by Jay Manuel
Pablo started pacing back and forth. “The public and the media will eat me alive. I won’t be able to work in this industry, anymore.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. We have at least another 10 seasons of Model Muse with me at the helm. You’ll be fine.”
“That’s years—of being your bitch! And after? Then what?”
“No one will ever remember anything 10 seasons from now. You could easily get your own talk show by then.”
“You’re fucking delusional.”
“Don’t EVER call me delusional!” Keisha roared.
The two stared at each other in silence. The energy in the room was now palpable. Pablo’s heart had picked up its pace and thumped harder in his chest.
“So yeah, social media will go nuts for a hot minute and come after you. Who cares?” Keisha had regained her composure and spoke with a controlled, softer voice. “After three days, they’ll find someone else to shame and persecute. You’ll be fine. Miss Thing will get the worst of it. Don’t worry.”
Pablo simply stared at the deranged Supermodel. He swallowed hard and summoned all his strength. “I’m so done with all your manipulation. You can keep your shitty deal. You wanna do Good Morning America? Fine. I welcome the opportunity to meet my birth mother now. How ‘bout I join you at the studio for the interview?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” He was doing his best at faking his confidence. “And good luck trying to thwart the network investigation that’ll be looking into all your misconducts. Miss Thing can’t hold water, and hashtag real talk? Broyce isn’t your biggest fan anymore. I have faith the network will uncover everything you’ve done, and you’ll go down. You deserve to be exposed for who you are.” It was time to hit below the belt and take her out. “As for Model Muse? I’m sure a more relevant Supermodel, like Naomi, would love to take over your hosting duties. The show will go on, as they say. Hashtag trust.”
Keisha’s eyes burned with rage. He knew the N-word would provoke a reaction. Pablo hated the fact he’d stooped to her level, but sometimes you had to get dirty to win the war.
His phone started ringing in his pocket—he’d forgotten to put it on silent.
They immediately stopped arguing. Well, they paused the battle as if a ceasefire had been called. The ex-BFFs continued to stare at each other while listening to Pablo’s phone play its melodic tune. Eventually, it stopped. He fished the iPhone out of his pocket and pretended to mute it, but he activated the Voice Memo App instead. Recording the rest of this conversation was essential, and he needed to do it on the down-low. “Receipts are needed,” Miss Thing had always said. Pablo needed hard evidence against the shady Supermodel. Placing the device, face down, on the desk to their right, Pablo turned to Keisha and smiled.
The trap was set.
She grinned like the Grinch who stole Christmas. “I’m better at this than you are. Remember?” Keisha steadily rose out of her chair. “I can easily call the police after you leave here and say you assaulted me. Who do you think they’ll believe?”
“I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. It’ll never stick.”
“Oh, really?” She started moving towards him. “You just ripped off my mic in front of a group of people who work for ME!” She was yelling now. “Dragged ME down a hall and locked ME alone in here with you.”
“That’s not enough,” Pablo calmly said. He’d found his Zen amidst the insanity.
Keisha reached for him, with her hands now covered in blood! “Looks like the police will have enough, now. And your fresh fingerprints, all over my phone.”
“What have you done? You’re bleeding!” Keisha was twisted, but Pablo never saw this coming. “You’re gonna make it look like I hit you with your phone?”
“Why not?” she cackled. “There’s no video evidence of me cutting myself—so it’s my word against yours. Besides, I had no other choice and this is war.”
Pablo ran his hands through his silver hair and backed up closer to the wall. It was profoundly disturbing she chose to go this far; however, he needed to record more of her insane accusations. “You’re killing me,” he cried.
“The hands around your throat are your own, David.”
He was sickened by her flagrant disregard for the name his parents had given him.
“You’d be willing to accuse me of a heinous crime? Over what? Because I wouldn’t lie to the world for you?”
“It’s called power and leverage, and I know how to wield both of them.”
Keisha took another step towards Pablo and stood within inches of his face. He could smell her breath. Stale. Sour. Not what anyone would expect standing that close to the Supermodel. He instinctively backed off from her advance. He was now pinned against the wall.
She reached forward with her bloodied hands, declaring her words like a mother to a child. “Your fight was never with me, David. You’ve only been fighting with yourself. Just the thought of what others might think of you, has always been enough to terrorize your mind. Why do you think you’ve been so easy to control? You’ve never been good enough for You. It’s that voice in your head that’s the real enemy, not me.”
Pablo could barely breathe as he pressed himself against the wall. He was no longer acting. Her words had struck a chord. “You’re the devil,” he stammered.
“Oh really? Look in the mirror and see what you find.”
No. He wasn’t like her.
Was it true?
Was Pablo Michaels the true antagonist here?
You think she’s the monster? #YouSpotItYouGotIt—his mentor had just texted him the same thing.
His mind felt like it was splitting open.
“Where’s the heroic, innocent Pablo I met at Michael Kors?” she said, taking a step back and kicking off one high heel. She untucked her yellow blouse and then tugged at her wig, causing it to sit askew. “You’ve changed!”
Pablo broke out in a cold sweat.
He was living a nightmare and wanted to wake up.
Keisha grinned and wiped her bloodied hands over her face, looking like a gory soldier in battle. “You’re basically me now. And frankly? I’m relieved. I was getting a little bored.”
Pablo stared in horror at Keisha’s disheveled appearance, with her vacant eyes peering through blood. Television was now full of modern-day cons. They lied when they were on camera, leaked whatever they wanted to the press and lied about their lives when asked about the truth. This was the real person he’d never seen before—the one buried below all her pain. An apparition of the woman he’d once revered. He was now looking at the face that accompanied her demonic voice.
“I think, we’re gonna get along a lot better now. You finally have the balls to hang with the big boys.” The unhinged Supermodel then moved in close to his ear and whispered, “Welcome to the club.”
31
THE JOURNEY HOME
IN AN OVERWHELMING state of panic, Pablo lunged for the exit. He felt the cold metal of the doorknob in his hand. He was about to turn the handle, when the realization hit. He’d left his iPhone on the desk behind him. He needed the recording—desperately. It was his only proof that Keisha was now blackmailing him.
“If you walk out that door, I’ll assume you’re ready to start a full, on, war.” Keisha’s voice was shrill and commanded attention.
Pablo had his back to her now. He just needed to get his hands on his phone and he’d be set. Playing her game was the only way out.
Breathe. Be calm, he said to himself.
With a dramatic exhale, he let the tension go out of his body. Pablo turned around and smiled, showing her the kind face she knew and loved. The coldness disappeared from her eyes and she relaxed her aggressive stance. She took on a friendlier disposition.
“Good. At least you see it my way now.” Keisha snatched a tissue out of the Kleenex box sitting on the desk, and began wiping the blood fro
m her face. “Every last person who’s had any real success in this business is a wounded soul. Corrupted by the very pain that allowed them to join this gang of misfits.” She continued cleaning her face. “Don’t beat yourself up. Becoming one of us isn’t easy, and you just passed the test.”
Pablo continued to slow his breathing down in an attempt to appear composed. Keisha spat into the tissue and closed her eyes, wiping the blood from her lids.
Now was his chance.
Pablo reached around her waist and felt around on the desk for his iPhone. He kept an eye on his arm, careful not to bump her accidentally. Success. He got it. Slipping it into his front pocket, he looked up to discover her steadily gazing into his eyes, again. Had she seen him? Did she know what he was up to? He couldn’t read her expression.
The Supermodel tucked in her blouse, stepped back into her Jimmy Choos and shifted her wig back on straight. “So yes,” she continued, “the devil IS fierce, you see—”
“Actually, I don’t see,” he interrupted. She didn’t seem aware he’d recorded their conversation.
Now was his chance to be the hero—once and for all.
“I’ve been led by the wrong set of eyes for too long.” Pablo reached up and plucked the individual grey contact lenses out of his eyeballs. His defiance was the first step to absolution. The cloudy halo that had obscured his vision was gone. He clearly saw Keisha for the first time in years. He flicked the contacts at her. “I’ve spent enough time looking at life through your eyes. Now, it’s time for me to do something good for a change, and seek paradise through mine.”
She chuffed. Clapping her partially bloodied hands together, she mocked his efforts in being brave. “So, that’s it? You quit? How noble of you.”
“No, I have a contract and I’m a professional. I’m going to, how did you put it, again?” Pablo paused and thought for a moment. “Oh yes, you said, I’ll be just fine and we’ll play, on camera, the way the audience expects us to play.”
“You’re a joke. I’ll destroy you.”
“I can assure you, you absolutely won’t,” he said, with confidence.
Keisha looked nervous now. Her eyes darted back and forth between his. She seemed to be assessing if he was bluffing. “Why. How do you know?” she said, bluntly.
“You taught me a valuable lesson today. Power and leverage are key to success in your world. And I’ve learned from you how to wield them both.” Pablo was now holding his iPhone firmly in his right hand. He pressed play on the audio recording and turned up the volume to max. Keisha’s voice boomed from the small device.
“I’m better at this than you are. Remember? I can easily call the police after you leave here and say you assaulted me. Who do you think they’ll believe?”
“I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. It’ll never stick.”
“Oh, really? You just ripped off my mic in front of a group of people who work for ME! Dragged ME down a hall and—”
Pablo hit pause, shut his phone off, and slipped it back into his pocket.
Keisha’s face iced over.
“I recorded everything you just said to me in this room. And I’ll take this directly to Broyce, the media and the police should you step so much as one inch outta line.”
Checkmate.
“You’ll forever be known for saying, ‘There’s no video evidence of me cutting myself—so it’s my word against yours.’ And no amount of spin will save you from your own confession.” Pablo felt a surge of courage. “So, the way I see it? Brenda and I have you on a short leash now. And you’re right, payback is a bitch.”
Keisha remained fixed on his gaze. Any last hint of love or caring, if any of it was even real, drained from her eyes. She was gone. Locked away. They were done.
Grasping the handle firmly, Pablo threw open the door and walked out on her. He walked out on all the bullshit games. And, likewise, he walked out on his own egoistic behavior that had landed him in this mess. As he reached the end of the hall, he could faintly hear Keisha calling him by his real name, “Pablooooooooo….”
He had nothing more to say.
Pablo strutted back into the lobby with a self-assured stride. Walking by Rachel, he smiled and said, “Film this scene with Keisha and the models alone, I’m taking the rest of the day off.” He continued past the crew and out of the building, not saying another word to anyone. When he reached the sidewalk, he noticed how oddly fresh the air smelled, and he drank in the sunset that pierced between the buildings.
There was a sudden release of energy like he’d been cut free from an umbilical cord. He was fearless, and ready to set out on life’s new journey. Realizing that Keisha was never his true rival, she no longer had any power over him. Yes, he had a damning piece of evidence that could take her down for good, and he’d keep her in check. That wasn’t the point, though. With every fiber of his being, Pablo now knew that everything he perceived in the world was just an outer reflection of his inner thoughts. He’d been looking outside himself, vowing to overcome Keisha as his enemy, but the ultimate battle lay within.
Not knowing where he was going exactly, Pablo roamed south on Park Avenue. He just needed to physically get as far away as he possibly could for now.
Sympathy replaced his rage towards Keisha, who had only wanted what she could get out of him. I was probably the one true friend she’d ever had, he thought. He would no longer expect anything of substance from her again. However, on camera, they would continue to appear like BFFs for the sake of the show. Their fans would expect it. Plus, Pablo needed his job and looked forward to future opportunities. One day at a time.
Text alerts started going off in his pocket. “Nope. Not doing this,” he mumbled. Pablo was ready to take an all too important break for himself. Pulling out his iPhone and getting ready to turn it off, he noticed a voicemail prompt from I.C.E.
He’d never spoken to Jay on the phone before. They met in the virtual world of Instagram DMs and eventually exchanged numbers to text offline. Jay Manuel was now calling him?
Pablo dug around in his pockets and found his AirPods. He was frustrated he’d missed the call when arguing with Keisha. After popping the white earpieces in, and pressing the notification alert, the message began to play. Jay’s familiar voice filled his head and was a welcome sound, drowning out the noisy NYC traffic.
I.C.E. Voicemail: “Hey, Pablo, I’m positive you’re letting me go to voicemail and I wouldn’t blame you. I was such a dick sending you those texts earlier, and I’m sorry. I called because I wanted you to hear the intent in my voice and to know that I’m sincere.
I just want you to see the truth behind your relationship with Keisha. You needed her so desperately in order to validate who you were. But when she turned her back on you–betrayed you–it was really you who abandoned yourself. By trying to undermine her you became exactly what you hate! So, I ask you. Who did you really become mad at Pablo?
It’s finally time to let go. Time to forgive yourself! You’ll be amazed at how magically things fall into place once you let go of everything. One lesson I’ve learned is, people will never remember the things you’ve said and done. They’ll only remember how you made them feel. What you do next, will ultimately define your future.
I hope we get to speak someday soon. I’m sorry I missed you. Take care. Bye.”
Pablo’s dark brown eyes glazed over as he stared down the avenue. He felt at peace. He was ready to forgive himself. The inner voice that had guided him, stayed with him, and allowed him to reach success, was there all along, just waiting to be heard. Pablo was now ready to listen to his heart and see through his own eyes. That was finally enough for him.
He was enough.
Feeling the sudden rush of true acceptance for himself, gratification filled his body—more love than he could’ve ever imagined.
He smiled, and knew everything was going to be OK. The ground felt solid beneath his feet. And with
each step he took, he felt assured that he was on the path to hope and redemption. Powering down his iPhone, Pablo tucked it in his pocket and continued to wander down Park Avenue.
END