He ordered a glass of wine for me even though I would have preferred a Coca Cola, reason being that a Coke, just like any other soda for that matter, wasn’t a posh drink, and one of the first requirements of a celebrity’s partner is to at any rate come across as posh.

That was the same reason I was dressed in this ridiculously tight black number and killer heels when my actual style would have been comfortable jeans and a T-shirt with sneakers.

Although there was without a doubt a long list of patrons waiting for their three minutes of fame on stage as they croaked, mimed or actually sang, as soon as he nodded at the MC, his usual track was lined up next. The crowd went wild once he was invited up by the MC and I politely clapped along with them as he made his way up to the stage.

Although I was still seething with anger at him, it was not allowed to show and had I not cheered, tongues would instantly start wagging about there being “trouble in paradise”.
That is another thing about being a celebrity, your every action is analysed, dissected and interpreted accordingly (never mind that the interpretations are wrong 80% of the time).

“Thank you, thank you”, he acknowledged their cheers. They responded by cheering even more loudly.
In an attempt to restore some form of order, the DJ started the track. “Hey DJ, hold up,” the music stopped instantly. “I’m, going to be doing Mariah Carey’s Always be my baby, but I came here tonight with my own baby. Baby come give me some sugar”.

More cheers. Damn, he knew how I hated being used as part of his performances, especially tonight when he wasn’t in my good books. A wicked thought crossed my mind; what if I ignored his call and left him standing up there looking like a royal fool? It would serve him right and I’d have had my revenge.
But I followed the script and got to my feet with a smile like he knew I would.

At least two hundred pairs of eyes were glued onto me as I made my way to the stage, and was it my imagination or was that a camera flash? If experience had not conditioned me to be able to block out their stares, I’d probably have tripped. But as it was, living under the spotlight was something I was used to and my step was both steady and graceful.

I was the poster picture of the adoring partner as I accepted his hand and allowed him to help me up the last step onto the stage where I then proceeded to give him his “sugar” - a long intimate kiss that achieved its objective, to drive the crowd into a frenzy.

“F*** you”, I whispered under my breath so only he could hear as the performance of an apparently intimate moment came to a close. My smile never wavered. Neither did his, as he turned back to the microphone, “isn’t she amazing? DJ start my track”. And just like that, I was dismissed; I had played my role perfectly and helped him give the crowd the performance of the night.
So much for my night out, I thought to myself as I returned to my seat.

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