Chapter 20

Elle’s Killer Duo of Commanders

 

 

 

Cleo’s been staring blankly into an empty space, not listening at all to the commotion that’s been going on for over an hour. Her heart is out in the open, ripped apart and suspended in time. But still pumping, keeping her alive and moving, no matter how shattered she is now.

Love used to occupy that space, and maybe there is still love in there, but anger and sadness are taking up a lot of space right now. And that’s okay. Cleo reminds herself that the heart contains a multitude of emotions. It’s the fragments of memories that make it worse. They’re there when she wakes up in the morning and gets no text from him. They’re there when she sees a restaurant where they used to spend their Friday nights. They’re there when she hears familiar music on the radio, and she’s got no one to sing the lyrics with. They’re there at the end of the day, and there’s no one to hold her and keep her heart warm.

“Earth to Cleo.”

Cleo blinks and finds Chezka snapping her fingers. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Chezka furrows her eyebrows, placing the back of her hand on Cleo’s forehead to check her temperature. “Do you feel sick? Need time off? You know you can always tell Elle about it.”

Cleo pulls away and languidly stretches her legs on the floor, sliding half of her body in the armchair. “It’s nothing.”

Chezka acts surprised. “As if.”

“I’m okay.”

“Wait here.” Chezka rushes into the kitchen and runs back with two teacups on a silver tray.

The moment Cleo lifts the cup, she smells its sweet, light and floral scent, a meadow in the guise of a drink.

“Chamomile tea,” Chezka confirms, holding her teacup like she’s a duchess. “Perfect for today’s teatime, you know, chismis.”

“There’s nothing to share.”

Chezka sits cross-legged beside Cleo, taking her tea. “I don’t believe that.”

“My boyfriend and I broke up,” Cleo relents, putting down her cup on the coffee table. There’s no use hiding it from someone as persistent as Chezka. Unexpectedly saying it out loud has somehow given her more room to breathe.

“Oh. Do you want a piece of advice, or do you want me just to listen?”

Cleo’s lips trembled. Her face turns red and blotchy, but she holds back the tears, pressing her fingers into her palms. She wants to answer, but a lump in her throat stops her. Chezka notices this, giving her a pillow to hold onto.

“It’s okay to cry, Cleo.” Chezka embraces Cleo. “I don’t know if you picked up this bit of news yet, but from now on, Elle’s two other trainers will be the ones to handle us. The two of them, Guinevere and Deborah, have scheduled meetings with us individually so they can get to know us. Do you want me to re-schedule yours?”

Cleo retreats, putting up a smile. “No. This isn’t going to be like what happened before with him. I’m not going to suffer. I am not going to let heartbreak squash my elation at getting to where I am at this moment.”

Chezka holds up her hands in endorsement, even admiration.

“I’m a strong, independent woman,” Cleo proclaims, rising and shifting back into her Lady Quezon City persona, chin up and head held high. “If a man can only handle me at my worst because it makes him feel better, then he doesn’t deserve me at my best when my success has nothing to do with him.”

“That’s right! Long live women!” Chezka’s eyes flicker with excitement and solidarity

Julia passes by with a water bottle in hand. She gives them a judging stare, murmuring, “Weird. Too weird.”

Cleo and Chezka share a look, laughing at themselves.

“Cleo Walter. You go first,” Nadia presses, gesturing towards the welcoming room and calling out another candidate. “Lady Iloilo, you’re next after Cleo.”

Nadia doesn’t want to address me as a Lady Quezon City, Cleo thinks and then shrugs it off. It doesn’t matter whether she’s Lady Nowhere or Lady Somewhere. But being in this new world of hers proves to be a challenge. She has to prepare herself physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually for two months. She has this seedling of hope that people can see her as worthy, and she doesn’t want to kill that.

Waiting for Elle’s two beauty queen commanders, Cleo checks them out on the internet. She doesn’t need to look at Guinevere, but she still searches her name on the web out of curiosity. Guinevere was her childhood friend and Jake’s twin, so she has an idea of what she’s like. From what Cleo can remember, Guinevere supported the best cause, pushing to help farmers and save their land. She was an advocate for these hard workers who didn’t have the advantage of understanding how business works. Long after the competition, she continued to visit rural areas, talk with the farmers, speak out on their behalf.

Cleo also liked Guinevere’s answer in the Q and A portion, which brought her to the second runner-up position in the international competition. She’s honestly amazed at the woman Guinevere has become. Guinevere hated the loamy soil and would always rather live in the city, but her joining the pageant changed all that. More than a lot of pretty faces competing with each other, the pageant is a thought-provoking and mind-changing event for these women.

Now Cleo is looking up Deborah, the beauty queen who topped as the first runner-up in the Queen of the Universe competition four years ago. Deborah’s known for being quirky, the type who always mixes different styles and colors to make her even more different from the others. She’s the daughter of a rich man, heir to a big conglomerate company, but she has chosen to work closely with non-government organizations in helping children cancer patients.

Clicking on “images,” Cleo finds a photo of the two beauty queens. Guinevere’s the female version of Jake, all deep black hair and toned legs. Deborah, on the other hand, has bronze highlights in her shoulder-length hair and a prominent duchess nose. It’s incredible how the two of them have come together to serve as trainers in Elle’s beauty camp. Elle wastes no woman in her camp.

“Hello, Cleo.”

Cleo looks up and finds Guinevere in the same white t-shirt and pants as herself. “Hi, Guin. We meet again.”

Guinevere chuckles, and then another woman, whom Cleo can assume is Deborah, walks into the room. Deborah smiles appreciatively at Cleo.

“Hi!” Deborah leans in to Cleo, greeting her through beso-beso in a cheek-to-cheek kiss. Like Cleo and Guinevere, Deborah is also in a plain white t-shirt and pants.

“Nice to meet you,” Cleo says. She feels genuinely grateful for this team. “I can’t wait to get started on the next phase.”

Deborah laughs. “Believe me, once we officially start, you’ll regret saying that.”

“I won’t give up,” Cleo promises, eating her heartbreak like it’s dessert.

Deborah gives Cleo a list of acceptable meals. Cleo finds the menu a bit of a surprise.

 

Hydration:

8 glasses of water

 

Breakfast:

Coffee with a splash of cream, 1½ cups of Greek yogurt with 3 diced strawberries, a handful of blueberries, a tablespoon of honey, and mangoes.

 

Lunch:

Grilled-chicken Caesar salad with diced cherry tomatoes, 2 tablespoons of dressing, and ⅓ cup of low-fat Parmesan cheese

 

Snack:

2 handfuls of roasted almonds (no salt), dried mango with a side of cottage cheese

 

Dinner:

Oven-roasted salmon with ½ tablespoon of olive oil to coat fillet, 1 cup of spinach topped with feta, 1 cup of steamed broccoli with fresh lemon juice, olive oil, and garlic, 2 red bliss potatoes, sliced, with olive oil and fresh rosemary

 

Dessert:

2 small scoops of low-fat chocolate caramel ice cream

 

Cleo re-reads the list again because it seems to be really simple and, at the same time, sophisticated. There’s so much intricacy in the way every aspect of her life is being planned. She’s never been super-set in her ways, but this list is one of the many things she’ll have to get used to.

“Oh, wow,” is Cleo’s initial reaction. “This is nice.”

Guinevere and Deborah proceed to the shoe racks, striding off in their seven-inch heels. When they’re done, they walk back to Cleo with so much presence and energy she can almost see the static in the air. They are absorbing to watch. The way they carry themselves is pride and poise personified.

“Come here,” Guinevere invites Cleo to hold her weight like them in a standing position.

Slowly, Cleo also slips on seven-inch heels, facing them with the same fervor and determination. They’re great, but she aims to surpass them. Heartbreak is a vitamin that keeps her strong, and she’ll prove that in the following days.

Cleo can already imagine herself waving at millions of people as they welcome her with her head up in the clouds. The entire crowd will chant her name, stomping their feet on the ground while they raise their hands in the air to show their support. It’s what she’s always loved about being a Filipino. Their unity is solid like no other nation’s. Together, they’re one, and she firmly believes in that, leans on it, rests in it.

“Good,” Deborah says, tilting Cleo’s chin up. “You’ll be joining the rest of the girls today in the studio.”

“But I thought you wanted to talk to each one of us?”

“We’re rescheduling,” Deborah answers, checking her phone for her calendar of activities.

“Don’t disappoint me, Cleo,” Guinevere warns playfully before leading Cleo to the studio where the other candidates are already waiting. They’re standing there like some sort of military regiment that will quickly snap and answer whenever asked. Since Cleo’s new, she has no idea what to do, so she follows the others.

“All right, ladies, we do head-to-toe exercises. We’ll just be exercising the whole day. Got it?” Deborah instructs, leading the day’s training.

The exercises are gruesome. They do a lot of stretching, neck rotations, squats, and waist movements to shape their waists better. It’s a full-body workout. Anyone who complains is reprimanded by either Deborah or Guinevere. And so that they can see their every movement, they are surrounded by mirrors. Most of the women constantly check the mirror to see if they’re in sync with the others, while Nadia’s just being her overconfident self.

Training the whole day, the candidates are covered in sweat, and whenever they’re given breaks, they don’t even have the energy left to chat among themselves. Sometimes, Cleo can hear the other girls badmouthing Deborah. Like Cleo, they’re grateful to be a part of Elle’s beauty camp, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. Wanting to get along with the other girls and not be someone like Nadia, Cleo offers them water bottles.

“Oh, thanks. I’m Mariel, Lady Masbate,” one of the candidates gratefully accepts the water bottle, introducing herself in the process.

Cleo smiles her megaton smile. “Cleo, Lady Quezon City.”

Cleo wants to start fresh, so she wants to make friends. On the practical side, the women might hesitate to badmouth someone who was a friend to them during beauty camp. She also doesn’t want to revert to the old Cleo. Old Cleo didn’t have many friends in the industry, and she was always desperate. Starting today, she’s going to be the girl that everybody loves.

Unfortunately, no matter how nice Cleo is, she can still hear whispers: “That’s all just for show.”

Cleo sighs.

“The competition’s getting heated.” Chezka comes up behind Cleo, all sweaty and tired. “They all hate you for dethroning former Lady Quezon City.”

“I’m just trying to make friends.”

Chezka leers. “No, you’re trying to find allies.”

Chezka’s bluntness reveals a certain sharpness, and Cleo knows that while they’re somehow friends, the competition is still a competition. Chezka said it before, Cleo is a threat to them, and maybe she’s not doing enough to be considered a candidate. She’s still a sketchy person in their minds.

“Break over—back to work, ladies!” Guinevere announces, so the candidates all return to stretching and swaying their hips in between their long strides.

Cleo finds the exercise session funny. They look like ducks who got lost on the way to the pond. But it does help stretch out their bodies—bodies that have been insufficiently challenged for too long. Hours later, her legs burn the strain. In her mind’s eye she sees herself trying to crawl her way back to where she’d been sitting. After training, Guinevere calls for their attention and delivers some motivational speech to boost their spirits.

“Tomorrow, same white shirt and pants. Bring extra clothes. But I want you all to come here looking like you’re going to attend the most glamorous party the world has ever seen,” Deborah adds. “You were all chosen by Elle because she saw your potential. Many have decided to quit in the last few years. They let themselves and the rest of us down. I hope you won’t do the same because this is a grand opportunity to showcase who you truly are. This competition isn’t just about the crown—it’s about finding your true self.”

Day one of training for the national competition most definitely feels like day one hundred. Exhausted, Cleo lies down on the matting of the studio, hands over her eyes. Deborah and Guinevere left, and she and the rest of the candidates are still here, too drained to get up and go home.

“Isn’t it unfair that some of us get to sleep here and wake up on time?” one candidate raises the question. “I mean, obviously, they’ll have good makeup on.”

“How is that a problem, Lady Valenzuela?” Cleo recognizes Lady Masbate’s high-pitched voice. “I came all the way from Masbate just to be here. Elle offers rooms to candidates who have come from faraway provinces.”

“Oh, so you’re the island girl now?” Lady Valenzuela taunts.

Cleo’s ears are thrumming from the sniping. She just wants to rest for a few minutes before she goes home, but with their screeching voices, she finds it hard to take a break. At her breaking point, she bursts out, “At least you don’t have to commute.”

 

“Right, right! Be sensitive to Cleo because she doesn’t have a car,” Nadia pipes in, always so ready to stroll in whenever Cleo’s involved. “Boohoo.”

Cleo clenches her jaw and turns to her side.

“Sorry. Just tired,” Cleo replies because she honestly doesn’t mean to explode like that. So much for trying to make friends.

“Whatever, Cleo,” Nadia retorts.

Between the bickering and the outright nastiness, Cleo’s had enough. Unable to stand another minute in the same room with them, she walks out without another word and commutes back home.