the ticket,” Jerry said, patting the curving wall of the Red Cross transport plane.
The men talked then of details, coming up with solutions to potential problems. When they had finished their conversation, Daniel spoke. “Then I guess I’m in the hands of the angels, as the saying goes. You know, you guys are the greatest—Jesus, there’s a war going on; France is full of Germans; my world is upside down, and you…I didn’t know where to turn…and I know this is probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but I have to do it. You have to understand, I am what I am because of Mickey and Reuben. I can’t turn my back; I just can’t. If you hadn’t come through, I’d probably…”
“Be swimming your way over,” Rocky said, finishing Daniel’s sentence. “We thought of that,” he continued cheerfully. “Look, Daniel, we understand, and both of us feel you’re doing the right thing. We’re worried, and that’s natural and normal. We’re here for you for whatever that means, and don’t give another thought to things here. We’ll handle that.”
When the last round of backslapping and handshakes was over, the three men walked to the plane’s open door.
“Anytime you’re ready, this bird is cleared for take-off. Top priority and all that shit.” Jerry grinned. “Here,” he said, holding out a small velvet sack.
“What’s this?” Daniel asked, feeling the weight of the bag in his hands.
“It’s a bag full of goddamned diamonds. In case you have to pay for…you know…anything…” Jerry said, and cleared his throat.
Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. “I hope these aren’t the family jewels,” he said lightly. His throat was so constricted, he thought he would cry.
Rocky was next, dangling a money belt in front of him stuffed full of French francs. “You never know,” he said, shrugging. “I had my father tap a line of credit for you at the Paris bank. I don’t know if it will do you any good, but it’s there. The franc is…by the time you need it, it might be worthless. All of this is just a precaution, Daniel.”
There was nothing for Daniel to say, and he didn’t try. Jerry’s and Rocky’s eyes were as misty as his own as the three men stood and walked to the yawning opening of the transport. “I guess I’ll be seeing you…whenever,” Daniel said, his voice faltering.
“You better have some good French wine with you when you get back,” Rocky called as he and Jerry climbed down the stairs.
“I’ll take a real French maid, one with…” Jerry put his hands in front of his chest and drew them out as far as they would go, his eyes twinkling.
“You wouldn’t know what the hell to do with her, who are you kidding?” Daniel shouted back. He could hear both men whooping as the plane’s engines began to sputter. With a last wave Daniel turned to settle himself safely for the long journey.
Jerry and Rocky watched as the huge big-bellied plane taxied down the runway. As the wind swirled about them, they stood and waited until the plane was a speck in the now-clearing sky. “If he’s who he is because of this Mickey and Reuben, then we’re who we are because of him. Do you agree, Jerry?”
“All the way.”
They walked back to Rocky’s waiting car in silence, both of them fighting the urge to cross their fingers and pray.
“Do you think it’ll be okay?” Jerry asked. “I don’t know if I could do what he’s about to do. That loyalty, where the fuck does he get it? We have it all, Rock—the money, the power, the mainline families…You know what he comes from….”
“Daniel’s special. And we’re doing what we have to do just the way Daniel is. He rubbed off on us, and I’m glad. Look, there’s nothing else we can do for now. Should we camp out at his office, or what?”
They clambered into Rocky’s gleaming roadster, the last of the day’s raindrops beaded on its highly polished surface. “I closed my office,” Jerry said sheepishly. “I gave everyone a month’s vacation. My old man is probably drawing up my commitment papers as we speak.”
Rocky grinned. “You’re bonkers, but you aren’t the only one. I did the same thing.”
Both men looked longingly toward the western horizon. If Daniel had given the word, they would have leapt into what they were now considering an adventure.
At last Jerry reached over and patted the steering wheel. “Start this baby up,” he said resignedly. “I think we should head for the nearest bar and tie one on. We’ll be more than sober by the time Daniel gets to France.”
“In that outfit?” Jerry said, pointing to Rocky’s hairy calves. “There isn’t a place in town that’ll let you in.”
Rocky shrugged. “Then I’ll buy the fucking place! And you can hold the mortgage.”
“I know this tailor on Fourteenth Street…”
Chapter Two
It was a warm, golden day, the kind California was known for, the kind pictured on glossy travel brochures inviting you to accomplish something wondrous with the brilliant sun at your back. But Reuben Tarz admitted there was very little left in his life to accomplish. The pictorial reviews and trade papers and magazines continued to report that he had it all, still touting him as a wonder boy even though he was over forty. Wonder Boy…If any of them could have heard him chuckling cynically over the image, they would have been puzzled to say the least.
He looked around at his quiet, manicured garden and wondered, not for the first time, if his Japanese grounds-man had a drawn plan of the terrain. His prime Beverly Hills acre of color almost blinded him with its brilliance. Nests of sweet peas, beds of begonias and cyclamen, huge healthy clumps of daisies, and intensely fragrant bougainvillea and gardenias all bloomed in pampered profusion. When he died he hoped some kind soul would drape his casket with daisies; they were his favorite flowers. The morbid image brought him up short, and he quickly banished it from his thoughts. Death was years ahead of him; he wouldn’t even consider it. Why, he hadn’t even reached the halfway mark yet! His career came first; then, when he was ready to retire he would do something about the things he wanted to do and the places he wanted to see.
Reuben turned and started toward his horseshoe-shaped rose garden, shears and gloves in hand. He’d come out to the garden for a reason, not to stand and gawk. Almost completely surrounded by the five-foot rosebushes, he began to cut away dead stems and dried leaves. They were hardy, these roses, and he’d taken over their care despite Osawa’s protests. Of course, he wasn’t proficient by any means, but the need to tend something, to watch it grow and thrive through sheer persistence, was important to him.
Intent on his occupation, he examined each new bud and marveled over every full bloom still shining with early morning dewdrops. The deep emerald leaves looked as though they were sprinkled with diamonds, and the earthy fragrance of the new day filled his lungs.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the maid bringing out the Examiner and a pot of coffee and placing it on the terrace table a short distance from where he stood. Soon she’d return with a frosty pitcher of orange juice and a crystal glass. The benefits of wealth: a maid, breakfast on the terrace, and a newspaper just waiting for him to pick up. Reuben sighed.
There were days when he liked his solitary coffee and juice, but today
