Pablo paused to gauge the executives’ enthusiasm. They all sat with blank faces as if he were telling them about his grocery list. A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed hard and continued as if nothing was amiss. “We’ll follow with a challenge segment based on the lesson they received. Girls can win immunity from elimination that week, or prizes. A big part of every episode will be the photoshoot, and in some cases, a TV commercial or other motion capture. This exciting all-access, backstage, insider look will give viewers a sense of weekly themes, crazy model antics, and set the contestants up for the last segment of each episode, judging!” He’d practiced the pitch enough that when his part was done, all he had to do was turn to the star of the show.
Now cued, Keisha rose above the executives so their chins followed her skyward. She smiled down at them, then did a slow seductive walk, drawing her index finger along the backs of their chairs. “That’s right. Judging is where we’ll eliminate the weakest contestant each week with a panel of fashion experts—led by me, of course—until we find our winner.” Stopped at Pablo, who now revealed the last board with the logo he’d designed for the show, she did her twenty-grand Supermodel spin and said, “I’m Keisha Kash, and this is Model Muse.”
The show was greenlit on the spot.
* * *
“Mom! I have a job! On TV!” Pablo shouted into his phone.
“On TV?”
“I’m gonna be the Creative Director on a new model show with Keisha Kash.”
“Is she famous?”
He laughed at how provincial his parents were. “She’s only, like, the biggest model in the world, Mom.”
“That’s nice, dear.”
“I’m gonna be in charge of all the photoshoots, the runway shows. And I’ll be directing the contestants.”
“It’s a game show?”
“Noooo…it’s a reality TV show.”
“Honey, how can anything on TV be reality?”
He gave up trying to explain more. “I just wanted you to know that your faith in me has paid off. I’m living the dream, Mom. Thank you.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to thank us. We’ve always been proud of you.”
Pablo thought of all the times he hadn’t felt like enough; times he felt like he had to prove to his parents that he was worthy of being adopted. His eyes smarted. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too. Even though I don’t understand what it is you’re doing, I’m very proud of you, dear.”
4
STYLE HIM FAMOUS
THE IRONY WAS that Pablo hated reality shows. They lacked empathy for people’s feelings, and social media made the humiliation all the more public. Mockery and bullying against wannabe stars almost always went viral. Of course, society loved to snoop into the lives of others and reality TV was like the village busybody on steroids. Pablo called and texted friends about his good fortune and received loads of support. Even his childhood idol, whom Pablo had stalked on social and who in turn became his mentor, texted back with a “Congrats,” followed by a second and more cryptic text a few seconds later.
I.C.E. TEXT: Warning…working on a Reality show is the modern day version of the Roman gladiator, without the blood! Trust me, I know. I’ll be here if you need me.
Pablo took the message under advisement. He and Keisha were going to make reality television a better place, though. Something that really helped young people make a career out of their gifts. The thing that really bothered him on these kinds of shows was seeing someone in pain, or worse, seeing someone rejected. There had to be an element of that in their show, but Pablo hoped to approach everything from a positive standpoint. That’s what would give the show its real edge. Pablo’s golden rule—Never quit people; Everyone deserves a chance—would be his standard.
And what a chance it would be for him too. From an unwanted baby, adopted by loving and supportive parents, and backstage handler to being a part of a new television show. Keisha had single-handedly validated Pablo’s belief that anyone can work in the fashion industry if given a chance. Model Muse was going to be all-inclusive. It was going to represent all the areas of the business: photographers, designers, creative directors, hair/makeup artists, stylists, set designers, and fashion journalists, as well as models. This was definitely a win.
The soundstage for the fledgling show was to be at Silvercup Studios in Queens. The raw space was pretty raw. It needed a fresh coat of paint and a clean floor. Wires dangled from the rigging where lights would be hung when production started. Keisha and Pablo did a walk through, figuring out where the models would be held, and what the judging set might look like. “It doesn’t look like much,” Keisha murmured. Her voice reverberated through the empty space.
“It’s like Cinderella before the ball,” he said.
“More like, we need to turn this frog into a princess.”
Outside on the street, they stared up at the large red-lettered sign arching over the rooftops of Long Island City.
“We did it.”
She smiled down at him in a strange, almost pained way.
“You feeling okay?” he asked, slightly concerned.
Just then, a teenager with braces and horne-rimmed glasses walked past them, then turned around and stared up at the Supermodel.
“Excuse me, my mama loves you. Can I get a selfie?”
“I don’t do selfies.” Keisha turned away from the child, dismissively. Pablo was shocked. She always took selfies. Why was she being so rude to the poor kid, who clearly needed a self-esteem boost? He watched the girl’s stooped shoulders as she slumped away.
“Why’d you do that?”
“Her mama,” she scoffed. “And she was butt ugly.”
“I seem to recall you were too, once.”
“Not that ugly.” Keisha made Gollum eyes at Pablo and slapped his arm, teasingly. “So, listen, before our production meeting I wanna give you a makeover.”
“A makeover?”
“If you’re gonna be on TV next to me, we have to get you gorgeous. Besides, don’t you think you should have the same kind of makeover our models are gonna have? That way, you can empathize with their experience.”
Pablo thought empathy was the one thing he had loads of, but he didn’t say anything.
“De La Renta, my miracle man, will see you in the morning.”
“What’s he gonna do to me?”
“Whatever he likes.”
The studio’s car pulled up to the curb and the driver got out to open the door. “Hashtag I got this.” Pablo gestured and winked at the handsome chauffeur, holding the door open for his BFF. He was about to crawl into the backseat when Keisha pushed him away.