Sins of the Flesh (17 page)

August's vicious heat wave ground to a final halt and gave way to normal temperatures during the last days of the month. It was a particularly trying time, with the war news going from bad to worse to devastating. Daniel Bishop was fretful and fearful and half angry. Fretful and fearful because there had been no news of Mickey. Reuben called every day, and he was now at the point where he dreaded the calls, although he did his best to make his voice as cheerful as possible. Philippe usually called right after his father, and as the days wore on, the boy grew frantic—which did nothing for Daniel's frame of mind.

Nellie would be ready to leave for the coast in a few days, and he was already feeling his loss. Rajean was sullen most of the time, curled on a chair with a book he knew she wasn't reading. They spoke very little these days, and when they did she snapped and snarled at him. Something was bothering his wife, and it wasn't the fact that Nellie was leaving. On the contrary, he'd perceived a definite sense of relief in his wife at their daughter's coming departure. Tonight he was going to have a talk, a serious one, with his wife. Nellie would be out, so they would have the house to themselves and could argue as loudly as they wanted.

Enough was enough. His spirits perked up momentarily at the thought he'd had earlier this morning of going to the coast with Nellie for a week or so. Rajean would probably be glad to be rid of him so she could get into whatever kind of trouble he was keeping her from at the moment. If Nellie didn't mind having him tag along, that's exactly what he'd do. It would be good to see Reuben and Jane, and even Max. And his desire to discuss Mickey and the war in Europe was so strong, he felt light-headed.

Daniel glanced down at his desk. Every pending piece of work could be assigned to a junior man at the office. Besides, he would be a telephone call away if a snag occurred. In the meantime he could concentrate on Mickey, Reuben, and Philippe.

Yes, Philippe…Daniel pauseda moment, recalling the most recent telephone call from the boy, the one he'd asked Daniel to keep under his hat. Something about a gut feeling he had about a new phenomenon called tele…tele…Daniel frowned, trying to remember. Tele-something—a technological breakthrough, apparently, and one that Philippe was currently looking into. Tele
vision
—yes, that was it. Seeing a picture on a box in one's living room was the way the boy had described it. Philippe wanted to get the jump on the other studios and hoped that by working on the project secretly he could even override Reuben's opposition when the time came. Daniel admired the boy's determination; perhaps that was why he was using Nellie and her trip to California. Going along with her gave him an excuse to look into the matter. This television would be a challenge, the boy said, not of the decade, but of a lifetime.

Daniel slammed his desk drawer and stood up. It was time to go home. Christ, he hated the thought. If he had anyplace else to go, he'd never return to the house in Georgetown. Of course, when Nellie was there it was different. But with Rajean there alone, the place resembled a war zone—and he had to do something about it before he became mortally wounded. He wanted to breathe again, to laugh and smile, to joke and cry. Goddammit, he wanted his life back!

Ten days before he'd hired a firm of private detectives to observe his wife, but so far all they'd been able to report was that Rajean made daily phone calls from a phone booth in the Rexall drugstore. Hardly grounds for divorce.

So…if Nellie agreed to his accompanying her to California, he would bait his trap for Rajean. He'd had her on short shrift these last weeks, and she was staying grudgingly in line. Before he left he'd give her some money and let her dig her own hole. It was a sneaky maneuver, but it would get him back his life—and at the moment that mattered more than anything else.

To Daniel's relief, no steam billowed upward from the cobbled Georgetown streets. It was actually pleasant driving home, with a perfect light breeze that ruffled his thinning hair through the car window. Most important of all, the oppressive humidity was gone.

The umbrellalike elm rustled overhead, a friendly sound to Daniel's ears, when he pulled the car to the curb. For a moment he just sat in the car and savored the early evening. Unfortunately his house loomed before him, a solid reminder of the task he had yet to perform. He'd never liked this Jack Sprat house from the first moment he'd set foot in it. Back then he'd acquiesced to just about anything Rajean wanted just to see her smile at him. Now he knew that he'd never been truly in love with his wife. Love, that wonderful heart-singing feeling when all you wanted was the other person's happiness was what he'd hungered for. And he'd been so naive, thinking if he gave all of himself emotionally, physically, and financially, his happiness would come back twofold. All he'd gotten was misery. And Nellie, although Nellie and his happiness did not go hand in hand. But for that part of the light in his life, he would not short-change Rajean. With a weary sigh he prepared himself to leave the car and go inside.

The small foyer with its white tile floor, so sterile-looking, seemed dim. There were no flowers on the hall table, and no light shone from the narrow living room. In the kitchen he found a bowl of salad and a cheese sandwich on the table, wrapped in wax paper. Ignoring them, he poked his head out the back door. Someone had watered the flower beds recently. The little walled garden smelled earthy and damp. The four tomato plants held up by thin stakes had been his contribution, and now there were two ripe tomatoes on one of the vines. He loped down the steps to the garden and pulled one of the tomatoes off the vine, then rubbed it on his pant leg before biting into it. His very own tomato, nurtured by Nellie with water and fertilizer. He had to remember to thank her. Grinning wryly, he entered the deserted kitchen, banging the screen door behind him.

 

Rajean watched her husband from her position at the front window. When he didn't come upstairs immediately she followed his progress with her ears, listening to him walk through the house to the kitchen and then out to the small walled garden. When the screen door closed behind him she knew he was on his way up to their room. Quickly she settled herself on the chaise and flipped open a magazine. When she heard Daniel stop at her daughter's bedroom door, she smiled. His love for her daughter was so touching…and so fortunate. For it was through Nellie that she would be able to get from her husband what she wanted. Not for the first time she realized that she could bring Nellie and Daniel's plans to a grinding halt if she wanted to. After all, she was Nellie's mother. If she vetoed the trip to California, Nellie would have to go to college in Washington. So this evening she was going to tell Daniel that Nellie could go to California—for a price. Daniel would pay it, too. Daniel would do anything for Nellie's happiness. Her features took on a smug look when her husband walked past her on the way to the bathroom.

“I hope you don't mind the sandwich and salad for dinner,” she called to Daniel's retreating back. “Nellie didn't want any dinner, and I didn't feel like bothering for just the two of us.”

“I ate a tomato and I had a big lunch,” Daniel replied as he closed the door behind him. He turned and locked the door, something he rarely did. But only here in this large tiled room could he think. It was his sanctuary of sorts after a long, grueling day at the office.

Twenty minutes later he emerged from the bathroom, one towel around his neck and one around his waist. As he walked behind the chaise and dressed, he spoke to his wife in the even tone he'd affected over the last few years. “I'll be going with Nellie to California. I'm not sure how long I'll be there, and I'm sure you'll have no objection.”

“Oh, but I do, Daniel,” Rajean replied, smiling. “I want to talk to you about this little matter. I know I can't stop you from going, but I've been thinking…Los Angeles is such a wicked city, and your friends Reuben and Bebe—well, I don't think that's the place I want my daughter to be. No, I think she should stay here and go to college in the city.”

Daniel stared at his wife a moment, eyes narrowed. Then he gave a grim little smile. “How much, Rajean?”

“Ten thousand…for now” was Rajean's immediate response.

“You realize, of course, that you're selling your daughter. I adopted her legally years ago, so I have as much say in her welfare as you do.”

Rajean's lip curled. “I'm selling and you're buying. Don't they call it supply and demand or something like that?” she asked sweetly.

Daniel regarded her with contempt. “As soon as I get back I'll be filing for a divorce. I've had enough of this…existence.”

“That will cost you, too,” Rajean replied languidly. “And remember: the courts always award custody of a minor child to the mother. So be prepared, darling.” The flutter of fear she always felt at the word
divorce
subsided a bit. After all, the “
ex
-Mrs. Bishop” didn't sound altogether bad—provided Mr. Bishop paid and paid and paid. How much could she zap Daniel for until Nellie came of age? Probably not all that much, she mused. Well, it would have to be
all that much
if Daniel was serious about the divorce—and she had no reason to think he wasn't.

“Did you have a figure in mind?” Daniel asked conversationally.

“A hundred thousand, this house, and my car,” Rajean responded after a moment's thought. Her husband's peal of laughter sent chills up her arms. “Cash! And some kind of annuity for my…advancing years,” she added, frowning as Daniel laughed again and walked out of the room.

He was still laughing when he entered his home office. Laughing because Rajean's demand matched exactly what he'd been prepared to give in return for his freedom and sole custody of Nellie. The detectives he'd hired would take care of the rest.

It was then he saw the copy of the
Star
on his desk, neatly folded along with two bottles of his favorite beer in an ice bucket. Nellie, of course. The ice had melted, but the water was cold to the touch, with little beads of frosty water trickling down the sides of the bottle. Just the way he liked it. Sweet Nellie. He shuddered to think what would have happened to her if he hadn't come along to marry her mother. The note he'd left in her room made him grin again, picturing her face as she read it. Nellie would appreciate his taking time off from the office to accompany her to California.

Daniel shook the paper free of its confines. This was the moment he dreaded every day, the moment his eyes scanned the front page for news of the war in Europe. He never knew quite what it was he dreaded or expected each day when he put the paper aside after reading it from beginning to end. The war offices and news correspondents didn't even know of Mickey Fonsard's existence. His heart felt sore when he realized that another day was almost over and still there'd been no word concerning her safety.

At the thought of the torment Reuben must be going through, his head began to pound. Inside of a week they'd be commiserating together. Ever since Reuben had told him he hadn't taken Philippe to see Bebe, he'd had the uncanny feeling that Bebe knew more about Mickey than any of them. But he doubted she'd share her information with Reuben. It was a damn shame; for a while he'd thought that things would work out between his old friend and Bebe, particularly after Reuben was honored at the Academy Awards years before. Reuben had thought so, too, and said he'd tried, but Bebe wanted more than he had to give. Bebe always wanted more, expected more, just like Rajean.

Daniel likened happiness to the commodities market. One minute you had it and the next it was gone unless you were an expert trader.

In the world of business both he and Reuben were kings. In the world of love and happiness they were both king-size duds.

With a sigh Daniel leaned back in his leather chair. Together he and Reuben would find a way to deal with their concern over Mickey.

 

Rajean drew in her breath and let it out slowly when the door closed behind Daniel. For several moments she sat quietly trying to take deep breaths, unsure of what she was feeling—exaltation or dismay. Ten thousand dollars now and a hundred thousand for a divorce. If she sold the house, perhaps another sixty or seventy thousand. Then she could move to New York, be near Teddie.

Her hand was on the phone to place a call when she drew it back into her lap. Long-distance calls showed up on telephone records. It was also time she stopped being so impulsive. Tomorrow would be soon enough to call Teddie. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? Freedom to come and go as she pleased, free to spend money, to give gifts, free of Nellie and the responsibility of motherhood. Nellie was an independent young girl, able to take care of herself now. Besides, long-distance family relationships were best. Maybe she wouldn't sell the house, maybe she would keep it to have a home base. In a strange kind of way she rather liked the narrow house with its crazy-shaped rooms. She also liked the atmosphere of Georgetown and the cobblestone streets.

A small prick of fear tickled Rajean. She wished she hadn't been so verbal about Daniel to Teddie. Why was it lovers always confided things they shouldn't? Deep in her gut she knew now that she shouldn't have said a thing about her husband. Teddie knew too much about her as it was, and lately…

Suddenly Rajean jumped up from the chaise and ran to the bathroom mirror. Yes, there they were—the tiny lines around her eyes, the slight droop at the corners of her mouth. Dammit, it wasn't fair! Men became distinguished as they got older, and women…women just aged. Cosmetics went only so far. She lifted her arm and tweaked the fleshy part with her two fingers. Sagging! God! Even her breasts were squishy now and her belly button was sinking into her stomach. Her thighs jiggled, too. Quick as a flash she hiked her skirt to her waist and whirled around, craning her neck to look at her rear end in the mirror. Drooping, too. Gravity. Who cared if a man's ass drooped? No one. Who cared if a man's thighs jiggled? Men had hair to cover their thighs, so it wasn't as noticeable anyway. No one cared. And men's belly buttons simply weren't worthy of thought.