Authors Note: I own nothing. No ownership rights to Beverly Hills 90210. None to She Wolf (Falling to Pieces) by David Guetta featuring Sia produced by David Guetta, Chris Braide and Giorgio Tuinfort.
Chapter Two: Falling to Pieces
I met David in a Paris café one afternoon. Donna had gone off with some of our classmates to once again visit the stores of Paris, and while my shopping stamina had increased since moving to Beverly Hills, I was still not at the level of Kelly, let alone Donna- she was a true fashionista. She had headed off to the Beaugrenelle Paris shopping mall, and I had chosen to save Dad's wallet and my patience from another shopping adventure. Deciding instead, to have a lazy afternoon sitting in the sun, drinking coffee and absorbing the Paris streets.
David was a DJ, a songwriter, a producer, and unlike David Silver, he was old enough to have already established himself on the European clubbing scene. He was in his early twenties, married to his business manager, and was amazingly talented. We had sat at adjacent tables alone sipping coffee, and while the French had a reputation for their standoffish nature, I had begun to realise that it was saved for the tourists- the ones who refused to respectfully try and communicate in the native language. When I had arrived in Paris, I had experienced it first hand, but after a couple of weeks I had begun to speak more French, and with that I had learnt how truly hospitable the Parisians were. So when David looked over and said "Bonjour, comment ça va?", I wasn't shocked. Little did I know that that meeting would change my life, and lead me to a whole new group of friends, a career that at my lowest times would provide me comfort, and eventually help me form a family of my own.
As I sat talking in my fragmented French, David took pity on me and shifted to English. We chatted away covering the inane and then gradually moved into a genuine conversation. By our second coffee we were sharing a table and he was explaining his work. No it would be more accurate to say he was sharing his passion, his second love- that of music. He asked if I played an instrument, and I mentioned my habit of dabbling on Grandma Walsh's upright piano back in Minnesota, before moving to Beverly Hill's. A couple of day's later, when Donna was busy, this time making phone calls home to her Dad and her boyfriend, and I was finishing dinner with David and his wife at their apartment, he would call me out on the dabbling comment. After dinner they had encouraged me to play a little something on David's Pleyel et Cie, and when I had finished he jokingly stated, "if that is what you call dabbling, I would hate to think what you perceive a concert pianist was capable of making a piano do." The wiggling of his eyebrows made his wife Camille, burst out in laughter, and she jokingly added, "purr perhaps?!".
It wasn't until our third meeting when he discovered, or should I say his wife discovered, that I could hold a tune. He had been sharing his latest studio recording with us, and passed over the hand written lyrics that had yet to be recorded. In the middle of the song I stopped imagining how they would sound, and had started to sing them. Not loudly, no even my subconscious was too frightened to do that. It was little more than a hum, but none the less it had been heard. And from that moment on, two new friends, who treated me like an adult, who had taken it upon themselves to welcome me into their home, their Paris, would help me find my path to music.
It wasn't like I didn't know I could sing. I knew I could, but it had always stirred such feelings of vulnerability. An emotion I didn't like. It didn't matter if it was karaoke at the Peach Pit, standing around Dad's keyboard at Christmas, being a backup at Hello Day, or dressed as Laverne, I wouldn't sing. If people looked closely they would see me miming or speaking the lyrics. Never singing. I loved acting, being a character, pretending to be someone else. I loved it because I didn't have to share all of myself, and that's what singing felt like to me.
Maybe I would have grown out of it, but moving to the hyper competitive and critical West Bev, I had never wanted to put that side of myself out there. I wasn't brave like Brandon. Dylan had told me, for such a strong fierce person, I was delicate, fragile, and that was true. But maybe that was because I could breakdown to him, like I could with Brandon, confident in his love for me. I could share my thoughts with Kelly and Donna. I had grown to trust them all with different parts of me. Perhaps I could trust them with this side as well.
With the freedom that Paris gave me, and with the support of David and Camille, I was able to embrace my voice a little more. To sing in front of others. A week before I was to leave Paris, David and Camille left for his end of summer tour. They were due in LA sometime in the coming months, so it wasn't a goodbye forever. With their help I had tapped into a side of myself I hadn't before. David believed music was your emotions communicating without your brains judgement. He encouraged me to let them flow out, and capture them in words, phrases, images, melodies, and beats. His wife after our brunch on their last Sunday in Paris had found a notebook in the markets for me to do just that. "A little something to remember your time in Paris. To remember David and I. And you must continue to create and chanter. I expect a few pages filled when next we meet." Camille hugged me then, and a few minutes later I bid David and her farewell.
Over the next few days I began to let my emotions out on the pages. Dylan could be found there, along with guilt, shame, regret. My handling of the last months in LA was not good, and the more I let those emotions out on the page, the more obvious it became that I needed to bring some normalcy back to Dylan and I.
I am not an idiot, I knew enough of attending AA with Dylan that a recovering addict needed stability. His fall off the wagon when Iris had visited was not even twelve months old, and according to my Dad he had gone for a drink at Jackie and Mel's wedding. The same way he had gone for one on our first date after fighting with his dad. No, I needed to fix this mess. Dylan's sobriety was too important. His health and happiness meant everything to me.
On arriving in Paris, I wanted to give Dylan space, time to surf, to read, to calm down. The last few months he had been wound up tight, and there had been a lot of emotion between us, about us, aimed at us. And rather than processing it he had been holding it all in, and I was hoping this time away would give him room to do that, like it was me. I was coming to the conclusion that I may have to let him go. If on my return my parent's still refused to let us see each other, I would have to walk away for Dylan's sake.
Alcoholics weren't encouraged to have a relationship in their first year of recovery, they were supposed to re-establish, or in Dylan's case establish, healthy coping mechanisms to deal with their emotions. During this time only the program should matter. Ben and Dylan had discussed this at length, and while not encouraged, Ben was convinced by Dylan that our relationship would not interfere with his recovery. That I was his family, and my support and love would only help him work the program. Dylan's sobriety was everything. If our relationship had become a threat to that, then I needed to walk away. Though I didn't know how I could do that.
My last two days with Rick in Paris, had reinforced that while the attention, newness, and idea of an easy romance was attractive, it held nothing to what Dylan and I had. Rick's kiss was nice, pleasant, but I didn't feel it to the tips of my toes, and it didn't create the frenzy that had led to some close calls for Dylan and I. Though Rick's offer of an escape, an exit route was tempting. I was starting to see how bad LA had got, and with every realisation, I was becoming more afraid to face my actions, to make choices I didn't want to make. Paris had given me confidence and peace, a reprieve from the turbulence of the last few months. So when it was coming to an end I had found one last way to runaway, by pretending to be someone else.
On my flight home, I thought about why these dalliance's kept occurring. If I loved him, why had I twice made this mistake? Last time, I felt Dylan pull away, and this time I had been preparing myself to do the same. Though as Dylan and I were magnets to each other, we would need something to disturb the field. I had searched in both guys a force that could interfere with our current, to pull me from him. I had been disappointed. On getting too far away, our current had snapped us both back in place. The most recent snap occurring somewhere over the Atlantic, when I realised how badly I had messed up.
Dylan wasn't the runner when it came to him and I. I ran at the end of Sophomore year, I ran to cardio funk, and I ran to the land of pretend with Rick. And each time I ran the invisible force pulled me back, wanting to keep us whole. Our youth, our non-compliance to surrender to our forever love, my fear of the depth of the emotions, Dylan's of letting go completely, continued to give it one hell of a test, and at the most perplexing times. My running this time had compounded and already challenging situation, and while I hadn't broken the promise I made Dylan by the airport shuttle. Not even close, there was no love for Rick. In my fear, my avoidance, I had though created more instability in our relationship. Ben would have every right to take back his support. My running was not healthy for Dylan.
On landing back in the States, I was welcomed warmly by my parents. In the car I had raised my relationship with Dylan, putting the ball in their court. On reflection forcing my will, had led to pain for all. It was time I stopped.
On walking into the house, Brandon who had been disappointed and a little fed up with me at the start of summer, happily greeted me. It had been the longest we had been away from each other, and our twin pull had been stretched, becoming uncomfortable. When placed in different classes as kids, we would need to seek each other out at lunchtime to re-connect. While other kids got grumpy about delayed meal times, Brandon and I would get that way from being separated for too long. We had nourished and protected our connection over the years. Creating routines that kept our bond strong. We spent the car ride to school going over our day ahead, at lunch time we would usually sit with our friends or meet between classes, and each night we checked in before bed. In our subtle way we had formed a system that maintained our twin link. Though in running away to Dylan's I had put a stop to those routines, and I had done so without even letting Brandon know. In Dylan and my pursuit to be together, Brandon had been pushed aside by his brother and neglected by his twin. Yes Paris had given me perspective in a lot of areas, and I knew for my and Brandon's sake, once I had figured out where Dylan and I stood, I would then need to prioritise us.
On coming down the stairs that evening, and seeing Dylan enter my house, I was hit with such a rush of elation. Leaping into his arms I could feel him breathe me in, I could feel his body relax and his arms tighten. As always, Dylan and I got lost in each other, but when he smiled while kissing me, like his joy couldn't be contained, I knew I was finally home. I was back where I belonged.
There had been signs. On the beach the next day he was too compliant. Dylan and I pushed each other, we were the same but opposites, he was the South, and I was the North Pole. And while participating and joining in had been engrained in me living in the Mid West, Dylan had always shied away. That day he was uncharacteristically eager, so much so that I had asked Kelly about it. I didn't know at the time, but that would be the first time Kelly would lie to me directly over the coming weeks. It would start with Dylan not seeing anyone over the summer, then her motivation to change to an art class, and then about her shift in mood this year. Each question would be an opportunity to finally be honest about her summer, and in hindsight, each lie would reinforce how much she didn't respect me, didn't value our friendship, and showed me how little she had changed from sophomore year.
Later that afternoon, Dylan and I were finally alone, and before we could reconnect physically, I needed to tell him about my two day's with Rick. Honesty was essential to a good relationship but more importantly it was the backbone of the program. Dylan needed truth around him, he needed to maintain honest relationships. In the weeks following Baja, hell on the way there, I hadn't always given him that. While I had not deceived him, he had been dragged into my deceit of my parents. So like I did back on his couch, when I confessed about my cardio funk mistake; on a blanket on the beach I offered Dylan the same truth. Dylan deserved to know, to decide before we reconnected, if he could forgive me. I couldn't take that choice away, that power to decide for himself, on what he could accept. No too many of his relationships had seen him have no power, no say. I loved him enough to admit my mistake and live with whatever outcome he chose. In his forgiveness to my disloyalty, and his following silence, Dylan would make his first lie by omission to me. There would be countless over the coming weeks, he would actively work to keep his secret away from my path. In doing so he would make me hate the part of myself that was him. Make me fear ever putting myself out there again.
Though I would look back and ridicule myself later, for letting Kelly halt my questioning of Dylan's behaviour, I wouldn't raise it again as his omissions were good. His deceit well constructed. It wasn't until his first blatant lie, pretending an earring was his mothers did something nag at my gut. Dylan had forgotten that Iris and I connected, we shared a bond over our love for him. On arriving home from school a few days later, to find my mum having her bimonthly phone catch-up with Iris, I took the opportunity to say hi myself. After going over the highlights of my Paris trip, her summer retreat, and advising her of her son's sweet but sad attempt to cook a bbq, I brought up finding her earring. Iris having found peace, leaving the pretend world of LA behind, had committed her ongoing path would be free from lies. A luxury never attained in her opulent life with Jack. A commitment she wouldn't even break for her son. On informing her I had located her lost earring, she confessed it wasn't her's, that in her minimalist packing she had only brought two pairs with her on the trip, and both were safely back in her jewellery box. Like the blinds being pulled up in the morning, pushing away the darkness, my brain lit up with the knowledge that Dylan had had a girl there, in his house. A house that I had left spotless before my trip, that had contained no earring. No someone had been there when I wasn't, and based on his need to lie, it probably wasn't innocent.
David and Camille flew into LA to meet with the US office of his label. After achieving success with a number of his songs across the European clubs over the summer, they were here to discuss the potential release of the tracks in the US Market. It had been two days since I had spoken to Iris, and my mind, my heart, was still processing. I had avoided Dylan. When he reached for me at school his kiss would hit my cheek, when he asked to spend time after school I claimed I was busy needing to study. Brandon hadn't noticed, we still hadn't returned to our pre-runaway connection, and while we were better, we still weren't quite right. Since the bbq his blossoming flirtation with Nikki Witt, was also keeping him busy, and so my change in behaviour was left unquestioned. As for confiding in Kelly or Donna about my suspicions, I wasn't ready yet. So when Camille left a message at the house with a return LA number I was thrilled. From day one we had all formed an easy friendship, and during my time in Paris David had become a mentor of sorts, Camille a confidante. I could use their council now.
We had arranged to meet for an early meal that night. As they were fighting jet lag, Mum had leant me her car to collect them, and take them down to Venice for dinner by the beach. Over dinner we had caught up on the last month, David sharing stories of their recent adventures to Ibiza. After dinner we walked along the beach and David finally brought up my reserved mood. "Brenda, you seem ennui, are you sad to be home?"
"Not at first. But I recently discovered Dylan may have lied to me, and now," I pause taking a breath and exhale heavily, "I just want to run away."
Camille wrapped her arm around my shoulders. "The way you spoke of Dylan in Paris your love was evident. What do you think he lied about?"
"I found an earring at his house the other day, he claimed it was his mother's. When I asked her two days ago she said it wasn't hers."
David tilted his head and smirkingly said, "that's it?"
"Dylan is a loner, he doesn't like people in his space, I don't even think half our friends had been to his house before the bbq we held there this weekend." Walking in silence for a few steps I gather my thoughts, trying to determine how best I can explain my leap to Dylan being unfaithful. "He has done it before. There was a girl Sarah last year, and thinking back, if I hadn't admitted my own slip, I'm not sure he would have said anything." I pause. "I told you we went to Baja right?" David nods and Camille rubs my shoulder encouraging me on. "When we visited, I had found out that last summer after we broke up, he had taken another girl there. We weren't together then, but he was continually asking me to reconsider my decision for space. There he is begging me, showing up at the school, asking me to take him back, telling me how much he loved me, while at the same time he is planning a romantic weekend away with another girl." I stop walking, and as I run my hand through my hair Camille moves back to David's side, I look at them both. "He's a good guy, I love him. He talks of honesty, of truth. But he is an addict. He knows how to lie, how to lie even to himself. Hell, he was raised by a liar. I just know something isn't right."
Camille responds, "Brenda you must ask him. You are getting worked up over nothing solid, he may have panicked and got stuck covering something stupid."
Smiling at me David adds, "Us men are sometimes not the brightest."
"And if it's what I think it is?"
"You are still righting in your journal, the notebook we got at the markets, yes?" I nod my head. "Well you write. You vent. I'm playing a Vegas club this weekend and we leave tomorrow, after Camille's meeting, but we'll be back Monday at lunchtime, and I have scheduled studio time that afternoon. After school join me, bring your book and we will finally lay a track together. Put your emotions to music."
"And if I've jumped to conclusions?"
Picking up Camille's hand, David answers. "Bring your book and Dylan to the studio. Like my Ange for me, so too must your lover know you completely. You should finally trust him enough to let him hear you sing."
I drop them back to the serviced apartment organised by the label, and drive to Dylan's. It's a Wednesday night, so I won't be able to stay long. Well not for another four weeks, I think once I turn eighteen Dad, Mum and I, should renegotiate some things. On arrival, I notice Kelly's car, and as I slowly make my way up the porch to the front door, I look in. Dylan looks frustrated, running his hand through his hair. He raises his voice. "Enough Kelly! You're the one who said you didn't want her to know, and then you walk around looking moody at school. The other night at the bbq, I heard Bren once again ask you about it. If you don't want her to figure it out then stop acting so weird."
"Dylan, don't act like you want her to find out. Don't pretend- it was obvious as soon as you saw her on those stairs, you regretted us! What we had, what we shared."
He sighs and moves closer to her, placing his hand on her cheek. "Kel, our summer together..."
Before I can hear more I step back, the weight of their confession literally pushing me away. With Dylan now closer to Kelly, my movement must have caught his peripheral vision, and he turns suddenly catching my eyes. He freezes, like a deer caught in headlights. No, that's not right, deers are innocent. He isn't that.
Turning, I move quickly back to the car. I need to get out of there. As I am slamming the car door shut, I hear his footsteps. Through the white noise buzzing in my ears, I think I hear him shout, "Bren, wait!"
I imagined him confessing to a stupid mistake, a kiss, a two day distraction. But a summer, weeks and weeks with my best friend. Followed by a month of lying to me. How many secret meetings had they had? Had they stopped seeing each other at all? Did everyone know? Did my brother?
No I couldn't hear it. I couldn't see him. I couldn't deal with him right now. I had to escape.
He and Kelly, couldn't be allowed to see me fall to pieces.