Sins of Omission

by Fern Michaels

  A feeling she couldn’t define rushed over her suddenly. It took her several minutes to identify it as the desire to protect Reuben and minister to his wounds—the mother feelings all women had in them. If Reuben were with her right now, she would wrap her arms around him and croon to him, “I’ll make it right, I’ll not let anyone hurt you.” He’d take her hand in his and she would bring it to her lips and kiss it and place it on her cheek and whisper soft words.

  Rosemary sighed and shook her head. One dinner and she was already taking charge of his life! She snapped out the light and slid down between the cool sheets. “Go to sleep,” she ordered herself.

  As Rosemary struggled for sleep, Reuben was wandering around his house in Laurel Canyon, seeing it through her eyes. She might be awed by it, might even say it was beautiful, but she wouldn’t want to live here. He tried to imagine her precocious cats romping through the luxurious, sterile rooms. Everything looked so new and unused. Surely Dillon and Simon had trampled through some of these rooms—or had Bebe redecorated using the same basic color scheme? For the life of him he couldn’t remember. The hell with it, he thought disgustedly. It was a damn house, a place for him to sleep, a fancy address befitting his position at the studio.

  Melancholy now, he walked back through each of the still rooms, feeling his aloneness more than ever before. When he was halfway up the wide, elegant staircase, he turned and looked around. A monument to his success. A sound caught in his throat, half laughter, half sob. Little did anyone know he was a casualty of that success.

  In his room he stripped down, brushed his teeth, threw water on his face. His bed had been turned down earlier by one of the maids, and on the night table was a flask of warm cocoa. Although he rarely drank it, it was something he’d gotten used to in France and had insisted on having here in his own home. It was a tangible tie with his past, a comforting remembrance of happier days. This night he poured the creamy liquid into a china cup but still didn’t drink it. He just wanted to look at it—to know it was there.

  “I won’t think about Mickey tonight,” he muttered as he scrunched his head into the soft down pillow. Instead, he dreamed of her, a sweet, almost unbearable dream full of sorrow and love.

  Every night after work for the next few weeks Reuben drove home, bathed and changed his clothes, and headed immediately for Rosemary’s house in the valley. Within seconds of walking through her door, stepping over the cats, and smiling at her, he would feel at home and at peace with himself, even after having spent the business day with her in a professional and businesslike way. Being with this delightful, serene, contented woman was better than a walk through a daisy-filled meadow, better than a hand-in-hand stroll in a warm spring rain. Not only did he tell himself she was what he wanted, he believed it.

  The hours from six to midnight were theirs and theirs alone. Sometimes they sat together on Rosemary’s soft cushiony sofa, each with a book, but always aware of each other. Often they didn’t speak for hours, content with eye contact and warm smiles. Rosemary cooked, plain meals mostly, but always with a rich dessert for Reuben’s sweet tooth. They picnicked in the park on weekends, and once they took a basket lunch and shared a late supper under the stars because Reuben had been caught up in a late afternoon meeting that had run longer than he’d anticipated. His weekends were devoted solely to Rosemary and hers to him.

  During one particular week in late November, it rained steadily for five days and into the weekend. When Reuben arrived at eight in the morning, Rosemary had a fire blazing in her grate and a huge breakfast waiting. Reuben thought his chest would burst with happiness. The cats watched greedily and Reuben sneaked them bits of bacon and buttered toast while Rosemary pretended not to notice. Regardless of what he did, she could forgive him even to the detriment of her beloved cats.

  This lovely woman was his life now. He’d tried to explain how he felt to Daniel, to Jane, and even to Max; when she cautioned him to drive safely, when she asked how he was feeling, it stirred him deeply. Mickey had never cautioned him during those heady days in France, and Bebe wouldn’t even think of it. It was a new feeling for him, this caring, this solicitude, blanketing him with a satisfied contentment. He looked forward to arriving at her house and teasing her with, “See, I made it safe and sound.”

  He thought he was in love, and he knew in his heart that Rosemary felt something more for him than just friendship. When he was with her he had sexual feelings, even definite arousals, which came upon him without warning and passed just as quickly. Although he was alarmed when his erections left him almost as suddenly as they arrived, he was thrilled that, as he would refer to it in his innermost thoughts, he was “not dead yet.” It had been so long since he’d been able to physically manifest his sexuality that he was enormously relieved—but he wouldn’t allow the thought of acting on his arousal to enter his mind.

  They’d kissed, gentle touches that held just a trace of mutual passion. Each of them seemed to be proceeding cautiously, unsure whether this fragile thing between them would fade or grow. Rosemary considered it a nurturing time, and Reuben seemed to bask in that nurturing.

  Having done admirable justice to the breakfast Rosemary had prepared for him, Reuben pushed his plate away. “You’re trying to fatten me up,” he teased. “It’s been years since I had pancakes and eggs at the same time. And you always make the bacon just the way I like it.” He patted his stomach in satisfaction. “I really enjoyed it, Ro.”

  Rosemary smiled. “Well, you know I love to cook. And it’s especially nice when someone is here to enjoy the results. I thought we’d make cookies today. Big fat sugar cookies, crisp on the outside and cake like on the inside with a trace of orange. You can grate the orange. My mother used to make them for me when I was little. I always had a sugar cookie when I got home from school.”

  “I get the feeling I’m joining you in the kitchen today,” he said in a mock rueful voice. “Will the house smell good?”

  “Wait and see,” she answered, her eyes dancing. “Are you sure you can handle being in the kitchen?”

  “What do you mean? I can wear an apron with the best of them. I’ve never grated an orange, but there’s a first time for everything. Lead the way, my dear,” he said, rising. “And while the cookies are baking, I thought we might look at some pictures. I brought along those photo albums you’ve been asking to see—one of the boys and one of me and Daniel in earlier days. They’re in the car, I hope it wasn’t presumptuous of me?”

  Rosemary felt light-headed. He was going to share his past with her. “Reuben, that’s so nice. I’m so happy you’ve brought them. I want to hear all about your boys, especially the little stories that go with each child.”

  Little stories, Christ, he’d have to manufacture them, he thought. Well, he was certainly in the right business to do that.

  It was a wonderful day full of delicious fragrances filling the little house, snuggly comfort, and a sharing of lives. The insistent sound of the rain, drumming rhythmically against the windows, accompanied their every action. Reuben felt more at peace with himself than he had in a long time. It made him think about what he’d been missing all these years. He turned to gaze at Rosemary sitting beside him, and a fierce feeling of protectiveness consumed him. Nothing was going to destroy this. At that moment he knew he was capable of killing to keep what he had. It was time now, though, for the ultimate test. Was he capable of making love to her? He felt the desire, wanted to consummate his feelings with her, but he was afraid. What if…what if…Rather than subject himself to humiliation, he’d backed off each time his feelings turned passionate, to the point of…What would she think? Certainly she would never ridicule him, that wasn’t the Rosemary he knew. No, she would be gentle and kind, and tell him it didn’t matter and that things would get better, but he knew her words would be a lie to save his feelings. It would matter to both of them. His feelings for her were so overwhelming he often felt lost, adrift, and unsure of himself. How could she think of him as a m
an, a complete man? Jesus, she might even be thinking there was something wrong with her, that she didn’t excite him enough to want to make love.

  Pit…pit…pat…plop…pit…pit…pit….

  “What’s that sound?” Rosemary asked, looking around.

  Pit…pat…plop…

  Reuben stirred himself from his position on the couch. Rosemary squirmed around until she was on her knees, straining to hear where the strange sound was coming from. “I think you have a leak somewhere, honey,” he said. “It’s splattering on your table.” He pointed, grimacing. “I’d better move the lamp and check the attic. Get a pot or something.”

  Rosemary ran into the kitchen. “It’s leaking out here, too. My roof is leaking!”

  “Show me the way to the attic, Rosemary, and then set out pots and buckets.”

  The attic was as neat and tidy as the rest of her house. Dark, spooky corners linked by cobwebs made him smile. Boxes tied with string and labeled were stacked in the middle of the floor. But as Reuben looked at the boxes he saw that they were soaking wet; the rain was nearly pouring through the timbers. There seemed to be no way to stop it.

  “How bad is it, Reuben?” Rosemary called up anxiously.

  He walked back down the stairs. “Bad. The entire attic is soaked, and so are all the boxes. I don’t know too much about roofs, but I think you need a new one.”

  “Oh, no! I can’t afford a new roof. I barely make ends meet on my salary, and I have only a few dollars in my savings account.” When she realized what she’d said, Rosemary covered her mouth in embarrassment. “Do you think it can be patched?” she said hurriedly.

  In an instant Reuben realized her predicament. The fact that he had probably added to the strain on her budget in many ways over the past several weeks made him want to kick himself. But he wouldn’t say anything; he wouldn’t dream of embarrassing her more than she already was. “Maybe, but I’d have to go up on the roof to know for sure. That’s impossible at the moment, but I can tell you that before this rain stops, the ceilings are going to get ruined and could even cave in. I think we have a serious problem.”

  “We” have a serious problem. Rosemary couldn’t think of anything to say, her thoughts were whirling so quickly.

  “I think we should move you out right now, to a hotel or a furnished apartment somewhere. What do you think?”

  Rosemary shrugged helplessly. Ruined ceilings, a new roof, the beds, all her treasured furniture would be ruined. It would take her years to recover financially. She had exactly $196 in the bank. She’d planned on buying some lacy lingerie, but now…“Damn,” she muttered.

  Reuben couldn’t control his laughter. “I didn’t know you knew that word. Come on, Ro, it’s not the end of the world. I’ll have it all taken care of as soon as the rain stops. Smile now, this is just a temporary thing, and it’s going to be only as difficult as you make it. I can’t promise it’ll be exactly as you left it, but…I’ll take care of it.”

  Rosemary’s brain raced. Why not? Wasn’t she past the point of formality with Reuben? Certainly he was her friend; in time he would be her lover, too—she was sure of it. Swiftly she calculated the hours she’d spent with him; day-to-day love was costly. He was just trying to reciprocate the only way he knew how. She felt her eyes fill with tears. “That’s more than kind of you, Reuben. How will I ever repay you?” she asked.

  “I’ll think of something,” Reuben teased. “Come on, let’s start getting you packed up. I know a good hotel that will allow you to have the cats, and it has suites with a sitting room, too. You’ll have to have your meals out, but I can take care of that. The Lily Garden isn’t far from there, and Max will be happy to accommodate you.” Reuben took her chin in his hands and stared down at her. “Will you let me do this for you?”

  The rain was beginning to seep over everything as they stood there, even overflowing the meager supply of pots Rosemary had hurriedly placed everywhere. As if on cue, a solitary tear rolled down her cheek, and she melted into Reuben’s arms.

  “I’ll take care of everything, I don’t want you to worry about a thing,” he crooned into her hair.

  Reuben happily settled Rosemary into the Centurion Hotel. He bustled about, checking the bathroom, the softness of the bed and the sofa in the sitting room. When he was satisfied the suite met with his approval, he kissed her good night and headed back to his own house, filled with a sense of goodwill.

  It was a pleasant suite, Rosemary thought, the colors soft and muted. It was comfortable. She would miss her kitchen, but Reuben insisted Max would provide dinner and she was to order from room service anything else she might need. Reuben Tarz was a generous man to those he cared for, and Rosemary was convinced he cared for her. It occurred to her then that he hadn’t shown her his photo albums. Although she’d been looking forward to sharing his past, under the circumstances she could understand his forgetfulness.

  She twirled around the spacious suite like Cinderella at the ball. Suddenly she laughed, a delightful sound that brought the cats, who had been busy exploring their new territory, on the run. “If we were bees, gentlemen, we’d be in clover,” she told them.

  On Monday morning Reuben rose early. After calling Rosemary to see if all was well, he informed her he wouldn’t be in until after lunch. By noon he’d hired two contractors, one to replace the roof and the other to rip out the water-logged ceilings and whatever walls had to be replaced. New wiring would be installed. On the spur of the moment he ordered a completely new kitchen and bathroom and used the colors she had mentioned were her favorites. During the last two weeks of construction he hired an interior decorator, giving the man carte blanche.

  It was during this span of time that Reuben’s secretary returned. Reuben got Rosemary a job at Fox, making sure her salary was top dollar. The same week they parted professional company, Rosemary’s house was finished. Reuben felt like a proud father as he walked through the house; it was perfect. He was profuse in his thanks to the contractors and beamed with pleasure as he handed over checks in the amount of nineteen thousand dollars. When the last piece of furniture was placed in its planned position, he drew a sigh of expectation. Even the new refrigerator and cupboards had been stocked with all their favorite foods. He couldn’t wait to see how Rosemary would react to everything. It had taken some convincing, but he’d made her promise not to visit the house, but to wait until it was completely done.

  Reuben wished there were some way he could tie the house in a big red bow for Rosemary. The thought so energized him that he leapt into his car and headed for the studio. For Christ’s sake, this was Hollywood and he had a full-fledged prop department! If he wished to wrap the house in a red ribbon, he’d damn well wrap the house in a red ribbon. If his prop men couldn’t do it, no one could.

  Four hours later the house at 5334 Poplar Avenue was wrapped in two hundred yards of ten-inch-wide red satin ribbon. The bow resting on the side of the chimney jutting from the slate-gray shingled roof was the largest Reuben had seen. A confection. Rosemary was going to swoon with pleasure. The best cameraman at the studio had been told to snap his picture and enlarge it, frame it, and deliver it gift-wrapped as soon as it could be hand-carried.

  “Well done, Tarz!” Reuben congratulated himself. He tried to anticipate Rosemary’s reaction as she stepped across her new threshold. Would her response carry him to that place in his mind where he needed to be, where he wanted to be? So many years to be unfulfilled. So many aches and desires. Rosemary was going to make the difference, he was sure of it…because old feelings, remembered surges, were starting to rise to the surface.

  Reuben stepped back onto the road for a last look at his handiwork before climbing into the car to pick her up. Her voice had been shaky with anticipation when he’d called her at her office to tell her what time he would meet her at the hotel. By now Rosemary’s neighbors had gathered around the house and were gawking in astonishment. Reuben grinned as he settled himself into the driver’s seat. The constr
uction and the huge red bow would probably be talked about for weeks. He waved airily to a group of them, and they waved back as he swung his car into the road from the driveway. The men in the group were nodding slyly to themselves, questioning whether the man behind the wheel had ever heard the saying “taken to the cleaners.” The women were envying Rosemary and wishing the red bow were for them. Reuben was oblivious to them all, about to explode with pure happiness.

  Rosemary carried the last of her valises to the door. She wouldn’t be sorry to leave the hotel—not that it hadn’t been pleasant, but she was beyond eager to get back into her own home. When he’d first come to visit her, Reuben had been amazed at her insistence upon staying in the suite at dinnertime and ordering from room service, but she’d soon been able to make him realize it was the most sensible thing. There was something that bordered on the illicit about his visits, or maybe it was the fact that he’d paid the bill for her entire stay at the hotel. In any event, she had felt temporary and cheap, and that had made her very uncomfortable. They still hadn’t made love, although their kisses had begun to intensify and their conversation now held many sexual innuendos, something she tried to encourage every chance she could. She would advance just so far, but then inevitably Reuben backed off.

  For this special night, Reuben said he had made reservations at the Lily Garden for dinner to celebrate both the completion of the house and also an event at the studio she couldn’t even remember. What she did remember was that the entertainment for the evening was a man called Frank Sinatra from Hoboken, New Jersey. An “Eye-tal-ian,” according to Max. She had to find a way to nip that in the bud; she had no intention of going to the Lily Garden the first night she could be spending in her new house. Besides, she had other things on her mind.