The Deal

Five-Bernadette

"What are you trying to say?" I ask, my brows furrowing at her.

"I'm sorry I never told you this. It happened during the time we worked on the second season." Armani heaves a huge sigh of relief, her hand resting close to her chest. "Well, I'm glad I finally got that out. I've kept this secret bottled up inside for so long. You know how tough that is?"

I turn my chair to face her. "You had an actual conversation with my stalker? Where did you meet him?"

"I'm not sure if it was him, darling. I was suspicious about some things he said to me. He was only some stranger who offered me a lift."

I raise my eyebrows. When I'm about to open my mouth to tell her to elaborate more, a masculine voice interrupts us.

"Bernadette! Can I have a word with you for a moment?"

I groan in response. "We'll talk later," I say to Armani. She nods at me.

Leaving the make-up room, fully dressed as my character of today's episode shoot, I run into Khosa, or as I simply like to call him, Assistant Director II. Today, he's wearing a golden Rolex on his left wrist and a bright, sunny sunflower shirt hugs his bulky body. He must be in a good mood today.

"Nettie, hey," he begins. "Are you alright?"

I shoot him a little smile and fold my arms. "Hm. Peachy."

He narrows his gaze at me. "Are you sure? Because it looks like your head is still stuck in the clouds. Maybe a part of you was left in the coma."

Here we go again. Right now, I wish there were a pair of scissors lying around. He should try touching me.

"You mean?" I inquire sarcastically.

"Why were you late for the table read? I thought you—"

A sound echoes somewhere from the stage, and before I know it, my two favorite child actors are running around playing with the water-gun props that will be used for one of our upcoming scenes. Unfortunately, these two play my character's son and daughter, 'Miles' and 'Makena'. They're always creating havoc on the set, which to them, might be one big substitute playground. Seriously, Khosa needs to take a good closer look at me and those two rascals and figure out who's the stubborn one.

"I'm sorry, Khoss," I reply. "I got the times mixed up. Again. This accident has really scarred me."

Khosa sighs, nodding in approval. "I'm glad you've handled the drinking problem. The Bernadette before the accident was a pain in my ass. I mean, it was terrible. You'd rarely spoken to your co-stars, you were standoffish to the other directors, the cast kept complaining about you, and..." Khosa leans forward to whisper. "You had some hygiene problems. But it never lasted long. Anyway, my point is that you are doing much better. You have changed a lot. Congratulations, I guess."

"Wow, thanks a lot for reminding me how much of a pain in the ass I was, Khosa," I shoot back, clenching my fist. "I'm sorry I didn't meet your expectations back then. I guess my decisions in life took a wrong turn. At least there was only one thing crashing and burning, and it wasn't my career." I imagine a drumroll sounding after the unfunny pun I delivered.

Khosa keeps a straight face. "Did you read the script this time? Or go over your rehearsal? If you didn't, we're going to have a serious problem with this shoot, Bernie."

I purse my lips. "Read the script this time? I always read the damn script. You know I do my rehearsals with some of the cast once in a while."

Khosa shakes his head and takes off his shades. "I've been in this business longer than you have, Bernie. All those popular soapies out there, I was on those sets. I've watched the top stars lose their shit after the tenth or eleventh season. One petty mistake had caused them to kiss their TV careers goodbye. I've witnessed the light extinguish before their eyes. Back in the day, I was there, watching them rise and fall. When—"