Lone Star Legend

by Gwendolyn Zepeda

  Tío Jaime looked down in chagrin. Richard glared at him accusingly. But Sandy had to laugh. It was finally too much for her. She laughed and the others turned to look at her in astonishment. Then Tío Jaime laughed, and Richard’s brow smoothed down from anger to mere concern.

  “Look, Mr…. Richard,” Sandy said. “I know what this looks like. I understand why you don’t trust me. But please believe me when I tell you that I’m not trying to take advantage of your uncle. He’s been a friend to my family—to my Great-Aunt Linda—since before I was born. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt him. In fact, I want to help him. That’s why I’m here.”

  “What,” said Richard wryly, “are you a doctor on the side?”

  “No.” Sandy ignored his sarcasm. “Tío Jaime told me that you need him to move to California because you can’t afford to take care of him here. But he doesn’t want to leave his home. So—” She paused, then heard herself say, “I’m going to help you pay his bills.”

  “No,” both men said, shaking their heads in matching stubborn expressions that made Sandy see the family resemblance.

  “I can’t let you do that,” Richard said. “This is a family matter. We can’t take your money.”

  “But what if it’s not my money?” Sandy had a sudden flash of inspiration then. “What if it’s money he earned?”

  “No,” said Tío Jaime again.

  But Sandy ignored him and told Richard, “Your uncle’s helped make our site very successful. Our readers love him. But he’s never let me compensate him for the features he’s done. Let me do it now. If I can raise the money from our readers—from his fans—will you accept it and put it toward his bills?”

  Richard opened his mouth to answer, but Tío Jaime cut him off. “If I make any money from work I’ve done, then, yes, I’ll use it to pay my bills. Richard has no say in it.”

  Richard frowned, but Sandy gave them both a triumphant smile. It was settled, then. Now all she had to do was figure out how she was going to fulfill her promise.

  “Let me… Tío Jaime, I need to talk to my boss. I have some ideas, but I need to clear them with her first.” She stood awkwardly. She’d been sitting in the only chair in the room, and now that his nephew was here, she realized he had more of a claim to the seat than she did.

  Feeling self-conscious, she hugged the old man goodbye, then passed Richard with a polite nod and exited the room in as graceful a hurry as she could muster.

  “Sandy.”

  She heard him call to her as she rounded the corner by the nurses’ station. She stopped and turned, and he walked out to her. He’d finally put down the fruit basket, she saw.

  “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I seemed unnecessarily harsh yesterday. I was under some stress.”

  “Well. Yeah. Okay, thanks,” Sandy said.

  He went on. “I have to admit to you that, when I wrote that cease-and-desist letter, I hadn’t yet seen any of the interviews you’d done with my uncle.”

  “You hadn’t?”

  “No. Only the T-shirts, and that he was on TV. And then, you know, I’d done a search on your name and found… that thing about you slandering your ex-boyfriend online. So I naturally thought—”

  “What? That you should jump to conclusions, based on things you’d read online?” Sandy said. Her worst fears were true. He’d read George’s horrible article about her relationship with Daniel. About her blogging about her relationship with Daniel.

  “Well, no.” He looked sheepish and didn’t say anything else about it. But it was obvious to her that he’d drawn his conclusions from the article and had no reason to revise them now.

  Sandy crossed her arms. “So you thought I was the kind of person who’d trash anyone online, no matter who.”

  “Isn’t that what you do for a living?” he returned just as quickly.

  Sandy had to admit to herself that he had a point. Still, she wasn’t going to back down. Not with him. “I guess it is. Yes, you’re right. I get paid to make fun of celebrities. Just like you get paid to defend criminals, I’m sure.” She knew that probably wasn’t the case if he practiced immigration law, but she said it anyway. He said nothing, so she’d probably hit the mark with that one. She continued, “I wonder what I’d find if I did a Web search on your name? Maybe I’ll try that tonight.”

  With that, she turned and walked away.

  “Hey,” he said quietly.

  But that was all he said, so Sandy kept walking. She didn’t need this guy lecturing her. She already knew what she’d done wrong, and she was planning to fix it, whether he believed it or not.

  68

  Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, November 4, 1971

  I voted for the first time. Isn’t that funny, at my age? Afterwards, Jaime and I had lunch in Austin, near the University, and watched the students walking everywhere.

  He’s been after me to get a car. I might, and I might not. So far I’m okay with my bike, but it would be nice to have a car for when it gets cold. Maybe, when I save some more money.

  Ruby says Papi isn’t doing so well. I’m worried. I wish I could go visit, if only to make sure Mami’s okay.

  Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, December 18, 1974

  Going to Del Rio for Papi’s funeral, and to help Mami pack up to move to Ruby’s in California.

  Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, July 22, 1978

  Where has this little journal been? Don’t even know what to say here anymore. That’s what happens when you get a TV, I guess.

  I did get my car, and then another one. I’m a teacher now, at the same school.

  Miguel is gone. He got in a wreck, drunk of course, and now I’m a widow, just like Jaime’s a widower.

  We could get married now, I guess. But we can’t decide whose house we’d live in, his or mine.

  Besides, he makes a good neighbor.

  Ruby is doing good. Her husband bought them a bigger house and Mami has her own bedroom now. She loves watching Ruby’s kids. I’m glad for her.

  Rudolfo’s oldest girl just got married. They don’t live too far from here. I keep thinking that maybe I should write them. All that stuff in the past is the past. It’s no excuse for not seeing my family.

  Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, November 29, 1982

  Going to California for Mami’s funeral.

  I’m not going to lie. I have regrets. Not for what I did, but for what I didn’t do. I should have gone home more. I should have forgiven her face-to-face, and let her forgive me.

  Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, June 8, 1987

  Connie, Rudolfo’s daughter, came to visit today with her daughter Dominga. We had a picnic outside. It was nice.

  I told Jaime afterwards that the little girl reminded me of me, when I was little. Or maybe I just wanted to see it that way, because I imagined that’s how it would have been if I’d ever had a daughter.

  We had a ceremony at the school last week. Can’t believe I’ve been teaching there for more than 10 years now. Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess. The older kids gave me an award: Favorite English Teacher. That was nice, too.

  Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, undated

  Thought I had lost this.

  Don’t know what to write. Everything’s the same, which is good.

  We’re happy.

  Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, undated

  Retirement ceremony today. It was nice.

  Ruby says Connie’s girl is going to college now, to be a writer. In a way it makes me sad that I never had my own child. Then I realize that God must have meant for me to concentrate on my children at the school.

  Mostly, though, I’m very proud. Of course a girl in our family would turn out to be a writer. Loving books is in her blood. Even if she doesn’t know it.

  I’m just glad to see the way the world has changed since I was a girl. To see how everybody’s freer now. I think about my great niece and my students, and how they’re going to grow up i
n a better place and be able to do whatever they want with their lives. And I thank God for that.

  Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, undated

  I don’t want to go to Ruby’s, but I see now that I have to. I don’t want Jaime to see me like this anymore. I want to leave him with good memories, only.

  We’ve been happy here.

  I’m glad. For everything, God, I’m glad.

  69

  Sandy finished reading the journal late Saturday night—very, very early Sunday morning, actually. It’d made her cry. It was a mostly happy story, of course, but she wished it had told more. She regretted, now, that she’d never really known her great-aunt. She wished that, at the very least, Aunt Linda had found time to write more in her journal.

  On the shallowest level, Sandy found herself disappointed that there was no closure to the story as far as Aunt Linda’s relationship with Tío Jaime went. Did they ever—hook up, for want of a better expression? Her aunt never said. But Sandy imagined they must have. It was obvious that they loved each other even though they never married.

  She lay in her sofa bed late Sunday morning, hugging the journal to her chest.

  Eventually her thoughts turned back to her own life. Maybe I’ll go to work tomorrow after all. So what if George was going to be there? So what if Angelica wasn’t really the caring mother figure Sandy had imagined her to be? This job was her life, and her life was what she made it, right? She could stay home hiding, or she could go back into the fray and show them what she was made of.

  If she was going to leave a record of her own life online for future generations to find, the least she could do was work toward a happy ending.

  ONCE ANGELICA GOT over her surprise that Sandy wasn’t taking vacation after all, the rest was easy.

  “So, let me get this straight,” she said during their private meeting in her office on Monday morning. “You’ll agree to participate in the date auction, and you’ll even go on a double date with George and let us record it for use on the show, as long as the proceeds benefit your Chupacabra man?”

  “Right.” It filled Sandy’s mouth with a bad taste just imagining it, but she reminded herself that she’d be helping her friend. Besides, how could it be worse or more humiliating than everything that’d already happened to her online? It couldn’t.

  “All right. Luckily, Jacob had the foresight to create the Levy Foundation last year for the Banana Nation charity event. So we can just funnel your auction money through the foundation and create a grant for the Chupacabra, and keep it all on the up-and-up.”

  “Sure. Sounds good.” Sandy didn’t care about the technicalities at this point.

  “Well, we’ll get the ball rolling, then.” Angelica stood and gave Sandy her highest-wattage smile. “Glad to have you back, Sandy. You had me worried there for a minute, but I knew you’d come back fighting in the end. You’re like me—you’re too strong to let a little gossip get you down.”

  Sandy followed her boss out of the office, feeling like she’d just made a deal with the devil. She knew what Angelica was hoping for: a big blow-out with George, with every last detail caught on camera and granted in perpetuity to the Levy Media Money Machine.

  No matter what, Sandy told herself, she’d go through it with her head held high. If there was any fodder for ridicule, she wouldn’t be the one to create it, at least.

  “Sandy! I’m so glad you’re feeling better!” La Sirena caroled at her from a corner of the staff room.

  Sandy returned her fake smile. “Me too!”

  “Ladies, let’s go. We have a show to record,” said Angelica, leading the way out of the office and down the hall toward the studio. “Trisha, I want you to go ahead and do the segment on Tito Jimenez’s steroid ring. Sandy, you’ll pair up with George for the Semana in Pictures.”

  Two hours later, Sandy sat behind the counter on the news set, primped, prepped, and well lighted. Next to her, George sat on the other stool, forcing the prettiest intern to double-check the powder on his nose.

  Show them what you’re made of. Sandy repeated the sentence in her mind like an old woman saying the rosary. On the outside she looked serene as a saint, her legs crossed at the ankles as she patiently waited for taping to begin. Behind them, images of starlets, pop stars, and athletes flashed like playing cards on the big monitor.

  “So, Sandy, long time no see, huh? I mean, not counting Friday, huh?” George’s chatter was as inane as always.

  “Right. I haven’t seen you since you left for Buzz News,” she replied calmly.

  “Yeah. Listen, about that—” he started. But that was as far as he got. The director called their cue and it was time to begin working.

  “Hey, hey, HEY,” George said to the camera. “It’s time for the Semana in Pictures, and this week my cohost is the lovely Sandy S.”

  “Good evening, everyone,” Sandy said to the camera. Already she felt her persona falling into place. She was Sandy S., internationally read Web writer and prime-time cable personality. Her viewers and readers were watching, and it was time to be pretty, witty, and bright for them.

  “First up,” said George, as he and Sandy swiveled to address the monitor, “we have a specimen of Amber Chavez and Husband Number Three, Carlitos Buenaventura.” The monitor obligingly showed a photograph of the two celebrities on a beach, actress/singer/model Amber pretending not to pose for the camera and her husband standing behind her looking pale and sickly. “Ladies first, so I’ll let you have first crack at analysis, Sandy.”

  Sandy struck a faux-thoughtful pose, then launched into the spiel she’d brainstormed an hour before. “The body language is very interesting in this one, George. Amber’s says, ‘Look at me, but please pay no attention to the hairy mole on my back. I’m having that removed next month.’ Meanwhile, his gestures very clearly say, ‘I need the blood of human babies to survive.’ ”

  Someone behind the camera laughed. Sandy flashed a quick smile and noted that Angelica had come out to watch their segment.

  “I agree completely, Sandy. And now—I know you hate it when I do this—but I have to make note of Amber’s famous nalgas. She’s not filling out that white bikini quite as well as she could be in the back. In fact”—the monitor switched to a Nacho Papi–made graphic, progressive views of Amber’s backside over several years. Above the images were logos of brands for which Amber had served as spokeswoman. George continued, “I have to point out that, when she first modeled for Thuggin’ jeans, Amber looked a lot healthier. Then, as you can see from our time-lapse photography, she lost a little weight for Solamente Amber perfume, then a little more for Vida water. And now that she’s modeling for Prosecco bags, she’s lost way too much.” He turned to address the camera directly. “Amber, get back into your mamma’s kitchen, girl. Eat you some arroz y frijoles!”

  More chuckles from behind the camera. Sandy waited a beat and then did her bit. “Normally, George, I’d call you a disgusting sexist pig for pointing that out, but I have to say, instead, that the research shows Amber’s only hurting herself.” The monitor switched to another silly graphic, charting record sales along the curve of a woman’s butt. “Nacho Papi has found that there’s a direct, inverse correlation between Amber’s butt size and her record sales. So, Amber, please—if you can’t bear to eat the beans and rice anymore, at least have a little more caviar.”

  Sandy didn’t get as many laughs as George, but she never expected to. She was the serious one on this show. She did the dry humor. She classed it up a little, if that were at all possible.

  It was time for their next celebrity hazing. The monitor showed a photograph of actor Jared Rider holding up a cell phone and smirking in a crowded nightclub.

  George said, “A sex video of Sabrina Lopez and Joe Villarreal mysteriously turned up on the Internet this week. The video was linked to Jared Ryder, another of Sabrina’s exes. He denies responsibility, but it’s pretty obvious that he had something to do with it. What do you make of it, Sandy?” He in
dicated the man on the monitor. “Is Jared trying to get revenge for Sabrina dumping him, or is it all a publicity stunt?”

  Sandy turned to face George. She opened her mouth to say the lines they’d planned. But then, instead, she thought of something funnier. “I don’t know, George. Isn’t that your department? Selling the details of a woman’s romantic life just to get a little attention?”

  This time, everyone behind the camera cracked up. There was a “Whoa!” and even Angelica laughed. Sandy held her “thoughtful” pose throughout the hoots and guffaws. George waited, too, for the laughter to subside, nodding his head and looking, finally, a little embarrassed.

  “Touché, Sandy. Touché,” he said. And then the control room put up the next celebrity target.

  After the taping was done, George turned to Sandy with a rueful smile. “That was cold, Sand. I guess I deserved it, though.”

  “You did,” she replied with a sweet smile of her own.

  “You know, for the record, I have to point out to you that that article did us both a lot of good. It increased our page views by, like, a thousand percent. I’m sure you got hundreds of new fans who wouldn’t have known about your writing before.”

  “Right. And hundreds of new anti-fans, too.” Sandy kept her voice mild, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily.

  George shrugged. “Well, that’s the price we pay, isn’t it? If we want to be famous?”

  “Great job, you two.” Angelica walked over, beaming like a headlight. “I’m pairing you up again tomorrow.”

  70

  Post on Nacho Papi’s Web Site, Wednesday, June 28

  But seriously, folks

  by Sandy S.

  As you’ve read below, Nacho Papi is hosting its First Annual Staff Date Charity Auction, and I’m one of the staff members you can bid on a date with, for better or worse. But, before the bidding starts, I wanted to tell you what your money will be spent on if you win the date with me.