Dawn in Stilettos
“When participating in a beauty contest, the first thing you need to ask yourself is why you should win.”
“A beauty pageant is not just an occasion to show off your body.”
“With a bit of hard work, anyone can become acceptable.”
“But it’s not only about your appearance.”
“No.”
“It’s mostly about your style.”
“Your image.”
“Your look.”
“The face of Curvy will become the icon for a revolution of aesthetic standards.”
“She will have to represent all those women who want to take control of their own femininity and become the secret essence of the modern world.”
“She will have to achieve all this through her elegance…”
“Posture…”
“Charm…”
“Seductiveness…”
“And when you enter a beauty contest, your goal is never to just take part in the event.”
“No.”
“Winning is your only goal.”
“By all means.”
“You should have no pity for any of the others.”
“And in order to win, you need to turn your strong points into powerful weapons to defeat your opponents.”
“So, the first thing to do is identify all the tools at your disposal.”
“And that’s what we can help you with.”
“My name is Tim.”
“And I am Lou.”
“Starting from today, we’re your image consultants.”
“Al has hired us to help you go all the way.”
“Our goal is to have you elected as Curvy face of the year.”
“Because we don’t just try hard…”
“We make things happen.”
“Our goal is to win.”
“So take no prisoners, okay?”
“Are you ready?”
I look at them in confusion and mumble, “Well, actually…”
“Great!” Lou exults, “we can start immediately then.”
Almost two weeks have passed. The first round takes place in less than three days and I feel like I’m about to invade Mongolia or something. Not to mention how tired I am. I spend all day at the office, and in the evening I train for the contest with Al. I can’t believe I used to complain about working too hard at The Chronicle… I had no idea how hard they have to work to win these stupid Miss Whatever crowns. I was absolutely sure you just had to appear on TV wearing a bikini and repeating dumb clichés about ending world poverty and living your dreams. But I soon found out that it is actually a nightmare: gym in the morning, beautician, sauna and hairdresser’s in the afternoon, plus photo shoots, interviews and training for the shows in the evening.
Yes, I will even have to walk the runway. It’s frightening, I know, but it’s compulsory. When they told me about it, Al managed to disappear for almost an entire day. That guy sure has a good survival instinct as well as great ability to cover his tracks. He only switched his phone back on in the evening when I had accepted the idea of having to appear on stage and had calmed down. I decided that I would sing a couple of songs and read a small monologue. This will, of course, happen only in the unlikely event that I actually pass the selections and have to participate in the finals. When he was sure that I had made my choice, Al called me, pretending that he hadn’t noticed the two hundred messages I had left on his voicemail, and asked me very naturally, “So, how was your day?”
I swear, when I heard him pretending to be so calm, my first instinct was to go straight there and choke him, but I was too tired to argue, so I just took a deep breath and allowed myself to have a relaxing chat, trying to suppress my violent desire to go and give him a good kick in the balls.
We stayed on the phone talking about everything and nothing until it was gone one in the morning and it was… nice. It was unusually and unexpectedly nice. After that day, the same thing happened almost on a regular basis. At first we would talk only at night, then also during my lunch break, and now we call each other in the morning too. We just say good morning, nothing else, but it has become a lovely routine. And when he’s late, I actually miss his calls. Our conversations change tone at night, when a quick hello becomes a whole story. This happens every day, except yesterday, because he was away for a conference. He’s coming back tonight from Los Angeles. He took the 18:00 flight and asked me to go out with him when he got back. Just the two of us. I am still astonished by his request.
A real, actual date. No quick kisses snatched behind the coffee machine, no rolling about amongst the sofas of the Ritz or shocking confessions in the lift. It will be a normal date, with him picking me up from home, bringing me flowers and taking me out for a seafood dinner. I don’t really know how I should feel about it all, to be honest. Since that first time we kissed, he hasn’t made any more advances and our relationship seemed to have become a simple friendship. But then the other day, while I was trying to convince him that puffed rice is far better than choco flakes, he said, “What if I ask you to go out on a date with me? Would you say yes?” I genuinely thought he was joking, but he wasn’t. I tried to say no in every way I knew how. I told him that I was too busy, then I said I wasn’t feeling well and in the end I had to remind him about Dave. Because I still feel the same about Dave. I know that I will never get to be his girlfriend, but I love my routines and dealing with one impossible crush at a time is more than enough to be going on with. Why should I overdo things and add an event organiser who’s totally out of my league to my impossible goals too? Al doesn’t seem to think my feelings for Dave are really that important, though. He just said that he forgave me for lying so terribly to him and that he would come by to pick me up at eight. Then he hung up. That was it.
When I realised that I was going to be spending the evening with him and had actually accepted his offer at only the third attempt, I put aside any sense of guilt and bought a new dress. Yes, it really is a dress, and it’s only the latest in a long series too, because when I decided to take part in Beautiful Curvy, I had to put aside what, for me, was one of the most sacred aspects of my lifestyle – wearing baggy clothes. I have had to completely abandon what I once considered an inalienable right.
“The second step consists in deciding your strategy.”
“Strategy?”
“Yes, strategy!”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Curvy is not just some simple contest, it’s a visionary media event.”
“All eyes are on Curvy.”
“Everybody is waiting to know who will be the next face of Curvy.”
“Who will it be?”
“Will she live up to her promise?”
“Or will she be just a flop?”
“In the meantime the TV, press, stylists and all the rest are queuing up to participate in the event.”
“We’re talking about millions of dollars from the sponsors alone!”
“And what does that mean?”
“Yes, what does that mean?”
“I… I don’t know…” I admit.
“It means that from now on all the contestants will have to live constantly under the spotlight.”
“They will be photographed and filmed whatever they do.”
“When they go out of their houses.”
“When they go to work.”
“When they think that nobody’s around so they can retouch their lipstick in their rear view mirror.”
“Every time!”
“But that’s illegal,” I protest. “What about my privacy?”
“You don’t have any privacy any more, and you won’t have for at least another three weeks, Sam.”
“That’s why you can’t risk being seen in any outfit that’s not absolutely impeccable.”
“No more messy hair.”
“No more sneakers.”
“What?”
“No more tracksuits.”
“No, come on,” I wheeze, “I need my tracksuits.”
“No, forget about them.”
“Absolutely no tracksuits, ever.”
“Oh my God… What should I wear then?”
“That’s a good question!”
“We need to build a new image.”
“Someone who can be a style icon.”
“Let’s take a look inside your closet!”
“What? My closet? No… wait. I’ve been really, really busy lately… I haven’t had much time for shopping and…”
“Is that really all you have in your closet?”
“Well, erm, yes…”
“Good God! This is going to be hard…”
“Can I keep my university hoodie at least?”
“No, it’s horrible, get rid of it!”
“And this…”
“And this…”
“And this too…”
“But those are my pyjamas!”
“Do you think Prince Charming would have wanted to wake Sleeping Beauty up if he had found her in the tower wearing something like that?”
“Well…”
“I don’t think so!”
And so my wardrobe is now packed with clothes that I would have never thought I would wear. I didn’t even know skirts in my size existed – I used to choose my clothes from the ‘Curtains and Gardening’ departments… Try to imagine my mother’s face after she went from having to look at pictures of me as a kid for a sight of my knees to seeing me going out wearing a yellow floral dress and a crossover cardigan. She said she called Aunt Molly to tell her about it, but I get the feeling she was actually on the phone to the police to report that I’d been kidnapped and that there was somebody else masquerading as me. I don’t know if she was complaining about the new version and asking for her old one back or whether she was happy with the one she had now. And I don’t think I even want to know.
“Great, I’ve done everything I had to,” I say to myself after a look at my clean desk. There are neither documents left to look through or drafts to revise. It’s six in the evening and I am free, ready to go to the hairdresser’s, have a shower and get ready for my first date in four years. Well, as long as I don’t count my grandma’s sneaky attempts at setting me up with Alfred, the owner of the convenience store on 23rd Street.
Feeling more and more enthusiastic, I shove my stuff into my bag, switch the computer off and put my mobile in my pocket. The only thing left to do is give Terry a call to let her know that I won’t be able to go to her house after dinner.
“Sam,” says Dave suddenly, appearing at my cubicle.
“Oh… Hi Dave.”
“Look, I need those drafts about…” he says, before stopping and staring at me. I stare back at him in confusion. “Err…” He scratches his head. “Yes, those drafts about tomorrow’s special report on foreign affairs.”
I check the time and realise that I haven’t got one minute to spare or I’ll be late for my date. “Dave, I’m really sorry but you hadn’t mentioned them to me.”
“Ah…” He obviously hadn’t been expecting an answer like that and stands there speechless.
Feeling guilty, I mumble “Is it a problem? I mean…”
“No, no, of course not,” he answers, trying to act as indifferently as he can. He stands by my door, playing for time. “I’m sure Jane can take care of them.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I murmur in relief.
“Never mind then, go back to what you were doing,” he says. “Just one last thing, about those notes you took for…”
“Hi, Sam!” says Nicholas, greeting me happily as he walks past. He’s been talking to me again for the last few days. And he’s not the only one: Albert from Sport & Fitness offered to give me a lift home yesterday. But what happened this morning is even more incredible! I still can’t believe it, but I actually managed to avoid getting a fine for unauthorised parking! I can barely express the emotions in words – in all my twenty-six years, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy. I was so amazed that I had to call Terry and talk about it for one whole hour.
“Hi, Nicholas,” I reply with a smile.
Dave coughs to get my attention: “As I was saying…”
“I’m sorry, Dave, I didn’t hear you. What was it you were saying?”
“I need the notes about the Fashion Week.”
“Of course, they’re ready.”
“Okay, I still don’t know when I’ll be available. I’ll call you later and let you know about it, I need to check my agenda first…”
“Sure, take your time,” I reassure him, checking the time again. Damn it, it’s really late! He notices my gesture and it seems to annoy him.
“Sam, I’m going home, do you need a lift?” says Albert, who walks past at just that moment.
“That would be great!” I exclaim. If I hurry up I can even put on some make-up.
“Sam,” Dave murmurs from behind me when I already have one foot outside my cubicle.
“What?” I say in surprise, turning back towards him.
“Bye,” he says, without hiding his irritation.
“Oh, right. Sorry, I’m in a rush…” I say, scratching my head.
“Sam, are you ready?”
“I…” I look at Dave, then at Albert who’s tapping his foot against the door. “Bye, Dave,” I say and rush away.