The Director's Cut (12 page)

Okay, so the guy standing in front of me was gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous, really. But honestly . . .
Mama! How could you do this to me? You promised to lay down your matchmaking efforts after the last fiasco!

Before I could consider it further, my mother swept into the room, her face lighting up as she saw our visitor. “Oh, you made it. I'm so glad. What a wonderful evening we're all going to have.” All of this in Spanish, of course.

“Thanks for inviting me.” The rich Hispanic voice oozed sex appeal. Not the Hollywood version, mind you. This was the real deal. A true Latino heartthrob. In the flesh. In our living room. Intended for me. Whatever that meant.

Mama looked my way, and I could read the excitement in her eyes. She had probably spent days planning this, and all for poor Tia, the troll. “We've got a guest tonight, Tia. Have you been introduced?” She nudged me in Romeo's direction. He didn't seem to mind. I, on the other hand, couldn't seem to get my thoughts to stop tumbling around in my head. Mama had set me up on a date with some strange guy she'd met . . . where?

“Julio, this is my daughter, Tia. She's a television director. Doesn't she look pretty in that color?”

“
Espléndido
.” He reached for my hand and kissed the back of it, then held on a bit longer, giving me a lingering gaze.

Mama began to elaborate about my job, going on and on about
Stars Collide
and the people I worked with. I did my best not to sigh aloud as she introduced me by my credentials. Whatever happened to “This is my daughter. She's so great”? Now she jumped straight to my work credits and the color of my clothes.

Julio didn't seem to notice. His deep brown eyes gazed at me with enough intensity to raise the temperature in the room. “Nice to meet you. I've been hearing about you for months now.”

“You . . . you have?”
Where? How? When?

“Yes, every time your mother comes in to pay her car insurance, she stays to chat.” He gave my mother a playful wink. Awkward.

“Mama?” I turned to face her, hoping she could read my mind.
You've fixed me up with your insurance agent?

She offered an innocent smile, one that almost won me over. “I adjusted my policy, honey. Put your father back on.”

“Wait, you added Dad back to the policy?” I felt another sneeze coming on. “Is he back home for good this time?”

Mama went off on a tangent about the tamales, totally ignoring my question. Benita flashed me a smile—a fake, “gotcha” smile, and suddenly the whole day made sense. Her behavior at the studio. Her insistence that I put on makeup and new clothes. She and Mama had arranged every bit of this. I'd been duped—into a new face, a new wardrobe, and a new . . .

I stared at Julio. A new guy. Only, I didn't want a new guy. The only guy I wanted was probably sitting in a mansion in Newport Beach, talking to gorgeous girls with names like Tiffany or Justine. He was not standing in an old, chipped adobe in South Central, looking like he'd won the lotto as he gazed at my snug blouse.

Suddenly I felt sick, inside and out.

Somehow I made it through dinner, though I found myself singing worship songs in my head to avoid the way I felt when Julio looked my way. Not that he wasn't the handsomest thing in the world. I'd have to be blind not to notice the broad shoulders and muscular arms, which he was happy to flex for my younger sister on at least one occasion—make that two. The guy was definitely hot. Just not my speed. Well, not when I already had my sights set on someone
else.

Granted, that someone else had spent the last year of my life making things miserable for me. But we'd both changed. Right?

I stared at Julio—that fresh, perfectly chiseled face—and sighed. Likely we had nothing in common. Nada. Zip. Nothing. Well, except insurance, but who could spend a lifetime talking about that?

From across the table, I glared at my mother, sending her unspoken signals with my eyes. What was she thinking, fixing me up with someone without warning me first? The whole thing was awkward at best. And embarrassing. I could feel the eyes of my younger siblings on me throughout the meal and could almost read their thoughts:
Poor Tia. Can't even get a date. Mama has to go out and find a guy for her.

A guy who was obviously more interested in my sister than me, from the looks of things. Every few minutes, I caught him sneaking a glance at Benita, who gave him playful winks.

Go figure.

He finally looked my way. “I noticed the BMW. That yours, Tia?”

“Mm-hmm.” I swallowed and nodded.

Within minutes, Romeo—er, Julio—and I were deep into a tedious discussion about insurance rates. So much for a match made in heaven. Looked like this whole thing would turn out to be an insurance arrangement, not a romantic one. An adjustment to my policy, not my love life.

Mama finished eating and reached for the empty tamale plate. “I'll be in the kitchen washing dishes. Tia, you tell Julio all about your job, hear?”

I gave her a lame nod.

She'd no sooner left than Julio cracked a smile. “Sorry, but I can't hold this in any longer.” He shifted to Spanish, his lyrical voice still as sexy as ever. “Did you guys know your mother changes her insurance policy at least once a month?”

“I had no idea.” Benita shook her head.

“People at our office have a name for her. They call her the revolving door.” He went off on a tangent in Spanish about how funny he thought she was. Great, a guy who made fun of my mother behind her back. Just one more reason to toss him out on his rear.

I shrugged, unsure of how to make this any better. “I'm sorry she's created so much work for you.”

“I'm not.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “It's good for business. It's just that she comes in every time her situation with your dad changes.”

“Then she must be there every day.” I attempted a smile.

“No, but at least once a month or so. She'll come in and drop him from the policy—which causes the rates to drop. Then she'll come back in a few weeks and add him back. It's kind of crazy, really.”

“Tell me about it.” Okay, I'd had enough. I went into the kitchen to help Mama with the dishes.

“So, what do you think, Tia-mia? He's one handsome devil, right?” She winked. “I might be old, but I'm not blind.”

“He's handsome, Mama. No doubt about that.”

“And he has a steady job. He's been at the insurance firm for six years. I see him every month. A good, handsome Latino boy like that needs a pretty wife.”

My face must've reflected my displeasure at that comment. Not that I had anything against Latino guys. No way. But a certain sandy-haired Newport Beach guy had caught my eye instead. For a half second, I wondered how Mama would take that news. Jason was no Julio, that was for sure. And why did it sound like she'd already promised my hand in marriage to this sexy insurance adjuster? I'd just met the guy.

“He's not my type, Mama. Definitely not my type.”

Her gaze narrowed. She put her hands on her hips and stared me down.

“What?” I asked.

“Tia, you should be ashamed. Sometimes I think you're ashamed of your heritage.”

“My heritage?” I stared at Mama, completely dumbfounded. “Where did that come from?”

“Just stating the obvious. Julio's not good enough for you, is that it?”

“No, I didn't mean that at all. He's not my type, but . . .” I felt my nose begin to itch and fought off another sneeze.

“Your type.” She made a grunting sound. “He's a good, handsome Latino man, just not good enough for you?”

“Huh?”

“You're too high and mighty. The way you dress. The way you speak. I hardly recognize your voice anymore when you call. You don't even talk like the old Tia.”

“Well, I'm a professional now, Mama. They taught us in film school to always present ourselves—”

“You were taught at home to be yourself, not someone else. When I'm on the phone with you, I barely know who I'm talking to.”

I shook my head, trying to make sense of this. “I love my heritage. I would never turn my back on it.”

“Honey, I'm not trying to be tough on you. I know you work hard. You've come a long way in the industry. You were nominated for an Emmy, for Pete's sake. And I'm the only mother in South Central who can say she has a daughter with a Golden Globe.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I think you find value in your work, like a lot of people do. And there's nothing wrong with that up to a point. But your work doesn't define you.”

“I never said it did.”

“You didn't have to. The way you waltz in here wearing your expensive gray clothes from Rodeo Drive, and your hair and fancy car . . . you just radiate this sort of standoffishness.”

I felt the sting of tears. Great. My own mother was turning on me. Accusing me of acting like I was better than everyone else in my family. And again with the gray clothes?

Okay, so I did usually wear gray clothes. But what was with this accusation that I thought I was better than everyone else in my family?

Hmm. Maybe a few words of explanation could make this right.

“Mama, this isn't what you think. We had a rough upbringing, but I'm still proud of my heritage. What I'm not proud of . . .” The lump in my throat would need to shift so that I could finish. “What I'm not proud of,” I finally said, “is the fact that my father is a jerk. If I'm distancing myself from anything, it's not my heritage. It's him.”

“Your father's a piece of work,” she said. “But even so, you're thirty years old, Tia. A grown woman. I'm not saying you don't have a right to be angry at him. Heaven knows I've been mad a thousand times, and rightfully so. But you can hang on to bitterness for only so long before it eats you alive. Or freezes you over like a block of ice.”

Ouch.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and as if on cue, my father walked in. Perfect. Just what I needed to end an already too-perfect day.

“What?” he called out. “Did I miss the tamales?” He slipped his arm around my mother's waist and drew her close, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Ah, no! I see a hot one right here!”

She giggled.

I wanted to holler, “Where were you? Why didn't you show up for dinner?” But the roses he handed Mama distracted me from the speech I'd planned to give.

“
Rosas bellas para una bella dama
,” he whispered. “Beautiful roses for a beautiful lady.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “Oh, Gerardo.” She giggled and threw her arms around his neck. “You remembered how much I love red sweetheart roses. They're my favorite.”

“Of course. Do I ever forget anything about the woman I love?”

A rhetorical question, I hoped. There had to have been at least five or six women he'd loved in the last three years alone.

Mama got busy putting the flowers in water, gushing over how my father shouldn't have purchased them for her, then gushing some more over how happy she was that he had. I took that opportunity to sneak away.

My mother's words from earlier still held a surprising sting. I truly felt like I'd been slapped. How dare she insinuate that I thought I was too good for people? That wasn't it at all.

Or was it?

I slipped back into the living room, wondering how in the world I was going to avoid Julio, only to discover he'd gone missing. Strange. So had Benita. I peeked out the front window and caught a glimpse of the two of them standing next to each other on the walkway. I pulled around the corner and watched as she got into his car and left with him. No way. She was going out with my blind date? Without even telling me?

Humberto appeared beside me. He slipped his arm over my shoulder, and I leaned into him. “You didn't want him anyway, Tia. Trust me. I know that guy. You're too good for him.”

“Try telling that to Mama.” I sighed. It wasn't that I'd wanted him. No way. But to dump me—in my currently made-up state—for my sister? In my mother's home? With my cheating father present? Everything about this felt wrong.

“So, what's going on in the kitchen?” Humberto asked.

I pointed out the window at Julio's car. “Pretty much the same thing that's going on right there. Schmoozing. Typical macho baloney. Except Mama kicked it off with a guilt fest about how I don't appreciate my heritage.”

We both sighed, and I returned to the sofa, where I focused on the television. Not that I really paid much attention. No, my thoughts were on what my mother had said in the kitchen. Did she really see me as too high and mighty? Maybe that's why she'd picked out a guy like Julio—completely puffed up. Maybe she thought we'd be a matched set.

I didn't need a guy who was puffed up—macho on the inside and out. And I certainly didn't need a guy who paid more attention to other women than me. What I needed was . . .