“I’m sure she’s having a nervous breakdown. Let me know the mental clinic she gets checked into,” he said. I had to laugh. “Maybe I should drive back to help you get another dress.”
&nbs
p; “No, no, I have other dresses,” I said, laughing again.
“Actually, I’m more interested in my mother’s reaction to the news,” Edward said.
So was I. In fact, my curiosity about it was so great I looked for an opportunity to tell her as soon as she was home. I went to her office and knocked on the door.
“What is it now?” she asked, looking up from her desk.
“I came to tell you I have two nights out this weekend.”
“I know. My son and his Tonto are returning.”
“No. I was asked to a dinner being given by Estefani Cordova’s parents for a senatorial candidate named Bovio. It’s Friday night.”
She stared at me. “Who invited you?”
“Estefani. We call her Fani,” I said.
“Well,” she said, sitting back, clearly impressed. “I do think we’ve underestimated you, Delia. In this case, I’m happy to be wrong. I have taught you formal etiquette at the dinner table, so I imagine you will not embarrass me. However, I would like to see what you decide to wear.”
“Very well,” I said. “Gracias.”
I left her quickly, smiling to myself. I could almost hear mi abuela Anabela warning me, “You’re enjoying all this too much, Delia.”
“Just a little longer, Grandmother,” I whispered. “Just a little longer.”
Although Sophia seemed to shrink and avoided me for the remainder of the week, even when we were home, I didn’t for one second believe she was in any sort of retreat. For the moment, her efforts to hurt me with rumors and accusations were frustrated. Gradually, my friends returned to my side, if I could call them my friends. Real friends would have given me the benefit of the doubt, I thought, but I had learned how to wear a mask, too, so I smiled and accepted their friendship again.
Fani was friendly in school but didn’t go far out of her way to be at my side. I thought she was standing on the sidelines, enjoying the way other girls behaved toward me, some still quite tentative, others, more curious than anything now, drawing closer. I caught Fani’s small smile when girls I rarely spoke to began speaking to me, and especially when Sophia sat off to the side, glaring, fuming, muttering under her breath.
On Friday morning, Fani reminded me to be ready at six-thirty. Tía Isabela had offered to have Señor Garman take me, but when she heard the Cordovas were sending their car and driver, she thought that was far more impressive. Although she had a date herself, she made certain to take the time to stop into my room and check out my choice of clothes, my hair, and even my makeup. Her excuse for this unusual attention was, “I don’t want the Cordovas thinking I don’t take an interest in your appearance. After all, you do represent me when you go anywhere in this community.”
She spoke as if I were some sort of an ambassador. It made me wonder how she went about explaining Sophia, with her rings in her nose and belly button, her sloppy appearance, torn jeans, and often ridiculous overdoing of makeup, especially her blackened eyes. I didn’t say anything contrary, however, thanking her for her suggestions and her offer of a pair of her diamond-studded earrings and matching necklace and bracelet, all of which she insisted enhanced my appearance. She even took a brush to my hair to correct some loose strands.
Sophia kept her bedroom door shut, but she had to hear her mother attending to me. In my heart, I knew that this was not going to change anything. If it did anything, in fact, it only would make Sophia’s resentment of me deeper, but I was not going to suffer anymore in the hope that she would somehow have a miraculous change of heart. She had snapped every olive branch I had held out to her, and I had no doubt she would continue to do so.
Tía Isabela was at the door waiting with me at six-thirty. The Cordovas had a newer-model Rolls-Royce. When she saw it coming up our drive, she patted me on the shoulder and said, “Enjoy yourself, but never forget who you are,” which I knew meant “who I am.”
I thanked her and hurried out to the car. The driver was waiting with the door open. When I looked back at the house, I was sure I saw Sophia peeking out a window. Was I more excited and happier because of the invitation or because of the pain it had brought to my cousin? At the moment, the answer didn’t matter. I was truly curious about the Cordovas and Fani, especially after what Edward had told me about them. It was difficult to think of anyone wealthier than Tía Isabela or an estate and hacienda more beautiful, but I was about to see it. Ironically, it would make the simplicity and the poverty from which I had come seem like some dream.
I was really feeling like some Latina Cinderella, hoping that this golden chariot would not turn into a pumpkin and leave me questioning my own sanity.
It was a long ride to the Cordovas’ estate, and when we turned toward the entrance, the shiny brass gate, at least twice the size of mi tía Isabela’s gate, opened as I imagined the gates of heaven to open. The driveway was seemingly endless, winding up a hill and around. The hacienda, all lit up with lights like huge candles on the walls and a large courtyard, was truly the size of a palace.
Fani must have to get up in the morning twenty minutes earlier than Sophia and me just to get out of the house and down the endless driveway to the road.
I saw many more cars than I had anticipated parked in front, some with drivers who had gathered to pass the time. As soon as I stepped out of the limousine, I heard the music of the mariachis. When I walked through the arched front door, I entered a very large courtyard, with stone benches, a huge fountain, and a carpet of grass for a floor. I immediately saw that this was no small family gathering. There were at least forty people attending, all formally dressed, the men in tuxedos and the women in beautiful gowns bedecked with jewels. Tía Isabela was right on target when she had offered me her diamonds.
The waiters and waitresses walked about with trays of champagne and all sorts of hors d’oeuvres, and the mariachis circulated, playing and singing. I immediately recognized the father of a girl who had been in my ESL class at the public school I had attended. Her name was Amata, but we called her Mata. He saw me and nodded slightly, his eyes clearly revealing his surprise at seeing me. For a few moments, I stood gaping at everything, unsure what I was supposed to do. Then Fani left a group of women and headed in my direction.
“You look very nice,” she said. “I knew you would.”
“Gracias. This is so beautiful.”
“Come, have a treat, a mimosa. You know what that is?”