Lone Star Legend

by Gwendolyn Zepeda

  “No. Just come on over when you’re ready. I’ll be here,” he said.

  With that, there was nothing else for Sandy and her mother to do but take their leave. Mrs. Saavedra hobbled her way back to the Lincoln, her gold sandals completely caked in dust now. But she waved gaily to Tío Jaime, who watched from the porch as the two women got into the car and backed all the way down the gravel drive.

  “Well,” Sandy’s mother said as they pulled back onto the ranch road, “that was weird.”

  Sandy nodded her agreement. It was weird, and she was glad to be driving them back to real life.

  9

  Post from Don’t Call Me Sassy site, Saturday, March 11

  This Week’s “Negro, Please” Goes to Tyrone Marshall

  by Cleo J.

  You all know Tyrone Marshall as the daddy from that tired ’80s sitcom We Are the Washingtons.

  Last week, Don’t Call Me Sassy reported on Mr. Marshall’s instantly infamous “Black children, put down those beat boxes and get you a voice coach” speech. This week, we have a little investigative reporting to share with you all.

  1. Tyrone Marshall’s production company just green-lighted a new straight-to-DVD series called Yo Mama: Backstreet Brawlin’.

  2. Mr. Marshall was recently seen having lunch down in DC with conservative-as-hell Senator Tom McElveigh. Wonder what they’re cooking up?

  Now, Tyrone, don’t be talking out one side of your mouth while taking money from both sides of the street. In other words: Negro, puh-lease.

  10

  Sandy gasped aloud at Don’t Call Me Sassy’s inaugural posts as she scrolled through them in her twilit living room. This was nothing like what she’d learned in journalism school. It was nothing like she’d ever seen, in any publication.

  Again Sandy felt a quiet panic creep into her guts. How could she write pieces like this? She never had. Sure, she’d sometimes gotten angry over details of the stories she investigated, but she’d never imagined pouring that anger into print, or openly criticizing a politician in such a way.

  She clicked over to Banana Nation, the tagline of which was “We’re here, we’ve assimilated, get used to it.” The first post was a video of a reporter, a young Asian woman, stopping Asian people on the street and asking how they felt about China’s latest Internet restrictions. The answers ranged from funny to political to completely uninformed. Some of the funnier responses, Sandy thought, looked rehearsed.

  Under that post was a pie chart breaking down Asian actresses’ recent movie roles into categories: Dragon Lady, Exotic Sex Object, Kung Fu Chick, and White Dude’s Girlfriend with No Speaking Part.

  Under that was a piece about actress Mai Lee, wherein the author, Cuoc X., insinuated that she was acting as a beard for director Derrick Rogers, who was purported to be gay.

  If Sandy felt uncomfortable about the idea of lambasting politicians online, she was just as unsure of her ability to report on Latinos in Hollywood. She wasn’t big on celebrity gossip sites, much less on digging up the celebrity gossip herself.

  Although Nacho Papi wasn’t a “real” journalistic entity, Sandy realized, writing for it would require just as much research as writing for LatinoNow had.

  She sighed and picked up her phone. She’d start the research by calling Lori, the LatinoNow junior staffer who used to be Oscar’s assistant.

  “Sandy,” Lori said immediately into the phone, “I’m completely freaking out. Angelica said I have to write three audition posts, or else come up with some story ideas, if I want to remain on staff. What am I going to do?” Her voice became a whine at the end. Sandy pictured Lori in the corner of the bar where she worked nights, pulling at the ends of her black-and-white-dyed pigtails, chewing gum a mile a minute, full-arm tattoo on display.

  “Calm down,” Sandy told her. “She said you have to write three audition pieces?” Sandy didn’t want to be insensitive, but she had assumed everyone would be asked to write six, like she had, and wanted to make sure she hadn’t misheard.

  “Yeah, three pieces. Sandy, you know I’m not a writer. I can’t do that. She said if I didn’t want to write, I needed to come up with ideas for videos or something. She said maybe I could tape myself doing interviews. I don’t know. I was so nervous I was completely freaking out. I guess I’ll have to find another day job or something.”

  “No, you won’t. Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” Sandy thought she could intuit Angelica’s line of reasoning. She wanted to see if Lori could do the man-on-the-street interviews they were doing on Banana Nation. So Lori could easily make a few digital videos of herself talking with friends in front of her bar. In the meantime, Sandy needed to find out what she herself was up against. “Lori, did Angelica tell George he needed to write three posts, too?”

  “I have no idea. He came out of her office and took off, just like you did. He didn’t even speak to the rest of us.”

  Sandy felt her glasses slipping down and adjusted them. Then she took a deep breath. She could understand Angelica giving Lori less to do, since Lori wasn’t an experienced staffer and had no real journalism credentials. But if Sandy found out that Angelica had gone easy on George, too, she was going to be really annoyed.

  “Have you talked to any of the others?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Carolina’s completely freaking out, Monica’s totally freaking out, Jesse told me he was quitting, and Francisco said he was going to make some videos or some graphics or something.”

  “Okay,” said Sandy. “Stop freaking out. Everything’s going to be okay. What time do you get off work?”

  “Not until two,” Lori said.

  “I’ll come down there at two, then, with my camera,” Sandy said. “In the meantime, talk to your regulars and see if any of them want to be interviewed. Think of stuff you can ask them, and I’ll be thinking, too.”

  “Oh, God, Sandy, thank you so much. I owe you big time,” Lori said, and kept repeating it until Sandy hung up.

  She looked down at her phone to check the time. It was 7 p.m. That gave her several hours to work on her own audition posts, and then a few more hours the next day, Sunday, before Angelica’s deadline.

  Sandy felt a rush of adrenaline flood her bloodstream. It was her right-before-deadline power surge, just like the rush she used to get when she crammed for finals in college. Ideas were coming to her a mile a minute now, and her nervousness was gradually being replaced by excitement.

  She was going to show Angelica that she could do this. Dominga Saavedra was not going to fold. At least not without a good try.

  11

  Time: Sunday, March 12, 8:37 PM

  To: Dominga Saavedra, George Cantu, Lori Gomez, Francisco Tamez, Philippe Montemayor

  From: Angelica Villanueva O’Sullivan

  Subject: Meeting tomorrow 9 AM

  Our first staff meeting will be held tomorrow at 9 AM CST sharp. Bring the material you submitted to me earlier today, your signed contracts, and your new ideas for upcoming posts.

  If you will not be able to attend this meeting, please let me know immediately.

  Cordially yours,

  AVO

  The meeting didn’t actually start until 9:15. Sandy had been in the office since 8:52, waiting and trying not to sweat. It wasn’t lost on her that Angelica had sent the meeting invite to only a few of LatinoNow’s original staff, plus to a man named Philippe whom she had never heard of.

  Sandy could probably assume, therefore, that the writers attending this meeting were the ones who’d been chosen to stay. But she was afraid to assume even that much.

  The office had been completely changed. All their old desks had been pushed to the edges of the main room. In the center of the room, there was now a huge conference table, loaded with laptops and power strips. The wall that had formerly held a huge map of Austin now boasted a sparkling white projection screen instead.

  Lori and Francisco were standing near the table, quietly fretting over their displaced possessions. George, San
dy’s least favorite staff member, stood there with his usual cocky smile, as if he wasn’t surprised by the changes at all.

  Maybe he wasn’t, Sandy reflected. Maybe he’d already brownnosed their new editor into being his buddy and she’d told him all her plans. Sandy wouldn’t have put such a scheme past George.

  Before she could ask what was going on, the Lady herself strutted into the room. Angelica, all glammed out in chic white linen and carrying a matching white laptop that must have cost more than all the computers Sandy had ever owned, combined, took the seat at the head of the table. The head corner, actually, in a leather chair turned on the diagonal to face her staff and the screen simultaneously. Francisco scurried to help their new bosslady plug her laptop into the projector.

  “Seats, everyone,” Angelica said. “Let’s get started.”

  In a dazed rush, all the writers of the former Latino-Now plugged their laptops into outlets and their bodies into chairs. Something about the woman’s voice commanded immediate obedience. She was nothing like their old editor, Oscar, who used to camp out in his office all day and have his writers come in, one by one, like students visiting a friendly old guidance counselor. For the first time since working in this office, Sandy suddenly felt like she was at a real job.

  Angelica clicked an image onto the screen. Sandy recognized it as the front page of Hate-O-Rama.com. Mouse-clicking away, Angelica launched into an introduction of each of their new sister sites. While listening intently, Sandy managed to aim covert glances at her co-workers and gauge their reactions to this very business-like meeting.

  There was George: smirking, smirking. He may have been annoying, but he wasn’t dumb. Sandy was sure he’d already done his research, just like she had. She narrowed her eyes at the writer who’d been a thorn in her side and her biggest competition for the past year. For the hundredth time, she took in the “trendy” short crop that didn’t quite disguise George’s ever-receding hairline and the facial hair that didn’t disguise the chubbiness under his chin. His faded concert shirt was topped with a faded black blazer, an ensemble meant to make him look hip and edgy. He claimed he was twenty-eight but looked more like thirty-eight to Sandy. Everything Angelica said made him shoot her a crap-eating grin, just like the ones he used to shoot at Oscar. Oscar had always ignored George’s brownnosing.

  Sandy glanced over to see how Angelica was taking it. Professionally, of course. Her expression remained pleasantly, robotically professional no matter which of the remaining staff members she faced.

  Across the table from George, Francisco peered at Angelica’s screen like it was a technological glitch that needed solving. Every time Angelica pointed out a video or graphical feature on one of the sister sites she gestured at Francisco, and he gave a slight nod. He appeared completely unfazed now by the changes going on and ready to work on whatever was put in front of him.

  Next to Francisco, Lori tugged at the ends of her multi-colored braids while taking furious notes in a notebook covered in rainbows and unicorns. There was no one else in the room with them. Caroline, Monica, and Jesse were missing, but no one seemed to be missing them.

  The projector light sent floating dust specks over Francisco’s head like a cloudy halo. Sandy sat up straighter in her chair and focused like a laser on what Angelica was saying. She wouldn’t be the next one to get laid off, she told herself. The only thing worse than going from journalist to blogger, she realized, would be having someone tell you that you weren’t even good enough to do that.

  After her presentation, Angelica shut down the projector and had Lori turn on the lights. Everyone blinked and stared. Sandy knew something was coming, though. She opened the file she had already prepared on her laptop.

  “So,” Angelica said, “who has ideas?”

  Sandy raised her hand, calm and confident as she could pretend to be. But before Angelica could call on her George blurted, “How about Top Ten lists of Latino celebrities? Hottest chulas, biggest mama’s boys? Credits to our Raza and biggest sell-outs?”

  Angelica smiled wryly. “A little crass, but it’ll generate page views. Good.”

  Sandy cleared her throat. “Angelica, I have a post about Amber Chavez in mainstream media and how many times they’ve described her using the word ‘spicy.’ I made a chart depicting how often food words describe Latina stars versus white stars. I’m thinking Francisco can create a graphic with Amber Chavez being barbecued.”

  Angelica flashed a quick robot smile. “Okay. What else?”

  Sandy referred to her laptop. “I did another statistical analysis showing that celebrities who declare themselves Latino get more stereotypical roles, and Latinas who go blond and don’t mention their ethnicity get more varied roles.”

  A spark of interest showed on Angelica’s face now. But she said, “It has to be funny. What’s funny about it?”

  “Uh… The title is ‘Guess Who’s in the Closet. No, Not That Closet.’ ”

  That scored a dry chuckle. “Okay,” said Angelica. “What else?”

  Sandy wondered, then, why she was being asked for multiple ideas while George had only pitched one so far and everyone else was sitting there with their thumbs up their butts. But she plowed onward. “I did an introductory-level piece about gerrymandering called ‘Who’s Disrespecting Your Hoods?’ ”

  Angelica nodded. “Good. I like this angry, fight-the-power angle you’re taking.” George snickered at that, but Angelica didn’t seem to notice. “Keep going with it. But keep it funny.” She turned back to George. “And, George, you continue with the lowbrow thing you’re doing. It’s a good counterpoint.”

  Sandy didn’t just snicker at that, she let out a full laugh, which she tried to turn into a cough. But Angelica ignored that, too, and turned to the others. “What else? What other ideas do we have?”

  Francisco piped up. “As Sandy said, I’ll be making graphics for her posts. And for whoever else needs them. Then I was thinking we could do a piece on Latino presence on FaceSpace and the Spanglish version of Leetspeak. And one on Latinos playing online video games and forming their own guilds. And, um… Latino porn sites?” His voice cracked on that last phrase. George guffawed outright.

  But Angelica nodded. “Good. Highlight the most popular Latino users on FaceSpace and the other social networking sites. That’ll get them to visit Nacho Papi and bring their friends. Then, Francisco, you get us screenshots of all the Latino porn sites, with the raciest parts blackboxed, of course. George will rate the sites and Sandy will discuss how exploitive and disgusting they are. People will eat that up.”

  George agreed enthusiastically and Francisco seemed relieved to have come up with ideas that met approval. Sandy looked over at Lori, who seemed to be sweating bricks and fighting the urge to chew her black-painted nails. She knew she was next, and Sandy knew she had nothing. Oh, Lori, she thought. Come on. Try. Sandy had helped her make a few videos at the bar. It was bizarre to Sandy, the way Lori could be so lively and funny entertaining customers but then fell completely apart talking about real work. Sandy felt that she herself was just the opposite. Work stuff was easy—it was the social butterfly routine that was difficult in her mind.

  “I, uh. I, uh,” Lori said to Angelica’s expectant smile. “I normally just helped Oscar… I mean, I help Sandy and George and the others with fact-checking and research. And, um… formatting and stuff.”

  “This is your chance to do more than that,” said Angelica. “I reviewed your videos over the weekend. They were good—the camera really likes you. Do you enjoy doing the man-on-the-street interviews?”

  Lori nodded.

  “Would you feel comfortable doing video pieces exclusively, maybe in other cities?” Angelica asked.

  Lori nodded again.

  “Would you be willing to change your look?” When Lori didn’t immediately nod, Angelica quickly said, “Nothing drastic. I like what you have going on now, but I’d like to polish it up just a bit.”

  Lori nodded for a third time.
Sandy had the funny impression that she’d just nodded away her soul. She couldn’t tell if Lori was genuinely enthused about Angelica’s ideas or just relieved that someone else had made all the decisions for her.

  “All right.” Angelica stood, indicating that the meeting was over. “Good job. George and Sandy, e-mail your finished posts to me, then get to work on more. Francisco, get with George and Sandy to find out what graphics they need, then start on the pieces we’ve discussed. Lori, you’ll work on formatting approved posts for now. Use the branding guidelines I gave you last week.”

  “Oh, uh…” That was Lori.

  “Yes?”

  “What about Carolina and Monica? Are they going to be doing anything?”

  There was a deep pause, as if everyone around the table were collectively holding their breath. Angelica let the silence hang for a moment, then gave Lori her brightest smile of the morning and replied, “Carolina and Monica e-mailed me their resignations last night.”

  If they’d been in high school, Sandy thought, that would have been the moment for everyone to chorus, “Ooooh!”

  But they weren’t in high school. And they all wanted to keep their jobs. So Sandy and the others minded their own business and set to work.

  12

  Posts from Nacho Papi’s Web Site, Monday, March 20

  ATTENTION: This is not yo’ Papi’s Web site!

  by Sandy S.

  Welcome to Nacho Papi. I’m one of your hosts and I’m here to give you the latest news about Latinos in politics and popular culture. Our goal is to make sure our people get represented. We intend to keep it real and to force mainstream media to do the same.

  Don’t listen to Sandy S. up there

  by PapiChulo

  We’re not here to give you news, we’re here to entertain you! We’ll be pondering the great questions of our time, like whether Kelly Morales got butt implants and whether Simon Bolivarez could kick Chuck Norris’s ass. Also, I’ll be representing Cubanos so it doesn’t get too Mexican up in here. Consider me your man’s man and your ladies’ man, and call me your PapiChulo.