Celebrity

by Linda Gerber

  He reached out and grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me on both cheeks. Oh. Right. That was it.

  “Encantado, Cassidy,” he said. “I have heard much about you.”

  “Oh….” I replied.

  “And this,” Mom continued, “is Hector’s son, Mateo.” She stepped back to reveal the guy standing just behind Señor Ruiz-Moreno. He had earbuds in his ears and was looking off into the distance, his head bobbing to whatever was playing on his iPod.

  Señor Ruiz-Moreno cleared his throat and said something in rapid Spanish I didn’t understand. Mateo startled and quickly pulled out the earbuds. Señor Ruiz-Moreno nodded pointedly at my mom and dad and me.

  “Lo siento,” Mateo said. “I am sorry.”

  “My son,” Señor Ruiz-Moreno said. I couldn’t tell by his tone if the announcement was supposed to be proud or apologetic, but to be honest with you, I really didn’t care. I was too busy trying not to be obvious about staring.

  Judging from his clothes and the angles of his face, Mateo was probably about my age. He had black wavy hair like his dad, but it was cut shorter. His skin was tan like creamed caramel, and just as smooth. He looked at me with deep brown eyes framed by eyelashes so dark, it almost looked like he was wearing guyliner. When he smiled, I had to fight an insane urge to giggle.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “And you,” he replied.

  He took a step forward, and my mouth went dry. For an instant I wondered if he was going to kiss me on both cheeks like his dad had. The thought made me feel all giddy inside. And nervous. I quickly smoothed down my bangs to make sure the zit was covered and wondered if I should lean in to make the kissing easier. Or would that be too obvious? Maybe I should just—

  Mateo took my hand in his and shook it. Oh. I tried not to let my disappointment show. On the other hand, I really had enjoyed the press of his hand against mine….

  “We thought it might be nice if Hector brought Mateo along with us as we tour Valencia,” Dad said, “so you’d have someone your own age to visit with.”

  My previous thoughts of handshakes and cheek kissing crashed down around me. Really, Dad? My own age? And then it made sense. Bayani’s comment. Dad’s reluctance to tell me the truth.

  The heat in my face flared. I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, almost thirteen years old, and my parents were setting me up on a playdate!

  Bayani joined us all at the door.

  He was in full director mode with a clipboard in his hands and his lucky Yankees cap turned backward on his head. “Well, good. Now that everyone’s here, let’s head on down. The rest of the crew should be waiting in the lobby by now.”

  I was grateful for the distraction; it gave me a moment to pull myself together. I don’t have a whole lot of practice making conversation with (way cute!) boys my age. What was I supposed to say to him for an entire day? How was I supposed to act?

  In case you’re wondering if I’d ever met a boy before, let me clear that up for you. I have. I meet lots of boys when we travel. But I don’t hang out with them.

  It’s not like I’m a social outcast. Victoria makes sure I know the etiquette for each country we visit. I can appropriately greet royalty and heads of state, no problem. But most of the people we meet are old, like my mom and dad.

  I was on the verge of full-on panic until I noticed the way my mom was watching me. Gauging my reaction. And suddenly everything made annoying sense.

  I’d put you on a plane right now to keep you in one place, she’d said, but….

  But When in Rome’s ratings were slipping. But the network wanted to reach younger viewers. But they’d already arranged for Mateo to join us. But I could be useful to the show.

  I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or angry. My own parents were using me!

  On the other hand… this gave me a chance to get in front of the cameras for a change, just like I wanted. Besides—I stole another peek at Mateo—the company wasn’t bad. At all. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that as long as I was an asset to the show, they couldn’t send me home. So I’d just have to make sure to stay useful. And keep out of trouble. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?

  Mateo glanced up while I was looking at him, and for an instant I caught the shadow of a frown before he turned on the smile again. (And can I just say, he has a very nice smile.) I understood in that moment that Mateo must feel as uncomfortable about the forced arrangement as I did. His dad probably dragged him into this the same way mine had.

  “I’m sorry,” I mouthed.

  He looked surprised for a moment. “It’s okay,” he mouthed back, and then smiled even broader.

  Did I mention the nice smile?

  By then, the old people moved off in a cluster, and I was left standing with Mateo, trying to think of something to say. “You speak English really well,” I blurted. Lame, I know.

  “Thanks,” he said, grinning. “So do you.”

  Okay. I deserved that. “Yes, but I don’t speak Spanish.”

  “Catalan,” he corrected. “Or Valencian, depending on where we are.”

  “Oh. Right.” I forgot how Victoria said the Spaniards are very particular about their language. Spanish is something that can be spoken anywhere. Like in Mexico or Venezuela. Catalan was spoken in most of Spain. In the Valencia region, they might also use Valencian.

  “We lived in London when I was younger,” Mateo explained, “so I grew up speaking English.”

  Bayani waved us over. “Hey,” he called, “none of that sneaking-off-together stuff. This is a family show.”

  The burning in my face returned. “He’s a dead man,” I swore to myself. And then I turned to apologize to Mateo again. “Sorry. He thinks he’s funny.”

  “Está bien,” Mateo said. “It is fine. I like to see what it’s truly like for the people behind the scenes.”

  “Oh, so you’ve seen my mom and dad’s show?”

  He grinned at me sheepishly. “Actually, no. My father watches it, though.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m sorry you got dragged into this. Since our dads are friends, they probably thought we’d…. um….”

  “Get along?” Mateo offered.

  “Yeah.” I wished I knew a way to stop my cheeks from combusting every time I opened my mouth.

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Sure. It could be fun.”

  I watched his eyes when he said that. He seemed sincere. The idea that he might actually want to hang out with me made me go warm inside. Maybe, I thought, a playdate wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  We met up with the rest of the crew downstairs in the lobby. Bayani was filling them in on the day’s schedule.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how this works,” Mateo whispered. “What are we doing?”

  “Everyone needs to know how to prepare for the day,” I said. “Which locations need lighting, where we’ll need sound, that kind of thing. Today we’re mostly filming background stuff. Only one segment scheduled, and that’s not until this afternoon.”

  “What are segments?”

  “Those are like the meat of the show. Usually some kind of interview or demonstration or something. Today my mom’s segment will be talking about your horchata drink.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “Will we watch that? My dad likes the food parts best.”

  “Really? I won’t tell my dad. He’ll be bummed.”

  Mateo looked confused, so I explained. “Mom does all the food segments. Dad does most of the culture bits and some of the voice-overs. He likes to think everyone likes his segments best.”

  “And what do you do?”

  I pointed back to where the tech guys were fitting my mom with her wireless mic, clipping it onto her lapel. “Usually I’m with them, behind the cameras. Sometimes I film what’s going on for my blog.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen it,” he said.

  I couldn’t help smiling. “My blog? Really? You have?”


  He nodded and looked at me from under those dark lashes. “When my dad told me we’d be meeting you this week, I…. I looked you up online.”

  “You actually did a search on me? I’m flattered.”

  I must have been talking a little too loud because Bayani shot me a look. “This evening,” he said pointedly, raising his voice and snapping the schedule in his hand, “we will travel to Buñol to film a segment at the Tomatina Festival’s paella cook-off. Tomorrow is the festival itself. Friday is the segment at the Mercado Central, and on Saturday….”

  “Is he going to go through the whole three weeks?” Mateo whispered.

  “Man, I hope not. That would be—”

  “Cassidy!” Bayani interrupted. “Would you mind keeping it down? I’d rather not have to repeat myself.”

  I shot him a look and pulled an imaginary zipper across my lips. Jeez. Give some people a drop of authority, and it goes straight to their heads. I was about to say something to Mateo about it when I noticed my mom looking at me. I quickly closed my mouth and tried to look interested in what Bayani was saying.

  By then, he was pointing to our big teddy bear of a makeup artist. “Daniel will be standing in behind camera two for Jack, who couldn’t make this trip.”

  Daniel stepped forward and waved to us like he was an Olympic competitor greeting his fans.

  “This ought to be interesting,” I whispered to Mateo.

  “And finally,” Bayani continued, “Cavin won’t be here until this afternoon, so in case you haven’t noticed, I’m filling in for him. You have any questions, you can come to me.”

  Mateo leaned closer. “Who’s Cavin?”

  “He’s the executive director,” I whispered. “He’s flying in from Ireland, but his flight was delayed.” Cavin was usually our go-between with the network. I wondered if he knew about the plans to inject Mateo and me into the show. If anything, it was probably his idea.

  “One last thing,” Bayani said. “We’re missing some equipment courtesy of the airline, so we’ll be using rentals and paying by the hour. Let’s make every shot count!”

  Everyone split up after that, like they were breaking from a huddle. I was about to take Mateo around and introduce him to everyone when Victoria stepped up behind us. “You’re next with Daniel,” she said, pointing to where our makeup man was pushing through the revolving door with his kit in one hand and a folding stool tucked under his arm.

  “Where’s he going?” Mateo asked.

  “We’re filming outdoors today,” I told him, “so he’ll want to do our makeup outside to get the right lighting.”

  Mateo stepped back. “Makeup? I don’t think so.”

  “Relax,” I said, trying to hide my grin as I echoed his words from earlier. “It could be fun.”

  Travel tip: Spain in August is hot!

  Don’t forget the sunscreen.

  Walking outside from the air-conditioned lobby was like stepping into a sauna. It was only nine in the morning, but already the sun was beating down mercilessly. I was amazed at how much hotter it was than when I’d been out earlier.

  “Over here,” Daniel called. He had set up the chair right in the middle of the sidewalk where everyone could see him powder our shine. Awkward.

  A few curious people were already standing around, watching what was going on. That wasn’t unusual. Cameras typically attract attention. It didn’t faze me when I was part of the crew, but now I was the one on display. Part of me got a secret thrill out of it. I mean, who wouldn’t want to feel like a star, right? But the other part of me was really nervous that I was going to do something completely stupid in front of everyone. And have it caught on tape.

  Daniel motioned for me to sit down, and Mateo watched from the shade under the awning. “Loving the hair,” Daniel said, fluffing the ends with his fingers. “Very smart leaving it natural for today. I’m afraid those bangs might blow into your eyes, though, so why don’t we pull them back with a headband and—”

  Before I could stop him, he started to brush the hair from my forehead. I jerked back, but he was quicker.

  “Oh, my,” he said when he saw the zit. “Let’s go with the bangs down, shall we? But first a little cover-up….”

  I would very much have liked the pavement to open up and swallow me whole right then. As if it wasn’t bad enough to have someone dabbing at the crater on my face with a makeup sponge, there Daniel was, doing it right in front of a sidewalk full of spectators. And Mateo. I wanted to die.

  Just in case I wasn’t already squirming from embarrassment, he asked, “Do you think we could lose the retainer? We don’t want the cameras to pick up any glare off the wire.”

  It wasn’t a retainer; it was a palate expander, but I wasn’t going to argue details. “Um, the case is up in my room,” I said, pointing back to the building.

  “No time,” Daniel declared, as if I’d asked permission to go back and get it. He held out a baggie and a small paper napkin. “Go ahead and put it in there. It will be safe in the box.”

  Okay, have you ever taken one of those things out of your mouth? You know how the spit kind of dribbles and stretches and…. I so did not want to deal with all that in front of an audience. I was completely mortified, but when I glanced up, Mateo was tactfully looking the other way.

  I pulled the expander out of my mouth as quickly as I could and wrapped it in the napkin, stringy spit and all. Once it was safely sealed in the plastic bag, I handed it to Daniel. He tucked the bag into one of the many compartments in his makeup box, brushed a little clear gloss on my lips, and announced that I was done.

  I decided if I could live through the humiliation of the makeup chair, I could handle anything else the day had in store for me.

  I am so very naive.

  The whole premise of my mom and dad’s show is that we’re supposed to learn about an area by living like the locals. That’s how they came up with the name. You know: “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” But I have to tell you, it’s pretty hard to do as the Romans do—or in this case, the Valencians—when there’s a camera in your face.

  It must have taken us twenty minutes to walk from the Plaza de la Reina, where we were staying, to the Plaza del Ayuntamiento, where we were supposed to catch the bus. It probably should have taken only five. Filming is bad enough on a regular day, but Daniel was taking his temporary cameraman job way too seriously.

  “Look this way.” “Turn that way.” “Head up.” “Chin down.” “Walk more naturally.” “Cassidy, you need to be more social, sweetheart.”

  More social? Was he kidding? He was choreographing every step.

  Whenever I felt like saying something back to him, I’d catch my mom watching me, and I’d paste the smile back on my face and toss my hair or whatever other inane thing Daniel kept shouting at me to do.

  When we finally reached the Plaza del Ayuntamiento, Daniel declared he was parched and told us all to take five while he hurried off with Bayani to find some bottled water to take with us.

  The plaza was like a lot of the huge market squares I’ve seen in other European cities. Basically, it was just a stone courtyard lined with trees. Along one side was a row of flower booths and at the narrow end, separated by a busy road, was a fountain.

  Mateo pointed out a round building down the street. “There is the Plaza de Toros,” he said. “The bullfighting ring.”

  I elbowed Victoria. “Ooh. Maybe we should go there so you can meet some handsome matadors.”

  She smiled but shook her head. “I’m afraid matadors and I would not get along.”

  I just about opened my big mouth to agree with her. From our Spanish culture study, I knew Victoria thought bullfighting was inhumane and cruel. It wasn’t something I’d ever want to see in real life, either. I mean, if it was just the matador waving his cape at the bull, sure. But as soon as the picadors start poking the poor animal with their spears, no thank you. Still, bullfighting was part of Mateo’s culture, and I didn’t want to hurt his fee
lings by saying anything rude about it.

  So I changed the subject.

  “It’s really bright out here.” I shaded my eyes and squinted at Victoria. “Can we go look at the vendor carts? Maybe I can find some sunglasses. I forgot mine.”

  “You and Mateo go ahead,” she said. “I…. need to make a call.” She pointed to the phone in her hand. Smooth. Could she have been any less subtle about pushing Mateo and me together?

  I quickly turned away from him to scan the plaza so he couldn’t see the blush I could feel creeping up my cheeks. “Where’s a good place to start?” I asked. “He’s got glasses over there.” I pointed to a guy with a blanket spread on the ground in front of him. On the blanket, all kinds of sunglasses were lined up in neat rows. Here and there throughout the open space other vendors without booths were selling stuff from blankets on the ground as well.

  “Those are called top manta,” Mateo said.

  “Manta,” I repeated. “That means blanket, right?”

  Mateo nodded. “They don’t have a license to sell, so they lay out what they can on top of the blanket. If the authorities come looking, they will quickly grab the blanket with all their things and run away.”

  “Oh. They have the same kind of vendors in New York City. They sell the knockoff designer stuff, right?” Actually, it seemed to be a universal thing. I’d seen the same kind of thing in Hong Kong, and London, and Paris, and about any other large city we’d been to.

  “Let’s see what they have in the booths.”

  We wandered up and down the row of stalls, stopping here and there to try on sunglasses and hats. I couldn’t help stealing glances at Mateo. Like I said, I didn’t have much experience with guys, so spending the day with him was surreal. How hard would it be to sneak a picture of him, I wondered. I could always tell him it was for my blog. That wouldn’t be a lie. I did need to get more pictures to post and—

  “You like? You buy.”

  My thought bubble disappeared in a poof, and I blinked, confused. “What?”

  The man behind the sales table pointed to the sunglasses I had been trying on. “The glasses. You like? You buy.”