Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later (20 page)

I’m fifty minutes early and he’s ten minutes late. The anticipation is surprising me. It’s ridiculous, but I can’t wait to see the guy. Every time the door opens, I get a kind of rush of excitement. No matter how I rationalize I know it’s beyond what you’re supposed to feel for a new friend. But that’s the way it is.

And then, at ten after five, he arrives. And he looks good, sort of casual elegant, khaki jacket, beige T-shirt and chinos, like you would see in some men’s magazine. Right away, I feel stodgy in my charcoal lawyer suit and, of all the square things, a red tie.

Stodgy and very straight. Okay, so I’m worrying for nothing.

“Sorry,” he says, sliding onto the next stool. “At the last minute a client called.”

“The one with the lake house?”

“You remembered.”

“Of course, it sounded great.”

“Would you like to see the plans? I brought them.” He opens his attaché case and takes out some folded papers.

“Absolutely.”

He unfolds them and we lean in together, our heads almost touching. Close enough so that the plans fuzz into a haze and all I’m aware of is his face next to mine. There’s a light aroma of aftershave, more than just left over from the morning. He put it on for me.

I force myself to pull back.

Aaron turns to me, his look a cross between confused and hurt.

“Sorry,” I say, “I just need better light.”

But I can see he knows that’s not the problem. He folds his plans and slips them back in the case.

“Enough beer,” I say. “Let’s have a drink.”

“I’m okay,” he says, but I can tell he’s uncomfortable.

I have a martini and he has another beer. Mostly we’re just staring at the mirror behind the bar, pretending to be relaxed. And we don’t say a lot.

Even though we’re quiet, I like being with this guy. And I don’t want it to end.

I don’t want to go home. Not to my house, anyway.

I’m done for.

Just using that expression in my head almost makes me smile. Like dialogue from an old movie. But it’s the truth. I’m at the edge of a line. I don’t know what’s on the other side, but I want to cross it. And it’s not the martini.

I can’t ever remember wanting something, someone, so much. Not even Tricia.

Aaron must feel what’s happening. He looks at me and says, “Let’s go.”

He pays the tab and we leave. Even the fifteen-minute drive to his house feels too long. Too dangerous. If whatever urge I feel now deserts me, how will I get out of this? It’s all too crazy. Too fast. Not fast enough.

I watch the familiar streets of Sweet Valley, the town that holds my whole life, pass by and disappear behind me.

What’s happening to me? The only life I know just got swooped out from under me and I’m letting it go. Is it just for the sex or for a truth I’ve never allowed?

I’m going to land on foreign territory where I don’t even know how anything works. I’m a lawyer; I need to know the rules.

Damn it! I’m touching thirty and I’m married. Do I just throw it all away? Or maybe I can hang on to it? Cara loves me. Just thinking her name now is too painful; the guilt is almost crippling. I can’t do that now. Right now, it’s my own survival.

But if, somehow, even if I was able to keep the life I have now, do I really want it?

Aaron is at the wheel. The air conditioner is on full blast and I’m sweating. Sweating enough so that the drops run down the sides of my face.

They’re not tears, but they could be.

I walk down the beach toward my car, it’s like I’m no longer depressed and actually not even thinking about myself.

I’m thinking about Steven and how I can help him. I’m the only one who knows and he
so
needs me now. I’m not going to tell Elizabeth. Not because Steven asked me not to, but because I like being the only one who knows. It’s always been Elizabeth, and when it comes to Steven like I always feel shut out. Even though I love my brother as much as Elizabeth does, he never confides in me. But this time I’m the confidant, the close one, the intimate. I feel like I love him more than I ever did. And because I’m the only one who knows, he so needs me now.

My heart goes out to him. Imagine having such a secret and not being able to live your life the way you want to. That’s really wrong. If he’s gay, and he must be, like he should come out. You only have one life, right?

That’s when I know what I have to do. For Steven and for Cara.

But it has to be done with kindness and love. It’s hard news, and it takes a lot of courage to tackle it.

Poor Cara. She was a math whiz in college, even got accepted to a graduate program at MIT. Everyone thought she would be a professor at least, but she gave it all up when Steven decided to go to law school in L.A. She stayed with him and, as far as I know, she never even talked about what could have been. In fact, she talks very little. At one time Cara was very personable, but over the years she seems to have lost all her confidence.

Okay, I’m not like Elizabeth, who really loves Cara. I never had much patience with weakness. Even before, when I thought it was Lila and Steven, I felt Cara should know the truth. It’s wrong that everyone else knows and not the person herself. If people think they’re being kind, they’re wrong. They’re just making a fool of her.

If it were Regan, now, I would damn well want to know. And I would hate anyone, especially a friend or a relative, who knew and didn’t tell me.

It’s different with Todd and me. No one knows about us, so they can’t be talking. Plus, it was so long ago and so over.

It’s weird, but I actually feel something like love for Cara now. And I know that whatever I do will be with love. I’ll do it the way Elizabeth would.

I’m going to help them. Maybe, in some strange way, I don’t know how, it will help me.

Obviously, Steven doesn’t have the courage. Well, the selfish twin is about to do something caring and entirely unselfish. It’s pretty much going to be kill the messenger, but I have to do it.

Cara might be grateful in the long run, and Steven, too, but right now not. Still, it’s the only way to free my brother. And I do love him dearly.

Elizabeth would make this sacrifice.

Before I lose my courage, I drive straight to the Heights, but not to Elizabeth’s house. Instead, I turn right onto the next street and park in front of Steven’s house, which is very much like every other house in the Heights. It’s like they made up the word
modest
just to describe these houses with their neat little squares of grass in the front. They’re just like the little box houses I used to draw as a kid. I never want to live here.

The minute I get out of the car, I can smell the heavenly odor of caramelized something. Lately everything Cara bakes seems to be caramelized. There’s no going into a kitchen without caramelizing. Whatever this is, its fabulous aroma is wafting through the open windows. Of course, it doesn’t take a psychiatrist to know that her constant baking is like only a compensation for her marriage problems, but as compensations go, it’s a pretty useful one. Luckily for everyone around, she’s talented. The amazing thing is that the aggravation must counterbalance the extra calories, because Cara stays perfectly slim. In fact, she looks almost exactly like she did in high school. Stick-straight dark brown hair that she wears in the same style, cut just below the ears. A little makeup around the eyes would highlight the deep brown. I suggested it once, but she never did it.

For a split second, when Cara opens the door, her face lights up. Then she realizes I’m not Elizabeth.

“Hi, Jess. Come on in.” Cara never has any trouble telling us apart. For her we’re night and day. And I’m like not day.

“Hey. Steven’s not home, right?”

“No. He had a meeting with some clients.”

“On Saturday?”

“Yes, they were from L.A. and only in for the day. Was there anything special you wanted him for, ’cause he didn’t think he’d be home until at least five.”

“That’s okay. I really came to see you.”

For an instant, Cara looks puzzled. I don’t normally visit her. I can see that she’s thinking, Can’t be good.

“Would you like a piece of pear tart? It’s still warm.”

“Sure.” I pick up on a slight waver in her voice. Maybe she knows more than she lets on. If she does know, she probably needs a confidant. Why does it always have to be Elizabeth?

Well, not this time.

I pull out a kitchen chair and sit down in front of the triangle of tart Cara has cut for me. I put my fork into the crispy crust, which flakes off almost on contact. One taste of the juicy pear under the thin, transparent, caramelized shell and I can almost forgive Cara her weakness. Like everything Cara bakes, it’s divine. Knowing the truth could kill the baking. It’s a risk, but I feel it’s my duty.

I soften my voice just a touch to capture a little intimacy, and in my kindest sister-in-law voice, shades of Elizabeth, I say, “Looks to me like Steven works a lot on the weekends lately, huh?”

“Yes, well, he’s trying very hard to make partner, and I guess that’s what they expect, you know, to be on call all the time. It’s okay, really, ’cause if he wasn’t doing that today, he’d probably be playing golf.”

“Since when does Steven play golf?”

“Actually, it’s only been a couple of months, but he loves it. Can’t get enough.” Something about the look on my face must make Cara uneasy and she tries to like change the subject.

“Would you like another piece? It’s a new recipe I’m trying. What do you think of it?”

“It’s okay with you that he’s away so much on the weekends?” I don’t let it go, but I do take another piece of tart.

Cara slices the tart with more force than it needs. A sliver jumps up and lands on my lap.

“I wouldn’t like it,” I say. It’s like she sent that piece flying on purpose. I struggle to keep my tone comforting and still flick the piece of crust onto the floor.

And she may have. I know she’s not crazy about me, but my decision is right. And someday they’ll thank me, but right now Cara doesn’t look like she would thank me for anything.

“Cara, you know how much I care for you.…”

And I can see by Cara’s expression that she’s steeling herself.

With the mouthwatering aroma of caramel still hanging in the air, I begin my mission. I feel my words cutting into the sweetness and turning the kitchen sour, then rancid with the bitterness of unasked-for truth, but a hero doesn’t stop just because it’s uncomfortable.

10

New York

For the first time since she’d started covering Will’s play, Elizabeth didn’t hide in the back of the theater. She chose a seat a couple of rows discreetly back from the power group but not out of sight.

The houselights were on, and she could see Ross, the director, talking to one of the actors. The producers were in their usual seats. The only one missing was the playwright. Elizabeth was worried for Will. He was her friend now, and she didn’t want to see him crushed by Ross, who kept turning toward the back of the theater, obviously looking for his victim.

Will arrived and strode down the aisle. Didn’t walk. Strode, head held high, looking every bit the conqueror. Elizabeth held her breath for him.