Free Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later by Francine Pascal

it.
    But all that week, it got worse. Even though she kept her distance she couldn’t miss the resemblance to Todd. It was striking; he even had the same brown hair. At least he didn’t do that awful sweeping-it-back thing, but it was straight, and if it were a little longer it would fall over his eyes. And then he might push it back and she didn’t know how she would handle that.
    At the theater, Elizabeth had developed a routine of disappearing just before they called a lunch break. She perfected an exit using the side door into an alley; from there she’d shoot down the street across Seventh and Broadway and up to a small coffee shop on Fifty-second Street a little too far out of the way for anyone from the cast to go.
    As she did on all the other days, she’d wait until everyone else was back before slipping into the theater and sliding into her seat.
    Today, she was a couple of minutes late, and they had already started working on an early scene where the young James Boswell tries to sell himself as a biographer to Samuel Johnson, who has no interest at all in having his biography written. He has too many things to hide.
    “No!” Will Connolly, the playwright, stood and spoke directly to the actor. “There’s no way Johnson’s angry. He’s only playing with Boswell. You are the great Samuel Johnson. With your words and wit, you’re over-armed; there’s no need for anger.”
    Everything stopped. Elizabeth could feel the shock in the room, but she didn’t know where it was coming from. It seemed like an insightful criticism.
    Obviously the actor knew what was wrong. He panicked and looked to Ross, the director, for help.
    Bob Ross didn’t move.
    Everyone was looking at the playwright. Will Connolly felt the message and sat down. But he didn’t slink; he sat down with resolve, alert for an attack, without his natural slouch of remove.
    Ross walked up to the stage manager, who leaned down at the edge of the stage to hear the director.
    The stage manager turned to the cast behind him. “Take ten, everyone.”
    A major faux pas had been committed, but Elizabeth couldn’t imagine what it was.
    The cast moved reluctantly offstage, unhappy to miss what surely would be an interesting contretemps.
    To say that the producers fled would be overstating it, but they did get up almost instantly and move out and up the aisle without a word.
    Normally, Elizabeth would have slipped out, but she was baffled and sensed this was an important part of the story that she had to know. She was, after all, a journalist.
    Sorta.
    Besides, if she slunk down a little lower in her seat, and with the cooperation of the dim lights, no one would see her.
    “Hey, Will.” Elizabeth heard Ross, but she couldn’t see him well enough to catch the expression on his face.
    But Will could, and it obviously wasn’t warm. It wasn’t even the usual disappointment. It was almost hostile. Something was wrong. Being a novice, he didn’t know what it was, but he did know it was his fault.
    “Yeah, what’s up?”
    “It’s probably better to check with me first if you have any problems with the actors. Then, if I think it has merit, I’ll deal with it.”
    “I’m not going to sit here and watch him do it wrong.”
    “It’s better my way,” Ross said softly, almost kindly.
    “Last time I checked, I was the writer,” Will said, falling right into Ross’s trap.
    “And I’m the director.” Ross didn’t wait for Will’s response. Gathering up his papers, he started up the steps to the stage. On the last step he turned to Will. “You might want to check that with Bala before you come back.”
    “Thanks. I will,” Will said to an empty stage. Ross had already disappeared into the wings. Will added to no one, “Asshole!”
    In a fury, Will swept up his script and charged up the aisle out of the theater. If he saw Elizabeth as he passed, he gave no indication.
    Elizabeth waited a couple of minutes to give Will a chance to be gone, got