30
“GUYS. WHAT’S GOING on?” Harper called out. Her saggy jeans, fanny pack and worn out sneakers were the antithesis of 432 Park’s sophistication.
The elevator doors closed, and without its famous passengers inside. Halfway across the lobby, Pablo had stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn’t speak. Gurgling bile began rising in his throat. Keisha smiled at him like a mentally-ill schizophrenic. I’ll be damned if some throwaway bi-racial baby is gonna crawl outta the gutter and steal my shine! Her words, he’d heard in the control room, now echoed in his head. Abruptly, Pablo tore off his microphone, then snatched Keisha’s mic pack and slid them both along the slick marble floors in the direction of where Mike, the sound guy, and Harper were standing. The disconnected microphone wire dangled between Keisha’s legs like a pendulum.
No one else dared to say a word as they watched Pablo haul Keisha by the arm, past the mailroom and to the nearby manager’s office. De La Renta was inside packing up his flatiron and lipstick pallets when Pablo shoved Keisha across the threshold. The thrust of releasing her arm caused her iPhone to fall and shatter on the floor. WHAP.
“What in the hell?” De La Renta hollered. He sized up the situation. “Oh, I see this is a wrap. And the only thing better than having plans is, CANCELLED plans. I’m the fuck out.” He scurried out, closing the door behind them.
Alone now, Keisha stood quiet and in control. Pablo bent over and picked up her iPhone, waving the destroyed device in her face.
“See? Just like your life. Falling apart.”
Keisha smiled. “Oh, is it?” She took a seat in a nearby chair.
The room was bleak and ill-fitted for the prominent address. The banal office furniture didn’t match the aesthetic the lobby had to offer. The space felt very backstage and looked more like a Chase Bank manager’s cubicle.
Pablo chucked the splintered phone into her lap and turned his back on the Supermodel in an effort to regain his composure.
“You know, David, it’s funny what you can dig up about—”
“What did you just call me?” Pablo turned around, glaring at Keisha in contempt. She had picked up her iPhone and was flicking at the glass shards.
“Oh, well, I figured we should use your real name from now on, not on camera, of course.”
“Pablo Michaels is my real name. I told you about David in confidence….”
“Marge says hello, by the way.”
Boom! Emotional bomb number two went off in Pablo’s head. His knees went weak.
“She’s such a HUGE fan of the show. She said something like, always knowing she’d see your name in lights, or something like that. Anyway, she’s been so helpful in connecting me with your mother.”
“Wait…I…how? AND STOP calling her my mother.” Pablo started fidgeting with the black threaded Apriati bracelet around his wrist, and nearly broke it off. He’d never told Keisha about Nurse Marge. Or the fact he’d been in Marge’s care for almost four months before his birth mother had finally signed away her rights to him so he could legally be adopted. The nerve-racking process of having to wait and see if the Michaels’ could bring their son home had been a harrowing experience for both his parents. It had been especially difficult for his mom. Pablo now feared digging up this story, and thrusting it upon his parents thirty years later, would bring all that pain flooding back into their lives. His mom and dad were private people. They wanted nothing to do with the spotlight. Pablo was now facing his worst nightmare and he would do anything to protect his parents. Anything. Keisha had her ways, but how did she know where to start looking for the truth?
The hum of the florescent lights seemed to get louder and louder, the longer he stood in the office. Pablo studied Keisha’s body language. Nothing. He couldn’t read her. Dumbfounded and at a loss for words, he declared the obvious. “Why are you doing all this? It’s gonna tear my family apart.”
“Listen. Broyce wouldn’t hear me out earlier, but I figured out the perfect solution. I just need you to go to the press and say the whole Mason thing was a lie.”
“Ummmmm? Earth to Andromeda. What sci-fi planet are you on right now? I’ll give you a hint, it ain’t FIERCE!” De La Renta’s voice came tumbling out of Pablo’s mouth. “How will I explain the video recording, when it comes out? Hello?”
Keisha seemed amused at how he was unravelling. “Oh, that’s the easy part. I’ll just say I asked you and Mason to have a fake conversation knowing Miss Thing was there.”
“What!?” he screamed, raising his voice.
Keisha didn’t succumb to his threatening tone and softly said, “We’ll just pass it off as an elaborate sting.” She spoke slowly and conclusively as if convincing herself it were true. “This is how we trapped the culprit who’d been leaking all this naughty stuff about Model Muse.”
Her calculations were petrifying. Pablo sighed, wanting nothing more.
“And who cares about Miss Thing, really? You certainly shouldn’t. He’s fucked all of us over, and it’s time he got kicked to the curb. I’m doing you a favor. Really. And payback’s a bitch. Remember?” She paused. “Please don’t be so naïve; people do this all the time. Someone’s gotta take the fall here.”
He hated when she condescended to him. “That’ll never work.”
“It will work, because I say it will work,” she yelled, raising her voice to match his admonishment. And there they were–Gollum eyes were back. Keisha started vigorously rubbing the destroyed iPhone between her hands. What was she doing? Trying to distract him? She continued and said, “You’ll tell Broyce this story’s fake news and I’ll make a public statement clearing up the whole mess. Miss Thing? A wrap. And good riddance.”
“What?”
“It’s either do as I say, or I go on GMA. I need you to own this, David.” Keisha continued and locked gaze with him. She was hypnotic; he couldn’t look away. “Besides, if I go down and get fired over this, like Harvey Weinstein? You’ll have sealed your own fate. Model Muse is nothing without me.” Her toothy grin looked faker than a two-dollar bill. “It won’t last. And I’m sure unemployment wasn’t fun for you.”
Pablo started pacing back and forth. “The public and the media will eat me alive. I won’t be able to work in this industry, anymore.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. We have at least another 10 seasons of Model Muse with me at the helm. You’ll be fine.”
“That’s years—of being your bitch! And after? Then what?”
“No one will ever remember anything 10 seasons from now. You could easily get your own talk show by then.”
“You’re fucking delusional.”
“Don’t EVER call me delusional!” Keisha roared.
The two stared at each other in silence. The energy in the room was now palpable. Pablo’s heart had picked up its pace and thumped harder in his chest.
“So yeah, social media will go nuts for a hot minute and come after you. Who cares?” Keisha had regained her composure and spoke with a controlled, softer voice. “After three days, they’ll find someone else to shame and persecute. You’ll be fine. Miss Thing will get the worst of it. Don’t worry.”
Pablo simply stared at the deranged Supermodel. He swallowed hard and summoned all his strength. “I’m so done with all your manipulation. You can keep your shitty deal. You wanna do Good Morning America? Fine. I welcome the opportunity to meet my birth mother now. How ‘bout I join you at the studio for the interview?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” He was doing his best at faking his confidence. “And good luck trying to thwart the network investigation that’ll be looking into all your misconducts. Miss Thing can’t hold water, and hashtag real talk? Broyce isn’t your biggest fan anymore. I have faith the network will uncover everything you’ve done, and you’ll go down. You deserve to be exposed for who you are.” It was time to hit below the belt and take her out. “As for Model Muse? I’m sure a more relevant Supermodel, like Naomi, would love to take over your hosting duties. The show will go on, as they say. Hashtag trust.”
Keisha’s eyes burned with rage. He knew the N-word would provoke a reaction. Pablo hated the fact he’d stooped to her level, but sometimes you had to get dirty to win the war.
His phone started ringing in his pocket—he’d forgotten to put it on silent.
They immediately stopped arguing. Well, they paused the battle as if a ceasefire had been called. The ex-BFFs continued to stare at each other while listening to Pablo’s phone play its melodic tune. Eventually, it stopped. He fished the iPhone out of his pocket and pretended to mute it, but he activated the Voice Memo App instead. Recording the rest of this conversation was essential, and he needed to do it on the down-low. “Receipts are needed,” Miss Thing had always said. Pablo needed hard evidence against the shady Supermodel. Placing the device, face down, on the desk to their right, Pablo turned to Keisha and smiled.
The trap was set.
She grinned like the Grinch who stole Christmas. “I’m better at this than you are. Remember?” Keisha steadily rose out of her chair. “I can easily call the police after you leave here and say you assaulted me. Who do you think they’ll believe?”
“I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. It’ll never stick.”
“Oh, really?” She started moving towards him. “You just ripped off my mic in front of a group of people who work for ME!” She was yelling now. “Dragged ME down a hall and locked ME alone in here with you.”
“That’s not enough,” Pablo calmly said. He’d found his Zen amidst the insanity.
Keisha reached for him, with her hands now covered in blood! “Looks like the police will have enough, now. And your fresh fingerprints, all over my phone.”
“What have you done? You’re bleeding!” Keisha was twisted, but Pablo never saw this coming. “You’re gonna make it look like I hit you with your phone?”
“Why not?” she cackled. “There’s no video evidence of me cutting myself—so it’s my word against yours. Besides, I had no other choice and this is war.”
Pablo ran his hands through his silver hair and backed up closer to the wall. It was profoundly disturbing she chose to go this far; however, he needed to record more of her insane accusations. “You’re killing me,” he cried.
“The hands around your throat are your own, David.”
He was sickened by her flagrant disregard for the name his parents had given him.
“You’d be willing to accuse me of a heinous crime? Over what? Because I wouldn’t lie to the world for you?”
“It’s called power and leverage, and I know how to wield both of them.”
Keisha took another step towards Pablo and stood within inches of his face. He could smell her breath. Stale. Sour. Not what anyone would expect standing that close to the Supermodel. He instinctively backed off from her advance. He was now pinned against the wall.
She reached forward with her bloodied hands, declaring her words like a mother to a child. “Your fight was never with me, David. You’ve only been fighting with yourself. Just the thought of what others might think of you, has always been enough to terrorize your mind. Why do you think you’ve been so easy to control? You’ve never been good enough for You. It’s that voice in your head that’s the real enemy, not me.”
Pablo could barely breathe as he pressed himself against the wall. He was no longer acting. Her words had struck a chord. “You’re the devil,” he stammered.
“Oh really? Look in the mirror and see what you find.”
No. He wasn’t like her.
Was it true?
Was Pablo Michaels the true antagonist here?
You think she’s the monster? #YouSpotItYouGotIt—his mentor had just texted him the same thing.
His mind felt like it was splitting open.
“Where’s the heroic, innocent Pablo I met at Michael Kors?” she said, taking a step back and kicking off one high heel. She untucked her yellow blouse and then tugged at her wig, causing it to sit askew. “You’ve changed!”
Pablo broke out in a cold sweat.
He was living a nightmare and wanted to wake up.
Keisha grinned and wiped her bloodied hands over her face, looking like a gory soldier in battle. “You’re basically me now. And frankly? I’m relieved. I was getting a little bored.”
Pablo stared in horror at Keisha’s disheveled appearance, with her vacant eyes peering through blood. Television was now full of modern-day cons. They lied when they were on camera, leaked whatever they wanted to the press and lied about their lives when asked about the truth. This was the real person he’d never seen before—the one buried below all her pain. An apparition of the woman he’d once revered. He was now looking at the face that accompanied her demonic voice.
“I think, we’re gonna get along a lot better now. You finally have the balls to hang with the big boys.” The unhinged Supermodel then moved in close to his ear and whispered, “Welcome to the club.”