“Excuse me, I didn’t realize we were in the nineteenth century and I wasn’t allowed to talk with an unmarried man.”
“I’ve known you a long time, and I think I know what Jessica flirting looks like.”
“I’m beginning to think you don’t know what Jessica anything looks like. This isn’t high school anymore, Todd.”
“I sure as hell know that.”
The frigid silence cut back in and stayed that way until Todd parked the car outside their town house.
This was the first time anything like this had happened between them, and Jessica didn’t trust herself to say anything more because right now it looked like there was only one way to go, and she wasn’t ready to leap onto that path just to win a good shot in an argument.
Except it wasn’t about Liam. She was clean on that. Her defense was true and there was nothing to hide, but what about Michael Wilson, the almost mistake from her office? Of course, Todd didn’t know about that. If she was truly open she would tell him the truth now, but that would just prove his point, and he wouldn’t understand the revelation she had had and her sacrifice for him.
Truth can be deceptive.
Todd turned off the engine and, with the keys in one hand, used the other to open his door. Jessica was expecting more conversation, but it didn’t happen.
She opened her door and got out. By then he was around to her side and without looking back, had started up the walk to their building. She waited an instant, but even though he must have been aware that there were no heel clicks behind him, he didn’t turn back.
If he was going to play hardball, so was she.
Todd had the keys in his hand, so when they got to their apartment, Jessica let him open the door. He stood back and allowed her to enter first. Was this out of habit or a sign of some softening?
Well, she thought, she wasn’t going to make it easy. This was a problem that impinged on the very foundation of their relationship. My God, it was shades of Regan Wollman. And that would never, ever happen to Jessica again.
Just the comparison to that unhappy time in her life fortified her. Jessica decided to let Todd make the first move.
But he didn’t. Instead he went straight to his computer and started answering e-mails.
How could he concentrate on anything else when this catastrophe was threatening the most important thing in their lives?
Was this a strategy? Was he playing the “your move, my move” game and now it was her move? No way. Jessica had played too many games in her life, and it wasn’t that she wasn’t any good at it, because she was the best, but that was the very part of herself she’d vowed never to use again. She’d done it for too many years with boys and, more horribly, with Elizabeth. Even now the thought could make her nauseated, and at the first sign of the tactic she closed up, no matter what the cost of losing.
Maybe it was good to find out what this man she’d loved so painfully for so long, and for whom she had made so many sacrifices, was actually made of. Get a little trailer before she bought the movie.
Talk about reducing a catastrophe—he was e-mailing and she was buying movies. Would she ever stop being the old lightweight Jessica she’d come to hate?
Jessica changed into her old extra-large Sweet Valley U T-shirt that she still slept in. It was so far-out unsexy that it crossed the line and came back to sexy. Or that’s what Todd always said, but that might have been because he thought whatever she wore was sexy.
He wouldn’t tonight.
It was eleven thirty when Jessica got into bed and picked up the book she was reading. War and Peace. She’d lied for so many years about having read it that she’d decided finally to make it honest. Truth was, it was very heavy for bed reading and a lot harder than the movie and she might have to go back to lying.
Additionally, this was no night to lose herself in any book. Real life was tonight’s novel.
Jessica stared at the same page, the same paragraph about Rostov spurring his Bedouin horse into galloping making less and less sense. She waited to hear Todd’s footsteps in the hallway, but the wine and emotional exhaustion of the evening covered her in sleep before she heard anything.
* * *
Hours later, with the book still on her chest, the wine woke her just the way they say it does. Something about dehydration disturbing sleep. Todd was already in bed and asleep about as far away from her as a queen-sized bed would allow before he fell off the other side.
How easy it would be just to slide closer and put her arm around his body. He would be warm with sleep and she would feel his smooth skin covering the thick, hard muscles underneath and she would whisper to him, It’s okay, we love each other. I trust you.… And what? I will allow you to control me?
Jessica resisted the urge to bury her foot in his back and shove him right over the side.
What was happening to them anyway? They were like drunk drivers who caused an accident, badly hurting someone very dear to them. Those culprits must think about their actions every day and find solace only in rearranging what happened so that it never happened. But it did. And at some point they understand that nothing will ever change that, and long after everyone else has moved on it will always be fresh in their minds. They’ll never get over it.
Maybe she and Todd would never get over what they had done to Elizabeth. Eventually it would destroy them, as marriages are destroyed by a catastrophe like the death of a child.
Measure for measure: What was good about what they had? What was pure and untainted? Certainly not the beginning. And not these last eight months.
Where was the beauty of their love?
If beauty was the standard, then it wasn’t even love, just two guilty people, trapped by their crime and forced to live with what they had paid for so dearly. They were isolated, with no one else but each other, so removed by the stories they had told themselves that they could no longer see the truth. Or they could see nothing but the truth.
Those first few months when love, that glorious euphoria filled with passion and happiness, was in total control, were gone. Now those uncomplicated days where they only marked time until they could be in each other’s arms had become almost out of reach. The joy of being together was still powerful but no longer uncomplicated. And the delight of sharing and seeing everything brand-new with someone you adored was harder and harder to find. Only the very act of making love could erase reality and make the complications disappear, but only for those brief moments that were, more and more, becoming lost in the long days of reality.
It was rare that Jessica felt joy without the accompanying pain.
And tonight, instead of anger, she was overcome with a terrible sadness.
Would neither one of them be courageous enough to end this, to leave this agony?
As quietly as possible, Jessica lifted the covers and slid out of bed. She tiptoed, barefoot, across the room, opened the closet, and took out her shoes and her jeans. She would send for the rest later.
16
Sweet Valley
The ride back from Sweet Valley to LAX was ugly. Elizabeth had promised herself she wouldn’t talk to Liam about what had happened. In fact, she wouldn’t talk at all.
And she didn’t for miles and miles of almost empty freeway. But Liam felt he had to explain.
“I admit, I found her very attractive. So I was talking to her. Big deal. I don’t know why he went off the deep end like that. It couldn’t have been just me. What was that about?”
“He was out of line, but so were you. I mean, come on. You weren’t just talking; you were practically gobbling her up. And what’s with changing seats?”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I guess I overdid it, but she just knocked me out.”
“But you knew the problem. How could you? I think it was really shitty of you.”
“I said I was sorry, but he shouldn’t have made such a big deal of it.”
“Just for the record, she’s my identical twin. I mean, most people can’t even tell us apart. So ho
w come you…”
“I know. It’s weird, isn’t it? Pheromones, I guess.”
There didn’t seem to be anything more to say, so for the rest of the ride they listened to music in silence. A very uncomfortable silence.
Just before Liam dropped her off at the airport, he apologized again, but Elizabeth was too annoyed and upset to accept it graciously.
“Drop it, will you?”
“Hey,” Liam said, trying for a little friendliness.
“What, hey,” Elizabeth said, grabbing her backpack from the backseat.
“I would drop it, but I don’t think you can.”
“You’re right; I can’t.”
Elizabeth flung the backpack over her shoulder and was about to close the door when Liam stopped her.
“Wait. Okay, I know it might not be the way you planned it, but you have to admit, it did sort of work out.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Revenge? Remember?”
Every feature on her face was violent with fury. Without another word, Elizabeth slammed the door shut and walked off.
17
New York
The red eye landed in New York at 6:00 A.M. By seven thirty Elizabeth was back in her apartment. There were three messages on her machine: one from David Stephenson, her editor at the magazine, reminding her that the interview with Will was due Tuesday, and two from Bruce, just asking if she was all right. And to call him when she was ready.
Those messages gave her the first warm feeling she’d had since the beginning of her horrendous trip. Bruce could do that for her. The truth was, he was her best friend, had been for a long time now. With Jessica and Todd out of her life, she was closer to him than to anyone else. They spoke at least two or three times a week—long, honest conversations. She trusted him completely.
No phone call from Will. Not even a hang-up.
On the trip out to L.A. she had been busy agonizing over what would happen at the party. The way back gave her a chance to agonize over what had happened at the party. For once her dread theory didn’t work, the exception that proved the rule.
Would she ever get that horrible, shouting, vicious picture out of her head? It had escalated so quickly no one could have stopped it. It was a match dropped on kerosene, and the whole family had exploded in a million pieces. Not just any family, her family. Her beautiful, loving family. And nothing could put them together again.
There was no one who wasn’t to blame except maybe her grandmother. Even her parents were guilty. They should have known better than to throw everyone together without any preparation and just hope, like in a movie, that at the denouement it would all work out.
Well, they were wrong. It wasn’t a movie.
* * *
Elizabeth hadn’t slept on the plane in either direction. She had now been awake for twenty-four hours, the kind of awake that tortures every neuron in the brain until any thought is excruciating.
She was completely wiped out and could think only of sleep. But she had the Tuesday deadline hanging over her head. The way she figured it, she had the rest of the weekend—if she could stay awake—Monday, and most of Tuesday. A snap, if she had already gotten the interview.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t. And the last time she saw Will, it was fuck-you ugly.
Either David would take her off the story or she would have to find a way to put things back together with Will. For one thing, she really wanted to do this story. She’d frozen her feet for weeks and spent whole days hiding in that frigid theater gathering some very good material. It wouldn’t be a straight interview; it was more of a New Yorker–type piece, the anatomy of a writer’s first show.
Whatever was going to happen with Will and their relationship, if there was one, couldn’t happen now. She was too desperate for sleep to do any thinking. Elizabeth kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed fully clothed just as the phone rang.
Too tired to check the caller ID, she reached out and picked up the receiver.
“Elizabeth?”
Mistake. It was Will.
She didn’t answer.
“You there?” he asked.
“Sort of.”
“I know you just got back this morning. I figured I could catch you before you went to sleep. Could you meet me for a drink later? Like about six?”
No matter what had happened to their friendship or whatever you call it, she still had the interview to deal with.
“Okay.”
“Across from the theater; you know, Liam’s place.”
“Not there.”
There was a quick silence. Will didn’t ask why; he just named a bar at Forty-seventh and Broadway. Sullivan’s.
“Okay,” Elizabeth said. “See you at six.”
Elizabeth made a feeble attempt to think up a meeting plan, but before she got past the hello, she was greeting Will in a dream; a soft and fluffy dream where she was flying over clouds, gloriously, without the plane.
* * *
A few hours later, it all crashed back with the alarm clock. Elizabeth had set it for five, leaving herself just enough time for a quick shower, a thrown-together sandwich of leftover chicken (six days won’t kill you, she already knew from eating lots of week-old leftovers) from a doggie bag, slap on some jeans, and be out the door. Forty-seventh Street was a seven-minute walk from her apartment, which wasn’t a lot of time for thinking but plenty if you had no ideas at all.
Sullivan’s, another one of those ubiquitous faux Irish bars, was on the corner, and Elizabeth could see Will through the large front window. He was sitting at the bar reading a newspaper.
A tinge of excitement shivered through her, a tinge that could have been sexual, or just plain fear. With no other choice, Elizabeth decided to play it by ear.
“Hey,” Will said when she pushed open the door. He stood up, smiling, welcoming.
Just what she didn’t need. She could feel the apology bubbling up through his smile.
He was going to apologize for accusing her of just what had happened.
It would be worse than she’d expected. It smelled of moral decisions, no-win choices, and all the things that she should have considered earlier. How could she stop him?
“I’m really glad you aren’t still angry at me—”
“Will, can we just keep this professional and finish the interview?”
“I’d feel better if we talked about it.”
“Work, first. Okay?”
Was she turning into Jessica, the manipulator? Or had she always been this way, only cleverly disguised? From herself.
Pushing the thought away, Elizabeth jumped right into the safety of work. “How did you first get the idea for a play about Samuel Johnson?”
She really was Jessica.
And he bought it, the way everyone always bought whatever Jessica was selling. Additionally, she wanted him to talk about himself. That was hard for anyone to resist.
The interview went on very comfortably. Will was a good subject for the next hour, lubricated by some fairly decent Pinot Noir. When the questions stopped, they had moved on and something else was in the air.
And they were both feeling it.
It wasn’t about dinner. Though Will did offer to make something easy, sandwiches, or to pick up a pizza to eat at his house.
“That’s okay,” Elizabeth said. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Me, neither.”
“So what are you?” It was a seduction scene and Elizabeth was the seductress and she was liking it.
Will tried not to let his surprise show, but he couldn’t stop the delight. “Anything you want me to be.…”
“I have some ideas.…”
“You want to tell me? Or better still, show me?”
“Here?” Elizabeth was smiling. She really liked this guy.
“Not for what I have in mind.”
“I’m really liking this interview.”
“Me, too. Let’s take it home.”
As a journalist,
Elizabeth insisted on paying. Rather than take the time to put it on her card, she left the cash and a tip on the table.
In the cab to Will’s apartment, there wasn’t much conversation because the unpleasant—especially for people who weren’t at all hungry—odor of some spicy Middle Eastern dish the driver had probably just finished eating was so powerful that they were both hanging out their windows.
Even that didn’t spoil the mood. Instead, it lent a humorous note that would have lightened any awkwardness, had there been awkwardness. Strangely enough, there wasn’t. The Pinot Noir had done its job.
They could have gone back to Elizabeth’s apartment, which was just a few blocks away, but Elizabeth needed a place where she could escape for all kinds of reasons, starting with cold feet and moving right on to the dreaded apology for what Will thought was an unjust accusation. An accusation that was, in truth, right on the mark. If only there was a way she could delay that talk forever.
For now, she had the perfect way.
Will fumbled a little with the key. Could he be as nervous as she was? Obviously not, as they were barely inside when he took her in his arms, kicked the door shut with his foot, and kissed her passionately.
The taste of his mouth, the warmth, the softness, sent a wave of passion that swamped her, pulled her out of everything but the feelings in her body.
Elizabeth responded with an urgency that surprised her. She wanted this guy more than she knew, and the body doesn’t lie. She was going to go with it. All the way.
Will took her hand and, without a word, led her to his bedroom.
Any pretense at inhibition disappeared. Flinging clothes in all directions, they fumbled their way to the bed.
Once there, it all turned slow motion. They touched each other, the palms of their hands and tips of their fingers languidly caressing, exploring, like blind people, until there was nothing they didn’t know of each other’s bodies. This inch-by-inch build of passion created the aching need to join deeply, intimately, and overcame any trace of reality. The heat and sweat of their fervor combined to fling them onto their own trajectories and land them together at almost the same moment.
Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later Page 20
