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.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, Fauxman Scoop declared, I want everyone on their feet because it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s get your napkins in the air, and wave ’em like you just don’t care! You’ve known them as Mabel and Julio, but now I present them to you for the first time as husband and wife.…
Just as Luis Fonsi began the song’s first refrain, the waiters lit their sparklers, more or less simultaneously, and raised them into the air, forming a flaming archway through which, Olga realized, the newlyweds intended to walk.
Mr. and Mrs. Julio Colón! Put ’em up! Put ’em up!
Mabel and Julio, beaming and holding hands, now danced into the room, a follow spot on them, squeezing their rather corpulent selves through the human archway. Julio bumped his hip on one of the more petite waitresses, nearly knocking her over.
“This looks dangerous,” Prieto muttered.
“I’ve never seen this done indoors before,” Olga replied.
Around them, the rest of the guests did not share their concerns, as everyone, including Matteo, was spinning their napkins—their beautiful, hemstitched, linen napkins—in the air, either cheering the couple on or singing along with the song. The waiters cleared the dance floor, and suddenly Mabel and Julio were swarmed by their bridal party, Lourdes, and Tía Lola, who got into formation behind the newlyweds, and began to re-create, with remarkable precision, the exact choreography from the “Despacito” video.
Prieto, who like everyone else had been singing along, turned to his sister. “Hold up. You’re a bridesmaid. Why aren’t you up there? Too good for choreography?”
“No! Dude, Mabel kicked me out! I missed too many practices. She gave my spot to Lola.”
The chill between the siblings melted a bit as they laughed at their cousin’s strict quality control efforts.
Aright now, who out here is ready to get loud?
This seemed to Olga a stupid question since the answer was clearly everyone. Nevertheless, she was amused as the crowd all cheered in response and, after dropping another air horn, “Let’s Get Loud” commenced. This was a crowd-pleaser at even the most uptight of WASP affairs, Olga knew, but here, in this setting, it whipped up near pandemonium. Guests of all ages pushed aside sateen-slip-covered banquet chairs as they swarmed the dance floor.
Though it was, indeed, loud in the room, Matteo picked up where he left off, leaning over Olga and offering his hand out to Prieto.
“Matteo Jones, Olga’s bae.”
Prieto smiled and raised his eyebrows, looking over to see how his sister would react, but she could only blush and swig at her glass of wine.
“Name it and claim it, man!” Prieto laughed, obviously amused at Olga’s discomfort. “Don’t mind my sister. She hasn’t brought anyone to meet our family since the Bush administration.”