by Carmen Rita
Gabi waved off Cat’s nervousness while acknowledging her feelings of vulnerability. Magda had gotten up to talk with another board member, which gave Gabi the chance to assure Cat as she sat down. “Sweetie, this is just the start of many! So . . . help us out here and make this not a dull night, yes?” Cat smiled. She wasn’t yet the stomping, strong woman who commanded a network show. She seemed smaller, was smaller, in her own head. Her hair wasn’t perfectly blow-dried and ironed flat. Her makeup was obviously done all too gently by her own hand, and her dress was as nondescript and “blend-me-in” as possible. She was not yet ready to be seen. But Gabi saw her—saw the fireball of intelligence and drive under all the politeness and nerves.
“Ay, mujeres, what the fuck!” A stunning blue-eyed, African-American woman with a nearly shaved head of pale gold approached the table, feigning exasperation. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
“Ay, belleza, Mami-Luz, come here!” Gabi enthused. She embraced Luz as her friend bent down to give her a full-lipped kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t get up, don’t get up,” the woman said in Gabi’s ear as she looked down at Gabi’s growing belly. “So, does everybody know?” she whispered.
“Oh, yeah, yes, all good.” Gabi nodded, with her eyes closing in acknowledgment. She patted her own belly while her friend squeezed her hand on her shoulder.
They paused for a moment, then Gabi introduced Cat to Luz, who then greeted Magda as they all sat down.
“Yo, mama, thank you so much for letting me tag along—you know I’m going to get the company to give big next year. They need to buy a table.”
“That would be great, Lu. Thanks.” Magda smiled. Luz was a longtime friend and grad-school buddy of Gabi, a rising powerhouse in advertising. A stunner visually, the super-cool buzzcut, the velvet brown skin and light eyes, but she was too tall and model-like for Magda’s taste. Not enough to hold. Besides, Luz was another supreme alpha, like Magda. She loved alphas, but only as friends. Besides, Luz was married to a Silicon-Valley Chinese-American from Queens who was grinding his life away at his start-up for God-knows-what chance he’d strike it rich. Might as well be mining for gold. Then again, Luz was no idiot. Magda just didn’t like the odds. She preferred to play it square in business. Just not in life. But that didn’t stop both Luz and Chris from pitching her to invest in his business.
It was nearing time for the opening speaker and Magda’s table was now filled by three of her staff members: a young, brunette intern with the flowing locks of youth and the angled shoulders of a salad diet; an Adonis thirty-something vice president, with ebony skin and Colgate-white teeth; and the hipster accounting guy, coiffed, full beard, checked shirt, contrasting slim tie and all.
“Ladies and gentlemen! If you could all please take your seats—the program will soon begin.” The voice of God, as events folks call it, boomed over the speakers. Half of the attendees, still standing, shuffled to their seats as conversations wound down, hugs were given, cards exchanged.
“Are you saying anything tonight?” Gabi asked Magda as she sat down at the head of her table, closest to the stage, smiling, mouthing hellos around the table.
“Nah, don’t wanna.” Gabi noted Magda’s tequila-laced breath. She didn’t remember seeing her drink more than one, but she already sensed she was on to number three at a minimum. Gabi knew better than to berate Magda or tell her to cool it. That would just result in a scene. A clear cause and effect. And, as the server filled Magda’s wineglass, she took it from under her pour so quickly, Gabi was amazed nothing spilled. It was like a magic act. With no magic.
“So, Cat, how’s the show going, hon?” Gabi turned her attention to her newest friend.
Cat rolled her eyes and sighed. “The host is just such a bitch—I’m sorry, please keep this just between you and me, okay?” Cat’s professional façade slipped for a moment.
“No, no, listen, nothing’s going anywhere.”
Cat sighed. “Thank you . . .”
She ran through the wild stories of behind-the-scenes shenanigans on her show—a national show to boot. Cat’s host was a longtime TV vet and that stance was a double-edged sword. She had the tenure to make demands, and the older, loyal viewership to make her feel secure enough to berate her staff and blow smoke every which way possible. She also had the shoulder of the network boss, another viejo as Cat called him, an old man. And he loved blondes. But, as Gabi pointed out to Cat, old and blonde wasn’t the future—it was the usual. And pressure from younger or migrating viewers meant that it would be only a matter of time.
“Why don’t you do it?” Gabi whispered to Cat in between speakers and clapping.
“Do what? Go on air?” Cat’s eyes saucered.
Gabi answered her stunned response with, “Yeeees! Well, why not?”
Cat couldn’t speak. Why didn’t I ever think of that?
“You sooooo have a face for TV—look at you! Big eyes, strong features . . .”
“But I have brown skin, though, Gab!”
“Even better, no?! It’s about freakin’ time that that was a plus . . . ! It’s time.” Gabi punctuated her message, pushing her pointed finger into the table with a light thump.
They both looked to the stage and clapped as the room did. They were lost as to why the room was applauding, but they were there to support Magda and her cause. Their presence, and a small donation, were more than the eighty percent.
Magda had gone quiet. Gabi noted that she seemed to be focusing on the podium, but she watched as her eyes glazed over, in and out of being present, another glass of wine gone, something turning in her mind. Oh, please, Mags, make it through this.
“Hey, Mags, sup!” The program broke for some music, giving Luz’s husband, Chris, a chance to pull up behind Magda’s blond head and striped Italian suit jacket to say hello.
“Hey, man, sup, how you doin’?” Magda slowly, with concentration, began functioning again. She looked pleasantly at the handsome, Asian-featured man.
Luz threw an air-kiss his way as he winked back.
“Good, good.” He kneeled next to her so she wouldn’t have to get up. He sensed that rising might be an effort for her right now. “We are just plugging away and I managed to get Casa Works to nab a table here—”
“That is so cool, man, thanks.” Magda was genuine. After business updates were made, Chris wasn’t one to squander time.
“And you know, a lot of this couldn’t happen without you—” he said.
“Oh, man, well, ya know—”
“No, no, really—without your initial investment, which gave us such a halo effect by the way, I dunno if we would have gotten over that hump.”
“My pleasure, man, my pleasure.” Magda shook his hand, nearly blushing, as he rose to swing around the table to his wife, Luz. Points scored by Chris for gratitude.
“Wow—wait, I didn’t know you backed Chris’s company!?” Gabi leaned over.
“Yeah, well, ya know.” Magda shrugged.
“I thought you didn’t feel too hot about the whole deal—too risky . . .”
“Listen,” Magda slurred slightly, “I’m not a complete monster. She’s our friend.” She gestured over at Luz, her husband leaning over her, adoring. Adoring. How Magda wished for something so real.
“In the end, I back the person. I backed Chris, not necessarily the concept. He’s a solid guy. Knows his shit. Works like a mutha.” Magda slugged down her last drop of red wine.
Gabi smiled at Magda’s fierce loyalty. She backed people. Though she was messed up when it came to lovers and romance, she was the most loyal friend and ally one could ask for.
Magda patted Gabi’s thigh. “Be right back.”
“Where ya goin’?”
“Three o’clock.”
Gabi looked where Magda’s hungry eyes had landed, at three o’clock. “Oh, Magda. Wait.” Too late. All Gabi saw was the strong, broad back and tapered neck of her friend heading toward a ’50s pinup of a young woman, dark and
curvy in a strapless, mermaid-style dress. This wasn’t going to be good.
“Oh, Gab-eeeee!”
Gabi was rattled by a voice so shrill it cut through the buzzing around them and even Cat, Luz, and Magda’s office trio broke their conversations to locate the source.
It was a robust, short, olive-skinned woman, a keg-on-legs, as Magda would say, hair done at the salon down the street from her apartment, the makeup of someone in insurance, applied, but dull and unskilled. She offered a broad smile but gave off an aura of acid. Vitriol. Falseness. Gabi’s right hand went instinctively to her belly, protecting it.
“Oooooh, are you pregnant?!” the woman asked much too loudly.
What kind of question . . .
Fifty percent more quickly and politely, Gabi responded, “Um, yes.” She nodded, wanting to wring this woman’s neck.
“How fantastic! Congratulations to you two!” She leaned down for a hug, which Gabi kept from full contact. “So where’s Bert?”
I hate this woman and her rude-ass questions.
“Well, he’s at the restaurant. Where he’s the chef. Because it’s dinner.” Gabi paused between each statement, hoping her passive-aggressiveness registered.
“Oh! Yes, of course, silly me—”
You got that right.
The mood at the table finally sunk into the skin of the interloper. Everyone’s eyes were on her, like a phalanx of guards around Gabi, making sure she went no further. She’d gone far enough.
“Okay, well, bye, see you later and I’ll look for you on my TV in the mornings!”
“Who the heck was that?” Cat leaned in as Gabi drank water, tempted by her wineglass.
“Oh, just a woman who sits on another board with me. I gotta just live with her.”
“God, she’s rude.”
“Yup.”
The voice boomed again, instructing folks to take their seats for the final awards of the evening. Gabi was bumped in her chair, still on edge, as she tended to get when exposed to a person like that—an emotional vampire. Her symbiotic tendencies were great for therapy, but harder to deal with off hours. Or, maybe it was the hormones. It was Magda who had bumped into her, too drunk to hide it well anymore.
“Hey, mujer, gotta go. Cover for me, m’kay?” Magda ran her hand up the back of Gabi’s neck into her curls. Gabi hoped no one had seen her do it.
“Yeah,” Gabi mumbled back as Magda did her best to sneak out, all five foot ten of her blond, suited self. This had happened countless times.
“Hey, is she gonna be okay?” Luz, watching the exchange, walked over.
“Yeah.”
Luz sighed as she kneeled down to Gabi’s side, ready to help if it was needed.
“You know, do you mind . . . I don’t feel so well. I think I gotta go, too,” Gabi said.
“Sure, sure, can I help?” Luz offered.
“No, no, I’m good,” Gabi whispered, just as another award of the evening was announced. She waved a silent good-bye to all, threw smiles, and mouthed thank-you’s to all at the table as she made her way out.
She made her way down the once-crowded red carpet, clutching her shawl about her. The doors to the hallway were wide open and the air made Gabi feel a bit better. It wasn’t all Magda’s fault, why she’d suddenly felt woozy. There was a tug of sadness as her pregnancy progressed. Her husband of only a year was still working on solidifying his rank as a top chef in the city, which meant he wasn’t around much. There was always an event, and then press, and crises. She felt a bit alone. But she knew she’d work it out. She always did.
Trying to pull the shawl in place over her growing-into-aC-cup breasts, Gabi’s eyes caught sight of Magda standing in profile at the valet drop-off point with the beautiful woman she had left the table for. It didn’t look good. She was extending her taut, toned arm, pointing at Magda’s face, accusing. Magda’s body language was a mix of pleading and defending. She’d rock back and forth between the two with what seemed like ease.
Then abruptly, all eyes and ears around, including Magda’s, were shocked as the woman’s meticulously manicured hand shot straight for Magda’s pale pink cheek with a slap. Then silence. Without another word, the slapper then turned and walked into a black car with impeccable timing. Magda stood stock-still for a beat, as slowly her right hand made it to her burning right cheek. The world started moving again as Magda turned her back to Gabi’s gaze, her eyes following the car.
“Well, what hurts more, your cheek or your pride?” Gabi asked.
Magda didn’t turn to Gabi’s voice coming from just behind her right shoulder.
“Ah, fuck it,” Magda murmured as she looked after the departing car.
Normally, Gabi would take Magda’s arm in hers, lead her to a taxi, and take her home, make sure she was all right. But tonight, Gabi had a baby in her belly. Someone else to think about. She just wasn’t up for it this time.
A yellow cab pulled up and Gabi opened the door for herself while her friend, her once lover, stood in the same spot, like taxidermy.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” Gabi asked Magda as she hopped into the cab, not waiting for an answer, as she left Magda with the doorman who had probably witnessed worse in his day. A handsome and still-fit gray-haired man, he walked gently up to Magda.
“Women, huh?” he asked her, as if man-to-man.
“Yeah,” Magda answered, narrowing her eyes.
“There’s a great spot just around the corner for late-night drinks if you need one—seems like you could use one.” He pointed just past the line of waiting cabs and black cars.
“Yeah, thanks,” Magda said as she started walking. Having stood so heavily in one spot for so long, her feet ached a bit going into motion. “I could use a few.”
Chapter 4
“Oh, I just love you, guuurl!” came a pleasant squeal from the book-signing line.
One of Gabi’s fervent fans handed her his book to sign. She noted that her queue was satisfyingly long, leading out to the escalator and down to the entrance of the store next door. Lots of frustrated, married moms here in Battery Park City, she noted. Frazzled, spin-class ladies cordoned off from the rest of the world by the West Side Highway, living in sanitized high-rise rentals, rushing from overcrowded schools to unsustainable careers, praying to avoid another Hurricane Sandy. After all, just one more year until they—or their husbands—were getting that raise or that next baby that would move them uptown, or out of Manhattan altogether.
“Can you make it out to Stefano?” The fan pointed at the title page. This was certainly not a BPC housewife, but he was fab. He rolled his eyes as he rambled: “So, the whole reason I got this book is because I was Googling Golden Girls to look for this specific episode to watch with my girl, Nitika, and this book popped up—You Are Golden—as I was typing and I was, like: What. The. Fuck? But then I started reading and I was, like, I love this lady, love!”
He was tall, she’d give him that much, with almond-butter skin and a waist like hers at twelve years old, wrapped in skinny jeans. Gabi chuckled at Stefano’s rambling, noting the impatience of the folks behind him. There were too few moments of amusement in her life, a life where she listened, then fixed, people’s problems, letting their issues fill her head rather than pay attention to her own.
“Ha! That’s too funny—but let’s be clear, I’m years from that club of girls.” She winked. He smiled back, happy she reflected back his reference.
Gabi placed his freshly signed book to her far right, gently leading him to the side. “Now, don’t stop now—read my other books!” she called out, pointing at him like a teasing schoolteacher. Gabi broke her furrowed brow into a bright smile. “Ciao, Estefano! Mmwah, mmwah.” She blew him kisses, which he happily blew back.
The next fan in line was two feet shorter and two feet wider than the previous.
“Oh, hello!” Gabi continued to give everyone in line for her the same genuine smile and wide-eyed attention. She adjusted her Anthropologie on-sale swe
ater between guests. She did well, financially and professionally—but for this city, well was never enough. And she was now the main breadwinner. No slacking when you have to bring home nearly all the bacon—which means no buying things that aren’t on sale.
Gabi Gomez Gold, Ph.D., continued to greet and sign, greet and sign, doling out snippets of advice each time. Twenty down, how many more to go? She never asked and did not keep track. She greeted each new person like the first person in line. After forty-five minutes, though, Gabi was waning and sensed—hoped—the end was near. She allowed herself to ask the staff person nearest to her, through the side of her mouth, “Rachel. How are we doing?”
“Great!” replied the bookstore staffer rhythmically passing out Gabi’s books. “Do you need water?”
“I’m good. Thanks . . . Oh, hi!” On to the next. She was a machine. “And how do you spell that?”
“Ms. Gold?” the next reader asked. “I mean, Dr. Gold?”
“It’s just Gabi, hon.” The woman was an awkward sort—squat, pale, long unwashed hair, ancient glasses. Physical intake be damned, Gabi spotted a Mensa brain behind those eyes, most likely clouded by Asperger’s. She peered in.
“So . . . um, Gabi . . . I’ve been going through such a hard time, taking care of my mother and all. She’s got Alzheimer’s. And I was laid off. So, money’s tight.”
“Ooh . . . I’m sorry.” Gabi’s face showed genuine concern. She laid her hand closer to her visitor’s, resting on the table.
“Well, so, you really helped me not feel so guilty about not being with my mother twenty-four/seven—like, one time, I snuck out to see a movie. So, like you say, I’m taking care of me. Putting the oxygen mask on myself first so I’m in a position to help others.”
“Mmm hmm. Good. Good.” Gabi patted her hand, smiled, and patiently let her finish.
“So, just wanna say, thank you so much.” She didn’t look Gabi in the eye, instead focusing on the flat, false eyes pictured on the back cover photo on the book.