Lone Star Legend (16 page)

“That’s right. That’s right,” said Mr. Levy, nodding. “So, congratulations to us all! There’ll be a full press release forthcoming,
of course. And, of course, all of our sponsors will be made fully aware of new partnership opportunities.” With this he winked
at the crowd and stepped down from the podium, stumbling a little as he went.

Realizing the speech was over, the partygoers broke into applause over the announcement. Simultaneously the band struck up
a fast dance song. A troop of waiters emerged from the walls of the club bearing champagne reinforcements, and the guests
eagerly helped lighten their trays.

Sandy turned to Philippe again. He was shaking the hands of the people on the other side of him. When he finally turned back
to her, Sandy leaned close and whispered, “Did you know about this already?”

He smiled in reply. “I had reason to suspect” was all he said.

Then Sandy saw Jacob Levy sneak out the club’s exit. She wondered if he had a more important party to attend or if he just
didn’t like parties. Either way, his absence didn’t mean this one was over. If anything, the club became louder and more crowded
after Jacob Levy left. Everyone was in a frenzy to congratulate each other and themselves, and to toast the hell out of the
occasion.

Lori managed to break away from her admirers long enough to run up to Sandy and squeal “Oh my God, oh my God!” And then, “George
is going to be
pissed!
”

She was right, Sandy realized. George was going to be very sorry that he’d chosen to leave them right before this development.
But he deserved it. That’s what he got for leaving them for a competitor, with zero notice.

Across the room, Francisco huddled with his fellow tech-heads, looking more anxious than excited. Sandy felt a brief flash
of pity for him. But it faded as the new editor of
Mujer
magazine, who’d been introduced to her as one of Angelica’s friends, appeared at her side and said, “Sandy! Congratulations!
We’d love to interview you right before the station debuts….”

By the time Sandy and Lori cabbed back to their room, evening bags bursting with business cards, it was long after 3
A.M.
and Sandy wasn’t feeling nervous at all. In fact, she felt completely fabulous—like her life had just taken the turn that
it’d been destined to take. Like everything she’d done so far had been preparing her for and leading her to this moment.

She was going to be on television. Everything that had been bothering her lately—the annoying commenters, the missing release
form, Daniel, her day job, her parents—evaporated to make room for one momentous thought.

She was going to be on TV. She, nerdy little Dominga Saavedra, who’d worked her way up to becoming blogger Sandy S., was now
going to become a star!

O
n Saturday at noon, Angelica asked the staff to convene for a brunch meeting at her hotel, a much nicer hotel than the one
where the writers were staying. Sandy, Lori, Philippe, and Francisco sat around their boss at a semi-secluded table in the
tastefully decorated restaurant with various breakfast items piled on their plates. They talked in excited whispers while
Angelica gave the waiter his orders and dismissed him. Sandy saw that Francisco still looked as anxious as he had the night
before. Angelica noticed it too, after a while. She turned to him, sitting there at her left, and gave his shoulder one of
her friendly hard pats. “We’re going to get you new glasses,” Sandy heard Angelica say quietly. “And new shirts.” Francisco
swallowed hard and nodded, seemingly somewhat comforted. Sandy wondered if he’d been afraid that he wouldn’t be part of the
TV show team.

Now that she thought of it, though, did she know for certain that any of them would be?

“All right. Attention, everyone.” Angelica paused until everyone faced her, like a kindergarten teacher waiting for her students
to quiet down. “You heard Jacob last night. This is fabulous news for all of us. I have your new contracts back at the office.
Someone from Levy Media Legal will meet us in Austin and go over all the details with each of you. In the meantime, I want
you all to congratulate yourselves. Your hard work over the past few months helped contribute to this development. Levy Media
wouldn’t have been able to sign this deal without all your page views.”

She gave them all her radiant smile and took a bite of the prosciutto on her plate.

Sandy decided to start with the questions. “Are we all going to be on camera, or will we just write for the station?”

“Good question. For now, I think it’s safe to assume that all of you will be on camera. Of course you’ll be writing the content,
too. Nacho Papi will have its own half-hour segments on the station. Levy Media is setting up a studio near our Austin office
for recording those segments. We’ll create two or three sets for in-studio news commentary and interviews, and we’ll also
continue to record the same kind of video material we did for the Web site.”

Sandy let her mind absorb these facts. Now that she was hearing the plan, she realized that she’d been assuming they were
all going to move to New York. Or to Los Angeles. She smiled inwardly at her own ignorance and directed her attention to her
breakfast of fruit and yogurt.

Lori spoke next. “There are only”—she paused and counted under her breath. “Only five Levy Media sites. If they each get an
hour, how are they going to fill up the rest of every day?”

Angelica smiled at Lori, whose pink-streaked hair glowed softly under the branch-shaped chandeliers above them. “The satellite
stations will start with an hour each. Hate-O-Rama, as the flagship site, will of course have a bit more time than that. The
rest of the day will be comprised of paid programming.”

Lori spent a moment visibly thinking about Angelica’s answer. Then, she said, “You mean, like, informercials?”

“Yes. To begin with. Until we build our audience,” Angelica replied.

Francisco asked, “Am I—I mean, are we going to be expected to edit the video for the show? And to do the… whatever extra graphics
are required?” He looked equal parts defiant and miserable, and Sandy understood then why he’d been anxious. He was already
doing all the graphics and video for the site, in addition to his post quota.

“You, Francisco, will oversee the graphic content. It will be created, however, by a team of interns.”

Francisco sighed as if Angelica had just given him the best news possible. Then, smiling with relief, he tore into his huevos
rancheros.

Philippe, Sandy noticed, had no questions. He ate his breakfast in perfect serenity. For a few moments, they all followed
his example. Then, unable to contain herself any longer, Lori exclaimed, “I’m so excited, I think I’m going to die!”

“Well, don’t die yet,” Angelica told her. “We need you for the show.”

They all laughed, more from the release of tension than anything.

“I’m excited, too,” Sandy said. “I’m going to miss writing for the Web site, of course. But I won’t miss the commenters.”

Her co-workers laughed again.

“Really? Some of them aren’t so bad,” Francisco said.

“Right,
yours
aren’t,” Lori retorted. “Sandy and I are the ones who get all the psychos now that George is gone. All those guys wanting
to see us naked—and then the one chick who keeps obsessing over Sandy and asking her on dates, V for Vendetta, or whatever
her name is.”

Francisco nodded, conceding the point.

Sandy felt herself flush. Lori meant, of course, her friend Veronica. She could see, now, how Veronica constantly dropping
Sandy’s name would look a little strange to the other writers. She decided not to tell them that V for Verguenza was someone
she knew in real life.

“People,” Angelica interrupted. “I hate to disillusion you, but we aren’t discontinuing the Web site.”

“We aren’t?” they all said at once.

“No. We’re going to do the television program in
addition
to the site.”

They all fell quiet again. Philippe smiled wryly at Sandy over his egg-white omelet. It was obvious that he’d known all this
in advance.

Sandy let her mind readjust to the facts. Again. She was going to be a TV star, yes. But in a little satellite studio in Austin.
In addition to the full-time job that she was already doing. And with the same commenters still commenting on her every move.

This is still a good thing, she told herself. Isn’t it?

Yes, it is, she decided. She would
make
it a good thing. Just like she’d done when LatinoNow had become Nacho Papi. And just like she’d do when the television show
eventually became something even bigger.

She smiled at Angelica and her co-workers then, and lifted her latte in salute.

May 8, 2008

Re: Contract renewal

To Whom It May Concern:

It is with regret that I inform you that I will not be renewing my technical writing contract with QBS, Inc. I’m grateful
for my experience here and wish you all the best of luck.

Sincerely,

Dominga Saavedra

S
andy felt like a bird—a free, feather-light bird without a boring day job any longer—floating her way through Calypso’s brown
velveteen ottomans and worn rattan chairs. As she approached the counter her phone buzzed. She checked and saw the name Jeremy.
She opened the text and read, “Coming to Austin next week. Can we have coffee?” She smiled in remembrance of the cute marketing
guy she’d met in Atlanta. She would check her calendar for space as soon as she got to the office.

At the counter, she recited her usual order to the barista on duty. The young woman stared at Sandy for a moment before letting
out a slow “Hey-y-y-y,” of recognition.

Sandy looked at the barista’s face and immediately regretted having ventured so close to the university. She hadn’t seen Daniel
since their breakup and now, here she was, face-to-face with one of his fellow TAs’ girlfriends. But Sandy couldn’t remember
her name.

“You’re Sandy S.,” the cashier said. “From Nacho Papi’s Web Site!”

Sandy felt her smile fall into place, as if she were on camera for the site. It was okay—this was one of her fans.

“Remember me? Kristy? We met at the Fat Man and talked about Ann Radcliffe being the grandmother of Goth? You were with Daniel.”

“Right, right,” Sandy said. Concentrating on the girl’s light brown bangs falling over green eyes made Sandy recall her name.
Kristy. And Kristy had been with…

“I was with Adam,” she supplied, then added, “but I’m not anymore.”

“Oh, really?” said Sandy. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. I’m better off. We both are, right?” At this, Kristy gave Sandy a mischievous smile. She leaned forward conspiringly,
her long hair falling out of its cap and over the shoulder of her pale blue uniform shirt. This caused Sandy to lean forward
too, and Kristy lowered her voice. “I laughed my ass off at your parodies of Daniel’s poetry.”

Sandy smiled with pleasure. It was good to have her talent recognized. But then, replaying Kristy’s compliment in her mind,
she realized something. “Wait, what? What do you mean? That wasn’t on Nacho Papi.”

“No, right. It was on your other site, My Modern TragiComedy.”

Sandy stood straight and felt the hair on the back of her neck quiver. “You know about that?”

Kristy laughed. “Yeah. But don’t worry—Daniel didn’t know that I knew. He never read the site at all, right?”

“No.” Sandy’s mind raced over possibilities before she came out and asked. “How did you find out about it, though? That it
was me writing it, I mean?”

Kristy laughed again. After glancing at the other two customers in the corners of the shop and assuring herself that they
were both immersed in their respective laptop screens, she explained. “It was the funniest thing. Adam asked me to look up
one of Daniel’s poems online. He was always comparing his work to Daniel’s and wanting me to tell him his was better. You
know?”

Sandy nodded. She knew, all right, exactly how insecure grad-school poets could be.

Kristy continued. “So I searched for this one cheesy line about ‘a string of bloody hearts,’ thinking it would come up in
one of the online journals, right? But instead I found that entry where you made fun of that line, last summer. And I started
reading your site, and it was pretty obvious that you were Daniel’s girlfriend, you know? I didn’t say anything when we met
at the Fat Man because I didn’t want to freak you out. You know, I didn’t want to come off like a stalker or anything.”

Sandy was completely dumbfounded. It was a big coincidence, but the story made perfect sense. Of course someone would be able
to find her site by looking up Daniel’s worst lines. It was stupid of her never to have considered that before.

At that moment, a younger barista emerged from a door behind the counter. “Hey, Amy,” Kristy said to her, “this is Sandy S.,
from Nacho Papi!”

“Hey!” said Amy in pleasant surprise. “Oh my God! I love your site. You’re my favorite writer on it. I’m a writer too!”

Sandy asked the girl what she wrote and then nodded knowingly and encouragingly at her answer. Inside, though, she was still
reeling from what she’d just heard. Amy chattered hard and fast, telling Sandy that she herself was a journalism major and
asking if she could become a Nacho Papi intern.

“Hey,” Kristy interrupted. “Tell her what happened the other day, in Daniel’s class.”

“What? Oh!” said Amy, her blue eyes rounding in sudden revelation. “Oh, that’s right! You’re the one!”

“The one what?” Sandy asked, bracing herself for more. Apparently Amy was one of Daniel’s students.

“Oh my God, it was so lame. So Mr. Thomas—Daniel—had been missing class a lot, right? And blowing up at some of the other
students and stuff? And then, the other day, he sent us all this e-mail, right? It said he was sorry he’d been so out of it,
but that he’d suffered”—here she made her voice low and serious, in a somewhat competent impersonation of Daniel—“ ‘a personal
blow in the form of a romantic disappointment.’ And he tried to make it seem like
he’d
been the one to dump
you
. But it was
so
obvious that he wasn’t. He said that he and this woman were, like, torn apart by ‘a difference in personal ambition.’ It
was so lame. We were all laughing about it.”