Every afternoon at three, work stopped so we could pile into the Jeep and go to practice at Sinalei Resort and then get back at seven for dinner and then back to work. I wondered if designers made all their own clothes AND modeled them in the big shows and made the mistake of asking Simone that question.
“I mean, this is exhausting, Simone. You’ve got us all making the clothes but we’re also supposed to be the models too. And dance and shake our bootie and do ava ceremonies and everything.”
“Salapu! Shut up Leila, you’re not being helpful,” was his unhelpful response.
Daniel stopped by every night, usually with something delicious from Salamasina’s kitchen. He still wouldn’t come inside the house but he would sit on the verandah with me while I ate sticky sweet coconut buns or a piece of mango pie. Simone was worried about us not fitting our clothes on the night and so he didn’t approve of the desserts. “Daniel, would you stop bringing that girl food to eat? She’s going to get fat and then I am going to do emergency liposuction on her before the fashion show, do you hear me?” We both just rolled our eyes at his stress and I ate another piece of pie, just to spite him.
Jason joined us on the weekend. Lesina was able to escape from her slave driver boss and the four of us went out dancing – with Simone’s strict instructions ringing in our ears as we left. “Don’t you be back late. Lesina has more sewing to do and Leila needs her beauty sleep.” Muttering, “That one needs all the extra help she can get …”
“We love you too, Simone!”
The nights out with Jason and Lesina were more fun than I expected. It made me happy to see Daniel and Jason getting along so well, my two favorite people in the world. I still wasn’t completely at ease with Jason and Lesina’s engagement but had resolved to put it away in a cupboard marked, ‘stupid feelings that I can’t explain.’
As the date for the show drew near, so did Simone’s agitation, and we all tried to be patient. He had worked incredibly hard on this collection and we wanted for it to be a success. I didn’t know much about fashion, but to me, his Teine Sa designs were breathtaking. I only hoped that the judges thought so too.
We all went out to the Resort early on the day of the show. Daniel rode with me in the Jeep and we picked up Teuila from the Center on the way. He helped us unpack and then gave me a gift before he left us to prepare.
“What’s this?” I asked as I opened the package to reveal a small bottle of golden liquid.
A rueful grin. “Just something small. It’s coconut oil with moso’oi flowers. I made it. Grandmother taught me when I was a kid and now I have to make it for her to use with her medicines.”
I unscrewed the lid and a divine perfume filled the air, the blend of the yling-ylang flower steeped in hand-pressed coconut. “It’s exquisite. I love it. Thank you.”
“I heard Simone talking about how you have to oil your skin for the show as part of your taupou costume, so I thought I’d give you this. I figure you’ll be nervous.”
“You figure correctly!” I interrupted with a laugh.
“Yeah, so maybe having this, something I made with my own hands, will be kinda like having me right there with you on stage. Reminding you that you’re the most fiercely beautiful woman I’ve ever known. You’re going to be amazing up there.”
He kissed me, light and fleeting, and then left. I watched him go and wondered if I would ever be worthy of a love like his.
I was walking through the gardens towards the changing area when someone called my name, “Leila, wait up.”
It was Keahi. The last person I expected to see on this side of the island. “What are you doing here?” I wasn’t smiling, but neither was he. He had a distracted look on his face.
“I came with Mele. But I knew you would be here. I need to talk to you.”
“We’ve done all the talking we need to. Sorry. I’m busy.” I kept walking.
He ran after me, but was careful not to touch me. “Leila, it’s important.”
I was cold. “No. What’s important is my friend’s first ever collection is being launched in another half an hour and I’m supposed to be backstage, getting my outfit on. Go away.”
He called after me, “A woman came to see me. She knew about my fire power and she wants to train me.”
He had my attention now. I stopped in my tracks, shocked. “What? Who?”
“Sarona Fruean. Do you know her?”
Do I know her? Was he kidding me? I glared at him. No, he was serious. Even the arrogant sneer was missing. “Yeah, I know her. A little too well. I don’t get it. How did she know about you? What did she say?”
“She said she’s telesā and she showed me some of what she can do.” He was impressed, you could tell, and that annoyed me. “She said she can teach me how to unlock my powers and she wants me to join something called a Covenant?”
I scoffed, “That’s impossible. She’s lying to you. She doesn’t know anything about fanua afi and you can’t join her Covenant because you’re both different elements. She can’t do anything with you. Besides, she believes that crap about male telesā being an abomination. Stay away from her. Your Gift is so weak that she could wipe the floor with you.”
Keahi didn’t like my derision. He replied angrily, “She seems to think that I have a lot to offer and at the moment, she’s the only option I’ve got.”
A wild shout interrupted us, “Leila! What do you think you’re doing? We’re waiting for you.” A very harassed, very angry looking Simone was standing outside the dressing room tent.
I winced, looked back at Keahi, “I have to go. We can talk later. You can’t join Sarona’s Covenant. She’s dangerous.”
“When can we talk then?” Keahi wasn’t going to let me be until he had a commitment. “I have to give Sarona an answer and right now, that answer is going to be yes.”
Idiot. Sarona was going to chew him up and spit out the pieces. “Later, after the show. Meet me then and we’ll talk. I have to go.”
I ran to join Simone, accepting his lecture with meekness. “I’m sorry. I’m here now.”
Keahi and his hook-up with Sarona would have to wait.
The tent set up for a dressing room was a madhouse with too many divas crowded into a small space. Models grappled with clothes. Stylists battled with hair, designers fretted with nerves. Simone had staked out a section for us at the back and I made my way over to where the others were getting dressed. Every model was in the first item – a creative dance number that portrayed the Polynesian creation myth – which required that we wear shifts sewn entirely with oiled ti leaves. Simone helped me into mine and then went to arrange Lesina’s hair, leaving me to coat my skin with the sun-fragranced oil that Daniel had made for me. I smiled a secret smile to myself as I rubbed handfuls of the thick liquid onto my legs and arms. Daniel’s hands had made this gift and thinking of that gave me a slow burning happiness within. It really was like having him right there with me.
The creation dance was a joy for me. The siva always connected me to fanua afi in ways that defied poetry, with music tugging on my soul and lingering on my skin. The dance was over too soon, and then it was a mad dash to the changing tent so we could dress for the fashion section. I had to have a quick hot shower to wash off all the coconut oil because my outfit called for extensive bodypaint, so it was a frantic rush for me to get into costume. There were eight other designers presenting collections that night, and it was fascinating to watch the myriad of colors and fabrics flow past.
And then it was time for Simone’s ‘Sacred Woman’ collection to be launched. Each of us represented some facet of the telesā legends. Rihanna was the Aute, the red hibiscus that young girls were warned never to wear in their hair, for fear of inciting the wrath of telesā. Teuila was the Forest, the reputed home of the telesā spirit women. Lesina was the Bird, for many legends spoke of how telesā could take on the form of different birds and animals. Mariah was Water, for many pools and rivers were sacred to the telesā. And I was Fir
e, for the passion, power, and fury that telesā were so often associated with. Co-incidence? Or maybe Simone was picking up on all the fire vibes in the air around me? The design was far more revealing than I was used to. There was a brief shift skirt that skimmed my thighs and a thin band of fabric for a top, both entirely embroidered with red lopa seeds. Flowing from the back of the shift was a train of siapo cloth. Every inch of my bare skin was painted elaborate tapa patterns in red and gold body paint. Even my malu designs were highlighted with the paint. The key piece in the ensemble though, was the headdress inspired by traditional taupou and adorned with shimmering pearl shell.
Simone had just finished applying all of my body paint when there was lots of chatter and soothing noises from a group of models huddled in the corner. “What’s going on over there?” he asked.
Rihanna confided, “One of the models for the Island Flava collection is a wreck. Her boyfriend dumped her just before the show.” He rolled his eyes, “She’s being such a drama queen. I think she’s been drowning her sorrows in Vailima beer all night.”
Just then there was a shriek, and the gaggle of girls parted as the center of their attention stood up. Mele. Her makeup smeared and her taupou headpiece askew. She pointed at me. “This is all your fault.”
Me? What? Everyone in the room froze and looked at me. Mele staggered forward with a glass of something in her hand, “You did this. I saw him talking to you outside. You always ruin everything.”
Girls stared at me accusingly. I was a boyfriend stealer. The lowest of the low. And flashing 80% of my gold-painted body in a skimpy outfit that Lady Gaga would be happy to wear did not help my case. I cleared my throat nervously. “You’ve got it wrong. I didn’t take your boyfriend. What would I want him for? I already have one.”
Mele laughed a shaky laugh that ended in a sob. “Just rub it in, why don’t you?” She swayed and addressed the rapt crowd, “You all know who her boyfriend is, don’t you? The beautiful, the perfect, Daniel Tahi. The one with the perfect six pack and the perfect smile and the perfect voice and the perfectly sweet everything.” She veered back to me, took several steps so she was in my face, “Doesn’t all that perfection just make you sick sometimes?” And then her shoulders slumped and more tears came, “I used to have a sweet boyfriend. A long time ago. His name was Maleko. And then you took him away from me. Just like you took away Keahi. Isn’t Mr. Perfect enough for you? Why didn’t you stay in America where you belonged, you afakasi trash!”
Mele’s eyes flashed. Before I could react, she threw the contents of her glass all over me. Alcohol soaked what little fabric I had on and smudged the body paint patterns on my midriff and chest. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she ripped at my sheathe top with both hands. There was an awful tearing sound, and the pitter patter of seeds scattering on the floor as hours of embroidery came apart. Instinctively, I grabbed at what was left of my bra. “My top!”
At the same time as Simone wailed, “My design!”
There was a stunned silence. Even Mele looked horrified by what she had done. Everyone looked at me to see what I would do next. My blood boiled for Simone’s work, ruined. Through gritted teeth I said, “You are so lucky I don’t hit girls.”
And then Simone pushed past me, yelling. “But I do.” He clenched his fist and threw a mighty right hook at Mele’s face, knocking her backwards. People scattered as she went down. Simone stood over her spread-eagled form, still yelling, “You ruined my design. Do you know how long it took me to make that?”
The room was in an uproar. Rihanna and Mariah restrained a cursing Simone – who looked like he wanted to start stomping his high heels all over Mele’s face. “Just leave it. Come away.” Mele was crying and holding on to her bleeding nose. Her friends ran to kneel beside her, trying to help her up, while giving me and Simone dirty looks at the same time.
Into this chaos walked Treena. “What is the meaning of this? We have a show to put on. Everyone, just get a grip.” She pointed at Mele, issued an order, “Get that girl out of here. I don’t want blood getting on any of the clothes. Simone, you’ve got five minutes to get your collection backstage. You’re on next.” She looked around, “Well? Don’t just stand there, people. Move it!”
Someone bundled Mele away. Someone else swept up my lopa seeds. Simone was hyper-ventilating. “What am I going to do?” He pointed at the remains of my outfit, “You were supposed to be the finale. You can’t go out there with your top ripped to pieces and your body paint all messed up. We don’t have enough time to repaint you. This is a disaster. Ohmigosh, somebody just set me on fire so I can burn with shame.” He was crying now – but the angry kind of crying where he kept pausing to yell more swear words at the departed Mele. A volley of Samoan curse words so vile that (thankfully) I couldn’t translate them.
His desperate plea for fire gave me an idea. “I’ve got an idea how to fix this.” I started taking off the mangled remains of my top. “Didn’t you say that the key piece in this ensemble is the headdress and the shoes? So all the other bits don’t matter?”
He nodded, still agitated. “Yes, but you can’t go onstage topless. I’ve seen mangoes more impressive than that chest.”
I forgave him the insult – he was in the middle of a crisis. “Don’t worry, I won’t be topless. Not really.”
From the stage, we heard the MC begin reading the introduction for Simone’s collection. Rihanna screeched, “Oh no, that’s us. We have to go. What are we going to do?”
I was the final design, there was time for what I had in mind. I pushed Simone towards the others, “Go with them. I’m coming. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”
Simone was not convinced. He wrung his hands, “Leila, how are you going to fix it? You don’t know anything about fashion. I think I’m going to throw up. I can’t handle this.”
“No.” I grabbed his hands in mine. “You have fought so hard for your dream. You’ve worked your butt off to put this collection together. Your parents are out there in the audience and they are going to be so proud of you. Your talent deserves to shine tonight. You can do this.” I looked at the others, who looked as freaked out as Simone. “Right ladies?”
Teuila was the first to answer, “Leila’s right. We look amazing and it’s all because of your vision Simone. Let’s get out there and show Samoa what teine Sa look like.”
Hearing the youngest among us speak with so much confidence was the boost everyone needed. Mariah and Rihanna led the way with their signature catwalk strut, and Lesina gave Teuila a quick hug before they followed suit. Simone and I were left alone. He looked a little bit more calm now, “Thanks, Leila.” A dejected frown. “But I still don’t see how you’re going to fix my fire design. It’s trashed.”
I gave him a look loaded with meaning, “Just trust me, okay? I may not know anything about fashion – but I know everything about fire. And telesā.”
Before he could react to that, I darted after the other models. Te Vaka music pulsed as the first design in the Teina Sa Collection took to the stage – Rihanna as the ‘Sacred Woman of the night.’ He wore a floor-length black cloak made from layers of tufted, dyed pandanus fibres and as the spotlight came on, he was sitting in front of a shell-encrusted mirror, with his back to the audience, brushing his lustrous long hair. Affixing a red hibiscus flower above his ear. There was an eerie silence as the MC read the script.
Don’t brush your hair at night. Don’t gaze into mirrors, admiring your beauty. Don’t wear a red flower in your ear. The teine sa is a jealous and vindictive spirit and will curse you. Punish you for flaunting your beauty.
The drums beat a sudden rhythm. Rihanna slowly rose to his feet, picked up a shell, and smashed the mirror. The shattering glass jolted the crowd and there was complete silence as Rihanna turned, loosed the cape and dropped it to the ground with a dramatic swirl, revealing the blood-red gown he wore beneath it. A simple sheath, the beauty was in the detailing as the entire gown was made of overlapping layers of dyed coconut mat
ting that clung to his body as he walked the length of the stage and back. There was a fragile pause from the audience, as if they were unsure how to respond – and then the decision was made and they erupted into applause. I felt myself relax. Yes! It was going to be great, I just knew it. I wanted to stand there and watch the rest of our team do their thing, but I needed to get myself sorted out.
I darted out a side door into the moonlit garden, a quick sweep to check that I was alone and then I ripped the rest of the ragged top off and used the wet fabric to wipe away most of the smudged body paint on my midriff. I hesitated when I got to the brief skirt but then gave myself a mental shake. Do it, Leila. Nobody will see anything important anyway. Do this for Simone. Quickly, I slipped off my skirt and briefs so I wore nothing but the elaborate head-piece and the shoes. Now for the tricky part. I took a deep breath, trying to still my racing heart. The night breeze danced over my skin and a rush of fragrance assailed me, golden mosooi flowers and the hint of coconut. You’re the most fiercely beautiful woman I’ve ever known. You’re going to be amazing up there tonight.
Happiness, love, and gratitude bubbled and spread through me. Warmth, heat, fire. A careful thought and I captured it, shaped it, and wrapped it around me. A sinuous red coil at my breast and another draped about my hips. Now I was dressed. In pure fire. Another thought and the markings of my tattoos lit up the night with their crimson glow – the malu on my legs, the taulima band on my arm. There was no mirror to check how I looked but I hoped the overall effect would be worthy of Simone’s collection.
The announcer began reading the introduction piece for my entrance and the music changed to an insistent island drum beat. It was my turn. Here goes nothing. Whatever you do, don’t fall over and set fire to the stage. I hurried back inside and up the narrow stairwell. Simone was standing stageside and the first to see me coming. His eyes widened in shocked approval, the excited smile told me that my creation met with his approval – and then I was center stage. Every light had been extinguished in preparation for my iridescent body paint so my fiery appearance lit up the night. There was an explosion of sound as people applauded, shouted, and cheered. I think that meant they liked it. I was glad for the darkness, which meant I could see no one, just the stage lights marking out the runway.
When Water Burns Page 24