Sins of Omission

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Sins of Omission Page 47

by Fern Michaels


  “We won’t. No guarantees in this life, Sol, none at all. You either take a chance when opportunity knocks or you slam the door. I can feel the money in my pocket.” Reuben smiled. He was still smiling when he left the office, earlier than usual.

  He didn’t go home, even though he knew Bebe would have dinner waiting. Instead, he stopped at the Mimosa Club. “I have something to talk to you about, Max,” he said quietly.

  “In my office,” Max said.

  With the door closed behind him, Reuben told the little man about Daniel’s tip. “…as much money as you can lay your hands on, Max. And when it’s time to get out, you squirrel it all away.”

  “How come you’re telling me all this? I thought you didn’t…How come?” Max blustered.

  “You gave me a job when I needed it, even if it was for just a little while. You’re not a back stabber; you know how to keep your lip zipped, and you did me a favor that time with Jane. If you want the real reason, it’s because I like your mother’s noodle pudding. Besides, this squares us.”

  Max looked puzzled. “I thought we were square when you gave me the film distribution.”

  “No. We’re square now. All the money you can get your hands on,” Reuben repeated. “Be at the broker’s first thing in the morning. Don’t drag your feet on this one.”

  “Jesus, I’ll wear skates if it’ll make you happy. By the way, I heard about your marriage. This ain’t none of my business, but you don’t look like the marrying kind.”

  “We all have our weak moments,” Reuben said sourly.

  “Jesus, there’s lots of free pussy out there, Tarz. Weak moments can cost you in the end. Sorry, sorry,” Max apologized at the look on Reuben’s face, “this is none of my business. You want something to eat or drink? I can have it brought here to the office.”

  “No, I think I’m going to take a walk, a long walk.”

  Max watched Reuben from the window. He knew a lot of people, but none as unhappy as Reuben Tarz. If only there were something he could do, something to make the kid happy so he smiled when he got out of bed in the morning. With a sigh, he reached for a pencil. With what his mother kept in the pillowcase under her bed and in the toes of her bedroom slippers and what he had stashed, he should be able to come up with close to eight hundred thousand dollars. Jesus, he should have asked Tarz what this kind of investment would earn. If he was lucky, he’d probably come out with seventy-five thousand dollars profit. Not bad for a hot tip.

  One month and two days after getting into the commodities market Reuben received a telegram from Daniel. It contained two words: Sell immediately. Reuben called Mort Stiner and told him to sell. He called Max, but the gangster was out for the day, so he called the broker back and told him to sell for Max.

  “I can’t do that, Mr. Tarz,” the broker protested.

  “I’m his partner, and I’m telling you to sell. If you don’t, you won’t have any arms or legs left. Sell, goddammit!” Reuben snarled. “You want the studio’s business in the future, you do what I tell you.”

  At noon Reuben left the office. At five he returned with three checks: one for Sol in the amount of $5,500,000; one for Max in the amount of $2,000,000; and one for himself for $3,000,000. He was elated. Three million dollars. Jesus! Wait till he told Daniel. “I love you, Daniel!” he cried happily.

  On his way to Sol’s office he stopped at his secretary’s desk and peeled three hundred dollars out of his billfold. “Here, Margaret, buy yourself a new dress, get your mother one, and take her out to dinner to the fanciest restaurant in town. Now!”

  “But I…I still have work…This is too much…. Oh, thank you, Mr. Tarz, thank you so much.” All the way home on the bus she kept saying over and over, “He’s the nicest man in Hollywood.”

  Sol looked at the check as though it were a snake. One plump finger counted the zeros, ticking them off one by one. “Jesus, you pulled this off! You really pulled it off! Put them together here on the desk so I can see what 8.5 million looks like at one time. My God! This must be all the money in the world, and it’s right here. We have to put these checks in the safe till tomorrow morning. The goddamn banks are closed now. Shit, I’m going to sit here all night holding it for safekeeping.” When Reuben left, Sol was staring into space, a truly happy man.

  At six o’clock he called Bebe to tell her he wouldn’t be home for dinner. In fact, he said, “I’ll be rather late, so don’t wait up for me.” He winced at the sound of tears in his wife’s voice. You are a bastard, Tarz, he berated himself

  It was almost nine when Reuben cleared his desk. He headed straight for the Mimosa Club. The joint was jumping when he pushed his way inside. Max was leaning on the bar, his eyes glued to the door. The minute he saw Reuben he headed straight over.

  “I hear you been calling me all day. I took my mother to the zoo, and then stayed for dinner. She’s my mother, what can I tell you?”

  “That it’s nice to care about your mother. Don’t apologize for that, Max.”

  “Tarz”—Max stopped in his tracks—“I wasn’t apologizing. I was explaining. Let’s go in the office.”

  “When I couldn’t reach you,” Reuben said, sitting opposite Max in his office. “I took the liberty of selling the stock for you. I picked up your check this afternoon. A little unorthodox, but they came across. Here it is.”

  Max stared at the piece of paper in his hands. “Holy Jesus Christ! This is millions. Is it a mistake? How much of this is your cut?”

  “When are you going to learn, Max? This is yours. I do not get a cut. I do not want a cut. You better put it someplace safe till the banks open in the morning. How about something to eat?”

  “Eat! You want to eat at a time like this? We should be celebrating.”

  “Wrong. I want to eat. By the way, keep this to yourself. I’m serious. Sometimes—and this is one of those times—it’s best to keep things like this…private.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I don’t really have too many people to share this with, anyway. It takes away part of the thrill, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. About that food…”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Listen, I’ll get it for you myself.”

  It was after one in the morning when Reuben let himself into the house in Laurel Canyon. Bebe rushed from the living room and threw her arms around him, kissing his nose, his cheeks, his mouth. “I’m so glad you’re home, Reuben. I waited up. I didn’t think you’d want to come into a dark, quiet house. Do you want some dinner? I told the cook to keep it warm.”

  Reuben shook his head. “I ate, Bebe. I told you not to wait up. You should go to sleep now. I want to write to Daniel and l have some papers to go over.”

  Bebe stood there, her hands on her hips. “Why are you avoiding me? We’re married. What am I supposed to do—pretend we’re brother and sister? Tell me what it is you expect from me. I won’t force myself on you. Do you want me to move back to my father’s house, or what?”

  “I just need some more time, and no, I don’t want you to go back to your father’s house. We have our whole lives ahead of us.”

  “Good night, Reuben.” The words fell like stones from her mouth. Suddenly she swung around and said, “The day is going to come when you really do need me, and I won’t be there. Think about that!”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Reuben demanded.

  “I said good night. I’m sleeping down the hall. You can have that big wonderful bridal bed all to yourself.” With that, she stormed up the steps, the train of her dressing gown swirling behind her.

  His little bride was angry.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  In the months that followed, Bebe Tarz led the life of a hermit. Each night she had the cook prepare an elaborate dinner, complete with three and sometimes four kinds of wine. Rarely, if ever, did Reuben return in time to eat it. To while away her time she read trashy magazines and drank bootleg whiskey that Eli brought to the Laurel Canyon house thr
ee times a week. In the beginning she was content to spend money by the barrel, courting famous designers and buying extravagantly. Eli egged her on during the afternoons they spent together at the side of the pool. One late September afternoon he introduced her to marijuana, a ritual that fast became a habit.

  “I am absolutely bored out of my head,” she told Eli in mid-October. “Did I tell you that our marriage has never been consummated? Reuben seems to detest me. He’s never here. I don’t believe he’s seeing anyone else, but I do believe he still loves Mickey.”

  She told Eli then, because she was high on marijuana, about the time she spent in France, even the part about Reuben raping her. Eli soaked up his sister’s confession like a sponge. When he left to return home he felt as though he had something on his nemesis, something he could use later on if things ever got messy. In the circles Eli traveled in, it was called blackmail.

  One morning, a few weeks from the couple’s first-year anniversary, Bebe curled her lip at Eli and announced, “I am going to throw the biggest, wildest party this town has ever seen. And when it’s over, I will either seduce my husband or…I will know once and for all if he can still…get it up.” She giggled at the sight of Eli’s acute discomfort. “Did you bring it?” she asked greedily.

  Eli was about to say no, until he saw the pleading in his sister’s eyes. He was sorry now that he’d introduced her to the addictive weed. When he’d come by for breakfast that morning she was already smoking out on the terrace. If his father ever found out, he’d kill him. Reuben would probably decapitate him. With a heavy sigh, he handed his sister a small paper bag and warned, “This has to last you for two weeks, Bebe.” He knew she didn’t hear a word he said; she was too busy snatching the bag and rifling through it.

  “We’ll need some other…stuff for my party, Eli,” she said distractedly.

  “Bebe, your husband will be here. I don’t want to go any rounds with him. The answer is no.”

  She glanced at him a moment, then shrugged. “Then I’ll get someone else to bring it.”

  “Damn you, Bebe! I’m sorry I ever gave you the stuff, and I’m not about to provide you with cocaine. You won’t get it from me.”

  His voice was so forceful, so adamant, Bebe did a double take. “Meanie,” she whined.

  Reuben chose that particular moment to walk into the house, forcing Bebe to shove the paper bag into her pocket. Eli mumbled good-bye and left through the terrace walkway.

  “You’re home early,” Bebe said. It sounded almost like an accusation.

  “What does it take to make you happy, Bebe?” Reuben asked quietly. “You complain if I’m late and you complain if I’m early. I could move out—would that make you happy?”

  Sullenly she poured herself a tumbler full of gin and swilled it in two gulps. “You want to know what would make me happy?” she said, turning to him. “Well, I’ll tell you. A husband. You are not a husband. We’re married almost a year, and we have not slept together once in all that time. My question is, what do you want? It’s Mickey, isn’t it? You still want her after all this time. You are a fool, Reuben. She’s old, a has-been. She used you, and like a fool, you let her. Has she written to you even once?” she asked tipsily. “No. I can see by your face that she hasn’t. You’re carrying a torch for someone who doesn’t care a twit about you. You’re a real fool!”

  “At least she isn’t a drunk,” Reuben said, eyes flashing. “And she doesn’t need reefers to keep her flying high, either.”

  “You made me this way,” she said. “Why don’t you get a damn divorce if I make you so unhappy? It’s your fault. I want to know something, my dear husband. Men your age are supposed to be virile, with only one thought in mind—to bed a woman. You don’t seem to be interested in sex at all. Are you getting it somewhere else, or do you prefer men? What would Sin City say if it knew we’d been married a year and you haven’t touched me?”

  “I wouldn’t brag about it, Bebe. They’re liable to think there’s something wrong with you…. I think this discussion is over. Maybe you should sleep it off,” Reuben said, and turned to leave.

  Bebe’s eyes were glassy now as she let loose with her own brand of drunken harangue. “Reuben can’t get it up; Reuben can’t get it up; Reuben can’t get it up,” she sang as she danced around the terrace table. “Hollywood’s Golden Boy can’t…get it…up!” She backed up fearfully when she saw Reuben stop and come back to her.

  “Do you want to see me get it up? Now? Here on the terrace with the servants in the house?” His voice was ominously quiet, and a tiny muscle in his jaw worked convulsively. Bebe was terrified.

  “No! Yes…no, oh, go away,” she faltered. Goddammit, why couldn’t this exchange have happened when she was sober and free of marijuana? Oh, God, it was going to happen again, just like the last time. She backed away, tears spilling from her eyes. “I’m sorry, Reuben, I had too much to drink. I didn’t mean what I said. You have your reasons for feeling like you do…please, not here, not like this.”

  “Why not here?” Eyes glinting with suppressed rage, he ripped at his clothes, his jacket, his shirt, his tie. He kicked at his shoes, not caring that they landed in a flower bed. His head was buzzing now with uncontrollable fury as he stared at his wife. One long arm reached out to pull her to him. Although he was aware of her tears, of her trembling, of her fear, the ache in his chest and throat drove him on. Heedless of Bebe’s protests, he ripped the smooth pink fabric of her dress down the front, exposing her breasts. A sound rushed from his throat, alien and almost savage.

  He was pushing her backward now, onto a narrow chaise, his breath hot and fiery on her throat. Caught in the prison of his arms, she was making sounds, mewing little sounds like a kitten caught in the rain. He paid them no mind, the pain in his loins driving him to loosen his trousers and at the same time remove her panties. Now the sounds coming from his throat were bitter…strangely familiar to Bebe’s ears as she struggled to get away from him. It was a futile attempt, however—he only held her tighter; that feeling, too, was remembered. At last she gave up her struggles and lay still. When it was over she stared at him with tear-filled eyes.

  There was no remorse in Reuben’s face when he stared down at his wife. Her eyes full of shame, Bebe struggled to her feet, shoulders trembling uncontrollably. Stifling her sobs, she stumbled from the terrace.

  It was dark when Reuben got up stiffly from his bed. His leg ached and his neck felt as if it were in a vise. Perhaps a bath might ease some of his tension, he thought. He was aware then of the deadly silence in the house. What was Bebe doing? If he went to her and apologized, he knew she would hold out her arms to him and forgive him. He knew it, but he wouldn’t go to her. The hard truth was, he was emotionally afraid of Bebe and the hold she would exercise over him if he let his emotions have free rein. Afraid of his wife. It had to be the sickest thing he’d ever heard of.

  In the bathroom he turned the tap and water rushed into the huge galvanized tub built to hold two people comfortably. He watched the spurting stream of water swirl and rush down the drain, then fixed the stopper. Hopefully, the hot bath would wash away some of his growing self-hatred. When the tub was full he lowered himself into the steaming water and with a towel folded behind his head stretched out to his full length. He closed his eyes and allowed his memory to travel back to France. It was where he belonged, where he wanted to be….

  Later, dressed in his underwear and a robe, Reuben walked outdoors to the bedroom terrace. It was a beautiful night, the kind to be shared. Stars twinkled overhead, the moon aiding them in casting a silvery shadow over the blooming terrace. Everything smelled faintly of flowers, a pleasant scent that teased his nostrils. In the right mood a man could get lost in such beauty.

  Reuben leaned on the railing, the outward picture of a happy, contented man. His thoughts soared again, something that always happened when he could get business or Bebe out of his mind. He had enough money to go back to France now. His pockets full, he wouldn�
�t be beholden to Mickey in any way. He’d paid his debt; he’d proved honorable. He’d even added extra money to pay for all the things Mickey had bought for him and Daniel, plus a bit of interest. Not that he’d gone overboard—just paid enough to cover what he thought of as his tab. If he wanted to, he could travel first class to France and buy a car, drive to the château, and sweep Mickey off her feet. In these musings he always rushed her to the nearest justice of the peace and married her. Abruptly, his thoughts crashed around him. He couldn’t do that now, he was married to someone else, someone he didn’t want to be married to. Mickey would send him packing within seconds; she wouldn’t want to hear excuses or explanations. The time for that was long gone.

  All that was left to him now were memories of France and a flesh-and-blood wife. He clamped his teeth together so hard his jaw ached.

  It was well past midnight when Reuben made his way to the kitchen for a sandwich. He hadn’t eaten since early morning and wasn’t sure now if he wanted something to eat or was really going downstairs to see if Bebe was still there.

  The French doors in the living room yawned in the silvery night. Frowning, he walked over to close them and saw his wife stretched out on one of the chaise lounges. One hand held a drink; the other, a reefer. The sickly-sweet odor of marijuana wafted to his nostrils. At the sound of his approach Bebe raised her head a little to stare at her husband with blank, lifeless eyes. She said nothing.

  “It’s late, Bebe, you should be in bed,” Reuben said quietly.

  “It doesn’t matter when I go to bed,” Bebe said flatly. “I don’t have anywhere to go in the morning. I don’t have anything to do but play cards and drink…. I want a divorce, Reuben.”

 

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