Free The Tequila Worm by Viola Canales Page A

beautiful!”
    I started rolling my eyes but caught myself and smiled instead. “Thank you, Mama.” My headache had spread to the very front of my head.
    For the next three hours, Berta’s royal court was put though an excruciating hands-on crash course on the correct use of utensils, polite conversation, handling social “mishaps,” and dancing.
    This boot camp culminated with our having to go out to the courtyard and dance to the
vals
“
Dulce
Quinceañera
.” As I inadvertently kicked Beto in the shins for the fourth time, I wondered why the boys always got to lead.
    That night I found Papa at the kitchen table carving something with his knife, and I told him what the
comadres
had just put us through.
    “Ah! La Plaza hotel. That’s where I first saw your Mama. She was dancing in that very courtyard. And that’s when I fell in love with her.”
    It was hard to imagine Papa falling in love, for he was always so calm, reserved, thoughtful; falling in love sounded like losing control.
    “Yes, back then, La Plaza held a dance every Saturday. I went one Saturday with a couple of friends. I had just returned from the Korean War. We were out in the courtyard, drinking beers. The mariachis were playing. Couples were dancing. And then I saw your mama dancing a
vals
. She was wearing a bright red dress and had the brightest smile, the sweetest eyes. She looked
so beautiful
.
    “I stood there watching her all evening. Of course everybody wanted to dance with her. And she did every kind of dance—
rancheras,
polkas,
cumbias, valses
. She was
amazing
!
    “But I realized I didn’t stand a chance with her unless I could dance too. Now it’s your turn to learn.”
    We went outside and Papa taught me how to dance the lead to “Julia.”
    On Berta’s big day, I woke early and made breakfast for everybody. Then I put on my dress and let Mama pretty me up.
    The priest’s blessing of Berta at the church was followed by the reception. And after Berta had posed for a zillion pictures, the
damas
all danced with her. Then Berta’s father started waltzing her around the courtyard.
    Berta’s mother appeared carrying a white satin pillow with a tiara and high heels. She placed the pillow in front of Berta, and then she and Berta’s father replaced Berta’s flower headpiece with the tiara and her flat shoes with heels.
    The
vals
started again, but now Berta danced with all fourteen of her
chambelans,
and finally with Jamie. She looked so beautiful in her flowing white dress, and so grown-up. It struck me how much I’d miss her if I went away to school. How much I’d miss all my family and friends!
    Finally, Berta’s towering cake was wheeled into the middle of the courtyard. Her parents reached up and took the little doll from the top of the cake, a replica of Berta— tiara, gown, and all. They presented it to Berta as her last doll ever. Berta cut the cake.
    Later in the evening, Papa whispered something to the lead mariachi. Papa looked so handsome in his dark suit and his brown and white boots. Then “Julia” started to play. He whispered to me, and I walked across the courtyard.
    “Mama, can I have this dance?” I said.
    She looked surprised and then laughed as I took her in my arms and we started waltzing, just like Papa had taught me.
    “Mama,” I said, counting steps in my head, “I love you.”
    “I love you too, mi’ja. It’s like a dream. Me and you dancing to ‘Julia,’ in the same courtyard where I met your papa. And you looking so beautiful, so grown-up.”
    “Mama, I have a dream too.”
    “What’s that, mi’ja?”
    “To go to that school.”
    “What does Papa say?”
    “He supports it, so long as you do.”
    “But what about Lucy?”
    “
Ay,
Mama, she’s just like you. She’ll go along with whatever you say.”
    “But what about those dresses you’ll need, and the four hundred dollars?”
    “Don’t worry about that. My
comadre
Berta and I got all that figured out.”
    “Your comadre