Angelica claimed that all the auction winners had been fully screened to weed out stalkers or ax murderers. But knowing Angelica as well as she did by now, Sandy wouldn’t put it past her to let one ax murderer through, just for kicks and higher ratings.
Of course, Nacho Papi readers had been buzzing about the auctions all week, saying that whoever won the date with Sandy should be prepared to have his “performance” dissected on her personal Web site.
Nonetheless, Sandy’s bid amount had climbed steadily all week and was now second only to La Sirena’s. She didn’t want to think about what kind of man would pay so much to go out with a woman he only knew from the small screen, but at the same time this man’s bid was paying a large portion of Tío Jaime’s outstanding bills. And that, Sandy reminded herself as she packed up to go to the office, made it worth spending the evening with him, however creepy he might turn out to be. They’d be on camera all night, after all.
She arrived at the office at eleven and was immediately whisked away with Lori and La Sirena into a van manned by interns and cameramen. They were scheduled for salon appointments and final dress fittings with various sponsors, while George, Philippe, and Francisco were spending the day in their own van, visiting a swanky men’s salon and Tony’s Formalwear.
It was a double-shot mocha kind of day, Sandy already knew. Maybe even a triple.
AT 6 P.M. all the staffers reconvened at the studio to meet their dates. Flashy white Hummer limos were already lined up outside in preparation for their big evening, making Sandy and Lori wince at the thought of all those environment-hurting emissions. But the limos were free, so Angelica wasn’t complaining.
One by one, the auction winners were escorted into the “evening set,” which was a room with a fake window that showed a fake Austin skyline by night. First was Francisco’s date, who’d gotten him for the lowest price of any of the staffers. Angelica announced the girl’s real name, then the fact that she was a longtime reader by the screen name of Geeky Chica. Sandy recognized her as one of Francisco’s constant commenters. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old, Sandy and Lori decided in whispered conversation while watching the taping. Geeky Chica had glasses and braces. Sandy wondered if she’d saved up her after-school job money for the auction, or if maybe her mother had footed the bill. Francisco, looking almost dapper in his suede jacket and blue jeans, gallantly escorted her to their limo. A cameraman clambered in behind them. They were on the way to a private event at the new Museum of Computer Science.
Next came Lori’s date, a tall young woman in dreadlocks and a tight-fitting tuxedo. Obviously having planned ahead, she handed Lori a giant tiger-lily corsage that matched her leopard-print dress. The two of them giggled like maniacs all the way to their limo, which was taking them to a tattoo parlor for matching hers-and-hers designs.
Philippe’s date was a serious Nordic-looking man Sandy seemed to recognize. She’d seen him, she realized upon further scrutiny, standing in the background of pictures of Philippe at various events in LA and New York. They looked like two male models in their matching tuxedos.
“That’s his boyfriend. He cheated.” George had sidled up to her and was whispering in her ear.
La Sirena stood a few steps away in a very low-cut black dress, eagerly awaiting her own date. Angelica, still playing emcee, introduced him as John Doeman. He turned out to be yet another familiar face, this time an older man.
“That’s Ronnie David. He’s a TV producer from New York. We met him at Jacob’s last thing. Jeez!” George hissed. He couldn’t seem to curb his commentary, and Sandy wondered if he was as nervous as she was. She tugged discreetly at her magenta strapless gown and tried not to panic.
Angelica announced Sandy’s date, Harvey Birdman. Next to Sandy, George chuckled. “That’s a superhero’s name.”
Mr. Harvey Birdman came around the corner in a well-cut suit and a big smile.
“Richard!” Sandy gasped quietly. It was Tío Jaime’s nephew. But how? Why? she wondered.
They shook hands and air-hugged for the camera, then moved aside to wait for George’s date.
“What are you doing here?” Sandy whispered to him, unable to contain herself.
“Helping you. After you talked about paying my uncle’s bills, I went to the Web site to make sure you didn’t exploit him in the process. Then when I saw what you were really doing, I felt guilty.” He turned to face her and continued in a low voice, “This is my family’s responsibility, Sandy. You shouldn’t have to do this for Tío Jaime. So now I’m paying for it myself.”
“Oh, thanks,” Sandy said, with as much sarcasm as she could convey in a whisper. He made it sound like he was paying a fine, or getting a root canal.
“What? This guy’s your cousin?” George whispered on her other side. “What the—?”
Before he could finish that thought, Angelica was calling his date’s name, Marisa Florentino. An older, well-rounded woman in a tight sequined tunic walked out. Between teeth tightly gritted into a smile, George whispered one last remark. “Great. The others get people they’ve been banging forever, you get your cousin a free meal, and I’m stuck with Cougar Lady here. Freaking great!”
Sandy watched George exchange pleasantries with the woman, who immediately gave him a bear hug and began chattering away in a raspy voice. She almost felt sorry for George. Almost, but not quite.
DINNER ENDED UP being more fun than Sandy had expected. They were forced to sit at a table for four in a private room at an outrageously expensive French restaurant. The cameramen never stopped filming, so Sandy couldn’t talk to Richard about Tío Jaime. She couldn’t even use his real name; he insisted that she call him Harvey. He also insisted on ordering for her, starting with the escargot, which provided ample opportunity for close-ups and reaction shots, and ending with a dramatic flaming brandy dessert. Sandy had no intention of eating snails, no matter how much they were going for. But she couldn’t help but laugh at Richard as he not only ate them, but told obviously made-up stories about hunting bigger snails in the rainforest with a completely straight face. She asked him what kind of law he practiced. He told her he was currently representing the estate of a whole ranch of dead minks in a suit against Saks Fifth Avenue.
He had more of a sense of humor than she’d expected from the few exchanges they’d had in the past. At least, she reflected as she sipped the Beaujolais he’d ordered, he knew how to pick good wine.
Meanwhile, George’s date competed for camera time by trying to matchmake George with her cousin’s daughter. George had politely declined at first, but then, upon seeing the young woman’s picture, he was persuaded. Marisa ordered two bottles of sherry and read tipsy George’s palm over dessert. Sandy couldn’t tell if she really wanted to set George up with her younger relative or if she was faking George out while attempting to seduce him.
During the limo ride to their next destination, Richard turned to George and asked, “So you’re the guy who interviewed Sandy’s ex-boyfriend for a competing Web site, right?”
“Uh. Right,” said George.
“So tell me, George, what kind of man does something like that?” Richard sat and looked steadily at the other man, waiting for an answer. But there was none forthcoming.
“Um. Hey, it’s a job, you know.” George turned to Marisa and changed the subject. Sandy heard the whizzing sound from the camera in the next seat as its operator zoomed in for her reaction. She couldn’t help but give a quick grin for the record.
After dinner they went to a symphonic performance at the Bass Concert Hall. The cameramen followed them to their seats and then, with ushers as escorts, went to shoot a little footage of the orchestra tuning up in the orchestra pit.
“This isn’t really the kind of thing the Nacho Papi audience goes for, is it?” Richard asked her.
Sandy shrugged. “I guess they’re thinking it will be if George and I write rave reviews of it later. We probably won’t even stay for the whole thing.”
She was right. Fifteen minutes into the performance an intern appeared and guided them back to the limo, which was now magically stocked with champagne. “Drink up,” the intern encouraged them, probably according to Angelica’s orders, Sandy knew. She took a sip from her plastic glass and decided she’d have to pretend to be tipsy, later, in order to please her boss.
Their next stop was a tango bar, of all things, in a quiet corner downtown. They were welcomed in by the owner himself, who made a big show of walking them to their candlelit table, which was already set with glasses of Argentinean red. He offered to lead Sandy to the floor and show her the steps.
“Ooh, show me!” cried George’s date, stepping between Sandy and the man. And so the owner led her to the floor. Marisa was obviously an accomplished dancer, and she dipped and spun with more ease than Sandy would have expected.
“Great,” said George into his wineglass. He took a seat on one of the bar stools in the far corner and slumped against the wall.
“Want to dance?” Richard asked.
“I don’t know if I can.” Sandy eyed the half-dozen couples on the crowded little floor. Apart from Marisa, they all looked like movie extras, moving in perfect rhythm to the twangy Latin beat. “I’ve never tangoed before.”
“Neither have I. How bad could it be, though?”
Before she could refuse outright, Richard led her out to the floor, where they almost immediately stepped on each other’s feet and crashed into the couple nearest them. Sandy almost collapsed in nervous giggles, but Richard held her close and managed to lead her in a step that approximated what everyone else was doing and kept them safe in their own little space.
They were out of the hearing of the cameras now, even though the ever-present red lights focused on them from two corners of the bar. Now, Sandy thought, was the time for a serious conversation.
But Richard spoke first. “You know, you look really different without your glasses. Much less severe.”
“Oh, really?” Her reply was immediate. “Maybe I should have left them on, then.”
He laughed. “Maybe. It’d make it easier to be angrier with you.”
She looked up at him in exasperation. “Are you still angry, though? Why? I never said anything bad about your uncle. Whatever else I may have done, you can’t accuse me of that.”
His look became thoughtful. “No, I’m not angry about that anymore. I’m not even sure I ever was. I guess I was just upset because you made me feel guilty. There I was, trying to visit my uncle as much as time allowed, and then you come along and change his whole life without me knowing anything about it. I had to figure out who you were and what exactly you were doing, and then I had to go home and explain it to my mother, who never reads the Internet, and who was in a complete panic that I was letting some strange woman take advantage of her older brother.”
“Well,” said Sandy, “when you put it that way, I guess I can see why you were a little upset.”
He laughed. “Yeah. A little.”
“But you realize now that I’m not evil, right?”
“I suppose so.” He made a skeptical face and it was Sandy’s turn to laugh.
“I’ve been feeling super guilty,” she said, “because I had no idea he was diabetic, and I was drinking that sugary lemonade with him and buying him cookies the whole time. And then, his foot…”
“Don’t worry about that. That’s not your fault. My uncle, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is a stubborn man. If he wanted to follow his doctor’s orders, he would have done it with or without your encouragement. And obviously he didn’t want to follow them.”
The song ended and Sandy and Richard let the other dancers move past them, in silent agreement to stay on the dance floor and continue their conversation out of camera range. The next song started and they picked up their slow, turning shuffle again. The other remaining dancers gave them plenty of room, obviously aware by now that they were being taped.
“So,” Sandy said, “you read that whole thing with George and my ex-boyfriend.”
Richard nodded. “I did.”
“And you’re still pretty sure I’m not some evil man-hating witch?”
He chuckled. “Well, I can see that you’re a good writer. And it’s pretty obvious that your ex and George had issues with that. You know what people say—crabs in a bucket.”
“Right. They try to pull you down.” Remembering Tío Jaime’s expression about envy made her smile.
“And I saw the last interview you did with my uncle, where you apologized to everyone on earth. I have to say, that took serious guts.”
Sandy smiled and looked away. She didn’t want praise for setting things right.
“Just to be sure, though,” Richard continued, “I did take extra precaution tonight, with the pseudonym and the stories about my work. That way, if you do decide to write about me on your blog…”
Sandy laughed. “Well, that’s assuming a lot, isn’t it? I meet a lot of people on this job. You might not end up being one of the memorable ones.”
“Ouch!” he said. “You are evil, after all. So, hey, did you ever do the Web search on my name? Because—”
“Sandy!” called their intern guide, standing near one of the cameramen’s shoulder. “Beso!”
She looked over Richard’s shoulder at him, frowning and shaking her head.
“Yeah, beso!” chimed the cameraman. Then the other one joined in. “Beso! Beso!”
“Sorry. These guys can be really immature,” Sandy told Richard, who was watching in bemusement.
“Do you mind? We can put on a good show for your boss,” he said.
She shrugged. Why not? Richard bent and dipped her then, low to the ground so that she was no longer facing the cameras. Then, with a wicked smile, he gave her an air kiss that must have looked very real to everyone observing. Then he lifted her up again and she felt all her blood rush back into place.
“Good one,” she told him. “Angelica will love that.”
Maybe, she thought, she should be more careful. She didn’t want to get into another situation where people were gossiping about her personal life, did she?
Oh, who cares? She couldn’t control the gossiping, she realized on second thought while starting the third dance. There was no use trying to do anything but live her life.
“What were you going to say?” she asked Richard. “About me searching for your name online?”
“Hmm? Oh. Just that you wouldn’t find anything,” he said. “Because I went home that night and deleted all the bad stuff.”
Sandy couldn’t help but laugh. “Too bad I didn’t meet you before all this crazy stuff happened, then, so you could have given me that advice.”
He smiled in return. “Yeah, it is too bad, isn’t it?”
75
Time: Saturday, July 15, 10:56 AM
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Coda
Sandy,
I think enough time has passed now for each of us to reflect on what’s happened and how it’s affected us. I see that you’ve reinstated a working relationship with George Cantu and seem to have recovered well from the fallout from his article.
I, for one, can admit that I regret participating in that article. For what it’s worth, I was led to believe that it would be a profile of me and my work, and not solely a piece about the two of us. My quotes were taken out of context. I was probably just as surprised and embarrassed as you to read the final work.
I’m sure you’ve already admitted, to yourself, at least, your part in all this.
Despite everything, I’ve been able to continue working and am performing a reading of my thesis at the Fat Man this weekend, as per the link below. It’s open to the public. However, I hope that any mention you make of it on your Web site refrains from too personal a tone.
Sincerely,
Daniel
76
Sandy deleted her ex-boyfriend�
��s e-mail with a snort. He was completely ridiculous. She couldn’t remember now what she’d ever seen in him in the first place.
It was the Saturday after the busiest week of her term at Nacho Papi so far. After the Big Date episode, they taped segments of every staff member delivering his or her auction donations to the charities of their choice. Sandy’s visit to the Chupacabra was aired on the show, then posted on the site. Readers clicked in record numbers to see Sandy knocking on the door of the Chupacabra’s house, only to find that no one lived there anymore. She’d used Aunt Linda’s house as the setting. At the end she’d zoomed in on a goodbye note she’d written and tacked to the door ahead of time. It said Gone to greener pastures.
Reading the comments online now, Sandy saw that the readers’ reactions were mixed. Of course. Several had come up with elaborate conspiracy theories about the whole thing being fake to begin with.
She closed down all her files and browser windows, then physically closed her laptop and left Calypso’s corner table.
“Bye, Sandy! See you next time!” the barista called as she left.
A leisurely hour later she pulled into Tío Jaime’s drive. As always, he was waiting on the porch for her with Cano at his side. His cast had finally been removed and he wore a sturdy new pair of tennis shoes.
Sandy accepted his offer of lemonade, following him into the kitchen to see the telltale pile of yellow sugar-substitute packets.
“I have bad news for you,” he told her once they were settled on his porch, enjoying the ever-present cool breeze. His tone belied his words, though, and she suspected she already knew what he was going to tell her. “I’m moving to California, after all. I’m going to live with my little sister in East LA.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. It’s not because of the bills. The money you gave me was more than enough to cover them—”
Lone Star Legend Page 24
