"They forgot the whole thesis of the show because they didn't want to keep anyone else on and forgot that the show was about ordinary kids living extraordinary lives. After season 7 and college, they were extraordinary kids living ordinary lives. It made no sense to us for those who built up the show, so it's just stupid." - Executive Producer Larry Mollins
xx
Intrusive gray bodies lined the street, concentrating intently with blood orange eyes that gleamed at passersby promenading with purposeful intention.
They peered curiously at weary families heading home in anticipation of a new strenuous week in the office or industry, holding hands of wailing children who requested another lolly whilst dawdling in cacophonous indignation.
Cackling, they dove after both tourists and natives, searching for leftover crumbs discarded by local vendors that then swatted them forward in the opposite direction to prevent thievery of their stock.
Nearly stepping over one of the gray bodies separated from the irksome others, she cursed and decided there were too many damn pigeons.
Fatigue began to creep in, a consequence of the early morning hours spent helping her friend's sister move into a new flat. Despite the weighted blanket dragging on her feet, she pressed on.
She passed grumbling tourists raging about entrance fees to the Eye, having undoubtedly been informed of the attraction's full booking for the evening.
American, she thought, taking in fanny packs and camera straps - the kind of petulant stateside Americans that only proved to embarrass other Americans on the worldwide stage.
Twelve years she spent fighting that stereotype, only to have clueless tourists prove it again and again.
She sighed, shook her head and quickly bypassed the frustrated group hassling the poor bloke who stood in front of the Eye entrance.
Feeling guilty, she began to turn around. Noticing the employee's boss had stepped in to run interference, she resumed her brisk pace.
In the corner of Theatre Square, earlier that Sunday afternoon, the place had buzzed with excitement upon the unveiling of a new Laurence Olivier statue sculpted to depict Olivier's role in Hamlet. Directly facing the National Theatre, the actor stood with his sword aimed proudly towards the sky.
She listened to Lord Richard Attenborough speak, captivated by the realization that she was allowed accessibility to the distinguished stage actor who shaped her adolescence with such films as Jurassic Park and the remake of Miracle on 34th Street. A rather large grin unabashedly remained on her features during the entire event, not overlooked by colleagues that stood nearby.
She found herself becoming far more engrossed in the unveiling than in the orchestral concert attended the previous week - though the fault lay more with her disappointing date and less with the London Philharmonic Orchestra who performed superbly.
Though the South Bank was not quiet - it was a warm evening in late September that saw Britons and tourists alike doing their best to revel in the last remaining days of summer before the forecasted mild autumn that would assuredly usher in the damp, stiff cold of an English winter - it was tranquil enough that she could wander down the bank of the Thames, pop in her earphones and not be disturbed in her cogitation. She purchased a pasty and a bottle of blackcurrant Ribena from a vendor, beginning to down the liquid as she passed Southbank Centre. Coming upon Gabriel's Wharf, she took a seat on one of its benches, chewed thoughtfully on the pasty and pulled out her Blackberry Curve.
Twenty-three new messages in the last four hours, fifteen of which were voicemails from eight different people.
Recognizing a few familiar numbers from her old theatre group, she listened to those first. Deciding to return to the remaining messages later, she stowed the mobile in the front pocket of her crossbody bag, leaned back on the bench and stared out into the night.
Dark water swirling with hues of sparkling blues and royal purples from floating ships smiled back in her direction, combined with reflections bouncing off of lit buildings.
When she first arrived in the bewitching city, a handful of her fellow thespians persuaded her to join them in a moonlit Thames swim deemed essential for a newcomer.
Though the Thames continued to look inviting, she refused to participate again following a severe cold that set her back for a week.
Finishing the pasty and balling up its wrapper to unsuccessfully toss into the nearby rubbish bin, she wiped her hands of any crumbs and stretched as she stood.
Leaving her jacket unzipped, the woman whose curves shone proudly in a tight black jumpsuit met halfway by a wide silver belt resumed her walk.
Heeled boots clicking quietly against the concrete sidewalk, she crossed under Blackfriars Bridge and strolled lazily along until the Globe caught her peripheral vision.
Pausing momentarily as she did each time she saw the legendary theatre, inquisitive hazel eyes tinted greener or bluer depending on the lighting of a room combed over silver lines shaped into triangles adorning the white building.
They appeared to have finished a show, she noticed as her eyes scanned over the open doors releasing audience members that spoke in rapid excitement of the witnessed performance. She wondered if their sense of wonder matched hers whenever she prepared to get in character on the Globe stage. The theatre was one of her lesser used venues for her acclaimed career, but one of her favorites to visit for another actor's theatrics.
Catching sight of the time through a nearby pub's window, she began to run in the direction of Borough Market.
"There you are!" she heard just outside of her meeting place.
"Sorry, sorry," she replied, dark brunette waves jumping as she came to a standstill, "I know. I'm late."
"Not that late," replied her friend with a laugh. "We've a few minutes until the band sets up."
"We never miss setup," she reminded the man who lacked the ability to tower over her due to his average height. Small in stature herself, she was accustomed to being the shortest one in the room.
"And we still haven't, Bren. No bothers."
"Have you eaten?" asked the man's russet-haired companion, gently taking her wrist.
"I had a pasty on the way over," she began, interrupted in her reply by the beckoning gray eyes of a second man.
"Walsh! You got a minute?" he asked, voice edged in the dialect of the Black Country that contrasted with the first man's slightly posher tone, though neither spoke the Queen's English.
"For you, Howie? Of course. Be right over," she said. "Shane, Katie, I'll be back in a few."
Briefly observing their nodding responses, she hurried to the muscled man unloading barrels of cask ale from the back of a large green van.
"Okay, Howie, I'm here. What's up?" asked Brenda Walsh, eyeing the barrels in trepidation.
She did not drink often, allotting herself only a glass or two of cask ale every few weeks. The choice to avoid alcohol may have been seen as an oddity in the theatre world, but she knew several actors who had chosen the same once introductions were made with their thirties.
It beat waking up before a significant performance with a raging migraine resulting from one night too many of partying, they shared, allowing her the perfect excuse so that no one ever asked the real reason for her mostly dry preference.
"Think you can lend your donnies to help with the unloadin'? Still got a mic in the back the lads need for a sound test before the show starts," Howard Longley pleaded, taking a second to breathe between grunts.
"You've got it," Brenda replied, climbing into the van to retrieve the mic. "Usual place?"
"Yes, thanks a mill," he answered.
Hopping back out onto the street, she hurried into the darkened pub. Ordinarily a family pub, it had been transformed for the evening to cater to an adult crowd bearing more licentious intentions than its usual customers.
"Howie asked me to bring this in," Brenda said to a younger girl standing in the corner.
"Great, thanks," she responded, taking the mic. "How long do you think you'll stay tonight?"
"No rehearsals," Brenda replied, her lips curving into a somewhat relieved smile that the hectic summer of nonstop performances had transitioned into a calmer schedule. Though Brenda loved the thrill of performing, she decided to take an autumn break in order to mentally prepare for the upcoming winter season and its impending new scripts to memorize.
"Then all night?"
"I'll listen to the band play a couple of sets and decide from there," Brenda said.
"Brill," replied the girl, donned in a style that seemed to replicate the fashion of Brenda's adolescence.
Her face scrunched momentarily, praying an inevitable revival would not include low-rise trousers and multi-patterned ensembles better left in embarrassing articles of yesteryear.
"Bren! Hey!" called a figure of green-tipped, shaggy hair and three ear piercings making its way towards her as the girl skipped across the room to initiate a private discussion with one of the musicians setting up on stage, "Howie said you were in here."
"Hiya!" Brenda replied, smiling at her friend, "Shane and Katie are outside."
"Can't tell you how much it means for you three to come to our gigs," said Levi Akers, grinning appreciatively as his amber eyes signaled approval of her ensemble. "What do you think of the hair?" he added, tipping his head so that she could get a closer look.
"I love it. It's very you," Brenda said.
"I'd planned to go purple, but Benji said green would stand out more on stage," he explained, rocking back nervously on cream-colored sandals that stood out vividly against his feet.
"He's right," she nodded, "if they dyed it too dark, you would have blended right in with the equipment."
"It's probably more my color, anyway," Levi said. "Think you'll stay for the whole show?"
"Not sure," Brenda replied. "I told Clara I'd see. It was a long day and I'm pretty knackered. Did you catch the unveiling earlier?"
"Of course," Levi replied, "wasn't going to miss Lord Attenborough, was I? Did you?"
"My darling, of course I did," she drawled in her most dramatic accent, "it's Laurence Olivier, after all."
"Was that meant to be the American South?" Levi asked, tittering.
"Well, the overly stereotyped version of the American South," Brenda grinned, placing the back of her hand to her forehead in a manner that would rival Scarlett O'Hara. "Haven't been over that way too often, but that was much more Margaret Mitchell than you're likely to find in most of the southern states these days - not to say no one sounds like that, because there are people who do -"
"Bren," Levi cut in with a small smile, "you're rambling."
"Oh yeah, sorry," Brenda replied, her cheeks staining pink.
"No bothers," he said, "I just have to get back to the stage so we can get this gig started. Wanted to pop over and say hello first."
"Get going and break a leg - I mean, good luck," she hurriedly corrected, though she caught herself glancing around for falling objects or bad omens that would reportedly follow the forbidden statement.
Watching Levi return to the front of the pub, she walked away herself.
"It took you that long to deliver the mic?" asked Shane when she returned outside, his emerald eyes twinkling, "Katie already called and left a message to see if you needed any help."
"No," Brenda replied, "it only took a minute or two, but Levi wanted to show me his new hair while the band set up. She'll have at least twenty-three other voicemails to battle with."
"Twenty-three?" Shane asked, eyebrows furrowing, "everything okay?"
"I think so," Brenda replied, "guess I'm just really popular."
"Oh yeah, all the media organizations want to talk to London's biggest thespian," Shane teased.
"Yeah, right," Brenda laughed, "can't be the biggest thespian when Emma Thompson exists and that's only one of the people I could mention."
"Okay, so you're a West End actor in a crowd of potentially millions, but close enough," he replied, "you're still well known on the theatre scene."
"As are you, my friend," she commented.
"Brenda! I was starting to get worried," Katie said, rejoining the duo with her arm outstretched to slide around Shane's waist.
"Nothing to worry about, Katie. Just ran into Levi," she assured.
"Oh yeah, he mentioned something about a haircut?" Katie asked.
"Something like that," Brenda grinned.
Howard stood with his hand on the pub doorframe, yelling over the streaming throng of adults clamoring for a good music scene.
"You kids coming in or what? I gotta shut the door soon before we have some concert crashers who didn't pay for their tickets!"
"On our way in, Howie!" Brenda called back, grabbing Katie's arm whose hand linked with Shane's.
"Quite the turnout, isn't it?" Katie whispered, following her friend and husband into the pub Brenda had recently left.
The three took their seats at their usual table, located near enough to the makeshift stage that they could clearly hear the music and distant enough to avoid shouting over the songs.
"It is," Brenda nodded, "about time, too. The band has been working their asses off to get a gig of this magnitude. Assuming their sets run smoothly tonight, this could be just what they need to jumpstart their careers and get enough traction for a music venue. I caught a description of tonight's event in one of the broadsheets, so I'm sure we'll see a lot of people come in to check out what they're all about."
She turned slightly to see three women who looked to be in their twenties gaping in hers and Shane's direction whilst withdrawing playbills from their purses.
"Looks like we have some fans of our own, Shane," Brenda said quietly, discreetly pointing her finger under the table at the oglers in a manner that would prevent them from knowing they were the objects of her pointing.
"Hi, sorry! You're Brenda Walsh and Shane Wachinski, right? The Brenda Walsh who performed in the summer production of Into the Woods?" said one of the women who approached cautiously, though she carried a spring in her step.
"That would be me," Brenda smiled, remembering herself at the woman's younger age, "I take it you saw the show?"
"Yes, at least three times! You were brilliant! I've seen so many of your shows, I swear I've lost count. You're just so talented. I know this is a public place and you're off the clock, but could I maybe get an autograph? It's just, I'm doing a course at RADA and I've walked by your picture every day since my program started; they have it right there in the entranceway -"
"Oh, look at that, Shane. We've come full circle. An RADA student is asking me for an autograph," Brenda said quietly enough so that the woman would not hear the interruption.
"Yes, I'd be happy to," she responded to the aspiring actress once the girl paused for a breath. Taking the proffered playbill, she fished out a pen from her bag and poised it over one of the pages.
"Whom should I make it out to?" Brenda asked.
"Oh, it's Georgiana, but my friends call me Georgie," replied the student, eyes brightening at Brenda's agreement. "Thanks a million, I can't wait to tell everyone in class."
"It's no bother," the brunette smiled, "don't get discouraged, okay? We know RADA can be rigorous -" she looked at Shane, who nodded fervently, indubitably reminiscing about long hours spent on the academy's stage, "but it's definitely worth it."
"I won't. Thank you! Sorry to bother you!" Georgie said, bouncing off to rejoin her friends after persuading Shane of a second autograph.
"Remember when that was us?" Brenda asked, observing Georgie giggle with the other women and gloat that she had successfully scored an autograph from the renowned Brenda Walsh.
"Speak for yourself," Shane said cheekily, "I never asked anyone for an autograph."
"Oh, really?" Brenda asked, her eyebrows lifting to her hairline as she prepared to reveal the contradictory story of one evening during their RADA years.
"Don't you dare," he said, emerald eyes anxiously flickering toward his wife.
Katie's curious gaze locked onto Brenda, silently granting her permission to share the previously unknown memory hidden by her husband.
"Oh, too late," Shane said casually, though his relief was palpable, "band's starting."
"I'll tell you later," Brenda promised in response to Katie's blatant disappointment.
She watched Levi, Benji and their fellow musicians introduce themselves to the crowd, which stood silently in contemplation of the assumed newer band during their first guitar chords.
A few verses into the second song, the audience began jumping to the rhythm and could already follow along with the words halfway into the band's set.
Across the room, Howie and his team manned a lively string of inebriated concertgoers who willingly exchanged healthy brain cells for multiple cask ales.
"They sound incredible!" Brenda said, catching Levi's wandering eye to grant a wink in his direction. "This is their best performance yet. The last one was pretty damn great, too, but nowhere close to this."
"Absolutely," Katie agreed, matching Brenda's enthusiasm, "the crowd seems to love them."
"Seems to?" Shane asked with a heavy dose of skepticism. "Babes, they've already had three shirts thrown on stage, two from girls and one from a guy. I think you can say it's pretty definite that the crowd does love them."
The trio's heads bounced along to the captivating music, their feet tapping with each beat.
Dancing enthralled Brenda. She reveled in every style of dance - from swing to waltzes, tangos, hip hop and any other style imaginable.
Unfortunately, her legs were still too sore from her earlier activities to join the crowd.
She inwardly vowed to do so during the next gig, which would assuredly be held in a much larger venue if the jubilation of the evening's crowd accurately predicted Levi and Benji's future success.
"Shane has something to ask you," Katie said, looking pointedly at her husband during a song break as she nodded in Brenda's direction. "Go ahead, babe."
"Bren," Shane stated, immediately turning on his most winsome look that never failed to persuade her of participating in multiple ludicrous stunts since their first shared summer at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, "the new theatre group I told you about that's set to go on tour in California next week is in desperate need of a replacement. Their lead was in a car accident and -"
"Shit, that's terrible," Brenda cut in, noticeably horrified at the poor actor's fate.
"Oh, she's fine, just recently home from hospital and in recovery for the next few weeks so she can't do the show," Shane replied dismissively.
"Shane," Brenda said in a clear warning, instinctively knowing the direction their conversation would head and attempting to forestall his imminent request.
"C'mon, Bren, they need someone who can memorize quickly and no one memorizes as fast as you do."
"Can't do it if it's in LA," she replied firmly, hoping that would end the discussion. "And I don't know what you're talking about; there are plenty of actors that can memorize their lines faster than I can. I'll name at least five."
Shane Wachinski was not so easily deterred.
"They're scheduled for somewhere called Santa Mariana, or is it Santa Marina?"
"Santa Maria," she corrected, "it's on the Central Coast."
"Is that southern California or northern California?" a curious Katie inquired, playing with her husband's jacket sleeve.
"It's between southern and northern. Kinda the forgotten California, I guess, though it does get more tourists than, say, the central portion of the Midwest," Brenda explained. "Two hours outside of LA - or at least, it would be, if you didn't have to deal with the traffic. Three hours outside of San Francisco, but again, traffic. An hour outside of Santa Barbara, assuming there isn't traffic."
"I get the feeling Californians must sit through a lot of traffic," Shane laughed, diagonally stretching out his legs so that they tangled under the table with his inquisitive wife's.
"An hour outside of Santa Barbara? That's about the same as Oxford," Katie replied, failing in her attempt to surreptitiously run a hand across Shane's thigh. "You're from Beverly Hills, right?"
Brenda swallowed roughly.
"Not really. I mean, my formative years were in Minnesota and I only lived in SoCal for four years, so I could hardly be considered a resident. But I've nearly lived here longer than I did Minnesota."
"Do you ever miss LA?" Katie added, looking at her brunette friend, "you sure get a lot more sun out there."
"No," Brenda said abruptly.
"How far is California from Minnesota?" a passing Howie asked, overhearing their conversation on his way out of the storeroom. He rested his elbows on the back of Katie's chair, brown eyes gazing contemplatively at Brenda in anticipation of her response.
"Ah, it's close to two thousand miles, Howie," Brenda said, smiling at the forthcoming reaction that always loomed when conversation arose of the distance from one state to another in comparison to surrounding cities or even continental European countries.
"Jesus."
"Two thousand?" Katie asked, "my god, we could be in Bosnia by that point. Maybe we could all take a trip to Bosnia next spring?"
"Sounds good to me," Brenda said, as Shane agreed.
"Anyway," he continued, "I can give you the packet of information I got from Theo. They'll start in Santa Maria, make their way up the coast to San Luis Obispo, finish in San Francisco and stop into Santa Rosa for a visit before returning to London. It should take no more than a month or two, which gives you plenty of time to kick jet lag so you can start the winter season fresh."
"I'll think about it, Shane, okay?" Brenda said, her tone tinted in apprehension, silently beseeching him to switch topics.
"Okay," he nodded, "just as long as you think fast. Theo wants to meet tomorrow afternoon to discuss the matter further."
"Shane!" Brenda gasped, "that's too soon!"
"Sorry, Bren. They're leaving in a week and you're the only actress of your caliber who isn't already involved in an autumn production. Theo's seen loads of your shows. He knows your work well."
"How is it that you've asked for a favor and yet you come out looking like you're doing me one?" Brenda asked incredulously.
"It's a gift," he responded with a jacketed shrug.
"Well, since you've left me no choice," she hesitated, "I'll meet with Theo, but I'm not making any promises until I know more details."
"Ah, you're the best, Bren," he said, briefly removing an arm planted around Katie to pat Brenda's hand across the table.
"Yeah, yeah," she replied, managing a smile through her frustration.
"So how did the date go?" Katie asked, engaged in nonverbal communication with Shane that seemed to indicate a purposeful change in the subject, in addition to an obvious eagerness of simply wanting information.
"Awful!" Brenda said, her dark brown locks shaking in response. "He fell asleep."
"He - what?" Katie responded with an open jawline, quickly glancing at her husband. "Didn't you go to the symphony?"
"Yes, we did," Brenda replied, "and he fell asleep in the middle of a movement, probably their best movement of the night. Began snoring right there and everything. It was mortifying!"
Despite her consistent exhaustion, Brenda stayed through the entire set and left only when the band began to pack up their equipment. Assuring Shane that she would indeed meet with Theo the following day and accepting a breakfast invitation from Katie, she headed in the direction of Southwark Station to take the tube nearby enough to Chelsea so that she could walk home more quickly than going on foot the entire way back.
Though a walk of that length rarely bothered her, Brenda strongly disbelieved that she would successfully complete the route without falling asleep on her feet.
As did the Wachinskis, it would seem, since they offered to give her a lift home that she simultaneously thanked them for and rejected.
While her driving skills had never been up to par, Brenda did enjoy feeling the control of the wheel and sometimes found herself missing private transportation. Owning a car in London was expensive and with the various modes of public transportation available, it would simply be futile.
Waddling into the lavender terraced house sat upon Chelsea's colorful row, she slipped out of her boots. Preparing a bowl of warm water for her now aching feet, she replaced her jumpsuit with silk pajamas and retrieved the mercurial mobile from her bag as her feet enjoyed a soothing soak.
The phone's notifications boldly proclaimed twenty-seven messages, having evidently acquired a few more whilst obscured in the pub.
Waiting until morning to listen would unquestioningly result in further voicemails. Attempting to decipher who would wish to speak with her that exigently only heightened her bafflement.
The best way to find out was to plunge in, she acknowledged with an enervated sigh.
"Hi Bren, it's Donna. Sorry it's been a few months; things are crazy here with the kids and - well, that's no excuse - anyway, call me? Or we can text, whichever, I'm getting a little more used to it but we're on the limited texting plan so the kids won't be spoiled. David says hi. Love you, bye!"
She filed a mental memo to return Donna's call at some point the following day, perhaps in the interval between the planned breakfast with Katie and meeting with the theatre troupe to discuss Santa Maria.
The prospect of returning to California neither delighted nor irritated her, she realized with a start, permitted she could successfully avoid Los Angeles - or, more specifically, its elite neighborhood of Beverly Hills that contained both the best and worst moments of her adolescence.
Living there only four years with the last twelve spent across the ocean in England, California seemed more a blurry dream than a legitimate and rather significant part of her life.
Contrary to her dismissive statement told to Katie in the pub, California was indeed significant, a notable section in the future autobiography of Brenda Walsh detailing the perspective of a Minnesota native adapting to the hills of the Golden State and its city of Los Angeles that boasted four million less than the seven million individuals residing in London alone.
Though she and Donna Silver initially lost contact following Brenda's international move, helped along by her inability to fly back to Beverly Hills for her old best friend's wedding during a particularly brutal theatrical season, they reconnected in their later twenties shortly before the birth of Donna's oldest child - and remained in contact, despite Donna's dismay when Brenda chose to not appear at West Beverly High's tenth year reunion.
Donna and her husband David frequently discussed visiting London, but their dialogues had not yet resulted in action, largely due to the inconvenience of a lengthy, transatlantic flight with three small children.
"Brenda? It's Kelly. Got your number off David. Call me when you get this message, okay?"
Brenda stared at the phone, replaying the message twice more until she was satisfied her former best friend Kelly Taylor had truly tried to call, instead of a prankster using Kelly's name.
It had been a long time since she spoke to the blonde, longer still since either of them had wanted to speak to the other.
"Brenda Walsh, long time no see! It's your boy Bobby. Been awhile since we chatted. I know the summer was crazy for you. Wanted to check in and see how you're doing. Give my best to your parents. Love you."
Immediately returning Bobby Walsh's call despite her city's late hour, she spent the next forty-two minutes speaking with her older cousin about the happenings in his life and her own. Ending the conversation when she began to yawn continuously, Brenda played another voicemail.
"Hey, it's Steve. Kelly said she tried to call. Didn't know you two were talking? Not really into the calling thing so text me when you get the chance. Want to know your schedule; Maddie's asking about seeing her Auntie and we might head that way. Catch you later."
She added a note to text Steve Sanders of her minimal calendar, though she would deny telling him about California until she knew for certain that Theo would not be able to find anyone else to join the group.
Brenda could feel her much-deserved autumn break slipping quickly through her fingers, for she would be unable to deny Theo if he were really that desperate in securing a replacement.
And Shane knew it, too.
She cursed the name of Shane Wachinski.
"It's Katie. We're wondering where you went - oh, never mind, I see you. Bye!"
Deleting Katie's message due to the already asked and answered question, she skipped over three messages from reporters asking for interviews and listened to the fourth.
"Hey girl, it's Val, but you already knew that. Fancy a trip to Cork? That's how you say it out there, right? Anyway, talk to you soon, hopefully about travel plans!"
Brenda laughed. She always fancied a trip to Ireland when the occasion arose and it would be Valerie Malone's first visit, which meant she could use an experienced visitor to assist in her tour of the forty shades of green that sat across the sea.
Tearing off a piece of paper to jot down Val's plan for further consideration, she saved the message and continued on.
"It's Kelly again. Look, your mom's been trying to call."
Bewildered, she checked her missed messages and saw that none were from one Cindy Walsh who would be in the midst of her busy day ten thousand miles eastward in Melbourne, where Brenda's parents were relocated following five years in Hong Kong.
She and her mother always spoke on Saturdays, when phone rates between the two countries were slightly less expensive. Though the previous afternoon's planned conversation needed to be rescheduled, the brunette would have known if Cindy indeed struggled to get in contact.
"Brenda," said Kelly's increasingly importunate voice in a third message preceded by four silent calls and a fifth that consisted of only heavy breathing, "look, I got a new phone, lost all my numbers and I need the one for Jim and Cindy, which either nobody else has or this is some trick to get me to call you. But whatever, this is really important, okay?"
Kelly's voice began to crack, alerting Brenda further and deepening her curiosity of the purportedly urgent matter.
"Brenda, listen to me. They've found him."
xx
Honestly didn't plan to write a 90210 full-length fic, as amberissmiling wrote the perfect future tale in The Time Has Come and CMarie1227 penned the only fifth season of note in The Time of Our Lives. However, shock at how quickly reviews came in for the London breakup - particularly in contrast to the time frame that reviews for my stories usually have done - convinced ideas to start rolling in and the sis agreed I should try a fic. So, this is for you, sis. The downside is I am now writing three fics at once, which never happens. We will see how this goes.
(After extensive searching through photographs and clips regarding Shannen's eyes that are noted as green online but definitely appear gray or blue at times, I've decided for the purposes of this fic and any future fics that Bren is just going to have hazel eyes.)