Reuben reeled in shock. Bebe had had another child? But then, why should it come as such a surprise to him? She’d pranced and danced her way all over Europe. God only knew whom she’d slept with. He walked outside, taking deep gulps of fresh air. Christ, he was tired. He decided then, for his own emotional survival, that whatever had transpired in Bebe’s life before he’d married her was her business. He would not let his wife know that the doctor had told him.
When the nurse held up his son, Reuben peered through the glass and blinked in shock. He wanted to shout. Take it back, that isn’t my son! He’d been expecting a pink-cheeked, plump infant with a sweet, downy head—a miniature of either himself or Bebe. This scrawny, red, puckered bundle looked exactly like Eli. He turned away so the nurse wouldn’t see the disgust he felt.
“Did they show him to you, Reuben?” Bebe asked wanly when he came to visit. Is he beautiful? He will be later. Sometimes new babies look like dried-up prunes, but after a week or so they start to fill out, and…What’s wrong?”
“He looks like…Eli.”
“Like Eli?” Bebe shrilled, horrified. “Like Eli?”
Reuben nodded. “Maybe they showed you the wrong baby,” she squealed. “Reuben, tell them I want to see him. Now! If you don’t, I’ll scream my head off. Now!”
Bebe’s wails of outrage rang in Reuben’s ears for hours after he left the clinic. He’d wanted this baby, wanted it desperately. He wanted something to love, something of his very own, something he’d created. Instead he’d walked away, in his own fashion denouncing the child because it had the misfortune to look like Eli. Blame something, Tarz, he told himself. Blame…blame…blame…
He had a son.
On leaden feet Reuben returned to the clinic nursery. “I’d like to…to hold my son,” he told the nurse on duty.
She nodded sympathetically. “We don’t usually allow the fathers to hold preemies, but this time I’m going to allow it. Here, put this gown on. He’s frail, but he’s not going to break.”
The minute the nurse was out of sight, Reuben examined every inch of his new son. Satisfied that he had all his parts, he leaned back to savor the feel of the life he’d created. The bundle was warm and snug, the little face screwed into a grimace. How defenseless, how dependent he was! Reuben made a vow to the warm being in his arms to give him everything life had to offer. “We’re calling you Simon,” he whispered. “It’s a strong name for such a little man, but you’ll live up to it. I know you don’t understand a word I’m saying, but I want to apologize for my earlier feelings. Maybe someday we’ll talk about this day, and maybe we won’t. If we do, I won’t lie to you. I’ll never lie to you, Simon, because I am your father and fathers don’t lie to their sons.”
The nurse was back, her arms outstretched to take the child. “It’s time for him to eat.”
“Eat?” Reuben said stupidly.
The nurse smiled. “Yes, eat.”
Reuben followed her to Bebe’s room and watched as she fit the baby to his wife’s breast.
“I hate this,” Bebe said through clenched teeth.
Until Bebe opened her mouth, Reuben had thought it a beautiful sight. For the second time that day, he turned on his heel and left the clinic.
The next morning, he left for Los Angeles.
Bebe and the baby, along with the two bodyguards, returned six weeks later to the house in Laurel Canyon. Bebe handed Simon to the nurse and immediately went to the phone to call Eli.
Reuben found his life changing; he was now a parent with a parent’s responsibilities—responsibilities that he took so seriously, he became the butt of good-natured jocularity at Fairmont. He woke early in the mornings to accommodate Simon’s schedule. He watched while the little fellow took his bottle, had his bath, and was introduced to mashed food. He would hold his clean, sweet-smelling baby for twenty minutes, or until he fell asleep. He returned at noon, or as close to noon as he could, when Simon had his lunch. On more than one occasion when business was heavy he had the nurse bring the baby to the studio.
Several times Reuben found himself featured on the second page of the Examiner with a tidbit about how he’d held his son during a business meeting, chuckling and burping him at the same time. A devoted father. Nothing was ever said about Simon’s absentee mother. At six o’clock he dropped whatever he was doing, no matter how important, to head home for Simon’s dinner and bedtime. In the beginning it was a chore, but as time went on Reuben grew to like his routine and actually looked forward to the time he spent with his son.
He recognized the fact that Simon would never be a strong, robust child; doctors told him, clucking their tongues in sympathy, that Bebe’s dependence on alcohol and drugs during the early stages of her pregnancy had dictated his condition. While Reuben accepted the doctor’s words with equanimity, inside he damned Bebe for her recklessness. Each time he looked at her, his eyes accused her…until the day he told her he couldn’t bear the sight of her another minute. And always, not far back in his mind was the knowledge that she’d borne another son or daughter that he knew nothing about. Where was the child and who was the father? As much and as many times as he told himself he didn’t care, he did care. It ate at him daily, no matter how hard he tried to shove it far back in his mind.
Bebe was absent for long periods of time now—weeks, sometimes months. She called from time to time to inquire about her son’s health and the well-being of her husband. In time, Reuben came to welcome her absences and hated it when she was home, upsetting the routine he tried to establish. She took great pleasure in swooping into the nursery at dawn, just home from a party, dressed in glittery sequins and gleaming jewels, her face thick with makeup, high on liquor and marijuana. At such times Reuben could see the confusion in Simon’s face. Once, as he was leaving the room, he heard her croon, “Ah, John Paul, you thought I forgot about you. Mama never forgets.” When she saw Reuben stop in midstride she stiffened momentarily, then hugged the child and told him the words were actually lyrics for a new song she’d heard recently. Her eyes were sad but defiant when she kissed the boy and fumbled her way out of the room.
Thus life stumbled on for Reuben and his little family. As his wealth and power soared, his marriage crumbled. There were times when he didn’t know where his wife was until he read about her in the social pages of the paper. But he no longer cared; it was that simple.
Spring came early to Massachusetts and Reuben thanked God for the brisk, warm day. If he’d wished for trees in full leaf, flowers in bloom, and a light breeze, not to mention the golden sunshine, he couldn’t have done a better job of it than Mother Nature. It was the kind of day to remember.
Daniel’s graduation from Harvard Law School and his being here, along with Max and Jane, was a surprise. The moment he read the letter from the dean informing him Daniel was graduating summa cum laude, he’d wangled and finagled for front-row seats. Now they were in the coffee shop having breakfast, a hearty meal that Reuben only pushed around on his plate. “I swear,” Jane said through mouthfuls of food, “you are going to bust at the seams, Reuben.”
Reuben beamed. “I’m just so damn proud of him. He told me from the beginning he’d be a straight-A student and that he’d make me proud of him. There has to be a better word than proud, but I don’t know what it is. Jesus Christ, summa cum laude! Where else could that happen but here in America? And Hollywood,” he muttered under his breath. Jane was right, he felt as though he were going to burst any second.
“The kid is going to be real surprised to see you, Reuben,” Max said, dabbing at his mouth. “But I don’t know how he’s going to feel about seeing me here. I know he thinks I’m a bad influence on you. You keep saying it’s all right, and I hope it is. I don’t want to embarrass him on a day like this.”
“He’s past all that, Max. Daniel’s all grown up now. I want you here and that’ll be good enough for Daniel. Trust me.”
“What’s he going to do—I mean, where is he going to practice?” Jane
asked.
“I hope in Hollywood, but that’s up to him. I just want him to be happy and successful. Jesus, I can’t believe this!” Reuben said for the umpteenth time.
Max grinned. “The kid must have been real disappointed when you told him you couldn’t make it. You just wanted to surprise him, right?”
“Yeah, he was, but he said he understood. I would be here even if he wasn’t summa cum laude and if I had to crawl all the way on my hands and knees. I love that guy!” Reuben exclaimed happily.
“I can’t wait to see his face when he sees us sitting in the front row.” Jane smiled. “Just like a real family. I guess we are Daniel’s family, sort of. I can be his sister, Max can be his uncle, and you, Reuben, you are Daniel’s everything—brother, father, above all, his friend.”
Forty minutes later they were in their seats, dead center with the stage where Daniel would give his speech. Reuben wondered what Daniel would say if he knew he’d sent a cable to Mickey. Whatever there was between Mickey and himself had nothing to do with Daniel, and she deserved to know about this wonderful day. By now he knew the words to the cable by heart because he’d ripped up twenty-three of them before he’d finally settled on just the right words and the right tone.
DEAR MICKEY, DANIEL GRADUATES HARVARD LAW SCHOOL SUMMA CUM LAUDE, MAY 20. WILL CONGRATULATE HIM FOR BOTH OF US. WARM REGARDS, REUBEN TARZ
How had she reacted to the cable, he wondered wistfully. Proud, certainly—unless, of course, she’d forgotten about him, which he didn’t think likely. Mickey, Mickey, where are you? Are you well? Have you really forsaken us? With a sigh, he forced his mind back to the present. This was Daniel’s day, and nothing was going to spoil it.
Within moments they called Daniel’s name, and there he was, making his way to the podium. No papers, his speech would be in his head. The crazy urge to stand up and shout was so strong, Reuben felt light-headed. Daniel looked nervous. Poor bastard, it must be tough standing up there facing all these people. Look at me, Daniel! I’m here! Daniel, look down. Do it, Daniel, before I bust a gut.
“Ladies and gentlemen, members of—” And then he saw him, sitting in the middle of the row with all the proud parents…and he did something then, something so out of character for him that the audience smiled. “Reuben, you came!…And faculty,” he continued, grinning from ear to ear. Reuben smiled past the lump in his throat. His eyes burned and he didn’t care if the whole world saw the tears trickling down his cheeks. He made a circle with his thumb and index finger—Right on, buddy.
The moment the ceremony ended, Reuben was off his chair. Once again Daniel lost his composure and leapt off the stage, his diploma clutched in his hand. “Son of a gun! God, I can’t believe you’re here! Talk about a surprise! Jane, Max! Jesus, it’s good to see you. This guy dragged you all the way here. Some friend, huh?”
“I’m so very proud of you, Daniel,” Jane said, hugging him.
“I’m kind of proud of me, too. It was a hell of a three years, I can tell you that, but I had to make this guy proud of me.” He poked Reuben affectionately on the arm. “I still can’t believe you’re all here.”
“Mr. Bishop,” interjected a strange voice. Startled, Daniel turned and nodded at a tall man wearing a dark three-piece suit. “I’ve been instructed to give you this,” he said, holding out a white envelope. “May I offer my congratulations, Mr. Bishop? Marcus Welstar, Morgan Guaranty Bank.” He held out his hand, and Daniel gripped it in surprise.
“Thank you,” Daniel said, puzzled.
“What is it?” Reuben demanded as the man walked back into the crowd.
“Never heard of him. Maybe they want to hire me. Wouldn’t that be something!” he said, ripping at the white envelope. A moment later, as his eyes scanned the paper he was holding, he gasped. “It’s from Mickey. Listen to this”:
My dear Daniel,
I have no words to tell you how very proud I am of you on this very special day. My heart is so full for having known you. I hope we can call each other friends for all of our lives.
I took the liberty of writing to your dean and asked him where he thought you belonged in the legal field. He responded by saying the nation’s capital would be your forte. Thus I took a liberty once again and had Mr. Welstar outfit an office for you on K Street in Washington. All you have to do is hang up your shingle, as they say in America.
I feel blessed, Daniel, for having known you.
Much love and affection,
Mickey
“It’s a deed to a building,” Daniel said in awe. “I don’t believe this! Reuben, do you see what she’s done!”
Reuben nodded. “I…I cabled her, Daniel. I thought she had a right to know.”
“I take it that means you haven’t really been in touch or…I wish I knew why…Never mind, that’s water under the bridge.” But of course it wasn’t. Obviously Reuben still loved Mickey, and in his heart Daniel knew Mickey loved Reuben. “I thought I was going to set up practice in California so I could be near you. I thought that was one of the reasons I went to law school…. Hey! I want to hear all about Simon. Daddy Reuben. Now, that does have a ring to it, pal.”
Reuben smiled. “Well, he likes presents.” No need to tell Daniel the boy preferred rag dolls and picture books to the exclusion of other toys. “And listen, Daniel, Hollywood is no place for you to practice law. They call it Sin City these days. Hays is leaving us alone and working behind the scenes, thanks to you.”
Daniel laughed. “I thought he had cleaned it all up.”
“Only in print. You would not believe what goes on behind the scenes. You’re clean, pal, and you’re going to stay that way. Things at the studio…Hollywood…sometimes we cut here and there, skirt the edges…that kind of thing. It’s best for you in Washington. I want to hear you tell me you understand.”
“Of course I understand,” Daniel said. “If Washington is where you think I should be, then that’s where I’ll be. But first I have to pass the bar exams.”
Reuben grinned. “I don’t think that’ll be too much of a problem for you…. Now then,” he said, linking arms with Daniel on one side and Jane on the other, Max following behind, “what do you say to a little luncheon celebration. I think you’ve earned it—and besides, I’m starved!”
Sol Rosen’s spit-and-polish office, where very little business was conducted these days, irritated the portly man. His head felt as empty as his desk looked. In his hand he held what he referred to as his downfall, a letter from Mickey Fonsard’s Paris attorneys. For two goddamn years he’d been writing both Mickey and the lawyers, offering to buy an additional 25 percent of Fairmont, and only now was there a response. He wanted to howl his outrage, and found himself mimicking the prissy-sounding words on the crackly paper. “Madame Fonsard thanks you for your up-to-date payments. Unfortunately at this time she cannot offer any further percentage in the company. Madame Fonsard wishes you to be informed that her 51 percent of Fairmont Studios is now being held by Philippe Bouchet.”
Sol frowned. Just who the hell was Philippe Bouchet? The date on the legal transfer was 1921, the year Reuben Tarz had come to the studio. That meant he must have known about this guy Bouchet when he’d arrived with Mickey’s letter requesting a job. He’d probably been instructed by them to inch his way in and then take over, bit by bit, which was exactly what he had done. It was all a plan, a rotten game, and only Reuben knew the rules. What had they offered Reuben in the way of a reward, he wondered. The presidency of Fairmont, probably, along with power and glory. Bastard!
Sol scooped up all the legal papers and left for his personal attorney’s office. Forty-nine percent still gave him a loud voice, and Bouchet was on the other side of the world.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Paris garden was alive with noise, birds chirping and the gleeful shouts of Philippe Bouchet as he raced after a fat puppy named Dolly, a frisky kitten named Molly fast on their heels. Jake was already at the finish line, his pink tongue ready to lick at Philipp
e the minute he sat down. All of them were after a red ball that eluded plump fingers and frisky paws.
Watching them, Mickey laughed. The exquisitely groomed garden would be a shambles before long, not that she cared. “I do believe you are the Three Musketeers,” she said fondly to the boy.
“Yes,” the boy said, grinning mischievously. “Not Molly. Only dogs and me. One, two, three.” He pointed to Jake and Dolly and himself with his pudgy finger. “Like the picture of my papa and Uncle Daniel and you. Maman.”
Mickey smiled. The legend lived on. Philippe loved the stories of the happy threesome represented in the portrait that hung in a position of honor over the mantel at Château Fonsard. This year when they started out for Paris for the preschool term, Philippe had insisted they bring the painting with them. He’d also insisted they bring Jake, Molly, and Dolly. Mickey had grumbled a bit but happily stuffed the car like a sausage.
“When are we going back to the chateau?” the little boy asked.
“When school is finished. You must learn, Philippe, that it is important to have a proper education.”
“So my papa will be proud of me. I speak three languages and I’m six. Will that make my papa proud?”
“Very proud. I am very proud of you, too,” Mickey said softly.
“When will I meet him, Maman?”
Mickey hated the question and always responded in the same way. “When it is time.” So far the child hadn’t pinned her down to any specific time; he was still content with her response. That would not always be the case, she knew, but she would deal with it at the proper time.
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