Thorns On My Rose: A Story of the Daughter of Robert Downey Jr. (EDITING)

Chapter 4 - A Parting Gift

Part 1

Saturday.... Really Early

It was three AM and I was tired. More than tired, actually. I was riddled with the kind of exhaustion that sunk deep into you skin, went past your muscle and just kind of clung to the bone. I'd woken up around midnight for a swim or whatever with Jack, the security guard, when I remembered that today was the day Rob and I would be traveling to the Emerald City--Los Angeles, his home. A land of overpriced housing, plastic surgery and organic, gluten free, dairy free everything.

I didn't know how excited I was about it all. I don't think my emotions were complex enough to express anything more than varying degrees of annoyance. Robert, however, was practically doing the fricking hokey-pokey. And that just wasn't acceptable at this hour.

He pulled me out of bed just when I was starting to really sleep, commanding me to dress as plainly as possible. Plain as in a pair of jeans, one of my hundreds of v-necks, some battered Toms and an equally shabby beanie. Looking like a hobo isn't an issue for me; my last phase in fashion just so happened to be the hobo-chic look. Rob himself is wearing Nike (shocker!) sweatpants that probably cost more money than I ever would and a black t-shirt with a cartoon drawing of an arc reactor in the middle of his chest. When I didn't get the joke, he sort of balked and told me he's in the Marvel franchise playing the superhero Iron Man. I can vaguely remember telling my friend, or someone, that it'd be a waste of time to go see the second installment--but I don't tell him that.

I watched from the bed, still mostly asleep, as Robert went into my closet, grabbed all ten hangers and their occupants along with the four pairs of shoes I possessed, including the Toms I had yet to put on and proceeded to dump them on my bed. He looked at me, running a hand through his hair, which looked perfect despite his claim of only running a comb through it

"What?" I asked, irritable to be awake when the sun wasn't even in the sky yet and just as equally annoyed by the way he was eyeing me like I was a fossil in a museum. He smiles and pointedly looks at my clothes. I scoff. He starts to remove the hangers from my clothes.

"You do realize that once we get to L.A. Susan might just have a fit once she sees this. What ever this is..." He comments, gesturing at my three pairs of jeans, my new navy dress, my faded bikini and ten assorted colored v-necks.

"She's gonna cry, Alana. So just, um, be prepared when she takes you shopping or whatever."

"Superficial much, yeah?" I say, moving to make my bed. I'm slammed with the sudden epiphany that I will never be in this bed again. No more staring at this ceiling, no more sleepless nights in this particular room, and no more swimming in the pool with Jack who actually sobbed when I told him I was leaving.

"She's not like that. That's not what I meant." Rob defends, snapping me back to the present. Grabbing one of the huge suitcases in the hallway, he begins to fold my clothes. He leaves one pair of jeans and a shirt out for me along with my shoes. "She'll just want you to have nice things, is all. It'll probably be the way she gets to know you at first, you know?"

"Whatever." I sigh. "Sounds weird."

"Be receptive, Alana-Rose," Robert scolds, sounding somewhat like a nagging father. "I think you'll like her once you get to know her."

The conversation is taking a sappy turn for the worst and I'm anxious to talk about something other than my new stepmother. "When does the, um, flight leave?"

Robert looks down at his watch. "Around six-ish." He groans, stretching (I marvel a bit when I see his belly-button because it's a weird one that looks exactly like mine), before heading to my drawers. I clear my throat loudly to stop him, he whirls around to face me.