Tori didn’t want to get into it. Today was her birthday, and the last thing she wanted was to fight with her best friend. “No, my bad. I didn’t mean to imply that you aren’t.”
Adriana arched a perfectly waxed eyebrow and gave a regal nod of her head. “Apology accepted. But I want you to remember, especially tonight, that we’re supposed to have fun.”
“Right. Fun. Mucho fun.” Tori whirled and began to jog again. Adriana fell into step beside her once more.
As Tori received an exceptionally detailed rundown of what they were going to do for dinner that night, seemingly to divert her from learning the real truth, Tori considered that her friends’ idea of mucho fun for tonight boded for mucho major disaster.
She imagined that her amigas would spend the bulk of the night trying to get her to be spontaneous, as if spontaneous could somehow be planned. Maybe they would even get on their second favorite topic—Tori’s lack of a relationship and start pushing her to meet some guy on the boat. And miles out to sea, there would be little Tori could do to escape, except head to the gaming tables. Or pray that the boat sank.
She was sure that even if the latter were to happen, her friends would continue with their plan, certain that there would be some eligible man on the coast guard ship sent to rescue them.
Funny thing was, none of them were “involved.” Adriana had her thing with Riley, which had gone nowhere since grade school. Sylvia had a parade of handsome-model types escorting her. Tori suspected it was a solely a business kind of arrangement—Sylvia wanted to look good and the wannabes needed access to the hottest events in town in the hopes of being discovered. Juliana … No, Juliana hadn’t mentioned a man in, like, forever.
So none of them really had “relationships.” But of course if Tori raised that, they’d say she was getting all lawyerly on them, trying to justify the rut that was her life.
So absent the boat sinking, it would definitely be the gaming tables tonight. Tori wasn’t normally a gambler—the idea of losing money just for the fun of it ran contrary to everything in which she believed. But she liked card games and was good at them thanks to an almost photographic memory and innate sense of mathematical probabilities. So at least there was that—a possible diversion to keep her well-meaning friends from driving her crazy all night long.
“Did you hear what I said?” Adriana pressed as they reached the end of the path, turned, and headed back in the direction of South Pointe.
Tori stumbled and fell off her pace, embarrassed that she had zoned out so badly. Recovering, she said, “Sorry, I didn’t. I was thinking about … stuff.”
Adriana blew out a harsh breath, sending an errant lock of dark auburn hair flying, and shook her head. “Probably about work, right? It’s always about el trabajo with you.”
“Right. Work,” Tori lied.
“You know, amiga, I thought you were wiggy about work before becoming partner. I’d hoped it be a little different now.”
Great! Third-favorite amigas’ topic of complaint. But maybe if she coupled it with talk about a man … “It will be, Adriana. I was just thinking about this other partner. The new man in the office, sabes.”
“The one you haven’t met?” Adriana motioned with her hand for Tori to stop and when she did, Adriana bent over and took a few deep breaths. When she rose, she said, “Sorry, I had a stitch. Don’t you ever get them?”
Yes, she did, but she wouldn’t stop for one, she thought, but didn’t say it since it would be bitchy. “Sometimes when I first start out, but you always meet me after I’m warmed up.”
Adriana nodded and took a deeper breath. “Glad to know you’re human,” she said and started to jog.
Openmouthed, Tori stared after her friend’s retreating back for a moment before chasing after her. She told herself not to let Adriana’s comment bother her. Adriana could be curt and insensitive at times. She was just being Adriana.
For a moment Tori wondered why it was okay for Adriana to be herself when she couldn’t just be Tori. “I’m a little tired of all the Tori-bashing.”
Adriana didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t flinch or react. “Who’s bashing?”
“All of you. All the time,” she replied and stopped. Again. Which was so totally going to blow her time for today’s run.
Adriana turned, but kept jogging in place. “Come on, Tori. I know how important it is for you to keep the pace.” She moved down the path and Tori reluctantly followed.
“Adriana—”
“Bien. So maybe we get a little carried away. But we mean well. We’re concerned about you,” Adriana began, took a deep breath and kept on going. “It’s what friends do. Worry about each other. Plan birthday dinners. Even tell their best friends everything, from the nittiest-grittiest details of the latest blow-up with the boyfriend to the wild make-up sex after the fight. ¿Verdad?”
“Right,” Tori agreed, only it had been a long time since she had had anything to contribute in the tell-all department. No Mr. Right or Wrong or even Mr. Maybe. Just no time for it.
No! She stumbled again before picking up her steady pace once more.
Silently Tori admitted that maybe her friends, as annoying as they were at times, were a little right. Maybe she should listen to them, just this once. After all, who knew her better than her best friends? For fifteen years they’d been there for her and if they thought this big birthday event was what Tori needed to add a little excitement to her life, maybe they were right.
It was time for Tori to shake up her vida not so loca.
Tonight on her birthday.
If the mood was right.
And the cards were running her way.
And the boat didn’t sink.
“Listen, Adriana. I promise that tonight I will be All-Fun Tori. No matter what happens—”
“¿De verdad? You mean that? No matter what we plan?” Adriana questioned, clearly surprised about Tori’s sudden and clearly unexpected capitulation.
“Sí. I mean it. Whatever.”
They had reached Adriana’s South Pointe condo again where they came to a stop for a moment. Adriana reached over and gave Tori a sweaty hug. “Gracias. I promise that you won’t regret it.”
Tori returned Adriana’s embrace and forced a smile. Despite her friend’s assertion, a slight trace of fear remained about their plans for the upcoming night. But she said nothing. Merely nodded, gave a little wave, and turned to start the return jog back toward her place.
She had gone no more than a few steps when Adriana called out, “And por favor. No Ann Taylor or Brooks Brothers tonight!”
Tori gritted her teeth and shook her head, trying to ignore Adriana’s well-meaning but nevertheless bothersome parting words. After all, there was nothing wrong with Ann Taylor, was there? And her friends couldn’t possibly expect her to fluff her hair, totter around on three-inch heels, and become some kind of brainless Barbie doll, could they?
A seagull swooped by, its screech sounding suspiciously like laughter.
Tori gritted her teeth and ran on.
Chapter Two
Birthdays were a ritualistic thing in the Rodriguez household—the only thing absent was small animal sacrifices.
Every birthday morning, her mami would visit church to light a candle and pray for her niñas. Tori had always wondered what Mami prayed about. For them to stay out of trouble? Wasted prayers for Tori who had always been downright obedient as a child. Even semiwasted on her sister Angelica who had been a good girl as well—except for that one little incident on prom night.
In fact, everyone on their little piece of Calle Ocho knew the Rodriguez sisters were not only good girls, but busy doing all kinds of wonderful things with their lives. Her mami made it a point to tell everyone how well las niñas were doing. So Mami’s birthday prayers had been answered for the most part.
Tori assumed that her mother had headed to church that morning. Still praying. Tori didn’t want to imagine for what. The thought came unbidden anyway. So Tori cou
ld be more like her sister, Angelica?
Her mami hadn’t said it, but Tori knew. Her family had been excited about her promotion to partner for all of about two minutes. Lately, all attention seemed to be directed toward her sister and her new baby. And although Tori didn’t want to admit to it, the lack of attention bothered her just a little.
But this was her birthday lunch and hopefully her mami would be able to rip her thoughts from photos of her slobbery new sobrinita and discussions of baby poop.
Her mami and hermanita were waiting for her in front of the Versailles restaurant. Another Rodriguez birthday ritual. When they were children, her mother would slip something special into their lunch bags—like a guayaba pastelito. Once they got older, they would alternate between lunches at Versailles—probably Little Havana’s best-known Cuban eatery—and La Carreta with its kitschy sugarcane cart exterior.
Tori embraced her Rubenesque mother, loving the rounded mounds of her that somehow always brought a feeling of comfort. It was how mamis should feel, not like all those angular tough-as-leather Anglos who frequented her gym.
She turned to face her sister and noticed that Angelica was almost back to her prebaby shape, although there was something more voluptuous about her, as if pregnancy had smoothed and enhanced her already generous curves. And of course, because Angelica was Angelica, she was wearing a cotton top with a plunging neckline that displayed her amplified cleavage.
Don’t look, Tori told herself, resisting the urge to shoot a glance at her own barely Size-B breasts as she hugged her sister. That motherly comforting feeling rose up in her. Could it be a mami pheromone? Was that possible? she wondered as she drew away from Angelica and they entered the building.
A hostess quickly came to greet and escort them through the crowded restaurant.
As they walked past certain tables, men turned to eyeball her sister and Tori wanted to shout, “Hello, nursing mom!” Instead she gave them her best lawyerly glare and one or two guiltily shifted their gazes away.
Once seated, Tori removed her navy blue blazer and slipped it on the back of her chair. Inside her air conditioned car or office, the de rigueur blazer was just fine, but out on the street and in the crowded restaurant, it was a little much.
“This is an exciting day, mi’jita,” her mother began.
“How does it feel, Tori? The Big One?” her sister added while reaching for a piece of the toasted and buttered Cuban bread a busboy had brought to their table.
It was difficult for Tori to respond. She didn’t understand why everyone was making such a big deal about her thirtieth birthday. After all, turning thirty didn’t make her eligible to be a card-carrying member of AARP. “It’s just another birthday,” she replied, although she was starting to worry it was more than that, given how everyone was carrying on.
“Ay, mi’jita. I remember my thirtieth birthday. I had just found out that morning that I was pregnant with you, Victoria. Your papi and I had just bought our house,” her mother said. The joy in her voice was difficult to ignore and yet almost painful at the same time.
“You finally had everything you wanted, Mami,” Angelica said with a sigh.
Her mother nodded, her teased and hair-sprayed helmet of Clairol brown hair immobile with the movement. “Ay, sí, mi’jita. And you will feel the same way as well in two years, Angelica.”
Well, it didn’t take long, Tori thought, reaching for her glass of water and taking a bracing sip.
“Just like Tori must be feeling right now, Mami,” her sister responded, and Tori choked as she swallowed.
Angelica reached over and patted Tori on the back and again that motherly feeling filled her. As did thankfulness that her hermanita had suddenly come to her defense and actually acknowledged her recent promotion.
“Gracias, Angie. I’m very excited about becoming partner.”
Tori’s thankfulness was short-lived as Angelica said, “It’s quite an accomplishment. And now that you’ve done that, maybe you’ll find time for other more important things.”
The waitress chose that moment to take their orders. They hadn’t opened their menus, but then again, they’d been to Versailles so often that they could likely recite the menu from memory. And of course, since Tori was as predictable as everyone said, she ordered the same thing she ordered every year for her birthday lunch—bistec empanizado and a batido de mango. And as she always did, she felt guilty about the ultrarich carbo-loaded shake and chicken-fried steak.
Atkins and South Beach be screwed. It was her birthday, damn it, and she was going to enjoy herself. And Dios mío, that was what everyone was always telling her, anyway.
She had barely finished returning the menu to the waitress when her mami thrust a brightly colored envelope literally in her face.
“Mami?” she asked and shot an uneasy glance at her sister.
Her mother made a shooing motion with her hands and Angelica chimed in with, “Vamos. Open it. We couldn’t wait until after lunch.”
Tori nervously fingered the envelope, turned it around and back a few times before finally slipping her finger beneath the unsealed flap of the envelope. It opened easily and Tori reached in, extracted the birthday card.
It was one of those cards poking fun at being “Over the Hill!” And what did that mean? Tori wondered. Over what hill and going where? To buy the farm? And where did all these weird expressions come from?
She grinned at the card despite herself. The young woman on the face of the card—the pre-Hill version—suddenly became the post-Hill someone on the inside of the card and that someone looked suspiciously like her mami.
Tori was sure of one thing at a minimum. She looked nothing like her mami yet! Not that there was anything wrong with the way her mami looked. If you were sixty-something.
But inside as well, taped to one side of the card, was another smaller envelope. Plain white and with nothing to give away what was inside. Tori shot a questioning glance from her mother to her sister. This time it was her sister who motioned for her to open it.
She did and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She glanced from her mother to her sister and then back to her mother again. “You want me to do what with this?”
A second later the waitress came over and served them, giving Tori a brief moment to recover from the shock of the birthday present—a gift card to a sexy lingerie store.
Her mami reached for a tostone, snagged it delicately from the platter in the middle of the table, and waved it in the air as she said, “We want you to get yourself something special. Something sexy. ¿Quien sabe? You might get lucky tonight.”
“Mami,” Tori said a little too loudly and looked around the restaurant, slightly aghast for various reasons. First, her amigas—soon to be ex-amigas—had apparently clued her mother and sister in to what was actually happening tonight. Second, her mother was suggesting … This couldn’t be her mami talking like this. Not the same lady who had made Tori and her sister suffer through twelve years of all-girl Catholic schools run by nuns as tough as Alcatraz prison guards. And not the mami who had probably prayed on every birthday for her niñas to remain chaste and pure until married.
No, this had to be a clone. A UFO had abducted her real mother.
“Since you two appear to know about the big plan tonight—”
“As do you, apparently,” Angelica jumped in.
Tori glared at her. “My plan is to get lucky tonight—with the cards, since that is where I plan on spending my night.”
“Hello. Earth to Tori—” Before Angelica could continue, their mother interrupted, hands held out before her in a pleading motion as she beseeched her daughter.
“Mi’jita. You can’t be serious. Of course I don’t mean cards. I mean, lucky with a man. Sabes, a nice respectable and solid—”
“Very solid,” her sister, Angelica, said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, prompting a surprise round of giggles from their mother.
Heat rushed to Tori’s face and again she l
ooked around, hoping that no one had overheard. The last thing she needed was for most of Little Havana to think that Victoria Dolores de la Caridad Rodriguez needed to get laid.
“Mami.” Tori held the gift certificate in her mother’s direction, but her mother just pushed it back and picked up her fork, dug into her plate of steaming ropa vieja.
Since her mother was as stubborn as stubborn could get, Tori offered the gift certificate to her sister.
Angelica ignored Tori’s outstretched hand. “Gracias, but no. How do you think I ended up pregnant in the first place. I don’t need any more luck right now.”
Tori laid the gift certificate on the table and stared at it, ignoring the steak and the sinfully thick shake that were calling her name.
A moment later, Angie reached out and laid her hand over Tori’s. “Hermanita. Lighten up. Get yourself something sexy. Just for yourself if there isn’t anyone to share it with.”
Tori let out an exasperated sigh and scowled at the gift certificate for the sexy little lingerie shop on Washington, just a few blocks away from her apartment. She’d been there before with Sylvia, but the kind of stuff there … It wasn’t Tori kind of stuff. Brooks Brothers was Tori kind of stuff.
The problem was, her mother and sister knew that Tori hated to see anything go to waste. If they would not take the gift certificate back, she had no choice since a refund wasn’t possible. Maybe they’d have something Tori could use. Like some sedate pajamas. Or some nice, almost serviceable underwear instead of the anal floss Angie was fond of wearing.
“Stop frowning, mi’jita. You’ll get lines,” her mother admonished.
“Fine,” Tori said. She relented, picked up her knife and fork, and cut into the bistec empanizado she had ordered for lunch. A lunch that was turning out to be way more than she had expected. Just as tonight was promising to be something Tori might live to regret.
Her mami. Hermanita. All of her friends. She was getting tired of fighting all their birthday wishes for her. All of which were remarkably similar. Which bothered her.
Did they all see her the same way? The same unflattering way? Tori thought, as she reached for the mango shake and took a long satisfying sip of the sweet drink. Well, they were all in for a shock, since immediately after lunch she was going to visit the damn lingerie shop and find something sexy. Tonight she would play along with her friends and go on the boat. And after? Well, she’d figure out what it was they expected her to do to have a fun night and damn it, she’d do it.
Friday Night Chicas Page 6