by Jay Manuel
* * *
Marking a special anniversary, the Primetime Emmys had travelled across the country to be held “Live from Lincoln Center in New York City.” Pablo was living the dream. Standing on the carpet, mic in hand, Pablo dazzled in a Tom Ford tux and enough liquid foundation, pressed powder and bronzer to make a corpse look attractive and alive. He looked like the groom on a wedding cake and felt like one too. After the hell of the past few days, heaven was the magenta and fuchsia sunset behind the statuesque grandeur of one of the most glorious performance venues in America, Lincoln Center. It was the golden hour and everything was swept with the rich warm hues a camera loves. Pablo was radiant. Luck was finally on his side, for once. Getting the text from Broyce to fill in as a fashion correspondent at the last minute was the lifeline rescuing Pablo from a nightmare of betrayal and plummeting self-esteem. Unfortunately, someone did have the flu that day.Fortunately, it wasn’t Pablo.
Dishing about the Emmy nominees, the Celebrity-Buzz TV co-host touched her ear so she could hear the cue in her IFB to introduce Pablo. He could also hear the producers giving her the intro line:
“And standing by with Heidi Klum, the queen of reality TV, is our newest reporter, Pablo Michaels from Model Muse. Welcome to the Celebrity-Buzz TV family, Pablo.”
His camera operator held up two fingers, then one and pointed at him.
“What’s going on at your end of the carpet?” the hostess asked.
“Things are amazing here,” Pablo smiled confidently into the camera, “as I’m with arguably the world’s most beloved Supermodel host, Heidi Klum.”
Heidi and Pablo did a fashion, double fake air-kiss without touching each other.
“Tell me, Heidi,” Pablo dished. “Is that Christian Siriano you’re wearing?”
“Of course, Dah-ling! I always support my Project Runway stars.” Effervescent, Heidi winked at the camera. “You know, Christian was one of our first winners.”
“I know.”
“And now he’s a legend in his own right.”
“You really know how to shape a diamond in the rough, and create a true brand.” Pablo laid the charm on thick as organic peanut butter. “Loyalty’s such a wonderful quality. No wonder everyone loves you, and always will.” He smiled at the camera, sending psychic barbs to his former BFF, who he knew had to be watching, most likely in her dressing suite with De La Renta.
“To be honest, Pablo? I was so lucky to have help when I was coming up in the industry. We all did. It’s important, no? To help one another?”
“I just love that.” Pablo shook his head and smiled sweetly at her. “Glamor has a new meaning Heidi, and you’re wearing it. Back to you….”
“You’re out,” the producer said.
Pablo breathed for the first time in what felt like five minutes.
“That was marvelous.” Heidi told him before moving toward the open doors.
Over his IFB he could hear the producers discussing who was coming up the carpet towards him, and giving the handlers instructions for how to space out his next celebrity interview. He loved being kept in the loop on all the different facets of the production, and it felt like he was in six places at once. Why didn’t Keisha like wearing the concealed IFB in her ear? It was a control freak’s dream. Coming towards Pablo now were Zendaya, wearing Versace, Reese Witherspoon, in Chanel, Glenn Close, in Valentino, and Pablo’s favorite star from Game of Thrones, Peter Dinklage, wearing whatever he damn well wanted.
At a brief pause in the celebrity parade, Pablo took the live television moment to give a shout out to, “Tom Ford, who I’m wearing tonight. Tom once eloquently said, ‘Glamour is something more than what you put on your body. It has to do with the way you carry yourself and the impact you have on others.’” Standing next to the multiple Emmy Award nominee and one of the presenters, Pablo took Kerry Washington’s hand and added, “I interpret that to mean, style is the very definition for the way you live your life and accomplish your goals. And you do that so effortlessly. Inside and out, Kerry, you look absolutely gorg tonight!”
“And if it weren’t for you, on Model Muse, I wouldn’t know how to pose in front of all these cameras. You’re the heart of the show.” He almost choked up and cried on live television. Olivia Pope loved him.
Two hours of live TV is enough to exhaust anyone, but Pablo was already running on empty. The adrenaline of the night and the sense he had of belonging, filled him with courage. As the last of the stars waved good-bye on their way into the award ceremony, the producer gave him a thumbs up and twirled the air. “That’s a wrap,” he heard through his earpiece. The Emmy red carpet was officially over. Pablo pulled out his IFB and the sound engineer unhooked all the audio packs.
“You’re a natural,” the producer who’d fed him his lines and celebrity names said. “My boss has already spoken with your boss about using you for more events. You were trending the whole show.”
He hadn’t even had time to check his social feeds, and now eagerly pulled out his iPhone to flip through the Instagram and Twitter responses from designer friends, photographers and fans. His appearance had indeed gone viral on every social media platform. Everyone was on it. His mentor, acquaintances, even his frenemies were posting.
@MissThing: Pablo on the red carpet wearing Tom Ford—Muse over #KeishaKa$h!
@Sasha_original_Supermodel: One of the nicest people I know. Go Pablo! #RealTalk I’m loving your hot buns on the red carpet. :-p
@MichaelKors: Remember when? xx #PabloMichaels #RP using the Repost App: @MissThing - Pablo on the red carpet wearing Tom Ford—Muse over #KeishaKa$h!
@MrJayManuel: For a split second I thought I was looking at a younger me on the E! Red Carpet. You killed it tonight! xo
@MasonHughes: Are you sure you are not British? Suave and Sophisticated = Pablo Michaels. #TomFord #MensFashion #DapperStyle #CreativeDirector #ModelMuse
A slew of individual comments populated below the selfie Pablo had posted from the red carpet just before they went live:
@MrTorontoDude: Husband material!
@SouthernBoy_123: You look sooooo good! I could eat you!
@OscarJamesHair: Yassssssss! The hair’s on point!
@CoutureMaster_the3rd: Hitting us with the drip…Boy you can dress!
@ElizabethTheWriter: (DMV Intercom) Now serving…Exquisite!
@c_h_e_t_t_i_girl: You are EVERYTHING!
Pablo felt high, but the negative chatter in his mind kept his feet firmly planted on the ground. This isn’t real love. It’s social media. They don’t even know who you actually are. They probably don’t even like you. You could still end up with nothing, then what are you going to do?
He quit his Instagram app and looked at his phone. His mom and dad, both on the line, had even called and left a message. And then a dose of #KeepingItReal from Joe Vong and De La Renta popped on top of his several text messages.
Joe Vong TEXT: Killing it at the Emmys doesn’t give you an excuse to be late for final judging. CU 2morrow.
De La Renta TEXT: Mother having a SHIT fit!!!!! Grab some food later? You need me. TRUST! It went down over here! :-p
* * *
Pablo sat huddled with De La Renta in one of the luxurious curved velvet booths inside the Lincoln Ristorante adjacent to David Geffen Hall, where the Emmy festivities were taking place.
“She thought I knew.” De La Renta slurped on his second Mojito. “Child, my head would’ve gone into a guillotine if you’d told me you were doing that gig. Thank you for keeping a bitch in the dark.”
“Oh, I know. And you can’t lie.” Pablo pulled at his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt.
“Don’t I know it.” He sucked up the last of his drink and waved at the waiter for another one. “But did you notice that Jay Manuel tweeted you while you were on the Red Carpet?”
Pablo smirked. “I did.”
“That’s al
l you gotta say? Isn’t he, like, your hero?”
“I guess he’s something like that.”
“You guess?” De La Renta glared at Pablo with a curious look. “Now I’m starting to think Mother wanted you to have silver hair for a reason.”
“Speaking of, she didn’t see me being on Celebrity-Buzz TV as a good thing for Model Muse?”
“What? She looked like Medusa tryin’ to turn your face to stone through the TV. She saw it as, and I quote, a slap in her face,” he parodied.
“Of course, she did.”
“She called Broyce. Claimed you were using her celebrity to elevate yourself. And tried to fuck your contract.” De La Renta made a face.
“Broyce is the one who got me the gig.” Pablo took a bite of his goat cheese and pomegranate salad.
“He’s one cool dude. He told her the network sees you two as its new ‘dream team.’” De La Renta tried to mimic Broyce’s smooth delivery, “‘We’re thrilled he got this Celebrity-Buzz TV exposure. It’s great for ratings. Their EVP’s already offered him a permanent position as fashion correspondent for the whole award season.’”
Pablo’s face immediately lit up at Broyce’s support.
De La Renta went on. “She tried to throw you under the bus, though. Claimed you weren’t ready for the runway shoot we just wrapped.”
Pablo sputtered. “Bullshit. I finished my prep, days ago.”
“Girl, please. Even Joe Vong was on your side. He suggested we have Miss Thing do the intro setup and host the runway challenge for a change.” De La Renta was now chomping on a brown breadstick. “I mean, shit, isn’t that what the beast does for a living?”
Pablo couldn’t believe his ears. “I bet that went over well with Mother.”
“You should’ve heard her. I made Pablo and I can break him,” he mimicked.
“Oh really?” Pablo paused. “If I learned anything tonight, it’s that there’s a whole entertainment world out there for me to conquer.”
De La Renta looked at him. “She’s comin’ for you, Boo. You betta be ready.”
24
IT’S A WRAP
LAST SHOOT DAY, SEASON SIX
ALONE IN HIS trailer, Pablo finished his makeup for the final judging sequence he was about to film. The thought of being on camera with Keisha, and having to fake his way through announcing Kayla as this season’s winner, made him ill. The phone and text silence from his former BFF was deafening and designed to make him feel unsure and insecure. Why couldn’t she allow him a little of the limelight for a change?
In an effort to make himself feel loved, he picked up his iPhone and opened Instagram with the expectation of reading the plethora of adoring fan comments. As the app launched, a new post from Keisha was at the top of his feed. The gif she’d posted was an over-filtered selfie of herself with sparkling, animated fairy dust floating around her head. She fancied herself a prophet.
@Official_KeishaKash: Celebrity isn’t real or magical. One night on the red carpet doesn’t make you a star. You have to put in the work & fight to the end to become an icon.
She clearly wanted Pablo to feel the burn. Why couldn’t they go back to the way it had been? Why did everything have to change? Was it his fault for wanting more, or was it hers for keeping a stranglehold on him and what he had to offer? All he’d ever wanted was a talk show. She had to sabotage even that. He couldn’t even fathom why she’d done it. It made him feel inordinately sad. They could’ve had it all and they could’ve had it together. Now they didn’t even have each other.
A production assistant banged on his door. “Delivery, Pablo.” She entered with a huge bouquet of flowers and placed it on his vanity. “You were awesome yesterday, by the way,” she said shyly.
“Thanks so much.”
“On the set in five?”
“Copy that.” Pablo looked at the card. Tears filled his eyes. “Aw. Damn you, now I’ve gotta fix my makeup again.” His fingers flew across the screen of his phone.
Pablo TEXT: OMG! Thx for the flowers! xx Working the red carpet was the miracle I needed to believe in myself again. And #RealTalk? I’m going to leave Model Muse. My contract is up for renegotiation, so why not take this golden window of opportunity and fly? I just can’t do HER any longer! KK’s toxic energy is slowly killing me. I can feel it. I need to get away and figure my life out. I’m considering writing a book about the whole thing!
Pablo looked in the mirror, took a deep breath, and held up his outstretched hands. “Showtime.” Exiting his trailer and halfway to the soundstage, Pablo’s phone vibrated.
I.C.E. TEXT: So happy for your success. You deserve it. Beware, the pressures and anxieties of fame are FIERCE Don’t do anything desperate. KK is a master of wooing the court of public opinion. If you write a tell-all memoir, she’ll vilify you, mercilessly!
Pablo swallowed hard and his heart started to race. Another text popped up immediately after.
I.C.E. TEXT: OTR, I’m writing a book of my own, but it’s a novel. You can have a lot more fun with that because it’s all “fiction.”
Pablo TEXT: A novel? About what?
I.C.E. TEXT: It’s a dark, comedic take on the extreme abuse of power that runs rampant in the TV biz and throughout society today. It’s basically inspired by my life.
Pablo TEXT: This sounds juicy!! Wanna spill some tea for a change?
I.C.E. TEXT: I’ll spill this. It’s very meta. You ain’t ready. It conveys an important narrative in our world of social media, where stories of substance are often sacrificed for viral sensation. You know the deal. So with my salacious title and plot (which I’m NOT going to tell you), people might accept it for real gossip, but ultimately I’ll get my true message out there. In a time where the pressure to be validated online takes precedence over exploring the truth of who we really are, “Likes and Comments” have derailed our personal growth. We are no longer seeing the reality of the world around us.
Pablo TEXT: Oh…you’re going there! ANTM fans are going to gobble it up.
I.C.E. TEXT: LOL! We’ll see. When you began working on MM, I started to see my life through your eyes. I know this sounds very Super Soul Sunday, but it’s what YOU did for me, Pablo. You opened my eyes—leading me to my own inner child.
Pablo TEXT: Wow! And here I thought you were my lifeline. You’ve dodged so many bombs in this industry and have all the experience. You’re like the big brother I never had.
I.C.E. TEXT: Truth? Advising you turned into an exercise of reassuring my younger self. I will forever credit you for compelling my spirit to grow. You may think I’m your lifeline, but it was really you who saved me. I walked around with blinders on, when I was your age, made a ton of mistakes and wished I could hear the voice of reason—myself.
Pablo TEXT: I don’t know what to say. Jay Manuel is telling me—little Pablo Michaels—that I helped him?
I.C.E. TEXT: You’re silly. Remember I’m just Jay, and I’ve been here for you all along. “Jay Manuel” has become an identity the world thinks they know, but they really don’t.
Pablo TEXT: Deep. Now I see why you love Iyanla Vanzant so much.
I.C.E. TEXT: HA! Speaking of Iyanla and with regards to KK, don’t react, just act—with courage and faith. You’ll know what to do. I’m not worried about you at all. You’ll go on to do great things. And I’ll be watching. Big virtual hug!!! xoxo
Pablo stopped midstride and turned around. He always went to her dressing suite before judging to check in before shooting. He had to do that now. Face her without any fear. Navigating the fire doors that lined the passage to Keisha’s dressing suite, he paused to gather his courage. Now or never. He tapped on the door.
“Enter,” De La Renta chirped. She was sitting in her makeup chair as he came through the door. Duck Face would’ve looked friendlier.
Pablo could feel the static energy coming off of her back.
“I just wanted
to check in and see how you liked the final runway show last night?”
Keisha clacked away at her computer, typing with her two index fingers and looking fixedly at the screen. “It was fine.”
“I knew you’d like it.” Pablo pretended there was nothing wrong. “The Egyptian-themed setting I had built was sooooo Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel, 2018, at the Metropolitan Museum’s Temple of Dendur. Epic.”
“Oh? Too bad you didn’t see it then.”
“Oh, I saw it. We rehearsed with the Bogies.” Pablo stepped closer in an effort to appear natural. “Don’t worry, I’ll sit down with post and make sure they cut it together right.”
“I’m not worried.”
Pablo looked over at De La Renta who was busily minding his own business and scrolling through Instagram. “Soooooo, any notes for judging tonight? You want me on team Kayla, Nichole or Elyssa during deliberations?”
“You choose.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Pablo turned to walk out but caught Keisha’s reflection in the mirror. “You’ll have to talk to me at some point, you know. We’re shooting in like, 15 minutes!”
“We’re talking.”
Pablo stood in disbelief and listened to the rhythmic beating of her fingers on the keyboard. What could he say to force her to feel his frustration?
“You know, on camera, you can’t be so monosyllabic with your utterances,” he sniped.
“Excuse me?”
“Words too big for you?”
“What!?”
