“What?” Alicia said.
“Did you hear her refer to me as a godmother?” he fumed.
Alicia couldn’t help grinning. He was cute when he was mad.
“It’s a metaphor,” Alicia whispered.
“It’s an insult,” Gaz said. He took out the business cards. “And what am I supposed to do with these? I’m not an amiga.”
“It’s a metaphor,” Alicia whispered again.
“It’s an insult,” Gaz repeated.
But Alicia got the sense that he wasn’t really mad. She would figure out a way to smooth things out later—after the quinceañera was over. They had a lot to talk about.
Down at the beach, Maribelle was commanding the troops, made up largely of Alex’s friends and Gaz’s brothers, with easy confidence. The food had been set up at different stations. Appetizers included empanadas, croquetas, plaintain “boats” filled with ropa vieja, little copitas of ceviche and tostones con mojo. There was an entrée table with camarones, pernil, and chicken kebobs. Then there was the dessert table, a tribute to Alicia’s utter inability to bake a cake: a wire rocket ship, filled with 200 cupcakes.
Alex and his crew had assembled a platform for the performances, and there was a very realistic-looking spaceship facade made of scrap metal, waiting for Sarita’s first dance.
Gaz’s brothers set up the favor table with Sarita’s party favors and then started work on the sound system.
Shortly after the ceremony ended, guests began to arrive at the pier, and as the sun set and the waves broke gently in the background, Alicia took to the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to our honored quinceañera, Sarita Lopez, her damas and chambelanes.”
The step band Alicia had hired began to march down the boardwalk, and everyone looked up at the commotion. Alicia was thrilled. It was just the element of surprise she’d been hoping for. The guys, dressed in their full marching gear, stepped onto the stage and began chanting in their deep voices.
Fifteen steps. Fifteen candles. Fifteen souls at bay.
It’s a beach party. It’s a space party.
’Cause she does it her way.
She’s a lady now, can’t you see it?
Her beauty will leave you in a haze.
Sarita’s working that gown.
Soon she’ll be running this town.
They’ll be talking ’bout her quince
For days. Days. Days. Days.
The step band parted, and Sarita stepped forward, dressed in a white lab coat, black-rimmed glasses, and the Timberland boots that Jamie had spray-painted silver. She threw off her coat to reveal the silver minidress that Carmen had designed for her, and the audience went crazy. Lights flashed wildly as everyone snapped the beaming Sarita with whatever they had—video cameras, digital cameras, disposable cameras, and cell phones.
Madonna’s “Ray of Light” started to play over the speakers, and the stage filled with bubbles. Alicia chewed her pencil nervously, hoping that none of the damas and chambelanes forgot the choreography. Someone squeezed her shoulder and she jumped. It was Alex. She smiled up at her big brother.
“You startled me,” she said.
“See, told you, the bubbles are wild,” he said.
“You were right,” Alicia said.
“This really is something,” Alex said, looking around. “You did good, Sis. Congrats.”
Sarita’s guy, Diego, was not the best dancer. Alicia had revised the choreography so he didn’t have to do anything but an old hip-hop dance called the Professor. He simply had to wave his hands in the air, then wave them toward the ground. Diego had obviously been practicing, because he moved his hands wildly with something resembling rhythm, a huge smile on his face.
Sarita, it turned out, was quite the dancer despite her fears, torquing her torso with Shakira-like finesse.
Jamie came over and joined Alicia. “She can move.”
“I know. Nice job on her hair, her makeup, and especially those shoes. You should have your own TV show, Pimp My Sneaks.”
Then Carmen joined them. “No, when I’m a world-famous designer, Jamie should do the exclusive shoes for my show.”
“Wait a second,” Jamie said. “You’re a world-famous designer, I hook up your shoes, and what does that make me?”
Carmen laughed. “That makes you the girl who designs shoes for a world-famous designer.”
Jamie shook her head. “Nah, I’ll pass,” she said, but she was smiling.
After dinner, it was time for the father-daughter vals. Alicia had a special surprise for Sarita. Because Alicia had convinced her it was the grown-up thing to do, Sarita thought that she and her dad were going to do a traditional waltz. But ever since her dad, Alfonso, had gotten to town the week before, Alicia had been working with him on a special number.
Jamie introduced Sarita and Alfonso. “Hey, everybody,” she bellowed into the mike in her best Bronxese. “Settle down. It’s time for the father-daughter vals.”
Sarita and her father took to the stage, and Gaz’s band moved to the sidelines—except for Gaz, who made an announcement about the song he was about to sing. Alicia started. This wasn’t part of the plan. What was Gaz doing?
“This is a new song that I wrote called ‘Desde Siempre’—Since Forever,” he said, in a soft, deep voice. “I know it probably seems like forever since you’ve been waiting for your quince, Sarita, and it’s finally here.”
The crowd whooped, hollered, and clapped.
“But ‘Desde Siempre’ has another meaning for me,” Gaz continued. “This song was inspired by a really good friend of mine, my best friend, in fact.”
Alicia looked around to see who Gaz was talking about, even as she hoped it was her. This time, there was no denying it. He was smiling right at her.
Jamie was standing near the catering table, giving her a double thumbs-up, and Carmen, who was helping Alex with the balloons, gave her a big grin.
Gaz’s voice cracked just a little, and Alicia could see that the crowd was getting restless. So was she.
“Alicia, this song is called ‘Desde Siempre,’ because I’ve been wanting to tell you, since forever, how much you mean to me and how I really feel about you.”
Gaz started to sing, and the rich vibrato of his voice floated down the beach, like waves hitting the shore.
Alicia couldn’t move. She couldn’t even sway, though the rhythm of the song was sweet and infectious, like Justin Timberlake meets Alejandro Sanz. Even though she wasn’t wearing the dress, and even though all these people hadn’t come out to celebrate her, hearing Gaz sing a song that he’d written for her, on the beach, under the moon and the stars, Alicia couldn’t help feeling that this was her night, too.
After the father-daughter vals, Sarita’s father took the microphone to thank her family and friends for joining them all on this special occasion. Gaz made a beeline for Alicia, held her hand, and walked her backstage. Then he kissed her, quickly, softly, gently, suavemente. A kiss that left no doubt that it was the first of many more to come.
Then, as though it had all been part of the plan, Gaz kissed her once more, and the band began their rocking two-hour set. Alicia did periodic checks to make sure that everything was okay, but whenever she could, she stood backstage, closed her eyes for just a moment, listened to Gaz singing, and pretended that he was kissing her again.
Just before the clock struck midnight, Alicia found Sarita and her mom sitting side by side on beach chairs on the wettest part of the sand. They were both barefoot, holding their shoes; as the tide came in, it splashed warm water around their ankles.
“Hi, Sarita and Ms. Lopez,” Alicia said. “I hope you’re having a good time.”
“Oh, my God,” Sarita said. “Are you kidding me? This is the best night of my life. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I’m telling you, Alicia, you can read about quinces. You can go to a million of them. But you’ll never know how magical it is until it happens to you.”
Alicia felt a twinge of jealousy that she suspected she’d been fighting back for a long time. Why had she chosen a trip over a quinceañera? Looking at all the people dancing and Gaz playing hard-core reggaeton onstage, she felt sad. She’d missed out on all of this, and now there was no going back. The only thing she could do was to make Amigas a huge success, so that more girls like Sarita could get the quinces of their dreams.
Alicia reached into her purse, took out an envelope, and handed it to Sarita’s mom.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Your change,” Alicia said. “I promised you we’d come in on budget, and we managed to come in under budget. That’s a check for fifteen hundred dollars.”
“You keep it,” Sarita’s mom said.
“No, please, it’s the least I could do, considering you took such a big chance on us.”
But Ms. Lopez shook her head. “It’s an investment. For your business. You’ve certainly earned it.”
Alicia’s mind was racing. Fifteen hundred dollars in pure profit. They could rent an office. Buy equipment. Take out advertising. Or maybe she could put it in the bank and start planning their next quince, which she had no doubt would be coming up soon. She was all out of business cards, and so were the other members of the group. Though she had the sneaking suspicion that Gaz—in protest against the club’s name—had thrown his away.
Walking back to the dance area, she saw Carmen, who came up to her and threw her arm around her best friend’s shoulder.
“You did good, chica,” Carmen said.
“So, you would hire the Amigas?” Alicia said, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“Of course,” Carmen said.
“Excellent,” Alicia said. “Because your fifteenth birthday is only a few months away, and I’ve got lots of ideas.”
I’m grateful to Jane Startz, Christy Fletcher, and Melissa Chinchillo for inviting me to be part of Amigas Inc. Thank you to Wendy Lefkon and Elizabeth Rudnick for making my words shine as brightly as a quince’s tiara. Besos y abrazos to Cecilia and Toño Ortega, Diana and Buster Richards, Keith and Digna Downs—you make me proud to be Panamanian and proud to be a Latina. Finally, mi corazón a Flora y Jason. No hay palabras.
—V.C.
A big thanks to our two wonderful editors, Elizabeth Rudnick and Wendy Lefkon, and to my devoted agent and dear friend, Amy Berkower. With deep gratitude to Veronica Chambers for helping to bring these wonderful characters to life.
—J.S.
When I first came up with the idea for Amigas I thought about the many Latina women who, like Alicia, Jamie, and Carmen, had started out as entrepreneurial teenagers. Who, through hard work, imagination, and dedication, were able to take their passions and talents and become role models and successful adults. For me, Jennifer Lopez is such a woman. She has incredible drive and an amazing work ethic, qualities she shares with the girls in Amigas. They, too, needed an equal amount of determination to turn their quince-party-planning business into a huge success.
So, to get a better sense of this connection, I sat down with Jennifer, and we talked about quinces and what it was like for her to be a Latina girl growing up in New York City.…
—J. Startz
1. Did you have a quince? If so, what was it like? If not, did you celebrate this rite of passage in any other way? As an adult, do you ever regret this decision or wish that you had had one?
I did not have a quince, and looking back, I wish I had! When you are fifteen, you don’t always think about what’s “special” but more about what’s “fun.” I had a great party, but now I wish I had celebrated with a full court and everything. Just to think of all the preparations, the dance rehearsals, and the the party itself—it would have been a great memory to have.
2. Do you think more Latina girls today are having quinces than when you were fifteen? If so, why do you think this is?
I imagine that it might be less, due to our economy, unfortunately. But I truly think it all depends on the individual family. Hopefully, every Latina girl will get the opportunity to have a quince or at least the choice to have one. I believe most Latino parents start discussing it when their daughters are young teens.
3. You’re a mom now; when your daughter Emme turns fifteen, are you planning on having her celebrate her quinceañera?
I would love to have one for her. But growing up in the U.S. is so different from growing up in Mexico or Puerto Rico, where my family is from. When you’re born in a country where Spanish is the dominant language, it’s expected that you have a quince, but here we’re given a choice. I’d like to give my daughter a choice and hope she decides to have a quince.
4. Which of the amigas do you think you are most like and why?
I relate most to Alicia. We are both passionate, creative, fiery, and strong-willed, but underneath it all we’re softies!
5. All the members of Amigas Inc. have very strong interests that they want to pursue professionally. When did you know what you wanted to do for a career? How did you get your start?
I always knew that I wanted to perform. I began to book jobs as a dancer, yet I also had dreams of singing and acting. I feel so blessed that I’ve been able to pursue all my passions and do what I love.
6. You are an internationally successful businesswoman; what advice would you give to young people like the amigas, who want to start their own business?
Be prepared to work hard, and go for it! If you stay focused on your goals and maintain a strong work ethic—you can achieve anything.
7. You are an inspiration for millions of Latina girls around the world. What advice can you give them? And what inspired you to become involved with this story?
I love the message that Amigas give us. Alicia and her friends are wonderful role models for all girls, and I really responded to the idea that even though you are young, you can still begin to fulfill your dreams. These girls are real entrepreneurs!
“I’M SO EXHAUSTED,” Alicia Cruz said, plopping herself down on the floor of the school gym. “How many quinces did we plan this summer?”
She was wearing her version of cleanup clothes: a white Ay! Vena Cava T, a pair of her dad’s old cutoff shorts, and one of her mother’s old Gucci belts, for some retro bling. Even on a dedicated clean-up-and-run-errands day like this, Alicia believed that you had to bring it, fashionwise. Especially in Miami, where you never knew whom you were going to run into. But it was late August, not even lunchtime, and already over a hundred degrees. And as any native-born South Florida girl knows, heat rises. Sometimes, lying on the floor was the only option for staying cool.
Soon, Alicia was joined on the wooden planks of the gym floor by her good friend Jamie Sosa. Ever the transplanted New Yorker, Jamie dressed like somebody out of a scene from the classic hip-hop movie Beat Street and rocked a pair of vintage black Run-DMC frames. Her long brown hair was pulled to the side in a ponytail, and on her feet she wore a pair of limited-edition, only-available-in-Tokyo A Bathing Ape kicks.
“No one ever tells you about the ugly side of party planning,” Jamie groaned, pointing to the piles of garbage and recyclables they’d spent the whole morning picking up. The night before, they’d hosted a Hoops There It Is! quinceañera, complete with a free-throw contest and a dunking trampoline for the birthday girl, who was already six foot two in the tenth grade and hoped to play in the WNBA. It had been a lot of fun, but it had been a ton of work. And because the school had been kind enough to let them host the party in the gym at no charge, they felt obligated to do a meticulous cleanup job.
“’Sup,” Carmen said, as she strolled into the gym. She didn’t ask any questions, but just joined her friends on the floor. Carmen Ramirez-Ruben was the epitome of the girl who didn’t try too hard. The fact that she was model-tall with flawless caramelo skin and bright green eyes gave even her understated wardrobe a pop.
“We’ve been working so hard all summer long,” Jamie said, “remind me: Why aren’t we filthy rich?”
“Because we’re still learning,” Alicia explained. “We made five thousand dollars this summer. That was huge. But we spent most of it on a new van for Gaz.”
Gaz Colón, who had been resisting lying on the floor, looked over at Alicia with an eyebrow raised. He’d recently been promoted to assistant manager at the Gap, where he worked part-time. To mark the occasion, he’d dressed for work in a new pair of pressed khakis, a plaid shirt, and a camel-colored tie.
“Hey, the Amigas crew didn’t buy me anything,” he protested, taking a towel from his gym bag and joining the others on the floor. “The van is for our business. We need it for running errands, picking up flowers, catering.…”
“Shuttling disoriented abuelas from the wrong address…” Alicia said.
“To the right address,” Gaz said, reaching out and squeezing her hand.
Jamie rolled her eyes. “Are you guys still in the middle of that—what do you call it?”
“Flirtationship,” Gaz and Alicia said at the same time.
“Is that even a real word?” Carmen asked. “Flirtationship?”
“It’s real to us,” Gaz said, still holding on to Alicia’s hand.
“And it means… ?” Carmen asked.
With Gaz holding her hand, Alicia felt the temperature in the room go up ten degrees. But she composed herself and replied, “It means we flirt. And we hold hands. But we don’t go any further.…”
“Because our friendship is the most important thing,” said Gaz, completing her sentence.
“Color me cynical,” Jamie said. “But your ‘flirtationship’ sounds a lot like dating to me.”
Alicia replied, “Our business, not your business.”
“As opposed to quinceañeras, which is all of our business,” Carmen said. “Can you believe that a simple plan to help the new girl in town put together her quince has grown into such a huge business?”
“Well, quinces are major,” Alicia said.
“Especially in Miami,” Jamie said.
The quinceañera, or Sweet Fifteen, was more than just a birthday party. In Latin families, the fifteenth year marked a major coming-of-age ritual: it was when a girl became a woman. Just three months before, the group had helped a new friend, Sarita Lopez, plan her big celebration. This was after Alicia decided to start Amigas Incorporated and roped her crew into helping. Along the way, Alicia, their de facto team leader, went a little quince-zilla, but in the end they’d all learned a lot about starting a business while keeping your friendships intact. Luckily it had all turned out well and now their in-boxes were flooded with girls who wanted them to plan their quinces, too.
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