Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later

by Francine Pascal

  10

  New York

  For the first time since she’d started covering Will’s play, Elizabeth didn’t hide in the back of the theater. She chose a seat a couple of rows discreetly back from the power group but not out of sight.

  The houselights were on, and she could see Ross, the director, talking to one of the actors. The producers were in their usual seats. The only one missing was the playwright. Elizabeth was worried for Will. He was her friend now, and she didn’t want to see him crushed by Ross, who kept turning toward the back of the theater, obviously looking for his victim.

  Will arrived and strode down the aisle. Didn’t walk. Strode, head held high, looking every bit the conqueror. Elizabeth held her breath for him.

  It was going to be even more horrendous than she’d thought. Like big bullmoose charging with their antlers.

  But it wasn’t. Everyone turned to greet Will, even Ross, with smiles. And as he passed Elizabeth, he gave her a small wave. She couldn’t imagine what had happened to change everything so radically.

  Had she been more experienced in the theater, she’d have known that arguments rarely lasted more than one Fuck you! Shakespeare was right; the play’s the thing and everything else gets either eaten or put aside. No grudges. Unless the show flops. Then it’s out-and-out hate forever. Or until you have to work with the same people again.

  Bala, all Texas charm, had educated Will that very morning. He even had a pad with him to take notes.

  The rehearsal went smoothly, and Luke Billen, the actor playing Samuel Johnson, read his line exactly as Will had wanted.

  At twelve thirty they broke for lunch and Elizabeth and Will went across the street to the Wicked Teapot for their interview.

  “I’m not going to ask you what magical thing happened to make everything perfect today,” said Elizabeth once they had settled at a quiet table in the back. Liam wasn’t there, but he had arranged the reservation. “But what happened?”

  “I had breakfast with Bala this morning and we talked about Ross. He’s very enthusiastic about the show. And he’s good. She explained the purpose of the arrangement. There’s no way he gets things done if he’s not in total control. It makes sense, and for the most part we agree. If we don’t, I give him a note. Obviously he talked to Luke because Luke read the line perfectly today.”

  “You mean there aren’t going to be any of those famous Fuck yous?”

  “Are you kidding? Even in summer stock in Chicago we had them. Just be patient. I guarantee it won’t take long.”

  They ordered lunch. Elizabeth was feeling happy. Well, maybe that word was a little strong, but maybe not. It had been so long since she’d felt plain, uncomplicated happiness that she had forgotten what it was like. This Will guy had definite possibilities.

  “I was thinking about your little scene,” she said, when their sandwiches came. “You know the one where I bring Liam to my grandmother’s party.”

  “It’s yours. You can use it in your next novel.”

  “How about next week?”

  “I hope you’re kidding.”

  Suddenly, Elizabeth felt uncomfortable. She had to explain that it wasn’t like it sounded.

  “You’re bringing Liam to your grandmother’s party to seduce your sister, right?” said Will.

  “No. I’m bringing him because I don’t want to go alone and Liam happens to come from L.A. and he’s planning to visit his parents.”

  “And…”

  “I suggested he come with me as my friend. Since he was going there anyway. Or almost there. Sweet Valley is only a little more than an hour away.”

  Will shook his head. “Bad idea.”

  “The way you put it, it’s a bad idea, but that’s not the way I meant it.”

  “Whatever you meant, you’re testing your sister and setting her up to fail. You know her better than anyone. You know she will fail. You’re using your twin knowledge for evil. It’s more than dishonorable. It’s sleazy. It really sucks.”

  “Hey! Wait up! I told you it’s not like that at all. I just don’t want to go alone! And I have no one else to ask. Not being alone, that’s all it’s about.” And at that moment, that was what it was about, feeling sorry for herself and needing someone to understand that. “How about a little understanding for me?”

  “Hey, Elizabeth, I do understand. That’s the problem. You may be fooling yourself, but you’re not fooling me. This is your revenge, your way of getting between them. And it’s cruel. Big-time.”

  “And you’re the expert on cruel, aren’t you? I suppose Wendy would attest to that, you walking out like that and not giving any decent reason,” Elizabeth said, stuffing her notebook into her purse.

  “You don’t have to be an expert to see this one,” Will said. “It’s horrendous!”

  Elizabeth stood, shoved her chair out, grabbed her purse and, leaning into his face, said more in a hiss than a whisper, “Fuck you!”

  Then, standing up straight, and with a smile of fury, she announced, “You were right; it didn’t take that long!”

  With that she stormed out of the bar.

  * * *

  She wasn’t home ten minutes when her cell rang. She was still fuming from her encounter with Will and wasn’t going to answer it until she saw it was her best friend, probably the only other person she would want to talk to.

  Maybe she wouldn’t tell him the whole story, but just hearing his voice would calm her enough.

  “Bruce,” she said, putting the phone to her ear. And smiling. He could do that for her.

  “You got me. I sent you a text about an hour ago.”

  “I had it turned off. We were in rehearsal.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Good. I think. You get too close when you see the same scenes over and over again. And out of context, too. I can’t tell anymore. Though the feeling seems to be up.”

  “Are you coming for your grandmother’s dinner?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Your mom called to invite me. I’m your surprise date.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Am I that bad?”

  “She should have said something. I invited someone already.”

  “Who?” There was no fun in his voice.

  “Oh, just someone I know.”

  There was a long pause, and then Bruce said, “Someone you’re dating?”

  “No, not really.” This was a conversation Elizabeth really didn’t want to have.

  But Bruce was not going to let it go. He was sounding unusually proprietary, even a little sharp. “What do you mean, ‘not really’? Is this some guy you’ve been seeing?”

  “It’s a long story.” Elizabeth was more than reluctant. She was desperate for a way out.

  He didn’t give it to her. “I got time.”

  “But I don’t. Sorry, but I’m already late.” It was rare that she and Bruce had this kind of conversation. They were close, but this was over the line. This was strange and not something Elizabeth could handle now.

  “Sure,” he said. “Whatever. Talk to you later.”

  And he hung up.

  Bruce had never hung up on Elizabeth before. She didn’t know what to do. If she called him back they would have to talk about what was really happening. Liam. She couldn’t do that. Embarrassment? Discomfort? Awkwardness? All those paling by comparison to the real one, shame.

  * * *

  On the other end of the line, the guy who hung up was beside himself. He was sitting in his house on the outskirts of Sweet Valley. Not a Heights split-level, or anything like that, but an architecturally bold interpretation of a Richard Meier design set on two acres of wooded land about twenty minutes outside Sweet Valley.

  Bruce Patman was unusual, rich with taste. But right now it all looked like shit to him. The most important thing in his life, his friendship with Elizabeth Wakefield, was threatened.

  Friendship was a totally inadequate description he was stuck with, had been for too
many years now. It worked for Elizabeth, who had always been so blindly in love with Todd she never noticed anyone else.

  Why fight a losing battle? he’d asked himself so many times over the last few years. Never with a good answer. The only answer that seemed to make any sense was that maybe he didn’t have a choice.

  But now? Now things were different. Todd was out of her life. And he was still stuck being Number One Friend.

  He’d missed his chance.

  In high school he was usually paired with Jessica. They seemed like the same type. And in those years he was completely solipsistic, spoiled by the attention that everyone, especially girls, gave him. By high school standards, he had it all: the best car, the best house, and he was no dummy, he knew he was pretty good-looking, too.

  Girls were just conquests to him, until Regina Morrow. It was different with her. He fell in love for the first time. But he wasn’t ready for that kind of exclusive love, and he screwed up. He hadn’t lost the habit of other girls, and she found out. He never got a second chance. She went to that party with the drugs, tried some cocaine, and it killed her. After that he was even worse. Nobody meant anything to him.

  His parents wanted him to go east to school. His mother had graduated from Brown and Bruce was smart enough to have gotten in. All he had to do was concentrate a little more on his schoolwork, but it didn’t fit into his schedule. In the end, he didn’t even apply. Sweet Valley University was good enough for him. He knew he could coast right through still safely being Bruce Patman.

  And that’s just what he did until his last year in college, and the car accident. His mother was killed instantly, but his father survived for six days in a coma, and then there was no choice but to follow his living will and take him off life support.

  It was in those endless hours in the chill of the hospital waiting room, waiting for the miracle that didn’t come, that Bruce’s life changed. He let the change in. It was almost overnight. When he came out of the grieving, he knew he was different. Those same people he had known all his life, those people he had locked into the most superficial categories, mostly by appearance alone, suddenly became people of kindness and caring. He looked at them in amazement, having never really seen who they were before. They came to the hospital to sit with him for hours. Especially one.

  It’s almost a hundred degrees outside, and I’m freezing here in the waiting room. I haven’t worn socks in years, but I learned the first day that after about two hours at hospital temperature, your feet freeze. It’s not my look, but I wear them.

  It’s not even nine in the morning and the hospital is quiet. The waiting room is empty. I bring the L.A. Times and a couple of books with me. I bring them every day, but I don’t read them. I don’t even look at the paper.

  I just wait.

  He’s still in a coma. Some of the time I sit in his room, but when they do some of their procedures they ask me to wait out here.

  “Bruce? Hi.”

  I don’t even hear her come in. It’s one of the Wakefield twins. Of course, it’s Elizabeth. I can’t picture Jessica waiting around a hospital. But actually, I’ve always seen a physical difference. There’s a calmness and gentleness about Elizabeth that’s right there in her face. Mostly in her eyes.

  “Hey.” I smile a kind of welcome.

  She hands me a coffee. “I have milk and sugar if you like.”

  “Thanks, but I take it black.”

  “How is he doing? Any change?”

  I shake my head.

  She sits down next to me on the plastic couch and we drink our coffee. Every once in a while she smiles at me. After we finish our coffee, she takes the empty containers and puts them in the wastebasket. Then she comes back and sits with me.

  We don’t even talk and it feels comfortable.

  At some point the doctor comes in and tells me the same thing he told me yesterday: They don’t know. He’s not responding. All we can do is wait.

  Then the doctor leaves and I feel Elizabeth take my hand. Hers feels surprisingly strong for such a small, soft hand. The hospital goes on as usual, nurses and staff passing back and forth. I sit there with Elizabeth. I don’t know what we are saying or even if we talk at all, but I feel a deep comfort. When she leaves, I’m adrift.

  She comes every day, and I wait for her. But it’s a different wait. When I see her coming from the elevator my heart starts to speed up and I feel my breath coming in shallow gasps. Like a heart attack, the love kind.

  I wait for him and I wait for her.

  Then it’s over. We get through the funeral and then on with our lives.

  I’m better now, able to control the physical symptoms, but the ache for her is still there, the longing and the love. It’s more than five years now. It has only grown stronger.

  Around the same time Bruce was falling in love with Elizabeth, and she was loving Todd, something was happening with Todd. Bruce knew the something wasn’t Elizabeth.

  He didn’t know it was Jessica. Not then.

  But he knew something was up, because at the time, he and Todd and Winston were fairly close. It wasn’t difficult to recognize the signs in Todd. All he had to do was think of himself with Elizabeth. He and Todd were in a lot of the same classes and spent time together, but it was very superficial. Neither was really there, at least not emotionally. Both were caught in a secret passion, a passion that totally consumed them.

  Then one afternoon, taking a shortcut back from the Porsche garage, he stopped at a crummy diner outside of Sweet Valley and accidentally walked in on Todd and Jessica. One look and Bruce knew Todd’s secret. He could see it from the doorway and was nice enough not to go in.

  More than five years had passed, but Bruce remembered how he struggled with the secret, the one that could have given him a distinct advantage but would hurt the woman he loved.

  Hurt is an understatement, destroy is probably closer. So far, I’ve resisted, sparing Elizabeth.

  I even try to talk Elizabeth out of having Jessica stay with her when she comes back from France, but since I can’t tell her the truth, my arguments are too weak to keep her from helping her sister. Just like in high school, Elizabeth would probably never believe anything against Jessica anyway. Without the truth there is no other way I can keep her from helping her twin.

  But I know I have to tell her before it’s too late, before she and Todd set a date. It’s a long shot, but if I don’t go for it right now, there might never be another chance. But telling her isn’t enough. I have to find a way to show her.

  I’m a guy who pretty much always gets what he wants. And I’ve never wanted anything the way I want Elizabeth. I’m not going to break that winning streak, no matter what I have to do.

  Hey, the old Bruce wouldn’t have let it happen. Maybe that’s what I have to do: Call on the old Bruce, the no-limits guy, the Bruce who doesn’t lose.

  It’s been a long time, but when you want something badly enough, the way I want Elizabeth, you can’t always play by the books. All’s fair and all that sort of thing.

  I haven’t been thinking like the old Bruce for a long time now. It’s strange how powerful it feels. And how easily it comes. Maybe it wasn’t so smart to change. After all, I’m not an asshole like Winston. Or am I?

  What can I do? Trick her? Find some underhanded way to steal her from Todd? The guy she loves isn’t worthy of her; he betrayed her with her own sister. It’s so easy. I don’t even have to lie. I could even do it so that she doesn’t know where it came from.

  No good. How can I even think of playing those despicable games with the woman I love? Either I win her fair and square or I lose her forever.

  Forget it. I can’t lose her.

  Then she gives me the opportunity.

  It’s late afternoon, about six thirty, and I’m browsing through Facebook pictures when the phone rings.

  “Hey, Bruce.”

  Her voice is enough to make me tremble. Lucky no one can see.

  “Hi, Lizzie, wha
t’s up?”

  “You’re amazing. You’re one of the few people outside of my parents who can always tell us apart on the phone. You can, can’t you?”

  “Absolutely. What’s up?” I struggle to keep the happiness out of my voice. Whatever she wants, I’m ready to do.

  “I’m living with a house of deadbeats. He’s working or not working on whatever in his office. And my sister is sulking in her room. Probably a Regan thing. I have to get out of here. I need action, best friend. How about a pizza or a drink or anything that’s not here?”

  “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes. How’s that?”

  “Perfect,” she says. “I’ll be outside.”

  She’s waiting at the end of her driveway when I pull up. First sight of her is always overwhelming. She’s in a haze like a painting. Exquisite. A Monet. Sometimes I’m so hopeless about her, it makes me laugh at myself. Imagine when technology finds a way to read your mind. No one will ever be able to leave the house.

  I’m in my black Porsche convertible, the last vestige of the old Bruce that I can’t give up. And what a great vestige it is: sleek and shiny outside with a polished wooden dashboard and soft beige suede upholstery, beautiful enough to be living room furniture.

  Years ago Elizabeth would make fun of this extravagance and consider it pretentious and irritating. Now she sees it as the ordinary car craze of a best friend. A guy who’s always there for her, so now she humors me.

  “Wanna lift, girlie?” I lean over and give her an exaggerated wink and leer as I shove open the passenger door.

  “Desperately. Get me away from that house of misery.” Elizabeth smiles, sliding into the front seat close enough to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Save me.”

  “What’s happening?” I try to listen, but I’m still hooked on the smile.

  “He’s in the throes of a deadline, and she’s just in the throes, and I’m not about to waste a gorgeous evening finding out why.”