Sins of the Flesh (42 page)

She was as rich as Croesus. She laughed, the sound rippling all about her. And it had been so easy!

The sound of her father's car in the driveway startled her. Immediately she picked up her pad and pen and started to write a letter to Philippe. On the hall table were two other envelopes with blank paper inside addressed to “Mr. Philippe Bouchet.” For show, of course.

A moment later Nellie opened the door to her father, dabbing at her tear-filled eyes. “Hi, Daddy,” she said listlessly. “I was just writing to Philippe. It's silly, I know, because I don't have his address yet, but it makes me feel better.”

Even though Daniel's heart swelled at his daughter's words and the woebegone look on her face, he took a deep breath and proceeded, using his courtroom voice. It was a front, but it was the only way he could get through the ordeal ahead of him.

“Why, Nellie, why did you do it? I spoke to Silas Goodwin today and he told me you had all of Philippe's funds transferred out here, every one of his holdings! You're going to have to transfer it all back.”

Nellie gasped.

“You called Mr. Goodwin! Why? Didn't you believe me?…Oh, I get it, Jane finally got to you. That's it, isn't it? Oh, Daddy,” she wailed, “I knew this was going to happen! I just knew it! I did only what Philippe told me to do.”

“I'm ordering a freeze on all Philippe's holdings until I reach him. I can do it, Nellie. You see, I have a letter from Mickey that gives me power of attorney over Philippe's assets.”

“Daddy, Philippe is twenty-one now. Everything is so legal, it's unshakable.” She watched her father out of the corner of her eye.

Daniel attacked her verbally then, telling her about his phone call to St. Margaret's and his discussion with the Mother Superior. Nellie's eyes narrowed as she listened. When she spoke, her voice was that of a wistful little girl.

“I can't believe you did all that, Daddy. You're making me sound like a…deranged person, like…oh, God, like Mother. Why are you doing this to me? All I did…am doing, is what Philippe wants.”

Daniel hardened his heart against his daughter's tears. “We'll find out if that's the case as soon as we hear from Philippe,” he said in a flat voice.

“In the meantime, I have to have all of this hanging over my head,” Nellie said reproachfully. “You believe everyone but me; you've been checking up on me. So what if I was a jealous child? That certainly doesn't make me evil and conniving. Why won't you believe me?”

“None of this is going to do you one bit of good, Nellie,” Daniel said miserably. “The power of attorney Bebe has supersedes the one you have.”

“That's just too bad about Bebe! Everything is in my name now, just the way Philippe wanted.”

Daniel rubbed his temples. “That's what I thought. It's still illegal, Nellie. The courts will make you give it back.”

“Not until Philippe returns. He's off serving his country, and no court is going to strip away a wife's holdings,” Nellie cried. “I don't care what Bebe has. It's a forgery; she and Jane cooked it up between the two of them. I can't believe you're falling for their story. I'm your daughter, why would I lie to you about something so important?”

“They said exactly the same thing to me. Why? For Philippe's money, that's why. You want it all and the studio, too. That's it, isn't it?” Daniel demanded.

“No! It's what Philippe wanted. Call Fort Dix and ask him yourself.”

“I already did. He isn't there.”

Nellie's eyes widened. “What do you mean, he isn't there? He said in his note he was going to Fort Dix.”

“Obviously he changed his mind because there is no new recruit at Fort Dix by the name of Philip Tarz or Philippe Bouchet. I'm having it checked out right now,” Daniel said grimly.

Suddenly Nellie burst into fresh tears, and Daniel's heart went out to her despite his reservations. She was so alone, so defenseless. If he turned on her, she would have no one.

“Honey, let's go into the kitchen and have some coffee and really talk,” he said, his voice gentler now. “I think I can help you if you'll cooperate. Nellie, I don't want us to have friction, there's got to be a way to straighten all of this out.”

Nellie stood up and towered over her father, her eyes dark with anger. “No, there isn't a way to settle this. You believe
them.
I won't ever be able to forgive you for turning against me, my own father! I think you should leave before we say more hateful things to each other. I would never hurt you the way you've just hurt me. If Philippe were here, he'd never let you talk to me like this. And for your information, Daddy, I'm going to the office on Monday and I'm going to sit in Philippe's chair in his office just the way he wanted me to. I'm going to run my half. I don't care what Bebe does with her half. And you just try to take his money away from me, just try! If you do, I'll…I'll…”

“You'll what, Nellie?” Daniel demanded softly.

Nellie stared at her father with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Never forgive you,” she said, picking up the pad and running from the room.

Daniel watched her go, tears rolling down
his
cheeks.

 

While Nellie plotted and schemed behind her bedroom door and Daniel stewed and fretted in Reuben's house, Bebe spent the entire weekend trying to understand the report Philippe had given her on the wave of the future—television.

It was so comprehensive, so detailed, Bebe felt as if she were reading a foreign language. The thing that struck her most in the entire seventy-six-page document was Philippe's conviction that television was a technological breakthrough guaranteed to revolutionize the entertainment industry. In his summary he recommended that Fairmont research and develop an electron tube and electronic scanning method to make the marketing of television systems practical. The words
licensing
and
patents
were underlined.

Bebe finished the report at three o'clock on New Year's Day. By six o'clock the dining room table was covered with sheets of papers full of numbers. At six-thirty she called Jane, who arrived an hour later. Together they added and subtracted on Sol's ancient adding machine.

By eight-fifteen Bebe was trembling badly. “I'd kill for a drink right now,” she muttered.

Jane grinned. “What'll it be, cherry pop or ginger ale?”

“Coffee, strong and black.” Bebe sighed. “Will it work, Jane?”

“What's the worst that can happen if it doesn't?” Jane said, eyes twinkling mischievously. “We get jobs in a defense plant and move into an apartment together with Willie.”

Bebe swallowed hard. “I have a list of every single Fairmont employee and their phone numbers. You use Pop's phone in his study and I'll use the one in the kitchen. Tell them I'm calling a special meeting for seven-thirty tomorrow morning. That way I can be at the bank by nine.”

Twenty minutes later Jane walked into the kitchen and clapped her hands together. “Done!” she cried.

Bebe smiled. “Reuben would say we're on a roll. Let's go over it one more time to be sure we have everything right. We're asking for basically all of Fairmont's reserve to develop Philippe's idea. And we're doing this now because once my lawyer presents Philippe's power of attorney to a judge, the studio's assets will be frozen. Right?” Jane nodded. “Okay. In a few minutes I'm going to call Simon and Dillon and ask their permission to tap their trust funds. That money will go toward paying everyone at the studio half wages. And we're going to promise all personnel a percentage of the television profits—if they materialize. Reuben would approve of that, wouldn't he, Jane?” Bebe asked anxiously.

Jane nodded. “You bet. Reuben's always been fair,” she said loyally.

“Onward and upward. Next I'm going to petition the courts to allow us to make Reuben's film using our own funds, funds we will secure by mortgaging my house, your house, and the trust fund Reuben set up for me. If that works, we'll be in clover, as the saying goes. If not, we'll live with it.”

Bebe cleared her throat nervously. “Now, at the meeting tomorrow morning I'll present all this as a package deal. And the whole thing has to be arranged by the close of business tomorrow. I'll turn over Philippe's power of attorney late tomorrow afternoon, but it may take a week before the judge renders his decision.”

Bebe met Jane's eyes over the rim of her coffee cup. “There's something else, isn't there?” Jane asked, concerned.

“Yes…My divorce from Reuben is far from final. I…I'm going to…withdraw my petition, which will place me in a position to mortgage the house in Laurel Canyon.”

Jane's jaw dropped. “Bebe, that house is joint property! You can't forge Reuben's name. All of this has to be legal!”

“I know. I wasn't planning on doing any forging,” Bebe assured her. “I thought we'd go to Max and see if he can sway Reuben's banker in my favor. Look, it's something to think about; we
don't
have to do it.”

“Daniel and Nellie?” Jane said in a choked voice.

“I'll call them now,” Bebe said quietly. “As Philippe's wife, Nellie has a right to be at the meeting. She'll be voting in his place, and we both know the way her vote will go. Daniel, of course…I believe Daniel will do whatever he thinks is right, regardless of Nellie.”

Sighing, she picked up the receiver and dialed Daniel's number. He answered on the first ring, his voice gentle and expectant. Bebe almost apologized for not being Jane. She explained about the meeting and apologized for disturbing him on New Year's Day. Then she broke the connection almost immediately and turned to Jane with a thoughtful expression.

“That's one troubled man, Jane. I feel sorry for him.” Jane dabbed at her eyes. “But I think it will all work out in the end,” Bebe added comfortingly. “Daniel is a kind, wonderful man full of principle, and he won't cast that aside when it comes to the final test. If he does, his whole life will have been a sham like mine. No, he'll come through, I feel it here.” She held a hand over her heart. “And now for our final call.”

Nellie answered the phone sounding forlorn and wistful. She must have assumed it was her father calling, Bebe thought as she identified herself and explained about the early morning meeting. Instantly Nellie's voice hardened, taking on an edge of coolness when she replied that she would be there. This time it was Nellie who broke the connection. Bebe's eyebrows shot upward in surprise as she cradled the receiver. “I think our little Nellie has had a setback of some sort. I don't know what kind, but…”

“Let's hope you're right. Have you notified Tillie?”

“Lord, no. I'd better call her before I turn in. Tillie always stays up till the wee hours reading.” Bebe stood up and stretched. “I could use some fresh air, how about you?”

Willie came on the run when he heard his leash rattling. He licked at Bebe's shoes and then Jane's as he waited for his ears to be scratched and the leash to be hooked to his collar. Two women meant a long walk, maybe a long run without the leash. He woofed happily, clawing at Bebe's legs to make her hurry.

“I feel so loved.” Bebe giggled as she allowed Willie to pull her toward the front door.

 

Fairmont's conference room was fragrant with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, thanks to Tillie's early arrival. Commissary personnel had sent over a huge tray with assorted pastries and several decanters of orange juice, which had been set up in the middle of the conference table. Cups and saucers, silver spoons, crystal goblets, and linen napkins were arranged at each place setting, again thanks to Tillie, who presided over the early morning Continental breakfast. Identical pads and pencils were placed strategically in front of each cup and saucer. Only Daniel Bishop's pad was different: paper-clipped to the top sheet was an old, creased square of paper.

There was no small talk, only worries and frowns as seats were taken and coffee stirred. Bebe waited a full five minutes before she called the meeting to order. The picture of elegance and confidence, she folded her hands and leaned forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy your breakfast while I tell you a story…”

When she'd finished, she stood up and walked slowly around the conference table, her coffee cup held in both hands. “I imagine my…story, confession, if you will, has startled all of you,” she said. “I'm going to ask for a show of hands in a few minutes. If any of you want to leave the room to discuss our decision, feel free. But before you leave I want you all to remember one thing. I'm doing this for Reuben. It's what he wants. I realize I'm asking a tremendous sacrifice from all of you, but I have no other choice. Please return in ten minutes.”

The room emptied immediately. Nellie, in a little-girl dress that she'd outgrown years before, was the last to leave. Bebe's eyes flew to the paper clipped to Daniel's pad. Either he hadn't noticed it, or he'd replaced it exactly the way he'd found it. Jane stayed behind, as did Tillie. No one spoke as they waited for the others to return.

To the minute Fairmont's hierarchy filed into the room and took their places at the conference table. It was clear now of cups and crumbs, the pads lined up neatly with the chairs. Bebe took her seat and tried to read the faces at the table. Just as she was about to ask for a show of hands, Nellie spoke, her voice wan and weak. Tears brimmed her eyes.

“This isn't what my husband wanted. Philippe Bouchet wouldn't approve of any of this. And I can't reach him to have him say so because he's at boot camp.” The tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

Bebe risked a glance at Daniel who was unfolding the paper on his pad. Would he—
dare
he—renege on the agreement he'd drawn up years earlier? Drawing a deep breath, she turned to Nellie.