The Almost Murder and Other Stories (2 page)

I put soup in a bowl and threw an ice cube in so she wouldn't burn her tongue. Wanda laughed at my ice trick, but slurped it down fast, happy as can be. She eats good food or garbage with equal joy. When she finished eating, I led her by Pops. As we passed, Wanda said, “Shh, Tío's sleeping.” I nodded. Nice that little kids are so innocent.

I ran Wanda a bubble bath. She peed while singing “Old McDonald.” Moms came to the door, holding up her dress-up suit. It's royal blue and looks new since she barely wears it. I told her it was just right, so she smiled and left the room.

I swung Wanda into the tub with my old bath toys we keep for her and our little cousins. She loves the rubber ducky and letters she sticks on the side of the tub, even though “M,” “Q” and “D” are long gone. She made up words like “RFL” and “YPSK” while I scrubbed her squirmy self. I toweled her dry while she had giggle fits, then squeezed her into the too-tight pajamas she'd brought.

We played Go Fish in my room. Wanda was so sugar-wired, I had to read her five stories before she fell asleep in my bed. Her mom has our key and lets herself in real late, scoops up Wanda and carries her home next door. The kid never wakes up.

I took a shower and whipped through math. We didn't have much, thanks to the field trip. Moms came in, smiling. First, she kissed Wanda and then me. I still feel like a little girl when Moms cuddles me.

“Big day for you tomorrow,
mija
, I know it,” she said, stroking my hair.

“Say your prayers, talk to
Dios
,” Moms said, and left me with Wanda.

I did pray, hard, to Jesus and my namesake, Saint Ann. I asked them to help with the dude, the show, my life. I cuddled up to Wanda, who smelled like baby shampoo
and grape candy, even after brushing her teeth. She breathed steady as a little motor.

I tried to fall asleep but couldn't turn off my brain; it swam with thoughts. It was after two when I finally went out. I never even heard Wanda's mom get her. When my alarm rang at 6:30, I sat up, remembering it all. Then, my gut clenched—what if I'd been dreaming?

Moms came in, still in a robe. She leaned down, whispering a plan for us to meet at school and ride to the city later. It was real. Real! I took a deep, happy breath. Moms didn't want Pops to know a thing, so she slid the dude's card into my hand.

“Whatchu two whisperin' about, huh?” Pops growled, sticking his hung-over blowfish of a face into the room. His hair, kinky like mine but brown, stuck out in all directions. If he wasn't so surly, he'd be a funny sight. Moms stuck a slice of toast in his mouth to shut him up.

I wore my cleanest sneakers and newest jeans, with a hoodie, but put my best sweater, hot pink with rhinestones, into my backpack. My plan was to change after last period. I ran to the kitchen, grabbed a sweet roll and a juice box, plus the lunch Moms packed. Then I kissed her and left, wanting to be gone before Pops left the shower.

I jog-walked to the bus stop and found Nellie and Miguel. We got on the Third Avenue local and sat in back. Nellie asked if I'd called the dude and what happened.

“What do you think, Nellie?” I said, with a look like, “I'm no dumb
gringa
.”

“Good move,” Nellie said, nodding. She isn't very adventurous and would never call a stranger from the subway. Miguel wasn't listening. Cap over his eyes, he'd leaned on the window for a nap. Nellie and I unzipped our backpacks and compared math answers; ten were different. One of us had a lot wrong; I hoped it wasn't me.

I had a gut full of butterflies I always get when something big is about to happen. Homeroom was nothing but a blur. I took down notes on Parent's Night like a robot. Then, I walked to math with Nellie. Once we handed in our work, I barely stayed awake for Mr. Drew's explanation of the next problem set before we hit the cafeteria for lunch.

Moms had made my favorite, a swiss and turkey on wheat. I took a few bites, but couldn't eat anymore—too nerved-up. Nellie raised her brows: I'm not one to miss a meal.

“Save that, girl!” Nellie urged, so I put it into my backpack. When the bell rang, we headed to Language Arts, but I snuck out the sandwich and tossed it. Wasting food's no good, but I didn't want the cheese smell to get on my good sweater.

I tried not to think about the dude or his show, but it was hopeless. I was real spacy. When Mrs. Grey asked me to read a sonnet, I couldn't find my place. She was surprised, since I'm top of the class, but asked Lee the Pothead, who stumbled through it.

The bell rang for study hall. I went to my desk and pulled out David's card. I wanted to kiss it for luck but didn't. I pulled out a book, pretending to read, but daydreaming. I looked up at the class clock, down at my Timex. Up/down. Up/down.

Thankfully, art class was last. Nellie took music, not art, and had Glee Club after. It was the one day we didn't ride home together. I wouldn't have to explain why Moms was meeting me, or where we were going.

We're on Abstract Art, so I swirled paint around, careful not to get any on my jeans. This was soothing, mixing colors, watching them blend.

At three, the old bell finally rang. I jumped up so fast I tilted my easel and spilled water all over. I grabbed some
stiff brown paper towels to sop it up. Miss Woo tried to talk to me about joining Art Club, but I said I had a family issue and would talk to her tomorrow. I thanked her for asking, and hustled away.

I flew down the stairs to a first-floor girls room. Once I opened the heavy door, the smell of reefer was strong, like always. I tried to breathe real shallow while I was in there; I didn't want a contact buzz making my head foggy.

I went into the only empty, not out-of-service, stall. I zipped off my hoodie and stuck it in my bag. Then, I took out the sweater, glad it wasn't wrinkled. I pulled it on, so sweaty from nerves that wooly hairs stuck to my under-arms. Ugh. I put on some deodorant I carry for gym, hoping to smell fresh, not like a sweat-bag.

The girls in the stall to my right were laughing like hyenas, high for sure. One of them, my friend Lydia's sister, Tai, poked her head under the opening between stalls.

“Hiiiiiii, want a hit?” Tai asked. She's fourteen, and looks twelve.

“No, but thanks,” I said, and left the stall.

At the sink, I noticed my hands were covered in paint. I scrubbed hard, with that nasty yellow liquid soap. Tai and her girls were laughing louder. I counted four pairs of legs while a smoke cloud drifted from under their stall.

I looked in the mirror. Not bad, but something was missing. I pulled out my makeup bag, painted on eyeliner and added pink lip gloss. I bent over and shook out my hair. Then, I left, sniffing my own arms to be sure I didn't smell like pot.

A group of four idiot freshman boys howled and wolf-whistled like they'd never seen boobs in a sweater before. Revolting! They'd seen me sniff my arms.

“Don't worry, baby, you smell sweet as candy,” one of them said. Ugh.

Moms was just outside the door. We hugged and walked down the cement stairway. At the bottom, Moms showed me a cloth hanky, with her gold cross necklace folded inside. She wanted to put it on me, for luck, in the subway.

We walked three blocks to the train station, arm in arm, and down the grimy pee-smelling stairs. Yuck. Moms got a two-way ticket; I used my metro-card. The express train came right away and we found a double seat together.

Moms looked good in her suit, with a white top underneath. In place of the cross, she had on fake pearls that looked real. Moms slid out the hanky, held up the crucifix and chain, and had me swivel around. I held my hair aside, while she clipped it onto my neck in one try, with those nimble seamstress fingers of hers.

We got off at 57th and went to the nearest building. The number was close to the dude's office address, so we were early. I told Moms we should stall for time.

You know Moms thinks no good Latina should drink any Starbucks, but as we headed east up 57th it was the only place around, so we went in. Moms treated us to a mocha frappuccino. Just one: a
venti
. We got two straws and slurped it down. I let her have more than me.

“Ha!,” she said, “it was ‘almost' worth the four bucks it cost.”

We went to the restroom in back, took turns going in, then hit the street, heading east. With nearly every step, the area got fancier. Jewelry stores, Lincoln town cars, men in suits, elegant ladies. A world away from Brooklyn.

We found 25 East 57th and walked into a lobby with modern art all over. A Latino
abuelo
-type with wavy white hair and a snappy uniform sat behind a desk. He looked Moms up and down with a smile. When I showed him my
Reel TV
card, he pointed to a turnstile, like they have down in the subway, but cleaner, and buzzed us in.

As we went through, he winked, saying,
“Buena suerte
,” to me. I guessed he'd seen other girls go in and out. This made my heart speed up; I hadn't thought about competition for my role before then. OMG! What if there were hundreds of them?

Before we got on the elevator, I checked out the long list of businesses in the building. Most of them had something to do with acting or modeling: agents, casting directors and production companies. Then, there it was: “Reel TV.”

Moms said a Hail Mary on the way up, and brushed imaginary crumbs off my sweater. We found the office. I took a big breath outside, expecting a sea of Latina teens, all redheads, all with their Moms, ready to take my part in the show away.

Instead, the room was empty, except for a receptionist behind an oval glass desk. Everything was bright, tasteful, fancy, like a TV talk show. The girl, who had blue eyes and a sleek light-brown pageboy, chirped, “I'm Charlotte, call me Charlie.” She was beanpole-thin and had on some Lucky jeans with a fuschia silk blouse.

“Red?” she asked. When I nodded, she smiled at Moms and said, “You must be Mrs. Rodríguez.” Moms said, “Yes,” and Charlie pointed at some red suede chairs. We sat down. Ohhh, it was like sitting on clouds. Charlie asked if we wanted coffee, tea or soda. I said, “A Coke, please,” but Moms elbowed me and told her we were fine. She never wants to accept a favor.

The room was half-glass, with a view like a Manhattan picture postcard. What could the place rent for? Five grand? Ten? On a transparent table were trendy magazines. I flipped one over; the thing cost twenty-five dollars! Moms said more Hail Marys.

My nerves were shredding and my pulse speedy when David walked in. He had on a Hugo Boss blazer, the funky
kind actors in
People
magazine wear. He looked good! David walked over to us, and I introduced him to Moms.

“Please call me David. May I call you Margarita?” he asked, taking Moms' hand, looking at her like she was a goddess.

“Now I see where your daughter gets her beauty, and that wonderful smile. You two look like sisters.” The dude had her giggling.

He nodded at the door and gestured for us to follow him. We walked down a long corridor with framed movie posters from the olden days. At the end of the hall was an oak door with David's name on it. Inside was his fancy, HUGE, rectangular office, with wraparound floor-to-ceiling windows.

David had us sit in cushy black leather chairs. We sank into our seats. There were eleven [I counted] Polaroids of teenagers on a cork board. Every size, shape, color. Names were magic-markered under every face.

David caught us staring and said, “Those are our Brooklyn kids—so far.” I wanted my face to be stuck up there with all the others more than anything.

David asked Moms if he could tape an interview with me. She nodded “Yes.” He smiled, took papers from his desk and had Moms sign a release form. Next, he led me over to a director's chair, the tall kind. It had “Reel TV” written on the back of it. From the wall behind me, David pulled down a blue shade background, then switched a light on under an umbrella thing. Finally, he picked up—Yes!—a Polaroid camera and asked me to smile.

David snapped three Polaroids, lined them up on his desk, and said, “Adorable.” Then, he got behind a camera on a tripod. He asked me to say my name, age and telephone number at the start, then began to shoot. I gave him my digits, and then he just talked to me: about life, school, family, plans. Typical questions adults ask.

You know I like to be creative, and I was. I've had practice, Cuz. Nelly has a camcorder we play with all the time. Usually, she shoots and I talk or clown around. We do make-believe screen tests and job interviews. Nellie can't stand to watch herself, but I like to, not because I'm vain, but it's cool seeing how I come off to others.

Shooting with David wasn't much different than my goofing around with Nelly, so I wasn't nervous. Not even a little. Moms calls me “Blabbermouth,” since I talk so much. So, I was fine. Ten minutes later, I was still going. David winked at me, turned off the camera and asked if he could bring his “associates” in. Moms and I nodded it was okay. So off he went.

What a rush! I loved that camera! Moms and I screeched, “Eeeeeeeeeek,” at each other like we always do when something exciting happens. We stifled ourselves, hands over our mouths. I felt like a movie star.

Soon David came back. With him was a tall, pretty, fortyish lady with high cheekbones. She wore a chic black knit dress, with white-blonde hair swept back into a French twist and she had the greenest eyes I've ever seen. At her throat was a diamond choker.

A tiny leprechaun-looking man with puppy-dog eyes peeked out from behind her. David introduced me and Moms to him first as, “Mr. Oliver.”

The little guy smiled, bowed and said “I've heard so much about you, Red.”

“Umm-thanks.” I stammered.

Now, David presented the lady to us as if she was the Queen of England.

“Red, Margarita, this is Agatha Lane, our executive producer.”

Agatha stared into me with her bright cat eyes (maybe contact lenses, but they looked real.) There was a long
silence while Agatha inspected me. I couldn't tell if she liked or hated what she saw. Sweat slid down my neck.