“Oh, I’ve been met with resistance my whole life,” Mrs. Eisenberg lets Mr. Chen know. “Don’t need any more of it. Besides, Antonia and I have been training for this moment long enough. Right, Antonia?”
“Right,” I answer, mustering the confidence Mrs. Eisenberg wants to see in me. It’s true, we’ve both been in the trenches.
“Well then, you probably don’t need these, but”—Krish reaches into the cloth bag he’s been holding—“put your palms out.” Krish looks at Zwena, Mrs. Eisenberg, and my mom, then lingers on me. We do as we are told.
An intricate wooden carving of an elephant is placed in each of our hands. “For Indian people, an elephant is associated with the deity Ganesh.” The four of us nod but say nothing, as Krish rarely talks about his roots. He is proud yet protective of his culture and avoids inviting careless comments from strangers. To be singled out in this moment feels intimate even in the middle of this bustling terminal.
“An elephant, or Ganesh, is a symbol of strength, wisdom, and general good luck.” Mrs. Eisenberg gently picks up her elephant, looking at all sides. “And when an elephant’s trunk is facing upward like this one, it means success,” Krish enlightens us, brushing the tip of my elephant’s trunk. “Ganesh is also a protector of women.”
Taking in the gathered group, a pang of guilt hits me, and I swallow over a lump in my throat. Here I am, headed to the most important professional moment in my life, surrounded by supporters I have come to love in the place I most wanted to avoid. This airport was a symbol that I had failed and retreated to an ordinary job to save my ordinary life. Now I appreciate this gathering of odd but beloved characters who have cheered all my crazy ideas and picked me up after, one by one, they were tossed aside. I rub my Ganesh with my thumb and wish for success, not just for me, but for my collective airport family too.
“We feel the strength, Krish. We feel it,” Mrs. Eisenberg confirms, patting his forearm. Mrs. Eisenberg smiles at the whole group and then tips her chin to me. “Let’s go make our luck, Antonia.”
STILL WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4
“I like the Hollywood you, Toni,” Gloria compliments me, inspecting the cotton fabric of my sundress and checking for quality. I cross my white leather sneakers under the airplane seat before my mother can comment that unless I am going to the gym, sandals go with a floral outfit. As I tuck my free-flowing hair behind my ears to distract her from my feet, my mother gasps, “My wedding pearls!” Her hand leaves my dress to secure my curls away from my face so she can admire the earrings for the entire flight.
“Claro,” I respond and clasp my mother’s hands inside mine so she will stop fussing with me. My father’s family gave my mother the earrings as a wedding gift, and she had worn them with her simple white dress that had been handed down from Tía Fernanda’s nuptials five years earlier. Gloria wore the earrings every day of her life until she gifted them to me for continued health and happiness on my wedding day, since they had brought her and my father many prosperous years. Unfortunately, the earrings didn’t prove magic for my marriage, but I am still holding out hope that with them, and with Sebas’s voice in my ear, tomorrow I will be counting my blessings.
Also, not that I’ve been tracking, but I haven’t laid eyes on Ash since the Saint Anne’s new families orientation weeks ago. The past few days, however, I have received plenty of advice from him via text onhow best to escort Mrs. Eisenberg through the airport on her first trip since the stroke, as if I didn’t already do exactly that for a living. Livy was included on the communication thread so there wasn’t room for a witty comeback, just compliance to Ash’s appeal to please arrive with plenty of time in case Mrs. Eisenberg needs to use the restroom before boarding the plane. And to remind her to carry her purse on her right side since her left is still rebuilding its strength. My personal favorite was Ash’s request to make sure she has plenty of LIFE SAVERS for the trip. Then Livy thankfully spoke up and told her cousin to shut it down.
The last directive was sent this morning and did not include Livy. Ash asked that I text him if our plane is on time or if it is delayed because he would be picking the four of us up at LAX. I paced around the house, wondering if I should send a chatty response now that it was only the two of us on the thread, or if I should just send a double thumbs-up emoji. On my sixth trip down the hallway, I typed:
10:42 a.m. (Toni)
Will do. Looking forward to seeing you. I will take good care of your grandmother and again, thank you so much for helping me get on the show.
I blew out five forceful breaths like I practiced in the one Kundalini yoga class I attended with Simon and hit “Send.”
10:42 a.m. (Ash)
Looking forward to seeing you too.
With Ash’s immediate response I bounded upstairs into Lou and Coco’s bathroom, tearing through their drawers until I found a watermelon and lychee hydrating facial mask shoved behind the Q-tips box, the packaging unopened. Looking like Freddy Krueger whilemy face soaked in fruit salad, I pulled out my favorite yellow flowered sundress with smocking and tie shoulder straps that hung crumpled in the back of my closet. It hadn’t seen the light of day since Lou and Coco’s middle school graduation. I turned on the shower and hung my dress on a towel hook and then also ran a scalding bath so I could wash my hair, shave my legs, and steam out the outfit. My goal was to use the heat to lower the stress-induced inflammation my body was carrying due to the next twenty-four hours determining the rest of my life.
While I was slathering myself face to toe with Nephelium, my phone rang. I saw Simon’s name. I let his call go to voice mail. Part of my preparation strategy for the days leading up to the show was to not let Simon get in my head. And by not getting in my head, I mean not speaking to him or seeing his face until our paths crossed on the studio lot. Instead, I confirmed with Frances Antonelli the plans for the next two days.
11:50 a.m. (Toni)
Double-checking that you will be picking Lou and Coco up from their last day of work at 3. They have their overnight bags with them. I get home tomorrow night and will come directly from the airport to pick up the girls. Crossing fingers I will have good news to share even though my NDA says I can’t.
11:52 a.m. (Frances)
Yes, that’s the plan, don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll say an extra prayer for you at tonight’s grace.
11:53 a.m. (Toni)
AMEN.
I haven’t abandoned all Catholic rituals.
After some bickering with myself, I opted for clear polish for my fingers and toes. If I am going to be selling natural beauty to the Iconic Investors, I can’t do it lacquered in Friday Night Out Fuchsia, particularly on a Thursday. Plus, I would also have to find a lipstick to match. Allowing time for my nails to dry, I hit my phone’s voice mail icon with my knuckle. Lou and Coco were screaming good luck over and over, filling my bedroom with their electronic voices. I sure hoped the sweet message was sent on their lunch break, not when they were supposed to be hawkeyed watching their little charges in the pool at the end-of-summer-camp party.
I used my knuckle again to close out the voice mail screen, but accidentally hit “Play” on Simon’s message.
“Letting you know I’m already in LA and went to the studio today to scout the scene. Ninety-nine percent of success is preparation, you know.” With Simon’s attempt at intimidation, I was pretty sure Thomas Edison rolled over in his grave at the butchering of his famous quote. “I heard from a reliable source that a natural beauty products company in an earlier episode was funded. I assume you know it’s a saturated market, so I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Best if you just think of tomorrow as your eleven minutes of fame. See you on set.”
Since the afternoon of the girls’ alumni speeches at Saint Anne when Simon insinuated I should forget about a positive outcome onInnovation Nation, I had felt an even greater loosening of the ties binding me to him. Alternating between aching for him to come back and going easy on him when he returned had only resulted in painful bruising on my heart. Simon was my first love, the one I swore vows to, and the only man to share my bed and my body. That history had become like the San Francisco weather, a rolling fog obscuring my sensibilities. After hearing that voice mail, I decided no más.
