A Formal Affair (3 page)

A WEEK LATER,
Carmen stood in front of the Setai hotel on Collins Avenue in the heart of the oceanfront district of South Beach. The SoBees, who had called a winter formal planning meeting, should have been there more than ninety minutes ago. But they were nowhere in sight.

Taking out her cell phone, Carmen dialed Dorinda's number for what must have been the tenth time that hour. When Dorinda finally picked up, she acted as if Carmen had called for your basic garden-variety chitchat, apparently oblivious of the business that was supposed to be happening.

“Hey, Carmen, what's the
qué pasa
?” Dorinda asked. Her voice was mellow and breezy, the exact opposite of the way Carmen felt.

Carmen took a deep breath and tried to keep the agitation out of her voice. “Dorinda, I've been waiting for you guys for nearly two hours. April gave me the wrong number for her cell, and I'm pretty sure that Maya's isn't even turned on. Where are you guys?”

Carmen could hear the giggle on the other end of the line. “Don't be so high-maintenance, C.,” Dorinda said. “It doesn't take four people to do one itsy-bitsy walk-through. All you need to do is check out the ballroom space where the party is going to be held. Make sure the dance floor and dining area are big enough to accommodate two hundred guests. The atmosphere has to be totally cool, and the decor needs to be so stunning that everyone at C.G. will be talking about it for the next twenty years. See? Easy peasy.”

Carmen could feel herself beginning to lose the cool that had kept her from snapping in the first place. Not only were the SoBees more than ninety minutes late, they had
never
had any intention of showing up. She took a deep breath. “Dorinda. If you wanted me to do the walk-through solo, then you should have just said that in the first place.”

Carmen's annoyance was apparently lost on Dorinda. “Oh, would you mind? I'd
love
for you to do the walk-through solo,” she cooed. “Thanks for being such a sweetheart.
¡Hasta luego!
”

Then Dorinda hung up the phone.

Carmen looked at the end call message in disbelief. She began muttering to herself in Spanish: “
Ay, bendito, que perezosas.
” If Amigas Inc. had been this slack, our business would never have gotten off the ground, she thought.

This was a joke. Carmen had only been on the winter formal committee for a week, and it was clear that, while well-intentioned, Ms. Ingber had basically signed her up to be a flunky for a group of girls whose only major interest in planning the party was guessing who would be named winter formal queen. It was all just so over the top. And
so
not Carmen.

She might have agreed to be part of the committee, but that didn't mean she took the whole crowning thing seriously. It was a popularity contest, pure and simple. After only seven days, Carmen had a pretty good idea as to what had happened to the poor
chica
who had been last year's coordinator: she'd probably spontaneously combusted after the dance, in a fit of frustration and rage.

But Carmen realized she had no choice. She had signed up for this, and now she had to get to work.

Walking into the lobby of The Setai, Carmen felt as if she'd been transported to some luxurious mansion in Asia. From outside, it had looked like the typical South Beach scene: blazing hot sun; a gazillion palm trees lining the walkways; and, as always, out of the corner of the eye, a glimpse of the beach. Inside the hotel, it was as if everything was lit by candlelight. The mixture of gray granite on the walls, chocolate velvet sofas, and Asian artifacts made you feel as if you were a million miles away from the bright, busy beach that was just outside the front door.

Despite the luxe accommodations, Carmen focused on the task at hand. If Alicia had been there, she would have flipped over the fact that the SoBees had kept the hotel events manager waiting for nearly two hours and then brazenly ditched the meeting altogether. Rule number one, which had been instituted as soon as Carmen, Alicia, Jamie, and Gaz had started Amigas Inc., was to be impeccable about your word. Don't just be on time, Alicia always said. Be fifteen minutes
early
. Don't just come in on budget. Bring the party in
under
budget. Carmen dreaded meeting the Setai hotel events manager and starting things off on such an unprofessional note. But she steeled herself for the confrontation and went to the front desk to let them know she was ready for the walk-through.

As she waited for the events manager to come down from her office, Carmen sat on the velvet sofa, near a soothing water fountain, and texted Alicia:
Please say I can quit this gig. These girls suck BIG TIME.

Alicia wrote back immediately: Paciencia y fe. Paciencia y fe.
Will be worth it.

Patience and faith. Carmen was going to need more than her allotted share of both to get to December without physically hurting somebody. She looked around the lobby at all the beautiful men and women who were artfully draped over sofas and tiny cocktail tables in their designer clothes and perfectly coiffed hair. Sometimes the chicest places in Miami seemed to her like a glitzed-up version of high school. Right now, the Setai hotel lobby resembled the C. G. High quad, where all the popular kids—including the SoBees—held court after school. Carmen picked up her phone again and this time texted Jamie:
The SoBees stood me up for a huge meeting at the event space. Can u believe it?

Jamie wrote back:
Typical.

Carmen smiled, picturing her friend in her art studio—tagging tote bags and T-shirts with her own graffiti-inspired designs. Jamie only sent back one-word texts when she was busy with her artwork. Carmen typed:
Will you teach me how to kick their butts Bronx style?

Jamie answered:
Sure
.

Then seconds later, Jamie sent a second message:
Just chill, okay?

Carmen took a deep, cleansing breath. Chill. It was pretty good advice.

She was still practicing yoga breaths a few minutes later when the events manager, Mrs. Mantel, walked over to her.

“You must be Carmen,” the woman said, extending her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Mantel. I know how valuable your time is.”

“Please, call me Hillary,” the manager insisted.

Hillary was a tall blond woman in her late twenties. She wore her hair back in a sophisticated bun, but her abstract print dress showed off an edgier side. Carmen liked her immediately. Especially after what she said next.

“Let me guess. Your classmates didn't show up,” Hillary said as they walked toward the elevators.

Carmen felt her shoulders, which had been hunched up to her ears, relax. The fireworks display of anger she'd been expecting didn't seem to be coming. “How did you know?” she asked.

Hillary smiled. “I went to C. G. High before going to undergrad and then getting an MBA degree in hospitality from Wharton. It's been my experience that members of the Socials and Benefits Committee are usually only interested in being social to the extent that it benefits
them
personally.”

Carmen grinned. It was a huge relief to meet an adult who actually remembered what things were like in high school.

“So, since it is just the two of us, let me show you around,” Hillary offered, as the elevator doors opened.

They traveled up to the thirty-fifth floor, where Hillary led Carmen to a door labeled the mandarin room.

When she walked inside, Carmen gasped. She'd seen her fair share of fancy spaces, but this ballroom was fit for a royal reception, with a plush red carpet, gold-leaf-tinged walls, and huge red and gold silk lanterns.

“This is where last year's winter formal was held,” Hillary explained. “It was great. We went for a ‘Paris meets Shanghai' theme: Asian food with French touches. And all the catering stations were set up like traditional Shanghai street-food carts. You've seen the pictures?”

Carmen nodded. “They were gorgeous. But they didn't do this place justice.”

Hillary smiled. “It was fun. But this year, I thought you might be interested in going in an entirely different direction. Let's go up to thirty-six. There's something you should see.”

As they walked up the stairs to the next floor, Hillary explained, “We've just renovated a new space. It isn't open to the public yet, but I thought you'd like to take a peek. It's not glitzy or overdone, just elegant and sophisticated, and, looking at you, I have a feeling that you might like it.”

The moment the door opened, Carmen knew that the space was perfect.

It was an open plan, with chocolate brown wooden floors and metallic gray walls of poured concrete. On the far side, an expanse of industrial-looking, steel-framed windows made a rectangle around the Miami skyline. “We're calling it the New York Loft,” Hillary said proudly. “And if you look out the doors, there's a wraparound deck that has nearly two thousand square feet of outside space with some of the best water views in the city.”

Carmen inhaled sharply. The loft made the Mandarin Room look like an event space at a budget motel. Well, maybe not that bad, but truly, this new space was a cut above.

Carmen immediately thought of Amigas Inc. They
had
to have their next super-high-end
quince
here. But for now, it was also perfect for the winter formal—if the committee could afford it. She asked Hillary whether the loft were in the school's budget.

“Well, normally the answer would be no,” Hillary said. “However, because April Yunayama is a student at your school, her dad and my boss, Mr. Yunayama, who is the owner of The Setai, has authorized me to provide C. G. High with our special Friends and Family discount rate. So, the short answer is—yes.”

Carmen's eyes widened. Okay, she thought to herself, that deal alone was worth having April on the winter formal planning committee, even if her work contribution turned out to be nonexistent. But Maya and Dorinda had better start pulling their own weight.

“Perfect,” Carmen said. “Our event is December fifth. How soon can I sign the contract?”

“I'll have one drafted tomorrow, and you can pick it up after school,” replied Hillary.

Carmen took one last look around the New York Loft. She could already imagine the night. In that far corner, they could have a guy roasting chestnuts, just like they did in all the movies set in New York. They should definitely also have a hot chocolate station. And the snow machine could go outside the door—all the better for the one thing she was pretty sure had never happened at a C.G. winter formal: a real, honest-to-goodness snowball fight!

Hillary walked Carmen back to the lobby. Right before they parted, Carmen asked, “Just out of curiosity, where was the winter formal held when you were a student?”

The older woman smiled. “The school gym. It wasn't that long ago, but C. G. High has definitely gone from geek to chic. See you tomorrow with the contract.”

With her job for the day done—well, at least one of her jobs—Carmen headed out of the hotel. She was almost out the door when she ran into two classmates: Carolina and Patricia Reinoso. Although they had the same last name, they weren't exactly sisters. They were
primas hermanas
, a Spanish term for first cousins.

Carolina had honey blond hair and flawless olive skin. She came across as a high school version of Jessica Alba, or a sun-kissed Cameron Diaz, with curves in all the right places. She was a National Merit Scholar and president of Blue and Green, C. G. High's superactive environmental group. Under Carolina's leadership, Blue and Green had done everything from proposing legislation to keep Miami's waters clean to getting a cool, green roof built for the high school. Carolina was pretty, preppy, and as far as Carmen could tell, almost perfect. And it was a sure bet in the school's halls that she'd be named winter formal queen that year, an unusual honor for a junior.

Her cousin, Patricia, was very much her gorgeous opposite. While Carolina was a blonde, Patricia was a brunette. Carolina had dark gray eyes; Patricia had dark brown eyes. While the girls had the same rocking bikini bods, Patricia was the more aggressive athlete, while Carolina's pursuits were more academic. The star center of the C. G. High girls' basketball team, Patricia was known for scoring an average of twenty to thirty points a game. She was a showboat on the court who had already attracted the attention of the WNBA. And off the court she was just as intense. She was the first girl (after Jamie) to sport a trend and the last girl to leave a party. And while Carolina was all about school spirit, dances, and crowns, Patricia didn't care one way or the other if she ever became queen of anything.

“Hey, Carmen,” Carolina called out. “This is wild! I was just talking about you. You're just the girl that we needed to see.”

“You needed to see
me
?” Carmen asked, looking a bit confused. Unlike some of the other popular girls at C.G., Carolina and Patricia were nice to everyone. But even so, the girls rarely had any reason to speak to her.