Keisha squealed with laughter. “I’m serious! You’re hot. Smart. Talented. You’ll be our Creative Director. People love to feel like they’re behind the scenes. You’ll be the backstage guy.” She looked like a queen bestowing a knighthood. “You follow my lead and play your cards right. Give it a couple of years, and I’ll get you that talk show you’ve always wanted.”
“For real? A talk show?” Pablo squealed with excitement.
“It’s like Christmas, only better.” Malaki joined in the excitement, the two of them leaping around in the apartment, hugging each other. Grabbing ahold of Keisha, the threesome were popping up and down like the popcorn they’d already eaten three bowls of.
It was all too much excitement. Yawning, Keisha sinuated her way through their twelve-foot-long apartment and peeked into Pablo’s bedroom. “Is this your cave?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Minutes later, they could hear her snoring like a buzz saw from his room.
Pablo lay awake on the couch, his body twitching with excitement. His flesh felt like it was humming with electricity. Hook, line, and sinker. Pablo was in! Keisha was his champion. His family. His muse. His brain churned with excitement until he finally fell into the deep sleep of the emotionally drained.
While most models were at spas recovering from fashion week, Keisha was pushing Pablo to help formulate her idea into a full-fledged television show. She loved every idea he threw at her, and for the first time in his life, he felt genuinely accepted and applauded. Nourished by the confidence that she could bring anything he could imagine to fruition, he let his ingenuity run completely unbridled. If Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney could put on a show in three days, so could Pablo and Keisha. Nothing was getting in their way.
Like her secretary, Pablo scribbled notes on napkins as Keisha’s brain worked overtime on the idea. While she was napping, he honed the concept and polished it so when he gave the pages back to her, it looked better, more professional, and like a real TV show. Flipping through the pitch deck he’d drafted, complete with images to illustrate the show’s concept, Keisha leaned back on the sofa in her loft and sighed. “I think we’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To pitch.”
Pablo felt the strength in his legs drain out of him. They couldn’t possibly be ready.
“Here’s my phone, call this executive and pretend to be my assistant.”
Pablo rolled his eyes but did what he was told. Seconds later, Keisha was chatting with the President of the network on speakerphone and, within minutes, they had a meeting set with the head of development.
“How’d you do that?” Pablo asked as she hung up.
“I’m Keisha Kash, baby, and don’t you forget it.”
He genuflected in her direction.
Planning a show in three days had been tough, preparing to pitch a show in less time was even worse. Nerve-racking didn’t begin to describe the level of stress Pablo fell under. Organizing concept boards, teaches and challenges, photoshoot creative, sketches of sample set designs and putting together a list of potential fashion icons they could bring on the show, Pablo forgot what sleep felt like. Every night was an all-nighter. Keisha ordered take-out and helped by being encouraging when she wasn’t being distracting or distracted. While Pablo worked on complex renderings to create a slick-looking presentation—she Instagrammed and Tweeted with her fans.
“I don’t think you need to work so hard.”
“It needs to be love at first sight, Keisha.”
“It always is.” She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“We’re only going to get one shot at this. It can’t just ride on your name.”
“Why not?”
He wasn’t sure, but he wanted to make sure that she looked like a serious television show producer, not just a Supermodel, and that was his job. They took an Uber to the network. By the time they walked into the TN Network building, Pablo was semi-delirious, had lost five pounds, and looked like one of those heroin-chic runway models he so despised. In the lobby, they received name tags from security and, with clearance, headed to the elevator.
In the elevator, Pablo jiggled his portfolio against his thigh.
“Don’t fidget,” Keisha whispered.
“I’ve never done anything like this.”
“Act as if you have.”
The elevator flew up to the twenty-third floor, revealing an open concept, studio style office. Staff, dressed in everything from casual jeans and sneakers to designer suits and Louboutins, milled about the water cooler and communal printer. As they walked in, heads turned, and hushed whispers of awe followed Keisha as they beelined to the receptionist.
“Keisha Kash is here for her three o’clock,” Pablo said.
“And you are?”
“Pablo Michaels.”
“Her assistant?”
He bristled but didn’t know what else to call himself, so he nodded. The receptionist picked up her phone and listened for a moment. Seconds later, a well-turned-out executive in a pencil skirt and the new Bottega Veneta pumps came through the door.
“Dawn Gately, head of development. It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Kash.” She shook Keisha’s hand and nodded to Pablo. “And you are?”
“My assistant,” Keisha said brightly. “Pablo Michaels.”
They walked into an airy office with couches and comfortable chairs. “Would either of you like some water?”
“I only drink Bling H2O or Fillico,” Keisha told her.
The exec snapped her fingers and an assistant disappeared.
“The others will be here in a sec,” Dawn informed.
Pablo, too nervous to drink anything, began pulling out concept boards and setting them up on the easels. He was ready and waiting in the room when the full team entered. Two execs introduced themselves. One was VP of Development and the other, the network’s Original Programming Coordinator. Pablo was impressed. He knew Keisha had clout on the runway, but to have garnered top brass at a major network was impressive.
“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” Pablo whispered to Keisha.
As water bottles were poured into glasses, someone pressed a remote control and black screens drew across the windows. “Privacy,” Dawn mouthed to Pablo. His mouth went dry. Keisha crossed her famous legs and nodded at Pablo with the model’s signature petit pomme smile.
He unrolled the concept with finesse and forgot his anxiety. “Imagine a young girl, working a cash register in Walmart, selling magazines with Keisha Kash on the cover—wishing she could be her. Now, Keisha’s offering them the opportunity to become a brand—like herself. Think Project Runway, but for models. We’re looking at a one-hour episodic competition show where we plan on selecting a group of wannabe models from social media to live in a model’s apartment—like in the old days—and compete for the chance of becoming a real fashion icon. Each week’s episode will start off with a teach segment so they learn what it’s like to be a real model.”