Chapter 18
I Didn’t Mean For That to Happen, Honestly
“Leo, I’m thinking about us starting our own business.”
A rooftop Saturday morning session with Anne consists of iced coffee, Spanish bread, and a lifestyle magazine on the glass table. As they flip through the magazine’s pages, the homely and healthy life of young entrepreneurs and influencers make them green with envy. These personalities have traveled all over the world to feature the culture of the country they’re visiting, and they get paid for it.
Cleo dangles her legs over the arm of the wooden chair she’s lounging on, pushing the magazine away from her. “What kind of business?”
The only reason Cleo likes to wake up early is because of the gentle breeze in the air. The temperature’s not so hot either, and it’s the only time of the day when she doesn’t have to sweat so much. Living in a tropical country makes her want to travel to some cold place. Winter sounds good to people who have only ever known summer their whole lives.
“Cookies? Ma’s been baking for a few weeks now.” Anne yawns, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “I think we can sell it. Lately, she’s been trying to find a hobby that sells, so what do you think?”
“If it’s for Ma, you know I’m all for it.”
Anne taps her pen on the table, thinking. “Online selling of cookies.”
“I can help with the materials and ingredients,” Cleo pitches in, logging in to her online banking account on her phone. “Wait, let me check how much I’ve saved up this month . . .”
“Speaking of savings. How are you earning after the whole movie with Direk Gary?” Anne inquires. Cleo can understand why her sister’s curious as to where she’s getting the money, but the truth is she’s been using her savings for about a month now.
What Anne just said reminds Cleo that she needs to find a regular job or do modeling again. It can be distracting to the competition, but she can’t just stop working. There are no set times and dates for the training, either. She can tell Elle she’ll be a bit busier than usual. That way, she can still do both pageantry and modeling.
Cleo closes her online banking account and smiles sheepishly. “Don’t worry. I’ve got savings.”
“Leo.” Anne slams her hands on the table, startling Cleo. “Let me take over for now as you look for jobs. I have a salary, too.”
“I’m the eldest, I’m—”
“Oh, stop it with that I’m-the-eldest-so-I-should-be-the-breadwinner thing. Anyone in the family can win bread, you know. Just because you’re the firstborn doesn’t mean you need to carry all the family’s burdens. Besides, you’ve already done so much for us. It’s my turn to help.” Anne’s eyes flashed with determination, pleading. “I’m not discrediting all your hard work, but at least let me help. What are sisters for?”
Cleo places a hand over her heart. “You just squeezed my heart. Okay, okay. Thank you.”
Anne closes her eyes and clasps her hands together in prayer. “Oh, dear Lord, I wish Leo only the best in life from now on. Please give her the courage to ask for help when she needs it.”
“Hey!” Cleo says, tears welling in her eyes even as she laughs.
Anne peeks at Cleo and raises an eyebrow at her. “That a good enough prayer?”
“So good the prayer didn’t pass through the angels. Went straight to the good Lord.”
Anne mutters her countless thanks, already finding something else to do as she jots down the ingredients she and their mom will need for baking. In between searching on the web for quality baking tools and comparing the prices of chocolates to use, she looks up at the skies, and it lights up her whole face.
How could I not be willing to work hard when I’ve got a sister like her? Cleo thought to herself.
When Cleo’s phone alarm rings, she quickly remembers what today is—judgment day. Leaving in a rush, she finishes her iced coffee and waves goodbye to Anne. She takes her backpack and finds a white van sitting outside their house. Not caring whose van that is, she books a cab on her phone until she gets a text from an unknown number.
+63 91X XXX XXXXX (9:31 a.m.)
A white van will be waiting for you. Be on time.
Cleo doesn’t even need to know whose number is that. Approaching the white van, the door slides open, and Chezka’s painted face pops out, screaming out her name. “Cleo! You’re late! Run!”
Once inside the van, the girls are staring at Cleo as if she committed a murder. They’re in their best dress with their faces and hairstyles so put together. She’s the only one who still hasn’t done a thing to herself.
“I thought we’ll meet at the camp, so I didn’t—”
Nadia sizes Cleo up. “I honestly don’t know what to do with you. Final screening means final. What part of that did you not understand?”
“Elle will meet us there, and she can’t see you like that,” Chezka stresses, pulling out a long, black slit maxi dress from the back of the van. “Come here and wear this.”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God, Elle will execute me,” Cleo squeaks, following Chezka to the back and trying to change clothes.
Chezka pulls out the newspapers underneath the seats to cover up the windows. She’s also put a fabric between the driver and the back seats so Cleo can have her privacy. While Cleo changes clothes, Chezka takes her phone and makes a call.
“Kuya, can we stop at the next traffic light? We’ll just be picking up one more person,” Chezka directs the driver.
Shaken, Cleo almost hits the window when the driver hits the brakes. She’s trying to fix her dress, find out where the holes are, and neatly smooth it out afterward. It’s safe to say she isn’t properly dressed yet. Thankfully, her savior comes right in when the van comes to a complete stop. Dom steps inside the van and makes his way to her.
“Honey, what the hell are you doing?” Grimacing, Dom pulls out the dress and helps Cleo with it. “Do this again and next time you’ll be wearing nothing.”
“Drive ahead, Kuya. We can’t afford to be late,” Chezka prompts the driver, going from one girl to another to ask for help. “Do you have your makeup kit with you? Or lipstick? Blush?”
“Why would we help Cleo?” Gladys rebukes, her sinister stare locked on Cleo.
Chezka shakes her head, disbelieving. “We’re in the same camp, Gladys. If you don’t want to help, fine.”
Cleo takes the makeup kits Chezka passes to her, profusely apologizing and thanking her for her help. Then, with Dom’s help, Cleo applies the primer on her face, using the concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes.
“Foundation,” Dom demands, holding out his hand to Chezka, who’s passing him the makeup essentials.
Cleo chuckles at what they’re doing. It’s as if she’s having surgery and Dom is the surgeon. And while she’s silently screaming on the inside, her heart warms at the thought that they’re still willing to help her despite her stupidity.
“Smile!”
Cleo smiles the best she can as Dom paints the apples of her cheeks with a rosy flush. With the overall face done, they move on to her eyebrows, even harder to do in a moving vehicle. It’s one bump after another, and when the driver’s app tells them they’re ten minutes away from their destination in Makati, she almost cries but holds back to keep her mascara intact.
Dom then proceeds to Cleo’s hair, messing it up slightly to make it seem more naturally loose. He keeps her hair stylish but straightforward with a half-bun.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Cleo jabbers.
Chezka attempts to calm Cleo, offering her a water bottle. “Breathe in, breathe out. You’re looking good.”
Cleo takes one big gulp out of it, soothing her voice.
“Who’s beautiful?” Dom raises the question out loud. When Cleo doesn’t answer, he reprimands her. “I didn’t do all this stuff for nothing.”
“I am.”
“Claim it.”
“I am!”
“Why are you whispering?”
“I AM!” Cleo screams at the top of her voice.
Cleo gets a compact mirror from Chezka and sees how beautiful she is. It doesn’t look like messy work. It’s perfection. With the nude and gold eyeshadows, she’s got the touch of Midas.
“We’re here,” the driver announces.
The beauty queens are dazzling. They’re heavenly beautiful with their long gowns and impeccably-chosen makeup palettes. In earth tones and icy blues, they blend exceptionally well with nature’s hues. They keep one leg over another whenever they pose, resting their weight on the front foot. It punctuates the solid, imposing presence each of them projects A small wave here and there. The world is theirs to conquer.
Staring at the other contestants, Cleo doesn’t even notice she’s the only one left in the van. Dom’s just sitting there, arms folded and waiting for her to get herself out there.
“How long are you going to stay here?” Dom crosses his legs.
Cleo beams. “Thank you so much.”
Out of the van, a curly-haired photographer snaps a photo of Cleo. He’s a mix of formal and casual in a white polo shirt paired with a black suit. He doesn’t seem like the type to wear full-out formal attire. He has to throw in something a bit irreverent and unexpected.
“Hi, Harry Sty—”
“The name’s Erik,” Mr. Photographer drawls out, lazily taking a picture of Cleo. “Nice hair.”
“I’ve been through hell. My hair should be the least of your concerns. It’s good as it is.” Cleo smiles at him, turning to her side with one leg forward as she slightly arches her back.
Erik watches Cleo touch her hair. “So, are you going to stand there and defend your good-as-it-is hair?”
“If I don’t, then who’s going to convince you to take a picture of me and my good hair?”
The corner of Erik’s mouth curves into a half-smile. “Touché.”
After mussing her hair up a bit more, Cleo genuinely smiles for the camera. The day is far from over, but she can already feel her lips getting numb from smiling all the time.
Done with the photo session, Erik finally leaves Cleo alone. She bides her time, hoping to calm her erratic heart. And then she begins her walk to her soon-to-be-future, praying silently and wishing in the deepest crevices of her heart that today will be the start of good beginnings.
In the lobby of the building, Elle’s being hounded by reporters, and it does not look great. At all.
“Is it true that there’s favoritism?”
“We’ve seen photos of you meeting one of your trainees in secret. Who is this trainee?”
“How did your girls react to this issue?”
If there’s anything that’s way too familiar to Cleo, it’s the word issue. Everyone makes an issue out of everything. While she’s not surprised that Elle has an issue or two, she didn’t expect it would be about favoritism. In the amount of time she’s spent with Elle, she’s become sure that her mentor is the last person on earth who’d ever have favorites. If these reporters only had the time to visit the beauty camp during one of the training sessions, they’d see that Elle is not someone who is easily swayed.
And although Cleo’s mother has a history with Elle, Elle is as strict with her as she is with the others. No special treatment. She supports all the girls equally. Whoever is spreading this “issue” is desperate for attention.
The rest of Elle’s girls stand behind Cleo, whispering amongst themselves, doubting Elle.
Cleo faces them. “You guys seriously believe these reporters?”
Even after everything Elle’s done for them, these girls are still acting high and mighty.
Unbelievable.
“You have faith in Elle because she took you in for free,” Nadia comments. “The only way you can save her from this black cloud is if you tell them who’s sponsoring a newbie and Lady Nowhere like you.”
But then, before an argument can erupt between Cleo and Nadia, Elle’s voice echoes loud and true. “I don’t have favorites. I make sure they are all worthy of the crown.”
“Ms. Elle, Lady Quezon City has given a statement minutes ago. She claims it’s only right that she keep her title as Lady Quezon City. She maintains that it’s not fair for you to have favorites, especially if that favorite is from the same city as herself.”
Elle shrugs it off. “No candidate deserves a title just by thinking she deserves it. It’s the people who should decide who’s deserving. And no candidate should act paranoid during this time. Being a beauty queen means grace under pressure, and I don’t see Lady Quezon City achieving that.”
After that answer, Cleo and the rest of the girls huddle in the lobby, talking about what just happened. Gladys swoops as the conversation is ending, but by now, everyone is quiet.
“What did Elle say?” Gladys is trembling, clenching and unclenching her fists. Nobody answers, so she repeats her question.
Silence.
“Gladys Tiangco.” Elle arrives like a devil in her best shawl. “You are no longer with us.”
Elle ended Gladys’s dream just like that.
Elle turns to the beauty queens who are still part of her camp. “Be grateful for Gladys. Because of her, the scores I made internally are invalidated. Everyone is saved. Let’s go, girls.”
No one says a thing. Not even those who once sided with Gladys. They stick to Elle’s decision and do not spare Gladys a glance.
On their way to the final screenings room, Cleo stops in her tracks, takes a tissue from one of the tables, and runs back to where Gladys is. She’s on the floor, crying.
“We might not have seen eye to eye, but you’ll always be one of my worthiest rivals.” Cleo leaves the tissue on Gladys’s lap and goes back to her team.
Waiting is, as usual, torture to every one of the beauty queens. Out of seventy-one, only half of them will proceed to the nationals. Cleo’s prayed every prayer there is, and all she needs to do now is to believe in herself.
“Come on in, Cleo Walter,” the receptionist invites Cleo, and she enters.
Again, Cleo faces the panelists. They go their usual thorough checks as she goes through all the paces: wearing swimsuits and gowns, walking with high heels, and showing real and candid facial expressions. She executes these requirements well. If she didn’t have any confidence before, she exudes it now.
“One last thing before we wrap up. What makes you different from the rest of your fellow beauty queens?” This is the question Cleo’s been thinking about for days.
“I’m different not just from each of my fellow beauty queens, but from everyone else in the world. No human being is the same as any other. As Cleo Walter, I have my own set of flaws, but they only give me more reason to love who I am at this moment and who I am becoming.”
The final screenings have ended, and they’re told to make themselves comfortable inside the theater, where everyone else is also taking a break. They’re given refreshments, and finally, after what seems like a lifetime’s worth of anticipation, one of the panelists enters the stage with a mic and paper in hand.
Cleo’s on the edge of her seat, her hands gripping the hem of her dress. Nadia and the others aren’t a bit fazed. Oh, what she’d give to have Nadia’s confidence.
“There’s a thin line between confidence and complacency,” Chezka whispers under her breath, winking at her.
Cleo smiles timidly, watching the panelist take the stage.
“May I now call forward the top forty candidates for the Lady Pearl of the Philippines. Once your name is called, please come on the stage so we can officially welcome you to the national pageantry competition.”
Forty names is a lot. Cleo’s counting off in her head, and so far, most of the names that are being called are from Elle’s camp. Chezka’s name comes out of the panelist’s mouth on the twentieth slot. Cleo congratulates her because she deserves it. Time ticks by until there are only three beauty queens left in Elle’s camp, waiting for their names to be called. What gives her hope is that there is no Lady Quezon City yet.
“Cleo, Cleo, Cleo,” Cleo repeats to herself, crossing her fingers and lowering her head.
“Cleo. Cleo. Cleo.”
Let me be Lady Quezon City.