a premonition? No, her father and Clovis were happy, traveling and doing things together. More than once he’d told her that he didn’t want anything to do with the studio, that Reuben Tarz deserved all the misery that went with it.
“I think you should call Reuben,” Eli said.
“That’s funny, Eli. I don’t have the foggiest idea of where Reuben is. I just got back yesterday myself,” Bebe cried, dabbing at her eyes.
“The housekeeper told me he’s in Washington. With Daniel Bishop, I assume. The studio told me he’s staying at the Ambassador. We can delay the funeral until he gets back. Do you want me to call him?”
“No, I’ll do it. What about Simon and Dillon?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Clovis, did Daddy say anything, at the end, I mean?”
As if on cue, Clovis drew herself up dramatically. “Yes, he said to tell both of you he loved you very much. I was holding his hand and he squeezed mine. I said I would tell you.” Eli’s eyes thanked her for the lie.
“Oh, Clovis!” Bebe threw herself into her stepmother’s arms. “I’m going to miss him. I wish I’d been a better daughter, kissed him more often, visited him more, said kinder things to him.”
Clovis patted her comfortingly. “Shhh, that’s not important. Your father knew you loved him and he loved you. He wouldn’t want you crying like this. I want you to pull yourself together, Bebe. Things have to be done; you have to call Reuben. The whole town will turn out to pay tribute to Sol. We have to make some plans.”
Bebe nodded. “What will you do?”
Clovis smiled wanly. “I think I’ll go back to Texas and stay with my sister. I’ve had enough of this town to last me the rest of my life. Who knows, I might strike oil. The house is yours, Bebe. When your husband deeded it back to Sol, he in turn deeded it to you and Eli. Eli says he wants no part of it, so I guess it’s yours. I certainly don’t want it, and Sol never wanted me to have it. We had our own arrangements, and they aren’t important. Come along and call Reuben.”
“I filed for divorce today, Clovis,” Bebe said, trailing alongside her father’s widow.
“It’s about time. Now maybe you’ll make a life for yourself. I’m proud of you, Bebe, really proud. If you need me or if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
“I always wanted to be like you, Clovis. I used to playact and say and do things I thought you would do in a scene. I think I’ve been acting all my life,” Bebe said pitifully.
“I’m flattered, honey, but what I did wasn’t reality. That was all make-believe for money. Money was the thing; everything, no matter what it was, was for box office. I’m really glad I didn’t make it when sound came. I got a chance to be myself, and I like who I am. That’s why I have to leave this place. Enough talk now. You have to call Reuben.”
The moment Reuben answered the phone Bebe started to cry. Between sobs she told him of her father’s death. “Eli said we can postpone things till you arrive. Can you give me some indication of when—”
“Bebe, listen to me,” Reuben said, his voice full of shock. People like Sol Rosen lived forever. “I can’t make it back right now. Go ahead with the funeral. I’ll pay my respects when I get there. You know how I feel about funerals. They’re barbaric.”
Bebe shook her head to clear her thoughts. Reuben—her own husband—was not interested in attending her father’s funeral? She took a deep breath. “I heard what you said, Reuben, and I think you are the lowest form of life on this earth. Daddy practically gave you the studio, and you can’t be bothered to attend his funeral. How dare you! How dare you, Reuben! Better yet, go to hell! Oh, I get it,” Bebe screamed, “it finally got to you; you’re afraid to show your face to the industry because they’ll all start talking about the way you aced Daddy out of the studio. Well, you crud, they’ll talk more now because I’m going to remind them in case they’ve forgotten. Go to hell, Reuben!”
Eli felt his eyes pop at Bebe’s angry words. Clovis reached out to take Bebe in her arms. “He’s not coming,” she blubbered. “He’s not coming to Daddy’s funeral.”
Sol Rosen’s funeral wasn’t just a funeral, it was an event. Everyone in Hollywood, down to the last cameraman and script girl, attended the graveside service. Bebe found herself listening to the rabbi’s eulogy, wondering where he’d come by his information and all the kind words and outright lies he was saying. From beneath her veil she could see others wondering the same thing. “Your father wrote his own eulogy himself several years ago,” Clovis blurted out suddenly as if reading her mind.
Bebe, Clovis, and Eli were the last to leave the cemetery. “I feel as if I should say something, do something,” Bebe said softly.
Eli shook his head. “I wish he’d loved me. I loved him.”
“I wish I’d loved him more,” Bebe said.
“I loved him enough for all of us,” Clovis muttered. “It’s true,” she said defiantly as they looked at her. “He loved you, Eli, he just couldn’t show it. He thought it wasn’t masculine to show his feelings for a son. You have to believe me. It’s the truth.”
God would forgive her this little lie, and so would Sol.
Chapter Seven
Daniel Bishop stepped foot onto English soil, his heart thrumming wildly about in his chest. This, the first leg of his journey, was over, and he was still alive, but he was far from his final objective and had no way of knowing how much longer it would take to reach that final objective. Someone had said they were in Plymouth, but the Brits were a secretive lot, and when he’d questioned the man who seemed to be his guide, he’d just shook his head and said, “Later,” then called him a bloody fool for leaving the safety of America to come on a wild goose chase. In the end Daniel had followed the man blindly through the driving rain to the metal airplane hangar where he was now sitting, waiting for someone in authority to tell him what his next move would be.
Daniel closed his eyes and did his best to focus on a map of England and France. Plymouth, he thought, was at the southern tip of England on the English Channel and directly across from Cherbourg, and directly southwest of Cherbourg was Brest, a true deep-water harbor that was mined by the Germans.
Angry sounds of dissension bounced off the tin walls of the hangar. Obviously the men weren’t happy with his presence and didn’t want the responsibility of crossing him over to French soil. And he didn’t blame them. What the hell was he doing here? Patience, he told himself. An hour later he was still telling himself to be patient when the discussion became more heated. The group’s words carried clearly to him.
“The old man gave the order himself, so we can’t ignore it. Bear in mind, all of you, it’s an order and not a request. When the prime minister says jump, lads, we jump. The best thing as I see it,” announced the speaker with the loud voice, “is to draw lots. Short stick takes him over.”
Daniel listened for what he was sure would be more muttered curses, but the little group grew strangely silent. His stomach heaved when a short, stocky man with a thick growth of beard approached him. “We’ll go now.”
“Now! But it’s storming outside,”
