Chapter 30
The following morning, I arrive at work thirty minutes early.
Today we have a special session with the kids who are moving on to the live shows. We’re leaving for Margarita in two days, and they’re supposed to perform in front of the media to promote the show.
I’m in the rehearsal room, hoping Simón had the same thought I did and will arrive early too. While I wait, I make sure everything is ready—chairs arranged, electric piano on and working. I also try not to think about the kiss, but it’s a much harder task.
I’m regretting that decision now.
The door swings open and my heart jumps, but it’s another one of the PAs, bringing in an approved list of songs.
“Buenos días,” I tell him.
He gives me a sheepish smile, sets the list down on a table by the corner, and leaves.
Soon after, the kids start arriving one by one, like little drops of rain before a thunderstorm. Every time the door opens, I jump. And every time, I’m disappointed to see it’s not him.
I check the time again. It is now 9:30 a.m. Exactly thirty minutes after we were supposed to begin the rehearsal.
I do a head count to double-check all the children are here.
Some of them are chatting among themselves, while others are doing warm-up exercises and competing to see who has better vocal range.
When we first began, they hardly spoke to one another. Now they’ve become friends.
By the time 10:00 a.m. rolls around, the kids are growing impatient.
“Excuse me, Miss Camacho,” one of the girls says. “Is Coach Simón going to be here soon? My mom said I can’t stay past noon, we have a family thing.”
“Uh—”
The door swings open and we all turn in its direction. Irina Montalbán marches in, her entourage in tow. Today, she’s wearing a fur coat that’s way too big on her and sunglasses. Her hair is styled like we’re in the ’50s, with a polka-dot bandana tied on top and everything.
The kids exchange amused glances, some wide-eyed, others trying to suppress a smile. A little boy with framed glasses is hiding his face but his shoulders are shaking, while the girl next to him nudges him with her elbow.
Irina claps twice. “Places, everybody!”
“Go back to your seat,” I tell the girl I was talking to before I approach Irina.
She sees me and offers a condescending smile. “Thank you for looking after them. We’ll take it from here.”
Irina turns away from me and starts talking to one of her assistants. I tap her shoulder and she turns back around, clearly annoyed.
“I’m sorry, where is Simón?” I ask.
She pretends to check her watch and rolls her eyes. “He must be on an airplane heading to Colombia as we speak.”
Colombia? I quickly check the schedule we all share, trying to see if this travel plan was on it, but I can’t find it. He was supposed to be here today, coaching these kids, who also thought he was supposed to be here today, who were waiting for him and counting on him.
“It was terribly unexpected for me, I had other things to do. But alas, the show must go on. I wish other people would see it that way,” Irina says with a dramatic sigh.
I glance toward the kids and see the amusement is gone from their faces, replaced now with confusion and a little bit of worry. Collectively, they all look to me, as if I have the answers. I don’t. I’m as lost as they are.
“Anyway, you can leave,” Irina says.
But these kids don’t know Irina well, they’ve never been in a coaching session with her. They know Simón and they know me. And someone has to put them at ease.
“I think I’ll stay.”
Irina shrugs and marches toward the children. I head to my place in the back, where I always sit taking notes.
Blanca’s words from last night come to mind.
Talk to him, see where he stands, see where it goes.
But it can’t go anywhere. This proves it.
I need someone I can rely on, and I don’t have it in me to start dating for the hell of it.
I know what I want. Waiting for hours on someone who will not show is not what I want.
I lived that life already as the daughter of Venezuela’s sweetheart, and I don’t plan on doing it again.
The kiss was a mistake. If he hadn’t left today, he would have been gone a week from now. There is nothing to talk about. I just have to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
—
Margarita itinerary:
Friday: 11:00 a.m.—Arrival
Friday: 5:00 p.m.—Press
Friday: 8:00 p.m.—Executives Dinner
Saturday: 1:00 p.m.–4:00 p.m.—Press
Saturday: 8:00 p.m.—Wrap Party
Sunday: 1:00 p.m.—Departure
“I thought we were flying first class,” Irina says, trying to become as flat as a sheet of paper to avoid touching anyone else on the plane.
“It’s a domestic flight, Irina,” my mother says, pushing past to get to her seat. “There is no first class. You’ll be lucky if they put ice in your 7UP.”
Oh, God. This is already the longest flight of my life, and we haven’t even taken off.
In between Excuse mes, Thank yous, and So sorrys, we manage to get to our seats.
I take the window while, beside me, the seat Simón was meant to occupy remains empty.
He’s going to meet us in Margarita. At least that’s what Mileidy told us.
Apparently, it was easier for him to fly directly. We still haven’t talked.
I sigh, adjusting my AirPods. In the row behind me, Mamá and one of the PAs chatter about her wardrobe sponsors for the live shows. The PA suggests asking local designer Arturo Goncalves.
“No, no,” she says, tsking. “Arturo and I are not on speaking terms.”
I select the “On Repeat” playlist on my Spotify.
I don’t have to listen to this story, I already lived it.
Little fourteen-year-old me, stuck in a two-week-long battle between my mother and her brand-new husband.
The short version: They had a big, blowout wedding, and two weeks later he told her he was gay.
The long version is the one the PA is about to endure.
It always ends in, “I’m not mad at him for being gay.
I’m mad at him because he made me spend thousands on a sham wedding, and I didn’t even get to pick my own dress.
” This flight is not long enough for her rant about the grudge she still holds over that incident.
The flight attendant walks us through the safety routine. I pretend to listen, but as soon as she’s done, I close my eyes, focus on the music, and try not to think about how I am not ready to see Simón.