Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (3 page)

Theo had a profound effect on her life. Even though her parents owned one of the valley’s top Mexican restaurants, Star nixed
anything that didn’t come between two slices of nine-grain bread. Not that she disliked Mexican food (she had yet to explore
it), but as a second-generation Mexican-American, it irked her that people assumed she spoke Spanish, knew how to make tamales,
and smashed piñatas at all her birthday parties. She didn’t want to be lumped into those stereotypes. So she rebelled by distancing
herself from her culture. That night, Theo told her she should be ashamed, and coaxed—okay, seduced—her into tasting a forkful
of green chili. At first she refused, but he scooted close, held the fork to her curvy lips, and she melted inside. Not from
the smell of the food, but from his presence. In one slo-mo bite, her life’s outlook changed and she wanted more.

After dinner, he took her to a concert in Tempe at La Isla del Encanto, a hot new Latin music club. They downed slushy margaritas
and danced for hours to Reggae Sol, a Spanish-language reggae band from Puerto Rico. Star loved each note and lyric of every
song. The lead singer—a tall, handsome, dreadlocked man with tamarind candy-colored skin and huge green eyes—smiled at her
and Theo, as if he were dedicating each song to them. Theo wrapped his arms around Star’s waist from behind and they swayed
to the heavy bass beat.

Star felt as though the enchantment of Reggae Sol’s music followed them out the door, and not just because she bought their
CD. One long light-rail ride home later, and the excitement of the day’s adventure caught up with them. They went back to
Theo’s, played the CD on repeat, danced, kissed, and ultimately consummated their admiration in a drunken, passionate romp,
even though they both were involved with other people. Their romance never physically continued past that night because of
their then–significant others, but the newfound relationship did evolve into a soul-to-soul friendship.

She admired his quiet and sweet nature, and his intuitive viewpoints on world issues impressed her, as did his charm. He had
that effect on folks. His parents and siblings may have moved to Sacramento, California, five years ago, but he sure didn’t
lack a surrogate family. Without even asking, the nana across the street tended to the plants on his front porch, the office
secretary brought him home-cooked meals at least once a week, and his gangbanger neighbors washed his prized ’48 Chevy regularly.
Even the pigeons that overtook his roof respected his living space. Everyone loved Theo.

But Star jolted his life as well. Soon after they met, she discovered a filled sketch pad in his bedroom, and challenged him
to translate it on canvas.

“I’m only doing this to prove you wrong,” he joked that afternoon.

He finished his first piece, a Keith Harring–esque portrait of a woman resembling Queen Latifah. Star hung it in the foyer
of La Pachanga, and by lunchtime it had sold for five hundred dollars, which he split with her. Star convinced him to hatch
a plan to ditch his day job and become a full-time artist. One year later, with Star and La Pachanga’s help, he did it. But
he didn’t stick with paintings. He surfed smoothly through different art genres—punched-tin wall hangings, stained-glass vignettes,
jumbo bronzed sculptures, and welded gates. Theo became Theodoro Duarte, one of Arizona’s brightest new mixed-media artists.

Within a year of Star and Theo’s friendship, they blossomed as respective professionals: he a painter, and she a kamikaze
marketer for his work and La Pachanga. He took his job seriously; she took hers for granted. Their lives remained intertwined,
just as their feet did at the thrift shop that day. Star took comfort in the unspoken commitment between them; after getting
out of their previous relationships, neither had dated anyone else, yet they didn’t officially date each other. They knew
if they did become an exclusive couple, the relationship would automatically fit into the serious zone thanks to their already
hefty friendship. Neither of them were ready for that. They masked the topic by agreeing romance would be a distraction to
their careers. However, they both craved a repeat of that first night. And it was Theo who acted on it last Thursday.

That day, he slipped a copy of
El Solitario: Jinete Sin Fronteras
, a racy Mexican romance comic, in Star’s purse. The comics had always been a running joke between the two. He loved the illustrations
and she giggled at the wacky melodramatic storylines. He had bookmarked the page of a rancher couple making love on a grassy
hill under the moon. He claimed it was a silly gag to make her blush, but they both knew it was a clear indication of what
was on his mind. Star expected it—he threw out a hint every six months. She couldn’t bear to think of life without Theo, and
if that meant keeping it platonic, so be it. Therefore she never acted on his hint.

Except for Thursday. After three long years, Reggae Sol had finally returned to perform in Phoenix that night. Star and Theo
hadn’t seen the band perform since that first evening they met. Just like last time, Star bought Reggae Sol’s new CD before
she and Theo took the light-rail to his house, where they danced until he kissed her. They couldn’t help but repeat the events
from their first meeting. Star told herself to go with the moment and savor the experience.

But something unexpected happened during their lovemaking. He whispered, “I love you.”

His sultry comment made Star’s insides ping. She wanted to reply, but didn’t know what to say. Finally she said, “Me too.”
The next morning, a weird vibe lingered between them. They ate their bowls of Honey Bunches of Oats in front of the TV, made
small talk about the genius teaming of Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak, and Star casually said goodbye and left. She paced around
work all day, and couldn’t handle the tension. She wanted to get back to their usual chumminess, so she swung by to see him
on Friday after work, as if nothing had happened. The sooner they got back on track, the sooner it would blow over. Star had
made a few publicity budget mistakes at La Pachanga recently, and was already behind on booking events for the busy fall season.
She didn’t have time for complications. Theo usually rescued her from stress; he was never the cause of it.

When she stepped into his home, he invited her to sit in the living room while he changed his clothes in the bedroom. Just
him saying the word “bedroom” made Star antsy, even if she did enjoy the night. Star bounced down on the firm tan leather
sofa, and sorted through the magazines on his coffee table that included
Popular Mechanics, Rolling Stone, Made,
and
Urban Latino.
She picked up the latter, and just as she was about to read the table of contents, a scary surprise fell out—wedding package
brochures from various local resorts. She picked them up, confused. Her heart stopped when all of a sudden it clicked.

Theo wanted to get married.

Oh no, no, no,
she thought. Star hadn’t even begun her
real
life yet. She had plans to bust out of Phoenix someday. To do what, she had no idea, but it would be big and fabulous. Living
at her parents’ and working at their restaurant was just a placeholder until she found her mission, maybe start on that art
career. She didn’t have time for a wedding
now
. Sure she loved Theo, but she hadn’t even traveled much. How could she already know if he was her soul mate?

Star heard the wood floors squeak in the hallway signaling Theo’s return to the living room. She quickly shoved the papers
back on the table and slapped a pile of magazines on top of them. He sat down and set his hand on her knee.
Already claiming his property,
she thought.

“Hey, how about a quiet dinner tomorrow night? I have a surprise for you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach for her hand. Her
left
hand. Her stomach jiggled under her skin, and she shot up as if she had just sat on a pin.

“Sure! Oh darn, I forgot that my dad is waiting for me at the restaurant right now. I’ll be by tomorrow night, then. Bye!”
She shook his hand hard, like a proud banker who had just approved his home loan, and left.

And as the hickey on her neck, the tattoo on her arm, and the spray-painted happy faces on his mural proved, she never made
it to that dinner.

“Don’t look at her. Do
not
let her off easy,” Theo said to himself as Star stepped into his personal space. It would be harder than carving marble.
He couldn’t resist her. Theo didn’t only love Star—he was obsessed with the girl.

How the hell did this happen?
he thought. Before they met, he effortlessly broke a string of hearts owned by chicas fine enough for a
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit calendar. He used to be a player and proud of it. How did he go from that scene to being whipped? Easy. He fell
in love.

Star didn’t compare to other women. She came loaded with an arsenal of irresistible quirks. She knew all the Bollywood dance
moves, and with her exotic features, she could pass as an Indian or Mexican pop star. He appreciated her clumsy Spanish, her
kooky range of vintage outfits, notebooks scribbled full of business ideas, and her never-ending wish list of tasks she wanted
to accomplish. Star reminded him of that crazy
Pretty in Pink
chick, chicana style. He teased her about her crazy hair, which she twisted, braided, curled, straightened, and dyed on a
regular basis. These days, she rocked two tones: berry red on the top layers and jet black underneath. He fell for all of
it. Especially the Jessica Rabbit curves that he’d had access to for two brilliant nights over the past three years.

Star chattered on daily about making the world a better place, living each day as if it were her last, being spontaneous,
practicing good karma, and paying it forward. She thought preaching those words meant she had her shit together, but really?
She didn’t have a clue. Hell, she couldn’t even decide on a paint color for her room. Every month she sweet-talked him into
helping her coat it with a new shade. Worst of all, her life revolved around the word “someday.”

Someday
she’d sell artwork she hadn’t made.
Someday
she’d break away from La Pachanga to find her own path. Someday was a copout.

At least she had finally told him she loved him, kind of. Which was why he’d invited her over last night. Like a dumbass,
he blew two hundred bucks preparing a home-cooked dinner with French wine and candles. Only to dump it all in the trash.

Of all of his girlfriends, Star was the only one his family approved of. She made them laugh by sharing animated stories about
her best friend, Ofie, La Pachanga, and her cousin Maria Juana. She played Monopoly with the kids, and sang karaoke with the
teenagers. Theo’s mom bugged him to bring her to every family event so they could show her off. He planned to invite her to
his cousin’s house in Sacramento next week for a Duarte reunion. But instead, she had to go and stand him up, leaving him
waiting like a pinche pendejo. And then to find out she made out with some tattooed Irish homie? And trashing the mural on
top of it?

This was a wake-up call from the Aztec warriors of the past. No self-respecting bachelor should ever let a woman have that
much power. “Beat-down” did not exist in Theo’s machismo dictionary and it mortified him that he had almost entered that territory.
And he had even gained twenty pounds since he met her, thanks to eating at La Pachanga almost every day. No more. Now he realized
all Star cared about was herself.

He squatted to untie the string around a rolled-up plastic tarp. She kneeled next to him and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Theo, I can explain…”

He brushed her hand away and stood defensively. “I’m done with you and this place,” he said, gesturing toward La Pachanga.
He picked up the tarp, snapped apart the first fold, set it down, and reached for the can of turpentine.

“You have every right to hate me. You have no idea how ashamed I am right now,” Star said with a pathetic look of desperation
on her otherwise cute face. “I’m sorry. It must have been pent-up anxiety. But above everything—we’re
friends
. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I let my cousin get me wasted.”

“You need to brush your teeth. Tequila?” he asked, unscrewing the metal lid from the can, avoiding eye contact.

“Worse. Absinthe.” Star sighed guiltily as she scooped a mint from the pocket in her bag and chewed it. She moved in closer
until he could feel her breath on his cheek. “I was drunk when I kissed that guy. We didn’t do anything more, I swear. He’s
one of Maria Juana’s Roller Derby friends. You know how it is. Every time I hang with her, some kind of drama goes down. This
time I was in the middle of it. She’s probably laughing her ass off right now.”

Theo stepped back. “There you go again, making excuses, Estrella. She didn’t put the spray can in your hand, or shove your
tongue down that dude’s throat. By the way, nice hickey.”

Star raised her hand like a stop sign. “Please, don’t.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Theo shouted. “We’re
friends
.”

“Can you lower your voice?” Star said, her voice cracking. “You know you’ve been the only one.”

He faced her chin to chin. “Whether you like it or not, Estrella, we’re more than
friends
, and it’s messed up that we act like we’re not. So what are we, then?” This was the sliver of an opening he left her to redeem
herself.

She paused and he held his breath.

“Why do we have to define it? Putting a label on it lessens it,” she whispered, gazing at the ground. A vision of the wedding
brochures paraded along the walkway before her. Star shook it off. As much as she cared for him, she didn’t want to lead him
on until she was sure she wanted to accept his proposal.

He shook his head in disgust. “You are so full of it,” Theo cracked as he focused on a section of the wall. He dipped the
corner of a rag in the jar of turpentine and began to swiftly scrub at the first happy face she had put there the night before.