I was in the lobby of my office building, pushing some envelopes into the Outgoing Mail slot, when I heard a wolf-whistle coming from behind me. I turned to see Ford standing at the bottom of the stairs with a playful grin on his face. “That dress looks great on you,” he complimented me.
“Thanks,” I replied, crossing over to him in my espadrilles with the high wedge heel. I was wearing a halter dress the color of lime sherbet that I knew was very flattering to my curves, but it was still nice to have it confirmed by a member of the opposite sex.
“Hot date tonight?”
“Sadly, no, a family dinner. It’s my mother’s birthday.”
“Ah, so, she’s speaking to you again?”
“Yes, all is forgiven. Mamá’s feeling very benevolent this week. She also called a truce with my sister Izzy. So, we’ll be one big, happy family at her birthday bash tonight . . . at least, that’s what my mother wants all of our relatives to think.”
“She cares a lot about appearances?”
“Hence, the manicure,” I held up my hand so that he could see my freshly-painted fingernails, “the 30 minutes I spent in front of the mirror in my office bathroom doing my makeup, and the boutique-bought dress.”
“No doubt she’ll be suitably impressed.”
“Yeah, we’ll see. Hey, what time is it?” I wasn’t wearing a watch.
Ford glanced at his. “6:23.”
“She’s late,” I grumbled. “I told her 6:15.”
“Someone’s picking you up?”
“Yeah, Izzy. I loaned her my car for the day. Hers is in the shop, and she had a job interview.” I strode over to the glass doors that led from the lobby out to the sidewalk and peered through them. “Damn it, where is she?”
“She probably got stuck in traffic on the causeway.”
“Probably.” I didn’t sound convinced. “If you need to go, don’t let me keep you.”
“That’s okay. We’re eating dinner late tonight. I can stay and keep you company for a few minutes.”
“How’s Nate doing with Tee-Ball?” I wondered.
“The first practice went really well. He had a lot of fun and made some new friends. He really liked you by the way. He said that you were ‘an interesting and informative lady,’” Ford mimicked his son’s very earnest and precise way of speaking, “which is high praise coming from him.”
With a chuckle, I said, “I’m glad I passed muster. 5-year-olds can be tough.”
Hearing a car screech up to the curb outside, I winced, knowing that it was Izzy. I’d just put new tires on my Miata, and they hadn’t been cheap. I was going to kill her if she’d worn down the tread already.
“There’s my sister,” I told Ford. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
He held the door open for me, and we stepped out into the stifling early evening heat. Izzy had the top down on my convertible, and the radio was blaring with what sounded like, God help me, rap music. She was so busy singing along to the somewhat questionable lyrics that she didn’t even notice Ford and me as we approached the car.
“Izzy!” I screamed in an attempt to be heard over the music.
Turning towards me, she yelled, “What?” in return.
I motioned for her to lower the volume of the stereo, which she did with an annoyed expression.
“Izzy, this is my colleague, Dr. Fordham. Ford, my sister, Isidora.”
“Nice to meet you.” Ford stretched out his hand.
Izzy eased her Jackie O. sunglasses down her nose and gave him an appraising look over the top of them. “You’re the shrink who works across the hall from Pilar?”
“That’s me.”
“Huh.” She shook his hand, then shoved her sunglasses back up. “Are we going or what? You know Mamá will have a fit if we’re late.”
“Maybe I should drive?” There was less chance of us getting a speeding ticket if I was behind the wheel.
She heaved a beleaguered sigh as if dealing with me was such a trial. “Would you just get in already?”
“Fine.” I tossed my purse in the back seat, then stood aside so that Ford could open the car door for me. He waited until I’d gotten in and put my seat belt on before closing it.
“Have fun, ladies.”
“Not likely,” Izzy retorted before shifting the car into gear and peeling away from the curb.
Thirty minutes later, we exited the elevator on the 15th floor of my parents’ building, bickering like we were still in grade school.
“I can’t believe you didn’t buy Mamá a birthday present.”
“What was I supposed to buy it with? My good looks. Hello? I’m unemployed.”
“I would have loaned you the money, or you could have made her something.”
“Arts and crafts?” she scoffed. “I don’t think so.”
We stopped in front of unit #1508, and Izzy knocked on the door.
“Niñas! You’re finally here!” our mother greeted us with her typical theatrical flourish. “It’s so late that I thought you’d decided not to come.”
“Jesus, it’s only five past seven,” groused Izzy as she tromped over the threshold of my parents’ condo.
I followed her into the foyer, where we could hear the sounds of a party, talking, laughing, soft music, clinking glasses, filtering in from the living room, and the smells of a Cuban feast wafting in from the kitchen.
Giving Mamá a hug, I said, “Feliz cumpleaños.”
“Yeah, happy birthday,” Izzy echoed my sentiments unenthusiastically.
“You look beautiful,” I enthused.
“I do what I can,” she dismissed the praise, but I knew that she secretly relished it.
“Look at what your father gave me.” She jiggled her wrist in front of our faces.
“Stop it, you’re blinding me,” I teased.
Izzy gaped at the diamond bracelet. “Holy shit, that’s some serious bling. It must have cost Papá a fortune.”
“Don’t curse, Isidora. It’s vulgar,” Mamá chastised her. “I’m a lucky woman. Your father is very generous.”
She looked from my sister’s empty hands to mine. “Neither of you has a gift for your mamá on her fiftieth birthday?”
“It’s not your fif-”
I shot my sister a quelling glance. The last thing any of us needed was for Izzy to remind our mother what her real age was.
“Of course, we do,” I said, reaching into my purse and extracting a large envelope with ‘Luisa Alvarez’ written in gold calligraphy on the front of it.
“Hmmmm.” Mamá appeared less-than-impressed, but she took the envelope from me and opened it anyway.
“A full day of beauty treatments at Paradise Spa!” Her face lit up with excitement. “Oh, niñas, this is the perfect gift. You know how much I love to be pampered.”
“We know,” Izzy and I responded in unison.
“Maybe I’ll try one of those warm stone massages, or a seaweed body wrap?”
“Whatever floats your boat. It’s kind of stuffy in here. Is there somewhere I can put this sweater?” my sister asked.
“Just hang it in the closet.” Mamá motioned towards the door to her left.
“I can’t wait to use this gift certificate! My friend Judith is going to be so jealous. She’s been dying to go to Paradise ever since it opened, but her husband, that old penny-pincher, said, ‘No, it’s too expensive. Just give yourself a facial at . . .’” my mother suddenly gasped and grabbed her throat like she couldn’t breathe.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” She hadn’t been eating or drinking anything, so I knew she couldn’t be choking.
“It’s—, it’s—,” she sputtered and stabbed the air violently with her index finger.
I figured out she was trying to tell me to look over my shoulder, so I did. “Oh, crap,” I muttered when I saw what had her so agitated.
Izzy had removed her lightweight sweater, and her back was turned to us while she placed the cover-up on a hanger in the foyer closet. She was wearing a fairly demure sundress that tied around her neck and bared only a few inches of her back. However, enough flesh was exposed so that the upper portion of a large black cross, wreathed in red roses, could clearly be seen on one shoulder blade.
“. . . a tattoo!” my mother shrieked in a voice so piercingly high-pitched that I expected to hear the sound of wine glasses shattering in the next room. Instead, most of my immediate family came running into the foyer, practically tripping over each other in their rush to see what all of the fuss was about.
“Don’t panic,” I told everyone as I hurried over to my younger sibling. “I’m sure it’s just one of those temporary tattoos, and it’ll wash off in a couple of days.” I licked two of my fingers, then used them to rub frantically at the blight on Izzy’s back.
“Ew, stop that!” She tried to reach around and smack my hand. “I don’t want your spit on my skin.”
“Too bad.” I continued to rub.
Shoving me away, she announced to the crowd at large, “It’s a permanent tattoo. Marco gave it to me. He’s a tattoo artist.”
“Who’s Marco? Another deadbeat boyfriend? I’ll bet this one doesn’t have a high school diploma either,” my sister, Ana, jeered.
“Shut up,” Izzy retorted petulantly.
“That’s real mature. When are you going to grow up and stop embarrassing everybody?”
I stepped in to referee. “Ana, please, don’t antagoni—”
“I’d rather be immature than a judgmental bi—”
“Girls!” My father moved between my contentious siblings. “Is this any way to act on your mamá’s birthday? Look how you’ve upset her.”
All three of us glanced over at our mother, who was tearfully clutching a rosary (where had that come from?) and mumbling a prayer for strength in Spanish.
“There, there, Luisa, it’s not that bad,” my aunt Drina attempted to comfort her.
“‘Not that bad!’” my mother wailed.
“This,” she grabbed Izzy by the arm and spun her around so that her tattooed back could be seen by all and sundry, “is not that bad?”
There was a collective gasp of horror, followed by several of my older relatives making the sign of the cross.
“Coooooool,” my eldest nephew, George, moved closer to Izzy so that he could get a better look at the design on her shoulder. “I wanna get a tattoo.”
“No!” both of his parents shouted, and Ana pulled him back to the safety of the group.
“It’s sacrilegious; that’s what this is.” My mother pointed at Izzy’s body art. “Can you imagine what Father Ramirez is going to say when he hears about this? The whole family will be excommunicated. We’ll be disgraced! We’ll have to change our names and leave the country!”
“Now, Luisa, I’m sure it won’t come to that,” my father sought to mollify her.
“Mamá, Papá, may I see you in the kitchen please?”
“I don’t think this is the time, Pilar.”
“It’s the perfect time, Papá. Please, it’ll only take a minute.” I was insistent.
The rest of the Alvarez clan eyed the three of us with curiosity as I gently pushed my parents into the kitchen and closed the door behind us.
“Ay, Arturo! This is such a nightmare! What did I ever do to deserve this? All I wanted was a nice party for my birthday, and now, it’s ruined! Ruined!” My mother threw herself into Papá’s arms with a loud sob.
“It’ll be alright, mi querida. This doesn’t have to leave the family. We’ll find a good plastic surgeon for Isidora, and she can have the tattoo removed.”
Mamá pulled back from my father’s reassuring embrace. “Removed? Are you loco? If she has it removed, then she’ll have a scar. I don’t want my baby to have some big, ugly scar on her back. No decent man will ever want her if she’s disfigured.”
“The two of you may not realize this, but you’re giving Izzy exactly what she wants.”
“Eh?” They both turned towards me with looks of surprise as if they’d forgotten I was in the room.
“Why do you think Izzy pulls these stunts?”
My question was met with blank stares, so I answered it myself. “She wants to get a reaction out of you, even if it’s a negative one, because it shows that you care. Izzy has been doing this since the day she was born. When she was little and wanted attention, she would break something valuable, or throw a temper tantrum, and that always served her purpose. Papá would be quietly disapproving, while you, Mamá, would resort to hysterics.”
My mother’s back stiffened. “Of course, you would blame Isidora’s bad behavior on us. It’s always the parents’ fault. Isn’t that what they teach you at psychologist school? But what about you? You’re Isidora’s older sister; she lives with you. You’re supposed to look out for her and keep her from making stupid mistakes like getting a religious symbol tattooed on her back!”
So, now it was my fault?
“Izzy is an adult, and I can’t babysit her 24/7. Even if I’d known that she planned to get a tattoo, I couldn’t have stopped her. Just like I couldn’t stop her from getting her navel pierced.”
“She got her WHAT pierced?” Mamá screeched, while Papá blanched.
Smooth, Pilar, very smooth, I admonished myself.
“Let’s just focus on the problem at hand, okay? We need to go back out to the party and act like Izzy’s tattoo is no big deal.”
“But it is a—”
I held up a hand to silence my mother. “We are giving Izzy too much power in this family, and she’s using it to disrupt and cause turmoil. We need to break this unhealthy cycle of outrageous action/over-the-top reaction. If we want Izzy to change, then we have to take the wind out of her sails, starting now.”
“I agree,” my father weighed in on the subject.
“You always agree with Pilar,” Mamá pouted. “Why can’t you side with me for once?”
“We are all on the same side,” I assured her. “Now, do you think you can keep your emotions in check for the rest of the evening, no matter what Izzy says or does?”
“If I must.” She played the martyr complete with stoic expression and quivering lip.
“Good, let’s go back out and enjoy the party then.”
I went through the kitchen door first. The murmur of whispered conversation stopped, and all of our relatives fixed inquisitive gazes on me. “Dinner’s almost ready, everyone. Doesn’t it smell delicious?”
“Mmmmmm.” “Yes.” “I’m sure you’ve outdone yourself, Luisa.” All of our relatives gave their vocal support.
“Ana, Drina, I could use your help in the kitchen,” my mother said, and both women moved in that direction.
“Why don’t we head out to the terrace?” Papá suggested, then ushered our remaining family members out of the foyer.
I pulled Izzy aside.
“There’s bound to be a cool breeze out on the terrace, and I’d hate for you to get a chill. So, why don’t you wear this?” I grabbed her sweater from the hall closet and shoved it at her. I was hoping that if she covered the damn tattoo up, everyone would just forget about it. Out of sight, out of mind, as the old saying goes.
“It’s like 90 degrees outside,” Izzy protested.
I took the pale pink cover-up from her and draped it over her shoulders. “Wear it, or I’ll throw all your stuff out on the street when we get home tonight,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
“You wouldn’t—”
“Try me,” I dared her and saw a flicker of uncertainty in her dark eyes. Was I serious? Did she want to push her luck with me and run the risk of ending up homeless?
The doorbell rang.
“I’d better get that.”
Izzy slipped her arms into the sleeves of her sweater. “See you outside,” she said, then scurried off to join the other partygoers on the terrace.
So, I had my bratty sister under control. My mother, the High Priestess of Histrionics, had promised to remain calm for the next few hours, and I was about to sit down to a flavorful five-course meal (I couldn’t wait to wrap my taste buds around Mamá’s Flan de Coco y Ron, that’s a Coconut Rum Flan for you non-Cubans.) Things were definitely looking up.
I opened my parents’ front door with a welcoming smile at the ready. But when I saw who was standing out in the corridor, my face fell.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I groaned.