Playing for Keeps (5 page)

AFTER CARMEN
, Jamie, and Gaz had gone their various ways and the moms had headed into town for a sightseeing trip, Valeria and Alicia were alone at the ranch.

“It's a gorgeous day,” Valeria said. “I'll give you a tour of the property; I mean, if you'd like one. You ever ride a horse before?”

“It's, uh, been a while. But it's like riding a bike, right?” said Alicia, fibbing a little. She
had
ridden—once. She just hoped that some muscle memory of that lone, long ago elementary-school pony ride would kick in.

“Okay, then. I'm going to run up to the house and change. Do you want to change and I'll meet you back here, in, say, ten?”

“Sure,” Alicia said, going upstairs to the guest room she was sharing with Jamie and Carmen.

She'd been wearing a cornflower blue sundress, a red beaded necklace, and red sandals. A blue bandanna, folded as a headband, completed her country-chic look. But clearly, she couldn't go horseback riding in a dress. Alicia opened her suitcase and quickly changed into her favorite boot-cut jeans, a camel suede halter and the newly acquired cowboy boots that she had purchased the night before at Allen's Boot and Tack Shop near the ranch. Glancing in the mirror, she thought, Boy, do I do Texas fabulous well!

Alicia had changed quickly, but Valeria had still beaten her and was already in the kitchen waiting, wearing a pair of dusty jeans, a pink-pearl-buttoned cowboy shirt, and an honest-to-goodness white cowboy hat.

Valeria took in Alicia's ensemble. “You're not going to wear
that
, are you?”

“Why not?” Alicia said, grabbing a red apple from a big bowl on the wooden dining table. “I'm wearing jeans and a top, just like you.”

Valeria took a deep breath, as though it were painful to hear the comparison. “How much did those jeans cost? Two hundred bucks?” she asked.

“Three,” Alicia said, somewhat guiltily. “But they were a birthday present, and they are the only brand that fits me perfectly.”

Valeria threw her hands up in the air. “
¡Ay,
chica!
You don't want to wear three-hundred-dollar jeans to go horseback riding! One, you're going to be really uncomfortable, and will probably get jean burn. Two, they are going to get filthy.”

Alicia bristled. She was a practical girl. She ran her own company, for goodness' sake. What did Valeria take her for? She wasn't some coddled princess.

“I appreciate the advice, but I'll be fine,” Alicia said dismissively. “One, these jeans are supercomfy. That's one of the reasons they were worth the price, and two, if they get dirty, I'll wash them. No
problema
!”

“Okay,” Valeria said. “But your top is way too pretty for this ride. It's suede, and we're going to cross the shallow part of the river on this trip. The horses like to splash. And it's a halter—your back and arms are completely exposed to the sun, the bugs, and the brush. Please, I want this to be fun for you. Let me lend you some clothes.”

Alicia stubbornly shook her head. “I'll just throw my cashmere cardi over the halter. Sorted.”

There was no use arguing once Alicia made up her mind. Valeria had known her just long enough to have noticed that about her. Sighing, she let the matter drop and silently hoped Alicia wasn't going to regret her decision.

After grabbing her sweater, Alicia cheerfully followed Valeria out of the kitchen. She was excited to be having an authentic Texas experience. Sure, they were there to work. But eating open-pit barbecue in a town called Driftwood, riding on a horse across a river—this spring break was already shaping up to be one of the most memorable ones ever.

Valeria turned and glanced down at Alicia's feet. “Girl, I swear, I'm not trying to be annoying,” she said sincerely, “but are those the boots we bought last night?”

Alicia nodded. “Cute, right?”

“Last piece of advice, I promise. But it takes a little while to break in a new pair of boots. We keep lots of extras at the stable…” Valeria's voice trailed off when she saw Alicia's look. “You really want to wear those, huh?”

Alicia smiled and nodded, looking just like a little girl in a doll shop. “They are
so
cute. I can't take them off. They're like my Texas Cinderella slippers.”

“Well, then, Cindy Ella, let's get to steppin',” Valeria said, giving up. “We want to be back and in the house before that noonday sun starts beating down.”

The two girls walked along the rocky path from the guesthouse to the stables. Alicia was impressed with how well Valeria knew all the ranch workers; the night before, she had told them that the ranch employed forty-five people, half of whom lived on the grounds. When she was with the
amigas
and Gaz, Valeria seemed like a little bit of an awkward, albeit outspoken nerd—the stringy hair, the bad posture, the message T-shirts. But as she walked around the ranch, she seemed totally different.

“¿Hola, Miguel, qué pasa?”
Valeria
called out to a short guy baling hay. He waved enthusiastically.

“How's your beautiful little Elisabeta?” Valeria asked a woman grooming a dark brown horse.

As the daughter of Miami's deputy mayor and one of the city's most powerful judges, Alicia was used to navigating roomfuls of grown-ups. It was one of the things that made it so easy for her to deal with the parents of her
quince
clients. Valeria might have been in desperate need of a haircut and some lessons in teenage girl style, but out here on the ranch, she was confident in her own skin—and Alicia admired that.

“The stable houses more than two dozen horses,” Valeria explained as they approached the big structure, “mostly, ranch horses that the staff and family ride. We used to have thoroughbreds. My father had hopes that I would ride competitively. But from the moment I took my first spin on a skateboard I've always been more excited about wheels than hooves. Don't get me wrong, I love horses and riding on the ranch, but it is never going to be my life.”

“I get it,” Alicia said. “I used to think that I would be a lawyer, like my mom was before she became a judge, or even run for office someday. I even had this crazy internship at the mayor's office last summer. It was fun, but then the
quince
-planning thing happened and I just knew that was what I wanted to do.” She paused and then said, “We should figure out how to get 'boarding into your party.”

Valeria nodded, looking animated at the idea. “If you want, I'll take you guys to the skateboard park where me and my friends like to hang,” she said. “Ever been on a board before?”

Alicia shook her head. “I'm not so much the athletic type. Except for dance. I've been taking dance classes since I was a kid, and sometimes I think I'd love to be a choreographer. I like to think of planning a
quince
like choreographing an amazing ballet.”

Valeria's eyes widened. “You like to dance?”

Alicia shrugged as though it were obvious. “Yeah, who doesn't? Everybody can dance. Not everybody can ride a horse or a skateboard.”

“Not true,” Valeria said softly. “I should have been honest when I wrote you and told you that I'm not a great dancer. That was an understatement. I dance like a horse. Actually that would be an insult to those fine, graceful creatures. I'm worse than that. I never dance. Not in private. Not in public. I don't even tap my feet when I hear a song I like. That's how awful my sense of rhythm is.”

“But you're going to dance at your own
quince
.
You've got to
,” Alicia insisted.

Valeria didn't answer. Instead she led them into the barn's main aisle, where she then opened a stall door. She turned and looked at Alicia. “I'm a Castillo. We're a pretty proud breed. My
abuelo
was one of the first Texas cowboys. He came to Austin from Mexico without a penny when he was fourteen and found independent work as a
vaquero
, herding and helping to take care of other people's cattle. He had dreams of someday becoming a
ranchero
. Little by little, he began to acquire his own property. He's eighty-four now, and as you can see by everything that surrounds you, he figured out a way to make his dream come true. This is a man who came to Texas with nothing and ended up being the
patrón
of a thousand-acre ranch. We Castillos are fierce about following the beat of our own drum. It works for us. As far as I'm concerned, I don't
got
to do anything but stay true to my Chicana roots and get into a really good college.”

Alicia laughed out loud. Valeria did have a weird sense of style and was offbeat and unassuming. But she was firm in her opinions, she spoke her mind, and she wasn't to be trifled with. Alicia was liking her more and more.

“Point taken,” she said. “No dancing unless you want dancing. So, how about some riding?”

“Good idea,” Valeria said, leading a white horse with brown spots out of the stall. “This is Maguire. She's the gentlest horse on the property. You'll ride her. She'll take good care of you.”

Valeria clipped the cross-ties onto Maguire's halter so she couldn't go anywhere and then went to lead out a second horse out of his stall. He was a caramel-colored gelding with a shining white mane and tail.

“This is my baby, Greige,” Valeria said.

“Oh, he's beautiful,” Alicia said, running her fingers along the horse's silky side.

After a quick lesson in grooming and tacking up, it was time to ride. It took a few clumsy tries, but finally Alicia was able to pull herself up into the saddle. Then she sucked in her breath. It was higher up than it looked from the ground, and she feared she might topple over any second.

“Don't worry, we've had five-year-olds ride Maguire,” Valeria said, trying to sound reassuring. “She won't let anything happen to you.”

Valeria went over Riding 101 with Alicia. “You're going to use your legs to squeeze and your hands to give her signals,” she said. “You can give her a light nudge with your foot if you want her to go faster. Give the rein a slight tug if you want her to stop. The main thing is to stay loose and relaxed.”

Perched just a little stiffly on Maguire, Alicia followed Valeria past the cottages that housed the ranch staff and into a grove of cypress trees. As good a guide as any host on the Discovery Channel, Valeria named everything they saw.

“That's Indian paintbrush,” she said, pointing to a dark red flower. “The Chippewa used it to make a shampoo that made their hair beautiful and glossy. They also made a medicine out of it. And those there are Texas bluebonnets.”

“I have a question,” Alicia said when they'd been riding for a while. Ever since arriving in Texas, something had been on her mind.

“Shoot,” Valeria called back as her horse trotted a few feet ahead of Alicia's.

“Are
quinceañeras
not a big deal here?” Alicia asked. “'Cause, you—um, and don't get me wrong—but you sort of left it to the last minute, and in Miami, we usually plan from, like, the womb.”

“Oh, they are,” Valeria said. “This is Texas. Everyone loves a big party, especially one that involves good music, good food, and folks traveling in from all around.”

Alicia, who was still slightly afraid that her horse might go tearing off in the opposite direction, asked shakily, “Then why leave yours for the very last minute?”

“Well, in my experience, the Castillo women are cursed with a
quince
-zilla gene,” Valeria explained. “I'm trying really hard to avoid it.”

Settling into a light trot, Alicia rode up next to her and said, “It happens to the best of us. I went all
quince
-zilla once, and it wasn't even my birthday.”

“Trust me, you haven't seen a real
quince
-zilla until you see someone in my family. All of my cousins have turned their fifteenth birthday into some kind of crazy debutante-ball/
quinceañera
/let-me-show-you-how-much-money-my-family-has extravaganza.

“I want my
quince
to reflect my pride in my Latina roots, and I want to be honest about who I am,” Valeria went on. “A slightly off-center, slightly goth, animal-loving, independent-thinking, Chicana skateboarder. I want it to be traditional, but organic and loose—like riding a horse. And that's a tall order.”

Alicia smiled. She loved a challenge. “Well, you called the right people,” she said. “We'll come up with a
quince
that suits you perfectly.”

BY THE TIME
Alicia arrived back at the ranch, all of the warm and fuzzy feelings from her ride and heart-to-heart with Valeria had faded. She was moaning in pain, a picture of misery. Her pretty clothes were covered in dirt, she was a pool of sweat, and her face, torso, and arms were all a bright beet red.

She was slumped in a La-Z-Boy in the great room, soaking her blistered feet in a bucket of cool water when the rest of her friends came back.

While the other girls went to shower, Gaz, ever the gentleman, who perhaps felt a teeny-tiny bit guilty that he had shirked his party-planning duties, sat down on the arm of the chair and began applying aloe to Alicia's burning limbs. “You know, Lici,” he said gently, “sometimes it just doesn't pay to be so stubborn. If you had taken Valeria's advice, you wouldn't be looking and feeling like a fried tamale.”

“Stop rubbing it in,” groaned Alicia. Gaz stood up.

“No! I don't mean stop rubbing in the aloe! What I mean is, I don't need you to remind me that I acted like a know-it-all and an idiot. What I need you to do is to kiss me, before I start to cry.”

Gaz leaned in. Minutes passed. Alicia forgot about the pain. Seemingly, they were trying for the world's longest lip-lock when Marisol and Ranya interrupted their marathon make-out session.

“Hey, Mom,” a now even more red faced Alicia said, after she and Gaz pulled apart.

“Hey, Mrs. Cruz,” Gaz said, looking down.

“Well, this is interesting,” Marisol said. “How long have you been wearing Riviera Pink lipstick, Gaz?”

Startled, Gaz reached for a napkin and began to wipe his mouth.

“You missed a spot on your cheek,” Marisol said as he turned a dark shade of crimson.

Ranya and Marisol looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Ain't young love grand?” Ranya said. Then she got serious. “Gaz, I have some good news for you. I was able to pull some strings and get you tickets to a couple of panels for South by Southwest.” She handed him a packet.

“You're kidding,” he said, staring at the large manila envelope as though it would disappear at any moment.

“Not kidding,” Ranya said. “I know a guy who knows a guy. Besides, I listened to your CD last night. Alicia gave it to me to review for Valeria's party. You're good. We want to show all of you the best that Texas has to offer. And maybe you can show those conference folks what Miami has to offer.”

Gaz stood up and gave her a giant hug. “You probably changed my life today,” he said solemnly.

“Well, remember me when you're famous,” she replied, waving good-bye as she and Marisol left the room.

“Wow, that's pretty cool,” Alicia said when they were gone. “Right?”

Gaz didn't answer. Instead, he ripped open the envelope, and then his mouth dropped open.

“Oh, my God, Lici,” he said, quickly scanning the contents. “You should see the panels she's gotten me into: Building a High Value Fan List Online; The Ins and Outs of Indie Touring; Music Publishing: Making Money While You Sleep.”

“Making Money While You Sleep,” Alicia repeated. “That sounds good.”

Gaz got to the last item in the packet and shook his head. “Wait. This can't be right.”

“What?” Alicia asked.

“It says here that she's got me a spot in the new-artist showcase. Hundreds of artists compete for each of the twenty-five three-minute slots. That showcase has been booked for over a year now.”

“Well, whoever Ranya's friend is, they definitely know the right people,” Alicia said.

“The first panel starts in three hours,” Gaz said, getting up to call the ranch transportation crew. He stopped and looked back at his girlfriend. “Lici, are you okay with this? I know I need to get all the music together for Valeria's party, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for me. But I promise you, I'll figure out a way to not fall down on the job.”

“Promise?” asked Alicia.

“I promise,” answered Gaz, giving her a hug and flashing an irresistible grin.

“Then
vaya con Dios, mi amor
,” Alicia purred.

“
Primero
,” he said, growing serious. “I just have to tell you thank you for being such an amazing girlfriend. You know how much my music means to me, and if it wasn't for you, this amazing opportunity would never have come my way.”

“Well, you know, I try,” Alicia said, kissing him again softly on the lips. “But right now you've got to go make music history, and I've got a
quince
to plan.”

Throughout the van ride into downtown Austin, Gaz clutched the envelope with his conference passes so tightly that his knuckles were white. Despite the fact that it was a perfect spring day—balmy, breezy, and not too hot—he kept his window firmly shut, lest the envelope fly out of his hands right out the window, and with it all the dreams he had for his career.

Luis, the driver, tried to engage him in conversation, asking him questions about Miami, the weather in Florida, gator sightings. But Gaz was too nervous to talk, and eventually Luis gave up. Gaz kept thinking about his late father. Felipe Colón had been a musician in Puerto Rico before he passed away from cancer. When he was a kid, Gaz loved to hear his father play at the small concert halls in San Juan. His music made people laugh with joy, dance in the streets, sing along, and sometimes even cry. Gaz hoped to be able to do the same thing one day.

Finally, they arrived at the conference. Luis made his way through the crazy traffic and dropped Gaz off at the conference registration hall. “Hey, man,” Gaz said speaking for the first time. “Thanks for the ride. Sorry to be so distracted. I just have this feeling that everything I do or say today has the potential to make or break my career.”

Luis smiled. “I get it. South by Southwest. It's a big deal. But try to relax; enjoy yourself. Let some of the good stuff come to you, or you'll find yourself always chasing the next big thing.
Adiós, chico
, and
buena suerte
.”

Luis drove off. For a moment, Gaz didn't move. He just stood in front of the building, wishing his father were still alive to see him play, to see that even at sixteen, Gaz was taking the music seriously.

Finally, he walked inside and over to the registration desk. After checking in, he hung his laminated credentials card around his neck and began to explore.

His first panel of the day was called Songwriting 101 and featured names that the ordinary music public would never know—Edith Norell, Susanna Toobin, Shawn Brinks, and Hiro Utada. Even though their names weren't well known, among them, the four songwriters had written sixteen number-one songs and won two dozen Grammys. Gaz remembered fondly how he and his brothers had played Shawn Brinks's “Bump This. Jump This. Thump This” at their very first school talent show, in the sixth grade. They had been kind of pathetic, but also had been so excited to be up on a stage that it hadn't even bothered them.

Finding his way to the designated room, he took a seat in the back. While the panel members spoke, he took notes more fervently than he ever had at any class in school. At the end, when the moderator, Kenneth Sanchez, a popular Austin radio DJ, called for questions, Gaz willed his hand to rise, but couldn't find the courage.

However, when Kenneth called, “Last question!” not only did Gaz's hand shoot in the air, but his whole body went with it.

Kenneth laughed, and the whole room joined him. “The last question goes to Mr. Enthusiasm, sitting in the last row,” the DJ said.

Gaz stood up. He cleared his throat nervously. “All of you have written songs that have touched literally millions of people. But to hear you talk today, each and every one of your songs is incredibly personal. How do you make your personal feelings matter to the world?” He was surprised to hear his voice sounding deep and confident when he spoke, even though he felt nervous inside.

“Good question,” Kenneth said. “Who wants to answer?”

Susanna Toobin lifted her microphone. “I'll take this one.” She was a petite woman with long dark hair and blunt-cut bangs. Even though she hadn't played a note, she sat cross-legged with a guitar on her lap, as if the inspiration to jam might hit at any time. “What's your name?” she asked.

“Gaspar,” he told her.

She smiled. “Well, Gaspar, I love your question. As I mentioned before, I'm from Chicago, and for me one of the touchstones of my writing life is the great Chi-town playwright Lorraine Hansberry, who said—and I'm paraphrasing—‘to achieve the universal you must pay incredible attention to the specific.' That's the way to make the personal reach out and touch others. At least, I hope it is, or else I'm going to go out of business real fast.”

The room was filled with chuckles. “Thank you,” Gaz said, softly, flushing because he was aware that so many of the eyes in the room were still on him.

The moderator stood. “I think that's a great note to end on,” he announced. “Please give our panelists a round of applause.”

Gaz clapped loudly, and when the room was nearly empty, he finally picked up his backpack to leave. He was outside the seminar room fumbling for his schedule when a girl approached him.

“Hi,” she said. “I'm Saniyah. And you're Gaspar, right? What kind of name is that?”

“It's complicated,” he said, blushing.

Saniyah tilted her head and smiled. “I can handle ‘complicated.'”

Gaz shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say next. The girl
seemed
to be flirting, and he wasn't used to flirting—unless it was with Alicia. Saniyah was not especially tall, but with boots on she could nearly look Gaz directly in the eyes. She had olive skin, dark curly hair, and her lips were stained a shade of burgundy that made Gaz think of red wine and old-fashioned movie stars.

“Good job in there,” she went on when he didn't flirt back—or speak. “Your question really made an impression on Susanna Toobin and Kenneth Sanchez. I heard them talking about how it was one of the most insightful questions either of them had been asked since this conference began.”

Gaz didn't know what to say. How could such a thing be possible? He felt as though he were back in elementary school, when the kids would declare it Opposite Day. Girls who couldn't stand you would tell you that they loved you. Guys who normally shunned you during gym invited you first to play on their team. You'd be feeling pretty good about yourself, and then they'd scream, “Opposite Day!” and everything would come crashing back down to crappy normal.

Gaz couldn't let himself believe it. “Really?” he finally said.

“Really. They clearly thought you were the smartest guy in the room,” Saniyah said. “And you know, this business is all about relationships. You did give Susanna Toobin your business card before she left, right?”

“Business card?” Gaz repeated.

“Uh, duh. Please don't tell me you came to South by Southwest without any business cards,” she said, as if the thought of it caused her real physical pain. “This is more than an industry conference, it's a celestial event! The biggest names in media, music, film, and technology are all
here
, and you don't have business cards?”

Gaz fished around in his wallet. “I don't have any for my music, but I do have this.” He pulled out a card. Saniyah scanned it quickly.

AMIGAS INCORPORATED

GAZ COLÓN

DJ and Live Music

Because your
quinceañera
is much more than a party

“
Amigas
Incorporated,” Saniyah read, emphasizing the word
amigas
. “You are a man, aren't you?”

Gaz felt a familiar rush of annoyance. “I didn't choose the name. It's a
quinceañera
business I have in Miami with my friends.” Gaz knew that this would have been the perfect moment to bring up Alicia. All he had to say was,
It's a business I have with my
girlfriend
and her friends.
But he was in a new city, at an amazing music conference, talking to an admittedly very pretty girl. He didn't want to just be Gaz from Miami, who lived with his mother in a rich family's guesthouse so he could be eligible to attend the elite public school nearby. He didn't want to be Gaz, who worked double shifts at the Gap to help his family out and played
quince
gigs on the side to bring in extra cash. He wanted to be something more, something new, and being in Austin gave him the clean-slate feeling that he craved. He could tell Saniyah about Lici later.

Saniyah handed the Amigas Inc. card back to him. “This isn't going to cut it here at South by Southwest. Lucky for you, I have a friend who works at a local copy place. He can whip you up a hundred business cards in an hour.”

She took out her cell phone and started dialing. Then she rattled off Gaz's name, his cell phone number, and all the relevant details. Before she hung up, she said, “Thanks for this, Toby. I owe you one.”