Lights, Camera, Quince!

by Veronica Chambers

  When she got back to her room, Una was waiting for her, as she had expected. Carmen was about to tell her all about the conversation when her sister spoke.

  “Hey,” she said, turning around. “There was something else I wanted to tell you about my bat mitzvah.”

  Carmen looked over, surprised.

  “It wasn’t all about the presents,” Una said. “The one thing I really loved about my bat mitzvah was learning Hebrew.”

  She wadded up a piece of paper and threw it at Carmen.

  “What was that for?” Carmen said, catching it.

  “That’s the number of my Hebrew tutor. In case you want to check it out.”

  Una’s words brought Carmen crashing back to reality. Dream boy or not, date or not, she had a party to plan and a theme to pick out . . . and the clock was ticking.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Alicia and Carmen met at the Whip ’N’ Dip, in Coral Gables. After extensive study of Miami’s frozen yogurt spots, they had decided that the Whip ’N’ Dip, while decidedly old-school and not as well decorated as some of the newer places, had the best fro yo in town.

  When Alicia arrived, Carmen was already sitting at their favorite table outside. They played a quick round of “Red Carpet Arrivals.”

  Alicia held up the pretend microphone first. “Miss Ramirez-Ruben, you never fail to delight. What are you wearing?”

  Carmen assumed the pigeon-toed stance that Teen Vogue said all the models used because it made their legs seem longer. “Well, Alicia,” she replied, “I’m wearing my own label, Viva Carmen. It’s a play on a mechanic’s jumpsuit, except I made it in white, with red streaks, and I cut it into a short short.”

  Alicia nodded. “A modern take on the classics is what makes Carmen Ramirez-Ruben a red-carpet darling.”

  Carmen grinned. Her turn.

  “We’re here at the Teen Choice Awards with Miss Alicia Cruz,” Carmen said. “Alicia, what are you wearing?”

  Her voice was so convincing that some of the older couples at the other tables turned around to see what was going on. Something was always being filmed in Miami, so it wouldn’t have been that surprising to see two stylish girls working on a TV show or film. But the onlookers quickly realized that Carmen was holding nothing in her hand but her imagination. Still, both girls continued to ham it up as if there were real cameras capturing their every move.

  Alicia gave Carmen a very Hollywood air-kiss and said, in her best Salma Hayek impersonation, “Carmen, so lovely to see you. I am wearing a D&G T-shirt. My jeans are from Topshop. And the cap is from my boyfriend. He is in the navy. I also wear his boots, because I have very, very big feet.”

  Jamie walked up to the table just as Carmen nearly split her gut laughing.

  “What are you guys doing?” she asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. ‘Red Carpet Arrivals.’ Do you guys actually still find that fun?”

  Her two friends nodded.

  “Different strokes,” Jamie said. “Let’s order up some tasty goodness.”

  Carlos, the owner of Whip ’N’ Dip, was an older man from Cuba who had known Alicia’s parents since they were kids. The amigas were loyal to him, but that didn’t stop them from campaigning for new flavors on a regular basis.

  “Come on, Carlos, when are you going to make me that green tea fro yo that I’ve been fiending for?” Alicia said.

  “Y yo quiero lichis,” Carmen added.

  “And what about pomegranate?” Jamie said. “Every fro yo store in New York has pomegranate.”

  Carlos shook his head and, in a tone of mock frustration, pointed to his wares. “No, sabe, aquí, nos gustan los originales. We’ve got coconut, mango, pineapple, banana, strawberry. It’s not enough for you, then you no whip it or dip it.”

  “We know, we know,” Alicia said. “Banana whip in a cup with chocolate shavings, por favor.”

  “Piña on a stick, frozen,” Carmen said. “Gracias, Señor Carlos.”

  “Coconut whip in a cup, thanks,” ordered Jamie.

  • • •

  Back outside, with frozen treats in hand, the girls sat down at their table.

  “I’ve got something to tell you,” Carmen said, her words coming out in a rush. She was too pumped to keep her news inside any longer.

  “Me, too!” Jamie cried.

  “Well, mine involves a really cute new boy,” Carmen chimed in.

  Jamie shrugged. “As mine involves a wicked shipment of Bathing Ape T-shirts from Osaka, I think you can go first,” she said, admitting defeat.

  “Remember the waiter from Bongos the other day?” Carmen asked.

  Jamie raised an eyebrow playfully. She knew where this was going. “The MWAH?”

  “That would be the one,” Carmen said. “His name is Domingo, and we’re going out on Sunday.”

  Alicia giggled. “You’re going out with Domingo on domingo? That’s funny.”

  Carmen beamed. “I know! That’s what I said. He didn’t think it was quite as funny.”

  “You’re smooth, chica,” Alicia said. “I didn’t even see you two exchange numbers.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Jamie said proudly. “Because I gave him Carmen’s number.”

  “Indeed she did. And by the way, gracias, chica,” Carmen said, reaching out to give Jamie a high five.

  “Girl’s got your back!” Alicia said.

  “Claro,” Carmen said, biting into her frozen yogurt pop. “That’s only part of my news.”

  “There’s more?” Alicia asked.

  “Even better. Well, maybe not better . . . but just as fantastic. Someone from Channel Six news called to say that Sharon Kim wants us to come in to the station tomorrow to discuss Project Quince—maybe on air!”

  Alicia nearly choked on her fro yo. “Tomorrow? As in day after today? But my hair is a mess and I need to get a manicure, and . . .”

  “Whoa, chill, chica,” Jamie said. “We’ll probably be on air for like, five seconds. Plus, you gotta get used to this. Project Quince is a show, after all.”

  Carmen laughed at Alicia’s now frozen expression. “Jamie’s right, Lici. This is just a quick thing. Then we’ll hear more about the show. So no freaking out. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  The next morning, Carmen, Alicia, Gaz, and Jamie arrived at the television station to meet with Sharon Kim and Mary Kenoyer, the producer who had approached Carmen. This was their big break, and each of them knew it. They’d all gotten there more than half an hour early. And despite the assurances yesterday that this was not a freak-out moment, they’d each dressed to impress. Jamie, the quintessential B-boy, ramped it up in a black strapless jumpsuit and, very uncharacteristically, a long strand of pearls.

  Alicia raised an eyebrow. “For real?”

  Jamie responded, “I saw this movie about Coco Chanel the other night, and what can I say? I was inspired. I borrowed these from my mom.”

  “You certainly are rocking them,” Carmen said, nodding appreciatively.

  “And you’re nothing if not versatile,” Alicia added.

  Jamie did a little spin. “Thanks. So, let’s do this!”

  Walking into the television studio, the friends fell silent as they took in the pictures of all the faces they’d watched onscreen over the years. The receptionist, who looked old enough to have invented TV, squawked, “Do you have a purpose being here? This is not a museum. You can’t just come in and look at the pictures.”

  “Why does it got to be like that?” Jamie mumbled.

  “Because we’re teenagers,” Carmen replied, calmly.

  “Because we’re Latin,” Jamie retorted.

  Ever the leader, Alicia stepped forward. “We have a ten a.m. appointment with Sharon Kim.”

  The receptionist looked haughtily at Alicia. “And you are . . . ?”

  “Amigas Incorporated,” Alicia answered smoothly. “She’s expecting us.”

  The receptionist made a call. After a few moments, she directed the four to go through the door behind her. “Straight
down that hall, take the elevator to the third floor,” she droned in a nasal voice. “Have a nice day.”

  The moment the door closed behind them, Jamie started to fume. “Have a nice day? Have a nice day?”

  Alicia took a deep breath and held up a hand. “Would Coco Chanel let this get to her?”

  Jamie sighed. “I guess not.”

  Carmen smiled and, in the dulcet tones of an inspirational speaker, said, “Be the pearls.”

  Jamie scowled. “This is why I don’t wear pearls.”

  Unfortunately, the receptionist wasn’t the worst thing they were going to see that day. And Carmen’s promise of nothing bad happening proved to be wrong. To say that they were surprised to see Simone Baldonado standing in the office with Sharon and Mary would have been an understatement.

  “Hello, commoners,” Simone said, clearly relishing their discomfort as they entered.

  Alicia turned to the TV producer. “No offense, but she’s not part of Amigas Incorporated. What is she doing here?”

  Mary smiled. “I’m sorry if I didn’t make this clear when I spoke with Carmen. Project Quince is a competition. Two teams. One goal: who can throw the most innovative quince for a thousand dollars or less? The prize is three thousand dollars that can go to the quince’s party or whatever you choose. In addition, you and Simone’s team will battle it out in a series of three different impromptu challenges for the pilot episode. If the show is successful, then we’ll have two groups of chicas go at it every month for a year. You are, in effect, guinea pigs.”

  When Mary was done speaking, Alicia smoothed an invisible wrinkle on her shirt. “Excuse me. Can we just have a moment?”

  As soon as they stepped into the hall, Alicia’s composure broke and she frowned. “I know this is an amazing opportunity, but I’m not down with Simone being part of it. Nothing is ever easy—or fair—when she’s involved.”

  Gaz straightened his tie. “We’ll crush her,” he said, looking serious.

  “We’ve built this business out of nothing,” Carmen added with a confident nod. “We can handle Simone.”

  Jamie nodded, too. “It’s worth it for all that loot. We can use the prize money for our trip to New York.”

  Alicia knew when she was outnumbered. “Okay, so we’re in,” she said with renewed determination as they walked back into the office. “But we do have some concerns.”

  “That’s great,” Mary said. “Now, if you don’t mind, Jamie, our sound tech will mike you.”

  “Even for this first meeting?” Alicia asked.

  Sharon beamed. “We don’t want to miss a thing! We’ll need all of you to sign releases, and, because you’re minors, your parents will have to sign, too. That’s why we decided this discussion wouldn’t be aired live. But let’s go ahead and get you miked up for future material. Simone already has hers on.”

  Alicia and Carmen exchanged glances as the sound technician handed them the mikes to slip inside their shirts, then deftly clipped the mikes to the backs of their outfits. The reality of the situation finally hit home. All those years of playing “Red Carpet Arrivals,” and now they were going to be on an honest-to-goodness TV show. It didn’t seem possible.

  Jamie did Alicia, then Carmen, then herself. When Jamie was done, she turned to Sharon and said, “Okay, good to go.”

  Sharon shot them one of her trademark bright sunny smiles with which she managed to report about even the most bizarre news (“Crocodile saves infant baby; baby unharmed! News at eleven!”). “We’re listening now, to all of you,” she said. “These microphones are extremely sensitive. So, watch your mumbling. And watch your language! Remember, this is a family television station!”

  They all sat down around a conference table. “Now, as you have mentioned, Alicia, I believe you have some concerns. I feel it would be best to hear them before we get too involved in the show.”

  “I agree. I—we—only have one concern, really—Simone doesn’t do quinces. She’s got a Sweet Sixteen business,” Alicia said, speaking to Sharon and ignoring Simone. “A brand-new business,” she added under her breath.

  Sharon raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “That is a problem, because the show is called Project Quince. MTV already has My Super Sweet 16. Simone, you informed us you did quinceañeras.”

  Simone made a face. “I do do quinces. I’m . . . um . . . doing Raymunda Itoi’s in a month.”

  “Raymunda?” Jamie said. “Who’s that? I don’t know any Raymunda at Coral Gables.”

  Simone flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “That’s right, you don’t,” she said, her voice icy. “Because she’s a Brazilian Japanese girl from Hialeah High.”

  “Simone, we’ve worked hard to make our business work,” Alicia said, unable to hold back. “Why are you stepping up like this?”

  “Like you need the money,” Simone said. “Exploiting poor Latina girls for their last peso when you could afford to help them for free.”

  “Um, pot calling the kettle black?” Alicia growled.

  “My family has been in the hospitality business for years,” Simone said.

  “Then why aren’t you more freakin’ hospitable?” Alicia asked.

  The girls argued back and forth, unaware that Sharon’s cameraman had started filming them. It was only when Sharon began clapping that Alicia bit her tongue. This was not the impression she wanted to make.

  “You know what, just forget it,” Alicia said, lowering her voice.

  “No! Don’t forget it. Keep going!” Sharon said, gesturing to Simone and Alicia to get back in each other’s faces. “This is great drama for the show!”

  Watching the antics, Carmen, Jamie, and Gaz exchanged looks. What had they gotten themselves into?

  CARMEN WOKE up Sunday morning at six. Between thoughts of the TV show and her upcoming date, she was a wreck.

  Domingo was picking her up at noon, but she had a lot to do beforehand. The night before, he had called to confirm the date and told her to pack a swimsuit. But he wouldn’t tell her where they were going. In Miami, telling someone to pack a swimsuit was hardly a clue. There was water everywhere. If they were going to South Beach, Carmen would need to pack a bikini—the less material, the better. If they were going to Coconut Grove, she’d definitely want to bring her sarong and a pair of jeweled flip-flops, because the vibe there was more stylish, more grown-up. The Nikki Beach Club was ground zero for the Beautiful People. If they were going there, Carmen would need much more than a swimsuit. She’d need a whole poolside ensemble: hoop earrings, stiletto heels, a big necklace . . .

  By the time Una woke up, Carmen had been laying outfits on her bed, mixing and matching (no greater crime than being matchy-matchy) for two hours.

  Una rolled over, her curls tousled and beautiful as always. “Ugh, stop making so much noise! What are you doing?”

  Carmen had already showered—hot water being always in short supply in their full house—and was dressed in a short summer robe.

  “I’m getting ready for my date with Domingo,” Carmen said.

  “Right,” Una quipped. “Domingo on domingo.”

  Carmen scowled. “For some reason, he doesn’t find that funny. So don’t mention it when you meet him.”

  Una shook her head. “I won’t meet him. I’ve got dance-team practice at ten a.m. I’ll be long gone. What’s with all of this? I thought you were going to the beach.”

  “We are,” Carmen said. “I just don’t know which beach. And you know, every beach and pool club has its own style.”

  Una threw her head back in mock frustration. “Doesn’t matter. There is only one foolproof beach-date outfit.”

  She got out of bed, reached into her own drawer, and pulled out a coral tankini, a white lace minidress, and a coral and white bandanna.

  “This is what I should wear?” Carmen asked, bewildered. “But you never let me borrow your clothes. You always say I’m going to ruin them.”

  “Stop talking!” Una ordered. “And start listenin
g. Like I said, there’s only one foolproof beach-date outfit.”

  Carmen sat on her desk chair and listened.

  “Tankini on the first date,” Una went on. “Even if you have ripped abs like mine and legs that go on forever, like yours, you are a nice girl. Show it by not showing it. A tankini is cute and sporty. Guys don’t love them, but they shouldn’t get everything they want out of life. Especially on the first date. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Carmen blushed. Was her sister actually talking to her about sex? As if. She wasn’t even fifteen yet.

  “Pay attention!” Una snapped. “I’m not speaking for my health. The tankini should be in a nice soft color. Girls usually like bold colors like black and turquoise and red. Guys tend to go for pastels. You compromise with coral and it shows off the brown in our natural skin tone.”

  “Okay,” Carmen said, smiling. She kind of loved it when her big sister got bossy.

  “The white lace minidress is an American classic,” Una said. “Look at Ali MacGraw. Look at Sienna Miller. Look at decades of actresses who know style. It’s a little dressy, but not too dressy. Also, if you spill something on it, no sweat—you just bleach it out.”

  “What about the scarf?” Carmen asked.

  “After you swim, don’t even bother trying to blow-dry your hair in a public restroom,” Una explained. “Shampoo it; run your fingers through it. Fold the scarf in half and wear your hair loose underneath it. It’s casual, it’s chic. And this scarf is vintage Pucci, so you lose it and I’ll kill you.”

  Carmen jumped up to give her sister a big hug.

  “Save the gratitude,” Una said. “I’m not done. The jeweled flip-flops are the only thing you got right. Wear those.”

  Carmen beamed.

  Una put her arms out. “Okay, I’m ready now for all that little-sister adoration and love.”

  Carmen smiled. “Thanks Una. You are the absolute best big sister ever.”

  “No worries,” Una said. “Besides, he might be taking you to a place where people know me. I can’t have you reflecting badly on me.”

  • • •