EVERYTHING HAD been going smoothly—too smoothly. Alicia, always one to be nervous and worried, was waiting for the inevitable moment when things would go wrong. And with less than a week till Valeria’s quinceañera, they did. True, certain things were all set. The catering was being handled by the Fat Turkey Chocolate Company, and Jamie was almost done with the decorations. Alicia had all the seating plans arranged and had even managed to figure out how to give the tías the best seats in the house without upsetting anyone else.
But Carmen was in trouble. Unless she could find some really talented elves, Valeria’s junior damas would have either no dresses or, at best, ill-fitting ones on the big day. There was just no way that she alone could buy and do the alterations on seven more dresses in less than a week. Her fingers were already raw from working on Valeria’s dresses, which, while hip and amazing, were not made from the easiest fabrics to cut.
And while Valeria’s church had signed off on the late-night quince, the amigas were pretty sure that presenting Valeria’s junior court in their birthday suits would not be appreciated.
That morning at breakfast, Carmen finally gave in. No matter how much she wanted to do everything, she was just one girl. One girl with very painful fingers and eyes that had been squinting for so long she was pretty sure they would never open again.
“I’m going to need some help, chicas,” she announced. “Valeria’s entrance dress is done, but I’ve only got five days to finish up her traditional dress, I still have to get final measurements from the damas—who I’m hoping won’t lie to me about their sizes—and then make those alterations. And with the addition of the junior damas to dress, it’s impossible.”
“I feel your pain,” Valeria said, sipping a cup of Aztec chocolate. “Well, not exactly, because I don’t sew. But I’ve seen how much sewing you’ve been doing, and I know this is a phenomenal amount of work. Mom and I were talking about it last night, and we had a thought. What if we tried to hire some additional seamstresses from the Austin community to help you with everything? I know it would be a bit extra, but Mom says we have the budget.”
Carmen considered the idea, but looked worried. “I like it in theory. But we’d need miracle seamstresses who can stitch like the wind.”
Valeria handed Carmen a business card. “Miranda’s is the best fabric shop in town,” she said. “Would you mind just taking a ride over there to see if there’s anyone they recommend? If you can’t find anybody, we’ll figure out another solution—like me and Mom learning how to sew overnight.”
A few hours later, Alicia and Jamie were in the Castillos’ great room, discussing the china and linen rentals. The family was used to throwing big parties. But once the guest list climbed past one hundred, it was always easier and cheaper to rent plates, glasses, silverware, and tablecloths. They were in the middle of a heated debate over ivory versus cream when Carmen rushed into the room, looking as if she were ready to burst.
“That was probably the coolest experience ever!” she announced.
“What did you buy?” Alicia asked, gesturing toward the large bags in Carmen’s hands.
Carmen threw the bags on the floor and plopped down on a couch. “I bought lots of fabric,” she said. “Mexican stuff that I’ve never seen in Miami. But that’s not what’s important. What’s important is who I met. I don’t want to ruin the surprise. But suffice it to say that the great dama dress dilemma has been solved.”
The next morning, the girls—including Valeria—were enjoying a late breakfast as they tried to relax before the rush started. But it was impossible. Every time the doorbell rang, or someone walked by, or they heard a knock on the door, Carmen leapt up. Finally, right when Alicia was about to staple her feet to the floor, the doorbell rang again, and Carmen’s surprise visitors arrived. She got up again and gestured for Jamie and Alicia to join her in the entrance foyer.
Three older women stood outside the front door. They each had pincushion bracelets on their wrists and bags full of needles, thread, and other sewing materials dangling from each elbow.
“Amigas Inc., meet Abuelas Inc.,” Carmen said, grinning.
“You’re kidding about the name, right?” Alicia said.
The apparent manager of the group smiled and replied, “Why would we kid? It’s a very good name. And I think the Abuelas have been in business for a few more years than the Amigas!” She handed Alicia a business card.
ABUELAS INC.
SEAMSTRESSES FOR HIRE
WE SPECIALIZE IN WEDDINGS AND QUINCES.
“I’m Mia,” she said, reaching out to shake hands with Alicia and Jamie. “I’m in charge of all our subcontractors and business affairs.”
“I’m Celia. I’m the head seamstress, and I do most of the design work,” said the tall, elegant woman next to her, who looked so much like Carmen that she could have been her grandmother.
“Mucho gusto, I’m Adelita,” said the sassy abuela. Carmen and Alicia exchanged glances. They both thought that Adelita was a back-to-the-future version of Jamie.
“So, Carmen says you can help her?” Alicia asked once the introductions were over.
Mia nodded. “It will be a piece of cake. We’ll take care of as much as we can—or, should I say, Celia will—and then we’ll delegate the rest to several seamstresses in the area,” she explained. “Today’s Monday; we can deliver the dresses by Thursday at noon. It’s cutting it close, but it still leaves us a little time to fix any catastrophes—like damas who may have fudged on their sizes.”
Alicia was in awe. “Thursday afternoon would be perfect. I can’t believe you can work so fast.”
Carmen leaned over. “We needed miracle seamstresses with Wonder Woman–fast sewing machines, and I found them.”
Just then, Alicia’s cell phone rang, and she excused herself. Five minutes later, she walked back into the great room, her face a mask of fury.
“Carmen, Jamie, may I see you in the kitchen?” she said through clenched teeth.
The minute they were out of earshot of the abuelas, Alicia screamed, “That was Omarion! He’s at the tuxedo rental shop with the other chambelanes—and no Gaz! Gaz has the cashier’s check for the tuxedo deposit! The tailors won’t even measure the chambelanes without it.” She began pacing back and forth, her breath uneven and her face red. “Would it be okay if I threw something?” she asked, clenching her fists. “I really want to throw something.”
A panicked Jamie looked around the room for something unbreakable. She grabbed two pot covers from where they were drying on the rack. “Here, bang these together.”
Alicia banged the pots together, then put them down. “That didn’t help at all. I just feel like a five-year-old.”
Jamie shrugged. “Well, chica, I tried…”
Carmen tried to remain calm. “I know you’re upset, Alicia, but I’m sure he has a good reason.”
Alicia had a nasty retort right on the tip of her tongue when Valeria entered the kitchen. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “I thought I heard banging.”
Jamie handed her the two pot covers. “Guaranteed to relieve the quince-planning stress.”
Alicia’s cell phone rang again. She looked at the number and saw it was Gaz’s. Sitting down on the kitchen floor, she leaned against the door of the fridge and flipped open the phone.
“Gaz, where are you?” she asked, not bothering to sound nice. She listened, a scowl on her face. “I don’t care if your panel ran overtime. You’ve got the cashier’s check for the tuxes. All of those guys were waiting for you. You’ve been spending all of your time with Saniyah and have done pretty close to nothing for this quince, which was why Valeria’s parents paid to fly you here in the first place.”
She listened in silence. “Okay, okay, fine,” she said after a moment. Then she hung up.
The other girls looked at her expectantly.
“It’s really not that easy to eavesdrop on only one side of the conversation,” Jamie said. “I hate to ask, but, what did he say?”
; Alicia threw up her hands and shrugged. Her voice was quiet, resigned, a little sad. “He’s really sorry—bla, bla, bla. He’s got this new artist showcase on Wednesday—bla, bla, bla. After that, he’ll give us his undivided attention—bla, bla, bla.”
“I think Saniyah is a bad influence,” Carmen said.
“Let’s not bring her up,” Jamie suggested.
“I’m just saying…” Carmen continued. “The real problem is that Gaz is losing Alicia’s trust.”
“I think he’s telling me what I want to hear,” Alicia said. “I think he cannot fathom that quinces are as important to me as his music is to him. But what am I going to do? I love him—bla, bla, bla.”
She turned away so that her friends wouldn’t see just how close she was to tears.
No one said anything until finally, softly, she added, “He knew he was coming here to work on Valeria’s quince. Amigas Inc. is a serious business and something we’re actually making money from doing. How important can this conference or this gig really be to Gaz? I don’t buy that it’s all about the music. Honestly, do you think he would have been this irresponsible if he hadn’t met Saniyah?”
THE DAY OF Gaz’s new-artist showcase, he woke hours before the alarm went off.
Going downstairs, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, studying his lyrics. He’d written all the songs, but he was so nervous he worried he’d forget his own words. He’d already seen it happen that week at the conference. Just the day before, a guy had gotten up to perform at a showcase and flubbed his lines—not once, but twice.
Watching that guy choke and blow his one chance to impress the music-industry pros at the conference, Saniyah had given Gaz some good advice: “Focus on the melody.” She followed that advice up with, “Let the guitar lead, because your fingers are stronger and surer than your voice will ever be. When I sing, I’m really paying most attention to the guitar. My voice is just along for the ride.”
He just hoped he would remember that when the spotlight was on him.
To distract himself from what was going to happen later, he showered and dressed as quietly as he could. He looked at the hall clock. Six fifteen. Still plenty of time to catch the antelopes. He paused before Alicia’s door. He wanted to wake her, get her to walk with him, make sure that she saw that he was wearing the shirt she had given him for good luck. He raised his hand to knock, but let it fall. There’d been nothing but frostiness between them since he had missed his appointment with the chambelanes. She hadn’t even given him the shirt in person. She’d left it on his bed the night before with a note that just said, I believe in you. None of her typical x’s and o’s.
He couldn’t completely blame her. He had been slacking off on his responsibilities. He hadn’t rehearsed the cumbia song he was supposed to play on his guitar for Valeria’s father-daughter vals. He hadn’t listened to any of the ninety-five feminist goth songs that Valeria had loaded onto an iPod for him to help him figure out the musical theme. But he wasn’t like Alicia—how she kept so many things going at once was nothing short of a mystery to him. She handled it all, from budgets and schedules to choreography and supplies.
He was different. He needed to do one thing at a time. He knew how much he owed the Castillo family, and he would start pulling his weight as soon as he got through this one make-or-break day.
Stepping outside, he took in the morning that was still so dark it felt closer to night than day. He had a thermos of hot chocolate and the flashlight, and his guitar, strung over his shoulder. He found his spot on the bench and felt himself relax. His spot. He’d been in Austin for exactly ten days, and yet the ranch felt like a second home.
In the stillness of the new day, he took a sip of cocoa, then began to play his guitar—running through his songs softly and sweetly until the antelopes breezed past him and the sun revealed itself lazily in the sky.
By the time Alicia woke up at eight, Gaz was long gone. She texted him: See you there. Buena suerte. Good luck. And she told herself that she was being oversensitive in thinking that his one-word response (thanks) was cold.
Valeria’s quince was just three days away, and Alicia knew from experience that this was the time to check and double-check the details. There were going to be a half dozen veggie appetizers to supplement the chocolate buffet. Jamie had done a charcoal portrait of Valeria with her new haircut, and Alicia had sent it out to be printed on two hundred paper cups and two hundred napkins. Even when you paid extra for rush service, you never knew if a package would turn up on time. Alicia had been tracking the cups and napkins on the UPS Web site on her cell phone from almost the moment she woke up. She breathed a sigh of relief when the doorbell rang at eleven A.M. and she saw the driver walk in with her two giant boxes.
Once that was settled, she began calling around about additional DJ equipment. Gaz would be DJ-ing largely using speakers plugged into his laptop, but Alicia always thought it looked best when a full DJ stand was set up, ready to go if Gaz felt inspired to throw in a CD that wasn’t on the original mix or if a guest made a special request. Of course, Gaz had yet to give Valeria the tracks list to sign off on, but they could take care of that quickly. It was Wednesday; the party was Saturday. He’d get it done. She looked at her watch. Twelve thirty P.M. She had a meeting downtown with the pastry chef at one thirty, which would leave her plenty of time to get to Gaz’s showcase by three.
At least, she should have had plenty of time.
Things started to unravel during the drive downtown. It took longer than she’d planned to get from the ranch to the panadería. Then, when she got there, she was told that the pastry chef, Noreen, was running a little late. On top of that, he had mistaken her order for someone else’s, and she had to review all the items on the menu with him all over again. She chewed her lip nervously and kept her eye on her watch. Despite the setbacks, Alicia was sure she was not more than fifteen minutes behind schedule, and she was confident that she could make it on time.
Luis dropped her at the conference center at two forty-five. Still plenty of time. She went right to the visitors’ desk to get a map so she wouldn’t get lost. But the conference center was a maze. Simultaneous events were taking place in four different locations. Breathless, she ran toward the annex that housed the new artists’ showcase. By the time she finally made it to the courtyard where Gaz was playing, the crowd was clapping, and he was walking off the stage. Saniyah was sitting in the front row cheering. She made eye contact with Alicia, a distinct look of disapproval flashing over her face.
Normally, that would have bothered Alicia. But not now. She had no right to be mad at Saniyah. The girl had made it to support Gaz, who wasn’t even her boyfriend. And Alicia? She had missed his event.
Her stomach was in knots. This was the worst thing that could have happened. Especially as things weren’t exactly great between them. She was going to have to do some pretty good explaining, not to mention issuing a ginormous apology. But when she went up to speak to him, he gave her a huge hug, and her resolve vanished.
“What did you think, Lici? Amazing, right? I was only supposed to sing two songs. Then, you saw that guy in the blazer who came up to talk to me? He’s one of the conference organizers. He told me to go ahead and play another one.”
Alicia hugged him tightly. He obviously thought she had seen his performance. “That is great! Of course, you were good,” she said, hoping he couldn’t see through her lie.
He kissed her. “It wasn’t me. It was my lucky shirt and my incredible girlfriend. I wouldn’t even be here without you.”
She looked around and realized there must have been two hundred people jammed into the courtyard. Gaz hadn’t seen her come in.
How could she tell him the truth?
After dinner, later that night, Saniyah surprised everyone by showing up at the house. The Miami crew was sitting around the kitchen of the guesthouse eating homemade prickly pear sorbet. At the sight of Saniyah, Alicia’s heart raced. Was she h
ere to rat Alicia out to Gaz?
Luckily, that wasn’t her reason for stopping by. “Hey, Valeria,” Saniyah said. “I just stopped by to give you this. It’s a little birthday present. Gaz was telling me about the girls you mentor and how much this tradition means to you, and I was just so inspired I wrote a song about it, about you. It’s called ‘Hermanas.’”
Valeria stood up and gave Saniyah a hug. “Oh, my God, thank you! Will you perform it at my quince?”
Saniyah laughed and looked down at her feet. “Come on, you haven’t heard it yet. It could suck.”
Valeria shook her head. “I haven’t heard the song yet, but I’ve heard you. Your voice is so beautiful. It would be an honor for me if you would sing at my quince.”
Saniyah looked touched. “Well, when you put it that way, I’d love to. My mom is actually waiting in the car for me, so I’d better go. Good night, everyone.”
Valeria nodded. “I’ll walk you out. I should head back up to the house anyway. Buenas noches, everyone.”
She left, and Jamie went up to the room the girls shared to work on her special video project. Carmen went off to text Domingo. Soon, Alicia and Gaz were the only ones left in the kitchen. Alicia began to clear the table. “How about you wash and I dry?”
“Or you could wash and I’ll dry.”
Alicia held up her hands. “Brand-new manicure. I dry.” Then, turning to him, she said, “That’s pretty cool that Saniyah wrote a song for Valeria.”
“I didn’t even know she was working on it,” Gaz said, nodding. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
“Well, it does pose the question of why you’ve never written a song about me,” Alicia said teasingly.
Behind her, she heard the glass break. Whirling around, she saw Gaz standing over the broken dish. He looked confused and hurt.
“What’s wrong?” Alicia asked, concerned. “Are you okay?”
“I did write a song about you: ‘Playing for Keeps,’” Gaz said. “It was the first song that I sang today. If you’d been there, like you said you were, you would’ve heard it.”
Playing for Keeps Page 10
