so serious, the smile died on Daniel’s face. He couldn’t lie to Bebe and he didn’t want to lie. “For so long I thought of you as a party girl, interested in a good time with no thoughts for anything but your own immediate feelings. I never thought of you in this capacity, but I always knew you were smart enough to do and be whatever you wanted. I even told you so one time—years ago, in France. And you said, and this is a direct quote, ‘Oh, poo, that sounds like hard work.’”
Bebe sighed. “That was then and this is now. I hit bottom, Daniel. It was either stay there or climb out, and the only place to go was up. It wasn’t easy, and I know I’m not out of the woods yet. I take it one day at a time, and at the end of each day I thank God and ask that tomorrow be just as good. I’m going to do my best.”
“That’s all any of us do. Congratulations.” He hugged her, pretending not to see the tears glistening in her eyes.
Bebe whistled softly, and a golden whirlwind circled her legs, pink tongue wagging as fast as his tail. “Daniel, meet Willie.”
Daniel was a young boy again as he dropped to his knees, his hands stroking the dog’s silky body. “Jesus, Bebe, his ears are longer than his tail. I bet they get in the way, don’t they, fella?” Bebe looked on, smiling indulgently.
“Willie is my roommate, my friend, and my confidant. He loves me unconditionally, he’s loyal, and he doesn’t argue. We get along fine.”
“I can see that. I don’t suppose you’d loan him out once in a while,” Daniel asked hopefully.
“Not on your life. You have all that room at the canyon house. Get your own dog. Reuben won’t mind. It just might give the old place a little sparkle and life. This is my dog!” she declared firmly, and laughed as Willie romped around her, barking and wagging his tail furiously.
“By the way,” she asked, changing the subject, “has anyone heard from Mickey?”
“No, and I’m worried. Philippe has to be in torment, but he’s carrying it off well. I’m hoping that you two…”
“Don’t, Daniel. If it’s meant to be, it will be. Among other things, I’ve become a fatalist these days.” Bebe smiled at her old childhood friend; he grinned back.
“Old times, eh.”
“No, Daniel. Those old times, as you call them, are memories now. Memories best forgotten, at least by me. Tell me,” she said, changing the subject again, “how is Nellie?”
“Doing just wonderfully. She loves production, and she can learn so much from Jane. Speaking of Jane, we’ve been seeing each other. She’s a wonderful person,” Daniel said, his eyes glowing.
“I’m happy for you,” Bebe said sincerely. “And for Jane. I think you two will make a wonderful couple. How is Nellie taking it?”
“Very well. I think she’s fond of Jane. Of course, she’s seeing Philippe almost every evening. They are, as the saying goes, enamored of each other. I for one couldn’t be happier.”
Bebe nodded and then rose and came around the other side of the desk. “Well, it was nice chatting with you, Daniel, but I have an office to run. Not that I have a lot of work on my desk. I’m still doing my research on the studio. I want to fully understand the entire system before I make any decisions. I also want to study Philippe’s television report. He seems to think it’s the wave of the future. If he’s right, this industry could fall apart. But let’s get together again, real soon.”
Daniel blinked in surprise. Bebe had just dismissed him. Nicely, of course, but it was still a dismissal. This pretty, intelligent woman standing in front of him was definitely not the old Bebe. Now he understood all Reuben’s conversations. How easy it must have been for him to fall in love with this new Bebe. And so terribly sad.
“Anytime you want a sitter for your friend, I’ll be glad to oblige,” Daniel said cheerfully.
“I’ll remember that. I’m glad you’re here, Daniel, and I’m serious about getting together.”
“I’ll call you,” Daniel said, and he meant it.
When he was almost to the door Bebe called him back. “Daniel, is it true that you hold 2 percent of Fairmont voting stock? Reuben gleefully informed me of that fact before he left.”
“Yes, it’s true. Mickey gave it to me when I was in France. I won’t take sides, Bebe, I want you to know that. If I have to vote, it will be what’s best for the studio, in my opinion. Right now I’m in the same position you’re in. I’m learning what makes this place work. From a legal standpoint I don’t suppose that makes a lot of sense, but it’s the way I do things.”
“As long as you’re fair,” Bebe said briskly.
“Do you doubt me?”
Bebe hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
There was no response to that statement, Daniel decided, so he merely nodded and left the office with a last scratch to Willie’s ears.
After he left Bebe stared out the window for a long time, reliving memories of her friendship with Daniel. Sweet, honest Daniel. Loyal, too, not to mention caring and compassionate. Reuben’s best friend in the whole world. Daniel would report to Reuben, of that she had no doubt. But she had one ace up her sleeve from the past if she chose to use it: the silly agreement she’d tricked him into signing years ago, whereby he agreed to…what? They’d made a bet and he’d lost. She’d boasted she could get Reuben to make love to her. Daniel, his eyes full of loyalty and love for his best friend, had disagreed, saying Reuben was too much in love with Mickey to give her a tumble. Instead of making love to her, Reuben had raped her in the barn. How delighted she’d been to inform Daniel that his idol had clay feet. And, devastated, he’d scrawled his name on the bottom of the contract he himself had drawn up. Would he remember it now, she wondered. Would she use it if she had to? It was part of her other life, the part she’d left behind. Maybe, maybe not, she decided.
“I think this is everything,” Tillie said, slapping a pile of folders on Bebe’s desk. “This batch is pending, this is definite, this represents last week’s rejections. I’ve been through them all, and…”
“And what?”
“I don’t agree with half of the decisions. It seems to me—and I’m no authority, bear that in mind—but it seems to me that anything by a new writer is automatically rejected in favor of contract writers who have ‘names.’ Some of those names are lousy, if you don’t mind my saying so. I don’t understand why the studio would pay out more money for something so inferior.”
Bebe looked at her secretary sharply. “I’ll go through them. Did you find anything else?”
“I’m waiting for the balance of the contracts to come over from legal. If you want my opinion, I think everyone around here is overpaid, from the janitor to the guards at the gate. I don’t have a college degree, so maybe that’s why I don’t understand why everyone, myself included, has to have a contract. But I’ve been told that’s the way Mr. Tarz wanted it. It’s great for job security from the employee’s point of view, but I’m not sure it’s in the studio’s best interest.”
Sins of the Flesh Page 27