Chapter 2: A Lie in a Bloody Gown
1648 Words
Ana's POV
I stepped into the hallway, my footsteps, which were usually quiet, were now louder than the conversations in the corridor. The walls, floors, even the ceiling — everything was spotless. It was like walking through a movie set–one whose audition I didn't go for.
Yet, they were all smiling at me. Words spread fast indeed. I didn't have to do anything to entertain or impress them. Was this how easy life was for a famous person?
"Is there anything you want, ma’am?”
“Can we get you something, please?”
“How is your health?”
“How is Herod Crackstone doing there?”
“Can I have your autograph please?”
Voices floated around me like the jazz music my father used to listen to in his old car on our way from college. I hadn’t known this kind of attention in my whole life. It looked too easy for me. Funny how the world changes when they think you're someone.
"Are you Herod Crackstone's girlfriend?" a young girl whispered to me, clinging to her mother's arm. Her voice was timid yet full of excitement.
“Yes!”
Her father raised his phone. “Can we take a picture with you, please?”
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click-click. More followed. People came out of nowhere like I was some rare animal in a zoo. Their eyes drank me in like I was Whiskey.
Then, a tall woman in bone-straight hair walked up with the confidence of a military officer.
“Mrs Crackstone, would you like to freshen up for a media briefing?”
I gave her a calm nod.
“Right this way, ma’am.”
She glanced over. “I’m a huge fan of Herod Crackstone. His movies are the best.…”
“Thanks.”
“The bills will be added to your hospital bill,” she added.
“Is money your problem?” my eyebrows tilted upwards.
The door read ‘VVIP’ in bold 24k-carat gold letters.
I’d never seen that before. The guard scanned the lady’s fingerprint and the door slid open like we were in a sci-fi movie.
“Four security outside.”
Inside. Soft lights, gold-framed mirrors, scented air. Clothes, wigs, makeup — all arranged neatly.
“This is for you, ma’am, it's called ‘bloody gown.”
I flipped it and there was a ‘bloody gown’ embroidered under it. It was elegant in every sense. Maybe too revealing as my breasts popped out.
My dad would disown me if he saw me in that dress.
That was the norm for female celebrities. Not my style—but I didn’t argue. Yet, I knew I was about to compromise on the standards my parents set for me.
They touched up my face with warm brushes and expensive mascara. I picked out a long, sleek Brazilian wig. I couldn’t afford something like that even if I worked for five years.
I stared at the mirror. My reflection looked like she had everything, but lost everything.
I shut my eyes from seeing my reflection any further.
I remembered my father, “Avoid shortcuts to your destiny, Ana. What is meant for you will be yours.”
Was this mine in disguise? What would happen to Ana Santos who never compromised on her standards?
Okay.
“Don't lie, even if it means losing everything. A good name is to be preferred to riches,” my mum would preach every morning before school.
But this good name I had been bearing had not paid my bills for once.
My younger sisters were looking up to me for support and I couldn't joke about this opportunity presented to me.
I had to be a big sister who could provide for the family in the absence of my father. My mother had retired early from public service and was still struggling to pay off her mortgage. Her health was deteriorating too.
I had a family and a generation to get out of poverty forever.
My heart was drumming.
The wig was like melted gold. I loved wigs so much. They made girls look and feel sophisticated.
I could almost hear my friend Selena laughing somewhere below the clouds. “You finally made it, bad girl.” I hoped it was her voice.
Otherwise, it was my ego–loud and unapologetic.
I swallowed hard and turned away from the mirror of deceits to face my new reality.
“This way, ma’am. Ma'am?”
The voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I followed the bodyguard while learning how to walk like a celebrity.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” One of them asked after I tripped twice.
“Keep moving.”
As we got closer to the hospital’s exit, I could hear them before I could see them.
Cameras.
Paparazzi.
A wave of flashes hit me the moment the doors opened.
I dropped my poor shoulders, breathed in, and raised my rich shoulders; walking towards them like I belonged.
Questions started flying around like birds.
“Is it true you’re Herod Crackstone's real girlfriend?”
“Of course!”
I knew he had been keeping his relationship private for some years now. No couple shots on the web.
But he had acknowledged that he was in a relationship. Yet, no name, no picture, no public appearance. No one knew why.
I knew all this because I always followed all his social media posts and press briefings.
“Where did you two meet?”
I smiled with a tilt of my head. “You didn’t know?“
“How long have you two been together?”
“Long enough to matter.”
“How do you feel about your first public appearance as his girlfriend?”
“I felt better when we went private, but I feel good now.” I didn't know where that answer came from but it sounded good.
Some laughed. Others leaned in with more curiosity.
“Will he wake up soon?”
“Soon.”
They took that like it was gospel.
“Are you pregnant for him?” The blonde-haired woman continued, “When are we expecting our first baby?”
“What’s his favorite s*x position?”
I covered my mouth. Half-laughing. Half-embarrassed. “Children are watching. Keep it decent, please.”
They chuckled like it was strange.
“Do you have proof you're together? Maybe a private picture?”
I could feel my heart throbbing.
I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or Vanish.
I didn't even have his phone number, let alone a picture.
I smiled instead. “I need more time with my fiancé. Respect our privacy.”
Their voices were getting louder.
“Is this a publicity stunt for his new film?”
I recalled what I was once taught about publicity stunts as an actor.
“A lot of girls are envious of your position.”
I shook my head, “You guys done embarrassing yourselves?”
That made a few of them back off.
The sun caught on the stones sewn into my bloody gown, bouncing light back at them.
I looked like I had answers.
I hadn’t even spoken with Herod Crackstone before.
What if he woke up and hated my face? And if he wakes up now… God help me!
The PR officer signaled the end of the briefing as it got too tense, and I was turned away.
BACK INSIDE
I walked back into the hospital at a slower step. A calculated one. Like someone who had a name worth protecting. Reflecting on my first public appearance as ‘Mrs Crackstone’.
My ex-boyfriend thought life was over for me–“You'll never amount to anything, Ana,” after I broke up with him for impregnating another girl. He was manipulative too.
Hollywood never saw me coming.
But why were these people protecting me even when they had not known me before?
“Who's behind this?” I thought as I walked. More careful of my steps to avoid slipping.
What if he was conscious all this time but pretended to be in a coma in order to pull an audience for his upcoming projects?
A deep breath left my chest once the entrance door shut behind me.
“I need my phone.” I needed to speak with Selena. I needed to see how her eyes lit up as she saw me in the news as a celebrity.
A man beside me darted off to my ward like he was taking orders from an army general. He returned with my phone in both hands.
I looked down.
75 missed calls.
634 unread emails.
You have 100,000 new followers on i********:.
My knees almost gave way. “Already?”
Twenty-four years of living in the shadows… and now this?
“Papa,” I whispered inside. “I hope you’re seeing this.”
I was all over the news as I stared at the large LG OLED TVs on the hospital walls.
‘Herod Crackstone's girlfriend, Ana Santos, makes her first public appearance.’ –CNN
My heart was pounding, but it wasn’t fear. It wasn't anxiety either. It was something bigger — like the world was finally giving me a chance.
I thought of my best friend.
I was about to call her.
But then, I heard it!
A voice on the hospital’s intercom. Calm. Clear. Deadly.
“Five more premium nurses are needed at Herod Crackstone’s quarters.”
I turned.
“Herod Crackstone is awake!”
My eyes popped wide as though they wanted to fall out.
Blood drained from my face. Tears fought their way from my heart to my lashes but didn’t win. My
legs shook.
And then, without thinking about it…
…I farted.
Jesus! Loud!! Unapologetic. Deadly!!!
I didn’t even care.
“I’m a dead woman,” I said quietly, “with a Brazilian wig walking.”
- Writer
