She's Got Game (5 page)

Binky looked surprised. “Whoa, way to sound so grown-up.”

Alicia shrugged. “It's our business, and we've learned a lot along the way.”

“Well, I'm impressed,” Binky said.

Alicia smiled and once again looked down at her clipboard. “Okay. Invitations. We need to get them out right away. Jamie, can you handle that?”

Jamie wrote something down on her own clipboard. “Of course. Binky, any requests?”

“Hmm…Well, as I told you, orange is my signature color,” she said. “So, something with that?”

“Right, I remember you said that.” Jamie skimmed the
quince
planning guidelines that Alicia had typed up for Amigas Inc.

“Orange is a good base. What are you thinking Jamie?” Alicia asked. “I bet you have some ideas already.”

Jamie turned to a clean sheet of her notepad and drew a sketch. “I was thinking with the theme that it would be so cool if the invitations came as a message in a bottle, with seashells and filled with sand.”

“What do you think, Binky?” Alicia asked.

“I love it,” she said. “Maybe I could handwrite each invite with a special message to my guests.”

“Well, that would depend what your handwriting is like,” Carmen said. She'd been quiet for a while, sketching on her own pad.

Binky made a face. “My handwriting bites.”

“I can do them,” said Jamie. “I did that course in calligraphy.”

“Awesome,” Alicia said. “This is going great. What's next?”

“If the invitation is in a bottle, then we're going to need to deliver each one personally,” Jamie said. “You can't put these in the mail.”

“Sounds like a job for the boyfriends,” Carmen said, smiling slyly.

Gaz took the opportunity to interject, “Because message-in-a-bottle invitations are
so-o-o
manly.” He shot a look at Alicia but then smiled. “We'll do it. I'll get Domingo to help.”

“Who's Domingo?” Binky asked.

“He's my boyfriend. He goes to Hialeah High and works part-time at Bongos,” Carmen said.

“And what about you?” Binky asked, turning and eyeing Jamie.

“What
about
me?”

Alicia and Carmen tried to send Binky a mental message to stop before she got in over her head, but their attempts at telepathy failed.

“You've got it going on,” Binky told Jamie. “You must have a boyfriend.”

Surprisingly, Jamie had calmed down since Binky first arrived. In fact, she had been feeling mellow. Although she was loath to admit it, and probably never would unless forced to in a court of law, Jamie could see that Binky was kind of a fun girl to hang out with. But her questions about guys were rubbing Jamie the wrong way, and she quickly fell into her defensive mode.

“Nope. I haven't met a guy who's a good enough salsa dancer to roll with me,” she stated.

“Ple-e-e-e-ase let me set you up with my brother.” Binky held her hands up in mock prayer. “He likes you, I can tell. And he's amazing on the dance floor.”

Jamie laughed. “Mr. Sponge Golf Square Pants dancing salsa? Come on, now.”

But Binky shook her head. “Believe it. My father always said, ‘Never underestimate a Mortimer.'” Suddenly she got a look on her face as if a lightbulb had gone off. “What are you all doing tomorrow night?”

“Planning your
quince
,” Alicia said.

“Researching looks for your
quince
dress,” said Carmen.

“Handwriting two hundred and fifty
quince
invitations and placing each one of them in a bottle,” Jamie finished, her tone a bit sharp.

But this didn't faze Binky in the slightest. “All of those things are, I agree, of vital importance, since I want my
quinceañera
to be the best one that South Florida has ever seen. But I think there is something else you need to do. You
need
to come dancing with me tomorrow night. Alicia—you can show me some ideas for choreography. Plus, Jamie can see what an amazing dancer Dash is.”

“We've still got to work on the guest list and the seating arrangements. Then we have to decide on your centerpieces,” Alicia said, a little unconvincingly.

“You could do that at the club!” Binky said.

“Gaz usually plays the father-daughter
vals
, but you'll need to decide whether you want his band to play all night or whether you want to hire a DJ for the after-party,” Carmen added.

“We could do
that
at the club!”

“And I would love to show you sketches for your dress.”

“Club; club; club!” Binky chanted.

“Okay, fine; we'll go. Need to make the customer happy,” Alicia said, relenting when it was obvious Binky wasn't going to give up.

“I suppose I'm down,” Carmen said.

“Sounds like a plan,” Gaz added.

“I guess I'm in, too,” Jamie said.

Binky squealed excitedly. “This is going to be so fun! I've got to go home and pick out an outfit. And call Dash.” She leaped up and then turned to Jamie. “He's going to be so happy to hear you're coming.”

Blowing air kisses to the group, Binky ran out of the room, her fingers already on the speed-dial button of her phone.

“Whatever,” Jamie said to the girl's retreating back, pretending not to care.

But, as Amigas Inc. continued to divvy up responsibilities for planning Binky's
quince
, Jamie felt the kind of giggly anticipation about seeing a cute boy that she hadn't felt in a long,
long
time.

EVER SINCE
Ojos Así opened, it had been the hottest nightclub for the under-21 crowd in Biscayne Bay. This meant that, despite the fact that Alicia, Carmen, Jamie, and even Gaz were dressed to the nines in their favorite outfits, they were still having trouble getting inside.

“Join the line, my friends,” said a tall guy who looked not unlike an FBI agent in his dark gray pinstriped suit. It was only the fact that he wore sunglasses at night that gave away his role as one of Miami's glitterati enforcers.

“This sucks,” Alicia said, walking away from the crowd with her friends.

“Where are Binky and Dash?” Carmen asked, looking around.

“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” suggested Gaz.

“Or maybe we should just all go home,” Jamie said. “Who wants to spend good money to watch a bunch of rich prep-school kids turn a fierce merengue into a chicken dance.”

“Let's not give up yet,” Alicia said. “This could be a lot of fun. And not
everyone
in there is going to be preppy and ruining your vision of Latino life. Let's try this again.”

The members of Amigas Inc.—most especially Alicia—were not used to being turned away at any velvet rope. They weren't part of the hard-core party crowd at C. G. High, but, as increasingly successful
quinceañera
planners, they were starting to get to know the players on Miami's nightclub scene. And Gaz accepted the fact that Alicia sometimes resorted to doing a little pretend flirting if it helped get them all in the door.

As she was about to do right now.

“Excuse me,” she said, returning to stand in front of the doorman, tossing her hair to the side. “I don't think I caught your name.”

“Dwight,” he said.

“Dwight,” Alicia said, smiling. “Didn't you used to work at Flip?”

“No, I didn't.” Dwight said. He turned back to the crowd. “Anybody here actually on the guest list? No? Then I have four words for you:
Back of the line.
”

He turned to Alicia, Carmen, Jamie, and Gaz. “That means you, too.”

The crew retreated to the back of the line.

“I hate these waiting games,” Jamie said.

“What can you do? Sometimes the magic works, sometimes it just doesn't.” Alicia shivered a little bit and snuggled up close to Gaz. Her Missoni knit dress was not nearly as warm as it looked. Despite the hot days in Miami, the evenings could get quite chilly.

“How could he turn away so much fabulous?” Jamie said. “I mean, look at me. Vintage Ossie Clark dress from Resurrection in L.A. limited-edition four-inch leather booties from Jimmy Choo for H&M. Lucite bangles from Lanvin, also vintage. I've got more style in my little finger than any of these spandex-wearing Miami girls have in their entire bodies. They'd be lucky to have me in their stupid club.”

Just then, a voice from behind them said, “I couldn't agree more.”

Startled, Jamie whirled around, nearly toppling over. She found herself alarmingly close to Dash, who had an amused grin on his handsome face. Binky stood next to him, looking amazing in a Herve Leger dress that, while clearly made of much nicer fabric, was still tight and still short.

“Eavesdrop much?” Jamie asked, standing nose to nose with Dash.

“Boast about yourself much?” Dash countered.

“No more than you, I'm sure,” Jamie said.

Binky yanked her brother's arm playfully. “Would you two stop flirting? Dash, come meet Gaz. He's the musical genius behind Amigas Incorporated.”

The two guys shook hands and exchanged the usual “Good to meet you, man” greetings.

“Now,” said Binky, “move your butt and get us in the club.”

Dash nodded good-naturedly. Turning to Jamie, he boasted, “Watch how a master does it.”

They followed him to the front of the line, but before Dash even spoke, Dwight reached out his hand. “My man. Nice to see you. Still making that green on the green?”

“I am,” Dash said, shaking Dwight's hand.

“Well, it's nice to see you,” the bouncer said. “Who's in your party?”

Dash pointed to the Amigas and Binky. “Meet my friends Alicia, Carmen, and Gaz. You know my sister, Binky, and this is my new friend, Jamie.” The way he said, “friend,” made it seem as though he were hoping to make it more.

“Right this way,” the bouncer said, lifting the velvet rope so the group could sail through. “You all have a good time.”

“Oh, we will,
Dwight
,” Alicia said, giving him a little wave. Then she whispered to Gaz and Carmen, “We're in.” And Carmen whispered to Jamie, “We're in.” And Jamie said out loud, “Another pretentious nightclub; who cares?”

Jamie was soon forced to take back her words. The club was hardly what they were expecting. Unlike most of the Miami hotspots, Ojos Así was totally futuristic, with Japanese-inspired decor. The stark white walls were illuminated by purple and green lights that flashed across them like spaceships in a video game. A giant sushi conveyor belt came down from the ceiling and wound around the lounge area. Several Dance Dance Revolution stations were lined up along the back wall.

“Who's hungry?” Binky asked. Immediately, Carmen raised both of her hands.

“Great,” said Binky. “Anyone else? Sashimi or hand roll?”

“Tasty,” Alicia said.

“You know I'm in,” Gaz said, following Binky, Carmen, and Alicia to the conveyor-belt counter.

That left Dash and Jamie—alone. At first, she tried to look everywhere but at him. She looked at the dance floor, at the main floor, at the door to the bathroom, but the whole time, she could feel his gaze on her and she shivered, involuntarily. Distance had apparently made her heart grow fonder. Or maybe she was just seeing reality for the first time. What had she been thinking? He wasn't just “okay,” as she'd told herself while lying in bed. He was freaking handsome. Dirty-blond hair, ever so slightly in need of a haircut. Check. Chiseled cheekbones. Check. Perfectly kissable cupid's-bow lips, electric blue eyes. Check, check. It wasn't even that he was particularly Jamie's type. It was more that he was the type for any woman with a pulse and clear vision—which apparently she now had. He was textbook handsome in a way that could have been kind of boring, but he was just scruffy enough that he was irresistible.

“You hungry, too?” he asked, interrupting her mental size-up. “Or interested in something with more substance—like getting to know me?”

For Jamie, it was like a particularly wicked round of Truth or Dare. Was she going to tell the truth to herself, and to Dash, and admit that she was interested in learning more about him? Interested in seeing if there were more to him than good looks? Or would she turn and follow her friends to the swirl of California rolls and unagi making its way down the conveyor belt and walk away from what could possibly be the coolest guy she'd met since she'd moved to Miami?

She took a deep breath and called out to Alicia, Carmen, and Binky, “I'll catch up with you guys later.”

Smiling, Dash took her hand and led her to a little table tucked into a quiet corner. He signaled a waiter and ordered them both Kyoto spritzers.

“I know this club is a little bit Miami flash,” he said when they had made themselves comfortable. “But I've been a fan of DJ Lucia since I was in junior high. I used to download her mixes off of MySpace. She blends old-school Latin music with everything from the Beatles to Beck.”

Jamie raised an eyebrow. “You're really into music for a golf nerd,” she teased.

“I think the term you're looking for is ‘golf
champ
,'” Dash said, correcting her.

Jamie tried to conceal the fact that she was impressed. “What tournaments have you won, exactly?”

“Three time Junior World champ, but I don't like to brag—or jinx myself. So, since I want to avoid that, let's talk about you. Tell me everything about you, Jamie Sosa,” Dash said, his smile a picket fence of perfectly white teeth.

Jamie could feel her face flush. Even though she didn't know him, she had a strange urge to do as he said and open up. Tell him things she hadn't even told Alicia and Carmen.

And she suddenly wondered if that was what poets and philosophers meant by “love at first sight.” Not merely the desire to kiss a guy the moment you met him and kiss him again and again for the rest of your life (that, she had to admit, she felt), but the desire to tell a guy everything—as if the “friend” part of “boyfriend” were lit up in neon lights. Because, when Dash had said, “Tell me everything about you,” she hadn't had the urge to feed him the same old practiced lines about growing up in the boogie-down, about how being from the birthplace of salsa and hip-hop had inspired her fashion and her art—even though those things were very much true.

Jamie Sosa wanted to tell Dash that even though she was always talking about how great the Bronx was, part of the time she had lived there it had really been a struggle. She wanted to tell him about how her father had worked two jobs six days a week, going from his day job as a shipping clerk to his night-watchman job in the evenings, and how her mother had used to work in a factory and had had to leave the house at four
a.m.
to take two trains and a bus to get to work. She wanted to tell him about how one day she'd been walking home from school and she looked across the street and all the kids started dropping to the ground, and she turned around, and right behind her there was this guy with a gun, jumping out of a car, pointing and shooting. She'd never heard a gun fired before then. She was ten years old, and all she could think was how the shots really went “bang, bang,” just the way they wrote in books.

She wanted to tell Dash that although nobody on her block had been shot that day, the incident scared her mother so much that she wasn't allowed to play outside anymore. She had to go to school, come straight home, and call her mother the minute she got inside.

And inside wasn't much better than outside. The walls of their rental apartment were a stark white, and when she asked her parents why they didn't have any pictures in frames like at school, her father had said, “We don't have money for that,
niña.
” So, one day, when the blankness finally got to be too much, Jamie borrowed some art supplies from school and began painting on the walls.

When her mother came home from work that night and saw the painted walls, she woke Jamie up and threatened to ground her for the rest of her life.

“This isn't our apartment,
chica
,” her mother said. “If the landlord sees this, he'll throw us out on our ear.” But the next morning, she decided that she liked what she saw, and she told Jamie to keep painting and leave the landlord to her. Seeing how happy it made their daughter, her parents started taking her to museums on Sundays. They took her to places like the Museum of Modern Art, the Met, the Brooklyn Museum, the Museum of Natural History. They went to them all.

Jamie wanted to tell Dash how lonely and miserable she had felt at boarding school, how out of place she had been, how cruel people could be. Or how it had taken nearly three years from the time the guy had shot at people outside of their building for her mother to finish her master's degree in social work and get a job working in social services. And longer still for their family to move out of Jamie's grandmother's cramped cottage into the little house her uncle had found for them in Coral Gables. Or how, although Jamie hadn't wanted to stay in the Bronx, when the time had come, she had been scared to leave it. And the last thing that Jamie and her parents had done before they left for the airport was to paint each wall of their dingy little apartment white again. “That is my story,” she would tell him.

But this was only her first date with Dash—and it was only sort of a date, at that. It was technically a
quince
-related get-together with Binky. And she couldn't spill her guts in a noisy nightclub to a preppy rich boy whom she'd only just met, love or no love. So instead, she took a sip of her drink and said, “The DJ is playing my song. Let's dance.”

Truth be told, she considered anything by Pitbull her song. And she needed a break from her thoughts. She ran onto the dance floor. Seconds later, Dash was beside her, matching her step for step—no small move when the music was booming at 120 beats per minute.

“You're good,” Dash whispered in her ear, as his hands slipped around her waist and he pulled her close.

“You should see me when I'm bad,” she said, winking at him. “I'm much, much better.” She didn't know what it was about this boy—they hadn't spent any real time together, but she felt much more comfortable with him than she had with any of the guys she went to school with—which was bananas, because the guys at C. G. High were public school guys, and Dash was so much the textbook opposite that he might as well have had tattooed over each eyebrow the words
preppy
and
rich
. In any case, here she was, flirting and dancing with a prepster. She felt a stirring of something new, something real. As if maybe it weren't all about being one thing
or
the other.