Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (30 page)

Harrison carried her to the front door, where he set her down and opened her black fur-trimmed velvet coat. His eyes traced
the roundness of her curves, showcased by a square, low-cut purple Lycra top.

“Look up here, cowboy,” Star said, lifting his chin.

He smiled, using only one side of his mouth, and ran his fingers over the six-strand emerald beaded necklace that rested across
her dark-skinned chest, and then drew an imaginary line down the middle of her body, ending at the green crocheted hem of
her black skirt. He whistled at her legs, which were graced with a tall pair of patent-leather go-go boots.

“I like those,” he said.

Star leaned back and kicked one leg up. “Me too! Buffalo Exchange, forty bucks! They’re a bitch to walk in, but beauty is
pain, right? So where are we going? Have you ever been Latin dancing?”

“I like what the boots are attached to. You look good enough to eat.”

She dismissed the uncomfortable innuendo and reached for the door handle. “Stop it! I have so much to tell you about Ofie
and Chloe. You’ll never believe this—Ofie crochets so fast that she entered the CraftOlympics race, and I’m going to launch
a new business—”

He put his finger over her mouth to shush her. “No talk about your friends tonight. Follow me. I have a surprise. But first,
close your eyes.” He led her through the entryway and down the hallway.

An uneasy feeling crept over Star’s skin. The last time a guy offered to “surprise” her, she embarked on a crime spree and
woke up with a skull tattoo.

“Harrison… this is a little weird… what’s up?” she sang out jokingly, noticing the extreme scent of cucumber candles that
were lit throughout the route. Not exactly her perception of their first date. She preferred cucumbers in a salad.

They turned two right corners and stopped. “Look.”

Just as she suspected, they had reached his bedroom. She’d never seen it before—eggshell-white walls with a black-lacquered,
gold-trimmed California king waterbed in the center and a dresser and nightstand to match.

Ew.

Suddenly Star didn’t want a first date anymore. Harrison made for the perfect companion—as long they were throwing darts or
downing British beers. But the seductive act made her uncomfortable.

Harrison stepped in front of a mauve three-panel partition that was arranged by the window. “This is for you.” He picked up
the partition and leaned it against the wall behind him.

With hesitation, Star tiptoed over to find a tall, brand-new wood easel with a big red bow on top. Next to it sat a stack
of thick canvases, pads of paper, and an art desk cluttered with supplies.

“It’s a work area for when you come over and make your art.”

“A work space in your bedroom?” she asked. She supposed the gesture was nice, if a bit odd. “Um-hum. How… convenient. One
glitch: I haven’t learned to paint yet. I’m still doing shadow boxes, remember?” She turned to face him, but he had vanished.

“Where’d you go, David Blaine?” Star joked.

“It’s never too early to learn,” he called from the bed. Nude. Posed like a Grecian statue. A well-endowed and extremely freckled
Grecian statue. “I want you to paint me,” he said with total confidence and not even a hint of irony.

Star’s eyes widened. “You don’t want me to paint you. I’m horrible with stiff life. I mean
still
life.”

In one swift Wonder Woman motion, she veered around the bed and shuffled backward toward the door, buttoning up her coat.
“Hey, do you knit? I just realized I need to get going on my Victims of Violence blanket for starving children… I’ll be back!”

She bolted out of the room and hustled down the hallway, reached the front door, and stopped. She couldn’t run away. Harrison
had been a loyal friend and deserved respect. Even if in her gut she had a feeling Maria Juana may have been correct. Harrison
had a saucy side, all right.

“Harrison? You there?” Star called out across the large, empty entryway.

He emerged from his room, jeans on, with a steeled expression. “What’s wrong with you? Haven’t we had fun?”

“Yes, totally. I loved all of it and I’m so grateful for you being there for me these past few months. And—”

“You’re not into this, are you?” he asked, softening up.

She sucked in her lips and shook her head. She pressed her back against the off-white front door. “I wanted to be, though.”

“I knew all along. Guys can sense it. Pardon my wishful thinking back there.”

“It’s okay. Very creative. You definitely get props for that.”

“Would you consider one night of secret sex with a good friend?”

Star raised her eyebrow, as if he needed to be disciplined. She envisioned him stuffing dollars in strippers’ G-strings at
Binki’s. She owed her cuz a drink for calling it out.

“Trust me,” Star said. “I’ve been there before, and it doesn’t end well.”

Like a true (shirtless) gentleman, he escorted her out and to her car.

E
ven though Harrison wasn’t quite the man she thought, Star was still pleased she handled the situation like an adult. Driving
home from his house, Star craved the familiar vibe of La Pachanga. She decided to check in on her cousin at the coffee bar
to see if she needed help. Likely not, since Monday nights were usually slow, but Star went anyway.

“Hi, Maria Juana. You can go if you want. I’ll take over from here,” Star called out as she removed her coat and walked behind
the coffee bar counter. There was her cousin, wearing a legitimate barista apron tied tightly over jeans and a cropped top.

“It’s M.J. at work,” she shouted over the espresso machine while steaming milk inside a small silver pitcher.

“M.J.?” Star asked, slipping on an apron and tying it around her waist.

“Yeah, that’s my handle now. Got a problem with it?”

“No, it’s cute. I like it better. It sounds less… illegal?” Star joked. She had been proud of her cousin. According to Al,
Maria Juana proved herself a loyal employee during Star’s exile from the business. Not only did she become the empress of
all caffeine-related beverage services, she also devised and implemented theme nights such as Machismo Mondays, Roller Derby
Wednesdays, and Flirt Fest Fridays, to bring in more evening business. Star would never underestimate her again.

“Damn, girl,” Maria Juana chided, acknowledging Star’s sexy boots. “You can’t work here dressed like that. You ain’t serving
these cinnamon buns in the red-light district.”

Look who’s talking
, Star thought. “Go easy on me. I just came from a date gone bad.”

“Scary Harry?” M.J. said. “What happened?”

“He asked me to paint him. Naked. You’re right. He is scary! I bolted.”

Maria Juana wagged her tongue and fake gagged as her square purple lacquered nails squeezed a perfect pyramid of whipped cream
on top of a cappuccino. She drizzled on a swirl of chocolate sauce and presented the buzzy confection to a drooling customer.

“Can I get some of that, prima?” Star practically crawled across the counter to offer her finger. That chocolate sauce looked
pretty therapeutic right now.

“Seriously girl, you look like one of those chicas from
Lowrider
magazine. You should show it off! I’m hittin’ a club later with Las Bandidas. La Isla del Encanto. There’s some band from
Puerto Rico that sings in Spanish.”

Star perked up. “Reggae Sol?”

“I think so. Come with us. We can celebrate your freedom from Scary Harry. I’m closing up here in a few minutes.”

It had to be a message from the universe. The last two times Star partied at a Reggae Sol show, it was with Theo. This would
be her closure. Plus, she knew exactly who to invite as her date—or rather—dates.

“Let me make a couple phone calls,” Star chirped. “And then let’s roll!”

C
hloe entered the club and spotted Star across the room, sipping a fruity martini. The dethroned craft queen spliced her way
through the elbow-to-elbow crowd that included everyone from rainbow-shirt-wearing hippies to sexed-up couples in Latin-longue
attire.

Chloe could see why Star had deemed La Isla del Encanto her favorite nightclub, even over Friday nights at La Pachanga. Chloe
compared the Caribbean club to a tropical oasis planted in the middle of the Arizona concrete jungle. Tall palm trees lined
the entire perimeter, and out front, shrubs planted in gigantic red, yellow, and green pots led up to the entrance, which
was trimmed in strands of rope lights. Inside, murals, paintings, masks, and magazine clippings cluttered the walls and tables,
making Chloe feel as though she were in another city, another time, and another body.

She finally made her way to Star’s table near the stage and was met with a tight, tipsy hug. Star cleared her throat to shout
over the reggae jams that thumped through the subwoofers throughout the club.

“Thanks for coming! I thought you could stop me from doing anything stupid, and we could party at the same time. Dang, you
look fan-friggin-tastic!” Star commented, impressed that Chloe had come fashionably back to life since Saturday at Benecio’s.

Chloe rocked a gold clingy halter dress with a courageous neckline that just about hit the top of her belly button. “Thank
God for bitty boobs and double-stick tape,” she answered, holding her petite hand to the side of her mouth and talking into
Star’s ear. “I haven’t been out since, like, forever. I feel like I need to interview people, and I keep wanting to check
on the cameraman.”

“Chill and enjoy. Larry and Ofie are coming too!” Star said.

“Believe me, I’m ready to enjoy!” Chloe shouted over the house music.

“Here! Finish this,” Star said, shoving her mystery martini to Chloe. “Tonight we drop our guard. Someday we’ll be wrinkly
and have fat butts, so we may as well live it up now, no? By the way? I’m lovin’ the double XL lashes and tight ponytail.
They make you look like a mod model from the sixties!”

“Thanks! Oh—there’s Ofie.”

Star and Chloe lifted their napkins above their heads to wave down the third craftista amiga and her husband, who had just
entered the club and were getting their hands stamped by the doorman. Larry took note, but Ofie was too busy asking a guy
about his long multicolored dreadlocks.

By the time they made it to the table, two fresh rum punches had just been delivered for them. Larry used his car key to tap
the side of his glass and announced “Salud!” Ofie cuddled with him and picked up her glass.

Chloe lifted her second martini to the center of the tall round table. “Here’s to my independence from Crafty Chloe, KPDM,
Ezra, and all the baggage that came with it. To all of you, the best friends I’ve ever had—and to finding a man who doesn’t
give me any lip unless it’s for pleasure purposes only!”

Ofie hooted and slapped the table hallelujah style. She then wiggled to make room as if she were a keynote speaker about to
address a room full of professionals. “Here’s to my crochet hook and my family and friends who support me, bad crafts and
all! I love you so much!”

“Awwww, we love you too!” Star said, feeling a bit loopy from her two drinks. “Here’s to you guys, of course. But also to
the CraftOlympics in two weeks—woo-hoo!—the centerpieces, which are finished and fabulous; to me cutting Harrison loose tonight;
and to only having thirty pounds of glitter left!”

Chloe scrunched her face, holding back her astonishment. “You cut
what
from Harrison?”

They all broke out into hysterics—the kind that only come between cocktail-sipping women at a nightclub. Chloe dabbed the
tears from her cheeks with her pinkies. As she did so, her blurred vision came into focus.

“Oh. My. God!” Chloe blurted. Beyond Star’s shoulder stood a striking island-looking guy with long dreadlocks. Could it be?
Yes! Gustavo from the coffeehouse. The musician who made her thighs tango just by shaking her hand.

Star tapped Ofie’s finger and then gave Chloe the sly eye. Her plan had worked. “Guess who’s playing tonight, missy. Reggae
Sol. I told you I’d treat you.”

Chloe didn’t hear a single syllable. Her gaze locked into Gustavo’s, inciting a Tony and Maria
West Side Story
moment. The bouncing background music seemed to muffle and the lights dimmed. He touched the tip of his nose and smiled.
It must be a reggae signal for hi
, she thought. Chloe touched the tip of her nose and bashfully blinked and then threw out a flirty smile.

Star whistled in front of Chloe’s face. “Red alert to Chloe! Snot bubble, left nostril!”

“Huh?” Chloe asked, without breaking her locked gaze with the Rasta hunk. And then Star’s words registered and she snapped
back to reality.

“Snot bubble? Me? No, it can’t be!” She grabbed a napkin, put it over her nostrils, and darted for the bathroom. But running
in a dangerous dress and heels isn’t the easiest feat after a high-octane cocktail. Inches away from the ladies’ room door,
her knees buckled, causing her to glide through the air until she landed flat on her backside on the acid-stained concrete
floor. She jumped up on her feet, just like a seasoned acrobat, and plowed through the swinging door to the ladies’ room,
where several dance-floor princesses rushed to her aid.

“Please, God,” Chloe begged to the ceiling. “Please don’t let him have seen that.”

“Honey, everybody saw that one,” said a friendly black woman with a gorgeous face and a long shiny mane. “Hold on a few. Go
fix your stuff in the mirror, and then prance back out there like you
own
the place. By the way—you okay? That was a nasty crash.”

Chloe gave two thumbs-up and then reached for the woman’s necklace, which had seven little pictures of Queen Nefertiti of
Egypt all linked together. “Wow. Did you make that?”

“Sure did.”

“Image transfer on clay! I learned about it from my friend Ofie! It’s polymer clay that is clear and squeezable!” Chloe boasted,
amazed at her crafty knowledge.

Now calmer and in better spirits, Chloe powdered her face, applied a fresh coat of gloss, and counted to three in Spanish
before heading out. Borrowing the regal spirit of Queen Nefertiti from the necklace, she pushed open the swinging door and
found Gustavo waiting for her.