The Deal

Four-Bernadette

Just like how I missed the opportunity to appear on the Real Talk show, I'm late to the table read for this episode of our show, Bad Habits-again. I mean, this is what happened before the accident, right? I heard from Yvonne that I actually missed an interview on a live tv show because I was heavily drunk. Which celebrity does that? There's only one and her name is Bernadette Amara. Not showing up on a talk show is so much worse than a normal, boring table-read anyway.

If a car accident was all it took for me to quit the drinking, then I thank the heavens. When I was in the hospital, my best friend used to tell me how lucky I was not to have my head decapitated from the crash. I slammed head first into a lamp post and ended up sustaining multiple facial wounds and a fracture in my neck. My beautiful face endured severe punishment, but my body remained unharmed. This was one of the most unusual things I ever experienced. If Bill's intention was to punish me because he could never have me, then it pains me to say that my stalker has won.

More often, I would look in the mirror and talk to myself. Asking; how could you be so stupid, Bernadette? What would cause you to be so drunk and careless that, even when you knew a dangerous stalker was out there holding a grudge against you, you'd still hit the bars? Late at night? Was this accident justified? Yes. Do I blame Bill for my predicament? No. This was my fault. If I had listened to my best friend and husband, and sat myself down for a single AA meeting, I wouldn't be putting my own husband in chokeholds. Neither would I be thinking about threatening him with a pair of scissors.

Acting wouldn't be a hard task for me, because right now, it really is. Since I'm no longer an alcohol-thirsty wreck of a diva, I have nothing to blame for my lateness. The truth is, I'm still very confused. Everything is confusing for me. I mix up the times on my schedule a lot. Up till now, I keep thinking the time for yoga sessions with Yvonne comes before the shoot for the day.

Even rehearsals are the worst. An actor is supposed to show dedication to the project they have been casted to work on, but not with Bernadette. When I'm alone in the room with the script, I end up throwing it somewhere else and picking up an intriguing memoir to read, because honestly, going through a script is like learning a Literature textbook for a high school exam. At home, I end up tuning into stand-up comedy shows on Netflix instead. I have to make Thabo sit with me so I can actually read the script and not drift off. Has acting always felt like this? If so, then why did I ever decide to be one?

Shooting scenes has been infuriating. Every day, the takes have to be multiplied because of how much fumbling I do with my lines. "Read the damn script!" the directors would say. I tell them that I do, but they end up ignoring me. Sometimes I find shooting fun, especially because I get to hang out with Yvonne afterwards and talk about anything that comes to mind. I simply cannot channel that same energy I had before the accident. That woman I watch on screen is so talented. It's a tragedy that all that charisma, swag and confidence went flying out of me as soon as my skull made contact with concrete metal.

Even as I sit here in the make-up room, gazing at the mirror, watching two co-stars have a dispute over scripts, as well as the beauty of the set we have here in Melville, I feel so empty. Yvonne reminded me of dark times I had. She told me I was at the age of twenty-one when I made the mistake of auditioning to be the main lead in Class; the most controversial Soap Opera ever broadcasted on a South African TV network. She told me all the things I had to do on set, during the production and post-production stages. She told me how I used to hate my younger self for choosing this dream.

Beside that, I really like the series I'm working on. I mean, I'm not sure if I ever knew what a sitcom was, because I don't remember any of the Tv shows I watched. I don't remember watching anything on television beside stand-up comedies. It's a show about different people from different backgrounds, working and struggling together as maids in the finest, richest hotel in Jo'burg, but they all have to put up with their bad attitudes. Puleng is a working single mom, and a diva with a bad temper. She's so fun to get lost into, and the cast are naturally, super funny. Well, since I'm not funny in real life, I had to get tips during the show. During our rehearsals, my co-stars trained me on my deliveries as well.

"How's your husband, darling?" Amari, the makeup artist asks me as she applies eyeliner. I'm bought back to the real world.

"Thabo's great. Why you interested in him? It's the sixth time this week you've asked me."

Amani scoffs. "You know your man is fine. I'm telling you, if you hadn't survived the crash and your husband turned into a spinster, I would seduce him in a heartbeat."

I burst out chuckling. "I hope you're happy now, because I'm going to tell Yvonne to fire you as soon as we wrap up for the day."

We both laugh. "Darling, I wouldn't dream of it," Armani continues, patting her giant, braided ponytail. "Would a successful man like your husband go for an old gal like me? I'm lazy and I do people's make-ups for a living. You're a legend in this industry. The comparism is so laughable."

"I guess you're right." I scroll through an article on my phone. The title of the passage says How to Get Rid of Your Stalker. I've re-read this page five times since I walked on set. "I just wish you hadn't divorced your man so quickly."

"Hey, he wasn't wearing his ring when I walked into his office. His zipper was opened. What do you think?"

I chuckle. "Was there a secretary or an intern sneaking out?"

Armani rolls her eyes. "Secretary or not, I saw the red flag right away. Never trust a man who doesn't wear his ring when he's at work. You see a pretty young thing talking to him while he's seated comfortably at his desk, be very afraid. Danger lies ahead." She picks up the eyelash.

"Wow. You divorced your partner because you assumed he was doing the dirty. You didn't give him a chance to explain, did you?"

"Hell no," she replies, finishing up a few touches. She lets out a sigh and walks towards her bag of beauty supplies.

"My, you have an interesting world view, my friend." Something on the article page draws my attention. A passage talking about stalkers seeing celebrities as objects and not actual humans. Reading the paragraph makes my body shiver. Is that how Bill sees me? As a sex object?

Armani furrows her brows at me, a look of worry etched on her face. "Oh, darling. Don't let Bill keeping scaring you. You'll give him what he wants."

I shake my head. "Why would someone go to such extreme lengths just to attract attention? I don't understand what this dude was trying to do. If he knew the accident would make me lose my memories, then his plan was hopeless. Unless, this is his act of punishment. If he can't have me, then he had no option but to sabotage my career and separate me from my family and friends."

Armani swallows and folds her arms. I think she has something else to tell me but there's a slight hesitation.

"What is it?" I ask.

Armani locks my gaze with lips pursed. "That's not all, darling. I, uh, think I might have spoke to him once."