Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later (11 page)

“Hey,” she said to the bartender. “This is a real playwright. Will Connolly, meet…”

“Liam O’Connor.” Liam wiped his hand on the towel around his waist and reached over the bar, delighted.

They shook hands and Will smiled the friendliest smile Elizabeth had seen in a week—an honest smile, not a photo smile.

“Hey,” Will said.

“Liam is an actor,” Elizabeth, the martini-relaxed hostess, said. “Will’s got the play across the street.”

“I know,” Liam said.

Turned out he had showed up for an open call but didn’t get the part.

“Which part?” Will asked.

“One of the servants.”

“Sorry,” Will said. “Too good-looking.”

Which Elizabeth thought was a very nice rejection. It made her feel warmer toward Will. Really, she was beginning to feel warmer toward everyone.

Liam put the second martini on the little napkin in front of her. Meanwhile, Will, the putative doppelgänger, moved painlessly into his third martini wondering why he had been so unfriendly to this beautiful girl. He made up his mind to make her his friend.

Elizabeth’s second martini was even smoother than the first. Liam was probably watering them—that was why they weren’t affecting her. If she had to, she could drive home.

The thought made her giggle. She once heard that a better gauge of drunkenness than a breathalyzer was a simple test: The drunker you are the more you think you can drive. And she was certain she could drive. If only she had a car.

If this was a martini buzz, it was nice, even a little happy. Quite possibly Will was the friend she’d needed all these months in New York. But she would take her time, play it cool. Be a little mysterious, not tell him everything, let him work for it.

“My twin sister is marrying my boyfriend … well, my ex-boyfriend.”

So much for cool and mysterious.

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“In about four weeks.”

“Hey, that’s when I have my opening.”

“They want me to go.”

“To the opening?”

“No, dummy, to the wedding. Unless, of course, you want me to come to your opening.”

“I think I’d like that. Hey, listen, Elizabeth, I’ve got to get out of here before one of those producers finds me. I’m in no shape to defend myself. How about coming to my place and we can hang out and you can tell me all about your sister?”

“No way.”

“Well, where else can we go?”

“Your place is fine. I just don’t want to talk about my sister.”

“Deal. I don’t talk about your family and you don’t talk about mine.”

“Unless there’s something you want to tell me. You don’t happen to have a long-lost twin, do you?”

“Not that I know of,” Will said as he stood. “Hey, Liam, what do I owe you?”

Liam handed him the bill, and Will took out three twenties.

“Nice meeting you, Liam,” Elizabeth said. “I’m doing a story on Will’s play, so I’ll see you around.”

“Great,” Liam said, and turned and rang up the tab. He handed Will the change.

“Keep it,” Will said.

“Thanks. And if you hear of anything, or need an understudy or whatever, I’m here.”

“See you around,” Will said, and headed for the door.

Elizabeth slid her purse over her shoulder, stood up, wavered a little, touched the stool for balance, got it, and started to follow Will out the door. As she passed his stool she saw the script, reached down, and scooped it up.

“Hey,” she said. “You forgot something.” She handed it to Will.

“Thanks.” His smile was nothing like Todd’s. Except—on closer look—for the slightly crooked fucking front tooth.

By the time Elizabeth pushed through the front door, Will had already hailed a cab and was holding the door open for her.

She scooted in and slid over to the side. God, she was feeling good. All this time she had hated Will when anyone could see he was a great guy. It was like she had known him forever. And he seemed to feel the same way.

Even before the taxi pulled away from the curb, they had started talking; they kept at it until the cab stopped in front of a brownstone on West Eightieth Street, about half a block from Central Park.

Elizabeth reached for her wallet—she was a reporter after all, and reporters don’t take favors, even taxi favors—but Will was faster. By the time Elizabeth fumbled her twenty-dollar bill out, it was done and Will was holding out his hand to help her out of the car.

She reached for his hand and missed. No more martinis.

Once she stood she felt fine, better than fine, and she had no trouble going up the stone steps to the front door. Nor any problem with the next two flights to Will’s apartment.

It was neatly furnished in the manner of the west side of Manhattan. That meant a little dark, a little too much furniture, and too many rugs, but otherwise very comfortable, with a good armchair for reading. And lots of books.

“This is really nice,” Elizabeth said, plopping herself down in the armchair.

“It’s not mine; it’s a sublet, but I was lucky the people are in Italy for another year. Would you like a drink? I’m not as cute as the bartender, but I can make a martini.”

“You noticed? God, he was gorgeous, wasn’t he? My sister would have gone wild for him.”

“The same sister who’s marrying your boyfriend?”

“I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Hey, I told you too much, too. But that’s okay. We’re friends. So, friend, you want a drink?”

“Just a little one. Mostly ice.” There didn’t seem to be any reason not to continue such a good feeling. The first really relaxed good feeling she’d had in eight months.

“I may not have ice. Orange juice, okay?” he called from the kitchen. Then he said, “How about you? Did you go wild for him, too?”

“Definitely not my type.” Elizabeth started to get up. It was better sitting down. “Light on the vodka, please.”

She looked around the room. It was rented furnished, so there wasn’t much of Will around. But it was neat, and she liked that.

“I haven’t read your play, and all I’ve seen was the first two scenes rehearsed, but I’m fascinated with the idea. It’s such an unusual take on Samuel Johnson. I mean, the triangle with Boswell, Johnson, and Mrs. Thrale?”

Will came back into the room carrying their drinks.

“Did you invent that?” she asked.

“Not really. It’s almost obvious if you understand who Johnson was in Boswell’s life. From early on Boswell was fixated on him. He knew that one day he would go to London and write his hero’s biography. Johnson was the light of his life. And he followed that light. Left his family, left everything, and went to find Johnson in London. That’s what you do when you have a passion for something or someone.”

“Is that why you left Chicago?”

“I don’t know if I knew it at the time, but yes. I have a passion. It’s this play.”

He handed Elizabeth her drink, then stopped. He looked at her and kept looking at her for too many beats. The signal was unmistakable and had nothing to do with Samuel Johnson.

“How did I not see you all this time? Am I that obsessed with this play?”

“Actually, I was hiding.”

“From whom?”

“You.”

Will pulled up an ottoman and sat down, rather close. “No way. I’m a really nice guy.”

“Except you look too much like Todd.”

“Who’s Todd? Wait. Don’t answer. I think I know. The ex-boyfriend, right? The one your sister stole.”

“You got it. And I hate him. When you turned around that first day I thought someone had hit me in the stomach.”

“Sorry.”

“Then—and you might not know this—you can be a real asshole.”

“Elizabeth
Show Survey
! That sucks. I’m actually one of the nicest, kindest guys you’ll ever meet.”

“How come when I asked you to answer a couple of questions you nearly bit my head off?”

“Hey, I’m an angry young playwright. What was I supposed to do?”

“You know I never read your play because no one would give me a script?”

“You should have asked me.”

“Okay, I’m asking.”

Will stood, took a script from his desk, and handed it to Elizabeth.

“Should I read it now?”

“Here?”

“Whatever.”

“I’m torn.”

“Between what?”

“Ego and…”

“And what?”

Will reached out and took Elizabeth’s hands, pulling her to her feet. Very close to him. “And this.”

With one hand he gently brushed an errant strand of hair back from her forehead.

“Your hair is like silk.”

“If I were completely sober I would say, modestly, oh, that I haven’t washed it in days. But since I’m not exactly sober or even close, I’ll just say thank you.”

“And since I’m not exactly sober myself I’ll say this is one of the best afternoons I’ve had since this whole play thing started. In fact, it’s the only good afternoon in four months.”

“It was that bad?”

“No. This is that good.”

Elizabeth could tell that Will was almost exactly Todd’s height. If he were Todd her face would be just about chin-high. Just like it was now.

Up close, his features were very different from Todd’s, but when he reached out and brought her close to him, his body felt just as warm and wide.

But he wasn’t Todd. And that was very good.

Then his mouth was pressed against hers and she opened her lips and tasted his urgency mixed with her own and everything and everyone else fell away. And that was very good, too.

Elizabeth pulled away from Will. And smiled. “I beat you. This is my only good afternoon in eight months.”

Will pulled her back into his arms. “Wait, it gets better.”

But Elizabeth wasn’t ready for better. Not right now. Between the two of them they had enough family turmoil to start a new HBO series. And when you ran out of those stories, there was always Wendy.

And Todd.

She could play Wendy. Abandoned for another passion. Love of theater. Does that hurt less than a twin sister?

Are you kidding?

Even in her martini-fogged brain, Elizabeth knew that. And she knew there was no way she would chance any more complications in her life. Not now, anyway. But she did like him.

“Would you mind if I took your script home with me?”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I really want to read it.”

“I mean right now…”

“Probably a good idea. For me, anyway.” Elizabeth slid Will’s script into her purse. “Maybe you could find time tomorrow, after rehearsal, for a short interview.”

“I have time now.”

“Tomorrow.”

From the look on Will’s face, there was no chance he was going to say no. She could see he liked her. It was as if he were a whole different person from the one in the theater.

A person she could really like.

*   *   *

Elizabeth took a cab from Will’s apartment and was home by late afternoon. She tried to write up some of her rehearsal notes but couldn’t concentrate.

Will was on her mind. They had so much in common—bad things. They were both the runaways. Obviously she was attracted to him. Everything about him was right: He was physically desirable, not really a doppelgänger after all—certainly not in personality. Additionally, he was a talented playwright with a play about to open in New York. And he liked her.

Her first thought was what Todd and Jessica’s reaction would be to her new conquest.

What an ugly first thought. Was everything always going to be distorted and twisted by her bitterness? Was she always going to have that bad taste of metal in her mouth? And the taste for vengeance that went with it?

Just as she was settling in for a deep reverie over how much she hated her sister and Todd, the phone rang. It was her mother.

“Hi, Mom. Is everything all right?”

The picture of her home in Sweet Valley flashed into her mind. She could see the afternoon sun streaming into the kitchen, where her mother was, holding the cordless, probably making coffee. Her mom was a four-coffees-a-day person, and this would be the third. After dinner she’d have her last cup, decaf please.

Elizabeth knew exactly where the sun would slice across the kitchen table at this hour. In the summer, when the sun set late enough to still be strong at dinnertime, nobody ever wanted to sit in the seat with the sun in her eyes. Even the bamboo shades didn’t deflect it enough. Only now did she wonder why they didn’t get proper shades.

Right now Elizabeth was longing for that seat.

What she wouldn’t give for that stream of sun coming into this dark apartment. But it never happened. The only sun she ever got was secondhand, a reflection bouncing off the hotel across the street.