Waking Up in the Land of Glitter by Kathy Cano-Murillo Page A

him. She bluffed chipperness, when really she wanted to shake that snide, barbed tone out of him.
     “So, how was your week?”
    Star hoped to hear that he’d been dead lonely without her, but Theo never had a chance to respond. A hot breeze blew their
     way, and it entered with the aroma of expensive designer perfume.
    “Theo? Theodoro Duarte?” said a sultry, husky Demi Moore–like voice.
    Star couldn’t believe it—Craft Bimbo extraordinaire, Chloe Chavez! She floated in rocking a Bumpit in her hair, looking skinnier
     than embroidery thread, her eyes more hazel than brown and her face masked by thick, albeit flawless, Hollywood makeup. Her
     skin sparkled with Jared jewelry and she donned a sleek black low-cut number that would have been better suited for the Academy
     Awards red carpet than a small-time Scottsdale art event.
    In princesslike fashion, Chloe stretched out her malnourished arm to Theo. “Pleasure to see you again, Theo. This is a much
     better scene than last week, wouldn’t you say? I’m really impressed at how quickly you repaired the mural.”
    “It really wasn’t a big deal,” Theo said.
    “Well, congratulations. I just heard the news that Sangria is your new home.”
    What did than imply?
Star wondered. It sounded like a dis on La Pachanga. She expected the homeboy to come out in Theo, and that he would set
     Craft Bimbo straight. She knew Theo despised Chloe as much as she did, because of the jokes they’d crack when watching her
     craft segments on TV. The projects were cool, but her delivery of them sucked, as if she was a spokesperson who knew nil about
     the product.
    Instead, he shook Chloe’s hand.
    A sour twang flinched in Star’s stomach while a spicy vignette flashed in her mind: Star shoving the media hag into the fountain,
     dragging Theo to his car, forcing the shrine in his face, and blessing him with one thousand mini kisses all over his Schick-shaved
     cheeks. Star released a shaky breath and summoned positive thoughts.
    She’s a reporter, just doing a story. He has to charm her; that’s his job tonight. The press will be great for him. After
     we are officially “together,” I’ll become his manager and handle this stuff. Why did I decide on braids and a frumpy green
     dress? Oh God, I feel sick.
    “Theo, I’d like to do a feature package on you about your art, as well as being a victim of vandalism,” she said.
    He must have sensed Star’s repulsion. “Ms. Chavez, this is Star Esteban, remember you interviewed her for the mural? Her parents
     own La Pachanga.”
    “Oh,” Chloe said, pursing her collagen-filled lips. “I’m sorry, of course, Star Esteban. I didn’t even recognize you with
     the braids. You look so
different
. As a matter of fact, I visited La Pachanga today to inquire about the Happy Face Tagger. Your parents haven’t filed a police
     report.”
    Star tapped her fingers against her thighs to restrain her anger, shifted her weight to her other leg, and just as she opened
     her mouth, Theo cut in. “Actually, we were in the middle of a personal conversation. Would you mind if we finish up?”
    Chloe threw out a Renée Zellweger squint-smile. “Sure, I’ll wait inside.”
    Star watched the vixen swivel on her hoochie heels and sashay back to the gallery. The name Craft Bimbo didn’t do Chloe Chavez
     justice, but Crafty Bitch sure did.
    Theo touched the small of Star’s back and guided her to a filigree bench in a secluded corner. This was it. Her parents’ lecture,
     Ofie, the
El Solitario
comic, using THEODUARTE as her computer password—it was all for this moment. She teetered so close on the cliff of anticipation;
     she could feel the shrine heating up her leg from inside her purse.
    “So, what’s up?” he asked. She sat down. He didn’t.
    Star crossed her feet for good luck, and prayed for the best. “I have something for you.” She reached into her bag for the
     shrine, which she had meticulously wrapped in hot-pink