"Come on Loca...if that's even your real name!" Melanie said while pushing the dress into my arms.
"No, that's what you call me. Come on, I'd like to go to a place where I don't get in trouble because of you." I rolled my eyes trying to hand the dress back to her.
"We've never even been in this part of town! They don't know who we are. For all these people know we are some old prick's young tenderonies." This time Melanie positioned me so I was facing the mirror. I couldn't help but laugh. My uncle used the word 'tenderonie' when describing the younger women he started courting since my aunt passed away some time ago.
"Look how good this dress looks on your skin. What people would do to have your body," Melanie stated as she pressed the fabric against my skin.
"I don't need to look like a hooker to be pretty, and what's the point of getting prepped like a turkey, so these rich white people can look at us as if we're some sort of meat?" I felt the fabric in my fingers. The dress was nice.
"Last I checked, the turkey is the best part of the Thanksgiving meal," she shot back, yet still made sure she carefully applied her make-up in the mirror. Sometimes I wished I was bold and adventurous like her. The dress she was wearing fit her petite figure as if it was custom made instead of being out of season fashion handout from when she was working at a department store outlet last year. Her skin gave off a bright gold glow, and her hypnotic emerald eyes and the long chocolate wavy hair that fell down her back could make anyone think she was Miss Latin America. No one ever believed me when I explained that she was my half-sister. The ironic thing was that my father came straight from the motherland, Colombia, while her father was born and raised in Miami, yet my father is un Moreno (so instead of his ancestors being from Spain they were brought to the New World as slaves from Africa), neither of us look one thing short. I'm not the color of café con leche like my mother or even brown skinned like many African-American are. If you want to talk chocolate, I'd most definitely be dark chocolate. The only thing that might give away my heritage is my bronze eyes and lengthy, jet black loose curls.
"Last I checked, the Thanksgiving turkey is fed and treated like gold until that dreadful season comes and they are shown just how much people appreciate their species," I said. I grabbed the dress and walked into the stall with it to get dressed. I guess couldn't resist.
"You do this every time Reina!" Melanie laughed at my submission. "You refuse and really have me believing that you're not gonna' go through with my schemes, and then you throw some intellectual bullshit and give in." She was right. I did always give in to her schemes, but that was because she was all I had left here. The rest of my family was in Miami or Colombia, because the north was far too cold for them, even after I tried to explain to them that surprisingly, New York can get really hot in the summer and at times has the perfect climate. The only other family member that took the risk of 'freezing to death' here in was my grandmother.
Since I was not the most sociable of girls, good friends didn't come around like flies to a blue light. But Melanie-- in high school she was prom queen during her junior year and Homecoming queen in her senior year. In contrast I was just the bookworm, honestly not even that. Don't get me wrong I was in the top five percent of my class, but I was no salutatorian. After realizing I didn't fit into my school environment outside of being the joke in everyone's conversation or that 'weird' kid , I worked really hard to be eligible for a scholarship to NYU.
At the time I was living with my father in Colombia again, so the only way to be able to go to the school without paying out of state or in my current case, international fees was if I lived with my grandmother in Spanish Harlem for a while. Considering I was the odd ball anyway, I thought I might as well be the new kid where I'd somewhat have an excuse. After my grandmother signed me up to a public high school, I found a place for New York in my heart.
In all honesty kids will always be cruel no matter where you go and I still was bullied. One group of girls held me down and cut off my ponytail (I was later told that this was because a boy that one of the girls liked complimented me on my hair), but unlike in Colombia, there were a lot of other kids like me, misfits. I tended to hang out with the kids that only listened to indie rockers and underground artists or if we went over someone's house to watch a movie on a Friday night, the movies tended to be something straight from the Sundance Channel. Two years later I had graduated and am now nineteen, most of my friends had moved to LA in the hope of making it or going to universities that were out of my reach. Considering I didn't have a car and little money, all I had left was to go to work and pay bills and save for school.
I may have always had to work hard to get where I am, yet Melanie and I were always at opposite ends of the spectrum. Her father owned a company that produced a knock-off version of the Cuban cigar and owned a prosperous night club that many celebrities made appearances at back in Miami, so he was wealthy enough to give his cielto linda (beautiful sky) anything she'd ever want, unlike my father who worked multiple jobs (including some that weren't even legal) just to make sure I had what I needed. The only reason Melanie even did any sort of labor in New York was, because her father kicked her out for the time being after catching her in the act of one of her foollproof schemes.
I was never really a party-goer, or at least not to the kind of parties that Mel liked. I liked the classic get-togethers where everyone could sit back and listen to nice music, talk, have heart-to-heart conversations, and maybe even the parties where you can actually just dance, and not Melanie's idea of a party, where anything goes, articles of clothes tended to come off, and a taxi driver almost always had to be called because she was not able to safely drive anymore, yet that was the only type of party she liked.
After I put the dress on, I walked out of the stall and stood next to my sister to see myself in the mirror. "Sometimes it's hard to believe you're four years older than me," I sighed.
"Not with those tetas! ¡Ay Mios! Look at those things. I can't believe you hide them. What are they 32C?!" She gestured towards my chest; the dress I wore did anything but cover them. I blushed
"32D."
Mel looked from her size 28B breasts and back towards me before we both died laughing.
"Okay, can we go now?" I pleaded.
"Well, I'm not going to force you to straighten your hair, but there's no way this is going to work if you don't let me touch up your face, and PLEASE wear those shoes I got you for your birthday the other year."
I took a deep breath. Boy, this was going to be a long night.
John
"Would you like to taste some of Master Bridge's collection? It's imported straight from France." The waiter offered me a glass. I nodded my head and accepted his offer without hesitation. The day had been more than simply rough. I thought I'd be happy earlier in the day when I heard the position of president was being filled. There was no doubt I was on the top of the list, but on such days I questioned if I even wanted it. When Phillip Bridges called me into the office to fire ten people, I thought maybe I'd enjoy it, because I love being in control; however, the look on each of their faces when I told them the news was more than enough to make me feel like quitting. I instead went to the party Phillip throws every month, blowing enough cash to send one of those poor victims' children to college for four years for no more reason than because he can.
The moment I lowered the glass from my lips, I noticed two women walking in. Without doubt they didn't fit in at this particular party. It wasn't because they were minorities, because working in the corporate world you tend to notice that such tokens are always needed, but these women wore bright tropical colors when this was a specifically black and white gathering. The room's volume began to lower as everyone's attention shifted from their business conversation to observe the women.
"Dammit Mel! I knew something like this was going to happen," I heard one whisper to the other. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. These were party crashers.
"Pardon me ladies; may I have your invitations?" A security guard must have caught on too. Both girls responded with a deer-in-headlights look. The shorter one with green eyes began searching through her purse as if such an invitation was there, but even I knew there was none.
"It's okay. They're with me," chimed in Phillip.
There was no hiding the lust on his face. It wasn't just him, but many of the men in the room stared longingly at the pair. The majority of those at the event, with the exception of the help, were above the age of thirty-five. I myself was considered young at the age of thirty-seven. Most of the younger, attractive women were taken by the more possessive jealous men, including Phillip's twenty-eight year old wife. Phillip then approached me, the girls shadowing him.
"John, I'd like you to meet..." Phillip winked at me as if there was a secret between us. I ignored the gesture, because I wanted to appear completely different from Phillip.
"Melanie Lara de la Torre," the small, olive skinned one purred her Spanish accent at us, "and this is Reina Guadalupe," she continued, gesturing beside her.
My eyes went to the other girl. Although her face looked more innocent and pure, her bright eyes held something more, something deep. I stared into them, and they reminded me of a wolf. There was no denying she was beautiful, but her edgy eyes in contrast with her shyness began to catch fire in my groin. Her body was gorgeous too. I noticed how she crossed her arms over her exposed cleavage, and that every passing man made sure he glanced down at her. My eyes lowered as I took in the sight of her waist and hips. Man, she would be perfect to hold on to while riding my-- .
