Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (20 page)

“Our craft meeting is at La Pachanga today, right?” she asked. She wanted to come clean with her friends about her lies. But
first she had to get through the day.

“Oh yah, it was Star’s idea, because Nana Chata has drumming practice at the house. Same time though. Fourish?” Ofie said.
“You okay, sweetie? Your face is flushed. I hope we haven’t embarrassed you. We’re just proud of you. You’re so classy. People
don’t think crafting is as nerdy because of you. You’re a sexy vixen who sews.”

“Don’t forget that she’s a role model for artistic Latinas, too,” Star added. “You’ve made a career doing what you love, working
hard, and aiming high.”

Ofie jumped in again. “Oh! Oh! Like Les Brown, that motivational speaker, once said—it’s better to aim high and miss, than
to aim low and hit.”

“I aim high because of my middle-child syndrome.” Chloe laughed. “Trying to get a bit of recognition.”

“You know? Come to think of it—I don’t aim at anything,” Star concluded. “I go with the flow and live each minute to the fullest.
The journey is more surprising and entertaining that way! Eh, unfortunately, it’s also my downfall.”

“I’m a low-aimer who wants to be a high-aimer,” Ofie announced. “And that’s why you enlighten me so much, Chloe. You aren’t
afraid to go after what you want. You’re the real deal.”

Chloe, ashamed, returned to her chair. “All right—
now
you’re embarrassing me. I’m changing the subject. Star? Can I ask you something personal? We know each other well enough,
right?”

Star put her hand on Chloe’s. “Of course, silly. You can ask me anything. Except physics stuff. I’m bad with that.”

Chloe looked into Star’s eyes. “Who is the Happy Face Tagger? You can trust me. I’d never breathe a word about it.” No sooner
had the words left her mouth than Chloe swore she saw Ofie choke on her drink.

Star cleared her throat, blinked, and stared back at Chloe with a sincere expression.

“Honestly, we never found out. It’s over with.”

“I’m sorry I was so rude to you that day,” Chloe said with sincerity.

An uncomfortable silence invaded their otherwise happy conversation, but then Chloe quickly changed the subject. “So, lady,
what’s up with Harrison? I noticed he’s picked you up from our meetings for the past three weeks.”

Star stretched her arms up and folded them on top of her head. “Yes, he has… but it’s not what you think. You know that English
pub on Central Avenue, the George & Dragon? We hang out there Wednesday nights. They have fish ’n’ chip specials and he is
in their dart tournament. That’s all there is to it.”

Chloe play-punched Star in the arm. “Oh, please. He’s hot and he loves Brit rock. In my book, that is irresistible.”

“Okay, I know. He
is
superhot. My eyes love him, but I haven’t felt the tingle yet. Or like my mom says, the love shine. Plus, everywhere we go,
chicks hit on him. He’s out of my league. But then he is supersweet and goes out of his way to call me. So, I don’t know…
we’ll see. It’s good the way it is.”

“Whatever. Have you tested his fire hose yet?” Ofie asked. “Does it have any kinks?”

Chloe cackled and gave Ofie a big high five.

“Ofie!” Star whimpered.

“Come on, we have a wager on this. I say yes, Ofie says no,” Chloe said as she slapped her hand on the table and picked up
her coffee cup, took a big gulp, and raised her brows.

“It’s not always about sex. Jeez!” Star replied.

Chloe and Ofie tilted their heads together and chimed, “Nope, she hasn’t.”

“Don’t tell me it’s because of Theo,” Ofie said. “He broke all our hearts when he busted yours. But we’ve all moved on. You
can’t let that stop you from a decent kowabunga. Especially with a fireman!”

Chloe snorted and almost spit out her coffee in laughter. “Kowabunga? What the hell is that? I think I know, but I just want
to hear you say it, Ofie.”

Ofie squirmed and waved her hands in the air. “It’s when you know…
it
happens
down there
and you yell: ‘Kowabunga!’ ”

“TMI, Ofie,” Chloe remarked with a dry chuckle.

“I wouldn’t know about kowabungas anymore,” Star said, thinking of Theo.

Chloe sensed Star’s dip in emotion and immediately steered the conversation up again. There would be no boyfriend drama on
her birthday!

“Join the club!” Chloe laughed. “Well, ladies, it’s been lovely, but I have to get to the flower shop to buy a gift for my
assistant.”

“Frances? Why?” Star asked.

Ofie rubbed Chloe’s shoulder. “Larry told me how Frances has been a brat lately. That girl has a lot of nerve after all you
do for her! I wonder if she knows how many people would kill to be your assistant, all the things they could learn from you!
She’s lucky you don’t fire her!” Ofie angrily tossed her spoon down on the table.

Chloe stood up and began to clear the table. “It’s not that bad, really. It’s a very demanding job. I just want to tell her
thanks, which I’ve rarely done in the past. In other words, I want to be a nicer person. Being a bitch is exhausting!”

Star raised her mug as if to say “Cheers!” “Chloe, my dad always says when you admit your flaws out loud, it sends a message
to the universe. I believe it. Like Sam Cooke would say, ‘Change is a comin’.’ ”

N
o better form of satisfaction existed than to create art as a gift, and have the recipient adore it. And that is precisely
what happened at Chloe’s birthday breakfast. As Ofie drove away in the Craftmobile from Chloe’s Scottsdale loft, she danced
and sang along to Beyoncé’s “Survivor” on the CD player. She had spent two hours last night on those sneakers, and the joy
on Chloe’s face when she opened the box was worth every minute. Ofie wanted to continue that joy. She would make sneakers
for Anjelica and, yes, Nana Chata, too, and surprise them. Instead of attending her Wednesday-morning paper-making class,
Ofie directed the van toward her Glendale house, excited to repeat her bleach-pen magic.

Ofie entered the carport, stepped out of the car, toe tapped in a circle, and closed the door with a swing of her hip. She
daydreamed about fabric markers and shoelaces and the bliss they’d bring to her family. All of a sudden, she froze. A thunderous
voice came from inside the house, which should have been empty. Ofie quietly stepped back and reached into her purse for her
cell to call 911.

Holding her breath so as not to make a peep, Ofie listened closer and heard a familiar voice.

Aw, it’s only Nana Chata
, she thought.
Maybe she stubbed her toe on the tie-dye tub again
.

But no, Nana Chata scolded someone on the phone—half in English, half in Spanish, and her angry tone echoed off the linoleum
floors. A bewildered Ofie peeked through the crack in the door and witnessed Nana Chata arguing into the cordless handset
that Ofie had covered in glued-on buttons.

“Ofelia’s with the craft group again! This time at the crack of dawn! I’m sorry to tell you, m’ijo. But your wife needs help.
Did you know she sent Anjelica to school today with a one-hundred-and-two-degree fever? Thank God you changed the emergency
contact number to me, instead of her. It’s nine, and I’ve been trying to call her since seven thirty. Her cell has been off
all morning!”

Ofie, astonished, nervously bounced on her leg and wondered if she should leave. She didn’t.

“I know, Larry. I know. You don’t have to explain. I don’t mind giving you the money for the mortgage. Don’t worry about paying
me back. You know I’d do anything for my son and grandchild. But you have to do something about your wife. Anjelica can’t
grow up in this environment. And how will you ever save for her college? Last I heard, Arizona State University doesn’t accept
cans of varnish as payment! Ofelia needs to get a job like everyone else, instead of spending your hard-earned money on that
craft crap. Anjelica still has nightmares over that awful mural in her bedroom. I keep shoving the dresser in front of it,
but your wife can’t take the hint and moves it away. Even her friends know she has no talent. You have to talk to her. Tell
her to try crochet, something safe.”

Nana Chata paused, Ofie presumed, to listen to Larry.

“Yes. I swear to God, they do! They talk about her when she leaves the room. They’re worried about her too. Look, I have beans
in the Crock-Pot. I’m going to go write a letter to Dr. Phil about this. Maybe he can do an intervention. I’m taking Anjelica
home with me and I’ll clear my schedule today to stay with her. You deal with your wife tonight. Call me in the morning.”

Ofie ran to her van, devastated that Nana Chata would say such awful things about her to Larry. And Anjelica did not have
a fever before school. Ofie knew she was far from a perfect mother, but she did give 100 percent to her only child.

“Don’t I?” Ofie asked aloud. And how horrible of Nana Chata to say her friends felt the same way. As far as Ofie was concerned
they were the only people who truly understood her. Ofie held back a sob, turned on the ignition, and sped away as fast as
she could.

C
hloe yanked open one of the tall glass doors of the office building and checked her watch as she entered the lobby. It was
10:45 a.m. already! She should have arrived by ten, but her surprise birthday breakfast ran long. She flashed her badge to
the security guard and hopped in the mirrored mosaic elevator, only to find Mark Jefferies inside.

“Sweet. There’s the sexy lady I’ve been dreaming about. Happy birthday,” he said, wearing a fancy suit and standing inside
in the lift. “Looks like we have the space to ourselves.”

Chloe greeted him with a professional head nod, attempting to keep a straight face. She refused to demean herself any longer
by giving into this slimeball’s advances. She turned to the mirrored back wall to fix her hair with one hand, while balancing
her purse and Frances’ flowers with the other. She almost fell backward when Mark suddenly shoved his chubby hand down the
front of her silk blouse and squeezed her breast like a bike horn. She lifted her foot and, with all her force, smashed her
heel into his loafer. The move backfired, as he grabbed her other breast to catch his balance. Furious, Chloe was just about
to elbow him when—

Ding!
The elevator doors opened to reveal Frances, standing firm with her arms crossed.

“I heard you had arrived,” Frances deadpanned.

“Hello, Frances!” Chloe squeaked as she detangled herself from Mark, shooting him a you-are-so-gonna pay-for-this glare. “Can
you please book an appointment for me with Human Resources today? I have a sexual harassment complaint to file.”

Frances did not react. She remained stiff as a surfboard, and used her middle finger to push up her glasses. “Happy Birthday,
Ms. Chavez. You’re late. Everything is set up and ready to go. Did you memorize the directions I wrote for today’s projects?”

“Chavez, you’re on in ten minutes!” a producer hollered, as Frances coldly hooked up Chloe’s mic pack and adjusted her clothes.

“Yes, I did memorize the directions, thank you. And it’s not what you think, Frances. Jefferies has been blackmailing me for
years. I won’t take it anymore.”

“So he uses you, just like you use me, Ms. Chavez?” Frances asked.

Chloe did a double take. “I owe you the biggest apology in the world, Frances. These flowers are for you.” She blinked twice
and presented them as a humble commoner would to a queen. Frances accepted them, and her face softened for an instant, but
hardened again as her eyes turned to a cold stare that sent a chill up Chloe’s neck.

“Chavez! We’re waiting!” the producer hollered.

The station’s craft queen hustled through the newsroom and onto the set. Frances deserved more than flowers. Chloe knew she
deserved a better job. Just as promised, the crafts were laid out in perfect order for the do-it-yourself spa segment. There
were three: bubble bath confetti eggs for the kids, peppermint lotion, and the grand finale—fizzy bath bombs.

“Hey there, Crafty Chloe,” Mark said, cooler than a polar bear in a Coke commercial. By his side was his wife, along with
two executives from the Hadwick Corporation and their wives.

“As I mentioned before,” Mark explained, “our wives will join you for the spa segment. They’re here for the Celebrity Fight
Night Fundraiser this weekend, so we’d like to give them a big welcome to the valley.” He held out his arm to three trophy
wives, all mic’d and ready to go.

“Fun!” Chloe said. “Come this way, ladies.” They followed and took their places at the waist-high display table. Chloe scanned
over the notes, and assigned one woman to each project. The floor director held up two fingers.

Chloe took a deep breath and revealed her regional Emmy Award–winning smile.

The red light flashed.

“Hi! Crafty Chloe here! Isn’t the weather absolutely gorgeous? On a day like this, who wants to work?” Chloe asked, reading
the lines on the teleprompter. “Why not take some time to pamper yourself and indulge in some
lavish
spa treatments? I’m here with Mary, Karla, and Taymah, and we’re going to share three easy recipes for relaxation.”

The women waited with excitement as Chloe continued feeding the camera.

“First of all, I’d like for all of you to know—as always, I personally dreamed up and created these very special samples I’m
about to share. They came from my heart and I hope you enjoy whipping them up just as much as I did! So let’s get crafty!”

Mary stepped close to Chloe and rubbed her hands in anticipation.

Chloe lifted a brown egg from a wicker basket and raised it as if it were gold. “First, I’m going to show you how to fill
these darling faux eggs with luxurious bath salts. Here’s how I did it…,” Chloe said, recalling Frances’ notes.

“Simply poke a small hole in the bottom and pour in the dry mixture like this… cover it with a small piece of tissue paper
and glue. When you get in the tub, just crunch the egg between your palms, and let the salts go to work in the water! The
faux eggshell dissolves. Go ahead, Mary. Try this one that I made earlier…,” Chloe urged as she handed Mary the egg and a
small water bowl. “Let’s get a close-up of this, so our viewers at home can see how pretty it looks!”