Sins of Omission

by Fern Michaels

  “I thought you were going to see…” The name stuck in Daniel’s throat.

  “Max? I am, but after dinner. If you’re ready, let’s go.”

  “Are you going to tell Sol about Jane?”

  “I cleared it with him yesterday. He understands, and he didn’t voice any objections. Sol’s in line, and I think he’s happy with the way things are going. He’ll pull me up short if I step over one of his boundaries. That’s okay with me. We made a deal and I intend to honor it. He okayed Red Ruby and the director from Fox, too.”

  There was awe in Daniel’s face. “Congratulations!”

  “I’m tryin’, Dan’l. I’m tryin’. I think Mickey would be pleased with what I’ve accomplished. I think I’ll write her tonight and tell her. She’ll understand what we did for Jane. I can see her smiling when she reads it.” This letter, Reuben thought, would be a pleasure to write.

  The Mimosa Club was jumping with sound when Reuben walked in at nine o’clock. On the small stage next to the bar, two young girls were giving a poor imitation of the cancan. Reuben grinned. He’d seen the real thing, and these two needed quite a few more lessons before they had the dance down pat. He winked lecherously at the prettier of the two as he walked to the back of the club where Max was waiting for him.

  “Tell me that was a smile…I’m impressed,” Max said loud enough to be heard over the sound of the band.

  Reuben bared his teeth in a grimace. “Yes, a smile. Can we go someplace where it’s a little quieter so we can talk?”

  “What’s up your sleeve?” Max said out of the corner of his mouth, imitating gangsters he’d seen in the movies.

  Reuben imitated Max. “My arm,” he said curtly.

  Fifteen minutes later Max leaned back in his ruby-red Morris chair and said, “You want me to do what?”

  “You heard me the first time. No names here, Max. Straightforward business deal. You want it, you’re in. You don’t and I’m out of here.”

  “Tarz, I’m not big time. I make a living at this. My territory is small. I’d give my eyeteeth for a crack at your distribution, but I’ll be honest. I don’t think I can handle it.”

  Reuben straddled a chair. “You know, Max, if you’d jumped at this, I’d have walked out of here. I appreciate your honesty. Now, let’s put our heads together. I’m real interested in a string of theaters here or in New York. You have contacts in the East. Move my film and you’re legit, if you want to be legit. I don’t care if you move your hooch at the same time, but if the feds come down on you, my name stays out of it. Take a couple of days to think about it. By the way, your percentage will please your mother. I’m a fair man, Max.”

  “Yeah, I’ll think about it. Does this mean you’re off my run?”

  “Until you find someone to replace me, I won’t leave you in the lurch. I said I was a fair man. By the way, you need a whole row of girls to do the cancan justice.”

  “You a connoisseur or something?” Max asked curiously. This guy was one hell of a puzzle.

  “I saw the real thing in Paris. You should expand, Max. This place is too small.”

  “It takes money, you know. But I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “You have to spend money to make money. Think about that. I’ll be by in a few days. Don’t take too long, Max. I want to roll on this as soon as possible.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, yeah.”

  After Reuben left, Max sat for a long time stroking his chin. Could he do it? Legit. Jesus, his mother would be so happy. Hell, he’d be happy. But he wasn’t about to give up the hooch runs. What the hell was he thinking about? His mother thought he was legit now. His head started to buzz. Name after name rolled off his tongue. He fished a pencil out of his shirt and started to write on the blotter. Maybe…just maybe…But where did you pull a string of theaters out of a hat? For the first time in a long time Max pushed what he considered his limitations far out of his mind. His gut told him no matter what it took, he should hitch his wagon to Tarz’s. The ride would be anything but smooth…in the beginning.

  In the weeks to come, Fairmont Studios took on a new look. Paint, landscaping, uniforms, and a general cleaning made everyone step back for a second glance. Personnel changes were quick and dry. Those who cooperated stayed, others packed and left. Other changes were more subtle. The word was out that Fairmont was paying top dollar for directors and producers. Actors and actresses stood in line at the gate in the morning, a number of seasoned professionals hoping for a better break than they were getting at the other studios, and hopefuls by the dozen. Scripts, novels, and plays were delivered to the gate. Reuben himself took over the advertising, and his battle cry could be heard all over the studio. “I’m looking for talent!”

  By midsummer Reuben felt he had a good roster of capable actors. His directors and producers were the finest money could buy, and he had on hand three scripts that his gut told him would bring in a fortune. The first was a dramatic extravaganza starring Clovis Ames titled California Madness. The script called for deep cleavage, a lot of silken leg, and the bathtub scene Clovis was famous for. Only the director understood Reuben when he said he wanted a beginning, a middle, and an end—in other words, a story that said something. Clovis groused but followed the director’s orders. The second was a star-studded adventure starring Damian Farrell as Red Ruby. Reuben himself sat in on the filming, nodding approval from time to time. Jane Perkins was pulled from her bread-and-butter rolls to play Opal Jade, Red Ruby’s first heist victim. The third film, which starred Norbert Nesbit in a clown suit performing garden weddings, was designed for laughs, and laughs it got—so much so that some scenes had to be reshot a few times because the crew was so caught up in the hilarity during filming.

  Sol beamed his approval, but not in Reuben’s sight. In private he rubbed his hands together as he calculated the revenue Reuben’s hard work would bring in. Distribution was scheduled for August 1. Three days before that date, Max Gould called asking Reuben to stop by the club. “I got what you want. It’s time to talk money.”

  Max was so excited when he rattled off his spiel, he forgot to act tough. He was like a kid with a room full of new toys and not sure what he should play with first. “I got this guy who’s willing to drive a truck to New York for five hundred smackers. I tried to get the price down, but he wouldn’t budge. Your stuff is safe with him, though, I personally guarantee it.”

  “That’s good enough for me, Max.” Reuben felt relieved; he’d estimated a two-grand bill.

  “This same guy has a cousin that might…might be interested in taking your stuff to Chicago. That’s if you’re interested.”

  “I’m interested. Five hundred for him, too?”

  Max nodded. “Now about the theaters. I got you twenty-four. Rat traps, Tarz. You want them, they’re yours. You can either rent or buy outright. I set up appointments for you over the next two days.” Max unfolded a map and laid it out on the table. It had so many marks on it, Reuben was hard-pressed to follow the routes Max was mapping out. “It’s the whole state of California. This is no schlock deal, Tarz. Took me a long time to put this together. I called in all my favors on this one. These guys, they think I’m nuts. I don’t think I’m nuts. My business is going to triple with these runs. The best part is…never mind.”

  Reuben nodded. Whatever Max was going to say would come out later, and if it didn’t, it was his business. Without the gangster’s help Reuben knew he could never hope to distribute Rosen’s films. For the next hour the two men talked money.

  He was in business!

  That night Reuben went home and wrote a long, loving, three-page letter to Mickey. The only thing he didn’t tell her was that Max was a gangster. He signed his letter: “I love you with all my heart, Reuben.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The village postmaster stared at the pile of mail addressed to Michelene Fonsard. Twice he’d driven by the château to see if she’d returned. Cables were usually important. Letters and cables, all from America.
He did something then he’d never done before. He took it upon himself to bundle Michelene Fonsard’s mail into a tight packet. He addressed a letter to the postmaster in Paris telling him to deliver the mail to Madame Fonsard’s house in Paris. He was so relieved that the mail was no longer his problem, he poured himself a large glass of wine and downed it in two long gulps. Perhaps on her return Madame would reward him for his diligence.

  A special messenger was dispatched to Michelene Fonsard’s Paris house the same day the thick bundle of mail arrived. A young girl with fluffy hair accepted the mail, smiled, and gave the messenger two francs. She signed a receipt.

  Bebe tossed the packet on the foyer table and immediately forgot about it. Today she had other things on her mind. The young man she’d flirted with for two solid weeks had finally asked her to the theater. Right now her biggest decision was what jewelry to wear and should she or shouldn’t she varnish her nails.

  For the next two weeks Bebe’s days were busy and funfilled. She didn’t give the packet of mail a second thought until the night she had a row with the young man when he tried to put his hand up her dress. She slapped him soundly and told him to get out. He turned a deep, angry scarlet and called her a tease and a flirt before he slammed the stained-glass door.

  Furious, Bebe paced the drawing room, wearing a path in the fringed Oriental carpet. It was always like this; be nice to a man, and immediately they took advantage. No great loss, she told herself. She felt at loose ends. Maybe it was time to return to California. She’d been in Paris far too long. Finally she settled herself on a chair and picked up the newspaper. It was a week old, but she didn’t care. When she came to the entertainment section, she gasped aloud. Staring up at her was a picture of Clovis Ames under the dark black heading “American Films”:

  CALIFORNIA MADNESS IS A SMASH HIT FOR FAIRMONT STUDIOS & CLOVIS AMES

  Reuben Tarz! Production assistant to Sol Rosen said he “wasn’t in the least surprised that California Madness was a hit. We simply gave the public what they clamored for.”

  Reuben Tarz! Production assistant to her father! Bebe felt so faint she put her head between her legs and took great deep breaths. Reuben was in California and working for her father. How had that happened? Was Mickey there, too? Of course she was, that’s why the mail was so piled up. Bebe threw a tantrum then, the equal of the one she’d thrown when she was six years old and destroyed her mother’s fine parlor porcelain. She lashed out, kicked, and screamed, tossing Mickey’s priceless figurines against the wall, upending furniture, and ripping paintings off the walls. When she was finished she was breathless with exertion. Spent, she lay down in a mound of pillows and was asleep in minutes.

  Soft gray light was creeping over the windowsill when she woke and stared about the wreckage she’d created. She recalled telling Yvette to assure Mickey she would take care of the house. Now she sobbed as she tried to gather up the broken crystal and porcelain. None of the delicate objects could be repaired. She’d behaved like a hoodlum. How was she going to make this right with Mickey? Taking a deep breath, she set about straightening the room as best she could. She rehung pictures, fixed lamp shades, and arranged the pillows on the furniture. The broken porcelain and crystal she swept into a box and set in the kitchen. Then she wrote a note explaining what she’d done and apologizing.

  A moment later, when she headed for the stairs to change her clothes, she’d completely forgotten the destruction. Her eye fell on the stack of mail in the foyer. She unwrapped the string and carried the thick bundle back to the parlor. Among other pieces were two cables from her father and one from Reuben. There were also five letters from Reuben, thick letters, and four from Daniel. Obviously Mickey was not in California. Bebe’s heart lightened immediately.

  She weighed the letters, balancing them in the palm of her hand, trying to decide if she should open them or not. A voice at the back of her mind warned her that what she was about to do was wrong. “So was what I just did to this parlor,” she grumbled. Reuben’s letters were so thick, what could he possibly have to say that would take so many sheets of paper? How else would she ever find out unless she opened them? She settled herself on the lounge chair in the parlor and read them all—first Daniel’s and then Reuben’s. When she’d finished she got up, walked stonily to the fireplace, and tossed in the lot. She struck a match on the hearth and laughed as Reuben’s sweet, loving words roared up the chimney.

  Bebe felt as though the blood would boil right out of her veins. Reuben didn’t love her; the letters confirmed her worst fears. Bitter tears of sorrow coursed down her cheeks. Was she so ugly, so unpleasant, so…unlovable? She would have licked his feet, killed for him, if he’d asked it of her. Why? What was there about Reuben Tarz that made her feel this way? Or was it Mickey? She did her best to analyze her situation. Mickey was a sweet, gentle person, full of love and compassion. That’s why Reuben was so in love with her. She, on the other hand, was young, Reuben’s contemporary, spoiled and selfish. She’d made a mistake on her arrival, thought someone her own age would be interested in gaiety and laughter and having fun. She hadn’t realized Reuben was looking for a more mature love, the kind Mickey had offered him. She knew she loved Reuben, had loved him from the moment she’d made the decision to be Bebe the party girl. If she’d only taken a few extra seconds before making that terrible decision, Reuben might have seen her as she really was, the way he really was—lost and abandoned. He would have fallen in love with her as she had fallen in love with him.

  So many mistakes. And today she’d just made the worst one of her life by destroying Reuben’s and Daniel’s letters. She sat staring at the ashes of the burning letters, thinking about the mistakes she had made.

  She’d borne Reuben a son, a son she couldn’t acknowledge, wouldn’t acknowledge. A child born of rape deserves better than me or Reuben, she thought. She could have told him about John Paul and he might have done the right thing and married her, but she didn’t want him out of pity. “I want you to love me, Reuben, the way I love you. Every night I pray that Daniel’s God will forgive me for abandoning our son, the way we were all abandoned. Daniel, you, and I. We’re truly the Three Musketeers. All we want is love. You think you have it with Mickey, and I suppose in a way you do, but it’s a passionate mother-son love. Daniel…well, Daniel will find love someday, but I think he’ll make mistakes before he finds what he’s seeking.

  “That leaves me. Mickey tried to give me her mother love, a love I needed. It would have been so perfect if you’d loved me, too. Both of us would have had a mother and we would have been free to love each other. Oh, Reuben, you are so stupid! I love you. I love you so much I ache with the feeling. How else could I forgive you for raping me, how else could I give away our son except out of love? I made so many mistakes, and I made them out of love for you. I could make you so happy. You feel something for me, I know you do. I saw it in your eyes, but out of loyalty to Mickey you won’t allow yourself to act on your feelings. Loyalty and love are two very different things.”

  The real Bebe Rosen curled into a ball, her knees almost to her chin. “I can be whatever you want, Reuben, as long as you love me,” she whispered.

  The following day Bebe booked her passage home.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sol stared at the intimidating stacks of papers on his desk. Notes, memos, contracts, proposals, all from Reuben. Secretaries were supposed to handle this stuff, he thought nastily, and then he remembered who his secretary was. Relatives! He’d been adamant with Reuben about not firing his gum-chewing, nail-polishing secretary, not because she was worthy or efficient, but just to keep his hand in and not allow Reuben too much power. Now he regretted his cranky decision. If Tarz liked memos, he’d scribble one off to him telling him to relocate his secretary. Possibly to the costume or makeup department.

  His nerves were like raw ends pricking him as he waded through the stacks of papers. At first glance he didn’t see anything he could call Tarz on. Now that the dec
ision making, at least outwardly, was out of his hands, he could look and think objectively about the progress the studio was making. He had no complaints about Reuben at all. In the beginning he’d worked overtime trying to catch him in a wrong move, but so far the kid was straight as an arrow. Sol envied him his cool head, his logic, and his straightforward way of doing business. With Tarz calling the shots he was sleeping better at night, eating wisely, and his eyes weren’t twitching anymore. If things kept going the way they had been over the past few months, he’d be able to replace some of the money he owed Mickey. In a year, give or take a few months, he could pay off his debt entirely and possibly buy another 25 percent from her, if she was willing to sell.

  He was looking at a proposal now that made him blink. “What in hell is this?” he sputtered. Tarz was asking his approval on some kind of short skit: cancan girls, California cancan girls. Different songs, different skits, to show before each movie. It will bring young men, middle-aged men, and old men to the theaters, read the proposal, and it will keep them coming back. Long-legged beauties, scantily clad, with ruffles on their rear ends. Sol sputtered again. It would work; he could feel the excitement building in him. The others had nothing like this. Zukor would go up in smoke when it hit, and so would Zanuck. Sol scribbled his initials on the memo.

  At one o’clock Reuben sent out a casting call for twelve long-legged dancers. He ordered black mesh stockings and what wardrobe called rompers with ruffles. “I can’t come up with a name that will suit this review,” Reuben grumbled to his director, Carl Maddox.

  “Run a contest with the employees and give a prize of fifty bucks. You’ll have names growing out of your ears in a day’s time.”

  By closing time the following day, Reuben had picked a name from the two hundred or so offerings and hired a choreographer named Sam Naylor, who agreed to take on the job for an outrageous sum of money. He looked Reuben in the eye and said calmly, “If you want quality and excellence for the Sugar and Spice Review, then I’m your man.” Reuben hired the diminutive, balding man immediately. He wrote a memo to Sol saying the man would earn every penny of his salary.