Catwalk (63 page)

“Hello, fashionistas!” Benny Ninja squeals, waving to the audience. “I know you’re ultra excited, because it’s about to be on. The only thing I love more than a fashion show is one that comes with prizes—and a trip,
okay! And I’m honored to be a judge in this year’s Catwalk competition!”

We clap again.

Turning to Ms. Lynx, Benny Ninja coos, “I
love
the introduction of the Wild Card Challenge into the competition, too! Bring it!”

Ms. Lynx nods with a satisfied smile.

“And I know you fierce fashionistas are not going to let us down, okay!” Benny says, hyping our ambition. “But today you’re not here to be judged. I’m here as your personal pose coach because I want each of you to bring it in June. I’ve been to many fashion shows during fashion week at Lincoln Center, and it is truly an experience—and an honor.” Benny Ninja strikes a few poses emphatically. We clap in approval.

“If nothing else, I want to emphasize how important the element of posing combined with runway skills will be to your fashion show—as it is to all fashion shows from here to Paris to Milan to Taiwan,” instructs Benny Ninja. “Awright, now I want each of you to show me today what you plan to offer the audience while your models are on the ramp. Therefore, some of you are going to battle each other in poses. I need two volunteers to come up here on the ramp with me now, please.”

I look down at Zeus, but he isn’t budging. Without thinking, I raise my hand. Benny Ninja motions to me.
“Okay, fierceness, come up here with Miss Naomi next to you.” Aphro realizes he’s talking about her and jumps up, too. We walk onto the stage.

“Me-ouch!”
someone in the audience snarls.

I want to sit back down, but it’s too late—I stepped up to the challenge. Sweating, I smile nervously at Benny. He turns to the audience and says, “What’s important to remember when you’re staging a fashion show is that every model on that runway should have a moment where they exaggerate their pose—strike it for maximum effect, okay? This is a business—and in a fashion show, you’re selling fashion.”

Benny walks down the ramp as if he’s in a show and demonstrates various poses. When he’s finished, everyone claps. “The poses that you choose to exaggerate are dictated by the segment or groupings of outfits in the fashion show. Like makeup and hair, your poses are tools to represent the mood and purpose of the collection.

“Okay, so you two will battle doing
face
poses,” he instructs Aphro and me. “The primary purpose of face poses is serving beauty, which is an important element of every designer’s presentation. Okay, go!”

Aphro and I walk down the runway and strike poses that emphasize our faces, then we walk back down the runway, stop in the center and pose.

Benny claps. Pointing to Aphro, he says: “You’re a
natural at posing—serving the lips and eyes. Did everyone see that?”

A few students shout out. “Yes!”

“Okay, Miss Naomi in a few years … thank you! And you, too, are serving the cuteness.” Benny beams at me, and Aphro and I both leave the stage and go back to our seats.

Benny Ninja calls up two new models for each of the four additional battles: shoe poses, handbag poses, on-the-floor poses, and evening wear poses. “So while all of you are working on your runway training and choreography for the show, keep in mind, what else are you going to be working on? Anybody?” he asks.

I raise my hand. “Exaggerating our poses in each segment?”

“That’s right, cuteness,” Benny Ninja shouts. He waves at all of us wildly again. “I’ll see all of you in June! And may the best house
win
!”

Suddenly, I wonder why Benny didn’t call on Willi Ninja, Jr., for anything. After all, since day one Willi has pranced around the school bragging about his voguing pedigree—that he is the adopted godson of the late voguing legend Willi Ninja. (May he R.I.P. and posthumously accept my heartfelt gratitude for incorporating voguing classes into F.I.’s physical education curriculum.)

That mysterious question is answered pronto. When the clapping dies down again, Benny Ninja asks: “Is
there someone here who calls himself Willi Ninja, Junior?”

A silence drops over the auditorium. “What happened?” whispers Felinez, as confused as everyone else is by Benny’s strange question.

Willi Ninja, Jr., lets out a deep sigh and raises his hand.

“Could you stand up, please?” Benny instructs him. “What is your name?”

Willi Ninja, Jr., pauses before he hesitantly spits out an unexpected reply: “Curtis Clyde.”

“Good—let’s let Willi rest in peace,” suggests Benny Ninja, like he’s delivering a sermon. “There is only one House of Ninja—and now I’m the father. I’d like to talk to you for a minute—school you about a few things—if that’s okay?”

Willi Ninja, Jr., stands by his chair like a deer caught in a borrowed Balenciaga ball gown. Benny Ninja dramatically gets down from the stage to walk toward him. A flustered Ms. Lynx rushes back onstage with Puccini waddling right behind her. “Okay, everyone, I’d like to thank you for coming,” she says, heaving like she’s trying to catch her breath. “And will the five house leaders please make sure to come to the Catwalk office by Friday to pick up your next installments of the Catwalk budget.”

Caterina heads right over to the left aisle with her
mic and her crew following like mice to capture the exchange between Benny Ninja and Willi Ninja, Jr. While I can’t hear them, I can tell by their stances that each is deadlocked into his own position. With a dramatic gesture, Willi sweeps his hand by his cheek, wiping away—crocodile tears? Aphro and Angora stand frozen, trying to comprehend what is going down before our very batty lashes. Fifi and I inch our way out of the rows of seats, closer to the aisle, so we can hear Benny and Willi, but Ms. Lynx beats us to it.

She rushes over to the ensuing disaster, wedging her large stature between the two like a referee. Ms. Lynx orders, “The two of you come to my office—
now.
”

“What is going on?” Aphro blurts out.

“Watergate? Willigate? I’m not sure,” I whisper.

Meanwhile, Zeus and Lupo are a few feet away from “Willigate.” Lupo is busy snapping photos with his Nikon.

Fifi slips her arm through mine as if for security when Ms. Lynx escorts Willi Ninja, Jr., and Benny Ninja out of the Fashion Auditorium. The lithe voguer doesn’t get too far, though, before a swarm of students descend upon him like locusts on corn stalks, thrusting notebooks and pens at him for autographs.

“Not now,” Ms. Lynx warns the needy throng.

Leaving the rest of us in the booty dust, Caterina and her crew focus their cameras on Shalimar and her
sidekick, Zirconia. Shalimar beams at Caterina, ready for her close-up, but what she gets is a comeuppance instead.

“Shalimar, is it true that you’re being investigated by the Catwalk Committee for misappropriation of funds?” probes Caterina in her shrilly voice.

“Misappropriation? That is utterly ridiculous,” Shalimar responds, flustered.

“Ding, ding. Caterina scores once again with a catty sound bite,” I report, glued to the breaking scandal.

Patting the strand of white pearls around her neck, Shalimar regains her cool composure for round two. “Tell me one thing. If I used my own personal funds—and I’m not saying that I did—how can that be defined as misappropriation of funds?”

“Then tell us exactly what did happen?” Caterina asks, probing further. “My understanding is that each house is given a Catwalk budget and is required to provide receipts for all expenses—”

“We’re given a Catwalk budget, and if I choose to spend my own funds, that should not be considered misappropriation,” Shalimar says sharply, leveling one of her sophisticated stares at Caterina—the one in her repertoire that conveys
I’m Shalimar Jackson. Need I say more?

“Okay, but if you didn’t provide the receipts for the items purchased—which far exceeded the amount of
your allotted Catwalk budget—that is against the Catwalk rules and regulations, isn’t it?” Caterina insists.

“It shouldn’t be. If I choose to allocate my own funds for something that I feel will best represent the vision I have for the House of Shalimar, why should I be penalized?” Shalimar challenges.

“So you’re not denying that you spent more than is allotted for your show?” Caterina says, hemming her in.

“I didn’t say that. I simply said what if?” Shalimar states coldly.

Now it’s Angora’s turn to report: “Oh, she’s pulling her classic—issuing a nondenial denial.”

“Can I say something?” Zirconia interjects, flashing the annoyingly large fake diamond ring on her middle finger as she moves closer to the microphone.

“No, I’ve got this,” orders Shalimar, dissuading her underling from following in her Shimmy Choo steps. “Right after we leave here, I need for you to go to Showroom Eight and pick up the hosiery they’re lending us. Like I asked you.”

Zirconia nods obediently. “Okay.”

Issuing a direct order puts Shalimar back in her poised position. She takes Caterina on. “I’m abiding by all the rules of the Catwalk competition, and no one can prove otherwise.” As she and Zirconia march off to the beat of their budget, she glances in my direction, hurling a shallow snippet: “Some of us are getting by
with the budget of a stick of Wrigley’s. Now, that’s what should be frowned upon!”

I stand glued to my spot. Frozen. Zeus inches closer, his warm body radiating heat. And so does Aphro’s big mouth. “Nice sound bites—but you still got caught!”

Turning to me, Aphro demands: “As for you, pay up.” Of course, Aphro is referring to the wager we made in the Fashion Café. “You should have known she was the source of the misappropriation scandal. The Shallow One never disappoints.”

“You won by a mere technicality—the blog wasn’t one hundred percent accurate,” I blather.

Aphro cuts me off. “Yeah, and where’s the news flash in that—hello?”

“She didn’t misappropriate funds—which technically alludes to embezzlement, theft, or using appropriated funds for personal use,” I go on, ignoring Aphro’s bluster. “Actually, what she did is the reverse—she used her own money for the purpose of the House of Shalimar’s fashion show.”

“Yeah, whatever—the offense in question was still attributed to the Shallow One, so it’s the same thing. Honor the bet.”

“Awright, basta with the pasta—I’ll work your shift on Saturday!” I cave. “We’ve got way bigger fish to fry. As a matter of fact, we’d better be bringing up some sharks, okay?” I turn to gaze at Zeus. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he returns, basking in our secret.

“Oh, what are you hyping now?” demands Aphro.

“The Wild Card Challenge
—hello
?” I remind her.

“That’s true,
chérie
. We’d better brainstorm,” Angora says, supporting me.

“Forget about a brainstorm—we’re going to need a mighty hurricane to pull this one off!” I state. “I need all of you at the Pet Pose Off later so we can sharpen our claws for a game plan.”

“I hear you,” agrees Aphro.

Fifi looks like she’s going to cry. “I can’t come. Mami wants me to be at home. Papi’s supposed to come move his stuff out later!” She starts bawling right in front of Zeus and Lupo. I feel obligated to finally let everyone in on the Cartera crisis.

“Her parents are splitting up,” I whisper.

Zeus flinches, then nods. He hugs Fifi and she surrenders in his arms, releasing buckets of tears on his leather jacket.

“Fifi, you don’t have to come. We’ll handle this,” I assure her.

“I want to help,” Fifi croaks between sobs.

“Are you kidding—you’re the Elmer’s to my glue,” I shoot back. Fifi has been working herself to the bone with her parents’ costumes and our accessories for the fashion show.

“
Está bien
. I’ll see you later,” she moans, wiping away her tears.

“Good thing you never wear makeup,” I blurt out, realizing that it sounds insensitive.

Zeus lingers behind. “You’ll help us with this one—I’ll see you at the Pet Pose Off later?” I beg him.

“Yeah, I’m there, but you’ve got this. A Wild Card Challenge? You were born for this,” he assures me.

I try to suppress my smile, but a wink gets away anyway. “I hope you’re right.” I smile nervously.

Zeus doesn’t blink. “I am.”

I arrive at the Fashion Auditorium at three-fifteen on the polka dot with Fabbie Tabbie in tow, only to be upstaged by a Catwalk contender who has already snagged enough face time for one day. I’m puzzled pink why Willi Ninja, Jr., is running the ramp with the ten models in his fashion show during my time slot. The superlimber models are practicing poses incorporating Ninja moves and star-shaped origami shurikens instead of the lethal metal ones used by ancient ninja warriors. Lupo and Zeus are standing in the back row watching the choreography intently. Annoyed, I try to get Willi’s attention so he can take his rodeo on the road.

Zeus breaks away for a second to give me props about my ninja moves at the Special Event. “Your face poses were on point.”

“Thank you. I got nervous at the prospect of posing for
the
Benny Ninja—but I tried to work it,” I admit.

“Well, you did. And say what? Benny’s posing is like poetry in motion,” observes Zeus, impressed.

Now it’s my turn to provide Zeus some strokes. “Thanks for supporting Fifi. She’s in freak city about her
parents splitting up—and the sudden death of their cover band, Las Madres and Los Padres.”

“I can’t imagine.” Zeus shrugs his shoulders, like he’s shaking off the possibility of such a scenario going down between his parents.

What I’m trying to shake off are the repercussions for the House of Pashmina. “If her father doesn’t come to the fashion show, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Are you serious?” Zeus asks in disbelief.

“
Molto
serious. Fifi will unravel, along with our fashion show!” I say emphatically.

“No, I mean are you serious her father is really not coming to the fashion show?”

“Fifi’s mother told him he can’t come unless he moves back into the house—Los Padres costumes and all,” I confirm. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Mrs. Cartera is using our fashion show as leverage. Like dangling a carrot.” I wince, recalling where I got that metaphor from: Angora’s dating advice with regard to Zeus.