Lights, Camera, Quince!
Page 13
Suddenly a crew member in a crisp white shirt and black bow tie approached, cutting into Alicia’s thoughts and interrupting the quince-or-not-to-quince debate. In a faint British accent, he offered them “a refreshment,” and held up a silver tray with three sodas, three glasses of ice, a dish of lemon wedges, and a small silver bowl of bananas.
“Wow, thanks,” Alicia said, taking the glass that was handed to her and resisting the urge to call the man Jeeves.
“This is nuts,” Carmen whispered. “It’s a fifteen-minute boat ride and they offer snacks.” Jamie either was unimpressed or didn’t care about the serious fabulosity of their boat ride. She had resumed her monologue outlining her issues with the idea of Binky’s quince. “You let white guys rap and you end up with more Vanilla Ices than Eminems. You let gringas have quinces and next thing you know, Miley Cyrus will be recording in Spanish and winning all the Latin Grammys. Unas cosas deben ser solo nuestras. Some things should be just for us.”
Alicia and Carmen stifled giggles. They had been hearing this nonstop since they’d made their decision to meet with the client. But they were now on the boat, and nothing could be done to avoid the meeting. “Let’s hold off on the judging till we actually meet Binky, ’kay, Jamie?” Alicia said, a teasing tone in her voice.
Jamie shrugged. “Fine, whatever. I’m just saying.”
“We know, we know. Just for us. Got it,” Carmen said, laughing.
The waves parted as the ferry slowed on its approach to the Mortimers’ home. The girls stopped debating for a moment to take in the turquoise blue waters, the lush green landscape of palm trees that shimmered before them, and . . . the two cute boys in kayaks who paddled past them.
“Hola, beautiful ladies!” one guy called out, causing the girls to blush. His T-shirt said university of miami. Even though Carmen and Alicia had boyfriends, they both smiled and waved.
“Which one of you lovely ladies is single?” the second boy in the kayak called out. He had curly blond hair and he, too, was wearing a U. of Miami T-shirt.
“She is!” Alicia and Carmen called out in unison, pointing to Jamie and cracking up.
“What’s your phone number, single girl?” the boy called out. “I’ve got a photographic memory.”
“It doesn’t take a photographic memory to memorize a seven-digit number,” Jamie called back. “You’re not smart enough to date me.”
The boy looked wounded and mimed being shot in the heart. His friend said something they couldn’t hear, and then the boys paddled away.
“He was cute,” Carmen said, as the girls flopped down on the comfortable seats that lined the deck. “You should have given him your number. . . .”
To be continued . . .