The Director's Cut (11 page)

“Why not?”

“Because. ” A sly grin lit her face. “None of the guys will even notice I'm here.” She giggled. “Not that it matters to you. You've already implied that you're not interested in guys looking at you
that
way. Right?”

“R-right.” I glanced back at the mirror, pondering the reality of my reflection. Would it really be so bad for men to find me attractive? Was that so awful? “I guess I could try it once and see if anyone notices.”

One of her thinly plucked brows elevated. “If anyone notices?” She laughed. “Honey, everyone's going to notice. Can't wait to see what Mama says. You're coming for tamales tonight, right?”

“Oh, I don't know. I . . .” A sigh followed. How could I argue that I needed to fix the plumbing in my house when I knew nothing about plumbing?

“You've got to come. Mama will love this.”

I tried to rise from the chair, but Benita pushed me back down. “Oh no you don't. I'm not done with you yet.”

“You're not?”

“No. That hair . . .” She shook her head. “I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but you look like you're thirteen with that ponytail.”

She began to tug at the rubber band, and I winced. “Ouch. Could you be a little more gentle?”

“Sorry, Tia.
Gentle
and
beauty
are two words you will never find me using in the same sentence. There's nothing gentle about becoming gorgeous.” She sighed. “Ask me how I know.”

I started to say, “How do you know?” just to be sarcastic, but decided against it. Instead, I sat as she spent the next fifteen minutes curling and styling my hair in the cutest updo I'd ever seen. It had that trendy, messy look—like I hadn't spent all morning trying too hard. Yet it had a sophisticated edge to it too. Very Hollywood glam girl. And with the makeup in place, I looked downright . . .

“Wow, Tia. You look amazing.”

I turned as I heard Athena's voice. She stepped into the room and walked toward me. “Is that really you?”

“It's me.” I turned back to the mirror just to make sure.

“Benita, you've made her look prettier than ever. That makeup job is to die for, and I love her hair like that.”

On and on she went, talking about me in third person as if I'd stepped out of the room or something. But I was sitting right here, listening to every word.

“That lip color is great against her olive skin,” Athena said. “But I'm blown away by her eyelashes. I never knew Tia's lashes were that long. Or thick. They're amazing.”

Okay, enough conversation about my physical appearance. I'd never been one for ranting and raving over such things. I rose and pulled off the beauty apron, then turned to my sister with a smile. “Thanks, Benita. You've been really sweet. But I need to talk to Athena and the other writers now, so—”

“No, that's what I came to tell you.” Athena shoved a script into my hands. “We're ready for you. We've made all those changes you asked for.”

“You rewrote that scene where Scott and Brock are at NASA with the kids?”

“Yep.”

“And you added the scene where the guest star accidentally misplaces one of the kids?”

“Sure did. It's all done, Tia.” Athena gave me a reassuring smile. “So our meeting won't take long. Then you can rest easy.”

“Oh, I can't do that. I've got a meeting with Rex to talk about our plan of action without Kat. There's so much to do.”

I rose, and Benita's gaze narrowed as she glanced down at my jeans and shoes.

“Wait a minute.” She put her hand up. “Before you go, I have to ask you about one more thing.”

“What's that?”

“Your clothes.” Benita gestured to my jacket.

“My clothes? What about them?”

“That shirt is gray.”

“Okay. So what?”

Why is everyone commenting on my gray clothes all of a sudden? Did someone stick a “bland and boring” sticker on my back?

“I've noticed it too.” Athena crossed her arms and gave me a funny look. “This is just a thought—call it analysis—but I wonder if maybe you're wanting to go backwards in time to a kinder, simpler era.”

“What in the world?”

“Watching you in these outfits is kind of like watching reruns of TV shows from the fifties and early sixties. Safe. Maybe a little too perfect.”

“And very, very gray,” Benita added.

“I happen to like gray,” I said. “It's a nice color on me.”

“It's a nice color on nuns,” Athena said. “And flight attendants and lab techs. But definitely not on a hot tamale like you.”

“Wait, a what? What did you just call me?”

“A hot tamale. That's what you are, Tia. Look at yourself.”

I glanced in the mirror once again, getting a pleasant jolt at the reflection. Maybe I was a hot tamale. My spicy exterior had been cleverly buried underneath mounds of gray clothing.

“Come with me.” Athena grabbed me by the hand. “I have the best idea ever.”

“W-what?”

“Ooo, I'm coming too!” Benita followed on our heels as Athena pulled me out of the room and into the hallway.

Within seconds we were standing in the wardrobe room. Benita looked around, her eyes widening. I could read the glee on her face. “Oh, I've died and gone to glam-squad heaven!”

“You know that most of these outfits just get shuffled back and forth from one wardrobe department to another on the lot,” Athena said. “It's fine to borrow whatever's in here. Jana has given us free reign.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“You're long overdue for a loan, Tia.” Athena picked up a soft blue blouse and held it up to me. “This would be great, but it's not perfect.”

“I have wonderful, expensive clothes,” I argued. I pointed to my gray blouse. “I bought this from a store on Rodeo Drive.”

“I've never questioned that. I can tell your clothes are beautifully tailored. Maybe too beautifully tailored. They're just so . . . so stiff. And proper.”

“And gray,” my sister threw in.

Athena headed to the back of the room and began pushing clothes on the rack one at a time. She stopped when she got to a gorgeous teal blouse. I had to admit, it made my eyes pop. “Ooo, this is amazing.” She held it up. “And can you even imagine that color against your skin? It's going to be like the waters of Grand Cayman lapping the sandy shore.”

“Spoken like a writer.” I grabbed it and turned toward the mirror. “Let me have a look at that.” The gorgeous color did made my skin look really pretty, especially with the new hair and makeup. “Okay, I'll try it. But I'm not making any promises.”

A half hour and seven outfits later, I'd been transformed from head to high-heeled toe.

Benita wiped tears from her eyes as she looked at me again. “I'm calling Mama. She's going to be thrilled.”

“Don't.” I shook my head. “I'll just surprise her tonight at dinner.”

I walked out into the hallway and bumped straight into someone. Papers went flying, and I realized I'd hit Jason. We knelt to collect the papers, then rose. The moment he saw me—my hair, my makeup, my blouse, the bright-colored heels—the man was rendered speechless. He tried to move his lips, but no distinguishable sounds emerged.

“You okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. I . . .”

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. Without even trying, I'd flustered him.

Not that I minded. Flustering a handsome man gave me quite a rush, in fact. And the way he looked at me made me feel like I'd somehow grown up overnight.

Yes, a girl could get mighty used to this.

As Friday afternoon passed, I felt like I'd somehow invaded someone else's body. Felt a bit odd wearing the colorful clothing. And every time I glanced in the mirror—which I did more than usual, out of curiosity—it felt like I was looking at a stranger. The makeup job was flawless. Perfect. Definitely not something I could have pulled off on my own.

I could hardly get over Athena's reaction to my new look. She kept going on and on about it. “Tia, you should be in front of the camera, not behind it. You've always been a beauty queen, but add a little color and
zing!
” She giggled. “You come to life!”

Interesting. So color was the magic formula to bring the once drab and gray Tia to life. I didn't know if I should be flattered or offended, especially since I'd paid top dollar for that gray wardrobe.

Nah, from the smile on Athena's face, I could tell her words were only meant to make me feel good. Why not enjoy the attention and do just that—feel good?

Even Bob and Paul gave me a second look—and possibly a third—as we worked together on the script. Rex had quirked a shaggy brow at me when he entered the room for our meeting, but the craziest reaction of all was Jason's. He just kept staring at me like he'd never seen me before. Made me feel . . . what was the word? Mysterious.

Tia, woman of intrigue.

Ha! I could hardly stand it. The giggles wanted to overtake me. Then again, my giddy state might have had something to do with my lack of sleep.

Late afternoon, we all wound down for the day. No point in sticking around now that we'd settled on the final script, so I headed out of the studio toward my car. Off in the distance, Jason got in his car to leave. He glanced my way and gave me a little wave. Seconds later he disappeared from view. Weird that after last night, he hadn't spent more time with me. Then again, with Athena and Benita hovering like the rings around Uranus, how could he?

As I drove home, I found myself toying with the idea of calling him. Would that be presumptuous? Maybe I could invite him to church Sunday. Yes, that would work. He could meet my family.

Oh wait, no. He already had his own church. And did I really want him meeting my family? Not just yet. Maybe I should ease him into the idea one family member at a time. I'd start with the sanest in the bunch.

Hmm. Coming up with someone who qualified turned out to be more difficult than I thought. Maybe Humberto. Yes, Jason would surely like easygoing Humberto.

I stopped by my house to check on the progress and figured out the guys had turned the water back on. This was an easy deduction because I found my upstairs tub overflowing and the water seeping through the downstairs ceiling. Just when I thought life had finally taken a turn for the better.

“Carlos, did you not see this?” I pointed to the mess with the Sheetrock.

“Yes.” He groaned. “We just got the water back on twenty minutes ago. It took me ten minutes to find the shutoff for the tub. It's buried in the wall. Didn't realize the faucet was on. I never touched it.”

I sighed. How could I blame him, really? I'd tried to turn on the faucet late last night, hoping to bathe, but the handle had broken off in my hand. I tried to screw it back on, but with no water running, I'd apparently left the handle turned the wrong way. Go figure. At least he'd caught it before too much damage was done.

Once we got things calmed down, Carlos looked at me again, his gaze narrowing. “Something's different about you today.”

Humberto studied my face. “Let me guess. Benita got her hooks into you?”

“Yeah. But I think she did a fine job.” I gave a little twirl to show off the new blouse and jeans, then fussed with my hair.

“You look great. Mama will be happy.” Humberto paused, brow wrinkled. “She's always talking about how you never wear any color.”

I groaned. Had everyone on the planet already analyzed this? If so, I must've missed the memo.

“You are going to Mama's tonight, right?” Carlos asked. “She said it was going to be a special night, whatever that means.”

“I can only imagine.”

Carlos reached for a hammer and a container of nails. “Maria and the kids are meeting me there. Maria thinks Mama must be up to something. She's been too quiet this week.”

I put my hands up, grateful someone else agreed. “I've been thinking the same thing. She hasn't returned my calls all week, and that means only one thing.”

“Dad's home.” Humberto sighed, pulled off his baseball cap, and ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair.

“Yeah,” Carlos said. “So what?”

Humberto and I both looked at him like he'd grown an extra head.

“You think it's okay for him to come and go like that?” I asked. “Bounce from woman to woman and then come back to Mama and expect her to forgive him?”

“Didn't say it was okay. It's just not surprising.” He shrugged. “But I don't think Maria was just referring to that. She thinks Mama's up to something else, something that involves you.”

“Me?”

“Maria heard her talking about you to Benita. Something about a guy.”

“O-oh? A guy?” Visions of Jason danced through my mind. Benita had told Mama about Jason? When? And why?

“Don't know. I'd just be on the lookout for odd happenings tonight. I have a strange feeling. And you'd better prepare yourself for the inevitable. I'm pretty sure Dad will be there too.”

“Hopefully it will turn out to be nothing. And if Dad's there, I'm pretty sure I'll just act like he's not.”

“I can't figure our parents out.” Humberto sighed as he went back to work. “Half the time Mama's acting as weird as he is. One minute she's happy, the next she's sad.”

“Ah.” I nodded. “Well, she's been through a lot with Dad, but there's more going on than that. Mama's in her fifties. She's going through the change.”

“Please.” Carlos glared at me. “I've been hearing that excuse since I was in elementary school. Every time Mama was in a bad mood, Dad would say, ‘Don't mind Mama. She's going through the change.' ” Carlos hesitated. “There were times when I wanted to say, ‘Change already.' ”

Humberto laughed, but I didn't feel like joining in. “Trust me, she might be going through menopause, but it's more likely we could call it man-opause. One man in particular.”

“Dad.” We spoke the word in unison.

Humberto placed a nail on a piece of Sheetrock and started hammering it in place. Suddenly I felt like doing the same. No wonder construction workers were such even-keeled guys. They pounded out all their frustrations on the job.

My brothers worked a few more minutes, then left to head over to Mama's place. I cleaned up the overflow of water in my bathroom, but that left no time for a bath. I'd have to go in my current state. Oh well. With just the family there, who cared anyway?

When I got to my parents' house, I parked and stared at it. In my thirty years of living on the planet, I'd never known another home but this one—until I bought my place in Bel Air West, anyway. The contrast between the two homes—and the two worlds—was pretty remarkable. This one, an adobe bungalow, had been due for a paint job fifteen years ago. Dad always said he was going to get around to it. He never did. And Mama . . . she wasn't the sort to swing a paintbrush. A blush brush, sure. But a paintbrush? No way.

Oh well. Nothing I could do about that now. I couldn't even keep up with my own place, hard as I tried.

I gave myself another once-over in the mirror, smiling as I saw the new and improved face smiling back at me. Mama would flip . . . in a good way. And I was starting to get used to it too. In fact, I really liked the way I looked. And I loved the way it made me feel.

Benita met me at the door and gave me a thumbs-up when she saw my makeup still intact. She led the way into the living room, where I saw Mama seated on the couch watching
Jeopardy
.

“Mama,” Benita said in a singsong voice.

“Not right now.” Mama waved a hand, then shouted at the television, “What is
Beauty and the Beast
!”

Ironic.

“Mama, we need you for a minute.”

She glanced our way, then began to squeal as she took in my appearance. She rose from the sofa like a phoenix from the ashes—arms extended, praising God in fluent Spanish for the transformation she was witnessing.

Good gravy. You would've thought I'd started the day as a troll.

“It's not that big of a deal, Mama,” I said. “I'm wearing a little color, that's all.”

“It's a huge deal. Color changes everything.” She pointed to the walls of the living room, which Carlos had painted deep purple years ago. “You see? It sets the tone. Gives hope. Vibrancy.”

“Well, it's not like I earned the Nobel Peace Prize.” I settled onto the sofa, and her Chihuahua jumped into my lap. Suddenly I felt the urge to sneeze—and so I did, not just once but three times.

“You're sitting in Angel's spot.” Mama gave me “the look,” and I scooted down a few inches to accommodate the mongrel.

I turned to face her—Mama, not the dog. “So, I have a question.”

“What, Tia-mia?” She gave me a cursory glance, then looked back at the television, hollering, “What is
Days of Our Lives
!”

“Beni says Dad is back.”

“Ah.” Mama's cheeks turned red, her eyes riveted to the television once again. “He is. Yes.”

“If he's back, where is he now?”

“Working late.” She shrugged. “A business meeting, I think he said.” She looked at the dog and whispered, “Angel, come to Mama.” The Chihuahua sprinted into my mother's waiting arms. “See there?” Mama said. “Always stays close. Never leaves me.”

“Creates messes all over the place,” Humberto said as he entered the room from the kitchen.

Just like Dad.

Mama began to cuddle and coo the little monster, now speaking to her in Spanish. Behind her back, Humberto mouthed the words, “Devil dog!” and I did my best not to laugh.

Still, as I watched my mother with the dog, a shiver ran down my spine. I wanted to tell Mama what a huge mistake she'd made taking Dad back. How he'd pull the same stunts he always did. Still, I managed to keep my mouth shut—a real feat considering the circumstances. Instead, I just sneezed.

After a few moments of listening to the game show, Mama finally turned my way. The tears in her eyes surprised me.

“
Al desdichado hace consuelo tener compania en su suerte y duelo
, Tia.”

I knew the old expression:
Two in distress makes sorrow less.
How could I argue with those words? A rush of emotions threatened to overtake me. In spite of my feelings about my father, I had to admit that having someone to share life's tough times with would certainly make things easier.

Unless it made things worse. Which, in my father's case, it usually did.

Mama dried her tears and headed to the kitchen to start the tamales. I tagged along behind her, as always. There were two things I could do blindfolded—direct a television show and make tamales. She worked on the masa while I prepared the pork filling. My itchy nose continued to bother me, and the sneezes kept coming.

About fifteen minutes into the prep work, the doorbell rang. Strange. No one in this family rang the bell, so it threw me a little. I gave Mama a curious look and she shrugged. “You better go get it, Tia. My hands are dirty.”

Mine were too, but I rinsed them off.

As I reached the living room, I noticed someone new standing near the entryway—someone tall, dark, and handsome. Sort of a cross between Mario Lopez and Jeremy Valdez. His dark eyes reminded me of espresso beans, and his olive skin was the most beautiful color imaginable. He looked like he'd walked out of a movie set. Wow. Definitely leading man material.

I probably should have said something
. Hello. How are you? Welcome to our home.
But I couldn't.

Benita brushed by me and whispered in my ear, “Happy birthday, Tia. He's meant for you.”

Huh?
First of all, it wasn't my birthday. Second . . . what? No way. This gorgeous hunk of manhood . . . was meant for me?

Clearly Mama was up to her tricks again.