Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (25 page)

Al opened the envelope, pulled out a little cream-colored card with scalloped edges, and read it aloud.

“To Estrella Feliz—my favorite happy star. Congratulations on your show. I never had a doubt.”

“See what I mean, Dad? About Harrison?” she said, now holding a rose between her teeth and twirling about the floor.

Al flicked the card with his finger. “They’re not from Harrison. They’re from Theo.”

L
a Pachanga always delivered the biggest Día de los Muertos celebration in the state with week-long festivities. Each year,
more than ten thousand people filtered through the plaza, restaurant, gallery, and bakery throughout the grand finale three-day
weekend. Busloads of educational tours, art collectors, and families arrived all throughout the weekend, beginning that Friday
afternoon. Al and Dori always opened the fiesta with a blessing from Father O’Grady from the Sacred Heart church, and closed
on Sunday at dusk with a community candlelight vigil.

Most of the crowd consisted of chicos and chicas who came to scarf carne asada burritos, flirt, and shoot the breeze with
their homies. They hung out all day for a variety of activities: to contribute to the community Day of the Dead altar that
Star assembled, to watch the Aztec dance performers, to decorate sugar skulls with icing, and to party the night away to the
house band, Las Feministas.

The community recognized Star as the pretty daughter of the owners who orchestrated the entire event in past years, but not
this weekend. This year her only contribution was her collection of hand-crafted love shrines on display in La Pachanga’s
gallery.

Star’s heart quickened when she saw the KPDM-13 news van pull into the media cove. It would be nice if a miracle happened
and Chloe showed up to report live from the event. Holding her breath, she watched as a different reporter climbed out of
the vehicle, amazed at the amount of attendees. No miracles tonight.

“Well, hello there, la fina artista,” Harrison said as he stood behind Star and placed his hands on her shoulders. She loved
that Harrison was trying to learn Spanish, even if his progress was slow. The handsome couple stood on the sidewalk in front
of La Pachanga’s entrance doors. The sun had just set, which triggered a crisp and chilly November evening.

Star led Harrison into the gallery to see her work, and before they entered, a little girl no older than ten stopped them.
She hopped up and down with excitement, and smiled up at Star. “Your picture boxes are supercool. Did you make them all by
yourself?”

Star bent over and offered her hand for a shake. The girl stared at it, entranced by Star’s clunky junk drawer charm bracelet
and the multiple rings on her fingers. “Hi! Thank you for liking them. And yes, I sure did, all by myself in my mom’s craft
room at home.”

“Will you show me how to make one?” the girl asked.

“Sure, I’d love to!” Star stood up, put her arm around the child, and invited her mother and father to leave their contact
information with Minnie at La Pachanga’s front counter. “If you can bring her some afternoon, I’d be glad to teach her,” Star
said.

“We really appreciate that. We just purchased two of your pieces,” the girl’s father said. “
El Perrito
and that big one inside the heart box, I think it is called…”

“
La Chica Tormenta
!” Star blurted, thrilled that they actually spent their hard-earned money on her artwork. “I personally wood-burned all those
phrases around the outside of it. My arm is still sore!”

“Well, we love it. You have such a flair for combining colors and textures. Who would have thought to paint on sandpaper?
And the crystals—it must have taken forever to put them all over those edges,” said the mom. “And your themes are so humorous,
but warm too. We’re going to hang these boxes in our entryway. Good luck with the show, and thank you for keeping the prices
affordable. Also—I
adore
your dress; it really suits your style.”

Star thanked her with an embrace and took the compliment as good luck. She had meticulously prepared her clothing ensemble
for her debut show. Choosing what to wear turned out to be more difficult than creating the shrines. Her first plan involved
a slinky slip dress in honor of Elizabeth Taylor in
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
. But then Star remembered the fiesta was more of a cultural family event, so she thought about wearing a teal Eastern Indian
beaded tunic over a matching pencil skirt. Fifteen minutes before she left for the show, Star ripped off the pieces and settled
on what she really wanted to wear in the first place: a sleeveless crimson linen cocktail dress, offset with a shimmery olive-green
cashmere wrap around her arms. As with all her ensembles, the dress perfectly accentuated her hourglass figure and had that
colorful boho spirit. She positioned a red rose behind her ear, dusted fairy glitter on her eyelids, and slipped on zebra-striped
pointy heels that added that final zingy Star Esteban detail. She then clipped on a set of vintage Mayan-inspired silver medallions
that were embedded with chunks of coral.

Star and Harrison entered the gallery room and traded “do-you-see-what-I-see?” head tilts. Dozens of men, women, teens, college
students, and kids wandered about the space to admire her love shrines. To the left of the room, Star thought she saw Benecio.
She stood on her tippy toes, propped her hand across her forehead like a seaman, and searched the gallery.

Margot, a server, stepped in their way. “Hi, Star. Would you like some
star
fruit?” she asked, holding a beautiful spread of the fruity treats.

Star let out a big “Awwwww!” and rubbed Harrison’s arm in excitement.

“This is so sweet! Whose idea was this?” Star asked while lifting a toothpick and poking it into a slice.

“His,” Margot said, raising her chin to where Benecio stood.

“… And now… if you will step over here, please, this piece is called
Las Craftistas Amigas
and it is
not
for sale because it is priceless. Star was going through great strife in her life with her personal friendships, and used
that tragic sorrow as a catalyst for—
oh!
Look, people!” Benecio announced with a broad, toothy smile while waving his arm in Star’s direction. “It’s Star—the woman
of the evening! She’s here!”

Before Star could speak, the crowd rushed in to take turns meeting her and asking about her decorated assemblage art pieces.

An hour later, the gallery gawkers were still going strong. They lingered at each art piece, dissected the components, discussed
the titles, and made their conclusion of the artist’s motivation. Star tuned in to as many conversations as possible, awed
that strangers would devote so much attention to her creations. At one point, all the talking made her throat dry so she and
Harrison snuck away for a fresh air break. They went outside to the main plaza area of La Pachanga and marveled at the twinkling
white lights that Al had strung between the main rows of the vendor booths. The couple sipped on icy margaritas and toured
the attractions of the fiesta. On behalf of her parents and La Pachanga, Star stopped to personally thank each vendor for
taking part in the event. Harrison moved aside so a skeleton stilt walker could pass.

“So, tell me more about Dee-ya Day Los Mare-toes,” Harrison said in the cutest white-boy dialect. She smiled lovingly and
faced him.

“First, repeat after me: El. Día. De. Los. Muertos… It means Day of the Dead. It’s a three-thousand-year-old Mexican holiday.
It’s when we honor our loved ones who have passed away. It’s believed the spirits return home for one night, and their families
prepare for the visit by building altars with yummy scents and foods they liked while they were alive.”

“But why are there so many skeletons? For Halloween?” he asked.

“No, no, no…,” Star said. She hated when people connected the two traditions. “It has nothing to do with Halloween. The skeletons
represent death, but not in a frightening way. They are happy because they get to hang out with their friends and family again.
You will
never
see a scary skeleton when it comes to Día de Los Muertos. Remember that. It’s all about embracing the cycle of life and honoring
our ancestors and loved ones who have died.”

He sighed hard and bowed his head. “Cool. Makes me think of a couple buddies our unit lost last year. Real good guys.”

“We’re going to light a candle for them. Follow me.” She slipped her arm through his and led him through the crowd to the
main ofrenda, a shrine she built in honor of both sets of her grandparents, Nana and Tata Esteban and Nana and Tata Ortega.
Before they reached the altar, Harrison turned her around and tugged her close. She felt the roughness of his skin against
hers when he slid his palm behind her neck and planted a tender kiss on her matte cherry-red lips. He then leaned back and
held her chin in his hands.

“This friend shtick is killing me. What does it take for a guy to get an official date around here?”

Star cupped her hands around his. “Name the time and place.”

F
ive art booths away from the La Pachanga community Day of the Dead altar, Theo witnessed Harrison plant a kiss on Star’s lips.
Seeing her with another man made his veins swell. Theo may have lived in an affluent area for the past ten years and had graduated
at the top of his class, but this brought out his inner homeboy from when he grew up in Los Cuatro Milpas, a sleepy little
barrio just south of downtown Phoenix.

Star’s life had changed dramatically in the past few months, and so had his. But not for the better. True, his popularity
increased tenfold after the mural incident in August. It introduced a gaggle of new customers, including a well-known Santa
Fe art rep, and Theo’s client list doubled again since his presence at Sangria.

But none of it sparked his spirit. The euphoria of playing with paint, grout, clay, and glass used to be inspired by his muse,
Star. Now his efforts were nothing more than perfected-yet-uninspired techniques delivered in made-to-order pieces for corporate
clients and wealthy collectors. He mustered through his projects solely to collect the paychecks that rolled in fat and often.
He hankered for Star, and regretted fibbing about the Santa Fe relocation. The offer had just been made the day he bumped
into her at George & Dragon. Theo’s announcement fell out of his mouth, when he hadn’t even made the decision.

He had a deadline of November 8th to answer, three days away. If he accepted, he’d join a roster of nationally celebrated
artists. Before he decided, he wanted to discuss it with Star, make amends, and start all over. This time on a serious level.
If she agreed, he would stay in Phoenix and grow a life with her any way she pleased.

But seeing her in the moment—happy, gorgeous, successful, and on the arm of another man—he wondered if he had done her a favor.
Maybe for the past three years,
he
had held
her
back, rather than the other way around.

Stacey, a longtime La Pachanga waitress, wandered by with a tray of Coronas and Hornitos shots.

“Hey, Theo, Mr. Big-Time Gallery Superstar, what’s up?” she said loud enough to be heard over the strolling mariachis. “Where’ve
you been hiding out?”

He drew out a few bills from the front pocket of his slacks and dropped them on her tray. “Two shots, one cerveza, please,”
he said as he grabbed a folding wood chair and sat on it backward. He downed the first shot, sucked a lemon wedge, let out
a dry cough, grabbed the beer, and chugged it. “How are those love shrines going over?”

“Great. It’s barely after nine and I heard they’ve all sold. We’re all so dang happy for Star. What a turnaround, wouldn’t
you say? Who knew she had so much talent? Those assemblage thingies are wicked slick.”

“I’m not surprised at all,” he slurred.

“The cheapest one is two hundred and fifty dollars and the highest was over a grand. And she is donating half the proceeds
to charity.”

Theo slurped another mouthful of tequila and downed a chaser beer in one uninterrupted motion. “Uno mas.”

“Here, it’s on the house,” she said, plucking the last shot from her tray. “Hey, don’t you have a show in Scottsdale tonight?
Star told all of us to go check it out and cheer you on.”

“I’m not going. There’s nothing worthy to see anyway…” He downed the sauce without lemon or salt, began to sway, and blathered
on about his last show at Sangria.

Stacey snuck away in search of Al so he could tend to the guy, but Star arrived first. When she saw Theo from where she stood
with Harrison, she immediately grabbed her iPhone and texted Theo’s cousin, Victor, who lived in the neighborhood. Then she
marched over to Theo.

“Theo, you’re a mess. You know better than to go past three shots! Come sit down inside. You need to eat.”

He tried to straighten himself up, but staggered instead. He overadjusted the invisible tie around his neck, licked his hand,
and sloppily smoothed the front of his grown-out hair. His glassy eyes fluttered. “Estrella… you are like a refreshing, soothing,
frosty, savory, delicious soda pop in the desert… and I’m Mr. Thirsty!” He stepped forward and reached his arms out to hug
her like old times, but Harrison stepped in.

“Let me help you out there, buddy. Grab my arm… steady now…,” he said as he gripped Theo’s wrists.

“No.” Theo retracted his hands from Harrison’s and thrashed them about. “I don’t want you. I want
her
!” and he pointed to Star. “
Her!
Right there. Let me have her…
please
… let me have her…”

Harrison neared Star, as if to protect her. Bewildered beyond belief, Star didn’t know what to do. She had never seen Theo
this wasted. Her initial instinct was to leave the party, take him home, and sober him up.

She placed her hand gently on Harrison’s shoulder. “He’s a good friend. I can handle this on my own…,” she said.

Al entered the scene and motioned for Star to stand back. “He’s a grown man. Let him be.”