Costars (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (19 page)

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.

Chapter Thirteen

Dinner and the Perils of the Trade

Emma

I’m sitting in the restaurant and, just
like with the radio interview, I’ve made the mistake of arriving too early. At
least this time, the only consequence is that I have to sit at the table alone
for a few minutes.

It gives me a little time to reflect on
what’s about to happen, though.

Danna is Damian’s twin sister and,
although she was kind enough to call, apologize, and invite me out to dinner
with her and her brother, I really get the feeling that she doesn’t really like
me. A joke’s a joke, but it wasn’t too hard to see that the mea culpa was
coerced.

When the two of them come into the
restaurant, I see her first.

The guy working the front points Damian
and Danna in my direction and I get ready for whatever’s about to happen.

“Hey there,” Danna says, for the first
time herself to me in person. “I’m glad you could make it. Have you been
waiting long?”

Half an hour.

“No,” I answer.

I’ve really got to stop getting to things
early. It just creates a lot of waiting.

We sit down and share a few pleasantries.
Danna apologizes again and I pretend like it didn’t bother me and that, after I
found out what was really going on, I found the whole thing really funny.

“So, you’re not going to believe
this—Damian, I forgot to tell this earlier,” Danna says out of the blue.
“Today, you got another letter from that crazy lady,” she says. “Apparently,
wedding plans are moving forward.”

I smile and chuckle because I don’t know
that’s not what I’m supposed to do.

“She didn’t leave anything but the note
this time, did she?” Damian asks.

“No,” Danna says. “She just wrote the
whole thing using what may or may not be paint all over the road outside the
house. I figured you’d see it when you got home, but I figured it might not be
a bad idea if you’ve got a bit of a heads-up about it. She’s starting to sound
a little desperate.”

“You’re not joking?” I ask.

“Sadly,” Damian says, “no. For the last
couple of months, there’s been this woman who’s been sending me notes and
leaving me weird crap—”

“Those flowers were pretty cool,” Danna
says.

“Yeah, but the bag full of bloody tofu
wasn’t,” he says.

“Bloody tofu?” I ask. “Flowers? Do you
even know this woman?”

“No,” Damian says. “She’s never stuck
around long enough for anyone to catch her in the act.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me about this?” I
ask.

“We’ve already taken all of the
precautions that we can,” he says. “I just didn’t want to worry you.”

“How can I not be worried?” I ask. “You’ve
got a stalker.”

I’m starting to feel like a nag again, but
I haven’t told you about the phone call I got while I was waiting for Damian
and Danna to get here. I’ll give you more on that in a little bit.

“She’s very persistent,” Danna laughs.

I just ignore her, but Damian seems pretty
irritated by his twin’s amusement.

“Do they think they’re going to be able to
get it off the road or are there going to be pictures of that all over the news
tonight?” he asks.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” I tell him.

“Why?” he asks.

“I’m sure they’ll get rid of it after
they’ve taken pictures for evidence and all that,” Danna says.

“I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me
about this before, Damian,” I say. “I’m not mad or anything, I would just like
to know when the guy I’m dating is being harassed by some crazy stalker.”

“I think we throw the word ‘crazy’ around
all too much these days,” Danna says.

“Is there any way you could keep your
ridiculous sense of humor to yourself?” Damian asks her.

“Hey,” I tell him. “It’s all right. Calm
down.”

“Well, you two decide what you want. I’m
going to pop into the little girl’s room,” Danna says.

“Do you want us to order you something if
the waiter gets here before you’re back?” I ask.

“That’s all right,” she says and gets up
from the table.

“So, how long has she been stalking you?”
I ask.

“Like I said,” he says, “it’s been a
couple of months. She’s been quiet for a little bit, though. I was kind of
hoping she’d moved on or something.”

“And you’ve never seen her face-to-face?”
I ask.

“If I have,” he says, “I didn’t know it.”

“There’s a creepy thought,” I tell him.

We chat a little and when the waiter gets
to the table we order our food. We don’t order anything for Danna because she
didn’t tell us what she wanted.

Come to think of it, she
has
been in the bathroom for a pretty
long time.

Danna has MS. Damian told me about that. I
wonder if she’s okay.

“I’m going to go freshen up while we wait
for our meal,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” he says. “While you’re in there,
would you mind checking on Danna? I’m sure she’s fine and everything, but—is
that weird to ask?”

“Not at all,” I tell him. “I’ll be back in
a minute.”

So, I head to the bathroom, only Danna’s
not in there. I walk back out and look around the restaurant in case I missed
her, but she’s nowhere around.

Not really seeing the purpose in checking
outside, I walk back to the table.

“Is she doing all right?” Damian asks.

“She wasn’t in there,” I tell him.

“She took off?” he asks.

“It would appear that way,” I tell him.

“Fantastic,” he says. “I don’t know what
her problem is lately.”

“Do you need to go after her?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s
just pissed at the world right now, I think. Oh well. Hey,” he says, “things
still messed up with your dad?”

“No,” I tell him. “And I’d really rather
not talk about that.”

“All right,” he says.

For a few, glorious seconds, I think that
we’ve moved on that we’re going to spend the rest of the evening discussing
other things, but Damian just can’t let go.

“I just wanted to let you know that I
understand why you wouldn’t want to talk to him,” he says. “But at the same
time, that was what, like ten years ago?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking
about,” I tell him.

“Did it go on after that?” he asks. “How
old were you when it stopped?”

“Damian,” I warn him, “let it go.”

“I’m telling you that I understand,” he
says. “Only that it might be time to revisit the idea of getting back in touch
with him. It doesn’t even have to be on this trip or anything, you could just
start calling each other every once in a while, you know, try to rebuild a
foundation of trust and—”

“Damian,” I say in a very calm, quiet
voice, very aware of the fact that after the phone call a few minutes before
Damian arrived, people in the restaurant are starting to become much more aware
of my presence, “for the love of god, take the hint and drop it. This is not
something I want to talk about here and it’s not something I’m going to talk
about here. Suffice it to say that my dad didn’t stop damaging the world when
he stopped hurting us.”

“Okay,” Damian says. “I’m sorry. I don’t
know why I’m so obsessed with the idea of you and your father reconciling.”

I glance around and those that aren’t
actually staring at me are being nudged by their dinner companions who are.

Exactly how something like this spread in
a restaurant is beyond me, but there’s no mistaking that I’ve become the focus
of the whole place. It’s so bad that even Damian starts to notice it.

“I guess we should have thought about
whether or not we should do the dining in public thing right now while there’s
so much press about us,” he says.

“That’s not it,” I tell him.

“What is it then?” he asks.

“Before you got here, I got a call,” I
start. “It was Ben. He told me that he’d already spent the last money I sent
him on a down payment for something and that he needed me to send him more. I
told him that I was sick of being at his beck and call while he blackmails me,
so I told him I wasn’t going to do it.”

“What’d he say?” Damian asks.

“What do you think he said?” I ask and
casually gesture toward the sea of faces that are looking between their phones
and me.

“They’re out there?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I tell him.

“When did this happen?” he asks.

“I told you,” I said, “not long before the
two of you got here. I’m glad you were a little late, though,” I continue. “It
gave me a chance to call the police on the motherfucker.”

“This is really happening, huh?” he asks.

“Yep,” I tell him and smack my lips.
“Before you see the pictures,” I tell him, “there’s something I think I should
prepare you for.”

“I don’t think there’s much of you I
haven’t seen,” he says loudly enough for people at the surrounding tables to
pick it up and jump into hushed conversations.

Apparently, he figures there’s enough
going on already that the story of two actors bumping
uglies
isn’t going to be that big of a deal. I don’t think he’s right, but at this
point, I just don’t even care anymore.

“Bruises,” I tell him. “You haven’t seen
me covered in bruises.”

The violence my dad never gave to me when
I was a kid, I got from Ben.

“He hit you?” Damian asks.

“Yeah,” I answer, “a lot. That’s going to
be the story. I’m going to be the only celebrity in the fucking world who gets
naked pictures leaked and nobody’s going to give a shit about the naughty bits.
Everyone’s going to be looking at the bruises.”

“But that’s tantamount to him admitting to
the assault,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, “I guess so, but I think
blackmail is going to be the more hefty charge.”

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m not great,” I tell him. “I’m not
looking forward to any of what’s going to come next, but it’s really too late
to worry about that now. What’s done is done and there’s not a damn thing that
either of us can do about it now.”

I don’t know if this is the nicest
restaurant in the city or not, but it’s not the kind of place where anyone can
just walk in out of the gutter and get a table. There’s a dress code here, and
a certain conduct is expected of those who dine here.

None of that, though, seems to have any
effect on the thirty-something man who comes over to the table where I’m
sitting with Damian, pulls out his phone and takes a picture of me.

The man sees that I’m looking at him and
he says, “Sorry. You’re Emma Roxy, right?”

“You’re the one with the picture,” I
answer. “You tell me.”

“Do you think I could get a picture with
just the two of us?” he asks.

It’s all I can do to keep Damian in his
seat.

*
                   
*
                   
*

I get the call an hour after Damian and I
leave the restaurant that Ben’s been apprehended and they want me to come by
and take a quick look through the glass to make sure they’ve got the right guy.

If it’s what they need to screw him to the
fucking wall, I’m happy to do it.

Damian, bless him, won’t leave my side
even when I’m walking into the police station and identifying the jackass who
tried to ruin my life twice and get away with it.

They take Ben away and, even knowing
there’s going to be a trial and I’m going to have to testify and everything, it
already feels like so much is already done. The fact that he’s nowhere he can
get to me is enough for now.

Damian was right about one thing: Leaking
the photos was a stupid idea. I don’t know if he didn’t think I would call the
police if he let the pictures slip or not, but now that everyone in the world
is seeing either blurred or explicit shots of me covered in scrapes and
bruises.

That weekend, Ben told me at the time, was
to make up for what a child he’d been a few days before. He was referencing our
“discussion” that put those bruises on me, and while he told me that he wanted
to take those pictures because of “how sexy” he thought I looked, I knew why he
was really taking them.

He wanted a reminder of just how much
power he had over me. He wanted something he could throw in my face if I ever
went so far as to defy him. Well, now I’ve defied him and that picture is in
everyone’s face and it’s going to go a long way toward influencing whatever
jury he ends up with.