45
As Sandy drove from the salon to the office, her mind overflowed with the snappy replies she should have made.
Yeah, I bet your sister-in-law cried all the way to the bank. Her last advance could’ve funded ten scholarships for kids who want to write real literature!
Or: I may criticize people for a living, but at least I know where to put my prepositions!
Or: You say her writing changed people? Into what, vampire bats?
She wished she’d said any of these. Or anything at all.
The truth was, Sandy told herself, she’d been caught off guard. She hadn’t expected to get yelled at for criticizing celebrities because—hello!—they were celebrities. They didn’t need protection. Now that Sandy was removed from the situation and thinking about it with a clear head, she realized that there was no way Lucia San Lucas had ever read Sandy’s Nacho Papi posts about her crappy writing. Or if she had read them, there was no way she’d cared. Why would she?
Ms. Lucas had hit the big time and was going to rake it in, no matter what someone like Sandy said. She undoubtedly got way more flak on a daily basis from critics who were way meaner than Sandy. What difference did one more voice in the fray make? Especially when the critics would never outweigh the adoring fans who were perfectly happy to spend their money on overwrought Latino plus-size vampire romance. So there was no use getting upset about anything that crazy woman had said, was there?
Sandy told herself all of those things, over and over, until she felt better.
SHE MADE IT to the office only five minutes late for the meeting. “Sorry, sorry,” she called, waving at everyone around the table—Angelica; Lori; Francisco, Marco, the new tech assistant; and Michelle and Jasmine, the new interns; plus the phone in the middle of the table that represented Philippe, who was in Miami at the moment—before taking her seat.
“Let’s get started,” Angelica said. “We have a lot on the agenda today.”
Sandy pulled out her notebook, eager to distract herself from the drama that had just gone down. And she was especially eager to hear this week’s page-view count and see if she’d won the weekly bonus again. She was sure she had; her posts on Heather Santiago’s rehab stint had done very well, and her last “Ask the Chupacabra” had been pure gold.
“Contract amendments,” Angelica said. She put her hand on the stack of papers in front of her on the table, then passed it to Lori. “We have a new salary structure. From now on, you’ll get fewer credits from page views and more credits for your TV segment ideas.”
“For our ideas? How do you credit those?” Sandy asked.
“The ideas that are good enough to make it to the air get the credit,” Angelica replied. “You pitch your best ideas, and I decide which make it on. For our regular news segments, you’ll take equal turns anchoring. Unless, of course, viewer feedback shows a preference for any of you. If that happens, we’ll make adjustments as necessary.”
There was a moment of silence while the staffers absorbed this information. Then the student named Marco piped up. “Do assistants and interns get credits for their ideas too?”
Angelica favored the boy with a smile. “That’s a good idea. Why don’t you come see me after the meeting and tell me what you have in mind.”
Marco and his fellow interns practically bounced with excitement. Francisco, Sandy noticed, looked a little sick.
“I need you to sign these clauses and return them to me before you can proceed with this week’s recordings,” Angelica prompted them.
Sandy looked down at the contract amendment that’d been passed to her. It was five pages long and looked just like all the others they’d given her since she’d started working for Levy Media. With a sigh, she took out her pen and signed away.
TWO HOURS LATER, Sandy was down the hall, on the set. The “interview set,” to be precise, which looked a little like a college-dorm common room. It had three cheap loveseats flanked by potted plastic trees, and there were framed posters on the two fake-brick walls. One of them was actually Oscar’s old Frida Kahlo print, the one that used to hang in what was now Angelica’s office. The only other item of interest in the room was the giant monitor parked on a rolling TV stand between two of the loveseats. Its screen showed the Nacho Papi logo.
The room reminded Sandy of the sets you always saw on the cable music stations where the hosts sat around introducing music videos or interviewing small-time bands. And now she knew why those sets were so common: they were cheap and easy to make, and much smaller than they appeared on TV. This one had taken less than a week for Levy Media to create, and it was one of three other sets in the same building as the Nacho Papi offices. So, Sandy knew, the rent couldn’t have been much.
She was about to record a segment on this set, interviewing small-time reality-show contestants. Two of them waited for her on the loveseats, young and nervous-looking in the light of the blazing lamps that the Nacho Papi lighting technician intern kept readjusting. Next to him, in the business corner of the room, camera technician interns adjusted their cameras. Angelica had even found a couple of intern directors—graduate students who worked for less than minimum wage and were grateful for the film credits, if you could call them that. The real director, of course, was Angelica herself. She supervised everything, either on the set as they taped, or after the fact from the editing room.
Sandy took her place on the loveseat farthest to the right, giving the two young women an encouraging smile that only one of them returned. She knew exactly how they felt. She’d been at least that nervous the first time she’d come to this set to film her first segment. She still was that nervous, in fact. But, unlike these girls, who were barely out of high school, she knew how to hide it.
The crew was ready within a few minutes. Unlike everything about TV Sandy had ever seen on the movies, this crew worked quickly and quietly. There was no clapper thing, no one yelling “Take one!” Instead, Angelica herself said, “Quiet, everyone,” and then “Okay, go.”
Sandy smiled at Angelica and the student behind the camera, still unable to bring herself to look into the actual lens. She had index cards on her lap but didn’t refer to them as she began: “Hi, guys. Sandy S. here. I’m talking with Baby and Lola from Video Girl Wannabes, the Musi-Caliente reality show. They’re going to give us the inside story on the show you’ve been loving to hate for the past few weeks. But don’t worry—no spoilers. They won’t tell us who wins at the end.”
She turned to the young women. Again, one of them smiled—the one with orangey highlights and colored contact lenses who only looked fourteen years old to Sandy even though everyone on that show was supposed to be eighteen or over. The other, who had long black hair under a newsboy cap, didn’t smile. She glared at Sandy and said, “Yeah, uh—my name is Lisa. Lisa Quintanilla. They just called us Lola and Baby for the show.”
“Oh.” Sandy was thrown off guard. No one had given her much background info on these people, and she’d only planned to ask them a few questions about the show itself. From the few episodes she’d seen she knew that this Lola—Lisa—was supposed to be something of a tough girl. But she looked to Sandy like a run-of-the-mill suburban poser. Sandy took the interruption in stride, turning to the other girl and saying, “So your real name isn’t Baby?”
“No,” she simpered. “But you can go ahead and call me that.”
“Okay, Baby. Why don’t you start by telling us where you learned to dance.”
Above their heads, the monitor flickered into life, showing a clip from Video Girl Wannabes, in which “Baby” wore cut-off jean shorts and a wet tank top and danced as if she’d been stripping since birth.
Seeing herself on the screen, the girl laughed. “I don’t know. I just watched, like, a lot of videos.”
Baby wasn’t the brightest bulb on the show, Sandy knew. She’d frequently been made the butt of jokes on the show. If Sandy wanted to, it’d be really easy to make fun of Baby now. But she didn’t want to, not really. She
felt an odd affinity for her. Maybe it was because she’d known quite a few girls who dressed and talked like Baby, back when she went to high school on the east side of town. It had always seemed ironic to her that these girls who wore the skimpiest outfits also wore crucifixes on their necks.
The monitor was now playing clips of Baby in a pillow fight with other contestants, Baby pretending to wash a car while dancing in a wet mini dress, and Baby kissing another girl.
At this point, Sandy was supposed to ask about the same-sex kissing. Instead, though, she said, “Have your parents seen the show?”
Baby laughed again. “Yeah.”
“What’d they think?”
The girl glanced up at the monitor thoughtfully, as if trying to remember. “Well, my mom liked it, but my dad got kind of mad.”
“Did he?” Sandy was genuinely curious at this point. In her peripherals she saw the crew at their silent work. And Angelica, watching with narrowed eyes. Sandy leaned forward a little. “What did he say?”
Baby’s smile became slightly awkward. “He, like, yelled at me and stuff. When they saw the one with me kissing Lil Ruby, he got, like, super mad.”
“What’d he do?” Sandy had an idea already, but she had to ask.
“He, like, called me some names. In Spanish. And he kind of, like, pushed me a little bit. And then, you know… I had to move to my friend’s house.” She stopped there and glanced at the crew, as if looking for approval.
All thoughts of making fun of this girl left Sandy’s mind at that point. She didn’t even want to ask the lesbian question. But Angelica was there, waiting. Sandy decided to try to lighten the moment. She said, “Well, so, is there going to be any more kissing on TV in your future?”
Baby shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, if they tell me to.”
“Do you have anything lined up? Any videos?” Sandy wanted to throw this girl a bone, if possible. She noticed Lisa/Lola getting antsy next to Baby.
“Yeah. Big Daddy B, the rapper that was on the second episode with us? He liked my stuff and asked me to be on the video for his next single.”
“What’s the name of it?” Sandy asked.
“It’s called ‘Why U Such a Ho,’ ” Baby replied proudly.
“Well, congratulations on that. We’ll keep an eye out for it.” With that, Sandy shifted attention to the other girl. “Lisa. How about you? Any opportunities coming out of Video Girl Wannabes yet?”
“Yeah,” she said, in a ghetto-esque drawl that, again, Sandy couldn’t help but suspect was less than authentic. “Yeah, I got a few things goin’ on. Nothin’ I can talk about yet, you know.”
“I understand. Let’s talk about the show, then, and your role on it. You were something of an instigator, I noticed.”
“Mm-hmm.” Lisa slouched down farther in her seat and peered at Sandy from under the brim of her cap.
Sandy was instantly annoyed. Whereas before she’d been speaking out of turn, this Lisa character was now turning reticent. Sandy wondered if it was in reaction to Baby’s embarrassing admissions. Whatever the reason, she had to soldier on. “Who’d you have the most problems with?”
Lisa shrugged. “Nobody, really. I mean, me and Queenie got into it a few times, but they made it look worse on the show than it was in real life. She and I are actually friends now.”
“Have you hung out with her since the show finished taping?” Sandy asked.
“Well, no,” Lisa said. “We’ve been too busy, basically. With all the stuff going on.”
“If you had the opportunity to say something to one of your former castmates, what would you say, and to whom?”
Lisa sat up a little and fixed Sandy with the same glare she’d given her at the beginning of the segment. “Actually, you know who I’d like to say something to?”
“Who’s that?”
Lisa looked directly into the camera then, as if threatening the entire audience. Behind her, the monitor played clips of her shouting and shoving her fellow reality-show contestants. “Belinda B and that punk-ass Donny the Man!”
Sandy recognized the names but, for the sake of their viewers’ edification, asked, “They aren’t on the show. Who are they?”
“They’re the people talking the most shit about us on your Web site.” Lisa tried her best to look menacing, but Sandy could tell that she was getting a slight thrill from saying curse words on camera, just like she’d done in the reality show.
“So what would you say to them?” Sandy asked. It was time, she decided, to do a little instigating herself. “You went on a reality show in order to win parts in dance videos and other shows, presumably so you could get famous, is that right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And now people see you on TV, starting fights with Queenie and Moniqua and the other girls, and now some of the viewers don’t like it. They’re talking about the show online, and they’re stating their opinions. What’s wrong with that?”
Lisa paused, then replied, “What’s wrong is that I’m trying to be a dancer, here. I’m not trying to have a bunch of fools talking about my clothes, my tatts, the size of my ass. It’s not about that.”
“So you’re saying you want to be famous enough for everyone to talk about your dancing, but not so famous that they talk about anything else?” Sandy asked, unable to repress a smile. “Have you ever expressed your opinion of a celebrity? Like, say, rapper Sister Sonya?” Lisa didn’t answer and Sandy pressed on. “Did you, for instance, say in the very first episode of Video Girl Wannabes that Sister Sonya was, quote, a ‘washed-up, ugly-ass dyke?’ ” Knowing that the editor interns would remove the offensive words later, Sandy clarified, “Did you criticize her looks and use a homophobic term for her sexual orientation?”
Lisa shrugged and shook her head for a moment. “Man. That’s different. Sister Sonya’s a damned millionaire.”
Sandy couldn’t repress her smile now. “Do you want to be a millionaire, Lisa?”
Lisa shook her head harder, in obvious dismay at having embarrassed herself without any help from Sandy. “Man. Come on.”
“Do you want to tell Belinda and Donny the Man to hold on to their opinions until you make your first million? Do you want everyone on the Internet to stop talking about you until that happens?”
“Man. This is some bullshit,” was all the girl could say.
“It is bullshit,” Sandy said. “I agree. But we’re going to keep watching, Lisa, to see if you make it. I hope that you do.”
46
Post on Nacho Papi’s Web site, Wednesday, May 24
Nobel Horniate, or Latest in a Long Line of Latino Authors with Groupies
by Sandy S.
Some of you literary types may remember that Nobel Prize-winning poet Honorio Mendiola mysteriously bailed on addressing Cornell graduates a few weeks ago. Well, sources now tell us why. According to students, Mr. Mendiolo spent that day in his hotel room, recovering from a night of drinking, firing up Colombia’s finest, and—no doubt—measuring verse with three young co-eds. For the record? Honorio prefers blondes.
See link to similar story about Jose Sonora Williams, below. What’s up with these macho Latino writers, using our country’s institutions of learning as hunting grounds for one-nighters? This takes me back to my own college days. I remember a visit from a celebrated young novelist who will remain nameless (his name started with G and ended with ilberto) who made it his business to pick off the saddest, least talented, and most attention-starved of our creative writing section for “special mentoring.” Never mind that he, like his fellow horny scribes, was ugly as sin. The most annoying effect of the phenomenon was that we had to listen to his groupies reading Gilberto Gonzalez-inspired second-person ramblings at every single class for the rest of the semester. Boring! Young women, do us all a favor and call up someone like Christian Ortiz, instead. I hear he’s newly single.
READER COMMENTS ON NOBEL HORNIATE
Oh my God that is so funny! Please tell me Gilberto G hit
on you and you shot him down, Sandy!!
Luisa
Give me a break. Honorio Mendiola is a genius. Nobody at Nacho Papi is fit to shine his shoes. Who cares if he has a few groupies?
Also, this is pretty rich coming from Sandy S, considering that she slept with her own Creative Writing teacher until he got fed up and dumped her. Bitter, party of one?
Watcher in the Wings
Sounds like Sandy is jealous that she’s the ugly one on the site. Show us more Lori!
Not Yo’ Papi’s Macho
Hey, Watcher in the Wings, get your story straight. He wasn’t her teacher, and Sandy dumped HIM. Take it from someone who knows the facts first hand. What are you anyway? Mendiola’s mom?
V for Verguenza
No, I’m not his mom. I’m just a fellow writer who can’t stand sour grapes from talentless hacks. I wasn’t going to go there, but now that you’re questioning my credentials… Sandy S. is a total starfish in bed, from what I hear. Two, she didn’t look that good until *after* she and my friend broke up. Third, she has a big mole on her right cheek. (Not the cheek on her face, either.) And she doesn’t eat jalapenos because they give her gas. More than enough reason for D.T. to dump her, as far as I’m concerned, without even considering her crappy writing and condescending attitude.
Watcher in the Wings
Total BS! And, hello, spicy foods give a lot of people gas. D.T.’s the talentless hack here, and Sandy dumped HIM. Whatever he told you was obviously just the story he uses to cry himself to sleep every night.
(Hey, Sandy, sorry I didn’t return your call the other day. I’ll call you tonight, okay?)
V for Verguenza
Watcher, sounds like you have a sick fascination with Sandy’s butt.
Lone Star Legend Page 15
