The Wig, the Bitch & the Meltdown

by Jay Manuel

  Kim K’s makeup artist, Mario, was their first guest judge. One of Pablo’s additional responsibilities was to find a different fashion insider every week to inhabit the open seat, thereby completing the panel with five arbiters of style. He was quite sure he wasn’t being paid for his contacts and held his private list of names close to his chest.

  “Here.” Rachel handed him his own headset and radio pack before they began filming. “You might as well be on the same wavelength as the rest of us.” She winked at him.

  “Thanks.” He fit the headset over his ears and instantly could hear all the audio coming from the judges, already sitting on set, and models waiting backstage. It was a voyeur’s paradise.

  “Sasha, let me have a sip of your water,” Miss Thing said.

  “I don’t share my germs with anyone.”

  “Or your hooch.”

  “I was really comfortable with the python,” one of the models said.

  “My feet are killing me.”

  The soundman walked up to video village. “She won’t wear the concealed earpiece,” he sighed.

  Rachel rolled her eyes. Joe Vong went ballistic. “What!?” he shouted. The soundman winced. “She has to. How are we supposed to give her directions during the shoot?”

  “She says she’s intuitive.”

  Pablo jumped up. “Lemme talk to her.”

  “Would you? Please,” Rachel begged. “It allows us to communicate with her easier, so we can all be more efficient with time when we’re taping the lengthy sequences.”

  Pablo was about to stand up when Keisha seemed to magically materialize before them.

  “There’s no way,” Keisha said. “I’ll never be able to focus on what I’m saying—you all chatting in my head. There’ll be too many voices.”

  She had a point.

  De La Renta looked at Pablo and mouthed, “She’s already got too many voices in there.”

  “That’s the way it’s going to be then.” Broyce jumped into the fray. “You can make it work, Rachel. I know you can. The important thing is that Keisha is happy and able to do her job. Period.”

  The slated judging scene was supposed to take five hours to shoot. Opening words from Keisha, 15-minute evaluations per contestant, deliberations with the judges, meal break, and then the elimination moment followed by the exit OTF from the unlucky model sent packing. Keisha turned it into ten.

  There was Keisha’s long monologue welcoming the girls, then her six takes at attempting to set up the competition and the prizes—that would be fixed in post—then the introduction of the judges, the meal break, and finally Keisha leading the panel in a long, rambling evaluation for each of the twelve contestants.

  “How are we going to edit ten hours of footage into the last 15 minutes of this episode?” Joe Vong gasped. Pablo actually felt a little sorry for him.

  During the first camera “stop down”—to swap out batteries and digital recording cards—Rachel and Joe had a sidebar with Keisha. “We need to move things along,” Joe said bluntly. Never a good way to get Keisha to do what you want.

  “Everything we’re doing here is important.”

  “That may be, but only a very small portion of it is going into the show.”

  Keisha narrowed her eyes. Her voice ratcheted up an octave. “Mr. Joe, I don’t think you know anything about fashion and even less about my show. If you wanna hurry up, get the batteries back in those cameras and start shooting.” Her creepy child’s voice was enough to scare everyone from saying another word.

  Rachel turned away, clearly relieved she’d kept her mouth shut, and retreated upstairs to the safety of her control room.

  It was almost midnight by the time the judges reached the last model’s evaluation—Adrianna. Everyone looked tired and no amount of makeup was going to change that; they had started filming judging at 2 p.m.—as in, the afternoon! The crew’s call time had been 11 a.m. How were they all going to keep up their stamina through the entire season if every day was fifteen hours long? Pablo was starting to see that his life was going to be on set. There wasn’t going to be room for anything else. Model Muse had become Model Deluge.

  “Last, but certainly not least, Adrianna, you’re next up for evaluation,” Keisha chirped.

  Adrianna stepped down from the second row where she’d been standing in silence throughout the entire judging, and walked along the expanse of the fuchsia runway, landing in front of the judges’ desk. Pablo knew Keisha would save her for last.

  “Miss Adrianna,” Keisha used her most charming voice. “First, we need to talk about that walk. When you enter any room as a model, we need to feel your presence. Go back and start all over.”

  Doing what she was told, Adrianna slumped back towards her spot on the risers with the other contestants.

  “We can still see you,” Keisha bellowed. “Look fierce!”

  Adrianna changed her walk to a strut and turned, maintaining her composure.

  “Yaaaassssss. Now come back to Mama.”

  The model then stomped down the runway, landed on her final mark with attitude, and stared down each judge.

  “Now, there is a model,” Mason chimed in.

  “Remember, baby,” Miss Thing cooed, “you need to walk with your hips forward like the rent is due tonight.” He snapped his fingers.

  Keisha shot Miss Thing a dirty look.

  “Let’s see the photo you shot this week where you had massive wardrobe, heavy hair and makeup, and posed with an animal.” Keisha gestured towards the giant LED wall that hung above the runway and filled the space between the judge’s table and the model’s risers. The photo of Adrianna posing with the Cheetah appeared, filling the digital screen.

  “I thought you were with the Dalmatian?” Keisha blurted. “I wanted you with the Dalmatian.”

  Keisha looked confused.

  “We already saw the Dalmatian.” Sasha’s voice was slurred and her lipstick was looking more distributed on her water bottle than her lips.

  Keisha was fuming mad. “I should’ve been consulted.”

  Pablo was pissed now. She hadn’t even shown up for the photoshoot but she knew he had Adrianna with the parrot. Suddenly, he found himself wondering if Keisha herself had put Adrianna up to her fainting episode. Was Keisha fixing the Model Muse deck?

  “Whatever,” the Supermodel said flippantly. “You look really great with the Cheetah. Your wardrobe coloring and the Cheetah’s were made for each other.”

  “You really owned the makeup so it doesn’t consume you,” Mario stated, firmly. “I think you look amazing here.”

  “The Cheetah is the only thing I’m looking at,” Sasha blurted. “I don’t even see the model.”

  “Sasha, dah-ling, it might be late in the day for you grandma, but if you can’t see that hand-beaded, crinoline-caged Dior masterpiece, we might need a medic to check you out,” Miss Thing quipped.

  “Oh, I know you’re not coming for me sitting there in reams of chiffon, like a reject from Big Apple Circus.”

  “Hellooo. This is about Adrianna,” Keisha interrupted. “Speaking of medics, though, you had a bit of a hard week, Miss Adrianna. First, it was that unsightly bloody nose you arrived with at the fashion party in Buddakan. And Pablo’s notes say,” she fumbled through papers on the desk, “‘Adrianna displayed great range on set, but that was after passing out and forcing me to change my creative, and several wigs, to accommodate for her fainting incident.’”

  “It was a zoo in there,” Miss Thing laughed.

  De La Renta leaned over to Pablo, slid his headset off one ear and whispered, “This is what Mother does best. She likes to eat girls for lunch.”

  Pablo chuckled, but he was glued to the monitor in anticipation of what would happen next.

  “I’m like, so afraid of Parrots that I saw white and passed out.”

  Keisha looked back down at the notes. “But
, he adds that you were swapped again from the dog to the Cheetah because Heather was allergic to cats.”

  “I pass out when I see pussy…”

  “That’s enough out of you, Miss Thing!” Keisha snapped her fingers and glared over at Joe. He nodded. Code for edit that out, Pablo figured.

  Keisha looked lovingly at the young model now. “With all you had going on, I love you in this photo. Your pose looks like fashion, you carry the garment with grace and you’re handling the Cheetah with ease.”

  Adrianna clapped and looked excited. “Oh, thank God.”

  “But,” Keisha wasn’t finished, “in the real world of fashion, you would’ve been sent home the moment you fainted because you’re not serving the client. And I feel the judges need to take that into account as we begin our deliberations.”

  Adrianna’s face turned to horror and she quickly made her way back to her spot among the contestants.

  Raising her voice, Keisha pointed her grim reaper finger at the group of models. “It’s time for you to go backstage to our soundproof booth—”

  “Closet,” De La Renta whispered to Pablo.

  “—so we can deliberate your merits and make a decision.” She was now standing, donning the innocent face of the Virgin Mary herself. “When we bring you back in, one of you will be going home.”

  The models slowly turned and exited through an opening behind them. Their feet clunked on the stairs, sounding like cattle being shoved into a trailer.

  “That’s a cut folks,” Bill, the 1st AD yelled.

  Pablo took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I can deal with the pressure of this moment every week.”

  “Baby, you’re the one who wanted to be Pablo Michaels. Did you think it was gonna be all roses?” De La Renta shook his head. “Speaking of, those roots need some attention.”

  “So soon? The bleach burns my scalp.”

  “As I saaaaid, you’re the one who wanted to be Pablo Michaels.”

  On the stroke of midnight, Hannah ran from the judging set in tears like Cinderella running from the ball. She was eliminated for some reason Pablo couldn’t figure out. Something was said about her open mouth in the camel shot. An amazing image that had stunned every one of the judges, except Keisha. A shot that Annie Liebovitz told Pablo was one of her best—ever. Things weren’t adding up. Personally, he didn’t think they’d seen the last of the white-blonde farm girl, but he had more pressing worries. He had to get to sleep. One full episode in the can. Episode Two would begin filming early the next morning. He didn’t even know what day it was. Shooting seven days a week—with four days to shoot an episode—was going to be relentless.

  * * *

  Six weeks and several meltdowns later, Keisha came out of wardrobe wearing a custom Pamella Roland, dusty rose-colored feather gown, ready to begin filming the final judging scene of season one. Sinuously maneuvering down the catwalk toward the judges, she swiveled her statuesque curves to reveal a completely bare back and a little more than a half-inch of her derriere. The gown was breathtaking, and so was the Muse.

  Pablo was seated on camera for the final elimination panel with all the regular judges—no guest judge needed tonight. Since he’d mentored and coached the girls week after week, Keisha felt he deserved this special moment on screen—when victory for one was announced, and the others’ dreams were dashed. “It’ll build your brand,” she’d told him.

  Standing on the runway, the final two models stood waiting to be crowned.

  “This is a big moment in your lives and mine.” Keisha’s voice sounded about 12 years old. “I’m really proud of everything you’ve accomplished over the past weeks, and you both have shown that you have talent, drive and willingness to learn.” She named each girl and discussed their strengths and weaknesses. Adrianna, the fainter, got a six-minute monologue that post-production would have to cut down to thirty seconds. Heather, the ebony Mia Farrow, got three minutes. Pablo wondered if the length of the monologue was Keisha’s tell for the winner.

  “And our first-ever Model Muse is…” Keisha dragged the moment out, “Adrianna!”

  Adrianna jumped up and down and squealed—big surprise. Heather cried but was gracious and congratulatory. In that moment, Adrianna’s photoshoot images for the season began filling the giant LED wall: there was the Cheetah image, a photo of Adrianna seemingly nude with body paint and male models all around her, a photo of her on the top of the Empire State Building wearing a bikini, and a beauty shot that looked like a cosmetic ad. Keisha continued talking, a little speech about Adrianna’s future that no one paid any attention to because Sasha was pouring champagne into their coffee cups.

  On the digital screen above the models and in front of the judges and the crew, the past several weeks of their lives appeared in the glossy high-fashion images from every episode Pablo had worked so tirelessly to create and manage. The Model Muse logo that he created floated at the top of the tightly cropped beauty image of Adrianna, and it sealed the deal as the title of a make-believe magazine for the reality show. Pablo had laid it out to appear like a real magazine cover.

  “That looks great!” Mason said, sitting to Pablo’s right.

  “It should, I was up half the night laying it out.”

  “Overtime?”

  “Sucker time.”

  “Some babies never learn.” Mason smiled. “Never tell anyone about all the shit you can do, or they will expect you to do it for free.”

  “That’s not news.”

  “You have to start lying, Pablo. When they say they need something, keep your mouth shut.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “This business is all about fake it till you make it. And in your case, just fake it.”

  “That’s a wrap on season one folks,” Rachel bellowed across the ostentatious judging set. Everyone cheered. Some more relieved than others.

  As the house lights powered up, the glossy scenery looked like nothing more than the cardboard it was; the set walls were scuffed, exposing chipped paint. It was here, on this flawed set, episode after episode, that the young model hopefuls had been eliminated like unwanted Factions in the dystopian movie trilogy Divergent, without the blood. Well, just a little.

  Grips and electric crew started winding up cables and taking down rigging, as they sipped from paper cups. Production had splurged on cheap champagne and beer to celebrate the wrap of the fledgling show.

  Under the cruelty of fluorescent lights, the tired Supermodel, even with slight bags sagging beneath her amber eyes, still looked like a million—a few million. Shielding his eyes from the harshness of the house lights, Pablo looked over to see Sasha and Miss Thing on the opposite side of the judging table; courtiers at the queen’s table, flanking Keisha in twos.

  De La Renta came running in waving at Keisha and pointing to the ceiling. It didn’t matter that the cameras had stopped rolling, he wasn’t letting his boss look unflattering under those blue fluorescent hues. “When da lights go on at da club, it’s time to bounce,” he scoffed as he escorted Keisha down the runway and right past the first winner of her show. The Supermodel paid no attention to the new Model Muse now that the cameras had stopped rolling.

  Pablo was shocked by her callous disregard.

  “She bounces all right,” Miss Thing muttered under his breath.

  “Ha,” Sasha guffawed. “I’m sixty-two and still wear a size four. Keisha better get a diet and stick to it if there’s a season two.”

  Mason leaned over and whispered in Pablo’s ear. “Size four or not, Sasha smells like my Uncle Abbott–denture cream and scotch.”

  Pablo chuckled. Over the course of shooting the season, he’d developed a fond liking to the handsome Brit, which surprised him. Maybe Mason wasn’t as homophobic as he thought.

  “We should really get together and work on some shoots of our own, while we’re on hiatus that is. You are quite the talented chap.�
�

  “I’d love that. I could use a break from working on shoots that involve suntan lotion sponsors. If I gotta come up with editorial content around one more toiletry essential, I’ll barf.”

  “Well, you do sport a natural tan every day.” Mason winked his right eye.

  Was Pablo seeing things? Was Mason flirting? Nah. He was happily married to an Indian woman from New Delhi.

  Broyce Miller ascended the stage and introduced himself to the two models, congratulating Adrianna first and shaking her hand. “Young lady, you’ve epitomized the absolute journey from disenfranchised, poor, young, middle-American oddball to say-it-like-it-is stunner who’s ready to take on the fashion world.” Broyce was glowing. “Your transformation was epic.”

  Adrianna giggled and appeared as if she were flirting with the handsome exec.

  Always the diplomat, he praised Heather, as well. “You two really gave the judges a hard time deciding. And the network is thrilled that you both worked so hard to help make the show a success.”

  Like a heat-seeking missile, Keisha turned back to where Broyce was congratulating her models, instead of her. She ran back onto the stage and hugged Adrianna. “I knew she would win the moment she came to the first party in her white t-shirt and skinny jeans.”

  “You did?” Adrianna said.

  “Well, don’t you worry about a thing,” Keisha was all syrupy charm, “I’m gonna do everything to make sure we keep in touch. Anything you need, just reach out. Hashtag I got you.”

  Adrianna broke down some more. Her tear-soaked face was blackened with mascara lines down to her chin.

  “And hashtag I got news for you too, Keisha,” Broyce said. Pablo winced. Broyce sounded so corny. “After all the news buzz around the show from the open call to the live casting, we’ve greenlit season two and are moving ahead with pre-production!”