“Pizza?”
“And a dirty martini.”
“You’re on.” I gun the motor and we shoot off in a roar just like the old Bruce. I like that it makes her laugh.
“So, what are you working on?” I ask, not at all like the old Bruce, who never would have been interested in Elizabeth or her work. She tells me about her assignment, a neighborhood up in arms about the construction of a new house taller than all the others. And how acrimonious it has become—even to the point of a mysterious sabotage of the construction site.
“I think there’s a good story there, but nobody wants to talk to me,” she says.
“Is that Louella Gatwick’s house?”
“No. It’s her niece, Ella. Do you know her?”
“I don’t know Ella too well, but Louella’s practically an aunt to me.”
The only spot free is in front of the restaurant. I’m only half blocking the steps.
Elizabeth smiles the fabulous smile.
“What?”
“Not possible to change everything, especially when it comes to guys and their cars.”
“Hey, you want me to call Louella? Maybe she can put in a word.”
“I love you!”
If only.
She’s thrilled, and she gives me a huge hug that catches me off guard. We bump noses and, I don’t know, maybe too much shows on my face. Enough that she’s momentarily taken aback and pulls away.
“Sorry, I got carried away,” she says. “Did I hurt you?”
For a second I don’t answer. Can’t. She looks confused and then I recover.
“No. Hey, I love your enthusiasm. I’ll call Louella first thing tomorrow.”
We go into the restaurant, the same old place we’ve been going to for years, now called Napkin to keep up with the current fad of meaningless one-word names, but we always refer to it simply as Pizza. Though it’s been renamed a half-dozen times, it’s never been refurbished or even repainted. It’s still one up from a dive, but it’s loved by all Sweet Valleyites of a certain age. It was the special place where we all hung in high school.
No matter what time of day it is, the restaurant is always dark, giving it a slightly sexy, secret feel. Fortunate, too, because on the rare times when a little sunlight does slip in, you can’t miss the tacky, none-too-clean look of the decorations—if you can call the yellowing artificial flowers on the tables, probably the same ones from my school days, and a string of equally grim lights circling the ceiling of the room, decoration.
Pizza, or Napkin, or whatever, has long since fallen out of favor with the current high school kids but is still a sentimental favorite of our guys. I’ve been with Elizabeth, sometimes with Todd, and dozens of other times, alone or with other friends, but it’s different tonight. She doesn’t know why, but I do.
As soon as we sit at our usual table and give our usual order, she goes right at me. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
We’re old, good friends, the kind that don’t have to work up to a big question; we just ask. And we’re good enough friends so that if one doesn’t want to answer, that’s it. Topic dropped.
I’m not ready to answer.
The waitress brings Elizabeth her dirty martini and me a Bud, and we move on.
We spend a lot of time talking about Elizabeth’s job. I give her some ideas about stories, but there’s something different, and I think she feels it, too. I’m not good at hiding. Not something as big as this.
The pizzas come just as Robin Wilson, an old Sweet Valley High friend, walks in with Dan Kane, a lawyer I know from Steven Wakefield’s office. He’s slim but he’s got that hidden threat of an incipient eater with the rounded cheeks and the beginnings of a small softness around his middle. He’s a good guy.
Elizabeth tells me she remembers meeting him when she first went to work at the newspaper. She was covering a cocktail party to raise funds for some benefit, maybe saving greyhounds or something like that. She remembers Dan was more interested in the hors d’oeuvres than the dogs, or whatever the charity was.
They come over to the table and Robin starts to introduce Dan to Elizabeth when he stops her. “I know you,” he says. “From where?”
“Greyhounds?”
“Right. The little shrimp hors d’oeuvres that had the crunchy stuff around them?”
Obviously the perfect date for Robin, who is deep into the catering business. A courageous choice for someone who fought her weight in high school.
Robin is a good friend and normally we would ask her to join us. Elizabeth is about to do just that, but she reads my face and doesn’t say anything. Robin reads the silence and says, “Don’t let the pizzas get cold. We’ll be over at the bar. Catch you later.”
As soon as they leave Elizabeth says, “Don’t tell me nothing is wrong, because I can feel it.” She is almost accusatory.
“I’m not ready to talk about it. Let’s talk about you. What’s happening with you and Todd?”
“Funny you ask now, because I think something is.”
“Does it have to do with Jessica?”
“You mean because they don’t get along so well? Actually, that’s disturbing, but that’s not it. It’s about us.”
Before I can contain it, the smallest, most fragile flicker of surprise leaks through. “You mean you and me?”
I can’t believe I said that.
Elizabeth takes it as a joke. “Come on, I’m being serious. I mean Todd and me. I think we’re ready.”
“How come now?”
“It’s only been forever. Don’t you think it’s time?”
“I don’t know.”
Suddenly Elizabeth picks up that we aren’t talking about the same thing. “Okay, now tell me. What’s really up? Something is wrong, I know it. Did I do something? It’s been weird since you picked me up. I can feel it.”
“Let’s eat.”
“Okay, if you don’t want to…” Elizabeth says, sliding a piece of pizza onto my plate.
“Actually”—I push the plate away—“I’m not so hungry.”
“This is girl trouble. I can recognize the signs. You have to tell me. Who is it?”
Elizabeth’s certain she’s hit it. She picks up a droopy slice of pizza and is about to take a bite when she changes her mind and puts it back on her plate.
“No, not a girl.”
I don’t say anything. Which feels more hostile than I want. She senses it, and for the first time since our friendship started, we’re both a little uncomfortable.
“This isn’t about Todd and me. This is about you. I’m your best friend; you have to tell me. I know I can help.”
“Maybe I can help you.”
I can see that’s not the answer she was expecting. “I don’t think I need help.” Her response is defensive, with a touch of antagonism.
“Maybe not,” I say. “I’ll let you judge.”
“Wow, I don’t like this. What’s going on, Bruce?”
Whatever arguments I have with myself have been decided, and there’s no stopping me now. The only choice I have is how to do it.
Ultimately, the question is Am I doing it for her or for myself? If I’m doing it for myself I’ll leave her no way out of the bitterness against the two people closest to her. She’ll be shattered. But, of course, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.
Or I could tell her in a way that leaves room for forgiveness. It did happen a long time ago when we were all different people. I certainly was, and I could use that defense for Jessica and Todd as well.
Whichever I choose, silence is no longer a possibility.
“Maybe this isn’t the place,” I say. Maybe I’m losing some of my courage.
“Yes, it is.” That line of steel inside Elizabeth always surprises me.
“Okay, then,” I start, still not knowing which choice I’m making. But I don’t get beyond those first two words before Ken Matthews bursts into the restaurant with enough force to send the door flying open and slamming behind h
im. It’s such an urgent, noisy entrance that everyone turns. Ken looks around, sees us, and comes over in a half run.
“What happened?” Elizabeth jumps up from the table, instantly panicked. “Jessica!”
“No,” Ken says. “No, it’s Winston.”
“Oh, no!” says Elizabeth, grabbing my arm for support. “An accident?”
“Is he okay?” I ask, covering Elizabeth’s hand with mine and pulling her closer.
“No,” says Ken.
“Oh, my God. He’s in the hospital?”
“Winston is dead.”
11
Sweet Valley
“I think your grandmother’s marvelous.” Aaron Dallas was making a mixed chopped salad, Steven’s favorite, with iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, Vidalia onions, red peppers, and cucumber. “Turn around so I can put the anchovies in.”
They were in temporary quarters, Aaron’s one-bedroom apartment in downtown Sweet Valley. Steven had given Cara the house in the divorce.
Steven Wakefield was contentedly watching his partner of six months make dinner. It was crazy how much he loved him. Jessica was right, he wasn’t the best-looking and he did have one blue eye and one brown one, but he had everything else—he was smart, funny, and he had a heart. And he wasn’t a pushover. En plus about the sexiest man he’d ever seen. But, of course, Steven hadn’t really been looking at men in any kind of sexual way, or if he had been, he didn’t know it. Not until he met Aaron. Actually, remet him. They’d been in school together, but they were both very different people then. Neither of them understood how different they were.
“Light on the anchovies. You know I hate them. They have hair,” Steven said. “So, go on. What about my marvelous grandmother?”
“You wouldn’t even know they were there unless you saw me put them in. I make them into paste. It’s just to flavor the dressing. How could you be married to Cara and still be so unadventurous about food? Worse than straight.”
“Yeah, right. So back to my grandmother?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, beautiful. Is this going to be a Jessica thing?”
“Okay, I’m not saying I’m not going to the birthday dinner. I just want to make sure I’m not sitting next to my faux sister-in-law.”
“Done.”
“And I’m not crazy about him, either.”
“Hey, I’ll do my best, but it’s a small dinner party. What are we? Counting Elizabeth—and I can’t imagine she’s really coming—eight or nine at the most. Even if you don’t sit next to Todd or Jessica, they’re not going to be very far away.”
“He’s hard to look at.”
“Not really.” Steven smiled.
“You think he’s good-looking?”
“Right. Hey, I’m in love, not dead.” Steven gave Aaron an affectionate guy tap on the shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“For that I’m throwing in another anchovy. A real hairy one.”
Sometimes Steven was struck by how heterosexual his homosexuality was. He could have done this little riff with Cara easily. If he had loved her. But he didn’t. Maybe hadn’t ever. He had been doing what he was supposed to be doing. It was getting-married time.
Steven had been thinking about that day at the beach for the last eight months. What if Jessica hadn’t found them? Would he have had the courage to declare himself?
Sometimes, way in the back of his mind, where he could almost hide it from himself, the other thought crept in. What would have happened if Jessica hadn’t forced his hand?
In the better part of his mind, he believed he would have told Cara. It was just a matter of time.
“Maybe I’m not a whole lot different from Todd,” Steven said.
“Yes, you are.”
“How’s that?”
“He’s much better-looking.”
But Steven knew he had betrayed Cara just as Todd had betrayed Elizabeth. The things you do for love. As if just admitting it could be an excuse. He remembered that horrendous day on the beach when Jessica found Aaron and him together. His first thought was Let it be Elizabeth. He knew he was never really fair with Jessica. She loved him, and in his brotherly fashion he loved her, but she was hard to take. If she weren’t his sister, they would never be friends. Maybe it was the comparison with Elizabeth, who was so extraordinary. He guessed that was unfair. Still, what possessed her to tell Cara? He had exploded. As soon as he found out he went directly to Elizabeth’s. He was raging.
I’m too furious to ring the bell, and I know they never lock the door, so I just throw it open and shout,
“Jessica! Where the hell are you! Get out here!”
I don’t even wait for a response. I head right down the hall to her bedroom and shove the door open so hard it bounces off the wall. At the top of my lungs I shout, “How could you fuckin’ do that to me!”
I think I would have leaped at her except I feel Todd holding me back. I didn’t even see him come in the room. Now I’m straining to break his hold.
“Please Steven, I…” Jessica moves as far back as she can against the wall.
“Don’t ‘Please Steven’ me. You’re just a bitch. You know what you’ve done to Cara?”
“Me?” Jessica says, pulling up enough courage to defend herself. “How about you?”
“You promised you wouldn’t say anything. I told you I was going to deal with it.”
“Yeah, right. How long have you been waiting to ‘deal with it’?”
“None of your goddamn business.” I shake out of Todd’s grip.
Todd, the extra person, just stands there, silently. I can see he doesn’t know whether to stay or leave. Not trusting my restraint enough to leave, he settles for a compromise and moves into the doorway, technically out of the room.
Our shouts and accusations continue, and Jessica finds strength in her own righteousness, snapping at me, “Years?”
“Two months, if it means anything to you. And why it should I don’t know. You have no right to destroy someone’s life like you did this afternoon.”
“You may not believe this, but I wanted to help you. Both of you.”
“Yeah, like you’ve ever wanted to help anyone in your life but yourself. I always knew you were selfish, but I didn’t know you were vicious.” I push past Todd, on my way out of the room.
Then I stop and turn back.
“You’re not my sister anymore. You’re out of my life.”
And I’m gone.
It’s quiet behind me until Jessica lets out a terrible moan that goes right through my body. Then I hear the sobbing. But it’s too late. I’m out and never coming back.
“Don’t worry,” Aaron said, pulling Steven back to the present. “It’s your grandmother’s birthday and I’m not going to make it difficult. I really do like her.”
“Thanks.”
The happy couple sat down to dinner. Steven made a quick search for the errant anchovy and, finding none, smiled, picked up his fork, and dug in.
Incredible how quickly they had metamorphosed to be like any good marriage.
* * *
Meanwhile, at Jessica and Todd’s house, only minutes away, a similar situation was taking place.
Dinner.
Only instead of salad, it was Chinese takeout.
Jessica was not quite up to cooking. Alice had bought her a couple of basic cookbooks, but she hadn’t yet gotten around to opening them. And Todd would never be up to cooking. The little bit of bartending and kitchen work he did when he briefly dropped out of school was enough for him. Lots of guys were into cooking, but as graceful as he had been on the basketball court, he was clumsy in the kitchen. On the rare times he did cook he left behind a festival of crumbs and drips and cabinets hanging wide open, waiting to whack the next person who walked in. The fact that he really did like takeout made Jessica’s life home cooking–free.
It should have been a nice night at home, but Todd couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling left over from his run with Ken this morni
ng. How were they ever going to move on when everything around them stayed the same? That was the conundrum. The very beauty of small-town life was that you could count on things not changing—good things like security, warmth and friendliness and happy memories that would always be there every place you looked, and there were no unfamiliar roads to get lost on.
Maybe you sacrificed adventure and the excitement of the new, but even in familiar territory, there would be new. He and Jessica would be new; they’d be newly married then new parents, lots of new things in their lives.
Of course, nothing is perfect, but the good of Sweet Valley life far outweighed the bad, and Freud said the mind represses bad memories. Todd was counting on that.
All this was going on in Todd’s mind, and Jessica could almost read it. It was easy, because it was always the same.
Maybe she was wrong to insist they stay. It had cost them so much already. Elizabeth was the greatest loss for both of them, and Jessica’s relationship with Steven had been badly damaged.
She’d tried to help, to do what she thought Elizabeth would have done, but she could see now that telling Cara had been a mistake. Jessica would never be Elizabeth. And Steven was out-of-his-mind furious with her. He didn’t understand that she was only trying to help him. She loved him. She wanted to free him.
She remembered how he shouted at her, calling her a selfish bitch, telling her she was out of his life forever, and storming out of the house.
I stand there, stunned; I can’t move. He’s so wrong. He doesn’t understand. I bury my face in my hands and the tears come and I hear myself sobbing. My whole body is shaking. What have I done?
When I look up, Todd is there. He’s standing in the doorway watching me. I think he’s going to leave, but he doesn’t. Instead he comes toward me. I feel his arms around me. And I fall into him.
“It’ll be okay. Whatever it is, he didn’t mean it. Please, stop crying.”
I can’t. And it isn’t what Steven said, it isn’t what anyone said, it’s the feel of Todd’s arms around me, the length of his body pressed against me. All the longings of five years are answered. And I know from the strength of his arms locking around me and the heat of his body against mine that he’s lost, too.
Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later Page 15
