masquerade

My friend Hadassah invited me to the annual Community Food Bank's Mardi Gras 2008 party as a guest of Buzz Isaacson Reality. The invitation red "Costume or Casual," which automatically meant drunk fun people. I couldn't wait! I even bought a fantastic pirate mask, imported from Italy to wear for the occasion. The night of the party, I arrived with my friend Hadassah at the historic Hotel Congress. Flashing lights from dozens of cameras went off, blinding us and making us wonder where the entrance was. Luckily for me, my photographer friend Robie was there and helped pull us through the paparazzi blockage…where we "bumped" into Bill the Arizona supervisor manager of Wells Fargo Bank and Dave Fitzsimmons, the legendary political cartoonist. Thus was the start of my Saturday night.

There was crab cakes, shrimp po'boys, cornbread, collard greens, shrimp jambalaya, and bottomless Hurricane drinks. The food wasn't all that, and certainly not $100 worth, but the unlimited drinks did make it better. From the fat friar to the lady with a pink wig, everyone was having a great time. Beads were tossed, skin was inadvertently exposed, and I could barely believe that I was blending in with such a crowd. People I was somebody because of my mere attendance and the fact I was sitting at a sponsor table. One partial observer so happened to be Dave Fitzsimmons and seeing that we were indeed enjoying ourselves, he asked us if he could draw Hadassah and I and immortalize us on his giant sketch pad.

It was such a memorable and magical night, I didn't want it to end. So, we decided to leave the party on a high note and made our way outside to the valet. That's when I saw him. My old high school friend Manny. We hadn't spoken in almost three years, when Manny got mad at me for planning a California summer trip and told me I was living in a fantasy world. I suspected it wasn't just the California trip he was upset about, but rather a series of events that led to his blow up. After that, he stopped answering his phone and was always "busy" at work. I was phased out. My friendship was no longer wanted. But there he was, shivering outside, in the cold, at the bus stop. I wanted to go over and say "Hi!" but stopped myself. If Danny thought a California trip was fantasy living, what would a $100 a plate charity ball be considered? He couldn't see me, because of my mask, but I could still see on his face that he still had his pride. I knew my presence would destroy that, so in order to keep it intact, I left.

Later that week, I received a call from Aleah, the sales director for 520Living Magazine. She had, yet, another complaint about Carrie James, the president of Tucson Young Professionals, which created First Fridays, the event I wrote about. I had confided in Carrie, asking her if she could look over my article, because I knew she had been a guest writer for several newspapers in town and I wanted to know her professional opinion. She loved it. She thought it was a whimsical piece that reminded her of Vogue and I thoroughly thanked her for it. A few days later, when Aleah had a meeting with Carrie, to discuss advertising in the magazine, Carrie voiced her concern about my article saying it was "cliché and too cheesy." Ugh. She then showed Aleah a copy of my article, bleeding in red pen, with her own paragraph suggestions and her own witty remarks. But the most crushing blow of them all was the fact that she wanted her name next to mine, because she "contributed." And because “James” was alphabetically first than “Tellez”, it would be her name the readers would read first! I couldn't believe it. I thought Carrie was my friend. Well, maybe not friend, but close acquaintance. After all, I knew her before she the president of a networking group and just a regular, run-of-the-mill bank teller at Wells Fargo who always asked how my day was after getting her morning coffee. One minute, she was praising my writing, the next she was bad-mouthing me and trying to take credit for all my hard word. Talk about wearing a two-faced mask.

Carrie James was my first lesson and first rule in the magazine biz - keep your friends close, and your back-stabbing enemies even closer. It then made me wonder what Manny was to me. Friend or enemy? I saw him again that very week at a Subway sandwich shop, downtown. He sat on a barstool, at the window facing the street, with his head laying on the yellow-linoleum table. He was asleep and from the small puddle of drool coming out of his mouth, I knew it was probably a deep sleep. Because I didn't look like I had stepped out of a charity ball, I decided now was my chance to approach Manny. He sat next to two other guys, not much older, who were sharing a soda, a sandwich and a conversation, that ended abruptly when they saw me staring at their friend. They didn't look too happy that I was staring at them, so I left. Maybe some other time. Besides, with school, work, and a magazine coming out, I couldn't let the opinion of one person hold me down. So, I shifted my focus and prepared to make my appearance as a professional, published writer.

The plan was to pass out free issues of the magazine at the upcoming First Fridays event. The theme was Mardi Gras (again!) and since I had already pimped out one mask, I needed a new idea that no one else would have and stand out amongst a star-spangled flock of professional people. That’s when I remembered Kirstin Dunst in Marie Antoinette and the black painted mask she wore to a masquerade party. I needed something original like that, so I made an appointment with a friend at the M.A.C. cosmetic counter at Dillards, where I gave them full permission to go wild on my face. The results? Utterly fantastic! No one had as original an idea as mine, except for my friend Madelaine, who also got her face painted by the same M.A.C. friend. The mask went perfect with the “journalism-y” look that I was going for, which included a fedora, a necktie necklace and these beyond awesome Prada shoes I found in Scottsdale.

Minutes before I had to arrive at the party to set up our magazine booth, I discovered that our magazine was still on the road. According to Aleah, the magazine hadn’t left the printing press on Thursday afternoon as originally planned. It left Friday afternoon, which meant there was a 50/50 chance that it wouldn’t arrive in Tucson until after midnight, which meant, not everyone would be able to see the finished, published work of art! Aleah and I spent the next two hours stalling for time, calling Harry, the publisher of the magazine every ten minutes to see if he had an update on the status of the delivery truck. And then, when all seemed hopeless, there was our magazine, making a grand entrance to the front of the Tucson Museum of Art, the venue which First Fridays took place. I immeadiately opened one of the brown boxes and became mesmerized by the glossy periodical. It was a real-life magazine, with my article on page 24 and 25! It had my name and everything! I was literally on cloud nine!

After my cloud landed safely back on earth, I began attaching personal thank you-notes to the magazine, thanking everyone that gave me an interview and helped me write my article. Including Carrie James. Being the bigger person takes a lot more deep breaths than you I realized, but I was able to leave a succinct and polite message. I was just making my rounds at the party, when Carrie came up to me and very rudely asked if I had gotten permission from the chair of First Fridays, to hand out issues of the magazine during the party. I explained to her I wasn’t just passing out issues, like a Jehovah’s Witness, but that I was personally thanking certain people. It still didn’t sit right with her, and she made the biggest bitch fit, before storming off to find somebody to reprimand me. Right then and there, I lost complete respect for Carrie and so did everyone around us, when they saw her lose her cool when she didn’t get her way. If she didn’t take off her stuck-up mask of jealousy very soon, there was a very slim chance she would continue as president of a professional networking group before becoming impeached.

I didn’t get reprimanded that night and all Carrie could do was glare at me from a distance, wearing an ugly red and white prom-looking dress. The magazine was a hot hit and because of my thoughtful thank you notes, Aleah was able to talk to more potential clients about advertising in the magazine, hopefully making our next issue, an even bigger issue. It was all going so smoothly, until my nose began to bleed. The blood just shot out of my nostril, making my sky blue shirt look like it was on its period. I had to leave, before anyone noticed. And just as I was grabbing my coat before heading out the door, the coat attendant asked me if it was true I had written an article for the magazine. When I told her it was true and showed her the page, she pulled out a pen and asked if I could sign her copy! My first real celebrity moment! I signed the magazine with as much flourish as John Hancock did on the Declaration of Independence and left with the biggest smile of my entire life.