“I’m headed up to Vinny’s and traffic’s gonna be more of a bitch than I am!” Keisha laughed and kissed the air. “See you tomorrow, 10 a.m. sharp. Don’t keep him waiting, Mr. Pablo, or he’ll make you look like the Bride of Frankenstein.” She slammed the door shut and tapped the window, smiling up at him.
Pablo forced a smile and waved. He couldn’t shake the sense of rejection. Butch up, he chided himself. You’re about to get everything you’ve ever dreamed of.
* * *
Ringlets of Pablo’s black tresses drifted through the air to land in a hairy crop circle beneath De La Renta’s chair. Pablo felt like he was being shorn like a sheep. Would slaughter be far behind?
“Can I look?” he asked the hair master, who sported perfectly braided cornrows.
“Nope.”
“Oh, I see how this works now.”
De La Renta slapped him and chuckled. “You the new kid on the block and Mother wants you to look the part, as well as play it.” He had a soft southern lilt to his voice that made Pablo feel calmer.
“I thought I looked pretty good.”
“You and me both. But what Mother wants, Mother gets.”
Pablo relaxed into the leather chair and let De La Renta get on with it. If Keisha trusted her own personal hair/makeup artist, why shouldn’t he? De La Renta coated all Pablo’s hair with some color and set him in the corner with no mirrors. “Fifty-five minutes,” he told him, “and no peeking.”
An assistant brought him a latte and two People magazines. The British Royal family were making babies. His favorite section of People was the red-carpet gowns and the fashion dos and don’ts. There was Keisha in a ‘fashion don’t.’ He held it up for De La Renta. “She really shouldn’t be allowed to dress herself.”
The glam guru guffawed. “Don’t I know it? Mother has terrible taste.”
When the bell buzzed, Pablo had to cover his eyes to walk across the studio and get his hair washed and scalp massaged. It was the full treatment today and he wondered if he had enough cash in his pocket for a tip. When he got back to De La Renta’s chair, the mirror was covered with a black hairdressing gown. “I don’t trust you not to peek,” De La Renta teased. He fluffed some product into Pablo’s hair and pulled out the hairdryer. The sculpting took as long as the cut.
They both got texts from Keisha at the same time.
Keisha TEXT: B there in ten.
“Almost done. You go slip in the back for the reveal.” De La Renta handed Pablo a small plastic case. “Mother wants a complete overhaul, so pop these in as well.”
Pablo looked down at the contact lenses he was supposed to slip into his virgin eyes and almost panicked. “How do you put them in?”
“Girl,” De La Renta giggled. “You brand new.”
It took a few tries and a lot of eye drops, but the lenses finally floated where they belonged.
“Where’s my creative director?” They could hear Keisha calling from the front room.
“You ready, Mommy?” De La Renta shouted from the back room and bustled out to greet her. Pablo waited for a second, then slipped out the door as De La Renta announced, “I present the first Model Muse makeover!”
Pablo thrust his hips forward and pouted as he strutted his stuff into the salon and did a three-point turn, his head tilted over one shoulder.
Keisha shrieked and applauded. “Bring it on. Yes. You’re genius, De La Renta. Pure genius.”
“True dat.” De La Renta preened himself.
Surrounded by mirrors, Pablo looked at the stranger standing before his ecstatic friends. Close cropped hair, no curls. Silver grey instead of black. Grey eyes.
“Oh, my, God. I look fucking amazing.”
“You look fucking fierce,” Keisha praised.
Something about having his eyes a different color made him feel different inside, more confident, and sexy. He leaned in closer to the mirror to look into the windows of his soul. He almost didn’t look biracial anymore—he looked other, except for his nose. It was just broad enough to speak to his ethnicity. He turned his face right and then left. The cut swept up over his ears, revealing his own fine chin and cheekbones. He was almost perfect. Almost. “Do you think I should get a nose job?”
That afternoon, a much-needed rain poured down on a dusty Manhattan as Keisha and her new creative director rode in the chauffeured Escalade traveling north on the FDR. Staring at his new reflection in the tinted windows, transfixed by his grey eyes and the grey New York City rain that was sheeting down the street, Pablo tried to remember if he’d taken his antidepressant that morning. If he hadn’t, that could explain the sudden sense of detachment and loneliness. Perhaps it was just the weather…
The pressure of starting a new show had worn on both of them over the past few weeks, and tempers had flared—hers. Today, it was a relief to see Keisha finally lightening up. She had every reason to be in a good mood. He did too, for that matter. So why did he feel the low pressure of depression coming on? He had to snap out of it. They were about to do something really big together. He had to be in top form like his partner, who was always in top form.
Keisha snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Pablo.”
“Sorry?”
“What’s going on in that brain of yours?”
“I can’t get over how I look now.”
She laughed.
“Well, I was just saying this first production meeting is really important. We have to set the stage for how we work with everyone.” She paused and looked at him, meaningfully. “It’s you and me in control, no matter what anyone else thinks.”
“It’s all about you, Mommy,” he quipped.
“Awe, my little porcelain prince,” she teased. “I’m gonna tell you a secret.”
He turned to her expectantly.
“Model Muse is gonna blow up. It’s gonna build my empire. Kashing In Productions.”
“Ummmm. You might wanna rethink that name. Hashtag keeping it real.”
“Ya think? Well, some ghetto kid in Compton owns the URL and is tryin’ to make me pay him a thousand dollars for it.”
“Hello, hashtag queen of cheap?” He used his trademark gesture, crossing his fingers in the air as he laughed out loud. “Cut the kid a break and throw him some coins. Didn’t you and your brother have it hard growing up on the west coast in Compton? Hell, buy the URL and hire him to do your website.”
Keisha shifted in her seat as she tightened her upper lip. “I dunno.”
“Generosity makes you feel like a million dollars, rather than just being worth a million dollars.”
“I’m worth a lot more than a million.” For a second, he thought she was going to snap his head off. Instead, she laughed.