Broken Halo

by Dayo Benson

  Okay, maybe not the last.

  Colby is first. My audition is a very distant second that seems like last, and then everything else is after the audition. Even food.

  Colby isn't on Facebook. If he is, I can't find him. It seems there are a million Colby's on Facebook, but not the one I'm looking for.

  It would help if I knew his surname. Quin would know, but when he calls me, an hour after I get home, to check how my preparations are going, I don't dare ask. I tell him I've memorized my lines, have rehearsed the whole thing seven times, and am feeling excited.

  "Excitement is good," he tells me. "Have you done your success rituals? Are you staying calm and focusing on your goals and why this audition is important?"

  "Uh, no. But I'll start all that once we hang up."

  There's a moment of silence.

  Is he mad? Does he think I'm slacking?

  He doesn't sound mad. I've only ever seen him mad once. It was one time when I told him the director at a TV commercial I was hired for came on to me. The man had burst into my dressing room while I was getting changed and he didn't leave when he saw that I was in my bra. He tried to touch me.

  Quin lost it, so I never told him about anything that happened ever again. Thankfully, nothing that bad has ever happened since—except for Dumbo last night.

  "I guess I'd better get to visualizing," I sing.

  "Wait," Quin says. "You know the man you saw on my screen yesterday?"

  My heart instantly accelerates. The mere thought of Colby does that to me. "Yeah?"

  "You asked him if I'm his agent?"

  "Yeah. I saw him today at—"

  "Please, don't do things like that, Clo."

  I fall silent. Quin isn't happy. He's one of those rare people who go quiet when they're mad. His voice has gone quiet.

  Colby must have called Quin and told him about our conversation.

  "I don't discuss my clients with anybody. Certainly not with other clients. If one of my clients thinks I've told you something about them, they could, justifiably, get angry."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything. I hope he hasn't decided to get a new agent?"

  "I can't confirm whether or not that is the case. The next time you see him, let him know I told you absolutely nothing."

  Quin hangs up.

  I toss my phone aside and frown at the page of non-tawny-eyed Colby's that have come up in my Facebook search.

  Colby chewed Quin out over my seeing him on Quin's computer. He told me he writes screenplays, so what's the big deal? There's absolutely nothing embarrassing about it.

  But Colby seems like a really private person.

  No. It's more than private.

  He seems like a man with secrets.

  I decide to Google him. Even before I waste an hour trawling search results instead of preparing for my audition, I know I'll find nothing.

  I'm right.

  I need his surname.

  The weekend is a struggle. I struggle to rehearse while I'm so distracted. I struggle to sleep without a certain pair of brown eyes keeping me awake and my thoughts racing. And I struggle to make sure no one notices that something is going on.

  Mom and Nana don't notice when we talk on the phone.

  Gina and Leah don't notice.

  And Timothy doesn't notice.

  "Are you ready for your date with fate?" Gina asks, popping her head into my room as I gather my special audition day toiletries for a shower on Monday morning.

  "Don't put pressure on her," Leah says, appearing behind Gina.

  Am I ready?

  Running into Colby at the art gallery on Saturday almost threw me off for the rest of the weekend. Never has a man dominated my mind so much. It's actually embarrassing.

  Somehow, I managed to push him to the back of my mind in order to rehearse on Saturday evening, with Gina playing my love interest. We rehearsed again on Sunday afternoon and again in the evening. Then I went to bed at eight.

  I was up at the crack of dawn today. I rehearsed a zillion times and took three hours to do my mindset stuff.

  I should feel ready. I guess I am ready. But I feel all out of whack. Like my equilibrium has been distorted.

  "I think I'm ready," I tell my friends.

  "You think?" Gina asks, giving me a stern look like she's my mom and I've just told her I haven't done my homework.

  I wanted to stay home on Sunday morning and rehearse, but I didn't want to jinx myself. Like, why should God help me if I brush off church?

  "That's a great reason to go to church," Gina had said sarcastically when I told her what I was thinking yesterday morning. "You're not supposed to go because you want to. You're supposed to go out of guilt."

  Still, I went.

  Gina doesn't attend any church. She prays and reads her Bible alone at home. I know because, on the rare occasion that I've been unable to go to church because of illness or work, I've seen her. She reads her Bible and prays every morning, but on Sundays, she spends hours. Sometimes, she comes out of her room with tears in her eyes and I know she's been wrestling with God about something.

  Gina will have nothing to do with organized religion. I don't know why and I get the feeling I don't want to know. But she still loves Jesus. It's funny how she has both parents but me and Leah, who were raised by single parents, seem a lot more 'whole'. I used to think having a father was all I needed to be happy. I now know that's not true.

  "Are you going to get your hair and makeup done?" Leah asks me.

  I nod.

  She enters my room and picks up my engagement ring from the dresser. "You haven't worn this all weekend."

  I avoid her gaze. "I don't think I should wear it for an audition."

  "I agree," Gina says. She heads back to her room. "Good luck," she tosses over her shoulder.

  "Thanks." I hurry to the bathroom and lay out all my toiletries. My audition is at two, so I have just enough time to do my whole beauty regimen, go to the salon, return to get dressed, and then head to the College Life studios.

  I look for my special toothpaste, which I keep in the bathroom cabinet. It isn't there.

  I go back to my room to check.

  My engagement ring is twinkling on my dresser like a lonely star. I promptly look away from it and search through my drawers.

  Yesterday's sermon was about God's mercy. Our pastor isn't like Timothy. He can be hard-hitting but I always sense it's coming from a place of love. Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I felt like someone who needs mercy. I felt like a sinner.

  I've never done anything really wrong, so I've always tuned out when such sermons are preached. I know I'm a sinner because everyone is. And I know I've 'sinned', but only in little ways that everyone sins. Which is bad and everything. But I've never had any reason to really feel guilty. Until now.

  I haven't actually done anything wrong, I tell myself. Nothing has happened between Colby and me. I have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.

  "Girls," I call. "Have you seen my toothpaste?"

  "Isn't it in the bathroom where it always is?" Leah calls back.

  "I mean my special one that I keep in the cabinet?"

  "In the cabinet?" Gina asks slowly.

  I go to her room. She's sitting on her bed with her laptop.

  "Where is it?" I ask.

  "It's, uh, finished."

  I stare at her. "Finished?"

  That tube of toothpaste cost me so much money I'm embarrassed to admit how much. A Beverley Hills dentist recommended it to me when I was in LA two years ago for an audition. Quin sent me to see him since I was booked to do a toothpaste commercial in a couple of months. The dentist did all kinds of painful things to my teeth and gums and recommended that toothpaste.

  I was supposed to use it weekly, but since the toothpaste commercial I've used it only for special auditions that I really want. I'm not planning on a career in toothpaste commercials, but I do want a movie star smile with which to dazzle casting directors at
auditions.

  "You never use it so I thought you didn't want it," Gina says.

  "Remember the expensive toothpaste from Beverley Hills that I told you about?"

  Gina squints like she's trying to remember, and then she nods. "That was it? Wasn't that, like, two years ago? I thought you would have finished it by now."

  I need my expensive toothpaste. It's part of my ritual. I need my dazzling smile.

  Gina jumps off her bed and scuttles to her mirror. She bares her teeth. "Wow. My teeth are whiter than ever. I didn't even notice how amazing they look."

  I have to admit her teeth do look awesome. But that doesn't help me. She's been using the expensive toothpaste daily when I can't bring myself to use it more than once in two months.

  "You freeloader," Leah yells from her room. "You ate her spaghetti and now you've used up her toothpaste. I'm locking up all my food and toiletries."

  "I'll replace it," Gina says. "I honestly thought you didn't want it."

  I get that Gina hates shopping. Even online shopping—which isn't even real shopping. But she's rolling in cash while I have very little spare money. She needs to stop using my stuff. "Can we make a deal, Gina?"

  "Sure. Anything." She pauses. "Well, not anything that involves occult sacrifices or social injustice."

  "Tell her to shut up," Leah calls.

  "Pay me to shop for you," I tell Gina.

  She nods quickly. "That's an excellent idea. From now on, you can shop for me and I'll pay you for your services."

  She actually looks happy at the prospect.

  I would never waste money on paying someone to do something I can easily and competently do myself.

  "You don't deserve to be rich," I mutter, walking back to the bathroom.

  "I'm sorry," she calls after me. "If it helps, your teeth are already perfect."

  Don't let her wind you up, I tell myself.

  I force myself to think of my life goals as I brush my teeth with my crappy, normal toothpaste.

  I feel unsettled as I leave the beauty parlor ninety minutes before my audition.

  I usually feel nervous before auditions, not unsettled.

  I know my lines, I tell myself, hoping to give myself some assurance. And I'm a good fit for the role.

  I went over the script numerous times in my mind while the stylists worked on me. I know it inside out.

  I check the stylists' work in the mirror. My hair is in orderly, rather than unruly, curls. They know how to tame my hair here. I didn't have to take Quin's hair advice—it's my career after all—but I did. I had no better ideas.

  I check my makeup. I love the neutral colors. The only pop of color is my bold, red lips.

  I've heard red lips make your teeth look whiter. It's just as well.

  My cell phone buzzes as I leave the salon. It's Timothy. I managed to avoid speaking to him all weekend.

  I should have switched off my cell phone so that I'd have no distractions before my audition, but I figure I should talk to him. My conscience has been eating me alive since Saturday.

  My finger hovers over the 'accept' button.

  I should wait until after my audition. I don't want Timothy putting a damper on my mood.

  My guilt wins out.

  "Hello?" I answer.

  "Hello, stranger." He sounds offended.

  "I'm sorry I've been missing your calls." More like avoiding his calls. "I've had such a busy weekend. I've been preparing for my audition."

  Timothy is quiet.

  I shouldn't have said that. He already doesn't like that I'm an actor. I don't need to give him more reasons to be against my passion.

  "How was class this morning?" he asks.

  No words of encouragement about my audition? Well, I guess that's too much to ask since he's offended that I've been too busy to talk to him all weekend.

  "I didn't go." I get into my car, connect my cell phone to the sound system and begin to drive home.

  "You skipped class? You shouldn't be skipping class."

  "I won't be able to pay for that class if I don't skip it to attend this audition. I'll catch up on the work I missed."

  I really will. I'm majoring in film studies. It doesn't feel like work. I enjoy it.

  Timothy let's out a heavy sigh that sounds like wind howling through my car speakers. "I think it's about time we had a serious conversation about this acting."

  "I agree."

  "I don't want you to go to that audition."

  I frown as I hit the brakes at a stop light. I'm pretty sure I misheard.

  "Don't go," he says.

  "What?"

  "I watched a few College Life episodes on Friday after you told me you have a second audition with them. It's full of sin. Drinking, fornication, cussing, and what not."

  "My character is a good girl. She's being introduced for a 'girls stick together' theme that they want to run. My character will almost come between another girl and her boyfriend. But as soon as she realizes what's going on, she withdraws, sides the girl, and refuses to be the other woman. Then they both unite to teach the guy a lesson. I won't be kissing anyone or having any sex scenes. And it's never real alcohol when characters are supposedly drinking. However, I can ask that my character be teetotal. I've done that before and the producers complied. I always request amendments whenever I feel uncomfortable about something in a script, and my requests are usually accommodated."

  Timothy is quiet. Then he clears his throat. "I still don't want you to go. I was just praying and I had this strong urge to speak to you. Now I know why. God wants me to tell you not to go. I've been meaning to talk to you about this for a while, but I decided to wait until we're engaged as there's no point having such a conversation with someone who may or may not marry me. Now that you've agreed to marry me, it's about time we established certain things. You cannot be an actress."

  I can't believe my ears.

  The light changes but I don't notice until the car behind me honks.

  I quickly start driving.

  "As a Christian, I can't believe you even want to be an actress. The devil is in charge of Hollywood—"

  "There are Christians in Hollywood," I cut in.

  "Not serious Christians. Honestly, I can't believe we even need to have this conversation. You should know that the movie industry is inappropriate. Especially if you're going to be a pastor's wife. I will need you behind me. I will need your support. I will need you running the women's ministry."

  Women's ministry? The thought of engaging in 'women's ministry' has never even crossed my mind.

  I can imagine the kind of wife that Timothy wants. I wonder why on earth he proposed to me when I obviously don't fit that mold.

  "Don't go to that audition," Timothy says.

  I almost laugh. Is he serious?

  If he is, do I have to listen?

  "I am now your fiancé. Your husband-to-be. You will be obliged to do as I say once we're married. You might as well start practicing now."

  I realize that my hands are trembling.

  I take the next turn and then pull over. My mind is racing. Since I was a little girl, I have wanted to be an actress. My mother knows that. She enrolled me acting classes, thinking it was just a childhood phase. It wasn't until my mid-teens that she began to question it. I guess she thought I would grow out of it. But since I hadn't, she thought it was time to tell me to stop.

  But there's something within me that knows I'm going to be an actress. It's the only thing I know how to do well. If I'm not an actress, what will I be?

  "I have given this quite a lot of thought," Timothy says. "I think you need to pray about it. About what to do with your life. This acting thing is something you need to surrender. Once you do, God will open a new door and lead you down a new path. The path that He wants you in."

  Would that be the path of committing myself to church work and women's ministry, by any chance?

  If so, would I be obeying God, or simply bowing to Timothy's wishes
?

  Chapter 8

  Timothy says more, but I can't hear him. A few words jump out at me like 'surrender', 'God's will', and 'submission'.

  A horrible trapped feeling wraps around me. Is this really what I want?

  I already know the answer to that. It isn't. But I don't know what to do. Mom has preached to me since I was young enough to understand that I need to marry a good man and have a good life. I don't want to ruin my life. I want to have a good life with a good man. And I know Timothy is a good man. He's a serious Christian. He would never leave me. But so many things come with that. Things that scare me.

  Marriage should be exciting, but I'm already dreading it. I feel like it's going to be a life sentence. I feel like I'm already serving that life sentence.

  But is that because, like Timothy says, I'm not surrendered to God enough? Is it because I want to do my own thing and go my own way instead of obey God?

  "Chloe?" Timothy asks.

  I jump, realizing that this isn't the first time he's said my name.

  "Yes?"

  "I don't want you to go for that audition. Don't go. Come and see me this weekend and let's talk. I would have said come tonight, but I know it's short notice for you."

  If I loved him, the short notice wouldn't matter. In fact, he wouldn't need to ask me to come and see him. I would probably book travel tickets every weekend. But I rarely go home. I don't want to see him. And I feel guilty for feeling this way, but neither do I want to see Mom and Nana.

  A tear rolls down my cheek as Timothy tells me he'll buy me a ticket to fly out on Friday. He say he'll make sure he's not preaching this weekend so that there's no sermon to prepare. He and I will talk and everything will be okay.

  When we hang up, I cover my face with my hands. I'm so confused.

  I really want to attend this College Life audition. I might not get it, but Timothy shouldn't take from me the chance to get it.

  Do I have to listen to him, God?

  Just then, my phone begins to ring again. At the sight of Mom's number, I instantly put two and two together. Mom and Timothy must have been talking. He must have told her he was going to lay down the law regarding my acting.