Point Me to Tomorrow (10 page)

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.

Not that there was any possibility of bossing the Ortegas around. In addition to being very specific about their wishes, they were also still keeping many aspects of the
quince
a secret. Alicia and her team had not even gotten a glimpse of the guest list. Once the invitations were printed, they were mailed to a PO box in Fairfax, Virginia, where Julia Centavo saw to it that they were addressed by hand (by an expensive calligrapher) and mailed out in the most confidential manner possible.

For nearly a month, Alicia and her father had been rehearsing a father-daughter
vals
while her mother filmed them so that the
amigas
could show their ideas to the client. Alicia tried to keep the choreography simple, but the client kept requesting more and more changes in the dance routine. More than once, Alicia had had to fight the temptation to stick her tongue out at the camera. As it was, she was a little afraid that the camera might have captured an involuntary roll of her eyes. But really, she didn't mind. Her father was a good dancer. And they had fun improvising insane, never-to-be-seen-by-the-public father-daughter dances like one they called the Drunken Monkey.

For security reasons, the Amigas Inc. team was not allowed to arrive at the event until half an hour before the guests were due. In the world of party-planners, this was absolutely unheard-of. While Alicia sincerely hoped that everything would go off without a hitch, she half expected to get a panicky call on her cell phone from Julia Centavo, begging her to come over to the restaurant and deal with some last-minute catastrophe.

Carolina and Patricia had assembled Welcome to Miami gift baskets complete with art deco beach towels, palm-tree-shaped cookies, and little boxes of coconut water. But since Ms. Centavo wouldn't reveal—again for security purposes—the name of the hotel where out-of-town guests were staying, the Reinoso girls had been directed to deliver those baskets at noon to the restaurant, where a member of the security detail would inspect them and make sure they got to the hotel. Alicia had always loved preparing the welcome baskets, and while she knew it was a good task to delegate, she missed being a part of organizing those last-minute finishing touches that truly made an event special.

The client had taken Amigas Inc.'s suggestion for a local hairstylist and makeup artist. Sonja Sinski, Alicia's favorite hairstylist, was being picked up at three o'clock and taken to the guest of honor's hotel suite. Julia Centavo had also hired Myra Abney, Alicia's favorite makeup artist, who had a knack for making you look as though you were wearing no makeup at all.

Alicia had been especially pleased that the Ortegas had taken her hair and makeup suggestions. Nothing made a
quince
feel worse than being tended to for hours, then looking up and realizing that her hair and makeup were so overdone she felt more like the Bride of Frankenstein than like a beautiful birthday girl.

Since Carmen did not have to make any outfits for Carmela's event, she had taken the lead on all the food and beverages. She planned to head straight to the restaurant to make sure that everything was as ordered and that the desserts, especially the mini pineapple-upside-down cakes, would come off without a hitch.

Jamie was busy working on backdrops and sets. Alicia was excited to see the portraits of all the guests posed in front of stylishly designed murals featuring planes, yachts, and cars.

And Gaz, while nervous, was excited to be performing for what was certain to be an illustrious crowd.

Alicia knew she wouldn't see him until half an hour before the event. She went over her checklist twice. Then, having sincerely intended to delegate, she sent out reminder texts, letting everybody know what he or she was supposed to be managing and that they should all call her if they needed any help at all.

Carolina wrote back:
We're good, boss.

Patricia texted:
You are going to be so proud of us, you may take the rest of the year off.

Alicia laughed and thought,
Yeah, right.

Carmen texted:
Relax, Lici. You do know the meaning of that word, right?

Gaz wrote simply:
I'll be singing to you tonight.

He always said that. “No matter how many people are in the room,” he would tell her when she went to see him perform, “remember, I'm only singing to you.”

In response to Alicia's message asking whether all was well with the sets, Jamie texted a picture of a beautiful mural depicting a yacht and asked:
Hey, bossy, does this float your boat?

Alicia laughed and wrote back:
Yes, gorgeous. Good job.

Alicia had been e-mailing Julia Centavo every hour on the hour to make sure that everything was going okay, and every response came back the same:
Yes, it's all great. Looking forward to meeting you.
Alicia couldn't believe it. For the first time in forever, she was not crazed on
quince
day. In fact, the process was actually running itself.

Determined to use her free time wisely, Alicia pulled out a sheet of paper and began to write her college essay. There were more false starts than she would have liked, but by late afternoon, she thought she had managed to capture exactly what she wanted to say to the college admissions committee at Harvard and all the other schools where she was applying.

The Day I Would Live Over


By Alicia Cruz


In January 1959, my mother's parents fled Cuba and moved to Miami. In February 1959, my father's parents made the same journey. A few years later, living in a poverty their parents could never have imagined, each family welcomed a child. My mother was born an American, a poor American, but an American all the same. My father was also born an American and a proud one. He always says that his citizenship was the only trust fund he ever needed.


Growing up in Miami, I have been surrounded by the swirl of Spanish and English and the vast realm of language that lives in between. I go to school with kids of every different color, on a campus that actually has an ocean view. I am an inveterate city girl who has a country girl's appreciation of nature due to the palm trees and beaches that are part of my natural habitat.


Although my two best girlfriends are Latina, I never thought too deeply about my heritage. It was a fact, a part of me, the same way that I know without thinking about it that I have dark hair and brown eyes. And while I love Latin music and Latin food, I have to admit that I often thought of Latin culture as something yellow and crumbling, like the trunk full of
Life
magazines my abuelo keeps in the basement.


In Latin culture, girls celebrate the quinceañera, or Sweet Fifteen, instead of the American Sweet Sixteen. This is a tradition that goes back hundreds of years to a time when Latin countries were synonymous with great civilizations and great discoveries-not with poverty and ecotourism and the drug trade. A quince wears a crown because it is a tradition that links her to the highest royal courts, but I didn't know all of that when I was fourteen, about to turn fifteen. I thought having a quince was about expensive parties and
Gone with the Wind
-style dresses, and I thought it wasn't for me. So when my parents offered me a choice, I chose to go to Spain with my dear friend Carmen. And, while exploring the streets of Barcelona is a marvelous way to turn fifteen, it is not a quince.


Then, two years ago, I met a girl who was new to Miami and-long story-I helped her plan her quince. That quince led to another and another, and before we knew it, my friends and I had a bona fide business. And what I have learned over the last two years is that my culture is a living, breathing thing. It is not an old magazine in my grandfather's basement, nor is it a lost jewel, flung into the ocean in the stretches of sea between where my grandparents were born and where my parents and I were raised. To be a Latina is an exciting, modern thing, and, while I understand that now, regret is useless. If I had one day to live over, I would go back to my fifteenth birthday and I would throw a party for my family and friends-not to get presents, not to parade around in a dress, but to say, this is who I am, this is where I came from, and this is where I hope to go.


Alicia's cell phone began ringing; she couldn't believe it: it was five thirty! She was going to be late for Carmela Ortega's
quinceañera
! All because she had gotten caught up in writing her college essay. She picked up the phone; it was Carmen.

“The car service has been parked outside of your house for an hour, Lici,” Carmen said. “Didn't you hear the doorbell?” Alicia had been so busy writing (and blasting Shakira songs for inspiration) that she had not.

“What am I going to do?” Alicia could feel the tears coming as she confided to Carmen, “I'm not even dressed!”

Carmen sounded impatient. “Get dressed. Pronto. Gosh, Alicia, this is so not like you. What were you doing?”

“Working on my college essay,” Alicia replied. “I think it's really good.”

Carmen seemed to soften at the mention of the essay. She knew how important it was to Alicia.

“Well,” Carmen said, “bring a copy of the essay. We can read it when everyone's having their sit-down.” As a rule, Carmen, Jamie, and Alicia always waited until the guests were seated for the sit-down portion of their meal, then took their plates to some quiet corner and had a few minutes of food and recap before they were on and in full hostess mode again.

•  •  •

When the car service arrived at the restaurant, Alicia got out and stood for a few moments watching a plane take off into the sky. As many times as she herself had flown, as many times as she'd been to the airport to pick up and drop off family, friends,
quinces
, and guests, it always seemed to her a sort of miracle that a big hunk of metal could so elegantly take to the sky.

Carmen stood at the back door of the restaurant and called to her: “Hey, daydreamer, get to work!”

Alicia rushed inside. She was wearing a favorite work outfit: a navy blue smocked dress with a simple pleated skirt. She, Carmen, and Jamie always dressed down when they worked a party. You never ever wanted to steal a
quince
's thunder.

Carmen led Alicia by the hand to the lounge downstairs. “There's someone I want you to meet,” she said as they descended the staircase.

“Is it Carmela Ortega?” Alicia asked excitedly.

She saw a familiar figure emerge from behind a pillar. It was her mother, and she was holding
that
dress. “Pleased to meet you,” said Marisol Cruz, extending her hand as if they were strangers. “I'm Julia Centavo.”

At first, Alicia thought her mother was playing a joke. Was this just her clever way of treating her to a ridiculously gorgeous, absolutely expensive dress?

Then Jamie appeared and handed Alicia an envelope. She said, “I thought you might like to see the real invitation.”

Alicia opened the envelope to see a white card with black and hot pink type. It read:

YOU ONLY QUINCE TWICE.

PLEASE JOIN US TO CELEBRATE THE BIRTHDAY

OF MIAMI'S QUINCE QUEEN:

ALICIA CRUZ

As Alicia held the invitation, her hands began to shake. How could it be? It was all so marvelous and unexpected and unreal. Once she started crying, she truly couldn't stop. Carmen and Jamie led her to a back room, where Sonja and Myra waited to do her hair and makeup.

“Stop the tears, diva!” Sonja called out in a sunny tone. “This is all about love. Relax and let it in.”

Alicia listened to the words, repeated them in her head, and felt herself get calmer with every repetition:
This is all about love. Relax. Let it in. This is all about love. Relax. Let it in.

Her mother helped her change into the dress, and from the moment the material brushed her skin, she felt a little more grown-up, a little more able to deal with the fact that she'd been had, hoodwinked, bamboozled—in the best possible way, of course. But bamboozled all the same.