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Relapse	By : Downey Category: Individual Celebrities > Robert Downey Jr. Views: 2310 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with or knowledge of Robert Downey Jr. I have received no payment for this story. This is a work of pure fiction.

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Some of the crew were milling around, packing up odds and ends of equipment.The bulk of the set would be dismantled after the holidays and they were all in a hurry to get home to their families.A fifty-ish woman in a Sherlock Holmes 3 t-shirt walked by Robert’s trailer and saw him sitting on the ground, head in his hands, sobbing.She knew his history and wondered if she should tell someone.She couldn’t go up to him, herself—he was a star and she was just a prop assistant.He’d probably tell her to fuck off and mind her own business. Shrugging, she continued on her way.
Eventually, Robert got to his feet and moved out to the parking lot. He put on his sunglasses and a grey fedora even though the sun had already gone down.Guy was waiting for him by his car.“Great shoot, Robert.I know it’s kind of an anti-climax since we had the big wrap party last night, but d’ya wanna get some dinner or something?”
Robert shook his head and tried to make his voice sound light.“Naw, thanks… you should take the crew out for drinks… I’m just gonna go back to the hotel and get some rest.Gimme a call when it’s time to loop that dialogue, okay?”
“Of course.It was a pleasure, as usual, although I may not have been that pleasant all the time…” Guy smiled and stuck out a hand to shake.
“You don’t have to be pleasant—you’re the director!Thanks, dude.”Robert ignored the outstretched hand and gave him a quick hug instead.“Have a good Christmas.”He walked toward the car that was waiting to take him to the hotel.
“You too! Happy Christmas, or Hannukah, or whatever!”
“Yeah, whatever!” Robert forced a laugh and got into the back of the limo.
Halfway to his hotel, he told the driver, “You know what? Fuck the hotel.Take me somewhere fun.Any good clubs around here?I don’t want anywhere trendy, though…”
He started to have second thoughts as soon as he stepped out of the car onto the sidewalk, but the driver had already sped away, no doubt planning to enjoy his hefty tip. The façade of the Queen Street nightclub looked distinctly seedy.Well, at least he could probably go unnoticed here… Robert pulled his hat down a bit further and walked past a bouncer into the mostly empty club.Soft Cell’s “Bizarre Love Triangle” was booming out of a too-loud stereo system.A handful of people were dancing crazily in the centre of the sparsely decorated room:one guy with a Mohawk dancing by himself, three girls in tight camisoles who looked like they were barely nineteen stumbling into each other in a loose circle, and two women in their mid-to-late thirties, dressed sort of alternatively in black skirts and big boots but with an undercurrent of “I don’t dress like this during the week” about them.The dark haired one was intent on her dancing, but the lighter haired woman looked up at him as he entered the floor.Shit. Had she recognized him?No, she couldn’t have.With his beat-up old jean jacket, plain shirt, hat and glasses, not to mention the absence of his now-trademark goatee, no one would ever guess who he was.Robert moved across the dance floor to the back of the room—to the bar.
He stood in front of the bar, staring at the bottles lined up in front of a wall-sized mirror.The bartender came over to him.“What can I getcha?”
Robert mumbled, “Uh… I haven’t decided…” and looked down at his shoes.
She rolled her eyes and went back to wiping the bar top.
Ah, Dad… Why? I wish I could’ve talked to you one more time… The tears started to come again. What the hell am I doing here? I love you, Dad. What the fuck am I doing with these stupid franchises? Is this what it was all about? Money? You never sold out, Dad. Never. He waved the girl over again. “Gimme four shots of vodka in one glass, on the rocks. I don’t care what kind.” He shoved a fifty dollar bill across the counter. When the drink came, he stared at it.
“Something wrong?”
"Huh? No."
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
She shrugged and turned away, sizing him up as a lunatic.
Robert’s right hand found the glass and wrapped around it.He felt its cool condensation under his fingers.He tipped the glass and swirled the ice around a bit.He couldn’t hear it—the music was too loud—but he imagined the slow tinkling sound.What’s the fuckin’ point of this business? All I ever wanted was your approval, Dad. Did you approve? You said you were proud of me, but were you really? Why? Why did you treat Mom that way? Why did you give me coke? What kind of father were you? He picked up the glass again and moved it to his lips.This is for you, Dad. The liquid burned on the way down.He didn’t pause to think about it—just kept swallowing until nothing was left but ice.He felt the burn travel down into his stomach and he gagged.Too late now. He pointed to the empty glass.She took it away and brought him another.Too late.
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