“Qué es esto?” I ask Bubbles, my voice squeaking. “What’s this?”
“It’s the money from the chokers. You can have it, all right?” Bubbles turns to the twins and Dorinda for their approval.
“That’s fine with us,” Aqua pipes up. “I mean, come on, Chanel, you gotta give your brother more than a birthday card for his birthday! Ain’t that right, Angie?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s right,” Angie replies.
“Don’t worry. We’re gonna keep track of all the money, the way Mom does for the store,” Bubbles says, pulling out a cheetah notebook out of a paper bag. “You can pay us back our share later—after you get done paying back your mother.” She turns to Dorinda. “Do’ Re Mi, why don’t you keep the book on it?”
Dorinda’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Word! I’ll keep track of everything!”
“Good—’cuz quiet as it’s kept, you’re the brains behind the Cheetah Girls operation,” Bubbles says proudly.
I can’t believe how humble Galleria’s being. That’s not like her. Es la verdad—it’s the truth!
“I’ll go with you to buy Pucci a pet,” Bubbles volunteers.
“What pet is that, darling?” Madrina asks, because she knows Mom does not like pets—unless it’s a Chia Pet that just has to be watered!
“Chuchie’s gonna buy Pucci a hog!” Bubbles says mischievously.
“Now, I know that must be some Cheetah Girls joke, because Juanita will ground Chanel for the rest of her life if it isn’t!” Madrina says sternly.
“Bubbles doesn’t mean a real hog, Madrina—it’s an African pygmy hedgehog,” I try to explain.
“Chanel, that sounds even worse—like some kind of animal used for a voodoo ritual or something!” Madrina says, looking alarmed. “Listen, Chanel, you two work this out over dinner, because I’m getting so hungry I may just eat a pygmy whatever-it-is!”
We all eat like we’re starving for Marvin. After, Madrina says, “I’m heading home. I’ve got work to do. Galleria, I’ll see you later. And don’t bring back a pet with more growl power than you girls have.” With a wave, she heads off toward the subway station.
“We’ll come with y’all to the pet store if you want,” Aqua volunteers.
I guess we’re all in such a good mood because of the meeting—and the lonchando—that we don’t want to leave each other just yet. After all, there’ll be plenty of time for homework and headaches later.
“I can come, too,” Do’ Re Mi chimes in. And that settles it. We all take off down the street, singing “Shop in the Name of Love”—one of Galleria’s tunes—at the top of our lungs.
The Exotica Pet Store on Tenth Avenue looks like a jungle paradise. Still, the snakes in the big glass case don’t look like they’re exactly having a ball. They seem like they’re kinda cramped—and not too happy about it either.
“Too bad they don’t have any dogs here,” I moan, looking around at all the exotic pets. I see a sign that says, WE’VE GOT REPTILES—NOT POODLES—SO DON’T ASK!
“Chuchie, Mom is right,” Bubbles says firmly. “Well be lucky if we can pull off this charade—giving Pucci a pet that fits in the palm of his hand.”
“I’ll tell you one thing,” I shoot back. “We’d never get away with a dog!”
“Oooh, what kind of fish is that?” Dorinda asks, pressing her nose against the fish tank to ogle a bright-yellow fish with blue lips.
“Miss, don’t lean on the fish tanks!” snaps a snarly salesman with wild curly red hair and big black glasses.
“Okay, Mr. Magoo,” Dorinda mumbles under her breath, then, more loudly, asks again, “I just wanted to know what kind of fish this is—that’s all.”
“That’s a blue-lipped angelfish, okay?”
Now I’m getting nervous, because Mr. Magoo is kinda mean.
“Bubbles, you ask him,” I whisper. She’s not afraid to stand up to grown-ups who are nasty and antipático.
“We want to see an African pygmy hedgehog, please,” Bubbles says with authority.
Dorinda pulls my sleeve and says, “We gotta make sure it’s a baby, though—because they only live to be six years old.”
“Okay.”
Meanwhile, Mr. Magoo is standing there, waiting for us to finish whispering. “You ready, or what?”
“Yes, sir. We want a baby one, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Everybody wants a baby. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with these animals when they’re more than a day old,” Mr. Magoo huffs, throwing us a dirty look. “They’re over there in the cage by the wall. Next to the guinea pigs.”
“Oh, that’s good!” Aqua says, getting excited. The twins have two guinea pigs for pets—Porgy and Bess—and they’re really cute.
“He is so mean, I don’t know if we should buy a pet here. Maybe he abuses the animals,” I say as we hightail it to the back of the store.
“Don’t worry, the animals probably just ignore him and eat their carrots in peace,” Bubbles replies. “It’s not like they’re dogs or cats, Chuchie.”
“Ooh, mira, look!” I exclaim, when I see a bunch of little brown creatures sitting in their cage, just staring up at us.
Mr. Magoo is right behind us and snarls, “Lemme open the cage, all right?” Next thing I know, he puts a hedgehog in my hand, warning, “The spines are very sharp—so don’t go scaring him.”
“Can we have a girl one?” Dorinda asks.
“No, Do‘—it’s for Pucci, not us,” Bubbles reminds her.
“Oooh, look at how he’s scratching my hand!” I coo. I love him already!
“What do they eat?” Angie asks.
“They like insects, frogs, mice,” Mr. Magoo says in a huffy tone, like we’re stupid or something.
“How much is it?” I ask nervously.
“Forty-two bucks.”
I look at Bubbles, and my eyes are saying ayúdame! “I only have forty dollars.”
“I’ll put in the rest,” Bubbles volunteers.
“Is that it?” Mr. Magoo asks.
“Yes, sir!” I say excitedly.
Wait till Mom sees Mr. Pygmy! If I was buying the hoglet for me, I would be worried, but she is not gonna say no to Pucci. Not on his birthday—not in front of Abuela Florita—and definitely not in front of Dad!
“Ain’t you gonna get a cage, Chanel?” Aqua asks, concerned.
“Oh! I forgot about that,” I say nervously. “Sir, do they poop in the cage?” Dorinda snickers.
“You can train them to use a litter box if you want,” Mr. Magoo says.
Bubbles whips out her Miss Wiggy StarWac cell phone. “I’m calling Mom,” she informs us. “Mom, can I borrow—wait a minute. Sir, how much is the cage?”
“Twenty-seven fifty,” Mr. Magoo says.
“Mom, can I borrow twenty-seven fifty? We’re still at the pet store, and we’ve gotta get Pucci a cage for the, um, hoggy…. Okay, okay.”
Bubbles hands the phone to Mr. Magoo. “My mom is charging the cage.” Then she turns to me, and says proudly, “The cage is on me. After all, I’ve gotta get Pucci something, too—since he did invite me to his party.”
“How are you gonna pay for it?” I ask softly. Now I feel so guilty for fighting with Bubbles!
“Mom is holding the money I have left from our first gig, at the Kats and Kittys Club. Now I have nothing left.”
I feel like crying, but I stammer, “I-I can’t believe you had money left and you didn’t tell me!”
“Why, Chuchie? So you could spend it?” Bubbles asks, laughing. Then she gives me a hug.
“Thank you, Bubbles. Pucci is gonna be so happy—because we are both his sisters.”
We put Pucci’s pet in his new cage. Then I hand Mr. Magoo the money for the hoglet. “I wonder if Mr. Pygmy can make noises, like ‘Oink, oink!’” I say. I smile at Mr. Magoo, but he doesn’t smile back at me.
“No, I don’t think he can squeal like that,” Bubbles says. Then she looks Mr. Magoo right in the face, and p
oints her finger at him. “But I bet this one can!”
We hightail it out of that store, screaming with laughter, before Mr. Magoo fries us like bacon!
Chapter
11
It’s a good thing I let Bubbles take Mr. Pygmy to her house, because the first “thing” I see when I open the door is nosy Pucci. The television is blaring from his bedroom, so I don’t understand what my sneaky brother is doing in the foyer.
“Why are you out here?” I ask him.
“None of your business,” he snips. Then he says, “I wonder what Daddy got me for my birthday,” and runs back to his room, before I even have a chance to answer him.
I shake my head and laugh, because I realize that Pucci is probably so excited about his birthday tomorrow that he’s already running to see who’s at the door! I may have a sense of smell as keen as a dog’s, but my brother has ears like a cat—he hears everything!
I debate whether I should tell Mom about the meeting at the record company, because I can hear that she is on the phone—probably talking to her boyfriend, Mr. Tycoon. He’s probably in Paris, France—or anyway, in one of those places he lives.
Mom says he lives in Saudi Arabia, Paris, and Geneva, Switzerland. Places I’ve never been—but will get to see one day, now that I’m a Cheetah Girl. Bubbles says the Cheetah Girls are going to travel all over the world, until we’re ready for the old cheetahs’ retirement home.
I tiptoe into my bedroom and fall right into bed, hoping that I’ll dream once again about the Benjamins falling from the sky. Or about all the fun the Cheetah Girls are going to have, recording songs with Mouse Almighty …
The next morning, I’m s-o-o nice and helpful to Mom while we get everything ready for Pucci’s birthday celebration. Humming along, I open the refrigerator and touch the bottles of cerveza—that’s beer—to see if they’re cold enough. My dad likes his cerveza muy frío—and we made sure to get his favorite, Wild Willy beer. I take out a few of the big brown bottles, and plunk them down on the banquet table.
“You seem very chirpy today, Chanel,” Mom says, as she puts the big bowl of fufu—mashed yams—on the table.
“I’m happy it’s Pucci’s birthday,” I say, all bubbly.
“Remember—don’t say anything to your abuela about my boyfriend,” Mom reminds me. “The last thing I need is for her blood pressure to go up because I’m not dating a Latin man.”
“Okay, Mamí,” I say, amused. I don’t think Abuela would like Mom’s boyfriend at all. He’s antipático, if you ask me—not really friendly. But I guess I should just be grateful that any man would put up with Mom—because she can be a pain, está bien?
All of a sudden, I feel the “spookies” churning around in my stomach as a new thought occurs to me. What if my father doesn’t show up
No, he has to show up, I reassure myself. I hope Bubbles and Madrina don’t get stuck in traffic either. I’d feel better if Bubbles was here.
Mom hands me the Dominican-style arroz con pollo, and tells me to put it on the table. She puts the sancocho stew on the table herself, and tops it with slices of avocado. Yum yum!
“Pucci, you look cute!” I exclaim as he walks into the living room. He is wearing a red sweater and pants, his face is clean, and the curls on top of his head have been combed into place. I can tell he’s really excited. Pucci sneaks over to the coffee table and starts rustling the wrapping paper on the big box that’s sitting there.
“Cut it out, Pucci!” Mom yells from the kitchen. Pucci must get his keen sense of hearing from Mom, because she is the only person I know who has bigger ears than he does—or is more nosy!
When the doorbell rings, both Pucci and I run to answer it.
“I got it!” he hisses, so I stop short and let him open the door. It’s his birthday.
“Hi, Pucci, darling!” Madrina says excitedly with outstretched arms. She grabs Pucci and gives him a big bear hug. Bubbles is right behind her, and she is holding a big cardboard box. I should have known these two would have a hideaway plan!
“What’s that? Is it my present?” Pucci asks excitedly.
“Never mind, Mr. Cuckoo Cougar,” Bubbles says jokingly, then puts down the box where it will be safely out of the way until it’s time to open it.
“Bubbles, I have a joke for you!” Pucci says excitedly.
“Oh, I don’t know, Pucci—your jokes aren’t even fit for the ears of the wildest animals in the jiggy jungle,” Madrina says hesitantly.
“Pucci!” Mom yells out.
“No, Auntie Dottie, this is a good one,” Pucci says with a mischievous grin. Pucci calls Madrina “Auntie Dottie,” even though she isn’t really his aunt. (Madrina wanted to be Pucci’s godmother as well as mine, but Dad let his sister, Aunt Lulu, be Pucci’s godmother instead. Aunt Lulu lives in Miami, with three Chihuahuas—so of course, Mom never likes to visit her.)
“Okay, Pucci, let’s hear the joke,” Bubbles says, amused. I think she’s trying to distract him from the box, ’cuz his eyes keep straying over in that direction.
“Okay Why is it so hard to hide a cheetah like you?” he says.
“I don’t know, Pucci … because I have a big mouth?” Bubbles responds.
“No! Because you’re always spotted!” Pucci says proudly.
“Whew, that was a good one, Pucci, I must say,” Madrina says, relieved. She sits down on the couch, takes off her big leopard hat, and hands it to me. Madrina hates it when her hat gets crushed, so I always put it in the closet until she leaves. That way, no one sits on it by mistake.
The doorbell rings again—but now I’m not worried about Pucci seeing his present, so I let him answer it.
“Papí!”
Gracias gooseness, my father is here! I close my eyes for a second, and ask God not to let my mom and dad fight today. Then I take a really deep breath and run to the door.
“Hi, Abuela!” I say loudly—because Abuela is hard-of-hearing. Abuela reaches up, with her walking cane in her hand, and gives me a hug.
I look up at my father and smile. He isn’t really that tall, but next to my tiny abuela, he looks like a giant. Obviously, I take after Abuela, because I’m short, too.
Daddy hands Pucci a present, and I can tell Pucci is already sizing it up. My eyes are just as good as his, and from the shape of the present, I’d say it looks like a book.
I can’t wait to tell my dad all about the Cheetah Girls’ trip to Los Angeles, and big meeting with Def Duck Records! When we sit down, my dad’s eyes are twinkling as I tell him every detail. Pucci squeezes in between him and Bubbles on the couch, and just looks on happily, listening.
“Who was that guy you were talking to after the showcase at the Tinkerbell Lounge, Chuchie?” Bubbles asks me, amused.
Why would Bubbles bring that up now—in front of my parents, no less?
“What guy?” I ask, playing innocent.
“The guy in the shiny suit and shades,” Bubbles quips. “You remember …”
“Oh, that guy! He was a vice president for Def Duck—I think he said in the publicity department or something. I can’t remember, Bubbles, está bien?”
“Well, I’ll bet he remembers you, Miss Chanel. As a matter of fact, everybody will, because they sure were giving you all the attention,” Bubbles says, giggling.
Oh, I get it. Bubbles is trying to make me look important in front of Daddy!
“I don’t think so, Bubbles—they were paying attention to all of us,” I reply.
“What’s this I hear about you flirting with some man, Chanel?” Mom yells from the dining room. “I hope you didn’t go to Los Angeles and lose your mind!”
“No, Mamí, I didn’t,” I say sheepishly.
Abuela is sitting across from me, and she just smiles. I don’t think she really heard anything we said. Gracias gooseness!
“Juanita, you knew we were all working it,” Madrina says, coming to my defense. “He was a tasty-looking morsel though, right, Chanel?”
What did
Madrina have to say that for?!
All of a sudden, Mom snaps at Madrina, “If you’re that hungry, Dottie, maybe you’d better eat something.”
You can hear the silencio. Why does Mom have to pick on Madrina now? And why did Madrina have to start with her?
See, Mom and Madrina used to be models and everything, and they were both really skinny. Mom is still skinny, because she never eats anything and exercises all the time. She is always picking on Madrina for getting, you know, más grande.
“Juanita, this isn’t a restaurant, so rest assured I will serve myself—when everyone else eats,” Madrina snips back at Mom, giving her that scary look that makes men run away on the street. Por favor, Díos, please—don’t let Madrina hit Mom with her cheetah pocketbook!
Luckily, Dad comes to the rescue. “So—they gave you girls a record deal?”
“No, Papí, not exactly—well, I mean, no,” I explain, stammering.
“Uncle Dodo, what Chanel means is, they’re paying for us to record a few songs for a demo tape, then they’ll see if they like the songs enough to give us a test single,” Bubbles explains proudly. “And if that goes over well, then we get a record deal.”
“Oh. I see.”
Abuela beams at me, so I jump up and I run over to hug her. “Cristalle,” she says, her eyes twinkling. Since last year, Abuela calls me by my confirmation name—which I like. Me gusta Cristalle!
“Let’s eat!” I exclaim, jumping up to get everyone plates and stuff.
“Is there chicken in the sancocho?” Abuela asks Mom, while she spoons some onto her plate. The two of them are rival cooks—and the truth is, Abuela does cook better than Mom!
“No, I made it with just beef and pork this time,” Mom says hesitantly.
“Está bueno,” Abuela says. Whew! Now we can all breathe easier. If Abuela is happy with the food, then we’re all happy!
I want to tell Dad that I saw Princess Pamela, but I realize he probably already knows that. Besides, Pucci is keeping him busy—he’s so happy Dad is here.
After dinner, Mom goes to the kitchen, and motions for me to follow. That means it’s time for Pucci’s cake! We light the ten candles on top, and Mom brings it into the living room. I’m right behind her, singing, “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, dear Pucci … how old are you?”
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