Falling Under
Damian
You wouldn’t believe how quickly a person can go from being potentially famous to a household name.
I’d never tell her this, but I’m finding it quite entertaining to watch all of the speculation about our relationship. Why anyone cares is still beyond me, but they seem to care quite a bit.
They’re even showing some of her old movies on network television now.
Hilarious.
Things are still weighing on my mind after the altercation with Emma last night, but I’m centered, focused, and absolutely prepared to go make a polished turd.
That’s when I see the horde of reporters outside Emma’s gate.
Well, that should thicken the plot for the viewers at home.
I couldn’t remember the code to Emma’s gate, so I parked on the street last night. If I’d gotten up a little earlier, I could have just caught a ride with Emma and maybe I could have avoided what I’m about to do, but que sera, sera.
“Damian!” thirty voices yell almost simultaneously.
I smile and I just keep walking forward.
If you lose your cool with them, they tend to run the clip simply out of spite.
“Damian, so are you having a sexual relationship with Emma Roxy, and if so, do you think this is going to affect your ability to act in your upcoming movie together?” a random voice shouts as I open the gate, push my way through, and make sure it’s latched behind me.
“I think relationships between two people are the business of those two people,” I answer. “I can tell you that filming is going very well and we are all very excited to show you what we’ve come up with. It’s really got quite a bit of heart.”
It means absolutely nothing and they just eat that shit up. “Heart.” Right.
“So you’re confirming that you do, in fact, have a relationship with Emma Roxy?” another one from the herd shouts out as I try to navigate my way to my car.
“I’m confirming that it’s nobody’s business whether I do or don’t have a relationship with Emma,” I answer.
For whatever reason, Emma still wants to downplay this whole thing. I really don’t know why. I’ve come around.
“Do you think that—” someone else starts, but I’ve had enough.
“I’ve got to get to work,” I interrupt, and finally succeed in making it through the herd and to my car door.
“How do you think this relationship is going to affect Emma Roxy’s career?” someone asks.
“I hope her career is judged by her strength as an actress and not who she spends time with,” I answer, and I open the car door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
I get in, and though the reporters are kind enough to let me through, they don’t seem too happy about it.
I’m actually not on my way to work right now. I should probably get there sooner than later, but I need to stop by home and check on Danna.
For the most part, she’s recovered from her relapse, but she still tires pretty easily and I haven’t been home to make sure that she has everything she’s going to need for the day handy. She gets frustrated a lot, but that’s just part of the process.
I get home and Danna’s standing on a chair, reaching for something on the top cabinet in one of the kitchen cupboards.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, rushing in to—I don’t know, catch her if she falls? I just know that she shouldn’t be up there and doing that when she’s this fresh off an episode.
“Calm down, little bro,” she says. “I just needed coffee.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I should have gotten back earlier so I could make sure it was made and—”
“I’m really feeling a lot better,” she says. “I know it’s not good to overdo it, but I do need to start getting up and moving a little bit more or else I’m just going to have a harder time later on. You should start looking for a fill-in for me, though. What was it with the last guy?”
“He suggested that I try out to be on the cast of The Lion King on Broadway. He seemed convinced it was a brilliant idea,” I answer. “He was a moron.”
“You’ve got to figure something out,” she says. “You would be surprised how many people call for you and want you to do things. It really is a full-time job keeping track of it all.”
“I’m sure that whenever you’re feeling up to coming back,” I tell her, “that you’ll be able to pick it back up and get caught up in no time.”
“Oh hell no,” she says. “Whatever’s not getting done right now is simply not getting done. I’m not going to go back through every missed call to ask the person on the other end what they wanted. That’s amateur hour.”
“So you’re saying that right now, I’m basically functioning as if I don’t have an agent at all?” I ask.
“Pretty much,” she says, finally snatching the coffee from the top shelf.
“Just leave that out on the counter,” I tell her.
“Why?” she asks. “Is it because I’m too sick and weak to get it down otherwise?”
“No,” I answer.
“Usually, people explain their reasoning,” she says.
“You know,” I tell her, “if I’m getting along this well without an agent, maybe I should start saving that 15 percent. You know,” I continue, “have something for when I’m all old and disgusting and nobody wants to hire me because the only time I ever come up in conversation anymore is, ‘Hey, remember when Damian Jones didn’t look like a dumpster fire,’ and the other person says, ‘No,’ and they laugh about it—with what I’d save from not paying you, I could simply withdraw from public life completely and live in the mountains with a whiskey still and a shotgun.”
“That does sound like the dream,” she says, “but if I left your career in your hands, you wouldn’t have a career for me to put back together.”
“Your faith in me has always been inspiring,” I tell her.
“I care about people,” she says. “It’s what I do.”
Danna’s always been this way, whatever way one might say that is. It used to be that she was taking care of me, but that was a long time ago under very different circumstances.
Growing up in my house was a pretty rare thing from what I’m told. My parents loved each other and we were a relatively normal, happy family.
Dad and Mom were the classic romantics.
He met her after he came back from the war that she was protesting. He’d never really thought about whether or not the war was a just thing or an unjust thing; he’d simply been called to serve in the military, and so he went.
They ran into each other later in the afternoon that he walked by the big protest she’d organized and he recognized her.
The two of them told the story often enough that I can still remember how they said the conversation went.
She was in a diner that day and he walked in and saw her. She was sitting at the counter eating blueberry waffles in a bowl. The bowl was necessary for the amount of syrup in which they were swimming.
“Hey, you were talking at that big anti-war rally today, weren’t you?” he asked.
She looked up with a spoonful of waffle and syrup and said, “Yeah. What they’re doing isn’t right.”
“I’m a soldier,” he said. “Does that mean that we’d never be able to get along?”
She looked him up and down and said, “I thought military guys knew how to shave.”
That’s the point in the story where my parents would always start laughing and squeezing each other a little bit.
They used to go out, every anniversary, and they’d have dinner at the same diner where they first met.
Then, one night when I was 15, they went out for their anniversary dinner and they didn’t come back.
To be honest, I didn’t really notice until after midnight. I’d been out partying with friends, and I was stoned when I got home and Danna met me at the door.
She was crying, and at first I couldn’t understand what she was trying to tell me. When I finally got what she was trying to say, my head cleared pretty fucking quick.
“They were walking to their car,” she sobbed. “Someone in the diner said they saw a man run up to them with a gun in their faces. Damian,” she said, her voice quivering, “they’re dead.”
It didn’t make sense. It still doesn’t make sense.
We would go on to learn that the mugger had told my dad and mom to give him all their money, but when they’d given him everything they had, he just pointed the gun at my mother and said, “Sweet dreams.”
I know what he said because they caught the mugger. He was very proud of himself.
My dad had thrown himself in front of my mother and caught the bullet that man meant for her. During sentencing, the man described the scene, saying, “It was really kind of touching that he would give his life for her. I almost felt bad putting that second bullet into her while he was bleeding out.”
He got a life sentence.
There’s a reason my career was silent when I was a teenager, and there’s a reason why family is such an important thing to me. Sometimes, the people you love—sometimes they’re just gone and that’s that. The last conversation you had with them is the last conversation you’ll ever have with them and there’s nothing that you can do about it.
That’s why I owe so much to Danna.
I’d still take care of her just because she’s my sister and my twin and she’s sick, but ever since she helped me see the other side of what happened to Mom and Dad, I’ve been very protective of her.
Sitting on the couch now, Danna’s talking about something which, even hearing it, I can’t begin to pronounce.
“…it’s supposed to make relapses less frequent and less severe,” she says. “It’s really a wonder more people don’t know about it.”
“Where do you get this stuff?” I ask.
“Oh, my friend Jade knows the holistic healer that discovered it,” she says. “She’s going to introduce me to him tomorrow—he’s coming over here. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m still not quite ready to get out on the town and everything.”
“I wish you’d stop doing that,” I tell her.
“Doing what?” she asks.
“Getting your hopes up every time some charlatan tells you they’ve got the cure for MS,” I tell her.
I may be protective of her, but that doesn’t mean that I’m always nice about it.
“I never said it was a cure,” she says. “I’m just saying that, you know, if this stuff can even make things a little easier, wouldn’t that be worth it?”
“You don’t know what this stuff is,” I tell her.
“Of course I do,” she says, “it’s [enter word I cannot pronounce or spell here].”
“And where does it come from? Is it a plant or is it some kind of chemical? Have you done any independent research on it to see what kind of effects it might actually have that people other than your friend’s guru have documented?” I ask. “Danna, you can’t keep doing this. Every time something turns out to be a waste of money, it knocks your legs out from under you, and I’m sick of seeing it.”
“It’s not like that,” she says. “Everyone’s body reacts differently.”
Danna’s not the hippie type, but after an episode, she’s always on the lookout for something, anything, that might make things easier. I don’t begrudge her that, but at the same time, it’s hard to see her so disappointed.
“People’s bodies react differently to some degree,” I tell her, “but something that’s actually as profound a medicine as that crap you’ve already tried doesn’t just work for a handful of people you’ve never met. They work for most people.”
“They worked for me a little bit,” she says. “For a few days at least, I think most of them made some kind of difference.”
“Yeah,” I tell her, “it’s called the placebo effect.”
“Why are you being such a dick about this?” she asks.
“I’m not,” I tell her. “I’m just trying to get you to understand that sometimes the answers just aren’t easy. Sometimes there’s just not some secret formula that’s going to make everything in the world better.”
“You’re an asshole,” she says, getting up from the couch, “you know that?”
“Danna, calm down,” I tell her, but she’s already walking out of the room.
I could get up and chase her, but what would be the point? We’re not going to agree on this and we’re going to end up pissing each other off.
As long as the stuff she’s taking isn’t actually going to harm her, I’m all right with it in principle, but every time something new doesn’t work out it’s like she just got the diagnosis.
The doorbell rings and Danna yells, “I’ll get it!”
I hear the door open and I hear distant voices, but I can’t tell what’s being said or who’s at the door.
The door closes after about a minute and I don’t hear anything about it.
I get up and find Danna in her room, scrolling through online dating profiles on her computer.
“Who was at the door?” I ask.
“That actress,” she says. “What’s her name?”
“Which actress?” I ask.
“The one you’re working with right now,” she says, scratching the back of her head, “the main one.”
“Emma?” I ask. “The one that I’m dating?”
“Yeah,” Danna says. “She said she came by because you hadn’t been to the set today. She said they’d worked everything out, so you’d be fine, but that she was worried about you.”
“Why didn’t you let her in?” I ask.
“I wasn’t in the mood for company,” she says. “You’ve kind of spoiled my afternoon.”
“Why didn’t you at least let me know that she was at the door?” I ask.
“We were talking,” she says. “We were busy.”
“What were you talking about?” I ask.
Danna smiles.
“What did you do?” I ask.
Danna’s a good person, but sometimes she lashes out in some pretty strange and often destructive ways.
“I probably shouldn’t have,” Danna giggles, “but when I opened the door and saw that surprised look on her face because it was me she saw and not you on the other side of it, I just had to.”
“What did you do?” I ask again.
“I was just messing around with her,” Danna says.
“Yeah, you were messing around with her because you’re pissed off at me,” I say. “What did you say to her?”
“I just told her that I was a long lost love of yours and that we’ve decided to reconnect,” she says.
“You’re kidding,” I laugh.
“Nope,” she says.
“You’re kidding,” I repeat. “She knows I have a sister and that you live with me. She wouldn’t have bought it.”
“Yeah, I don’t think she was really remembering the whole twin sister thing when I was talking to her,” Danna says. “After that, I’m thinking about taking up a career in acting, to be honest with you. It was one hell of a performance. I really had her going.”
“But you told her that you were just joking, right?” I ask.
Danna doesn’t answer.
“You told her that you’re my sister, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, I was planning to get around to that, but the way she just stormed off, I never had a chance,” she says.
“What the hell is your problem?” I ask. “Things have already been strained with Emma and me. We really didn’t need this right now.”
“Well, maybe you’ll think about that the next time you go off on me for trying to find things that might actually help me get better,” she says.
Now, this I can’t believe.
“What is your problem?” I ask her. “I tell you that stuff that hasn’t worked for you in the past hasn’t worked for you in the past and you use that as an excuse to try and fuck with my relationship—the first relationship I’ve really even had since Jamie.”
“This isn’t about that,” Danna says. “I’m sure Emma’s a very nice girl.”
I pull out my phone. “I want you to call her,” I tell Danna. “I’ll put in the number, but I want you to explain that you’re my sister and that you were just playing a practical joke on her and then I want you to apologize.”
“You can want whatever you like,” Danna says, “but that don’t mean it’s gonna happen.”
“Why do you have to make everything more complicated?” I ask her. “Whenever you come across something that’s working or something that people are trying to make work, you’ve just got to shit on it?”
“I don’t do that,” she says. “I played one stupid joke and you’re freaking out about it.”
“It’s not just one stupid joke,” I tell her. “I am so sick of these little moods you get in when you’re miffed at me.”
“Miffed?” she asks. “Who are you, my third grade English teacher?”
“Danna, I really didn’t need this right now,” I tell her.
“Mrs. Porter!” Danna announces. “That was her name.”
“Yeah,” I tell her, “I know. I was in your class. I want you to apologize and I want you to mean it. Then,” I tell her, “I want you to offer to take her to dinner to show her that you’re really sorry.”
“And what, pray tell, are you going to do if I don’t?” she asks.
“First off, will you grow up?” I ask. “Second off, I’m starting to think that maybe you living here is going to be a bad idea.”
“You’re going to kick me out if I don’t apologize to your girlfriend?” she asks.
“Danna, there are things I can help you with and things that I can’t help you with. You’re recovering from your last episode and I think now just might be a good time for us to start looking for a place for you to keep as your own,” I tell her.
Would I really kick my sister out of my house?
I know I wouldn’t do it for screwing with Emma, although I am pretty pissed about that.
If anything, I think I’m just trying to get her to pull her head out of her ass and start listening to me.
Phone in hand, I pull up Emma’s number and I press the call button.
I hand the phone to Danna and says, “Be nice.”
Danna rolls her eyes at me.
“Yeah, is this Emma?” she asks. “Yeah, hey, this is Danna, Damian’s sister. I played a bit of a trick on you and it was kind of mean…yeah, that was me. It’s just one of those things where I thought it would be funny, but it ended up going too far, and I just wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry and that Damian had nothing to do with it.”
I tap Danna on the shoulder and whisper, “Dinner.”
Danna rolls her eyes at me again.