Last night I attended the finale of America’s Next Top Model Cycle Five. I’m a reluctant fan of the show. I believe the girls that become the second runner-up are the ones that should win. I am a fan of Elyse, Kahlen, Mercedes, Shandi, and Shannon. This season was all about Bre Scullark. Bre was like the girls I grew up with in Chicago. Fabulous, a touch ghetto, pretty, and oh so real. Whenever she was on screen, I was riveted. Though I didn’t see a win in Bre’s future, she made it to the final three. Robbed. Victory snatched from her grasp. I love how she kept it real until the very end. When she lost, the heels came off, and the glasses went back on. You must never forget in your travels who you are. She did not. Tonight my mission was to meet her. I did, and she was just as I hoped she would be. Sublime.
I pull up in the BMW, driven by my friend Melanie. Of course, once we get there, it’s about the red carpet. The red carpet is not my fave thing as I’m not where I’d like to be just yet in my career. It’s always “Who are you,” or “Oh my God! It’s Marcellas from Big Brother,” which, to be honest, makes me insane. I feel Big Brother wasn’t the high point of my life or career. Don’t get it twisted, which means don’t get me wrong, for the most part, I’m happy I did Big Brother. It changed my life, but I’ve done so much since and accomplished a lot before. I’m much prouder of my accomplishments as a top model than I am of doing a reality show. Though I must acknowledge, it was Big Brother that has given me much of what I have now. Back to the point, the red carpet. I always try to time it just right. The outfit was on point; Howe jeans, Club Monaco white French cuff shirt, Tiffany & Co. cufflinks, Ezra Fitch navy velvet blazer, and green suede Kenneth Cole shoes. It may seem the shoe and blazer conflicted, but the blazer was lined in green, and it worked perfectly with the shoe. Melanie picked me up at 7:15, which should have gotten us there at a fashionably late 7:30. Of course, there was traffic, which put us there at 7:45. Then parking, which put us at the club at 7:55. Damn. I’m ten minutes behind where I wanted to be because the finale screening started at 8:00 pm.
I do a final mirror check. The t-zone is good. Not shiny at all. Off to the carpet. “Hi, I’m Marcellas Reynolds.” “Who,” replied the cute Asian PR girl. “Marcellas Reynolds from Remixed on BET.” “Do you wanna do the red carpet,” she says. “Ummm…Yeah, CBS publicity invited me.” “Hi, I have Marcus from BET,” the PR girl says into her walkie. “No, he’s MARCELLAS from the SHOW REMIXED on BET,” says Melanie. I gotta give Melanie her props. She will not let me be dissed. Ever. “Oh,” says the PR girl. “I remember you. You’re from that show on E!” “Exactly,” I say, not knowing what the hell she is talking about. “You’ll have to wait to do the carpet. Tyra just got here,” she says. “Damn,” I think. If Tyra just got here, I’ll never get any press. I mean, she is the star. “Listen, I don’t wanna wait in line. Is there someone who can walk us in,” I replied? “Sure, go talk to the girl in the black blazer and polka dot shirt.” “Thanks.” I say, but in my head, I’m thinking, “Dammit! What a waste of a good outfit! If I wasn’t gonna be on wireimage.com, I could have stayed home.”
We skip the polka dot shirt and head over to the doorman, who was sooooo cute and carded Melanie and me telling us both we didn’t look a day over twenty-three. At that point, he could have taken us both home and made mad, sweet, passionate love to us. But I digress. Avalon is like any other crazy nightclub in Los Angeles. It’s been a million other clubs, but in this incarnation, it’s dark and multi-leveled. I’m thinking the last time I was here, Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Ritchie were here, and I was way drunk, and Valerie from Temptation Island gave me a ride home, and I promised never to dance in public again because I can’t and… Ooh, is that fried chicken? And macaroni and cheese? “Mel, let’s get a drink,” I said, heading to the buffet.
The finale is airing on screens all over Avalon. Bre is eliminated, becoming the second runner-up. Nik Pace, lovely and looking like a real model, is the first runner-up, and Nicole Linkletter wins. Everyone from “Cycle 5,” a term I find annoying, is there. There’s Keenyah Hill from “Cycle Four.” She is smiling, friendly, and gorgeous. Mercedes, who I just saw two days ago at an audition, is there, pretty and perfect in a black dress. I start to go over and tell her how close she was to kissing me at our audition but think better of it. If someone said that to me, I might have smacked them!
After the winner is announced, we find ourselves in the VIP room, which is a disappointment. If the past two winners hadn’t been African-American, Nik Pace would have won this season. She’s just as she is on the show, stunning and a bit reserved. Here I am chatting with the bookers from Ford who once represented me. “Remixed is going well! Yes, things are good,” I say. Then across the room, there is TYRA. Cute. Big. Bigger than life. The energy in the room is electric. There are cameras and craziness. Is that? Yep. Janice Dickinson, and Vivica A. Fox. And dammit, there is Stacy J. from The Apprentice. She’s gorgeous, and she doesn’t seem crazy. Then suddenly, there’s applause. Why? Oh, my God! There she is! BRE! My choice to win ANTM. I make my way through the crush. “I wanted you to win,” I gush! “I wanted to win,” Bre says! “You walked away with the show,” I scream as Mel takes the pic. “Can I see it,” asks Bre? There we are. Fan and star. Marcellas and Bre. ANTM Cycle 5.