"He's saying what would happen if Brenda came back from her summer with Roy Randolph and came back to season six? I thought about it ... She's had great success in England; I mean, again, the thesis of the show being ordinary kids living extraordinary lives, she's gonna come back with some chops and some - some meat on her. And I think what's gonna happen is she's gonna end up getting cast in something, while her and Dylan are starting up again." - Larry Mollin, Beverly Hills Show Podcast in June 2020
xx
Ruddy Steve Sanders and his damn goading.
She trudged through the city, rose-colored wellies slapping against slick pavement.
Nine straight days of decent weather now discarded because of one phone call with an endlessly energetic blond five thousand miles away.
It was, after all, Steve Sanders who began a rain dance lasting at least three.
Though Londoners were still in their second day of a recent rainfall, forecasts predicted more rain the following day and through the rest of the week.
Whilst holding her mug of coffee earlier that day, Brenda glared at ITV's morning presenter who shared the unwanted report. Feeling no ill effects from an expression unable to be seen through a television screen, the host continued on in light chatter.
Rain ordinarily left her unbothered, but after listening to Steve, she mistakenly checked LA's weather in comparison and thus darkened her temperament.
Mentally reminding herself to convert the seventy degree weather to Celsius after twelve years of everyone else's temperature scale, Brenda scowled.
Her gloating friend undoubtedly drove with his convertible top down that morning, for LA read as twenty-one degrees Celsius. Seventy and sunny, with a prediction of consistent warm weather - a far cry from her side of the ocean.
Unlike Steve's joy ride, Brenda managed to jump away from an incoming bus in time to avoid becoming more drenched by a torrential downpour angling off of its roof. She eyed the dry individuals sitting through the tinted windows and considered the possibility of smacking Steve the moment she saw him.
Bearing an affable disposition, Theo Fletcher arrived at mid-week rehearsal clearly reveling in the rain. He carried no umbrella, neglected a raincoat and instead tilted his head upward to bask in the glistening raindrops that slapped upon his person.
"Alright?" Theo asked.
Brenda moved from her spot against the entranceway, allowing Theo access to open the door.
"I guess someone is pleased about this weather," she said, peering curiously at the theatre director through her oversized hood that concurrently allowed for protection from the rain and obscured her vision.
"You aren't?" Theo asked, "It's lovely! Rainy days without the bitter cold are so refreshing, don't you think? Autumn is the best time for rain. Spring showers are still frosty and you can't have summer without a little sun."
"Well," she answered, contemplating his descriptive seasonal comparison, "I mean, I would probably feel a bit better about it if I hadn't decided to check the weather back in California."
"Oh," he replied knowingly, "Lots of sun, I suppose?"
"Yes," she nodded, "too much sun."
"Too much sun?" he asked, "Is there such a thing?"
"There is when Steve Sanders is involved," Brenda specified, conveniently ignoring that Melbourne's weather report indicated similar weather for Jim and Cindy Walsh.
"Who?"
"Never mind."
"Dead on."
Housed in an historical, dilapidated building weathered over many centuries of dramatic performances witnessed by royal and peasant alike, the theatre soon filled with actors either rushing to dry themselves off or engaging in pleasant discussions about the climate. They agreed to unanimously cross fingers and toes for a clear sky on the day of their departure to a country few of the group visited previously. Brenda appreciated the hope they all carried, though a flight without precipitation seemed impossible.
Having rehearsed for over a month, the others were well practiced in their roles. Brenda, whose eminent theatre credits far outshined the rest, still found herself intimidated. She jumped straight in, quickly memorizing parts, cues and everything in between. Brenda even offered to mentor some of the newer actors, which simply delighted Theo further.
Among four scripts she received when joining the troupe - four mini scripts for four cities - he believed her greatest role to be in the play Brenda liked the least.
Personally, she found little interest in Andromache and instead determined none of the characters convivial. Professionally, however, she needed to pretend that she and mythical Andromache were one in the same.
Brenda never shied away from professionalism. She simply drew upon a specific individual from her past to channel Euripides' overly distraught, titular character who seemed to experience every imaginable torture during the Trojan War. Whilst numerous paintings often depicted Andromache with darker hair - a piece by French artist Pierre Paul Prud'hon crafted during the era of Neoclassicism and hanging in the foyer of RADA specifically came to mind - Brenda wondered if blonde would have been more appropriate.
"Brilliant," Theo said, his enthusiastic grin spreading to her fellow cast members conversing amongst themselves on a short break, "One more run through and then you may all go home. Eight o'clock tomorrow; don't forget! We've a ten-hour rehearsal. Sleep well. Nearly there, lads. America awaits!"
She left the theatre in a sluggish state, imagining her warm bed and a nice nap. Rainy days often saw her enjoying an evening with the Wachinskis or helping out Howie at the pub, but overwhelming fatigue borne from the abrupt return to a busy routine took her home after catching a sale in relation to her trip-specific wardrobe.
California may have been well-acquainted with the fashionable Brenda Walsh of the nineteen nineties, but it was about to encounter Brenda Walsh of the twenty-first century and that Brenda should look nothing less than incredible - not for anyone in particular, but to show both herself and the state that she didn't need it.
When Brenda's family initially relocated to the wealthier area of southern California, she planned to make a name for herself among its elite residents. Her first day at West Beverly High, Brenda immediately befriended the most popular girl in the halls. They referred to each other as best friends and seemed to be close, for a while.
By the time they both enrolled at California University three years later and with the same ex-boyfriend under their carefully selected belts, neither trusted the other.
Their relationship became the anthropomorphic equivalent of shoulder pads in the eighties - fashionably necessary in a boardroom and then a decade later, snipped out of old blazers that might still be salvageable.
Over time, Kelly Taylor transitioned from her best friend, to her friend, to her competition over a boy who could never seem to choose between either, to the woman who obviously no longer wished to be a friend, to her future sister-in-law and finally, to a woman she used to know.
Kelly seemed to want and get it all - Brenda's brother, Brenda's boyfriend, her friends, her parents. Even beloved cousin Bobby Walsh once considered the idea of dating Kelly Taylor, invoking a sense of protection in Brenda after his messy breakup with her old Minnesotan friend.
Her own life in the Golden State became rife with heartache, betrayal, entropy, false accusations and even an arrest.
She grew tired of the drama, desperate for a fresh start far away from judgmental eyes.
The United States broke her heart on numerous occasions, sent her brother into a country he may have never left for articles that would have undoubtedly been passed over in favor of clickbait and drove away her parents.
An Englishman secured her passage to RADA, a British theatre gifted her first break, the British public shot her to fame. Through Theo Fletcher and his troupe, the Brits now made it possible for her to return.
Whilst Brenda was fully aware that she ended her own autumn break, returned to multiple rehearsals after two weeks of calm and elected to join Theo's troupe herself instead of turning down the request, she still ensured that Shane felt at least a smidgen of her wrath.
He brushed it off, telling her that no one else would have sufficed as Lavinia's replacement and she should thank him for his help in taking her talent to an international level.
Katie responded to his comment with the motion of a light smack upside the head, causing Shane to duck and issue an apology for his egoism.
Rather than point out that she lacked a desire for fame on the other side of the pond, perfectly content as a star in Europe alone, Brenda allowed him a small level of gratitude. Unwittingly, Shane Wachinski's determination and slick talking contributed significantly to the vital mission of reuniting with her brother.
She found herself in a dilemma - delighted to see Brandon, excited to see Steve and his daughter, terrified that the trip would be a horrendous mistake after a long, purposeful absence.
Balancing a cuppa in one hand and her script in the other the previous evening, Brenda had nearly missed a phone call from her mother. She listened with a smile as Cindy rambled on in her own enthusiasm, informing her daughter of their intended flight to California.
She did not, however, inform Cindy of her own plans. Rather than understand the temporary return, her mother may have assumed Brenda to be moving back and thus tell the misinformation to anyone who would listen.
She aimlessly wandered by Waterstones on King's Road, noticed a new book in the display window, nipped in and politely requested for the much taller bookshop employee to grab it off of the high shelf. Brenda herself did not read poetry and carried little interest in the style. Regardless, she never failed to purchase the works of one poet in particular - the only poet in her collection.
Brenda dropped into cheesy tourist souvenir shops, scouring skyline luggage, Union Jack sweatshirts, quote books by the royals and Big Ben magnets. She acquired small trinkets for the various individuals she planned to encounter overseas - Brandon, Steve and his daughter - and those whom she may stumble across unexpectedly.
She could not, of course, be caught unawares without souvenirs. Americans of the United States were notoriously known among each other to delight in receiving knick-knacks and postcards from foreign countries, whether or not they previously visited.
Her grandmother amassed an entire collection of magnets from places she never saw, simply through gifts from the ocean cruises of her East Coast friends.
Brenda had shared her observation with the Wachinskis some years ago, who then took it to New York and discovered wearing a shirt boasting of a love for the city on the subway made one appear as transparent as strolling through the streets of Paris in a beret.
She recalled when, aged eight, she received a birthday present from her father following a corporate retreat in Philadelphia. Brenda had stared in awe at the script for Broadway's Bye Bye Birdie, read every line, repeatedly practiced the dialogue aloud until Jim threatened to take the copy from her possession and watched Ann-Margret swoon over a man undeserving of adulation.
Brenda originally thought Kim McAfee a fool, growing to understand her situation a little more when she dated her own egotistical moron in the form of the affluent Stuart Carson whose childness far surpassed high school triangles.
Conrad Birdie would have undoubtedly shouted at Kim in the Palm Springs desert too, Brenda decided in her thousandth rewatch after finally severing all ties with the man she nearly married in a Vegas chapel.
It was in the chapel that she determined herself to be in love with love, declaring it both to Stuart and to the friends who insisted on coming along. She later concluded her statement to have been said more as a way to justify a broken engagement with her former fiancé and still retain their relationship than one based in fact. Of all the lovesick fictional characters perceived to be in love with love, including Romeo Montague, Brenda did not fit the description.
She wondered how such awful men frequently put on the air of armored knights, tricking naive young women each and every time. Left unpolished, that shining armor often transformed into rusted aluminum.
People could change, she knew, but not Conrad Birdie and she felt certain, not Stuart Carson.
Brenda did not believe herself to be truly in love with the concept of love, but relished the idea of finding someone who would form the other half of a strong unit, as with Jim and Cindy Walsh. More than a dynamic similar to her parents, Brenda desired a relationship akin to the sixty year one of her maternal Gran and Grandpa Beevis, begun in the first planting of a Minneapolis Victory Garden during the second World War.
She did not, however, look for it. She held one steady boyfriend in London, the relationship lasting a total of three years. There were several different dates of varying shades - men who were nice, men who were not, men who drank, men who smoked, those who Bible thumped, those who asked her how to get the attention of Levi Akers.
Her conversation with Cindy revealed Stuart's own future. Once the prominent CEO of the nation's leading tech company, Stuart Carson now sat in an undoubtedly cushy state prison for tax evasion exposed by intrusive media.
She nearly became Mrs. Tax Evasion, her mother noted, as if Brenda needed the reminder of what she considered her worst mistake.
It just felt nice to be loved at the time, when it seemed like so many people she cared about no longer cared about her - or at least not in the same way.
Shaking out of her disturbing reverie, Brenda attempted to call her twin at Vandenberg. Listening to Staff Sergeant Brady speak of Brandon's preoccupation in a physical therapy appointment effectively heightened her concerns about her brother's constitution.
"Physical therapy?" she asked, alarmed, "Oh my god, is he okay? Like, really okay, not just alive and back in the States kind of okay?"
"Mr. Walsh will be fine," replied Lonnie Brady with firm assurance. "His PT says he is coming along well, which is amazing given the relatively short time since he was brought here. Your brother is one hell of a lucky guy, Ms. Walsh. You know how many reporters never come back from this?"
"He is, isn't he?" Brenda said, recognizing that they both shared an unusual amount of luck which overshadowed their miserable life events. Luck brought her a full scholarship to RADA simply because of her connection with English thespian Roy Randolph, which would have been difficult to afford otherwise. Luck turned a lump on her breast found in high school into fibroadenoma easily removed in surgery, luck that lacked in the story of her beloved late aunt. Luck beckoned her first lead role and luck planned to take her straight back to California.
Brandon's luck evidently decided to take a break while under the close watch of rebel forces, but it encountered him again to bring him home. Brenda understood exactly how many reporters never returned from kidnapping after extensive research during his. Luck kept Brandon their parents' most trusted child after totaling his car in a drunken race for more alcohol and again during his gambling struggles.
She used to think that her parents would never trust her in the way that they clung to their trust in the constantly screwing up Brandon and impulsively moved to London to gain some semblance of approval. Jim distrusted her relationship, career goals, ability to drive - though they all mistrusted that - and desire to live a life on her own terms.
Her years in London taught Brenda that the only approval she needed was her own. When she first began on the theatre scene, she found RADA's curriculum brutal, discovered critics often unkind and casting directors tough. Opening night of the summer semester saw her break down backstage and wonder if she'd made a colossal blunder.
But returning to California would be giving up, proving naysayers correct, and Brenda adamantly refused to allow anyone the satisfaction of seeing her fail as others witnessed several times during her adolescence.
Determination coupled with hard work of early morning and late night rehearsals ultimately won out.
"Did you speak with Detective Sutherfield?" she asked, shaking out of her thoughts and returning to the conversation with the Staff Sergeant.
"Yes, I did and he asked if there was a chance for some non-biological family of Mr. Walsh to visit."
"So is there?" she prompted.
"They may, provided Mr. Walsh's kin accompany them," said Lonnie Brady in a firm tone.
"Is there a specific reason? I'll be there at week's end, but that seems a really long, unnecessary time for Brandon to be alone."
Brenda pictured Staff Sergeant Brady leaning back in a leather chair placed directly below a ceiling fan, one hand under his chin and the other laying flat on his knee in an homage to the Thinker, questioning her audacity to challenge authority.
When he answered, it was in a much gentler tone than she anticipated.
"I don't make the rules, Ms. Walsh."
"Well, the rules are stupid," she replied crossly.
"I'll pass that along."
Kelly would be upset, but Brenda could not simply jump into the phone, grab Lonnie Brady by the shoulders and demand that Brandon's friends be allowed into the secure facility.
She did consider the possibility of tracking down FBI bylaws to determine if Lonnie Brady's verdict was rubbish, but decided she had neither the time nor the inclination for the search. Jay Sutherfield indicated departmental rules were specific to a case and Brenda lacked the necessary access for Brandon's file.
She left a voicemail for Kelly, repeating Detective Brady's statement. In her rush of information, Brenda carefully avoided any mention of her impending trip.
Kelly would only tell Donna, she thought, and Donna needed to hear it directly from her.
Standing by her bedroom window, one hand holding the curtain halfway back, Brenda surveyed her neighborhood. The bloke around the corner looked up and gave a cheery wave, which she happily returned. An older woman gestured at the captain of the local fire brigade, incoherent statements becoming more animated with a puncture of her waving hands. Across the street, two children ran in front of a parent balancing supper as they carefully walked out of a chipper. Based on the size of the paper bag and with her prior knowledge of the food prepared inside, Brenda estimated at least four kebabs.
A noisy ding interrupted her peaceful moment of people watching.
Her eyes darted around, looking for the source of the disturbance.
needtobenosy: Bren! Hey, Brenda! Are you around?
Brenda examined the pop-up on her PC screen, cautious of who would bother to message her. Intimate acquaintances often teased her of her neglect in responding to typed correspondence, for she preferred the classic art of penmanship on paper.
Letters were more theatrical, permitted an easier outlet to bear one's soul and held an old romanticism often ignored in twenty-first century technology.
Bent on moving her computer mouse's cursor to close out of Yahoo Messenger, she nearly missed the user's handle.
Upon recognition, Brenda relaxed in her desk chair and began to type a response.
starsinhereyes: Caught me home from rehearsal. Just having a cuppa. What's up?
needtobenosy: Skype me. Now.
starsinhereyes: Demanding much?
"Brenda!" said California's Andrea Zuckerman with a wide smile, her voice ringing in with little static. Brenda rarely accepted video calls, an utter nightmare for her home's shaky Internet connection, but the message platform's newer video calling feature appeared steady at the moment. "Hi! Did you get the VHS I sent? Post office said it should've arrived on Monday, but domestic mail is bad enough and I've never shipped anything internationally before. How good is the Royal Mail over there? Surely it shouldn't be that hard for a video to make it through customs? I would assume, anyway."
"You know they have these things called DVD's now, right? They're on small discs you put into something called a DVD player and you never need to be kind enough to rewind," Brenda teased, throwing a hand backward to show Andrea her own extensive collection.
"Videos are better. Did you get it?"
"Yes, I did," she said in a nod, "thank you, Andrea. Hannah looks fantastic and so do you."
"She insisted. But, oh my gosh, how long has it been? Hanukkah? No, wait, you saw Hannah's dress from abuelita Vasquez at Easter, right? Was it Steve's birthday? "
"End of May, Andrea," she replied with a slight smile, "We talked right before the summer season began."
"Oh, yes, that's right," Andrea said, her sheepish expression indicating an annoyance that she could not recall the exact date for someone who typically boasted a photographic memory. "Sorry, my mind's been going a mile a minute since Steve told me about Brandon and I don't even remember what I ate for lunch yesterday," she murmured.
"Brenda!" she added, her expression brightening. "Brandon's alive!"
"I know, Andrea," Brenda said with a radiant smile of her own.
"I know you know; you told Steve, but Brenda, he's back! Brandon! Is back! Well, technically he's at Vandenberg, but he's back and that's what matters," Andrea said, flicking her hands around in jovial determination.
"Yes, thank God," Brenda replied. "I have to confess, Andrea, Steve and I both nearly gave up. Had you?"
"Of course not," she insisted.
Andrea hesitated, looked upward towards something unseen and then leaned forward.
"Well, yeah, at one point, I did. I mean, he'd been gone for so long. Brandon's tough, but he's not that tough, you know?"
The recipient of many conversations involving an emotional Brandon Walsh, his twin nodded at Andrea's statement.
"But then," the lighter brunette continued, "I remembered something Grandma always said."
"What's that?" Brenda asked.
"Miracles only happen to those who keep hoping in them," Andrea quoted.
"Miracles only happen to those who keep hoping in them," Brenda repeated, "I like that."
"Me too," Andrea replied, maintaining a steady grin.
"Now," she said, placing balled-up hands under her chin, "What is this I hear about you flying out to California without coming to see us?"
"Steve Sanders has a big mouth," Brenda said, groaning into her hands.
"Yes, he does," Andrea agreed dismissively. "Is it true?"
"Um," Brenda said through her fingers, finding sudden interest in surveying a speck of dust on the ceiling.
"Brenda," Andrea said.
"Yeah," she replied with a sigh, "It's true."
"Would that be because of someone in particular? Or maybe two someones?" pried the Pulitzer-nominated journalist.
Between Andrea Zuckerman's interrogations and Brandon Walsh's piercing blue eyes which could detect every concealed thought, Brenda learnt the hard way that fibbing to either would be pointless.
"Andrea, I don't want to get into it," she said, hoping to avoid the subject completely.
"Now, Bren, look, you know I try to not get involved in whatever this thing is or isn't between you and Dylan, but the fact that you're coming to California and won't even come see us -"
"Andrea," Brenda said, "I'm sorry, but it's pretty fruitless trying to change my mind."
"Yeah because you're obstinate," Andrea replied, emitting a deep sigh.
"Hey! Look who's talking," Brenda said.
"Well, at least I admit it," she laughed. "You and your brother are exactly alike, you know? Never want to admit when you're being intransigent."
"Andrea? In English, please," Brenda said.
"It's basically the same as stubborn," Andrea explained.
"Did you just call me three different words for stubborn?"
"Maybe," Andrea replied, a third smile playing upon her lips.
"And say I'm the same as Brandon?"
"Yes."
"God, Andrea. You're lucky I love you," Brenda replied, hair waving back and forth over her shoulders in a headshake.
"Yes, I am," Andrea said. "So look, you won't come see me, but I'm going to see you, okay?"
"You're coming up to Santa Maria?" she asked.
"Maybe, but I mean I'll be joining Steve when he meets you at Vandenberg. He said you're planning to go on Saturday afternoon?"
"Yes," Brenda nodded, "We get in Friday night."
"Great, we'll see you this weekend!" Andrea said, grinning.
"Can't wait," Brenda replied genuinely, "though I don't really want it getting around that I'm back, especially since it's for such a short time anyway, so please don't share it with many people, okay?"
"I can't tell Donna?" Andrea asked.
"No, that's fine. I've meant to call her and tell her myself and I will, I swear. I've just been so busy with everything about Brandon and rehearsal, tying things up here before I fly out, taking care of the bills so they aren't piled up when I return or go to collections and talking to the detectives."
On the other side of the screen, Andrea maintained a pensive expression as she always did when Brenda began to ramble.
"Yeah, about that. I've been researching the bylaws and there doesn't seem to be any reason for this fatuous order that says Brandon can only be seen by blood kin. There's an exception for adoptions, of course, and if we were to simply say that he's an adopted brother, that might suffice."
"I think you're exaggerating a wee bit on the blood kin part. I don't know, Andrea. Detective Brady made it pretty clear Brandon could only be seen by Walshes or Beevises and he gets his orders from the higher-ups. I mean, you can call him, if you want, but I'm not sure it will do much good."
"If Brandon's still at Vandenberg when you've returned to London, we won't be able to see him and I just don't think that's right. He's been gone so long and he's a major part of all of our lives. You are, too, actually; I don't know what it is about you Walshes. It's like everything changes without you. First you left and it was weird, but we managed, then your parents and then Brandon. It just isn't the same anymore. Message me the number, please."
Brenda complied.
"So you swear you're going to tell Donna?"
She held up a finger, grabbed a pencil and penned a tangible reminder to contact the blonde before she heard of the trip from Andrea or Steve.
Brenda showed her friend the memo pad sheet as proof of her promise, receiving an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
"David will hear through Donna," Andrea continued, "and Steve obviously knows. But you don't want it getting around through the grapevine."
Brenda's shoulders raised in a shrug.
"Are you trying to hide from Nat or something?"
"I mean, I guess you can tell Nat."
"Oh," Andrea said, lightly colored eyes surveying her friend's virtual image in understanding, "I see. You mean -"
"Mom! Uncle Dylan is here! Should I tell him you're on that Skype thing talking to Bren about Uncle Brandon?" extroverted Hannah Zuckerman-Vasquez yelled loudly enough to be heard in her mother's office and over their conversation.
Bewildered, Andrea turned from her screen to respond.
"No, honey, I don't think you should tell him that!" she called.
"Did you say to tell him?" Brenda heard the girl ask.
"No, Hannah! I said it's better if you don't."
"Oh! My bad! Sorry, Mom!"
The pounding of running feet over hardwood floors installed into a house on the other side of the world sounded through Brenda's computer speakers.
"Andrea, I have to go," she said, thinking quickly, "I'm due to meet the lads for drinks down at the pub."
"But, Brenda, you don't drink on Wednesdays."
"Yeah, well, maybe I'll start today."
"Now Bren, hang on, we're not finished talking. Don't you dare go just because -"
"Call you later, Andrea!" she said, ending the session just as a flicker of Dylan's flushed face burst through the Los Angeles home's open office door and materialized in the corner of the screen.
Her pulse rapidly racing as if she were a participant breaking through the finish line in the London Marathon, Brenda examined the details of the Walsh family photo set into her desktop wallpaper and pondered the symptoms of a premature heart attack.
Ignoring an incoming request for another Skype session with Andrea Zuckerman in the event that her friend's computer had fallen into the hands of one Dylan McKay, she turned off the monitor.
Taking a break from all social interaction, Brenda knelt by the bed and felt blindly around for her suitcase. Already carrying a long list of concerns about the upcoming trip, she resolved to not add packing procrastination to those numerous stressors.
Besides, Brenda thought, she still had two days to call Donna.
xx
Glad you enjoyed last chapter's conversation between Bren and Steve! That was incredibly fun to write, especially after that crap storyline in season four between the two. It's obvious from the early seasons that Bren was Steve's friend as well, not just Brandon.