Never Too Real (3 page)

Chapter 3

“N
ow . . . do me a favor—be nice!” commanded a sunny-faced woman—bronzed, crowned with black curls, wearing red lipstick, a flowing dress, and Spanish shawl. Boho chic.

“I’m always nice,” Magda responded in a flat, tongue-in-cheek tone. She and her former girlfriend, Gabi, a Puerto Rican, Ivy League–educated psychotherapist, were finding their seats in a large event room, decorated tastefully but unremarkably in fund-raising-dinner style. An unoffensive flower arrangement sat in the middle, glasses and utensils outnumbered anything else in the room, and circles of tables were surrounded by gold-painted bamboo chairs.

It was six years ago at Magda’s front of center table for her largest philanthropic effort, the Sol Fund, directed toward environmentally friendly urban planning. Gabi was also Magda’s former partner of two years and was just starting up her media persona, landing multiple TV guest spots and named in influential media outlets as an expert in her field. But her time with Magda came after living her life never having dated a woman, or even entertaining the idea that it was a possibility. Her traditional background had no room for it. But after a bad breakup with another long-term boyfriend, Magda had swept in a few years ago and rescued her mind, won her heart, and loved her body in a way she’d never experienced. Yet, after one too many nights spent trying to talk sense into a drunk, one-a.m.-just-getting-home-Magda, smelling of other women’s perfume, Gabi had to leave. But she never left Magda as a friend. Gabi’s love for her and understanding of the self-destructive pain that was her propane kept her around, but platonically. Besides, Gabi was a problem-solver, a therapist extraordinaire. She wasn’t going to let this “problem” get away from her until she was fixed.

“Watch that belly,” said Magda as Gabi squeezed her wide hips onto her seat, the bump of her pregnant stomach barely noticeable as it brushed the edge of the table.

“
Ay,
I’m fine.” Gabi swatted Magda’s concern away.

A mass of fellow dinner-goers milled around them, everyone looking for table numbers, sparkling in gowns, jewelry jangling, judging whom they wanted to commit to making small talk with for the next two hours.

“Why’d you have to go and have his baby?” Magda whined playfully. “Why not my baby?”

“Mags . . . Stop it.” Gabi raised her hand to stop the flow of sass coming from her ex. “I’m happy, okay? You know I want this baby more than anything . . .” As she trailed off, Magda raised an eyebrow at her in defiance. Gabi took in air, ready to chastise her jealous former lover, but was interrupted, catching the eye line of one of her guests, an up-and-coming television producer.

“Hey,
chica!
Come, come!” Gabi’s face radiated welcome like an electric stovetop.

“Hi!” Her guest, Cat, was on “low” compared to Gabi’s “high.” She was nervous. This was her first big fund-raising dinner and was a bit intimidated by what she’d read up on Magda, a publicly gay woman, who was nearly a tycoon. Cat was amazed, even more so once she shook her hand and felt just how captivating she was.

“
Un placer.
” Magda gave Cat a nudge of a smile while her eyes told Cat that she liked what she saw. Gabi elbowed Magda.

Cat rambled a bit in reply. “Thank you so much, Magda, for having me—and Gabi. I’ve never really been to one of these things, ya know, because of course the network doesn’t pay for much and then when they do, it’s like I’m just not there yet, ya know?”

Gabi waved off Cat’s nervousness while acknowledging her feelings of vulnerability. Magda had gotten up to talk with another board member, which gave Gabi the chance to assure Cat as she sat down. “Sweetie, this is just the start of many! So . . . help us out here and make this not a dull night, yes?” Cat smiled. She wasn’t yet the stomping, strong woman who commanded a network show. She seemed smaller, was smaller, in her own head. Her hair wasn’t perfectly blow-dried and ironed flat. Her makeup was obviously done all too gently by her own hand, and her dress was as nondescript and “blend-me-in” as possible. She was not yet ready to be seen. But Gabi saw her—saw the fireball of intelligence and drive under all the politeness and nerves.

“
Ay, mujeres,
what the fuck!” A stunning blue-eyed, African-American woman with a nearly shaved head of pale gold approached the table, feigning exasperation. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“
Ay, belleza,
Mami-Luz, come here!” Gabi enthused. She embraced Luz as her friend bent down to give her a full-lipped kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t get up, don’t get up,” the woman said in Gabi’s ear as she looked down at Gabi’s growing belly. “So, does everybody know?” she whispered.

“Oh, yeah, yes, all good.” Gabi nodded, with her eyes closing in acknowledgment. She patted her own belly while her friend squeezed her hand on her shoulder.

They paused for a moment, then Gabi introduced Cat to Luz, who then greeted Magda as they all sat down.

“Yo, mama, thank you so much for letting me tag along—you know I’m going to get the company to give big next year. They
need
to buy a table.”

“That would be great, Lu. Thanks.” Magda smiled. Luz was a longtime friend and grad-school buddy of Gabi, a rising powerhouse in advertising. A stunner visually, the super-cool buzzcut, the velvet brown skin and light eyes, but she was too tall and model-like for Magda’s taste. Not enough to hold. Besides, Luz was another supreme alpha, like Magda. She loved alphas, but only as friends. Besides, Luz was married to a Silicon-Valley Chinese-American from Queens who was grinding his life away at his start-up for God-knows-what chance he’d strike it rich. Might as well be mining for gold. Then again, Luz was no idiot. Magda just didn’t like the odds. She preferred to play it square in business. Just not in life. But that didn’t stop both Luz and Chris from pitching her to invest in his business.

It was nearing time for the opening speaker and Magda’s table was now filled by three of her staff members: a young, brunette intern with the flowing locks of youth and the angled shoulders of a salad diet; an Adonis thirty-something vice president, with ebony skin and Colgate-white teeth; and the hipster accounting guy, coiffed, full beard, checked shirt, contrasting slim tie and all.

“Ladies and gentlemen! If you could all please take your seats—the program will soon begin.” The voice of God, as events folks call it, boomed over the speakers. Half of the attendees, still standing, shuffled to their seats as conversations wound down, hugs were given, cards exchanged.

“Are you saying anything tonight?” Gabi asked Magda as she sat down at the head of her table, closest to the stage, smiling, mouthing hellos around the table.

“Nah, don’t wanna.” Gabi noted Magda’s tequila-laced breath. She didn’t remember seeing her drink more than one, but she already sensed she was on to number three at a minimum. Gabi knew better than to berate Magda or tell her to cool it. That would just result in a scene. A clear cause and effect. And, as the server filled Magda’s wineglass, she took it from under her pour so quickly, Gabi was amazed nothing spilled. It was like a magic act. With no magic.

“So, Cat, how’s the show going, hon?” Gabi turned her attention to her newest friend.

Cat rolled her eyes and sighed. “The host is just such a bitch—I’m sorry, please keep this just between you and me, okay?” Cat’s professional façade slipped for a moment.

“No, no, listen, nothing’s going anywhere.”

Cat sighed. “Thank you . . .”

She ran through the wild stories of behind-the-scenes shenanigans on her show—a national show to boot. Cat’s host was a longtime TV vet and that stance was a double-edged sword. She had the tenure to make demands, and the older, loyal viewership to make her feel secure enough to berate her staff and blow smoke every which way possible. She also had the shoulder of the network boss, another
viejo
as Cat called him, an old man. And he loved blondes. But, as Gabi pointed out to Cat, old and blonde wasn’t the future—it was the usual. And pressure from younger or migrating viewers meant that it would be only a matter of time.

“Why don’t
you
do it?” Gabi whispered to Cat in between speakers and clapping.

“Do what? Go on air?” Cat’s eyes saucered.

Gabi answered her stunned response with, “Yeeees! Well, why not?”

Cat couldn’t speak.
Why didn’t I ever think of that?

“You sooooo have a face for TV—look at you! Big eyes, strong features . . .”

“But I have brown skin, though, Gab!”

“Even better, no?! It’s about freakin’ time that that was a plus . . . ! It’s time.” Gabi punctuated her message, pushing her pointed finger into the table with a light thump.

They both looked to the stage and clapped as the room did. They were lost as to why the room was applauding, but they were there to support Magda and her cause. Their presence, and a small donation, were more than the eighty percent.

Magda had gone quiet. Gabi noted that she seemed to be focusing on the podium, but she watched as her eyes glazed over, in and out of being present, another glass of wine gone, something turning in her mind.
Oh, please, Mags, make it through this.

“Hey, Mags, sup!” The program broke for some music, giving Luz’s husband, Chris, a chance to pull up behind Magda’s blond head and striped Italian suit jacket to say hello.

“Hey, man, sup, how you doin’?” Magda slowly, with concentration, began functioning again. She looked pleasantly at the handsome, Asian-featured man.

Luz threw an air-kiss his way as he winked back.

“Good, good.” He kneeled next to her so she wouldn’t have to get up. He sensed that rising might be an effort for her right now. “We are just plugging away and I managed to get Casa Works to nab a table here—”

“That is so cool, man, thanks.” Magda was genuine. After business updates were made, Chris wasn’t one to squander time.

“And you know, a lot of this couldn’t happen without you—” he said.

“Oh, man, well, ya know—”

“No, no, really—without your initial investment, which gave us such a halo effect by the way, I dunno if we would have gotten over that hump.”

“My pleasure, man, my pleasure.” Magda shook his hand, nearly blushing, as he rose to swing around the table to his wife, Luz. Points scored by Chris for gratitude.

“Wow—wait, I didn’t know you backed Chris’s company!?” Gabi leaned over.

“Yeah, well, ya know.” Magda shrugged.

“I thought you didn’t feel too hot about the whole deal—too risky . . .”

“Listen,” Magda slurred slightly, “I’m not a complete monster. She’s our friend.” She gestured over at Luz, her husband leaning over her, adoring. Adoring. How Magda wished for something so real.

“In the end, I back the person. I backed Chris, not necessarily the concept. He’s a solid guy. Knows his shit. Works like a mutha.” Magda slugged down her last drop of red wine.

Gabi smiled at Magda’s fierce loyalty. She backed people. Though she was messed up when it came to lovers and romance, she was the most loyal friend and ally one could ask for.

Magda patted Gabi’s thigh. “Be right back.”

“Where ya goin’?”

“Three o’clock.”

Gabi looked where Magda’s hungry eyes had landed, at three o’clock. “Oh, Magda. Wait.” Too late. All Gabi saw was the strong, broad back and tapered neck of her friend heading toward a ’50s pinup of a young woman, dark and curvy in a strapless, mermaid-style dress. This wasn’t going to be good.

“Oh, Gab-eeeee!”

Gabi was rattled by a voice so shrill it cut through the buzzing around them and even Cat, Luz, and Magda’s office trio broke their conversations to locate the source.

It was a robust, short, olive-skinned woman, a keg-on-legs, as Magda would say, hair done at the salon down the street from her apartment, the makeup of someone in insurance, applied, but dull and unskilled. She offered a broad smile but gave off an aura of acid. Vitriol. Falseness. Gabi’s right hand went instinctively to her belly, protecting it.

“Oooooh, are you pregnant?!” the woman asked much too loudly.

Fifty percent more quickly and politely, Gabi responded, “Um, yes.” She nodded, wanting to wring this woman’s neck.

“How fantastic! Congratulations to you two!” She leaned down for a hug, which Gabi kept from full contact. “So where’s Bert?”

“Well, he’s at the restaurant. Where he’s the chef. Because it’s dinner.” Gabi paused between each statement, hoping her passive-aggressiveness registered.

“Oh! Yes, of course, silly me—”

The mood at the table finally sunk into the skin of the interloper. Everyone’s eyes were on her, like a phalanx of guards around Gabi, making sure she went no further. She’d gone far enough.

“Okay, well, bye, see you later and I’ll look for you on my TV in the mornings!”

“Who the heck was that?” Cat leaned in as Gabi drank water, tempted by her wineglass.

“Oh, just a woman who sits on another board with me. I gotta just live with her.”

“God, she’s rude.”

“Yup.”

The voice boomed again, instructing folks to take their seats for the final awards of the evening. Gabi was bumped in her chair, still on edge, as she tended to get when exposed to a person like that—an emotional vampire. Her symbiotic tendencies were great for therapy, but harder to deal with off hours. Or, maybe it was the hormones. It was Magda who had bumped into her, too drunk to hide it well anymore.

“Hey,
mujer,
gotta go. Cover for me, m’kay?” Magda ran her hand up the back of Gabi’s neck into her curls. Gabi hoped no one had seen her do it.