Olga Dies Dreaming(71)
MABEL’S LIMOUSINE FINALLY approached. Olga wanted this day to be perfect for her. She helped her tío and tía out of the car and when Mabel emerged in her Vera Wang for David’s Bridal strapless princess gown, Olga carried the detachable train as they walked up the stairs. While Mabel waited for her grand entrance, the one she had been waiting to make for most of her adult life, Olga fluffed and placed the train against the marble floors of the vestibule. She pulled her cousin’s veil over her face and told her that she looked beautiful, which she did. Then Olga adjusted her own ill-fitting turquoise bridesmaid dress—she never did get it altered—and headed down the aisle.
On her way, she spotted Matteo, positioned in an aisle seat on the bride’s side, looking handsome in a black suit, which fit him like a glove. He’d gotten a shape-up and shaved. The sight of him electrified her. Filled her with relief and joy. For the first time in a long time she was excited. To dance with him. To introduce him to people. To gossip with over who was drinking too much and who was talking about whom in the bathrooms. To have been given a second chance.
He spotted her, and, improbably, took out an old-school disposable camera. She grinned, widely, in his direction and the flash went off.
REPORT TO THE DANCE FLOOR
“Hold up!” Matteo exclaimed as they entered the reception room. “Your cousin got Fatman Scoop to DJ her wedding?”
“That guy?” Olga answered. “Nah. That guy’s a Fatman Scoop impersonator. He just kind of looks like him and will hype up the crowd, you know? It was an add-on the DJ offered. They had a Funkmaster Flex option, too, which, personally, I would have picked since Fatman Scoop wasn’t even a DJ, but whatever, Mabel was into it.”
The bride and groom were off taking photos and guests had barely begun to find their seats in the reception room, but already a small group had claimed spots on the dance floor.
What’s your zodiac sign? What’s your zodiac sign? the Fatman Scoop lookalike asked from the small stage.
“Virgo!” Tía ChaCha kept calling out, swerving her hips to the music.
“I always liked Fatman Scoop,” Matteo offered, “he had something for everyone. Long hair, short hair, hundred-dollar bill, ten-dollar bill. Very inclusive.”
“Funny, that’s exactly what Mabel said! She got conga players, too, for later.”
Fauxman Scoop was asking for an Ooo-oo and a What? What? And Tía ChaCha was all too eager to comply. She was in a skintight spaghetti strap, gold sequin dress with sky-high stiletto heels, and Olga could see her Tío Richie over by the bar, leering at her while he sipped his rum and Coke. As she directed Matteo’s attention to her uncle and the drama potentially about to unfold, Prieto made his way to their table and took a seat next to Olga.
“This is about to be a hot mess!” he said. “I personally got her two drinks at the cocktail hour, and the night is young.”
Olga smiled faintly. She’d been avoiding her brother’s calls and texts all week and, fortunately, had been busy enough with the chaos of the day to have avoided a real interaction with him. Now though, they were seated at the same table for the rest of the night and she was not quite sure how to behave. She was still unpacking their fight the weekend prior, unsure how to reconcile the cracks in her brother’s character that the argument had revealed. Yet, this all took a back seat to the guilt that gripped her for withholding what she’d learned about their mother. When she got out of Reggie’s car, a part of Olga had thought, Fuck you guys. Keep this a secret from my brother? This is my family. Not only did her brother deserve to know, he was the only other person who could understand all that she was feeling. The anger, the betrayal, the confusion, and frankly, the yearning for this phantom presence. Yet, something kept her from calling him: a palpable sense of fear.
She was anxious, given his public role, that sharing this kind of information with Prieto might put him in some sort of compromised state. Of lesser concern was fear of her brother himself. Although Reggie clearly had reservations about Prieto’s trustworthiness that it seems her mother shared, Olga ultimately believed that whatever secrets and lies Prieto kept, her brother’s heart was incapable of inflicting intentional harm. Except perhaps upon himself. No, Olga’s largest and most pronounced fear was the Pa?uelos Negros themselves, and by extension, her mother. In the past, liberation groups like FALN were not afraid to employ violence in their quest for independence for the island. What Reggie described, these Pa?uelos Negros, didn’t strike her as much different. If he or her mother caught wind that Olga breached their trust, she had to admit that she was uncertain where their loyalties would lie. If, somehow, her brother now found himself on their bad side, Olga certainly did not want to feel responsible for pushing him further over the edge.
All of this pressed on her now as her brother tried to make small talk. When Olga didn’t immediately answer, Prieto continued.
“Hey man,” he said, as he leaned over to offer his hand out to Matteo. “Sorry we didn’t get to meet earlier. Prieto Acevedo, Olga’s brother.”
“Hey, yeah, man! I wouldn’t be a self-respecting New York 1 watcher if I didn’t know who you were! I’m—”
Just then Matteo was interrupted by Fauxman Scoop, who blasted an air horn as the dated ballroom went dark. Seconds later, LED lights bathed the guests in turquoise blue. “Despacito” boomed from the speakers as the double doors opened and a trail of waiters and waitresses clad in black polyester vests and clip-on bow ties entered the room, assembling themselves in two facing lines, each holding what appeared to be a massive sparkler.