“Hey, I’m an angry young playwright. What was I supposed to do?”
“You know I never read your play because no one would give me a script?”
“You should have asked me.”
“Okay, I’m asking.”
Will stood, took a script from his desk, and handed it to Elizabeth.
“Should I read it now?”
“Here?”
“Whatever.”
“I’m torn.”
“Between what?”
“Ego and…”
“And what?”
Will reached out and took Elizabeth’s hands, pulling her to her feet. Very close to him. “And this.”
With one hand he gently brushed an errant strand of hair back from her forehead.
“Your hair is like silk.”
“If I were completely sober I would say, modestly, oh, that I haven’t washed it in days. But since I’m not exactly sober or even close, I’ll just say thank you.”
“And since I’m not exactly sober myself I’ll say this is one of the best afternoons I’ve had since this whole play thing started. In fact, it’s the only good afternoon in four months.”
“It was that bad?”
“No. This is that good.”
Elizabeth could tell that Will was almost exactly Todd’s height. If he were Todd her face would be just about chin-high. Just like it was now.
Up close, his features were very different from Todd’s, but when he reached out and brought her close to him, his body felt just as warm and wide.
But he wasn’t Todd. And that was very good.
Then his mouth was pressed against hers and she opened her lips and tasted his urgency mixed with her own and everything and everyone else fell away. And that was very good, too.
Elizabeth pulled away from Will. And smiled. “I beat you. This is my only good afternoon in eight months.”
Will pulled her back into his arms. “Wait, it gets better.”
But Elizabeth wasn’t ready for better. Not right now. Between the two of them they had enough family turmoil to start a new HBO series. And when you ran out of those stories, there was always Wendy.
And Todd.
She could play Wendy. Abandoned for another passion. Love of theater. Does that hurt less than a twin sister?
Are you kidding?
Even in her martini-fogged brain, Elizabeth knew that. And she knew there was no way she would chance any more complications in her life. Not now, anyway. But she did like him.
“Would you mind if I took your script home with me?”
“You sure?”
“Yes. I really want to read it.”
“I mean right now…”
“Probably a good idea. For me, anyway.” Elizabeth slid Will’s script into her purse. “Maybe you could find time tomorrow, after rehearsal, for a short interview.”
“I have time now.”
“Tomorrow.”
From the look on Will’s face, there was no chance he was going to say no. She could see he liked her. It was as if he were a whole different person from the one in the theater.
A person she could really like.
* * *
Elizabeth took a cab from Will’s apartment and was home by late afternoon. She tried to write up some of her rehearsal notes but couldn’t concentrate.
Will was on her mind. They had so much in common—bad things. They were both the runaways. Obviously she was attracted to him. Everything about him was right: He was physically desirable, not really a doppelgänger after all—certainly not in personality. Additionally, he was a talented playwright with a play about to open in New York. And he liked her.
Her first thought was what Todd and Jessica’s reaction would be to her new conquest.
What an ugly first thought. Was everything always going to be distorted and twisted by her bitterness? Was she always going to have that bad taste of metal in her mouth? And the taste for vengeance that went with it?
Just as she was settling in for a deep reverie over how much she hated her sister and Todd, the phone rang. It was her mother.
“Hi, Mom. Is everything all right?”
The picture of her home in Sweet Valley flashed into her mind. She could see the afternoon sun streaming into the kitchen, where her mother was, holding the cordless, probably making coffee. Her mom was a four-coffees-a-day person, and this would be the third. After dinner she’d have her last cup, decaf please.
Elizabeth knew exactly where the sun would slice across the kitchen table at this hour. In the summer, when the sun set late enough to still be strong at dinnertime, nobody ever wanted to sit in the seat with the sun in her eyes. Even the bamboo shades didn’t deflect it enough. Only now did she wonder why they didn’t get proper shades.
Right now Elizabeth was longing for that seat.
What she wouldn’t give for that stream of sun coming into this dark apartment. But it never happened. The only sun she ever got was secondhand, a reflection bouncing off the hotel across the street.
As usual, it was warm and comforting to hear her mother’s voice. But always a little sad. She was the banished one, even if she’d banished herself.
“Absolutely, sweetie,” her mother said. “Everything is fine. I just wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Not the wedding, Mom. I really don’t want—”
“Not the wedding. I’ve told you my thoughts about that. And Dad’s told you, too. We want you to be there, but it’s your decision, and we will understand. I don’t think there’s anything more to be said now. No, this is about your grandmother’s eightieth birthday.”
“I wouldn’t forget that.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
“I already sent her favorite perfume. And I thought I would send her an orchid on the day.”
“Why don’t you bring it?”
“I can’t, Mom. I’m not ready to come home yet.”
“We’re making her a small dinner at the club. Just the family and a couple of close friends. You know how much your grandmother loves you. It’s very important to her.”
“Is everybody going to be there?”
“Yes, sweetie, of course; your sister and Todd will be there.”
“I can’t.”
“Don’t decide yet. Think about it. Will you?”
“I just can’t.”
“Elizabeth.” Alice Wakefield pronounced Elizabeth’s name in that special mother’s voice that was someplace between asking and telling. “Please, I want you to think about it.”
“I have to go. I’m supposed to be at the theater in ten minutes.”
“Is that going any better?”
“Much.” A quick picture of just how much better things would be after this afternoon shot through Elizabeth’s mind. It wasn’t exactly the sun seat, but it did make her smile. Close as she was to her mother, she wasn’t ready to talk about Will. In fact, outside of Jessica she probably wouldn’t have told anyone.
“I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Wakefield said, with obvious pride. “Who can resist my fabulous daughter?”
“Obviously, some people,” Elizabeth said, bringing it back to earth.
“Sweetie, like you’re always saying, let’s not go there. Why don’t you call me later when you can talk? I want to hear all about the play.”
As much as she loved her grandmother, Elizabeth couldn’t stomach the idea of sitting at the same table as those betrayers. They were horrible, both of them, and she hated them and never wanted to see either of them again. She knew that was unrealistic, but for now she absolutely wasn’t ready.
She definitely wasn’t ready to walk in there alone.
Poor, pathetic Elizabeth …
Unless, of course, she were to arrive, unexpectedly, at her grandmother’s party on the arm of a handsome New York playwright. That certainly wouldn’t be pathetic.
Even though it was ridiculously early in the relationship, Will would probably understand. Without wasting a moment i
n sensible thinking, Elizabeth looked up his number and dialed.
“Hello,” Will said. She could tell he had been sleeping off the martinis.
“Hi, it’s Elizabeth.”
That woke him. “You’re coming back?”
“No, not today anyway, but maybe soon. Did Bala get to you yet?”
“Nope. I’ve been screening my calls. And I’m not answering the door.”
“Actually, I’m calling about a big favor from a new friend.”
“Am I the new friend?”
“I hope so. My grandmother is having an eightieth birthday party, and I’d love it if you would come with me.”
“Love to. When and where?”
“Next week. In Sweet Valley.”
“You mean California?”
“Yes…”
“I really would love to go with you and shove it to that sister and her lying, cheating fiancé, but they would never let me leave, even for a day. Dinner is hard enough. Leaving the state is impossible. Starting next week we’ve got a six-day rehearsal schedule. Seven for me. I’m really sorry, Elizabeth. Am I still your new friend?”
“Forever.”
“Hey, why not take Liam? You said your sister would go nuts for him. Okay, it’s not a fabulous victory, but it’s guaranteed to catch her attention. What do you think?”
Strangely enough, the first time in eight months that Elizabeth had thought about Jessica in any kind of normal way was that afternoon at the bar when she saw Liam. When it hit her how Jessica would go bananas for him, how he was just her type. It was enough to make Elizabeth smile in the way she always used to about Jessica’s antics.
Will was onto something. Todd notwithstanding, there was no way the Jessica she knew could resist Liam.
“Actually,” Will said, beginning to enjoy the game, “if I were writing the scene I’d do exactly that. Get a little conflict going there.”
“Not bad, playwright person. I know my sister very well, and her natural instinct would be ‘I want that!’ This could be fun. What else would happen in the scene?”
“The obvious, like you said. She goes nuts for him, can’t keep away, fiancé catches her with Liam, and the wedding is kaput. You like that?”
Silence.
“Elizabeth? Are you there?”
“Wow. Do you know how many revenge scenarios I’ve gone through? And nothing is nearly as good as this one.”
“I’m just fooling around. It’s only a scene, Elizabeth. In a play, not real life.”
“I know, but it’s nice to think about it anyway. So, go back to the scene; how does the fiancé catch her?”
“You’re dangerous. I’m not going to mess with you.”
Suddenly, they weren’t talking scenes.
“I’ll remember that. Thanks anyway,” Elizabeth said. “See you for the interview tomorrow. Around lunchtime?”
“Right. Tomorrow,” he said. They hung up.
Ridiculous as it was, Will’s idea was intriguing, and Elizabeth played with it for the rest of the evening. She was enjoying herself so much, she didn’t even go out to eat. Instead she fixed macaroni and cheese from a box and ate it in front of the TV, watching the last half of a bad movie she never caught up on. Even if she’d cared, it wasn’t nearly as good as Will’s scene.
It was crazy, the idea of asking this almost stranger to go to a dinner in California. Still, she couldn’t help enjoying the picture. Immediately, it took a prime position in her revenge scenarios.
At about eight o’clock she decided to take a walk down to the Wicked Teapot. Just for a little company. Maybe see how Liam was doing.
6
Sweet Valley
Jessica got her mother’s call the same day her sister did. And when she told Todd, the first question he asked was, “Is Elizabeth coming?”
“Are you kidding? Like, there’s no way. Not with us there.”
“Did you ask?”
“She’d have said something if Elizabeth were coming. But, you know, I almost wish she would, I mean be there, even though it totally scares me.”
“It’s been eight months, maybe it’s time.”
“What do you think about our wedding; you think she’ll come?”
“No, I really don’t think she will. It’s one thing to come to a family celebration, like your grandmother’s birthday, but coming to our wedding? I think that would be too hard.”
Jessica shook her head; she knew Todd was right, but still she felt unhappy and disappointed.
“What’s going to happen with us?”
“I don’t know. Maybe one day she’ll forgive us. That would be like Elizabeth.”
“You still care for her, don’t you?”
It was a question Jessica had asked many times in these last months, but not in this context. It took awhile, but she’d come to understand that that other part of Todd’s love for Elizabeth was over.
Todd didn’t have to think long. “Elizabeth is someone you can’t stop loving.” It was good for him to be able to say it. It was an indication of how far his relationship with Jessica had come.
“I know. I can’t, either.”
No matter how many times Jessica tried to rationalize, to give some small iota of integrity to what she had done, she never succeeded. But she kept trying. She accepted that nothing would ever excuse the betrayal, but if only she could find some way that Elizabeth could understand the love—not approve, maybe not forgive—but understand. She would settle for that.
If only she could have some part of her sister back. She had never faced anything of this magnitude without Elizabeth’s comfort and good counsel.
Eight months ago in France, when she desperately wanted to leave Regan, the only one she called was Elizabeth. That call made leaving her husband viable. Talking to her wise sister cut right through the misery of indecision, and with Elizabeth’s permission, her life could start over again. She remembered the strength that conversation gave her.
“Okay, that’s decided, but don’t do anything until I get there,” Elizabeth says. “I can be in Nice by tomorrow morning.”
“No,” I tell her. “I can handle this, really, as long as I know you’re going to be there for me when I get back to Sweet Valley.”
“I’m waiting for you. And if you’re not back in two days, I’m coming to get you.”
“I’ll be there. I promise. I so love you, Lizzie.”
“I love you, too, Jess.”
I click off my cell phone, or as the French insist, le portable, and feel a hundred percent better. Talking to Elizabeth can do that for me. She makes me feel safe and loved, just what I so need.
Though why anyone whose magnificent blue-and-white 149-foot yacht is sitting glistening in the dazzling sunshine of the Côte d’Azur, stocked with an ever-obliging crew of ten and a doting husband, wouldn’t feel safe and loved already was a question peculiar to me. But that’s the way it is.
When I don’t want something, I don’t want it right this minute. Like this whole marriage. And I don’t want to have to sit through endless boring discussions about how we could make it work and all that. It’s over, and I’m ready to move on. Even six months has been too long.
Okay, there were fun parts. Like that he is fabulously handsome—dark hair, charcoal eyes, a great body—and very young-looking for forty-two. And with his wealth and brains he’s extremely powerful, which is very sexy. And I love the parties and the private planes and yachts and all that stuff. Like, who wouldn’t? But his friends are all too boring, and I know they don’t like me. The age difference matters more than I thought it would.
We don’t want to do the same things. I mean, I like food, but I don’t want to sit around and talk about it all the time, especially while we’re eating. I want to eat and then get out and get some action; I like dancing, hangin’ out, fooling around. Even updating Twitter would be more exciting, if only I had something interesting to say.
I thought it would be different, more like when we were dat
ing, when it was all about what club we would be going to or flying down to the Caribbean for the weekend. I so loved the clubs. The fun of dressing outrageously in clothes you can only wear in clubs. And I loved the dancing.
Regan never was that crazy about the club stuff. I think he was always like sort of jealous. Actually, he didn’t have to be because it really was all about the fun of the music, all those colors and lights and the excitement of feeling like you’re in a fantasy. It was thrilling and I thought it was great. What’s so wrong with that? Nothing.
Except he makes me feel there is.
I know he loves me, but it’s too much. In the beginning all that attention was delicious, but now it feels more like he’s obsessed, and it’s suffocating. I mean, he’s every place I turn. And like I feel a bit of an edge, that same edge that was so exciting when I first met him. Now it feels like almost dangerous.
Maybe Elizabeth was right. She claimed that there was something dark in Regan, sensed it like an old brain warning, but I wasn’t about to listen.
What she couldn’t possibly know was the magic of not having to think about Todd for the first time in too long. Marrying Regan Wollman would lift the weight that had been crushing me since that horrendous time five years ago. Going to L.A. after college didn’t do it for me, and besides, it wasn’t far enough. And then wasting time in a million meaningless PA jobs for all kinds of very unimportant people who didn’t really need personal assistants but had enough spare money and were just too lazy to do the work themselves didn’t help, either. None of that did anything to ease the pain that haunted me.
Then I met Regan.
He didn’t take me just miles away; he took me into another world. An older, sophisticated, international world, where I wouldn’t have to see Todd except on those occasional family events and even then we would be like strangers with nothing in common.
The added bonus was I would be saying, See, I so got over you.
True, I had been going out with Regan for only two months, but he’d swept me off my feet with endless attention and expensive gifts: diamond studs that were each more than a carat. In fact, like one point four seven, pure white set in yellow gold. Not my favorite setting, but I figured I could change it later.
Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later Page 8
