Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (35 page)

“I’m flattered. Thank you! But can I ask a question?”

“Of course,” Rene said.

“Betty, would you ever consider visiting our craft group sometime?”

“As long as there is an outlet for my glue gun, I’ll be the first to arrive!”

O
fie added the final touch of cream cheese frosting to the red velvet cake she had prepared for the evening’s holiday craft
up. She used brewed espresso instead of water for the mix, and chocolate fudge pudding for the inside filling. Because those
were two new experimental techniques, Ofie taste-tested the concoction. She licked her lips, slid the knife into the cake,
and trimmed off a one-inch strip down the shortest end. She scraped it into a small cereal bowl and quickly frosted up the
raw side.

She had ten minutes to partake in this sinful, secretive delicacy, and she savored every moist and gooey chew. As she leaned
against the fridge and ate, she replayed the last month’s events.

Noticing the hour, she tossed the bowl in the sink. Time to fire up the heaters in the back room for the craftistas. They
had all agreed to keep the group going every other Wednesday and bring whatever they wanted to work on. After cranking out
two hundred identical centerpieces, freeform crafting seemed like the way to go. Ofie volunteered to host for the rest of
December, and promised herself to save all her crafting for the meetings.

The hullabaloo over the CraftOlympics had simmered down in the week since the event, but Ofie’s new persona trumped Rachael
Ray’s on Thanksgiving Day. As winner of the Speed Crochet competition, Ofie not only scored prizes galore, but a book editor
from a major trade publisher asked her to share her story. After thinking long and hard, Ofie came up with the title
Stitches for the Spirit: Crochet Your Way to Personal Glory
. In addition, Bundle Up America hired her to appear in magazine ads this winter, and Benecio’s dad signed on as her agent.
Even Anjelica got tapped to participate in a teen craft book.

Ofie set the clear plastic covering over the table and thought about how Benecio’s life had turned a corner as well. His mom
moved out shortly before the CraftOlympics, but Benecio and his father seemed closer than ever. His dad converted the guest
room into his son’s design studio, and stepped up as his manager. The beauty, Ofie thought, was that he agreed to accompany
Benecio to the craft meetings—not for the sake of BJV’s Design, but for friendship and conversation.

But Ofie was most thrilled with Nana Chata, who joined the group in order to scrapbook her memories with the Del Tambor Africana.

The Wednesday-night gathering was in full swing, but they all agreed it just wasn’t the same without Star, who spent most
of her time working on programs for her new shop, which she aimed to open in January. Her friends knew full well it was her
way of dealing with Theo living five hundred miles away. Star said they talked by phone every night, but Ofie knew that didn’t
quite satisfy the itch.

“I’m so happy Star got drunk and spray painted happy faces all over Theo’s mosaic mural,” Ofie blurted while she passed around
the cake slices. “Chloe, did you bring the coffee?”

“That’s kind of random, Mom,” Anjelica said.

“Me too,” Chloe said, hiking up a box of freshly brewed java from the local bagel shop and setting it on the table. “Think
about it. If it weren’t for Star, we wouldn’t have all come together. I wouldn’t have stopped at the Chi-Chi Coffee Cabana
and met my husband.”

“Hey,” Benecio added. “You’re right!”

“Right. I’m sure Star is real happy. Because of her mess, her soul mate is stuck in another state,” Nana Chata stated. “You
all made out like bandits, and that girl is all alone.”

“Why don’t we throw her a surprise party for her birthday? It’s this Friday, December tenth! I can ask Al and Dori if we can
use her new shop; it’s still empty.”

The group agreed and brainstormed the logistics before starting their projects in progress.

An hour later, Benecio and his dad halfheartedly worked on their lino print note card project. Ofie crocheted a skinny rainbow
scarf for Anjelica, and Nana Chata painted a drum. Chloe just drank coffee, and told them about her new job hosting a home-improvement
series for a new English-language Latino network. They didn’t hire her for her crafting skills; they wanted her strictly for
her talent as an upbeat, quick-thinking host. The show would take only six weeks out of the year to film, so she could still
live in Phoenix and start a family with Gustavo.

The doorbell rang and everyone looked at one another, stumped as to whom it could be.

“Larry… please get that…,” Ofie yelled. “I keep money in the jar on the bookshelf in case it is kids selling Christmas candy
to earn a trip to Disneyland…”

“Aye, those are all scams, m’ija,” Nana Chata said as she dipped her brush onto a paper plate filled with purple paint.

“Now, Nana Chata…,” Ofie said.

Larry walked into the Arizona room with his hands in his pockets.

“Tyra mail?” Chloe asked.

“Better. You’ll never believe who just arrived.”

L
ying on her antique iron-framed bed, wrapped tight like a butterfly inside of a cocoon, Star hugged her pillow and tried not
to think about Theo falling in love with someone else in Santa Fe. Sure, they talked every night by phone, but how long could
that last? His new art rep already had several swanky affairs booked in his honor, and they all fell on days when Star could
not attend. Holiday season had settled in; her parents needed her back at La Pachanga full-time, on top of her press release
clients and situating her new business.

Star squeezed her eyes shut at the thought of dying a spinster at her art desk, with a jar of German glass glitter in one
hand and a bottle of dried-out varnish in the other.

This had to be the worst birthday in all her twenty-five years. Her parents and the craftistas took her to Matt’s Big Breakfast
in the morning, and it took every ounce of energy for Star to show appreciation. Ever since Theo left, nothing excited Star.
As much as she cherished their last night together, it made the separation twice as hard than if they had never crossed paths.
At least she had moved on and her skin had thickened. Now, here she sat, all alone on her birthday, wanting to scarf down
every type of Warm Delight dessert invented.

As long as she channeled her energy into the shop, she’d be fine. She’d make it the hippest place to splash paint. She planned
to devote every waking minute to setting it up, teaching classes, and scouring the universe for killer merchandise. Anything
to keep her mind off Theo.

A little after six p.m., Star put on her pajamas and crawled back under two thick rainbow afghans that Ofie had made. Tonight’s
cinematic double feature fit with the mood:
Splendor in the Grass
and
Moulin Rouge
—two sappy tales about love that would never be. She had accomplished so much these past few months, she’d earned a night
of wallowing. Pathetic, maybe. But at least it was a step up from the doomed love scene compilation DVD she’d made before.
She reminded herself to post it on YouTube for other tortured women. The opening music for
Moulin Rouge
, a Rufus Wainwright ballad, had just started when her iPhone rang.

“Star, you need to come down to the restaurant, please!” her father pleaded. “The back house has been vandalized. Put some
nice clothes on this time. Hurry!”

Star hung up, and groaned. Her dad wouldn’t win any Academy Awards with that kind of acting. She had predicted all along they
would throw her a surprise party. She even fake-coughed all day so they’d think she was sick, but obviously it didn’t work.

Oh, who was she kidding. Star loved surprise parties, especially when they were for her. And this would be just what she needed
to lift her mood.

Over at La Pachanga, to prepare for the night, Ofie had rounded up Star’s parents, Benecio, his dad, Chloe, Gustavo, Maria
Juana, all of Las Bandidas del Fuego, Nana Chata, Anjelica, and Larry. This would be the gang’s biggest crafty project yet.

The group worked all day Friday transforming Star’s shop into an artful atmosphere. Of course, more details needed to be added,
but at least it was off to a good beginning.

When the magic hour came, Dori cranked up the holiday spirit by playing Los Kumbia Kings, Ozomatli, Selena, Girl in a Coma,
Manu Chao, and Star’s favorite—Yerba Buena—from the jukebox while they set the stage for Star’s surprise party. Larry and
Gustavo hung two dozen red Sacred Heart papel picado banners from the ceiling, while Nana Chata and Dori worked in the kitchen
to prepare an enchanting Mexican feast of molé, rice, beans, and churros drizzled with chocolate sauce.

Benecio, his dad, and Maria Juana cut and sprinkled silver Mylar squares all over the ornate stenciled floor while Ofie whipped
up a set of red and purple place mats. Chloe took up Frances’ idea of covering a lampshade with poinsettia petals. The mood,
the lighting, the food—everything had to be just right.

“Okay, let’s run through the list. Are all of these done? Birthday cake, mariachis, dinner, decorations, party favors…,” Ofie
demanded with the determination of a head nun at the annual church craft fair.

They all agreed in unison.

“Has anyone heard from our subject? Where is she?” Chloe asked.

“On her way,” Al confirmed. “We should assume our positions.”

Star parked her Chevy Bel Air as the gang hid behind the bushes and watched. With her hair pinned up, she stepped out in a
flirty gold satin cocktail dress, strappy heels, and a long sparkly red sweater—all that an Arizona winter required.

She walked briskly through La Pachanga, and greeted all the customers who waved at her. As she passed through the back door
of the restaurant, she saw her soon-to-be craft shop dark and abandoned.

When she opened the door, she was stunned. Though totally void of party guests, the room looked as if Colin Cowie himself
had lit every candle and arranged every flower. Small café tables filled the space, partnered with glittery emerald vinyl
chairs. The only other fixture was a bar table in the center of the room with a hot-pink gift box on top. The always-inquisitive
Star approached it, read her name on the stamped tag, and picked it up. She wondered if there were cameras rolling, if this
was some sort of prank. Cautiously she removed the lid.

For a moment, everything stopped: Her thoughts, her breath, even her heartbeat.

Nestled inside a bed of paper shredding was the first, and most personal, love shrine she’d ever made—the shrine for Theo.
She raised it and noticed it had been refurbished. Suddenly the back door of the shop opened and the next moment played out
like a Mexican soap opera. Theo sauntered inside.

She craved him like a BBQ dinner on an empty stomach. He looked so tasty and garnished just right: His dark hair combed back,
clean-shaven face, charcoal-gray sweater, black slacks, and shiny black dress shoes. She had never seen his body more cut.
Star felt her chest rise and fall, half because she didn’t want to cry, and half because she was so thrilled to be near him.

A mariachi trio stepped out and began to play
“Paloma Negra”
by Lola Beltran—the song Theo sang to her on Día de los Muertos.

There in the middle of The Glittered Cactus, he greeted her with a deep and devoted kiss.

“How in the world did you get this?” Star asked, pointing to the shrine. She couldn’t contain her joy and her hands began
to tremble.

A broad smile spread across his face, showcasing his irresistible dimples. “Chloe had it all this time. She’ll have to tell
you the details. I wish I had kept it the night you tried to give it to me—”

“Theo, wait,” she cut him off. “Why are you here. You have your first show tonight.”

“I wanted to be here for your birthday. No show is worth missing that.”

The idea of him chancing his new lifestyle just for her was touching, but didn’t sit well. She didn’t want to be the one who
caused him to lose his new high-profile sales rep.

“You can’t do this. Oh my God, all those people are there waiting for you!” Star began to pace around the room, until she
plopped down in one of the chairs.

“Hey, I was kinda expecting a warmer welcome, Estrella. Give a guy a break. I knew you weren’t going to come see me anytime
soon.”

“Are you trying to make me feel bad? I need some fresh air…” She swung her arms and left swiftly through the front door.

Nana Chata’s head emerged from the top of the hedges that lined the entrance of the property. “Star, get back in there! He
has good news!”

Everyone else popped their heads up one at a time over the hedge too and hollered in agreement.

Star paused with a pensive look on her face. She grinned and shook her finger at her conspirators. “You guys are too much,”
she said and laughed before returning inside. She barely crossed the doorway when Theo slid his hands around her waist.

“I’m moving back, and I have my agent’s blessing. I had no motivation out there.
You
are my motivation. They saw the painting I made of you and want more of that style. They told me they would rather have me
live in Phoenix and make art I enjoy than be in Santa Fe and be blocked.”

Star’s legs felt limper than cooked spaghetti. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” she asked, needing verbal confirmation
before she considered a triple-happy back tuck.

Outside, Nana Chata scrunched down and excitedly signaled Anjelica over with a whistle. “Mi reina, take this quarter, run
in there, and put it in the jukebox. Press E-seventeen and then run back over here. Andale!”

Anjelica sprinted in, her sneakers squeaking along the tile floor as she made her way to the jukebox Al had installed that
week. She dropped in the coin, pressed the buttons, dashed back outside, and ducked along with the onlookers below the hedge.

Theo and Star squinted at each other, almost wanting to smile at the scheme they just witnessed. Star knew her girlfriends
were crafty, but she never expected over-the-top corniness like this. Good thing Star had a weak spot for corny.