Point Me to Tomorrow Page 9

  “Give me a break!” Jamie barked. “Why don’t they just come out and admit that it’s Carmela Ortega already?”

  Alicia shrugged. “Who knows? She’ll be bringing her own dress, so no crazy sewing for you, Carmen.”

  Carmen sniffed. “I kind of would love a crazy sewing job, especially if the dress might end up in the Smithsonian.”

  Alicia read further and told her friends, “This is odd, but she will be doing a father-daughter vals. But will not have time to work with a local choreographer. So she would like me to demonstrate the choreography with my own father, have someone videotape it, and e-mail it to her so she and her father can study it.”

  Jamie guffawed. “Wow. She’s awfully bossy and specific for someone who won’t reveal her identity. What’s the song?”

  Alicia read from the e-mail: “Unfortunately, I cannot reveal the song that my client will dance to with her father as we would hate for the press to obtain this information. However, it will be a traditional vals. Speaking of which, we do hope that you will have every member of your team sign the enclosed confidentiality agreement and that you will return it to me at your earliest convenience.”

  Alicia sighed. “So that’s it. The rest of this stuff is pretty standard, and she did go for the majority of our ideas. I should probably have a meeting with Carolina and Patricia to go over all of this.”

  Carmen jumped in. “You know what, Lici? Why don’t you take the day off? You’ve put in so much time already. I can meet with Patricia and Carolina.”

  Alicia bit her lip remembering what her father always said about delegating. Come next fall, she wouldn’t be there to supervise every step in the planning of the quinces. She had to start letting go. Entrances and exits, she reminded herself. Those were always the trickiest. Determined to turn over a new, more collaborative leaf, she agreed to let Carmen take the reins for a while.

  Alicia knew that Sunday was Gaz’s songwriting day. It was the only day of the week when he was neither in school nor at the Gap. He wouldn’t answer the telephone while he was in the “lab,” which was what he called the garage where he kept his instruments and recording equipment. But Alicia sent him a text: c.g. loved your music. What can I say? the girl’s got taste.

  Seconds later, he wrote back: And I love you. What can I say? I’ve got taste.

  With an unusually free afternoon on her hands, Alicia showered and dressed and wandered into the kitchen at the very unseemly hour of eleven A.M.

  “Good morning, mija,” her mother said, kissing her on the forehead.

  “You mean, good afternoon,” her father joked.

  Maribelle was at the stove making omelets.

  Alicia gave her a hug. “I missed you yesterday,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Maribelle sniffed. “That’s why you made those disgusting waffles full of candy and sugar? People will think I taught you how to cook like that!”

  Alicia winked at her mother and said, “Actually, that’s what I tell people. I also tell them that you’re the one who taught me how to bake from box mixtures.”

  Maribelle looked scandalized. “Bake from a box? ¡Nunca en mi vida!”

  Alicia laughed. “Just kidding, just kidding.”

  Marisol Cruz spoke. “Hey, Alicia, you wouldn’t have a couple of hours to lend your keen fashion eye, would you?”

  Shopping? Alicia perked up. She loved to go shopping with her mother. Unfortunately, Marisol Cruz was usually so busy that her visits to the mall were few and far between.

  “Actually, I’m free all day.”

  “Excellent,” Marisol said. “Your father and I have a black-tie event next month, and I hate to sound like a cliché, but I have nothing I feel like wearing.”

  An hour later, Alicia and her mother were in side-by-side dressing rooms at their favorite South Beach boutique. Although Alicia had no need for a black-tie-event dress, her mother had encouraged her to pick out a stack of dresses to try on, so she could “keep her company.”

  In short order, Marisol Cruz fell hard for a black strapless sheath with an asymmetrical hemline that showed off her still gorgeous legs.

  Alicia emerged from the dressing room in a silver-and-black-sequined minidress with bell sleeves.

  “Look at you,” her mother sighed. “You are a vision.”

  Alicia stared at herself in the mirror and wondered when exactly it was that she had grown up. She looked like the kind of girl whose pictures she still cut out of magazines and taped to the inside of her notebooks for inspiration. It was then that she realized that somewhere deep inside, she still saw herself as the fourteen-year-old kid with braces, practicing pop routines in front of her mirror, ready to storm the world and make everybody notice her. The girl she saw in the mirror, the girl in the sequined dress, didn’t need to storm anything; the world—whatever part of it mattered—would come to her.

  “You need to own that dress,” her mother said. “It was made for you.”

  Alicia looked at the price tag and nearly choked. “Uh, no, this dress was made for someone like you, with a bunch of fancy degrees and a really good paycheck. But before I take it off, Mom,” she asked, rummaging in her bag for her smart phone, “can you take a picture of me in it?”

  Her mother whispered conspiratorially so that the saleswoman wouldn’t hear them. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? That Carmen could maybe do a copy of this dress?”

  Alicia shook her head. “No, I don’t need a copy of this dress. I don’t even need this dress. I just want a picture of myself as a reminder of how grown-up I felt in this absolutely exquisite garment.”

  Her mother paused, and for a second, Alicia thought she was going to give her one of those “my little girl’s all grown up” speeches. But Mrs. Cruz just took a deep breath, stepped back from her, and said, “Say, ‘queso.’” And Alicia did.

  A FEW WEEKS LATER, on a Saturday night, Alicia walked up to the door on Collins Avenue and looked dubiously at her friends. “I can’t believe we’re going bowling,” she groaned, tugging at the shoulder of her very cute, very cropped, black leather jacket. “I haven’t gone bowling since I was twelve.”

  “And Jamie said to dress cute,” Carmen said. She was wearing one of her original designs: a studded black romper with sleek black tights. “Who dresses cute to go bowling?”

  Jamie, who was decked out in a military green silk romper and hot pink pumps, put a hand up and said, “Stop the noise! This place is off the chain, you’ll see. I just got a text from Dash. The guys are already inside.”

  The Amigas walked into Lucky Strike Lanes and Lounge and were surprised to see a room that looked more like a nightclub than any bowling alley they’d ever seen. Giant black-and-white prints hung against one wall, while cherrywood tables and sleek velvet wraparound couches practically screamed, Sit. Hang. Relax. Which is exactly what Gaz, Dash, and Maxo were doing.

  Alicia walked over to Gaz and gave him a peck on the cheek. She wanted to give him a bigger kiss, but for some reason, she felt silly being overly affectionate in front of her friends. Maybe because she and Gaz had been the first in their group to get together, she had always felt the need to be low-key, so that the fact that they were a couple wouldn’t affect her friendships with Carmen and Jamie.

  Jamie, in contrast, felt no such compunctions. Partly because Dash was away at college and came home to visit only infrequently, and partly because the two of them were so newly and crazily in love, she walked right up to him, jumped on his lap, and proceeded to give him a kiss that was as sexy as something out of a music video.

  “Hello! You’re not alone in this lounge!” Alicia commented, looking up briefly from the e-mail message she was typing furiously into her iPad.

  Jamie unfastened her lips from Dash’s and sat back with a satisfied grin. “Look, chica, it’s not every day that my guy comes home for Thanksgiving vacation.”

  “Well, the rest of us would be mighty thankful if you would save your making out for more private moments,” Al
icia said, her eyes now glued to her e-mail.

  “Relax, Lici,” Carmen said. “We don’t mind if Dash and Jamie engage in PDA; it’s cheaper than cable TV.”

  Carmen and Maxo held hands quietly. They were, as usual, sweetly in love but ultra laid-back about it.

  “In fact, your boyfriend wouldn’t mind some of that attention,” Gaz hinted, tugging at Alicia’s arm. “What are you doing?”

  Alicia continued to look down at her iPad. “Sorry, I’m just totally and completely stressed about the mystery quince.”

  “Is there a problem with the planning?” Gaz asked.

  Jamie jumped in. “No. Carolina and Patricia are doing an amazing job. It’s just that our control-freak leader is having trouble letting go.”

  Carmen took the iPad from Alicia. “Since you’re not going to be able to stop thinking about it, why don’t we do a quick review of the checklist?”

  The guys looked disappointed.

  “I thought this was supposed to be a date,” Dash protested, “not a meeting of Amigas Inc.”

  Jamie patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Look at this place! It’s incredible. Why don’t you guys go and bowl one game and we’ll join in on the next one? We just have to do a little quince-zilla intervention and then we’ll be good to go.”

  Dash smiled and stood up. “That sounds like a plan. Though I have to warn you guys, I am a professional baller.”

  Gaz and Maxo exchanged amused glances. “And that means what, exactly?” Maxo asked.

  “I’m a champion athlete,” Dash boasted. “I tend to win at most recreational sports involving opaque objects of a circular nature.”

  Gaz guffawed. “You do know that bowling is done with a big black ball, not a tiny, preppy, country-club white ball, right?”

  Dash nodded. “Of course.”

  “Okay, then,” Gaz said. “Prepare to go down.” Then he turned to kiss Alicia on the forehead. “See you in a few.”

  Now that the guys were gone and Jamie was back from the bar with a round of Scarlet Palmer mocktails, the girls got down to business.

  Carmen had opened the Amigas Inc. checklist on her iPad.

  “The site is sorted,” she said.

  Alicia piped up, “But maybe we should be thinking about someplace around here. I mean, how do you have a quintessential Miami quince and not have it in South Beach?”

  Jamie rolled her eyes. “The quince is at Chez Gusteau. That’s it. Done.”

  Carmen moved on and confirmed that the amigas had videotaped the choreography for the father-daughter vals, booked Gaz’s band for the music, ordered the flowers as requested, and set a menu for the evening.

  Alicia did not look convinced. “But what about the cake tasting?”

  “We’ve already booked the Libalele Bakery to make Carmela’s favorite red velvet cupcakes,” Carmen replied.

  Alicia shook her head. “We’re going to need additional tables and chairs. Also, the chairs need to have white cotton slipcovers.”

  Carmen looked down at the list. “Carolina and Patricia have already done it.”

  Alicia jumped up. “It would be really nice if the slipcovers had a cluster of tiny stars embroidered on them.”

  Carmen tapped on the iPad and pulled up a picture of a chair covered in a white slipcover with a delicate star pattern embroidered on the fabric. “The Reinoso girls have already done it,” she explained.

  But Alicia, who was clearly working herself into a frenzy, only got more upset. “Wait a second. I didn’t approve embroidered slipcovers. You know, just because her mother is a VIP and they are spending a packet on this quince does NOT mean that we can go over budget. I’m worried about Carolina and Patricia. They aren’t responsible enough to lead Amigas Inc. I’m going to have to go to a state school and make sure they don’t run the business into the ground.”

  Jamie turned off the iPad and said, “Enough already. You are flipping out. Carolina and Patricia are doing a great job. You not only approved the budget for the embroidered slipcovers, it was your idea—as demonstrated by the fact that you just had the same idea five minutes ago. We’ve planned two dozen quinces over the last two years, and while we’ve had our share of dama drama, mama drama, and makes-me-wanna-holla drama, we haven’t had one unhappy customer on the actual big day. It all works out. We do good work. And I’m pretty sure that Carmela’s quince will be no exception.”

  Carmen took her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Jamie’s right, Alicia. It’s all going to work out. Everything is set. The only thing that you should be worrying about is the little details that would make this quince extra special. You’re the best at those ideas. So, if anything occurs to you, anything at all, e-mail Carolina and Patricia, and CC me and Jamie. We will make sure that it happens.”

  The girls finished their drinks and stood up. Jamie said, “Let’s bowl, chicas.”

  Alicia looked down at her high-heeled black leather booties. “I can’t believe that I wore these shoes to go bowling in.”

  “You didn’t,” Jamie said, leading the way down the neon-lit hall. “You wore those shoes to look cute in the lounge. For the actual bowling, you have to wear bowling shoes.”

  They stood at the counter in front of a wall of cubbies filled with bowling shoes. Carmen studied the design of the shoe appreciatively. “These are actually more like cute oxfords than the clown shoes I remember from when we were kids,” she observed. “I totally approve.”

  Each girl asked an employee for her size and changed shoes. Then they went to find the boys.

  In lane number five, Dash was throwing his bowling ball in a unique—and off-balance—way while the other guys watched.

  “Who’s winning?” Alicia asked, giving Gaz a big hug.

  “I am,” he said, proudly.

  Dash scowled playfully. “Those balls are heavier than they look.”

  Maxo winked at Gaz. “And for some reason, Dash’s ball has a pesky habit of falling into the gutter.”

  Jamie reset the game. “Okay, ixnay on that game. New game. Amigas Inc. versus Los Hombres. And I’m up first.”

  After she got home that night, Alicia changed into her favorite pajamas and brushed out her hair. She was surprised that she’d spent her Saturday night bowling and also that the place had been so cool. She took out her iPad and began to e-mail her friends:

  To: Carmen, Jamie

  From: Alicia

  Subject: Future Quinces

  Hey, chicas, Feeling much calmer. Thanks for talking me off the ledge. The Lucky Strike Lanes and Lounge was as fab as promised. We should do a quince there someday.

  She checked the Amigas Inc. in-box, responded to messages, and started to think about what would make Carmela Ortega’s quince extra special.

  To: Carolina, Patricia

  Cc: Carmen, Jamie

  From: Alicia

  Subject: Mass book

  Although Carmela Ortega is not having a church ceremony, it might be nice to do a little booklet of inspiring words and prayers as a keepsake for her and her guests.

  Eager to take her mind off the quince planning, Alicia picked up a copy of Teen Vogue and flipped to an article about yearbook photos. Immediately, her mind went into high gear.

  To: Carolina, Patricia

  Cc: Carmen, Jamie

  From: Alicia

  Subject: Quince portrait

  I cannot believe that we forgot to schedule a photographer and a location for Carmela’s quince portrait. We need to talk wardrobe, hair and makeup, and photographer. Let’s get on this first thing in the morning, people!

  Alicia turned off the iPad and turned out the lights. But five minutes later, she sat up with a jolt and, once again, reached for the iPad.

  To: Carolina, Patricia

  Cc: Carmen, Jamie

  From: Alicia

  Subject: Animal wrangler

  We’ve never done a live dove release. But this is an element that is very popular at weddings. We should look into it, as doves symboliz
e peace, and Carmela’s mother has been so involved in peacemaking efforts abroad.

  P.S. Am I the only one who is thinking out of the box about this quince?

  Alicia was just about to go to sleep, or try to, when she saw that she had four new messages.

  The e-mail from Carolina read: On it, boss.

  Patricia had written: I think the doves might be a bit much. Let’s discuss.

  Carmen’s message said: Try to relax, Lici.

  And Jamie, as ever, had gotten straight to the point: GO TO BED, LOCA!

  Alicia took a deep breath and wrote a reply.

  To: Carolina, Patricia

  Cc: Carmen, Jamie

  From: Alicia

  Subject: Just one more thing

  I agree that doves might be a little much. And I am going to bed very soon. I just had one more thought. What about butterflies? What if the entire dining room was filled with butterflies? Wouldn’t that be beautiful?

  Content that she’d done all that she could about the planning, Alicia hit send and turned out the lights once more.

  Five minutes later, her cell phone rang. It was Jamie. It was one o’clock in the morning.

  “Hey Jamie, are you all right?” Alicia asked, truly concerned.

  “I am fine,” said her friend, on the other end of the line. “But you won’t be if you keep e-mailing us your late-night musings. Go to bed, Alicia. Or we’ll vote you off the island.”

  THE MORNING OF December 15, Alicia awoke extra early. She always got up without an alarm on quince day. Whether it was nerves or just the early-bird planner in her, she could never sleep late on the day of a quince. Today was a big day. She was finally going to meet her most illustrious client yet, Carmela Ortega, as well as her mother, Yesenia, and the family’s personal secretary, Julia Centavo.

  The day before, the partners of Amigas Inc. and their successors, Carolina and Patricia, had done a walk-through at the restaurant. Alicia had cringed when she saw the red, white, and blue plates and tablecloths that the Ortegas had chosen and the big, rustic vases full of sunflowers that filled the restaurant’s pantry area. But she reminded herself that their job as quince planners was to make each girl’s dream come true, not dictate what those dreams should be.