And the closer they got to Sarita’s quince, the more stressed—and difficult—Alicia got. With two weeks left till the big day, she began to focus only on the quince. For her internship, she was supposed to be working on a liaison request for a telenovela production company for the Office of Film and Cultural Affairs, but she spent most of her mornings keeping tabs on her crew. One morning, during a city council meeting, she ducked into her father’s office to make a few calls out from under Lori’s watchful eye. Alicia sat down at her father’s desk, dialed nine for an outside line, and called Gaz. “What are you doing?” she asked when he picked up. She spoke to the members of the club so often that she didn’t even bother to say hello. Still, when it was Gaz, she was often flustered. “At this very second, I’m folding a new shipment of lightweight cashmere sweaters,” Gaz said. “I’m at work.” “Have you and your brothers worked on the mariachi number for Sarita’s father-daughter vals?”
