How dare they? They wanted to cut me from the show. Me! I'm clearly the most valuable female in the cast and they wanted to cut me! These new writer's better accept the truth about who I am.
"He's coming." Way to state the obvious, Helena. Oh shoot! He's coming! As in it's time to sit up tall and put on a flirty smile so that he knows how much I appreciate his work. He is after all the writer in charge of all of my lines.
"Wipe that smile off your face, Alfreda." I must be hearing things. He did not just use my real first name with me, did he?
"I hate to be rude Sir, but it's Aaliyah, Aaliyah Greene. I proudly play the role of Melanie Walsh in the show." Caine glares at me. It wasn't a mistake at all, he used my real name in light of knowing that's not who I am. I twirl my perfectly loose curls to try to get on his good side, but the clamour of the room is overpowering me. It dawns on me that no one here knows me by the name Alfreda. Ugh, such a heinous name. I don't know why Mommy and Daddy hated me so much as to give me a name like Alfreda Greenberg. I remember as a child they tried to call me Fraydie at one of my schools and the other kids laughed at me. I shudder. That was a harsh time.
"I did a background scan on you and I know it's a facade. Your real name is Alfreda Greenberg, your hair is naturally ginger. Evident considering you clearly have no soul." Caine chuckled to himself at the offensive comment. "Your eyes are blue and your face is speckled. You are fake. I do not respect that."
I gasp at the outrageous comments being spoken about me of all people. I could understand insulting someone ugly, but not me! "Regardless, of who you think you are, I came out here for you to know that I've started writing the scripts and they'll be done in a few days. You may now return to your work." Caine skipped away as though nothing happened.
"He really is fucked up." Pointed out Kate. There was a collective nod.
The day came to a close and I am now sitting in traffic, sobbing over my life. I roll the car window down to try to dry my eyes, but instead, tragedy strikes.
"Gotcha!" A man holds a flashing camera, marking the day. He could not have gotten a worse shot of me. My makeup has run down my face, you can see my freckles peeking through the blackness of my mascara. Oh, if man were not so cruel to one another, maybe the world could survive.
I furiously honk my horn at the cars ahead of me, urging them to move forward. When finally they do, I pull off the highway and take side streets back to my condo. I can't believe how lousy this day has been for me. The world must really hate me. It's second grade all over again and I swear- though ladies don't swear- that I will not get out of this by moving states once again. I'm lived in twelve different states in my lifetime and now that I've finally found one where I'm accepted, I refuse to move again.
I don't bother to remove my makeup or even take my contact lenses out; I simply flop onto my bed and cry myself to sleep.