Chapter Text
A few sharp knocks on the bathroom door.
“Hello?? Is someone in there?”
No response.
The slightest twist of the knob. Unlocked. Unoccupied.
Only the opening of the door reveals quite the opposite. Occupied.
“Oh! I’m so so sor— Oh my god! Are you fucking serious right now?! You’re getting high at a 6 year old’s birthday party!”
No response. Just a deadpan look of nothingness from the body propped up next to the toilet.
“I fucking knew it. I knew you would fucking let her down!! God!!! You’re such a fucking deadbeat, washed up douchebag— so fucking ridiculous.”
“W-whyy a-rrre y-youuu yellllling? Shhhhh!” His speech laden with a hint of sarcasm.
“You’re a fucking joke! I can’t believe you would do this to your sister!”
“What are you yelling about in here?? Wren is getting ready to open her presents and wants everyone to watch her. Dieter why are you on the flo— are you fucking high?”
“Ag-ainnn shhhhhhh!” His pointer finger emphatically raised to his lips, the noise too much for his dazed mind.
“You promised me Dieter! You fucking promised me no drugs! I should have known better, I should have fucking known you’d do this— you don’t care about how much this hurts me to see you like this, constantly letting me down. I’m done Dieter, I’m so fucking done trying to help you if you’re not going to help yourself. Fuck! Get the fuck out! Go! Now!! I don’t want you near us, I won’t put Wren through this. Get help or stay away!”
The door slams, Dieter left alone to ruminate over what was said in the small tiled space.
Even in his stupefied state, the words thrown at him were enough to make an immediate impact. The cognitive part of his brain working over time to push through and make a levelheaded thought.
“Deadbeat”
“Washed up”
“Get help or Stay away”
Reaching for his phone, he dials his lifeline who drops everything for him, probably due to her reoccurring paycheck, his assistant whom he’s thankful doesn’t hate him enough to ignore his call out of the blue.
“Heeeey! I n-neeeed y-you to c-ommme g-get meee…”
He knew this was it, he had to get his shit together or suffer the consequences.
*
He feels different if he’s being honest with himself.
Lighter.
Healthier.
Alive.
365 days clean. He made a commitment to a year long stay at a drug rehabilitation center, followed by a 3 month residency in a sober living facility conveniently tucked away in the Hollywood hills.
Yet, he feels more lost than he was before he started treatment.
He can’t remember what living a normal, healthy life is like— a life not high out of his mind 24/7.
This wasn’t his first time trying to get clean, he’d become a regular of sorts at a few different rehab centers scattered through out the greater Los Angeles area.
Each stay with the same goal and each one a failed attempt at getting control over his life without the drugs.
It was never “hope this is the time it really clicks for him”, it was always a question of “how long will he go this time before he’s kicked out and checking into the next one”— might have even been a headline a time or two.
Many centers refusing to even consider treating him based on his past reputation alone.
His agent’s patience was wearing thin trying to book roles for Dieter, doing his best to convince directors he wasn’t a liability and he could get the job done with zero risk in hiring him— it was far from the truth.
Each day on set became a game of Russian Roulette, no one really knowing which side of Dieter they would be dealing with while shooting. That in itself was a metaphorical high he chased with each role he booked, seeing how long before some one caught on to his slurred words, blood shot eyes and sluggish demeanor.
On numerous occasions Dieter thought he was skillful in his ability to mask his inebriated ego. He was combative with the crew and fellow actors— his temperament calm and mellow one moment, then seething and dripping with rage the next.
He was getting sloppy. The teetering domino of his life had slowly began to tip and once it did finally fall, his entire life crumbling around him.
*
The traffic is heavier than expected. Dieter wonders if it’s due to others similarly seeking to leave the city in hopes for a break from the dim aura that Los Angeles is. He can feel the weight of the city’s reputation lift from his shoulders with each passing mile as he maneuvers through the stretch of freeway congestion.
A few honking horns bring his attention back to the conversation he’s currently semi engaged in.
“This is a big step Dieter. I’m really proud of how far you’ve come.”
He instantly cringes at the thought of getting back out to sell himself for roles. Facing those who were- and are- tired of his shit.
The downfall of his career began when he was late for dress rehearsal for a role he some how managed to get— this role having potential to get him in the running for award nominations, propelling his career to new heights. But when he was no where to be found at call time, his assistant went on the search for him and it’s where she found him passed out in his trailer. He was too far gone to even pull himself together, prompting the director to fire him on the spot.
The rate of speed at which news travels in Hollywood is the equivalent to a fast moving wildfire— once that first bit of gossip hits the ground, it’s spreading through the industry with a sudden surge of ferocity and growing far beyond what is predictable
.
His agent's attempt at damage control was a wasted effort. Directors dumping Dieter’s preproduction roles, actors refusing to work with him and threatening to quit if Dieter stayed on— his list of films beginning to dwindle in a matter of days and by the end of the week, Dieter Bravo was jobless.
“The next few months will go by quickly, and before you know it you’ll be back out here booking jobs and proving everyone wrong.”
Vanessa, Dieter’s assistant and full time babysitter, always seemed to have a way to make him feel at ease. And at this point, the only person he knew who believed he could actually turn his life around.
“I really fucking hope so.” He sighs, this was his attempt at thinking positive.
“Have you talked to her yet?” Her voice cracking through the car speakers as he continues his drive north on the 101.
“Briefly. Told her I’d probably be getting in around 6 or so— BEEP!— Watch out asshole!” Throwing a middle finger at said asshole driver who nearly missed clipping his car.
“She’s proud of you too, ya know. Might not seem like it right now, but she is.”
“Hmm. I’ll just agree to disagree with you on that point. Having a drug addict—“
“Former drug addicted, Dieter.”
“Right— well, having a deadbeat for an older brother doesn’t really leave a lot to be proud of.”
“You’d be surprised. Hey, I got another call coming in. I’ll be in touch with you soon! Call me if you need anything! Again, Dieter, I'm really proud of you!”
“Thanks Nessa! I’ll talk to you soon.”
The call ending abruptly, leaving him to sit alone in his thoughts for the next hour and a half—something he hasn’t really taken the chance to experience since, well, a long while.
The Santa Monica Mountains provide a scenic view as he leaves behind the place he saw as his home for the last 20 years.
His current destination plugged into his stupidly expensive sports car.
Home. Where he grew up.
*
He can’t even remember the last time he visited. Not due to the years as an actor taking him to all areas of the world. The last time he had been home was just over a year ago and he was high out of his mind, barely remembering the trip as a whole.
His sister had asked if he’d be able to make it to his niece’s birthday. She was turning 6 and had been begging for her uncle to be there to celebrate with— he was easily her most favorite person. The specifics of the getting to his sister’s home and the actual party are pretty blurry for Dieter.
Dieter spent most of the last year trying to produce a coherent flashback of the day that would ultimately be his last time using, the reason for his commitment to getting his life together.
He never expected the lowest point in his life would be being caught in the bathroom of his sister’s home doing a few quick lines on the toilet seat, as his niece was blowing out 6 candles a few feet outside the tiny bathroom surrounded by friends and family.
The moments following are a mixture of hazy clips, fragmented bits of information,
he’s tried to piece together to the best of his ability.
The rush of someone bursting through the bathroom door, the echoes of laughter and music piercing his ears as he’s hunched on the floor against the wall, little specks of a white powdery residue dusting his mustache.
There’s screaming as he does his best to focus his blurry attention on the distorted enraged figure in front of him, yelling something about being washed up— his eye lids heavy and fighting against them to keep them opened.
If he had to recall the exact moment he knew he fucked up, it was seeing the hurt and disappointment on his sister's face— her face wet with tears as she poured out her disappointment and pain over the fact that he was strung-out at her daughter’s birthday party. The weight of his consequences bleeding through him as he vividly recalls his sister telling him to leave and not come back unless he was sober.
The next day he checked himself in, determined to get his life together for good.
*
He shakes away the subtle tinge of guilt that starts to bubble up in his chest.
Remembering the ‘54321 Method’ he was taught in treatment to help ground himself when his thoughts start to become overwhelming…
• 5 things you see: the sun slowly making its way to the horizon, cars moving swiftly by his own, Live Oak trees rooted among the mountains, the slightest twinkling of the first few stars, his reflection in the rear view mirror— lighter, healthier, alive.
• 4 things things to touch: the leather of the steering wheel, his jeans fabric soft and comfortable, the cool metal of his rings adorning his fingers, the weight of his sobriety chip in his pocket a constant reminder of how far he’s come.
• 3 things you hear: the familiar beat of a popular song streaming through the car speakers, rhythmic tapping of his thumbs in tune with the song, his off-key voice as he sings along to the words he knows.
• 2 things you smell: his olfactory nerve triggered at the distinct scent of his woody amber cologne, that new car smell that still lingers throughout the car’s interior.
• 1 thing you taste: a minty tingle on his tongue as he chews his last piece of gum.
His nerves settle, his eyes focused on the road ahead, deciding he’ll right his wrongs when he gets to his stop— his sister’s house.
*
The trip took longer than he’d originally planned. Weekend traffic to blame for the 2 hour delay in his arrival.
‘Welcome to Ojai’— the stone sign greets him, dim uplighting barely making it readable as he turns on to the familiar street.
The town is all but empty at this time of the night, street lights plus the few restaurants and bars that are open give off enough ambient light to drape the streets in a subtle glow.
He’s instantly taken back to his childhood, so many memories tucked away throughout the picturesque landscape.
Growing up with famous parents wasn’t all that glamorous in Dieter’s eyes.
Dieter’s parents, Dean and Mary Bravo, were both well known in the tv and movie world.
Dean had been known for his roles in James Bond-esque action films through his career, notably his best work among other smaller productions he worked on. Mary was the queen of daytime television with her numerous roles in soap opera’s biggest shows, a socialite getting invited to glamorous events and elite celebrity parties.
Together they were Hollywood’s “It” couple, jet-setting to all parts of the world when schedules allowed for it.
Dieter and his younger sister, while born into this movie star family, were raised far from it. Dean and Mary deciding to buy a home in the mountains outside of the headlines and prying eyes, a place where their kids could live a some what normal life.
Normal was anything but normal. Dean and Mary didn’t let children hold back their lives and desires of more fame. Leaving them with nannies so they could keep up with the demands of working and living their best lives.
Ojai, a small village-like town nestled in the valley of the Topanga Mountains, became a literal playground for Dieter growing up.
Little reminders of his childhood still remain as he ventures further into town. He finds himself slowing the car a bit as he takes it all in, rolling the window down to let the evening air hit his face— it’s crisp as it trickles across his skin.
The private school he attended all through his schooling years sits on top of a hill that over looks the valley. The school’s reputation was highly regarded and offered a plethora of academic courses and electives. Dieter found the art and theater programs to be where he excelled most, painting and acting fueled his passion for the arts, propelling him into pursuing one as a full time career.
He spots Bart’s Books as he drives on, an outdoor bookstore, that had become a daily hangout as a kid. The red wooden shelves still filled with adventures and history to get lost in. He discovered his love for storytelling sitting on the covered patio, nose deep in fictional worlds he dreamed of visiting.
Across the way, a ‘no vacancy’ neon sign flickers on. Capri Hotel, a newly renovated hotel that still looks like it could have come straight from the 1960s with its mid-century design and modern style. He recalls the summer when him and his buddies regularly jumped the fence to swim in the pool, the cool water under the stars was refreshing during the California heat waves. They managed to only get caught once but worked out a barter with the then owners, they clean the pool and in turn can use the pool at their leisure. The hotel seems to be under new ownership now, but it seems to be doing well.
On every corner there’s an art gallery. Some still looking as if no time had passed, others adorn new names and a fresh coat of paint. Several galleries offered summer painting classes, where Dieter found he had more creative freedom than in school to explore all mediums and really honing in on his style. He’s always imagined he’d have his own showing of his paintings, friends and family gathering to see his work— a dream he never lived out.
His car parked and engine killed, he still hasn’t found the courage to get out. He can see a few lights on from the front windows of his sister’s quaint Spanish style home. Trying to not let the vague memories of his last visit deter him from going inside. He sends Vanessa a text, letting her know he’d made it safely and that he’d text her if he needed anything.
Bags in tow, he makes his way to the front door. Nerves and emotions swirling around, reminding himself to breathe, letting go of the fear and expectations he’d had for this reunion.
He opts for knocking, assuming Wren would be sleeping at this hour.
The clicking of locks being turned, twisting of the door knob, the black wooden door swings open to the space that’s haunted him for the last year.
“Hey, Diem. Sorry I’m so—“ He starts to explain his lateness before he’s cut off.
“Dieter! Oh my god! I thought something happened to you! What the fuck?!” Her body launches at him, arms wrapping around him securely. He accepts the impromptu hug, dropping his bags to return the gesture.
“No, no I’m good. Traffic was a nightmare and by the time I thought to call, service was fucked. Sorry for making you worry.”
“You’re here and you’re safe— that’s all that matters.”
This greeting is going far better than he had expected, but he hasn’t made over the threshold, still plenty of time for Diem to drop the hammer on him.
“Come in! Let’s get you all settled in.” She ushers him in, closing the door and adjusting the locks again.
He takes the space in, noting not much has changed from what he can tell in the diffused lighting, but he feels warm and welcoming even for him.
“I got the spare room all cleaned and ready for you. New sheets on the bed and a few extra pillows just in case.” She seems skittish moving about the living room, picking up the few toys laying around the room and placing them back in their designated baskets. “If you want to sit, make yourself comfortable. You want anything to drink? Eat?”
She seems just as nervous as he is and that makes him feel less anxious for some reason.
“I grabbed some food on the way, I’m good.” Setting his bags down, he makes his way to the couch and sits down, deciding to rip the bandage off so to speak.
Diem taking his lead, sits on the opposite end of the couch, legs tucked under her and hands resting on her lap. A lull hangs over them for a few moments, neither really know what to say or do. He notices her fingers fidgeting and decides to break the silence.
“I know we haven’t talked much since the last time I was here,” He sees the brief wince on her face at the mention of it, as if she’d been actively trying to avoid talking about it. “But I want to tell you how sorry I am for—“
“Dieter, you don’t have to.”
“No, actually I do. And I’m going to. Not only because it’s part of my steps in recovery, but because you deserve it— Wren deserves it.”
“She doesn’t know— about the drugs or you going to rehab.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it.
“I won’t mention it to her then.”
“I just told her you were busy and that you’d be coming to spend time with us 'cause you missed her.”
“Why did you agree? After all the shit I’ve done and put you through, why are you letting me stay here?”
That gets her attention, her eyes glossy with unshed tears as she looks at him with nothing but love and forgiveness. “Because you’re my brother and I want you here, despite all the shit you put me through.”
He shifts closer to where she’s sitting, wiping the few tears that had decided to fall. He doesn’t think he deserves her kindness, but is grateful he has this opportunity to do what he’s been wanting to do.
“I’m sorry for the pain and hurt that I caused you. Not only at Wren’s party, but all the other times I’d said I was clean and wasn’t. For putting you both second to my addiction. I’m sorry for not being here when you needed me most. I promise I’m going to do my best to earn your trust and prove to you that I am committed to my sobriety.”
Leaning back, his hand digs into his pocket pulling out his proof, grabbing Diem’s hand and turns it over placing the chip in her palm. She looks at it then back at him, the most genuine smile graces her face before she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him in for a hug.
“I love you Dieter! Thank you for not only doing this for us, but for yourself as well. I’m really proud of you.”
“I love you too Diem.”
Releasing Dieter from the hug, she adjusts herself back to her previous position, now more relaxed with her elbow resting on the back of the couch propping her head up as she looks at Dieter, really taking in how healthy he looks since she’d last seen him.
“Thank you for also letting me stay here. I needed to get out of the city for a bit, clear my head and shit. Should only be a few months or less, until I can get a few things lined up— have a few potential projects I requested scripts for.”
The thought of returning to his old ways terrified him, he had all the tools and support to continue working on himself outside of treatment, but he didn’t want to chance it. He instantly knew exactly where he wanted to spend the next few months re-acclimating back into this new way of living, away from temptation. Knowing their last conversation was anything but great, he'd decided an e-mail felt less grievous and hoped she’d find it in her heart to accept him back in her home again.
“Of course. Stay as long as you need to.”
“And I can help how ever you need me to, figured it would keep me busy doing stuff, help out with Wren.”
“Oh my gosh, please! It’s peak tourist season the next few weeks at the Hotel and I’ve got a handful of events we’re hosting too. School runs would be a big help for me.”
“Hotel?” He’s sure he heard her right but doesn’t remember any mention of a hotel that he can recall.
“Funny story actually-- I bought the Capri last year. Did some renovations and it’s been great really. Keeps me busy most of the time, but I love it.”
Diem was never one for the spotlight, especially with movie star family members, actively avoiding anything to do with Hollywood and its ostentatious air. She always had a knack for making drab things look enticing, so Dieter isn’t surprised one bit by the mention of her being the new owner of the Capri Hotel.
“And now that I’m the owner, you can swim for free— pool cleaning is encouraged too.” He laughs at that.
“Congrats on owning a hotel I guess. I’ll definitely be taking advantage of swimming privileges then.”
“Alright. I’m going to head to bed, got an early morning dropping Wren off before I meet with the planner for our next event.”
“I can take her tomorrow.”
“You sure? You don’t want to settle in a bit first?”
“Nah, it’ll be nice spending some time with her.”
“Okay. Prepare yourself for a wild time then.”
She kisses the top of his head before heading in the direction of her room. Stopping before turning down the hall, she looks back at Dieter who hasn’t moved from the couch, one of his hands rubbing at the opposite shoulder and leaning his head to the side to stretch it out a bit— the longer car rides really doing a number on him.
“Dieter—“
His head turns towards the direction of his name being called.
"Hmm?"
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Yeah, me too.”