Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (19 page)
Frances slammed her plastic Maker’s Marketplace shopping bag on the roof of her tomato red 1995 Chrysler LeBaron convertible
that had seen better days. Her three yards of shiny black faux leather fringe slid across and landed on the hot asphalt. Every
time Chloe went on air with one of Frances’ ideas, the girl went home and downed a triple pepperoni pizza drenched in ranch
dressing. She’d gained fifty pounds since becoming Chloe’s sequined slave. As a result, Frances resented Chloe and felt the
woman didn’t deserve to even touch a glue gun, much less use it on live television. She dreamed of the day when the phony
Ms. Chavez would leave KPDM so she could take over the craft segments. Crafty Chloe assumed Frances would follow her to national,
but heck no. Frances aimed to escape from Crafty Chloe’s shadow and forge her own career, which is why she had applied for
a recently opened production position. She should have known Chloe would find out and kill it.
But Frances wielded a wild card. She knew—and could name—every skeleton in her boss’s closet: the repulsion of homemade items,
using the craft group to her advantage, boning Mark Jefferies, not knowing
any
of the techniques she demoed—and a few other juicy tidbits.
Chloe didn’t know it, but Frances had a secret of her own.
Just then her flip phone buzzed with a new message. From Chloe.
It’s time to step it up. I will need five weeks’ worth of projects by Monday. Thank you!
Frances whipped off her chunky black Buddy Holly glasses. “That’s
it
! I hate her!” She clenched her fists to the air above. “Bitch is going down!”
From:
[email protected]
Date: September 24, 2010
Subject: Here here
Hi Dad!
I just got the word you are staying an extra week! You know how much I miss you two (especially mom’s cooking), so I’m warning
you, this will be a long letter.
I’ve done nothing but sleep, eat, and experiment with all kinds of art techniques like a crazy woman. Remember the catastrophic
love shrine I made for Theo? Bottom line? That has been my favorite, even if I did throw it away. In the last week, I’ve made
assemblage boxes inside any kind of container I could get my hands on: silverware trays, glass jars, a fish aquarium (don’t
worry, I bought a new one), candy tins, and these cute little cigarette cases I found at the thrift store.
I even invaded the garden shed and made a funky shrine out of Mom’s old shovel! I also nabbed your old black loafers and made
little collages in the foot openings and then I mounted them to a piece of wood and added a picture of when you first wore
them to my sixth-grade violin recital—and then I framed it all in Plexiglas. Hope you don’t mind. You don’t wear them anymore,
so I thought I might as well make them into a memory box. I’m using glitter as a theme to tie all these pieces together, like
my signature touch. Even though I’ve been going through paint and glue like Mom goes through wheatgrass and tofu, I don’t
have anything for the show yet. I’m trying to think of a topic for a cohesive collection. The trouble is, it has to come from
my heart and I don’t know what that is yet. I feel like I’m still in my self-discovery phase (so corny, I know). Every night
I pray the magic will come to me.
Okay, what else—ahh, the craft group! Centerpieces are coming along! Excited for you to see them!
Love you,
Estrella
P.S. I started clearing out the back house too!
P.P.S. I have a new friend I’ve been hanging out with. His name is Harrison and he is a fireman. Again, he is a friend, so
don’t go all twenty-questions on me. More details when you come home, promise!
P.P.P.S. I will have some cold beers ready for you!
C
hloe’s alarm clock buzzer went off as usual at 6:30 a.m. She removed the satin mask from her eyes, yawned, and peeked at Ezra’s
side of the bed. Empty. Likely because it was October 13—her twenty-ninth birthday.
She figured he spent the morning cooking up a surprise breakfast, just like last year. Sure enough, the rustle of whisking
and pans clanging filtered upstairs. Maybe Ezra didn’t exactly make her heart flutter, but at least she could count on him.
She stood up and slipped on her robe and grinned. The day would bring more than birthday candles. Today’s craft segment could
lead to a hefty promotion at her station’s parent company, the Hadwick Corporation. The CEOs and their wives, all dedicated
gourmet crafters, were to visit the station and Mark had invited them as guests on her segment.
The best part? He didn’t even ask Chloe to sleep with him. She felt empowered that he took the hint after weeks of brush-offs.
These days on her scale of personal growth, self-worth outweighed desperation.
It had been two months since she met Ofie and Star, and day by day, being around them made her feel not so angry at the world.
The situation with her family hadn’t improved. Her mother still phoned nearly every day, disappointed with her for shacking
up with Ezra, but at least now with Ofie and Star around, Chloe had more of a social life to cushion her anger. Hanging out
with those two chicas exercised her conscience muscle.
All of it pushed Chloe to examine her life.
The idea clicked the other day when Star invited her to attend a seminar, Boomerang Boost: How to Attract Good Karma. In the
six-hour session, Chloe took in lectures, workshops, and in-depth tests that detailed her decision-making methods and the
motivation behind them. In the final minutes, Chloe tallied up her figures and the correlating profile summaries. She just
about squawked in shame, and shoved them in her purse so Star wouldn’t see. The result? According to the Bommerang Boost theory,
Chloe’s actions earned her a fireball of bad karma.
During the long drive home, Chloe analyzed her life and swore to make changes to ward off negative energy. As soon as she
entered her house, Chloe didn’t even set down her purse before shoving the papers through the shredder. She curled up on the
couch, nibbled a rice cake, and gazed at a talking head on the television. She recalled one of the Boomerang Boost speakers
and their suggestion of a “vision board” project. At first Chloe banished the concept. It sounded hokey, like something Star’s
woo-woo mom would do. Then again, Chloe thought, Dori always sounded pretty dang happy.
Chloe leaped off the couch and gathered all the paper supplies available in her office—plus scissors, glue sticks, and magazines.
Hello, vision board! She’d make a collage of all the people and events she wanted to attract into her life. One problem, she
couldn’t find an inspiring background surface. Chloe tapped her bare foot, scratched her head, and let her eyes roam about
her work area. And then she saw
it
.
Above her computer hutch hung a four-foot-tall glamour shot of Crafty Chloe in all her on-screen glory, fuzzy lens and all.
She climbed on top of her desk and ripped it from the wall. She hopped down, set it on the floor facedown, and removed the
backing and the poster-size photo. There! That would be the foundation.
For the next two hours, she lay on her belly, propped up, to cut and paste. In the corners she added the words “love,” “beauty,”
“inspiration,” and “respect.” She then went online to visit the Web sites of Oprah, Betty O’Hara, and the CraftOlympics, printed
out several pictures, and used those too. She grabbed a jumbo red marker and drew a crown on her head. To tie it all together,
she took a blank sheet of typing paper and wrote down her father’s dream, just as he told it to her. She kissed it and affixed
it over her heart on the photo. Just when she thought the piece was done, she paused, as if the collage needed one more accent.
She jumped up and sprinted to her stereo, grabbed the Reggae Sol CD, and brought it back. She took a deep breath, snipped
out Gustavo’s head from the glossy sleeve, and applied it too. She then reassembled the frame and returned it to its spot
on the wall.
If that didn’t show commitment to change, she didn’t know what would.
What better day to exercise her new outlook than the anniversary of her birth? First up, Frances.
Yesterday Larry informed Chloe that her assistant complained to coworkers about her job. At first Chloe went into silent hysterics,
worried that Frances had spilled their secret, but Larry described it as more of a “grumbling under her breath” situation.
Frances had been on vacation for a week and was set to return today, just in time for the important segment. Despite her verbal
discontent, Chloe knew Frances would always come through. Chloe made a note to pick up a batch of fresh calla lilies on her
way into work, tie them with a taupe satin bow, and give them to her assistant as a gesture of appreciation. She would then
talk to Mark about giving the girl a raise, and then she would take her to lunch—maybe even a shopping spree for a makeover.
How’s that for karma?
she thought.
“A new year, a new outlook on life!” Chloe whispered as she jogged down the stainless-steel stairs of her loft, excited to
see what Ezra had cooked up. But when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she inhaled.
“Happy twenty-nine!” shouted Ofie and Star in unison. They stood at the bottom of the stairs and posed as waitresses with
plates of scrambled eggs, pancakes, and hash browns stacked upon their arms.
“You got me! How did you pull this off? Did Ezra put you up to this?” she asked, scanning the room, waiting for him to jump
out.
“He left the key under the mat for us. He had to take off early,” Star explained. “He said he had a top-secret surprise for
you today. Hurry and come down here, these trays are heavy!”
Ofie carefully made her way to the outdoor patio, still balancing the dishes. “Maybe he’ll propose! He had a very sneaky look
on his face…,” she sing-shouted.
“I need a double cappuccino! Quick!” Chloe blurted, running to the expensive espresso machine for a thick dose of Illy, shaking
her head to dissolve the horrifying thought. In fact, she planned to ask the bum to move out this weekend. The relationship
had become strictly convenience, no respect or companionship. She suspected Ezra had a second girlfriend—typical signs of
late nights, hushed phone conversations, new lingo. Chloe didn’t mind. In fact, it made her life easier to have him out of
her lightened tresses. She needed to purge the dead weight to make room for all the exciting opportunities that would pour
in after the CraftOlympics.
Maybe even love.
Not Ezra-love, but Ofie and Larry-love. Their bank account may have been dryer than brittle bones, but they were rich in every
other way.
Twenty minutes later the ladies sat outside on Chloe’s high-rise patio to soak up the first tolerable Arizona morning of the
season. Between them, they scarfed down a dozen heart-shaped banana-pecan pancakes—a recipe from Ofie’s “Chubby Girl Delights”
file. Ofie and Star cleared the table, sang “Happy Birthday,” and handed over their gifts.
From the brown paper gift bag from Ofie, Chloe pulled out a set of black Converse sneakers Ofie had decorated using a bleach
pen. One shoe had a neat series of dots and dashes, but the other was smeared beyond recognition. Chloe immediately kicked
off her slippers and put them on.
“I had a sneeze fit while I made the right one; that’s why it’s fuzzy,” Ofie confessed, crouching over to see how they looked
on Chloe’s feet. “Otherwise, aren’t they as sweet as honey on apple pie? Oh, and there are cotton panties to match! Nana Chata
bought them at Wal-Mart for me, but they’re too small. I thought they’d fit you. I used the bleach pen to write CC all over
them. For Crafty Chloe!”
Chloe gripped the undies to her chest and scooted over to give Ofie a pat on the shoulder. In Chloe body language, that equaled
a bear hug.
Star set a pretty black, white, and taupe box on the glass tabletop and pushed it with her purple-polished fingertips. Chloe
opened it to find the book
52 Projects: Random Acts of Everyday Creativity
by Jeffrey Yamaguchi, a black-and-white mud-cloth journal, and a CD wrapped in pretty origami paper.
Star, a desert native, reached for her turquoise silk shawl and put it over her shoulders to calm her shivers from the sixty-nine-degree
temperature. “I know you are Crafty Chloe, queen of all things creative, but I thought you might like this book. Just when
you think your left brain is tapped, peek at any page. It has all kinds of random art adventures to try. And the journal is
from my mom. She made it at the Omega Institute and mailed it to me just for you. That mud cloth was given to her by a beautiful
Nigerian healer. Mom says it has good energy.”
Tears sprang to Chloe’s eyes, and she thought of the beautiful box Star had so lovingly made for Theo. The old Chloe had rescued
it from the garbage for selfish reasons, and the new Chloe regretted being so thoughtless.
“No need to cry! Wait, there is one more gift,” Star said.
Chloe slid her manicured finger under the clear tape so she wouldn’t rip the paper. She held the package upside down and slid
out the CD. “No way!” she said in the most gleeful tone Star or Chloe had ever heard from her.
“It’s reggae en Español,” Star said. “The band is called—”
“Reggae Sol, I’ve heard of them,” Chloe said, hoping she didn’t blush too much. “I actually met the lead singer at that silly
Chi-Chi coffeehouse on Grand Avenue. Nice guy.”
“Oh my God. The lead singer from Reggae Sol had coffee at the Chi-Chi Coffee Cabana? I worked there for one day. I feel honored
now! If they ever come back here for a concert, we are so going. You gotta hear them live. Consider it the rest of your birthday
gift!”
If only she could find a way to return the favor to Star. Chloe didn’t feel she deserved these friends. She had lied for months
and yearned to make it up to them.
“Thank you,” Chloe said, her voice almost cracking. “No one has ever done anything like this for me.” She rose to set the
gifts inside the house, came back, and walked to the edge of the patio to face the crisp blue skyline.
