You need a margarita. Meet me at Cantina Pequeña two blocks south of the hotel.
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 5
“Your mom’s in there, worried sick over you.” Lost in my own thoughts, I am startled back to reality by Zwena’s claim moments before I trip over her. “You said we’d meet sometime last night in the business center to practice, and thenpoof,you disappeared.” Zwena’s sitting on the maroon and red geometric hallway carpet, legs outstretched, ankles crossed, head leaning against my hotel room door like she’s been resting there for a long while. Two venti Starbucks cups are tucked next to her hip, closely guarded. I’m assessing what’s the least amount of explanation I have to give in order to get her to hand me one of those iconic white cups.
“Couldn’t sleep, so I got up early this morning to take a walk in Griffith Park and practice the pitch out loud to the hummingbirds since the three of you scattered last night.” Placing the responsibility for not calling an evening rehearsal on my team’s shoulders seems like the shortest distance between me and the coffee she’s hoarding. I need the caffeine to keep my crooked tale straight.
“Didn’t know hiking in yesterday’s dress was a thing in Southern California. Formal wear Thursday in the great outdoors, eh?”
“I only packed a change of clothes for the show,ehrm, and I didn’t want to sweat in it,ehrm, so I had to go with ...”
“The same thing you had on when Ash dropped us off?” Zwena finishes my lame attempt at spin-doctoring my absence the last twelve hours.
“Yep.” I nod once to demonstrate my conviction. “The light cotton of my sundress is actually quite breathable,” I stammer out, an impromptu justification for my walking attire. With no quick-witted response lobbed back to me, I figure Zwena has dropped the subject and we can get a move on with our morning. Having run out of time, I’ve convinced myself we are ready for our eleven minutes leading to a financial foundation, but I do have one important change to our pitch that I wanted to share with the team last night. But then Ash enticed me with a better offer than spending the night in a business center. Now I’m hoping we can arrive at the studio lot early and have a handful of quiet moments together for review. I need everyone’s attention before we set foot onstage.
It’s three hours and five minutes until we are due to check in at the studio lot gate, and I crave the endorphins that were pumping through my body last night to rev back up. I lean over to pick up the cup without lip marks on it and get my engine going for the day. I’m met with a swift slap to the hand.
“First of all, this is for Mrs. Eisenberg, not you. She and your mom had a late night waiting up for you.” Zwena crosses her arms, protecting the coffee and our two elders’ beauty sleep. “I finally put them to bed with the promise I would make sure you got home okay.” She takes a long, slow draw from her cup and smacks her lips together to let me know it’s tasty.
“Ehrm, you’ve been here all night?” I ask, feeling a warmth and genuine love well up in my chest given my sweet, selfless sister friend’s concern that is tempering her refusal to share.
“I thought Krish warned you to get the dough before being a ho.”
Okay, maybe not so sweet.
“Zwena, do I hear Toni out there?” From the other side of my hotel room door, we both hear my mom bellow with a wash of relief. Her butting in has saved me from a coerced confession.
“You sure do,” Zwena responds, not taking her eyes off me.
“¡Gracias a Dios! I’ve been worried sick!” I hear my mom shuffling across the floor, most likely to find her robe and slippers. She was never one to parade around in her nightgown, let alone open the door to a public space wearing it. “Where was she?”
Why are they talking about me like I’m not here?
Zwena cocks her head, an all-knowing expression resting on her face. I bite my lower lip, smoothing out the front of my dress to maintain my composure and find solid ground to counter Zwena’s assumption that she has something to hold over me. “She fell asleep in the business center. Passed right out practicing for today. You know your daughter, always working it hard, hard, hard.”Really?I mouth to Zwena. “Yep.Sohard.” Her pursed lips challenge me to claim otherwise. “The concierge found her practically spooning the printer. She’s a little scruffy, but nothing a cold shower and a few Hail Marys can’t fix.”
“Toni, I’m hopping in the shower quickly, then you can have the bathroom all to yourself,” Gloria announces to me, Zwena, and the Lycra-clad couple heading down the hallway hand in hand dressed for an actual early-morning walk. Zwena and I listen to their sneakers squeak toward the elevator before either of us continues.
There is nothing quick about Gloria showering, both Zwena and I know it. With some time on our hands and Zwena serving as the bouncer to my room, she pats the worn carpet next to her. “How about a seat,” she suggests, turning a question into a non-negotiable.
“If I sit, can I get that coffee?” I counter.
“You can get the coffee if I get the details of your night with Ash.” Zwena knows she has the upper hand.
“How do you know I was with Ash? Could have been Simon,” I assert, blowing out a heavy breath, trying out my acting skills in La-La Land. Zwena points her finger down her throat like she’s gagging.
“Well, Ash called Mrs. Eisenberg right after he dropped you off this morning.” I check my watch. That was less than five minutes ago. “She called me right away, thinking I might have caught up with you.I was actually in the elevator about to deliver Mrs. Eisenberg her coffee when I got the call. She insisted I hurry here knowing you were nearby.”
I fidget from side to side, my anxiety about withholding details of last night from Zwena making me dance. Or is it nerves that I don’t know how much Ash shared with Mrs. Eisenberg about our evening? Or is it reality setting in that the next time I see Ash face-to-face, the four of us will be on air trying to convince him and his fellow judges to take a chance on Brown Butter, Baby!?—and hopefully on me.
“Your panties in a bunch getting caught in the act?” Zwena accuses, watching my little shuffle back and forth.
“Nope.”
“You sure?” Zwena laughs at me, pleased by her role as sex sleuth.
“I’m sure because they’re in my purse.” I open my bag, and Zwena peeks inside looking for evidence. I snap it shut inches away from her nose and throw a juvenile“Ha!”in her face. The only thing interesting in there is a spare pack of LIFE SAVERS Ash gave me. He figured we all might want one to wet our throats before our presentation. I hope we don’t need them to save ourselves from drowning onstage.
Now that I have the upper hand, I ask, “What did Mrs. Eisenberg tell you?” and slide down the door next to Zwena, trying to sound as uninvested in the answer as possible.
