Miss Manners (27 page)

Okay, so, somehow, I doubted options 1–4 would score me any points. Plus, I couldn’t picture Cleopatra with her legs behind her head. So, the only option I really had was the Bollywood one. As I tried to think up a few Bollywood movie quotes, my name was called out.

The only problem was
, as I walked towards the stage, all I could think about was The Kiss. But as I stood on the stage in front of thousands of people (photographers, journalists, columnists, bloggers, and so on), I was immediately given the slap in the face that I so desperately needed. Suddenly, the dream dissolved like Alka-Seltzer in water as I came crashing back to reality.

‘
I’m a great fan of Bollywood,’ I began, almost hyperventilating. ‘So, for the free talent round, I thought I’d share quotes from two of my favourite Bollywood movies in Hindu and in English.’ I cleared my throat whilst I scoured my memory.

Ever since watching
Mother India
for film studies, Tara and I had been hooked on Bollywood. Every Friday for the past four years had been Bollywood night, and we’d memorised lyrics from our favourite songs as well as a few quotes in Hindi.

‘
The first quote is from a film called
Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham
, which means “Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sadness”,’ I said, clearing my throat again nervously.
‘Zindagi mein kuch banna ho, Kuch hasil karna ho, Kuch jeetna ho, To hamesha apne dil ki suno, Aur ager dil se bhi koi jawaab na aaye.’

As I stood silent and still on the stage in an attempt to gauge the audience
’s reaction, I heard a few coughs in the distance.

‘
Which means,’ I continued, ‘if you want to be someone in life, if you want to achieve something, if you want to win, always listen to your heart.’

I looked over at Brian in the wings, who nodded approvingly.

‘The next quote,’ I continued, ‘is from a film called
Mohabbatein
, which means “Love Stories”.’ I took a deep breath.
‘Jab hum zindagi ka saath nahin chorte, To hum pyaar karna kyon chorein,
which means, when we don’t live to live then why should we live to love.’

A
few moments after I’d finished the silence was broken by rapturous applause. For some reason, I’d actually expected tumbleweed to roll across the stage.

I looked over at Brian, who was smiling and clapping, and I knew straight away that I had done something
rather good.

I was impressed. I mean, even I was starting to fool myself.

‘That was awesome,’ he said as I joined him in the wings.

‘
Totally,’ I said with a smile, feeling quite chuffed with myself. In fact, I think I deserved a pat on the back. But just as I was in celebratory mode, the compère called us all back to the stage.

‘
And finally,’ the compère roared into his microphone, ‘time for the Q and A.’

Oh, crap!
I’d forgotten about the Q&A! Again! I hadn’t prepared any answers whatsoever. What was I going to do? Only one thing for it – I’d have to bluff my way through it.

‘
Each contestant will be asked five questions,’ he said, moving towards Frunella at the front of the line.

As I stood at t
he end of the line centre stage I noticed Tara and Felicity sitting back in their seats, staring at me intently. Except they weren’t smiling, they were frowning.

‘
Who is your female political icon, and why?’ the compère asked, reading from a card in his hand.

‘
Jackie O,’ Pinkie answered, ‘because she’s stylish, sexy and sophisticated.’

A few minutes later, it was the turn of Genevieve.

‘Carla Bruni, because she has brains, beauty and brawn,’ she breathed, then beamed a beatific smile.

What was this?
Blind Date
?

Pinkie and Genevieve
’s answers reminded me of a shocking YouTube video I stumbled upon of Miss South Carolina’s answer to a question back in 2007. When the compère asked her, ‘Why do you think a fifth of Americans can’t locate the US on a world map?’ she replied, ‘I personally believe that US Americans are unable to do so because some people out there in our nation don’t have maps.’ Oh, but it gets worse. As if that wasn’t already bad enough, she then added, ‘And I believe that our education, like, such as, South Africa and the Iraq, everywhere, like, such as. And I believe that they should, our education, over here in the US, should help the US, or should help South Africa, and should help the Iraq in the Asian countries, so we will be able to build up our future.’

It was one of the most cringe-worthy videos I have ever watched in my entire life. Luckily, no matter how hard I tr
ied, I didn’t think I could ever answer a question as badly as The Iraq and South Africa Such As (as she came to be known).

As I tried to think of decent past and present female political icons, my mind went blank. But then I remembered Steve Schwartz
’s Nancy Reagan quote during our tea serving tutorial. ‘Well,’ I started, ‘Nancy Reagan once said, “A woman is like a teabag. You never know how strong she is until she gets into hot water.” Well, the teabag in my cup of hot water needs a lot of milk, because it’s stronger than Earl Grey, Lady Grey and Baby Grey put together.’

Baby Grey? What? Where did that come from? The
re’s no such thing as Baby Grey! But there was no time to dwell on it, seeing as the next question wasn’t any easier.

‘
What is your favourite work of art, and why?’ the compère asked me.

Now,
I’ve never really been much of an art connoisseur. But I did remember a painting that made me want to check out the Tate Modern. I thought back to Stanley Hope’s dressing room and the forgotten oil painting billowing in the background.

‘
Dora Maar
by Picasso,’ I said. ‘It’s a painting of Picasso’s mistress, Dora, with two faces. We all have two sides to ourselves and our identity (two faces, two personas): the one we show to the world and the one inside we try to hide. We’re two sides of the same coin, like Jekyll and Hyde.’

Cubists like Picasso were always the safest option. Unlike
neo-Impressionist Seurat or graffiti-obsessed Basquiat or... Johnny Depp. But, like I said, I’m not much of an art connoisseur.

‘
Who is your favourite performer?’ the compère continued.

I thought hard about the question.
‘Performer’ was pretty sweeping. It could be an actor, singer, dancer... comedian.

‘
Stanley Hope, an eighty-two-year-old comedian recently told me, “It’s not about how bad you are, but how good you want to be.” And, although he’s eighty-two, he’s still looking for his big break. I admire his self-belief and determination.’

In that moment I really hoped that, one day, Stanley Hope,
would
get his big break. After all, he
had
waited almost a century.

I looked over at Tara in the audience, wondering how her audition went.
By the look on her face, not so good. But there was no way of telling for sure.

‘
Who is your favourite composer? And why?’ the compère continued.

There
was no easy way out when it came to my musical knowledge. I always seem to fail this round of the pub quiz for some reason. The only classical composers that came to mind were Beethoven, Bach and Benjamin Britten. So I picked one, then just went for it.

‘
Beethoven,’ I said, remembering how grave-turningly badly I played
Für Elise
, ‘because, although he was deaf, he didn’t allow this to stop him from realising his dream of composing. Anyone with a disability who refuses to let it affect any aspect of their lives is a real role model – an inspiration.’

Oh yes, Beethov
en! You da man! Eat that Pinkie! Eat, chew, swallow!

I checked the
judges faces. But, unsurprisingly, they were about as unflinching as a poisoned pigeon.

Wow,
Stanley Hope should come and perform in front of this lot
.

‘
And the final question is,’ proceeded the compère, his arm flailing about, ‘what is your favourite quote?’

I sighed, then tried to
pick one of the many quotes I’d heard during the past two weeks. Although there was one particular quote that had made more appearances than a badger in winter, I thought about Mojo the fortune teller instead.

‘
Mojo,’ I began, ‘a fortune teller, spiritual healer and voodoo priestess, recently predicted, after bone-reading, runes and tarot, that I would, “Fall like Icarus, rise like the Phoenix.” Well, the prediction came true. Two weeks ago, I was Icarus. But since taking part in the Miss Manners Academy, I became Phoenix – not only in name, but in spirit, too.’

As I reflected for a moment, I realised that I had learned a great deal
in such a short space of time; not just from the academy, but from everyone I’d met on my journey. There was Felicity Diamond, Stanley Hope, Mojo, Brian Fairfax (AKA Henry Biggins), Romilly Winter, Danko, Murphy Richards and Brie Breckenbridge. It felt as if fate were playing some sort of game, like
Jumanji
.

At that moment
Brie walked onto the stage, taking the microphone from the compère.

‘
I would just like to say,’ she crooned, her velvety voice caressing the audience, ‘thank you to all the girls who have taken part in this year’s Miss Manners. It was a real pleasure to get to know each and every one of you individually.’

She
tilted her head to one side, then smiled at us insincerely. It was a bit creepy, considering I’d never really seen Brie smile. Then she turned to face the academy tutors, who were all sat in a row beside the judging panel.

‘
And I would like to, once again, extend my deepest gratitude to the wonderful tutors at the academy and the incredible judging panel.’

Get on with it
, I thought impatiently. My nerves were in perpetual overdrive.

‘
So,’ she continued, whilst I tried hard not to exhale like an elephant after a large meal, ‘I shall now leave the final decisions to the judges.’

But
as Brie turned to exit the stage, Sophie ran onto the stage and towards the laptop and projector.

‘
Wait!’ she screamed.

Oh, crap. What does she want?
I had a feeling she was up to something. But what?

‘
Wait, wait, WAIT!’ she screamed again, her arms flailing about wildly. ‘Before you make your final decisions, there’s something important I think you should know first! It’s about Phoenix Valentine, or should I say, Anna Borgström!’ Sophie faced the judging panel breathless, waving a disk about in the air.

As the security guards prepared to raid the stage, Sophie ran over to the laptop at the lighting desk, then, much to the shock of the
technician, inserted the disk. By the time the security guards got hold of Sophie, it was too late. A gigantic video was being projected onto the back wall for all to see.

It was The Incident. T
he one that got me into this entire mess in the first place.

CRAAAAAP!

‘I thought I recognised you from somewhere,’ Sophie began. ‘So, I thought I’d dig a little deeper. After all,
she
had a motive to steal Pinkie’s diary!’

Pinkie looked at Sophie, her face a picture of shock and disbelief.

Meanwhile, I was trying to think about what to say to save my skin. I mean, there was no way I was going to let a vicious, manipulative snake like Sophie obliterate my prospects.

‘
You’re just jealous that you didn’t get this assignment!’ I said in my defence.

Sophie cackled
witchily. ‘Whatever.’ She turned to the judging panel, a look of satanic proportions sweeping across her face. ‘Oh, and another thing, judges. I thought you might like to know that Anna only entered Miss Manners following a promise of a job opportunity at
Couture
. It was an assignment, not an ambition.’

The judges seemed to be listening attentively to what Sophie had to say, their eyes darting from one person to
the other as if they were watching a Wimbledon tennis match.

‘
What a load of bin juice!’ I countered struggling to stay calm despite the palpitations and hot flashes. But this time I had to control my temper, even though, at that very moment, I felt like wringing Sophie’s neck.

‘
I’ve never worked at Riverstones,’ I lied, ‘or fought with Pinkie, or stolen Pinkie’s diary, or written a blog. I think it’s a case of mistaken identity.’

‘
I don’t think so.’ Sophie turned to the technician, pointing her finger at him. ‘The next video is CCTV footage from Riverstones, which proves that you were the only one to enter the staffroom between ten and eleven on Monday the eighteenth of April, which was exactly when Pinkie’s diary was reported stolen.’