Chapter 11
A notification lights up my screen.
My first thought is Alejandro—because he’s been my first thought since that fateful night at the sushi restaurant. He hasn’t contacted me since, hasn’t asked if I liked the sushi, much less if I got an allergic reaction from it.
What I don’t expect is to find an email from Talento V.
I’ve learned to accept noes for what they are.
A no is not a maybe. No means no. It’s the same email chain from when I first sent my CV, so I can’t immediately tell what this is about.
But when I open it, there is no greeting, no explanation. Nothing but two lines:
Mileidy Romero.
I read the words over and over. Behind me, the fridge beeps.
I didn’t close it. I want to ask what she means by this, even though the line is self-explanatory, but I’m scared she’ll realize she made a mistake and didn’t mean to send this to me.
I’m tempted to ignore my confusion, to show up to VeneTV’s offices tomorrow and hope she has no choice but to keep me on.
Or…I’ll embarrass myself further when she asks security to show me out.
I decide the best approach is to reply. When she sees it’s me, she’ll probably know she made a mistake.
Good evening, Mrs. Romero.
I will be there. Thank you for the opportunity.
I watch my email like a hawk, waiting for an explanation or an apology, but nothing appears. My inbox remains empty.
—
The morning of my first day starts like any other: with my mother opening and shutting cabinets in my kitchen as she tries to find a plate or a mug or some type of pot I’m sure I don’t own.
The sweet smell of café con leche floats around my apartment as the blender mixes it all together.
She’s always added a few drops of vanilla and ensured she makes it with powdered milk so it isn’t bland, watered-down coffee, but thick in texture and rich in flavor.
I walk out of my bedroom, almost bewitched by the smell.
“Buenos días,” I call, grabbing a banana from the counter as I make my way to the balcony to feed my children.
Outside, the sky is already bright blue, even though it’s barely seven.
No clouds in sight. It’s like Caracas knows today is a good day for me.
Within seconds of standing here, Marta and Pedro Luis, my usual guests, perch on the railing, ruffling their feathers in anticipation.
I carefully lay out half a banana for each and sit on my lounge chair to watch them eat.
I love the contrast the yellow in their feathers makes with the sky, and how the bright blue makes them stand out against the background of green that embellishes the city everywhere you look.
To me, Caracas always seems brighter and bolder than any other city.
It’s colorful, alive. Water is clearer and trees are greener and the sky is bluer.
I turn at the sound of the door sliding open.
Mamá stands behind me with two steaming mugs in her hand.
She offers me one and I readily take it and bring it to my lips.
The warmth of the coffee spreads through my body.
Another delicious contrast this city offers: a warm beverage against the chilly morning.
I inhale deeply, allowing the air to travel through my body, and can’t help but smile.
“I have something to tell you.” I would hate for her to find out when I walk in the office or when she runs into me in the hall.
“Hm?” Mamá takes a sip of her coffee, leaning closer to the birds with an entranced gleam in her eyes.
“You know how Alejandro and I broke up,” I begin.
She straightens, her entire body locking up in what I can only call contained rage. “Ese desgraciado.”
I blink, surprised. Calling Alejandro a bastard is actually pretty mild for her.
“Right.” I clear my throat. “Bueno, I lost my job because of that situation.” I pause, in case she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. She simply keeps drinking her coffee. “Anyway, I applied for a job at Talento V, to run their social media, and it appears I got it. I start today.”
Her eyebrows shoot up as she sets the mug on the railing, startling the macaws.
She jumps to hug me, squeezing me so hard I almost spill my coffee.
“That sounds splendid!” Splendid? “You and me, co-workers, just like I always wanted!” What she always wanted was for us to co-star in a telenovela, but I won’t burst her bubble now with technicalities.
I wiggle out of her embrace until I’m free again.
“I wish you’d told me,” she continues. “I would have gone with you to the interview.”
Which is precisely why I didn’t tell her. This way I know I got the job on my own merit and not for who my mother is. I’m already a disgraced journalist, I don’t need to be accused of nepotism as well.
“Oh!” Mamá claps, straightening. “Can we ride together? I’ll call the driver and tell him not to pick me up. We’re going to have so much fun!”
She runs back inside, I assume to finish getting ready. I check the time on my phone. If I want to make it by eight, I need to leave in ten minutes. She’s not going to be ready in ten minutes.
“SO MUCH FUN!” she yells from inside the apartment.
Right. So much fun.
—
I’m twenty minutes late to my first day working at Talento V. My mother tries to catch up with me, but I keep leaving her behind.
In her follow-up email, Mileidy instructed me to stop by her office as soon as I made it here, so that’s where I’m headed.
“Mamita, slow down, you’re going to dislocate a hip,” Mamá says behind me. “So you’re a little late. Just blame it on me, you’ll be fine.”
How do I make her understand that using her as an excuse for my poor work performance is exactly what I don’t want to be doing.
I’m here to work, I’m not here to have my mommy get me out of trouble with the principal.
And it doesn’t matter anyway because I don’t work for my mother, I work for Mileidy and Mileidy told me to be here at eight.
My mother’s breathing is heavy when we stop in front of Mileidy’s office.
I knock twice. The door opens within seconds.
She eyes me first, up and down, with what I can only describe as disdain, then notices the figure standing behind me and rolls her eyes.
She turns her back to us and invites us inside with a wave of her hand.
“Welcome aboard, Maria Antonieta,” she says. “Viviana, what are you doing here?”
My mother shrugs. “Maria Antonieta is my daughter.”
“I don’t think you should be here for this,” I whisper to her.
She waves me off. “Nonsense. I’m your mother. I can be wherever I want to be.”
Sure, maybe when I was underage. I open my mouth to ask her to leave, but she’s already sitting.
“Well, daughter or no daughter, she’s here to work,” Mileidy says. “We had to lay off five people yesterday.”
I freeze, my butt hovering over the chair. Surely they’re not expecting me to do the work of these five people.
“That’s…unfortunate.”
Mileidy nods. “Very. But you’re here now, we’ll make it work.”
I blink. “Uh—”
“Here’s your contract.” Mileidy slides a folder toward me.
Hesitant, I reach for it. It’s mostly standard—my schedule, etc.
—until I reach the payment section. And I choke.
Mileidy is saying something to me, but I’m not listening.
I’m looking at the numbers. It’s ten times what I made at Ellas.
For twelve weeks? To run their social media?
For a TV show that had to lay off five people and couldn’t afford to hire me yesterday? That can’t be right.
I raise my hand, eyes glued on the paper, counting the zeroes over and over.
Mileidy interrupts herself. “Do you have a question?”
I clear my throat. “Yes. About the payment…”
“Are you unsatisfied?” she asks.
Mamá leans over our chairs to read, then pats my knee.
“No!” I blurt out. “I’m satisfied. I’m very satisfied but—”
“Then it’s settled,” Mileidy cuts me off. “Take those papers, sign them, and get them to my assistant as soon as possible so we can get started on training.”
That gets my attention. “Training for what?”
Beside me, my mother shifts in her seat. Mileidy assesses me and I have a suspicion she’s regretting the decision to hire me.
“Like I told you yesterday, the social media manager position has been taken.” Mileidy is speaking slowly, the way people do when they’re annoyed to have to repeat themselves.
“But we had to lay off five people, so we’re short on Production Assistants.
This is what you’ll be doing. You’ll be temporarily assisting one of our judges. ”
Assistant. Not social media manager. Getting coffee and running errands and being treated like crap for twelve weeks. I really should have listened the first time around.
“Will that be a problem?” Mileidy asks.
Yes. No. I don’t know. I need a job, and it will only be for three months. But I’m sure I will be the only twenty-seven-year-old assistant on the entire premises. It feels like a huge step back. That said, the pay…I could work this job and then easily be unemployed for six months if I wanted to.
The contract burns in my hand. I’m in this office. I have to decide now. Why it didn’t work with the other five people, I might find out soon. But for now, this is the best offer I have. It’s the only offer I have. And as time passes, I fear I won’t get another one.
“No, that won’t be a problem.”
“Then welcome to Talento V.” Mileidy stands.
Mamá and I follow suit, poised to leave as a loud series of knocks—four to be exact—comes from the door.
“Ah, wonderful!” Mileidy says, moving toward the door to open it.
“I won’t have to fetch you later to make introductions.
” She steps to the side with a soft “Adelante” that is not meant for us.
A man walks in. Lanky, six feet tall, dark hair and eyes against caramel skin, a five o’clock shadow, and a familiar smile. My eyes widen at the sight of him just a few feet away.
Mileidy places a hand on his shoulder. “This is—”
Simón Arreaza, I think at the same time she says it. Colombian. Twenty-eight years old, lead singer of Caballo de Troya, the composer of my relationship’s soundtrack. And somehow, impossibly, here.
Too stunned to speak, I scan the man once more.
The tall frame, the soft eyes, the small earring.
And then my eyes zero in on his clothes.
Particularly his hoodie. And the logo embroidered on it.
A horse. Well, a horse head, on the right.
A symbol I’ve seen countless times on Spotify and YouTube and Instagram.
He scans the room, his eyes landing on me first. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise before his gaze quickly moves to my mother. His polite smile grows into a grin as he approaches her to engulf her in a hug. And all I can do is stare.
“And this is Maria Antonieta,” Mileidy continues. “Your assistant.”
Wait, his assistant? He’s the judge? The thought is enough to snap me out of my daze.
Simón Arreaza from Caballo de Troya offers me his hand.
Without thinking, I take a step forward, arm outstretched, perfectly professional and 0 percent fangirl.
Except for the fact that I’m shaking Simón Arreaza’s hand.
He plays the guitar with this hand. His hand is calloused, his grip is strong, all business.
It’s a nice change from the men who treat my hand like it’s breakable. It’s not a condescending handshake.
“Mucho gusto,” he says in a thick Paisa accent, all the way from Medellín, Colombia.
Wait. I know that voice. I’ve heard it before, not through my phone or through speakers. I’ve heard it close, but where—
Oh, God. He’s the man from the bathroom.
Kill me now. A rush of heat travels through my body, urging me to run away, but I’m glued to the floor, staring at this man I’m so used to seeing ten times smaller on my phone screen.
God, he’s so much more hermoso in person.
And now he’s here, his face is within touching distance…
not that I want to touch his face. And he is also the man who found me hiding from my mother in the men’s bathroom.
Agh, I need someone to knock me out with a frying pan immediately.
He offers me a warm smile, revealing dimples that only add to his already charming exterior. “I’m Simón.”
“I know” is what comes out of my mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you without the rest of the band.”
Simón’s eyes flash with humor, the corner of his lips twitch. I know I’m staring, but I can’t seem to stop. If I were Mileidy, I’d fire me on the spot. Maybe that’s why the other five people didn’t work.
He turns to Mileidy with a grin and says, “I like her already.”