Sins of the Flesh (48 page)

The journal was thick, almost filled, with ideas and plans for Fairmont Studios, plans she'd expected to implement long before and because of the judges ruling had never even been introduced.

These last few years hadn't been easy. The estrangement from her father really didn't bother her, but what did bother her was the fact that she couldn't go to the studio every day as she'd planned. Everything was in a holding pattern, awaiting an appearance by her husband. Apparently, Reuben had no intention of returning to America, so Bebe was still in control of half the studio. But as long as Philippe was an absentee husband, the studio would remain closed.

Next week her attorney would petition the courts again. This time he assured her she would win thanks to Philippe Tarz.

Nellie smiled to herself as she walked along, her stride loose and carefree as she hummed the lyrics to a popular song. This time around she was going to win, and half the studio would be hers. If Philippe did come back someday, she'd fight him to the death for what he'd put her through. Let him dispute the child, no one would believe him. No one!

Philippe Tarz was a pretty child with curly blond hair and dark gray eyes, taking after her. He was a contented little boy with a doting nanny who saw to his needs twenty-four hours a day. Nellie called him Little Philly when she spoke to her attorneys or to anyone who inquired about the child, and her tone was always that of a mother in love with her child. But the true extent of her mothering consisted of a kiss in the morning and one at night. Of course, she bought him the best clothes and the finest toys, but it was the nanny who fed him, bathed him, read him stories, and tucked him into his crib. It was the nanny who sang him lullabies and stroked his brow when he developed a cold or fever.

She'd given birth to Little Philly alone, with only her housekeeper visiting her in the hospital. That was how she'd wanted it, and it would aid her now when she petitioned the court. No grandmother in attendance, no father peeking into the nursery for a glimpse of the tiny pink bundle wrapped in his blue blanket. With consummate skill she'd played the part of a suffering, lonely wife. The nurses and her doctor had held whispered conversations about her, saying how brave and noble she was. And although she'd cooed and fussed over the little bundle the way she was supposed to, she never undid the snug little blanket to check out the baby the way other mothers did.

Everything was on schedule according to her plan. She was even a volunteer at the local Red Cross chapter where she made a few friends and confided just enough personal details to make everyone feel sorry for her. Like all patriotic wives and mothers, she worked on paper drives and collected tin cans, bought war bonds in her son's name, and entertained her fellow volunteers once a month with a dinner or a picnic in the backyard. Most of her guests mistook the blank look in her eyes for worry, never thinking they bored her to tears or that they were all part of her plan to control her husband's share of the studio.

Tonight before she went to bed she was going to write a note to Jane and Bebe and compliment them on
Sands
. All during the picture she'd written the note in her mind. She'd say she was moved to tears, that the film was so very realistic and Philippe was going to be so proud when he came home. And she'd sign off with the wish that they could all work together someday.

Nellie continued to hum as she danced her way into the house. Her plan was working.

 

Walking to the mailbox at the end of Mademoiselle's driveway proved to be one of the more exciting events of the day for the children. Even the dogs sat at attention by the front door where the leashes hung on a peg. Sophie opened the door, and Bruno went first with his dog, who detested his leash. The others followed in single file until they reached the mailbox, where Bebe went through a ritual initiated by Bernard. The question was always the same—would there be a letter from Monsieur Tarz? Each child voiced his opinion. Bruno, the eternal optimist, always said yes, and when proved wrong said, “Tomorrow there will be one, maybe two,” at which point they would all turn and walk back to the house—slowly, because lessons would start on their return.

Today Bebe lagged behind with a letter in her hand that had set her heart to pounding. It was from Nellie's attorney. Only the presence of the children kept her from ripping it open immediately. Above all, Bebe strove for a relaxed, calm environment for the children, doing nothing that would cause them even a moment's anxiety. No, she would go upstairs to her room and read the letter in private.

“Licorice sticks for everyone if you do well today,” she called gaily as the children trekked out to the terrace to begin the afternoon's lessons. Impishly, Bruno held up two fingers, which meant an extra licorice for his dog and Willie. Bebe smiled and nodded.

Don't dilly-dally, just rip it open, she told herself as she transferred the letter from one hand to the other. She held the envelope up to the light and squinted. The letter inside was short, no more than three lines. Bebe slit the envelope with her thumbnail, inadvertently ripping the letter inside. She read it through twice before she tore it to shreds. Ordered—ordered, by God, to appear in the judge's chambers, a week from today for the final resolution of Philippe's holdings. Obviously Nellie had petitioned the courts a second time.

Bebe's foot lashed out at the end of the bed, and yelped as pain shot up her leg. “Oh Philippe, you've been so foolish, and now you're going to lose it all to that little…that bitch! There's nothing I can do…son.” How nice the word sounded. Son…She had three sons, she reminded herself, two of whom she was going to call right now.

As usual, Simon responded to her queries in a cool, practical voice. “Business is great, Mother. I have more work than I can handle. Now, if you had let me handle the advertising for
The Sands of Time,
I could retire to Carmel with Uncle Eli. Everyone is talking about that movie. Have you heard from Dad?”

“Not a word. Nothing on Philippe, either. That's why I called. I got this letter today from Nellie's lawyers. There's a hearing a week from today for a final resolution to Philippe's holdings. There's nothing I can do. I feel so helpless.”

“It will all right itself in the end, Mother. Think positive, that's what you always told me.”

“Simon…I hope to be able to repay your trust fund in another six weeks or so. It was so kind and generous of you and Dillon to come through for me.”

Simon chuckled. “Mother, I'm not worried, I never was. The way I look at it, it's Dad's money anyway. There's no hurry. In fact, I don't care if you ever pay it back. I mean that, Mother.”

Bebe swallowed hard. “I know you do, Simon, and it's more than I deserve. So, tell me, what are you advertising? Do you have your own accounts now?”

“More than I can handle. Right now I'm doing one for Lucky Strike cigarettes. I'm doing a presentation tomorrow, so I'd better get back to my desk. Just remember: take it one day at a time. Philippe will just have to accept whatever happens when he comes home. Nice talking to you, Mother.”

“Good-bye, Simon.” Bebe said, smiling. Simon the philosopher.

Next she dialed the Forestry Service Dillon worked out of and asked for Ranger Tarz. Moments later Dillon's voice, so like Reuben's, boomed over the wire. “Ma! What's up?”

Bebe blinked. As always, she was taken aback by Dillon's upbeat cheerfulness. Her youngest son was a rogue, handsome and so like his father at that age, and lived each minute of the day with zest and verve. She loved it when he called her Ma.

“All kinds of things, some good, some not so good. I need…to talk to you,” she said tentatively.

“Shoot!”

Bebe went through her spiel a second time, and Dillon's reaction was much the same as Simon's.

“Look, Ma, you struck it lucky with Simon and me, so it stands to reason Philippe has to be the jackass. He'll come back when he's damn good and ready, and probably be some kind of war hero in the bargain. Fifty bucks says I'm right. You a gambling woman, Ma?” he chortled.

Bebe smiled in spite of herself. “No, I'm not. I feel as if I let him down. It wasn't easy for him coming here and learning…you know. I should have tried harder, done more. I failed him.”

“Ma, you're wrong.
He failed you.
He comes crying to you at the eleventh hour and gets you all steamed up, then takes a powder. He lied to you, goddammit! Stop feeling sorry for him. Don't sweat that trust fund, either. There's not a whole lot a guy can do out here in the woods with money.”

“Thank you, Dillon. How are things going? Catching any poachers?”

Dillon's voice softened immediately. “Ma, yesterday this doe gave birth to the most incredible fawn. I wish Uncle Eli were here so he could paint her. She is so beautiful! The doe ate out of my hand. The little one is knock-kneed and skittish, but curious as hell. You wouldn't believe how protective that doe is. Yet they trust me,” he said proudly.

“And well they should,” Bebe replied warmly. “You are the kindest, most gentle human being I've ever met. I can't imagine who you take after.”

“Pop, of course. He's the kindest, most gentle man I know. Speaking of kind and gentle, how are you doing with your little army?”

“Not bad, all things considered. They want to go home so badly. I alternate between wanting to take them back now and waiting till after the awards. I know
Sands
is going to make a clean sweep, and I want the children to accept for Reuben. I think they understand, and then I hear them crying at night.”

“It's tough to grow up, Ma. Bribe them with licorice sticks like you used to do with me.” Dillon laughed uproariously.

“I do. Look, thanks for listening, Dillon. I'll call you next week.”

“Right. Bye, Ma.”

Bebe's next phone call was to Jane. “Did Daniel say anything to you about Nellie petitioning the courts again?” she asked.

“We don't talk about Nellie,” Jane told her. “To tell you the truth, Bebe, I don't know if he even sees her anymore. Since he started up his own law offices here, he doesn't have much spare time. Most evenings he's with me or working late. What's she want this time?”

“To wind things up, I guess. It has been a long time, Jane, three years and ten months. All this time with no word from Philippe does not look good. The judge will find for Nellie and give her his half of the studio. Then we can open for business, if there is any business. It was inevitable. I guess what I dread most is having to see her again. I actually hate her, Jane, and I won't make any apologies about it, either. If Reuben were here, she wouldn't have gotten off the ground with this thing. I know she's lying, but I can't prove it. I know that child is not Philippe's, and I can't prove that, either. When the judge asks me if I've heard from my son, I have to say no. That's a plus for Nellie.”

“You could lie,” Jane said morosely.

“Under oath? Oh, Jane, I couldn't!”

“Nellie's lying under oath, so why should you be different?…Sorry, I didn't mean that. Of course you can't lie.” She sighed. “You know, one of these days that little witch will get what's coming to her, and I hope I'm around to see it. She's
evil,
Bebe!”

“I know.”

“Lord, I almost forgot. Daniel asked me to call you and find out if the children would like to play some baseball. He said there's a sandlot somewhere close by. He'll get the bats and balls, and you and I are going to be the umpires. I think it might be fun. I can pack a picnic lunch. Sunday afternoon. What do you say?”

“That's a great idea!” Bebe said enthusiastically. “The kids are getting bored. I hope he plans to hire a bus.”

Jane giggled. “He is, how did you know?”

“Sixteen children, three adults, and two dogs. Call it an educated guess. I'll see you Sunday, then.”

Alone with her thoughts, Bebe lit a cigarette as she stared out over the gardens.
Reuben, where are you? Where is our son? You were never here when I needed you. Physically yes, emotionally no. I need you now, so badly. What can I do?

“Not a damn thing,” she muttered, answering herself.

 

It was precisely 9:55
A.M
. one week later when Bebe walked into the courthouse. The first person she saw and recognized was Daniel, and her eyes narrowed angrily. He hadn't said a word on Sunday about coming, she thought. What made her angrier still was the little boy he was holding in his arms. Without a word she turned and walked toward the judge's chambers.

“Bebe, wait,” he called after her. “Please. This child is innocent, don't take out your feelings on him. Regardless of what you believe, he is
my
grandson. At least look at him, and then tell me you don't believe he's Philippe's son.”

Jaw clenched and shoulders rigid, Bebe turned and walked back to her old friend. “He might be your grandchild, Daniel,
but he isn't mine or Reuben's,
” she said. Impassively, she studied the boy for a few moments. “He is a handsome little boy,” she conceded at last.

“Nellie is teaching him French so he can speak to Philippe in his own language when he comes home,” Daniel said evenly.

Bebe shook her head. “You are a dreamer, Daniel. This makes me…sick. I don't even know why I have to be here. I'm not in the mood for more lies or your daughter's version of the truth. I thought she hated you, disowned you? What did you do? What did you promise her?”

“My support,” Daniel replied. “That's all. I can't turn my back on this child the way you did. Nellie has no one. So, we…we came to terms. I'm the first to admit it isn't like it was, but in time all wounds heal.”

“Not all wounds, Daniel. Some never heal,” Bebe said coldly as she walked away.
Oh, Philippe, how could you be so foolish? Now everything is lost. One phone call, one letter, that's all it would have taken to stop her. Now it's too late.