Author's Note: We're getting closer to Vegas, baby! I'm well aware that I already used Hillcrest in the name of the country club (the name of the street on which the Walshes live), but that was the only real country club in Beverly Hills that looked exclusive enough for the Carsons to belong to. Meh, so the name's the same. No biggie, right?
I was thinking about starting a new story, but clicking that review button and telling me how much you love this one might force me to work on Chapter 10 first. Please?
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Chapter 9: Should I Stay or Should I Go
Tuesday Morning
The Walsh House was empty, save for her, Brenda knew, and yet, she still felt as if her actions qualified as "sneaky." She glanced at the small suitcase open on her bed, and she bit her lip as she stared.
The past two days since the engagement party had pretty much been business as usual. In fact, things had been eerily serene. It only served to compound her guilt about what she was about to do. Brandon hadn't said anything more to her about what he had witnessed Saturday night, and she hadn't heard a word from Dylan. She had spent the better part of the weekend with Stuart, quietly making plans for their elopement to Las Vegas, and she figured her family and friends just assumed they were caught up in wedding details.
Mrs. Carson had, of course, been thrilled to take the microphone from the band leader and announce the date Brenda and Stuart had supposedly selected, gushing to her guests that in just a little over six months, they'd all be gathered in the same place once again celebrating her Stuart and his bride.
It had been excruciating to sit there, knowing what had been decided, and listen to it all. Brenda knew that this elopement was not going to be as simple as Stuart assured her it would be. Sure, maybe the actual "I do" part would go off without a hitch, but she knew once the vows had been said, the rings were on their fingers and they were headed back to Beverly Hills, all hell was going to break loose. Brenda sighed and sat gingerly at the edge of her bed, her fingers wandering to the simple white lace sheath dress lying across her comforter. She had bought it Sunday afternoon, at Stuart's urging, at a store on Rodeo that was far too extravagant for her taste. But then Stuart had persuaded her that she still deserved a wedding dress, and he plunked down his credit card without another word.
She grabbed the dress from the bed and walked across her room to the full-length mirror in the corner. She held the dress flush against her body and studied her reflection carefully. In just over twelve hours, Brenda knew she'd be wearing this dress and committing herself to becoming "Mrs. Stuart Carson."
"Mrs. Stuart Carson," she echoed aloud to herself. She felt a wave of uneasiness wash over her.
She loved Stuart, she did. And she thought she wanted to marry him. The past few weeks had been wonderful, she couldn't deny that. Stuart knew how to wine and dine a girl, and he wasn't abject to spoiling her. She knew it would be a very easy lifestyle to get used to.
At the same time, Brenda wasn't sure she wanted the life of a socialite. She didn't want to be like Mrs. Carson, she knew that. Organizing fundraisers and galas and attending garden parties was definitely not her scene. She hadn't even made it through rush week, and watching Kelly and Donna fulfill sorority commitments, she knew she had made the right choice.
When Brenda had made the decision to withdraw from the University of Minnesota and return home to Beverly Hills, she had been undecided about the direction in which she wanted to take her life. Enrolling in California University was not a certainty. Brenda wasn't convinced a traditional college was the right fit for her. Fact was, more and more she had recently found herself thinking about acting. It wasn't something she had been a part of in high school, unless you counted that summer acting class that she had attended with Andrea and Donna. But she had enjoyed it as a girl, trying out for every school play from 3rd grade through freshman year of high school. There were plenty of good acting schools in the area, she knew, especially with the proximity to Hollywood, but a tiny part of her had a secret decision to head off to New York and try her luck at NYU. Being close to Broadway was a bigger dream for her than any bit part in a B-movie. An even bigger stretch would be the Royal Academy of the Dramatic Arts in London. Brenda had quietly done a bit of research on their extremely tough program, and she had been dismayed to learn very few spots were filled without personal recommendation.
The ringing of the doorbell snapped her from her reverie. She sighed and tossed the dress onto the bed, racing from her room and down the stairs.
"Yes?" She opened the door to find a deliveryman standing on the front steps.
"Delivery for Mrs. Stuart Carson," the man announced.
"I guess that would technically be me," she smiled faintly. The man thrust a large slender box towards her and held out a clipboard with a pen dangling from it.
"Sign here," he ordered, gesturing to an "X" in the center of the sheet. Brenda carefully balanced the box on her right knee as she leaned down to carelessly scrawl her name. The deliveryman looked down at the sheet and drew his brow quizzically.
"Thought you said you were Mrs. Stuart Carson," he asked. She smiled apologetically.
"I am. Well, I will be in a few hours," she corrected herself. "Sorry. I'm going to have to get used to signing a new name, I guess." The deliveryman grinned.
"You'll get used to it in no time. My missus did. Both times," he winked and tipped his hat to her. "Have a nice one, young lady."
"Thanks," Brenda replied absently, closing the door behind her. She set the box down on the staircase and sat down, sliding her finger under the envelope that accompanied the box. Pulling the little card out, she began to read.
"Just a little pre-wedding thinking-of-you reminder. I'll see you in an hour. –S."
Brenda lifted the lid off the box and gasped at the massive pile of red long-stemmed roses nestled among clouds of baby's breath. There must have been three dozen roses in the box. Glancing at the clock in the main hall, she deduced that Stuart must have timed the delivery impeccably, as he was due to pick her up at 11 a.m. to head to the airport, and it was just now one minute before ten.
She stood and grabbed the box, heading towards the kitchen to find a vase in which she could arrange the flowers. Rummaging in the cabinet to the left of the dishwasher, where she knew her mother kept a collection of vases, she located one large enough to fit the blooms. She filled it with water and slowly began to place the roses in the vase. When she was satisfied, she carried them to the kitchen table and placed them directly in the center. Her mother might as well enjoy them, she mused, heading back upstairs to resume packing.
After all, the clock was ticking.
***
Brandon sighed and peeked down at his watch again. Shaking his head, he took a sip from the coffee he had bought from the student center kiosk and scanned the crowd. D'Shawn would be easy to spot, but as usual, the basketball phenom was late. Brandon had thought he was being generous, heading to campus two hours before his first scheduled class, in order to squeeze in an extra session for D'Shawn, given the test later that morning in Professor Randall's class. He knew D'Shawn would need every last minute cramming that he could get.
"When are you not up early?" Brandon looked up at the sound of the familiar voice and found Kelly smiling down at him.
"Today it's temporary insanity, I must confess," he sighed. "Have a seat," he offered.
"So why are you so crazy this morning?" she asked as she settled into the chair next to him, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"My first class isn't til 11. It's Professor Randall's class, as a matter of fact, and we happen to have a pretty big exam today. So I thought I'd give D'Shawn a last minute cram session, and I got here two hours early to accommodate him."
"Always Mr. Nice Guy," Kelly grinned. Brandon nodded.
"Yeah, a lot of good it does me though. As usual, he's late, and I'm sitting here drinking bad coffee when I could have slept in."
"I can keep you company," she shrugged.
"Now who's the nice one?" he teased. "Don't you have a class?" Kelly shook her head.
"I had a nine-thirty, but I got here, and there was a note on the door that the class was canceled. I was actually heading back to my apartment when I saw you sitting here."
"Well, don't let me keep you," he replied. "I'd rather be home too."
"I can give you a few moments of my time," she assured him. "What's your test on?"
"Three chapters, mostly functionalism and social conflict."
"Fascinating," she joked. "I had a midterm yesterday on Skinner, Pavlov and behavioralism."
"Isn't it a little late in the semester for a midterm?" he asked. "I mean, winter break is only about six weeks away." Kelly nodded.
"The professor is an adjunct, and she had been out for some surgery or something. With no teaching assistant, we basically had no class for three weeks, but we were still responsible for the reading and assignments. She came back last week and had the midterm prepared for yesterday. It's been a bit bizarre."
"Sounds like it," he agreed.
"Let's not talk school," Kelly leaned forward, her elbows resting on the edge of the table. Brandon took another sip of coffee.
"Okay, what should we talk about then?"
"I don't know," she replied, slowly licking her lips. Brandon knew she was doing it pensively and not seductively, but he couldn't help following her tongue with his eyes. Some girls could just manage to be sexy without even trying, he mused to himself. She coughed lightly and played with the clasp on her necklace. "Why do you think Dylan didn't show up to Brenda's party on Saturday?" He remembered he was the only one, other than Brenda and Stuart, who knew that Dylan, indeed, had shown up and made quite a scene.
"Aren't you always the one who says you don't want to talk about Dylan?" he reminded her. She nodded.
"Yeah," she answered quietly. Brandon heard the edge of uncertainty in her voice.
"Kel, do you want to talk about Dylan?" he asked gently.
"I never know what I want when it comes to Dylan McKay anymore," she whispered, locking her eyes on his.
"I thought I might find you here." Brandon broke eye contact with Kelly and glanced up to see Professor Randall standing by the table.
"Professor Randall, hi," he said, surprised.
"I'm not interrupting anything?" Professor Randall asked, though it wasn't really a question. "D'Shawn told me you'd be waiting here." Brandon heaved a sigh.
"You talked to D'Shawn," Brandon stated. "Let me guess, he's not going to be joining me this morning."
"Good guess," Randall replied. "Something came up, and D'Shawn has arranged to take his test tomorrow afternoon. I gave him some study guides, and so you're off the hook for your weekly session." Brandon wished he could say he was surprised by this tidbit of information, but he wasn't. He knew it would do him no good to voice his feelings to Professor Randall, so he swallowed his pride and nodded.
"Okay," he answered simply. Randall smiled.
"Good. Well, I guess I'll see you in a few hours then, Brandon."
"Yeah, you will," Brandon murmured, watching Professor Randall retreat across the student union, no doubt heading back to his office. He turned his attention back to Kelly. "And that, Kel, is why I don't know why I even bother with this assignment. I'm supposed to be tutoring D'Shawn to ensure he is held to the same requirements that the rest of us in Randall's class are, and it's pointless. He gets special treatment, and Randall knows it." He shook his head in disbelief.
"You know what I think?" Kelly piped up. "I think Professor Randall needs you to make things appear legit. He doesn't really care if D'Shawn is doing things fairly."
"You're probably right," he sighed. "I'd bet those study guides are cleverly disguised crib notes." Kelly reached over and patted his arm reassuringly.
"Don't dwell on it Brandon. You can't worry about the wrong things other people do, as long as you stand by your morals." He smiled at her. Somehow, she knew the right thing to say and managed to say it without mincing words.
"Thanks, Kel." He looked down at his watch. "But you don't mind if I cut our chat a little short, do you? Now that I know D'Shawn isn't coming, I actually think I'm going to run home for a bit rather than hang around here. I've got two hours before my test." Kelly nodded and grabbed her bag, rising to her feet.
"Can't say I blame you," she smiled. "Good luck on your test. Not that Brandon Walsh ever needs luck on anything," she teased. Brandon picked up his own bag, shoved the sociology textbook inside and tossed the empty coffee cup into a trash can just beyond where Kelly was standing.
"You can never have enough luck," he corrected her. She flashed him a smile and tossed her hair over her shoulder.
"Bye Brandon."
"Wait, don't nice guys usually walk girls to their cars?"
"I'm in the west parking lot," she replied, holding his gaze with her eyes.
"Oh. I parked over by Grant Hall, figuring that's where I'd eventually be leaving from, after Randall's class."
"Don't worry about me, Brandon," she told him. "But thanks for the offer. They just don't make guys like you anymore." Brandon coughed and looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with her words of praise. She gave him a little wave, and he continued following her with his eyes as she made her way through the maze of tables in the student center and headed for the west entrance. Once he could no longer see her, he slung his backpack over his right shoulder and headed towards the back of the student center, beginning the walk across campus to the large lot behind Grant Hall where he had parked his Mustang.
It really did irritate the hell out of him the way D'Shawn so cavalierly blew off tutoring, his classes, even tests. He knew a large part of it was the mentality that was almost granted to student athletes once they committed to a college or university, and D'Shawn wasn't entirely to blame for the culture being promoted. What Brandon found himself objecting to was his own role as a pawn in the grand scheme of things. Because he was just that, he knew: a pawn. He was needed, as Kelly said, to keep up appearances that D'Shawn was being held responsible for passing an entry-level sociology course, when in fact, he was being handed a cake walk.
He reached his car and tossed his backpack into the rear seat, hopping over the driver side door to settle in his seat in his preferred method of entry. He grabbed his sunglasses from the console and revved the engine to life, checking the rearview mirror before throwing the car into reverse and guiding the car out of its parking spot. He navigated through the rows of cars until he made a left out of the university and began the short drive back to the Walsh house.
Brandon wasn't surprised to find his thoughts drifting back to Kelly Taylor as he cruised along the freeway. What did surprise him was the change in how he was suddenly seeing her. He wished, in a way, Professor Randall hadn't interrupted them. He wondered if Kelly would have opened up to him about her feelings about Dylan McKay.
***
Brenda zipped the suitcase closed with a triumphant smile, noting the clock read 10:26. She had managed to pack the few clothes that she needed, gather her toiletries, carefully get her dress into the garment bag in which it came, and double check everything-twice. She slung the garment bag over her shoulder and dropped the suitcase to the floor, nudging it gently with her foot to get it upright. She wheeled it down the hallway, picking it up by the handle when she got to the top of the staircase.
No sooner had she made it to the bottom of the stairs and set the suitcase on the hall floor than she heard the door in the kitchen opening. She froze. No one was supposed to be here this morning. Her father was at the office, and her mother and Brandon both had morning classes. She held her breath and hoped it had been her imagination.
No such luck. Brandon walked into the hallway and stopped short when he saw his sister.
"Hey Bren," he said casually, his eyes wandering to the suitcase at her feet, which Brenda was kicking nervously. He raised an eyebrow at his twin and leaned against the wall. "Where you going?"
"Don't worry about it Brandon," she replied absently. "Just taking some things to Stuart's." Brandon snorted in disbelief.
"Sure, taking some things to Stuart's. What's in the bag?" He gestured to the cream-colored garment bag that Brenda had draped over the banister.
"Uh, a dress," she answered cryptically. Brandon stepped towards her and crossed his arms.
"Brenda, I can read you like a book. What's the deal? What are you hiding?"
"Nothing, Brandon!" she shrieked. "God, can't a girl take some things to her boyfriend's house."
"A girl can. You can't. You're up to something, I know it." Brenda tossed her head and began to push past her brother, attempting to head towards the kitchen. Brandon seized her by the upper arm, not hard enough to hurt her, but firmly enough to stop her in her tracks. "Talk to me," he prodded, his voice gentle and coaxing. He released his grip, and Brenda threw her arms up in the air.
"If I tell you, you cannot breathe a word, not a word, of this to Mom and Dad," she hissed, her voice low and deliberate. Brandon shook his head.
"Bren, what are you doing?"
"Promise me, Brandon," she repeated, her eyes flashing defiantly. Brandon sighed and nodded slowly.
"You have my word." Brenda took a deep breath and met her brother's eyes.
"Stuart and I are going to Las Vegas. We're getting married tonight," she declared, bracing herself for Brandon's reaction. She watched him process the information, knowing a thousand things were probably running through his head at that moment.
"You're crazy," he replied matter-of-factly. It wasn't the reaction Brenda had expected, but she launched into her own self-defense nonetheless.
"We know what we're doing," she began. "Stuart and I love each other, and we realized we don't need a big fancy wedding, although both Mom and his mom are probably going to flip out when they learn what we did and they're probably gonna insist on another ceremony or something so they can have a reception and…" Brandon held his hand up to cut her off.
"I actually don't want to hear it, Bren," he told her. "I only swung by here to grab some things so I can go work out after my test in Randall's class, which starts in 25 minutes. So I'm going to do the brotherly thing here and be supportive of you," he added. Brenda's eyes widened.
"You are?" she squeaked. Brandon nodded.
"You're not the same stupid 16-year old girl who capriciously ran off to Mexico with Dylan McKay. You're a big girl now, and you can make your own mistakes."
"Thanks…I think," she replied slowly.
"If marrying Stuart is what you're set on doing, I know better than anyone that no one is going to stop you. When Brenda Walsh sets out to do something, she usually does it."
"Yeah, I do," she agreed, still stunned that her brother wasn't laying into her at the moment.
"And while I don't like Stuart, I'll do the best I can to tolerate him as long as you're with him."
"Which is going to be forever, Brandon," Brenda reminded him. "Marriage is forever." Brandon patted her on the shoulder and walked past her towards the staircase.
"Sure it is, Bren." She watched him bound up the steps two at a time as she tried to process if his last comment was sarcasm or not.
She let out a sigh of relief. Maybe it wasn't a bad thing that Brandon had found out. She felt better knowing someone else knew her plans, and she did trust her brother when he said that he wouldn't tell Mom and Dad.
One less weight lifted from her chest before that night changed her life forever, she smiled.
***
Brandon grabbed his gym bag quickly and raced to his bed, hastily picking up the phone and punching in the digits in rapid succession.
"Please be home, please be home," he muttered aloud to himself, surprised the phone number was so instantaneously available in his working memory. It rang once…twice…three times…
"Hello?"
"Kelly, thank God," he breathed.
"Brandon?" she asked, an edge of uncertainty in her voice.
"Yeah."
"Why are you whispering?" she asked.
"I've got to talk fast," he replied.
"Don't you have a test to take?"
"Yes," he said, impatience creeping into his voice. "Listen, Kel, I have to go, so this has to be quick. Can you meet me in the student center around noon? Randall's test should only take me an hour, and we can leave as soon as we finish."
"Sure, I guess. Brandon, what's wrong?" she wondered, clearly sounding concerned now.
"I'll explain it all to you when I see you. Nobody's hurt, nobody's in trouble, well, not really. I promise, Kel, I just need to talk to you. I've got to go."
"Okay," she agreed. "See you at noon." Without even saying goodbye, he replaced the phone on the cradle and dashed down the hall. Sprinting down the stairs, he noticed Brenda was still standing where he had left her.
"Alright, well, wish me luck on my test." Brenda shook her head at him.
"You're really happy for me?" Brandon nodded, leaning forward to give his sister a quick peck on the cheek.
"If you're happy, I'm happy," he declared. "Gotta go."
"And you swear you're not going to tell Mom and Dad?" She raced to the open door and called after him
"I swear!" he yelled back. "Good luck, Bren. Love you." Brenda heard the engine turn over and returned the little wave Brandon gave her as he backed out of the driveway and tore off down Hillcrest Drive. She pulled the door closed behind her.
All that was left to do was wait.
