It was midafternoon when he and Sol finally came to terms with Jim Crocker and Rupert Julian. Fairmont would take on both directors for both films. The men shook hands with the promise of finalized contracts the following day.
“Send out press releases, Margaret,” Reuben ordered.
A good day’s business. He’d cut two deals, one on his own instincts and the other according to Max’s mother’s instincts. And then he had taken care of Will Hays. His stomach wasn’t churning—in fact, he felt quite satisfied. Little did he suspect that both films would be the top money-makers of all time. Now he had to find something to occupy his time and his thoughts or he would start to think about Mickey and the letter.
He began to stroll around the studio lot, feeling emotionally bruised and battered. It was the time of day he always checked into each lot to see the progress being made. The time he’d spent away shouldn’t matter. Inside a half hour he realized no one had time to talk to him.
“See what happens when you have an efficient, well-oiled machine? You did such a good job, there’s no time for play,” Damian Farrell said as Reuben walked back onto his set. Reuben snorted agreement.
“Mr. Tarz? Reuben, wait up,” Jane Perkins called. Reuben turned to see her pedaling a bicycle in his direction. “I missed you,” she said cheerily.
“Did you really?” Reuben felt pleased. “How’s it going?”
“So wonderful I still can’t believe it. We wrapped up at noon today. I’ve sort of been hanging around, for no good reason. I guess I just don’t relish going home to an empty apartment. I think I’ll get a cat,” she said, hopping off the bicycle. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I’m a dog person myself, but cats can take care of themselves. Listen, if you don’t have any plans, would you like to catch a bite to eat?”
“I have a better idea. If you don’t have anything to do, why don’t you come home with me and I’ll cook dinner. I was going to make some stuffed peppers. I’m a pretty good cook.” The happy smile left her face. “Unless you don’t think it’s a good idea? I mean, with me being just an actress and you running this place and all…”
“I’d love to come to dinner. I can use some good company. If you’re finished, we can leave now.”
“I just have to take this bicycle back to the prop room and I can leave.”
“Hold on!” Reuben said, grabbing the bike from her hands. “Let’s do this…you sit on the handle bars and I’ll pedalus over there.”
Jane hopped on the bike, laughing, her skirts riding up above her rolled stockings. With her legs sticking out in front of her awkwardly, Reuben pedaled the bicycle, wobbling in wide half circles. He burst out laughing when he narrowly missed a tree. Neither Jane nor Reuben noticed Sol Rosen’s face at the window of his office.
Jane kept up a running dialogue all the way to her apartment, alternately telling him how grateful she was for what she called her lucky break and for Reuben’s saving her from a fate worse than death at the Mimosa Club.
Inside the tiny, neat apartment, Reuben immediately kicked off his shoes and sat down on a white wicker chair with cherry-red cushions. He leaned back and propped his feet on a wicker table full of newspapers and magazines stacked on each side. In the middle of the table a white ceramic unicorn pawed the air with his two front legs—a throwback to the child in Jane, he decided.
“I can make us some coffee now and you can drink it and read today’s paper while I make dinner. Is that okay with you?…You know, I still can’t believe how good you’ve been to me without wanting anything in return. I was beginning to think there weren’t any more good people in the world. I’m glad you proved me wrong.”
“Make the coffee,” Reuben said gruffly. He liked hearing her say nice things about him. Jane was probably one of the few sincere people he’d ever dealt with.
Reuben was engrossed in Will Hays’s interview in the Examiner when Jane set a cup of coffee next to the prancing unicorn. “I know you drink it black. If you want cream or sugar, I have it.”
“How do you know that? How do you know I drink my coffee black?”
Jane flushed. “That night at the club. I wasn’t that out of it. I won’t be long. Are you sure you like stuffed peppers? I could make something else. It’s not fancy. I’m about as plain in my food tastes as I look.”
“Jane, I’m not fussy when it comes to what I eat. I am, however, very fussy about who I eat with.”
Jane smiled all through dinner as Reuben ate three helpings of her stuffed peppers. He was no slouch about scooping the mashed potatoes onto his plate, and he proclaimed her sour cream cucumbers the best he had ever eaten. He shook his head over her offer of a slice of jelly roll but did accept a cup of coffee laced with cinnamon.
“Jane, that was one good dinner,” he announced with a satisfied sigh. “I hope we can do it again sometime. I thought by now you would have moved into a house or at least some big fancy apartment. You should think about buying a house. Paying rent is money down the drain. Aren’t we paying you enough at the studio?”
“Good Lord, yes. But I haven’t had the time to look for something, I don’t know…this little apartment makes me remember who I am. I don’t want to get like those…I’m not one of those people Will Hays writes about. I pretty much bank all my money except what I send home to my parents. I like it here,” she said defensively.
“I like it, too.” Reuben grinned. “You must have noticed I kicked off my shoes as soon as I got here. That’s a sign that a man is comfortable. You have a nice touch, Jane.”
“Thanks, Reuben.”
She was pretty when she smiled—not beautiful, but she was pretty. “Daniel asks about you all the time,” he told her. “After the party he talked for days about the good time you had.”
“How is he doing?” she asked. “I bet he’s getting straight A’s. I never met anyone as smart as Daniel.”
“Yes, he is smart, that’s why he’s at Harvard. Jane,” Reuben said impulsively, “do you have much money in the bank? What I mean is, are you interested in the stock market? Daniel gives me tips from time to time; I acted on one of them today, as a matter of fact. There’s every chance you could make a nice nest egg for yourself.”
Jane’s face puckered in thought. “Is it risky?” she asked.
“Everything’s risky. Before I leave I’ll give you a note to take to my broker. Go downtown on your lunch hour tomorrow and talk to him. Now, look,” Reuben said, holding up his hand. “Don’t feel this is something you have to do just because I mentioned it. It’s your money, and yes, it’s risky. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you decide to go ahead and invest, use only what you feel you can afford to lose if things don’t work out right…. Tell me, how’re things with the boyfriend?” he asked to change the subject.
Jane made a comical face. “What boyfriend? That’s over. I’m footloose and fancy free. And I’m not looking for another boyfriend. I still hurt a little. Pride, Reuben, is such a deadly sin. I don’t ever want to hang my head in shame. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
Of course he knew; he lived with it every day. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he simply nodded.
“I was so delighted when I heard you got married,” Jane continued. “I hope you’re happy.” It occurred to her to wonder why he was here, why he’d almost invited himself. She’d heard the rumors, and then his absence from the studio for so long set tongues to wagging. She found it hard to believe this handsome man’s beautiful wife was a drunk and dope fiend. How had he gotten involved with someone like that? She wished she could ask him.
“I really enjoyed my dinner.” Reuben looked around. “This place is you, Jane, but if you buy any more plants, you’ll have to move. I’ll come back again if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all. I was glad for the company this evening, and I will go down to your broker tomorrow. I appreciate the tip.”
“I’ll be sending a young man over to your studio lot tom
orrow—someone I came across today. I think maybe you two might hit it off, or at least be friends. He’s a handsome fella working as a desk clerk at the Ambassador. We’ll give him a screen test and see if he can’t fit into some of your films. Treat him nice, okay?”
“Of course…. Good night, Reuben.” Jane stood on tiptoe to kiss Reuben lightly on the cheek. She smelled faintly of cinnamon. “That’s for being a nice guy. Now, drive carefully.”
Even though it was late, Reuben decided to stop at the Mimosa Club for a drink in Max’s back office. There was nothing to go home to but empty, dust-covered rooms.
Max stifled his surprise at Reuben’s second visit of the day. He jerked his head in the direction of his office. “You want to drink alone or do you want to talk?”
“Depends on what you want to talk about, Max. Get the drink and then I’ll decide.”
When Max returned a few minutes later, Reuben was sound asleep on the chair. Max scratched his head in bewilderment. He poked his head out the door and motioned to two of his bouncers.
“Carry him over to the couch. You wake him up and your ass is grass. Pretend you’re carrying your mother to church,” he hissed.
When the door closed behind the two bouncers, Max opened the closet and pulled out an afghan his mother had crocheted for just such an occasion. It was purple and red with splotches of yellow throughout. It was loud and bright enough to wake the dead. Reuben didn’t stir when Max covered him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sol Rosen paced his bedroom like a wounded bull. He felt like bellowing, but there was no one to listen.
For hours he’d been ringing Reuben’s phone in Laurel Canyon and getting no answer. It was two-thirty now and there was still no answer. Sol always prided himself on putting two and two together and coming up with the right answer. And he’d done that the moment he saw Reuben and the girl on the bicycle. Jesus Christ, this was all he needed—Reuben out whoring around with one of his own stars while his wife was drying out in Palm Springs. No wonder his little girl had gone off the deep end.
Women! By God, they were always at the root of a problem. Just like Mickey was at the root of his problem. Temporarily diverted from thoughts of Reuben, Sol brooded over the fact that Mickey hadn’t responded to his long-overdue payment months before. He’d formally requested an additional 25 percent of the studio, and when she hadn’t answered him, he’d sent a letter to her bankers in Paris as well; but they hadn’t responded, either. The fact that he’d received neither a yes nor a no could only mean Mickey was content to let things be as they were, with Reuben calling all the shots and reporting back to her. If he could just get that other 25 percent, he wouldn’t give a shit what Reuben did. Maybe he should write another letter and let her know Reuben was into some hanky-panky with someone other than his wife. How would Michelene like to hear that?
Sol continued to pace, scowling with every step he took. At ten minutes after four he called the house in Laurel Canyon again. He let the phone ring twenty-four times before he replaced the receiver in the cradle. “You son of a bitch!” he snarled. When he dialed the number again at twenty-five minutes after five he laid the receiver on the table. The goddamn phone would ring until someone picked it up and the connection was broken.
At eight o’clock the phone was still ringing. Sol wondered about the durability of the telephone system. At last he broke the connection and called his daughter in Palm Springs. He half expected Bebe to cry, but she didn’t. All she said was she would wait and talk to Reuben when he returned.
On his way to the studio, Sol decided he was as big a bastard as Tarz. What kind of father would tell his daughter what he’d just told Bebe? He began to rationalize his action, telling himself it was his only way of getting back at Reuben, something he’d been wanting to do since the day the bastard had first walked into his office. Reuben deserved whatever happened to him. If he could just sack him, boot his ass out into the street, he’d be the happiest man alive.
Sol barely looked at Reuben when he stomped his way to his office. The newspaper was laid out on his desk with his morning cup of coffee. He glanced at the headlines with disbelieving eyes. WILL HAYS TO RETURN TO NEW YORK…after issuing a statement saying all was well in the city of sex, sin, and scandal. Sol’s breath exploded in a long sigh until he read on: “Reuben Tarz, vice president of Fairmont, was seen entering Will Hays’s suite at midday for a meeting with the fearless crusader. This paper wonders what the meeting was about. Will Hays would only say it was informative. As we go to press, Reuben Tarz was unavailable for comment.”
Sol stumbled his way to Reuben’s office, ignoring Margaret’s shout about being formally announced.
“What in the goddamn hell is this all about?” he snarled, brandishing the newspaper. “I want an answer right now!”
Reuben shrugged. “I cut him off at the pass. What more do you need to know?”
“How?” Sol bellowed.
“That’s my business. I solved our problem, that’s the end of it.”
“Like hell it’s the end of it. You can’t trust that mealy-mouthed bastard. How do you know he won’t—”
“Inform the public about Eli and Bebe? Take my word for it, he won’t.”
“It’s your fault Bebe’s like she is. She never drank or took dope till she married you. I must have been out of my mind to give her permission to marry you. I saw you last night, Tarz, with that girl on the handlebars of the bicycle. You went home with her, and don’t goddamn deny it. I tried calling your house till eight o’clock this morning and you weren’t there. Just where the hell were you?”
“That’s none of your business,” Reuben retorted coldly. “My personal life has nothing to do with this studio, and don’t ever make the mistake again of asking me where I spend my time. I’ve been cleaning and scraping your family’s slime for too long. From now on you can scrape it yourself.”
“Bebe’s your wife,” Sol blustered. “She’s carrying your child…. Well, goddammit, say something!”
“There’s very little you know about your daughter, Sol. I did not force her to drink, nor did I force her to smoke marijuana or sniff cocaine. Eli introduced her to all three amusements. You lay the blame where it belongs.” Reuben got up from his desk and walked around to confront Sol. “Butt out of my personal business, Sol.”
“This is my…Fairmont is…”
Reuben’s eyes narrowed. “Your studio, is that what you were going to say? Of course it is. The next time you feel it necessary to remind me of that will be the day I walk out of here leaving you holding the bag. You got that?”
“You’re a bastard!” Sol bellowed.
“At least we’re in agreement about something,” Reuben replied.
“What about Bebe?”
“What about her?”
“Well…what…I already…”
“What you did was put your big foot in your mouth, and now I’ll have to pull it out. I’ll take care of my wife. Is there anything else you want to discuss? If there isn’t, let me get back to work.”
“When are you going back to Palm Springs?” Sol demanded.
“When I’m goddamn good and ready, that’s when.”
Sol was a bull elephant charging out of the office, slamming the door so hard Reuben thought it would fall off the hinges.
Eli whispered into the phone, his ferret eyes sweeping the room to see if anyone was listening. “Bebe, I can’t. Pop will kill me if he finds out. Of course I love you, Bebe, wait till after you have the baby…. Bebe, listen to me—don’t cry, Bebe…Oh, all right, I’ll leave in a little while. Just a little bit…. No, I can’t…. That’s too much, Bebe…. Of course, I don’t want to keep driving back and forth. If Pop catches on, or Reuben, what will you tell them?…Yes, yes, I’ll come. You’re going to owe me big-time for this, Bebe. If Pop gets after me for anything, it doesn’t matter what it is, you better promise me…In half an hour. Good-bye, Bebe.”
Shit! Now he was going to have to scu
rry around like a rat to get what Bebe wanted. He was like a wet noodle in her hands.
When Reuben returned to Palm Springs four days later, his wife was in the same shape as when he’d first brought her to the resort. It took him an hour to find all the places she’d stashed what she called her goodies. He was angry now and disgusted. “There was no reason for any of this, Bebe. Why couldn’t you wait to hear my side of things? I did not do what Sol accused me of. I ate dinner at Jane’s apartment and later stopped in at the Mimosa Club and slept in Max’s office all night. Right now I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not. This time you will weather this alone. I’ll have guards watch you. You brought this on yourself, Bebe.”
Reuben stayed in Palm Springs until two of Max’s henchmen arrived to serve as “body” guards. “Meals in her room,” Reuben instructed them. “Make her walk three times a day. Let her sit in the sun, but don’t ever take your eyes off her. When she goes into labor, call me.” To Bebe he said in a cold, deadly voice. “You fuck up this time and I will divorce you. You do anything to harm the child you’re carrying and I’ll personally retaliate.” His voice softened a degree. “I am so disappointed in you, Bebe. You gave me your word. I trusted you to deliver a healthy child for us.” With that he turned on his heel and left.
“Reuben, wait,” Bebe called after him frantically. “Reuben, does this mean we won’t start over when…Reuben, please come back…. I’m sorry, I won’t—Reuben!”
Ten weeks later Reuben was back at the private clinic in Palm Springs. It was a little past midnight and he was pacing the floor like any expectant father. Each time he heard Bebe scream, it was like a knife slicing through him.
The doctor’s weary eyes sought Reuben out. “You have a son, Mr. Tarz. I usually like to tell the fathers they have healthy, bouncing baby boys, but I’m afraid I can’t in your case. Your son is premature at five pounds, and he’s not robust. I can’t understand the hard labor we went through since your wife has had a previous child. For some reason she seemed to be holding back, not cooperating when I instructed her to bear down. I guess I’m just tired; it’s been a very long night. You can see your son shortly. My nurse is cleaning him up.”
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