Chapter 12
“Elle’s going to be in Manila’s Fashion Runway tonight at the Grand Ballroom Hotel. Only people with connections can get in, which means fashion designers and models alike,” Aira explains, pulling out a poster from her desk drawer and showing it to Cleo.
The poster looks like an invitation to the palace of the king and queens of fairytales, and it certainly does not entertain commoners. Underneath the fashion runway title, Elle’s name is in bold and italics, a name that brings people to their knees. Cleo turns it over in her head and focuses on ways to get there without making people overthink it. The more she stares at the poster, the more she sees the silhouette of outfits. Through this eye-catching silhouette, she hatches a plan.
“And reporters. They need someone to cover the event,” Cleo says. “You’re going to be that reporter.”
“And how will that get you inside? Also, I can’t get in without an invitation, myself.”
Cleo smirks. “Wala ka bang tiwala sa’kin?”
Aira looks at Cleo as if to say, are you really asking me that? “And are you going to tell me why I should trust you?”
“O, ye of little faith,” Cleo remarks, crossing her arms. “Get yourself ready after lunch. We’ll be heading over where Elle is.”
Aira glances off to the side and back at Cleo. She doesn’t say anything, but Cleo knows she has her yes. Apple red leaves the table, and Cleo proceeds to the next steps. She calls her talent agency and asks for the number of the marketing manager of her flip-flops commercial.
“Oh, Cleo, Cleo, Cleo,” Ms. Aika, chants. “I doubt they’d give you any project right now after what you did.”
Suddenly, Ms. Aika isn’t so much of a fairy godmother now. She’s the wicked stepmother who’s not giving Cleo an ounce of inheritance because she’s probably found two other girls she can dote on. That’s probably just as well. But this conversation isn’t about that.
Cleo rests her arms on the table and says, “You don’t have to worry. That’s not why I’d be calling them.”
“No. The reason I’m an agent is that I connect people. I don’t help people go direct.”
“Oh, why do you have to be so difficult?” Cleo whispers under her breath, losing patience and trying not to mess things up. She’s had enough of people telling her no. She’s going to get all their yesses today; Ms. Aika’s is just one of the many she’s going to get.
“I’m sorry?”
Cleo smiles sweetly. “Nothing. I just wanted to help.”
“Help how?”
Cleo keeps her tone casual. “Well, I heard from this reporter that there’s going to be a fashion runway tonight at the Grand Ballroom Hotel, and the biggest names in the fashion industry will be there, and I thought the flip flops can get a boost in promotion, you know?”
Ms. Aika gasps. “Oh! That’s great news! I’ll give them a call right now!”
“Um . . .” Cleo trails off. “But I doubt they’d get a spot with a grand event like that. I mean, it’s pretty huge. I can help them—that is, if I could walk their brand, then I could talk to a friend who happens to be a part of the runway’s marketing team.”
“Please do tell your friend you’ll walk the flip-flops brand.” Ms. Aika finally gives in.
“I surely will do.”
Cleo hangs up and grabs lunch. To move on to phase two, she posts about the flip-flops and the runway on her social media. After about ten minutes so she receives a text message from Aira.
Apple-Red Bob (12:55 p.m.)
Thanks to you, I’m now covering the fashion runway. My boss wants to cover you to see how you’re managing after the whole ordeal with the movie.
“Yes!” Cleo tells herself. She’s looped in the reporter, got the brand, and she’s one step away from finding Elle. She needs one more yes to get Elle’s attention, and that will be the end of a great day’s work. She gets up and meets Aira in the hotel’s lobby. She’s jumping from one place to another, and so far, she’s doing great.
Aria’s regret seems genuine when she says, “I don’t have a plus one. You have to work this out on your own.”
“Don’t worry.” Cleo spies the event staff sitting on the couch and preparing the list of brand attendees. “Just play along, okay?”
“Play along with what?”
“Pretend to be my paparazzi. Cause a commotion,” Cleo whispers.
Aira’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve talked to Selene!” Cleo says loud enough that the entire lobby can hear her. “I know I shouldn’t have walked out on a perfect movie, but it’s Selene’s movie. She’s a superstar and nobody can say she doesn’t deserve it. So, if you want to get my side of the story, I don’t think we should do this right here.”
“What are you doing?” Aira mouths at Cleo.
“Play along,” Cleo murmurs. Out loud, her facial expression between a smile and a scowl, she says, “I can’t do this right now.”
“Please do let me know when you’re free. Thank you so much, Ms. Walter!” Aira plays along, and Cleo sighs, trying to appear stressed. Everyone’s staring at them, gossiping, and spreading rumors, just as she has predicted.
Slowly, Cleo elegantly walks over to the event staff and takes a casual glance at the brand list. “You know what would make this fashion show better?”
A man in a ponytail raises an eyebrow at Cleo. “Oh, Ms. Walter. A pleasure to meet you.”
They shake hands, and Cleo continues without pausing to ask his name. “You’ve got a lot of international brands, but have you ever thought of including something national?”
“Well, no we haven’t, and we’ll keep it in mind for the future, but tonight’s lineup’s fixed. We can’t do last-minute calls with the brands. They’d kill me. And then they’d fire me,” The man laughs.
“What if there’s a brand that can handle that one-minute call?”
“We’re too busy even to make that call so—”
“What if I told you the TsineLast flip-flops, a rising national brand, has given me their approval to walk their brand on the runway in any fashion show of my choosing?” Cleo counters, getting the paper out of the man’s hand, frowning when she sees the list of brands. She sneaks a glance at Aira, signaling her to act like the crazy journalist.
“Ms. Walter!” Aira screams, pulling out her pen and notebook. “Please, can’t we talk? Five minutes? Everyone’s dying to know what happened there!”
The man in ponytail stands up, alarmed by Aira’s presence. “The interviews will be after the event. Ms. Walter needs to prepare for her walk.”
Cleo winks at Aira before turning her attention to the ponytail man. “Thank you. I’ll let them know.”
“We’ll just put you last.”
And just like that, Cleo gets their yes. She only needs to walk on the runway and get Elle’s attention. To get Elle’s interest, though, she needs to be extraordinary. Based on Thea’s story, Elle has a keen eye and a good gut feeling for talent and beauty, so Cleo’s hoping she can emanate her mother’s vibes, or something even stronger than that.
Cleo changes into a white summer kimono cardigan open front bikini cover-up in the dressing room. It’s long, stylish, and edgy. With the aquamarine flip-flops she’s wearing, she’s a sight you can’t miss. If Elle doesn’t notice her—no, Elle will see her. She’ll get everybody’s eyes once she’s out there walking. She may not be the best actress out there, but she is in the spotlight when she’s on the runway.
After what feels like hours of waiting, Cleo finally gets called. She’s shaking, but she calms herself. She’s nervous not because she’s walking out there in front of the most fashionable people in the country, but because she’s afraid she might not impress Elle.
Get out there, Cleo Walter. Go big or go home. Cleo berates herself.
Cleo pushes herself out there for everyone to see. The blinding lights, the snaps and the flashes remind her this isn’t her first time doing this. So she walks the runway, gracefully sliding one foot in front of the other, staring straight in front of her, unflappable.
“And the rising national flip-flops brand, TsineLast, flip-flops that last!” the emcee informs the guests. “Perfect for a summer getaway.”
Cleo’s almost tempted to search for Elle while she’s walking, but she’s a model. She needs to get the job done.
After her turn, she looks for Aira and walks backstage.
“Have you seen Elle?” Cleo sounding calmer than she feels. “We haven’t even checked if she’s coming to the show.”
Aira smiles at Cleo. “Look behind you.”
Cleo looks behind her and finds herself fixated on a woman in her fifties with black hair curled Marilyn Monroe style. She’s fair-skinned and has a mole on her right cheek, making her look even more like the actress and model who had been the all-time quintessential bombshell. The only difference is that her makeup is subtle. The pair of golden hoops in her ears accentuate her face and hair perfectly. She stands elegantly in her pump heels and sleek blue long-sleeved, ruffled dress. She’s classy from head to toe and her presence is practically regal. Even the woman’s scent, which gives off the luxuriant fragrance of Italian spring gardens. Her poise and aura scream designer clothes, expensive diamonds, impeccable beauty, and undeniable influence.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Elle says, smiling at Cleo.
Cleo has a hard time reconciling Elle’s physical appearance with her mom’s recounting of the story.
“You’re Elle?” is all she can think of to say.
Aira elbows Cleo.
“Sorry, just double-checking,” Cleo adds quickly.
Aira checks her phone and says, “I gotta go. I’ll see you around, Ms. Walter.”
With Aira gone, Cleo and Elle are left all alone. Cleo readies herself and is about to launch into a whole narrative when Elle steps in.
“I’ve been watching you for quite some time now. I knew you would eventually quit your father’s path. I was just waiting, and I figured it was time.” Elle speaks like an oracle, and Cleo feels like this woman is drawing patterns on her hand. “I couldn’t save your mom before, so now I’m saving you.”
Cleo doesn’t need saving, but she does need someone like Elle. “You . . . were looking for me?”
“Yes. Thea deserves better. I wasn’t in the position to make her the queen that she should’ve been, but things are different now. I can make you a queen. For her.”
In a blink of an eye, Cleo leaps. She doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second. “Count me in. What do I do?”
“You are not a star,” Elle confirms, smiling slyly at Cleo.
Elle’s words strike Cleo. “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever thought that maybe you were born for something else?”
Cleo grins at Elle. There’s a newfound excitement welling in her, and it’s making her blood run faster, a thrill she hasn’t felt in a long time. She knows this woman is the only person she can trust no matter what happens. She is the only one who helped her mother when Thea needed it most. And Cleo’s not going to let her down.
“I’m all yours,” Cleo says, bold and sure.
“I thought so. It’s about time I welcome you to Reign of Queens beauty camp.”
Cleo’s not sure if she heard it right. “Beauty camp?”
“Come, I’ll escort you to your dreams. For free.” Elle has a knowing smile on her face like she’s been through this scene before, and Cleo has no choice but to follow.
The beauty camp is like nothing Cleo has ever seen before. For one thing, the room she’s in is warm and inviting in hues of pink, beige, and peach. Standing at the center of the room, she’s surrounded by floor-length mirrors and mannequins that are clad in wonderfully unique dresses and gowns. Each mannequin is poised on an elevated platform, but arranged to evoke the look and feel of the catwalk. To Cleo, it’s already kind of dazzling, like stars behind her eyes have burst into thousands of twinkling diamonds. The setup rivets her and fuels her drive to reach the heights she’s been envisioning for herself.
“Like what you see?” Elle asks, coming through the glass doors with her usual classy look. She’s changed into a vintage navy swing dress, and her hair in those Marilyn Monroe curls is like a signature. Her neat, self-assured stride is captivating, a thing to imitate.
“It’s lovely,” Cleo observes, trying to place her dark-washed jeans and white blouse in this room. “Who designed it?”
“We had an architect and interior designer, but I must say my beauty queens and I pitched in quite a few ideas for it,” Elle says proudly, satisfied with the results of her collaboration with her queens.
“Oh, wow,” Cleo coughs. She spent most of her time working so hard during her taping days she barely had time to sleep. Her sore throat has only just begun to catch up with her.
Elle frowns, rummaging through her bag and pulling out a spray bottle with green liquid in it. “Here. This will soothe your throat.”
“Wha-what?”
“It’s Pharcep, an anti-inflammatory throat spray. My doctor put me onto it, and so far, it’s never let me down. As long as you’re in my camp, you don’t have to worry about a thing. Health is wealth, as the saying goes.”
Following Elle’s tip on how to use it, Cleo aims the long nozzle at the sore area. Elle’s right. One spritz eases the pain. Elle really does accept—and work with—only the best.
“Thank you,” Cleo says, genuinely grateful to Elle. “And not just for the spray. For welcoming me. For helping my mom.”
Elle drops her designer sling bag on the velvet couch. “Can I take that as your yes? Yes, as in you’re willing to put your entire career in my hands?”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Cleo affirms.
Elle stares at Cleo, her eyes sharp and attentive, but Cleo does not back down. “You’ve got nothing else to lose?”
“Not exactly, but when you get through what you think is the worst, then why not aim for something greater?”
“I like the way you think,” Elle remarks, gesturing for Cleo to follow her into the enormous walk-in closet. It’s a dream come true for young girls dreaming of becoming a princess. The wardrobes and racks hold a stash of dress, bag, and pump heels collections. “I’ve already registered your name in the national pageantry.”
“The Binibining Perlas ng Pilipinas? That’s fast. I’ve only just, you know, arrived.” Cleo gapes at the outfits, all custom-made for beauty queens. Her head is spinning. She can’t believe she’s really stepping onto this path.
Elle’s eyes glint with genuine passion. “The Lady Pearl of the Philippines, yes. No time is too soon for something like this. I have my ways. Besides, today’s the last day of registration, and there’s going to be a dinner party for all hopeful candidates.”
Cleo awkwardly sits down on a silver feathered chair, fidgeting. “You mean, like, I’m gonna be judged tonight? I don’t know the first thing about pageantry. I mean, I model . . . . Doing this only came into my head yesterday.”
“You’re not getting any younger, Cleo,” Elle calls Cleo out, making it clear that she’s on the old side to be joining pageantry. “If you don’t do it now, there won’t be time to try again.”
Cleo casts her eyes downwards. While some part of the pageantry still confuses her, she’s willing to be trained. She just feels somewhat overwhelmed by the thought of crowns and beauty camp. As in, beauty camps exist, and she’s suddenly in the most elite camp of them all.
“Tonight’s going to be a part of the national pageantry’s screening, so give it your very best shot and don’t be intimidated,” Elle says solemnly. “Let’s see how you’ll steal the title from the reigning Lady Quezon City.”
Cleo’s heart flutters in this race against time she’s found herself in. She started on this path in time to register for a major title. Now it’s time to up her game. “What do I have to do?”
The corner of Elle’s mouth quirked up. “Dominique will help you. He’ll be your stylist. Dom?”
A man is inspecting the fabrics of the garments on the racks. When he turns around, Cleo’s hit with a jolt of astonishment. He’s sharp and neat, and his hair is neatly combed at the side. His black leather toecap shoes gleam, clearly newly shined. His eyes quickly register Cleo’s observant gaze. He says nothing for a while then suddenly fetches a double rolling clothes rack.
“She’s all yours. Get her size, check whatever style fits her, and we’ll see each other tonight,” Elle says before leaving them to their own devices.
“Hi,” Cleo begins. “I’m—”
“Shh, honey. I know who you are. The question is, do you know who I am?”