They want you to look more natural for this scene Jessica, Barbara Wallace, a cosmetics expert informed her, as she used a moistened towelette to remove Jessica's carefully crafted eye shadow. She scowled as Barbara turned her back to grab some cotton buds from the shelf above the counter. Jessica eyed the bright blue wet suit hanging on the wall of the dressing room, annoyed that her magnificent artwork had gone to waste.

After all that time she worked on her face this morning! She would have spent more time in her bed if she had known that Babs would wipe her masterpiece off! Jessica looked down on her drab outfit, her hands folded obediently in her lap as Barbara applied a thin layer of mascara. She was dressed in a plain blue shift, with a short white apron tied to her slim waist. Her costume was about as unglamorous as they came, but Jessica didn't mind. Her opportunity to parade herself in the most fabulous clothes was surely guaranteed to come further along in the show.

Later today they'd be shooting parts of the show's pilot episode, as well as another session of promotional shots and videos. Just earlier, after familiarizing herself with the set and getting used to being on camera, she had proceeded to a most wonderful lunch for the cast on the building's rooftop, where she met most of the other actors and actresses. She had arrived on the set ready to take the plunge into her new role, and…. what a set it was!

It was made to look like a fabulous mansion, fitted with enormous fireplaces, bedrooms suited for royalty, and a dining room that looked like it belonged in a palace. The executive set designers had made sure that all the decor and props appeared to be worthy of belonging to the richest family in the fictional town of Crystal Sands.

A copy of the script sat on a coffee table in front of her, and when Barbara moved to the sink to wash her makeup brush, Jessica reached over to pick it up, reading the parts written for her character, Amanda Benton. She didn't have too many lines in the first episode, but was assured by Marve that her airtime was sure to increase eventually. For now, the goal was to establish the characters, test the chemistry between the cast, and eventually, gauge the target audience's reaction to the romances and scandals that were sure to make them the hottest nighttime show.

A vision on blonde hair caught her attention, and for a split second, she thought of her twin. But she knew it wasn't Elizabeth. It was Maggie, her stunt double who'd be filming all her potentially dangerous beach scenes, most of which would take place in the dark. It had been several years since she had surfed, the thought of getting out on the water after the sun went down was frightening. She had put on a very brave front until Paul the assistant director told her they were going to use a stunt double. Jessica had breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was to drown on her first day of filming.

Amanda was written as a mysterious surfer, who roamed the waves at night, who had come to town full of secrets, and had taken the first job she could find as a servant in the Howard family's mansion. Tomorrow evening they'd be shooting a dynamic scene, where Ryan, the show's premiere playboy, straight home from a year long trip in the Italian Alps, gets caught up in the undertow of the current, and then rescued by Amanda, played by Jessica. Twilight Bay was the most popular beach in Crystal Sands, and it would be the backdrop of numerous events on the show.

With his golden brown eyes, sexy black hair, and warm tanned skin that could melt butter, Phillip Marquette was one of the most gorgeous guys she had ever laid eyes on. Earlier this afternoon, Jessica had raised her brow as he walked by and winked at her, making her already eager to practice their mouth to mouth resuscitation scenes.

Phillip had all the qualities to emerge as a leading man with his toned arms and broad shoulders. She had arrived that morning, was introduced to several members of the cast, and had gone over her lines till her head was bursting with the dialogue. Just when she thought Phillip was the hottest guy she had ever seen, she met Grant Morgan, who would be playing Malcolm, Ryan's dad. He looked to be a bit over forty, and about as sexy as a guy that age could be.

And I am going to be having an affair with him, Jessica thought, as she conjured up Grant's distinguished greying hair, lean frame, and cool hazel eyes.

My first day on the job is getting better and better!


To Roger and Lila, Henry Patman raised his glass, his brown eyes crinkling as he smiled, while he toasted the impending arrival of his long dead brother's unborn grandchild. Everyone at the table echoed his sentiments, some with more enthusiasm than others.

To Roger and Lila, Marie Patman gritted her teeth while mouthing the words, her face a mask, attempting to hide her disappointment. Lila, who was seated at her left, threw her a self satisfied gaze while Anna freshened her glass of sparkling apple cider. Marie tried to ignore Lila's smugness, and took a gulp from her fine stemmed crystal flute, the light sweetness of the wine barely registering on her tongue.

She might as well have been sipping at vinegar, so sour was the taste in her mouth at the thought that it was Lila, and not Babette who would be soon adding to the Patman family.

It just keeps getting better and better, Marie thought, her mind suddenly engulfed with bitter sarcasm.

First Hank knocks up a trollop from his assembly line, and now the daughter of a common criminal is about to curse the family name with her brat!

I know Paul would have been very happy, Hank continued, as he glanced at Roger, while Bruce, seated across from his cousin, resisted rolling his eyes. He should have guessed it, from Lila's weight gain, the fullness in her face, and her enthusiasm at digging into and thoroughly enjoying her rosemary potatoes. The old Lila was always trying to stay away from anything with potential to add to her thighs, but now…Bruce pictured her waddling into the foyer just this evening, looking like an overstuffed butterball on Thanksgiving day, he thought meanly. The girl who was always concerned about her weight, and had sneered at anyone more than ten pounds over what she considered acceptable, had thrown her never ending diet out the window, and was currently stuffing her face with the rich fare at the Patman's almost twenty foot dining table.

A Patman baby, finally, Mrs Marjorie Ferguson, one of Marie's best friends nodded her head slowly, and fixed Hank, who was seated at the head of the table, with a diabolical sneer. Although it does seem like just a couple of years since we've had a new one, she stated pointedly, raising her dyed brow and creating an awkward silence with her words.

A couple of years,? Bruce looked up at her in confusion.

Oh, you know what I mean, Marjorie answered, awkwardly giggling at her all too intentional gaffe and the panic on Hank's face. Since Roger came into this house.

It's been much longer than that, Bruce told her, watching as she sipped her sherry.

The old bat must be going senile, Bruce thought, while stifling a yawn. Roger moved into this house more than five years ago.

Marjorie turned to Roger, her voice loaded with charm.

Oh you know, the time flies by so fast….. I forgot how long, seems like just the other day you spilled wine on my blouse while I was showing you what fork to use. She smiled sweetly at him.

Now you're married, becoming a father, and doing very well at work from what Humphrey tells me. Isn't that right Humphrey,? she motioned to her husband, seated across from her, who nodded in approval.

Fine work boy, Humphrey nodded while plunging his fork into a Cornish hen laden with marmalade sauce.

This is excellent Marie, Humphrey continued, as he stuffed his grey moustached mouth. Better than what our cook Agnes makes. And, I certainly want the recipe for the french onion soup, so I can pass it on to her. Although…..What's the name of your chef? Bring him in here so I can make him an offer and take him from you.

Now now Humphrey, Marjorie chided, moving her head slowly from side to side. Stealing someone's servants is just as bad as cheating on your wife. She laid her jewelled clad hand on Roger's arm and gave it a squeeze, her overly painted, sharp hazel eyes were laced with unquestionable repulsion in the knowledge of Hank's debauched dalliance with a factory worker. Isn't that right Roger?

Roger felt his ears reddening. The woman was obviously trying to attack his uncle, and, as much as he did not approve of Hank's affair and subsequent lying to his family, particularly Bruce, there was no way he could be disloyal. He gave her a look of reproach, while ignoring her question, hoping that Bruce, who seemed preoccupied, and was never gifted at mathematics, wasn't putting two and two together. Not tonight anyway. Roger focused on Lila, and smoothed a loose strand of hair away from her face, while repressing a sigh.

His aunt's dear friend was still quite the troublemaker. He remembered the first time he had met her, a mere week after he had moved into this very house, seated at this same table, her eyes running over him with a mixture of boredom and contempt. His recollection of their first encounter was different from what she insinuated, and was anything but her being helpful at explaining the correct silverware. She was not prompting him to choose the right fork, but as he recalled, she scoffed at his blunders, and created a melodrama when he accidentally splashed a minute speck of wine on her dress.

Every time he saw Mrs Ferguson, her breasts were bigger, her face tighter. Her heavy eye makeup and rouge did nothing to enhance her appearance, it was an obvious attempt to hide her age. She appeared to be more than ten years younger than her husband, and her snotty expression looked very much the same as at their first introduction, along with her garish make up, claw like fingernails, and inflated bosom.

How are your potatoes Humphrey,? Hank said suddenly, his face suddenly pale at the direction the conversation was going.

He cleared his throat, obviously in discomfort at Marjorie's insinuation, as their servant Anna brought in a silver tray of bacon wrapped filet mingnon surrounded by white asparagus.

Hmmmm, absolutely superb, the man replied, a look of embarrassment on his face at his wife's misbehavior. So Roger, tell us about that deal you closed at Wyndham, the one with the Lansing project, he said, changing the subject.

Bruce tuned out Roger's voice as he modestly explained his accomplishments. Lila was beaming, obviously proud of her husband. The entire table was filled with pride and admiration, and Bruce could not help but feel anything but envy, and a bit of resentment at the situation. He felt a rush of anger flowing through his veins, and his appetite suddenly waned. Whoever said nice guys finished last was a liar. Roger was the epitome of nice. And here he was, coming out on top, while Bruce felt about two feet tall, looking up at him from the bottom rung of the ladder.

Just yesterday, he had arranged a conference call with Walter Barron, the proprietor of Barron's sausages, one of their biggest potential clients, and completely forgot about it. His father had been forced to cover for him, and interrupted his own meeting with Sherman Jensen, the owner of a fishery in Big Mesa, who was interested in negotiating a deal on packaging his sardines.

That morning before heading to work, he had an argument with Babette, and accused her of taking up smoking. The combination of another sleepless night and the assault on his senses with the rank odor of a vat of ashes combined with her perfume had caused him to snap. Although he had never seen her with a cigarette, he would smell it on her clothes, in her hair, and on her fingers, and while she vehemently denied it, it was obvious that it wasn't just second hand from her late night out. She'd come in last night just before dawn, reeking of an ashtray and Bruce found himself, for the first time, yelling at his beautiful wife. His belle fleur was beginning to wilt, his rose was pricking him with her thorns, and he was growing more impatient and dissatisfied with her shortcomings, ones that seemed to sprout from nowhere. He was beginning to see facets of her personality, hidden flaws that he had no idea of their existence while he was trying to woo himself into her heart, and into her bed.

Surprisingly, after his latest display of incompetence, Bruce's father didn't yell at him as much as he felt he deserved. Hank would have usually laid into him about his irresponsibility and blase attitude, but his father was uncharacteristically tame with his admonishments. He had swooped in on the phone call, and managed to save the day, by proposing a lucrative deal with Mr Barron.

And your parents Lila, are they pleased with the news, ? Humphrey's voice boomed, interrupting Bruce's thoughts. The man had gotten up from his seat at the table, and was standing near the fireplace, where a picture of Alexander Patman reigned supreme over the diners.

Very, Lila smirked as Marie squirmed. Daddy already wants to set up a trust fund.

Oh he has has he,? Hank queried, not wanting to be outdone by George Fowler. Well, I'll just have to make a generous contribution to it myself. Nothing is too good for my brother's grandchild, he added.

Roger listened to the conversation around him and a flash of memory enveloped him, as he remembered the ritual of paydays, handing his drunk stepfather his meager paycheck, always suspecting that most of it was spent on whiskey instead of rent.

Look kid, why don't you just quit school and work full time, the man's voice echoed from deep inside him, from a place where he had escaped, but never quite forgotten. Your old lady's still paying off her hospital bills from having you, he cruelly berated. And if it wasn't for you, we wouldn't need another bedroom….

He took a sip from his glass, his grey eyes haunted by the recollection.

Congratulations boy, Mr Ferguson turned around and slapped Roger on the back, almost causing him to spit out his champagne. Your grandfather was one of my best friends. He'd be proud of you. Roger nodded slowly at his words. He knew that Alexander Patman would definitely approve of Lila's money, and not much else.

Bruce, Humphrey added,raising his fine crystal glass, it's your turn next. He looked at the chair next to Bruce, suddenly aware that it was empty. Where is your lovely wife anyway?

Oh yes, Marjorie queried.Where is Babette? I thought she'd be joining us. I wanted her opinion on whether Humphrey and I should visit Arcachon next month while we're in France. I hear the oysters there are superb.

Babette is….she wasn't feeling well, Bruce lied, too embarrassed to admit that his wife was once again, out on the town, instead of next to him where she belonged. He caught an all knowing glance of sympathy from Roger, that made him feel worse than he already did.

Babette should be the one who's pregnant. I'm the one who should be the first to father the next generation, not Roger! This isn't fair! After I went through all this trouble!

A horrible thought entered Bruce's head. He quickly dismissed it as soon as he processed it in his mind.

I know it's not me! There's nothing wrong with my sperm! I have great sperm! No! It has to be Babette!

She should have been home by now. His blue eyes took on a fierceness that did not go unnoticed by his mother. She looked at him, instinctively knowing that all was not well with her son.

Bruce cut into his asparagus. If Babette wasn't getting pregnant, it sure as hell wasn't his fault. She will soon though….I did what I had to do to make it happen! And it will... soon!

No more late nights and traipsing around town like a cheap tramp! No more walking in as the sun is about to rise, reeking of smoke and liquor.

He sighed, hating his weakness. She would look at him with those large brown eyes and he would melt. But he knew he had to put his foot down. In fact, he already did. He had plunged in, with both feet, and she would have to welcome the consequences.

Whatever I did, I did it for us, for her. It was just over a month ago...

Bruce had parked the car and gotten out, locking the door, and making sure the alarm was on. You couldn't be too sure, in a sleazy neighborhood like this. He had driven all the way to El Pedro, a run down area close to Palisades, one of Sweet Valley's neighboring towns. He entered the door and spotted the man right away.

Mr Jones I presume, the man spoke, obviously not fooled by the name Bruce gave him. He gave Bruce a one over, eyed his expensive clothes, his fine leather shoes, and didn't need anyone to tell him that the young man was affluent. He was very familiar with that type, the type who had money to burn and was always looking for a higher level of happiness than their country club lifestyle could give them. The type that kept Colombian coca plant growers in business. Bruce's request hadn't been the usual, but, it was clear that he could be well paying potential client.

Sit down, let's have a drink, the man said, noting Bruce's nervousness, as a waitress plopped a basket of greasy chips on the table. You look like you could use one.

I don't have time for small talk, Bruce answered, hating that he had to resort to dealing with an obvious scum bag like this. You have the stuff or not? The man handed him a brown paper bag containing a small pack of tablets. Bruce examined the small blister carefully, and reached into his pocket, then compared them to the ones he had brought with him that were contained in a small round disc. After less than a minute, he was satisfied that they were indeed identical to the originals. The man watched as Bruce took out each dose one by one, and replaced them with the new stash.

You sure are going through a lot of trouble, he said, shaking his head and lighting a cigarette. Why don't you do what most guys do? Smack her around a little. Man, sounds like you're whipped! Men are the ones who are supposed to do the whipping! If she gets out of line…..well…..a little beating here and there will keep her on her P's and Q's. And…..if you really want to party….well, he scoffed, while pointing to the pills. Most guys want something a lot stronger than those.

I don't beat my wife, Bruce replied, giving the man a dirty look, nor do I want drugs.

Are you sure you don't want anything else? I have it all. Whatever you want for a grand old time. Just a buzz, or out of this world. As long as you can pay. I'll let you try some for free, and if you like it…

No, I don't have time to sit around and chat, Bruce insisted, handing the man a couple of hundred dollar bills. He got up and walked out the door, sighing in relief on seeing his car just as he left it. He had to get home right away, and to Babette's dressing room where she kept her little pink compact, right next to her long dead mother's picture, and a solid gold rosary. He started up the vehicle and within minutes was driving along the highway, approaching Valley Crest Drive. He tossed the bag with the originals out the window with a satisfied smirk on his face. He was doing what was best for her, what was best for them. His young bride needed some reining in, a little bit of control, and what better way to do so than making her a mother? Their child would be perfect, healthy and strong, a reflection of his proud family. He smiled suddenly, dreams of a handsome, dark haired little boy, dressed in tennis whites, impressing everyone on the courts. It would happen, and soon. Whether she liked it or not...…