Izzy As Is

by Tracie Banister

  “Why are you trying to get rid of me?” Mamá narrows her dark eyes in my direction.

  “I’m not.” I play it cool so as not to arouse her suspicions any further. “I just thought I’d offer you another option. It doesn’t bother me if you want to go around with raggedy cuticles for the next few days.” I stick my phone back in my purse. “Is Papá around? I need to speak with him.”

  “About?”

  I’m sorely tempted to say, “None of your beeswax,” but I refrain.

  “Oh, you know, nothing in particular. I just thought it would be nice to have a little padre e hija chat.”

  Mamá nods knowingly. “You need more money for the wedding, don’t you? I told Arturo fifty thousand wasn’t going to be enough for a grand-scale affair befitting a man of Eduardo’s stature. Come, we will talk to your father together,” she throws an arm around my shoulders and starts herding me toward the living room. “He cannot say ‘no’ to both of us.”

  “Uh . . . I really think I should speak with him alone.” Especially since the topic I had in mind is one that will probably induce hysterics in Mamá.

  She stops in the center of the empty living room and turns to me with a resolute expression. “No one knows how to handle your father better than I do. I will make him see reason about the wedding budget. Trust me, mija.”

  Okay, so there’s no dissuading her. Guess I’m going to have to suck it up and hope for the best. My mother was going to find out eventually anyway, right? I was kind of hoping that my father would tell her long after I was gone, but I guess this will work, too. I offer Mamá a halfhearted smile before following her out to the terrace.

  “Arturo,” she trills as we step outside, “look who’s dropped by for a visit, our beautiful bride-to-be!”

  He glances up from his laptop, his reading glasses perched on the tip of his not insubstantial nose. “Isidora!” A grin stretches across his tanned face, making the crinkles at the corners of his eyes fan out. “How nice!” He holds an arm out to me, and I hurry over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “If you can spare a few minutes, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you, Papá.”

  “I always have time for you, mija. Have a seat.” He indicates the chair to his left at the table.

  “I’ll stand if it’s all the same to you.” I feel like my presentation will be more impressive if I’m vertical while making it.

  I’m just about to dip my hand into my purse to pull out the visual aid I brought to support my case when Mamá grabs the appendage and screeches in alarm, “Where’s your ring? Don’t tell me you lost it already! How could you be so careless with such a valuable piece of jewelry? Ay, look at this Arturo!” She sticks my unadorned hand in Papá’s face. “Your daughter has lost her engagement ring!”

  My father’s brow puckers with concern. “I hope Eduardo insured it. Otherwise, he’s going to be out a lot of money.”

  Yanking my hand back, I shout, “I did not lose the ring!” because it’s annoying to be blamed for a crime I didn’t even commit. “I’m no longer wearing it because the engagement is off.”

  I expect my mother to fall to the ground, weeping and rending her garments, instead she plants her hands on her hips and glares at me. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” Unless you count sleeping with another man, which I don’t since Eduardo’s still in the dark about that. “We just realized that we weren’t going to be compatible in the long run and decided to call it a day.”

  “Call it a day?” Mamá repeats my words in disbelief. “Call it a day!!!!! What nonsense is this? I did not raise a quitter. If you and Eduardo have problems, you work them out, you don’t toss aside el hombre perfecto. Ay!” She throws her hands in the air in despair. “Where did I go wrong with this one?” she asks the terrace covering.

  “I didn’t love him, Mamá. I thought it didn’t matter, that his good looks and money would be enough, but they weren’t. And Eduardo didn’t love me beyond all this . . .” I indicate my face and body with a sweeping gesture. “Don’t you want me to be with someone I truly care about and vice versa, someone who’ll be with me through thick and thin? That’s what you and Papá have. Pilar and Ford, too.”

  “Love doesn’t always strike like a lightning bolt, mija. In some cases, it grows over time. Why don’t you marry Eduardo and see what happens?”

  “Luisa . . .” There’s censure in my father’s tone.

  “Oh, all right!” my mother concedes, with a pout. “But now I won’t have any place to wear that gorgeous mother-of-the-bride gown I bought, and it’s so flattering. The coral color makes my skin look like burnished gold, and the trailing scarf over the shoulder is muy dramático. The people at Alexander McQueen really know how to design a dress!” She sighs dreamily.

  “Alexander McQueen?” My father eyes her warily. “Exactly how much did you spend on this dress?”

  Mamá smiles uneasily, baring all her teeth. “It was on sale.”

  “Luisa . . .”

  “I had to have a gown that would be on par with whatever designer dress Maria Sandoval trotted out for the occasion, didn’t I?”

  “How much?” he queries again.

  “Thirty-two hundred,” she admits sheepishly.

  Most men would lose their temper in this situation, but that’s not my father’s style. He merely grips the arms of his chair before saying in a stern voice, “You will return the gown today.”

  Mamá winces. “No puedo. It was a final sale.”

  “Then it falls to you, Isidora. You must marry someone in a big, extravagant ceremony so that your mother will have somewhere to wear this overpriced dress,” my father deadpans.

  “Sorry, can’t help you. I’ve decided that if I ever do get married, I’m going to save everyone a lot of time, trouble, and money and elope.”

  “Elope?” my mother squeaks, clutching her chest.

  “Uh, yeah,” I forge ahead before she can start moaning about me giving her palpitations. “And if you’re okay with it, Papá, I’d like to take that fifty grand you allotted for my wedding and invest it in a business I’m planning to start.”

  “A business?” My mother looks at me like I’m a Cubanito short of a plato de fiesta. “Why do you need one of those? You have your modeling career.”

  “Not so much. According to my agent, I’m no longer a viable property in the modeling industry because of my age. So, I need to transition into something else. And I think this,” I pull the tangerine-colored report cover from my purse, “is the way to go.” I hand the report over to my father.

  “A business plan?” He nods approvingly. “Very impressive, mija.”

  “What type of business?” Mamá wants to know. Moving behind my father, she leans down over his shoulder to read the cover page. “Parties by Izzy? That sounds like an escort service, and not a very high-priced one either.” She sniffs with disdain.

  “It’s just a working name. I was also thinking about Izzybrations.”

  “Better,” my mother decrees.

  Papá frowns. “I think your original idea is best as it lets people know in a more straightforward manner what service you’re offering.”

  “But Izzybrations is more memorable, and isn’t that what you want in a business name?” Mamá smiles smugly, knowing she’s made a good point.

  “We’ll come back to the name,” Papá says, flipping to the table of contents, which he quickly peruses. “A mission statement, description of services, marketing plan, and competitor analysis. This is excellent work, mija. Your business plan looks very professional.”

  His praise makes me blush. “Gracias, Papá. I worked closely with my vice president of strategic planning on it.”

  “And who is this VP?” my father wonders.

  “Nate.”

  Papá responds with a smirk while my mother sputters, “B-b-b-but he’s only eleven!”

  “And he’s smarter and more enterprising than most of the executives I know.” Papá champio
ns his grandson, then raises inquisitive eyes to mine. “Why party planning, mija? I don’t recall you expressing interest in this line of work before.”

  “I caught the bug when I was putting Gabi’s birthday party together. It was a lot of work, but I enjoyed every second of it and I think Mamá will agree that the end result was pretty spectacular. Truthfully, I didn’t know I had it in me to be so efficient and well-organized, not to mention creative, and the whole experience was very fulfilling. I’d love to be able to help other people make their celebrations unique and memorable, and I have the resources and the know-how to do that. Party planning just seems like a natural fit. If there’s one thing that can be said about me, it’s that I know how to have good time.”

  “You do realize that running a business won’t be all fun and games, don’t you? You will have to apply yourself and make sacrifices if you want to succeed. And it won’t happen overnight. It takes a start-up business, on average, two to three years to turn a profit.”

  Well, that’s a daunting little factoid and I’m sure my father is sharing it with me to test my resolve, but I must stay the course. Being a party planner feels right, and I will do everything in my power to make it work.

  Lifting my chin defiantly, I say, “I’ve never been average and I don’t plan to start now. I bet I can turn a profit in one year.”

  “And for that year you will have to live like a pauper! No shopping, no beauty treatments, no expensive cocktails or meals out.” Mamá shakes her head. “You were not meant for such deprivation, mija. Please reconsider marrying Eduardo so that you can have the comfortable life you deserve.”

  “But I won’t deserve it unless I earn it, will I? I’ve been taking the easy way out my whole life. I’ve been lazy, I’ve been self-entitled, and I’ve been a mooch. That might have been cute in my twenties, but I think it’s time for me to grow up and show the world what I’m really capable of.”

  Both parents gape at me in astonishment, probably wondering if I’ve been body snatched by an alien who hails from a planet where level-headedness and hard work are prized. I kind of shocked myself with that little speech, too. I actually admitted I have faults and I want to change and better myself. I sounded self-aware and dare I say, mature? I guess my experiences over the last few months had more of an effect on me than I realized.

  Finding his voice again, Papá says, “I always knew you had the potential to do great things, mija, and I am pleased to see you realizing that potential. You may have the wedding money to start your business, and I will kick in another twenty-five thousand to give you the best possible chance of success.”

  And I wasn’t even angling for more money!

  With a squeal, I throw my arms around my father’s neck and hug him. “Thank you, Papá! You’re the best!”

  “What about me? Am I not also the best?” my mother asks in a miffed tone.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Do I have your support in this new venture?”

  “It’s a risk.”

  “Life would be pretty dull without those, wouldn’t it?”

  She capitulates with a beleaguered exhalation of breath. “Fine. You have my support, but only if you use the name Izzybrations and you let me have final approval on the logo. I see champagne glasses next to the company name with streamers and confetti raining down and lots of sparkle and glitz. Maybe you could do gold foil lettering. Metallics are always very eye-catching.”

  “I like it!” Really, I do. Once in a blue moon, my mother and I are actually on the same wavelength. “And it’d be great if you could spread the word about Izzybrations to all your friends, especially the ones who have special events coming up.”

  “Ooooooo!” Mamá claps her hands together excitedly. “Rosalinda Borrego, who lives on the fourteenth floor, hosted our cubilete game last Wednesday and while we were playing, she mentioned that she and her husband are going to be throwing a quinceañera for their granddaughter because the girl’s perezoso father can’t afford to and Rosalinda wasn’t sure how to go about it. I’m sure she’d be happy to hire you to handle all the details.

  And I heard through the grapevine that Conchita Ramos was not happy with her Winter Wonderland-themed Christmas party last year, which is no surprise because it was a complete disaster. There was a mishap with the fake snow blower, and white flakes were exploding all over the ballroom. It was like being in a blizzard! Those nasty flakes got in everyone’s food and drinks, and a couple of people slipped and fell.” Putting her hand up next to her mouth, my mother adds in an exaggerated whisper, “A lawsuit is still pending.”

  “Wow, okay, so you think she’ll still want to go ahead with a party this holiday season?”

  “Of course! She’s La Reina de la Navidad here in Miami and she won’t want anyone else to take that title away from her. I will call Conchita and set up a meeting for you. And I should probably go to that meeting, too, so I can help you with ideas for the party. Fun!” she exclaims, then hurries back into the condo before I can protest that Izzybrations will be my business, and I really don’t need for her to be involved outside of sending potential clients my way.

  I look to my father, and he shrugs. “At least she’ll work for free.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Twenty bucks to look at a collection of plants and birds? What a rip! Of course, I have no choice but to pay it if I want to get into Flamingo Gardens, so I begrudgingly slap down my Discover card and slide it over to the girl in the ticket booth. She tells me that tram tours start at eleven, which I don’t care about because I’m hoping I’ll be out of this tropical not-paradise by then. For all I know, Zane might not even be here. I’m just taking a chance because I didn’t find him at home and I know he likes to go to Flamingo Gardens early on Sunday mornings before all the families descend on the place. There are something like three thousand species of exotic flora in these gardens, plus animals of every variety—gators, turtles, panthers, flamingos, even a black bear, and Z enjoys taking pictures of all of them.

  I look down at the map the girl at the ticket booth gave me. Ugh! I’ve got a lot of walking ahead of me and I’ll probably be a sweaty mess by the time I do find Zane.

  “Ow!” I reflexively smack my hand against my neck when I feel something biting me and see a smushed mosquito on my palm after pulling it away. Gross. I’m going to be eaten alive in this humid, bug-infested place. I wouldn’t have worn perfume if I’d known I was coming here, but I got all dolled up in my cutest, low-cut, flouncy-skirted mini dress, thinking I was going to be speaking with Zane indoors where there was air-conditioning and no chance of being attacked by blood-sucking insects.

  “¡Hijo de puta!” I smack my shoulder when I feel another sting. This is ridiculous. I should go back to the gift shop and buy some bug spray before I end up with Zika or West Nile Virus. But then I’ll reek of chemicals instead of the alluring scent of JLo’s Miami Glow and that’s not how I want to smell when I’m having my big, romantic moment with Zane. Okay, so I’ll just walk really fast through all this lush vegetation and hope that a moving target is less appealing to these little bastards.

  I truck up the walkway, veering left when I get to a circle and see a pink trumpet tree. Unfortunately, it’s not currently blooming, or this would be a great selfie opportunity. I continue down the winding path, not really paying attention to all the palm trees and flowering bushes on either side. I should probably be thinking about what I’m going to say to Z when I see him. I haven’t laid eyes on him since the night of the storm, nor have we spoken outside of some very casual, how-you-doin’ type texts. He hasn’t mentioned Orla directly to me at all, so I have no idea how their date went Friday night. I had a moment of panic when I got to the crap shack at the butt crack of dawn this morning (okay, it was around eight-thirty, but that’s super early for me on the weekend!) and Z wasn’t there. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that he’d spent the night at his new British squeeze’s (after they’d gone on a second date that was even more amazing than the first)
and the thought made me want to throw up my mango pastelito. (Yes, I stopped for breakfast along the way and I know I’m supposed to be living on a budget now that does not include eating every meal out, but it’s a process, people!) Anyway, I quickly came to my senses, reminding myself once again that Zane would never sleep with someone so early in the relationship. Hell, it took him four years to score with me, and I was the one who made the first move.

  The path I’m on ends in front of a star fruit tree, and I have the option to go left or right. I consult the map and determine that most of the spots Z favors are to the left, which makes my decision easy. I’ve only gone a few feet down the new walkway when a large peacock strides out of the foliage (they roam free all over Flamingo Gardens) and stops right in front of me, blocking my passage.

  “Hey, dude, you need to make way. I’ve got people to see,” I tell the bird while furiously scratching bites on both arms. The peacock doesn’t move; he just opens his beak and lets loose a horrible, high-pitched shriek.

  Uh oh. Is that some sort of battle cry? He’s not going to pounce on me and try to peck me to death or something, is he? Trying not to make any sudden movements, I pull my iPhone out of my purse and do a quick Google search. Okay, phew, peacocks are not known to harm (or nosh on) humans. This one’s probably just being protective of his territory or maybe he’s hungry and hoping I have some snacks to share.

  “Sorry,” I lift both hands in the air, “but I am fresh out of caterpillars, or whatever it is you fellas eat.” I back up a few steps, not breaking eye contact (show no fear!), then slowly circle around the bird. As soon as I’m behind him and out of his sight, I start speed-walking to the butterfly garden, which is at the far end of this particular path. I’d run, but these black crochet lace-up wedges I’m wearing are intended for strutting, not sprinting. Also, according to Google, peacocks will give chase if they see you bolting. I don’t turn back to see if the big, blue bird is following me until I get to the butterflies where there are several people milling around (not Zane, which is a bummer). Thankfully, my shrieking friend is nowhere to be seen, so I eluded him. Well done, Izzy!