The Sweet Life

by Francine Pascal

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  To Mia Pascal Johansson

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  About the Author

  The Sweet Life

  Chapter One

  Elizabeth Wakefield woke up to the sound of her phone ringing at three in the morning. Bleary-eyed, she lunged for her iPhone, grabbing it on the third ring. The backlit face glowed in the darkness and Robin’s name flashed on the screen.

  “Hello?” Elizabeth answered with a puzzled but sleepy croak.

  “Laura, you’ve got to help me! The police are here and—”

  “What?” Adrenaline flooded Elizabeth’s system, jolting her wide awake. “What are you talking about?”

  “Mr. Patman…he just tried to attack me again! He came to my house and broke the window and, oh, my God. The police handcuffed him and are taking him away right now. I can’t believe this.”

  Panic shot through Elizabeth. She glanced at the other side of the bed, where Bruce usually slept. Empty. He hadn’t come home.

  That’s because her boyfriend had gone to Robin Platt’s house instead to confront the former intern who had accused him of attempted rape.

  But how had he found her in the first place? And why hadn’t he said he knew? Not to mention, just how much did he know about Elizabeth’s involvement in hiding his accuser in the first place?

  “Take a deep breath,” Elizabeth said, wondering just whom she was trying to calm down—Robin or herself. “Tell me what happened.”

  “The police are saying they are going to book him at the county jail. They say I should think about pressing charges.”

  “Oh, God.” Elizabeth felt like someone had sucker punched her in the stomach.

  “I’m freaking out, Laura. Please come here and help me! Completely and totally freaking out.”

  Robin’s fear and panic was horror enough, but hearing the false name Elizabeth had been using to trick this poor, trusting girl so that she could save Bruce—who might not even deserve saving—was almost too much.

  Robin needed her, but could she risk going now that Bruce knew who Robin was and where she lived? He might be one step away from finding Elizabeth’s name on the lease. She and the landlord were the only ones with copies of the lease. Even Robin didn’t have a copy. But that didn’t mean the lease couldn’t be found.

  No matter what, it was too late to stop now. Elizabeth threw off the covers. “I’m on my way.”

  She put on the first things she could find, jeans and a T-shirt, and dashed to her car and sped away from Bruce’s mansion, her home that might never be her home again.

  Well, at least this explained why the house had been empty when she got home last night. She figured Bruce had gone out because he’d been angry with her after she’d said she wasn’t coming home for dinner and might even spend the night at her sister’s. Of course he’d been upset with Elizabeth. He’d have to have been blind not to see that she’d been avoiding him. She couldn’t help it; she just didn’t feel comfortable pretending to be the supportive partner when she’d begun to doubt she could really trust him.

  After Elizabeth had found Robin, heard the girl’s frightening story, and made the decision to hide her, she thought she’d been protecting both Bruce and Robin. Now she had a sinking feeling that she might not be able to protect either of them anymore.

  She hit the accelerator, dreading what she would find at Robin’s house.

  Just yesterday afternoon, she’d sat in Robin’s living room and heard the frightened plea in her voice.

  “I’m so scared. Should I drop the allegations against Mr. Patman and leave town?” Robin had clutched Elizabeth’s hands in hers. She had been terrified.

  Yes. That’s all Elizabeth had needed to say, and with that one simple word, Bruce’s name would be cleared of all charges. Life could return to normal. No more spin campaign, no more worrying about whether Bruce had lied about any of it. With just one word, the nightmare would end.

  Only to start a new one, she’d thought.

  Because if she did say yes and if Robin was telling the truth…Elizabeth couldn’t even think about the repercussions from that nightmare.

  There were holes in Bruce’s story that disturbed her. Robin swore Bruce had come on to her at the bar, coaxed her inside the manager’s office, and tried to force himself on her. Bruce said that had absolutely never happened. Yes, he’d been in the manager’s office, but only because he’d gotten dizzy and had to lie down. He remembered being sick to his stomach and woozy, and then he must have passed out, which is why he didn’t remember anything. He figured it was food poisoning from something he ate for lunch, but that disturbed Elizabeth; people don’t have memory loss from salmonella.

  They do from alcohol.

  And the bartender said Bruce had had a lot to drink and was coming on to Robin. Then there was Robin herself. Everything she’d told Elizabeth about her past turned out to be true. The deeper Elizabeth dug, the more credible the girl seemed.

  Before meeting Robin, Elizabeth had been sure Rick Warner and his natural gas company had set Bruce up. It made sense. Warner had lost the land deal to Bruce and his windmills, and he was not a man to take loss easily. Plus, it was something that Warner was low enough to do.

  But the more Elizabeth tried to force Robin into the Warner jigsaw puzzle, the more she simply refused to fit.

  No way could she tell this frightened girl to drop everything and run.

  “No, Robin,” she’d told her, “you can’t back down now. If things happened as you said, you have to see this through.”

  “But my nightmares…I really think Mr. Patman will find me.”

  “You’ve moved now. There’s no way anyone can find you, and running away will not solve anything. I think you have to face it.”

  Robin had pressed her lips together, as if summoning strength from some inner well of courage, and nodded. “You’re right. I’ve got to see this through. You’re so wise. I’m so glad you’re here for me, Laura.”

  Laura Christer, the fake therapist giving fake advice. What was Elizabeth doing? Whatever it was, it was too late to stop it now. Bruce had been arrested, and now things were messy.

  For a brief second, Elizabeth wondered if she should just come clean, admit who she really was, and be done with the charade. But she couldn’t. That would close her door to Robin and then she might never find out the truth.

  Elizabeth had no choice. She needed to keep walking the tightrope she teetered on, with Robin dangling from one end of her balancing pole, Bruce hanging from the other, and absolutely no net underneath.

  Except she felt like any second she might fall. Now that Bruce had shown up at Robin’s house and broken her window. God, how Elizabeth hoped that wasn’t true. If Bruce had done that, maybe he was guilty. Breaking in wasn’t the act of an innocent man.

  Elizabeth turned down Robin’s street and saw a police car pulling out of h
er drive. She didn’t stick around to see if Bruce was in the backseat. In a startled panic, Elizabeth turned her car down a side street and steered into an alley that ran behind the house.

  She parked, jumped out, and ran up to the back screen door. She saw the curtains flutter and Robin’s scared eyes peering through, then heard the rush of bolts being unlocked.

  “Thank goodness,” Robin said, pulling Elizabeth inside. “They say I need to come down to the station and file a report. Oh…this is insane!”

  Robin bear-hugged Elizabeth.

  “It’s okay,” Elizabeth said, trying to be calm. “Tell me everything.”

  Robin began to pace. She wore a faded blue sleep shirt and a battered terrycloth robe that at one time might have been white but was now just a grungy, dull gray. Her blond hair lay stringy and flat against her head, as if she’d just rolled out of bed. She ran her hands through it and exhaled. Her eyes had a frantic look to them and the pupils were constricted to pinpricks.

  “God, I can’t believe…I really need a—” Robin stopped short, suddenly glancing guiltily at Elizabeth. For the briefest of seconds, Elizabeth thought she had been about to say “a drink.” And why wouldn’t she? Elizabeth wanted one herself, to be honest. It was the middle of the night, but who cared? But before she could follow that thought, Robin’s bottom lip began to quiver.

  “This is all such a mess,” Robin sobbed, changing tack as she slumped into her worn couch. Clearly, Robin was just upset and scared. Nothing more. If Elizabeth had been in her shoes, she might not have been able to complete sentences, either.

  “Just start at the beginning.”

  “I was asleep, fast asleep, and I heard this hard knocking on my door. I woke up, thinking it’s my neighbor, you know? Maybe he’d lost his dog or something. Or there’s a house fire. I mean, it was two in the morning!”

  Elizabeth nodded and took a seat next to Robin.

  “But then Mr. Patman…he started shouting at me. He started shouting awful things.”

  Elizabeth’s stomach tightened.

  “Like what?”

  “Like, ‘Are you afraid, Robin? You should be!’”

  Elizabeth swallowed hard.

  “And then, next thing I knew, he was trying to get in my house. He smashed the window. Oh, God, Laura. It was awful.”

  Robin pointed toward the front door. Bits of broken glass glinted on the floor. A fist-sized hole gaped in the window closest to the door handle, irrefutable proof of Robin’s claims.

  “I can’t even imagine,” Elizabeth said, stunned, and she couldn’t. How could Bruce do this? Yet he had. That broken window couldn’t be explained away.

  “I-I called 911, and the police came practically in seconds,” Robin continued. “They got here just in time. I knew he would find me, and he did!” She swallowed. “He called me a lying bitch!” Robin buried her face in her hands and started to cry.

  Elizabeth’s heart broke for this girl, and her maternal instinct took over. She wrapped Robin in her arms and gave her a fierce hug.

  “Don’t worry, I’m here to help. We’ll get through this together.” She hoped that much was true.

  Elizabeth’s phone chirped in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw Bruce’s name pop up on the screen. He was texting!

  ELIZABETH—ARE YOU THERE?

  Robin glanced up and stared at Elizabeth’s phone. Quickly, Elizabeth dropped the phone back in her pocket and prayed Robin hadn’t seen Bruce’s name on the screen.

  “Who’s that?” Robin asked Elizabeth, suspicion in her voice. For a second, a hardened look came into Robin’s eyes. For just the briefest of moments, Elizabeth was certain she knew.

  “My roommate. She was concerned that I left the house in such a rush,” Elizabeth lied quickly. Her fingers touched the screen of the phone in her pocket. How she wanted to respond to Bruce, but she didn’t dare. Not with Robin in the room. “Do you have any idea how Mr. Patman found you?”

  “None at all,” Robin said. “I thought you said I’d be safe here, Laura!”

  The accusation stung. Elizabeth felt a surge of guilt. Maybe it was her fault. Had she not done enough to cover her tracks? She thought she had, but what if she was wrong?

  Headlights swept in through the front window, and Robin jumped.

  “Who’s out there?” Robin’s whole body tensed and her voice dropped to the level of a terrified whisper.

  Elizabeth went to the window. The headlights belonged to a news truck, which rolled to a stop in front of the house. Newspapers and news stations regularly tuned in to police scanners, and they must have picked up Bruce’s arrest. It would be news when police arrested one of Sweet Valley’s richest residents for trying to attack the woman who had accused him of attempted rape.

  “More bad news,” Elizabeth said. “Reporters are here.”

  “What?” Robin stood, her face going as pale as her grayish white robe. She scurried close to Elizabeth in time to see another satellite news truck roll up to her house. Another car arrived, too, and a man with three cameras slung around his neck popped out. She clutched Elizabeth’s arm.

  “Oh, God. Everybody will know who I am! This was supposed to be confidential! Oh, no, no, no!” Robin turned to look at Elizabeth, panic and desperation in her eyes.

  “Don’t worry, Robin. It’s highly unethical for the media to report your real name. They keep rape victims’ names confidential.” Elizabeth inwardly cringed as she used the word “rape.” Was Bruce really capable of that?

  “But won’t they still want to ask me questions?”

  “Probably. But you don’t have to answer them. Don’t answer the door or the phone.”

  “This is all insane! I can’t believe this. What am I going to do?”

  Chapter Two

  Inside the county jail, Bruce sat with his head buried in his hands. Six cement benches were arranged in rows across the pale cement floor. Bruce sat on one, and two college kids were passed out on two more. He overheard the officer say they’d driven their car through the front of a rival frat house. Luckily, no one was hurt. In the far corner, another man lay sprawled on the floor in the corner. Bruce didn’t know his story, but it looked like he was sleeping off a bender.

  Bruce had never felt so humiliated. His fingers still bore the ink of being fingerprinted and his lip felt swollen and tender from connecting too hard with the pavement outside of Robin Platt’s home when the police officer threw him to the ground and cuffed him.

  He still remembered the fury he’d felt when he’d banged on the girl’s door at two in the morning, demanding answers.

  Stupid. It was stupid to try to confront her like that. He knew he must have looked like some kind of crazed stalker, showing up at her house at that hour. But he hadn’t been thinking rationally. He’d had a lot to drink. And he was feeling it now. Along with the throbbing cut on his hand from the broken window, his head was pounding with a plain old hangover.

  Where was Ben?

  He’d called his lawyer thirty minutes ago with the one phone call they’d given him. Before they’d confiscated his iPhone, he’d managed one text to Elizabeth. He never found out if she responded.

  He looked up and rubbed the stubble on his chin.

  “Hey,” said one of the college kids, who was now sitting and staring at him. “Hey…I know you.”

  Bruce ignored him.

  “Hey, you’re that rich dude who raped that girl.” The kid nudged his friend, but the friend just groaned and rolled over on his side. “Bruce, right? Bruce…Postman. No. Something else. I saw you on TV with all those celebrities.”

  Just when Bruce thought the day couldn’t get worse, a frat guy from Sweet Valley U had managed to kick it up a notch.

  “Dude, can I get my picture with you? My bros will not believe…” Distantly, Bruce heard a steel door creak open and footsteps in the hall.

  “Bruce Patman.” An officer appeared at the cell door.

  “Bruce Patman! That’s it!” The college kid
snapped his fingers.

  Wearily, Bruce glanced up at the guard, who pushed a key in the lock.

  “Patman, you’ve been bailed out. Time to get up.” The guard turned the key and then swung open the door.

  Finally! Bruce thought.

  In the lobby of the police station, Bruce saw Ben Bookman waiting for him, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt instead of his usual suit and tie. Obviously, he’d run out of the house in a hurry. But then, it was after four in the morning and his most important client had just been arrested.

  “I came as soon as I could,” Ben said, looking apologetic.

  “How bad is it?” Bruce asked Ben.

  Ben glanced down, as if not wanting to meet his friend’s eyes. “So far, I’ve talked them down to just drunk and disorderly conduct—a misdemeanor. They’re holding off on the other charges until they talk to the D.A. But there is an emergency restraining order in place, so you can’t go within one hundred feet of Robin Platt’s house.”

  Bruce groaned.

  “I don’t think I should tell you just how lucky you are. What were you thinking, driving drunk and then showing up at this girl’s house? Just what did you plan to do if you did get inside?”

  The words hung in the air between the old friends.

  “I know it was stupid,” Bruce said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You’d better start,” Ben said. “This isn’t the end of it. And intimidating the accuser sure doesn’t help you.”

  “Shit.” Bruce ran a hand through his already tangled hair.

  “This is serious, Bruce.”

  Bruce nodded. None of this was good; he knew that much.

  The police officer at the processing desk handed Bruce a plastic bag containing his wallet and cell phone and keys. Bruce dug out his phone. It had only a sliver of battery life left. He saw Elizabeth hadn’t answered his text. He decided to try again.