Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (15 page)
“They own Valencia Variety, the largest Hispanic entertainment agency in the southwest.”
“Shut up!” Star exclaimed. “As in
the
Valencia Variety? My parents’ ultimate dream is to someday be able to afford them to run our Día de los Muertos event. Wow,
and here you are!”
Chloe knew all about Valencia Variety. She had met the owners once, and often saw them at affluent Latino networking events.
She never recalled them mentioning a son as incredible as Benecio.
“Still, Benecio, it’s just not right,” repeated Ofie. “I know who your parents are. I see them at La Pachanga every so often.
Maybe I can talk to them.”
“Ah, leave him alone,” Nana Chata said, licking her fingertips one at a time and tapping her short legs against the footrest
of the patio chair. “He’s got the maid, and you all can watch over him. Kid, you’re in,” Nana Chata said.
The group—specifically Ofie—spent the next thirty minutes presenting ideas for the centerpieces. She dragged her daughter’s
old Playschool flip chart into the room and shared (in detail) her renderings—and all included dizzying amounts of glitter.
From cowboy boot planters and upside-down lampshades to cross-stitch angel dolls and mannequin heads, the committee members
sat dumbfounded. Chloe planned to assign Frances to the task first thing in the morning. There is no way the award-winning
Crafty Chloe Chavez could be associated with a glittered cowboy boot planter.
“I say we call it a day. I’m exhausted from the office, and then all this craftista talk,” remarked Chloe.
“Craftista! That’s a cool name,” said Star. The excited remark slipped from her mouth before she could remember she didn’t
like Chloe and her ideas.
“We should adopt it for our group. You know, to give this project more of a family feel,” Ofie suggested.
No one objected. Star asked them to return Friday to present samples, and then meet every Wednesday thereafter.
Before they could say their goodbyes, Nana Chata—who had disappeared sometime between the lampshade and the doll head—entered
with a dish of steamy flautas, salsa, guacamole, and a Mexican glass pitcher of strawberry margaritas to celebrate a very
productive first meeting.
From:
[email protected]
Date: September 3, 2010
Subject: Hi, Pops!
Hi, Dad!
How is Rhinebeck?
Hope you and Mom are having a blast at your impromptu holistic honeymoon! Were you surprised that we pulled it off without
you having a clue?
Even though Mom told me not to, I peeked in at the shop last week. Myrna and Minnie are holding down the fort just fine. You
have nothing to worry about. Maria Juana is still here. She bleached her hair platinum blond. That’s all I really know of
her these days. She’s gone a lot, so we don’t have time to say more than “Hi.” At least we’re on civil terms, right?
Our centerpiece committee is off to a slow start. We met a couple times but couldn’t agree on what to make. Get this—I dropped
by Ofie’s the other day and discovered she was about to make glittered tumbleweeds for the centerpieces. Where does one find
tumbleweeds? Well, I’ll inform you. She constructed a model from
chopsticks
she swiped from Pei Wei restaurant! Thank God I caught her. Can you imagine two hundred chopstick tumbleweeds covered in
glitter to represent La Pachanga? I immediately e-mailed everyone and we are meeting this weekend to finalize, no matter what.
Guess what? I picked up three new clients to write press releases for. A Scottsdale bakery, a paint-on-pottery studio, and
Wag ’n’ Wash, that wild pet store on 7th Avenue. Things are coming together!
I just realized you might not be checking your e-mail up there. In that case, I’m signing off. Besides, I hear Maria Juana
coming up the hallway and I want to hide. Whoops! Did I just type that?
Love you!! Give Mom a kiss and a hug for me! Write me back!
XOXO, peace out,
Estrella
H
aaaay, gurl,” coaxed Maria Juana as she entered Star’s bedroom.
Hiding in the closet, Star held in a sneeze brought on by her cousin’s cheap body spray and peeked through a crack in the
door.
Maria Juana ruffled through the papers on Star’s desk before she relaxed into the sparkly office chair. She tapped her bare
toes on the carpet and spun around to soak up a full view of the atmosphere. She released a hissy whistle through her front
teeth, one of which was silver due to a double date gone bad.
“Dang, esa, why does it feel so dead in here? It feels all lonely or something. Wass up with that? What happened to mi loca
artista?” she said, as she skimmed her hands on her ribbed black tank to adjust her breasts for maximum cleavage. “Why you
in the closet?”
Star surrendered, exited, and put the final touches on today’s outfit: pointy black flats, dark camouflage capris, and a black
and gray striped T-shirt.
Maria Juana fingered one of her several gigantic door-knocker earrings and blathered on in her husky chola speak while Star
stood in front of the full-length mirror, parted her hair, and spun two chunks into tight micro buns at the crown of her head.
“Damn!” Maria Juana said, after popping her Bubble Yum between her over-outlined lips. “Make that mi artista de la muerta!
You still hurtin’ about losin’ your ruco?”
“He was never my ruco; he was my friend,” Star said as she checked her face for zits. “And this is the new me. I’m going through
a dark phase. It says ‘back off.’ ”
“It doesn’t say ‘back off,’ prima. It says, ‘Get away from my face before I throw down!’ ”
“Good. That’s kinda what I’m going for.”
“Hey. You should wear vampire teeth.” Maria Juana rubbed her fingertips down the sides of her chin and cackled. “Get some
fake blood drippin’ down or something. Go to La Pachanga, and scare the waiters… ha! Now that’s some funny shit.”
“Whatever. Now, please… back off, por favor?” Star replied, unamused.
It’s too bad Maria Juana lived up to the tacky Latina stereotype. She had such a pretty face and Star wondered why she gunked
it up with that awful chola pancake makeup and those pitiful hoochie clothes.
“You’re so pretty, Star, why do you have to mess your face up with that pancake makeup and those butchy clothes? Sheesh… you
look like Donna the Dead. No wonder your man don’t want you.”
Star’s jaw dropped—no way could she be sharing a thought with her cousin. She quickly snapped her mouth shut, along with the
closet door. “Are you done now? I need to be alone. My favorite show is about to start.”
“I’ve seen him around, girl. He looks fine as wine,” Maria Juana said before she romantically kissed the air. “Did you know
he has a novia now? I heard she is real pretty too, pero—muy chiquita, like a dainty little doll.”
Star ran to her cousin and swiveled the chair front and center. “No! Are you serious?” No wonder he blew her off so cold that
night at Sangria!
“Ehhh, psych. I’m just messin’,” Maria Juana said as she licked her pinky and smoothed a floss-thin brow. “Don’t be ashamed
of your love, esa. What happened between you two, anyway? He prolly dumped you ’cause of the wall, huh? Damn, I’ll never forget
that night! Viva la Bandida Estrella!” Maria Juana hooted, while spinning in faster circles in the chair. She stopped, rolled
her head back, and tapped her way-too-long glossy red nails on the armrests. “Ay. This chair gives good buzz.”
“Hey, watch it. I paid a lot of money for that! It’s vintage. And for the record—I was never his girlfriend. We were good
friends, and we drifted apart. No big deal.”
“Woooo… that
is
the reason! I tried to stop you, cuz. You were all like—‘Gimme another shot!’ ‘Where can we score spray paint in the middle
of the night?’ Hey, cuz—do you know why you did it?”
“Did what?” Star asked innocently.
“Whaddya mean, did what? Hell—tag Theo’s mural, that’s what! I know why you did it. You told me that night—”
Star covered her ears. “Shut up, I’m serious! Like I said, I’m over it!”
“You lie, Star. Your mom said he stabbed an arrow through your corazón. I got an idea. Want me to give him the homie background
check? I got friends who can find out
ev-er-ree
thing!”
Star flinched and put her fingers in her ears. “Stop,
please
. I told you, I’m over it.” Maria Juana loved to dig up dirt on seemingly nice people, especially local Latinos. Hand her
a full name and the city that person is from and she’d come back with a family tree color-coded with scandals.
“Okay, okay,” Maria Juana relented. “Let’s have some coldies out back. It’ll get your mind off him.”
Any other time, Star would have kicked her cousin’s lowlife chola butt out the door. She had hours of convention duties ahead
of her for the day and besides, she hadn’t sipped the sauce since
that
night. Drinking beer with her slacker cousin was not an entry in her brand-new empty day planner. At least, it shouldn’t
be.
“Aw, hell. Why not?” Star answered. “Let’s go in the backyard.”
Two hours later, on purple plastic lawn chairs under the shady oak tree, Rick James tunes bounced from the boom box. Star
and Maria Juana had slurped and stuffed the afternoon away. Maria Juana downed one St. Ides forty-ouncer, and Star, mojitos.
A whole pitcher. Star downed the last sip from her mug.
“Oh! I love this song,” she gushed when the “Mary Jane” track came on.
“Me too! It’s about mota, man.” Maria Juana hopped off her chair to bump and grind to the groove. She twirled her hands over
her head and swayed her hips like a topless dancer.
Star howled like a hyena.
“Hey, lady, don’t you laugh at me! Come show me what you got. You’re an Esteban too. You gotta have some soul somewhere in
that stiff-ass body. Get up here!”
“Ha! I do too have soul!” Star argued, jumping in place next to her cousin. The girls danced and knocked hips in time to shout-sing
to Rick’s chorus:
I’m in love with Mary Jane!
Shhhhe’s my main thang!
The song ended and their limp bodies fell to the soft grass like giant sacks of potatoes. Maria Juana pulled herself up, dusted
the grass off her chest, flopped in the chair, and lit a ciggie.
Out of nowhere, Star began to giggle. She laughed softly at first, but her laughter soon grew into loud cackles, before erupting
in a full-on, hysterical laugh riot. She rolled around on the grass and clenched her stomach in pain.
“Damn, girl, can’t you control your ass? Remind me never to take you to a party in the hood,” Maria Juana said, leaning back
in her chair so it rocked on its hind legs. She slid on her black Mad Dog sunglasses.
Star sat up, shaking her hands in front of her face, which now had blue mascara smudged on her cheeks. “Wanna know what I
did?” She giggled again, but took several deep breaths to calm down “I… accidentally… ordered… three hundred fifty friggin’
pounds of glitter. And I don’t know what I’m gonna do with it!” She let her body fall backward, flailed her arms about, and
laughed some more. “I’m so screwed. It cost my parents five thousand dollars and they don’t even know yet.”
“Duhhh, girl. Hawk it,” Maria Juana said, irritated.
“I tried! I put it up on eBay and I didn’t even get one bid.” Star began to sober up. The glitter secret had been burning
a hole in her conscience, and it felt good to confide in someone. Even if it was her whacked-out cousin. “It’s premium vintage
glass glitter imported from Germany. I bought it on clearance for thirteen dollars a pound.”
Maria Juana hissed. “Damn, woman. Thirteen bucks a pound, and you can’t even catch a buzz from it? What a waste!”
“Believe me, Ofie would get a huge buzz just from being within one yard of it. It’s gorgeous. Worth every penny, hold on,
I’ll show you,” Star said.
Star hopped up, sprinted inside the house, and within fifteen seconds emerged with a brown shoe box. She ripped open the plastic
shrink-wrap with her teeth and lifted the lid just below Maria Juana’s heavily stenciled eyes.
“Wow, that’s pretty, Star. You should be able to score mucho coin for that. Treat it like weed. Throw together some four-finger
bags and hit up the parking lots at First Fridays. I bet you’d make a killing.”
Star considered approaching local paper arts stores, but maybe she could give the arts crowd a try. Those mojitos must have
worked some magic, because she had a vision of counting stacks of cash by the night’s end.
“You know, I like that idea. Why didn’t I think of First Fridays? The streets are packed with thousands of artists. Oh my
God, that’s the ticket! I’m doing it! I’ll take a shower and then get to work. It’s almost three now, so I have about four
hours to prep.”
“I’ll help you,” Maria Juana offered. “My friend Little Rick, his cuz, Big Rick, has a scale I can use. Go sleep off your
buzz. You’re all borracha right now, thanks to all these mojitos. I’ll weigh it, sort it, and roll it for you. Where’s the
stash?”
“It’s in the back house at La Pachanga. Ask Myrna for some small cello bags and a roll of satin ribbon. Make them cute but
elegant. Think Martha style. Take my car and load them in my trunk. Thanks!”
Star got up to head into the house. Hesitating, she turned back to face her cousin. “Do you really think we can do this?”
Maria Juana gripped Star’s face. “You are gonna kick ass.” She slouched back in her chair and removed her sunglasses. “I’ll
be back by six thirty.”
I
n other parts of the country, the September coolness crept in and beckoned knitted scarves, hot apple cider, and leaves-a-plenty.
But not in Phoenix. Residents sported swimsuits, sunglasses, and they could still see the shimmer of heat rising from the
blacktop. Star didn’t mind one more month of sweat. She had survived the worst of summer and welcomed the new energy of fall.
Starting with tonight.
She made her way to the First Friday art walk, which by seven p.m. had already lured a couple thousand enthusiasts to Roosevelt
Street. Crowds checked out the latest receptions, admired the local creations, and networked. And Star was right there with
them, making sure 250 of those patrons would leave the scene with an eight-ounce bag of gourmet green glass glitter purchased
for a mere twenty bucks. Not only would the bill be paid before her parents returned from their vacation, but she would also
have half of the glitter to donate to the arts community in La Pachanga’s name. Her dad would be so proud! Star would also
give a special stash to Ofie, who practically ate the stuff. At least 75 percent of Ofie’s crafts involved some type of glitter:
brush-on, spray-on, squeeze-on, sprinkle-on, even paper and paints embedded with it. Ofie’s obsession was the main reason
Star didn’t spill about the shiny surplus. She figured it would be like telling Joan Rivers a plastic surgeon moved in next
door.
