Lone Star Legend (6 page)

Francisco piped up. “As Sandy said, I’ll be making graphics for her posts. And for whoever else needs them. Then I was thinking
we could do a piece on Latino presence on FaceSpace and the Spanglish version of Leetspeak. And one on Latinos playing online
video games and forming their own guilds. And, um… Latino porn sites?” His voice cracked on that last phrase. George guffawed
outright.

But Angelica nodded. “Good. Highlight the most popular Latino users on FaceSpace and the other social networking sites. That’ll
get them to visit Nacho Papi and bring their friends. Then, Francisco, you get us screenshots of all the Latino porn sites,
with the raciest parts blackboxed, of course. George will rate the sites and Sandy will discuss how exploitive and disgusting
they are. People will eat that up.”

George agreed enthusiastically and Francisco seemed relieved to have come up with ideas that met approval. Sandy looked over
at Lori, who seemed to be sweating bricks and fighting the urge to chew her black-painted nails. She knew she was next, and
Sandy knew she had nothing.
Oh, Lori
, she thought.
Come on. Try.
Sandy had helped her make a few videos at the bar. It was bizarre to Sandy, the way Lori could be so lively and funny entertaining
customers but then fell completely apart talking about real work. Sandy felt that she herself was just the opposite. Work
stuff was easy—it was the social butterfly routine that was difficult in her mind.

“I, uh. I, uh,” Lori said to Angelica’s expectant smile. “I normally just helped Oscar… I mean, I help Sandy and George and
the others with fact-checking and research. And, um… formatting and stuff.”

“This is your chance to do more than that,” said Angelica. “I reviewed your videos over the weekend. They were good—the camera
really likes you. Do you enjoy doing the man-on-the-street interviews?”

Lori nodded.

“Would you feel comfortable doing video pieces exclusively, maybe in other cities?” Angelica asked.

Lori nodded again.

“Would you be willing to change your look?” When Lori didn’t immediately nod, Angelica quickly said, “Nothing drastic. I like
what you have going on now, but I’d like to polish it up just a bit.”

Lori nodded for a third time. Sandy had the funny impression that she’d just nodded away her soul. She couldn’t tell if Lori
was genuinely enthused about Angelica’s ideas or just relieved that someone else had made all the decisions for her.

“All right.” Angelica stood, indicating that the meeting was over. “Good job. George and Sandy, e-mail your finished posts
to me, then get to work on more. Francisco, get with George and Sandy to find out what graphics they need, then start on the
pieces we’ve discussed. Lori, you’ll work on formatting approved posts for now. Use the branding guidelines I gave you last
week.”

“Oh, uh…” That was Lori.

“Yes?”

“What about Carolina and Monica? Are they going to be doing anything?”

There was a deep pause, as if everyone around the table were collectively holding their breath. Angelica let the silence hang
for a moment, then gave Lori her brightest smile of the morning and replied, “Carolina and Monica e-mailed me their resignations
last night.”

If they’d been in high school, Sandy thought, that would have been the moment for everyone to chorus, “Ooooh!”

But they weren’t in high school. And they all wanted to keep their jobs. So Sandy and the others minded their own business
and set to work.

Posts from Nacho Papi’s Web Site, Monday, March 20

by Sandy S.

Welcome to Nacho Papi. I’m one of your hosts and I’m here to give you the latest news about Latinos in politics and popular
culture. Our goal is to make sure our people get represented. We intend to keep it real and to force mainstream media to do
the same.

by PapiChulo

We’re not here to give you news, we’re here to entertain you! We’ll be pondering the great questions of our time, like whether
Kelly Morales got butt implants and whether Simon Bolivarez could kick Chuck Norris’s ass. Also, I’ll be representing Cubanos
so it doesn’t get too Mexican up in here. Consider me your man’s man and your ladies’ man, and call me your PapiChulo.

by Hi Tech Aztec

Using FaceSpace to interface with your peeps in Chiapas, San Salvador, or Bogotá? I can help you out. Need to know where to
download the latest reggaetón? Hit me up. Whether you want to translate abuelita’s RSS feed or upload videos of your lowrider,
I’m your man.

by Philippe

I’m writing to you from Luna de Miel in Beverly Hills, where they have the best tapas and the second best mojitos. I’ll be
dissecting the local scene all week, and then the local scene will switch to Austin, where I’ll join my brothers and sisters
at Nacho Papi HQ. I’m looking for the best in fashion, shopping, and society from San Antonio to San Francisco, from New York
to New Mexico. Maybe your town next, if you write and let me know what’s worth seeing there.

by Lori G.

I’m not too big on words, but I hope to see you soon.;)

Blog entry from My Modern TragiComedy, Thursday, March 23

I feel safe telling you guys this, since, as I’ve explained before, HeartThrob GeekBoy doesn’t read this site. Technically,
he knows I thought about starting a blog a while back. But since blogs are too low-brow for his MFA-having self, he forgot
about it almost immediately after I first mentioned it. As far as I’m concerned, that gives me poetic license, so to speak,
to say whatever I want about him. It’s not my fault if he isn’t interested in my hobbies.:)

Besides him, my only readers are my two best friends (Are you reading this, you two? Probably not, huh?:) ) and then all of
you. Wonderful, anonymous You.

So, as I said, I feel perfectly safe mentioning here that, despite HTGB’s reservations, I’m taking a new opportunity. That’s
right—the Cheerleader talked me into joining her squad. I’m going to be writing a genre that’s completely new to me, and I
hope you guys will read my work on the new site. Even if you won’t know it’s me writing it. I have to stay anonymous here,
you know.

But here’s a hint: If you hear about a hot new site coming out of Austin with hilarious and insightful cultural and entertainment
commentary, think of me.

If, on the other hand, you hear about a crappy new site with boring, fluffy hack work… then forget I said anything, okay?:)

Love,

Miss TragiComic Texas

T
he Friday after the site’s soft launch, Sandy stood outside the Fat Man waiting for Daniel. He was late, as usual.

The coffee-shop-slash-bar was on the edge of Austin’s low-lying downtown. Although she was more than a mile from it, Sandy
could easily see the top of the Capitol from where she stood waiting. There were only parking lots and one- or two-story buildings
between Sandy and the famous stone lady, plus one shiny new skyscraper off to the side—the city’s first-ever skyscraper downtown.
As she always did when standing downtown, comparing her hometown to Dallas’s or Houston’s glittery skylines, Sandy thought
about the endangered owls and salamanders that were supposed to be benefitting from Austin’s lack of urban sprawl. She’d never
seen any of these mythical beings, but she wished them well.

Students and grad students and everyone else streamed through the Fat Man’s weathered wooden doorway, and Sandy began to feel
self-conscious about standing there alone. She wished she’d brought her laptop so she could take a table by herself without
feeling even more awkward.

Instead, she pulled out her phone and called her friend Veronica, who answered from an art supply store in Dallas. They talked
about Sandy’s first week of posts on Nacho Papi, all of which Veronica, a longtime devotee of
Hate-O-Rama.com
, had loved. They talked about Veronica’s upcoming exhibit, for which Sandy would drive to Dallas the next day.

Then they discussed their mutual friend Jane, their respective parents, and Veronica’s dog. Veronica had begun giving Sandy
a long list of suggestions for future Nacho Papi posts when Daniel finally showed up.

Sandy finished her phone call and followed him into the Fat Man without a word, letting her silence do the talking. He knew
she hated to be kept waiting, but he always had an excuse.

“Am I really late? I’m sorry, but I had a student ambush me in my office to tell me some sob story about why she missed the
last exam. I got out of there as fast as I could, believe me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sandy said tersely. What else could she say? There was always a reason.

Someone called to Daniel—one of his fellow TAs—and, before she knew it, they were forging a path through the crowd to join
his friends at a dark, crowded corner table under the shelf of replicated antique beer steins. Just like they always did.

Everyone at the table—Mike, Kerry, Donovan, Michelle, and their assorted girlfriends, boyfriends, or friends—greeted Daniel
and Sandy as they took the offered seats. Daniel ordered Shiners from a waitress in shorts and long striped socks. He gave
Sandy a quick kiss and asked her how her day had been. She opened her mouth to give him a standard answer, and someone said,
“So, Daniel, what about Whitfield’s new syllabus requirements? Total bitch, huh?” And then he was off and running with his
buddies, down the endless road of university politics.

Sandy listened for as long as she could with an interested smile plastered onto her face. For what felt like the hundredth
time she studied the oddities and antique signs nailed to the walls around them. She watched the other patrons, other groups
of grad students and TAs winding down after a long week. International students laughing around a dart board. Girls clustered
around the jukebox, punching in the latest indie songs that only got played on the college stations. The inevitable creepy
old guy in an unseasonable jacket, sipping his lager and staring at the coeds.

She held a brief, strange side conversation about eighteenth-century literature with one of the other TAs’ girlfriends. But
then that ended and, before long, Sandy’s thoughts drifted to her own work.

“Bored?” Daniel whispered into her ear. It was the first thing he’d said to her since they’d taken their seats, and he’d just
ordered the third round. “Do you want to leave?”

Sandy realized that she must have been spacing out in an obvious way. “No, not at all. I’m good.”

Assured by her smile, he went right back to his conversation with his friends. She went back to planning her posts for Nacho
Papi next week. Gazing at her beer bottle, she was reminded of a billboard in her mother’s neighborhood for new Limonveza
lime-flavored beer. The billboard was in Spanish.

What, she wondered, was with the proliferation of lime-flavored products being marketed to Latinos? And what were the ramifications
of targeted liquor ads? She’d have to research. If she could strike the right tone between humorous and skeptical, she’d have
herself a winner.

Her mind wheeled idly through different possibilities, and then it occurred to Sandy that sitting in a bar, surrounded by
incoherent noises, being ignored and ignoring the conversations of others, was actually a pretty productive way to brainstorm.

“We’re leaving in a little while,” Daniel whispered into her ear. He sounded irritated. Sandy wondered what was bothering
him this time.

S
HE FOUND OUT
during the ride back to his place.

“You know,” he started, “if you didn’t want to go to the Fat Man tonight, you could have just said so.”

“What do you mean? I didn’t
not
want to go,” Sandy answered. She turned to look at him, to see if he was serious. Behind his head, the lights of the university
buildings and then those of Guadalupe Boulevard flowed by.

“Right. That’s why you were sitting there ignoring everyone, then,” he said. His tone was light, but he stared straight ahead
at the road and wouldn’t even glance at her.

“I wasn’t ignoring everyone. At least, I wasn’t
trying
to. Sometimes you guys get started with your UT stuff, and you talk about things that have nothing to do with me, so what
am I supposed to do? I can’t help spacing out a little.”

“You could try
listening
. I would think you’d want to take an interest in my work and the things that affect my life.” He’d reached Hyde Park now
and turned onto the street that led to his house.

“I
am
interested,” Sandy returned. “But somehow I didn’t think Mike’s theories about which adjuncts Kerry’s slept with were something
that affected your career.”

Daniel sighed. “I’m not saying that. Mike’s a jerk. I’m just saying… It’s really important that I get along with these people,
and you sitting there with an annoyed look on your face doesn’t help.”

“I had an annoyed look on my face?”

Daniel didn’t answer until after he’d pulled into his driveway. Then, finally turning to look her in the eye, he said, “Not
exactly. You just looked like you wished you were somewhere else.”

It was Sandy’s turn to sigh. “Daniel, if I hadn’t wanted to be there, I would have said so the first two times you asked me.”

He didn’t reply to that. So she said nothing. But the air between them was crammed with unspoken thoughts.

Sandy wanted to ask if he expected her to kiss up to his co-workers, or if it’d be easier for him if he was dating another
TA. But she wasn’t brave enough to ask. She could tell he had things he wanted to say, too, but she couldn’t imagine what
those things were, and he obviously wasn’t brave enough either.