It is with just a hint of sadness that I close the curtain on “When Lila Met Stacey”, a labour of love that has occupied the best part of the past four months. And what more fitting way to go out than with a Christmas-themed Magna Edition on my favourite day of year.
When you get to the end of this chapter, you will understand why there is nowhere else for us to go. [Then again, this is Sweet Valley, where even carotid artery lacerations and falling fridges don't equate to fatality....just a thought]
Maybe it will get published in the Oracle someday. Or, if I’m super lucky, the Sweet Valley Tribune. Merry Christmas, or should I say, Happy Horrordays
THE EVIL TWINS
“Steven? Can you zip me?” Twenty-six year old Jessica Wakefield called to her handsome brother as she painted on one final layer of mascara. She stepped back from the mirror to gauge the full effect, admiring the way her pink ballgown showed off her athletic, sized-six figure.
Steven hurried into the bathroom shared by his younger twin sisters, and let out a long, low whistle. “You look amazing, Jess,” he whispered, bending his muscular body over the garment.
“Are you ready?” It was Elizabeth, from her bedroom. “It’s almost seven.”
Jessica turned to Steven and rolled her eyes. Ten years on and still Elizabeth didn’t understand the concept of fashionable lateness. Jessica, meanwhile, never wore a wristwatch and believed that no party started until she’d arrived. However, Lila had sent her a “hurry up” text half an hour ago – apparently Nicholas Morrow had bailed. Jessica could only assume he was still grieving over Stacey McGill’s untimely death, which had been almost an entire week ago!
Jessica met her twin on the stairs with a grin. They were dressed the same tonight – although Jessica knew that being exactly one pound lighter, she had the edge.
“Take those barrettes out,” Jessica ordered. “We’re supposed to be identical – it’s cuter.”
Elizabeth reluctantly obliged and smoothed the hem of her magenta skirt.
“Ben! Sam!” she bellowed at their dates, who were seated patiently downstairs.
“Fire up the jeep!”
As the twins descended the stairs, a faint rumble of thunder sounded across the Californian sky. An involuntary shudder wracked Jessica’s slim body, and she stole a glance at her twin. Elizabeth met her gaze, her blue-green eyes widened in fear. Jessica clutched a hand to her heart as the conniption washed over her, trying to ignore the growing premonition that she would be lucky to escape this Christmas alive.
Let the Church bells sound for the penultimate chapter of “When Lila Met Stacey”
“Hold still!” 17-year-old Margo Pike barked at her boyfriend Bruce Patman as she fiddled with the lapels of his jacket. It was Christmas morning and the couple was preparing for a traditional breakfast feast with Bruce’s family.
Bruce pouted and turned front-on to his antique full-length mirror. He looked incredibly studly this morning, thought Margo, a feeling of pride surging through her chest.
“I don’t know about this tie, Margs,” he said critically, squinting his coffee-coloured eyes. “It’s a little too….festive.”
“Well it’s a special occasion,” Margo snapped back. In more ways than one, she added silently.
“Do you have the supplies?” Bruce urged in a hushed tone, as though reading her mind.
Margo turned toward the mahogany dresser and began rifling through the top drawer.
“All present and correct,” she rasped, flinging the items onto Bruce’s four-post bed. The magic jungle prom juice glistened in its crystal vial, and her butchers knife caught the morning light filtering through the window, casting a jovial Christmas glitter across the nightstand.
Margo turned toward the handsome heir. “I’m going to need your utmost concentration, Bruce,” she leveled with him, her aqua eyes piercing his own with a steely gaze.
“Forget about Alice boning your Dad, forget Amy Slutton and Stacey McGill. All that matters now is that on the stroke of midnight, our diabolical plan succeeds and I become–”
“Elizabeth Wakefield.” He finished for her. “And then we can talk about the threesome with Jessica?”
“And then we can have an orgy with the entire fucking babysitters club,” she confirmed.
The soulful drone of a church organ filled the massive cathedral, a somber reminder that Christmas Eve was devoid of its cheer this time around. 25-year-old Claudia Kishi felt a tear roll down her alabaster cheek as the mahogany coffin came into view. Her best friend, Stacey McGill, had been brutally knifed in Jessica Wakefield’s apartment just two nights before. For the life of her, Claudia still couldn’t believe who – or what – could commit such an evil crime. Stacey was one of the most awesome girls who’d ever lived: She was queen of Stoneybrook Middle School, a doting babysitter, and a mathematical genius. The flock of Stoneyrbookites who’d turned out was a testimony to that fact. To her right was the entire Pike family: Mallory was casting a withering glare at Jessica Wakefield and her current squeeze, Ben Hobart. Mrs Pike was doing some sort of head count among her offspring, and gnawing on her bottom lip as though something were amiss. Come to think of it, Margo wasn’t in attendance, Claudia noticed absently. Kristy Thomas, Bart Taylor, Dawn Schafer, and Logan Bruno were propping up a heavily pregnant Mary-Anne Spier in the seat adjacent.
“Who’s that?” Lila Fowler, who was standing next to her in the pew, pointed at an attractive African-American twenty-something.
“That’s Jessi Ramsey,” Claudia responded. “Did you know, Jessi is black?”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Lila muttered drily, rolling her eyes.
A few rows along, Charlotte Johannsen was draped over Steven Wakefield, and Shannon Kilbourne was filling the gap beside them. Directly in front of them was a whole row of ex-sitting charges: Hayley and Matt Braddock, Buddy, Marnie and Suzie Barrett, Amanda and Max Delaney, the Perkins, the Arnold twins, and even Jenny Prezzioso.
Richard Spier and Watson Brewer filed in with their wives, and Karen Brewer slowly and purposefully sauntered in after them, pausing to kneel beside the altar. Claudia resisted a giggle – her former sitting charge and Kristy’s step-sister was wearing a long black velvet gown and a matching veil with a wire fascinator. Trust Karen Brewer to treat today like a fucking wedding. Claudia watched on as Karen gracefully slipped into a seat beside her brothers – Andrew Brewer was throwing spitballs at David Michael, and Charlie was snoozing. Jade let out a cry from her pram and Claudia bent down, stuffing a gummi bear in her mouth to silence her.
She averted her gaze to the elaborate ceiling, and in every wooden carving she saw a memory of Stacey – the fun, the fights, everything from kid-kits to diabetic comas to holidays at Camp Mowhawk and Shadow Lake. The memories were all that remained – Stacey McGill was no more.
What Lila Fowler wants, she gets. Stacey McGill really should remember that.
26-year-old Elizabeth Wakefield tiptoed down the front steps of her parent’s house on Calico Drive, sneaking a glance at the silver wristwatch on her left arm.
6:58, it read. She would be in plenty of time for her flight back to Stoneybrook, to witness the final few days of court in what was widely dubbed, “The Collins Debacle”.
Her father, Ned, an esteemed lawyer in Southern California, had flown there a few days ago to give Richard Spier a few pointers on representing the defendant. But no matter which way she looked at it, Elizabeth realized that her former English teacher would be behind bars for a very long time. Elizabeth tucked her Macbook Pro under her arm, a feeling of pride surging through her chest as she thought of the brilliant piece of investigative journalism she’d written on the case. It would be front page of the Stoneybrook News, for sure! A small victory in light of the past few horrible months, she mused. She wheeled her suitcase along the gravel drive, and perched herself under her favourite oak tree to await the hire car that would deliver her to Sweet Valley airport.
A cool mist settled on her bare skin, and Elizabeth shivered, drawing her woolen cardigan around her shoulders. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, marking the first day of December. Sweet Valley was being bombarded with the usual Yuletide commercialism – everywhere from Lisettes to The Shady Lady was having a sale or a ham raffle. Even Dyan Sutton couldn’t resist playing “Deck the Halls” as she delivered her end-of-year sports wrap on WXSV. Elizabeth normally loved celebrating Christmas – but this year, her heart wasn’t in it. The festivities seemed removed from her, somehow. In just a few short months, she’d traded her hometown, her successful newspaper job and her family for a bunch of strangers in icy Connecticut. Her long-time boyfriend Todd had left her for the first harlot he’d laid eyes on outside of California, and she was lucky to see her identical twin, Jessica, once a month. Her trusty friend Enid was missing and feared dead, and her new fling, Sam Thomas, had barely called all week.
Elizabeth sighed, vowing to stop feeling sorry for herself. She drew her knees to her chin as another cool draught wafted over her. Elizabeth sniffed the air, suddenly aware of the overpowering odour of flesh. She fought back a wave of nausea as the smell infiltrated her nostrils. It was the smell of death. Elizabeth stood up quickly ran toward the garage. Then it caught her eye – a limp, lifeless carcass on a patch of grass in front of her.
“Prince Albert!” She yelped at the creature, which was showing about as many signs of life as Lois Waller’s hair. “Wake up! Prince Albert!”
The dog didn’t stir. Elizabeth bent down and threw her arms around the animal, her salty tears mingling with the blood draining from his neck.
She fiddled with its collar through blurry eyes, noticing a small piece of green and red cardboard attached to the leather. A gift tag. She turned it over, fearing the worst. In handwritten red scrawl on the back read the ominous warning: “Wreck the Halls With Bloody Bodies.”
Elizabeth stood suddenly, just as the Happy Cabbie pulled into the driveway. An involuntary shudder coursed through her body. Someone, something was out to get her and everyone she loved. She had to hightail it out of Sweet Valley, and fast. Elizabeth grabbed her luggage and lunged into the hire car, slamming the door.
Twenty-six year-old Jessica Wakefield chewed nervously on the phone cord as she waited for an answer.
“Pick up, pick up,” she prayed aloud. The ringing continued.
“C’mon, answer the phone, Easy Annie!”
“Easy Annie?” barked a voice on the other end. “Who is this?”
“Annie!” Jessica put on her sweetest voice. That had been way close! “It’s Jessica Wakefield. Listen I’m calling for a favour.”
“A favour?” There was a long silence.
“Y-yes,” Jessica hesitated.
“Lemme get this straight – ” Annie demanded incredulously, “You kicked me off the cheer-squad in junior year, told the entire school I was a slut – despite quadrupling my tally of conquests yourself – and then forced me to OD on Vidocin. And now you have the hide to call me after a decade FOR A FAVOUR!?”
Jessica took a deep breath and calmed herself. There was no point getting angry. “It’s been a long time—-“ she began.
“Unbelievable!” Annie interrupted. “You Wakefields think the world revolves around you, don’t you!?”
“Annie,” Jessica tried to calm her. “It’s for Lila, not me. She needs your help.”
“Lila Fowler?!” Annie screeched with rage. There was a loud clatter followed by the monotonous beep of a dead line. She’d hung up!
Jessica sighed and dropped the phone onto the receiver. It was no use trying to bargain with a tart, anyway.
It had seemed like a great idea – prostituting Easy Annie to John Pfeifer in Lila’s place. Sure, Annie wasn’t beautiful in the conventional way that Lila was, but with a clever disguise, surely the pyromaniac would fall for it. And then Lila would be off the hook, and Magenta Galaxy would have a new home.
Rumour has it that Courtney Cox posed
for this portrait of Easy Annie
“Jess?” Lila’s thin voice diffused into the room from her sofa. “Any luck?”
“She wouldn’t even let me ask!” Jessica called, shaking her head. “Like an extra favour would’ve made a difference to her, anyway,” she grumbled, shaking her head.
She turned to Stacey MacGill and Nicholas Morrow, who were feeding each other diet peanut butter across the kitchen table.
“Would you guys get a room?”
Nicholas cleared his throat. “Uh, actually Jess, I was just about to offer to help you out.” He tenderly wiped a peanut fragment from Stacey’s cheek.
“Well?” Jessica demanded. “What could you possibly do?”
Nicholas smiled. He was used to Jessica getting in a huff when she didn’t get her own way.
“For starters, my mom called last night, and she’s offered you her old warehouse for Magenta Galaxy”.
Skye Morrow was an ex-Ingenue model and clothes designer.
Jessica crossed her arms, unable to resist a smile. This was good – very good. It still didn’t solve the problem of Pyromaniac Pfeifer, though.
“And John? How are you planning on taking him down?”
Nicholas flashed her a handsome smile. He was such a hunk, Jessica couldn’t help noticing.
“The old fashioned way,” he whispered, fixing his slate-gray eyes on Jessica. “A duel.”
Margo Pike strolled onto the eastern deck of Sweet Valley Country Club on Sunday afternoon, relishing the warm Californian sun on her bare legs. It had been a bold move going out in public as Elizabeth today, but so far it had been worth it. It was her seventeenth birthday, after all, and Bruce was spoiling her rotten! She took a sip of her cosmopolitan and wondered for a second whether anyone in the Pike family had noticed her absence yet. It was getting on for a month, after all. Nah, she thought bitterly, a sardonic sneer momentarily crossing her attractive face. Margo turned her attention back to the court, where Bruce was servng his cousin an absolute walloping. She hoped that word of Bruce’s date with “Elizabeth” would reach Hank’s ears before too long. But he was apparently in Chicago on a business trip for a couple of weeks.
“Jessica! Jess!”
A whiny voice called her attention, and she turned to see a willowy blonde skipping toward her.
Amy Sutton, Margo groaned inwardly. She’d already pegged the girl as a slut from her yearbook shots and her facebook profile.
Claudia Kishi-Lee slumped across the wooden table, absently doodling in the margins of her sketch book. It was Day One of Mission: Rebuilding Magenta Galaxy, but her heart was still full of sorrow. She wished Mimi were here now, to make her a cup of green tea and tell her everything was going to be alright. But Mimi was gone, and everything was a schomozzle. shamozell. A Big Mess.
Claudia glanced down at her outfit. She’d dressed in dark colours for the somber occasion: Grey-and-white striped leggings underneath a black turtleneck, with flat patent leather boots and grey marle scarf slung across her shoulders. The tears weeping from her almond-shaped eyes were cleverly disguised by a pair of Jackie O sunglasses, and her favourite comfy knit beret sat atop her glossy black plait.
The BSC ghosties must've had a field day concocting outfits like this
She grabbed a Hershey bar off the centre of the table and looked across at her friends. Jessica, normally the bubby leader of their company, looked haggard and pale, the dark circles under her eyes a testimony to the fact that she’d barely slept since Monday’s inferno. And Lila was thumbing through the latest Vogue, but even Claudia could tell she wasn’t reading it.
Claudia picked up the felt-tipped pen with a sigh. It was time to rally the troops.
Wear to Start, she wrote on top of a fresh page.
“W. H. E. R. E,” Lila spelled, without looking up.
“Where do we start?” Jessica mumbled, absently picking at an Oreo. “We have nothing.”
“We have something,” Lila said pointedly.
“What’s that?” Claudia looked dumbfounded.
“We have money. We’ve got Alan, Ben, my parents…”
“What’s the use of money,” argued Jessica, “When we don’t know how to use it?”
Claudia set down the pen. Jessica was right – after all, Lila’s finances were still controlled by her father, and Jessica couldn’t organize a budget if her life depended on it. And as for Claudia – her arithmetic skills were almost as bad as her spelling.
Just then, Claudia’s kitchen door swung open, and in burst Stacey, looking flustered yet striking in a pale yellow trench coat.
“I came as soon as I heard!” She cried. “And I brought someone with me.”
A tall, attractive man with a crop of dark hair and slate-blue eyes entered the kitchen.
Well here it is my friends: The long-anticipated cover of Sweet Valley Confidential. I appreciate the circle art, but Jess/Liz still looks kinda porn-starish in my opinion. Like Annie Whitman dyed peroxide-blonde leaving The Shady Lady or Kelly’s at 4am. 10 points for the lavaliere, though. Let me know what you reckon. Personally, I’m still haggling for Margo/Nora to step up, which reminds me that you’ve still got a couple of days to get your entry in for a Team Margo shirt
But enough of the official book. Lets get on with the Margo magic and the BSC:
WLMS CHAPTER 13
Jessica Wakefield bit into a forkful of mashed potato and threw her date, Australian Ben Hobart, a seductive smile.
Ben leaned over and flirtatiously wiped a crumb off her dimpled cheek, flashing her his lopsided grin. Jessica lounged back in their booth blissfully. Ben was everything she’d dreamed of – cute, funny and talented, with an adorable accent. They were such a perfect fit, she reflected, she being the muse to his photography prowess. And he was the first redhead she’d dated since junior year! She stretched out her tanned arms contentedly and glanced across the table. Claudia’s husband, Pete, was shoving French fries into her mouth like they were going out of fashion. And Lila was practically foaming at the mouth as Microsoft magnate Alan Gray tousled her shiny dark hair. Stacey was at a Diabetes America conference in Chicago, which was probably a good thing given that she was the only single one in their circle. It was hard to keep dates around, thought Jessica, when you freaked them out on the first date by double-checking the glycemic index of everything you ordered. Apparently cooked carrots were a no-no, as Aaron Dallas had found out at their Box Tree Café soiree back in Sweet Valley.
Alan completed a foot-high sugar-cube statue and proceeded to blow it down – all over Lila’s placemat. Jessica snorted. But instead of The Look she was expecting from her uppity friend, Lila dissolved into giggles. Even Lila was mellowing, Jessica thought with a wry smile, although the WAG status that came with dating a millionaire computer mogul could have something to do with it. She caught Lila’s eye and winked. Could this day get any better?
Before we get onto the latest installment, let me digress a moment: As I’ve always said, screw the Wakefields, and bring on batshit-crazy doppleganger Margo to stir things up. I’m having an absolute ball being the evil twin and killing off irritating sitting charges and Elizabeth-obsessors [Amy Sutton is next in the path of the glittering knife.] So I invite you to share in this contest. [Disclaimer: this is not a SVConfidential official giveaway]
All you have to do is leave a comment below about which Sweet Valley character you would become if you were Margo. The correct answer is “Nobody – I would be myself because Margo is AWESOME!” but you cannot write that, because I just did. Feel free to do the poll at the end as well, it might give you some suggestions. The winner will be judged on the quality of their response, and will receive the kick-ass tee. I just wish I didn’t have to give one away…
TEAM MARGO!
Congrats to Sophie, winner of our last contest, her awesome Claud and Stace outfits appear in the chapter below. Enjoy your used SVU books, Sophie, I know I did…
But now for Chapter 12
“Stacey and the Fashion Victim” or “Big Brother’s in Love Again”
“Ouch!” Jessica Wakefield cursed as the safety pin in her mouth pierced her lower lip. She bit down hard, trying to stop the trickle from oozing onto the white Grecian gown on her model.
“Jess!” Claudia yelled across the room. “This seems seams undone!”
“Lila!” Jessica hollered to be heard above the din. “Get off your ass and get the day glo girls in place. We’ve got ten minutes people!”
Jessica finished pinning the gold sash on the model.
“Thanks, Maria,” she said gratefully, glad that the former child actress and Elizabeth’s friend had come to her rescue at the eleventh hour.
Nine of her girls had come down with food poisoning overnight, which barely seemed a coincidence given that Cokie Mason had been masquerading as a barrista during their rehearsal yesterday.
“Cokie,” Jessica seethed as she squatted to push down one of the model’s yellow slouch socks. The creator of Style Masons had been trying to sabotage her Fashion Week show for the best part of a month.
The techno music blasted through the massive auditorium, and butterflies crept into Jessica’s stomach. If she could pull this off, Jessica Wakefield would prove once and for all that she was her own woman, and not some over-privileged twat who lived in her sister’s shadow and scabbed off her rich parents.
She craned her neck to get a glimpse of the audience. Stacey was out there, seated next to Anna Wintour. She looked fantastic, as usual, in a white linen minidress with a purple leather blazer. Pink slouch socks and a silver Tiffany’s necklace completed the trendy ensemble.
Kanye finished his dance and a loud voice boomed across the speakers.
“Presenting…Magenta Galaxy!”
The beat picked up and the audience applauded as Claudia’s neon bright range hit centre stage. Jessica watched with a grin as 13 slim, attractive girls sashayed down the runway, only feeling envious for a second that this time, she was behind the scenes.
The Greece inspired range was next, and Jessica was glad she had talked down Claudia’s idea of poodle skirts and neckties for white togas and lycra drapery.
Jessica held her breath as the last line of models made their way out, a jumble of colours, textures and shades. She liked the crimson teapot-print maxi the best.
All of a sudden, the audience broke into rapturous applause. “Magenta Galaxy, presented by Jessica Wakefield, Lila Fowler and Claudia Kishi-Lee!”
Jessica turned to Lila and grinned. Claudia ran up beside her and starting hugging her, jumping up and down.
“We done it! We done it!” she cried.
It was only then that Jessica fully appreciated Claudia’s outfit. She was wearing an oversized yellow sweatshirt, with a pair of lilac Unicorn-print tights. The stirrups were hooked over a pair of glittered jelly-flats, and hundreds of slim gold bangles adorned her wrists.
“You look great,” Jessica whispered, and she meant it. Having Claudia around had definitely made their show a success!
“Get on stage girls!” A cute-looking photographer rounded them up, and Jessica was all too happy to work it down the runway.
“Nice!” shouted the photographer in an Aussie accent. She squinted into the fluorescent lights, noting that the guy had curly red hair and a sprinkling of freckles.
“What’s your name?” yelled Jessica from the stage, exhilarated. She was so caught up in this moment, she didn’t care!
“I’m Ben!” he called “Ben Hobart!”
* * *
Roger Collins pressed his handsome face between the cold steel bars of his cell. “Elizabeth,” he whispered.
“I’m here, Roger,” she replied softly, “but unless you tell me something instead of repeating my name over and over, you’re not going to win this thing.”
Collins’ brow furrowed, and Elizabeth noticed that his eyes didn’t crinkle up at the corners like they used to. He ran a wrinkled hand through his hair, and Elizabeth realized that shades of grey had replaced the strawberry blonde. He looked more like an old Dennis Hopper than a young Robert Redford tonight, she thought wistfully.
“Elizabeth,” he said again, and she sighed.
He sank back on the concrete floor. There was silence for many minutes, until a voice leered from the cell behind her
“Hey blondie – whassa nice gal like you doin in here? Visiting sugar daddy?” Elizabeth didn’t turn around. She’d spent a night, ten years ago, in Sweet Valley jail, but even the criminals there had been more civilized than these horrid people in Stoneybrook!
“I’m going to go, Mr Collins,” she murmured. “I don’t think I can help you,”
“Of course you cant,” he snapped. “You’re a fricken journalist, not a lawyer.” Elizabeth’s face fell. What had happened to the man who had encouraged her, who’d been behind her [Winston: I’ll bet] all her high school years?
“Journalists solve crime, too!” She retorted, an indignant frown crossing her face. “What about when Jess and I solved crime for four consecutive summers when we were interns at the Sweet Valley News? And what about when we were summer interns at the London times and we caught a werewolf? We proved ourselves to be better detectives than the LAPD and the Scotland Yard!” She glared through the iron bars at the teacher she’d once adored and respected. He was fast asleep.
Elizabeth marched out of the jail with her head held high. After that insult, she wouldn’t have one nice thing to write about Mr Collins. He could suffer the consequences of his years of indecent behaviour toward minors.
“Heathens!” She screeched when she had reached the safety of outdoors. She hoped Richard Spier wouldn’t be too stoned for the trial, and that Sharon wouldn’t hide his briefcase in the oven again. Because she wanted Mr Collins to burn in hell- in Stoneybrook!
* * *
Margo Pike slumped over her chocolate milkshake at the Dairi Burger. She was going to have to start ordering it on skim – Elizabeth certainly didn’t have an inkling of a love-handle these days. That wasn’t always the case though, thought Margo snidely, pulling a photo out of her pocket – it was of Elizabeth in her freshman year at SVU, looking more than a little pudgy around the edges in a pink spaghetti-strap dress. Ha! Thought Margo. She took a bite of her Clam Special and sighed. Bruce was at a tennis tournament tonight, and Margo was exhausted from cleaning out Enid’s old apartment all day. She needed to find a suitable hide-out for the Elizabeth wax-model before the real estate agent brought clients through in a day’s time. She also needed to find herself a lavaliere.
“What the fuck is a lavaliere?” She wondered aloud.
“Need company?” A husky voice shook her from her lull. Margo looked up and gasped. Surely not! Standing above her booth, looking slightly thinner and older than he had on Facebook, was none other than Steven Wakefield.
He sat down anyway, and grinned at her, a flirtatious look in his eyes.
Margo shrank. If the reports were true, Steven was only getting laid by minors these days, most of them Stoneybrook ex-pats. She had to get out of here, and fast.
She glanced over at his wizened face and the five o’clock shadow sneaking across his jaw. She’d expected more decency from her future elder brother. Even if he is a total spunk, she thought with a sardonic smile.
Steven’s hand reached across the table, and Margo knew she had to act.
“I have to go..” stammered Margo. “I’ve got a bus to catch.”
She marched off without another word.
* * *
Weird, thought Steven, watching the girl disappear. He’d only wanted some Clam Special.
But something about the girl’s sharp eyes and dimpled cheeks had drawn him to her. She kind of reminded him of his sisters – maybe that was it!
Steven slurped the rest of the chocolate milkshake. He was hoping Joe Howell would stop by after work so they could hang out and have a chat, like old times. But Joe was busy looking after his pregnant wife, Maria Santelli.
Happy families, thought Steven bitterly. He’d driven past Billie Winkler’s parent’s place 137 times this afternoon, trying to pluck up the courage to go back in and beg for forgiveness from their only daughter. Steven hated to admit it, but he really needed Jessica right now.
* * *
Bruce Patman threw down his Swiss woven racket and mopped the sweat off his handsome brow.
“Nice work out there boy,” Hank appeared on the court beside him, striding to keep up with his brooding son. He reached out his hand to give the handsome heir a formal pat on the shoulder.
“Thank you father,” Bruce responded with grace. “Are we still on for Martinis at the Club?”
“Shaken not stirred,” replied Hank with a grin. “But I’ve just got to duck over to Calico Drive on the way.”
Calico Drive? Bruce wondered. Aside from Margo, the street was practically crawling with plebs. Still, it bought him an hour or so – he was getting mighty sick of Hank’s growing insistence that he get himself a wife. “Like one of those lovely Wakefields,” his father had taken to persuading him. Last week, Hank had even threatened cutting him out of the will if he hadn’t settled down by his thirtieth, which was nigh.
Bruce sighed and took a gulp of Evian. He needed a wife-type, alright, if for no other reason than to keep his opulent lifestyle. But he just couldn’t get Margo Pike out of his head!
* * *
Mary Anne glanced down at the white stick in her shaking hands. “Stay still,” she hissed at herself. One purple stripe had already appeared across the litmus strip. She looked away. This was unbearable.
The second line of purple was edging across the paper. “Please stop, please stop, please stop,” she begged to a god she didn’t believe in. It didn’t. Mary Anne glanced down fearfully. A double line.
Mary Anne’s bottom lip began to tremble. She bent over the toilet seat and promptly threw up.
“Logan!” she bellowed, wiping her face. “I’m pregnant!”
Mary-Anne's on her own - can she take charge?
Will Elizabeth put the final nail in Teacher Collins’ coffin?
What will the following nine months bring for Mary-Anne?
And who will Steven ravage next?
Find out in Chapter 13 of “When Lila Met Stacey,” “Slam Book Fever”, or “Fight Fire With Fire”
And don’t forget to leave me your winning comment….
CONTEST still running: Want to WIN a copy of 2 SVU books “#18 Billie’s Secret” and “#19 Broken Promises, Shattered Dreams” [mad prize, cost me $4.50 at Samaritans] Write in or photograph a Claudia or Stacey outfit – it can be from the BSC books or from your imagination – for their appearance in New York fashion week. The outfit will feature in WLMS CHAPTER 12. You can write the outfit description in the comments or email me a photo to winston.egbert@hotmail.co.uk For inspiration go to What Claudia Wore, or any one of the 237 BSC books in existence. The more outrageous the better! And if Stacey wears a necklace made out of her Novorapid pen, I’ll eat my hat.
Chapter 11
“There she is,” Karen Brewer ignored the whispers and turned back to the mirror. She was in the bathroom at SHS, touching up the black eye she’d drawn on with some eyeliner at Mommy’s house. She’d had to sneak off early this morning, before Seth had noticed anything, and she’d even told him a fib about stopping in at the News office before school. Karen felt a pang of guilt – lying was definitely not her strong point. Karen put her nose in the air and marched out into the hallway. Collins had spent his first night behind bars last night, and Kristy was doing some super sleuthing to make sure he stayed in there for good. Although she’d been upset at first, Karen realized now that if she played on her victim status, Ricky Torres would come to her rescue in no time and the molestation would all be worth it.
Ricky. She drew in a deep breath. There he was, outside Pamela’s locker, running a comb through his slick black hair. He turned his head and took a few steps in her direction. Karen’s heart skipped a beat. It was really happening this time!
She puckered up her lips and leaned toward Ricky, closing her eyes. She hoped her glasses wouldn’t get in the way!
“Open your eyes, Brewer,” Ricky was right in front of her, and he did not look happy.
Oh well, she thought. She’d had fantasies about angry Ricky, too.
It is with just a hint of sadness that I close the curtain on “When Lila Met Stacey”, a labour of love that has occupied the best part of the past four months. And what more fitting way to go out than with a Christmas-themed Magna Edition on my favourite day of year.
