Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (5 page)

Chloe strained to contain her enthusiasm. Something with this guy clicked. The type of click a safe cracker hears when he
hits the last correct digit. A moment of silence and a childish shrug later, Chloe noticed Gustavo was just as fidgety as
she. He pointed to the package in her hand.

“That’s our new CD—and a ticket to our show tonight. It’s our last of a pair of gigs here, and then we’re off to New Mexico.
It’s our farewell tour. After ten years, we’re all going our separate ways.”

Chloe read the back of the CD. “Reggae en español? Hmm. Haven’t heard that before.”

“Well, then, you should come check it out. Maybe we can get an early dinner before the show—or a late snack after.”

Chloe ached to jump at the chance. She breathed in to collect herself, to think rationally. How could she consider it? She
didn’t know this man. Whatever bit of excitement pricked up her neck minutes ago subsided.

Her two-second clinical analysis: Toying with single pretty women from city to city must have been his way to collect groupies.
Clever bastard. He probably had some exotic island wife, topless in a tie-dye sarong, waiting for him back home in a secluded
beach hut. Chloe passed back the disc and ticket.

“Thank you, but no can do, Gustavo. Gracias for the offer—and the chat. You’re a sweet man and I wish you the greatest success
with the rest of your tour.”

Gustavo replied with a slow blink. “Chloe, what can it hurt to keep the CD? It’s good music.”

The plan sounded safe enough. “Okay, I’ll keep the CD, if you insist.” She knew she would never see him again. She politely
slid the disc into her Coach purse.

“Well, I’m on my way, Chloe Chavez. Off to soak up this magnificent Arizona sun while I have the chance. Much respect to you
and your family.” He embraced her with both arms. An unexpected gesture, yet it didn’t startle her. Chloe received his hug
openly and allowed herself to enjoy the moment. He tapped her nose and said, “Happiness is free like air, Chloe. Allow yourself
to indulge once in a while. Goodbye.”

She flinched at the intimate moment, not knowing whether to be offended or flattered.

“Goodbye, you bewitching creature,” she sighed under her breath, regretting that she let him walk away. The thought dissolved
with the upbeat chime of her BlackBerry: the ringtone she had programmed for when Mark Jefferies, CEO of KPDM, rang. She credited
him as the fast pass for her career. If it weren’t for Mark, Chloe would be just another real estate agent, rather than the
Arizona TV queen she had become. She made her way to the farthest, most private table of the coffeehouse to take the call.

Mark never let her forget his favors. There were only two reasons he ever rang: with good news or for bad sex. She had been
waiting for his call all week—for the former reason, of course.

“Do you have news about the craft convention?” she asked, sucking in her anticipation.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Mark replied, clearing his throat. “The executive officer of the nineteenth annual International
CraftOlympics is in town this weekend. He saw your segment this morning at that Pachanga place. I talked him into having you
host the whole thing. Chose you over Betty O’Hara. Consider it your big break. Every other host of the National CraftOlympics
has gone on to superstardom in the home décor industry, so congratulations! This is your big break and I made it happen for
you.”

Chloe eeked out a sly grin and
poof?!
Gustavo’s smile disappeared from the forefront of her mind.

“Oh. I almost forgot,” Mark continued. “The committee wants to know if you can demo a class for residents from the women’s
shelter on the last day of the convention.”

Chloe lowered the volume of her voice. “Will it be on camera?”

“Probably not.”

“Skip.”

“You are such a cold bitch, I love it,” Mark purred.

“Let’s just focus on the big picture.”

“Done.” Mark chuckled. “Now for the other reason I’m calling…”

Chloe slouched half a millimeter.
Here it comes,
she thought.

“What’s on your agenda tonight? Can you spare a little Q-time for your boss?”

She rolled her eyes and flinched simultaneously. “What did you have in mind?” she asked, knowing full well what to expect
from her tubby, balding superior.

“We can—let’s just say—go over the finer details of this hosting job I
single-handedly
scored for you. You can repay the favor like you always do, starting with a back rub. And guess what? I waxed this week!
And I even picked up a flick for us.
Kinky Kong
! I taped it from cable.
Grrrr
!”

Chloe bit her tongue so she wouldn’t tell this freak to get lost. Someday that time would come, but not now. She could only
stomach the relationship one way: He used her for casual sex, and she used him right back for professional advancement. She
hoped for the day when she could make it on her own.

She swallowed hard and visualized informing her unenthusiastic family, that she—Chloe Chavez, classic middle child disappointment—landed
her own nationwide home décor television show because the executives of the CraftOlympics found her worthy and talented. Even
if Mark did help. Her mother and sister didn’t have to know every little detail. That information would be another one of
Chloe’s little secrets.

Chloe lifted her chin and answered like a trooper.

“Fine. Tonight’s agenda includes me, you, and a room at the Biltmore.”

N
inety minutes had passed since Star’s brutal conversation with Theo. Ninety crazy, drama-filled minutes.

Thanks to a slow news morning, Crafty Chloe’s live on-camera interrogation wasn’t the last. All the other local stations followed,
each requesting an interview with Star—in front of the mural. It pained her to recite the same fib multiple times while Theo
scrubbed her spray-painted doodles from his former masterpiece. Sunday, August 1, was officially the worst day of her life.

As she pulled her ’59 Chevy Bel Air sedan into her parents’ carport, she winced at the kink in her neck and the bruise on
her spirit. Her body ached from the inside out—exhausted physically from last night, and emotionally from today. And it wasn’t
over. More guilt loomed on the other side of the front door. She paused for a quick prayer before crossing the threshold of
her parents’ cozy 1930 Willow bungalow. She passed the entryway to the kitchen.

As expected, her folks were in the same spots as when she left this morning.

Al and Dori Esteban sat at the chunky pine kitchen table, hands folded, both wearing resolute expressions, as if their only
daughter had betrayed them and they were about to announce her sentence.

Star figured her otherwise peaceful parents had spent the past four hours discussing and dissecting her recent missteps, awaiting
her return to reveal their adjudication. In turn, Star planned to propose a complete 360 to start fresh. She would switch
jobs from the restaurant’s publicity person to merchandise buyer!

She dropped her bag to the floor and reached for the metal barstool her mom had decoupaged with botanical images last summer.
Star plopped down and joined her parents at the kitchen table. She took in the details of their environmentally friendly kitchen
complete with pressed-bamboo countertops and wheat-board cabinets. They spent so much sparing the planet, maybe they would
spare her a verbal beat-down. Still, Star braced for the worst. Her tip-off? Her stomach growled from the yummy scents of
her mom’s tasty fried soy bacon and organic hash browns. Normally they saved her a breakfast plate, but not today. Not even
a crumb from yesterday’s batch of honey bran muffins.

Before her father could give his Come to Jesus talk, Star took cuts.

“Mom… Dad… Please don’t say anything until I finish. I have no excuse. I was irresponsible. I should have known better than
to party with Maria Juana. I apologized to Theo, and he wants nothing to do with me.” Star wiped the tears that began to flow
and continued her pleading. “It hurts me that I let you down. I love you so much. Please believe that I am so sorry. I’m going
to get focused. I mean it this time, I swear. I’m ready for an overhaul.”

“We agree,” Al said.

“I was thinking I could switch from publicity to merch buyer or maybe set up a life coach program for our shift managers.
We can all work on becoming better people together—”

Al interrupted. “You’re not coming back to the restaurant.”

Star’s mouth gaped. She expected them to be harsh, but hippie-parent harsh, not tough-love harsh.

Al slid back in the stained-wood chair and fingered his black buffalo bone necklace, given to him by a Hopi elder years ago.
He always rubbed the beads to draw empowerment at times of doubt, which often involved his daughter. “Look at it as a leave
of absence until further notice.”

Star stood from the barstool and began to pace about the kitchen. “You mean I’m being exiled?”

“Siéntese—
sit
. Come back, and be mature,” he shot back.

Star slinked onto the barstool, bowed her head, and shook it in disbelief.

“Look at me, Estrella,” he said. “I see a creative, beautiful young woman who lacks confidence and self-discipline. We’ve
been there for you all your life and now it’s time for you to venture out on your own.”

Star picked at the red pompom fringe that trimmed her seat, sat up straight, and revved up her rebuttal.

“You guys, give me
some
credit! I’ve devoted my whole life to La Pachanga. I work more than forty hours a week. I’ve helped turn it into one of the
hottest hangouts in Phoenix. Grand Avenue is cool now, thanks to our weekend dance nights and art receptions. The crowds have
helped younger businesses in the area. Dad, I found you dedicated employees.
And
it was my idea to build the coffee bar. I… I… I find lucrative sponsorships… I send out sassy press releases to keep us in
the limelight. Just because I got drunk and spray painted all over the building doesn’t make me Lindsay Lohan on a bender!”

Her folks were not impressed.

“We appreciate your hard work,” Dori said, opening her hands in front of her. “It’s just that, well, there are deeper issues.
We pay you a healthy salary, but you come and go as you please. You leave projects and paperwork unfinished. You don’t answer
your cell phone. Last month you double booked bands on Sunday night and your father had to settle the commotion. A riot practically
broke out. We’ve given you too much room to grow and your irresponsible antics keep getting tangled up in the business, and
even the finances.”

First Theo’s reprimand, now her parents’.

Star couldn’t help the way her mom and dad raised her. She thought back to her childhood and couldn’t recall one instance
when they forced her to do anything. Her life had been about calm negotiations and free expression. There were no time outs
or spankings for bad behavior, only rewards for good. Al and Dori allowed their only child to customize every minute of her
day. Even down to her obscure clothing and picky food habits. In fact, Dori still cooked all Star’s meals to order. The Estebans
embedded in their daughter’s mind that the world offered a wealth of golden tickets and she could cash them in to her liking.
Star did not know boundaries, only a million choices. They unknowingly groomed her to be a bohemian princess, and now they
all paid the price.

Star felt like her whole world had been upended. She was confused and hurt, and that made her angry. She leaned over and snatched
up her bag. “Sorry I’m such a loser. Fine. I quit. Happy now? I’ll put my notice in for December, and you’ll be rid of me,”
she snapped.

Her dad let out a sarcastic chuckle. “December? Hmmm, I seem to recall last Christmas when you opened La Pachanga in the middle
of the night and cooked for all your friends. We didn’t have chorizo for the customers in the morning. The next day we sat
here discussing this exact topic. You
quit
then too—and put your notice in for August. Dori, what is today’s date?”

“August first,” she replied.

So much for righteous indignation. Star had to come up with Plan B,
pronto
. “At least give me time to get something going. Can I stay if I pay rent?”

“How much savings do you have, Star?” Dori asked.

“Thirteen dollars. But that doesn’t count the money Nana left me in her will. And I could sell off some of my vintage jewelry.
Let me prove myself. I swear I’ll make this debacle up to you a thousand times over. Please, Dad.”

She could usually read her dad’s mind, but not now. She could tell even her mom didn’t know what to expect. The next few seconds
passed as fast as a turtle on Valium.

“Dori, get me a paper and a pen, please,” Al said to his wife. Dori got up, hustled to the kitchen counter, grabbed a notepad
and a fine-point Sharpie, and handed them over. Al quickly sketched a makeshift contract.

“This is how it works: You have six months to establish a new career and tie up loose ends of your abandoned projects at the
restaurant. In December, if you haven’t fulfilled the agreement, you have to pay us three fifty a month for back rent—that’s
twenty-one hundred dollars, and find a new place to live.”

Star fidgeted and bit her thumbnail. He had backed her into a corner and she hated that. Why couldn’t he just trust her? “What
if I just pay the twenty-one hundred upfront out of Nana’s money?”

Al didn’t acknowledge the comment, and Dori flashed her daughter a scary scrunched-eyebrow look of disgust. “And what if she
does meet the agreement, Al?”

He finished scribbling out the terms without looking up. “She can have her job back if she wants it, keep renting her room—and
depending on how she does, I’ll move her from employee status to partner.” He slid the paper across the table, and Star quickly
signed to show her commitment.

Of course she planned to move out
someday
, but not anytime soon. She loved this roomy, historic cottage that her parents bought when she was in second grade. Her bedroom
could pass as a studio apartment, and the adjoining guest room came in handy as a walk-in closet for her massive wardrobe
collection.