Free Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later by Francine Pascal Page B

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