“Well, that’s why I’m here.” Madison snatched another brush from her extensive collection and continued the endless procedure.
It took hours. And by the time the sun began to fade, I was sprayed, teased, colored, shaved, and scented. My hair had been straightened by Emily to create a gleam I didn’t know my follicles were capable of, then Madison applied a fresh coat of clear polish to my fingers and toes, while Lilly walked on the pavement out front to break-in my new heels. Madison had indiscreetly excluded her from the pre-party preparations.
“Um, sorry, Lilly,” she had said. “But Mariana told me about your Quinceañera. I mean I’m sure it was fun and all, but I really don’t think you’re the best judge of ‘American taste.’ ”
Before I could say a word, Lilly left the room to “break in my shoes” (and curse silently in Spanish). Despite her anger, she looked amazing. She was wearing a dress I had sported to my cousin’s wedding last year, only her boobs actually filled the purple halter-top to a swelling perfection. It was like the dress finally got to be what it was always meant to be.
Emily was decked out in a red strapless number that made her legs look a mile long, and Madison’s blond hair was swept up to showcase the jeweled turquoise straps on her otherwise nude cocktail dress.
I, however, hadn’t yet been permitted to put on my party clothes. Apparently, there was a fifteen minute waiting period following my deodorant and body moisturizer application (to avoid transfer stains). Madison was clocking it.
“Okay, five more seconds and we’re good,” Madison stated, staring at her watch.
I immediately lifted my freshly ironed dress, clutched a pair of underwear from my dresser, and headed into the bathroom to change.
“What are you doing?” Madison asked, glaring at me.
“You said it was time.”
“No, not that.”
“Please don’t tell me I have to get dressed with my ‘team’ present.” I gripped the door handle.
“No. What are you doing with that underwear?” she asked, horror spread across her face. “Do you see what she’s holding?”
She looked at Emily.
“Is that a cotton thong? With a bow?” Emily asked, as if I were holding an automatic weapon.
“Uh, yeah. Why?”
They both shook their heads at me. Then Madison reached into her overnight suitcase and pulled out a shopping bag.
“I thought you might need these. I can’t believe you don’t have them already.”
She held up the largest pair of flesh-colored granny panties I’d ever seen. They looked like eighties bicycle shorts with a waistline that had to reach my boobs and an equally horrific three-inch crotch.
“Are you kidding?”
“Do you know nothing about panty lines?”
“Yes, I do. That’s why I’m wearing a thong.”
“With a bow!” Madison shouted.
“It will protrude right through the fabric of the dress,” Emily explained.
“You need something to hold you in and keep your butt tight,” Madison added.
“Since when does my butt need extra tightening?”
“Trust me. These suckers work wonders.”
Madison handed me the hideous, parachute-sized panties, and I disappeared into the bathroom. More than five minutes of sucking and heaving later, I got the nylon torture traps up and slipped my black dress on top of them. I smoothed fabric over my stomach, which did look inhumanly flat, and turned toward the full-length mirror. It was the first time I caught a glimpse of myself with my full, quasi-professionally styled Sweet Sixteen look.
I smiled.
Chapter 27
All of my guests arrived on time—my family, my friends, and my not-so-friends-who-invited-themselves-anyway. I was standing by the bar, alone, soaking in the scene. The tent swept high above us in white silk waves. Dozens of round tables with tangerine and fuchsia tablecloths popped against green and white orchids, lilies, and hydrangeas—their fragrance melting with the smell of seafood hors d’oeuvres. Votive candles glowed around each floral arrangement, accented by white china and lime green napkins. It was a tropical paradise in suburban America.
The cocktail hour was almost over (which in the underage-drinking world meant ginger ale and Shirley Temples). Guests filled more than two hundred chairs waiting for dinner to be served and the festivities to begin.
My ‘grand entrance’ had occurred about an hour ago when I walked into the kitchen, amidst dozens of bustling wait staff, to get a handful of pretzels to settle my stomach. The fact that Betsy and Evan were the first guests I saw did nothing to help my nerves.
“Hey, happy birthday,” Betsy had cheered as she handed me a pink present with a giant white bow.
“It’s from all of us,” Evan mumbled.
“Oh, Mariana, you’re ready!” Lilly shrieked as she ran into the kitchen from the den. “I was just going to tell you that the first guests had arrived.”
“I, uh, see that,” I grumbled, through a mouthful of pretzel bites.
Lilly halted a few feet in front of me. “Oh, my God.”
“What?” I asked, still chewing.
“Nothing. It’s just, you look ... Wow. Bonita.”
Lilly beamed as she ran over and hugged me, squishing me tight.
“Oh, no! I’m wrinkling you!”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, as I grabbed a bottle of Evian from the fridge.
“No, but really, you look amazing,” Lilly stated again. She lifted a disposable camera to her eye. “I have to take a picture for Mom. After everything you did for my Quinceañera, she’d kill me if I didn’t send a photo from your Sweet Sixteen.”
“Ah, and how are the Sanchezes?” I asked, smiling for the photo.
“Wishing they could be here. They sent gifts!” Lilly cheered. “I tossed them in the pile with the others.”
Lilly gestured toward my living room, which was serving as a gift receptacle. It was the one clear benefit of the party.
“You do look nice,” Betsy added with fake enthusiasm.
“I like your shoes,” Evan said, staring at my peak-toe pumps with gold studs.
“Gee, Evan, I didn’t know you cared.” I tilted my head and grinned at him.
He smirked back.
That was the last thing I remembered before the ambush of people came through the front door. I was hugged from all angles by a swarm of relatives and passing students, all headed toward the sizzling rhythms drifting from the tent in the back.
The band was currently in its Latin jazz, cocktail music phase. There were no lyrics, so my guests probably hadn’t yet figured out that they were in for a night of popular Spanish music. Most of these kids didn’t know me very well, which probably meant that after tonight they’d think I was some crazy, wannabe Latina—like those newscasters who look like Malibu Barbie but who pronounce their names with ethnic accents. Before this summer I barely spoke Spanish, I let my friends call me by an ethnic slur, and I resented being labeled “Hispanic” on standardized tests. Now here I was serving Puerto Rican food with the sounds of salsa in the background.
I popped another shrimp cake into my mouth. I had been standing by myself at the bar hoarding appetizers from passing waiters for several minutes. None of my guests seemed to notice me.
“Mariana!” Lilly yelled as she ran over. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’ve been right here,” I told her.
“Why are you alone?”
“I don’t know. Why not?”
“You’re supposed to be having fun.”
“Really? I must have missed that part.”
“All right, that’s it. Let’s go!” Lilly grabbed my arm and yanked me from my resting place.
“Where are we going?”
She dragged me straight to Bobby, who was talking to his photography friends.
“Wait here,” Lilly said before running toward the band.
I shuffled my feet and peered up
at Bobby. He wore a platinum button-down shirt and a silver tie. His curly blond hair was slicked back and his normal two-day-old scruff was shaved clean. He looked like a grown-up.
“Hey.” I lifted my chin.
“Wow,” he replied, eyeballing my ensemble. “You look amazing. I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
“Gee, thanks. Do I look that bad normally?”
“You know what I mean. I’ve just never seen you so dressed up before.”
“Same goes for you.”
“Well, I thought the occasion deserved a little more than old corduroys and a beat up T-shirt.”
“Truthfully, I’d rather be wearing the cords right now.”
Bobby pulled on his tie. “So would I.”
A few moments later, Lilly darted back and grabbed both of our hands. Her light brown eyes were electrified as she yanked us onto the dance floor.
“We’re going to kick this party off,” she stated.
She left Bobby and me staring at each other with confusion on the parquet floor as she ran off in search of Evan. She pushed him onto the floor and nodded at the band. Immediately the twelve-piece ensemble ripped into a fast salsa rhythm with the thunder of brass trombones and pounding bongos.
“What the heck is this?” Bobby asked, staring at me openmouthed.
Lilly grabbed Evan in a standard ballroom dance frame, then looked toward us.
“The girls lead, the guys follow,” she cheered.
Lilly’s hips swiveled as her feet rock-stepped and kicked. Evan looked stunned but kept up surprisingly well (those formative years in ballet must have paid off). He stepped from side-to-side as quickly as he could with a solid sense of rhythm.
I gazed at Bobby. “You wanna give it a whirl?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“That’s okay. Neither did I the first time.”
With that, I bent my right elbow, and he clutched my palm. I placed a hand on his shoulder while he held my waist (which was extra firm thanks to my monster spandex panties) and we lightly swayed to the music. We locked eyes as he tried to move his legs in time with mine.
“Don’t worry about your hips,” I stated. “That’ll come later. Just try to feel the music.”
Bobby smiled nervously and kept stepping and swaying in a circular pattern as we moved across the dance floor. We weren’t exactly on beat, but we could’ve been worse. At least he was trying.
“See, you’re a natural.”
“Yeah, right!” he joked, just before nipping my toe.
We slowly found our flow, our hips waving together in time with the music. As the rhythm slowed, Bobby spun me under his arm and pulled me back for the final note. I opened my mouth to offer a compliment but was interrupted by a clash of applause. We turned toward the dining tables to see the entire crowd on its feet, hooting enthusiastically. Lilly swiftly ran over, clasped my hand, and pulled me to center stage.
“Ladies and gentleman, the birthday girl!” she screamed to a roar of cheers.
My face filled with heat as I scanned the collage of faces in the tent, all smiling and clapping. Then I did what any trained ballerina would do. I bowed.
Chapter 28
I sat with my family at dinner—not just my parents, but everyone. I was surrounded by my uncles, my aunts, my cousins, and of course (just to complicate things), my new tia Teresa and her boyfriend Carlos.
“So, Mariana, I didn’t realize you knew how to dance merengue,” my Aunt Stacey stated as she nibbled a lettuce leaf.
“It was salsa,” I corrected through a mouthful of chicken.
“Oh, there’s a difference?”
“Yes,” Lilly stated, grinding her teeth as she smiled as politely as she could.
“Okay.” My aunt stared down at her tiny collection of Puerto Rican food.
Neither of my aunts were Latina, and neither was my mom. The Ruíz brothers unilaterally married outside their culture, which today wouldn’t be as huge a deal, but twenty years ago, it caused quite a stir. My mother’s Polish father wasn’t exactly liberal-minded. He gave my father such a hard time, convinced he wasn’t good enough for his daughter simply because he was Puerto Rican, that both my parents have sworn numerous times that Vince and I can marry whomever we want. My Aunt Joan’s Irish parents and my Aunt Stacey’s Italian family had similar reactions to their multicultural marriages. The only saving grace was that they were all devout Catholics, which at least gave the families the traditional weddings and baptisms they desperately desired. I still went to church every weekend with my parents, and so did all my cousins.
“I love your dress,” my cousin Jackie stated. “Dior?”
“No, Robert Rodriguez.” I nodded.
“Oh, I should have known. You know, he worked for Dior.”
I shook my head with an oblivious expression. Jackie was thirteen going on twenty-eight (never thirty; she already intended to lie about her age). She was tall, blond, thin as a rail and obsessed with fashion. She had been shopping in designer women’s boutiques since her growth spurt in the fifth grade. Every spare weekend she spent at modeling agencies waiting for her big break. She was certain that if she didn’t get onto a runway soon, she’d be too old to enter the business. Apparently, fifteen was over the hill.
“Jackie has such a great eye for fashion,” my Aunt Joan cooed. “You should have seen how impressed these photographers were last week during the shoot for her new headshots. She could name every label of every garment on the studio’s rack!”
Jackie gave a smug shoulder roll as her medically enhanced lips curled in a perfected grin. I rolled my eyes at Lilly, who was staring at my cousin’s collagen-packed pout. Jackie was the only girl I knew who asked for plastic surgery for her thirteenth birthday. And my Aunt Joan is the only mother I knew who would actually agree to such a request.
“So, Mariana, any other plans for your birthday?” asked my Aunt Stacey.
She was eating salad for dinner—just a small plate of tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, and sprouts (with no dressing, and she picked out the orange slices). My mother had ordered enough food to serve half the state of Pennsylvania, and my aunt was eating a side salad.
“Nope, no other birthday plans,” I muttered, spearing a piece of sauce-covered chicken with my fork. “This is pretty much all I can handle.”
“Mariana doesn’t like being the center of attention,” my mother whispered.
“Isn’t that a little odd for a ballerina?” my Aunt Joan countered.
“It’s different when you’re on stage. With the spotlights, you can’t see anyone.”
“Really? Because I’d think performing would attract a lot more attention than a little birthday party. At least if you were any good.” She fake-laughed as she spat out the last line.
“You sure looked relaxed while you were dancing with that boy,” my Uncle Diego muttered, glaring at my father, who didn’t look up from his plate.
“Is he your boyfriend?” my Aunt Joan continued in her sweetest tone.
“Bobby’s just a friend from school... .”
“Still, you didn’t seem to mind the attention then.” My Aunt Joan bit into a green bean and smiled wide.
I narrowed my eyes. Lilly clutched my arm in support.
“You kids and your contradictions,” she went on, shaking her head. “You don’t want attention, but you throw a big party; you don’t want the spotlight, but you dance in front of crowds. I just can’t keep up!”
“Well, Mariana likes to dance,” Teresa snapped, speaking up for the first time.
My Aunt Joan flicked her eyes toward her husband’s half sister. Her lips drew tight. “With all due respect, I don’t think you could possibly know what Mariana likes.”
My Uncle Diego grabbed his wife’s hand.
“I know because I asked her how she felt about this party,” Teresa said, lifting her linen napkin from her lap. “Did you?”
“Wow, you pop up during their unsupervised frolic through Puerto Rico, a
nd now you think you’re an expert on our family?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You know, you really don’t need to say much of anything. I think we all know enough about you.”
All eyes spun toward Teresa. She immediately stood up and rested her napkin gracefully on the table. She lightly squeezed Carlos’s shoulder, then walked away.
“You know, this is hard for her too,” Carlos stated, rising from his chair. “Would it kill you to acknowledge that? Because she deserves better than this.”
“Tttsst,” my Uncle Diego hissed, aggressively shaking his head.
“You know, you’re the ones acting like you’re sixteen.”
And with that, Carlos marched off after my tia.
Lilly and I chased after them without a word to anyone at the table. It didn’t matter what my grandfather did with her mother; no one deserved to be treated that way—especially not at my birthday party. I was embarrassed to be related to my family.
When we found Teresa, she was in the powder room in the downstairs den, despite the fact that my mom had rented a collection of luxurious trailers to serve as extra restrooms for the guests. I guess it helped that Teresa had joined us for a family dinner—she knew the layout of our house and the best place to hide.
“She’s in there,” Carlos stated as we rushed in.
He was standing in the doorway to the den, pointing toward the bathroom door on the back wall. He glanced around the room nervously. I sensed that he was afraid to invade my father’s home office.
“Did she say anything?” I asked as I walked into the dimly lit room.
He took one step inside and stopped. “She’s not speaking.”
Lilly knocked on the dark wood door to the bathroom.
“Teresa? Teresa, it’s Lilly and Mariana.”
No response. Lilly tried the door handle. It was locked.
“Teresa, it’s Mariana. Look, I’m sorry my family sucks so much.”
Still nothing.
“Thanks for trying to stick up for me. My Aunt Joan has some serious issues. Trust me, it’s not you, it’s her.”
I heard the faucet turn on inside. Then she blew her nose.
Amigas and School Scandals Page 17
