Chapter 13

Step Out of the Way, Please. Cleo Walter Coming Through

 

 

 

It terrifies Cleo when people ask her that question, like she should know who they are. As an actor, she practiced familiarization, and that was for self-defense. It would be crushingly embarrassing to work with someone known to just about everyone but her.

But Cleo’s pretty sure she should have known who this guy is. Kim, one of the famous reality show hosts, has the same aura as Dominique, but the latter seems much more intense, like the teacher she hated in fifth grade, the one with the Miss Minchin classroom management style. He looks like someone who’ll chop her to pieces if she ever gets one thing wrong, so she racks her brain and tries to remember his face.

She thinks he may have been a former contestant in Kim’s reality show Stylize—a show for aspiring fashion designers whose contestants are primarily gay. But after getting a lot of criticism for hand-picking contestants and not being inclusive and egalitarian enough, Kim started to welcome other members of the LGBTQIA-plus community and straight allies in the later seasons. If Cleo’s memory served her right, two fashion designers were neck and neck in the final round. The dispute between the two contestants came when Kim fell in love with one of them—Ron. Ron ended up as the champion, even though the other contestant was better.

“You were that other contestant,” Cleo concludes. “You were supposed to win the final round, and the votes favored you, but when Kim admitted he was in love with Ron, the public got caught up in their love story.”

“That’s right. I’m Dom, your stylist.”

“Dominic, the best contender on Stylize last year,” Cleo relates, remembering his title as she stands up from the chair to face him.

Dom glances at his golden wristwatch and pulls Cleo to the side. “No, honey. It’s Dom, and the full name is Dominique with a Q. Get my name right, and we’ll get along just fine. Also, if you support Kim, just be aware he doesn’t represent the entire LGBTQIA-plus community just because he’s the most famous gay on TV.”

“I didn’t say anything about being a fan.”

Dom wrinkles his nose. “Everyone looks up to Kim. He fronts the whole Stylize as a show that features gay stylists, but the brutal truth is he wants to promote himself as some kind of paragon of gayness, which is disappointing.”

“But Kim has declared gay stylists as winners before,” Cleo rebuts.

Dominique takes a chair and pushes Cleo back on her seat, making her land with an oof. He touches her face like he’s testing the quality of her it. He frowns when he feels the texture, rubbing his thumb and pointer fingers together.

“Oh, he did, but where are they right now? Stylize promises fame and projects, but instead, they ended up opening their micro-salons. When I say micro, I mean micro. Micro to the point you could barely feel they exist. And where is Ron right now?” Dominique dares ask, scowling.

“Tailor-fitting clothes for A-list celebrities,” Cleo answers quickly, now getting where Dom’s getting at.

“Exactly, honey. Ron isn’t even in love with Kim. He’s straight as a bamboo stick and is homophobic.”

“Not all straight people are ho—”

But Dominique is on a roll now. “I’m not generalizing, honey. I’m saying who Ron truly is. Did you know that I was still a closeted gay during the competition? And then suddenly, Ron exposed my orientation, saying he embraces me as his gay competition.”

Dominique steps back from Cleo and sighs.

“The public supported you, but they supported Ron even more for embracing you as an equal.”

“Funny how they can turn things around, hm? Never mind that. I hope you won’t be like them, by which I mean phony. I purposely chose you because I know what fame can do to people, and I’m here to keep you grounded. Oh, and I hate complainers and mismatchers of outfits unless you can own up to it.” Dom grimaces when he sees Cleo’s blouse. “But we need to spice some things up.”

This is how Dominique officially begins his work as Cleo’s stylist. He inspects her from head to toe, taking her measurements in the process. Cleo and Dominique skim through the wardrobe, and she ends up trying almost every piece. He wants to get an idea of how certain outfits will look on her. From smart casual to a sheath dress, she walks around the room like it’s part of her. He makes her feel confident, and if a certain style doesn’t fit her, he’ll mix and match things around, making her utterly fabulous.

“What you wear represents your personality,” Dominique teaches Cleo, brushing his hands on her fine, woolen, black pants suit, which features a slim-fit tailored design. The front jacket has a low popped collar with one large button featuring stylish vents at the sides to highlight the top. It’s elegant, smart, and sleek. “No lapels.”

“This is such a sharp kind of look.”

“It is. You’re sharp, aren’t you?”

“I believe we’re all sharp in our own ways. We have different kinds of intelligence,” Cleo replies, recalling what her mom used to say to her.

“That’s good,” Dom quips. “Think of it this way: You’re not a corporate woman, and it’s just plain stereotypical of others when they jump on certain fashions to define who you are and what you do for a living. But that’s how it is. It defines your status in this society. If you’re rich and living in a Titanic setting, silhouette corsets and intrinsic details of flowing, trained skirts with ruffles and lace would be the trend. But if you’re Jack, your wardrobe would consist of corduroy pants and cotton suspenders. See? Fashion is a double-edged sword. Take a look at yourself.”

Cleo stands proud and tall in front of a long mirror with Dominique behind her. She sees herself dressed in a chic yet neat look. Then, she pictures herself as the CEO of some company.

Dominique continues, “You can make people believe you’re a smart, high-powered corporate woman, even if it’s just camouflage. In any case, fashion is a powerful armor. So, shall we choose your dress?”

“For tonight’s dinner?” Cleo sighs. “Wish me luck.”

Dominique cocks his head. “First, we need a trip to some of the best clinics in town.”

And so, Cleo and Dominique leave the camp in a private car provided by Elle, headed for a dental clinic. The beauty camp is right in the business district, pretty much close to anything they’ll ever need. The day’s turning into a whirlwind of the pursuit of fame and beauty—elegant clothes, designer bags, and whatever else Dom has in store for her. Cleo thought it only happened on TV—rising stars being dolled up from head to toe, glamorized through a process of making their bodies and faces flawless, but she’s finding that all that stuff on screen has a basis in a pretty intense reality.

Arriving at their first stop, Cleo’s welcomed by the warm light of the clinic. Embossed on the walls are the letters IPD painted in gold—Institute for Progressive Dentistry. As in everything else, Elle doesn’t settle for anything but the top.

Nothing in this clinic is ordinary. The lobby looks like it belongs in a posh hotel. And like that sort of hotel, this clinic might have a five-star rating, as its clients are the wealthiest people in the city. IPD is behind every beauty queen, celebrity, and influencer’s blinding smile. Now, Cleo has the chance to be a part of its branding.

“Oh, wow,” Cleo muses, a bit shy to show a smile now, seeing the perfect pearly white teeth of the dentist in front of her. “I’ve got great teeth. I only have one or two chipped ones, but they’re not rotting. I’m not going to be difficult.”

Cleo laughs uneasily, rambling on and on about her teeth.

“Smile, Cleo,” the dentist politely asks, and because of his welcoming demeanor, Cleo does as she’s asked. “Veneers will do the trick. No worries, you’re in safe hands. You’ll be smiling those pearly whites in no time.”

The dentist is right. Cleo can’t stop smiling after he’s done with her. She keeps smiling from one beauty treatment to the next.

She starts to realize that this kind of beauty takes a lot of time and expert handling. There’s a dazzling array of everything from artful natural enhancement to cosmetic surgery. And if someone is happy and content with what nature gave them, that’s fine too. Basically, everyone should tend to themselves in whatever way they wish.

Next stop, the skin. “Ah, let me see that face.” The aesthetician inspects Cleo’s face, tipping her chin up. “Hmm . . . maybe just a few photofacials to improve the pores. Oh, that’s a pretty face, indeed, and when we’re done here, it’ll be more than pretty. You’ll glow like a goddess.”

Cleo laughs at that thought. “That’s too much but okay. I’m an ordinary person trying to be an extraordinary one.”

“Well, at SpaMed we customize everything we do for our clients and that goes for both face and body. We aim for the best kind of different,” the aesthetician elaborates, putting on her gloves.

“I don’t want to change too much,” Cleo admits, pursing her lips and then laughing at what she’s saying. “Sorry, just ignore me and proceed.”

The aesthetician smiles at Cleo. “It’s only natural to feel that way. You’re still you no matter what you change. Think of this as preventive maintenance. You’re keeping your face and body in good shape so you’ll look great even in your fifties.”

 

 

There’s something special about stepping out into the light again after being prisoner by your thoughts. It’s breaking free from despondency to allow a ray of sunshine to peek inside. That’s how it feels to Cleo as she steps her right leg out of the limousine and the flash of hundreds of cameras bombards her. Then, entirely putting herself out there, she flashes them a killer smile.

“Cleo, Cleo, look here!”

“Hi, Cleo! Give me a smile here!”

“Please turn around here!”

It’s nice to hear these photographers say something that isn’t “Cleo, why did you walk off the movie set?” They aren’t particularly interested in her issues. They just want to get a photo of her, and right now, that’s a breath of fresh air after holding on for so long and trying not to be smothered.

On the stairs to the hotel entrance, Cleo’s fellow candidates in their shimmery long gowns and dresses in bright and dark colors are smiling at the cameras too. Unlike the single spotlight vibe of actors and models at the red carpet premiere, where the crowd has its own expectations of you, whether those expectations are grounded in reality or not, beauty queens have a kind of serene poise about them. The way Cleo sees it, they don’t need to pretend to be somebody else, and it makes her feel wrapped in a blanket of security.

“And we have Cleo Walter in her strapless mermaid feather bottom ivory evening gown,” the reporter announces.

Elle arrives after Cleo, like the others, and she’s dressed for the occasion. She comes out to the flashing lights with a graceful walk, her flutter sleeve maxi dress leaving the photographers gawking at her.

Cleo waits for Elle, and they step through the doors together, leaving the snapping shutters behind them. Passing into the pavilion, they make an entrance at the grand ballroom with its hanging greenery, strings of long flowers, soft lighting, and the lovely warm ambiance all it creates. On each table is an elegant flower arrangement of tall orchids, hydrangeas, roses, and peonies with cascading vines.. The floral scent of the pavilion envelops them in its jasmine-like fragrance. It’s a sight to behold.

Elle leads Cleo to a table near the front of the elevated platform. Soon, the pavilion’s bustling with chitchat between these beautiful young ladies.

“There are a lot of us,” Cleo comments, taking a sip of her water.

Elle smiles. “Of course, there are. An estimate of around seventy-one hopeful beauty queens for the screening tonight.”

Cleo isn’t ready for the first round of screening, and she thought this would be a meet-and-greet dinner with the other girls.

“Don’t worry,” Elle whispers, reading the panicked look on Cleo’s face.

“What do I have to do?” Cleo takes a sip of her water again, hoping to calm her nerves.

“Cleo, stop worrying. First lesson: confidence. Stop fidgeting. I can see your legs shaking,” Elle observes keeping her eyes on the platform, watching everything. “You’re not a dog, are you?”

Cleo shakes her head, following Elle’s focus on the front.

“Get to know the other hopeful candidates. Remember, this is just a meet and greet.”

Cleo narrows her eyes. “How is the meet and greet part of the screening? Do we get up on the stage and introduce ourselves like it’s the first day of classes?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Cleo shuts up after that.

Elle gives Cleo a sideways glance, a glass of wine in her hand. “You’re also being watched while you’re just sitting here.”

Cleo has never stood up that fast in her entire life. “Be back soon!”

Cleo roams around and mingles with the other candidates, just as Elle advised. So far, they all seem friendly and nice. Some of them, she learns, are here because winning the crown of Lady Pearl of the Philippines has been a lifelong dream. Wanting to be honored and looked up to is something Cleo can understand.

“You’re Lady Caloocan City?” Cleo hears one hopeful in a yellow Belle gown ask, smiling as she corners Lady Caloocan. “I heard there were a lot of shooting incidents and robberies in your area. How would you promote your city?”

Lady Caloocan City awkwardly shifts her weight from one foot to another, visibly uncomfortable with the question, but she answers it anyway. “This is why I’m joining the pageant. I want to clear up all these misconceptions about my hometown. Crime can happen anywhere. Criminals are made, not born; they’re created through their difficult lives, insurmountable situations. So, we have to improve people’s lives to help these desperate people change for the better.”

“Even if it’s rape?” the yellow Belle gown challenges. “I can’t see how you managed to be named Lady Caloocan City. Best of luck, though. Other beauty queens here are also from Caloocan.”

“And you’re not the only Lady Quezon City here,” Lady Caloocan City counters, baring her leg in her thigh-high slit.

Cleo plants herself next to them and speaks up. “I think she’s referring to the delinquents who need better guidance and those who haven’t been given due process. Unfortunately, the poor are often caught in the crossfire between the wealthy individuals controlling things and the police force. I think the people and the government should work hand-in-hand through laws and a justice system that apply to everybody and make sure everyone’s rights are protected.”

“How long have you practiced that? And where are you from?” Lady Quezon City thrusts out her chin, leery of Cleo’s answer.

Cleo smiles. “Quezon City.”