the sort of look Magdalena couldn’t interpret one way or the other. It was just a… steady stare. Finally Amélia spoke:
“Do you plan to give him some papaya tonight?”
This gave Magdalena such a jolt, she let go of her loving knee and put the foot on the floor just like the other one, as if preparing for fight or flight.
“Amélia!” she said. “What kind of question is that?!”
“It’s a practical question,” said Amélia. “Past a certain—when guys reach a certain age they just assume that’s part of a pleasant first date. ‘Aflojate, baby! Give it up!’ When I think of all the times I just did things because that was what Reggie expected… That’s what’s called a ‘relationship.’ When I hear that stupid word, I want to stick my fingers down my throat.”
“I’ve never seen you… so down like this before, Amélia.”
“I don’t know,” said Amélia. “I’ve never had anything like this happen before. That bastard!—but no, he’s not a bastard. Reggie, I would have gladly married him. I hope it never happens to you.”
By now, tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks, and her lips were trembling. Amélia—who had always been the strong and steady one around here! Magdalena was beginning to find the whole thing embarrassing. Sure, Amélia had been hurt ::::::I wonder what actually happened with her and Reggie?:::::: but she had always had too much going for her to cave in and pity herself like this. If she started actually crying, blubbering, boo-hooing, Magdalena wasn’t going to be able to take it. To just sit here and watch Amélia come to pieces—she had always admired Amélia too much for that. She was older, and better educated and more sophisticated.
Amélia snuffled back a lot of tears and pulled herself together. Her eyes were still leaking a bit, but she smiled in a perfectly natural way and said, “I’m sorry, Magdalena.” Tears welled up in her eyes again. ::::::Please hold on to yourself, Amélia!:::::: which she did, thank God. She smiled an only slightly teary smile and said, “This hasn’t been my best day, for some reason.” She gave a little laugh. “Listen, of course I’ll help you… if I can… In fact, why don’t you go look in my closet. I have this new black dress with a neckline like—” With her hands she pantomimed a V that began on either side of her neck and plunged to her waist. “It’s a little too tight for me, but it’ll fit you perfectly.”
Such weightlessness! Such extra-environmental vision! Such astral projection! Such bliss!
Not that Magdalena knew the terms extra-environmental vision and astral projection, but these were the two main components of the otherworldly exhilaration she felt. She had the feeling—but it was more than a feeling to her, it was very real—that she was sitting here in the creamy tan leather passenger seat of this glamorous sports car… and at the same time she was floating above the scene… having been astrally projected up here this high… and observing the incredible turn of Fate that now had Magdalena Otero, formerly of Hialeah, sitting this close to a man too dashing, too handsome, too rich, too much of a celebrity to have called her up and asked her out—but he had! He, Sergei Korolyov, the Russian oligarch who had given seventy million dollars’ worth of paintings to the Miami Museum of Art, he who had given the swellest dinner party she had ever been to, at the socially swellest restaurant in all of Miami, Chez Toi… he who was driving this car, which looked so expensive, and no doubt was so expensive—he was right next to her, at the wheel! She could see him and herself both from up here. She could see right through the roof. She looked all around… how many people were watching this, watching Magdalena Otero sitting in this hot car that looked like it was going eighty miles an hour just parked at the curb?
Well… not many, unfortunately. Nobody knew who she was. Here, Drexel Avenue, was her official address, but how many times had she actually slept here?
Whooooooosh—back she came from her astral cosmos just as quickly as she had beamed up to it.
And, of course, Sergei looked perfect in this setting. Quite in addition to his profile, his strong chin, the firm jawline without so much as a semblance of surplus flesh… there was also his hair. It was thick and deep brown with streaks of sun-bleached blond and swept back on