Chapter 28
I FOUND THE CALENDAR IN A FANCY STATIONERY STORE IN Coral Gables. It was meant to be a gift for Meri, who was starting her senior year a month after our dad died. The high-quality daily calendar had thick paper with gilded edges, and at the top of each page there was an inspirational quote.
Sorrow prepares you for joy.
—Rumi
You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated.
—Maya Angelou
Things’ll go your way, if you hold on for one more day.
—Wilson Phillips
It was a time where I searched for Band-Aids everywhere. Anything that could help her. I bought two calendars, one for her and one for me to follow along and bring up in conversation. I guess I thought I could expand on the quotes, do some research to give her more context. It would be like a read-along.
I couldn’t have known it would be exactly what I needed. The reminder that people around the world, from the beginning of time, it seemed, needed inspiring too. It helped me feel less alone.
Eventually I know Meri stopped using the calendar, because at some point she didn’t know what I was talking about. But those steady, daily doses of wisdom got me through that year.
Now, if only it could help me get through the next hour. I feel completely exposed. And pissed. My blood is in a roiling boil. The audience is being corralled back onto the ferries, and we’ve set up a spot to conduct interviews on the beach behind the stage. Mo suggested we keep them brief, so we’ve already interviewed the first two singers and are now waiting to talk to René and Juan at the same time.
Maureen approaches James and me as she wraps up a call. “The only question is, do we want a collab as the first single? I’m inclined to say yes in this case,” she rattles off excitedly into the phone. “Dani’s here and covered all of it for the making-of.” She winks in my direction and the knot around my throat tightens.
I don’t know how to tell her we weren’t there. If we had been, I wonder if I’d feel any better about the lyrics. If Mo knows the song is about me, she hasn’t let on, and neither has James. The blazer lyrics would be the only tip-off, as the rest of the references are all moments that have happened since I’ve been here. Still, it feels as though everyone on this beach knows René was singing about me.
I glance hesitantly over my shoulder to keep an eye on René. ángel is guiding him as he makes his way through photographs with a handful of VIPs who were allowed backstage after the event. He hasn’t changed his wardrobe, but I notice he’s switched to neon green sunglasses that make him look extra smug as he poses. I snap my head back quickly toward the beach, take a deep breath, and review the questions I’d prepared before the concert.
I hear ángel’s voice approaching behind me and my heart climbs up my throat. Mo wraps up her call, greets René and Juan, and walks them over to the interview spot.
Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it.
—Charles something or other
It doesn’t help. It feels like nothing will. Not unless it’s specifically suited for this exact situation. So I come up with one on my own.
It only hurts if you care what he thinks.
Something shifts and I do feel better. I don’t care what he thinks. I don’t. I take another deep breath and address René with the grace of a professional who wasn’t just publicly humiliated. “Do you mind taking your sunglasses off?”
He contemplates this for a second. “Sure,” he concedes, takes a few steps forward, and hands them to me. I take them from him, without breaking eye contact, and let them slip into my vest pocket.
“So, René, why did you come here today? Why stop working on your much-anticipated first album, and make the time to come out here to support Juan?” I’m impressed with myself. There wasn’t even a hint of sharpness in my voice. Though my heart is pounding in my chest.
“Well,” he begins, his eyes locked on mine. “It’s simple. This guy’s amazing and he’s my Puerto Rican brother. We have to be there for each other.”
“Juan, what do you think about that? How does it feel to have René on your side?” Instead of, you know, backstabbing you.
“It means the world. He’s someone I’ve always admired, so this is a dream come true. I’ve hit him up a couple of times the past couple of years and he’s always been there to answer my questions and give me advice.” I’m about to step in, but he continues. “For a moment there, I was having a hard time with a really difficult personal situation,” Juan adds, turning to René, “and he helped me. René’s a lifesaver.” René puts an arm around him and squeezes. Juan reaches over and gives him a hug, his eyes watering. It’s possibly the sweetest moment of male friendship ever captured on camera. Of mutual respect and gratitude. And it’s so ridiculously at odds with how I feel about René, I don’t know what to do with myself.
As they turn back toward me, I continue with the interview. “René, when it comes to mentors—”
“What did you think of my new song?” René asks, interrupting me.
I look around. “Are you asking me?”
“Yeah.”
I remain still. Is he serious? What did I think? Is he trying to rile me up? “It’s terrific,” I manage with a grin. If there was someone I could personally thank for the word “terrific,” I would. It’s short and sweet and has the power to be ironic without anyone noticing.
René’s eyes shrink and he looks a little wounded. The gall.
I glance at my notes but I’m unable to move on. My frustration is bubbling. I know I should stick to the script, but I can’t help myself. “But… it’s not always like that, is it?” There’s a heavy pause. René eyes me, trying to read the testier tone in my voice. “Sometimes you hear a song for the first time, and you hate it. Am I right? It’s only after a couple of listens that you see its potential. You know?” I have a headache. Probably brought on by forcing myself to pretend I’m not furious or hurt. “But that first time it’s a gross, messy little thing. Like watching a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time. You can’t help but think, ‘You’re a mess, little giraffe. You should sit down for a bit.’”
Someone coughs and I’m suddenly aware of the presence of a small crowd behind me. I turn to find ángel, Mo, Santiago, and Camila have all witnessed my rant.
“I do know what you mean,” René says.
“You do?” I ask hesitantly.
“It’s called the exposure effect. Sometimes you develop a fondness for something only after repeated exposure,” he explains. He’s picked up on my frustration and come to my rescue, I feel.
For the rest of the interview, I stick to the prepared questions. Though every time certain lyrics from René’s song creep up, I think I’m going to be sick.
Five hours later, I’m in bed and tucked inside the netting. Outside, the waves are raging in surround sound. To the left and right there’s the pounding of water on water. Stumbling, pushing, crashing over each other, like they’re desperate to be first. The island seems as upset as I am.
I want to cry, but the tears are stuck inside. If I could get them out, I’d feel better. I’m sure it’s like indigestion. I don’t care what René thinks, I just need to get these tears out.
Part of it is the shock of it all. The extreme pendulum swing from thinking René could actually be interested in me, to… well, whatever it is someone feels when they write a humiliating song about you. Hate? Disgust? That you’re a clown?
After the concert, I rode back to the airport with Mo so we could catch up before her flight. I knew I had to tell her, so I just got it over with. “We didn’t get any footage of that song,” I said abruptly, my heart racing. “René and Natalia’s duet,” I added for clarification.
She peered back at me from the front passenger seat. “None at all?” Even at night, in the darkness of a cab, I could see the vein on her forehead bulging. “You didn’t get any of it?”
“No,” I said. “But it’s not—”
“Why not?” she interrupted. She wasn’t just upset, she was disappointed, which made me feel worse. I could hear what it would sound like if I told her the truth. Camila’s drunkenness and James’s stomach bug. I knew Mo, and the vein that was now full-on bulging, preferred it when you just owned up to your mistakes. “I messed up. But I’ll fix it. I promise.”