I still hope mine won’t have any ruffles or glitter. I step over to my chair and lift the clothes Alfonso has left for me. A simple black top and a long red skirt, thank goodness.
Daphne walks up to me. “Why are you so late? You need to be onstage in ten.”
“I had a…thing,” I say quickly. I can’t tell her I sat in the car for ten minutes thinking about how gladly I would escape this very place. And another five trying to solve the riddle of our new rich customers.
As if Daphne could guess my thoughts, she wiggles her brows. “Did you notice those smooth rides outside, girl?” Before I can squeeze in a word, she continues, “They belong to two men. Top-dogs for AMEA, no less.”
“Seriously? How do you know?” I gape at her.
I figured the frilly cars must belong to some high-level executives. But from AMEA? It’s the only Fortune 500 with headquarters in San Sebastian. The story of Elliah Montgregor, its founder, is one that mothers in my barrio use to convince their kids that going to school isn’t a waste of time. Not that any of them are likely to end up with a multi-billion empire built from scratch, but still. It’s far better than just saying, “Study or you can’t have dinner.”
Half of our town works for some subsidiary of AMEA. The lucky half, if you ask me.
Daphne is happy with the effect her words have on me. She loves to be the bearer of new gossip. She pretends to adjust her red curls, but her fingertips don’t even touch her hair. “I saw a couple of folders on the driver’s seat of that Bentley.”
“You did what?” I can’t help it. A giggle makes its way to my lips. The image of Daphne’s dainty nose glued to the grey luxury car is too funny.
Judy joins in with a light chuckle, while Daphne sniffs angrily. “I didn’t pry, if that’s what you think. I just happened to notice as I passed by.”
“Sure you did,” I add soothingly. “Anyway, thanks for the heads-up. At least I won’t have to wonder who the two odd ones out in the audience are.”
“Lola, the new girl who waits tables during the week, told me she’s done a few catering gigs for the Montgregors. She says they organize the most lavish parties ever. She swears that once she saw an entire table filled with caviar and foie gras.”
“Ah, then it’s lucky I never got invited to any of their gatherings. I couldn’t eat any of that. Why would anyone think that eating fish eggs is fancy, anyway?” I add with a slight shiver of disgust.
“Well, I’d love to participate in one of those events,” Judy chimes in, her eyes dreamy, while she runs a finger on her lower lip. “There can be plenty of wealthy single men. I wouldn’t mind if either of these guys invited me to a private chat either.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t.” Daphne’s voice is slightly stingy, as if the simple fact that Judy laid a verbal claim on our two new guests would lessen her chances of being able to speak to them.
I roll my eyes. So typical. Money can blind us so easily. Well, not me. Not after what my father put us through. “Girls, while you sort out who gets some alone time with those rich men, I need to get ready.”
Daphne’s eyes flick to me and her jaw drops as she studies my face. “But, honey, you’re not even wearing foundation!”
“You know I hate that stuff melting on my face,” I mumble.
Judy smacks her lips and shakes her head disapprovingly too. “You might think your natural creamy complexion is enough. But, don’t forget, spotlights are unforgiving.”
“Come, we need to get you ready.” Daphne gives me a soft push. “Ever since people got wind that the Black Angel is back, we constantly have a full house.”
The Black Angel. That would be me.
“That’s right, love.” Judy winks. “You’re a legend. I think all the guests want to see tonight is you.”
I suck in a breath and let the familiar excitement before a show brew. Instead of chasing it away, I welcome the feeling. I need it to take possession of me and carry me through this night once more.
I quickly change my clothes and sit in front of the dressing table, where Judy and Daphne have already prepared a palette of various eye shadows, lipsticks, eyeliners, and foundation.
I look at my bare face and suck in my breath. I might not wear lots of makeup in my private life, but the girls are right. I can’t step onto the stage without it. Not because of the paling effect of the light or because I want to look better. No, coloring my lips, enhancing my eyes, and applying blush to my cheeks is a way of getting ready.
Physically, yes. But also emotionally. Just like my Aztec ancestors put on their armor and painted their faces before going into battle. The shades I use might be soft gold and dark charcoal instead of yellow ochre or bitumen, but the purpose is the same. Creating a separation between real life and the moments to come.
This kind of segregation between my everyday-self and my dancer-self is key. I need to forget all about my worries and doubts. Also about my dreams and hopes. If I hang on to my feelings, then the music won’t be able to penetrate me and use me to manifest itself.
Judy is combing my hair with a soft brush, while Daphne helps perfectly blend the bronze powder into my pores.
I dip my brush into the thick black paint and draw the line just above my eyelashes, while I shut all the doors in my mind that might disturb me during my performance.
Yes, soon Eva Flores will cease to exist so that the Black Angel can emerge.
Chapter 3
(Nathan)
As I enter
