CHAPTER TWO
NEARLY TWO YEARS AFTER THE
ACCIDENT
DANIKA
I’d often noted the fact that much of the humor in my life had left with Tristan.
The humor, the fun, and if I was brutally honest with myself, the joy.
Everything was serious these days.
Work, even my social life. When I dated, it was very serious professionals, though nothing ever got far or lasted long. My heart just wasn’t in it yet.
I told myself I only needed more time.
I
finished
college,
and
James
immediately promoted me. I moved to L.A. and managed the gallery there.
Career wise, all of my dreams were coming true. James let me prove myself and gave me free reign over the gallery.
I missed Bev, Jerry, and the boys, but I had enough work to keep me busy literally every waking hour, and that’s how I liked it.
Bev and Jerry remarried in a very small ceremony in the Bahamas. I attended, and the amount of relief I felt when I found out that Tristan, for whatever reason, hadn’t come, worried me. He should not still affect me like this, I told myself, but there was no helping it.
It was a beautiful wedding. They both wrote their own vows, and they were so sweet that I cried like a sap through the entire thing, hugging the boys, who flanked me on each side.
Later, I found out that Tristan hadn’t come because he hadn’t been invited.
Though he and Jerry were close, Bev hadn’t even considered it.
This was told to me by Bev. When I looked baffled by her revelation, she laughed and patted me on the shoulder.
“Oh, my sweet girl. If someone told you I don’t hold a grudge, they were lying.”
Her eyes and her smile were so unlike her, so bloodthirsty, that I just stared.
“You’re doing great now. You look spectacular, and I have every confidence that you will get what you want out of your life. I couldn’t be more proud of you, but there will always be a very clear picture in my head, my dear, and it is the stuff of my nightmares. I can close my eyes and remember how you looked, bleeding and broken in that hospital bed. Heartbroken and abused. Or of you those first few months after the accident. So sad and lost. I’m a loving woman. You know this. I love with all my heart, but a heart like mine works both ways, and there is a wrath in me. I will never forget the state that man put you in. You think I could enjoy a celebration if he was there, making you uncomfortable the entire time? That’s not how I operate. It will take more than a few paltry years before I can be civil to that man.”
It was hard to know what to say to that, but strangely, her words warmed me a little.
It would always feel good to have Bev in my corner.
I finally met my biological father face to face. It was one of the most awkward moments of my life, but I can’t say I didn’t feel a bit of satisfaction by the end of it.
Bronson Giles was attending a gallery showing in L.A. with his oldest son, Dermot. I’d heard somewhere that he was following in his dad’s acting footsteps. He looked like a perfect younger image of his father, big, blond, and very handsome.
With my same eyes.
I think I was too completely dead to the idea of feeling anything for my father to have a reaction to him. To see him, well, it was only a sort of vague discomfort.
Dermot, on the other hand, I had not expected.
The idea of a deadbeat dad was one thing. The concept of a half-sibling, one that had no inkling that I existed, was something else. It was very strange, but I found myself staring at him whenever he wandered close as they perused the art, trying to catch some kindness in him, some redemption. I didn’t want to hate him.
In fact, I quite wanted to like him.
I wasn’t sure if Bronson thought it was him I was staring at, or if I just happened to catch his eye, but he watched me even more than I watched Dermot.
Finally,
Bronson
approached
me
directly. I tensed up sure he’d caught the resemblance between me and my mother, who he’d obviously known well.
That wasn’t why he approached. Well, I suppose it was a twisted version of that. Marta was apparently his type, and being close to the spitting image of her, I suppose I was too.
His smile dripped with greasy charm even before he opened his disgusting mouth.
Before he even got a word out, I had the thought: Oh God, no. My own father is about to hit on me.
Please, please, please, I thought, make this not actually be happening.
Who the f*ck else had this kind of luck?
I didn’t even catch the first little bit that he said, more heard his tone, my mind reeling in horror.
It was just too much. Even I couldn’t maintain
my
usual
professional
demeanor as I stood there and had the man that had sired me tell me how hot I was.
He didn’t even have good lines. He’d been relying on his fame and money for way too long.
“So what do you say?” He reached into his pocket, pulling out what looked like a hotel room key card. “I keep a regular room at The Beverly Hills Hotel. I can meet you there in three hours. In the meantime, feel free to make yourself
comfortable,
order
some
drinks. Charge it to the room.” He said it all like it was just a forgone conclusion, even when I knew that the look on my face must have told him that I liked him about as much as something particularly smelly that had just gotten stuck to the bottom of my shoe.
He was that oblivious.
“You are just stunning. Where do you get that coloring from? A bit of Asian in there, right? I’ve always been a fan of the Asian girls. But the black hair with those pale eyes.” He whistled long and low. “So very striking. What a beauty.
Hot little body on you too.”
I had to restrain myself from slapping him across the face. My voice was not quite steady when I finally found it.
“What is your heritage?”
“I’m mainly Danish and English. Your turn, babe.”
My mouth shaped into a sharp smile.
“My mother is Japanese and Russian, and my father is apparently Danish and English, though I just this second found that out.”
He gave me a strange look. “How so?”
“Bronson Giles, my mother’s name is Marta Markova. I assume that rings a bell?”
He at least had the decency to turn green then. “My God,” he whispered.
“I can see where that would be a problem, knocking up so many women that you can’t keep track of your offspring. And by the way, Bronson, you are way too old for me. Even if I wasn’t your daughter.” I made a face. “That’s just gross. If you’re going to be a philandering pig, at least be more age appropriate about it. Especially with all of the random women you must have gotten pregnant over the years. Maybe stay away from women that are young enough to be your daughters, or hell, your granddaughters.”
“My God,” he said again. “Do you want money from me or something?”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I told him furiously, my voice low and mean. “Not one thing. I manage this gallery. You are the one that came up to me, or did you not realize that?” He blinked a few times, turned on his heel and strode away.
Dermot, who’d been about a dozen feet away for the whole thing, sent me one probing glance and followed him.
I thought that was the end of it, but about an hour later, Dermot was back.
He sought me out, waiting while I handled a sale. He smiled and held out his hand when I was free.
“I’m
Dermot,” he said warmly.
I smiled tentatively back, shaking his hand. “Danika.”
“I just wanted to apologize for my father.
He’s…a throwback, and it
looked like he came on a little strong back there.”
I studied him. “I’m not sure why you’re apologizing.
You didn’t do
anything.”
“I just didn’t want you to think I was like him. He’s my father, but I’ve known since I was a kid that he’s a creep when it comes to women.”
I nodded. That he was, and I didn’t know what to say about it.
“Listen, this is an embarrassing way to meet, but I’d love to make it up to you sometime. How does dinner sound?” I made an effort not to smack my own forehead.
Seriously?! What the f*ck did I do to deserve this?
I realized then and there that I had to tell him, had to bite the awkward bullet and just get it out. “The fact that your father is old and married isn’t the only thing that offended me about his come-on,” I told him, my tone matter of fact.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, smiling like I was about to tell him some funny joke.
Oh yeah, it was a real hoot.
“Bronson Giles is my biological father.”
His eyes widened comically, his mouth dropping open.
“I have no proof, though if I needed it, his reaction to me telling him who my mother is would have been enough. But if you don’t believe me—“
“No, no, I do. I just-I-I-I’m shocked. I a m so sorry. I wasn’t hitting on you. I meant like a platonic dinner.”
He hadn’t, but I grasped onto that lame ass excuse just as strongly as he did.
“Of course. I didn’t think you were.” In spite of that less than promising beginning, we did sort of hit it off after that.
“I like women as much as the next guy,” Dermot told me over dinner, maybe the fourth time we’d met to catch up. “But if you can’t keep it in your pants, the least you can do is just stay single.”
“Here, here,” I said, toasting him. He was preaching to the choir.
“And seriously, he’s how old, and somehow never managed to grasp the concept of birth control?” He winced as he heard his own words. “No offense to you.”
I laughed. “None taken. I mean, I’m glad I exist, but I could’ve wished for a different father, say, one that was present.”
“How’s Dahlia doing? And how’s her boy?”
I launched into a story about darling Jack.
We always asked about the other siblings. We kept track, though no one seemed to have any urge to meet up face to face besides he and I. Dahlia had some weird resentment for our half-siblings, a bitterness for them that I couldn’t fathom, considering she’d wanted to have more of a relationship with our father. He was the one to blame. He was the culprit. I could well understand a contempt for him and the things he’d done, but our half-siblings were no more to blame for his actions than we were. Still, there was no talking her out of it.
It was her loss. Dermot was delightful, sarcastic, and fun. We’d decided early on that we’d gotten the same twisted sense of humor.
It was several meetings before he worked up the nerve to ask about what happened to my leg.
“The relationship from hell,” I answered.
This one time he didn’t share the joke with me. His face shut down, and for the first time I saw that my half-brother could be a bit scary. “Some man did that to you?”
I shook my head vehemently. “Bad joke. Sorry. No. It’s a long story, but the short version is that this happened in a car accident.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he did let me change the subject. It had to be easy to catch on that this wasn’t my favorite topic.
“How’s work going? Did you get that part you were auditioning for?” I asked him.
“I did. I start shooting next month.
Also, I agreed to do a project with our dad.”
My eyebrows shot straight up. He’d always been vehement about the fact that he didn’t want to ride his father’s coattails to success. He’d never used his connections to get ahead in Hollywood. Until now, that is.
“Hey now, don’t judge me,” he said with an irrepressible smile.
“What? I didn’t say a thing.”
“You didn’t have to. You have very judgey eyes.” I laughed, because he’d gotten it right. I did have expressive eyes. “The fact is, the part is a dream, and I do think I’m perfect for it. I auditioned, and I think I would have gotten the part, regardless of who my father is, just based on that audition. I’d rather he weren’t part of the project, but that’s not up to me.”
“You don’t have to be defensive with me. I’m happy for you, and I’m excited to see how it turns out.”
“You still seeing that girl?” I asked, changing the subject again. He’d been really into some chick he’d just started dating the last time we’d talked.
He grimaced. “Nah, that’s done. I told you she was an actress, right?” I nodded.
“Well, I learned something. Never date an actress. She was sleeping with the director of her TV pilot. The casting couch stereotype comes from something, I guess.”
“That sucks. How did her pilot do?” He grinned. “Bombed, so there’s that.
I wouldn’t have hard feelings, but she was lying to me for a while before I caught on. Now what about you? You seeing anybody? Did you go on a second date with that accountant?” I made a face that got him to laugh. “I didn’t. I’m very good on a first date, but I can’t vouch for my second date skills.
I can’t recall if I’ve ever been on one.” We both laughed, though it wasn’t far from the truth.
“Well, I know they all call. Why don’t you pick up the phone?”
“This is going to sound awful, but I just don’t feel like it. I’ll go out to dinner once, but if I don’t enjoy myself much, why try again? I like my own company just fine. I suspect that I’m just one of those people that’s destined to stay single. It’s fine. There are worse things than being alone.”
He waved that off.
“You’re just
young. You’ll grow out of it in a few years. Or maybe you just need to find the right guy.”
I didn’t tell him that I had found that guy, once.
I had no desire to talk about any of the T words.
TRISTAN
I’d been torn apart and put back together, and though I knew the end result was better now than who I’d been before, some days it didn’t feel that way. Lots of days, it just felt like like the world had lost its color, and the only things that defined my life were the things I’d lost. I spent a lot of time trying to convince myself that I was okay without her, and some days I even believed it.
It was well over a year before I could admit that she was lost to me, and that was with almost no contact at all.
James hired me on to do a show, far sooner than planned. He reasoned that it would take time to rehearse and to help get the theatre together. I had to immerse myself in the entire process, every bit of it. It was my baby after all. The theatre had to be completely renovated. He wanted me to go live within a week of his current act retiring, and it would take a year for me to prep.
It was a Godsend for me. I kept busy, productive, active. There was less time to dwell on the past.
The casino’s retiring magician, Tony Biello, had no hard feelings about me being his replacement. In fact, he turned out to be something of a father figure and a mentor for me.
I’d admired his act since I was a kid, so when he started coming by the theatre to see how things were coming along, I was more star struck than I’d ever been and stressed out to boot, since I had no clue whether his retirement was voluntary.
He quickly set my mind at ease. He was a strange old coot that wore a top hat in the middle of the day and large white framed glasses that matched his wiry hair.
He was a large man, and in his seventies was heading in the direction of overweight.
I was on my semi-built stage, showing the architect I’d been working with just what I needed for the spot directly below our feet, when Tony came striding into the theatre.
He took one look at me and started laughing. “Let me guess. This is going to be some sort of act where they make you take your shirt off a lot. No doubt about it, I’ve been outclassed.” My mouth quirked up in a grin, and I hopped down to shake his hand.
“I made them put it in my contract that I wouldn’t go shirtless more than twice a night,” I joked. “Had to put my foot down somewhere.”
He clutched his big belly while he laughed. “And you can take a joke.
Outclassed indeed.”
I scratched my head, trying to find the words to broach an awkward subject.
“Don’t worry, my boy, my retirement was voluntary. I’m old, I have a bad heart, and it’s time I started taking better care of myself. I’ve just come to welcome you to the team, and to let you know that my door is always open, if you need any advice. Hell, I’d love to help. I’ve been in the magic game for fifty years. I’d hate to think I was letting go of it completely.
I was inordinately pleased by this.
Tony Biello offering his support was all that I, who’d been practicing tricks from the first time I’d gotten my hands on a deck of cards, could ever want. It was a surreal, dream come true kind of moment. “Thank you. I’ve been a fan of yours since I was a kid. That means a lot to me. I’m sure I’ll be taking you up on that. Also, I wonder if you could make some guest appearances, if you’re up for it.”
He grinned his jolly grin. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
He came by almost every day after that, watching the work being done, giving advice, and asking a million questions about the show I was planning.
I tried to stay busy twenty-four seven, but unfortunately, there was always downtime,
while
I
waited
for
contractors to show up, or found myself at loose ends. Still, I avoided downtime like the plague.
Of course, the time that I did spend dwelling was more agonizing than ever now that we worked in the same damned building.
The art gallery was made of glass, placed high above the ground of the casino floor, designed to be a piece of art itself. Watching someone inside of it and not letting them know that you were watching them, well, it couldn’t have been more perfectly designed for just that.
There was a small indoor courtyard there, just some tables and chairs attached to a coffee shop. It was set below and at an angle to the glass gallery. I could sit there and stare for as long as I wanted, and she never saw, never took notice.
I did this a lot.
This was pure masochism, but I couldn’t seem to stop.
Every break I had, every time I came or went I stopped at that little spot. I’d grab food from somewhere else and bring it there. I put in time at that torturous little spot.
This was all particularly unfortunate when
she
started
seeing
some
motherf*cker in a suit.
He must have worked in the building somewhere, because he started showing up often to take her to lunch.
It took every ounce of self-control, every minute of anger management and therapy I’d participated in, to keep from going up there and wringing his neck the first time I saw him wrap his arm around her waist, but I did it.
I walked away.
She’d smiled at him, looked genuinely happy to have him touch her.
No one deserved happy more than Danika.
Certainly not me.
My recovery had felt solid at the time, all of my twelve steps right where they should have been, but that night I very nearly had a relapse. With what felt like my last ditch effort, I called my sponsor, and he effectively talked me down. It wasn’t the first time, or the last, that I knew I owed him my life.
It was a mercy when she moved to L.A., and still I hated it.
I fell back into old patterns.
I started sleeping around. At first, it felt good. Abstinence was a bitch, and I’d been damn near a monk for two years.
It took a few months to realize that this was triggering the addict in me. I began to crave alcohol more than I had since my rehab days.
I went off sex cold turkey again, then tried something in between.
I was in denial at first, for months in fact, that it was a relationship, but those things had a way of sneaking up on you.
I broke up with the poor girl immediately, trying to be as gentle as I could about the whole thing.
It was difficult to sleep with only one woman and not give her the idea that it was something more than friendship, something more than comfort.
I started dating. Not just sleeping around, but dinner, the whole deal. It was a new experience for me, and spending a bit of time with a woman before f*cking seemed to be a necessary component for me. The other way, with one-night stands and one clear cut agenda, hadn’t worked.
I became good at it, at seeing a woman for two to three months, and then ending things in a friendly way. No real emotions were involved in it, but I didn’t feel like I was using anyone, so it seemed to be the best solution for me, all things considered.
Sex with Danika had been mind-blowing for me. Incredible. Amazing.
The best. It had been so good, my need to give her what she needed became so strong that I’d developed another level of kink from the experience. Still, it was never the same.
Not even close.
Domination felt like a silly game when it wasn’t with Danika and the restraints were a cheap imitation.
What we’d had together; it was beautiful. Nothing else had ever come close, and a day didn’t go by that I’d forgotten that.
But I couldn’t have that again. I’d lost the privilege.
And life moved on.