Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika 2)

When the waiter asked us what we wanted to drink, Danika loudly butted in, ordering for us all. “Just waters tonight.”

I wanted to grumble about it, but I knew she was right. My mother needed to avoid alcohol for a while. I highly doubted she’d been sober in months, and she’d never been a good drunk.

We shared a long, joyful meal, making plans for the baby, my mother happily squeezing my arm every so often in her excitement. This wound had been healed, all thanks to Danika.

We left my mother with a clean house, and a hopeful heart.

All thanks to Danika.

She was the one. If I’d ever had a doubt, I didn’t now. She was the one I’d be thinking about, longing for, until I took my last breath. If I lost her tomorrow, I’d pine for her like a lovesick fool. This was the kind of love that only hit you once in your life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

DANIKA

I’d called my sister several times after I’d gotten her number. When I had no luck reaching her, Jerry offered to use the number to track her down for me, and I’d let him. He was resourceful like that.

He’d found her living in L.A. She was a waitress and an aspiring actress, and she was willing to drive all the way to Vegas just to meet with me.

I was ecstatic.

Jerry had set up the meeting, but it had taken her a very long time to pin down a date. I’d been more than willing to drive to see her in L.A., but through the filter of Jerry, she’d insisted that she’d prefer to come see me. I was more than willing to take what I could get, even when it took her months to come.

We were supposed to be meeting in the bar and grill on Maryland Parkway, right across from the UNLV campus. I was hurrying to the meeting, running ten minutes behind because of my long-winded Political Science professor, when I saw her.

I stopped in my tracks.

It had been years since I’d seen her, but I recognized her instantly. She’d changed so much, but she was still the beautiful girl I remembered.

My mother said she didn’t look like me, but that was wrong. She had light brown hair, which was different, and it fell long and wavy down her back. She’d gotten blonde highlights, which set it off nicely. She was much shorter than me, and even my mother, and built thin, almost waif-like. I looked voluptuous in comparison.

But her face, down to her pale gray eyes, had always been very similar to mine. There was perhaps just a touch less of an exotic tilt to her eyes, but not by much. Even with her light brown hair, she barely passed for Caucasian, on close inspection. For some reason, this had always made my mom think she was plain. But she was wrong. Dahlia was stunning.

She was dressed very preppy, with a pleated gray skirt, white silk top, and a pale pink cardigan. Black Mary Janes and white knee-high socks completed the look. She looked like an adorable schoolgirl. It was not the look I’d been expecting her to adopt, being an actress/waitress living in L.A., but it looked great on her.

She didn’t smile when she saw me, but she waved, big white sunglasses hiding her expressive eyes from me.

I waved back, moving to her. We stopped in the middle of the sidewalk when we reached each other, just staring. I would have hugged her, but I wasn’t sure she’d want that, so I kept studying her, taking in this new, grown up version of my sister.

She seemed to do the same. I’d worn a little mod sheath dress that I’d borrowed from Bev. It was light blue, and I had flat ballet slippers that matched almost exactly. I’d been going for conservative but feminine, wanting to make a good impression on my kid sister, and be the polar opposite of how she’d last seen me, in that dark trailer that held so many dark horrors for us both.

“Hey Dahlia,” I finally spoke, finding my voice, if barely. Setting eyes on her had me choked up. “You look wonderful. L.A. seems to agree with you.”

She nodded shortly, still not smiling. “It’s better than here. I can’t believe you stayed here. I hate this town.”

I couldn’t blame her. We’d had a hell of a childhood in Sin City. Somehow, though, I’d made my peace with it. “I’m going to school here. I’m on a decent scholarship, and I work for a great family. I haven’t felt any desire to leave. Everything I need is here.”

She just gave another short nod. “Can we go sit down somewhere?”

“Yes, of course! I’m so sorry I was late. My professor wouldn’t stop talking.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that. I never even finished high school.”

That made me stare unhappily down at my feet. “I’m sorry for that,” I told her quietly.

“Why are you sorry? It wasn’t your fault. We never did have any good odds in our favor. It’s amazing one of us even made it to college.”

There was something in her words that gave me hope, some inkling I could hold onto that she didn’t blame me for everything.

We got a booth, ordered two waters, and then had another long staring match. It was something akin to an awkward silence, although it wasn’t quite that.

I studied her hands. They were so tiny and delicate. How had such a tiny, delicate thing like Dahlia fared against the big bad world all by herself, from such a young age? She’d survived, obviously, but what had she had to go through?

I shuddered to think.

“So how are you?” I asked her quietly and seriously.

That got the tiniest smile out of her. “I’m all right. Waiting tables. Still trying to catch my big break. I can’t complain.”

We shared another long, studying silence.

“So, I um, met your boyfriend,” Dahlia finally began, her lips pursing. I had a hard time reading her, but I thought her expression was displeased.

That had my eyebrows arching in a very curious question. I’d heard nothing about it.

“You’ve met my boyfriend? Tristan?”

She laughed nervously. “Yeah, Tristan. Unless you have more than one?”

I smiled and shook my head. “Not a chance. Just the one. How on earth did you meet him?”

“Your boss, Jerry. He invited me to come see the guys record their album a while ago, and I took him up on the offer. They’re amazing.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes they are! Wow I’m jealous. I still haven’t had a chance to come hear them recording.”

She shot me a small, sheepish smile. “I actually went and saw them several times. I couldn’t seem to stay away.”

My mouth twisted wryly. I could see the appeal of five hot guys to a nineteen year old girl. Hell, I doubted any age woman would be immune to them.

“So…you and Tristan. Are you two actually serious?” There was something that I really didn’t like in her tone, as though she weren’t just idly curious.

“Yes,” I said simply. I didn’t feel the need to share any more. I was still feeling her out.

“He’s…a really great guy. I can see why you fell for him.”

“Thanks,” I said slowly, not liking the turn the conversation had taken. I tried to put my finger on it, but there were no definitive red flags. She was hard for me to read, which was sad, because we were sisters, and we’d been inseparable as children.

“So what made you decide to pursue acting?” I asked her, changing the subject, though I was curious. It would have been the last choice I’d have guessed for her. She’d always been such an introvert.

She shrugged, fidgeting in her chair. The question made her uncomfortable, it was clear. “A combination of things. I did one small role, and realized I liked it. Also…it runs in the family.”

I had to think that one over for a while before I gave up. I had no idea what she was talking about. There was just us and our mother, no other family, and none of us were actresses. “What do you mean?”

She cleared her throat, then looked down at her hands. When she spoke, her voice was barely loud enough for me to catch. “Our father is an actor.”

The silence wasn’t awkward this time, but it was long. I sat there, stunned, and tried to understand what she’d just said.

“You know our father?” I finally asked her. It was a mystery that had disturbed me for most of my life. Only in the last few years had I finally made peace with the idea that I would never know who he was. My mother had been stubbornly close-mouthed on the subject.

She ducked her head, flushing. “I do, yes.”

I swallowed. I didn’t know what I was feeling, couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was manifesting itself as a knot in my throat, and a burning in my chest. Why on earth would anything to do with this man, this person who had never been in our lives, had literally abandoned us from the start, bring up some strange emotion inside of me? Emotion that made the smallest news, the tiniest inkling that I might have some answers about him knock the breath out of me. I was angry with myself for feeling wounded that my sister somehow knew him, and I did not, but there it was.

Finally, “How do you know him? When did this start?”

She never looked up. “When I left that trailer with that sick old man, I found Mom. She was in bad shape, as she usually is, but I asked her if I could move back in with her. I didn’t know where else to go. She said no, but she finally told me who our father was, and she gave me his number. So I went to L.A., and met him.”

Her lip curled into an expression of distaste, but her eyes stayed down. “He was nothing like I’d hoped for. He’s known about us the whole time. He was giving Mom money, but he wanted nothing to do with us. He met with me, and gave me some money, enough to live on for years, but he made it clear he didn’t want to see me again.”

I was overwhelmed.

I just stared at her, trying to figure out where I should start with the questions.

She began to speak again, “He has a family, has four legitimate kids. The oldest is four years older than you, and the youngest is three years younger than me. He’s been a busy guy, but he’s still married. God only knows how many other children he has hidden away. I don’t imagine we’re his only dirty little secret.”

“He’s very famous, and he’s loaded, like mega-loaded.” She looked up, saw my expression, and continued, “He paid my way for a while, when I was underage and had no resources. I guess I’m thankful, in a way, but it does little to soften my resentment. I stopped taking his money as soon as I was able to get on my feet. He won’t even have a phone conversation with me. He has his assistant talk to me. There are no real ties there, and so it didn’t feel right to keep taking his money. Now all I want is to become more famous than him, more famous than his family, so I can show him what he threw away.” Her voice was passionate by the end, and I felt for her.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, to be grossly neglected by one parent, and completely rejected by the other.

It took me a while, but I finally asked the question that I had to ask. “Who is he?”

“Bronson Giles.”

I’d heard of him. He was a dramatic actor, and critically acclaimed. He was large-boned and handsome, with blond hair and striking pale gray eyes. I recalled that he’d won an Oscar a few years back, and that I’d seen him in several movies, and thought he was good.