Cruel Summer (11 page)

C
hristina couldn’t take her eyes off Vin Diesel.

Three very gorgeous and almost naked women were taking turns feeding the bald and buff superstar. Either he was ready for a Comedy Central spotlight, or they were just easily entertained. Because after his every turn of phrase, the trio of bimbo bunnies serenaded him with a chorus of animated giggles.

“Christina, it’s not polite to stare,” her mother mock scolded before tossing back a look to satisfy her own curiosity. “Who is that?”

“Vin Diesel,” Christina whispered.

It was obvious that the name didn’t register with Paulina Perez.

“The actor,” Christina clarified.

“Never heard of him.”

“You know,
The Fast and the Furious, XXX, The Pacifier.
”

“Have I seen those movies?”

“We
own
the DVDs.”

Her mother shrugged. “Half the time I’m doing something else when the television’s on. Too bad Tom Hanks didn’t show up here today. Now there’s an actor.”

“You’re such a Republican,” Christina teased, taking in a heaping spoonful of zuppa del golfo, a rich tomato broth with mussels, squid, and other seafood.

“What’s wrong with that?” Paulina asked archly.

“Nothing, Mom,” Christina assured her, not wanting to get into it. After all, Paulina was trying to be nice. No reason to spoil her effort with a bad attitude.

Paulina smiled, breathing in the ocean, the air, and the sunshine. “I’m glad we did this, sweetie. It feels like we’re really away from everything, doesn’t it?”

Christina nodded. They were having lunch among the rich and famous, one of their semiregular mother-daughter outings. Today they decided to hit Ago, a restaurant owned by Robert DeNiro and nestled inside the Shore Club, a sprawling South Beach hotel property with room rates as high as fifteen thousand dollars a night.

Upon arrival they navigated the Shore Club’s stark, all-white lobby, through a colorful garden walkway, past Skybar—one of the most exclusive nightspots in Miami—and finally into the oh-so-expensive Italian eatery, where they opted for seating on the rustic outdoor patio. They were lucky to secure a perfect table overlooking the water.

“Are there any gay kids at your school?” Paulina asked as she took a stab at her grilled salmon.

Instantly, Christina’s body went hot with alarm. She lived in constant fear of someone—especially her mother—confronting her with questions about her sexuality. “What do you mean?”

Paulina gave her a curious glance. “Do you know of any gay students at MACPA?”

Once Christina realized that the inquiry had nothing to do with her personally, she relaxed a bit. Were there any gay students at the Miami Academy for Creative and Performing Arts? Hmm. As she considered this, she fought back a laugh. “MACPA
is
an arts school. There’s, like, a musical theater department and everything.”

“So the answer’s yes?” Paulina said, not getting the absurdity at all.

“I don’t have firsthand evidence,” Christina went on. “But, yes, I think it’s safe to assume that there are gay students at MACPA.” She paused a beat. “Just like it’d be safe to assume that there are tennis fans at Wimbleton.”

Paulina didn’t pick up on the sarcasm. “I’m just asking because my political consultant was telling me about a high school in the city that held a separate gay prom last spring. Isn’t that terrible?”

Christina looked at her mother probingly. “What’s terrible about it? That the school couldn’t have just one prom or that they actually held a separate one?”

Paulina didn’t hear the question. Or maybe she just chose not to answer it. “The line has got to be drawn somewhere. This reminds me of the same-sex marriage issue. It’s one more tradition going down the drain. I also heard about a lesbian who won homecoming queen at a high school last year. She wore a
tuxedo
to the celebration! I just hate to see innocent, time-honored rituals openly mocked by these gays who have no respect for what’s decent and normal.”

These gays.
Christina sought refuge in the Pellegrino sparkling water as the intolerant words ricocheted inside her mind. A passive-aggressive little fantasy began to take shape. What would her mother do if Christina made a coming-out announcement right here at Ago? Probably throw up all over Vin Diesel. Ha! The image of that amused her just enough to get through the uncomfortable moment.

Inside, Christina had to laugh. Humor was the only way to survive dealing with Paulina Perez. Because deep down, she knew that any attempt at open communication with her mother would backfire. In fact, Christina would probably end up shackled at Refuge, the religious-based youth program run by Love in Action International. Parents were sending their teenagers there for as long as six weeks. Basically, for two thousand dollars a week, campers got a prisonlike environment and went through a host of humiliating exercises to “degay” their natural orientations.

“Things are moving in a dangerous direction,” Paulina continued. “Teenagers these days have a laid-back attitude about the destructive gay lifestyle. They go on experimental rampages and actually think it’s cool. Experts say this can set them up for some serious issues down the road.”

Christina wanted to walk away from the subject altogether, but she just couldn’t resist. “Mom, you can find experts for the other side of the argument, too.”

Paulina was visibly flummoxed by the rebuttal. Probably because she was so used to speaking to groups of people who thought exactly like her. “What other side is there?”

For a moment, Christina nervously played with her dark, choppy hair, shifted her floppy hat, adjusted her giant sunglasses, and glanced down at her scuffed cowboy boots. “Everybody knows that boys are supposed to be with girls and vice versa, but there’s another way to be. And everybody knows that, too. I don’t see anything wrong with challenging traditions, especially if a group of people is feeling left out. Think about it. Can you imagine the world today if black people hadn’t fought against the system?”

Paulina shook her head and leaned forward to hiss, “I’m not going to sit here and allow you to equate the gay activist agenda with the civil rights movement. It’s not the same thing. Being gay is a choice. And it’s all about sex.”

By this point, Christina didn’t have the will nor the desire to turn away from the debate. “Says one
expert.
And maybe Fred Phelps, that minister from Kansas. Do you really want to be on
his
side of the argument?”

Paulina didn’t try to hide her annoyance. “Who’s Fred Phelps?” she asked in a snappish tone.

“He stages antigay protests and runs a website—godhatesfags-dot-com.” Christina allowed a single beat to pass. “Oh, and I’m pretty sure he’s Republican.”

As Paulina leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowed angrily. She was a near dead ringer for Latin icon Gloria Estefan—only dressed to grip-and-grin with the Conservative Women’s Voters League in a smart navy suit and low heels. Pushing her half-eaten plate away, she sniffed, “He sounds like a gross extremist. And I’ve never claimed everyone in my party.”

“I just don’t understand why you get so worked up about these things,” Christina said, working hard to adopt a diplomatic tone. “I mean, at the end of the day, who really cares? So what if two boys want to go to the prom together. If they’re renting tuxes and buying boutonnieres and going out for a romantic dinner, then that’s good for the economy, right? Small businesses benefit. Doesn’t everybody win?”

“It’s about
values,
Christina.” Paulina shook her head. “You’re too young to understand. Not to mention you’re in this hippie chick / artist phase that makes you want to wrap your arms around the whole world. Well, just wait until you get married and have children of your own. The word ‘Republican’ won’t sound so dirty to you then. In fact, you’ll
embrace
it.” She nodded smugly. “Trust me on that.” After a knowing wink, she flagged down the waiter for a cup of coffee, then unleashed a heavy sigh. “You might not think these issues are important. But the voters will.”

“Is that what your ‘consultant’ says?” Christina asked pointedly.

“Yes,” Paulina said, her brown eyes brightening, as they always did whenever the subject of her political aspirations hit the table. “He thinks the family values front is a good place for me. It’s a hot button topic, and, for middle-of-the-road voters, it’s less polarizing to see a woman come down on the conservative side of things, which will serve me well once I begin my new campaign for stronger values in the schools.”

All Christina could do was pray that MACPA was
not
on her mother’s target list. “What kind of campaign?” she asked, more out of polite curiosity than anything else.

“I’m going to shut down school-sponsored gay-straight alliance clubs,” her mother said matter-of-factly.

Christina’s mouth dropped open in total shock. “You’ve
got
to be joking.”

“I never joke about politics, sweetie.” Paulina sipped gingerly at the coffee that had just swooped down. “Tell me, is there such a club at MACPA?”

Christina was shedding psychic blood now. It seemed so unbelievably cruel, that the woman who should be her biggest fan was her biggest enemy, even if it was in secret. For a single, guilty moment, she wondered why fate had claimed her father’s life in that car accident, the same one that her mother had lived through. To wish the reverse was a morbid thought. But that didn’t stop her from having it.

“Well, is there such a club?” Paulina repeated.

“Not that I know of,” Christina answered, still trying to process this bizarre notion of her mother waging public war on gay teenagers…just like her. “I take it this brilliant consultant of yours isn’t from Miami.”

Paulina’s eyebrows met in the middle. “Actually, he’s based out of Washington. Why?”

“Because a guy from here would know better. People love Miami because they can be who they are.” Christina believed what she was saying. But she wasn’t living it. And the question that triggered was a simple one: When would she have the courage to start?

Paulina stared at Christina carefully, as if sensing obvious trouble ahead. Raising the issue of the consultant’s competency had been marginally patronizing. And this was on top of the counterattack that painted her mother as either a dense homophobe or an advocate for human rights violations.

It was as if she was looking at Christina for the very first time and finally seeing a daughter who was more than the self-absorbed, moody artist who kept her head buried in silly Japanese comic books. Yes, she defied fashion laws with her forcefully unostentatious, walking-unmade-bed style. Yes, she emerged only periodically from her cocoon to engage in a friendship clique comprised mainly of Wilmar and Eric, two fantasy fan boys who wore their social outcast status like Purple Hearts.

But Christina could also challenge her mother with strong left-versus-right verbal volley. She thought things. She felt things. She could passionately articulate them, too. Where had this come from? The question was swimming in the eyes of Paulina Perez. So was the sobering realization that the fights about wearing ratty, crocheted shawls and developing an interest in dating boys had—practically over the course of one lunch—segued into conflicts much more complicated. And it was obvious that this wouldn’t be the stuff of great mother-daughter bonding.

“He’s one of the best,” Paulina said finally, blindly defending her inside-the-beltway boy.

Christina glanced up, sensing a hum of awareness from the crowd. The source was Nicole Richie, the famous-for-being-famous star of
The Simple Life,
looking rail thin but radiant as she sashayed onto the patio and injected the area with a sudden, palpable celebrity energy.

“If he’s so good, then he should know that an antigay crusade wouldn’t work in Miami,” Christina remarked. She waited for the not-so-subtle comment to detonate, and when it did, she caught a slight whiff of doubt coming from Paulina’s side of the table.

Suddenly, another low rumble rose up from the Ago mini-mob. This time it was Vanity St. John, generating considerably more commotion than Nicole Richie had. Vanity wore a short, kaleidoscopic Pucci dress so wild, colorful, and revealing that it instantly confirmed her status as the center of the universe. At least this one at the Shore Club.

Christina tried to hide the fact that she needed to swallow. Instead, she took a deep breath, watching as Vin Diesel craned his bull neck to get an unobstructed view of the celebutante. The man who played Riddick was loudly ignoring his personal harem, and the expression on his face told the Ago flock that, given the chance, Vanity might be worth the risk of jail time.

There was a flush on Christina’s face that had nothing to do with the heat. She stared intently, trying to keep her mouth shut, clocking Vanity’s every move as the beautiful starlet smiled slyly in the bright sunlight and waved hello to Owen Wilson, the thirty-something actor who was way too old to be drooling over a high school girl.

Vanity flashed a look in Christina’s direction and seemed visibly relieved to encounter a familiar face that wasn’t openly calculating a plot to get her up to one of the rooms. She made a whiz-bang beeline for the table. “Hey, girl!” Vanity exclaimed, enveloping Christina in a quick hug.