Chapter 27
A GIRL NEAR THE FRONT OF THE STAGE THROWS A STUFFED bear at René. In one fluid move, he catches, kisses, and tosses it right back to her. Is this what she wanted? To get the gift back having touched his lips, or was she hoping for René to take it home and cherish it forever?
Up on the DJ platform, Santiago is also a big part of the show. When neither Juan nor René is singing, he’ll moan into the mic to hype the crowd with a “ ?Dónde está mi gente? ” or a “ ?Vamos Puerto Rico! ” Even a simple wave of his hand in the air gets cheers from the audience.
From time to time, René looks over in our direction and I wonder if he’s noticed me on this platform. We’re about three feet above the ground, so I guess it’s possible.
Beads of sweat are forming along my cleavage. I can’t tell if it’s the actual temperature that’s rising, or if it’s the heat permeating off this crowd as they push their way closer to the stage and around our riser. Or maybe it’s because of René’s steady gaze in my direction.
And then, for the entirety of a chorus, he smiles at me. An easy, flirty, “I want you” kind of smile.
When he turns away, I reason with myself. There’s no way that just happened. Did it? Was it all in my head? Is there more to René wanting to help me find my father’s places? Why is he taking us to his hometown? I imagine him giving us a tour of his childhood bedroom. This quickly leads to a visual of René and me in the tight closet where he recorded his first songs. What I’m doing in the closet, I have no idea. If anything, it would be James in there with the camera.
I feel the weight of a small hand on my shoulder and flinch. I turn and find Camila on the riser next to me. “Hey, I need to talk to you.” She leans in close. Somehow, I can hear her clearly despite our proximity to the large tower of speakers.
She’s glowing and her boho chic style is more elevated today. She’s sporting a short, flesh-toned dress made solely out of netting with just enough fabric to cover key areas. Her new cell is dangling at the end of an edgy cross-body strap made of tiny, interconnected locks.
“I wanted to thank you,” she says in my ear. It’s like she’s developed a skill for throwing her voice deep into an ear canal, without resorting to yelling.
I lean in and try to send my voice the way she does. “I’m sorry about your phone. I shouldn’t have gotten involved.”
“No, I’m glad you did,” she says firmly. “You were right. It wasn’t the right time.” She eyes the stage, somewhat menacingly, and rubs the gold charm on her necklace between her fingers. When she drops her hand, I see it’s the same lion pendant René’s worn a few times. “Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Yes!” I respond excitedly. “I was just admiring your cell phone case.” It isn’t technically a lie. The interlocking locks are really cool.
“Oh, thanks.” She beams. “I made it.”
She’s so talented. If she ever wanted to quit being the world’s worst assistant, she could make a killing with her bespoke designs.
The song ends and the crowd bursts into applause. René takes Juan’s hand, and lifts it up to the sky. I turn to Camila. “Well, that was a success.”
“Oh, they’re not done,” Camila announces, sure of herself, and walks off the platform.
Santiago kicks off another song and the reggaeton dance beat with a vintage feel gets everyone moving immediately. René seems surprised by this, and jogs over to the DJ platform, as Juan walks off the stage.
James sets the camera on a tripod. The concert is technically over, but there’s clearly something brewing.
“I guess let’s wait and see what’s happening.” I check the soundboard for Maureen, but she isn’t there.
When I turn back to the stage, René is approaching ángel in the wings. I try my best to read their body language. René doesn’t seem happy. ángel is clearly trying to placate him. With the song continuing to play for the crowd, René throws his arms up.
“All right, all right,” René says into his microphone, walking back on the stage. “So here’s the deal. I wasn’t planning on sharing this one yet. But…” René pauses and looks over at James’s camera. Or was it directly at me? “This one’s for you”—he looks back at the audience—“before anyone else hears it. This is the first song we’ve recorded for my new album. I hope you love it as much as I do.” The audience breaks into loud applause, whistling and whooping.
Maureen has appeared next to ángel in the wings, and I can tell she’s just as confused as I am. And probably running through all the same thoughts. No one in the crowd has their cell, so there will be plenty of buzz and press, without leaking the unreleased track.
James steadies the camera back on his shoulder as the crowd quiets down and pushes in tighter around us on the riser. Everyone’s been waiting for this. René “El Rico” Rodriguez making his own music, not just appearing as a blip in someone else’s song. The truth is, I’m excited to hear it too. I feel fortunate to be here, to be among the few who get to experience it before anyone else.
The song has a great beat. Unmistakably fun and light. James is holding steady on a wide shot so I tap him on the shoulder and point behind us, so he can capture a shot of the fans dancing.
René holds the microphone close to his lips and I feel something akin to protective. I hope everyone loves it. Obviously, he must feel ready to share it. Then again, he didn’t seem to know he’d be performing it so I’m nervous for him.
He starts and it’s slow and easy. Like he’s just talking and I’m hanging on every word. James’s camera has a long lens so now, in the monitor, I’m looking at a close-up of René’s face. He holds the mic to his mouth again and I can’t take my eyes away from his lips so close to the mesh.
He turns in our direction. His deep, raspy voice is captivating and I don’t want to admit it, but I feel like he’s serenading me. It’s ridiculous and exactly how every girl here must be feeling, but I can’t help it.
The song switches to a more fast-paced beat and the audience cheers René on encouragingly.
never met a Latina I didn’t like
until now
but if you take off the blazer
My body stiffens. Did he say blazer ? Blood begins to pump loudly in my temples, as more phrases set off alarms. Stressed. Repressed. No one wants your sexy selfie. When you hear this, you won’t dance.
At some point, I think the lyrics turn sensual, but I can’t tell for sure. I’m stunned. Like a fish zapped by a moray eel, I’m floating away, eyes and mouth wide open. He is serenading me, except it’s a diss song. He’s diss-enading me.
Natalia’s voice comes in when he calls out in Spanish.
Where are my Latinas?
Right here, here, here, sí.
Right here, here, here, baby.
The chorus is a set of instructions. In essence: Take off your blazer, get up and dance, get off your high horse, ride me instead.
I’m gripping the monitor so hard, but I force my eyes to roam the stage because I can no longer stand to look at René’s face. I find Camila near Maureen and ángel in the wings. They’re nodding their heads, pleased. It must be obvious to them. They must know. James must know.
This song is about me. I know because it’s taking an impossible amount of effort to stand here and not cry. To pretend I don’t feel humiliated. The chorus comes on again and I physically shudder, because this time, the crowd is singing along. Of course they are. The stupid song is catchy as hell.