Her Name Was Dolores

by Pete Salgado

  Everything just spiraled downward from there. It was almost Thanksgiving. Jen was busy filming La Voz in Mexico, but managed to get a few days off for the holiday, which we were filming for her reality show. We were also working on a show about her brother, Juan, her lifelong consentido, but since the drama with Chiquis, the family was divided, and Juan, whom I guess believed Chiquis, didn’t want much to do with Jen anymore. Feeling alienated and hurt, Jen no longer knew where to turn.

  We had many talks around that time, especially late at night when she couldn’t sleep. Jen kept going back to her surveillance footage, wondering what her daughter and husband were doing in that closet. Those foggy images haunted her till the day she died. I honestly don’t think it was an affair. If anything, it’s possible they were accomplices after some of her money. Why do I think that? It turned out Esteban was broke and had a major IRS lien; meanwhile, Chiquis wasn’t living at home, had money issues, and didn’t have the means to keep up with her Hollywood lifestyle. Both seemed to have motives, but we will never know for sure. Only Esteban, Chiquis, and God know what happened that night in the closet. All I know is that it was the straw that broke the camel’s back in Jen’s world.

  About a week after Thanksgiving, my father passed away, and that’s when we had our last heart-to-heart talk in the hospital parking lot, the one where I was able to see the weight of her life and pain through her sorrowful brown eyes, the one where I realized my dear friend was truly broken and lost. From where I was standing, the last year of Jen’s life read like a game of emotional Rubik’s Cube. Things kept coming at her with that when-it-rains-it-pours ferocity, and just when one thing seemed to be handled, the next one would start to unfurl. Her world at home was coming undone before her eyes, but her career was in full swing. And no matter what was going on in her personal life, Jen knew that the show had to go on. Work wasn’t only a duty she had to fulfill, it was her safe haven, her shelter, a place where she felt loved and supported, a refuge where she could face her inner demons and openly let the tears stream down her face. And that’s exactly what she did on December 8, 2012, in the Monterrey Arena, as she belted out “Paloma Negra,” the last song she sang on this earth, dedicated to none other than her beloved Chiquis.

  Watching that performance is still heart-wrenching to this day. It was so raw, so authentic, Jen at her finest, darkest, deepest hour, singing to her daughter because, despite all their disagreements and all the pain they caused each other, one thing remained intact: LOVE. A love that clearly shines through the tears rolling down Jen’s cheeks as she sang, “Pero mis ojos se mueren sin mirar tus ojos, y mi cariño con la aurora te vuelve a esperar” … but my eyes will die without looking into yours, and my love with the dawn will await you again.

  Chapter 12

  Lights Out

  “ [I live in a] butterfly house, for a butterfly woman who is still going through a metamorphosis,” said Jen in one of her last episodes on her reality show I Love Jenni in the fall of 2012. It was a Christmas episode, but Jen was far from being in the Christmas spirit. She was a wreck, devastated by the downfall of her relationship with Chiquis, but still trying to put on a happy face for her family. “How about for just one year we cancel Christmas,” Jen suggests in that same episode. She couldn’t fathom celebrating Christmas without her daughter. She was disappointed and profoundly hurt by everything that had happened, but she still loved and missed Chiquis terribly. No matter what trials and tribulations they faced, Jen’s children were her tribe. They were far from a perfect and average family, but the bond of love they shared helped them overcome every obstacle they encountered together. And, had it not been for her fatal accident, I believe this very same bond would’ve eventually led to a Jen and Chiquis reconciliation. Unfortunately, time was not on their side.

  As Jen walked through the valley of the shadow of death, despite the pain she carried regarding her daughter, she did experience a few sparks of happiness before her passing that filled her with hope for a better 2013, a year that would never come to be in her life, but one she had faith would be extraordinary. The first sparks came in the form of reconciliations, first with Gabo and then with Lupillo.

  After firing Gabo, Jen was furious. She dismembered him in the media and followed it up by filing a law suit against him for not carrying a booking agent license. That was classic Jenni—when she was wronged, she lunged straight for the jugular. Yet, despite the defamation and case against him, Gabo remained quiet. He didn’t throw her under the bus, he didn’t try to get his version out there, and he didn’t try to justify his actions because he knew that if he said a word, he’d put both his life and that of Jenni’s at risk. So he took every hit in silence, hoping that one day the truth would come out and all would finally be out in the open.

  And sure enough, as 2011 and 2012 unfolded, the truth slowly began to see the light of day. When Gabo left, Mario Macías eased his way into the team and took his place. And as he booked Jen’s gigs in Mexico, he also explained that they had to pay to play. “What do you mean?” asked Jen, somewhat confused. “Gabo never gave them anything. He’d made an arrangement and didn’t have to pay.” To which Mario responded, “Well, I don’t know how he did it because if we don’t pay up, we’re putting our lives at risk and we could lose it all.” That’s when Jen first began to realize that Gabo had been paying kickbacks in Mexico against her will. “No wonder he never told me. I’d strictly forbidden him from doing this, but now I see that it was for our safety,” she said to Julie later that year. Then she started putting two and two together and began wondering if maybe that missing money in those famous invoices was actually money that had gone to pay these kickbacks. She wasn’t sure, but what she did know was that the ship without Gabo at the helm in Mexico wasn’t running as smoothly as it had been, and she started softening her stance against him.

  Nevertheless, Gabo remained on the outs with Jen until October 2012 rolled around and he got wind of her imminent divorce. When the announcement went public, Gabo was genuinely concerned about his friend. He didn’t care how bad it had gotten between them. He wasn’t worried about work; he just wanted to know how his friend was doing. He’d seen her through so many ups and down in the roller coaster that was her life that he was sincerely sad to find out her “happily ever after” hadn’t worked out and felt the need to reach out and let her know she was in his thoughts.

  “I know how hard it must be for you and your children,” said Gabo in an e-mail he drafted and sent Jen when he heard about the divorce. “I can’t offer you my support because I know you won’t accept it. But I can tell you that you are in my prayers, and I hope that you are soon able to overcome this new challenge that God has put in your path. You will overcome it.”

  Five minutes later, Jen replied, “Thanks for taking the time to write, keeping me in your thoughts and prayers. I still love you … and I miss you a lot.”

  Gabo’s eyes filled with tears as he read her words. It was such a healing moment. Receiving that e-mail to Jen was gold. From that day forward, until the day she passed, they continued communicating. In a later e-mail, Jen wrote: “I always tell everyone how much I miss you … so many moments we shared together, the good, the bad, the successes, the failures … unforgettable experiences.” And later on, she also wrote: “I’d love to be your friend … I love you … you’re my brother … even more so than some of my own brothers. I hope we can get together for dinner and some drinks.”

  The road to reconciliation had finally been paved and they were both elated. As Gabo recalls, “On December 7, she sent me a text saying she was busy working the next few days, but that we should see each other on Wednesday, December 12, in L.A. at Gloria Trevi’s concert. And I replied, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there,’ but she never made it.”

  I know she wanted Gabo back on the team. She missed him. He played a major role in her career. He witnessed her every sacrifice and was right there with her, helping her climb to the top, giving her the push she neede
d to keep going when the going got extra tough. I knew how much he meant to her, but I was still wary. Jen had to convince me to relax my position with him, to be more open to their reconciliation. I was a protective big brother who simply didn’t want to see her in more pain than she already was, but I finally agreed to follow her lead. To make amends, the three of us were going to meet at that Gloria Trevi concert on December 12, 2012, the week after her concert in Monterrey. Jen was planning on dropping the case against him and asking him to rejoin the team in January, but that reunion never came to pass. I take comfort in knowing that at the very least they were able to communicate and patch things up before she died. It not only gave Gabo a sense of peace, but I know it also filled Jen with some hope at a time when she desperately needed it.

  The other key person who made her heavy heart brim with joy during those dark days was none other than her brother Lupillo. When he stood up for her at their family meeting, saying he’d remain by her side whether she was right or wrong, and lending her the support she had always yearned to receive from him, Jen’s issues with her brother melted away. It was one of the most endearing moments of her life that year, one that finally brought these two siblings together, reconciled at last. So, toward the end of November, while Jen was on a business trip in Mexico, when she heard that her brother was playing at the Texcoco Rodeo just outside of Mexico City, she was ecstatic when she realized she was free that night. “Look, I wanna go see my brother’s show,” she said to her team in Mexico, and they made it happen.

  The beauty of it all was that Lupillo had no idea she’d be there, so when Jen took the stage in the middle of one of his songs, tears started streaming down Lupillo’s face. Completely taken aback and genuinely surprised, he embraced her in a long and affectionate hug that meant more than anyone could have imagined. “I’ve been waiting for this visit for seven years, and now that I’ve gotten it, I’m crying like a little boy, me vale madre, I cry too!” They sang together and before leaving the stage, Jen thanked the audience, thanked her brother, and publicly said, “Now that I needed my brother, he’s been here for me, so I ask for a big round of applause for my brother!”

  It was a wonderful moment for them both, a genuine and major public reconciliation, something that left Jen filled with happiness and peace, and gave Lupillo the comfort he needed to deal with her passing a few weeks later. I’m so grateful that God allowed that orchestration of healing between them before her accident. I’m also grateful that He allowed one more crucial meeting to take place right before Jen’s passing, one that also sparked joy and reminded her that even though her inner circle of trust seemed to be crumbling and imploding, there were still people she loved that she could lean on, and they’d always have her back. She received this gift the night she met up with her beloved Pelón on a rooftop overlooking the City of Angels.

  I found out about this get-together the next morning, a few days before the accident, when she called me at 7:00 a.m. sharp, as she usually did, and said, “Guess where I’m coming from?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, clueless. “The gym?”

  “From Ferni’s.”

  “What do you mean you’re coming from Ferni’s? What’s up?” I said, protectively. The last thing she needed was more drama.

  “No, no, it wasn’t like that,” she said, calming me down. “We just had an amazing night. We got on the roof with two chairs and just talked the whole night away until the sun came up.” Fernando lived on Hollywood Boulevard and from his apartment, you could see the Sunset Strip.

  “You just talked all night?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Yes! It was unbelievable,” she replied.

  They spent the night reminiscing, connecting as soul mates, as best friends. She cherished that moment like no other, especially given the circumstances, because it was plain and simple, just hanging out with an old friend who understood her. He too had been through a lot overcoming his addictions, so he got everything she’d been through and could comprehend her current trials and tribulations, no explanations needed. He got her and, ten years later, he was clean and still there by her side, sharing yet another unique night as they overlooked the city lights below and the stars above.

  On December 4, 2012, just five days before the plane crash, Jen had landed another mega milestone in her career, and a ground-breaking first for Latinas in the entertainment industry: we signed a deal with ABC for Jenni’s future sitcom. Yes, she was going to have her own sitcom, a la Lucille Ball or Roseanne; only this time it would also mean she’d be the first Latina to land a leading comedic role on American TV. Up until then, Latinas had been featured as part of an ensemble, such as Eva Longoria on Desperate Housewives or Sofia Vergara on Modern Family, but no Latina had ever gotten the lead role, until now. That deal not only guaranteed us a million dollars, it also fit perfectly well with another gig she’d landed earlier: A Las Vegas residency in August 2013, also another first for her as a Latina and in her music genre, which guaranteed an additional eight million dollars. That was it, that was all she needed to make her main goal in 2013 a reality.

  Yes, these were groundbreaking projects, milestones, but the most important accomplishment of all would’ve been to stop touring for a while and make her dream of being closer to her children finally come true. Since these were both local ventures, she wouldn’t have to travel far to get to work, and would finally be able to be the mom she had always wanted to be for her kids. She said it best in one of our last conversations when we were going over our goals for the upcoming year.

  “I’m so looking forward to just being a mom.”

  “But you’ve been a mom all this time,” I said.

  “No,” she replied. “I’ve been so busy all these years being a provider, the dad’s role, that I’m finally looking forward to just being a mom, to make my kids breakfast, pick them up from school.”

  And I got it. Jen had been providing for her family since she was fifteen years old, always hustling to make a living so she could feed her children, never able to truly enjoy the joys of being at home with her kids. It seemed that the coming year, the jobs we’d lined up would finally allow her to stop and smell the roses—in this case the roses being her precious time with her children, another enormous spark of joy and hope for a better tomorrow that would never arrive.

  The day of Jen’s last concert, December 8, 2012, my family and I laid my father to rest in California. My dad had been on life support prior to passing, living at the hospital, with my siblings and me taking turns to be with him—I’m the eldest of six. And I was the strong one, because my dad expected me to be strong, so I took that role to heart in my family, just like Jen did in hers. Another reason we understood each other so well. In any case, that night, after the funeral, and after what would be Jen’s last concert ever, she called to check up on me and see how everything had gone. She was really happy with the show and told me it had been fantastic. I was sorry I couldn’t be there. She’d also hoped her dad and youngest son, Johnny, could’ve come, but due to work and school, they couldn’t make it either, so we chitchatted for a while. She told me she was starving, which was the norm with her because she never ate before a concert and was always famished by the end of the night, so we said our good-byes and hung up. I never imagined that this would be the last conversation I would ever have with her in my lifetime.

  As I got ready for bed, I remember telling my wife, “You know, tomorrow I just want to catch up on some football and have some comfort food.” Even though I knew my father was going to die, losing someone you love still requires time to mourn and process it all. She and my family respected that and understood I needed that healing time. So we turned off the lights and went to sleep, but rather than sleeping in, I was jolted awake by our home phone ringing off the hook early Sunday morning.

  While I processed the sound—our home phone hardly ever rung, everyone calls my cell phone, so hearing the landline was an anomaly—my wife gently nudged me and said, “The phone,
the phone, you should go check the answering machine.” As I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, I automatically thought one of my aunts might not be feeling well—they were a bit older and they’d just buried their brother. I was almost afraid to go downstairs to check the machine. I knew it had to be something important, and I was afraid of hearing the message. When I pressed play, I was thrown. It wasn’t any of my family members, but rather the voice of a good friend of mine in the business asking me to give him a call about Jen’s plane. The following message was our agent at CAA calling to see if I could confirm the rumor that was circulating about her plane going down, and the next one was a good friend and Televisa executive calling me about the plane.

  At first, I was in complete disbelief. I honestly didn’t think it was true. In Mexico, if you’re on a private plane, you’re basically an hour away from anywhere in the country, and with Jen, we were used to getting on a plane after a show and flying to another city to attend an after party or meet friends for breakfast. Furthermore, in the United States you’re required to register your destination when you take a private jet, but that wasn’t the case in Mexico. There you simply hop on a jet as if you were taking a cab and tell the pilot where you want to go, and he’ll fly you there. Knowing all this, as I heard the messages and all the commotion, instead of worrying, my first thought was honestly, Damn Jen, she must have decided to go somewhere else. The possibility of the plane actually going down wasn’t even registering on my radar.

  Still in shock, trying to process what was happening, another thought suddenly crossed my mind: Maybe she’d been hijacked from the plane. This wasn’t unheard of in Mexico. Even Learjets land in the Sierra for the cartels, so the possibility of Jen being held hostage somewhere for ransom wasn’t that outrageous. If that was the case, I knew Jen would expect me to move heaven and earth to find her and bring her back home, so I sprang into action. Jen trusted me, she knew that if she was ever in danger or trouble, I’d be the one to get her out of it, so I was ready to turn every rock over until I found her.