Page 31 of Guava Flavored Lies

CHAPTER14

For the last several years,the gala had been held at a new Cuban museum just at the edge of downtown, blocks from the outer reaches of Little Havana. For decades, the event about Cuban culture had been held in Little Havana, but at some point someone must have figured that if the Cubans were all gone, leaving the city to newer immigrants, they should stop pretending and move the event to a polished new venue.

Lauren sat in the passenger seat of Jenny’s sedan. Since they’d both decided on long, fancy dresses, Lauren’s black and Jenny’s sky blue, the Jeep wasn’t the best option.

Pulling up to the valet, Lauren eyed the museum suspiciously. It was a grand colonial building. It’s smooth, white stucco walls and tall columns stretching over three stories was impressive. The ode to Cuban-American generational trauma through art was undoubtedly beautiful, but it could have done more good revitalizing areas in Hialeah or Little Havana. The fancy suburb it was nestled against didn’t need the help.

A young man in a neat, black polo shirt opened Lauren’s door.

“Ready?” Lauren held out her hand to Jenny. Beaming a smile, she forced herself to stop thinking about anything remotely work related. The revitalization of Little Havana included.

Jenny returned her smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

The response hadn’t been exactly what Lauren hoped for. She didn’t want her to think about this night as something she had to endure. With all her bitching about the venue, the actual event was fun. She hoped Jenny could see that.

With her hand resting on the small of Jenny’s back, the tiny blue beads cold against her palm, Lauren followed the red carpet’s path between the massive white columns.

Inside what could’ve been a converted old bank if the building wasn’t new, the sprawling entry impressed with it’s three-floor-high ceiling. Even with scores of elegant bodies already occupying the space, it was undoubtedly breathtaking.

“Wow,” Jenny muttered.

“I know, right?” Lauren agreed, following the line of people milling over highly-polished white marble floors to the reception area. Behind sturdy glass cases, notable articles of clothing stood waiting to be appreciated. A dress worn by Celia Cruz in the 1960s caught Lauren’s attention while Jenny drifted away toward the bar.

After strolling through the exhibits scattered around the gallery in a room off the main museum, Lauren returned to Jenny. She had found an empty bar table along the edge of a dance floor crowned by a small, empty stage. She was staring into her phone, her face soft in the electronic glow.

“Where do you think they store all the stuff?” Lauren took one of the wine glasses on the table. The one that wasn’t already half-empty.

“What?”

“I think these are usually full of art and historical objects. It can’t possibly be empty like this all the time, right? They must have just made room for the event. Nobody wants a tipsy viejo knocking over some relic from the Bay of Pigs.”

Jenny looked around the spacious hall as if she had been dropped in from the ceiling without noticing her surroundings. “Yeah, I guess.”

Lauren’s stomach tensed. The night wasn’t getting off on the right foot. “The live music will start soon.” She smiled. “How long has it been since you danced to some old school salsa music?”

“Are you going to teach me?” Jenny smiled.

Thrown by her response, Lauren nodded to cover her surprise. “Yeah, of course!”

Resting her elbow against the table, Lauren got closer. “You know I was thinking, why don’t we take another trip?”

Before she could make some suggestions for a trip early next year, the sound of her mother’s voice floated above the ambient noise.

Her skin turned icy. She knew that tone.

Lauren searched the mass of attendees before spotting her. In a sparkling silver gown, her mother was tucked under her dad’s long arm. Moving around to get a better view, she confirmed her suspicions when the group parted, revealing the target of her mother’s high-pitched sarcasm.

Ugh. No.

Across from the Machados, the Campos family stood in apparent conversation. To a casual onlooker they might seem to be chitchatting acquaintances, but Lauren knew better.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, not waiting for Jenny’s acknowledgement before darting across the large dance floor, her tight high heels slowing her advance.

A very public argument with Barbara Campos would not benefit her mother’s campaign. As soon as she was within ear shot of the women talking loudly over instrumental music, she feared she was too late.

“You only kept your maiden name because I did.” Lauren’s mom was already launching an attack. A strange one.

“I would’ve expected you to jump at the chance to shed that fraud’s legacy,” Ms. Campos replied, her lips curled in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

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