2.
Along with the celebrity status that I adored, came the endless media, always around to take a photo of whoever I was with or wherever I was going. Whether it be a gala event, a party or even the shop around the corner from my apartment – there was always someone close by with a camera. I fed off it; it gave me such a high that I wanted it more and more. It came to a point when if I were attending a function, any function, I would tell whoever was outside my apartment where I was going and being sure to spread the word. Sometimes I phoned the newspapers under a false name and gave them the details of where Miss Jade Burnstein was going to be. It never failed, the media went crazy and usually I stole the limelight for the evening. I was beyond ecstatic facing the flashing cameras with all the attention focused on me.
During the filming of a TV commercial in Mauritius, I had a brief break from the cameras and sat alone away from everyone. It was most unusual but this place touched a nerve I had not felt before. I wanted nothing but peace, no flashing cameras, no media, no journalists asking the same boring questions – which I had never minded before – no staff standing by my side waiting for my next demand. I just wanted to sit alone under the enormous umbrella, lie on the sunbed and figure out what this odd sensation was that had suddenly come over me.
Alongside me in the commercial was a mini me. A young girl, eight years old, and beautiful. Almost as beautiful as I was, but don't forget there was no one more beautiful than me in the world! But she was very similar in looks and physique. I imagined if I'd had a sister she would have looked just like her. But she had a gentle nature and the kindest smile. She never demanded but asked and never failed to say thank you. The only time I ever said thanks was if I was faking it to the press or someone of importance.
She had an endless flow of questions about my career and, in particular, my reign as Miss World.
I asked her if she would enter one day and she simply replied, 'No, never.'
'Why not?' I asked in surprise.
Who would not want to be Miss World?
'Mommy always says you don't have to wear a crown to be beautiful and to be Miss World. If you are loved and in return, you can love others, you are the world to those around you.'
That this came from an eight-year-old little girl who possibly was the next me floored me.
'Well, I suppose there is some truth in that but if it means that you can have a wonderful career from being Miss World, then why not?'
'Different strokes for different folks,' she said and before I could ask if that was also what her mommy said she was whisked away by the costume department.
What she said meddled with my head for some time but once I was in front of the camera again her words dissipated into the confines of my memory. Whether I would ever have them resurface was not important right now. I was important and the cameras were on me.
In the evening, I sat on the porch of my five-star chalet a stone's throw from the edge of the ocean. The peace and calm of this place were strangely overwhelming. I wanted to soak it in and remember every second I was alone in it. It was such an odd feeling, and sitting alone on this paradise island I began to wonder if I would ever have any children one day. I was still young enough at twenty-two to have this fabulous lifestyle for a few more years before contemplating marriage, let alone children. But I couldn't help but wonder if my child would be as beautiful as me. Of course, she would, what was I thinking? But maybe not quite as beautiful as there had to be male genes involved, but she would be beautiful nonetheless. I also naturally assumed my child would be a girl. What was I to do with a boy?
My hands fell limply onto my firm flat belly and on impulse, I imagined a round belly that could one day encase a baby. I shuddered and felt like vomiting. What had come over me, what could possess me to delve into that part of my mind? If that ever happened, it would destroy my goddess-like body. I got up from the chair, feeling gingerly for my sandals and then made my way back inside and to bed. It was a restless night with babies popping in and out of my dreams, all of them grossly ugly and reaching out to me, their mother, for dear life. I held them for a short while then threw them into the arms of the first person that walked past me, grateful those people did not have faces.
When I arrived on set the next morning, my makeup artist dared comment on the dark shadows under my eyes.
'I don't need your comments this morning, just do your job and get rid of them,' was my harsh reply.
She adhered to my demand and the next hour or so got spent in silence. I was insulted at the slightest suggestion that I was less than perfect. Still, that previous evening's strange emotions and dreams bugged me right up until I was in front of the camera, and then the memories were thankfully gone and forgotten. I was where I belonged and I was the most adored and most important person that existed.
That evening I found an adoring fan that satisfied my desire to be worshipped and denied any repeat of the previous evening's oddities. Not sleeping in my bed also helped. Still, I made sure to leave his house before he woke up.
A day of filming in the small harbour was the assignment, the fishermen had left very early in the morning, but one trawler's crew was paid handsomely to skip the day's fishing. The captain was a rugged man with messy grey hair and an even messier beard. His voice was as rough as his appearance, and I think he last had a bath in the seventeenth century. The captain's son too was a fisherman by heart, there was no doubt about that, but he was neatly shaven, and his hair was cut short, so it had no chance of becoming windswept. He smelt pleasant and fresh; even his hands were clean and void of fish scales. He had a nice smile that cracked the skin around his eyes into suntanned wrinkles. He had long eyelashes that protected his warm brown eyes from the sun. I noticed these things because when we got introduced, he shook my hand for the longest time and stared straight into my eyes.
'Mercia, get me the hand sanitizer,' I demanded when he finally released my hand.
The man walked away after grunting something about the fact that he did not carry any germs. Unperturbed I wiped my hands and waited to begin shooting in my dressing area.
We were on the sea just within the entry points of the harbour walls. The wind was warm and the air humid. It was difficult to stand still on the trawler as it rocked from side to side over the lapping waves, made worse every time another boat passed our boat. We had to do take after take and with each new take I became more and more irritated and frustrated. The young man, I forgot his name, was kind and tried very hard to appease me and limit my complaining by controlling his boat as much as was humanly possible. It was not good enough for me.
'Can't you keep this stupid thing from rocking? It's ruining my performance.'
He simply smiled back, 'Cannot control nature, ma'am.'
'Well you can damn well try a little harder to control this stupid ugly boat,' I grunted for the hundredth time.
'It's a trawler ma'am.'
I was infuriated.
'Serge, get me off this thing now. You use what we have or do something else. I won't do this out here, and this man is not helping at all. He is probably rocking the boat on purpose.'
Serge and all the crew tried to convince me that I was unreasonable, and we should try the scene once more. I refused, put my gown on and went and sat inside the boat. The man and his father just smiled at each other and returned the boat to the dock. I stormed off in a huff refusing any more shoots for the day.
Without having to do another shoot on the sea, we finally finished filming three days later, and I returned to my apartment in Cape Town exhausted. It had been a strange few weeks and the worst in me had surfaced, not that that bothered me much, though, as I was the star and the important one and could, therefore, behave however I liked.
When I viewed the commercial for the first time, I was surprised and jealous at how good the fisherman looked in front of the camera. People not knowing any different would think he was a model or an actor.
'Well he will never become a model or an actor, he is a common fisherman,' I replied when asked my opinion of the man, 'I was incredible considering the conditions I had to work under.'
My life in the city resumed again. I forgot my horrid ordeal with the fisherman and even forgot his face. If the ad came on the TV, I changed the channel and it hurt me for that meant I would not see myself and my performance. My agent phoned me one morning with news of a photo shoot in Argentina. The timing was perfect; I needed to be surrounded by new fans to adore me. We were on the plane and back home within the month.