“Olive?” he asked, pouring the chilled liquid into a martini glass and making the single word sound positively loving, flashing a dimple that was almost overkill.
If he wasn’t an actor he should have been, especially the way he was playing this scene. She had to ask.
“Just curious: Are you an actor?”
“How’d you guess? Are you?” he asked, snapping out of romantic lead and right into hungry actor.
“No. I’m a writer.”
If he loved her before, he loved her even more now.
“A playwright?” he asked, pressing his luck.
“No, reporter.”
Elizabeth was beginning to enjoy the afternoon. If only she didn’t have to deal with Connolly, who at his best was hostile, now probably psychopathic.
“What paper?” the bartender/actor asked.
Fortunately, she was spared the Zagat explanation by a customer at the other end of the bar motioning to him just as Connolly, who had caught sight of her in the mirror, was turning to face her.
For Elizabeth, not that much of a martini drinker, two swallows was enough to smooth the outside edge, the rehearsal edge that had been making her crazy nervous every day for the past week. Two more swallows smoothed out all the other edges. She was starting to feel very warm—first toward the bartender, who was filling an order at the other end of the bar, and then down the row of stools to the asshole.
Who was looking right at her.
Elizabeth smiled.
Will looked confused, like he couldn’t place her. But then he had seen her only briefly that once in the dark theater. She’d spent this whole week out of sight, hiding in the back.
“Hi,” she said, and then to jog his memory, she added, “Elizabeth, Show Survey…”
“Yeah, right, the Zagat thing.… So what do you want?”
Instead of being intimidated, as she had been this whole week, martini-fortified Elizabeth lost the smile and attacked. “What makes you think I want something from you?”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? Hint hint,” she said, holding up her glass. It felt good, not groveling. In fact, it was just what she needed. “You have to forgive me; I didn’t realize you owned this bar.”
Now there was no stopping her. And it was about time. In fact, maybe it was eight months about time.
“You know you’ve been a real pain in the ass,” she said. How nice it would be if she could just fling her whole drink in his face, but then she wouldn’t be able to drink it. To sustain her new personality, she probably needed it.
Will had touched the magic button, and it was all coming out. And maybe it helped that he looked like Todd. Probably just what he needed, too, a little taste of intimidation.
It worked.
“Hey, sorry, I—” he started, but she didn’t give him a chance.
“I was here to give you some publicity. How about being grateful instead of nasty?”
“Please, cool it. I’ve got enough stuff happening. I don’t need more from you,” he said. The portentousness of his demeanor announced that he had regained his writer position.
“Arrogance without portfolio,” Elizabeth said right in his face, and then without waiting for a response, turned back to her martini.
Will didn’t say anything; he just looked at her. The slightest crease of a smile played on his lips.
“That’s not bad,” he said.
Elizabeth didn’t look back, continuing to sip her drink as if she hadn’t heard him.
“Arrogance without portfolio. Mind if I borrow it?”
Elizabeth didn’t answer. The feeling of not catering to someone was decidedly new and surprisingly good, gloriously unElizabeth.
“Lizzie—”
“Don’t ever call me that,” she snapped.
“Elizabeth?”
“What.” She didn’t turn.
“Why don’t we start over?”
“Not interested, thank you.”
“What if I apologize?”
Elizabeth didn’t feel like answering, so she didn’t.
He continued. “I’m sorry. I guess I was pretty much an asshole. Nothing against you. I’m just nervous.…”
Elizabeth still didn’t answer, but now she turned and looked at him, not so much with anger as with curiosity.
“Actually,” he continued, “more like scared. I’ve worked on this play for four years. Every word counts. They’re all mine, but now I’m losing it. Like what happened before. The actor’s good, but he was reading it wrong. I had to tell him. I’m not going to just sit there and watch Ross take it all away from me. I gave up too much for this.”
“What did you give up?”
“Who’s asking? The reporter or the sympathetic listener?”
“I’m working.”
“Then this is off the record.”
“Okay.”
Will was beginning to feel the head start on his martinis; pushing his drink toward Elizabeth, he slid into the seat next to hers.
“You’re not from New York, are you?” she asked.
“Almost nobody is. I’m from Chicago. Not such a second city anymore.”
“I guess.” Elizabeth was doing just what she felt like. And still pissed off is what she felt like. Will had made things really hard for her for no reason and now, with the help of his martinis, he was feeling warmer. And maybe a little needy. Well, she wasn’t.
“Talk about not friendly,” he said.
“Any special reason why I should be friendly to you?”
“Two martinis?”
It was worth the quick smile she allowed but nothing more.
“So, what did you give up?” she asked.
“Not so fast. I need a lead into it.”
“Is it that bad?”
“It’s not good.”
Despite herself, Elizabeth was beginning to feel an interest. And she was getting excited. What could be more New York than sitting in a bar across from the theater in the middle of the day, talking to the playwright? And being sort of in charge.
“You feel like telling me,” she said in her reporter voice, “I’m listening.” Or at least it was what she thought from movies sounded like a reporter voice.
“I dropped out of law school in the middle of the term. Fifty thousand dollars down the drain.”
“Student loans?”
“Nope. My father’s fifty thousand.”
“Well, if the play is a success, maybe—”
“And I walked out on my fiancée.”
“Oh…”
“Big oh … One day it just hit me: I didn’t love law or Chicago or maybe even Wendy.”
Elizabeth turned back to her drink, took a big swallow, and let it burn its way down to her chest before she turned back to Will.
“What happened to Wendy?”
“I don’t know. I tried to call her, but she wouldn’t talk to me. I had to think she wasn’t on my side. Why else wouldn’t she talk to me?”
“How about ’cause you walked out on her?”
“I don’t know. I’m not really in touch with anyone else back there, so how would I know?”
“You don’t talk to your family?”
“Especially not my family. We had this huge argument. My father thought I was a fool to give up law for the theater, like all the years of sacrifice he’d made to save money for expensive private schools and law school were a waste. He told me hardly anyone makes it in the theater.
“Then he really lost it and asked what made me think I had the talent? He would have seen it. And he never did. I was heading for failure, and he certainly wasn’t going to be a part of it. I wasn’t to expect any help from him. And as far as he was concerned, I owed him fifty thousand dollars and I shouldn’t bother to come around until I had the money. My mother was in tears.
“I didn’t even argue. I just stormed out. Went back to my apartment, grabbed my play and some clothes, got on the bus th
at same day, and came to New York.”
“What about Wendy?”
“I left a message where I was going. I never heard from her. I know she was hurt and angry, and I felt terrible, but I didn’t feel the support from her. Maybe I didn’t love her enough. Or maybe she didn’t love me enough. All I know is that staying because of her would have been a mistake.”
“How long had you been with her?”
“About three years. We were planning to get married right after I finished law school. Once it was decided, I guess I never did much thinking about it. Yeah, I thought about whether I wanted law or writing or what, but not about love. Wendy was great. I can’t believe what I did to her.”
“Do you love her?”
From the warmth on his face, a sweet memory passing by, Elizabeth thought he was going to say yes. But then his face hardened and he said instead, “I don’t know.”
He left it at that. Then he said, “It’s been very hard to keep believing I did the right thing, and after a day like today, I really don’t know. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.… Maybe I gave up too much. Did you see what happened in there?”
Elizabeth considered lying, but the martinis took away any concern she might have had. “Yeah, I saw it all.”
“It’s like I committed some heinous crime. Did you see the king’s face?”
“It seems you’re not supposed to talk directly to the actors. You have to send a note to the director and then he tells them. It’s ‘an unwritten law.’”
“Then let them arrest me.”
“Yeah, but what are you really going to do?”
“I’m really going to have another martini.” With that he motioned to the bartender. “Another round. Join me,” he said, smiling at Elizabeth. “I’m buying.”
Elizabeth felt too relaxed to keep up the angry persona. Additionally, she was delighted to see that Will’s eyes were a bright blue—as far from Todd’s dark brown as you could get. The alcohol was making her feel very warm inside her chest. Made her want some kind of connection, a feeling she hadn’t had in a lot of months.
“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?”
Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later Page 7