Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (34 page)

“Every worthwhile accomplishment, big or little, has its stages of drudgery and triumph; a beginning, a struggle, and a victory.”

At 5:59 p.m. that Thursday evening, fifteen hundred hungry industry professionals waited outside the main banquet hall for
the formal dinner and awards presentation. Finally, the servers slowly pulled the majestic gilded doors open to reveal the
regal banquet hall. The mouths of the incoming guests gaped. They released a unified chorus of
“Oooooh!”
when greeted with millions of enchanting, sparkly glimmers of light all across the enormous dining room. The glass-glitter
cactus garden centerpieces.

Ofie, Star, and Benecio watched the professional attendees marvel at the handiwork on each piece—and then rib each other over
the silent auction sheet. They passed the paper back and forth across the table, each person scribbling a higher price to
determine which lucky person would own the southwest collectable.

“Our job here is done,” Star told Ofie, who put her arm around her friend and escorted her to their assigned table. Poor Chloe
refused to attend the dinner, for fear of confrontation by her former crafty colleagues. She did, however, have a special
package for Frances and hoped to encounter her before the convention ended.

By the end of the ceremony, every centerpiece had sold, raising almost twenty thousand dollars for local and national charities,
more than any previous CraftOlympics event. When Betty Oh! revealed the figure during dinner, the crowd roared with applause,
and Star, Ofie, and Benecio stood, waved, and bowed to show thanks. They knocked knuckles with one another and went back to
eating their strawberry cheesecake. Despite the drama it took to complete the centerpieces, they agreed the ordeal was worth
every drop of sweat and tears.

On Friday, the last morning of the CraftOlympics, Star taught a love shrine class arranged by her dad. She returned from the
three-hour seminar glowing about how she helped a group from the women’s shelter. During lunch with Chloe, Ofie, and Benecio,
she went on about her students, who created shrines for inspiration and hope in dealing with everything from divorces and
infertility to job hunting and returning to school. Star even talked to the director of the shelter, and volunteered to teach
the class once a month. After the meal, Star made one more spin around the convention center to ensure she soaked everything
up. She licked her thumb and ruffled through the pages in her embroidered notebook to check her list, and heard a group of
young girls asking people to knit a stitch.

Star tucked her notepad in her embossed leather shoulder bag and took a look at their booth.

“Wow, that poncho is gorgeous. Did you make it?” asked one of the girls to Star.

“I wish! My grandmother made it for me when I was a teenager. It’s two oversized Acapulco tourist scarves that she sewed together.”
Star lifted her locks and spun around to show off Nana Esteban’s handiwork. “So what are you up to here? I must have missed
this booth.”

Two other girls stood up. One of them guided Star to a large cardboard chair and had her sit, while the other girl shoved
knitting needles in her hands and a kamikaze-looking knitted blanket on her lap.

“Would you like to knit a stitch for our Victims of Violence blanket? It’s okay if you don’t know how to knit. We’ll teach
you.”

Well, what do you know?
Star thought.
Great minds think alike
.

“By any chance, was this awesome blanket knitted by all kinds of people united with a common goal of comfort and warmth to
those who have been harmed by violence?” she asked.

The girls swapped stunned looks. “Yes! That is exactly what it is about! We’ve been working on it for two years. This blanket
has traveled through Africa, Latin America, and India. After this show it goes to Japan. We’re trying to make it the world’s
biggest blanket, knitted by the most people.”

Wow
, Star thought. They even one-upped her idea. “Well, I’m honored to have met you.”

“What do you do? Are you an artist or a crafter?”

“Both. We all are both, don’t you think?” Star asked. “So, are you based in Phoenix?”

“We are, but the national organization is in San Francisco. Why?”

Star pulled out her notebook again and wrote all of her contact information, ripped out the page, and handed it over. “I’m
opening a local craft boutique soon and I would love to have you bring the blanket for people to see and learn about your
cause. I can help you reel in more knitters, plus set up a donation drive too. In the meantime, I would love to add some stitches.
Will you teach me?”

That afternoon Star returned home to work on her business plan for The Glittered Cactus. Chloe volunteered to work the booth,
since Ofie had been asked to do a last-minute media satellite tour. The CraftOlympics executives were even talking about sending
her to New York in March for a National Craft Month publicity road trip.

While Chloe manned the table in her ludicrous getup, her brain free of worries, she slouched back in her folding chair and
crossed her Rockette-worthy legs. She examined her unpolished nails, which hadn’t seen a mani in a month. Now unemployed,
she’d have to cut back on a few splurges even though Gustavo had agreed to take over her loft payments until it sold. She
couldn’t wait until they found a place together so they could begin their new journey as a married couple. Chloe smirked just
thinking about it. With both their savings, she didn’t have to find a job for a while. For the first time since grade school,
she could actually
relax
.

“I can’t believe you had the nerve to show up. Who are you trying to scam now? I should report you to the CraftOlympic authorities.”

Chloe didn’t move, but flicked her eyes up. She removed her glasses. Just the person she wanted to see—Frances. Talk about
a makeover! Frances showed off a tailored black business suit, no glasses, full makeup, and her hair stylishly piled and pinned
on top of her head. Ezra was by her side, and they both glared at Chloe as if she had just drained the blood from their firstborn.

“Frances, you look beautiful! And I’m not here for me. I’m here to support my friends and, as you can see, I’m lying low.”

“Right,” Ezra said, rolling his eyes.

Ignoring him, Chloe looked at her former assistant. “Frances, I have something for you.” Chloe bent over, retrieved a manila
envelope from her briefcase, and offered it.

“What is this?” Frances asked, standing back as if she expected the package to explode.

“It’s a letter of recommendation for you. Considering my situation, I’m not sure how much it will help, but I’ve also included
my entire media contact list for you to use as you wish. I put ideas in there on how to pitch a new craft series. If you work
hard, you can build it into something bigger. I’ve always said you were an outstanding designer, and anything I can do to
make up for my past shortcomings, I’ll do.”

Frances pouted. “Why are you being so nice? I mean, th-thank you.” She started to leave the booth, but then suddenly turned
back. “I’m sorry I hurt you like that. All I ever wanted was for you to like me! I worked so hard to please you, but nothing
was ever good enough for you.”

In that moment, Chloe saw herself as her mother, and Frances as her. Chloe rose and looked Frances in the eye. “I apologize
for being a horrible person. You deserved a better boss. Please call me if you ever need anything at all, okay? You are the
real deal. Beautiful inside and out.”

“Thank you, Ms. Chavez,” Frances replied, dabbing a tear from the corner of her eye. “For once, I can really tell you are
being sincere, and I appreciate it.”

Ezra, feeling excluded from the sisterfriend circle, wandered onto the next exhibit area. Chloe took advantage of the opportunity
to offer Frances a nugget of advice.

“If you don’t mind me saying, Frances—unless you and Ezra are madly in love, you can do much better.”

Frances nodded reassuringly, as if she already knew. The women shook hands with balanced respect, and wished one another the
best of luck.

Maybe Chloe’s father’s dream of her spotlight moment wouldn’t manifest after all, but he would be proud that she married Gustavo,
a good man who loved her. And who could serenade her while he steamed up a killer curry stir-fry.

“Did you have a good show?” Chloe asked Benecio when he approached the booth an hour later. He came around to stand next to
her and tugged at her glasses. “Those specs are hideous. Big sunglasses are so 2008. I could have designed a better disguise
than that!”

“Like I asked, did you have a good show?”

Benecio gave her a fast hug. “It was great. I got an endorsement from Ebony Leather, and two guest spots on some craft TV
shows!”

“Congrats, I knew you’d kill it!” She softly punched him with her fist.

“Chloe, I made you a wedding gift. I don’t think Gustavo will wear it, but I’ll make him his own bag later in Rasta colors.
Here’s yours. I call it the Naughty Neapolitan bag because it’s cream, hot pink, and light brown. I think it’s time you end
the taupe fixation, and move on to brighter colors. At least I gave you a longer strap, just how you like it.”

“Aw, thanks. Hey, these days, I’m all about trying new things. Pink, brown, and cream it is. It’s already my favorite,” she
said, tilting her head. “Hey, now, you’re dad is waiting for you. Go home and be a teenager. No more talk about work!” she
said, twisting him around by his shoulders to face his dad, who waited by the exit doors. Benecio waved and left the building.

Yes, the cosmos had sent Chloe a message: Step out of the spotlight so it could shine on others more deserving. She pushed
the silly hat off her head, let her blond hair cascade to her shoulders, and swiped the glasses off her face. Who cared if
anyone recognized her? She’d have to fess up to the crafting community eventually. Might as well be now. Bored, she unfastened
her makeup compact and checked her teeth for lipstick smears. She heard a couple women snicker in her direction when they
passed by the table. Maybe she wasn’t ready for the backlash after all, she thought as she lunged for the hat.

“Chloe Chavez?” came an upbeat voice from behind.

Chloe inhaled, exhaled, and turned to answer. After being so mean to so many people, she braced to take some boomerang blows.
“Yes…?” she replied with caution, ready to block any oncoming rotten tomatoes aimed at her face.

Chloe could have hyperventilated, but she didn’t.

The voice belonged to Betty Oh! And alongside her stood a gentleman in a smooth black suit, briefcase in hand. “Hi, Chloe,
I’m Betty O’Hara. I’ve heard so much about you, I wanted to come and introduce myself. It’s so nice to meet you!”

Chloe let her hat fall to the floor so she could shake Betty Oh!’s famous hand. “The honor is all mine, Betty. You’ve been
such an inspiration to me. I suppose you’ve heard about what happened, but I assure you, I’m a changed person. I didn’t mean
to disgrace the craft industry.”

“Please, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I’ve been there.”

“You have?” Chloe asked.

“Sure! We’ve all had to go to extremes to reach our goals. The TV industry will do that to you. Do you know one time I posed
as a belly dancer just to sneak into a media expo? I wore a scarf around my face, and shimmied and shook my hips. At the end
of every performance I handed out little Betty Oh! CD-ROMS cut to the size of business cards.” Betty laughed.

Her friend, visibly surprised, crossed his brows and half smiled. “You never told me that. Is that how you’ve come so far?
Secret belly dances?”

Betty tossed her head back and let out another robust chuckle. “Oh gosh, I haven’t thought of that in ages. I like to think
of it as my
Charlie’s Angels
undercover moment. I have always loved crafting so much that I wanted to make a living from it. I didn’t want to be a journalist
or a TV star. I used those avenues to launch my home arts career.”

“Funny,” Chloe replied, wrapping her arms around herself, “that is the opposite of my story.”

“Well. It gets better.” Betty continued. “You know the morning craft segments I did on KPDM? Originally when I asked to do
them the executive producer said no. He thought it would lessen the credibility of the newscast. But I knew different. I crafted
with women and kids in my spare time, and I knew they would love the feature. I couldn’t convince him. So one day, I hid all
the supplies under my suit jacket. Instead of sharing the Wednesday grocery ads, I pulled out the supplies and taught how
to make a gift card book from cut-up cereal boxes. My boss stormed onto the set, furious! I almost lost my job. He sent me
home early, suspended me for a day without pay. I cried my eyes out because I thought I had lost income for my family, all
because of a self-indulgent delusion. But the viewers saved me, Chloe. They called in and demanded my return—and more crafty
ideas! The rest is history.”

“Oh my God, Betty, that is an amazing story,” Chloe said. “I’ve followed every inch of your career and never knew that. I
always thought these great gigs came your way out of luck.”

Betty walked behind the table and relaxed on the closest chair. “The great gigs come from loving what you do. And you have
to love it so much that you would do it for free. If my career ended tomorrow, I would still be at home cropping photos of
my kids. And yes, some amount of luck—or as I call it, serendipitous timing—is involved. But we have to make our own luck,
Chloe. And it can’t be modeled after anyone else’s. We have to pinpoint our best qualities and market them. And that is what
brings me here to you.”

“What?” Chloe asked, fascinated, as she smoothed her hair back. She wondered if she needed more lipstick.

“Chloe, I’d like you to meet a colleague of mine, Rene Cordova,” Betty said.

Rene extended his arm and shook Chloe’s shaky hand. “Hi, Chloe. I’m a senior casting director from Cosmopolitan Casa Productions.
We produce high-quality Latino-themed shows for various networks. Betty has become a partner, and has shown me some of your
clips. You’re a natural. We’re very impressed with you. We’re here because we have some exciting opportunities that we’d like
to run by you and your agent.”