Sins of Omission

by Fern Michaels

  “This is the way I interpret it,” he continued. “The product—in this case, the film—is not bought or sold. The patrons merely pay to look at the film. The retailers or exhibitors return a share of that income to the wholesalers or the distributors, who in turn subtract their expenses and profits and then pass the remainder on to the manufacturers or producers, in this case Sol or whoever he designated as head of this operation. Lots of room to skim off the top, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t think Rosen knows,” Reuben interjected. “And if he suspects…what’s he going to do? Every goddamn employee is a relative. Obviously he hasn’t kept up with the times. I’m no expert, but even I could tell his films are schlock.”

  “Schlock?” Daniel queried.

  Reuben shrugged. “Garbage. Hit-and-miss is what he’s producing. No-formula pictures. Westerns, for example. One week the public gets a western, the next week a comedy, and the week after that a romance. He’s grinding out the same old thing, day after day, week after week. He’s also not capitalizing on his stars. Take Farrell, for example. Women are crazy over him. They swoon when he comes on the screen. Men whistle when Clovis struts her stuff. Everyone laughs for Lester Kramer. People want to see them again and again.” Reuben checked his watch. “It’s late, Daniel. We should have been asleep hours ago. Too bad we can’t get paid for all this time.”

  Daniel rubbed his eyes and yawned elaborately. “What would we do with all that money?”

  “Repay Mickey,” Reuben said.

  “Have you written her?” Daniel asked quietly.

  “I have half a letter finished. I’m no letter writer. I find it a monumental task. I want to do it, know I should do it, but I have difficulty saying what I want to say.”

  “Practice makes perfect.” Daniel’s tone stopped just short of severity when he chided, “It isn’t fair of you not to write. I’m sure she goes every day to the post. She loves you, Reuben. You can’t be so cold as to forget so easily.”

  “Forget! That’s why I’m having so much difficulty writing. I can’t forget. I don’t want her thinking I’m some lovesick puppy that can’t control his emotions. I’ll do it, Daniel. I said I would and I will. You sent the payment, right?”

  “Last week. Good night, Reuben.”

  Reuben changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and washed his face. Then stomped his way back to the tiny living room with his half-finished letter to Mickey. It took him an hour and a half to finish the letter he’d started days earlier. Twice he read it over to make sure it said everything he wanted to say. He signed it, “My love for you endures, Reuben.” God, how he missed her.

  Reuben fingered the material of his pajamas. He knew they’d cost a pretty penny, probably more than some men’s entire wardrobes. The shoes at the front door and the jacket hanging on a hook under the hallway mirror had all been bought and paid for by Mickey. Even the food he’d had tonight for dinner was bought and paid for by Mickey. His debt to the woman he loved gnawed at his soul.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Reuben whistled on his way to the bus stop. It was another golden day full of promise and sunshine. The tree-lined sidewalk gave the appearance of a tunnel with lacy patterns of sunshine, even this early in the morning, hop-scotching all over the concrete. Daniel sighed happily. He’d had only four hours sleep, but he felt rested. Reuben hadn’t gone to bed till almost dawn, but he’d finished his letter. He looked rested, and that pleased Daniel.

  “Do you have your speech to Mr. Rosen down pat?” Daniel queried.

  “I don’t know if it’s a speech, exactly. More like a list of questions. How he answers them will tell me how to proceed. Jesus, I had no idea he had so many relatives on the payroll. He’s paying out a chunk of money that would pay off the national debt. If…if he was getting a return on the money, it would be a different story, but he isn’t. I think he’s going to be surprised when I show him what I have. Six months, Daniel, that’s all it will take to put this company up there with the others. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I asked Max to look into the distribution end of this thing. If he can move booze, he can move film. He’s got the connections. Good cover for Max. Good for the studio, too. Sometimes you have to close your eyes to certain things. The decision will have to be Sol’s, though. I’ll just be the go-between.”

  “What good is moving film if you don’t have theaters to show them in?” Daniel asked.

  Reuben sighed. “I told you, Max has connections. Legitimate connections. One hand washes the other, that kind of thing.

  “Believe it or not, Max is all right. Like all of us, he has this passion to be someone important. I don’t even think it’s for himself, but for his mother. That’s one for the books, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so,” Daniel growled. “What happens if some of this backfires and you end up in the clink?”

  “By that time you’ll be a full-fledged lawyer and will simply bail me out. Don’t think about it, Daniel, until it happens. I hate it when you stew and fret about things. Live for today. Yesterday is gone and tomorrow will take care of itself. Don’t worry about something that hasn’t happened yet and might never happen…. Good, here’s the bus.” Daniel was so relieved the conversation was at an end, he tripped up the steps.

  Sol Rosen seethed and fumed. His fingers drummed on his desk. A meeting, yet! A request for a meeting, the memo read. Ten o’clock, to discuss business. The guy had moxie. Christ, if only he knew one way or the other…did Mickey send him here to spy or didn’t she? The cable he’d sent off a week before must have reached her, but there had been no response. Somehow, in some way, Tarz would ferret out everything. It was only a question of time till the ax fell…right over his head.

  The guy was a worker, he had to give him that much credit. The guards at the gate said he was usually one of the first to arrive, around six-thirty or so, and one of the last to leave.

  This morning he’d made an attempt to dress for what he now referred to as the Occasion. He’d had the maid press his suit and turn the collar and cuffs on his shirt. “Make it white,” he’d ordered. He could still smell the bleach in his shirt. He’d even spit on his shoes for a little shine. Now he straightened his tie and shook out the cuffs of his shirt. His vest was buttoned, his tie secured inside. All was as it should be as he walked to the door to let Reuben in. Nodding curtly, he motioned him to a seat. “You said you wanted a meeting, so let’s get down to business,” he said.

  Reuben withdrew a thick sheaf of papers from a brown folder. Sol could see another, fatter stack with a rubber band around it. Christ, he must have worked around the clock to come up with so much paper, he thought.

  “I’d like to ask you a question, Mr. Rosen. You don’t have to answer it, but if you do, it will be an indication of how we can proceed.” At Sol’s nod, Reuben continued. “Do you want to be a major studio in this town and a force to be reckoned with?”

  Sol swallowed hard. Christ, yes, he wanted to be a driving force, to have people recognize him, cater to him, be sought after. He couldn’t trust himself to speak, so he simply nodded. “That’s what I thought. You’re no fool, Mr. Rosen, and I never thought of you as one. I think, in six months, I can put you on top.”

  Sol blanched. Six months! “What’s in it for you, Tarz?”

  Reuben leaned across the desk so that their eyes were level. “Power.”

  “If you have the power, where does that leave me?” Sol growled.

  “Big…and rich. You’ll be the power behind the power. You’ve got to give me the go-ahead, though. Don’t decide now. Tomorrow will be soon enough. I’m going to leave these papers with you so you can go over them tonight at your leisure.”

  “Show me,” Sol said gruffly.

  “The first thing we have to discuss is your payroll. You have twenty-seven relatives working for you. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with hiring your relatives. What I am saying is, most of those relatives are not qual
ified to fill the jobs they hold. Like your director John Carlyle. You’re paying out three hundred thousand dollars a year in salaries that are going down the toilet. In order to make money, you must spend money. But you’ve got to spend it in the right place. Now it’s obvious that you are spending it and getting no return. Here’s why….”

  “My relatives ain’t crooks,” Sol spat out.

  “I don’t believe I used that term,” Reuben said. “If they aren’t, as you say, crooks, then that leaves you. Have you been skimming off the top?”

  “I should bounce you out on your arse for saying something like that!” Sol barked.

  “Why, for telling the truth? It’s all here in black and white. You can’t dispute it. They have to go, all of them. We’ll find jobs for them, jobs that are more fitting to their talents, if they have any. If they have no talent, then they go. We’ll hire professionals, men who know the business. That three hundred thousand dollars will go a long way in getting you the best. I’m personally going to take over the distribution of your films.”

  “Lots of luck.” Sol laughed abruptly. “That’s the problem, we can’t get distribution!”

  “No, that’s not the problem. The problem is your people didn’t go about it in the right way because they don’t know how. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. The next thing you’re going to do is buy up a chain of theaters. If you have to, go to the bank for financing. You need control. You can’t be content with your colleagues so far ahead of you. The way I see it, you are about one year away from going down the drain.”

  “Where’d you learn all this stuff?” Sol muttered. He hated the thought of going belly up. He’d be a goddamn laughingstock.

  “People talk. I can read. I listen. You helped. It’s simply a question of interpreting the facts. And the facts say you’re in a mess. I won’t make any decisions without your okay. This is your company. Do you want me to help you or not?”

  Sol thought about it for so long, Reuben was about to shove the contents of the folder on the floor and walk out. “If I make a deal with you, who else will know about it?”

  “Daniel Bishop.”

  “Is that the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” Sol barked nervously.

  Reuben stretched his hand across the desk. Gingerly Sol reached for his hand. “I think I’ll take a short vacation,” he said. “I don’t want to be here when you ax the relatives. I don’t have the stomach for that.”

  “I’ll handle it. I want a contract drawn up to this effect. You get a copy and I get a copy. Who you show yours to is your business. Daniel Bishop will be the only person to see mine, since he’ll be drawing it up.”

  Sol’s eyes were glued to the door long after Reuben made his way to his own office. He started to shake, unsure if the trembling was due to excitement or fear.

  Things were a little clearer now. The reason he’d had no response to his cable was that Mickey had turned everything over to Tarz. She wanted no contact with Sol himself. Now he was certain he’d made the right decision in going along with Mickey’s protégé. To do otherwise would be fatal.

  Did he want to be one of the big five? Hell, yes, he did. Power was what Tarz wanted. Power and money—a marriage that was difficult to dissolve. For some strange reason, he believed everything Tarz said.

  His head whirled with thought. If he believed this good-looking kid and trusted him, where did that leave Mickey? He didn’t doubt for one minute that Tarz had the ability to play both ends against the middle. When that happened, Sol knew, there was a winner and a loser, and the guy in the middle came out on top. Final approval. Tarz had said he wouldn’t do anything until it had been okayed. That little tidbit would have to be written into the contract. Final approval would keep him on top. Sol reached for a cigar and was pleased to see that his hands were fairly steady now. The cigar glowed red as thin streams of smoke eddied upward to swirl about the room. He leaned back and propped his feet on an open desk drawer. Four days’ vacation, that’s what he’d give himself. His gut rumbled when he visualized the scenes that would be played out when Tarz lowered the boom on his money-grabbing relatives.

  Sol walked from the studio lot, nodding his head first to one actor and then to another. Some of them he didn’t even recognize. His thoughts now were on Mickey. Was she a first-class fool and so in love with Tarz she’d turned over her half of the business to him, or was she a shrewd businesswoman who, with the help of a smart guy like Tarz, could ace him right out of his 49 percent of the business? He started to tremble again. He knew then he would do a lot of trembling in the days to come.

  Two days later Reuben did two things: he hired a secretary and bought a load of green plants for his office. Margaret, his secretary, was a no-nonsense woman who supported herself and her mother. She said she gave a day’s work for a day’s pay and in the next breath said loyalty was her strongest point after efficiency. Reuben hired her on the spot. “After you water the plants,” he told her, “find someplace suitable for a conference room and set up two meetings—one with all personnel, and one with the actors and actresses. Call the personnel office at Paramount and get the address of a Jane Perkins. She’s an extra. If they don’t have it at Paramount, then call every studio till you find her. You might have to go to her home or else you can send someone, someone reliable. Set up a meeting with her.”

  “Shouldn’t I know why?” Margaret queried in a businesslike voice, her pencil poised over her steno pad.

  Reuben stared at her. “Yes, I guess you should. I never had a secretary before, so if I don’t do something right, call me on it,” he said generously. “I want to give Jane a screen test. It’s not necessary that she be told that right away. And Margaret, anytime anyone wants to see me, I’m not too busy. I’m here to put this studio on its feet, and the only way I can do that is with everyone’s help. I don’t want to be untouchable. The last thing is, no matter what I’m doing, no matter where I am on this lot—and you’ll always know—if Daniel Bishop wants me, find me. Daniel never has to wait to talk to me.”

  Reuben took a deep breath. “Order the trade papers, Billboard, Moving Picture World, and the New York Dramatic Mirror. I want to know what’s going on in this business. Find out who we cozy up to for the latest gossip.”

  “I’ll see to it all, Mr. Tarz,” Margaret said briskly, pushing her pencil behind her ear as she closed the door behind her.

  Reuben took over his tasks with a vengeance. More than anything else. he looked forward to seeing the expression on Jane Perkins’s face when she stepped into his office and he offered her a screen test. Hollywood, the land of dreams. If nothing else, he would create a dream for Jane. Daniel was delighted when he was told of Reuben’s plans and asked if he could sit in.

  “You bet! We discovered that girl together. We just didn’t know we were discovering her at the time.”

  When Jane Perkins arrived promptly at three o’clock, Margaret ushered her into the room. Reuben came around his desk, and Daniel got up to shake her hand. “What are you guys doing here?” she asked, her hand on her hip.

  “We work here.” Reuben grinned. “Fairmont Studios would be most pleased to offer you a screen test. In, say…” Reuben pulled out his watch and made a pretense of looking at it. “Exactly ten minutes.

  “Everything is set up for you. Projection has a film they’re going to run for you. I want you to pay close attention to it…very close attention. In your test I want you to emote the same way, do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “She’s fainting!” Daniel shouted as he tried to catch the falling girl. “You do have some impact on women, Reuben!”

  Reuben called to Margaret, who immediately shooed them aside. She splashed cologne on a linen handkerchief and waved it under Jane’s nose. The girl’s eyes fluttered, and then she panicked as she struggled to get to her feet.

  “Easy does it, Jane. When was the last time you had something to eat?”

  “I’m rea
l sorry, Mr. Tarz. Yesterday, maybe the day before, I guess. I’m a little short this week. Did you s-say screen test? I—I’m an extra,” stammered the ashen-faced girl.

  “You were an extra,” Daniel said, beaming. “Look, we know your test is going to be fine. You’re going on the payroll, and when you leave here today you’ll have a contract in your pocket.”

  “Gosh! Why me? You guys don’t even know me. I’m grateful, so grateful I think I’m going to cry.”

  “Your faint took five minutes. Come along, Jane, we’ll get some doughnuts on the way so you have something in your stomach. I want you to give this test everything you’ve got. Did you ever see Tillie’s Punctured Romance?”

  “Only a dozen times.” Jane smiled. “I can do it. I’m sure I can do it.”

  “I know you can, too,” Reuben said warmly.

  At twenty minutes past seven Jane Perkins signed a contract Daniel drew up with Fairmont Studios. Her salary to start was $l75 a week and would escalate with each movie she starred in. Reuben handed her fifty dollars from petty cash as an advance on her first week’s salary. He wiped her tears with his handkerchief. “Here,” he said, offering her his pack of cigarettes. “Buy yourself some food and go home. Celebrate. Be here tomorrow at seven. Can I count on you?”

  “I won’t let you down, Mr. Tarz, I swear I won’t. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it. I can take direction. How am I ever going to thank you for this break?” she said, wiping at her tears.

  “For starters you can go back to calling me Reuben, and Daniel is Daniel. Deal?”

  Jane smiled tremulously. “It’s a dream,” she kept muttering as she left the studio.

  Reuben and Daniel watched her from the window. Halfway down the lot she tossed the cigarettes in the air and did a high skipping jump and a little dance step. Reuben burst out laughing. “Good flicks with good actors,” he said. “We’ll do the big stuff with fanfare. We pay out big bucks for the best. We did our good deed for the day, so let’s go home early tonight.”