Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later (22 page)

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, what’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.”

“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.