Chapter 14
Lady Quezon City flushes red, not so much of a yellow Belle after all. Her once glamorous face turns sour when she sees Cleo’s satisfied one. She taps her foot and says, “Oh, don’t be so full of yourself! I won my title as Lady Quezon City legitimately.”
“I never said you didn’t,” Cleo assures Lady Quezon City, smiling her nude lipstick.
“How political,” a candidate with pinned curls hairstyle quips. “Aren’t you afraid of all the bashing from social media”
Cleo shrugs. “We’re not just beauty queens because of our faces, right? We’re meant to represent our beliefs. So, we can’t just dodge political issues. We’re going to be asked about the problems this country is facing. If we stay apolitical, then we’re ignoring all those problems.”
“I agree!” Lady Caloocan chimes.
Pinned curls nods her head then offers her hand to Cleo. “I’m Lady Pangasinan. Nice to meet you, Quezon City.”
“Call me Cleo. I haven’t proven anything yet,” Cleo responds, taking Lady Pangasinan’s hand.
“Cleo, is it?” Quezon City confirms. “You’re new to this pageant. Your answer isn’t crown-worthy. You have to tone it down and be soft about it. Keep to the middle ground.”
Lady Pangasinan comments, “Maybe that’s why you get bashed a lot. You speak too much.”
Unbelievable. And they’re supposed to compete in the pageant with an attitude like that?
Just as Cleo’s about to respond, the host calls for attention and asks them all to relax as they welcome the beauty queens vying to be the official candidates for Lady Pearl of the Philippines.
“It’s nice meeting you all,” Cleo says instead, not wanting to cause too much fuss. She makes her way back to Elle and sits comfortably next to her.
Being in the pageant is almost like being in the world of celebrities. They all have different reasons for being here, but at the end of the day, no matter how friendly they can be, they’ll still end up competing against each other.
“How was it?” Elle asks, her eyes glinting.
Cleo presses her lips together. “Some were nice.”
“And the others?”
Cleo scoffs, staring at the other beauty queens who just came in. “Not so much, but . . .”
“Daring, aren’t they?” Elle implores, placing a napkin on her lap. “Who did you meet so far, and how did your conversation go?”
“Lady Caloocan’s nice. Lady Pangasinan and Lady Quezon City, not so much,” Cleo replies, her eyes following the three beauty queens making their way to their seats. Lady Pangasinan and Lady Quezon City are murmuring together, laughing cattily as they point at Lady Caloocan City.
“Don’t trust anyone but your beauty camp. You don’t know how many beauty queens I’ve encountered who were the best of friends until the competition reached its climax and they turned against one other. Enjoy yourself and have fun, but always remember this Cleo: everything you learn and everyone you befriend has to help you win the crown.”
Cleo sighs, wondering how her mother got through this screening alive without wanting to pull anyone’s hair out.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the host begins. “The Lady Pearl of the Philippines is pleased to welcome you all here. All seventy-one of you who registered in this competition will be screening for five days—”
“Excuse me.” A beauty queen from table six raises her hand. “So, does that mean it begins tomorrow?”
The host sardonically smiles at the beauty queen. “It’s already begun. Now, if you would be so kind as not to interrupt me...”
The beauty queen backs down, sheepishly lowering her head and avoiding everyone’s dagger stares. At the table next to Cleo’s, she can hear them wondering how they’re being screened tonight. They find it unfair they weren’t given any heads-up or instructions.
“Elle, how did you—”
All it takes is one austere stare from Elle for Cleo to keep her mouth shut.
“Only forty of you will officially be candidates. So, let’s begin, shall we?” the host continues, his voice loud, lively, and polished. “If your name is called, please come up on the platform and take the limelight. You have thirty seconds to introduce yourself.”
Silence reigns in the room and the lights dim as the host in a bow tie and black suit began to announce the names. The first woman to come on stage is Lady Laguna. She graces the floor in her V-neck skirt dress with a navy powder blue overlay silk. She brightly smiles at the audience on the platform, conscious of her walk. Cleo notices the way Lady Laguna’s smile faltered for a second after glancing at her legs.
Lady Laguna gets to the mic and introduces herself, “Magandang gabi sa inyong lahat! I am Monique Lopez, Lady Laguna!”
Everyone gives Lady Laguna a round of applause. She keeps it together, even with her trembling smile, then exits.
This goes on for an hour as ladies from different cities and provinces take center stage. With their fierce eyes, dazzling smiles, and beautiful attire, they all seem to blur together in a kaleidoscope of colors. But not everyone can maintain their smile for so long. It’s tough to keep up a natural and genuine smile, but it’s a challenge that a beauty queen must overcome. Throughout the evening, Cleo notices the wavering smiles of those on stage. They’ve decided to keep a neutral face while they wait for their turn, saving their “beaming smile” energy for when their names are called.
Cleo takes out her compact mirror and plays with her facial expressions. She smiles and then slowly turns it upside down. She feels like she’s being eaten alive by these monstrous, beautiful faces. She’s overwhelmed watching the walk to the microphone and back. To some people, the walks and the poses are all just that—walking and standing. But the way Cleo sees it, it’s an art form. The way the women pose seems to her not so different from the stance of statues of historical and artistic significance. The artistry applies to every strut and sway of a beauty queen.
“Watch them closely, Cleo,” Elle urges Cleo. “It’s not just the introduction they judge, but also the walk—the discipline of power in softness. Because when a woman walks, it should be as delicate and subtle.”
Cleo stares straight ahead. “Do you believe that? That we’re delicate and subtle?”
“Do you?”
“I . . .” Unsure, Cleo bites her lower lip. “I don’t know enough to make a stand about it. I’m sorry if that seems like a boring and neutral answer.”
Elle fleetingly smiles.
“Great. I’m not dumb. I’m just, you know?” Cleo blabbers. “I want to make a stand, too. Just not now when I don’t know anything. I mean, what I know at this point . . . it isn’t enough.”
“Have you ever considered working in a comedy bar?” Elle poses, amused at Cleo’s unfiltered speech.
“The thought didn’t cross my mind until now.”
“You’re a bit funny sometimes, but you’re doing great,” Elle reassures Cleo. “I don’t have a true and false, Cleo Walter. I only have perspectives. What may be true for you may not be true for me and vice versa. Feel free to speak your mind.”
Cleo wants the ground to swallow her whole, but she’s got a screening to win. When her name is called, she saunters over the stage with ease. Hours of standing still during photo shoots have honed her legs to follow her desired movement.
With the mic in front of her, Cleo speaks animatedly with a loud and clear voice. “An actor and a model-turned-beauty queen, Cleo Walter from Quezon City! As a beauty queen, I’ve come to realize one thing: beauty is only as good as what you do with it. Thank you!”
And a round of applause. Cleo goes back to her seat and hears Elle’s whisper of “well done.”
Moments later, dinner came. Cleo gets an oven-roasted salmon with a half tablespoon of olive oil to coat the fillet. It’s irresistible and savory, and this is also where her cheat meal days must come to an end.
“Stay hydrated,” Elle reminds.
Cleo drinks her water in response. Their water must have come from Mt. Fuji to taste this good. She doesn’t know what’s in the water, but it’s not what she’s used to.
Dinner is uneventful. Thick tension rises in the air, and everyone’s quiet, unlike hours ago. The beauty queens from Quezon City and Pangasinan have also stopped talking. Meanwhile, Cleo makes small talk with the other beauty queens at her table. They’re pleasant and friendly enough, but the general silence in the room is deafening her.
Thankfully, the host has called them on for photo shoots. Cleo can see a few who have heaved out a sigh and are smiling now after hours of trying to act picture-perfect to please whoever the panelists are.
“Go. Have your picture taken,” Elle tells Cleo, already preparing to leave. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Cleo and the rest of the beauty queens lined up at the side of the stage according to their table number to get their group. Individual photos were also taken. Says a silent prayer of thanks that she’s not at the same table as the beauty queen version of mean girls. Lady Pangasinan and Lady Quezon City are still making snide remarks, as if their real reason for coming was to ruin everyone’s evening. Not her evening, though.
“Are you going to keep looking around, or do you think you might smile for the camera?” a deep voice asks, interrupting Cleo’s thoughts.
Startled, Cleo looks up to see a photographer with curly hair and dark eyes. His chiseled jaw and thick eyebrows make her wonder if he’s half something too. He’s lean and tall and could pass for a model with those features, except for the crooked nose and the scar on his lip. He could even be a boy band member, but the question there is, can he sing?
“Sorry,” Cleo apologizes, finally smiling at the camera. “By the way, do you sing?”
“No.”
“You look like Harr—”
“It’s my hair that looks like him. I don’t sing. Smile,” he commands, snapping photos of her.
Cleo does as she’s asked. The backdrop is a wall of vines and flowers, lovely and natural-looking.
Ever since this evening got started, the people in charge of it have been sort of grumpy and disagreeable, and while she understands that this is a competition, it’s no excuse for rudeness.
“Smile.”
Also, how can Cleo smile when the photographer is emitting dark vibes? He seems indifferent and blasé. He strikes her as someone who couldn’t care less about the event and the beauty queens. It’s almost like they’d just as soon burn their photographs after the shoot.
“Are you on your period, Mr. Photographer?” Cleo dares, smiling slyly at his camera. “I’m Cleo, by the way.”
The man doesn’t even acknowledge Cleo’s presence. She can only hope he’s taken good photos of her.
“Next,” he calls out.
Cleo exits, but not before calling him the name of a famous singer who used to be in a boy band.
“Don’t call me that. My name’s Erik, not Harr—”
Cleo pretends she doesn’t hear anything. “What’s that? Okay, bye!”
As Cleo’s leaving the pavilion, she stops in her tracks and looks behind her, giving the other beauty queens one last sweep of a glance.
Seeing this opulent and alluring world, she sets her eyes on the platform where Lady Quezon City takes her photo.
“Five days. In five days, I’ll come and steal that title from you,” Cleo swears under her breath, grinning wickedly at the sight before her.