"Brenda and Dylan, their relationship - how messed up, sometimes, it could be, but ultimately there was love between them, and then eventually they grew apart." - Shannen Doherty, The New York Times in August 2008
xx
In the motley Tenderloin neighborhood of San Francisco, a man by the name of G. Albert Lansburgh once became the architect of a grand theatre.
During the Roaring Twenties and less optimistic thirties, the Golden Gate Theatre's live audience viewed many performers in the making. Becoming a cinema amidst the conformist fifties, it landed in the hands of Broadway early into the rebellious seventies.
On the final day of the roaming tour, its stage was transformed to a century well beyond its creation.
"When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, our pride is challenged. We, too, must forget; or if we cannot, must at least pretend to," declared the man donned in a large plumed hat. Swathed in a golden justacorps and chalky tights shaping toned thighs, he appeared to be plucked out of another time.
Against the blinding lights of the theatre, she found them in the velveted, crimson seats of the audience - her family.
Madeline sat on Steve's lap, both father and daughter enraptured by the dialogue. Brandon commandeered the next seat over, holding Kelly's hand with the golden haired Sammy between. She'd met him earlier that morning when her twin and his fiancée dropped in for breakfast. In appearance, he was the spitting image of a young Steve Sanders; in his advanced language skills, he sounded precisely as she imagined Erica McKay would, with perhaps a smidgen of Dylan. Nearly two months prior, she'd believed Sammy to be the son of her ex and the woman he'd left her for; now, the child would become her nephew. The situation seemed unfathomable, but not impossible for the twins of Minnesota and their close friends.
Donna glanced up every few minutes from subtly marking her sketchpad, which indubitably now held numerous drawings of sixteenth century fashion. Next to her, during the applause following every act, David shushed their daughters. Beside him, Silver and Hannah helped to keep the girls in line, with Andrea bringing up the row.
She scanned the seating above, spotting her parents alongside an awestruck Mel and Jackie Silver. While her father's hair thinned to mere wisps, her mother's remained thick brown with a touch of honey red. She'd been astounded to see both sets of parents, despite Jim and Cindy's month-long visit with her brother. They'd last seen her perform as a student in university and she couldn't deny that having her parents in the audience during her last performance of the tour both thrilled her and skyrocketed her abnormal nerves.
Nearby, Nat Bussichio sat impeccably dressed, complete in a top hat and bow tie, attired more for an exclusive opera rather than a play. He'd pulled off the ensemble quite well, appearing substantially more debonair than she ever would suspect of the longtime owner of the Hills' greasy spoon.
And there, adjacent to their elder friend, sat him.
Deep in concentration, his eyes found hers. The only one of the group to initiate eye contact as if he'd felt her sweep of the room, Dylan smiled.
In six weekends of performance, he never missed one.
She briefly aimed a dazzling smile back at him, quickly resuming morosity before anyone else noticed her break in character.
"Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free." Her voice carried across the stage, drifting into the many-volumed stories of the theatre.
A third shortly joined, setting her lips into a thin line.
"She thinks of nothing else but to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing but just to marry you. I stake my life on't."
They received resounding applause, but only Brenda and her stage partner were treated with standing ovations.
"On behalf of the Hither Skitter troupe of Camden Town, thanks a million for youse support. These past two months have been bang on. Dander over to London for more or catch our brilliant Brenda Walsh in the West End's new season." The stage lights paled in comparison to Theo's grin.
"And Dylan McKay, if you're ever looking for a real scone, you know where to come," he finished with a flourish.
She heard thunderous laughter on one side of the theatre, which she assumed must be from her side.
One by one, they found her in the throng of people clamoring for her attention and shouted her praises for everyone to hear.
"I've made us all reservations," announced Dylan in the quiet of the departed crowd, snagging her waist. "Gotta celebrate Bren's last night and a certain birthday in style."
"I think us old folk are going to head back to the hotel." Jim popped his back as feigned proof of his age.
"Old? Speak for yourself!" Jackie countered, stealing her grandson from Kelly's unwilling arms. "Sammy and I are going to have lots of fun, aren't we Sammykins?"
"Mom, you're baby talking again." Silver's chest heaved in a prolonged sigh.
"I'm doing no such thing, aren't I, Sammy?" Jackie's voice pitched higher with each word.
"Hannah and I wanted to go for a swim." The teenager skimmed through the playbill she'd asked Brenda to sign, "and Dad said we could order room service after."
"Yeah, you kids go out and have a good time. Between me and your mother, the Walshes and Nat, we can easily handle a couple teens, one eight year old and four little kids." Mel winked at his Minnesotan bred, Australian replanted friends.
"Are you sure, Dad?" David shared an unconvinced glance with his wife. "We don't have to go out."
"No no, Mel is right. It's Brenda's last night in the country. We'll watch the kids." Like her children, Cindy's warm smile bungee jumped through loving gray eyes. "We managed to take care of all of you just fine, didn't we?"
They agreed to turn the children over to the older adults, with significant hesitation from Steve.
"Mads, you call me if you need anything, okay? Anything. I mean it. I'll be at the hotel in a flash."
"Daddy, you worry more than Eeyore." Madeline patted his cheek and left with the others.
"I don't worry more than Eeyore. Do I?" he asked his friends, concern over his daughter replaced by heightened anxiety over her comparison. "Do I?"
His unanswered question sparked deflated shoulders.
"Shit, I need a drink," he moaned.
"Right there with ya, Steve," said Andrea, grabbing his arm.
Brenda's sly grin locked onto Steve, who narrowed his eyes and mouthed for her to knock it off.
"Fletcher, man, you coming?" Dylan hollered, his hand firmly settled in hers. "Callahan, Fleming, you're welcome as well. Anyone else who wants to join."
She beamed at his inclusion of her friends in their group's last night together, that he understood the importance of her two worlds merging - if only for one evening. More importantly, his inability to accept her colleagues, specifically colleagues of the male species, had been the crux of their final breakup.
This time, at least, he truly cared.
"Oh they'll be hitting up the city." Theo finished cleaning up the stage, "but I'll join in."
"Free drinks? You'd have to be mental to not accept that," Marisa joined them with an enthused Isla.
She knew that look well - the mesmerized once-over Steve pinned on her Cornish roommate, scrutinizing hair that curled with liberating abandon, down to the silver chain which adorned Marisa's ankle.
He appeared positively besotted.
"Well hello there," he continued to eye her appreciatively, "and who might you be?"
"This is Marisa Callahan, my understudy-slash-California...room sharer?" Brenda said, amused at his abrupt change of heart.
"I'm Steve Sanders, Bren's best friend," he flashed his infamous grin.
"He's a liar. I'm her best friend." Brandon thrust an arm around his sister's shoulder. "Older twin brother trumps mutual survivor of a nutcase any day."
"Bro, you wish." Dylan playfully knocked Brandon's upper arm. "I'm obviously her bestest best friend."
"Bro, you never even talked to her until she was back on state soil. I'm her best friend," Steve insisted.
His comment invoked a withering stare from Dylan, one that indicated a willingness to initiate a jousting match if Steve failed to be adequately transformed into a puddle.
"Chill, lads. Val will fight all three of you for that honor." The ringlets that formed out of Brenda's costumed updo shook at their territorial argument.
"I can take her." Steve flexed his muscles to ripple through his shirt.
"Is Steve Sanders threatening to fight a woman?" Mock alarm darted across Brandon's face.
"I don't have to fight Val over anything, Brando."
At that moment, Donna's stomach emitted a loud, low growl.
Embarrassed, she hid her cheeks into David's collar. He chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to her hair.
"Well, gang, that's our cue to eat," Brandon said, escorting Kelly out of the theatre.
Their arms hooked together with his hand cupping hers, Dylan strolled alongside Brenda at the forefront of their group. She glanced momentarily over her shoulder, hearing Brandon's whispered affection, Steve's pickup lines, Theo's laughter and bringing up the rear, David's assurances.
They'd all travelled to see her. They wanted to see her, to watch her perform and bid her farewell.
In that second, Brenda imagined leaping into the Sanders time warp. She'd return to the desolate seventeen year old cutting up pictures in her room to tell her it would all be okay - that Dylan would care about her again, that Brandon would earnestly apologize for his lack of concern, that Steve and Andrea would become two of her closest confidantes, that Donna and David would return to her life after she'd allowed them to slip away, that Val would never leave and that Kelly would offer something more than mere civility. She'd visit the eighteen year old stewing over a conceited ex-fiancé and detail how quickly her darkening life would improve. She'd drop in on the heartbroken twenty three year old, assuring her that nothing with Dylan could ever really be over, no matter what he claimed.
"Peso for your thoughts?"
Think of the Devil and he doth speak up, wearing his trademark grin.
"Just imagining myself in a DeLorean."
"You're not driving, are you?" Dylan looked horrified.
"Rude," she said irritably.
"Just saying, Bren. If you're gonna hop in a DeLorean, call me up to play chauffeur before you try driving it yourself, okay?"
She gasped. He chuckled. She swatted his hand. He kissed the offending hand.
The floating stage set into aquamarine water welcomed them to Tonga, or the recreated Tonga attached to the Fairmont on Nob Hill's Mason Street. Thatched roofs of tiki huts hung over swirling beads of light. Live music played as the waitress brought the group to their wide table.
She drank from a pineapple, eyeing the band across the water while they waited for their food.
"Wanna dance, Bren?" Steve asked, holding out his arm.
"You don't have to ask me twice." She secured her arm to his.
"Save a dance for me!" David called as they walked away. "Gotta keep our pool party crowns."
She danced twice with Steve and once with David, ensuring their crowns were left intact. One dance with all of the females followed before the group broke for a mouthwatering dinner.
She returned with Steve for a third time, a short lived jig interrupted by a voice.
"May I cut in?"
"Bran, you want to dance?" Brenda and Steve were equally surprised.
"No, I want to talk to my sister, who is unsurprisingly and deservedly Miss Popularity tonight."
He fidgeted uncharacteristically, piquing her interest. She spotted Marisa at the table, chatting with a laughing Donna and storytelling David.
"Hey, Steve, looks like Mare is available."
He immediately handed her off to her brother.
"Out with it, Brandon. You look like you're gonna burst." She attached her arms to his neck.
"I didn't want to take the attention away from you on your big night, but this is something I need to ask in person and you leave tomorrow." His features were laden with guilt.
"Ask away."
"Kel is determined to have her bridesmaids in dresses and Silver is currently fighting her on the idea - Davy had to step in when Silver insisted on wearing jeans; it wasn't pretty, Bren - so Kel has decided to only have Don and that leaves me tangled in quite the net."
He set his elbow on her shoulder, flexing his fingers together.
"See, with only one bridesmaid, I can't have two groomsmen or it will throw the symmetry out of whack - something like that, I think. Problem is, I have two brothers. Stevie will kill me if I don't make him Best Man, but I can't choose him over D, either. And I can't choose D over Stevie."
She could feel the disbelief radiating off of her in waves.
"Brandon, are you asking me to choose for you?"
"Nah, Bren," he said, the sparkle in his eyes perfectly synced with the sheen of the lights surrounding them, "I'm asking if you'll be my Best Man."
He saw her silence and jumped to explain.
"I know you and Kel have a very long, very complicated history and maybe it's unbrotherly of me to ask, but dear sister, you've always been incredibly supportive of our relationship and I don't know, perhaps this will make up for almost getting married without you -"
"Brandon."
"Yeah?" he asked, effectively halted.
"Should I wear a suit?"
His grin was unparalleled as he held her against his chest.
"Okay, my turn, Harpo."
They glanced up to see Dylan angling closer.
"Guard her with your life," Brandon said, cheerily permitting the disruption. He clapped Dylan's shoulder. "This is extremely valuable talent here, Groucho."
Crossing the room, he swiped fresh fruit off of their table and tangled his arms around Kelly's chair.
"Well, Brenda Walsh, you're San Francisco's Most Desirable. How does it feel?" Dylan held out an imaginary microphone in the manner of a reporter interrogating for a story.
"Bittersweet," she admitted. "I might actually miss this place."
"San Fran?"
"No," she softly replied, "California."
"Enough to move back?" he asked, more quietly than she.
"And give up my cultural excursions? I don't think so."
"Well, can't blame a guy for trying."
Their hips and shoulders jived in sync. Her chest bounced, responding to her rolling body.
As the music transitioned to a slower tune, she found herself caught against his waist.
Her brother twirled his fiancée in the corner, his own feet firmly planted. They'd worked out a system that allowed Kelly to dance until her heart's content and save Brandon's only consenting moves for their wedding reception.
"Doesn't it bother you?" Brenda asked.
Dylan's hips paused in their rhythm, his hand gliding to the small of her back as he traced her line of vision. Recognition dawned. He bent his head to align their eyes.
"Why would it bother me?"
"My brother and Kelly. It doesn't bother you at all?"
She'd been able to block out her ex - erase him from her phone, from her albums and from her life. Dylan's other ex planned to marry the man he long considered a brother. He couldn't run from Kelly, nor could he run from Brandon.
She felt both somewhat sympathetic to his plight and secretly triumphant Kelly Taylor hadn't ultimately snagged Dylan McKay.
In the Bermuda Triangle, neither angle won.
"It bothers me more that it ever bothered me," he avowed, shaking his head. "Fact of the matter is that I relentlessly pursued Kel. I'm not gonna say Matt deserved better or anything because I frankly don't care about him, but chasing her cost me two very important people in my life." The joy in his eyes dampened, changing his countenance into nearly the same broken man who stunned her at the Lyceum. "I'm damn lucky that they both gave me another chance, but it took way too long. And for what?" His hand waved in Kelly's direction. "See that, Bren - the way she looks at B. She never looked at me like that. Not the first time, not the second time, not the third or fourth -"
He smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress.
"Very few people have looked at me like that." His voice and features lacked in the appropriate melancholic sentiment following such a remark.
"Why? You're handsome enough."
"You think I'm handsome, Brenda?" His lips curled upward.
"I do have eyes, Dylan."
"Well, if we've reached this level of our friendship," he emphasized the word rather heavily, stretching their linked hands out to spin her, "than you're one hell of a knockout."
By the time he brought her back to the table, she questioned whether she still had legs.
Their friends were spread across the room, leaving the long table empty of everyone but Brandon and Kelly.
They sat at the far end, lip locked.
"Happy Birthday, Bren."
Dylan held out a thin, rectangular wrapped box papered in metallic Melpomene and Thalia masks.
"This wrapping paper! Oh my God, Dylan. I need it. Where did you find it?"
He laughed at her enthusiasm before she even removed the paper.
"They have one in Walmart, but it's pretty lame. This one was a little more customizable."
"Meaning you had Donna make it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
She showed him the tiny engraved DMMS in the corner of the wrapping paper, the trademark for a product designed by Donna Marie Martin Silver.
"Should've asked her to leave the trademark off." His face turned down in disappointment.
Another surprise up his sleeve, but this one had failed.
"No, this way I can beg her to make more and buy out her whole stock. The lads will get a kick out of it."
"You gonna open it or?"
"My birthday isn't for two more days."
"Yes and you'll be gone, so open it," he commanded impatiently.
She carefully removed the paper and opened the box bearing the emblem of a renowned jeweler.
Tears quavered. Her thumb traced over the spiraling wave glittering in the center of the delicate silver circle, shaded in a blue and green gradient which melted into aquas and teals.
"So you can always keep California and consequently us close to your heart," he caught her hand in his, "and so you won't forget how the world looks from inside an aqueous cave."
"Dylan, I love it. It's gorgeous," she murmured, "but surely it's too much."
"You're worth every nickel."
His hand shot out in question. She pushed her hair to the side for him to replace her necklace.
A compact mirror angled towards her, casting a reflection of her neck that dazzled with his gift. The woman fluffing her hair in the lens paused, whipping her head perpendicularly to discover the source of the brilliancy.
Dylan's focus wavered from the necklace in his hand to the woman by his side. His jaw trembled.
"You still have this?" he whispered.
A medallion hanging on a chain, crafted into a necklace.
"Patron saint of acting, right?" she asked offhandedly, "never misses a performance."
His throat noticeably constricted. He reached out, cradling her head on his shoulder.
"Thank you for allowing me my best friend back," he rasped. Their hug at Vandenberg had been urgent, shedding hurt and anger, disappointment and an aching past. This one carried a much warmer, friendlier tone, yet still with urgency on his end, the end that knew they were soon to part. "I really missed her."
"I thought Brandon is your best friend," she said through a quivering tear.
"He's my younger brother," his hand sprinted to her cheek, "but the best friend title was stolen a long time ago by a cat on a hot tin roof."
Hot tears fell into his palm. He flattened her against his shirt, catching her tears with the fabric as he had her first Saturday of the tour.
"Even if she did break up with me three different times," he laughed as her fist thumped his arm.
"I'm just saying. It can be argued I deserved numero dos y tres, but numero uno, not so much."
"We were just kids trying to have an adult relationship before either of us were ready."
"And now we're two adults with," his palm circled her shoulder, "other relationships."
"Right. Yeah. Other relationships."
"And one hell of a friendship," he quoted, his eyes dropping to her neck.
"One special friendship."
"Ours? Agreed," said a higher voice than his.
Her chair raised from the ground. Legs dangling in the air, she moved upward and then downward, a dumbbell controlled by a weightlifter.
"Sanders, what the hell are you doing?"
Dylan's hiss sounded low, gravelly.
"Her Royal Walshesness' last night in the States. Gotta make it one to remember," Steve slurred, effortlessly suspending her chair.
"Steve, put me down!" she shrieked, pondering the precise amount of alcohol in her friend's system.
Since his marriage and despite its traumatic aftereffects, he would often drink without getting drunk. Either he'd overdone it that evening or selected a stronger liquor of choice than his usual preference.
"C'mon man, put her down," Dylan said evenly, signaling towards the corner.
Her vantage point permitted her a birds eye view of the other customers, who all seemed to be immersed in their own worlds, unbothered by an intoxicated Southern Californian and his careening friend.
They did receive a look from a flummoxed waiter, who merely continued to bus the empty table and murmur about crazy tourists.
Brandon's smaller stature pinned to Steve. Brenda wiggled in the chair, its legs steadied by Theo, as she estimated the energy required to jump. David latched on to Steve's upper arm. Brandon clutched the other.
Steve tipped and at his imbalance, the chair followed suit.
She soared down, Alice into the rabbit hole, sailing directly into Dylan's quick reflexes.
He spent the next few minutes checking her over before setting her feet back on solid ground.
The other customers remained unbothered and uninterested in exploring the commotion.
Brandon's vice grip immediately went around Steve's shoulders. He lured their friend over to a seat, shoving a water glass in his direction.
"You okay?" Dylan rested his hands on her arms.
"I thought I was supposed to wait until tomorrow to be sky-high." Her heart thumped at both the incident and their close proximity.
"You Walshes sure know how to liven up a room."
"It wasn't lively enough already?"
"Bren! Oh my God, you were so high. I swear your head almost touched the ceiling. I don't know what Steve was thinking."
Donna touched her arm. She leaned in against her caring friend.
"He wasn't thinking. He's shit-faced. Hasn't been this sloshed in years," Dylan answered, examining the amount of empty glasses by Steve's spot.
"Looks like he was showing off." David nodded to the dance floor where Marisa's feet speedily kicked to the rhythm.
"Next time, he can show off without turning Bren into his personal gym workout," Dylan grunted.
"What a way to end your last night, huh, Bren?" Donna's giggle rang melodically, the epitome of an animated princess calling to her forest friends.
"Val will be jealous it wasn't her getting the royal treatment," she replied, amazed at the continued lack of inattention aimed at their table.
Perhaps the individuals around them were equally inebriated.
"I can think of many ways to give you a proper royal treatment," Dylan announced with a boyish grin, "and none of them involve nearly crashing you into a thatched roof."
"You guys ready to go? I've gotta get Stevie back to the hotel before he blacks out. Big guy vastly overestimated his tolerance level."
They looked to Brandon and then to Steve, who lay heavily against her brother. David helped to shift some of Steve's weight off of Brandon, whilst Andrea called for the check, Dylan paid despite multiple protests from his friends, and Donna pulled Brenda in with Kelly for one more dance.
She returned with them to their hotel, leaving Steve's room only when her brother assured her of his and Kelly's capability to mind their queasy friend.
Though they'd lost three, they still entered the lounge as eight. David listened to Isla's stories about the theatre, Donna tucked into his arms. Directly by Brenda's side, Dylan engaged in a literary discourse with Theo. Behind them, Marisa answered Andrea's queries about her hometown.
"What do you guys wanna do?" Donna surveyed the golden candelabra dangling from the high, curved ceiling of the nearby restaurant. Columns designed in the style of the ancient civilizations sat on either side of the lounge. Doors slanted into sloped archways helped the upscale Palace Hotel live up to its name.
"Probably should stay away from the bar after what just happened, but they do have a killer band tonight." David leafed through a colorful tourist magazine highlighting the attractions of San Francisco. An inset brochure detailed the history of the city's growth in the nineteenth century Gold Rush.
"We could head up to the roof and check out the view. Maybe play a game? I brought Scrabble," Andrea suggested.
"Of course you did."
She smiled over at Dylan, who lay on the leather loveseat with Brenda's back against his chest and his arms wrapped snugly under hers.
"We could go swimming."
"Best idea yet, Silver."
Brenda tilted her head upward to meet his eyes. "And how are we supposed to do that, Dylan? Some of us didn't pack our bathing suits in our purses."
"There's always skinny dipping." He wiggled his brows.
"In a public hotel pool? No thanks. I don't know what's been in there."
"We haven't swam together in ages, Bren. It'll be like old times at the beach club. I bet me or Andrea have a suit you can wear." Donna's excitement encouraged the others, who all took it upon themselves to persuade Brenda of the idea.
"And what about Is and Mare? They don't have suits," she tried.
"If none of Donna's work, then I'll just buy a couple pairs in the gift shop," Dylan shrugged.
"And believe me, she brought a zillion." David ducked from Donna's flailing hand.
"You always need choices," she explained in the manner of one differentiating between an apple and an orange to an inquisitive five-year-old.
"What do you say, Fletch?" Dylan looked to Theo for reinforcement.
"Swimming? In November? Aye."
"Sound!" Marisa aimed a pleading glance in her direction. "It's bloody freezing in the city. We can only swim on hols."
"Looks like you're outvoted, babe." Dylan kissed her hair. "Go get your killer bod in a suit."
Seven friends insistent on utilizing the hotel pool made it impossible for her to decline. While the men stayed downstairs, she headed up to the Silvers' suite with the women.
"Don, did you really need to bring six swimsuits for one evening?" She lifted a patterned bikini, a sequined one-piece and a tie-dyed monokini from her friend's suitcase.
"Like I said, Bren. A girl's gotta have choices." Fixing her hair into a high ponytail, Donna slipped into a polka dotted monokini that bared one shoulder.
Promising to meet them downstairs after she checked on their inebriated friend, Andrea departed with Isla to loan her a swimsuit in their equal size.
Marisa easily fit into one of the offered bikinis. The cups of Brenda's choice left plenty of extra padding, as did all of the selections. Donna left for Brandon's room, returning with a monokini that highlighted all of Brenda's curves.
"Oh, Dylan won't be able to control himself," Donna giggled.
"Don," she warned.
"Whatever, Bren. There's clearly something going on between the two of you and nothing you say can convince me otherwise."
She opened her mouth to speak.
"And I don't wanna hear that F word," Donna immediately cut in.
"What? Fuck? Feck? Frick? Fudge?"
"Exactly," she played along, "those words."
The pool looked more inviting than she'd pictured. Its turquoise water welcomed them in, inlaid under a skylit roof that showcased the skyscrapers of San Francisco.
Dylan mercilessly splashed David in the corner, whilst Theo swam circles around them. Among the chaise lounges, Andrea and Isla spoke animatedly. Marisa dived into the pool, dunking Theo as she emerged.
Donna cleared her throat. Swiveling around, Dylan instantly became agog.
He freestyled to the edge and stared up at Brenda.
"Damn, woman. Have you been hired to kill me?" He scanned the crochet halter cutout, emitting a low whistle.
"It's Kelly's." She debated between prudishly covering up with a towel or proudly showing off her womanly physique.
"Looks better on you." His hand snaked behind her legs, causing her to spiral into the pool.
"What? I'm just making up for that pool party," he said by way of apology when she sputtered to the surface.
"Me and Brenda dominated that pool party." David floated by with Donna lying against his chest.
"Silver, if Bren and I had been the ones dancing that day, you wouldn't've stood a chance." Dylan cupped his hands together to squirt their friends with chlorinated water.
"Dylan!" Donna shrieked, toppling off of her husband.
"Meanwhile, while David and I crushed every freshman on campus, you seethed over John Sears."
"Don't remind me, Bren," he groaned, grabbing at her slick hips.
"And Brenda was completely oblivious to all of the fraternity boys who watched them dancing."
"What frat boys, Donna?" she laughed.
"Exactly how many frat boys were interested in Brenda?" He shook his soaked hair, splattering her with the droplets.
She splashed him in return.
"Oh, at least two houses full," Donna replied, "and that's only the ones I knew about."
"That's not even counting all the non-frat boys who were into her," David added.
"Why didn't I know this?" She couldn't think of a single individual at CU who held even the slightest bit of interest.
"Well, Bren, you were too busy running off to Vegas," Donna smiled. She held the edge with both hands, aerobically stretching out her legs.
"Oh my God. Are any of you ever gonna let that go?"
"Nah, it's much more fun getting you riled up." Dylan's mischievous grin surpassed the Cheshire cat's as he leapt downward.
"I mean, if you were gonna marry anyone in Vegas, couldn't it have been Dylan?"
"Donna!"
He charged at her from underneath the water. She squealed, trying to run.
He captured her against his chest, tossing her over his shoulder back into the pool.
"Dylan!"
"That's what you get for splashing me."
"And that's what you get for drenching me."
"'Ansum, why don't you just kesse her?"
"Mare!"
Donna turned to Marisa, whispering conspiratorially. "They're just friends." She lifted her eyes to the ceiling.
Brenda's fingers formed an imaginary mobile against her ear. "Hello? Yes, hi, this is Brenda Walsh and I'm in the market for some new friends." She glowered at both women.
"Think about it, Bren. I got back together with David, Kelly reunited with Brandon. Logically, it just makes sense," Donna shrugged.
"You married David practically a decade ago, Don; Kel went back to Bran in almost half that time."
"Brenda leaves tomorrow. Maybe we should table this for now, baby."
"Thank you, David."
Dylan tilted his head at her and dove back under the water.
This time, she made it farther across the pool before his arms latched around her waist.
"Just remember, no matter what happens, I'm your best friend," he murmured before throwing her under. She emerged, pushing him down, the lights of San Francisco shining through the clear roof onto the squirming twosome in the pool and the amused companions secretly plotting behind their backs.
-x-
(Stage dialogue - "Tartuffe", Molière)
(Think of the Devil and he doth appear - line amended from TV's Gossip Girl.)
With the amount of chapters I have waiting to be uploaded over the next month, I believe I have officially written more for this story than for possibly any of my stories ever. Unsure when it will end, but I do know I'm determined to finish this one and hopefully will do so.
Thank you for the lovely reviews, favourites, follows from those of you who have been reading from the beginning or from the middle and a special shout-out to cinderella9056, who happened to begin reviewing the day this chapter was uploaded.
So glad you all are enjoying Maddie! She is also incredibly fun to write, like Val, but obviously in a much different way. I picture her with Janet's looks and Steve's personality, heavily influenced by her various "aunts."
Princesskarlita411 - I really love me some SA, but I equally love Sailor and (Stare?,) plus Celeste, Janet...ha, it's hard to choose.
Crystal - Thank you for understanding about Janet. There will be more on it later so she doesn't just get killed off without explanation. I hate when shows do that offscreen.
DylanLovesBrenda - Thank you! It's a good outlet for me to reminisce about favourite scenes/episodes or tear into hated scenes/storylines ha. And after reading Vegas, Shattered, Castles in the Sand, Little Fish - talk about angst!