CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
On Saturday there’s still one more mystery to be solved. And that is whether Mariela Machado Suave has what it takes to be crowned the new Miss Teen Princess of the Everglades.
Trixie, Shanelle, and I are at the theater venue a couple of hours before the finale is to begin. Although this is a small pageant that’s not being televised—much to Mariela’s chagrin, I’m sure—it is a special event and hence we’re all in fabulous gowns.
Shanelle and I are both wearing romantic strapless numbers with artful ruching at the sweetheart necklines. Those are so in this season. Mine is coral and hers is spearmint. I think we’ve complemented our skin tones perfectly. Trixie looks divinely elegant in a silver mesh gown with clustered beads and sequins and a delicate straps crisscrossing the open back.
Lasalo joins us at the judge’s table in front of the stage wearing a tuxedo rendered even more dapper by velvet trimming at the peaked lapel of the jacket and outseam of the trousers. He shakes my hand. “I hear congratulations are in order!”
The news that I’ve solved Peppi’s murder has traveled fast. Sebastian Cantwell has already called. He said I did good work even though it took a whole week. “Thank you, Lasalo.”
“I want to hear all about it. Maybe you can tell me at the party later.”
I am happy to agree. Paloma is very graciously hosting an after-party at her home for everybody involved in the pageant. She’s arranged buses to transport the contestants and everything. She told me she won’t participate but I hope I can visit her privately for a few minutes.
Visiting is how I spent a good fraction of the day, after catching a few hours of sleep. I went to see Hector, Jasmine, and Alice and brought them up to speed on what happened to Peppi. And I was able to get answers to my few remaining questions.
Colleen, who will emcee tonight, appears at the judge’s table in a form-fitting black gown with a sheer illusion yoke and a mermaid-style flare at the knee. “Good crowd!” she chirps, surveying the audience. “They’re here to see you as much as the pageant, Happy,” she tells me.
“I don’t know about that.” I glance at my cocktail watch, with its slim silver band and faux diamond detailing. “Shall we go backstage and give the girls one last pep talk?”
“Let’s!” Trixie cries. “It’s the first pageant for most of them. Five minutes ago when I was back there shooing away the mothers, they were basket cases.”
I know from experience that mothers can contribute to nerves in a big way. And indeed the anxiety backstage is palpable. The 67 contestants do look adorable, though, in their opening-number outfits of tangerine and seafoam. Some are in trendy shorts and tops and others—like Mariela—in sleeveless mini dresses.
Colleen calls the contestants to attention then directs them to take a few deep breaths and listen to some last-minute advice.
Trixie starts. “Believe in yourself. Every moment you’re out on stage and every moment you’re living your life.”
“Show your personality out there,” Shanelle exhorts. “Show the audience the sparkle you have inside!”
“You girls have a lot to be proud of,” I say. “You’ve done a lot of work to be here. You’re prepared and know what to do. So go out there and have some fun!”
Lasalo wraps up. “I’ll tell you what Coach would tell us before a game. Don’t focus on the outcome. Focus on the process. Don’t worry if you’ll win or lose. Focus on what you got to do. That’s all you can control anyway.”
With that last bit of inspiration, we cheer and clap. Shanelle, Lasalo, and I return to the judge’s table. Since the house lights are still up, I can see Pop and Rachel in the audience. We exchange waves. My dad looks handsome in his gray plaid sport coat and Rachel is cute as ever in her black and white polka-dot tank. I bet she’s paired it with her teal-colored skinny jeans.
I see Mario, too, with Consuela at his side. He’s dashing, of course, in a lavender dress shirt and navy jacket, while she’s dressed to the nines in a red off-the-shoulder number. I’m sure she expects to hold court as Mother of the Winner at Paloma’s party.
We three judges have just taken our seats when the house lights dim. Shanelle and I flank Lasalo. On our table are small lamps so we can see the paperwork we’ll fill out as we progress through the swimsuit and evening gown competitions for the semifinalists, and then the final interview for the top five contenders.
The curtain rises and the audience catches its first glimpse of the teen queens. They erupt in whoops and applause. The first jazzy notes of “Conga” burst from the speakers. Gloria Estefan’s voice fills the air. “Come on shake your body baby, do the conga / I know you can’t control yourself any longer …”
As the girls launch into their dance moves, the music quiets just enough to hear Colleen’s voice over the P.A. system. “Welcome to the third annual Teen Princess of the Everglades pageant! And now meet your 67 incredible contestants!”
Again the music swells. And the magic Trixie created begins.
It is a far cry from the fiasco we would be seeing if the former choreographer hadn’t fled the pageant venue. Gone are the can’t-see-where-you’re-going sunglasses and the cardboard cutouts of Florida’s state animals. In their stead is upbeat music and exhilarating choreography. The contestants are not pointed on their performance in the opening number but as always there are some who dazzle and some who fizzle. Were I judging moves and musicality, Mariela would place in the top quartile.
“Conga” pretty much brings the house down. Colleen strides to the center of the stage but it takes a while for the clamor to subside. Finally she gets a word in. “Thank you Trixie Barnett for that fantastic opening number! Come out and take a bow!” I applaud Trixie till my hands sting.
Colleen delivers the standard pageant intro in her super-excited style then bows her head and grows solemn. “Ladies and gentlemen, let us pause to remember someone we lost far too soon. Perpetua Lopez Famosa, who would have been one of our judges tonight had she not been tragically killed a week ago.” The big screen above the stage displays a photo of a smiling Peppi. “Please, a moment of silence to honor her memory,” and the theater grows as quiet as a tomb.
I bow my head and close my eyes. It’s a powerful moment. I am only glad that I figured out it was Alfonso who killed Peppi. I cannot imagine how frustrated I would be if we had arrived at this night and her murderer were still free.
Colleen again takes up her microphone. “I would be remiss if I did not pay special tribute to one of our judges, who played a key role in bringing Ms. Lopez’s killer to justice. Please join me in putting your hands together for Happy Pennington, the reigning Ms. America!”
I rise. Tears of pride prick my eyes. But even though there is definitely crying at pageants, there will be none by me. I force a smile and sit down. After Colleen introduces Shanelle and Lasalo, she turns to the business of naming the fifteen semifinalists, who earned the highest scores in the preliminary competitions.
The teen queens who place are all gleeful as they scamper to the front of the stage and line up. There can be no doubt that Mariela is the prettiest among them. But despite what she and her mother believe, there is more to a beauty pageant than looks alone.
In the swimsuit competition, the contestants are pointed on fitness, presence on stage, and overall impression. Most girls are smart enough to wear skin-tone pumps, which are neutral and hence don’t draw the judges’ eyes. Some understand that a matte fabric is slenderizing and a shiny fabric can make a girl look bigger, desirable only in rare instances. I take satisfaction in how well the contestants walk. Maybe I flatter myself but I think our training helped.
Mariela struts the stage in a gorgeous dark purple bikini. The fabric is shiny but since she has a perfect body she can choose any suit she wants. She does a good job overall, and she strikes an excellent pose, but her walk is not as smooth as it might be.
I wonder why …
The pageant moves on to the evening gown competition, my personal favorite. Here, in addition to stage presence and overall impression, we also point the contestants on poise, grace, and the confidence with which they carry themselves.
Some girls make the mistake of choosing a gown they can’t quite carry off. The point is to look as beautiful as possible, not to display the most stunning gown.
Mariela literally takes my breath away when she appears. She is lovely enough to wear something exquisite, and lucky enough that her family can afford exactly that. Again she chose purple, very flattering to her olive skin tone. Her strapless chiffon sheath features teardrop beads on the bodice that create flashes of rainbow color as they catch the light. The back has a diamond cutout that leads the eye to a tumbling drape of fabric. With silver heels and a simple silver mesh bracelet, she is spectacular.
As she nears the front of the stage I’m thinking I will give her very high points. Then, to my amazement, she trips. I hear gasps in the audience. To Mariela’s credit she doesn’t fall. She straightens, replaces an expression of shock with a smile, and continues on her way.
Shanelle and I glance at each other. “I can’t believe it,” Shanelle breathes.
“She still looked good,” Lasalo mutters. “And she didn’t land on her ass.”
It is true that sometimes a contestant who stumbles not only places in the top five but wins a pageant. One famous case is American beauty Olivia Culpo, who tripped in an evening gown competition but nevertheless took home the ultimate prestige crown: that of Miss Universe.
When the evening-gown competition is over, Colleen calls a brief intermission. As the curtain drops, Shanelle, Lasalo, and I compare our scores.
It rapidly becomes clear that while Mariela does not accumulate as many points as she might have, she lands in our top five. She has only one real rival among the finalists: a very attractive blonde named Beth Ann who exhibits unusual maturity.
“I loved Beth Ann’s gown,” Shanelle murmurs.
“She looked terrific,” I agree. Beth Ann chose a champagne-colored ballgown with sequin embroidery on the spaghetti-strap bodice. “She carried it well.”
“It was on the simple side but she looked good,” Lasalo says.
Music swells, the curtain rises, and Colleen returns to the stage. The fifteen semifinalists reappear, still in their evening gowns, which they’ll wear for the rest of the finale. With a flourish, Colleen reads the names of the five finalists. Mariela’s is the third name called. She beams with joy, of course, but I note she doesn’t look the least surprised. If I tripped in competition, I would know I’d done myself real damage. Again I have to wonder if Mariela suffers from over-confidence.
Now there’s only one element left: the final interview.
