Chapter 17

Snap, Snap, Lookin’ Good! Great Click Bait

 

 

 

Cleo’s days have been nothing but training and exercise. As the coronation day draws near, the screening focuses increasingly on exposing who the candidates are until their souls feel practically naked. The panelists are all interested in their backgrounds, so everyone goes through another round of interviews where they share their history, no matter how good or bad it is.

 

But opening up to a group of people Cleo doesn’t know is proving to be difficult. At the beauty camp, Elle has started talking to them privately, one-on-one, to help them bring out their most genuine side. Elle invites Cleo for a coffee break on the fourth day of screening. Finally, everyone is getting a break from being grilled by the panel like they’re on trial which, in a sense, they are.

 

Elle’s office is a proud exhibit of mementos. Photos, paintings, and posters of beauty queens she trained over the years hang on the beige-painted walls. Glam magazines with different starlets on the front cover obnoxiously taunt Cleo from the glass desk. But, of course, Cleo’s image doesn’t appear in that collection. Elle’s own screening process seems to involve scouting for celebrities of a certain kind. Celebrities who have the aptitude to be a beauty queen.

“Take a seat,” Elle tells Cleo as she slides her reading glasses up to the bridge of her nose and settles herself comfortably in her cushioned chair.

Cleo obeys, sitting upright on the loveseat where she can see the mannequins draped with sashes of previous runners-up of the world and international pageantry at the side. The sashes are pristine and new-looking. Cleo can also smell the expensive perfume emanating from them.

“Like the sashes? I make sure they’re as well cared for as the crowns are. A crown may be the winning glory, but the sash identifies the beauty queen,” Elle explains, drinking from her coffee cup and looking at the sashes tending so carefully. “The sash reminds me of their origin, of how hard these queens have worked to be where they are right now.”

Cleo loves the smell of the coffee. It keeps her feeling awake throughout the day, and she definitely needs it now, after being given the pep talk she didn’t know she needed.

“This screening . . .” Cleo jumps right into the topic. “It’s more of a personality and discipline test.”

“It’s already a given that you are all beautiful. The smiles and walks can be practiced. However, the attitude and personality of the beauty queen must be unique enough to the panelists that they can single her out.”

Cleo folds her hands on her lap, unsure. “Do you think I stand a chance? I mean, I’ve been raging on and on about doing this and that, but maybe I’m just convincing myself.”

“And are you convinced?” Elle questions, brows pulled together.

“I like to believe I am.”

Elle’s eyeglasses slide down her nose a bit, and she eyes Cleo from over their top. “Then there’s your answer. As long as you believe in yourself, the rest of the world doesn’t really matter.”

“Do you think I’m as good as my mom back in her day?” The coffee’s making her say things—it’s like her shot of vodka, loosening her tongue.

“How can I compare two different people? You can choose to be like her, or you can be better than her. The problem with you, Cleo, is that you always keep comparing yourself to others. You move at your own pace. You have your own journey. Own up to it, and you’ll get there, no matter how many detours you take.”

Cleo chuckles, staring at her soon-to-empty cup. “I don’t mean to compare myself to others. But when you grow up with a father who keeps comparing you to almost every star on TV, then you tend to do it to yourself.”

“Have a little faith in yourself, Cleo Walter. They don’t get to decide how you live your life.” Elle pulls out a black and white photograph from her drawer and gives it to Cleo. “The reason why I was rooting for Thea was that she has a pure soul. She’s only known kindness all her whole life.”

It’s a picture of Elle and Thea during the press presentation of the official candidates of the Lady Pearl of the Philippines. Thea’s face is vibrant, pulsing with energy that can wake everyone up in the morning without feeling the slightest bit crabby. Beside her, Elle is as elegant as ever. They both look proud of themselves. The photograph tugs Cleo’s heartstrings.

“It’s yours if you want it,” Elle adds.

Cleo sniffles. “I’ll keep it. Thank you. I’ll make sure I won’t fall behind.”

“You better not. Now, get out there and join them.”

“Copy that!” Cleo exults, giving Elle the finger heart. “You are the best.”

 

Elle sips her coffee. “I am only the Elle.”

Cleo doesn’t finish her coffee. Instead, she rushes out of Elle’s office and pours it down the pantry sink. When the rest of the girls catch her return, they give her the stink eye. She ignores it, lacing up her feet in the five-inch heels and joining their game of a trip to Jerusalem. They circle the chair as the hot and sensational music plays in the background.

“Why are we playing this?” Cleo playfully asks Chezka, who’s circling the monoblock chairs.

“It exercises the legs and the muscles for sitting down and standing up again.” And then Chezka whispers something in Cleo’s ears. “It’s kind of fun until one of them gives the chair a little push, if you know what I mean.”

Elle has an odd way of training them, but it works, because within half an hour everyone’s having their own best version of fun. Though when some of the girls don’t land a seat, they either roll their eyes or say the game is boring. Not very good sports.

 

With one chair left, Cleo and Gladys are the only ones left, and with the ongoing heat of a battle between them, the girls who were once bored are back on their feet, cheering for them. But, unfortunately, the only person who’s on team Cleo is Chezka.

As the music plays, Gladys rambles on about Cleo’s mysterious sponsor. “So, Cleo, come on, share it with us. We won’t tell anyone. Who’s your secret sponsor? You can’t be at an elite beauty camp and not pay for anything.”

Nadia’s sneering at Cleo, whispering whatever Gladys told her to another girl. Cleo doesn’t answer. She doesn’t owe them anything.

“Sugar daddy?”

Cleo huffs out, blowing tendrils of her hair away from her face. “Oh, please. If I had a sugar daddy, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“I know!” Nadia yells, amused by the banters. “You’re a nude model!”

“I’m not. But even if I was, there’s nothing wrong with being a nude model. It’s an art form, and the only reason we’re conscious of our naked bodies is because of that stupid snake in the garden of Eden,” Cleo protests, and then Julia stops the music, which takes her by surprise so, obviously, Gladys grabs the chair.

Chezka eyes Nadia. “Nads, really?”

“Trying to be a superhero, Chezka?” Nadia fires back. “It doesn’t suit you. You’re just a creepy friend who won’t leave me alone because you think we’ll happily be best friends forever and ever until the end of time.”

“Hey, Nadia—” Cleo seethes. “That’s below the belt.”

Julia gets in the middle and closes her eyes. “Girls, girls! I think it’s about time we meditate. Relax our minds, you know? It’s only just the beginning, and we’re all supposed to come out as official candidates. Why don’t we just save the fighting until after we get that spot, huh?”

“You’ve only ever cared about the crown, Julia,” chides one of the girls at the back.

“You’re clinging to Nadia because you can’t do it alone.”

“Shut up, you little bi—”

“Enough!”

They all line up in front of Elle, whose expression is unreadable. She’s as cold as ice, and that makes her scarier.

“I didn’t take you all here under my wing just so you can freely trash another person. You are all beauty queens. I don’t see any beauty. Julia, watch your words.” Elle frigidly stares at Julia and then turns to the rest of them. “Since you all want to talk so much, let’s do another round of Q and A. Ten seconds to answer. All of you will participate, and your names will be randomly called. There’ll be a different question for each of you, and I’ll score you based on my standard. Whoever gets the lowest score between now and tomorrow will be released from the beauty camp.”

Total silence reigns.

One by one, their names are being called.

“Yasmin, if you could change one thing in your life right now, what would it be?”

“Nothing, because everything I have right now is the result of the choices I made in life,” Yasmin answers without fail.

“Nadia, what would you tell your 10-year-old self?”

“I’d tell her just to take her time, and everything will be all right.”

“Gladys, are you in favor of marijuana?”

“If it’s for medicinal use, then I’m all for it, but if it’s not, then it has to be taken moderately for recreational use.”

“Cleo, if you can have one superpower, what would it be?”

“The power to carry another person’s emotional burden so they can rest.”

And the odd Q and A goes on for some seven more girls. After a few minutes of enduring Elle’s endless questions, they all make it out alive. Eventually, Elle walks out on them, and they’re left feeling drained. Tired, they all flop down on the carpeted floor, taking big gulps of water from their mugs and bottles.

“Remind me to never get on Elle’s bad side,” Cleo says to Chezka, trying to calm her fast-beating heart. “I think I need to recharge my brain.”

Chezka groans, lying down on the carpet. “I think I need to sell mine.”

Cleo worries her lower lip. She has no idea how she scored in that quick quiz. She can never really tell what’s going on inside Elle’s mind. Even with her history with Elle, she doubts the woman will give her a free pass at this, and that’s good. She doesn’t want to win because she’s the daughter of a former beauty queen. Anyway, the only notable thing Elle has done for her is to welcome her without pay. The queenmaker knows how to get on everyone’s nerves.

As they’re all dismissed, they pick up their bags and leave without a word. Across the street, Elle’s on her phone, halting Cleo in her tracks by raising her index finger to indicate she wants a moment of her time.

Cleo waits for five minutes before crossing the street and engaging with Elle. Awkwardly, she puts her hands in the back pocket of her jeans.

Elle’s expression doesn’t give anything away. “That’s your strength.”

Cleo has no idea what she means.

“Flash bursts of questions. Spontaneity. You answer much better when it’s out in the air, and you don’t have a chance to think twice.”

“I was panicking,” Cleo clarifies.

“Not all who panic can get a good answer out of it. Good job earlier. Improve on clearing your mind, and don’t be afraid to answer. What else is your brain for?” Elle commends, switching off her phone. “Tomorrow’s the last day of screening. Get a good night’s sleep. Ciao.”

 

 

Gladys takes a picture of Cleo and Elle across the street. She isn’t dumb. She can tell when someone’s being favored. The two seem to be having a good conversation, especially since tomorrow’s the last day of the screening, where the official candidates will also be announced. It ticks her off that someone so small could pick up a title just like that.

Little Lady Nowhere will remain Nowhere—Gladys promises herself that. Before she goes home, she calls the local government unit that sponsored her to be in Elle’s beauty camp. She worked hard to be Lady Quezon City. She’s not going to let anybody else take it away from her.

The PR officer comes on the line. “Good evening. What can I do for you, Ms. Gladys?”

“Elle engages in favoritism,” Gladys says in a deadpan voice. “How could you not have noticed that?”

The PR officer scoffs at this. “No disrespect, ma’am, but this is Elle we’re talking about. The Elle. And, ultimately, we can’t do anything about it.”

“Elle is being unfair! How can you put up with an injustice like that?” Gladys almost screams, wanting to pull her hair out in frustration.

“I can’t publicize something like that without any basis. We’ll be tarnishing the name of our city, and the mayor won’t like it. That, I can assure you.”

“Hold the line. I’ll send you a photo of their secret meet-up.” Gladys scrolls through her phone’s photos and finds multiple takes of it. There are some good zoomed ones, and she’s pretty sure anyone can tell who these two women are. She emails them to the PR officer.

“How sure are you that this is a secret meet-up?”

Gladys wants to strangle the man for being so slow. “There’s a reason why I’m Lady Quezon City. I have a strong feeling that Elle isn’t who she says she is. I don’t know what’s behind the story of Little Miss Nowhere, but it feels like I’m missing something here. What I am sure of is that Elle wants this Cleo to win.”

“Elle is a mentor. She can’t just give beauty queens a crown. They work hard for it,” PR man volleys back.

“Believe what you want, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Okay, Ms. Gladys. I’ll let the mayor know. I’m not going to be the one to put this out there.”

“Or you can lose your job,” Gladys snidely remarks. “I got you that job, PR man. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be living in the slums. I want those pictures out tomorrow. Post it anonymously, use another account. I honestly don’t care. The mayor will believe me if somebody else who isn’t us posts that. Catch my drift?”

PR man sighs heavily. “Fine. I’ll make my way around it, Lady Quezon City.”

“As I always will be.”

This is your stop, Cleo Walter, Gladys thinks to herself, grinning from ear to ear. Nobody can just waltz in and take the sash. This is as far as you go, Little Miss Nowhere.