Dream Things True (14 page)

“Awesome,” Mary Catherine said, and then she let out one of those crazy bellowing laughs.

“We each had to pick a different Disney princess. Obviously, I chose last.”

“You make a pretty sexy Snow White,” Mary Catherine said. “Doesn't she usually have puffy sleeves? That strapless bustier definitely helps.”

Mary Catherine turned to Evan, who was trying to look away. “And doesn't her skin tone look fantastic against the butter yellow?” She took his chin in her hand and forced his eyes to rest on Alma's chest.

Alma was surprised to see a splotchy blush cover the edge of Evan's cheeks. His eyes trailed up to meet hers.

“You look beautiful, Alma,” Evan said. “You
always
look beautiful.”

She mouthed a silent “thanks.”

Ra
ú
l came toward them, eyebrows arched as he took in Mary Catherine's body. It was hard to ignore.

“Hey, Evan,” he said, “why don't you and your friend come sit with me?”

Mary Catherine threw a devastating smile in his direction. “It's great to meet you, Ra
ú
l. Alma says you're going to take care of us?”

“I'll take care of you,” he replied, with a wink.

Alma grabbed Ra
ú
l by the elbow. “Behave,” she hissed in his ear. She shot a quick glance at Evan, smiled reassuringly, and turned to join Maritza, who was working a sexy midriff-bearing Jasmine costume.

Maritza always got her way.

 

 

Ra
ú
l led them to their table. A DJ was talking in rapid and very animated Spanish on the dance floor. He sounded like one of the guys on the Spanish radio station, where Evan's dial occasionally paused on the way to some other channel.

Mary Catherine nudged Ra
ú
l in the side. “What's he saying?”

“Just welcome and what a special day this is for Yazm
í
n and her parents. He's about to introduce the court.”

“The what?” Evan whispered loudly.

“The court. You know, the
damas
and
chambelanes
.” Evan must have looked as clueless as he felt because Ra
ú
l continued explaining. “It's like bridesmaids and groomsmen at a wedding.”

Scanning the room, Evan saw Alma's dad sitting with a bunch of men at a table by the dance floor.

“Do I have time to go say hi to your dad?”

“Bad idea,” Ra
ú
l said. “Trust me.”

“But—”

The DJ's booming voice broke in.

“Too late,” Ra
ú
l called out. “It's starting.”

Evan and M.C. watched in awe as the event unfolded. Seven couples processed somberly down the center aisle of the room. All the girls were dressed like Disney princesses. The guys wore electric-blue fedoras and vests with white crosses stitched onto the backs. The crosses looked more like tattoos than church symbols. Evan looked down at his dull khaki pants and wondered if he stood out as much as he thought.

When the
quincea
ñ
era
entered the room, the couples turned toward each other, raising their arms to create a sort of tunnel. The girl was dressed like Cinderella in a powder blue dress with a huge puffy skirt. Her skirt barely made it through the human tunnel.

Mary Catherine cut her eyes toward Evan, trying to get his attention. He knew that if he looked at her, they would both start laughing, so he stared ahead, stone-faced.

The girl walked to a carriage-shaped throne surrounded by hundreds of blue and white balloons. She sat down gingerly, looking more embarrassed than excited. Yazm
í
n's face looked so young, even caked with makeup and framed with stiff curls. To Evan, she looked like a child playing dress-up, except that she seemed to be having a lot less fun.

A man and a woman who must have been her parents came toward her. The dad was carrying a shimmering pillow of sorts. Evan shot Ra
ú
l a surprised glance.

“Just watch,” mouthed Ra
ú
l.

Yazm
í
n's mother lifted the layers of skirt to reveal Yazm
í
n's white Keds. Her father leaned down to remove one of her socks and shoes, and then lifted a shimmery silver stiletto from the satin pillow and carefully slid it onto her foot. He repeated the ritual with her other foot. Once both stilettos were firmly placed, Yazm
í
n stood, shakily, and her mom and dad both offered a hug and kiss before leaving the dance floor.

Just then, booming music filled the room. Evan had never heard music like this. The word that came to mind was “polka.” Was that right? There were lots of horns and men singing in harmony. All seven couples did a sort of choreographed dance, swinging around the dance floor, repeating the same simple back-and-forth step. Alma wore a stiff, uncomfortable smile that made Evan wish the whole thing would end soon.

When the song finally ended, Alma and her friends Magda and Maritza headed toward their table. Evan watched Alma intently, trying not to look as bewildered as he felt.

Pulling up a chair, Alma leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Weird, huh?”

Evan just smiled and touched one of the stiff ringlet curls that trailed the side of her face. He let his hand brush her chin for a moment and then dropped it under the table to take her hand. Yeah, it was weird, but he didn't care. He just wanted to feel her warm hand in his and study the flushed skin of her cheeks and throat.

“What
was
that music?” asked Mary Catherine, not even trying to hide her aversion.

“Doesn't it suck?” Maritza replied. “
Banda
. Uggh.”

The DJ said something else, and a new song filled the room. Maritza stood, shook her hips rapidly, and said to no one in particular, “Merengue. Now that's what I'm talking about.”

A girl emerged from behind the balloon arch, dressed in a skin-tight black micro-miniskirt and a red tube top. Evan saw the long expanse of her bare legs ending with same silver stilettos Yazm
í
n had been given.

“What the hell?” he heard himself say. “Is that
Yazm
í
n
?”

Alma laughed and leaned in toward him. “Yeah, she changed clothes. This is the ‘surprise dance.'”

“As in, ‘Surprise! Your sweet Disney Princess is a prostitute'?”

“Something along those lines.” Alma laughed. “I think it's meant to show that she's an adult now.”

Evan looked around the room in amazement as Yazm
í
n's parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, and friends smiled sweetly and watched her bump and grind, in no particular order, with every one of the seven guys in her court. He had to admit, she was a good dancer. But she still didn't look like she was having any fun.

“Ev, hon, isn't this
awesome
?” Mary Catherine asked, leaning in from the other side. “I was thinking it's kind of like a wedding or a debutante ball, but
whoa
!”

 

 

Alma stared incredulously at the heaping plate of food in front of Evan.

“Are you going to eat all of that?”

“Yeah, probably. Why, do you want some?”

“Uh, no. That's just a lot of food.”

“It looks so good—what are these things?”

“Tamales.”

Evan picked one up and brought it toward his lips.

“Uh, Evan, you have to take off the corn husks on the outside before you eat them.”

“Aww, damn,” Ra
ú
l called out, breaking into their conversation. “You should have let your gringo boy eat the husks!”

“Just ignore my stupid brother,” Alma said as she reached over to take the tamale. “I'll show you.” She peeled the husk off the tamale and placed it back on his plate, pushing aside a huge pile of enchiladas in green chile sauce. “You should eat it with a fork. If you pick it up, it will fall apart.”

Evan looked at her sheepishly and picked up his fork. “So, Ra
ú
l says you didn't have one of these?”

“A
quincea
ñ
era
? Absolutely not. It's a crazy waste of money. I made my dad start a college savings account for me instead.”

“Bummer. I would have liked to see footage of your ‘surprise dance.'” Evan laughed and nudged her with his elbow.

“I don't think so, Evan. I mean, there's a reason they made me Snow White tonight.”

“What? Snow White can't dance?”

“No.” Alma leaned in closer and whispered, “You know, I'm, uh, pure as the driven snow.”

Evan's eyes sparkled, and he laughed a strong, hearty laugh.

The entire table turned to look at them.

“What's so funny?” Maritza asked.

Alma looked firmly at Evan, trying to convey that her “Snow White” status was not the business of the entire table.

“Alma's trying to teach me how to eat tamales, and I'm making a complete idiot of myself,” Evan replied, grinning.

Everyone fell back into conversation, and he leaned toward Alma. Pressing his hand gently against the stiff blue tulle just above her knee, he whispered, “There's nothing wrong with that, Alma.”

She felt his lips gently graze the soft skin just below her ear, while the warmth of his hand radiated through her body. She closed her eyes and tried not to sigh out loud.

Maritza's voice broke her swoon.

“I'm ready to
dance
! Who's with me?”

Mary Catherine tugged on Evan's arm. “Come on, y'all, let's dance.”

“There's not a chance you'll get Alma on the dance floor,” Maritza said. “She's too sophisticated to dance at a
quincea
ñ
era
.”

“
Quincea
ñ
eras
are patriarchal,” Magda said, mocking Alma.

“Silly,” added Maritza.

“A waste of money and time,” Ra
ú
l chimed in.

Alma stood up. “Are y'all finished yet?” she asked. “Because I'm getting kind of thirsty. Can I be excused from the hazing to get a drink?”

“You aren't going to dance?” Evan asked. “What else are you going to do? Watch old guys shoot tequila?”

He glanced across the room at a table full of grandfathers in cowboy hats gathered around a half-empty bottle of tequila.

“She won't dance,” Maritza replied.

The music changed. A hip-hop remix of some eighties song came over the speakers.

Evan suddenly dropped one hand to the ground, keeping his knees bent as he pulsed his hips and one of his arms to the thumping beat of the music. It looked like some kind of eighties break-dance move.

Alma stared at him, horrified, as the others clapped and squealed with delight.

“How can you resist
that
?” Mary Catherine yelled above the squeals.

“OK, Evan, you win.” Reaching her arm out toward him, she cried out over the music, “I'll dance with you if you promise never to do
that
again.”

Evan hopped up effortlessly. “You've got yourself a deal, Miss Garcia.”

Alma skipped onto the dance floor and began to spin, her silly blue skirt billowed around her. She concentrated on nothing but the melody of the song, coursing through a synthesizer. It was so strange, but she felt great dancing, and she didn't care what anyone thought—not even her dad. She had been trying to do the right thing for so long, to act as expected, that she had ignored how she actually felt. She wanted to let it go. All of it.

She suddenly recognized the eighties song. She stopped spinning, threw her arms around Evan's neck, and blurted, “Don't you want me, baby!”

Evan came to a standstill and grinned his perfect grin.

“Come again?”

She leaned in closer, only a little embarrassed. “That's the name of the song, Evan.”

Evan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close. Their bodies moved together, keeping rhythm with the thumping bass. She felt his hands on the small of her back and his chest pressed against hers. She trailed her fingers through the hair above his neck as she gently arched to look up at him. His hands slid deeper into the curve of her lower back. The music seemed to slow, and the room around them blurred. A diffuse, warm energy coursed through them both. They continued to move together with focused intensity. The deep, sultry voice of a female vocalist hovered over the booming rhythm of the bass.

One of Evan's hands moved slowly up along her spine and onto her bare back. Pausing for a moment at her shoulder, he lightly grazed her collarbone and the skin above her chest. As their fused hips moved together, Alma arched back farther and let her head drop. Evan leaned in and pressed his lips against her neck.

She thought she might melt into a puddle right there on the dance floor when a strong grip jerked Alma out of their trance. She found herself face-to-face with Ra
ú
l. His eyes darted toward a table adjacent to the dance floor, where Alma's father sat poised at the edge of his chair, staring at her intently, hands perched on his knees like he was about to pounce.

Alma smiled weakly in her father's direction and then glanced toward Evan. Mary Catherine was whispering in his ear, and a dull remorse seemed to spread across his face. Ra
ú
l pulled Alma to his own chest, shifting her mental focus into the footwork of a rapid merengue, but the deep longing ache remained.

After what seemed like a sufficient amount of time, Alma glanced again at her father, who had turned his back to the dance floor to talk with the other men around his table. She looked for Evan, and he wasn't very hard to find. He led Mary Catherine with ease, twisting and turning, pulling her close into his body and then spinning her away. He dropped her into a sudden dip, and they both laughed delightedly when she popped upright and spun back in toward him. Alma realized, smiling, that many eyes were on this beautiful couple, the only couple on the dance floor not moving in a tight merengue; the only white couple on the floor—or, for that matter, anywhere in the San Francisco Banquet Hall.