All I Want Is Everything

Settling in

Fame (fame) makes a man take things over
Fame (fame) lets him loose, hard to swallow
Fame (fame) puts you there where things are hollow
Fame (fame)

David Bowie, Fame

"How are you doing?" Sam asked Ella as they got ready before the show.

"Is it possible to be schizo in just 24 hours?" Ella paused in her makeup application and met his eyes in the mirror.

"Probably not in your case," he said, bringing over a chair. "So what's going on?"

"I'm going to preface this by telling you I really do know this is illogical and stupid. But I found out that Steve got to meet with Thomas, hang out over coffee, after the awards show. Thomas called me this afternoon and we had a great conversation, he told me stories about Dad and their mothers. But I'm pissed that Steve got to him first. I was the one he gave the envelope to!" She smacked her eyeliner down on the table. "And I know that it's probably because I arrived first, my name wasn't on the envelope or anything." Ella stared at him, slitting her eyes. Sam tried to keep from laughing. "What if he likes Steve more than me? He might. Steve can be very charming when he wants, and he said after the accident that he wished he'd tried more with Dad. He might see this as a second chance."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It isn't a competition, El. And this guy isn't part of your dynamic. He's going to be cautious." She put her makeup into a little zippered bag and pulled her hair back. She rooted around in her purse, pulling out her fountain pen and a plastic bag. "What's that?" he asked as she pulled out a concert t-shirt and a cassette.

"Oh, Thomas said that a coworker's kid is a fan and is the one who showed him that first Live Wire article."

"Didn't know they sold in Europe."

"They don't. The kid was over here on a trip with his parents, visiting family, picked it up and brought it back. So I thought I would just send him something. Thomas said he'd take it to the kid's dad." She carefully slit the cellophane wrapping the tape and eased the acrylic box out, pulling out the liner notes and writing on a blank space on the front. Sam read as she wrote, in her best penmanship, 'Thanks for being a fan! Ella Rogers'. She placed the tape back inside the cellophane—Sam thought it was some sort of weird compulsion to make things tidy but didn't want to analyze his friend—and wrapped the t-shirt around the tape, putting it into a mailing envelope that had the address already on it. "Is that vague enough? I don't want Thomas to have to admit we're related."

Sam stared at her, then reached over and felt her forehead. "Why wouldn't he want to?"

"Well, for one thing, he said that he wants to be clear that he's not asking us for money or anything. I told him that if he wants to come over, retire or just change jobs, he's always got a place with me. He said that it wasn't necessary, but apparently my dad had told him that once. It's the kind of obligation that carries down through generations. And frankly, we're kind of an embarrassment to him."

"What? Why on earth would you think that?"

She pulled out a newspaper and shook it at him. He took the paper and looked it over; it was folded to an inner page. There was an article about the twins; the caption under the photo of them getting their songwriting Grammy called them Fire and Ice. "Aerosmith has their Toxic Twins," the article started. "Motley Crue's Tommy Lee and Nikki Sixx are the Terror Twins, but former Shield bandmates Ella Rogers and Steve Rogers are the Tragic Twins, the only actual twins in this group. These two are most likely to end up like Romulus and Remus; Ella looked like she'd prefer to bean her brother with one of her Grammys rather than accept another with him..."

"It didn't look that bad," Sam said reassuringly. "I mean, you guys weren't all warm and fuzzy but the performance was great and you were perfectly civil at the mike. Of course, you were a little frazzled, what with your cousin, but it didn't read as hostile. They're just stirring the pot. Who were Romulus and Remus, though?"