My Stepbrother, the Artist

by Sybil Ling

  “Diana?” comes a voice, Zach’s voice, but it’s far away now. Diana makes a sound, or tries to at least, but it doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t be able to open her eyes anyways. And with that last thought she finally slips off into the sweet escape of sleep.

  Chapter 7

  Strange, bright flashes of light seep their way in between Diana’s sleep-gummed eyelids. Her face pinches shut as she tries swiping at them, to make the minor annoyances go away, but still they persist. She opens her mouth, attempting to voice her irritation, but all that comes out of her mouth is a mumble.

  Tap tap tap.

  Diana turns over on the bed, her mostly naked body uncovered by any sheet or blanket.

  Tap tap tap tap tap.

  She feels a movement beside her and finally her eyes open, the blurry sight of the studio’s ceiling filling her vision. Diana blinks, clearing the blurriness away, and that movement comes beside her again. She turns her head to see Zach lying naked beside her, his eyes open and looking at her, a smile on his face. Diana is about to smile back when that sound comes again.

  TAP TAP TAP TAP.

  Her smile stops halfway as her brow furrows. Zach’s smiles brightens, and his eyes move up, past and behind her. Diana rolls over to see the open window she had seen the stars out of, but now it’s filled with gawking reporters, a dozen of them at least, and all with cameras and taking pictures, the flashing bulbs blinding her temporarily as they stare, smile, laugh, and gasp.

  Diana gives a shriek as she tries to sit up, covering her breasts with her hands, pushing her sundress down to block her naked lower half from their view. But the damage is done, and they continue to take picture after picture. Movement comes from behind her and Zach is sitting up too. Diana spins to look at him and finds that smile of his still there, painted on his face.

  “Zach!” she screams. “There are reporters!”

  “I know,” Zach says, still smiling. “I was the one who called them up.”

  Diana stares at him, aghast, unbelieving. Zach’s smile is only growing bigger, stretching until it looks like his face is going to split in half.

  “Oh, now what’s the matter, sis? I thought you loved the camera!”

  And he starts to laugh, and laugh and laugh and laugh as Diana pushes herself off of the bed, covering her naked body, running to get away from the reporters and from Zach and from everything else in the world.

  Part 2

  Chapter 8

  FASHION MODEL DIANA SIMMS CAUGHT IN BED WITH OWN STEPBROTHER!

  STEP-PING OUT OF LINE? DIANA SIMMS CAUGHT IN SCANDALOUS AFFAIR!

  RENOWNED ARTIST ZACH DANIELS AND FASHION MODEL STEPSISTER DIANA SIMMS SHOCK PUBLIC WITH UNCENSORED SEXUAL ACT!

  The newspapers slap down one at a time in front of Diana, hitting the granite kitchen counter of her parents’ home and making her jolt with each one. She sits, shame-faced, on one of the bar stools positioned in front of the breakfast nook. Dean, her manager, has just finished showing her the latest in celebrity gossip news, and is now pacing furiously back and forth.

  “What the fuck, Diana?” Dean yells, throwing his hands up into the air. “What in the fuck were you thinking, huh?”

  Diana sniffs wetly, feeling tears hover just behind her eyelids but managing to hold them back. The reporters had only caught her and Zach in bed together that morning, and Diana had spent the past several hours crying in her room until it was announced that Dean had arrived from New York. Now she sits in the kitchen with him, trying to defend herself.

  “No one was supposed to know,” she says in a small voice.

  “What?” Dean yells, stopping beside her and lowering his head to hers. “Speak up, I can’t fucking hear you!”

  Diana takes a shuddering breath and lets it out before raising her head to face the red-cheeked man.

  “I said, no one was supposed to know.”

  “Oh!” Dean yells again, throwing his hands up into the air as though he’s just discovered water. “Well, I’m sorry! I wasn’t aware that no one in the world was supposed to know about your disgusting incestuous relationship with your own fucking brother!”

  “He’s not my brother,” Diana corrects him. “He’s my stepbrother. We’re not related.”

  “Guess who cares about that?” Dean yells, his face an inch from hers and his thumb and forefinger forming a circle. “No. Fucking. One!” He marches away from her and Diana drops her head back down again. “The public doesn’t fucking care that you’re not technically related! All they care about are the words “sex” and “brother” in the same sentence. Honestly! Do you know what this is going to do for your career?”

  “I don’t care,” Diana mutters, and here Dean actually stops, turning his head to face her slowly.

  “What did you just say?” he asks. “Did you just say that you don’t care? What do you mean, you don’t care? I didn’t catch an express flight all the way from New York fucking City just to hear that you don’t care about your career!”

  Diana raises her head.

  “I mean, I don’t care,” she repeats, her voice sounding stronger now. “Dean … do you have any idea what I have to go through, being in the public eye so much? I can’t live my own life; I can’t feel safe in the streets because at any moment, mobs of people could tear me apart or hurt me? I need a bodyguard anywhere I go! I get marriage proposals from complete strangers! These people don’t even know me!”

  “They love you,” Dean says, his voice back to a moderate, consoling tone. “They’re your public, Diana. They love who you are.”

  “They have no idea who I am,” Diana spits back. “These people don’t know me. All they know are the pictures they see in the magazines, which, most of the time, aren’t even me! It’s all just Photoshopped. I’m like a fucking doll or cartoon or something!”

  “Honey … Baby …” Dean begins, but Diana keeps talking.

  “And they all call me beautiful,” she says. “Do you know what it’s like to be called ‘beautiful’ and ‘gorgeous’ all the time by people you’ve never even met, or who act like they’re your best friend when you’ve only known them for thirty seconds? It all becomes the same, and all the words lose meaning, Dean. I don’t feel beautiful. I feel ugly. I’ve never felt more ugly, and the last thing I want right now is to parade in front of some strangers with cameras wearing some dress that I would never be caught dead in in real life.

  “And then, the icing on the cake is these reporters. You see, they don’t care about who I am as a person. All they care about is catching me doing something they think is stupid, and then getting paid for it. They only want headlines, they don’t want personalities. I mean nothing to these people. I’m just something to gawk at until the next best thing comes along. It’s all so stupid … and I’m wondering if it’s worth going back to at all.”

  A silence hangs in the air at Diana’s last statement, and she can feel the trepidation with which Dean speaks his next words.

  “Diana, honey,” Dean says, sitting down on the stool next to her. His voice is cool and smooth now — the normal Dean. She doesn’t look at him, but instead stares at the counter, at a spot just below where the newspapers have been laid. “Sweety, think about what you’re saying. You’re a super model, hon. You’re a beauti- … you’ve got a lot of natural talent, okay? It would be such a waste to throw that all away just because of this one silly mistake.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Diana says.

  Dean purses his lips and shakes his head.

  “Diana, so many girls would love to be in your position,” he says, his tone now reminding Diana of an upset school teacher. “They would love to have the freedom you have; to make the money that you make.”

  “Then let them have it,” Diana says, pushing her stool back and getting up. The strength that comes into her from this one simple act of defiance is eye-opening. “I don’t want it anymore, and I don’t need any more money.”

  She starts to leav
e the kitchen when she hears Dean push his stool back too.

  “Diana, wait.”

  But it’s Diana’s turn to shake her head, slowing down but not turning around.

  “I’m sorry, Dean,” she says. “I quit. You can find your own way out.”

  She leaves the kitchen, feeling changed, new, as she leaves a stunned and silent Dean behind her.

  Chapter 9

  Diana lies on the queen-sized bed in her bedroom, curled up on one side, staring out the window as the beautiful sunset spreads hues of red, orange, and purple streaming through the clouds. Dean left the house, and Beverly Hills, hours ago. The power she had previously felt at telling him that she’s quitting had faded fast, and now she’s left in a melancholy mood with only the sensation at having no direction in life, and the memories of the reporters taking their pictures, to keep her company.

  A knock comes at the closed door, three quick raps, but Diana doesn’t turn around or answer.

  “Hello?” comes a familiar voice through the wooden panelling: Zach. Diana drops her gaze from the window to the wall just below it as she hears the door open. Soft, padding footsteps on the carpet behind her, and then the feeling of something heavy and papery hitting her leg. Diana turns her head around to see Zach looking down at her, a big smile on his face, holding a newspaper with the headline “SUPERSTAR MODEL SLEEPS WITH OWN BROTHER” on it.

  “Hey-a kid!” Zach says, practically buoyant with happiness. “Didja see today’s papers?”

  “Go away,” Diana says, turning to face away from him, staring back out the window again as the sky becomes more purple than yellow.

  “Go away?” Zach repeats. “What, you don’t want to celebrate with me? We made the front page! Of, like, all the papers! No artist, or super model, has ever been able to do that before!”

  “You used me,” Diana tells him, and she hears Zach make a quick dismissing noise as he walks around to the other side of the bed.

  “Ah, you make it sound so harsh,” he says, his legs appearing in her vision. “I didn’t use you, I only had you help me without you knowing. You saw those reporters, though: they were eating it up! Man, I can’t imagine what people are saying about it right now.”

  Diana rolls back onto her other side, facing away from him again. Now she can only see the open door to her bedroom, leading out into the hallway beyond.

  “They probably think we’re sinners,” Diana says. “Or that you’re a sicko and I’m a crazy slut.”

  “Mm, music to my ears,” Zach says.

  The mattress springs dip down as Zach sits next to Diana. She lets out a grunt, shuffling herself away from him like a worm.

  “Oh, come on, Diana!” Zach says, for the first time with exasperation in his voice. “It’s a joke, I thought you’d like it! Or at least you’d be able to appreciate all the reporters. It’s been so long since you’ve been in front of a camera, you know, why it must’ve been, what, three whole days?”

  Tears roll down out of Diana’s eyes and she forces them away with the heel of her hand.

  “Go away,” she says in a low, cracking voice.

  “Come on, what’s wrong?” Zach asks, and Diana feels his hand on her upper arm. She jerks her shoulder away from him and he lets go. “Diana, what’s wrong? I didn’t think you’d take it this badly.”

  Diana sighs. “You don’t get it,” she says.

  “What don’t I get?” he asks. “We’ve slept together before, I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal! Besides, it was all just a joke! I just wanted to shock those fuckhead reporters, that’s what I do!”

  Diana closes her eyes as two fresh tears leak out.

  “Just a joke,” she repeats to herself. “Yeah … of course. It’s all just one big joke to you.”

  “Diana?” and now there’s worry in Zach’s voice.

  “Just go away,” Diana says, feeling defeated. “Just go away and leave me alone, please.”

  Silence, for a moment; stiff, sad silence. And then the mattress springs come back up as Zach stands, his footsteps moving around the bed. Diana rolls away just as he reaches the other side so her back is to him again. She hears him stop for a few seconds, and then leave her room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Diana feels her throat tighten up and she tells herself not to cry, not to let this affect her so much. But she cant’ help it; she can’t stop this flow of emotions. And so, left all on her own again, tears come pouring out and the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes tightly is the deep purple hue of the sunset, streaming in beautifully through the open window.

  Chapter 10

  Over the next couple of days, Diana finds herself moping around the house in an almost catatonic state. She wanders from room to room, not going outside, not eating meals except for small nibbles, insisted upon by the servants. She sees Zach from time to time, but even though he tries to approach her, engage her in conversation, she doesn’t respond. If he manages to catch her long enough to talk to her, she simply turns and walks away, even in the middle of his sentence.

  The newspaper articles are still coming in about her and Zach, although none of them mention Diana’s recent decision to quit modelling, presumably because Dean has decided not to report it. There are public opinions reported about what happened, and what it means for Diana, for Zach, for America, and for personal relationships as a whole. Many people have turned against Diana, calling her a whore, a slut, and a sinner, among other things. But others have chosen to support her, saying that what she does in her private life is her own business, and that the public has no right nosing about in her personal decisions.

  In the midst of all of this, Diana’s mom and Zach’s dad are still recovering from whatever it is they’ve contracted. The doctors and nurses have performed numerous tests and are getting good results: the bed-ridden couple are even able pay attention for a few minutes before slipping back into a sleep-like state, although they still can’t respond verbally yet.

  One afternoon, as Diana is wandering around the house, letting her mind take her to much less painful places, she finds herself in a living room archway, looking in on the room containing her two parents as they lie on their beds, surrounded by doctors and nurses muttering in low-toned conversations, consulting charts and checking their vitals.

  Diana approaches the beds and the medical staff notice her, stare for a second, then go back to work. None of them say anything to her, but Diana knows from their reaction that they know what happened. Of course they know. Everybody knows. She can’t escape it, but at least they aren’t making a big deal about it.

  “Hi,” Diana says to Doctor Thames, who is reading a chart in her hands. She looks up to see Diana and gives the girl a strained smile.

  “Hello Miss Simms,” the doctor says. “How can I help you?”

  “How’s my mom doing?” Diana asks. “Is she getting any better?”

  The doctor lets out a sigh and puts the chart down on the table next to her.

  “Well, we’re still not entirely sure what it is that’s causing your parents’ conditions to stay on the way they are,” she says, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “We’ve eliminated a lot of possibilities, and right now we’re looking into some of the more exotic diseases that they may have chanced to pick up over the last six months.”

  Diana nods. She looks over to her mom, seeing the frail old woman lying on the bed not ten feet away, breathing deeply.

  “Can I talk with her?” Diana asks.

  Once again, a strained expression appears on Doctor Thames’ face.

  “Well … I’m not sure if you’ll be able to get much of a response from her,” the woman says. “But if you want to have some time with her, then yes, that should be fine.”

  “I’d like that, yes.”

  “Okay. Just give me one second.”

  Doctor Thames picks up the chart again and goes around the room, speaking softly to each of the other doctors and nurses. They all nod and leave the room on
e by one, until it’s just the two women alone in the room with the patients.

  “We’ll just be outside, on the patio,” the doctor says. “Take all the time you need.”

  “Thank you,” Diana says, and Doctor Thames walks out towards the back patio, leaving Diana alone in the room with her parents, the steadily beeping machines being the only sound filling the space.

  She spots a chair at a nearby desk and goes to pick it up, carrying it over to place beside her mom’s bed. Sitting down on it, she clasps her hands in front of her and leans forward, looking into her mother’s hollowed and darkened eyes, both closed at the moment. Diana looks down her mother’s frame beneath the single cover, the old woman looking thin, almost skeleton-like, and not at all how she remembers her.

  Deborah’s hands are resting above the covers, and Diana reaches out to pick one hand up, cradling it in both of her own, feeling the woman’s warm and exquisitely soft skin against her palms and fingers. Her mother’s eyes flutter and slowly open, her pupils dilated but quickly coming back down to normalcy. Diana watches this reaction, her own eyes opened wide. Deborah turns her head and stares at Diana, blinking slowly a few times before speaking.

  “Diana,” she says, her voice sounding old, much older than Diana remembers it being. Diana smiles.

  “Hi mama,” she says.

  “Sweety,” her mother says, and Diana can feel her mother’s feeble attempt at squeezing Diana’s hands. Diana gives her a light squeeze back. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

  “I know, mama,” Diana says. “I was in New York for a while, but I’m back at the house now. I think I’m going to stay here for a bit, if that’s okay.”

  “Oh, Diana. That’s so nice to hear.”

  Her mother’s eyelids begin to lower down again, and Diana watches as her eyes become unfocused.

  “I’ve missed you so much, my sweety,” her mother says in a voice softer than before.