“Coffee?”
The sun’s up, and so is Cleo. She stretches her arms upwards before facing her mother, who’s looking at her with concern. But Thea doesn’t need to worry. Cleo’s got it all planned out in her head, and there’s no losing it this time.
“Thanks, but Owen and I will catch breakfast outside,” Cleo says, strangely rejuvenized. She’s never been this awake her whole life. Her mind is made up, and her heart is ready for the adrenaline rush.
Thea stares at Cleo in curious wonder. “I know that look.”
Cleo turns to the golden-lit skies. Her eyes burn with purpose, a vow made in the heavens. Once the sun sets again, all will be in place. And when the first stars of the night appear, the moon will bear witness to her promise, a haunting memory to keep her going. She swears she’ll never let others run her life. She’s not going to be chased by another wrong decision—she’ll be the one to do the chasing, and whether it comes out as good or bad, the most important thing this was a choice she willingly made.
Cleo smiles as if to dare life to come up against her. Well, if it does, she’ll be one step ahead of it. “I’ll see you later, Ma!”
“You’re worrying me,” Thea replies, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Never better,” Cleo says genuinely, grinning at Thea.
Thea shakes her head and smiles at Cleo, knowing all too well there’s no stopping her once she puts her mind to something. “Take care.”
So, Cleo goes through her morning ritual:
Apply skincare products to her face.
Take a shower.
Apply light makeup.
Find something comfortable to wear for the day.
It’s a mundane routine, but today it seems different—everything she does counts and matters. There’s no time to stay still now. She needs to chase the lead of the story she’s tracking.
Cleo straps on her sandals, puts on a blouse and skinny pants, steps outside the house, and books a cab on her phone. Five minutes later, the taxi arrives, and she gets inside like it’s a carriage taking her to the battlefield. But before she starts the long day’s campaign, she takes a detour first to a certain someone to whom she owes a ton.
Owen just gets out of the shower when his brother Mark strolls into his room like some highbrow philosopher. Mark likes to play Aristotle, thinking no one has his kind of brain. Owen doesn’t question that, but sometimes it makes him look downright ridiculous.
“Anything you need?” Owen asks Mark. For a moment there, the thought of his exam results runs through his head.
“Corporate dinner later at the Larila Shang Hotel. Be there at 7 p.m. sharp,” Mark says, glancing over at Owen’s choice of clothes waiting on the rack. “It’s a black-tie event.”
When isn’t it?
“Sure,” Owen says instead. If attending socialite events means the family will leave him alone, then he can spare an hour or two enduring snippy and mindless conversation over dinner. If he were going to be brutally honest, it’s not even a conversation, but a talk show that goes on and on about how rich they all are. Wealth is how they measure everything. Having it gives them a reason to pile on the pride and ego.
“I’ll see you then.” Mark leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.
Staring at his linen shirt and chino shorts, Owen has to laugh. Mark could never wear something as casual as this. Mark can have all the suit and tie ensembles in the world, but Owen doubts his brother breathes very well. His everyday attire is as tight as his attitude.
Owen gets dressed, takes his breakfast, and leaves the house. Ignoring the sleek black and red cars in their garage, he hops onto his motorcycle and drives away. Cars don’t win in traffic jams; motorcycles do. He’s speeding through the streets until he sees someone waving at him. He stops at the guardhouse, squints his eyes to get a better look at . . . .
“Babe!” Cleo calls out, waving her arms in front of Owen and smiling her megawatt smile that can light up the whole city. “Slept well?”
Owen’s not sure if he’s dreaming or if he’s seeing his girlfriend in the best mood she’s been in weeks. “I thought I was supposed to pick you up.”
“I’m picking you up this time.” Cleo winks at Owen flirtatiously. “Good morning, love of my life.”
“Now, there’s a smooth pick-up line,” Owen notes, dazzled by the new Cleo in front of him.
“Did it work?”
Owen leans in and whispers, “Maybe. But you have to convince me a bit more.”
“Mind if I take you somewhere for a breakfast date?” Cleo acts coy, smiling cheekily at Owen.
“But I already had breakfast.”
Cleo laughs it off. “Then have again, silly!”
Owen thinks he’s just fallen in love all over again.
Cleo has led Owen to Maginhawa Street, Diliman, Quezon City. As Owen drives the motorcycle, she enjoys the fresh air. The residential neighborhood where the country’s national university sits is one of Cleo’s haunts, mostly because the trees have been left untouched. While the university has structures—research facilities, lecture halls, and centers of all kinds—it has left most areas in a forested state. The scholars can study in peace and live in dorms sheltered from the chaotic city noise. Cleo had wanted to attend university, but she failed the entrance exams, so now she visits it whenever she can hoping to the knowledge it contains will rub off, and maybe teach her what to do in life.
Cleo thought she was dumb for not passing the exams then, but her mother said way by no means dumb. People have multiple intelligences, and she was going through something at that time. She didn’t know what she wanted in life, which was okay. She took many entrance exams back then, and ended up in a private university for rich kids. It turned out she only needed motivation and the affirmation she got from her mother. In the end, she earned a full-ride scholarship, and it was there she met Owen.
Looking around the go-to food market in the metro, Cleo sees the tarpaulin that reads ALING NENA’S KARINDIRYA. She tugs at Owen’s sleeve shirt to pull him to a stop. The carinderia’s usual silver steel food trays filled with affordable viands are on display as tricycle and jeepney drivers take their pick of a breakfast meal. Nothing beats a lutong bahay to start their day right.
“Who can say no to a home-cooked breakfast?” Owen muses as they get off the motorcycle.
Cleo knows Owen appreciates a good home-cooked meal because while the family maids make breakfast for him, the food is missing that special homely ingredient.
“How does tapsilog sounds to you?” Cleo asks, famished.
“Perfect.”
So, Cleo orders tapsilog for both of them. They find a small table at the side, enjoying this calm, quiet morning. It’s not a five-star restaurant, but it’s a place where they can be just themselves. They don’t need to please anyone. They can act like they’re working a regular job and live a regular middle-class life. The jeepneys pass by them, and it takes them back to their college years, when everything was much simpler.
It also feels like a first date out of so many dates, and it gives Cleo the jitters. She remembers this is Owen—the guy who became so important to her then and has been there for her through the years. Comforted by his presence, she eats to her heart’s delight; the combination of beef, garlic rice, and egg seems to being her taste buds to new heights. Or maybe she’s really just plain hungry.
Owen’s about to say something when Cleo cuts him off. “No, let me. How are you, babe?”
“I’m good. Why?” Owen’s staring at Cleo curiously. It’s not every day she asks him how he is, and she knows how negligent she’s been.
“I’m sorry.”
Owen looks confused.
“I’m so sorry for forgetting about your exam results. I’ve been so absorbed in my own life I’ve barely paid attention to yours,” Cleo says, looking seriously at Owen.
“No, don’t worry about it,” Owen assures Cleo, holding her hand. He gives her a little smile, and she hates it. “You were shooting the movie. I appreciate your saying that, but it’s not a big deal.”
Cleo shakes her head, grasping Owen’s hand. “Thank you, but it is a big deal because it’s a symptom of a much more serious problem. I’ve been so single-minded for reasons I can’t understand. I’d tell people I want to impress my father, and in some bizarre way, I’ve been trying to get revenge on him, and it’s made me oblivious to the people I care about. I’m so obsessed with these people in my life who aren’t even in my life. I don’t want to be that. So, I’m going to be this other thing.”
“That’s cool,” Owen says. “I’d love you either way, but yeah, that’s great.”
Cleo gazes outside and sees how calm life can be. The passersby cross the street, laughing lighthearted as chat talk about whatever it is that’s funny to them at the moment. One man who’s on the run stops by the side of a tree and wipes the sweat from his face. He peeks at the skies, smiles, and sprints off like he just saw his inspiration to keep going.
“When I became that one-track-mind-obsessed-person who’s only thinking about my flip-flops commercial, you’re the one to remind me to wake up,” Cleo explains, drinking her water.
“You’re an actress. I think it’s part of the job package to think about yourself.”
Cleo leans in and says, “Yeah, I’m not going to be an actress anymore. It’s not me. I’m ending that.”
Owen loosens his hold on Cleo, surprised and shaken. He pulls away and tilts his head to the side. “Woah, alright?”
“I’ve already decided what I’m going to do in life, and it’s not that.”
“What are you going to do?” Owen asks.
Cleo beams. “You’ll find out soon enough. How about you?”
Owen nods his head, respecting Cleo’s decision. He looks down at his unfinished food, so she knows it’s still bothering him. He’s not the type of man to leave a meal unfinished. If there’s food left on his plate, it only means he’s thinking.
Finally, Owen finishes his food and says, “I’m not going to give up on being an architect. I’ll retake the exam next year.”
“That’s great.” Cleo smiles at Owen. “I can’t wait to see that day to come. I’ll be the first in line to congratulate you.”
Owen laughs at that. “We good?”
Cleo nods, feeling that the weight of the world just fell off her back.
“So, where would you like to go today?”
Cleo stares at Owen, a playful expression on her face. “It’s okay. I’m going somewhere.”
Owen’s about to say something but probably thought better of it because he stops himself before he can say as much as a word. Cleo knows he gets it, so instead, they clean up their table, and she pays for their meal.
“I’ll see you later, maybe?” Cleo asks.
“Anytime you’re ready, babe. You got this.”
Cleo hails a cab outside and kisses Owen’s cheek, whispering, “No, we got this. Love you.”
And off they went on their separate ways. On the way to wherever Cleo is going, she prepares for whatever is coming. She knows her mind now, and she’ll be unstoppable. She’s done playing by their rules; it’s time she makes her own. She’s on a roll, with no time to waste.
Half an hour later, Cleo stands in front of the entertainment and news company’s yellow and blue lady silhouette.
“It’s showtime,” she mutters under her breath, smirking and sliding her hand through her hair before approaching the security at the entrance.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
Cleo may be done with acting, but she’s not going to forget what she’s learned, or how to use it. Quickly, puts on a distressed expression. “Okay, so, there’s this reporter who told me to meet her here should I ever want to be interviewed.”
The security guard looks at her from head to toe. “What’s the name of the reporter?”
“I didn’t get her name because at that time I was such an emotional mess, you know? I was supposed to replace Selene and my story—”
“Selene?” The security guard asks. “Oh, you’re that Walter! The one who walked out. My daughters are going on and on about it. Come in, come in! Let me have your I.D., please.”
Cleo smiles sweetly at the security guard and hands him a government-issued I.D. “Thank you so much.”
Selene’s such a VIP name. And now, it’s linked with Cleo’s. She goes inside the building and waits in the lobby where people already staring. If there’s one thing people want from her, it’s chismis. They are all naturally drawn to rumors, and with her a few meters away from them, they’ll be inclined to come to her.
“Isn’t that Cleo Walter?”
“What is she doing here? Looking for a job?”
“She’s all over the tabloids, but maybe she’s here to get her story out. Wouldn’t that be something!”
Cleo crosses her arms and smiles at everyone who catches her eye. She’s pretending she doesn’t know what’s happening; the more oblivious she acts, the more attention she gets.
“Hi!” a boy in his late teens with his glasses skewed greets Cleo, awkwardly offering his hand to her. By the looks of it, he’s an intern and would like nothing more than to impress his bosses. And Cleo’s more than willing to give him a hand.
Cleo takes the young man’s hands and smiles at him. “Hello, Mr. . . . um?”
The teenager perks up at the salutation. “Arjay. I’ve followed your story for quite a bit, Ms. Walter, and I’m impressed with that walkout. Not that, you know, it’s a good thing, but phew! Nobody does that to any movie. I swear it was legendary.”
“Thank you, but you know what would make it even better?” Cleo winks at Arjay.
“A story!”
Cleo claps her hands, grinning at Arjay. “Yes! Exactly. You have a curious mind!”
Arjay blushes.
“An intern like you deserves recognition,” Cleo adds. “Do you think you can help me get my story out?”
Arjay nods, bringing out his pen and notebook. “Anything.”
“Perfect! Um, but you’ll need help. So, I’m looking for this apple-red bobbed reporter. Do you know her?”
“The only person I know with that kind of hairdo is my immediate boss, Ms. Aira. I’m sort of her underling, you know?” Arjay stops and thinks. “I think she’s at her desk now. Should I call her up?”
“Why don’t I come with you?” Cleo suggests and then adds: “Just so Ms. Aira can see how committed you are to the job. It’ll give you some initiative points.”
Arjay looks up at Cleo with hopeful eyes. “You think so?”
“Yes!” Cleo assures Arjay. “How about as we go to wherever Aira is, you shoot some questions, I answer them, and you jot it down?”
Arjay’s a good kid. He takes Cleo to the elevator, and she answers his questions just like she promised. He’s pretty good at asking questions. If she were Aira, she’d promote him.
“And we’re here.”
They’ve come up to the bustling seventh floor. Everyone’s running off in different directions, calling people from every device imaginable and drinking mugs of coffee like it’s the new tequila. It’s a typical whirlwind newsroom, and it’s where Cleo gets to find the person who will tell her story.
Cleo quickly finds her target: an apple-red bobbed reporter talking to someone Cleo can only guess is her managing editor. Arjay leads the way and Cleo follows. When apple-red bob sees Arjay and Cleo, she frowns.
“May I help you?” apple-red bob asks. She turns to Arjay and says, “You know what a crazy time this is, right? Where did you run off to?”
Arjay holds his hands together as if in prayer. “Wait, wait. Listen to me. I found our story! Ms. Walter’s walkout scene is a—”
“Arjay, can you just check these papers for corrections while I talk to Ms. Walter?”
“But you have to listen to me. This is—”
Cleo claps Arjay’s back. “It’s okay, Arjay. I won’t forget your name.”
Arjay gives Cleo a crooked smile and takes the stack of papers from apple-red, leaving the two women alone to talk.
“I want you to be my reporter,” Cleo says bluntly, not wasting a bit of time.
“Don’t you even want to know my name first?”
Cleo shrugs. “What’s your name?”
“Aira,” apple-red answers, shaking her head. “What exactly do you want, Ms. Walter?”
“Okay, Aira. I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. I want you to cover my story.”
Aira laughs at Cleo. “The walkout stories? I’m sorry, but you’re not . . .”
“Not that story.” Cleo doesn’t even bat an eye. She’s as serious as the pandemic. “This is something you don’t want to miss.”
“You? The biggest story of the year?” Aira snorts, clicking her tongue and rolling her eyes. “Are you kidding me?”
“No. Maybe my story isn’t a one-time thing.”
“Then what is it?” Aira challenges.
“You’ll find out soon enough. So, what do you say?” Cleo pulls out an office chair and sits on it, looking up at Aira as she waits for the reporter’s answer. She’s not going to take no for an answer. But if apple-red refuses, well, she has her ways.
Aira sighs. “How do I know you’re not going to be a waste of time?”
With the right words, anyone can manipulate people into saying yes.
“Because I want you to take me where Elle is.”