Also by Beatriz Rivera

African Passions Midnight Sandwiches at the Mariposa Express Playing with Light Do Not Pass Go

BEATRIZ RIVERA

Arte Pblico Press Houston, Texas

When a Tree Falls is funded in part by grants from the City of Houston through the Houston Arts Alliance and the Exemplar Program, a program of Americans for the Arts in collaboration with the LarsonAllen Public Services Group, funded by the Ford Foundation. Recovering the past, creating the future Arte Pblico Press University of Houston 452 Cullen Performance Hall Houston, Texas 77204-2004 Cover photo by Charles Barnes Cover design by Mora Des!gn Rivera, Beatriz, 1957When a Tree Falls / by Beatriz Rivera. p. cm. ISBN 978-1-55885-596-0 (alk. paper) 1. Local electionsFiction. 2. Women legislatorsFiction. 3. Misconduct in officeFiction. 4. Eccentrics and eccentricities Fiction. 5. Hudson County (N.J.)Fiction. I. Title. PS3568.I8287W48 2010 813? .54dc22 2010000603 CIP

The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information SciencesPermanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984. 2010 by Beatriz Rivera
Imprinted in the United States of America 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

When a tree falls, it can create in microcosm the same kind of disruption caused by a strong storm. [. . .] The overall effect is that the forest is perpetually off kilter, in a continual state of recovery but never quite returning to some inanimate statea condition that opens up opportunities and lets no organism settle too comfortably into a static niche. The Burning Season Andrew Revkin

Prologue

black Lexus SUV with New Jersey license plates veered off Route 9 onto Springbrook Avenue. Caked in road salt, the vehicle resembled Lots wife, after she looked back. In this case, there were no sinful burning cities, only deciduous trees in their icicled fixity and roads of black ice. Everything was still and cold on that Saturday, January 5, 2008. Much like a hearse, the SUV noise disturbed the frigid landscape. It was trespassing, bringing and leaving a briny wake of disruption. Something about the way the car was being drivenwhat could only be described as a tentative hurry seemed to indicate that the driver was heading for Northern Dutchess Hospital. The person driving didnt seem to be coming from Saturday morning food shopping or a fancy fusion brunch in the village of Rhinebeck. No, this driver seemed to be reassuring the passenger. It became obvious the driver was a man. He was using his hands in a frantic everythings going to be all right manner. After a slight hesitation, the brake lights went on. They had to be looking for the emergency entrance. Maybe there was a pregnant woman inside the car or an intrepid student from the nearby culinary institute who had been trying to juggle the veggies and a sharp knife. Under an ominous metallic sky, the glass foyer was just up ahead, showy with brand-newness still reminiscent of the exclusive gala that had feted each one of the names whose wallets had contributed to this dernier cri in community and architecture, the entrance. An ambulance parked in the circle in front of the grandiose glass doors caused more distress. The black car parked right behind the ambulance. The back door on the passenger side was the first to swing open and a red-haired young man leaped out, slammed it shut and proceeded to open the front passenger door.

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He could have been the Archangel Gabriel in attitude and appearance. The drivers door opened and the driver stuck one foot out, then a cane, then the other foot and finally the rest of him emerged painfully. But this was not emergency-room pain. It lacked an element of newness. The driver was used to walking with his pain: it was an old companion. If they were there, it was obviously because of the passenger a woman with long brown hair. Apparently suffering unbearable pain, she seemed to have use of only one leg. The Archangel Gabriel helped her out of the front seat. She was weeping desperately and repeating the word Please! The driver walked with a cane over to them, and the two men proceeded to escort the weeping woman past the ambulance and into the glass foyer. She was half wrapped in a signature L.L. Bean Hudson Bay blanket, winter white with red and green stripes at each end. She was in such desperate pain that it was almost embarrassing. The drivers pain, on the contrary, although just as acute, was perhaps a bit more bearable. The woman kept asking, Whats going to happen to me? Everything she said was punctuated with that pleading, I made a mistake, I know . . . please! She had very long brown hairthe kind that gets in the middle of everythingand she could have been judged beautiful except that her pain now defined her. She was nothing but pain. Inside the glass foyer, the driver yelled something about being a doctor and this being a life-or-death situation and something about gangrene. The hospital staff must have believed him, for the woman was not made to wait. They put her in a wheelchair and rushed to triage. It was life or death, or life and deatha little bit of both perhaps, a sampler. An hour later, one of the physicians asked the driver and the younger man if they were related to the patient. The driver explained that they had already been through all that with the business office. Im Dr. Chanca, and this is my son Duncan, said the driver.

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No, they were not related to the patient. However, his son the driver pointed to the Archangel Gabrielhad been trying to reach the patients sister, but had only spoken to the patients sisters ex-husband. Apparently, the patients sister was on her way to Connecticut and had left her cell phone at home, so there was no way to reach the patients sister until she returned from Connecticut. This was too much information. The physician gave Dr. Chanca a blank stare. His beeper beeped, a loyal parakeet, and with his eyes and his brow he took leave of Dr. Chanca and his son, Gabriel the Archangel. Ten minutes later, another physician approached Dr. Chanca and his son, and, obviously unaware of the conversation that had taken place with her colleague, the physician said, She says youre next of kin. Dr. Chanca asked, How is she? The physician was terse. Shell make it, but we cant save the leg. Oh, dear me! Dr. Chanca sighed and looked away. She had waited too long. Duncan explained that for the past month, Amber (that was her name) had wanted to tend to her wound with natural products such as aloe and baking soda because she didnt believe in antibiotics, but it had steadily gotten worse, even when she kept insisting it was, in fact, getting better. All this time, Dr. Chanca was looking down at the floor and shaking his head, a slow no. Duncan also mentioned he was the patients assistant and that for the past month they had argued about this every day until today, when the leg started to swell so badly and smelled like rotting meat. His first reaction was to call his dad, who had just returned from Central America and was there for the weekend. He pointed to Dr. Chanca, who was looking disappointed in life. He said he had consulted Ambers list of emergency contact names and numbers that was attached to her refrigerator with a Ban Pesticides magnet and found the number for Ambers older sister Marta. Duncan was about to go into more detail when the cell phone he was holding in his hand started playing The Doors This is the end! My only friend, the end!

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Dr. Chanca looked puzzled, as if he were trying to remember all the words to that song. And as if it were a lizard in his hand, Duncan stared at the cell phone before he exclaimed, Its her! While Duncan was talking, the physician turned to Dr. Chanca and said, So, youre not next of kin? No, maam. Oh, said the physician as she reached for her silent beeper. Dr. Chanca was left alone while Duncan talked on the phone explaining to someone that he was Ambers handyman or assistant and that Amber was in the hospital with a bad wound. That was her sister Marta, Duncan said to his father after the phone conversation was over. As it turns out she isnt in Connecticut after all. Shes on her way here. I gave her the number here. She says shell be here pretty soon. Dr. Chanca consulted his watch and said he had to get back to what he was doing, that it simply couldnt wait. Ambers sister could take it from here and drive Duncan back to Ambers. He waited for Duncans approval before he proceeded to walk through the glass doors to leave. See you later, Dad, Duncan said. Dr. Chancas reply was, It was her turn, I guess. In the end, we all lose. He didnt look back. Duncan stared through the glass foyer, saw his dad getting into the road-salt-caked car and wondered about his attitude. He seemed depressed or distant. Duncan shrugged, went back to the waiting room and leafed through magazines for the next few hours until a disheveled woman stormed into the emergency waiting room yelling his name. Duncan raised his hand. She was beside herself. I spoke to her doctor. I hate doctors. How could this happen? she kept asking no one in particular and punctuating that with, Things like this dont happen to me! She seemed to be feeling disempowered, and this made her angry. This cant be! Duncan scrutinized her and decided that no matter what Amber had said in the past few years, in a way, Ambers sister was much like Amber.

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Three days later, Ambers right leg was amputated right below the knee. A thirty-seven-year-old originally from West New York, New Jersey, Amber Delro was the owner of the Sacred Greens Farm right outside Rhinebeck and a yoga studio in the village of Rhinebeck. She had been a Rhinebeck resident for the past eleven years, and she was totally committed to the preservation of the Earths animals and natural resources, and she was a fervent believer in everything natural. After the surgery, Amber remained in the hospital for nearly a month. In the beginning, the morphine was not enough; she needed nerve block after nerve block. There was no pain, no feeling, and what was left of her left leg was totally tuned off this broken world. Each time, it lasted seventy-two hours. Then it was back to morphine, with a promise of Percocet, and hopefully, someday soon, Advil. Everything was broken, but the meds made her talkative. When she was awake, she didnt want to be alone. She wanted to talk. She asked Duncan about Dr. Chanca. Where is he? He wont be coming to visit? No. Her sister Marta took three weeks off from work. Together, they ate health-food store junk food: sesame honey crunch; raw bars made of chocolate and coconut: Dutch chocolate; blue corn tortilla chips; cinnamon seaweed and curried cashews. They agreed there was nothing better than dark chocolate covered blueberries and disagreed over Martas loyalties. Amber insisted Marta owed it to her to be there on February 13 when she was to be discharged from Northern Dutchess with a temporary prosthesis. Marta was torn. She couldnt be in two places at the same time, and on February 13, of all days, one of her clients was being released from the Federal Correctional Facility in Danbury after serving a sentence of nearly two years. Marta surely had to be there to drive her client back to New Jersey.

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lightly above the entrance to the Holland Tunnel and at the same time gather up the money for the toll, there is a timeworn high rise with a sign across it that reads: IF YOU LIVED HERE YOUD BE HOME NOW Its as reliable or as unreliable as the conclusion to Aristotles AAA categorical syllogism: All those who are reading the sign are away from home now. The high-rent feeling has to be uttered three times in upper case: Location, Location, Location. Never mind the low ceilings, the roach problem or the thin walls. The Location is supposed to make people from The Oranges, Montclair or Ramapo feel envious about not having bought into that address and also a bit nostalgic about the pastoral pre-commuter epoch of their human existence when they roamed free, totally free, unmindful of traffic jams, of getting there on time, of E-Z Pass and of having to gamble at the last minute between the New Jersey Turnpike and the Garden State Parkway. Perhaps such a trope really can exist, because there is someone here who does not suffer from any of those conflictive commuter problems and that someone is our own, our very own, Otilia Mancuso, aka Oh Three or O. Zone because of her political stance on the ozone issue. No soul-searching when it comes to Location. Otilia does not work in New York City. She works, sleeps, breathes, loves and bribes in Hudson County, and she also happens to live in the boastful building that towers over the entrance to the Holland Tunnel. As a matter of fact, Otilia is home now, even if its on borrowed time. She knows it, and she is feeling very dramatic. It is indeed simply a matter of months, but thats jumping ahead.

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Looking back, Otilia Mancuso has lived at the Jersey City YOUD BE HOME NOW address ever since she was elected to the Hudson County Board of Chosen Freeholders in a hotly contested election in 1986 to fill the unexpired term of Rich Verdugo, who had died of natural causes in a Tonnelle Avenue motel called The Starlite. This sudden and unexpected victory in the political arena made Otilia not only the first woman to be elected legislator at the county level, but also the first Hispanic woman with a green agenda who promised change in critical areas, such as environment and open space. The other wannabe freeholders, in other words the losers, took such offense over the election results that they went as far as to question Otilias morals, her so-called green agenda and even her ethnicity. She had made the mistake of saying that pollution makes spectacular sunsets, but she did take that statement back, and she was forgiven. However, Ozone (Oh Three for short) soon became her nickname. The defamation did not end there. One slandering conditional sentence after the other, they tried to spread the rumor that she was one of those, to no avail. Of course, if she wasnt one of those, then she had to be a loose woman, but never mind her conjectured nymphomania. Was she really all that Hispanic? She was, after all, born and raised in Union City. So how good was her Spanish? Was it simply house Spanish meant only for the ears of old aunts and abuelas? Just how Puerto Rican was she? And if she was indeed as Puerto Rican as she claimed to be, did that mean she frowned upon Dominicans and bowed to Cubans? Deep down inside, was she a racist or a social climber? Did she really care about the other Hispanics in the area? Did she know anything about Honduras and Guatemala and El Salvador? And had she ever taken the trouble of at least visiting the isle of enchantment, la isla del encanto? (A propos, was this an insinuation that the other islands were devoid of enchantment?) The answer to at least one of those insidious questions is NO. Otilia has never been to Puerto Rico. But never mind Puerto Rico, this only gets better.

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Thus far, Otilia has only ventured away from Hudson County four times in her life, twice to New York City and twice to Rhinebeck, New York. Last week, during small talk, Otilia told Marta all about her first visit to New York City when she was a seventh grader at St. Aloysius. Obviously, mentioning St. Aloysius made them go off on a tangent. Marta wondered out loud if St. Aloysius was one of the five unfortunate schools that the Catholic diocese had decided to close down. Otilia jumped on that. She took it personally and didnt agree. She sighed and gesticulated. Could this be a deliberate attempt to obliterate her past? There are rumors that they are going to tear the building down. But she went to school there! Is anything going to be left of her in Jersey City after . . . Oh no! That little word after was a precipice. Suddenly Otilia remembered. She put her hands to her forehead in a gesture of despair. Marta thought this was going too far, so she felt compelled to remind Otilia that she was her attorney. Im not your psychiatrist! The seven-count indictment that had been handed up Monday charged Otilia with four counts of aiding and abetting extortion and three counts of mail fraud. Remembering was such a disappointment, for being part of a scheme to defraud Hudson County and its citizens. Marta noticed Otilias sudden distress. She cleared her throat and reassured Otilia. This too shall pass. In the end, you will be exonerated. Im not your psychiatrist but do tell me about your first trip to Manhattan. At the Rockefeller Center ice rink, they gave her these crappy rental skates that made her ankles fold inward. She looked down at herself. Why is it so important to be beautiful? Marta didnt want to go there. Every time she let go, shed fall, so shed pick herself up and slip again, no matter how dearly she held on to the railing. She felt like a squid stuck to the side of a boat. To make matters worse, she was wearing her Catholic school uniform. The St. Aloysius girls lived and learned inside a white polyester blouse under an itchy maroon wool/polyester blend sweater and a maroon and tan boiled wool skort (not a skirta skort). To this

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day, Otilia swears she spent eight years of her youth walking around with an itchy wedgie. But she couldnt talk about her first trip without comparing it to the second one almost twenty years later when she returned to New York City for a weekend honeymoon trip that really showed her what stumbling was all about and turned the St. Aloysius fiasco into a good memory. The conversation almost went off on a tangent again. It really is a shame that St. Aloysius is one of the many Catholic schools being closed down by the diocese because of low enrollment. Pretty soon there will be nothing left of me in Hudson County. Nothing but seven counts . . . It was Marta who, just by clearing her throat and glancing at her watch, dragged the conversation back to where it was supposed to be. Otilia gathered her thoughts. After the honeymoon was over, no matter how much New York City had to offer, Otilia swore shed never go back there for as long as she lived. So far she hadnt, although she had probably stared at New York City every single day of her life except for those few days she spent in Rhinebeck with someone whose name she no longer wished to remember. Just the thought of it was making her feel dramatic all over again. Otilia stopped, inhaled and remembered that just the other day, during small talk, she said to Marta, Everyone must have a diorama, and I was wondering what ours looks like. She paused before she asked, Whats our landscape? Whats our habitat? Whats always in the background? They were rhetorical questions followed by a moment of silence, and then there was the word, Precisely. The two women loved talking about real estate. Real estate is important: it rules our lives. Up until she married Junior Mancuso, Otilia lived in a large, drafty, moldy apartment on Palisades Avenue in Union City with an eternal view of New York City quite similar to the view she had from the apartment in the Heights where she lived during her married life. Finally, she moved to this building. IF YOU LIVED HERE YOUD BE HOME NOW

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It was not the sign that made her force Junior Mancuso to buy a three-bedroom apartment in what promised to be an eternally new high-rise. Rather, it was the feeling that, much like a diamond-shaped warning sign on a road, a rough road lay ahead, and she was right: a messy divorce from Junior Mancuso in 1988, the year Pita was born, the year she barely evaded scandal and also the year she decided she would be a politician for the rest of her life. To sum it up, Otilia had never been a commuter. She had always been HOME NOW. But the conversation always went around in loops, and she felt there was a deliberate attempt to obliterate her past or a plot to erase her from Hudson County. St Aloysius was just further proof. Can this really be happening to me? Before Otilia and her attorney Marta Maldonado got down to business, back to the drawing board, no matter how urgent matters were and how dramatic Otilia was feeling (with just cause), there had to be some small talk. They invariably get into a light conversation about real estate and how lucky they both felt to have purchased something in this very building before the real estate prices skyrocketed. It was unbelievable, they both agreed, and they both had means, but these days, you practically had to be a millionaire to get to the bottom rung of the Hudson County real estate ladder. Could they afford something today? They both agreed that if they hadnt twisted their ex-husbands arms, they could easily have been forced to move to Paterson. The last item in this conversation concerned the portion of the less economically fortunate Hispanic population moving to places like Scranton, Pennsylvania, so far away from New Jersey. Marta glanced at her watch, for the small talk was timed. Back to business. They needed a timeline, and for there to be a timeline there must be a Day One. Otilia scratched her nose and wetted her lips as if playing with fresh lipstick. Day One was one of those ozone alert days: hot, hot, much like today. She tilted her head back and pointed her chin at the window. Just another Thursday that made it difficult to believe in the nature of heat. The faster the molecules move, the hotter it

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is supposed to be, but everything in that July 13 atmosphere was so inert that there was nowhere to go and nothing to breathe. Both Otilia and Marta momentarily stopped talking and gazed outward. The New York City skyline was always on the other side, behind the particles of torpor suspended in the air, reflecting a diffuse, dusty light. The tape recorder was on; Otilia felt she wasnt talking enough, wasting tape and about to start feeling dramatic all over again. Her wrist was throbbing. Mere existence had the feel of a nuclear summer, if there is such a phenomenon: petrified, languorous, living room furniture covered in thick, warm plastic. Otilia wiped some frenetic tears that were stuck at the corner of each eye, inhaled deeply and recommenced. Day One, that summer day, they had convened on the top floor of the Liberty Science Center at 11 AM to talk to the media about the thinning ozone layer, reasonable alternate sources of energy and why the young and the old should definitely stay indoors on ozone alert days. It must have been Junea very hot June. It was cold inside the Science Center, but maybe it was the contrast from the air-conditioned cars, across the scalding parking lot, into the cool diorama of the museum. Otilia didnt get a chance to trifle with the bottled tornadoes in the gift shop. Before she knew it, she was in the elevator, going up with the others, a smile pinned to her ears, but she had also worked on a concerned frown just in case there was a picture. Smog was no smiling matter. They were a group of perhaps twenty people: two eco-friendly politicians, the tall director of the Science Center, the assistant to the director, a few eager Science Center staff members, two potential eco-terrorists, three hand-picked high school students wearing Save-the-earth T-shirts, some activists, not enough philanthropists and . . . Otilia paused. No use naming the last person on that crowded elevator list. She stared Marta in the eye and waved her hands awkwardly, as if something hurt. The minute Otilia saw himyou know whoshe tried to figure out where shed seen him before, and before she knew, it she was obsessed with the thought. You know who, the Cuban. Marta protested, Youre making him sound like Fidel Castro.

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Fidels long gone, and he isnt. So lets call him the Cuban with the southern mannerisms. Because he doesnt sound like a Cuban from here, I mean Hudson County. Go on, Marta said. Positive that she did indeed know him from somewhere, she kept shooting sideway glances at him, hoping for a clue. No, that time he didnt utter a single word; he didnt even try to approach her. You know who, the Cuban, simply stood in the crowd, took in every word she said, and stared at her. It was eerie, and it was flattering. Marta Maldonado, Otilias attorney, glanced at the time as she reached for her pen. Little did it matter if she charged by the hour. Otilia could tell she was dying to speed things up. When Marta said that she was due back in her office at three, what she really meant was she didnt have all day to spend sitting in Otilias formal, yet second-rate dining room, staring at the World-TradeCenter-less New York City skyline, really wondering about Otilias obnoxious pomeranian under the table who growled at her ankles every time she shifted. Whats your dogs name again? Belinda Avellaneda. Well, now that we have established the first truththat truth being that were on each others side, Marta uttered, and now that we both agree that my purpose is to defend you, perhaps you could make an effort to get to the point. After all, time is of the essence. Translated, that means that we dont have all the time in the world. Its July already, and the trial is in November. After she got through saying all that, Marta reminded Otilia that she was facing a maximum of twenty years each on the extortion charges and ten years each for the fraud counts, as well as a maximum fine of $300,000. All of which I dont have, Otilia sighed. Except maybe for the three hundred. So lets get to work, Marta said. The other day, Otilia did mention that she wasnt feeling quite herself that day three years ago. Just to boost Otilias memory, Marta took her hands to her belly.

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Of course! Otilia realized what Marta wanted to hear. Day One, standing on the top floor of the Liberty Science Center, being asked by the media if she was for or against alternate sources of energy, Otilia was feeling bloated. To make matters worse, she had chosen to wear a very tight body shaper with a reinforced abdomen in order to look slimmer. (Does it matter that shed gained something like twenty-five pounds since breaking up with Manny Robles?) A body shaper? Marta asked, intrigued. Yes. With reinforced everything, front, back, sides . . . I could barely breathe. You dont need one. Lets not get sidetracked. Marta was not hearing what she needed to hear, so she tried to lead Otilia, When a woman is feeling bloated, she usually . . . With hopefulness in her voice, Marta repeated the word usually. Otilia explained she had started out that inevitable day by eating a whole stack of silver dollar pancakes smothered in blueberry-flavored syrup at the Union City International House of Pancakes. By the time she got to her office, she felt she was going to burst at the seams. Two unpleasant phone calls later, before she knew it, it was time to go to this event at the Science Center. Marta, who was so intent on victimizing Otilia, was still trying to make good use of the word bloated. Never mind the ozone. Never mind the windmill outside the Science Center and bottled tornadoes and the debate as to whether or not Jersey City should consider wind energy. The only two things that really matter are: Dr. Chanca stood there and stared at Otilia (it suggests premeditation and stalking). Otilia was feeling bloated (it alludes to either PMS, or menstrual cycles, or peri-menopause, or fibroids or polyps or Godknows-what!). After she finished coloring in both bullets with black ink, Marta explained to Otilia, as if she were a child, that the presentation of a case is much like a house, it needs good, solid foundations.

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Before putting the dossier away, Marta gently stroked it. They decided to meet again in two days, same time, same place, Door 2008. I wish my apartment looked toward Manhattan, Marta said as she was putting her dossier away. To make Marta feel better, Otilia uttered, But youre on a higher floor, and pollution does make spectacular sunsets. IF YOU LIVED HERE YOUD BE HOME NOW And Otilia was home, saying good-bye to Marta, her neighbor and much-needed attorney who lived five floors above her on the other side of the building, looking away from Manhattan. In a very lawyerly way, Marta was keeping her hopes up. She was confident Otilia would be exonerated because she was a victim who was used by greedy individuals. Was Dr. Chanca (who has not been charged with a crime and denies committing any wrongdoing) stalking Otilia Mancuso? And why did Otilia use the word inevitable to describe that day? Marta walked away with those two questions. And stop making him sound like Fidel Castro. Hes my own personal Fidel. He fidel castroed me. Otilia, you cannot compare yourself to a nation.

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his is not a nightmare, Otilia thought to herself. Im in it . . . and three wishes are too many, way too many. If she had one wish, it would be to jump to 2008 to take some kind of general anesthesia, like tapping her feet together. Before she knew it, she could very well be telling her pomeranian, Belinda, were back in Jersey City. Then she thought about 2003 and 2002. In the throes of it, she was convinced that this was the time of her life, all she ever wanted. Now, standing on the outside looking back, she felt relief. At the very least, she had survived the folly. Then she remembered one particular August evening in the year 2003. Just like tonight, it was late. The differences were that her pomeranian was a year old and her lover of one year was not taking her phone calls. Just like he had before, he vanished into thin air. How many times had he vanished in all? Just like tonight, with anxiety quivering under her skin, she was trying to pick a DVD to keep her company. She didnt know. That was then. She didnt know that over 3,000 miles away, Dr. Chanca was lying in bed half awake. And the thought that crept into his mind was that he wanted her . . . Dead. She knows now because her mind is very clear, crystal clear and fluid: the proof is that she can make it all the way into Dr. Chancas mind. Otilias DVD collection was not very big. In fact, she owned a total of nine DVDs: Double Indemnity, Born in East L.A., Entrapment, National Lampoons European Vacation, Judgment at Nuremberg, Notorious, Jurassic Park, Anatomy of a Murder and Adis New Jersey. Does a womans DVD collection say something about the

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woman? Yes, she liked to laugh, but she preferred drama. She finally opted for Adis New Jersey, took it out of the case that made a hard-plastic sound, placed it in the player, another plastic sound, pressed the Close button with an electronic sound and walked away with the intention of getting caramel ice cream from the freezer. Otilias DVD collection was not very big, and it wasnt growing. The last time she bought a DVD, it was for him. A gift because they had compared notes, and it turned out he only liked horror movies. So she insisted. He had to watch Anatomy of a Murder or Double Indemnity. Would he do it for her sake? She had found Anatomy of a Murder for sale at the Blockbuster on Kennedy Boulevard and 15th Street, but he disappeared for the first time before she had a chance to make the offering over lunch at some Bergenline Avenue restaurant. Shed have to wait another two weeks for Dr. Chancamuch like a genieto reappear. When he took it, he said hed treasure it forever, because it was a gift from her to him. When Otilia walked back into the living room with the caramel ice cream, she changed her mind about watching Adis New Jersey and opted for Anatomy of a Murder instead. All the while, over three 3,000 away, the fleeting Dr. Chancathe source of all her woeswas playing around with the thought of wanting his wife dead. It couldnt possibly hurt (thinking about it). Besides, there was nothing else to do. What time is it? What year is it? No! Dr. Chanca did not intend to be the man who murdered Laura Chanca, rather the one who lured Laurita Chanca to the ruins of Yaxch, all the way to the top, and saw her fall, or who took her out on the lake and did what Montgomery Cliff did to Shelley Winters in A Place in the Sun. Ha! But this had to be the perfect murder. He was not about to let himself be charged with a crime. Perhaps he should wait until they returned to New Jersey, think it through, and then discreetly push his wife in front of a New Jersey Transit bus, or better yet, an illegal gypsy van. Surely the driver could take all the blame and end up in one of those new detention centers for illegal aliens awaiting trial. If that failed, he could

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always buy a piece off the street and give it to her because he cared about her safety, then announce that they were flat broke. Flat broke. No more remodeling the kitchen every other year, corazn. No more weekly $700 food shopping sprees at Dean and Delucas, dear. No more strappy Jimmy Choo sandals, Laurita, love of my life. No more Chanel bicolored pumps or Herms scarves or Kelly bags. Worst of all, are you ready for this one, love? No more medical license and no more health insurance! Where did all the money go? I lost it, love. I put it in the windmills, and it vanished! What if all unhappy relationships were the same and all the happy ones were different? How would he know? He couldnt even tell if he was awake. Laurita, I had the strangest nightmare. I dreamt I wanted you more than ever . . . dead. The next moment he reenacted in his mind the episode in The Exorcist when the demon inside yanked poor possessed Regan up to a sitting position, then pushed her back down, then yanked her back up again while her mother stood by and watched with a helpless and terrified look on her face. Otilia said she hated horror movies, but is that why Laura sat up so suddenly, like the possessed girl in The Exorcist? Thats the only way he could describe itexcept that she was more like a puppet, a lunar Pierrette being pulled by her tightest strings. His lovely Xanthippe was saying she was scared. The rain! It was raining too hard. He glanced at the alarm clock. It wasnt even 11 PM. Will this night ever end? The rain was loud. What if he did kill her? A few more seconds of silence before Laura asked, What if something happens to us? She had sounded nonplussed, as if the thought had never occurred to her. He felt like telling her in a made-for-the-bigscreen, demonic voice, Xanthippe, you nagging, money-spending machine, something has already happened to us, then choking her to death, one less fire to put out. It took him a few seconds to become fully conscious of where he was and why. Finally, he remembered. The problem was that remembering was a disappointment while fleeting instances of oblivion, no matter how brief, were the only source of peace. Now, thanks to Laura, he was feeling the anguish. She asked him if they could open a window. The powers out, Laura said. The powers out.

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I heard you the first time. Being awake meant stepping right back into hell. The only thing he could compare it to was the thought of a terrible car wreck, something you did to yourself, damaging your body to the point of no return and then wishing with hindsight that you could go back. What is half an hour back? Is the wait any longer? Hed do anything to be dazed, to float between sleep and nightmare. He was begging for mercy, or for at least a few more minutes of quietude. But it all came back to him, as usual, a two-yearold list of Tonnelle Avenue Motels: the Seville with the mirrored ceiling rooms, the Econo-Lodge next to Du-Beaus Auto Body, the Skyway next to Victor Manuels Auto Dealership, the Red Carpet made infamous by a babys death, the sooty White Palace with the junky prostitutes, the Hudson Regency with the awkward view of the parking lot, the Starlite surrounded by barbed wire. He liked the room with the view of the Meadowlands and the smell of diesel fuel in what they called a Jacuzzi room. Each motel had a memory: that first and rushed time, after theyd had lunch at Mi Bandera supermarket. No brown envelopes stuffed with cash not yetand he forgot to turn his cell phone off. Grotesque twist of fate that Laura knew just when to call. I cant talk, Im working right now. How many motel rooms did it take? Two? Three? Before long she begged him to let her in on it. He hesitated. She felt so sorry for him. With a wife like Laura and a County Executive like Franklin Pizarro . . . got the whole thing in motion! Cash, planning for the League of Municipalities Convention, more cash. Her belly and thighs, cash, cash, lying there naked in the middle of the afternoonwhen everybody else is trying to eke out a livingtalking about the tulip tree across the street from his office, about the Cuban sandwiches at Havana Bakery, about driving past Old Navy on his way to the prison and of course about the next meeting at the Freeholders Chamber and complaining about Lauras selfishness, how Laura liked to spend his money and the money hed invested in the windmills and lost, how he hated pickles in his Cuban sandwich, how hed do anything to be married to her instead of being married to Laura the Xanthippe (not

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that he was Socrates). Her body had the smell of Journal Square and a mixture of talcum powder and sewer. She called cash stuff, as if it were something dirty. He listened intently. His life had become a potholed road with an orange diamond-shaped sign: Rough Road Ahead. All this time, Laura was complaining about how stuffy it was in the room because the power was out. You keep forgetting that I have health issues, Chico! The air conditioner had gone silent. He knew the power was out: when it rained like this, the power always went out. But Laura was right for once. The rain was exaggerated, threatening and oppressive. She said she hated this rain, but you cant hate rain. Laura insisted. The rain scares me. Its too much rain. She was still sitting up in bed. He sighed. I cant make it go away. Im worried about having an episode. This time she stood up in the darkness, walked to the window and stared out into the wall of noise, water falling, as doomful as the desire to jump to your death or the howl of the howler monkeys in the jungle. Why are we in Central America? she asked, thoughtfully this time. I have the feeling youre trying to run away from something. The tone of Lauras voice almost made him jump out of his skin. For once, she sounded as if her consciousness were turned outward. She seemed sensitive, not just shallow and inconsiderate, the way he wanted her to be because it made things easier. He did not even want to consider that. He grabbed the thought by the collar as if it were a bad dog. Out! All he needed was something else to worry about. There was no going back. Together theyd gotten this far, and he was not about to reconsider. As far as he was concerned, Laura had been judged, stamped and put away in a filing cabinet for good or evil. There was no starting over. He knew his wife by heart. For years shed been number one, and only recently had she lost her rank. From first place, she had slipped down to second, third, fourth, fifth . . . a mudslide! He was feeling so judgmental that it made him smile. Or was that a grimace?

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He couldnt even tell what his own face was doing on this powerless night. Were in Central America because Im trying to click my heels together and make New Jersey go away while were here, he replied. Its my take on The Wizard of Oz. Back in New Jersey, over 3,000 miles away, Otilia had fallen asleep on the couch with her pomeranian named Belinda Avellaneda. The film Anatomy of a Murder had ended, and the main menu kept playing the same theme tune over and over again. In no way did this disturb Otilias sleep or the pomeranians.

Three

he woman kept playing with her hair, digging her fingers into the different shades of brown. Every so often, she would glance at him as if to apologize for being on the phone for so long. She was the one who had placed the ad, and now she was making him wait while she talked to her sister Marta, an attorney who lived in New Jersey. Yes, shed been on the phone that long. Duncan felt he knew everything about her. Her father was dying of cancer. There she was, playing with her hair again and repeating that she just didnt understand how one day hes doing yoga with her and the next day hes dying. Finally, she said, Marta, I have to go. Im in the middle of interviewing a handyman. She clapped her razor phone shut, threw it on the couch as if it were a piece of garbage and turned to gaze at him. I dont know, she said. I dont know if I can bring you into my house. I dont know who the hell you are. By then, she was hugging her knees. Well, I dont know who you are either, Duncan said as he uncrossed his legs. And youre the one who put the ad in the paper. Im Amber Delro. You can call me Amber. Everyone knows me. You look like the Archangel Gabriel. Duncan shifted. Okay. I dont like your hair. It looks dirty, she said. He touched his tangled hair and shrugged. She then asked, What else do you do besides answer ads for live-in handymen? This and that. Im trying to decide what Im going to do with my life, and I want to make my own mistakes. Is someone else trying to make them for you? Funny. I want to save up some money and travel.

]21[

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Do you know what this job entails? Have you any idea of how demanding I can be? He shrugged. Do you like animals? Theyre all right. This seems like a cool farm. This isnt just a farm. This is Sacred Greens. Do you like nature? Growing things? Milking goats? Picking up horse manure? Cow manure? Dog shit? I like growing things. What about putting up fences? Putting up fences? What about doing housework? Its all right. Why do you want this job? I want to save up some money and go back to Central America. Where are you from? she asked suddenly. You dont look like youre from Central America. You look like you fell from the heavens, right behind Lucifer. He pointed south. Funny. Im from Hyde Park, right here. You? She shrugged and opened her hands. Why should it matter? Im the one asking the questions. Duncan shrugged again. So Amber said, Im from a city in New Jersey called West New York. Ever heard of it? Sure have. My dad lives around there. Didnt you tell me you were from California? Yes, because I moved to California the day after I barely graduated from high school in order to become my fucking self. Amber squinted. Where do you see yourself five years from now? When Im twenty-five? Whoa! he said as if he were on a galloping horse and wanted it to stop. I dunno. Thailand? Guatemala? My grandpas in Guatemala.

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That made her suspicious. You dont even look part Guatemalan to menot with that red hair and a name like Duncan. You must be Lucifers cousin. Well, Im not Guatemalan at all. Im Cuban and Irish. They call me Dooncang in Spanish. You? I already told you. I used to be from New Jersey, then I was from California and now Im from Rhinebeck, and I plan to stay here for the rest of my life. Amber sighed. Although sometimes I wonder because Ive kind of exhausted Rhinebeck. She stopped momentarily, as if she were giving too much information away. You wouldnt know what Im talking about. Okay, youre hired, she said. I hate having to decide. Whatever! Just like that? he asked. She glared at him. Follow me. Ill show you where youll live. Youll be sharing the bungalow with James, my other handyman. How old are you? he asked. She couldnt believe it. What business is it of yours? He shrugged, so she said, Im almost forty. Do you take drugs? He stopped to think about that one before he said, Recreationally. Well, no drugs on my property, and no cats, no cigarettes, no polyester, no Clorox, no poisons, no perfumes, no mint, no firecrackers, no bamboo, no greed, no spray cans, no envy, no bad karma, no cannabis unless its from my greenhouse . . . and if I think of something elsebecause I make the rules up as I goIll tell you.

Four

hey still havent gotten past Day One. Otilias own personal Fidel Castro was sitting on the floor when she caught sight of him. Again, she tried to remember his name, but her bouts with depression, her sudden weight gain and her messy breakup with Manny Robles had all taken their toll on her once formidable memory. Then suddenly, she remembered something specific. Maam! It was maam this, maam that, all the time. And he wore clogs! He wore clogs even when he was all suited up. And he was Cuban. Does the devil wear clogs? It wasnt like Marta to reply, I dont know about the devil, but I dont think Fidel doesor ever didwear clogs or ever said maam in his life. Usually Marta kept quiet, but her tongue always got loose when it came to the subject of Fidel Castro. Then she said, Lets get back to business. So Otilia turned to the tape recorder and said, All this happened in late June of 2001, at the Fourth Annual Minority Business Owners Awards Reception. Franklin Pizarro, the county executive, was giving one of his interminable speeches. She stopped to think. No! It was 2002, because it had already happenedthe World Trade Center, I mean. Wed been planning the first-year anniversary. Then Otilia told Marta that she had counted months back with her fingers until she got to April, at the freeholder chambers. Thats when she first saw the man who was sitting on the floor. You know who. (This was starting to annoy Marta who reminded Otilia that Dr. Chico Chanca was neither God nor Fidel Castro. He could therefore be called by his name.) Otilia shrugged. It wasnt that she didnt care; she never wanted to have his name in her mouth again.

]24[

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Enough time wasted. Otilia picked up where she left off. On Day One, she suddenly remembered more, and for the second time that evening, she counted months with her fingers all the way back to April to the freeholder chambers. Franklin Pizarro had waited until the day of the freeholder meeting to tell the freeholders that he did not want to renew the contract with Riverton Psychiatric Associates. So the man who was all suited up and wearing clogsyou know whoaddressed the board to say he felt that Franklin Pizarro was retaliating against him. When Freeholder Nacho Vargas agreed, Franklin Pizarro immediately turned to Nacho and shouted angrily that if he agreed, it was because that vendor was giving him cash and Viagra. Each time Franklin Pizarro uttered the words that vendor or raised his voice a notch, he pointed to you know who. Otilia paused and made a great effort to pronounce his name. Dr. Chico Chanca. Im not even from here! Dr. Chanca protested, as if that were relevant. That was just the beginning of the meeting. Having been accused of taking cash and Viagra, Nacho Vargas stared Franklin Pizarro down, rolled his eyes and then took a deep breath. For a few minutes the freeholders didnt know whether to adjourn the meeting or call the police or get caught in the middle of a dirty altercation. Dr. Chanca repeated that he was not from Hudson County. Finally, Nacho managed to rise above Franklin Pizarros slanderous remarks. With wounded eloquence, he assured all his fellow freeholders that Franklin Pizarro was lying because he had never, before today, seen that vendor. While he was saying all that, he was pointing to Dr. Chanca, who still felt very compelled to repeat that he was not from Hudson County. Of course, Otilia knew Nacho was lying and posturing. She also wanted to say that one could not possibly get by without lying and posturing in this world of hers. In a sweet, lawyerly way, Marta shook her head, only to express that she did not wish to go there. Tell me what happened at the Minority Awards Reception, Marta said. Minority Business Owners Awards Reception, Otilia corrected her, and she used her forefingers, as if she were quoting.

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Otilia said she was wondering what makes a man sit on the floor when hes wearing a suit. Granted, all the fold-up chairs were taken, and Franklin Pizarros speech was endless. Still, it was a nice suit: she could tell from where she was, up there, important and on the podium. And that was a nice-looking man. Legs crossed, Indian stylethats how he was sitting, except his knees werent sticking up. They were all the way down on the ground. He seemed quite flexible, a lot like a ballerina. Otilia remembered having looked away and wondered if Indian style was a politically correct term. Shed ask Monica to look into that. West Indian? East Indian? Indian giver? Perhaps there was another way to say it without getting an ethnic group involved: the last thing she wanted was to offend anyone. Otilia shifted her gaze back to where it had been a few moments ago, lets not say Indian style, the man was sitting the way kids sit in a circle in kindergarten, except that he wasnt slouching like kids do. He kept his back straight even while looking down at his Palm Pilot. She realized that he wasnt even listening to the county executives diatribe, as busy as he was entering into his Palm Pilot what had to be urgent and important information. Oh, the info had to be of major consequence! Otherwise, he wouldnt be sitting on the floor with a small ring binder on his lap, force-feeding the Palm Pilot with such intent. There was something selfish or individualistic about him that evoked Alices white rabbit, the one with the pocket watch. Otilia wouldnt have remembered that his last name was Chanca. Had she tried harder, she could probably have come up with his first name, or his nickname, Chico, but she never would have remembered his real first name, simply because he never used it. It wasnt even in the Yellow Pages. Chico was the name he went by in the Yellow Pages: Chico Chanca, MD. It was only in the White Pages that he was listed as Natalio Chanca. His glasses were sitting on the tip of his nose, and his hair was falling over his eyes because his head was tilted forward. Every now and then, he stopped to brush his hair back with his fingers. He only had eyes for what he was doing. What compelled him to sit on the floor?

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Otilia also wondered if Monica had rescheduled tomorrow afternoons appointments. She certainly hoped Pita had walked the puppy by now. Pita was fourteen in 2002. Otilia glanced at her watch. Of course that awful Manny crept into her mind, and she surmised that he would be at the Contreras wake tomorrow, with that skinny, round-bosomed Mayra. How could she possibly have screwed Manny the other day when he came to pick up his flatscreen TV? Thats all he came for! Not the screwing, the TV! At least the thought of going home to play with the new puppy soothed her. Her thoughts kept bouncing from one corner of the Brennan Courthouse to the other. She glanced up at the chandelier; there had been some confusion, so she needed to make sure once and for all that it was at the 17th Street Arrazcaeta Funeral Parlor and not at the West Avenue one. With traffic the way it was these days, she sure didnt want to find herself on the other side of town in the wrong funeral parlor. Slowly, she brought her gaze down to the crowd. That nights venue had certainly attracted a large crowd. Good choice, the historic Brennan Courthouse, with the resonance, the high ceilings, the moldings, the dark landscape paintings, the gold and the marble and those chandeliers. Otilia glanced at her watch and stifled a yawn. Franklin Pizarro was going way over, inconsiderate and greedy as usual. It made her want to kill him. Last week, he spoke for an hour and a half at the community college. Now hes been at it for forty-five minutes, and hes not about to quit. She stifled another yawn and didnt know whether she should be anxious for all this to end or to dread going home. At least there was caramel ice cream in the freezer. Pita hated caramel, so Otilia could count on it still being there. She was planning to eat it right out of the container while reading the how-to-housebreak-yournew-puppy book. Maybe she should put the condo up for sale and move somewhere else after Belinda Avellaneda was housetrained. Ill certainly do better without all that ice cream, Otilia thought, feeling the folds in her belly. And she hated her condo now! But was it really because it smelled like the stairs down to the train? No. It was all Mannys fault; she had purchased the puppy in hopes of making it easier to go home.

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Again, Otilia glanced at the man sitting on the floor. Perhaps when it was her turn to step up to the podium and talk, hed stop fooling with that Palm Pilot and listen to what she had to say, which, by the way, was more important and sincere than Franklin Pizarros endless dribble. The corrupt posturing son-of-a-bitch! May he rot in hell! Or in prison, for thats where he belongsnot on a podium boring everyone to tears. And that awful Manny who had talked her into compromising herself! She sighed. Her stomach started to hurt, and lately it had gotten so big that there was certainly a lot of room in there for hurting. Well, if she went down, she was determined to bring them all down with her: Manny, Franklin Pizarro, Verdugo and all the other clowns. She gazed back at the man sitting on the floor and suddenly remembered that Franklin Pizarro called him the Teflon Doc. At a subsequent meeting, Franklin Pizarro had addressed the freeholders to say he was disappointed with the way this vendor had done business with the county. Hes nothing but a Teflon Doc, Franklin Pizarro had said with disgust. What does he mean by that? the Teflon Doc turned to Nacho Vargas and asked out loud. Arent frying pans made out of Teflon? Not getting any attention from any of the freeholders, the Teflon Doc finally gave up and said, Well, Im not from here, and I never will be. The truth of the matter is that the Teflon Doc had somehow managed to make Franklin Pizarro angry enough to want to award the mental health contracts to an Arizona-based firm, but the freeholders refused to place the resolution. So, Franklin Pizarro had threatened to declare an emergency and award the contracts anyway. Thats when the vendor addressed the board. It was all coming back in more detail. He insisted that if Franklin Pizarro was retaliating against him, it was because he had alerted the freeholder board to problems at the hospital following the death of a patient. That comment made Franklin Pizarro go over the edge. By then, spit came out of Franklin Pizarros mouth with every word he said. Otilia loved it! And the Teflon Doc was not one to be intimidated or to back off: he seemed to want his contracts more than anything. When the freeholders sought to adjourn the

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meeting, Franklin Pizarro said he didnt want that man to have the last word. In that case, were going to be here a long time, the Teflon Doc said, Otilia remembered well. She continued observing him, sitting on the floor, so busy with that Palm Pilot. She certainly hoped he wouldnt leave before her turn came. He didnt leave. Forty-five minutes later, when the county executive finally ceded the pulpit, you know who closed the notebook, turned the Palm Pilot off, slipped it into his breast pocket, very close to his heart and stood up. While Otilia spoke, he looked straight at her and nodded constantly. He even chuckled whenever it was appropriate. Oh, he was the perfect man, the perfect audience. That was definitely a nice-looking man. Not just a step up from Manny, but a whole tropical hardwood spiral staircase. So she stared at him some more and wondered why this couldnt happen to her. An informal alcohol-free reception followed. A plastic cupful of seltzer water in her hand, Otilia kept peeking through the interstices of the crowd, scanning the different auras, hoping to find him, and she did, finally. He was standing in line, a man in the crowd, waiting to talk to her. She waved him past the three people standing in front of him. Without the slightest hesitation, without wondering if she meant him and not someone standing behind him, he walked up to her, as if he had been expecting her to allow him to cut the line, as if he deserved it. He walked toward her with open arms, as if they were long-lost friends or even relatives. Freeholder Mancuso! he said loudly. Then something told him that this was way too formal, so he changed his mind and called her by her first name. Otilia! He said it fervently as he gave her a tight, affectionate hug. She felt the Palm Pilot in his breast pocket pressing against her collarbone and almost spilled the seltzer water all over him. Do you realize what your initials mean to me? he then asked fervently. He smelled like sinsemilla. Otilia Mancuso, your initials spell out the sound OM! Do you

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know that OM is the sound of the universe? Its the primeval sound! It is pure white light! he said, using both his hands. Wow! she uttered, not knowing what to say. Many mantras begin with OM! Theres OM shanti shanti shanti and then theres my favorite, Om Mani Padma Hum, that invokes Chenrezig, the embodiment of compassion. Actually, Mancusos my married name. Zonas my real one but by the time I divorced it was too late to change it back. Too many of my constituents wouldnt have known me, so I kept it! And my initials are B-O-Z. Im Belinda Otilia Zona. O. Zona for short. Thats why many people call me Oh Three or Ozone. He was so eager to talk that he missed more than half of that, so he shrugged. By the way, even if Im not from here because Im from the country, Im still one of your many, many constituents. I dare say the most humble and loyal of them all. She was intrigued, What country are you from? The country, maam, as in, not-from-the-city. Then he introduced himselfChico Chanca here to serve you, maamand asked apologetically if she could perhaps find time to see him. If she couldnt, that would be okay. He knew how busy public officials were, especially the year before or after an election year. Hed still vote for her. All this short while, he was showing her the palms of his hands. Youre confusing us with the folks from the Board of Ed, Otilia chuckled. Theyre the ones who are always busy. Then it was Chicos turn to chuckle. You mean those purchasable good-for-nothings? Dont get me started, maam. And they dont get anything done, not like you do. Immediately, Otilia put on her political persona. Well, Im your elected official, so Im here to serve you. My wish is your command, ha-ha! By the way, Im kidding about the Board of Ed. My other wife once worked for the Board of Ed, he said, using both his hands. But not here, because we are not from here. Other? Do you mean ex? Whos we? And how many wives do you have? Otilia asked. Too many . . . questions, love. That was his answer.

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Love? The first to mention love wins. It was a Tuesday night. Without taking any agendas out to consult their schedules, they agreed to meet on Thursday, at her office, at eleven. But chance had it that they met before that, the next fateful day, Day Two, outside the Arrazcaeta Funeral Parlor. Marta had a puzzled attorneys look on her face. Wait a minute. Whats your dogs name again? Belinda? Otilia nodded. Didnt you say your name is Belinda Otilia? Otilia nodded. So you named that pomeranian after yourself? Yes, and the Avellaneda is in honor of Gertrudis Gmez de Avellaneda. She was my favorite author: I thought I was a reincarnation of her, at least for a while. How did you even find out about her? In college? Shes Cuban, and youre kind of Puerto Rican, Marta protested. Now it was Otilias turn to look puzzled. So? Is one only entitled to appreciate ones own authors? Marta shrugged before she admitted, We feel we own her. Then it was Otilias turn to shrug. And please, not kind of. Theres nothing kind of about me. I want to win this and every battle. Kind ofs dont win battles. But Marta was still thinking of the nineteenth-century Cuban abolitionist writer. Shes ours. No one else can appreciate her, and dogs certainly should not be named after her.

Five

aura wasnt pleased, as usual. Nothing pleased her. She regretted not having taken his advice and stayed in Flores; she said she missed Hudson County, even if Hudson County would never be home for her. He shot a glance at her wearing the tiniest cream-colored panties and a flimsy cream-colored camisole that could barely hold her implants. Then he found the Deet, handed it to her and asked her to turn off the light. No need to see; she could very well apply the stuff in the darkness. The truth is that she was looking quite desirable with her hair tousled like that over her shoulders and the indignant expression on her face, as if she had just been trampled or mistreated. She thanked him, and then she said something about the dangers of getting cancer from Deet. All she needed was to get cancer as well; she had enough health issues as it was. So he said, You choose, cancer or chinches. So she said she regretted not having stayed in Miami. Their commuter relationship was working out fine. He didnt agree. No, it wasnt. Yes, it was. No, it wasnt. She repeated that she should have stayed in Miami. Miami was home. Now it was home no more. She had no home! Chicos argument was that you cant have a child and a commuter relationship. She sighed because she believed she was happy in Miami. He asked her what all this had to do with bedbugs. Im having a terrible time, she complained, and you dont care because you dont love me anymore! Then she said she was worried about Chelsea. Then a few seconds later, she was worried about her health. What if I have an episode? Then she was worried about Chelsea. Perhaps Chelsea was getting bitten as well. Had it been wise to leave her with Tony and Yadira? She hardly

]32[

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knew them! And I dont like your dad smoking weed in front of Chelsea, Laura added. Shes only five! I know how old Gaby is. Chelsea. He had to have the last word, so he said, Gabriela, not Chelsea. She changed the subject. Dont the chinches bother you? What difference does it make when the only proper way to suffer is in silence? When you fell in love with me in Miami, you thought it would never end. Then I married you, and we had a great commuter relationship until you coaxed me away from Miami only to fall out of love with me! Thats us in a nutshell! Go to sleep, Laura. After a few minutes of silence, Laura said, Now that it has stopped raining I suppose we should have sex or make love since Chelsea isnt with us. Her names Gabriela, and were on vacation. That means we dont have to do anything we dont want to. She ignored his comment. Cimex Lectularius, thats what theyre called, these bedbugs. How old is she? Who? Your girlfriend! The one were running away from! Here we go again! Do you think Im in love with her as well? Not this time around. What I do think is that youre seeing someone named Audrey. You mumble her name in your sleep. Youre free to think whatever you wish, except that I mumble in my sleep. Okay, so I was eavesdropping and spying on you as usual. Youre running away from a woman named Audrey. He mumbled something, and to Laura it sounded like he said, A thing named Audrey . . . a thing! Laura was putting her head on the pillow as she was abruptly turning away and throwing her long, curly, blonde hair back. It hit him in the face. He caught a whiff of the scent. Her hair always smelled like mousse and hot air.

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They remained quiet and awake for at least an hour. Every ten minutes, hed glance at his watch, convinced the hours had gone by and that it was close to morning. Every ten minutes, hed be wrong. It wasnt even one AM, not even close. Time had stopped. No going forward, no going back, an impossible child. Laura spoke again and said, Please tell me what were doing in Central America, and I dont want to hear that were on vacation. I had a sudden urge to see my dad, he replied. I dont want to hear that either. Then make up an answer for me. Tell yourself what you want to hear, and Ill nod. Then leave me alone. Im anguished. Were you seeing someone else in New Jersey? she sat up and asked. I have never been faithful. You know that. I want a yes or no answer! No. I dont believe you. Yes. I still dont believe you! And I feel somethings wrong. Why the hell are we in Central America? The last time we came here you were in trouble, remember? Those damn windmills! He remained silent, barely breathing. Then he said, Im still in trouble. Youre such a prick, she said and waited for a reaction. I can never get a straight answer out of you. She waited until she couldnt help but utter. I think I hate you. Again, she turned away abruptly and her hair hit his face. He held a few strands between his fingers before he pushed them away from his face. Ten minutes later, he said, Im scared, but she had momentarily gone back to sleep and didnt hear him. He couldnt care less if she found out. What would she do? Threaten to divorce him? Take whatever money there was? Before he knew it, she was awake again. She wondered out loud if there was any way he could make the room colder. Colder? Sometimes he felt he despised her. No, he didnt. Then he changed his mind again. He despised her. The air con-

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ditioner couldnt possibly be on high cool. Could he check? He had checked. It was an old air conditioner and a fairly large room. Is this night ever going to end? she wondered out loud. Tony gave us the worst room. My dads running a business. He isnt living off the money someone else is making. Are you insinuating I am? Laura asked. Go to sleep. But it was too muggy to sleep, and he was worried about everything that was going on in Hudson County. He took his T-shirt off and wiped the sweat from underneath his neck. At this point, anything from before 2001 seemed better than now. That included the bad memories. It wasnt about being nostalgic, for there was not one sentimental cell in his body. He simply appreciated anything that took his awareness away from the present. Did he ever have a good time? Once there was a family of mice living in an air conditioner before Tonys men made a hole in a cinder block wall and installed it. Why was he so attached to that image all of a sudden? In vain, he tried to decide if that had occurred in Roatn or here in El Remate, but he couldnt remember for the life of him. The two distinct places had somehow managed to melt into each other, one and two, a memory as flawed as Siamese twins joined at the hip. Much more distinct was the memory of working construction in the noonday heat, until he thought he was close to dying, so close it feels like the ocean, the oceans he used to know well, Roatn, Miami, Pie de la Cuesta, Xcaret and a forgotten place name on the Pacific Coast of Guatemala. He knew where to catch the powerful currents and how to be taken out there, far. He also knew about the undertow. It pulls you away. He wasnt about to be poor again. That was a fight hed take to the death. The water gets deep fast when its the open sea. There was a twelve-year-old girl theres a bad memory for you. He didnt know she was twelve, he thought she was at least eighteen. He did like the smell of things rotting: the banana tree, the elusive sewer, the lagoon, a baby hammerhead shark left out in the sun to die. There was something magical about all the places where his nomadic father had chosen to live. They had depth, layers and immediately they would put

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him on another plane, like Nag Champa, sandalwood necklaces, sinsemilla and good wine. Before the windmill fiasco. Forget the windmills and forget Laura. Forget, forget and forget to the sound the air conditioner makes. The air conditioner was old before it was installed, but Tony had insisted that what mattered was having an air conditioner in the room because thats what the guests want. Sometimes the sound an air conditioner makes is enough to keep a sleeping person cool. He remembered telling Otilia about the trip to Mexico City with Laura, right after the windmills or while it was happening. Chico glanced at his watch. Fortunately, Laura had gone back to sleep. The smell of sewer gas came out from the shower drain, a grotesque genie. It was competing with that other smell, the mildew. Nothing here was given enough time to dry entirely. The air conditioner was gasping for dear life, and Chico would fall for it every half an hour or so, thinking the air conditioner would quit for goodand it did quit for two or three minutesbut then it always took another stab at life. Eventually, his own thoughts bored him: images of New Jersey, bouts of anxiety, remembering how badly he had wanted to get away from Hudson County at least for a little while, being somewhat afraid of Laura and bringing the family to El Remate. Was there nothing else in his brain? So he decided to think about work. It wasnt easy. Once in a while, he had to trust the doctors who were working for him. It wasnt as if theyd stick their hand in the cash registerit was much worse. No matter how hard he tried, there was no one he could trustabsolutely no one and Laura least of all. Then he had to convince Laura to accompany him to El Remate. Laura did so quite reluctantly, for she hated leaving for any length of time about as much as she hated being a tourist. That whiny voice again! She said shed done enough traveling and there was something phony about tourism in her eyes. All they want to do is take your money and make you believe youre having a really good time getting to know the world around you. Shut up, Laura! But its all about money. Money, money, money! There was no shutting her up. Laura particularly hated traveling to Mexico and Central America because she felt like a dollar sign, like everyone

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wanted to squeeze a penny out of her, and she hated that. Finally, she ran out of things to say. Finally! But then she remembered something else. Besides . . . she was vegan, and she couldnt eat raw vegetables or salads in Central America. After that she began to worry about developing yet another incurable condition or getting parasites. It was just like the last time. Then she was fretting about not getting enough fiber in her diet. How come you never get sick? she asked Chico with a suspicious tone of voice, as if he were somehow responsible for all those parasites. It must be that I cant make room for anymore parasites in my system, he said. Dont think I dont get that double-entendre. I love it when you speak French . . . Again, he remembered telling Otilia about his trip to Mexico City in 2001. Laura said she didnt want to go to Mexico City because it was too big and polluted. What if Chelsea gets sick? He corrected her, Gaby. Their child was almost seven, and they still argued about her name. She had indeed been named Chelsea at birth, but when she was six months old, Chico had been to see an attorney about changing her name to Laura. A year or two later, it was Destiny. And lately, he was smitten with the name Gabriela. Immediately, Laura had something to say about the way Benito Jurez airport was laid out. She couldnt walk very fast in her high-heeled, ankle-tie, strappy, camel-suede Jimmy Choo sandals. Clack, clack and clack. Such a big airport, and they have all the bleary-eyed travelers going out the same narrow door so the cab drivers can hassle everyone. Chico, wait! Clack, clack and clack. Her high heels against the shiny granite floor sounded angry. Youre walking too fast! So he stopped to look at the Talavera, and she told him they had more than enough of those already. This was no time to look at Talavera, for she was in $600 sandals, and her feet were hurting like crazy. She couldnt believe how much they were asking for that bowl. It was armed robbery! She was wearing tight designer jeans and an even tighter tank top that showed off her round implants, her flat stomach and her anorexic torso. Some-

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times it was difficult to believe she was the same woman, the one hed met in Miami, the one who had made it through veterinary school with honors and who had published several articles on animal behavior in prestigious veterinary journals. Once, when Chico tried to tell Laura how he felt, she turned around and said, My glittering image, my rsum, thats all you wanted. I know you were disappointed when you realized I have MS. Thats right. Had I purchased you from L.L. Bean, I would most certainly have sent you back and demanded a less defective article. Why are you hurting my feelings? But Laura was right. Had Chico been asked to describe her when he fell madly in love with her, he would have said, A show dog. A pedigreed champion. Beautiful and intelligent. That was before she was diagnosed with MS. He did feel betrayed, almost wanting to send the animal back to its breeder. Obviously, Laura didnt want to stay at the Hotel Mara Cristina. She said she didnt like it, and he couldnt make her like it because shed never like it. The only hotel she liked in Mexico City was the Majestic but she hated the zcalo. It was oppressive, but if she couldnt stay at the Majestic, she was ready to turn around and fly back home. She never asked for this impromptu vacation! Unfortunately, the Majestic was closed for remodeling. What about the Four Seasons? The bathrooms were very clean. The Four Seasons was way too expensive, and she was ready to bet anything that all the employees were underpaid. If the money went to the employees, shed consider it, but she knew it was going into some corrupt, greedy, fat mans pocket. They were having this argument in the cab that was idling right outside the Mara Cristina. A boy with big buttons on his jacket was waiting for Laura and Chico to stop arguing. It took some coaxing, but Laura finally agreed to spend one night at the Mara Cristina. Chico promised her theyd move into the Four Seasons the next day. Meanwhile, Gaby kept complaining about being homesick and wanting to go back to New Jersey.

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While he was checking in, Laura kept reminding him to get a room in a low floor in case of an earthquake. A jump from the third floor is just as bad as a jump from the fifth, love. You got us a room for fifty-seven dollars? she commented when they were in the tiny elevator. Chico, what is it about you and cheap hotels? They turn me on, but dont worry, dear. Well make up for it tomorrow since the Four Seasons will cost us at least $400 a night. Its your money, and if youre intent on throwing money out the window, thats your problem. Nonetheless, those $400 could have saved a homeless animals life! Laura, we still have enough money to stay there, to buy you all the designer clothes you want and even to save a cats life or a dogs. Just let me know what animal needs saving. Dont get sarcastic, Chico. You know I hate frivolous spending. I want to go home! Chelsea whined. We all do, Chico mumbled, but theres nowhere to go! Chico gave the bellboy a good tip and locked the hotel room door. He was at his wits end, already regretting having brought the family here but still wanting so much to be away from New Jersey for a while and forget the windmill fiasco. He could no longer take the anxiety. Laura was sitting on the bed taking her sandals off. Look at my feet! she gasped. I just want to go home! Suddenly she remembered that they had already taken a week off when they went to see his grandmother in Millbrook, and then another week off when Duncan was in rehab. Chico hadnt paid any attention to her! He was either with Duncan or with those yoga people who got together early morning and evening. Chico protested. Laura, you told me you enjoyed the Hudson Valley. Daddy, theres nothing but bullfights on TV! Thats because its Sunday, sweetheart.

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You were always off to yoga! Laura said as she rummaged through her suitcase. You go to visit your son in rehab, and all you do is yoga! I couldnt help it! You should give yoga up, Laura said, sounding bored. You seem to spend half your life with your legs spread wide apart. What shoes should I wear? And do what if I quit? Wear comfortable shoes. Go to the gym! Play golf, play tennis! Do what other men do! These? Too high. I thought you liked me in high heels. I do, but I much prefer you barefoot. Then she said she did enjoy the Hudson Valley. It was nice to get away from Hudson County, but two weeks were more than enough. She didnt want to take more time off. What about these shoes? Chico didnt seem to take her career seriously. That really annoyed him. He reminded her that he had set her up in her clinic, paid for the remodeling, paid for the new addition and was now paying all the utilities. Of course he took her career seriously and respected her for what she did. These shoes will have to do! One day at a time, thats how he would proceed. Day One: a walk around the Zona Rosa on four-inch-heeled magenta wedges with knotted centers and dinner at a Mariachi restaurant with strappy sandals on her feet. Day Two: the Four Seasons Hotel, the main zcalo, the cathedral, the market, the Aztec ruins behind the cathedral and Laura wearing a miniskirt with an Herms scarf for a belt, a tight white T-shirt and platform espadrilles. She was looking pensive, so he put his arm around her shoulders and was about to ask her what was on her mind when she fixed her gaze on him and asked, Whats her name? Not again! Chico said, looking exasperated. He frowned and took his arm off her shoulders. Laura insisted. Who is she? What are you implying, Laura? That youre in love with someone else. I can feel it. Is it Allison?

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So you think Im cheating! Worse than that. I dont quite understand, and Im trying to put two and two together, because, Chico, you are acting weirder than usual. Of course Im acting weird. And thats because Im making every effort in the world for us to spend time together as a family! I have the impression youre in love with someone else. I think you stopped loving me because you love someone else. Ive lost some moneya lot of money. I never stopped loving you. The person in you that lies believes in magic, because you lie like a child. You know what? I feel more comfortable with you when you whine. On the fourth day, they boarded a plane to Flores, Guatemala. Laura complained all the way there. She said she didnt feel comfortable with Tony. He was too outspoken and lusty. Once she even caught him ogling her. Chico told her she should feel flattered. Tony wasnt one to ogle older women. Laura protested that she was not an older woman! Then she wondered if Yeznit had any dignity whatsoever. Instead of moving ahead and getting a career, she relied on a man, and on a man like Tony who never stopped treating her like the servant she was, and would always be, for that matter. Her names Yadira. And I dont want him smoking weed in front of Chelsea! Laura remembered just as they were getting into their rental car at the Flores airport. Gaby. The bottom half of all the coconut palm trunks were painted bright white. Are you sure you dont want to stay in Flores? El Remate is only ten miles away. Laura sighed. Lets go to El Remate. I hate Flores. Yes, maam.

Six

tilia had just finished talking to a reporter from TV Hispana, saying that Hudson County would never be the same without Contreras. He was a familiar presence at our freeholder meetings . . . she uttered. Senator Burns came to shake her hand. Someone waved at her, and she waved back and smiled, wondering who that was. For over thirty years, Contreras chronicled Hudson County politics . . . she went on. Manny appeared, holding Mayras hand. Yet politicians could never use him, for he knew the braggadocio, the absurdity of it all, she said, trying to avoid Mannys gaze. Otilia then confessed to the press that her morning ritual for the past ten years had consisted of caf con leche and the paper. She was always dying to know if Contreras had mentioned her in his political column. I first came into contact with him many years ago when I graduated from high school and was valedictorian of my senior class, she added. Assemblyman Ryan Black arrived. He and Otilia made eye contact and nodded to each other. Then I remember when I first declared my candidacy back in 1986, Otilia carried on. The Teflon Doc drove his black Lexus SUV right past Otilia just when she was saying, Contreras knew you could be riding high today and hitting rock bottom tomorrow. He was driving slowly, looking for a place to park. In a flash, she noticed a child seat in the back. She lost her train of thought,

]42[

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panicked for a second, then remembered. Yes, hitting rock bottom . . . He always reminded us that we all lose in the end. Otilia! Chico said fervently the minute he saw her. The folks from TV Hispana were now interviewing Assemblyman Ryan Black. Oh, Mr. Chanca! Its Dr. Chanca, maam, but please call me Chico! Its manifest destiny that we should meet again so soon! he said before giving her a big hug. Marta was astonished. He really said that? A bit irked, Otilia asked, Do you think Im making this up? I didnt mean it to sound that way. Go on. He asked, Can you believe hes dead? Of course he was referring to the deceased, obviously. Without waiting for her comment, he stuck his elbow out for her to hold, an offer to be her gallant escort across the threshold of the house of death, and she crossed without the slightest hesitation. Then he said, Death, too, is manifest destiny, maam. Marta was wringing her hands when she said, He obviously was not from here. Soon enough, Otilia lost Dr. Chanca in the crowd. She even forgot about him, as busy as she was reminding herself that this was a solemn occasion, not some kind of fundraiser or networking party. First, she went to check and see if her flowers had arrived. Like decorated soldiers, the funereal crowns were up against the wall, standing one next to the other in solemn salute. Otilia checked the names on the ribbons and was about to have a screaming fit when she finally came across her own name. She stood back to assay the crown, wishing theyd put it closer to the coffin. As usual, she could count on Monica to make good choices. She reached out and pulled on the ribbon so that her name showed. The yellow roses were stunning. Relieved that the flowers had made it there safely, Otilia walked up to the open coffin and stared at the deceased. For a split second, she thought she saw him twitching. They had done a good job with the makeup, a good job at making him seem peaceful, ready to give it up. Again, she had an optical illusion that he was

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breathing, then a mental illusion, or a rogue wish, wishing she were him. She turned away and went to present her condolences to each one of the family members, one after the other. The widow was in a wheelchair, so she had to bend over to kiss her. She embraced one of the three daughters who had been a classmate of hers long ago, and she vaguely remembered the little sister who was now a grown woman, so she hugged her as well. The youngest of the three looked like a boy. Otilia shook her hand. Then she embraced one of the grandsons. Quickly, she figured out that the tall guy was the son, not another grandson, so she embraced him and told him how sorry she was about his father and how this town would never be the same. After that, Otilia spotted Contrerass lifelong friend, who had been interviewing her ever since she could remember. They embraced. Contreras had always been a big man, but he somewhat seemed little, dead as he was, all made up and suited. The friend mentioned it was a pleasure to see him in a suit at last after all those weeks he had spent in a faded hospital gown. Carmine Doherty-Rodriguez and his brother, the postmaster, were both there. They stood in front of the open coffin. Then came the Insalacos; they were into garbage and cement. Al Mansur controlled the grocery stores. The Milagros were the real estate family. Vinnie arrived, as did the county sheriff arrived and the Splendidos. They had milk and excavating. This was a deep blue stormy sea of potential campaign funds. But Henry was bad news, a real dirtball. So was Manny Robles in construction. Otilia wished shed never been involved with him. Vinnie hugged the county sheriff and told him he was family. Then she overheard the sheriff saying, Isnt it ironic that the last Contreras article was about second chances? In a very lawyerly way, Marta reminded Otilia that this was only about getting the point across, and the point was that she had been duped and used by her lover. Her exact words were cajoled and coaxed. Perhaps, ultimately, they could convince a jury that she had always acted in good faith. Otilia shook her head. Not all victims are innocent, she argued.

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Marta retorted. The problem is that only the innocent victims are likeable, not the guilty ones, and you need to be an innocent victim! After much hesitation, hand wringing and soul-searching and after having interviewed at least fifteen different defense attorneys, Otilias decision to retain Marta had everything to do with Martas track record, but also with the fact that Marta reminded Otilia of the ruthless, notorious cookbook author and businesswoman, Martha Stewart. It wasnt that Otilia had a particular fondness or admiration for the earthy, blonde Martha Stewart, and it certainly wasnt that she expected her attorney to be a champion of good taste and of fine cooking for every occasion or even a shrewd negotiator. Otilia didnt really know why that particular resemblance had been a determinant in her decision making. Perhaps it was simply because all the attorneys she had interviewed appeared competent enough, one as good as the other and there was something familiar about Martha Stewart, whom shed never met. Decisions have to come from somewhere. Had Marta reminded her of Oprah, or Hilary Clinton, or Sheryl Crow, Otilia probably would have reacted just the same way. Obviously, Marta did not want to hear that. In fact, this annoyed her to no end, for she much preferred to be retained because of her track record and credentials, justifiably so, and she refused to be associated with Martha Stewart. Marta was all business. Little did it matter to her if Otilia also went to law school Marta wasnt one for wasting precious time. She would put up with just so much small talk. Whats more, she hardly ever smiled and always seemed preoccupied. That is probably why she has those vertical wrinkles between her eyebrows. She weighed everything Otilia said and was adamant when it came to Otilias past relationship with Junior Mancuso. Little did it matter if he was the father of Otilias only child. Otilia was to forget she ever knew him. And this business about wanting Franklin Pizarro dead, even if it was only an impulsive reaction because his speech was endless, was a definite no-no; so was this another minor detail about

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Otilia having already compromised herself before Chico Chanca came into the picture. There was to be no mention of Manny Robles. He was off the record. Nor did Otilia need to gossip about the political columnists private life. She could also leave the word hate out of this timeline: little did it matter if Otilia learned it from her daughter, who tended to overuse it. No one needed to know what she was wearing on the day she fell in love, or if her pantyhose were getting uncomfortable, or if she was making any progress housebreaking the new puppy. All Otilia has to do is avoid the details. She has to stick to the facts. Otilia protested. This was something that happened to her. Stories dont have a life of their own; they happen to someone. But all Marta wanted was a chronology of events that led to Otilias indictment. Granted, a chronology, but a chronology is a discourse of time, which serves no purpose without space, without details in space, and space is never a straight lineand watch out, for the devil is in the details. He still is, he was, he always will be. So you want to turn me into a victim . . . Otilia said. You are a victim. Victims are not heroes, nor are they important characters in tragedies. Otilia, you are in very big trouble. This is no laughing matter. Im not laughing, Marta, but I do have my ego. Lets get back to work, Marta said. The time was June of 2002, late June. The place was the historic Brennan Courthouse on Newark Avenue. The venue was the Fourth Annual Minority Business Owners Awards Reception. Otilia was feeling bloated, as usual. Whatever she ate made her feel like hell, and her skirt was too tight around her waist because she just wouldnt stop gaining weight. In a matter of eighteen months, she had gone from a size eight to a size fourteen, and was still gaining. Otilia checked with Monica, who filed everything she could get her hands on in order to refresh her memory. It was definitely

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at the Minority Business Owners Awards Reception that she saw him sitting on the floor like he was. The next day, she saw him again at the funeral parlor. So in early July, in her office, Day Three, Otilia asked him if hed be willing to take her on as a patient. He was a psychiatrist, wasnt he? She then said a psychiatrist was exactly what she needed because she was depressed, even though she didnt appear to be depressed. He didnt agree with her. He thought she was too much of a doer to be depressed. She probably suffered from a mild anxiety disorder. Nerves, thats all, nerves. He even said it in Spanish, los nervios, ansiedad, anxiety. I have the same problem, he said. Lo mismo. And the fact that were sitting here, maam, talking about it, is manifest destiny. Oh, my God! Marta said, sounding disgusted. Is it the manifest destiny or the maam thats bothering you? Marta shrugged. So Otilia started to flirt with Dr. Chanca. Was this a house call? Could she take something for those nerves? Could she, or should she? He stopped to think. It was up to her. Did she have insurance? Of course she did! Was she planning on getting pregnant anytime in the near future? Pregnant! Im almost fifty! He handed her his card. Youre still a young woman, he said. You look really young, in any case. Marta didnt seem to be paying attention. She was hot on a trail that had nothing to do with Otilias self-image. All she cared about was whether or not Dr. Chico Chanca had been unethical. Was there ever a fiduciary relationship? No . . . yes, I dont know, Otilia replied. Did you receive a bill from Dr. Chanca? No. Or maybe I did receive a bill from his office once. I dont remember. Was he the one who signed the prescription? Marta then asked.

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Yes . . . no . . . I dont know. I think it was one of the other psychiatrists from RPA, his firm. He was the principal of the firm and had about six other doctors working for him. I hate this! Marta seemed disappointed. He did say he knew exactly what she needed, Xanax. Also, he urged her to call his office as soon as possible and make an appointment. With him? At first I thought so, Otilia replied, but it turned out that he never intended to take me on as a patient. I told him I simply wanted something for my nerves. I didnt want to go and see a psychiatrist! So Chico said, If you want something for your nerves, we have to have a fiduciary relationship and a paper trail. I dont just give prescriptions out. Damn! said Marta. He thought the Xanax would make all the difference in the world. Before she knew it, shed be feeling on top of the world. Trust me, he said. On one condition . . . not to be taken with grapefruit juice, he added. So was this a house call? How much did she owe him? He waved her question away. Once again, he showed her the palms of both his hands. Talk about the devil, depression. If anyone around here was depressed, he assured her he was the one. He sat back, looked up at the ceiling, sighed and said his life felt like some kind of B movie. He also said he felt trapped. A lot had to do with moneyhaving it, never having enough and not being able to do without it. He told her both his parents had been nomadic hippies and that he had spent most of his childhood either camping out on a deserted beach or moving from ashram to ashram. He had lived in countries such as Mexico, Peru, Morocco, Turkey, India and Indonesia, just to name a few. Finally hed rebelled against that lifestyle in college and opted for a totally upper-middle-class lifestyle. He punctuated that with a solemn . . . Let me guess, Marta said. It was manifest destiny. Martas comment was, I guess he liked the term.

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He repeated it all the time. By now, he had grown quite used to the best restaurants, hotels, clothes, cars, you name it. Whatever he wanted, he got, no waiting. He was convinced he couldnt change his lifestyle if his life depended on it. He had reached a point where he could afford anything he wanted, and he intended it to stay that way. Money had never been an issue for the past ten years or so, and he didnt think it would ever be a problem again until recently. Oh, he assured her he made quite a bit of money. The problem was that he had lost some as well in a bad business venture. I never should have ventured outside the realm of my experience, he sighed. To make matters worse, his second wife was out to ruin him. He said he had long ago stopped loving her because she was way too abusive, too careless and too inconsiderate. She had hurt him deeply. Suddenly Chico was able to read the conclusions Otilia was drawing and assured her this had nothing to do with infidelity. As far as he knew, Laura had never cheated on him. Then again, he couldnt care less. He never should have married her in the first place. For the most part, the pain and resentment he felt had to do with money and Laura spending too much of it and also with Laura disliking him the way she did. She hates everything about me! Chico raised his voice and used both his hands. She regrets having married me because Im not masculine enough for her. She wants me to play golf and lift weights. Laura did like his money though. Her favorite thing was throwing money out the window, his money to be specific. He stopped to think. The grocery store, for example, he said, looking at Otilia straight in the eye. Laura couldnt just go to the ShopRite for staples like all the other sane housewives do. Everything she buys is organicfrom toilet paper to dish soap to paper towelsnot to mention all the drinkables and edibles. Shes either shopping at Wild Oats or at Imprevenutos gourmet deli or at Dean and Delucas. To make matters all the more complicated, before buying, Laura always checks to see if the container or the wrapping is

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planet-friendly. Unfortunately, Chico uttered, planet-friendly never means pocket-friendly, neither does organic. At that point, he said he hated everything organic. Organic simply means that a routine trip to the grocery store can easily amount to $600, not counting the delivery. Little did it matter if Laura always bought too many groceries and invariably ended up throwing over half the stuff in the compactor. For a moment, he seemed to have realized something and uttered a soft Huh! Soon enough, he was wondering if she simply enjoyed using the new compactor. Maybe thats what it was! Chico would bring his fingers to his lips every time he finished a sentence. What he was doing was sorting things out, out loud. Laura did say she liked the sound the garbage compactor made. In any case, that wife of his also bought too much prime rib, too much filet mignon and all the Pacific salmon she could get her hands on, all organic! So theyd purchased this state-of-the-art freezer that Laura loves: he can tell by the way she runs her fingers over it. I wished she touched me like that! But when it comes time to have dinner, Laura picks up the phone and has everything delivered from Imprevenutos gourmet deli because she hates meats and fish that have been frozen and refuses to eat them. Freezer burn makes her paranoid because shes convinced itll give her cancer. Do you know how much of my hard-earned money is going straight into Imprevenutos pocket? Otilia chuckled. Do I want to know? Then he remembered something else and stuck his index finger out to tell Otilia all about it. Laura insisted on having milk delivered every other day, but not one gallon. Laura needs two gallons of whole milk, two gallons of 2 percent and two gallons of skim, most of which we end up throwing out. Our daughter, la nena, age five, drinks whole milk, and no one else except the cat drinks milk, and it makes him have diarrhea all over the Persian rugs! And these were only the trifles. Never mind the L.L. Bean catalog! Unable to decide which color to pick, Laura buys any-

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thing she likes in every available color! Pero eso no es nada, he said with his palms facing downward. There was more to this. It had cost him nearly $100,000 to remodel the kitchen. Now Laura isnt sure if she really likes the Mexican theme. Every morning she looks at the kitchen and regrets that its not Tuscan. But he didnt want to bore Otilia with the details. So how can I help you? Otilia asked, discreetly glancing at her watch. First, you could find me a new wife . . . just kidding. He stopped to think. Why didnt I marry someone like you? He chuckled. Beautiful . . . intelligent . . . with no fatal flaws. Oh, I have some of those, believe me, Otilia said flirtatiously. We all do, maam, but its not in my interest to tell you that we should beware of them. Looking very curious, Otilia asked, What did you just say? That I honestly wished Id married you instead, maam. He was kidding, of course, he was, but she was flattered. From the very beginning, shed had the impression he was attracted to her. Obviously, that was quite presumptuous on her part. He was much younger than her, and by then Otilia had lost her looks. As if Marta absolutely needed to be convinced, Otilia repeated on several different occasions, When I met him, I looked awful. I was overweight, and I used to color my hair blonde. Youve seen pictures. Now Im looking like I used to look. As a matter of fact, some people were convinced I won my first election because I was stunning. Well, unfortunately, in 2002, I was still going for the stunning men and expecting them to want me. She was also hoping that after having wasted four years of her life with that awful Manny Robles, only to be jilted and rejected, shed be wooed by this classy, intelligent, great-looking man. It would be trading upway upfrom Manny. But Chico Chanca wasnt there to utter a declaration of love. Obviously, these were all cheap, vulgar musings, so Otilia opted to keep them quiet, at least until today, talking to Marta. Without having to ask, she soon found out why he happened to be at the Minority Business owner venue, where he didnt belong in the first place. He wasnt there for her. He was there for

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Franklin Pizarro, the county executive. For the past month or so, Chico had been desperately trying to get back in touch with Franklin Pizarro to discuss the renewal of another several million dollars in contracts to provide psychiatric services to county facilities. As was to be expected, Franklin Pizarro had not been returning his phone calls or answering his emails or letters. What else was Otilia expecting to hear? Nonetheless, she was disappointed, so much so that she lost interest in the conversation. The guy is slippery as an eel! Chico complained. But perhaps Otilia could help him. He was asking for a favor. All she needed to do was hand Franklin Pizarro an envelope. Otilia crossed her arms. Im not sure I like where this is going. Chico protested, quite assertively. How could she possibly think he was asking her to do something dishonest when he knew of her integrity? Otilia! When he said he was convinced she was one of the only honest people left in this world, she winced. His words made her want to run out of there, go home and continue trying to housebreak Belinda Avellaneda. Perhaps it wasnt too late to run away from all this. He admitted that he was asking her for a special favor, but all he wanted was for her to act as a go-between. He needed Franklin Pizarro. He needed those contracts renewed. His life depended on it. The two words that kept coming back into their conversation were straightforward and sincere. This was make it or break it. Without those contracts, Chico said he wouldnt make it. The only thing in the envelope was a letter describing the services he had to offer to the county facilities, a letter she was free to read. Then he changed tactics. Lets discuss this over lunch sometime. Please do me the honor, maam. Otilia called Monica into her office. This time, they consulted their agendas, considered several different dates, then opted for Friday, July 29. He thought shed be in a position then to know how she felt about the Xanax.

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The Xanax? The Xanax? Yes, the Xanax! Yes, he said, before he handed her a prescription right then and there. Before she knew it, shed be sitting on top of the world. Not that she wasnt already sitting on top of the world; she just didnt know it because she was a beautiful and intelligent woman. Quite often, he did say things that made absolutely no sense. If the Xanax doesnt work, well try something else, hed said before he left. Marta jumped on that. We have to find that prescription! Oh, my God! And then he took a vial out of his pocket and said, Heres a sample or two! The name on the vial was his prescription. There were two capsules in there! The vial was warm from his body, and I still dont know where I put it. I mustve lost it the minute he gave it to me! You know how things get lost in my office. No, I dont, but we have to find all that. We cant! That was several years ago! It wont just turn up! Things disappear from my office forever! She lost the vial and didnt have the prescription filled right away. Friday turned out to be such a problem day that she almost forgot all about it. Things only got more complicated as the day progressed. Then what awaited her at nine PM after over twelve hours of frustration was an empty, smelly house that had been torn apart by her pomeranian. To make matters worse, Pita didnt get home until midnight. Lately, the fourteen-year-old had been spending more and more time with her father. Otilia felt threatened by this relationship. He brings you home at midnight on a school night? I dont want you seeing him anymore! Mom, its Friday! And Im entitled to see my dad! Well, I dont want you seeing him! And look at your hair!! That skirts too short! Youre too skinny! I cant take this! Otilia yelled at the top of her lungs.

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Its always all about you, Mom! Pita yelled back before she slammed her bedroom door. All about you! No, its not! Its about us! Otilia yelled back. And for your information, I love my dad! Hes nothing but a . . . Otilia started to say, but she stopped and uttered, Oh God, why are you doing this to me? Saturday morning was no better. Otilia should have thought twice before leaving her coffee and the newspaper unattended on the kitchen table, but she didnt. The pomeranian jumped up there and peed all over the paper she hadnt even read. When Otilia saw that, she rolled up the same newspaper and began to hit the dog in a frenzied fury. Soon enough, she realized this must be confusing the dog; and she linked that with the way she had raised Pita, probably just as badly. Too many mistakes and so many good intentions. They say hell is full of good intentions. A few minutes later, she was crying on the floor, begging the dog for forgiveness. Of course, Pita walked in on that scene looking like a Bratz doll, running her fingers through her long, tangled hair, wearing another tiny miniskirt, a tiny white T-shirt and cheap girls perfume. The little girl said, I want to go live in West Orange. Otilia dried her tears. No, you dont, and you wont. I dont like you seeing that man. That man? Pita repeated. Do you know youve never said anything nice about him? All my life, I thought he was a bad person! Now I want to make my own decisions! Hes coming to pick me up any minute, and Ill be back tomorrow. Pita, please dont stop loving me! Here we go again! Its all about you, Mom! Thats all you care about! You dont love me! Otilia yelled. Oh, my God, I think Im going to have a heart attack! I dont feel well! Bye, Mom! Hes here. I think Im sick! Otilia mumbled when Pita opened the door. I dont feel well! she said louder, but Pita closed the door behind her.

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Soon after Pita left, Otilia poured herself more coffee and sat at the kitchen table, not quite knowing whether to cry or to be jealous or furious. Shes my daughter, she said to herself out loud. Mine! I raised her. The urine-soaked unread paper was on the floor. Shes so pretty. Now she wants to abandon me. She crossed her arms and sat back. After she was through with her coffee, she bent over the paper and read the front-page news. There was much ado about a county and city ethics investigation committeeintent on fighting to give Hudson County a clean, honest governmentthat had just been reinstated after a four-year hiatus.

Seven

he first sign says: Tonys Motel, 3 Km. Later on, the next sign says: Tonys Motel and Eco Lodge, 1 Km. And the last sign says: Tonys Motel Eco-Lodge Trailer Park Bienvenidos. An arrow points to the left. Some English, some Spanish, some French, a long list of amenities: fifteen full hook-upsopen all yearabove-ground poolPiscinepalapasrestaurantbar tiki barair-conditioned roomschambres climatisesvue du Lac Petn Itzaeco-friendlysomos amigos del medio ambiente. They arrived eleven hours ago, Chico calculated as he stared at his watch in the darkness. Yesterday, Chico said, Were here! He pulled up right in front of the entrance to the reception and turned off the ignition. They had a gold-colored rental car with no air conditioning, because it was either that or nada. That ugly car was all the rental agency had available at the Flores airport. Inside the car, his daughter was asleep, and his wife hated him. Of all the places in the world, I cant understand why your father picked this one! she said. Hes not even from here! And he wanted to say, You know why my fathers here, but he didnt say that. Instead he said, Were not from New Jersey, and we live there! He was silent for a short while, wondering what to do next. Not now, but next week or next month. Otilia crossed his mind, Oh Three, O3, Ozone, the Hispanic woman politician with the green agenda. She will never be corrupt again, not where shes going. But why had he become so afraid of her lately? He grinned. Maybe we should move in with my dad, he said to Laura. Dont try to be funny, she uttered. I cant help it if Im funny.

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Chico and Laura sat in the car with the windows open, staring at the motel for what seemed like a long time. Finally, Laura sighed and said, I cant believe you brought me here again. Chelsea was stirring in the backseat. So Chico said, Maybe I feel exactly the same way. Immediately after that, he turned to Chelsea and said, Gaby, sweetheart, were here! Then his gaze shifted and his tone changed. Arent you planning to get out of the car? he asked Laura. She made no motion except to simply cross her arms. I think Ill stay here and suffocate for a while! And dont go thinking that because I hate Flores that I like El Remate, because I dont like El Remate. Besides, your father hates me. I know, Laurita . . . I mean, about you hating it here. Youre always dragging me to places where I dont want to be! Unwillingly, Laura relented a bit, just a bit. But in an effort to maintain her attitude she said, I hope your fathers been taking care of my dogs. Then, once out of the car, she exclaimed, God, its hot and dusty! She opened the back door and poked her daughter. Then she looked down at the ground and uttered, And I look too short in these sandals. Chelsea, sweetheart, dont leave me standing out here. Get out! Hold Mommys hand, sweetheart! Her names Gaby, said Chico, who wanted the last word. Its Chelsea! Dozens of Quaker oats pilgrim banners heralded the three grocery stores in El Remate. None of these stores, however, sold oatmeal. The banners were simply there for decoration. Across the street from Tonys Motel was a restaurant called El Gringo Perdido The Lost Gringoand next to it was a cinderblock building with a tire repair shop downstairs and six computers for hire upstairs, for ten quetzales an hour. The Guatemalans named their currency after their national, elusive, long-tailed bird. There were children on bicycles, teens on mopeds, chickens, pigs, dust and stray dogs everywhere. There was also the threat of rain. Chico had first brought Laura to his fathers motel in El Remate for their honeymoon, and he thought shed love it, but

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when they reached the Flores airport she said, You told me this would be breathtakingly beautiful . . . and it isnt even nice! So he kept promising her it would get nice as soon as they left Flores. Are we there yet? That seemed to be the leitmotif. I see nothing but dirt poor villages. Im so glad we have no poverty like this in the United States! Wheres the jungle? Laurita, will you please stop acting so American? Laura kept sticking her lower lip out, crossing her arms and pouting. Are we there yet? Were almost there. She was so beautiful and so desirable with her lower lip always sticking out. All he wanted to do was show her off, his prized possession. He had managed to get the best, the very best. That was before she was diagnosed with MS, and he felt like sending her back to the breeder, getting a replacement. Oh, that thought made him feel so guilty! But he couldnt help it! Then she got pregnant, and he had to lure her away from Coral Gables, Florida, with a beautiful house in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey. The second time they came to Guatemala, Laura also insisted there was no poverty in the United States, certainly not like this. The United States takes good care of its people. Laurita, now that I got you out of Coral Gables, you need to get out of Englewood Cliffs. I sure do! she agreed. Because when the babys two, I want to move to Alpine! Better people, better schools. Laurita, look around! Come with me when I do my rounds in Hudson County. She said everything she needed was in Bergen County. Right outside of El Remate, he asked, Isnt this something? She shrugged, stopped to think and finally decided she was not in the least bit interested in Central America. None of these countries compare to Cuba. Laurita, sweetheart, youve never even been to Cuba. Defiantly, she said, Yes, I have. My parents told me all about it. So are we there yet? Come to think of it, well probably never get there. That was six years ago, come to think of it . . . seven, then it was five years ago, when they lived in Englewood Cliffs, that long ago, they never did move to Alpine, better people, better

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schools, before the windmills, before they moved to a house in Weehawken with a beautiful view of the World Trade Center-less New York City skyline, where they are now. When Laura saw her first stray dog, she cried. Chico was dying to show her the lake, for he was certain that once she saw the lake, shed fall in love with the place. She took one look at it, opened her eyes wide and exclaimed, Oh, my God! Did that mean she liked it or didnt like it? He couldnt figure it out until he realized it wasnt the lake that had gotten that exclamation out of her. It was the dogsthe stray dogs. Never in her life had Laura, veterinarian and radical animal lover, seen dogs that looked like those three Guatemalan dogs. In a matter of minutes, Lauras main concern became the life, health and wellbeing of those mangy dogs. She asked for the Yellow Pages. Yellow Pages? To call the Humane Society! Those dogs needed immediate medical assistance, as well as vaccinations, spaying, neutering and a well-balanced diet! Since there was no local Humane Society, she called the International Humane Society in Washington D.C. Can the United States of America, the most powerful country in the world, do something about this? Unfortunately, the most powerful country in the world had no jurisdiction over Guatemalan dogs. Laura was aghast. The U.S. had to have jurisdiction over everything! She yelled at the people in Washington D.C. for not being powerful enough, and after she hung up, she wondered about taking those dogs to a shelter in the United States and then opted to call the Guatemalan police and explain the situation. They laughed. They couldnt stop laughing. Laura couldnt believe her ears. She repeated it all evening. For once, she seemed to have something to say to Chicos father. She even called him by his name, something she never did. Tony, can you believe that the police told me to poison those poor dogs? Tony shrugged. Dog control in El Remate means either shooting or poisoning the dogs.

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Well, thats animal cruelty! God, I wish I could get hold of some animal rights organization back home! Home? What am I saying? Im not even from there! She loves animals, Chico explained to his father while Laura was off to the bathroom. I see. And she doesnt seem to like people much. She finds people are too disappointing. For whatever reason, shes always being let down, and animals never let her down. She studied to become a veterinarian, and Im about to open a clinic for her in Hudson County. That will make her very happy. As it turned out that year, it wasnt just three dogs that needed rescuing. When Laura began to feed and care for them, the dog word seemed to get around, and before long, there were over a dozen dogs on the motel grounds, literally standing in line, waiting their turn for a bowlful of dry dog food, a worming tablet and a flea collar. I bet you anything these dogs have never been wormed, Laura said. Since then, whenever they came herebegrudgingly, every yearLaura insisted on bringing dog food, Interceptor and flea collars and on taking care of as many dogs as possible. Shed even given these stray dogs names, such as Pal for Palisade, Sum for Summit, Bergen, Hobo for Hoboken and Cliff for the street where they lived, even if she often repeated that she was not from New Jersey because New Jersey was not home and it never would be. She was a Cuban from Coral Gables and she wasnt about to let Chico take that away from her. What is this? Laura asked as they were walking toward the reception area. Our fourth time here? They all seem to blend into one big, awful ONE. Again, she stared at the place. Oh, my God, I cant believe Im here. Memories, dear. Memories we create. Sometimes I wonder why you bring out the worst in me! Laura said causally. She could just as well have been saying, Its so good to be back!

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Tonys rundown motel and trailer park catered mostly to adventurers and missionaries, and the bar-restaurant attracted the local landowners. This is not me! she had screamed in the car several times on their way here. She walked over the wooden bridge and into the reception area where she took a seat, crossed her arms, crossed her legs, swung her foot back and forth and waited with a furious attitude. One of the motel employees carried a fifty-pound bag of dry dog food into the lobby before going back to the car to get the flea collars, and the luggage. Out of nowhere, Tony appeared, and this time around, his greeting was Whats your daughters name this year? Right away, Laura said, Its Chelsea! Chico said, Its Gabriela! Good to see you! Tony said. Wasnt her name Stephanie two years ago? It was Annie! Chico said. Or was it Tania? Tony asked. It was Laura until I changed my mind, said Laura. Im giving you guys the best room this time around! Oh, Tony, you always do! Laura managed to say after she reluctantly hugged Tony. Then there was an afterthought, Oh, Chelsea, sweetheart, say hello to your grandfather! For once, Chico didnt care. He kept quiet, and instead of trying to win the name game they had been playing for the past five years, he thought about smoking with Tony on the lake this evening and having a long conversation with him after Laura turned in. For a moment, he didnt feel as anxious about everything that was about to happen back homethe other home, that place where he is not from. They walked over to what Tony had labeled the Tiki bar because he had seen that somewhere, perhaps in a movie. Two young French couples were playing some kind of game in the pool. Six-year-old Chelsea kissed Yadira before hugging Pedro, the cook and then running toward Lavinia with open arms. Youre looking good, Chico! Tony said. Where are my dogs? Laura interrupted.

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Right where you left them! Tony exclaimed. Dont let Chelsea out of your sight! Laura said to Chico as she turned and headed for the lake in search of her stray dogs. Her names Gaby, Chico said. When they were left alone, Tony said, At least she has nice legs. And shes highly intelligent, Chico added. Shes not just anyone. Then it wasnt like him to say, And Im still in love with her. So Tony said, Im so glad to hear youve found happiness. Im miserable. You know that. Dont lose your way, Chico. Lets walk. They started to talk about the war and politics. Tony said that the good old United States was at it again. With that president, there would probably be a draft before long. Greed! Greed and posturing! Thats what its all about. Dont get me started, lets go over by the ceiba and smoke a joint. For years, Tony had been nurturing a young canopy tree as if it were a pig, or a horse, or a dog in need of love. It stood twenty feet tall and was perpetually surrounded by compost. Thats why it reminded Chico of a pig above all, standing in the middle of the trough. Every day, Tony went to inspect the trees emerging buttress roots. By the way, wheres Duncan? Chico asked, staring at the beloved adolescent tree. Hes horseback riding on the lake with the natives. I bought him a horse. Hes been working construction with the crew. Hopefully the sweating will get the drugs out of his system. Good. Im glad. Itll improve his Spanish, Chico said. He was forgetting his Spanish. Im less concerned about his Spanish than about his drug habit, Tony said as he passed Chico the joint. Hes infatuated with drugs, and I want him to maintain the Spanish, Chico said matter-of-factly before totally changing the subject. Can I use one of your computers? he asked. I forgot to bring my laptop. Use the one in the reception area, Tony said.

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Ill be right back. Thanks. Chico was hoping something had happened in Hudson County and that it would go smoothly, without too much fury and clamor. Of course, this was nothing but wishful thinking. Franklin Pizarro was not one to go quietly, and Otilia Mancuso was not going to appreciate being a sacrificial lamb. Most of all, he hoped his name would never be mentioned. He slid his glasses down his nose and gazed at the screen. They had assured him that when the time came, he would not have to testify, but recently hed become worried and regretted having allowed himself to get involved. Then there was the other thing. He was about to get paranoid. NewJerseyCityonline.com didnt have much as far as breaking news went. He read a story about three goats rescued after a fire at a Bergenline Avenue live poultry market, then another one about a pregnant woman who beat her boyfriend with a bat. The headline read: Man Shot in the Buttocks Wont Talk. Finally he read a story about building and rebuilding downtown Jersey City, the eternal construction site. The idea of going back to Hudson County without something actually having happened was unbearable. It was tormenting him. Of course Laura wouldnt understand any of this. Suddenly, he was afraid of her. His hope was that it would happen this very afternoon and everything would be over by the time they returned, just so he wouldnt have to put up with Lauras nagging if and when she found out. He logged off and decided to go for a long walk. Guatemala. Way back when, Chico remembered he had tried to tell Tony Guatemala was no place to go if he was antimilitaristic, but his father couldnt listen. It was time to unfold the torn map and pick a new place. Soon enough, Tony located his next safe haven. It looked good, and the names of the towns sounded perfect. Tony spent a few days mind traveling through this place, creating the weather, the colors, the people, decorating, painting, polishing, cleaning, until it was all ready for him, and there was no changing his mind. Obviously, Tony was unaware of anything that had ever happened in Guatemala. It wasnt as if Tony spent much time

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researching or reading, that wasnt his thing. He was convinced his Shangri-La was in El Remate on Lake Petn Itza. He wanted to hide and was expecting to find some dense tropical rain forest. What he found were makeshift huts with a small patch of land, archeological sites, farms, militia, fascists with automatic weapons and biosphere reserves. The jungle was contained, all bottled up in the reserve. No longer threatening, the jungle needed to be protected because it could no longer fend for itself. To Chicos astonishment, Tony survived in Guatemala. He spoke his mind and ended up becoming a godfather of sorts, Don Tony. He was on everyones side. The machos with guns ate at his restaurant, as did the loggers, the communists, the poor farmers, the rich landowners, the deep ecologists, the missionaries and their wives, the tourists, even the mangy dogs, the skinny horses, not to mention the blond scorpions, the hazelnut spiders and the parasites in the water. Again, Chico counted back, twelve years to 1992. That was when his dad moved to El Remate. For three or four months Chico kept expecting a phone call, someone telling him that his father was dead in Guatemala. No such phone call came, so he decided to pay him a visit. First, he had to ask Allison. He went to her house in Hyde Park on a Saturday afternoon, and as it turned out, Duncan had been invited over to a friends. He had called, and she was expecting him. She was wearing a bandana on her head and had gained quite a bit of weight. She laughed about it. She pointed to her batik housedress and said Im up to 180! He looked, walked toward her, pulled up her housedress and was so taken by her nudity that he knelt in front of her as if kneeling in front of the goddess she was. In a matter of minutes, they were on the raspberry colored carpet. Even after they went their separate ways, given a chance, theyd have sex the minute they saw each other. Allison was soft, oh so soft. He loved her big, firm stomach and her almond-shaped eyes and that she let him take Duncan to Guatemala to meet Tony. Laura wouldnt have done that. She never would have allowed her nine-year-old to travel to Guatemala with his dad to spend

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some time with his outlaw granddad and Yadira, his latest twentyyear-old grandmother. By the reception area were many pictures of Tony and Yadira on a fishing boat, then some others in the ruins of Tikal, of Dos Pilas, of Yaxch, on horseback on their way to some other remote ruins and on a soft bridge between two trees in the jungle canopy. Yadira continued to be young and attractive and childless. Tony told her she could forget about it and that if she got pregnant, she could kiss their marriage good-bye. Before she married Tony, Yadira worked two shifts at the motel he owned in Roatn, Honduras, doing everything from cleaning rooms to scrubbing floors and washing dishes, cooking and sleeping with Tony. For a while, Tony didnt want to put any money into the place in El Remate. He used up so many words pretending to be ecofriendly that he quite literally convinced himself he was a radical ecologist instead of a scrapper. If he wasnt spending money it was to protect the environment. The last thing they needed were new toilets because toilets meant more sewage going into the lake. Truth be told, his initial intention was to bleed the place to death, then sell it and move on, either to Costa Rica or Colombia or back to Roatn. He liked to say Roatn was a splinter in his eye and that one of these days hed pull it out. Chico didnt believe him or that hed really do anything about it. Roatn was simply a feeling, the feeling of things that do not quite work out as planned. Then there are the things that do work out, no matter what. The fact that the rundown motel and trailer park in El Remate didnt die from the all-too-frequent, pitiless bleedings made Tony wonder if he shouldnt commit to it, and eventually he did. Labor being so cheap, he decided to make it more attractive. First, he had the crew add a floor and a balcony to the original cinderblock building, plant Bermuda grass and build a gazebo. Then he had the six original rooms remodeled and hung hammocks in the gazebo. After that, he had his crew build the restaurant and the bar area, plant a ceiba, make it a big deal and turn the ground around the baby ceiba into a compost heap. Finally, he added an eco-friendly, above-ground pool, and had blue, yellow and white

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hand-painted tile set around the pool area. His latest project was a hedge that he wanted to see sculptured in the image of a toucan. Chico looked at Guatemala and kept walking toward Laura. Then he remembered when Tony became a Guatemalan national. People said it was supposed to be the other way around. Tony called Chico and told him he had quit being an illegal alien in Guatemala and thrown his U.S. passport in the barbecue. He swore hed never return to the U.S. again, and so far hed kept his promise. He said that the day he stopped being pissed is the day hell forget. And hell never forget. He swears the United States betrayed him. One day, I arrived on a raft with my four-year-old son, and the next day theyre trying to take my son away! It didnt happen quite that way. It took longer than one day for social services to come to the conclusion that Tony was unfit to be a father. So, they disappeared and managed to make their way into Canada, where they waited for Chicos mother to arrive. Chicos story to the world was that a year later, the family father, mother and childset off to discover the entire planet, the mountains, the oceans, the deserts, the jungles and the islands, from ashram to ashram, making a living in very creative ways, either cleaning ashrams, or dealing drugs, or teaching yoga and meditation, or selling incense, batik and jewelry, and even baking Rice Krispies treats and hashish brownies. His mothers interest in botany made her quite an expert in the art of growing marijuana, and this talent allowed them to see the world and take freedom for granted. They lived without knowing what it was like to work from nine to five, to file taxes, to worry about health insurance, to pay a mortgage or to have to deal with anyone they didnt particularly like. Obviously, his parents were against marriage and agreed that their only bond should simply be, if not so much love and responsibility, the pleasure of each others company. The day this pleasure ceased to be, they decided to go their separate ways. This was the way Chico described his childhood. This was his mask, and he would never let anyone know how it really happened. They were broke and trying to get from Colombia into Panama. Tony had already disappeared. A few days later, while in Costa Rica, his mom told him that once they returned to Montreal, he would have to go

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to school. Thats right, school, where normal kids go. It was about time he stopped being either homeschooled or no-schooled. He needed to walk away from this with a stamped and sealed piece of paper. All lies. At first, Chico protested. How could she do this to him? He had always been free! He was sure he couldnt handle a structured life, much less being told what to do. His mother told him she wasnt in the least bit worried about him. He was plenty smart and hed do fine. She was right. Entering a public high school in Montreal didnt quite turn out to be as traumatic as he had expected. The following year, his mother took a job as a Spanish teacher in a prep school northwest of Montreal, where Chico lived as a boarder until he graduated from high school with honors three years later. In spite of her wanderlust, never again did his mother (whose name also happened to be Laura) leave Val Morin, Qubec. She still teaches in the same college prep school. The only significant change in her life in the past twenty years has been the decision to stop being a dorm parent and to move into a nearby ashram. Until he married Laura, Chico was in the habit of paying his mother frequent visits. As luck would have it, Laura didnt get along with Laura, or perhaps it was the other way around. The truth is that it wasnt until after he was attending college in Miami that Chico heard from his father again. This was, however, no earth-shattering tearful or regretful long-distance phone conversation. On the contrary, Tony said, Hola. Soy tu padre. Then he told Chico that after he last saw him, he went to Baja in search of a place that suited his fancy. A few years later, he set off for San Pedro Sula, Honduras, where he spent three years before deciding to give Granada, Nicaragua, a try. Where were we? Finally, his search had taken him to Mexico, all the way to a small coastal town in the Yucatn peninsula, Xcaret, where he said he was doing very well smuggling drugs and taking tourists on fishing and snorkeling expeditions. This is a smugglers paradise. Belize is right there! he said proudly. Chico found Laura standing by the lake. That was the year he wanted his daughters name to be Tania. Laura turned to him and smiled. They kissed passionately.

Eight

ay after day, the futile efforts to housebreak the pomeranian wreaked havoc on Otilias precarious psyche. Her disrupted anguish tripled and quadrupled. Thats how bad it feltraw anguishand thats why she finally decided to give the Xanax a try. This was the onset of an existential being-in-the-worldmedicated. It meant living-lusciously medicated, working-wonderfully medicated, doing-housework-and-housebreaking-puppy medicated, falling-head-over-heels-in-love medicated and, finally, sittingon-top-of-the-world medicated. The prescription was good enough a birth certificate for this here Xanax poster girl (thats what Otilia, aka O3, soon started calling herself). He was right. You know who. Neither God nor Fidel, please! Say the name and youll be free. Dr. Chanca! Louder, I cant hear. Because Marta insisted, he had to be named! He was not a precipice. Dont hold your breath! Otilia said she couldnt help it. Go on! Marta said. Otilia rolled her eyes at her. Cant we try to find the vial? Marta asked. I tell you, I lost it the minute he gave it to me. And what about the prescription? I cant remember where it is for the life of me. Then they both looked at the tape recorder apologetically, as if it were a third person they had left out of the conversation. Two days worth of Xanax, and Otilia felt happy. At first it was odd not to dread going home in the evening or not to be in a hurry to get life over with. She was most certainly not kidding. Next thing, Otilia decided to turn the hopeless housebreaking effort into a labor of love. There was satisfaction to be derived from sitting outside all weekend waiting for a red furry thing to understand what you want. On yesterdays newspaper! Not todays, and dont even

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think about tomorrows. And all this time, Otilia had thought happiness depended on finding the right man, winning elections or getting along with her daughter. She was wrong, wrong, wrong! Thus far, she had only succeeded in winning elections, and what did that amount to? How long was she happy about winning? The time it took to hear that shed won! Then it was back to the drawing board, trying to figure out how shed win the next one and the next one. Perhaps it was a lucky thing she hadnt found the right man or hadnt ever gotten along with her daughter. If men and daughters went like elections . . . As usual, she stopped her sentence in midcourse. It was a big word for a little dog, housebreak, and of course the dog already had a big, long nameBelinda Avellanedaand of course it didnt happen overnight, but three days into the Xanax, while Otilia was considering slipping a little Xanax into the Purina Puppy Food. You never know. The pomeranian Belinda Avellaneda finally did her business on a day-old newspaper outside for the very first time. Otilia was so happy that she even considered getting a second dog, a third dog, becoming a dog breeder, a pet store owner, opening a shelter, a dog grooming salon, or better yet a rescue farm for homeless dogs, or even a wildlife refuge! Just like ducks bond to the first creature they see, Otilias mind immediately tied this success to the Xanax. It was a drug so good it couldnt be called by its name anymore! She was already becoming Dr. Chancas Xanax poster girl! Wait . . . it wasnt that she actually believed it, not in her right mind. Nonetheless, that day, something in her, or someone, the right side or the left side of the brainthe best side in any case began equating Xanax with success, then Xanax with . . . she stopped her sentence in midcourse. Dr. Chanca, Marta said. Dr. Natalio Chanca! Isnt that his real name? Yes, but he hates it. Thats right. In no time, Xanax became her good-luck charm. Marta really liked that. In an attorney-like fashion, she jotted it down.

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He fed you Xanax! Suddenly anxiety was missing from her life. Otilia did not experience her usual Sunday afternoon attack. For once, she wasnt dreading anything like she usually did. Her attorney was taking all this in with thoughtful interest. In fact, Otilia said she was looking forward to having lunch with him at the end of the week. Say the name! He was my Hitler, my Satan, my Apocalypse, my Fidel! Otilia insisted. She was about to burst into tears. To Marta, this is sacrilege. First of all, the first three dont even come close to Fidel. He fidel castroed me. Marta stopped the tape recorder before she said, Otilia, you are not a nation and you cannot compare your grief to that of an entire nation. You need to accept the fact that you are just one innocent victim. Besides, youre kind of Puerto Rican. What could you possibly know about Fidel? All of a sudden, youre turning Fidel into a verb! He made me feel like a chicken in the live poultry market! Thats all I was for him! Then she looked up at the ceiling. First, I dont have a right to appreciate a nineteenth-century Cuban writer, and now I dont have a right to Fidel Castro? That leaves me with la pollera, but maybe Im not Hispanic enough to say the word in Spanish. Stop, Marta said, pointing to the tape recorder. The tape recorder was waiting, quietly, patiently. She had her finger on the record button, a ready-set-go attitude. Finally, it was time. Clack. Go! The way it turned out is that the more Otilia thought about him, the sorrier she felt for him. A wonderful man like that having such an abusive wife? Of course hed been kidding when he said he wished he had married someone like her, but then again, had he? Hed also mentioned he wished his awful wife touched him the way she touched her kitchen appliances. This meant they probably werent even having sex.

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Marta was gesturing, fanning the tape recorder with both her hands, as if it was a child and she was eager to preserve its innocence. No talk of sex. Otilia rolled her eyes and carried on. These were the thoughts going through her mind that midsummer Sunday evening. It could very well be that he was attracted to her. Perhaps he had meant it when hed said she was a beautiful woman. She went to inspect her image in the mirror and gasped. This had to be an optical illusion. Where does this belly come from? Whos that old woman? There were witches in that mirror, brujas. There had to be, and they were making her see and think awful things, just for the fun of it. She could hear them laughing. Maybe she didnt look as unattractive as the mirror was telling her she was. Maybe all she needed was a little happiness and self-confidence. As the days went by, Otilia realized that over the years, she had grown used to living-in-anxiety, and when she stopped thinking of him, she stopped to wonder where the anxiety had gone, at what point it had stopped, and also if she was anybody or if there was any depth to her without her dreading self. Stop. Was she still attractive? No. Yes. No. Yes. Stop. Perhaps the anxiety was her, and without it shed be nothing, nothing at all. Another question: would she ever have a companion again? For a while, she thought she would spend the rest of her life with Manny, perhaps even marry him some day. She started counting, trying to figure out how many mistakes shed made. There was this flicker of hope in her whole body. Maybe she had waited this long and made all those mistakes just so she could meet him. Would Pita like him? She even allowed herself to fantasize about a wedding ceremonynothing fancy, just family, a quiet, discreet wedding. She hesitated. Nothing too fancy. She paused to make a mental list of guests, people she would not dare offend. Okay, no 300 guests, a compromise, nothing fancy. Before Xanax, before she met him, no matter where she was, she usually began to feel anguished around three PM. Before she met him, it was much worse on Sundays and a little bit better on Tuesdays. Before him, the thought of the rest of the evening was too much to bear. Little did it matter if she had something to do,

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which she usually did. She simply didnt believe she could make it through the evening, nor did she want to face the evening. Before him, the thought of the rest of Sunday evening morphed into the thought of Monday and how she was going to get through Monday. She didnt think she could get through Sunday evening, much less Monday. Before she knew it, before him, shed be fretting about Wednesday, Thursday, the rest of the week, the rest of the month, the rest of the year, the rest of her life! This is how Otilia had felt ever since she could remember, before she met him. Now (and by now she did not mean todayshe meant the after him) she was simply looking forward to lunch on Friday, at 518 32nd Street, Union City. Thats where they were supposed to meet, in the parking lot of Mi Bandera supermarket and restaurant complex. For the record, its only called Bandera now, Marta said. I dont like the way they remodeled the faade. Now it looks like any other supermarket, not like one with a restaurant on top where the politicos like to go. The Thursday before the Friday, Otilia drove past Bandera several times and slowed down to inspect the place, as if she had never seen it in her life. But there was too much traffic. She couldnt stop. She couldnt even slow down! A Bergenline-Journal Square van behind her honked impatiently. Its so busy there. The farther north you go the busier it gets in Union City with those narrow streets and cars parked on both sides. Theres perpetual background noise. They say its the most populated square mile in the nation. So they were just two animals in this unthreatened, hearty jungle. Otilia! Chico yelled with open arms the minute he saw her in the parking lot. He was looking good, very good. Eyes wide open, she stared at him before she held her hand out. He took her hand with both his hands, then let go and hugged her. At that very moment, there was a vague feeling of a faraway life before she met him and life after she met him, the parking lot of Bandera supermarket and restaurant complex was the border crossing, a closed border. Marta, do you like men? Otilia ventured to ask.

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I happen to have an ex-husband, was Martas reply. But this isnt about me, Dr. Chanca fed you Xanax. Nah! After that first date, he took me to all those chicken places on Bergenline Avenue. What he really fed me was chicken, mashed plantains and ground beef. Immediately Dr. Chanca and the Xanax poster girl were like lifelong friends with too much to say to each other. Do you know how much this place nets every year? he asked, referring to Bandera supermarket and restaurant. Immediately, he answered his own question, Eight million. Then, the minute they sat down at their table he declared that he could very well have been Elin before Elin. At first Otilia didnt understand, so he refreshed her memory. You know, the little Cuban boy who left Cuba with his mom on a raft and whose mom drowned in the Caribbean. Otilia stopped to think. He went on. Elin, the little boy whom the U.S. government sent back to his dad in Cuba! I couldve been Elin in the sixties. My dad and I, we left on a raft . . . had my dad died . . . but he didnt die, and they didnt catch me because we left town. We always left in the middle of the night. Not knowing what to say, Otilia feigned compassion. Then she turned to shake hands with someone who recognized her. Those were my beginnings here, maam, in this country, en este pas, he said, unmindful of the person who had recognized Otilia. By the way, Im not from here. Yo no soy de aqu. Do you eat here often? she asked before they were interrupted once again by another one of her constituents. Yes, maam, all the time, he said, not seeming to mind the interruptions. My main office is right around the corner. Riverton Psychiatric Associates. The parking situation is terrible, dont you think? This made Otilia feel a bit defensive. It was, after all, her town. Theres nothing I can do, she uttered. Immediately, he said, Otilia, mi amor, I didnt mean it to sound that way! Love. The first one to talk about love, wins.

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Marta asked, What else did you talk about? We talked about him, then more about him. I suggested that Mi Bandera was a bad idea because too many people knew me there, but he didnt seem to care. Halfway through that very first lunch, Chico told Otilia hed been to see an attorney that morning because he wanted a divorce from his wife of five years. Marta nodded. Then she said, Go on. The conversation was fragmented because people kept coming to our table to say hello to me. In little bits and pieces, he told her he was forty, to her great dismay, and that this was his second marriage. But the first one didnt really count, according to him, because they had outgrown each other quite easily. Actually, they still got along quite well. They separated many years ago, while he was in medical school in Miami and she was teaching third grade in a private school in Poughkeepsie. She simply decided she didnt love him anymore, and they broke up. Then he began to sing her praises. Allison this and Allison that, until Otilia started wondering about Allison not counting. He must have read her mind, and he insisted that Allison really didnt count. By the time the waiter came with breaded steak, rice, black beans and fried bananas for both of them because he had ordered for both of them, he was wondering if Laura counted anymore than his first wife. He had probably married too hastily. Had he waited a few more months, he no longer would have been headover-heels in love. Oh, hed fallen in love instantly and fallen out of love just as drastically. But lets talk about you, he often said, before carrying on about himself. She kept hinting that perhaps Mi Bandera had been a bad idea because of the people. He shrugged, as if he had taken no notice of the people, and started talking about his dad who lived in Guatemala and who was always worried about going broke. Then he wondered if it was from, his father that he got that from, this obsession with going broke. At what point would he stop worrying? How much money would it take? His dad, howev-

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er, did need to worry back then. He had lost quite a bit of money and had also managed to make the wrong kind of enemies in Roatn. I bailed my dad out and even offered to buy him a condo in Miami, yes, maam, he said. With things having gone so terribly wrong in Honduras, perhaps his dad would consider forgiving the United States, but Tony wouldnt have it, no, maam. His dad had sworn never to return to the United States. Marta looked annoyed. Do you mean to say he spent the whole time talking about his wives and his father? When he was four or five, he escaped from Cuba with his father on a raft, so I suppose he wasor isvery attached to his father. Of course, Otilia was dying to talk about something else, but there was no changing the subject. But enough! Lets talk about you, Otilia! Chico said, as they were walking out the door. They agreed to meet the following Friday for lunch at El Pollo SupremoThe Supreme Chickenalso on Bergenline Avenue. I think this is where my story begins, Otilia said to her attorney. This was the beginning of a long list of chicken places up and down Bergenline Avenue: The Supreme Chicken, Chic King, Kirikiki, Chicken Galore, Chicken Delight, Chicken Holiday and Cluck U Chicken. He fed you Xanax! No! He fed me chicken! The second time he smelled like cinnamon and spices and probably marijuana. When she commented, he said the scent was called Thieves. Of course she had never heard of that aftershave! Such an aftershave did not exist. He used natural oils, aftershaves and colognes were not for him, and this here mixture of natural oils was called Thieves after the gypsies in caravans who sold spices. Otilia feigned interest and at the same time wondered what her ex-husband and ex-boyfriend would think of a man who fancied natural oils. But before she came up with two or three very politically incorrect words, he said, I wish I had married you! Something in me tells me it would have been a lifelong relation-

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ship. Wed be sitting on top of the world today. He also said that he wouldnt let her order anything but chicken because this place had the best chicken. Otilia looked away and begged him to stop kidding. He looked puzzled; not about the chicken, but about wishing he had married her! He said he wasnt kidding, and he wasnt kidding about the chicken either. He confessed he had been fascinated by her for years but had never dared approach her. Hed considered it several times though. Right before he met Laura, hed picked up the phone and dialed her number, then immediately decided against it. Would she have gone out to lunch with him? Wasnt she sitting at El Pollo Supremo now with him, listening to him praise natural oils and everything natural? Listening to him go off on innumerable tangents? Because before she knew it, he was lamenting that El Pollo Supremo chickens were not free-running chickens! What a pity, Chico sighed. She wondered what he could possibly say next. It would have saved me so much time and also spared me the emotional turmoil. Id be a happy man if you were my wife, but Im not sure I could share you with all your constituents. You must have so many men in love with you. Once again, Otilia asked him to stop with this kidding. He insisted. He wasnt kidding. What the heck? he said. Im going to lay all my cards on the table. Maam, Ive been in love with you for years! She stared at him, wide-eyed. He said he wanted to go somewhere with her, so theyd be alone. He begged her not to be offended. He wasnt propositioning her. He needed to be alone with her, so they ended up at the Super 8 Motel on Paterson Plank Road.

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hen it came to current events, Laura only cared for The Wall Street Journal, a handful of veterinary journals, and The Miami Herald, particularly the People section because she often said she had enjoyed quite a social life in Coral Gables up until Chico got her pregnant and forced her to move to New Jersey. For a while she said she really enjoyed a commuter marriage and still resented Chico for having uprooted her just when she was so very content. They had it all, and he went and spoiled it, so she often took it out on New Jersey and refused to read The Jersey Journal, or The Chronotope, or The Hudson Reporter. If asked, she probably could not have named the county executive or the mayor. The names Franklin Pizarro, Ryan Black and Otilia Mancuso probably meant nothing to her. This was going through Chicos mind because it was three AM and Chico was in the middle of not wanting to think about Otilia Mancuso. When he checked his watch again it was ten past three, then a quarter to four. . . . And he must have fallen asleep, for when he woke up, it was daylight outside and Laura was naked on top of him, tugging at his underwear and not seeming to want any foreplay. She looked quite beautiful with her blonde hair and no makeup. She was all circles, breasts like half oranges and soft blonde curls as big as lemons. After their daughter was born, she swore shed never have another baby again, and she had her breasts redone as a birthing present. They looked good, so very round, on her skinny torso. He pulled her toward him so he could get his underwear off. Her hair was soft, and she smelled like . . . dog. She always smelled like dog and dog supplies, everything from the flea collar to the food and the medicine. Youre so beautiful, he said, but in reality he was wondering if professions give people their smell. That would make an

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accountant smell like a spreadsheet. He wondered if he smelled of Lithium, or Prozac, or Xanax. Xanax, Xanax, Xanax. It was all coming back. I love you, Chico, Laura whispered. She rolled off him, onto her back. He got on top. She wrapped her legs around him and he penetrated her. One stroke, two strokes, then he thought he heard barking or Laura barking and he closed his eyes. Xanax. Laura was saying all kinds of things to him, and again he thought he heard barking, again maybe she said Xanax. She asked about Pita. Again he thought of Otilia Mancuso. Again, he thought he heard Laura barking, again, again, and then he was scared of Laura just when she was about to come, and he deflated. Did you hear me? Laura asked. I heard it distinctly. Its Audrey. You said the name Audrey. Better yet, you whispered it. I did not, he protested. Yes, you did. Whos Audrey? If you must know, its not Audrey. Its Oh Three, as in O3, Ozone, and O3 happens to be a sting, a sting organized by the FBI. It was either that or, he paused for a moment, I was about to lose everything we have. Yeah. . . . And your names Clark Kent. Its Natalio, but you dont like it, and I dont like it. Dont get serious on me. Laura was in such a foul mood for the rest of the day that it made Chico extremely wary of being on the edge. He seriously considered sending her back to New Jersey. She didnt read the newspapers anyway, and nothing was happening. Nothing! What a waste! This whole trip was a waste. Chico had been expecting Pizarro to resign and the newspapers to announce that Otilia was compromised, terribly compromised. His plan had been to let it happen, then return with Laura to New Jersey and live happily ever after. So much for plans! Now all he wanted was to stay here for a while with Duncan and Tony, just the three of them, smoking pot, fishing, working construction. But it wasnt until late in the afternoon, after the daily rain, when the atmosphere smelled like the earth, that Chico felt confident enough (this meant high enough)

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to ask Laura to take Gaby and go back home. He no longer cared if she had a screaming fit after she found out the mess hed managed to get himself into in New Jersey. He offered to drive her to Flores airport, but she said she was having a fine time here and didnt want to leave without him. Shed been catching up on her reading. All of a sudden, he was no longer high. He was simply stoned and he didnt dare talk anymore. In the evening, when he was smoking pot with Duncan under a palapa by the lake, Laura came to join them. Along came four dogs. When was this? When he insisted on their daughters name being Destiny? The year after he reneged on her name being Chelsea? Laura took a hit on the joint, then another. She sat next to Chico and ran her fingers through his hair. She took another hit. They held hands. She whispered in his ear. She told him she adored him. Before long, they were surrounded by emaciated, stray dogs wearing flea collars. She told him she was crazy about him. More dogs came. One ran after a guy on horseback. Laura said something about needing to have them spayed or neutered. Was that the time he agreed on the name Chelsea? How irresponsible could this government be? A male dog with only three legs appeared, and he seemed to know Laura, who was looking like a freshly brushed, champagne standard poodle. The second night in bed she was playful, rough, unabashed and loud. Or was it the third? It was confusing because it had happened many times. He had to hush her, and she didnt like that. She even insisted on leaving the lights on, so the million insects could watch. She was so rough that, once again, he deflated. Of course, she woke up in a foul mood the next morning and accused him of having made her act like a cheap whore. Then she complained about being sore and about him being too rough. Chico protested. Im sorry, but last night I didnt confuse you for a cheap whore. I thought you were Lilith. She became suspicious. Whos Lilith? Adams first wife. You should read the Apocrypha more. Like I have all the spare time you have. And for your information, Im not your first wife, she said and stuck her chin out.

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I wasnt likening myself to Adam. By the way, you never kiss. You only fuck, she said. If that was meant as a compliment, thank you. She wanted to hurt. And then you cant even stay hard. He shrugged. And you used to be better looking. All day, she sat by the pool with Chelsea, pouting and reading veterinary journals. They had cold white wine with dinner. Laura said she wanted to drink because she wanted to talk to him alone, without the so-called in-laws. He asked her why she had to wait till now to want to talk to him alone, when they had all the time in the world to talk alone in New Jersey, since they didnt have any friends there. Her answer was that the only way that she could speak her mind was if she had an alcoholic beverage. If not, she confessed that she didnt have much to say to him or to anyone else. She found everyone quite dull. By the time she was through with her first glass of wine, she was telling him that she found him boring, shallow, and quite annoying but that he gained a little depth when she was tipsy. She said she couldnt help it. She had tried, but he always made her angry. The strange part was that he didnt have to do anything in particular. There were times when simply seeing him made her angry. So you dont like me? Fine. Can I hang out with my dad now? No, you cant, Laura said and stuck her chin out. I know youve been unfaithful. He stopped to think. Perhaps she had looked in his wallet and found two condoms, then one condom, then two again, then one. She got him. If I tell you, will you let me go hang out with my son and my dad? Maybe. Okay. Yes, I have, Chico blurted out. She couldnt believe her ears. Then she didnt want to hear it. He had to repeat it. She asked him if he was kidding. He said he wasnt. Then she asked why. She thought he had to be kidding.

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Is it Audrey? she asked. Yes, thats her name. Now can I go? Are you in love with her? Of course I am, head over heels. Now can I go? No. One more word. What is she like? One word. Chico stopped to think about Otilia. Laura waited. I dont know. Time will tell. Well see what shes like. We? she hissed. I dont know just wont do. I want a real answer. So he blurted out, Shes not like you. Laura lifted her brow. And what makes her not like me? Laura asked immediately. Shes desirable.

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dont care about the details of what happened in the Tonnelle Avenue motel, Marta interrupted Otilia. The first motel was on Paterson Plank Road. Perhaps I should hire another attorney, Otilia suggested. You are free to do so. Ay pero qu pesada ests, Marta! Marta was being a bore, and her only reaction to Otilia accusing her of being a bore was Look, Im not your psychoanalyst, so lets get on with this. Did you enjoy the sex? Otilia replied immediately, No, and we didnt have sex right away. He talked about a Peruvian poet named Csar Vallejo whose beloved was named Otilia as well. She lived on Miraflores Street in Lima, and he recited some lines he knew by heart. They were very erotic. Then we had sex and I hated every minute of it. Martas eyes lit up. Otilia explained that she was feeling too fat, too self-conscious. He kept telling her she was beautiful. He even told her she was the most desirable woman he had ever met, and she wanted to believe him, but all she could think of was the roll of fat around her belly. Too many Cuban sandwiches, too many guava pastries, too many ham croquetas crushed between two saltine crackers, too much flan, too many Pepperidge Farm cookies and too much of that caramel ice cream while sitting in front of the television, watching the late news and black and white classics such as Double Indemnity or Witness for the Prosecution. It seemed that every meal and every snack shed had in the past year had picked this moment at the motel to come back to haunt her and to make her

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feel bloated. Yet he kept telling her she had such a beautiful body, and she wanted to believe him. I dont think Barbara Stanwyck looked very pretty in Double Indemnity, Otilia said. Marta wasnt listening. So you didnt enjoy the sex? Otilia stared at Marta. Why are you asking me the same question over again? Anyway, Barbara Stanwyck didnt look pretty, but she sure looked better than me. Was he rough? Cruel? Impotent? Did this feel like date rape? No! He was a great lover, and I was looking too grotesque for motel sex otherwise . . . I wish I had at least looked like Barbara Stanwyck, even with those curly bangs. I wish he would have said Im crazy about you, baby! I wish he had loved me the way Fred MacMurray loved her and her tacky bangsenough to kill. Marta was not listening. You are a victim, not a whore. Get that into your mind! Now youre starting to sound like an analyst. What if I want to be a whore? Did you ever watch that movie Entrapment with Sean Connery? We dont have time for small talk, and Im beginning to think this was date rape, but lets get back to the chronology, said Marta. Did you drink alcohol at lunch? Otilia looked puzzled. Diet Coke. Date rape? Maybe. Especially since he didnt call me back after that. Marta, I felt so humiliated! We ordered Diet Coke, both of us. Lets not get distracted, Marta said. Otilia said she spent the first week of the month of August waiting for his phone call. Each time the phone rang at her office, shed stop whatever she was doing, wait, hope and listen, only to feel disappointed time and again. She also kept checking her cell phone to make sure it was on. It was no different at home. She sat outside with her pomeranian and her cell phone. No news from Chico, no news. She hadnt even been a one-night stand. That relationship had barely lasted two hours. Soon after theyd had sex at the motel, hed gotten dressed and rushed out of there, explaining

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it was his turn to pick his daughter up at the River School. You know, that preschool in downtown Jersey City near the Grove Street Path Station. Looking impatient, Marta said, Lets not get distracted, I know where it is. You can look in. I walked past there a few times trying to get a glimpse of his daughter. Marta waved that comment away, as if it were dangerous. No children. And if you walked past there, it was on your way to the Japanese restaurant. Without the Xanax to help her through these disappointing and humiliating days, Otilia didnt think she could have made it. By August 10, she had given up all hope of ever seeing Chico again. That day, she was all set to leave the office at three because she had to take the dog to the vet. But right before leaving the office, Otilia realized she didnt know whether the appointment was at four or at five. Just when she was about to ask Monica, the phone rang, and Monica picked it up. Of course it wasnt Chico; and since Monica was taking so long on the phone, Otilia decided to get the vets number herself. She opened the Yellow Pages to the V, then the vete, veterinarian, Campos, Ca . . . Something caught her eye, and that something was the name Chanca. Laura Chanca, DVM. Laura. She weighed the name. Laura, Laura. Could this possibly be Chicos wife? No, for he was married to some kind of flaky bubblehead addicted to spending. This could be his sister. She dialed the number and asked the receptionist for an appointment, as soon as possible, giving some lame excuse about the reason why she was changing veterinarians. As it turned out, they had had a cancellation and, therefore, an opening for the next day at four. By then, Monica had hung up. Otilia told her to cancel her vet appointment for that day, because shed found another vet, a better vet. This had to be Chicos sister, or his cousin. Otilia couldnt wait! Even while waiting with her pomeranian in the dog waiting room, Otilia kept trying to guess. She must be his sister. That meant

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two doctors in the familya psychiatrist and a veterinarian. In the middle of a thought about how this person couldnt possibly be his wife, Otilias name was called. With the pomeranian in her arms, she followed a nurse to Room D. Dr. Chanca will be right with you, the nurse said. Otilia smiled and assented. Soon, a beautiful young woman walked into the room, held out her hand and said, Hi. Im Laura Chanca. Otilia did not want to hear that. Are you by any chance related to Dr. Chico Chanca? she ventured to ask as she shook Lauras hand. No, Laura replied. But before Otilia was able to heave a sigh of relief she added, Im married to him. She had long, curly, blonde hair, brownish-green eyes, and a beautiful figure. Staring was all Otilia could do. She wondered and wondered and wondered how this could possibly be the woman Chico had described: the one who spent every minute of her life spending his money; the one he was planning to divorce soon, very soon; the one he did not love anymore. Im Otilia Mancuso, said Otilia, hoping this other Dr. Chanca would immediately recognize the name and feel honored to have an elected official on her roster of clients. Youre a good dog, said Laura, coaxingly. Thats all she said, as she caressed the pomeranian. As Otilia walked out of there, she reached into her purse and discreetly took out the last Xanax she had left. Once outside, as she stepped into her car, she dialed Chicos office number and asked the receptionist about a refill. The receptionist put her on hold, and soon she heard, Otilia! in Chicos voice. She was so angry at him and feeling so jealous and so humiliated that she could barely speak. Where have you been? he asked. Ive been trying to reach you, desperately! Telepathically? Dont be mean to me, Otilia, mi amor. And if youre going to be mean, lets just hang up. Im too vulnerable right now. If you

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want to know the truth, Im feeling suicidal. Im not kidding, love. But Im so glad you called! She believed him. Of course she believed him. She couldnt resist him. Whats more, she had quite a peaceful evening at home, a refill of Xanax and a lunch date for August 13. They met at Kirikiki on Bergenline Avenue in Union City. Right away, he apologized for looking so haggard, so worn out (which he didnt: as a matter of fact, he looked great, all refreshed). He sighed. Otilia, you wont believe what Ive been through since I last saw you. Every day, when I get home, I can tell from the tone of Lauras voice whether theres a demon there or not. And most of the time there is definitely a demon there. This was going to be a nasty divorce; for Laura was threatening to take his daughter Gaby away from him, not to mention everything he owned which, by the way, soon wouldnt amount to much. If only he hadnt lost so much money recently! If he could only reach Franklin Pizarro! Chico seemed desperate. Otilia tried to assuage him. She said Laura didnt appear to be an unreasonable person. He paled, and she explained. Reassured, he said, Youre judging from appearances. Everyone thinks Lauras perfect! But I live with the real Laura, and its a nightmare! Lauras the most selfish person there ever was. God mustve sent her to me so I would pay for every sin Ive ever committed! And who cares if shes beautiful? Youre as beautiful as she is, if not more so! She was flattered. They ended up at a motel on Tonnelle Avenue in Jersey City. Was it the Starlite? In broad daylight, they talked about their film preferences. He liked horror movies, and Otilia loved the classics, especially courtroom drama. They compared films and realized they couldnt find one single movie that they had both watched and appreciated. This time, Otilia enjoyed the sex immensely, but Marta didnt care for the details. He rushed out of there, just like he had done the first time, because it was his turn to pick his little daughter Gaby up at the River School. After she left the motel, she drove to the Blockbuster on 15th Street and

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bought him a present, Anatomy of a Murder, that she gave to him over lunch the following Friday. She insisted on going back to Kirikiki on Bergenline Avenue. They ordered Diet Coke and fried chicken. He was looking good. Gleefully, like a child, he accepted the present she had for him. I will treasure it always, maam, he said, holding the DVD close to his heart. Watch it tonight! Watch it every night! That way, whenever Im far away from you, I can get into your house and your mind.

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his would be the fourth and last time Chico and Laura would travel to Guatemala together. There never were any good times, were there? Something was always amiss. There was always a problem with no solution in sight. Chico remembered the first time he brought her here. It was his fault. He insisted on changing their daughters name to Laura, but Laura didnt want the name Laura because she felt Chico wanted to name their baby girl after his mother, whose name was also Laura. And suddenly, the name Laura was fractured, only the spiteful difference of an identity. A name by any identical name could not possibly sound as sweet. Two years later, he wanted the baby to be named Destiny, and Laura insisted on Chelsea. When he gave in, Laura stopped liking the name Chelsea and wanted it changed to Charity. And when he put forth the name Gabriela, Laura went back to liking the original name, Chelsea. This is where they stood, and Chico wasnt about to give in this time around, not for anything. But last night, they didnt fight over names; they fought over something else. They fought loudly, unabashedly and, the next morning, Chico barely remembered the motive or exactly what had happened, but he did sense, somewhere inside that splitting headache, that it was one of those fights, the ones that kill something inside you. He was on the single bed, uncomfortable, right on the edge, because Gaby was sleeping with him, or was it Charity or Destiny? What year is this? Is it the year of my death yet? Granted, he had agreed on the name Chelsea for a few months just to lure Laura away from Coral Gables. They were about to have a child together, and she didnt even want to live with him!

]88[

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She was convinced he was a jinx! She even said it. If I were superstitious, I would say you jinxed me! All he could do was pretend to agree. Yes! Chelseas the name. Now do you love me? He could always renege. His word meant nothing! It never had, for he was a liar. And he was a liar who wanted their childs name to be Laura! But Laura was feeling threatened by her own name, so much so that she was toying with the idea of changing it. Nora? Maura? Cora? Dora? The fight last night was coming back to him. Suddenly, Chico realized he had slept in his clothes. Gaby had taken up most of the bed. Laura was sound asleep in the bigger bed. She had probably taken Gaby with her, and then Gaby had come into his bed in the middle of the night. Thats usually what she did when they fought and he slept alone. He sat up on the bed and held his head in his hands. It felt hot, then cold. He moaned, awful, awful. He remembered that she had swung a punch at him. He wondered what had made her so angry. Maybe he wasnt paying enough attention to her. She hated that. Maybe that was all. Oh no. It was coming back. Ice. There was ice. She laughed and she cried and she hated him, and then he was embarrassed. She broke her wrist! How did she break her wrist? She refused to let him take a look at it. He glanced over at Laura sleeping soundly, just to make sure, and indeed, she had a soft cast that went from her elbow to her hand. In anger, she had swung a punch at him and broken her wrist. They ended up in an emergency room in a dingy hospital on the road to Flores. Thats quite a relationship you have there, Tony said. Drama! Then he asked, What did you say to make her that mad? Did you tell her about your brief affair with Lavinia? No, not Lavinia . . . Audrey! Oh Three! Now look what you did to me! Laura kept screaming. You broke my wrist! With Chico and Laura, we dont need television around here! Tony smirked. Duncan couldnt understand what was going on, and neither could Chelsea. It made Chelsea cry. Then Duncan took Chico aside and asked, Whats up, Dad?

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All Chico could do was look away and cringe. He hardly knew where to start being embarrassed, as if this were todays project, being embarrassed. When he lifted his head up from his hands, he noticed that Laura was sitting up in bed, awake, examining the cast on her wrist. This lake is too dangerous for Chelsea, and the lagoons too filthy. You need to take her to a clean pool, she said casually. Unless you dont care if she drowns. Ill take her to that fancy hotel in Flores, he uttered as he stumbled out of bed and went to take a shower. Chico didnt even bother to take his clothes off. He turned the cold water on. Of course there wasnt enough water pressure. He stepped underneath the trickle of water. With his head against the tiles, he closed his eyes for a while. Before he knew it, he was in Flores with Gaby. Flores, a cobble-stoned village-island on Lake Peten Itz. Too hot for words. Heat emanates from the streets and the empty, dusty squares and the souvenir stores that sell souvenirs from elsewhere. When in Flores, people are usually headed somewhere elseto the ruins, the jungle canopy, or to Belize. It could be a Lonely Planet favorite, not a destination in itself, a definite challenge for travel writers. Chico knew of a secluded beach, and they sat side by side for nearly an hour carrying on a conversation and staring at the mirror stillness of the water. If your mom asks, you have to tell her we went to a clean pool, he said. In the fancy hotel. Only if she asks. Like a seven-year-old, Gaby asked, Are you afraid youll get in trouble with her? Lets talk about trees falling. Lets talk about the puppet show. So he said, Youll learn all about nature, all about the rain forest. Its a traveling biosphere mobile. Then he shrugged. We dont have to talk. Suddenly Chico didnt want to talk. It sounded too forced. They sat there quietly until he asked if shed be interested in going to a place where monkeys howl. Gaby opened her eyes wide and seemed quite excited.

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Its two hours away, he warned her, but we can drive there. She didnt mind the ride and was already picking up her beach toys that she hadnt used because they had only been staring at the mirror stillness of the lake. When they were walking toward the car he asked, Do you know what happens when a tree falls? It makes a sound that can be heard all over. So he said, If theres a road, then trees have been cut down. But if theres no road, we cant get there. And if we cant get there, we cant see it. And if we cant see it, we wont know what its like. But since theres a road, we wont really know what its like. She shrugged. Well half know. They drove to the ruins of Yaxch. All the way there, he wondered whether or not to tell her that an episode of Survivor had been filmed there. On the one hand, Survivor could make it seem like a very interesting place; on the other hand, it cheapened the place. He decided not to tell her. He felt he was already doing a good job cheapening it himself. My presence here, Im a jinx, but Im taking something for it, something to cure me. It was enough for her to know that monkeys still howl somewhere and that the whole world hears a tree falling. They got back to El Remate late in the afternoon. Gaby was so delighted that she was squealing. She couldnt get over how loud the monkeys were and the furry caterpillar that looked like a feather. He saw Laura sitting by the pool, reading and pretending not to notice they were there. Three dogs were sleeping at the foot of the chaise loungethey looked like road kill. She didnt even bother to look up, and Gaby didnt run to her. He noticed that it wasnt a veterinary journal she was reading this once. Arent you glad I gave you that book? he asked as he took a seat next to her, hoping that shed talk to him again. But she was intent on riding this horse into the ground. Her answer was, Not particularly. Its a depressing collection of short stories. Whats this about a feather pillow sucking the life out of a woman? And a little girl decapitated by her five idiot

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brothers? I hate the description of the decapitated chicken in the kitchen. He added, And the Dane who mistook his daughter for an orange. Then he asked, Do you want to leave? He was sure shed say yes, and she said no because she didnt want to deprive him of the pleasure of her company. With a look of hatred she then said, You want me to leave so you can bring your girlfriend here and actually have a good time? No way! Im not going to let you be happy, even if it kills me. By the way, I thought you had run off with my daughter, and I came really close to calling the police. He seemed surprised, My girlfriend? Then he started to remember again, vaguely. Laura, lets just forget about that, he pleaded. I dont know what I said last night, but this Audrey thing is not a person. Its O3, a sting. I already told you. She disregarded what he said. By the way, youre free to leave me, but Ill certainly make you pay, she uttered, threateningly. Ill take everything you have, and I know how attached you are to your money. I want our marriage to work, Laurita. I dont want to leave you. You can take your desirable girlfriend to the soup kitchen for all I care! Ill make sure you wont be able to afford anything! And your hairs too nice. I hope you go bald! Let go of it, Laurita. I want you to suffer! I want you to get prostate cancer! I want us to split up! Laurita, I want us to stay together and raise our child together. Laura was definitely in one of her mean moods. Well, I dont! And Ill do everything to take Chelsea away from you! He stood up and walked away just as she was saying, I didnt mean that, but I meant everything else I said. By the way, where did you take my daughter? If she gets malaria, Ill never forgive you. They remained in El Remate for another week. During the day, Laura barely said a word to Chico; she simply sat by the pool, sur-

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rounded by dogs, with her head buried in veterinary journals. She didnt talk to anyone else either and asked to be left alone. Several times, Tony took Chico aside and told him, I dont know about that relationship! Then hed turn to Laura and say, Good morning, Cruella! In the evening, Laura always insisted on talking and drinking and on having Chico talk and drink as well. So Chico, who had decided to stop drinking and smoking pot for a while, pretended to drink while she drank and talked about how miserable he made her. She wished shed never met him. Hed ruined her life. He was an awful, selfish man with no sensitivity whatsoever. She said she couldnt wait until he got old and lost his beauty. Laura only liked to talk when she was drinking. All other times, she was busy tending to her things. She talked until very late every evening, while Chico sat there, either listening or not listening. The next morning, she always wondered what it was that she had spent so much time talking about, when she had absolutely nothing to say to him, except that he was awful and incapable of satisfying her both physically and intellectually. She wished shed never met him. She was convinced that her life would have been a happy life had they never crossed paths. He stymied her! On their last morning in Guatemala, Laura was up early. Her morning routine consisted of sitting by the pool reading veterinary journals. Chico was back from a swim in the lake. He brought her coffee, as usual, and sat next to her, facing the pool. She took a sip of her coffee and said, As soon as we get back, I want you to move out. Fine, he said. But that wasnt enough. And youre going to have to pay, Chico. He looked at her straight in the eye. He nodded and repeated the word pay. Then he chuckled. Pay . . . thats all I do. Im quite used to paying. Im going to take you for everything you have, she threatened. In a whisper he asked, Why?

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She shrugged and said, Because I feel like it. I get it, he said, stood up, and walked away. Immediately, Laura sensed shed taken her anger a bit too far, and she regretted it, but she couldnt go back and she wasnt about to do anything to talk herself out of it. She felt she could remain angry for the rest of her lifeat least until he submitted and begged. She wouldnt have it any other way. Anyway, she felt she had a right to his money as much as he did. If only he were a bit more acquiescent. If only he paid more attention to her instead of always being consumed by his job, his yoga, and both his kids, not just Chelsea. He adored Duncan as well, which made her wildly jealous. Had he not cared so much for Duncan, perhaps she would have felt a little better. It was bad enough that there was little or nothing left for her once he was through dealing with the important things in his life. If only hed quit yoga. It took up too much of his time and put him in his own special zone that she could not penetrate. Normal men played golf and lifted weights. This one liked pointing his toes, spreading his legs apart and jumping into handstands. When he wasnt in a full split he was upside down! Laura momentarily put aside her angry musings to remember how he had been focused on her when she was pregnant with Chelsea. She had thought that particular attention would last forever. She stopped to remember how it had felt to have him turned completely outward and totally focused on her. Its not that he was a bad husband, for he was scared of her wrath and eager to please. A few more years, and hed be henpecked. Laura had decided to keep him because he was basically nice (basically was Lauras word), and he made plenty of money. Whenever she wanted to have sex or make love (or whatever was a good verb for it, Laura wasnt sure), he was willing, even when he didnt feel like it or was preoccupied, hassled or tired. Sometimes he couldnt finish what she had started, and that was because shed hurt him, and she liked that, in hopes that it would shake his confidence (but it never seemed to). If only he had a big macho ego, then hed be easy to break, but he didnt. I want things my way!

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There was a time when she liked rejecting him when he tried to initiate sex. She liked it because it was a game at which she thought she was quite adept. It was so pleasant to have him want her so badly that shed reject him, in hopes that hed want her more. He never insisted or protested. So just in case he wasnt getting the rules to her game, she ventured to say, If you want me, you have to insist more. This felt great, like putting prime rib in a bowl and then telling the dog to stay. The problem is that the dog refused to play the game and never begged. Now it was up to her to initiate the sex. Although he did go right along and would do anything she wanted except hit her, one little thing was off. Laura couldnt quite figure out when this started, but this entire year, hed never wanted to have sex on Fridays. It made her very suspicious, and she was getting ready to get to the bottom of it when he decided they should go spend some time in Guatemala. Leave it to him to want to go to Guatemala in August! Laura came to the conclusion that he was probably seeing that woman every Friday. She wondered if that woman loved Chico and if she was intent on keeping him for herself. The thought of this made Laura want to tug and fight. Now she wanted to keep him. Whenever she ran out of her own money and asked him for some, he was plenty generous. If she wanted $750, he would write a check for $1,000, always a little more. She was not about to let some woman named Audrey run off with her generous man. Now she was feeling angry again. One of the biggest problems was that he refused to let her keep him on the edge, and thats where she wanted him to be, right on the edge. If only hed comply, always and forever, shed be much nicer to him. Laura was well aware of her malicious feelings, but also felt incapable of discarding them. That was the established pattern. Those were the feelings he inspired in her. Then she stopped to wonder if he was kidding about this affair. The next day, Laura was thinking that perhaps she shouldnt have sent him packing and threatened to take every penny he had. It seemed to have hurt him so much. For a minute, she thought he was going to cry. Since then, he had grown cold and turned completely inward. Now he was the one who wasnt talking! She

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had even tried to soften up and remain aloof at the same time. He didnt notice. It worried her to realize he had suddenly become unreachable and was no longer trying to keep her happy. He simply was not trying! I didnt mean it to sound that bad, Chico, she said several times when they were waiting to check in at the Flores Airport. Im sure you didnt, he said softly, with a cold look in his eye, not so much one of hatred, but of indifference. She would have much preferred hatred, for it would have made her feel she had some power over him. When they were at the gate, Laura even said, You dont have to move out. He gave her a blank stare. She stared back and found him quite handsome, tanned, and looking relaxed in spite of the grief she knew hed been feeling for the past few days. Thats very kind of you, but actually, I think I should move out, he finally said. Ill pick Chelsea up at school and give you whatever money you want. Keep the house. Keep everything. Chelsea? she asked. You always call her Gaby. Chelseas fine. We can call her Gaby if you want, Laura insisted. Gabrielas a pretty name. Lets just call her Chelsea. Im beginning to like the name Chelsea. Laura shrugged and was about to say, Now I prefer Gaby. When they got to their row, he had no choice but to sit in the middle. Chelsea had insisted on the window and wanted her daddy next to her. Now Chelsea was sleeping with her head on his lap. Laura was staring at Chicos hand in Chelseas hair, his beautiful hand. She had always liked his hands and the rest of his body. Of course, that made her angry, because she wanted the power. Rogue, vulgar thoughts came to her mind. She was a gorgeous woman. Why wasnt he groveling? Never, or to anyone in this world, would she have admitted to having had such thoughts. Chico was wearing headphones and watching Americas Funniest Home Videos. Every few minutes, hed burst out laughing, as did other passengers. There was something uncanny about him

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simply staring at the seat in front of him and bursting out laughing every so often. There was a small television screen, of course, but it wasnt obvious. What if it had just been the seat? There was also something uncanny about the thoughts Laura was still having; she realized she did not want him to laugh. She did not want him to be happy without her permission. Someone had left a People magazine in the back pocket of the seat in front of her. This issue was dedicated to the worlds most beautiful women. Instead of reading a veterinary journal as she usually did, Laura started leafing through People, trying all these womens faces on this mysterious Audrey. There was a picture of someone named Sienna Miller, the day after Jude Lawwhoever that wasadmitted to an affair. After she was through trying Sienna Millers face on Audrey, she tried Jessica Simpsons. No, Chico would not fall for Jessica Simpson, whoever that was, or for Alicia Keys, whoever that was. Did everyone know these people? Then came Julia Roberts. Laura squinted. Could that woman Audrey look like this? It said that now that Julia Roberts was a mom, she had reached the peak of her beauty. She didnt care about what she looked like at all. That wasnt for Chico. Laura turned the page to Angelina Jolie. It said that other than the fact that shes beautiful, you really wouldnt pay her much notice. Immediately, Laura poked Chico. He took his headphones off. She pointed to the picture of Angelina Jolie. Was she the one in Girl, Interrupted? Chico nodded. Then she asked, Does your girlfriend look like this? Chico considered the picture, stopped to think, and finally said seriously, No comparison. My girlfriends much prettier. Then he was back to watching Americas Funniest Home Videos. Laura turned the page. Jennifer Lpez? No way! Hilary Swank? Not his type either. Penelope Cruz? Oh God! What if his girlfriend looks like Penelope Cruz? Suddenly Laura felt so threatened that all her regrets vanished, and she simply hated Chico more than she could bear. A few minutes later, she remembered when they had met in Coral Gables. He was already practicing psychiatry in New Jersey, and she was almost done with her veterinary studies and consid-

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ered herself a Miami jet setter, intelligent, beautiful, rude with an attitude and about to become a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine. Chico was impressed. They had met at a party and fallen in love at first sight. Up until that moment, Laura had waited for the love of her life. In her own words, she said she was classical, like classical music, because old-fashioned just didnt sound right. She considered most of her contemporaries to be cheap, trashy and fast. In other words, she took pride in still being a virgin at age twenty-six. They fell in love right away, the ultimate crush. Laura and Chico were all over each other. Chico was probably ready to forsake all other women for the first time in his life. He called Tony and told him he really wanted this, and he wanted it to work out. Laura, in turn, told her parents, her cousins and even her abuelita that she had never felt this way before, and they believed her because she was actually being sweet and mellow. Usually she was such a tyrant. She never cared about how other people felt or if she hurt their feelings. She only cared about animals. Now, all of a sudden she was crazy about this man and was considerate of everyone around her. She was complacent for several months without interruption! Lauras mother said it felt as if an alien had come and taken the real Laura and replaced her with this nice one. Lauras father, who always spoke his mind, wished out loud that the alien would never bring the old Laura back. Of course, his prayer went unanswered because soon enough, the alien kidnapper did send Laura back. Ten months into their passionate relationship, Laura and Chico were married at the Biltmore in Coral Gables. She was from Coral Gables and wouldnt consider getting married anywhere else. They were supposed to be married in April, but the abuelita died, so they got married in May, and it was definitely one more of those once-in-a-lifetime, Coral Gables, picture-perfect weddings that are showcased in the Neighbors section of El Nuevo Herald every Sunday. Throughout their ten-month commuter relationship, there was one unanswered question. At first, Chico didnt bother too much with it and took it for granted that by agreeing to marry

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him, she was also agreeing to move to New Jersey simply because he was licensed to practice medicine in that state and wasnt about to start all over again somewhere else. During their honeymoon, however, Laura announced she had no intention of moving north. They could see each other every weekend! Many couples lived that way. Chico was beside himself. If he had married her, it was to be with her, to wake up every day with her, not simply to catch her on the weekends. Then you move here, she said. He couldnt! Why is it always the woman who has to follow? she asked. Finally, he relented. They agreed to give the commuter marriage a try. The problem was that they quarreled on the weekends. Friday, Saturday and Sunday, they quarreled. Both of them were miserable. Soon they both came to the conclusion that perhaps a trial separation would give them time to sort things out. How can you separate when youre already separated? Lauras father asked. Lauras answer was, We need to decide whether to bag the relationship or make every effort in the world to stay together. That is how and why they first separated, but four weeks into their trial separation, Laura called Chico, who was in Guatemala, to tell him she was pregnant, that she loved him and that she wanted their relationship to work and was definitely planning on keeping the baby. The next day, Chico was back in the United States, and they started all over again. It took all the effort in the world not to quarrel for two whole days. Three months into their reconciliation, they were comfortably settled in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, in an old mansion with four fireplaces, crown moldings, French doors, high, high ceilings and many big stained-glass windows. This is where Chelsea was born, on the floor, in the back parlor, because Laura had insisted on a home birth and a midwife. She must have interviewed at least fifty midwives before choosing one that she ranted and raved about throughout her pregnancy. The midwife was practically a fixture in their house up until the evening Laura started having

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contractions, and then the wonderful midwife was nowhere to be found, so it was Chico who delivered the baby. Although Laura insisted that she did not like Englewood and much preferred Alpine, they did live in that wonderful house until Chelsea turned two. Then, to Lauras dismay, instead of moving to Alpine, they moved to West New York, right at the Weehawken border. Another old house, but this time, it was a house in need of repair. The cracks in the stucco on the mustard-colored faade had become dark with mold, and the bathrooms and kitchen were in need of remodeling. The red trim on the front door and the windows was peeling, and the remodeling was still going on. By then, everything Chico did or said either offended Laura or made her insanely jealous and angry. The only time she was happy was when they were in bed telling each other they were sorry. Inside their house, it smelled like dogs and cats. Laura wasnt into keeping a tidy house, it isnt her thing, she said she was too busy with her clinic. She didnt really care what her house looked like, for she was more concerned about her two chocolate standard poodles, four Abyssinian cats and the overweight smooth red dachshund feeling at home. Chelsea had always been free to do anything she wanted in the house or to the house, so long as it was not dangerous. She was allowed to color the walls with crayons, pour dishwashing liquid on the floor in order to see the dogs slide and fall, and even throw food when in a tantrum. No one felt responsible for the mess. The full-time nanny had not been hired to clean the house; she was only there to entertain Chelsea. As to the full-time nurse, she was only there to watch over Lauras mother, who suffered from Alzheimers and was convinced Chico was, in fact, her husband and that Laura, her own daughter, was the other woman in Chicos life. The Chancas did, however, have a housekeeper who came in twice a week, but she could hardly put a dent in the disarray. The house was always in such a mess that they could no longer eat on their dining room table or on the kitchen table or on one of the patio tables. At this point, there was hardly any room to walk, much less to eat. Chicos yoga room was the only empty space.

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This was all the more traumatic since Lauras father had succumbed to esophageal cancer a year before. In other words, Laura often said shed done nothing but bury her relatives since her marriage to Chico. Sometimes she even accused him of jinxing her entire family. There had to be some bad karma somewhere: first abuelita, then papi, and just when Laura was coming to the conclusion that there was no fate worse than death, her mom, whom Chico always addressed as Margo, lost her mind practically overnight. Very often shed say to Chico, That woman is not my mother! At this point, Margos downfall was subtle. Never having been an easy person to get along with, it was difficult to determine, at times, whether Margo was ill or simply malicious; in other words, whether the illness was causing the malignity or the malignity was making her ill. Chico, in turn, was wondering if it ran in the family and if Lauras father had succumbed to cancer simply to get away from his wolverine daughter and raven wife. The energy was bad in the house. There was never any peace. Rarely did the full-time nurses that Chico hired to look after Margo stay for more than a few weeks. When they were still in Guatemala, they had gotten a call from the latest nurse, who was ready to resign as soon as they got back. While watching Americas Funniest Home Videos in the airplane, Chico was planning ahead. First, hire another nurse for la suegra, then move out of the West New York house back into 916 Palisades Avenue in Union City, where his private office was now and where hed lived up until his marriage to Laura. It would be difficult for Chelsea, but hed be around. Hed pick her up at school and take her to ballet. Perhaps Laura wouldnt mind if Chelsea spent two or three nights a week at his place. He was actually looking forward to moving back into the Palisades Avenue apartment and getting away from what he liked to call his haunted mansion. It was hard to imagine living in peace after seven, almost eight, years of living without it. Hed forgotten what it felt like. The anticipation made him laugh out loud several times. Hed work all week and spend his weekends in Rhinebeck doing yoga

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and hanging out with Duncan. Again, he laughed. Back to reality. Laura was staring at him. He was again reminded that there was never any peace in his house that was no longer his house. Laura quarreled with her mother on a daily basis. They fought loudly and unabashedly. It was embarrassing to see those two together: they couldnt agree on the time of day. It was all about digs and hurting each others feelings. There was no overcoming the resentment. Of course, when she first moved in, Margo couldnt stand the sight of Chico. She thought Chico wasnt good enough. By this, she didnt mean he was not good enough for her daughter. What she meant was he was not good enough for her, because Chico had been born to vagabond parents who had never married. She had always wanted much better for Laura, someone from high society. When Laura was not around, all her mother would talk was about how much she loved Laura, how Laura was her pride and joy, how shed given Laura everything she had to give and then some. When Laura was around, shed take a look at Laura and wonder out loud what she had gotten in return for her maternal investment. The answer was simple: nothing. Margo spent her days with a rosary in hand, pacing, musing and always repeating that no one had done right by her, swearing Laura had never been nasty and disrespectful until she met Chico. Such were the dynamics, and there was no end in sight. There didnt seem to be any possibility of happiness or liberation. There was no exit, no relief, hardly any love, and no cool breeze. There was nothing to look forward to. He knew he had lost his way, and it wasnt even over yet. He thought of what awaited him back in Hudson County, all the consequences, all the embarrassment, the dread, the danger of losing everything. Still, he laughed.

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he wild child, Duncan Chanca, was young enough to talk about grandparents and young enough to have fairly young grandparents. Amber, his employer, even said several times that she could not believe that heor anyone elsewas this young. She added that it made her feel middle-aged, and she was frowning, but it was at her late summer flower garden that she was frowning. And he was picking through the weeds, secretly hoping that what he had pulled out of the ground was indeed a weed. She said that you never really have a garden because its never the same garden and youre always losing your garden. Flowers wilt too quickly, and leaves are eaten by insects. Before long, they were talking about his grandparents again. On his fathers side, they were hippies, and on his mothers, they were prison wardens. Pinching azaleas, Amber said, Thats why you are a contradictory subject, Red. Which ones do you prefer? Hibiscus, but they dont do well here. I mean grandparents. Oh, I like both sets. Whats weird is that the hippies and the prison wardens think along the same lines. They hate heavy metal, and they hate the way I look. Everyone says I look like a bum off the street. Thats because you do. Well, the more they dislike the way I look, the more I want to look the way I look. Thats because youre immature. Thanks! So Amber said, Dont get sarcastic on me. Do you think these dahlias are dead? Duncan went to inspect the leaves that resembled Swiss cheese and asked, How come you think Im such an expert?

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Didnt you tell me you are interested in plant husbandry? Only cannabis. Cannabis will do. You should meet my dad. He smokes. He was here after I got out of rehab when you hired me. I just saw him in Guatemala. You should meet him. He likes legs. I think hed fall for you. Im not into married men. Besides, Ive taken eternal vows of chastity, so its no use. His marriage is so bad that maybe you could give him a piece of advice. What the hell are you talking about? Vows . . . but Id bet anything youd fall for him. She was piqued. With a frown on her face, she stared at the rhododendron. He insisted. Even his own mother couldnt resist his father, and theyd been separated for years. For some reason this really annoyed Amber, so she stood up and walked away from the conversation, wondering about what had happened there and if she had been surprised by a rogue electric current. Suddenly, there were dragon and damsel flies everywhere. The red-haired wild child followed her inside the house. He was thirsty for beer at this time of day. Magic Hat it was called, and the twelve-pack looked like something that belonged in a nursery rhyme, childrens beer, the twelve beers of summer. The wild child reminded her of one of her beloved goats. That was the day they had a ladybug invasion. Im dying to go back to the Dutchess County Fair tomorrow, and Im dying for it to be fall, Amber said. Most people think youre pushy and bitchy, and I think youre too melancholy, he said, on his eighth beer. After a few minutes of silence, Amber said, I already met your dad. Duncan seemed surprised. At the Dutchess County Fair. He was with some woman. Duncan protested. I cant remember for the life of me.

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Too much cannabis. He was here this weekend with some woman, and he wasnt even my type, so how could I possibly fall for him? Dont. Hed waste years of your life. Hed make you want to die.

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hirteen months, Otilia said to Marta. From July 2002 to August 2003. Our love affair lasted thirteen months. Im not sure that qualifies as a love affair, Marta said. Digging her fingers into her dogs thick, red fur, Otilia asked, What was it then? Just another FBI sting? Marta seemed distracted. Staring at her yellow pad, she mumbled, Forty-five afternoons according to my calculations, but for the presentation of my case, lets call it a relationship. Suddenly, Otilia was annoyed. It seems to be all about you, Marta. And as I wasnt saying, because you interrupted me, four or five afternoons into the monster that was to become forty-five afternoons, Otilia said, and she paused before proceeding to finish her sentence. One month or so into the relationship, Marta then said. No small talk that day. The little dogs eyes went from Otilia to Marta. Finally, Marta said, Im listening. You know who expressed a need to spend more time with her without being rushed. He also explained that these divorce proceedings were awkward. Now that he was about to set everything in motion, he had to be very careful. Laura was quite capable of hiring a private investigator to spy on him. If she suspected in the least bit that he was in love with someone elsewhich, by the way, he wasshed take him for all he had. If only he could reach Franklin Pizarro and get some of his contracts renewed! It would save his life! Marta seemed to want to interrupt Otilia, but she didnt. Otilia kept on reminiscing.

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But he didnt want to bore Otilia with the details. What made his life all the more confusing at that moment, he said, was this mixture of joy and happiness he felt. He said he couldnt remember ever having been in love like this. It came so close to total bliss! Chico even said that he felt like an adolescent without it being wasted on youth. He said I dont know if its clear several times. Whatever that meant, Otilia said. He also said that it was too bad his joy was tainted with all the other stuff going onthe bad stuff, money matters, child custody, lost contracts, windmills and love disappointed. Otilia talked and talked, and clearly Marta was dying to say something. He told Otilia he thought about her all the time, every minute of every hour, and that at night he dreamt about her, only to wake up in the middle of the night and desire her desperately. All he wanted was to be with her, and he looked forward to the day when theyd be living together or married. Edgewater would be a nice place to live, wouldnt it? What about Alpine or Fort Lee? What did she prefer, a condo or a house? She said she couldnt imagine living in Bergen County, but that a condo would be fine. Come to think of it, Edgewater, perhaps. Edgewater is close enough to Jersey City. But then there are those traffic jams! No, even madly in love, she couldnt imagine living anywhere but HERE. Why do you disappear like you do? Otilia kept asking. Twice youve done it. He ran his fingers through his hair. I tried to give you up. I also had anxiety, which gives me sciatica, and I cant do anything with sciatica, you know. Its not just about going to the motel! she protested. I want to know what its like to spend downtime with you. I want to experience what it feels like to be sitting around reading a book with you nearby, not even talking. I did not want to be with you while I was hurting, but youve hit it on the nail. Time out! Just me and you, maam. I said downtime, not time out, she corrected him. Like I said. Everything in Martas attitude suggested she was pondering the question, Was Dr. Chanca really that stupid or just pretend-

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ing to be that stupid? Then she mumbled, Im starting to hate him. Of course Otilia believed him. She believed everything he said. And he said he wanted to spend more time with her, uninterrupted time. Did she have any plans for the weekend of August 1921? Visibly annoyed, Marta jotted everything down. August 1921, 2002. If Otilia did have plans, she would cancel them. He said he knew of a delightful motel in Hyde Park, New York. She, who never left Hudson County, had never heard of Hyde Park, New York. There couldnt possibly be a world out there! Of course there was National Geographic, but those were pictures and articles. Real people couldnt possibly live far away from Hudson County. He told her the Roosevelt family had lived in Hyde Park and that it was beautiful, so far away from here (he didnt seem to like here). They could go for long walks in the woods and then to fancy restaurants in the evening. A walk in the woods? Otilia asked with a ring of terror in her voice. Thats right, like Hansel and Gretel and Little Red Riding Hood. Okay, what about bicycling? She stared at him, wide-eyed. Then she repeated the word, Bicycling! Otilia, mi amor, you make it sound like an indecent proposal, he said. Okay. What about a whole weekend of what is it that you call it . . . time out? Downtime! Havent you ever heard of downtime? Of course I have. Okay. What if we do that all weekend? She shrugged. Downtime is not something you do. Marta threw her pencil across the kitchen and exclaimed, Here we go again! Next thing, hell be calling you maam again and talking about manifest destiny! Holding on to her dog, who wanted the pencil, and at the same time staring at the pencil on the floor, Otilia said, Thats not very lawyerly of you. Marta interlaced her fingers before she uttered the word, Proceed.

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So Chico shrugged. And we could also go to the Roosevelt estate and the Dutchess County Fair. Have you ever been to a county fair? Have you ever seen cows and goats and pigs up close? Ive been to a zoo, she tried. I dont think they have cows and goats in a zoo. They do at the petting zoo. Suddenly, he was his enthusiastic self. Youll see chickens that look nothing like the chickens we have here in the live poultry market! Chickens that have won beauty pageant after beauty pageant! Maam, youll see chickens that are meant to be looked at, never eaten! The next day, he called Otilia with the details of where they should meet and when. Otilia was to drive herself there on Friday the 19th. On Thursday the 18th, she canceled all her appointments and went to buy three new outfits and soft underclothes called body gloves that she hoped would make her look slimmer. Would he notice? Where these body gloves too hard to take off? She also had her light brown hair dyed out-in-the-sun blonde and all her nails (fingers and toes) French manicured. What else could she do? Since she couldnt trust Pita to deal with the pomeranian, Otilia told Monica to find her a good kennel. Oh, and she had all the calluses removed from her feet, her legs waxed, her bikini area waxed, and her underarms waxed. Did he notice? Lastly, she took a diuretic and an Ex-Lax (to be truthful, two diuretics and two ExLax, the chocolate-flavored ones, instead of dessert). The recorder was recording, but Marta still felt compelled to write all this down. Every once in a while, she stared at the date, August 1922, 2002, as if it could give her some answers. Otilia remembered it was raining. It smelled like wood and pine. The air was wet and clean. She, who never left Hudson County, was surprised to see this country 120 miles away where you actually looked up at the sky and wondered about the names of trees. Nonetheless, she wondered what people did in the country besides pick apples and go for long walks in the woods and to

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the Roosevelt estate and to the county fair to see chickens that have won beauty pageants. There couldnt possibly be any work in this cute place. Maybe it got boring. When she stopped at a deli for breath mints, she was quite surprised to see that there were local newspapers. She bought the Poughkeepsie Journal, wondering how reporters could possibly lure readers in this postcard-pretty country setting. In her mind, she called it country, as if it were a foreign country. She thought nature existed only in National Geographic or in Kodak moments. Real life was Journal Square, the sounds, the smells, the buses, the gypsy vans, salt cod and big, dull yellow bananas. When she reached Hyde Park, she passed the town hall and really wondered why there was any need for elected officials here. Soon enough, she realized she hardly ever left Hudson County. Again, she tried to count the times. There was that summer after she graduated from high school when shed paid for a trip to Atlantic City with her senior class, but her mom had forced her to cancel the trip because there were no chaperones. Then shed gone to college and law school in Jersey City, so she had remained well within the county limits, not even wandering off to Bergen or Union County. Then she had honeymooned in Manhattan, and theyd visited the Bronx Zoo and the botanical gardens, where shed marveled at how it felt to be out in the wilderness. And that was it. After that, it was impossible to leave Hudson County: there was work, there was her old mom, there was Junior Mancuso, there was Pita, there was Manny and election years were always around the corner. Besides, she didnt want to miss a thing. But that was life before she crossed the Chico threshold. And this here was life after Chico, a tight border crossing. It was an up followed by a down. One minute she was at the summit, then falling down a bottomless pit; there was never an inbetween feeling, and that weekend was all high. She only looked down once, at the Dutchess County Fair, when she caught him staring at some womans legs. No, not just some womans legs; he was staring at the entire woman. But before that incident, they had gone to the chicken pavilion because he had promised to show her the most amazing chick-

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ens in the world and had even ranted and raved about them in bed. So that was their first destination at the county fair. He was so enthusiastic about these chickens that it was almost ridiculous. At a given moment, he pointed to a breed called the Serama and said loudly, This must be the smallest cock in the world! They were in this huge building, and everywhere they looked, there was an amazing chicken. Never mind the Serama. There was also the Belgian Bearded DUccle, the Mille Fleur DUccle and the White Crested Black Polish. Instead of progressively tiring of this, Chico got more excited with each chicken they stopped to admire. Soon enough, however, Otilia had had her fill of show-quality chickens with French names and was ready for a little more romance, but there was no stopping him. When she suggested that they move on, his eyes lit up. He was like a child. Lets go see the goats! My son Duncan will probably be there! She didnt yet know that he had a son by the name of Duncan. He was walking fast, but she wasnt because of her new, expensive, uncomfortable, trendy sandals that he hadnt even noticed because he was so excited about being at the fair. Fortunately, the goats werent too far away, but there were hundreds of them! Just when she was about to hug him and suggest they go back to their motel, he yelled to a red-haired young man, There you are! The young mans way of greeting Chico was, Dad, weve won three blue ribbons so far! Chico momentarily forgot about Otilia. Then, all of a sudden, a beautiful woman appeared, and Otilia wondered if she was the young mans girlfriend, even if she was a bit older than him. The red-haired young man must have been in his early twenties, and this woman was certainly in her thirties. Chico shook hands with the woman in her thirties and gesticulated. The woman in her thirties, in turn, stopped to consider Chico. Finally, Chico remembered Otilia was standing right behind him. Duncan, he said, this is my dear friend Otilia. One of the most, if not the most intelligent woman Ive ever met. Then he turned to Otilia and said, Otilia, this is Duncan, my son. And

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thats his employer, whom Ive just had the pleasure of meeting. Otilia, say hello. Otilia smiled at Duncan and at his employer before she turned her face away from the employer in order to say hello to Duncan. All the while, she was shooting sideway glances at Chico, who seemed quite taken by Duncans employer. So she walked over to Chico and took his arm, as if he were hers. It must have lasted a split second, the doubt, or perhaps longer. Ten minutes later, however, Chico had convinced her that she had imagined it. He even expressed how hurt and disappointed he was. How could she possibly suspect he had eyes for other women? Come look at the biggest rat in the world! Chico, I saw the way you looked at her! Otilia said. They were walking past the Gigantic Rat booth toward the canine police unit tents. He argued. Of course you saw the way I looked at her! And I did look at her! But it was with gratitude that I looked at her. Duncan has never held a job this long, and she happens to be his boss! Whats more, from what Duncan has told me, shes an amazing woman, but so are you! By then, they had reached food territory. Suddenly, Otilia stopped in front of the sundae stand, crossed her arms and yelled, Shes beautiful! And so is Laura! And so are you! And they dont hold a candle to you! Quieres uno? he asked, referring to the ice cream. She nodded. Later that evening, in a trendy restaurant called Terrapin, Chico explained to Otilia, in an amorous whisper, that unfortunately, he was caught in the middle of an internal power struggle. But he didnt need to tell her how corrupt the polticos were in their town. In fact, this is precisely what had made him fall in love with her. Somehow, she had managed to steer clear of all the corruption. He said he was so tired of it that he was looking into relocating. To hell with Hudson County! I thought Id paid my dues, and now look what theyre doing to me! he whined. Im thinking of moving either to Poughkeepsie or to Miami.

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This is changing the subject, but are you sure its okay to take the Xanax with so much wine? He swatted her question away as he would a common housefly. Dont worry about it. Just take the Xanax! Marta the attorney loved that detail so much that Otilia had to repeat it several times. As a matter of fact, she loved it so much that she underscored the date, August 20, 2002, several times. In this particular conversation, Chico talked in detail about having attempted to open a clinic in 1993, a year after he got his fellowship and failed because of the red tape and the lack of political connections. Was it because of medical school that you moved to New Jersey? Otilia asked. No. It was a fellowship. Let me finish. It was late in 1994 that he first managed to meet Franklin Pizarro, who scolded him and told him he was not working within the family. Those were his exact words. Then he told me I should use a consultant because he depended on consultants for recommending vendors. After having done some research, Chico said he discovered that Franklin Pizarro, in fact, depended on two chief consultants, and before long, he was friends with one of them, a former county administrator turned prison warden. It was thanks to his new friend that he was first awarded the contracts for the juvenile delinquent center and the correctional facilities. This had gone without a hitch up until April of 2001, when he lost the contracts, and not because of any shortcoming of his. That report was a bunch of lies! he said loudly enough for other people to hear. His only mistake was to have allowed himself to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, right smack in the middle of an internal power struggle. Now he wanted those contracts back. If those contracts are not renewed, Im a dead man. I lost too much money investing in windmills. Do you mean the wind turbines? Otilia asked. Yes. The windmills in Pennsylvania.

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It was on Tuesday, August 23, 2002, during a meeting at her Tenth Street political club that Otilia gave Franklin Pizarro the first envelope. It contained $10,000 in cash. There wasnt much of a conversation. Otilia simply asked Franklin Pizarro if she could see him for a minute. They went to the back, by the bathrooms. As Pizarro slid the envelope into his breast pocket, he kept looking around, and then he said, Sure, Ill take a look at these rsums. That was in case anyone was listening. For the umpteenth time, Marta asked if Otilia was aware of the fact that the envelope contained $10,000 in cash. Marta, I just told you it did. But did you know it at the time? Otilia put her head in her hands and replied, No? Was that a question or an answer? Marta asked. Yes, I did. I took the thing and gave it to him. Perhaps you didnt, Marta suggested. Okay, I didnt. I found out later. The envelope was thick though. It didnt just contain a letter. But you didnt look inside . . . No, I did not look inside. I simply handed the thing to Franklin Pizarro and told him it was from Dr. Chanca. Good. What did you think the envelope contained? Now Otilias answer was, Raffle books. Good. Because Otilia finished Martas sentence. Because it wasnt unusual to pass envelopes to Franklin Pizarro. They could contain anything from rsums to raffle books. For all Otilia knew, this particular envelope could very well have contained a contract to provide psychiatric services to the juvenile delinquent center. As far as she was concerned, she was acting as go-between, not as a delivery girl. There was a buyer and a vendor. Dr. Chanca had something to sell to the county executive, and that something was called psychiatric services or counseling. Otilia put these two people together. She was acting in good faith, no doubt about it. Martas next question was, What was your relationship with Franklin Pizarro?

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I hated him, but I frequently had contact with him because of our many political disagreements. So you didnt always see eye to eye? If thats what you call hate. What about what you refer to as the love affair? The love affair. Thats right. There was the love affair, the fortyfive afternoons. Very soon, there was a pattern. Pattern is a better word than routine. A week after the deed was done, Otilia and Chico met for lunch at El Artesano Restaurant on Bergenline and 41st Street. Chico thanked her profusely. It would make all the difference in the world. Now he could afford to hire a good attorney to defend him. Again, he complained about Laura and what a terrible person she was: selfish, inconsiderate, greedy, irresponsible. Otilia believed every word Chico said. He could not add the word unattractive to the list because Otilia had already been face to face with Laura. This time, he had forgotten to turn his cell phone off, and it rang. At first he paled, then he looked just like someone who had just made a big mistake and had no one to blame but his own self. A deer caught in the headlights, then a squirrel, undecided as to whether he should cross the road. Finally he answered the phone. That is when Otilia heard the name for the first time. He said, O3. There was a no-nonsense tone to his voice. He glanced at Otilia, appeared concerned, and then he stood up and walked out of the restaurant to talk. When she asked him what that was all about, he said it was a patient. A patient by the name of O3? she asked. Im O3! He paled. Then he assured Otilia that she must have heard wrong. He swore he said Audrey. Otilia insisted, she said she heard it clearly. And when he finally convinced her, she asked him if this Audrey was another girlfriend, because something was amiss. And when did they rendezvous? Every Thursday? In another cheap Tonnelle Avenue motel or in that same one?

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Otilia, mi amor, por favor! he said. Youre acting just like Laura! Audreys a schizophrenic! Shes not my girlfriend! And if I pronounce her name wrong its because Im not from here! So Otilia yelled in public. The hell youre not from here! Suddenly, he changed the subject. He must have been saving this one, his ticket out of a cul-de-sac. Had he told her Laura had multiple sclerosis? And for an added effect, he repeated the two words, slowly, Multiple . . . sclerosis. After he said that, he stared out the restaurant window at the Bergenline Journal Square bus. Otilia couldnt believe her ears. She felt bad. Perhaps Laura was beautiful, but she was suffering from an incurable, degenerative disease. Chico told her to remember that the next time she was feeling sorry for herself. He had no problem steering a conversation or an argument whenever it was going where he did not want it to go, but that was not the only time Otilia heard him utter the name Audrey that sounded like O3. Once, at a reception, she overheard him saying it to someone she did not know. Too oftenway too oftenhe assured her that she had not heard what she thought shed heard or seen what she thought shed seen. When this annoyed her, he always changed the subject and started saying the things she wanted to hear; it was all about making plans for their future together. They ended up at the motel after lunch every Friday, and he always had to rush out of there once they were through having sex because he had to pick his daughter up at the River School. Soon, he was calling her on her cell phone seven or eight times a day, just to hear her voice, so hed say, and shed call him as well. Marta said accusingly, I cant believe you stooped that low. Otilia preferred not to hear that. We were very much in love, and I will not allow anyonenot even himtell me he never loved me, she said. After all, we did last from 2002 to 2003. Forty-five afternoons. One newspaper labeled it Love, Hudson County Style.

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n exchange for room and board at Sacred Greens Farm, Duncan Chanca was to serve several functions. First and foremost, he was to be an assistant to James, Ambers chief handyman. When James didnt need him, he was to help Amber herself with the voiceover for the yoga and raw food video she was creating, and when she got frustrated with the yoga and raw food video, he was to help her with the chickens, the horses and the goats. Lately, Amber had come to the conclusion that goats milk was a super food, and since there was never enough super food to go around, she had arranged to mate one of her Nubians with a nearby farmers goat. The mating had gone well, and Amber was now anxiously awaiting the arrival of a kid or two. Other projects included building a new fence along the horse pasture and also getting started on, or at least talking and dreaming about, a self-sustaining organic farm. It was too late now, but Amber wanted to plan for several crops. I want to do it all! Amber said often, sounding quite impatient. We have no time to waste, Duncan! She paid Duncan $220 a week under the table for the work he did and dubbed him Assistant Caretaker. When he wasnt on one of his binges, Duncan was talkative, gossipy and quite sensitive. Lately, hed been trying hard to stay clean and to keep Amber happy, which was no easy task. She was a perfectionist and wanted things to be just so, or else shed succumb to one of her tantrums. These tantrums invariably left her quite embarrassed. They spent quite a lot of time together running errands. Amber had problems delegating, so she even accompanied him to the hardware store and promised him that one day, perhaps shed trust him as much as she trusted her handyman, James, but that

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she wouldnt make the same mistakes with him that she had made with James. When Duncan asked what these mistakes were, she refused to talk about it any further. It was while running these errands that they talked and talked. Amber liked to talk about herself, and Duncan loved talking about himself and his relationship with his family. While Amber talked about her departed dad, Duncan talked about his living dad. During one of those rare times that she stopped to listen, Amber found out that Chico, whom shed met briefly in 2002 at the Dutchess County Fair, was married to a drop-dead gorgeous (Duncans words) veterinarian named Laura, a blonde, mustardeyed Latina with whom he quarreled all the time. Besides being spoiled rotten, Laura was insanely jealous and insisted on Chico being focused on her and her only. If something did not concern her, shed yawn. She was that self-centered. Why doesnt he just leave her? Amber asked with that impatient tone of voice. They were driving past Northern Dutchess Hospital. Because shes sick, and he feels sorry for her. Amber was curious, very curious. What does she have? Its not as if she is going to die, but its something incurable. I forget what it is but every time she has an episode, it gets worse. They never talk about it. Since Amber was all ears while they were walking through the Stop & Shop on Route 9, throwing things in the shopping cart, Duncan told her that a month earlier in Guatemala Laura had given his dad a really hard time and embarrassed him in front of the family and the other people staying at his grandfathers motel. He usually wasnt this glib, but this time, he vividly described to Amber how Laura had punched Chico and broken her own wrist because she was convinced he was having an affair with someone named Audrey. Was Audrey the woman he was with last year? I dunno. Hopefully, theyll split up for good one of these days, Amber said.

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No. He feels sorry for her. And unfortunately, he added, hes madly in love with her. Again, they drove past Northern Dutchess Hospital. On another occasion when they were driving over the Rhinecliff Bridge on their way to Addams Fairacre Farm in Kingston, Amber shrugged and said, He cant be that much in love! Didnt you tell me hes coming back here next week with that same woman we met last year? How can you be madly in love with one woman and have a long-lasting affair with another? He manages, Duncan said with his eyes on the road. Youve never met Laura? he then asked, suddenly realizing Amber had never met Laura. Why would I have met her? Take that parking space! Ive only seen your dad once. Why would I have met his wife? She came here with him when I got out of rehab again. Thats right! You were at that horticulture workshop! Where I didnt learn a thing! Amber said, stepping out of the pickup truck. They took my money and didnt teach me a thing. If James hadnt managed to get fired from there, I never wouldve had to pay! Whyd he get fired? For growing the wrong kind of mushrooms. Thats how I met him. Duncan walked around the truck. They walked side by side. Anyway, when Laura was here, when she wasnt bored to death, she was upset because my mom was around. I hate her . . . I mean Laura. The automatic doors opened. The conversation kept going this uneven way. Has your mom always been heavy? Get a big cart. He did. Ever since I can remember. Does your dad like big women? Lets get walnuts and almonds and those Hawaiian nuts I love. The girlfriend I saw last year was pretty fat. I think he likes all women. These? he asked and showed her a jar of nuts. No! Those there! The macadamia nuts. Sometimes I wish James would disappear.

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He reached for the jar of nuts she wanted. Basically, my dads a really nice guy. When my mom could barely make ends meet, he helped put her through college. She already had a bachelors, so she went back for a masters, Duncan went on and on. He even said those two had a casual sexual relationship. What? Amber almost yelled out. Your mom and your dad? Give me a break! Lets get lots of Greek yogurt. I dont care how much it costs. Now Duncan seemed hurt. Why does it sound so preposterous? Because Moms overweight? Too much information! Get three of those. No, four! Of the 0 percent. It has to be 0 percent! Amber, youre always the first to stand up for women, and now youre implying that overweight women dont deserve to have sex! I am not! And what makes you so sure they have sex? Duncan, thats 2 percent! Because Ive walked in on them! Why the fuck are you telling me all this? she asked as they walked through the cereal aisle. Lets get out of here. Im tired of shopping! Her eye caught a baby in a stroller and she exclaimed, Oh, my God! Look at that baby! Why do you want James to disappear? Because I used to be promiscuous, and I had an affair with him. They got in line at the cash register and continued talking. A week later, at the Dutchess County Fair, just when Amber was expressing how happy she was to have won two blue ribbons for the goats and, at the same time, warning Duncan about victories and the dangers of victories because thats when people tend to fall asleep in their laurels. Duncans father appeared from what seemed to be out of nowhere. There was that same blonde woman with him, very blonde and stout. He had his arm around her shoulder, and she was staring lovingly at him. For a split second, Amber wished to do the same, stare lovingly at someone. Then her gaze went back to her goats, and she was so proud of her animals and of the accom-

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plishments with these animals. Duncan was reminding them they had already met, same time, same place, last year. First, he said, Dad! Anyway, in another few seconds they were shaking hands and staring at each other. This happened fast, like an accident happens fast, the type that lands you in the hospital and youre damaged for life. For a while, the blonde woman remained in the background, way out of focus. When they said good-bye, Duncans father joked about meeting again in 2004, same place, by the goats, same Dutchess County Fair weekend. Later that evening, back at Sacred Greens, one of Ambers dogs, Prem, was hit by a car. It happened fast, just like the afternoon encounter with Duncans dad. The dog didnt die. The veterinarians said she was lucky, oh so lucky, to have escaped death. She was, however, permanently damaged. Prem lost half her teeth, broke her jaw and was doomed to smell like blood and toothless gums for the rest of her life. For a few weeks and for no reason at all, Amber equated Chico and the woman to her dog being hit by a truck. Amber, who loved all things perfect, also had to deal with learning to love a damaged dog.

Fifteen

illys bodega on Bergenline Avenue was a gathering place in a neighborhood with no center. During election time, the politicians always made their stop there to chat with both legal and illegal aliens; it made no difference. Rumor had it that when it came time to vote at the Boxing Club on Palisades Avenue, all you needed was a local address or a social security card, and although the rents were getting to be sky high, you could still shop around for a reasonably priced social security card. Like most bodegas, Willys smelled of salt cod, rodent poison, ammonia, espresso and fresh guava pastries, but Willys establishment also had the distinct odor of a chicken coop. There were days when the live poultry market nearby made the whole block smell of what could be considered to the great outdoors in faraway farm country. The candy was by the cash register, as were the newspapers and a couple of one-day-old white and yellow (asexual) birthday cakes for sale. They were from Havana Bakery, and you could tell they were birthday cakes because HAPPY BIRTHDAY was written on them. If they didnt get sold one day, theyd be sold by the slice the next day, and that is how it usually worked out, stale cake by the seventy-five-cent slice. Willy also had this habit of using a bunch of bananas as a paperweight to keep the newspapers in place. Franklin Pizarro Resigns. Such was the headline on the morning of Tuesday, September 5, 2003, except that there was a bunch of bananas between Franklin and Resigns. Those were loud letters right above a photograph of Franklin Pizarro himself, papal-looking, waving good-bye. The readers who did not know Franklin Pizarro knew him now. He became an entity on September 5 by virtue of his resignation. As to those who

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knew Franklin Pizarro, they couldnt believe it. There had to be a mistake. Franklin Pizarro was not one to resign after having served as county executive for over seventeen years! He said he wanted to spend more time with the family, but he didnt give a damn about his family! There were to be all kinds of rumors. Perhaps Pizarro was having an affair, or maybe he had a life-threatening illness. There was conversation in the bodegas, in the delis, at the bus stops and in the restaurants. Was he being blackmailed like that homosexual politician whose name no one remembered anymore? In any case, Franklin Pizarros most loyal constituents were absolutely certain he was no Michael Jackson. On the contrary, Pizarro was a good husband, a good father and a highly competent county executive who, just the other day, had affirmed that hed remain in his post so long as the people wanted him. There had to be some kind of reasonable explanation for this sudden resignation. A lady pushing a baby carriage ran over Dr. Chico Chancas foot just as he was waiting in line to pay for his newspaper and his cold can of Coke at Willys bodega. This once, he had on soft moccasins instead of his signature clogs. Standing outside the bodega, Chico stared at the headline for a few seconds, then opened the can and began to read and drink as he walked along Tenth Street on his way back to Palisades Avenue. Still reading, he walked up three stone steps and rang his own doorbell. Celestina buzzed him in. Im busy. Dont talk to me, he said to her as he went to his office, sat down behind his desk and proceeded to read the article again. He did so at least three times, just to make sure his name had not been mentioned. Palisades Avenue sits on the edge of Union City, 500 feet over Weehawken and Hoboken, and boasts spectacular views of New York City and even parts of Brooklyn. The courtyard of the Union City Boxing Club next door to Chicos office had served as a vantage point in 2001, front row seats while the Trade Center kept on spewing smoke like a volcano. Suddenly, it started to rain outside. It was a noisy rain with loud thunder. Chico preferred to have the jalousie windows open

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and smell the humidity. He sat back and smiled to himself as he stared at the Manhattan skyline. The next day, Franklin Pizarro made the front page again. According to very reliable sources, after having been caught taking bribes from vendors on several occasions, Pizarro had agreed to cooperate with prosecutors in exchange for a sentence lighter than the one that awaited him. These vendors included Manny Kosravi, Pedro Splendido, and Paul Insalaco. The article even suggested there was a distinct possibility that Pizarro had taken over half million dollars in bribes. With his head in his hands, Chico read the article carefully several times. When he was through reading, he swiveled his chair and stared at the Manhattan skyline. This time, he was not really smiling. On the afternoon of Wednesday, September 6, reporters from The Chronotope, The Hudson Reporter and The Jersey Journal called to ask Chico Chanca about his personal involvement in the Franklin Pizarro affair. A reliable source had affirmed that he had definitely been a player. Was it true that he had been working undercover for the FBI? Chico denied everything. He said he didnt know what they were talking about. He also said he had work to do and certainly couldnt afford to spend his whole afternoon talking to mediocre journalists. On Thursday morning, however, Chico sat with a reporter from The Chronotope for at least twenty minutes. Im not from here, maam, he said several times. But the reporter was after a better quote than simply, Im not from here. So he stared at her, squinted, pointed his finger at her and then asked, Arent you. . . He didnt finish his sentence, although it did seem to have a question mark at the end. The reporter must have known what Chico was referring to, because she nodded. So he expressed how sorry he was that Contreras had passed away last year. By the way, he went to the funeral. She nodded again and said she remembered him being at the funeral. Suddenly, Chico was puzzled. Im sorry to ask you this, maam, but did you ever come here? He pointed to his desk, so he meant his office.

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Her answer was, I had a boyfriend who came to see you. He was very troubled. I was the one paying your fees since he didnt have insurance. How long ago was that? he asked. The year was 2001. By the way, you were the most expensive psychiatrist in town. With a mixture of arrogance and sarcasm in his voice, Chico said, Thank you, maam. Then he stopped to think and seemed puzzled. Wait, I thought Contreras was your boyfriend? I certainly would have remembered if I had had Contreras as a patient! She gave him a blank stare. None of my business, he then said, staring at her, trying to remember. He went down a list of drugs in his mind and finally put two fingers to his forehead and asked, Psychotic? Again, he pointed a finger at her. Your other boyfriend was psychotic, wasnt he? The reporters reaction was, Nice guess. Just like everyone else who walks in your door. Not necessarily, Chico scratched his chin. I do remember your other boyfriend. So how is he? It didnt work out between us, so I dont know. Maam, Im sorry about that. So am I, she whispered. He liked reading the phone book while sitting on the toilet. He found you in the White Pages and picked you because of your name. He liked your name. He said someone named Dr. Chanca accompanied Christopher Columbus on his second voyage, and he was really excited about that. By the way, Ive been meaning to ask, why do you go by Chico Chanca in the Yellow Pages and by Diego Alvarez Chanca in the White Pages when your real names Natalio? He hesitated before he said, It was a mistake, not my intention, so theres no symbolism involved. Natalio is my loser name, and Ive given it up. Then he hesitated again and was about to add something but seemed to settle for, Listen, I really should get back to work. . . Again, he hesitated, then asked, Is the interview over? You havent said anything yet. He rested his chin in his hand and said, Oh, and here I was thinking I had said too much.

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For the record, she asked him a straightforward, pertinent, tabloid question. His answer was that he was in no way involved with Franklin Pizarros resignation. He said he found out about it in the paper, just like everyone else. Off the record, she said, I know youre lying. Then she asked, Were you the vendor working for the FBI? No, maam, he said and looked at her straight in the eye. Since he was good-looking, she couldnt help but smile. He smiled back, stood up, held out his hand, wished her a very pleasant afternoon and the best of luck with her article. Whats Operation O3? she asked suddenly. Audrey? You heard me. I have no idea, but my wife is convinced I have a girlfriend named Audrey. Maybe she had an operation. Call me if ever you decide to stop being a prick. Dont hold your breath, maam, he said. The minute she left, Chico called Celestina and asked for mint tea. No, make that verbena! No wait, Celestina, a cold Coke. Bring it fast before I change my mind. Youre going to get one of your anxiety attacks, Chico. Ill bring you mint tea. You ate already? You ate? He waved the thought of food away, so she said he had to eat a guava pastry. Queso y guayaba, she said. He protested. Celestina, por Dios, no tengo hambre! Treme una Coca-Cola fra ahora mismo! El pastel de guayaba se come sin hambre, Chico! she pleaded. Y despus una sopita para el almuerzo. Then she sounded adamant. Nada eso de Coca Cola, Chico! Celestina had been Chicos housekeeper ever since he had started his practice over ten years ago. She had always behaved more like an old aunt or a grandmother than an employee, worried as she was that he hadnt gotten enough sleep or enough to eat or that he was risking his health because of all the stress. While waiting for the tea, Chico swiveled in his chair, turned his back to his desk and stared out the open glass lattices at the Manhattan skyline. His office was on the ground floor of a three-

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story, yellow-shuttered, red brick building on Palisades Avenue and Tenth Street. Recently, he had moved back into the apartment above his office, where he had lived up until he married Laura. Celestina had a small room with a view on the top floor, and the rest of the sunny third floor was used mostly for storage. Immediately after returning from Guatemala, Chico moved out of the West New York house and hired an attorney. The separation had ended up being even more emotional than he had expected, mainly because of Gaby. Every night, she cried and refused to go to bed unless he tucked her in and stayed with her until she fell asleep. Chico was more than willing to do that, and he did, but the problem was that he invariably ended up falling asleep on Gabys bed and not waking up until four or five AM. For the past three weeks, his Monday through Thursday life had been most difficult. Laura was barely talking to him, and Gaby was clinging, weepy and wetting the bed. Hed wake up at two AM to change the sheets, then lie back down with her again, hoping shed go back to sleep so he could leave. Of course, hed fall asleep as well. This meant he was always driving to his Palisades Avenue apartment between four and five every morning, wearing the clothes from the night before. Also, his body ached from sleeping on the edge of Gabys bed. Celestina walked in with the mint tea and told Chico he was looking tired and way too thin. Celestina was of the opinion that gaining weight was a sign of good health, and she found Chico way too skinny. An eavesdropper would have rapidly come to the conclusion that she was talking to a small, frail child. Celestina had been maternal from the very beginning of their working relationship. Once or twice, Chico had meekly asked her to behave in a more professional manner when there were other people present, especially patients, at least whenever she answered the phone. Unfortunately, Chico had never found the right secretary or receptionist, and so for the past few years, Celestina had been answering the phone as well as cleaning, dusting and keeping the place in order. Chico had to remind Celestina constantly that he sold services to county facilities, particularly prisons and that he dealt with

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prison wardens who were never going to understand why the psychiatrist in charge was being coddled by his housekeeper or receptionist or whatever the hell she was. Of course, Celestina didnt want to hear any of that, and eventually Chico came to the conclusion that she had been his mother or his grandmother in a past life. Not that he believed in past lives; he was saving that belief for the next life. Inadvertently, Chico began to wonder how Celestina would feel about his own personal involvement in the Franklin Pizarro affair. Would she think poorly of him? She always treated him like a little angel boy who could do no wrong. He also stopped to wonder if he regretted having gotten mixed up in this. No, he didnt, because he was going to be able to keep his contracts and walk away from this intact. That is what they had promised him in exchange for his involvement. He wouldnt even have to testify in court. Still, he wished it were over. He sat back in his chair, stared up at the ceiling, and cursed. This was only the beginning. And he was right. On Thursday, September 12, there was more breaking news. This time the headlines read: Franklin Pizarro Disappears. No one had seen him since Tuesday night, not even his wife. The county executive had vanished into thin air. But that wasnt all. As it turned out, Hudson County Freeholder Nacho Vargas of Jersey City had resigned from office effective November 11. He said he wasnt guilty of anything but expected to be indicted in connection with the Franklin Pizarro scandal. Nacho Vargas and Otilia Mancuso were both serving their sixth three-year terms as Hudson County freeholders and had already announced that they would both be running for their seventh three-year term in the November 2004 election that was a little over a year away. Seated behind his desk, Chico held his breath and kept on reading. Manuel Kosravi was quoted as saying that one of the vendors in the Franklin Pizarro case was working for the FBI as part of an undercover operationOperation O3to catch corrupt politicians.

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According to construction magnate Manny Kosravi, Dr. Chico Chanca, who was currently holding several million dollars in contracts to provide psychiatric services to a dozen or so county facilities, was the vendor in question. Chanca, however, categorically denied having any knowledge of Operation O3. Slowly, Chico folded up the paper, put it to one side, called Celestina into his office and told her to put him through to The Chronotope and ask for that same reporter who had interviewed him. He handed her the paper, pointed to her name and said, Thats her name. When the reporter got on the phone, Chico told her he was ready to talk and asked if she could come over right away. She couldnt. So over the phone, Chico admitted to having approached authorities after extortion attempts because he wouldnt go along with them, because that is not how he practiced. Before they hung up, they agreed to meet on September 15. Regretfully, on the morning of September 15, fifteen minutes before she was expected at Chicos office, the reporter called to cancel. There was too much going on. They would have to postpone their meeting. She did ask him if he had ever worn a wire, and he refused to answer because he felt challenged. What could be more important than what had happened to him on September 15? He found out on the 16th. Under the bananas used as paperweights, the headline read: Bob Baker Hears Bribery Charges, In Cuffs. While he was reading the article, Laura called to say she missed him and that she wanted to patch things up. For a few minutes, Chico didnt know whether to be happy or to keep on reading about how Baker, a retired deputy director of the Union City Police Department and a freeholder for the past thirteen years, had been taken into custody and charged with taking bribes from a vendor seeking government contracts. At that very moment, Laura was trying to express how much she loved him and wanted their relationship to work. Chico was trying to read faster and faster about bribes totaling $8,880 on five occasions in exchange for voting for the vendors contracts. Laura said she was downstairs and that she was coming up. He ran to the other side

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of his office and caught sight of her. The vendor was not identified in the seven-count indictment. Laura walked in. He looked away from the paper momentarily, but Dr. Chico Chanca, who holds numerous contracts with the county and with Jersey City and Union City, admitted that it was indeed him. Laura locked the door behind her. The paper fell to the floor and kept reading itself, like a television that is on and no one is watching. She was in his arms. They let themselves fall onto the couch. She took her panties off. He unzipped his pants and entered her with urgency. In the meantime, the white noise from the newspaper on the floor was saying, Dr. Chanca had also been identified as the vendor who had paid bribes to former Hudson County Executive Franklin Pizarro, and also that Dr. Chanca has not been charged with any wrongdoing. The next morning, when Chico opened his eyes in his own bed, what he saw was Laura lying beside him, wide awake, reading the newspaper, of all things. He tried not to sound too desperate. Where did you get that newspaper? We have it delivered, remember? Dont you use it only to pick up after the dogs? To his great dismay, she kept on reading. This Franklin Pizarro who resigned after seventeen years in office, who is he? Chico thought about Ulysses telling the Cyclops that his name was No One. Apparently, this Frank guy faxed a one-page letter of resignation and also pleaded guilty to one count each of extortion and tax evasion. Laura was still reading. He had no choice but to roll over on top of her, grab the paper, throw it on the floor and take her nightgown off while she yelled that they had to lock the door! He ran to the door and made sure it was locked. Rushing back to the bed, he stepped on the newspaper. His toes pressed right where it said Franklin Pizarro said he took over $400,000 in bribes and said and said . . . soon he was on top of her, and she was halfway off the bed, he could see the newspaper where it said that over $100,000 of the money came from Dr. Chico Chanca. She wrapped her legs around him and ordered him to stroke harder. Franklin Pizarro will be sentenced on December 14 and faces as much as four years in prison . . .

Sixteen

tilia looked away and repeated, We were very much in love, and our affair lasted thirteen months. Martas reply was, Otilia, its already September. She cleared her throat. I cannot push the trial off again. First it was March, then I managed to get it pushed to June, and then November. Were running out of time. I cant ask for another extension. Then it was Otilias turn to clear her throat and inspect the back of her hand and stifle a yawn, which made Marta yawn. The United States vs. Otilia Mancuso, Otilia said. September, October, November and Chicos phone calls became part of her life. She relied on them! She even took it for granted that this was the way it would be until he got his divorce. Once in a while, Otilia would exclaim in utter frustration, Cant his wife just leave him alone? He was hers! For always! They were going to get married and spend the rest of their lives together. Thoughts such as these made a pointless Christmas and a lonely New Years Eve bearable. On Christmas Eve, he called to tell her they would be together next year, and she couldnt wait. She wanted Laura dead. Move over, Laura! He was hers, and she was so glad she had waited so long to find the perfect manexcept that he was married. She believed every word he said. She was so glad that he wasnt playing games with her! Of course he meant every word he said. There was no waiting by the phone for him to call. On the contrary, she could practically set her watch to his phone calls. Looking back, he had probably programmed his Palm Pilot, and the fancy gadget did the rest. Either that, or his passion for her was quite punctual: it ebbed and flowed at 120-minute intervals. He always said, I just wanted to hear your voice. Then

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theyd talk again in the early afternoon about what they were doing, what they planned to do for the rest of the day, how much they missed each other, and how they wished they were together instead of twelve blocks away from each other. Otilia punctuated that memory by affirming, just as she had done before, We were very much in love. But sometimes he would stop calling you? Marta said and asked at the same time. Thats right. I hardly heard from him in January 2003, but that doesnt mean he didnt love me, because he did. Love doesnt have to last forever. It can last a day or an afternoon or a series of afternoons or thirteen months. Length of time doesnt always have to be the measure of love. Besides, thirteen months is not that bad. I think he just stopped loving me one day, thats all. In March 2003, when he stopped calling again, it was like pulling a plug, and the theater was dark and empty. She surprised herself, regretting that he hadnt killed her instead. In a matter of weeks, she had grown so used to the daily phone conversations that without them, life suddenly became unbearable, a bucket of cold water and a slap in the face. There was no weaning her out of this addiction little by little, no subtracting one phone call per day until zero. He simply stopped calling, cold turkey. She thought shed go out of her mind, for she had crossed the threshold, and now she couldnt live without his touch, his body against hers, without knowing she would see him on Friday. After two weeks of silence, she called his office. To her great surprise, his secretary connected her. Otilia! he exclaimed. Im so happy you called! Ive been going crazy with sorrow without you! Have you finally forgiven me? This time she was angry. Chico, what the hell are you talking about? Ten minutes later, he had managed to convince her that she was the one who had broken up with him and asked him never to call her again, ever! For the life of her, Otilia couldnt remember ever having this conversation, but he insisted they had quarreled because he had confessed to her that he still made love to Laura.

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That had made her go into a rage. And indeed, his mentioning it over the phone annoyed Otilia to no end. You see what I mean? he said triumphantly. Of course you dont remember. You were out of your mind angry at me! And you were right! I never should have betrayed you with Laura, but sometimes I feel sorry for her. I cant help it if I feel sorry for the mother of my child! Put yourself in her place. How would you feel if you were the mother of my child and you were suffering from multiple sclerosis? It didnt take Otilia long to convince herself that if he had disappeared for three weeks, it was because of her, not because of him. When he mentioned he was making headway with his divorce but not looking forward to spending the rest of his life living aloneand alone meant without herOtilia couldnt contain her happiness. Marta was looking annoyed. What did he do? Learn a few lines from the soap operas and then recite them back to you? He said he would never love again. He repeated he was ready to spend the rest of his life by himself. Then he asked her if she had found another man. Was there someone else? Hed understand. At least half the men in Hudson County were probably madly in love with her. Could she at least put herself in his place and try to understand how painful it was to share her affections with another man? The feelings of jealousy were overcoming him. The following afternoon, they were checking into the Starlite Motel on Tonnelle Avenue, the one with a view of the Meadowlands. She was feeling insecure. His absence had signified pints and pints of dulce de leche ice cream. She was wearing a colorful silk outfit. He took her top off and then his own pants before he started to kiss her breasts and admire them. If theres one thing the FBI couldnt order him to do, it was to fake it, and he sure was not faking it. Marta did not want the details, so Otilia was speaking very, very fast. Once she was naked, he made her get on the bed on all fours and thats how they did it, like animals. This is so grotesque, Marta said. She stopped to think and came to the conclusion that it had to be the Xanax.

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After that, he let me explore his whole body. I saw, touched, kissed and prodded all of him. Clearly, Marta was embarrassed. It was in early July of 2003 that Otilia entered what she referred to as the tunnel. No call that morning, just dead silence. Somehow, she knew that if he hadnt called by eight, he wouldnt call at ten or ever again. When she dialed his number, the recording said, Sorry. The Nextel customer you are trying to reach cannot be located . . . How in the world could this go from so many phone calls, so many words of love, to a Nextel recording? At nine AM, she called his office, only to be told he was on vacation. Otilia chuckled. His secretary had a thick accent, and she said Chico away on vacaychong. Immediately after hanging up, she dialed his wifes number with some fake veterinary problem, only to be told she, too, was away on vacation. How could this be? Had they gone away together? Perhaps theyd both agreed to have another go at married life together. Were they sharing the same hotel room? In spite of the Xanax, she had an anxiety attack on Thursday night. On Friday, she took a double dose just to make it through the day. Just a week ago, she had been with him, and now she had no idea where he was! Had it not been for the more potent dose of Xanax they had prescribed for her, she would not have survived those eight days she spent dialing his cell phone number every thirty minutes or so and always getting the same recording. She wondered if he had gotten discouraged and decided to move away. He often threatened to do so. Yes, threatened was the right word. Threatening to move away was his way of getting her to do things. Thats usually what he talked about when they had lunch at Armandos. Hed either move to Miami, Tampa or Poughkeepsie, preferably Poughkeepsie. He loved the Hudson Valley. What he loved to repeat over and over again was, Im not from here anyway, but he wasnt from the Hudson Valley either. On Monday, July 14, after eight excruciating days, she finally heard from him.

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Of course she was furious, but she knew it was him, because it was ten past eight in the morning. She answered, and it was the usual, Otilia! He didnt even sound contrite. It was as if hed never stopped calling. For a split second, she stopped to wonder if shed imagined it. Perhaps this past week had simply been a nightmare. His voice was so innocent, as if he had done nothing wrong. Little did it matter if he had been calling her seven or eight times a day to tell her he loved her and then suddenly pulled the plug on her. Who cares? From what he said, his mother had taken ill. She lived in Miami with his grandmother, and hed taken the whole family to see them. (As it turned out, his mother was in Canada, and his grandmother lived in a fancy assisted-living facility in Millbrook, near Poughkeepsie.) In any case, Otilia was so furious and at the same time so happy to hear his voice that she began to cry. You were in Miami with your wife? Are you getting back together with her? Are you crazy? Its nothing like that, love. Lets have lunch, and Ill tell you whats really going on. Ive been through hard times, Otilia. Just bear with me. By now, Otilia and Chico were regulars at what seemed like every single Bergenline Avenue restaurant. Bandera happened to be one of the five locations of the recordings made from a device carried by Chico Chanca. Change of plans; he took her to Edgewater, a restaurant called Armandos. Its still there, right on the river, past the virtual golf and the yacht club, a delightful, cozy place, patronized mostly by mobsters for lunch and also by lovers who want to get away from it all, not wanting to be seen in public. Otilia and Chico sat side by side at a booth that offered them privacy and quiet. They had napkins on their laps, and his hand caressed her. Her voice came through loud and clear in the recordings, and so did his. He told her that he cared, that he really did care, and that none of this was easy for him. It was just something he had to do, and there was no going back now. For once, she wasnt wearing a girdle, just panties. He said he couldnt go back, even if it was hurting and tormenting him to no end. He also apologized several times, as if he knew something she didnt.

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When she asked him why he was apologizing, he said, What Ive put you through and will continue putting you through. He kept saying he was sorry, and he was so easy to believe because all his lies were based on a true story. She had her belly tucked in and wished this could go on forever. With hindsight, Otilia realized he was talking about one thing and she was thinking another. All that time, she was convinced she knew what he was talking about. After twenty minutes of soul searching culpability, however, Chico was back to business. He took his hand out from between her legs. This time the truth, Chicos truth, was that Franklin Pizarro wanted more money to renew the contracts. Chico said he couldnt take it anymore, that he was at his wits end, and had even found a house he liked in Poughkeepsie. He was seriously considering leaving all this behind. By the way, he stopped again to express how sorry he was for having gotten her involved in this mess. His last hope was getting another $10,000 to Pizarro at the Brendan Courthouse venue on Friday. He kept bouncing from one thing to the other, feeling guilty, being madly in love and, of course, bribery. Im going to walk up to him, hand him the stuff and hope he takes it. Chico punctuated that with a sigh. I wish I had some kind of influence or power, but I dont. So I simply have to keep on paying the extortion money, my hard-earned money. He put his head in his hands and said, I really care about you, Otilia. She stared at his fingers in his long, brown hair, and suddenly she didnt want to be left out. Ill do it, she said. Hes not going to get involved with you. He knows that if I go down, he goes down. Lets meet Thursday morning for breakfast, and you can give me the thing. He shook his head. I dont want you involved in this dirty business. Just give me the thing. What do you mean by the thing? Marta asked. The envelope. What do you think the envelope contains?

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A prescription . . . a prescription for Viagra, Otilia hesitated. Actually twoone for Franklin and another one for Franklins number one consultant, Paul Berk. I didnt find that out until much later. Chico always managed to keep Berks name from me. He was a friend of Mannys, you see, Manny Robles, my ex. Maybe I would have put two and two together. Then again, maybe not, because all I could think about was Chico, which made it quite difficult to add or subtract. Anyway, Chico sure knew what he was doing. Lets get back to those prescriptions. Was Dr. Chancas signature on those prescriptions? Marta asked. No. I looked. They were both signed by someone else. Marta couldnt contain her glee. Were they signed by one of the RPA doctors? No. Marta was on the edge of her seat. Do you mean to say Dr. Chanca went out and got prescriptions from another doctor, then turned around and gave them to Franklin Pizarro and Paul Berk? Yes. Can you prove it? No, but I do know he only wrote prescriptions for his own patients. He often said there had to be a fiduciary relationship and a paper trail. Nacho Vargas, my fellow freeholder, was one of his patients. Chico was treating him for depression. Do you know what Nacho Vargas was taking? Viagra, Otilia replied. How do you know? Because at every party meeting, Franklin Pizarro joked about it. As it turned out, Franklin wanted some for himself. So it was on Friday, July 18, in the Brendan Courthouse Rotunda, that Otilia handed Franklin Pizarro Envelope Number Six. Again, Franklin Pizarro looked around. This time there was no conversation whatsoever. Did you look in the envelope? Marta asked. No. Marta, you seem to keep repeating the same question over and over again!

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Disregarding Otilias comment, Marta asked, So, what do you think the envelope contained? Didnt you just ask me that question? Prescriptions and raffle books. We were very much in love. What feels worse, losing the man or losing your freedom? Never mind, Im your lawyer, not your analyst. It all feels like hell, Marta. Im hurting like crazy, but I dont know if Im getting it across. It feels cheap, second-rate, the pain. Maybe its because of your English. Its cardboard English, quite limited. Oh, I know its your native language, but at times, its as if it werent yours. I never said the English language was mine. Its on loan. Relax. The Chico-Otilia routine, soon to be labeled Love, Hudson County Style by the local media, was definitely a routine that simply consisted of urgent phone calls during the week, some quick phone sex and lunch on Friday, either at Armandos or at some Bergenline Avenue Latin food restaurant, be it Cuban, Dominican, Puerto Rican, or Ecuadoran, always followed by a brief stint at a Tonnelle Avenue motel. The last few times they met, he took her to one of those drive-through motels. Check-in was much like a drive-through ATM or McDonalds, and fast, no waiting in a car line. There were times when the sex was just as fast. They walked in there, peeled each others clothes off, either made it to the bed, or to the floor, or to the bathroom in front of the mirror, and before you knew it, he was getting dressed and leaving in a hurry because he had to pick his daughter up at the River School. Chico always drove an older-looking dark blue Volvo station wagon. In fact, Otilia often meant to ask him why he always had that particular car on Fridays, especially when he had two very nice cars: a Lexus SUV and a 911 SC Porsche Carrera. As it turned out, the beat-up Volvo wasnt even his. It was a company car of sorts, but Otilia found that out a few months later, perhaps in September, after Franklin Pizarro disappeared and it was all over between them, that time for good. Whenever Otilia complained about minor details or about having to sneak around like criminals when they were so much in love,

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Chico explained that he had to be very careful until the divorce proceedings were well underway. Laura was extremely jealous and vindictive enough to hire a private detective. He didnt want her to suspect anything, much less that he cared for another woman. Thats why they went to the drive-through motels on Tonnelle Avenue. He felt he had to watch his back and his money all the time. Laura and Franklin Pizarro were vultures, ready to strip him clean. He had to stay focused and alert because he wasnt about to let himself be had. He swore he wouldnt lose this fight. He said hed rather die than start all over because he never wanted to be strapped for money or broke ever again. The money he had managed to accumulate thus far, which amounted to several million dollars, was of vital importance; he wasnt going to let anyone take it away from him without putting up a fightto the death if need be. When it came to money, his personality changed, Otilia said. In the sense that it made him tough. Otherwise, he wasnt. As to the motel sex, it, too, had a pattern. (Marta was ready to allow Otilia to talk about sex only if it was relevant.) He was a tender lover. Actually, graceful is a better word, Otilia said. At times, he was a graceful lover. At other times, he was all business. Ive never heard of a graceful lover, Marta almost protested. Now you have. I actually think he really did enjoy my body, even with all its imperfections. Once, when she was feeling particularly insecure about being fat, he asked her what she thought endears a person to a lover. She didnt quite get it. Was it perfection? So he explained. Personally, if he was attached to a woman and thought about her, he didnt focus on the perfection of that womans body, but rather on the imperfections, a chipped tooth, a scar, veins, odd patches of skin, whatever. We love someone because they are imperfect, not because theyre perfect. He even said his wifes store-bought perfect breasts turned him off. Otilia protested; his wife was gorgeous. He didnt disagree with her, but he was always deflating, he said. Deflating was his word. Maybe Laura is too good-looking for me, he then said. Maybe youre the one whos too good-looking for me, Otilia retorted.

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He liked staring at her on the bed naked, on her side, Goyas Maja looking away from him, while he undressed. Then hed put his beloved all-purpose cell phone-Palm Pilot on the table next to the bed. He never allowed Otilia to undress him. It was a detail she overlooked, a detail that didnt seem to matter. It wasnt that he was shy about his body. On the contrary, he had no qualms about walking around naked. That is simply how he liked to initiate sex with her. He said he wanted to look at her while he undressed. He said her body reminded him of Goyas Maja. He liked her big hips and her full belly; thats one thing Laura didnt have. One of these days theyd travel to Spain together and go see Goyas paintings at the Prado Museum. He asked her if she had ever been to the Prado just as he was penetrating her. By the way, he always used a condom. He even mentioned a Goya painting of a firing squad entitled 6 de Mayo. Napoleons men were shooting Spanish rebels. That was his favorite painting, but he also liked El Grecos virgins. He mumbled things like that while they were having sex. He talked about art? Marta asked incredulously. Otilia corrected her. When he didnt talk about Christopher Columbus, he talked about Spanish paintings, among other things. He was very enthusiastic about things like Christopher Columbuss second voyage. Actually, he was obsessed by it. He also talked about practicing yoga every morning and going to Guatemala, where his father had lived for the past twelve years or so, and how Laura always ruined it for him. Marta seemed excited. Do you remember the name of the place in Guatemala? Why? Are you planning on taking a vacation? No! Im just wondering if he was taking money out of the country. Any other details? Yes. He never kissed me. Never? Looking hurt and staring at the recording device, Otilia asked, Do I have to repeat that? No. Anything else? One more detail, Otilia said, hesitatingly. Shoot.

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He always used a condom, and he was always in a rush to get out of there once they were through having sex. This meant she always stayed in the motel by herself after he was gone. Otilia asked Marta to turn the tape recorder off. I looked for the condom because I wanted to take his sperm to a botnica. A botnica? Marta asked with disgust in her voice. Youre a Latina. You know what a botnica is. By now, Marta was flabbergasted. Youre an educated woman. You dont take a mans sperm to a botnica. Whose side are you on? I wanted them to put a spell on him, so I could keep him. They always use bodily fluids in witchcraft. So I searched for the condom each and every time, but I never found it. I suppose he took it with him or flushed it down the toilet. Now I wonder if he sensed what I would be capable of doing. Marta seemed annoyed. Enough of this! On July 25, there was a gala at the World Financial Center that they both attended. Instead of concentrating on the socializing and the networking, Otilia kept searching for Chico in the crowd. One moment he was there, and the next hed disappear! Here again, gone again! That happened several times until their eyes finally met. He was all alone with no wife, no lady friend on his arm. Chances were he knew well that shed be there. He was playing this little game of cat and mouse, except that she was the mouse who thought she was the cat, and he was the cat who pretended to be a squeaky little mouse. Little by little, they approached each other and shook hands. Immediately, she asked him what he was doing there. Bah! Im here to see Franklin Pizarro. Again? Chico sighed. She whispered. You have it? I do, but I want you to stay out of it, love. I dont want you involved anymore. Nonsense! He wont take it from you, Otilia said, and her voice came through loud and clear in spite of all the background noise.

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Your career is on the line, Chico said quite firmly. His voice came through loud and clear as well. So is his. Well all go down. Period. It was on July 27 that Otilia handed Franklin Pizarro Envelope Number Seven. Again, Marta asked Otilia if she knew what the envelope contained. Otilia nodded. Then Marta wanted to know why Otilia had insisted on doing it herself. I suppose it gave me a feeling of empowerment. I wanted Chico to need me. I wanted to impress him. I wanted him to know how influential I was, and for that, I was willing to lay my career on the line. What about the Xanax? Oh, I was definitely taking the Xanax. Was this the last time you passed an envelope to Franklin Pizarro? No. I did it two more times that summer. The affair lasted until the end of August. Again, Marta was underscoring the date, August 2003. One Friday, they quarreled bitterly when he announced he was going to Guatemala with his wife. Otilia couldnt believe it! How could he? At the motel, he convinced her it was something he absolutely had to do. Would they make love? Of course not! So they didnt see each other for ten days while he vacationed in Guatemala with his wife and child. Otilia could barely think; she was going crazy with jealousy. He didnt even bother to call her. She was furious. But to make it up to her and quell her anger, he suggested another weekend in Hyde Park, New York. In a second, Otilia went from foot-stomping, hair-pulling, jaw-locking, roll-in-the-dirt anger to throwing her arms around his neck in joy. That is how they ended up in Hyde Park, New York, for the second and last time. We came full circle, Otilia mentioned. It was like retracing our steps. We returned to the Dutchess County Fair, saw the chickens, the cows, the goats, as well as his red son and his employer, that girl, I mean that woman and we dined in a fine restaurant before we went on to have shameless motel sex. To

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make a short story shorter, we did everything all over again for the last time. Once again, he pulled the plug. It was the end of the world. After Labor Day, she called because he hadnt called, only to discover he had canceled his cell phone service. When she dialed his private office and asked to speak to him, his secretary said he was out, so she called RPA, his firm, and they said he was in a meeting. After that, she drove to RPA just to check and see if his car was in the lot. It was. Her initial intention was to wait for him however long it took and confront him the minute he appeared. She waited ten minutes or so, with all kinds of plans, and then spotted him leaving the RPA building and walking toward his car. She followed him all the way back to his other office. He had an office at Riverton Psychiatric Associates and also a private office on Palisades Avenue and Tenth Street. He spent most of his time in the private office. He only went to RPA to meet with the doctors working for him. After he entered the building, Otilia waited for him to make his way back to the office before dialing his number again. The secretary put her on hold. It took a while to be told that the doctor was out of town. That is how the affair ended. So how did you cope? Marta asked. I put everything I had into getting reelected in 2004. I also joined the gym and worked on my appearance. Did you ever see him again? Yes.

Seventeen

aura and Chico had not quarreled for three days when they quarreled again. She felt hurt, betrayed, a bit confused, too, so she asked him to move out and threatened to take everything and even a little more, perhaps. This was not the first time, or the second. It happened so oftenthe threats and the insultsthat they had long stopped counting. On the morning of Friday November 7, 2003, after having neutered a floppy-eared shepherd mix, Laura left the OR room. Out in the hallway she stepped over a urine-soaked piece of newspaper. This happened all the time: a dog would urinate in the hallway and her assistant would immediately throw a piece of newspaper on the urine so no one would slip and fall. Rarely did Laura read the local news, because she wasnt from Hudson County and therefore felt no ties, not even curiosity. She did come across the paper every morning when she took the dogs out for their morning walk because they had it delivered to their home. Rain or shine, snow, sleet or hail, The Jersey Journal and The Chronotope were thrown at their doorstep at the crack of dawn. Lately, Chico had talked about canceling the subscription. He said it was no use paying for it because no one read the newspapers anyway. Lauras argument was, Just keep paying for it! What does it matter? Besides, the freshly delivered newspaper came in handy when she walked the dogs. Newspapers did not have to be for reading: they could be for picking up after the dogs. Although the only topics that interested Laura had to do with veterinary medicine and animal rescue, the soaking wet Friday, November 7 headline made her stop for a moment and wonder. Operation O3? Does anyone have todays paper? she asked one of the assistants in the reception area. A fresh one?

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The technician asked, Is there a spill? No! I just want to read it! Not even bothering to thank the technician for the fresh paper, Laura read as she headed back to her office. Some reporter had interviewed Chico, whose first reaction had been, Im not from here. Oh Three, Laura repeated the sound to herself. Lately, she had been quite focused on Chico, madly in love, jealous and intent on knowing more about the other woman, who she was and if he was still seeing her. This had led to several quarrels that they had managed to solve, romantically, in bed, with Laura regretting whatever she had done or said in a fit of anger and reluctantly believing he had never cheated on her. The next morning, invariably, she regretted her behavior in bed and berated herself for having been so out of control. This always put her in what she described as an iffy mood. She wondered how and why he brought out this beast in her. How could she be so shameless, so vulgar? She stepped back to take another look at herself. Why did everything have to be about shame and regret? She felt like a county fair ride gone awry: one minute she was here, the next she was way over there, after that, she was being catapulted into chaos, and before she knew it, she was quietly reading a veterinary journal. Up until last Tuesday, November 4, they had quarreled bitterly just about every evening, over everything. Once, it was because he was sitting there like an oaf staring at the television and not even watching, merely zapping. Then there was a truce because it was Columbus Day weekend, his birthday weekend, and Laura held birthdays sacred, so they had a wonderful Columbus Day weekend. Three days later, he was on the phone too long with Allison, his ex-wife. Laura couldnt take it. But the two straws that broke the camels back were those two consecutive nights when he couldnt do it and blamed it on sciatica. She waited and waited and finally was so angry that she tried to suffocate him with a pillow. It was one of those fights you cannot put an end to, and the only solution seemed for him to move out of the house. Divorce!

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They waited until Saturday; it must have been October 25. He had rented a U-Haul and was in the process of moving out for the third time this year when Laura went into the bathroom to take a pregnancy test, only to discover that she was pregnant. In a matter of an hour, Chico had moved everything he had crammed in the U-Haul back into the house. In no way, however, did Lauras early pregnancy make her rollercoaster marriage perfect. There was also the MS, and dealing with pregnancy and MS, and of course the implants. All this made the wonderful news stressful. Laura had become more susceptible than ever, the slightest incident sending her into a fury or into deep, deep, depression. At times, she would weep for hours. There was no consoling her. Laura resented it when Chico wasnt focusing on her. She didnt even approve of his daily yoga practice in his yoga room and had taken to interrupting him. On Monday, when he was in a forearm stand, she walked into the room, knowing quite well she was unreasonable at times. She also realized it was difficult to live with her mother, who hated him. But couldnt he quit yoga, at least for Chelseas sake or his unborn childs sake? Lightly, he came down from his forearm stand before going into a tripod headstand. Arms crossed, Laura waited for a reaction. Slowly, he brought his legs down and went into a full split, then stared at her as if she were some madwoman in a madhouse. You havent touched me in a while, Laura said. Youre pregnant, remember? He was still in the full split. So? She was glad she didnt have a gun because she wanted to kill him. You know. No, I dont know. Tell me, what the hell is it that I know? she asked accusingly. And should you be doing this if you have sciatica like you pretend to? He brought his legs back together again. By the way, I wont be here this weekend, he said. Where are you going? To Poughkeepsie, to see Duncan. Actually, Im planning on going there every weekend. Im unhappy. I need the change.

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Laura couldnt believe her ears. Whos pregnant here? What about my implants? What about my MS? His attitude softened a bit. He looked at her with tenderness and really felt bad for her. Then finally on Tuesday, November 4, Laura and Chico went to see Dr. Juan Perdomo, a Union City ob/gyn of Coral Gables Cuban origin who also happened to be an acquaintance of Chicos. Laura was so glad he was Cuban! She wouldnt have had it any other way. Often, she complained there were too many Filipino MDs. Before Dr. Perdomo proceeded to examine Laura, they talked about Coral Gables and regretted they were not having this conversation in Coral Gables. From the looks of the sonogramdefinitely a moot moment for the Chancasand the information given to Dr. Perdomo by the mom-to-be herself, Dr. Perdomo calculated Laura was approximately six weeks pregnant and the baby was due June 26, 2004. Both Laura and Chico were so elated that day that they swore never to quarrel again. Every once in a while, Laura took the snapshot of her embryo out of her handbag and stared at it as if it were the cutest baby. For three whole days, they made every effort to be true to their word, no more quarreling. By Friday, November 7, the day Laura neutered the floppy-eared shepherd mix, they still had not quarreled, not even a bad feeling, only earnest efforts to be good-natured. On an impulse, Laura called Chico and let go of the anger she had been holding back for three days. She told him she hated him and wanted him out of the house by the end of the month. She threatened to keep everything if he did not explain what was going on. She said everything she had already said so many times before. After she hung up, she immediately regretted it and started reading the article again from the beginning, without interruption. At this point, she was so puzzled she had no idea what was going on. She even wondered if there was another doctor named Chico Chanca in town. She stopped to wonder if she had overreacted. She simply couldnt imagine Chico being involved in this sort of thing,

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yet there was mention of this Operation O3. She wondered if this was simply a coincidence. The article said Chico denied having had anything to do with the county executives resignation. He also denied being the vendor who had cooperated with the FBI. In vain, Laura tried to reach Chico to tell him she was sorry for having said all those mean things and also to ask him what this nonsense was all about, but he had turned his cell phone off, and that Cerberus housekeeper of his was adamant that he wasnt taking any calls, no matter what. All day, Laura kept dialing his number, but he was totally out of reach. He knew how to be inaccessible when he wished. Finally, at four PM, Chico called Laura to tell her he was on his way to Poughkeepsie, and when she started to ask questions, his line went dead. Immediately after that, he called her back to blame Verizon. The little time they talked, he compared Verizon to Nextel, and explained how he regretted no longer having Nextel, or the other way around. Laura couldnt get a word in edgewise. Before long, he said, Im in a bad spot here, and the line went dead. She felt very lonesome on Friday night, in front of the television, with Chelsea and the poodles. Her moms Alzheimers had picked this evening, this heartless, center-less evening, to weep. All evening, she wept, wanting to go home, wherever that was, regretting everything in the world. No news from Chico. On Saturday morning, Laura drove to his place on Palisades Avenue, buzzed, and was allowed in by Celestina, who told her Chico had gone to study yoga in Poughkeepsie and could not be reached. The place smelled like him, and Lauras heartfelt squeezed. She wanted to cry, to throw herself at Celestinas feet and beg her to reveal Chicos whereabouts, but she held on to her pride and didnt do any of that. Disappointed, miserable, nauseous, in love, and on her way back to West New York, Laura stopped for Cuban coffee at the counter of a West New York bodega. Just as she was taking her first sip of the sweetest nectar, her eyes chanced upon the headline: Doc Recants. Quickly, she swallowed the rest of her coffee, grabbed a newspaper, paid and hurried back to her car.

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In the safety of her car, Laura couldnt believe what she was reading. Chico had admitted to having been involved in Operation O3 from the very beginning. He wished to make it perfectly clear, however, that he never did catch Franklin Pizarro, the former county executive, on tape taking money. What motivated the sources to say he did tape Franklin Pizarro was their eagerness to obtain his county contracts, which were worth several million dollars a year. Chanca refused to identify the sources spreading these rumors. Although county officials were vague as to why two of Chancas contracts had not been renewed in April 2002, Franklin Pizarro was quoted as saying, the day before his disappearance, that he did not like the way Chanca did business. He flies solo. And, pardon my French, but hell even screw the FBI when the time comes. Why not? So far hes screwed everyone else! Chanca was hoping that by virtue of having cooperated with the FBI, he would be able to regain the county work he lost in April 2002. Chanca, the principal of RPA, began working for the county ten years prior as a part-time psychiatrist for the jail and currently employed five other psychiatrists. In Lauras mind, there had to be some mistake. Out loud she said, This is a joke! Laura laughed out loud. Audrey, a sting? Chico working undercover for the FBI? Chico involved in a sting? All he cared about was making money and sitting in an empty scentedcandle-lit room spread eagle! O3, a sting? It couldnt be! Audrey was a womanhis girlfriend! Besides, Chico was too shallow to work for the FBI, wasnt he? The FBI only picks people with substance, not Chico! Laura laughed out loud and shook her head. There had to be some mistake. Audrey couldnt possibly be a sting. Quite anxious to get to the bottom of this nonsense, Laura dialed Chicos ex-wife in Hyde Park and left a message for Chico saying that Chelsea had not allowed anyone to comb her hair since she had last seen him on Thursday evening. Could he please come home early on Sunday afternoon and deal with the knots? She knew hed come and that it would take several hours to untangle Chelseas hair; he was trapped. On Sunday afternoon, Laura walked into Chelseas room holding the A section of the Sunday paper and read out loud to Chico,

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Millions paid to RPA, docs business interest, for work done at county corrections and juvenile detention centers from June 1, 1996 to May 31, 1997: $966,900. She stopped for a moment to check his reaction. Not getting a reaction out of him, she said, And this one! From October 1, 1999, to September 30, 2001: $1,305, 957.77! A total of $9,196,816 and change for the county alone! she exclaimed. Then she asked, Where is all this money, Chico? Honey, you have to hold still while I try to undo these knots, he was saying to Chelsea, who was sobbing quietly. Then he looked at Laura and said, I lost most of that money. Laura went down on her knees and looked under Chelseas bed. Where? she asked. I didnt say I misplaced it. I said I lost it. Thats what I get for believing in windmills. What about all these fitness-for-duty evaluations? You were paid $1,000 per evaluation, and they say that sometimes you did as many as ten a day in police departments all over the county. I lost that money too, he said. Windmills! Honey, please dont cry, he said to Chelsea. So you hardly have any money? Correct. Sweetheart, if you dont let me do this, well have to cut it, he said to Chelsea. Laura crossed her arms and stared at him. How do I know youre telling the truth? He shrugged, and focusing and on one of Chelseas knots, he asked, Should I just cut it? Daddy, I dont want it cut! I want it long! So how did you lose all the money? Laura asked. Be brave, love. Im almost done with this big knot. Then he said that after the windmill fiasco, he had been caught giving bribes to county officials and consequently was forced to surrender most of the money hed made and also to cooperate with the FBI in order to avoid a prison sentence. And Im supposed to believe that? Laura asked. You of all people!

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You can believe whatever you want. It doesnt matter to me one way or the other. He looked relaxed, withdrawn and angry at the same time. He looked good, and he had two voices in the same conversation: sweetness for Chelsea and coldness for her. So Laura softened. She started to cry and reminded him that she was pregnant. There was a moment of what could be called pregnant silence. Chelsea stared at her parents, wide-eyed. They had agreed to wait until Thanksgiving to tell her, but now she knew. A few minutes later, the Chancas were hugging each other, happy to be together. That evening, they celebrated the unborn child at Ruth Chris Steakhouse in Weehawken, down by the water. After dinner, they walked along the Hudson River and stopped several times to admire the Manhattan skyline. Do you remember when the World Trade Center was over there? Chico asked. Later that evening after Chelsea was put to bed, Laura and Chico made love behind locked doors, under the covers, in their bedroom. The only light shining in the darkness came from the television set in front of their bed, playing a black-and-white classic.

Eighteen

hico Chanca felt compromised. He kept falling behind in his bills and his paperwork. At times he was fearful and at other times quite embarrassed. The question he asked himself was somewhat nave but to the point. Would I like me if I were someone else? That was the question, and the answer was no! Sometimes he hated Laura. At other times, he was afraid of Otilia. He had the impression she was trying to get into his brain. He couldnt make himself listen to what any patient was saying. There was a pile of unopened mail on his desk: the thought of opening an envelope was too much to bear. Whether it was virtual or real, there was too much paper to deal with. The only thing he could read attentively was the newspaper. Where did all these bills come from? At this rate, he was going to go broke! More paper! He couldnt believe he had allowed himself to be dragged into this mess. He couldnt believe his initial intention had been to hurt Otilia. She was to be a casualty of war, and he didnt care if she was putting her career on the line. Never mind Otilia. What about his own career? What if he lost his license? What if he lost everything he had? The more he worried, the more Chico looked forward to getting in his car on Friday afternoon and driving away from Hudson County. Soon enough, getting out of town became the highlight of his life. On Route 17, he usually called his attorney, Roger Doyle, just to make sure, once again, that he would come out of this unscathed. These weekly conversations would always end with Chico saying, I didnt do anything wrong, I dont have to testify, and I get to keep all my contracts for one more year, at the very least. As sure as he was that he did not need reassurance, he felt compelled to hear himself going down that checklist.

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Every morning, he tried practicing yoga and meditating, quite unsuccessfully. Then hed make half an effort to plan his day. By early afternoon, he couldnt quite make up his mind as to which issue was making life more unbearableLaura or all the rest. Everywhere he looked, there was a fire that would not be put out or an envelope that needed opening or a form that should have been filled out a week ago. When he tried to make things happen, they wouldnt; and when hed try to prevent things from happening, of course, theyd happen. Oftentimes, he surprised himself thinking about an Amazonian tribe whose people apparently had the capacity of dying whenever they felt it was time. It was not as if they committed suicide, but whenever they came to the realization that life would no longer go the way they wanted it to go, they could lay in a hammock and wait for death to come. Lately, Chico had definitely been thinking about death and considering it a friend. Then he remembered Chelsea and his unborn child, and he would change his mind. Perhaps the situation would not have been as difficult had it not coincided with Lauras pregnancy, but then again, it could very well be that he had gotten involved in this other thing in order to precipitate a separation. Looking back almost to the beginning of their relationship, their breakup had been overdue for years. Although, at other times he couldnt believe it could ever be over with Laura. No more Laura and Chico. The baby was due in June. They had a quiet Thanksgiving dinner at home, but Chico kept reliving that August morning in El Remate when he realized just how miserable he was with Laura. Never mind that he had spent all these years so madly in love with her, believing that eventually everything would go smoothly simply because this was the woman for him. After all, she was beautiful, intelligent and independent. She had to be it! She was pregnant, and he was trapped. Now it was early December, and he knew the unhappiness he felt then was not just a product of their constant quarreling: it was visceral. Her having once threatened to take Gaby away and make him pay dearly had been too much. She had crossed the line, and there was no going back now.

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As far as the other thing wentthe thing that had no other name except O3it was not as if he had never sensed it would come to this. He knew what he was getting into, or at least he thought he knew this was a treacherous situation that could embarrass him and harm his reputation, and he had been bracing for it. No! He had been entrapped! He had not been given a choice! Now he felt as if Otilia were the boogeyman, and he particularly disliked the article where Mayor Ryan Black rambled about the Velasquez Room at the Prado Museum in Madrid, where they have the Dark Prince. Fortunately, Laura never did read it. Thats Chico Chanca for you! Black said. Dont let that pretty face of his fool you. Thats a mask he wears. You want a bad guy? Hes your bad guy. That really got to Chico, so much so that it scared him, and for a few days, he thought that something evil was coming his way and that he would end up losing everything he had. Was Otilia making her way into his mind? Im not a bad guy. It wasnt as if he had gone out of his way to make all this happen. No, I didnt! Chico was convinced he wasnt one to waste time thinking about getting back at Franklin Pizarro for having made pitiless demands on him when he was desperate and didnt have any money. There had to be a first truth somewhere. So Chico had managed to convince himself that he had forgotten all about it, and that just as he got used to making lots of money, he also got used to giving Franklin Pizarro money, hardly ever thinking about revenge. There also had to be some axioms. Chico told himself that he was not a vindictive person. This is the way he put it: I may be looking out for my own interests, but then again, who isnt? Look at me. I have a little girl whose wellbeing Im responsible for. I have a wife whos pregnant and out to get me for everything I have. And just to save the best for last, I have an irresponsible loser for a son. But Im not a vindictive person! Over and over again he told himself that he was essentially well-intentioned. But what about greed and revenge? He truly believed he had never considered it. The opportunity simply came his way, perhaps eighteen months ago, in the form of a phone call.

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At first, Chico thought this woman calling him was simply reaching. He asked her what her name was, and she said it didnt matter. He insisted, and each time he was about to hang up, she volunteered more information. Finally, she mentioned the League of Municipalities convention. Thats when he knew she was not simply reaching. Somehow, she knew that Franklin Pizarro had accepted a bribe from him at the League of Municipalities convention. When Chico heard this he breathed deeply and held his breath inside his entire body for as long as he could. So what do you want? he asked dryly. They simply wanted him to cooperate. After he hung up, he sat back, looked up at the ceiling, and remembered how it felt to be broke and in debt here in Hudson County, after his fellowship. Government contracts were the only way out of that situation. He couldnt just open up a practice and wait for people to find him in the Yellow Pages. His argument was that he wasnt bribing public officials. It wasnt something he had set out to do. This was not bribery! This was extortion. Once he had made sure he would not be arrested or charged with any crime, he agreed to cooperate, on his own terms, under several conditions, number one being that he keep his contracts. Now he was up to his neck in this quagmire and seriously hoping he wouldnt come out of this damaged for life. He was even considering coming up with some plan just in case things didnt quite turn out the way he hoped they would. Perhaps he should move to New York State, get a license to practice there and, most painful of all, get used to making less moneya lot less money. Start all over again? The thought was a downward spiral, and he had to put it out of his mind before he crashed. Chico checked on a daily basis to see if he regretted his choices and if he had second thoughts about what his life had turned out to be. He wanted the answers to come back negative, so he panicked and called his attorney. He did not regret the money and the effort he had put into bribing public officials. He did, however, despise his life, to the point of feeling sickened by it. He thought all this money would make him happy, and it did indeed,

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for he couldnt live without it! Still he had no peace, no sweetness, no bliss. It was all business. He was lonesome, and he had grown bored of his own company. To his great dismay, there were times in the day when he had to keep himself from calling Laura and telling her he wanted to go back to the way it was when they first met and he didnt feel so trapped by her. Although this impulse had everything to do with loving Laura, it also had something to do with ego, fear and loneliness. To make matters worse, Christmas was just around the corner. He hated the holidays. He feared the thought of separation itself. It was raw proof that he had made a big mistake and an indication that he could probably make the same mistake again, which meant no more relationships. He could even do without sex, because even casual relationshipslike the one he had tried to maintain with Otiliaended up getting too complicated. First she declared eternal love for him. Just like in the soap operas, shed told him he was the love of her life. His reaction was: Por favor, Otilia, stop that nonsense! But it didnt end there. A few days later she made an appointment with a priest and begged him to accompany her and explain the situation, how much they were in love and how theyd do anything for their union to be sanctioned by the Iglesia Catlica Apostlica y Romana. Thats when he suggested that she come off the Xanax. By then, though she was feeling like the Xanax poster girl. Why did she become so prudish and conventional all of a sudden? Oh, and he almost forgot, why so religious? He asked, For heavens sake, what does God have to do with our Friday afternoons? Everything! she yelled at the top of her lungs. Everything! He put his head in his hands and mumbled, Oh, my God! One afternoon, Otilia solemnly declared she was giving up cheap motel sex. No more condoms! she yelled. This is a motel room for depraved illegal aliens! She said that with her index finger pointing up at the crooked mirror on the ceiling. Whats wrong with that? he tried. Okay, do you want us to go to another motel? he asked desperately. I want you to respect me!

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Otilia, whats happening to you? And what do immigrants and condoms have to do with respect? he asked. I dont know about the Xanax . . . Is it the Xanax? You loved Room Four as much as I did! Naked as she was, she stood up and asked him why he insisted on using a condom. I want to know! she yelled at the top of her lungs. He could tell she was self-conscious about her belly, so he stared at it. Otilia, por favor! After she calmed down, she said she wanted it her way. If he wanted a life of Tonnelle Avenue motel sex with her then he had to divorce his wife and marry her, instead. She burst out crying and then she howled and clung on to him. She said she wanted to be twenty-five years old and to have a child with him. Here we go again! he said. Im fifty! she screamed. Im fifty! Im flabby, Im thirty pounds overweight, I cant live without a reinforced body shaper and I love you! He put his head in his hands and moaned, Oh, God! I want you more than anything! In the end, Otilia, whose body he had enjoyed so immensely, had left him with no choice but to disappear like a frightened genie or a lowly coward. There was to be no more relying on the conviction that being fifty would make a woman casual and reasonable. But this business about relationships was only minor. Worst of all, he feared losing Gaby. If ever they were separated for good, it would never be the same, and he had never intended for that to happen. When Gaby was born, he was totally committed to his marriage and ready to do just about anything to make it a happy one. Every time he thought about this, he was ready to blame Laura for making him feel so trapped. Staying away every weekend eased the anguish. He would not return to Hudson County until late Sunday night and every Friday afternoon hed get on Route 17 before the traffic jams in hopes of making it to the New York Throughway by four PM. By five, he was

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checking into the Beekman Arms in Rhinebeck, and by six, he was in his yoga class. The Hudson Valley had once been home to him. Chico had attended four years of college in Poughkeepsie, fifteen miles south of Rhinebeck. It was in his second year of college, at age nineteen, that he met Allison, a stunning five-foot-eight, 160-pound redhead of Irish and Puerto-Rican ancestry. Perhaps she was a bit on the plump side, but nonetheless attractive, and quite proud of being a big girl. The last thing she wanted, she said, was to be skinny, and the reason was that she had never been slim. She had long, thick red hair. When he met Allison, Chico immediately fell for her. This came as a surprise to Allison, who wasnt expecting anyone who looked like Chico to fall for her. Three months later, she was pregnant. The year was 1984. They spent several days talking it over and finally decided to get married and keep the baby. After the marriage, Chico moved in with Allisons parents, who lived in an ugly little white house in Hyde Park, New York. Ugly was the only word to describe it. At least it wasnt a trailer or a prefab; as a matter of fact, it was a tiny 200-year-old house that had been added on to. It looked lopsided, but it was cozy inside, and in the winter, there was no need to throw money at the fuel companiesthe entire house could be heated simply by burning wood in the woodstove. Chico hated it. The house was for people who went through life without ever managing to make ends meet. It wasnt long before he wanted out and was dreaming about a blonde, skinny wife from a respectable, moneyed family. Labeled mildly learning disabled, he was never a good student. Consequently, no medical school in the area accepted him; they were too competitive. But after much effort and many applications, he finally managed to get accepted in the Dominican Republic, Miami, Los Angeles and Nashville. The problem was that Allison didnt want to go to any of those places. She said she had it easy in Hyde Park with her parents to help her out and a job waiting for her, now that she had earned her bachelors degree. They agreed to a long-distance relationship. Chico would go to medical school in Miami. Allison would teach third grade at a

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nearby private school. Hopefully, once he was through with medical school, hed get an internship in the Hudson Valley, and they could pick up where they had left off. Hed purchase one of those stately mansions. Six months into this long-distance marriage, however, Allison flew to Miami to tell Chico she had fallen in love with one of her colleagues at the private school where she taught. She said he was a nice man, a black Puerto Rican gym teacher and that she wanted to marry him. Their separation was an amicable one. Chico and Allison remained good friends and never considered getting back together again, even after it didnt work out between Allison and the Puerto Rican gym teacher. For many years, Chico sent Allison moneymore and more as he made more money. When she got tired of teaching third grade, he suggested that she go back to school, which she did. Even after his marriage to Laura, Chico continued traveling to the Hudson Valley every few months, making sure everything was fine with Allison, even if she had become assistant superintendent of the Crum Elbow school district. Of course, this always made Laura insanely jealous, and it became one more contributing factor for their marriage going sour. Chico was self-centered and independent, while Laura was manipulative and possessive. The once-despised Hyde Park house had become a haven for him. Even after her parents died, Allison continued to live there. Whenever he was around, Allison invited him to dinner, then theyd watch television and sometimes he would spend the night. Lying in bed with Allison, Chico often surprised himself, wondering what it would be like if he were just some nice guy: Dr. Chico Chanca, not the Dark Prince! The nice one! This was just a game, nothing real to itjust like coming back to the Hyde Park house was a game. He didnt want to be a loser. He wouldnt!

Nineteen

hico had just fallen asleep in Allisons bed when his cell phone vibrated. The wannabe kitsch Betty Boop alarm clock glowed in the dark, and Betty Boops hour hand was pointing up, somewhere between one and two. Allison was sleeping soundly on her back, a pastoral painting, the milk-fed shepherdess snoring softly and peacefully, legs apart in total surrender, one leg propped on his thigh. The thought of it being Laura made him feel awful. Quickly, he tried to talk himself out of what he was feeling. None of this matteredjust a moment of intimacy with the past, an experiment of sorts. That was it! A taste of what it used to be like, sleeping and loving in this tacky little house now that he had everything, including a beautiful wife. But Laura could very well be spotting again or having a miscarriage, for all he knew, or about to have an episode. Again, he made a desperate attempt to talk himself out of the bad feeling, and, at the same time, he berated himself for everything that had happened that evening with Allison. At that point, he was ready to get in his car and drive straight back to New Jersey, beg Laura for forgiveness, tell her how happy he was that she was pregnant and promise to be loyal and wealthy forevermore. Happily ever after? Is this how our story will end? Quickly, he calculated that he could easily be in New Jersey before sunrise. A woman asked, Natalio? Natalio Chanca? It wasnt Laura, so he had an adrenaline rush. He could have a car accident on his way back to New Jersey. All of a sudden, he was scared. He didnt know whether to say yes in English or Spanish. Very few people called him Natalio, so he was quite surprised. An instant later, he thought it was his mother, but he immediately let go of that thought. The next moment, he felt sure, that it was

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that obnoxious tabloid reporter who often wanted to call him Natalio because he was Natalio in the White Pages, and shed found him in the White Pages. But he was in Allisons bed; he wasnt in New Jersey. Immediately after that, he wondered if this was a sales call. No, not at this time of night, or maybe it was the police to read him his Miranda rights. You have the right to remain silent . . . Just as he replied in the affirmative in the English language, he wondered if it was the FBI wanting to tell him that he too was compromised. In his mind, he hummed Give back the money! He hummed this to the sound of Elvis Presleys Return to Sender! Then he couldnt get the tune out of his mind. Address unknown, no such person. There was no money to give back. He had thrown it to the windmills. The woman spoke rapidly with no fillers whatsoever. You know me. We met at the Dutchess County Fair twice, and your son says you come to my yoga school on the weekends when Im not there. Im his employer, Amber Delro, the owner of Sacred Greens Farm and the yoga school in the village that you go to. Im sure youve come across my videos. Everyone has. So what? Chico managed to put in edgewise. His ex-wife, who was in bed with him, stirred and asked, What is it? Amber just went right on talking. By the way, Im also the creator of a unique and revolutionary method for the study and learning of yoga . . . Suddenly, she paused. Then she picked right back up. But, fuck, this isnt about me! At this very moment, your son and his friends are in my house all cracked out, and I demand that you GET OUT OF BED, put your jockey briefs on and come and get these crackheads out of my house! What makes you think Im naked? Chico asked. What is it? Allison asked again. Its about Duncan, Chico said to Allison. Amber was still talking. This is no time for jokes. I think they took some fucking designer drug as well. At this very moment, theyre in my downstairs claw foot antique bathtub laughing like the idiots they are. Im trying to run a self-sustaining farm here, and for that reason alone, I dont want any fucking bad energy.

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This is my space, and youd better be walking out the door as we speak. Hustle! Go slow. Who did you say you were? Chico asked, in no hurry to get out of bed. Are you the one with the legs? Everyone has legs. Enough small talk. Come pick your fucking son up! Where do you fucking live? Off 9G, coming from Rhinebeck its right after the turn for Omega, on the right, a farm called Sacred Greens. Its after a big sign that says Hybrid Anemones. Do you fucking know where 9G is? I used to be from here, Chico replied. I dont care where youre from. Just hustle your ass here. Yes, maam, he said as he sat up. I want them out of here! I never shouldve listened to him when he got down on his knees and begged me to hire him as my handyman! Im a wreck. Im all dried up, Ive got nothing left to give and I never asked God to give me the needy, the crazy, the destitute, the druggies and the fat women with bellybutton rings, but they all feel compelled to crawl into my space and freaking vomit on my antiques! So youd better hustle before I strangle them with my bare hands! Im so angry I could kill right now! Yes, maam, Chico said again. There was no panic, for hed been through this many times before. By then, Allison was awake as well. He reached for the switch, turned the bedside lamp on, pushed his hair back with both hands and yawned. Allison asked him if he wanted her to accompany him, and he told her to go back to sleep. He stood up and walked downstairs, naked, in search of his clothes. Before he left, Allison asked if hed be back, and he replied that instead, hed return to his room at the Beekman Arms. In the Dutchess County night, on his way to Ambers house, Chico was not particularly worried about Duncan. This had happened before. He had already gotten phone calls in the middle of the night. He listened to Krishna Das and chanted along as he explored old memories and images. Out on a boat with Laura, with the Miami skyline as backdrop, slowing down as they

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approached whats left of Stiltsville, wanting her so badly. He told her he was still married to Allison, and she wouldnt have him until he divorced, even if he tried to convince her that he didnt believe in divorce because he didnt believe in marriage; but she happened to believe in both. Besides, she hadnt exactly been saving herself for a married man. It took so long to divorce, nearly three months. And that big wedding Laura wanted! How did she manage to talk him into such a big, complicated wedding? He vaguely remembered what it had felt like to want her that badly. He would have done anything. He wanted out of there, just to end up in Allisons bed again, just to end up feeling shameful because he had been with Allison. It didnt mean a thing, but still he felt quite awful and missed Laura. He was dying to be back in the West New York house, in the upstairs living room watching television at this time of night, not so far away from home as he had just been, in bed with the past. This is a dangerous game, he thought. It couldnt be, he thought again. Absolutely no harm done. Everything was his fault! No, it wasnt. He meant well . . . didnt he? Laura was perfect. Hed let her down so many times. He swore to himself he would never do it again. He told himself he was the reason why she was always so angry. He thought about making an effort to change. She was such a beauty, and she was highly intelligent and independent. Hed never find another woman who was his type like Laura was his type, a perfect blonde, that clean look. Why in the world had he been with Allison? Because he enjoyed her. But Laura was appropriate and smart and successful, and so was Allison, but being with Allison didnt mean a thing . . . or did it? What if he lost everything he had acquired and had no choice but to go back to Allison? As he pulled into Ambers estate, he decided he was falling in love with Laura all over again. The outside lights came on. It was an old, beautiful, stone house with an adjacent barn. He parked in the driveway and was surprised not to see Duncans car. There was the sound of dogs barking. As he was walking toward the house, Amber stuck her head out the stately front door and asked, Are you afraid of dogs?

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He replied, They turn me off. She must have heard something else, because she said, No, theyre not poodles, theyre Belgian Malinois. Ill put them away, and she closed the door. Standing outside, he overheard her cursing at the dogs, and he stopped to think about what she had said. Theyre not poodles, he repeated to himself. Then he forgot all about it and began to admire the front door, then the light above him and finally the entire porch. When she opened the door again, dog-less, she told him Duncan and his friends had taken off. She was wearing a short silk kimono. Right away, he noticed that she had a tattoo on her ankle. And she had long, brown, curly hair with copper streaks that went all the way down to her waist. This was her signature hair. She also had beautiful, intelligent green eyes. Quickly, he wondered if Laura had intelligent eyes. Laura was intelligent, of course she was! As it turned out, Duncan had left, and Amber was sorry to have disturbed him in the middle of the night. She also said she was sorry for having been so angry. He said he was going to his moms house, she said to Chico as he was walking back to his car. Do you want some herbal tea? Chico turned and asked, Do you have anything stronger, something that will help me forget? Goats milk? Amber suggested. Herbal teas starting to sound better. I dont know why I get so freaking angry at times. Im so fucking violent, she said as they walked inside the house. He was looking at her legs. Youre also very pretty, he commented as he followed her all the way to the country kitchen. And you sure have a nice place here, he added, looking around. Wow! Is this from yoga or from organic farming? Its mostly from the yoga videos, she said. My method is sold internationally, even here in the States. Besides barking dogs and farm animals and my wayward son, may I ask who else has the privilege of sharing with you this tem-

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ple of good taste? Husband? Children? Significant other? Partner? Lover? She replied casually, No such people exist. There will be a child one day, hopefully, through in vitro fertilization with sperm from an anonymous donor. I insist upon the sperm remaining totally anonymous. If not, I wont have it. Sexual intercourse is less intrusive, you know. Not when youve taken vows of celibacy. Vows are meant to be renewed, he said, and she didnt pay the least bit of attention to what he had said. Maybe she didnt hear him. He stopped to inspect her as she pulled a tin can of chamomile tea out of the pantry. Here, let me do this, he said as he filled the kettle with water. Where did I hear you were from? he asked. Im pure 100 percent New Jersey Cuban, she said. Come into the living room. How come I heard youre from Miami? Chico asked. Or was it from LA? Both. But Miami is where I became who I am, so people who talk about me link me to Miami. That thing about the place where you spend the formative years of your life being influential is hogwash. Its Miami that made me, and I went there when I was eighteen. Union City didnt make me. I simply spent eighteen years trying to get out of Union City. Miami was the place to be. Union City! She explained that although she had barely graduated from high school, she had always wanted to be successful in life. He listened attentively. High school was not for her. She said she went to Emerson. Barely graduated! But that didnt mean she was some kind of loser. Oh no, she definitely had it in her to be successful. Shed been planning her success for years. But for whatever reason, she was convinced shed never be successful in West New York or Jersey City or Union City. The area was always shrinking for her, and she felt that if she wanted to find her way, first shed have to go to Miami and LA. So you went to Miami first? he asked.

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Miami was a pilgrimage, a journey of self-discovery. Never mind that I didnt succeed there like I expected to. Then I had this boyfriend, and I kept expecting Miami to be profound right around the corner, but it never was. I dont know if youve ever been there, but Miami always ends up being nothing but smoke and mirrors. So was the boyfriend, and I got hurt out of my mind. I went to medical school in Miami. But this isnt about you. Its about me. I do have to say Miami is a wonderful place to meet someone and fall in love. I take it youve been in love in Miami, he commented. Yes, a few times. In Miami I didnt have just that one boyfriend, theres been way too many. I used to be promiscuous. Ive also been in love in Miami, he said. And I think Im about to fall in love in Rhinebeck. Miamis not like Rhinebeck, because Rhinebecks made for established couples whether they be gay, lesbian, incestuous, deviants, heterosexual, transgender, whatever. Rhinebecks where you plant and cultivate your garden, and urgent lovers dont give a fuck about growing vegetables and flowers. Not just Rhinebeck either. Theres Hyde Park, Poughkeepsie and on the other side of the Hudson theres New Paltz, Stone Ridge and Accord. Then theres Woodstock a little further up. Theyre all for established couples. Kingstons a different story because its weird, and the town of Saugerties scares the living daylights out of me, but Im going off on a tangent as usual. Anyway, my psyche needed Miami, so I ended up in Coconut Grove stuffing envelopes in a yoga school and eventually bartending. Then I went to LA and became famous. But this isnt about you, she said. Its about me. Yes, maam. Then he took a sip of the tea and repeated, Yes, maam, and you sure have come a long way. And you seem to be a Jacqueline of all tradesfitness guru, actress, mime, angry person, gentlewoman farmer Im not a fitness guru, Im a priestess, she interrupted. And yes, Im a Jacqueline of all trades and a master of all. And eventually, I did go to college and tried to get a bachelors and a masters degree in the teaching of English as a Second Language because I

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always had this idea for a revolutionary new method. But fuck, school isnt for me! By the way, Ill be shooting a new video in New York one of these days soon. Since youre from New Jersey and if that irresponsible druggie you have for a son isnt working for me anymore, Ill look you up in the phone book, she said. Immediately, Chico replied, No, maam, Im not from New Jersey. So where the hell are you from? His answer was, Maam, Im not from New Jersey at all. Im from the country. But this isnt about me. Its about poodles. Im sorry, maam, but what was that allusion you made to poodles when I first got here? Amber burst out laughing. A little while ago, your son was babbling about your problems with poodles. Can you please stop maam-ing me? Sorry, maam.

Twenty

n a chilly January morning in the year 2004, the tabloid reporter who had been hounding Chico Chanca for the past few months traveled to Pennsylvania and found Franklin Pizarro working in the skate shop of an ice skating rink in Scranton. She had undoubtedly followed up on a good lead. The minute the former county executive recognized her for who she was, he looked the other way and pretended to be very busy inspecting a blade on a hockey skate. When the reporter asked nonchalantly about buying figure skates, Franklin Pizarro immediately turned on the blade sharpener and started sharpening. For the rest of the time the reporter was there, Franklin Pizarro remained crouched behind his own back, pretending to be alone in the skate shop. While all that was going on, Freeholder Otilia Mancuso was in Hudson County, New Jersey, making four important decisions: to win the election no matter what; to deny everything; to puncture Dr. Chancas mind and linger there rusty, like tetanus and to lose twenty more pounds. Franklin Pizarro must have spent that entire day sharpening blades because he was still sharpening blades at The Ice Box when he was arrested at four PM. From the look on his face, he was half expecting this to happen. At the exact moment that Franklin Pizarro was being escorted out of The Ice Box by two federal agents, who had waited at the main post office until right before the ice rink was about to close, Freeholder Otilia Mancuso was out walking her adorable red pomeranian. For the past eighteen months, she had been reaping the benefits of her efforts to housebreak the animal. This seemed like the one thing in her life that was working out as planned.

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Whats more, the puppy loved her unconditionally, like shed never been loved beforeor at least thats what it felt like. As for Laura and Chico, they were still trying to make their relationship work. Minus the breast implants, Laura was eating quite well and looking radiant in the second trimester of her pregnancy. In her efforts to make their relationship work, Laura had gone so far as to allow Chico to go away for the weekend alone at least once a month, and he usually headed back to New Jersey after lunch on Sundays in order to comb the knots out of Chelseas hair and perhaps take her to the pool or a play date. This time, it was a birthday party. All the children they knew seemed to be turning seven that year, and Chico couldnt help but exclaim to himself, just like everyone else, how time flies, just the other day . . . Back in the West New York house after having dropped Chelsea off at the birthday party, Chico and Laura hugged, walked upstairs and started taking each others clothes off the minute they locked the bedroom door. Laura said she wanted to be a dog, a male dog, a champagne standard poodle. Her hair was all over her face. The alarm went off; it went off at any time of day or night, and there was no imposing your will on that alarm clock. Laura reached over and pushed the snooze button. In the meantime, the maid was trying to entertain Lauras deranged mom, but Lauras deranged mom wouldnt have it. When he heard the shuffling, Chico got up and double-checked the bedroom door. Then he went back to their king-sized bed, where Laura was so clean and so beautiful. It was going to work out between them. Of course it was; they were meant to be. The alarm went off again, and Laura reached for the snooze button. While Chico was telling Laura that he loved her, he was noticing how pleasantly plump she was getting and finally he had to tell her he was so happy to be making love to her without the implants. When the alarm went off again, he chose to throw it across the room while she was saying she wanted the implants right back after the baby was born, perfectly round ones to make her torso look skinny. Chico panicked. What if he . . . ? Again, Laura said she wanted to be a male dog right before her mom started pounding at the door yelling Desgraciada!

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The maid was pleading with her, trying to lure her downstairs with chocolate cake. I want to go home! the mom said. You are home, the maid whispered loud enough for Chico to hear. Laura was moaning. Right after that the mom yelled, Qu Dios te perdone, ingrata! I know youre in there with my man! Laura, who was on top of Chico, wanted to keep on going. She really wanted to be a male dog. Meanwhile, the mom kept shouting, Desgraciada! Adulteress! Then it was Chicos turn to curse. For a moment, he was scared. What if this made Laura angry? What if they failed? Indeed, Laura did not appreciate any of this and wasnt about to utter words of comfort and understanding. Its always like this, she hissed. Im getting tired of it. Then she became jealous and resentful. Perhaps O3 had been a sting instead of a fling, but who else was there? Had he been with Allison? Did he still love Allison? Did he love someone else? Some woman who worked for the FBI perhaps . . . Was it someone who lived in Rhinebeck? What did she look like? Did sex work out with her? And wheres all that money you made? Laura insisted so much that they fought, and Chico ended up spending Sunday night alone in his Palisades Avenue apartment. The following week, on January 27 to be exact, Franklin Pizarro pleaded guilty to extortion and tax evasion and agreed to turn over $900,000 of leftover campaign funds. Seated at his desk, the Manhattan skyline behind him, Chico held his breath and continued reading the paper. Franklin Pizarro had also said that over $100,000 of the money had come from Dr. Chico Chanca, the principal of RPA of Union City, half of which had been delivered to him by Freeholder Otilia Mancuso. While Chico read, Celestina, who was holding a plate with a Cuban sandwich on it, fretted about how skinny he was. She wouldnt have it any other way: he had to eat something! Celestina, no tengo hambre! I have too much on my mind to eat. Im scared. Thats right, estoy asustado.

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Chico, youll get sick if you dont eat! Te me vas a enfermar. So he pleaded with his housekeeper to let him finish reading the paper. Celestina urged him to read and eat at the same time. She pointed to the paper and said she didnt believe a word they were saying. Celestina, t has ledo esto? he asked, pointing to the paper. Cmo que no! she said as she walked out of his office. Reluctantly, he took a bite of his sandwich before he went back to reading the article. Otilia Mancuso was quoted as saying the allegations were totally untrue and that she had no intention of resigning from the freeholder board. Just then, Celestina stuck her head in and asked him if he had time to see the same reporter who was here last year. He whispered and gesticulated, Shes here? Celestina nodded. He stopped to think for a few seconds before resigning himself. Send her in. When the reporter appeared, Chico inhaled deeply before standing up and exhaling quietly. He greeted her, congratulated her for having stalked the county executive so successfully, and asked her how life had been treating her. She walked over to him, and they shook hands. She said casually that life hardly ever treated her right but that shed grown used to that by now. He told her to have a seat, and just as she was sitting down, she pointed to an absent Celestina and asked, Is she your housekeeper or your secretary? My housekeeper. I cant manage to keep a secretary, maam. Why? You dont pay them enough? I end up sleeping with them, and it becomes awkward, maam. I see. Now that were on that topic, what exactly was the nature of your relationship with Freeholder Otilia Mancuso? Maam, Im sorry, but thats a personal question. Besides, a gentleman never tells. Well, I can tell you the ladys doing quite a bit of talking. Is it true that you filled her with Xanax?

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No, maam. I never wrote her a prescription for Xanax. Perhaps she went to RPA and one of the other doctors treated her, but she was never my patient. Did you prescribe Viagra to Franklin Pizarro, to Nacho Vargas and to Paul Berks? Off the record, yes, maam. Why? Off the record, because all those gentlemen suffered from erectile dysfunction. That means they needed Viagra to get an erection. Arent you a psychiatrist? Isnt a psychiatrist supposed to prescribe drugs other than Viagra? Quote me on this one. Generally, if a man comes to me depressed because he cant keep an erection, I prefer to give him Viagra or Cialis rather than Paxil or Lithium Carbonate, maam. The reporter stifled a smile. To regain her composure, she looked away for a few seconds. Otilia Mancuso is saying you loved her, she said, and this may sound like a threat, but when the time comes, I will be quoting her. And you can quote me as well. Yes, maam, I did love her . . . actually, I enjoyed her, very much so. So you equate love with pleasure? Lets say I resent love without joy. Off the record, she repeated, did the FBI . . . you know . . . were you on the FBIs ticket when . . . when No, maam. I did that on my own time. Quote me. The FBI never ordered me to have sexual intercourse with Freeholder Otilia Mancuso. The reporter looked away and was trying her best to look really serious. But did you have sex with her just so shed give Franklin Pizarro the bribe money? Immediately he corrected her. Not bribe money, extortion money. And the answer is: no, maam. Write this down . . . I had sex with Otilia Mancuso because I was wildly attracted to her. The reporter burst out laughing. Why are you laughing? he asked. This time he was dead serious. Do you think Im kidding? My initial intention was to

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use her as a go-between, so I took her to lunch. We started to talk, and before long, I found her to be quite sensual and disarming. At this point, I cant get her out of my mind. Once she regained her composure, the reporter said, Im sorry. One last thing, and were still off the record. Otilia Mancuso said that every Friday for a year, you took her to motels on Tonnelle Avenue, such as the Starlite. Then she couldnt help it, she burst out laughing again. In the meantime Chico had covered his mouth with his hand and was looking up at the ceiling, trying to look natural. Finally, with interlaced fingers, hands on his lap, Chico sat back in his chair, grinned and nodded. So the reporter said she had been to check some of those motels out. She had even asked to look at Room Four, at the Starlite, just to make sure. One never knows. A place can look sordid and dingy from the outside, and the rooms could have been a dovecote, for all she knew. Well, the room had turned out to be even more squalid than the faade, and all the rooms were the same, so it wasnt as if she had seen everything but the honeymoon suite. Not only did the bedspreads have cigarette burns, but there were mirrors on the ceiling, and they werent even nice mirrors! They were crooked, they were dull and they were little! Chico stared at her, wide-eyed. So you went as far as to lie down on the beds. Please dont make me laugh again. Besides, I have nothing better to do. Is that motel all you could afford? she then asked. Now he was grinning with embarrassment. I happen to like cheap motels. They arouse me. Sexually? she asked and couldnt wait for an answer. Generally, thats the way I prefer to be aroused: in cheap motels. Next question. Again, the reporter couldnt stifle her laughter, and when she left his office she was still laughing. Ill be back, she said. Youre not through with me yet. She also said she had had one more questiona very important onebut that she was saving it for later. He promised that si Dios quiere and when the time came, he would answer in a truthful manner.

Twenty-One

he winter passed with little or no news about the county executives falla fall from the top that supposedly began with a trip to Atlantic City. And when spring came, everything felt like the calm before the storm. Who was going to take over? Franklin Pizarros absence was a streak of sunlight, but for a while, it seemed that no living creature was opportunistic enough to fill the void. All was quiet, and Otilia was beginning to believe she was going to get through this like a swan gliding through the bog. There was even a touch of hubris in her thoughts: she was the duck who turned out to be a swan, and Franklin Pizarro was the rotting log in the bog. She went so far as to liken this to the 1986 scandal that never happened. Her exhusbands fall was her chance to climb, and so she didup, up, up, all the way to the canopy. This, too, could be just another opportunity coming her way, and she would walk away from it unscathed. The thought of this made her so happy she could barely stand it. Then, before Chico had finished opening his April mail and paying his March bills that included three mortgages, three car payments, car insurance, utilities, four Visa cards, JC Penney, Macys, Saks Fifth Avenue and a $25,000 American Express Platinum card bill. It was summer, and a beautiful little baby boy by the name of Charlie Chanca was born to Chico and Laura Chanca at the Jersey City Medical Center. Charlie Chanca came into the world on June 23, 2004, at eleven in the morning. The birthing itself was uneventful. Chico was present in the delivery room, and Charlie arrived into Chicos hands with Lauras third committed push. Of course, at that moment, Chico and Laura swore to love each other forever and

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never to fight again, at least for Charlies and Chelseas sakes. Staring at Charlie, Laura said, We got a good one! Chico added, Now we have two good ones! Otilia read the birth announcement in the newspaper. It didnt come as a surprise, not at all. Early in June, she had bumped into Chico and his very pregnant wife at a furniture store. It was just one of those stores with a perpetual red banner outside promising that everything was reduced inside. Prices slashed! Chico and pregnant Laura were standing in the showroom seriously considering an ornate white crib, and Otilia happened to be passing by on her way to the living room furniture section. All she wanted was a new couch. The minute Otilia recognized them, she stopped to stare in bewilderment. Immediately, Laurawho knew nothing yet recognized Otilia and greeted her with the exclamation, The pomeranian! They shook hands. In lieu of asking Otilia if she was using another veterinarian, Laura did ask Otilia why she had never brought her adorable pomeranian back to see her, and then she told her that she never forgot a dog. Otilia uttered some lame excuse. In the meantime, Chico was too occupied inspecting the underside of the white crib to take part in this conversation.

Twenty-Two

n October 12, 2004, Columbus Day of all days (but not the first Monday) Otilia Mancuso was indicted in federal court on five counts of aiding and abetting attempted extortion and on two counts of mail fraud for being part of a plot to defraud the citizens of Hudson County and Hudson County government. The big bold letters on the front page of the newspaper read: O3 INDICTED! The newspaper must have taken it for granted that everyone knew O3 stood for Ozone, and that in turn stood for Otilia, because she always ran on a green ticket and was particularly concerned about the thinning ozone layer. It was Otilia who had given herself the nickname O3 in the early nineties. On the front page was a picture of Otilia, pale, puffy and looking like she was at the end of her rope but still denying everything. Not once did the article mention Dr. Chanca. What mattered at this point was that Otilia refused to resign from the freeholder board and was looking forward to winning the November election. Chico was drinking Earl Grey tea and reading the article when Celestina buzzed him. Its Laura, she said dryly. Lately, she hated Laura. You want to talk to her? Just to make sure, he glanced at his watch. It was eight AM. Sure. Put her through. Laura wished him a happy birthday and asked him to come over for dinner. Shed ordered him a cake, she added, from Havana Bakery. Then she went into the details of what kind of cake it wasa yellow cake with pineapple between the layers, a small one, white with flowers. Since they had been living separately for the past eight days after having quarreled bitterly over money and Chico was either hurt or angry, he turned her down. So she start-

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ed to cry and said she thought he liked yellow cake with pineapple between the layers. He said that wasnt the point. So she said she had wanted to get him a birthday present but didnt know what to get him. Chelsea had chosen a piata for him, a fish. By the way, Charlie missed him. He had colic or something and didnt want to be without his daddy. Babies change in eight days. When was he coming home? Charlie didnt want his daddy to spend his birthday alone! She said she wanted them to try to make their relationship work. He said, Im going to spend my birthday in Rhinebeck. Besides, youre too abusive. I dont love you anymore. She refused to hear that. No, Im not abusive, and you do love me. Im the love of your life and the mother of your two children. I know you have sex with Duncans mom once in a while because you feel sorry for her, and I forgive you. No, I dont. Yes, you do. Shes fat. Chico, please, cant we at least try one more time? Maybe, but first I have to get over being angry. She was still crying when they hung up. It was Friday, and Chico couldnt wait to get out of town. By now, he was into this new routine, which consisted of being happy on Friday no matter what, looking forward to being in Rhinebeck and always being mildly anxious on Sunday afternoons when he had to return to this dull monotony. He always tried to talk himself out of the sadness. Chelsea and Charlie were in Hudson County, and they were a vital part of his life. There was also his practice that he no longer enjoyed but that he cared about more than anything, perhaps, for he felt he would be nothing without his title; he needed his title. He also needed the moneya lot of money. He was used to making money and not quite ready to stop. He needed more. This could be greed, but he called it peace of mind and freedom. Money was freedom. Sure, one couldnt buy happiness or peace of mind, but then again, Rhinebeck would have been impossible without the funds to support it. Every Friday night, he checked into a luxury room at the Beekman Arms. However, on that particular Friday, the visit to the

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Juvenile Delinquent Facility took longer than usual. Chico was hoping to get out of town by noon, so much so that when he noticed it was one PM and he was still stuck in maximum security, he felt claustrophobic, almost desperate. He wanted to step out to the inner courtyard just to take a look at the sky, and when he did, he realized there was a dome covering the courtyard, and for some reason, that scared the living daylights out of him. So he had to rush to the bathroom and just stand there for a few minutes, head against the wall, breathing with intent for the duration of the time it took him to stifle his anxiety and forget that in that place, there was no looking out. A particularly violent girl by the name of Briana had just been brought in. She was barely fourteen years old and much like those pit bull terriers Laura had described when they raided an animal shelter right outside Englewood. There he was, comparing people to dogs! Time to get away from Laura, as far as he could. That beautiful, perfect, clean Laura. Hated her, with passion. This girl Briana was being arrogant, vulgar, doing her best to provoke him, thinking he cared, when all he wanted was to get out of there. She said, You think Im poor, dont you? He ignored her question. Well, Im not poor. Im just bad. He didnt react, so she got angry. You hear me? Im not poor! Thats all that seemed to matter. You think I killed my baby brother because Im poor, dont you? He was taking notes. How much are you getting paid for this? she then asked. His answer was, I dont get paid by the hour. When she asked him if he was scared to be alone in the room with her, he explained that it was protocol. A guard always needed to be present. He felt he had been through this so many times. The psychotic girl was seated in front of him, and a guard was standing in back of him in case she attacked him. He had a list of questions that she did not want to answer. Have you ever been sexually abused? Are you asking me that because you think Im poor? And why should you care? You want a piece? He explained that this was a generic question. That means its for everyone.

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In his mind, he was in his car. He always took the Porsche. Pet City, Furniture City, Bennigans, Outback, TGI Fridays, Mattress City, Outdoor World, Toy World, all those car dealerships, Pier 19, Ski World, Steak and Ale, Route 17; it was a poem. He made it to the throughway at four PM. At that point, going fast, he was an hour away from Rhinebeck. Hopefully, he wouldnt get stopped again. Lately, hed been getting a ticket every Friday. Just past the New Paltz-Poughkeepsie exit his cell phone rang. It was Laura, beside herself. You served me with divorce papers? I told you I was angry. She repeated the same thing. You served me with divorce papers? I have to go, he said and turned his cell phone off as he approached the Kingston exit. From there, he took 209 North to the Rhinecliff Bridge, paid the toll and was going eighty in a forty-five-MPH zone. He took the shortcut. He loved the shortcut, he loved arriving here: Northern Dutchess Hospital, Delamater House, Terrapins, Gigis, la Cantina. He made a left turn onto Market Street in the village of Rhinebeck and immediately spotted Ambers Dodge pickup truck. Anyone could tell from a mile away that it was her vehicle. It had a fabulous orange paint job that made it look like an orange Life Saver, and it also had custom MzAmber license plates. She always parked it in front of the ice cream parlor and a little bit sideways. The truck was banged up on the drivers side, but not from an accident with another vehicle. It looked like a self-inflicted wound, a left turn that didnt quite work out as planned. On that same side, green letters spelled out the name of her farm: Sacred Greens. He did a U-turn and parked right behind her. Then he got out of his car and stood there, contemplating the pickup truck until a voice behind him asked, What are you looking at? Im standing here telling myself this isnt even vintage and that the paint job is worth more than the truck, he said. Beautiful autumn day today, isnt it? What difference does it make? She shrugged then pointed to his black Porsche. How many luxury black cars do you have? And do you really need to flaunt your bank account at the world?

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Do you really need to flaunt your eccentricity? I certainly do. Ive worked hard at becoming who I am. Who are you? I think Im someone who wants to be the leading lady, and I want it badly! she said dramatically. Maam, you should know what happens when you want things badly. On this beautiful autumn afternoon, Amber was wearing a lot of makeup, too much black around her eyesbut lately, thats the way she liked itand very light-tinted foundation, almost white. Lately, to her great dismay, her face no longer surprised anyone, and she felt she had become predictable. Nonetheless, over the years, she had become addicted to makeup like others get addicted to tattoos or piercing. One can never pierce enough, and theres always room for one more tattoo. So when there was no more room for color, the white could be made whiter and the black blacker. If she was going to wear makeup, it had to be too much makeup. She also enjoyed changing the color of her hair on a monthly basis, from black to white, from green to purple. Every time she heard someone talk about a natural look, shed laugh. In her opinion, looking natural was overrated, and people should never look natural. Natural was for the garden. Lately, shed been accentuating the blackness around her eyes. Are you trying to look like Morticia Addams or King Tut, maam? Chico asked. Im trying to look like myself. Amused, he asked, What does the Cuban family in New Jersey have to say about your looks? Her answer was, My father died. Just when he was about to express regret, she caught a whiff of something, sniffed and said, That smells good. Since we cant smoke pot right here, youd have to come up to my room at the Beekman Arms. Ive given up all substances. Are you planning on taking a yoga class? Yes, maam. After I check in. See you then.

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As she walked away, he looked at her and repeated, not loud enough for her to hear, Beautiful autumn day today. The air is crisp, the sky is blue and the light is just the way I like it. That same Friday evening, Chico told Duncan not to worry about him; he had plans. Duncan protested. He was clean. Hed been clean for days and days, and he was worried about his dad being alone on his birthday. Im getting together with some friends, Chico said, really looking forward to being alone. Whats more, the last thing he wanted was for Duncan to feel he was in any way obliged to keep him company. What friends? Since Chico couldnt come up with an answer, he said, New friends. Wow, Dad. So youve made a whole batch of new friends? Thats correct. Amber overheard everything. They were on the second floor. A few minutes later Amber looked out the window and saw Chico crossing Montgomery Street and heading back to the Beekman Arms.

Twenty-Three

t home in her living room, all smiles, looking blonder and much slimmer, dressed casually, the pomeranian on her lap, one hand in the dogs thick red fur, Otilia was talking to a newspaper reporter. Personally, I am quite puzzled that this indictment was handed up eight days before the election. Whos behind this? Have another cookie. Ill tell you whos behind this . . . someone out to get me. Couldnt the people from the US Attorneys office have waited until after the election? Theyre from Havana Bakerythe cookies. Pita, at least say hello. That daughter of mine! Where was I? Oh, and this is Marta Maldonado, my attorney and neighbor. She looks like Martha Stewart, doesnt she? Only prettier. The attorney and the reporter acknowledged each others presence, and the reporter must have stopped to wonder if Marta really looked like Martha. Marta was sitting next to Otilia, and the reporter was on the other side of the glass coffee table. The pomeranian was dying for a cookie. Reluctantly, Pita greeted the reporter and the attorney. Dont you think she wears her pants down too low? Otilia asked the reporter. Immediately, Pita pulled her pants up and left the room. Her ass shows when she sits down. Otilia shook her head and said loudly enough for Pita to hear. And that ugly tattoo! She thinks shes still fourteen! Where was I? She kept her index finger pointing up to the ceiling until she finally remembered. I always acted in good faith, may God be my witness. She pointed to her heart with her index finger when she said that. Then she gave her dog a cookie before pointing up to what must have been the heavens. I believe in the American way of life . . . so I truly intend to fight the charges until Im cleared, whatever it takes. Ill

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borrow and beg if I have to. Dont quote me on that, but do make them feel a little sorry for me. Im asking you as a personal favor to do a good job creating my persona. Im not just some cut-out paper doll. Remind them Im a single mom and a Latina from here who has been jilted too many times but still believes in love. Thats it! Ive been let down by men. You get it? Put a human face on me and some flesh in the right places so I dont end up looking like a cardboard elected official on a billboard. God, Id do anything to write that article for you! Were still off the record, right? Did that sound good? I need to get it right. Repeat it all back to me. In her attorney-like fashion, Marta Maldonado was not happy. Otilia, this is inappropriate! Nonsense! Otilia retorted. Theres nothing inappropriate about having faith in the American judicial system! Write that down! she said to the reporter. I want to make sure you quote me on this, even if its not a whole sentence. Maybe you could put that in bold letters. I have faith in the American judicial system because its the American judicial system that will establish my innocence. What do you think, Marta? Thats fine. And as far as Nachos resignation goes . . . what should I say, Marta? Before Marta could say anything, the reporter asked, What about Baker? Baker expects to be indicted as well, though I believe he has done nothing wrong, Marta said. Otilia turned to the reporter and said, All this caught me by surprise. Totally. Vargas and Baker are the most honest persons . . . people I have ever met in my life. I dont understand why Vargas has been arrested, but I do intend to get to the bottom of this after were all reelected. Im not going to let Vargas resign! Baker hasnt even been campaigning, the reporter said. Feeling confident, Otilia said, He doesnt need to. Hudson is solid for us. Besides, he isnt feeling well. Thats what he told me, said the reporter before turning to Otilias attorney and asking her if she had anything to add.

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Martas comment was, When the time comes, I intend to call Dr. Chico Chanca as a witness and to cross-examine him. Not only was he bribing Franklin Pizarro, Bob Baker and Nacho Vargas long before he met Freeholder Otilia Mancuso, but he then turned around and betrayed Freeholder Mancuso after having filled her with Xanax. Otilia tee-heed. He has quite a few cute nicknames now! Dr. Cash and Viagra! Teflon Doc! And my favorite, Dr. Sex-n-Xanax! Will you come to my last fundraiser tomorrow? she then asked the reporter, quite giddily. Marta protested, Otilia, let me remind you this is a reporter, not the Mary Kay lady! Otilia brushed Martas warning away. We go way back! Ive known her for years. She then turned to the reporter and asked again, So youll come? On Halloween Day of all days? I wouldnt miss it for the world! the reporter said. Ill come right after I cover the Elementary School Seven Spook. Now that were on that topic, are you still taking Xanax? Of course I am. Its the best thing that ever happened to me! Left to myself, I could be the Xanax poster girl! My love, Chico, knew exactly what I needed, and now Im going to win this election if its the last thing I ever do. Dont quote me on that, Otilia said with her fingers spread apart. Thats right, a Halloween fundraiser. Were going to have candy and kids there and music. Tons of people, even if I have to drag them there at gunpoint . . . dont you dare quote me! Its at Casino in the Park. Ive managed to shed ten pounds, so make sure to bring a good photographer. I cant wait till Chico sees my picture. Does it show? she asked, pointing to her hips. The weight Ive lost? The reporter nodded quizzically before she said, If Chico Chanca were to walk in this door . . . After she said that, she pointed to the front door. What would you say to him? She was looking straight into Otilias eyes when she asked. Then it was Martas turn to stare at Otilia for the few seconds it took to await an answer.

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Otilia cleared her throat. What do you think, Marta? She then turned to the reporter, Its been a year since I last saw him. 2003. That fateful 2003. Our love affair lasted a whole year, you know. We fell in love in the summer of 2002, the year my puppy, Belinda Avellaneda, was born. She then turned to Marta and asked, Should I still love him or should I be over it by now? People do tend to be impressed by love that lasts forever or the idea that you only really love once. Glaring at Otilia, the attorney said, Youre over it. Scarred, but over it. Otilia waved the comment away then turned to the reporter and said, Id say, Im happy to see you, love . . . amor. Lets start over, get married and raise a family. We could adopt defective babies if Im too old to conceive. But Im not too old. I just heard about this famous photographer who had twins at age fifty-four with a surrogate mom. By the way, erase the word defective. Write crack babies instead and replace old with mature. Voters do love mature officials, but they hate old ones. He did ask me to marry him. Once we went to look at rings. He did want to buy me a diamond solitaire, but I wanted to wait until after his divorce. Pita, why are you eavesdropping? But she didnt wait for an answer. Immediately after addressing Pita, she turned to the reporter and said, Ill never get over him. Write that down! I will never get over him. Then she handed Pita the pomeranian and said, Please take Belinda Avellaneda for a walk! Reluctantly, Pita walked around the couch and took the dog. And are you looking forward to the fundraiser and to election day? the reporter asked Pita. I sure am! Im mature enough to vote, and I hope my mom wins! Pita said before turning to her mom and asking, Did I learn my lines okay? Should I slip in something about the American Constitution and the Bill of Rights? Old enough to vote! Suddenly Otilia sounded exasperated. Old! Old! Of course youre mature enough! Your father is Junior Mancuso? the reporter asked Lydia. Immediately, the attorney interjected, There is to be no reference to Junior Mancuso!

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Ill do my best, the reporter said. The attorney told the reporter to write, Freeholder Mancusos daughter, Pita, eighteen. She was to leave Junior Mancuso out of this. No mobsters! Otilia interjected, Marta, dont tell the reporter what to write! Besides, I was cleared and given a clean bill of health long ago. Whats more, I needed that money to raise my daughter . . . his daughter . . . our daughter. By the way, he exaggerated as usual. It wasnt exactly that much money, and he didnt exactly go broke. Hes still loaded. Whens he getting out? the reporter turned to Otilia and asked. This was a social question, completely off the record. Hes out. Fifteen well-deserved years.

Twenty-Four

hico Chanca was seated at a table, reading all by himself. Happy birthday, Amber said. He looked up, and for a second, he didnt recognize her. Then he raised his eyebrows and asked, No makeup? Immediately after that, he stood up. I hate to look natural, and Ive come to realize Im starting to look natural with makeup on. Now I produce the shock effect with a bare face. You bet Im shocked, maam. Youre shockingly beautiful. She paid no heed to his compliment. Are you expecting someone? Ex-wife? Wife? Paramour? She pointed to the chair. First he looked at the chair and then he looked at her and said, No. Ask the chair. Theyre all either mad at me or Im mad at them. How thoughtless of them, she said. And Im starving. Yes, Ill have dinner with you. He was still standing, and he pointed to the chair. Yes, maam, please be my guest. Just a little while ago, you had all this makeup on. And look at you now. I went home and cleaned up. What are you reading? she asked after she sat down. Columbuss second letter, he replied. I like to read it over and over again because someone by the name of Dr. Chanca accompanied him. So I read it over and over again always looking for Dr. Chanca, who was an enthusiastic admirer of the American flora. His expert herbalist eye caught everything! He went so far as to taste the plants and to make fun of the natives. Actually, he called the natives idiots and laughed at them. He actually wrote

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that whenever he took a good look at a native, hed burst out laughing! Anyway, Dr. Chanca was the first man of science to explore the American landscape, and we share exactly the same last name! Not only that, but he was born in 1464 and I was born in 1964! Thats too many coincidences! She shrugged. Coincidences dont mean a thing! So hows life? Yes, they do, maam, and lifes great, he replied. Do you want wine? Please have wine. I prefer to sit here and watch you drink because I only drink water, raw vegetable juices and goats milk, of course. He waved to the waiter. Here. You can have my glass while were waiting. I like what youre wearing, that silk thing. You look good, maam. You look very good. Whats more, youre beautiful and you dont know me well enough to hate me. Lets keep it that way. So why are you spending your fortieth birthday alone? she asked. In 1494, the year he turned thirty, the other Dr. Chanca was exploring the flora of the New World and writing about it on the spot. Do you know what I was doing in 1994, the year I turned thirty? Of course you dont. I was trying to figure out how to get rich. Maam, have you any idea how bad that makes me feel? Of course you dont. But enough talk about Dr. Chanca. Did I hear you say you had made vows of celibacy? Yes. Why, maam? If I may ask. Because Ive made too many mistakes, she said. He sat back in his chair and said, I see what you mean. Suddenly, she was angry. How dare you agree with me! I can say Ive made too many mistakes, but no one else can say it! And how do you know Ive made too many mistakes? Because I may be famous, but I do keep my private life really private! I didnt know you were famous, maam, he commented. Just then, the waiter interrupted them and took their order. Chico protested. Vegetables? Thats all youre having? But soon enough, they were back to where they had left off. I didnt mean you, I meant me, Chico whispered. The mistakes . . .

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But this isnt about you. Its about me! she said, pointing to herself. No, maam, it isnt. As far as Im concerned, its all about me. And its also about Laura. Then he shrugged and stopped to think. Who knows? Maybe its about Otilia and Dr. Chanca. Those politicians make me laugh just like the natives made Dr. Chanca laugh. By the way, Im not from there, so I see them through the eyes of someone whos not from that center-less world. Not from there, Amber finished his sentence. And whos Otilia? she then asked. He laughed. Otilias the freeholder, the pomeranian, the victim, the woman in love, the sacrificial wolf in lambs clothing, the Xanax poster girl, the one whos going to end up in prisonnext year, probably. Theyre going to keep on postponing that trial. He laughed some more. She called herself the Xanax poster girl. Her career is shot, by the way. Maybe its all about Otilia. He shrugged. To answer your question, Otilias a woman I had an affair with, a mistake I made. You sure do get around, Amber commented. How do you find time to be such a prominent psychiatrist? Enough talk about me. Lets get back to this celibacy nonsense. Where do I stand in line, maam? You dont. I dont want you. He pushed his hair back and uttered a disappointed but contrived, Boo. Our foods here. He had already had too much to drink and smoke, but he kept on drinking while she sipped her water slowly and listened to what he had to say, which was starting to make less and less sense. He talked about O3 and how he never shouldve gotten involved with O3. Then he rambled on about an obnoxious tabloid reporter who was out to get him. By the way, that newspaper had not always been a tabloid, but it became a tabloid when it almost went under after the editor-in-chief died. Amber wasnt in the habit of listening. Usually, she was the one doing the talking, but he wouldnt let her jump in and talk about herself. Before long, he was rambling on

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about the Franklin Pizarro affair. Another affair! It sounded like a bad dream with no end and no beginning. By the end of dinner, he refused to believe that Amber didnt want him, and he never did notice that she was not drinking but merely observing him, listening and even starting to enjoy feigning interest. Finally, she said, Ive got to head back to my farm. He protested. No, maam! Youve had too much to drink. He waved a credit card at the waiter. I think youre mixing us up, she said. Theres nothing Id like better to do, maam. Come upstairs with me. I want you. Im madly in love with you. Just once! Pretty please? And well pretend it never happened. Amber chuckled. Youre very discreet, almost repressed. Thank you, maam. And I want you more than anything Ive ever wanted in my entire life. Has anyone ever believed you? she asked. Immediately, he nodded yes. Everyone. Then I guess I should believe you as well, but Ive got to get back to my pregnant goat. Shes due any time. Boo. The waiter brought the check then walked away with Chicos card. They waited in silence for the waiter to return. Thank you for treating me to dinner, Amber was saying while Chico was signing the check. You only had a few vegetables, he said, but you drank a lot. I saw you drinking. And goats dont need midwives. They stood up and he asked her where she had parked. Then he offered to drive her home, and she declined. Again, he insisted she was in no condition to drive. Not getting anywhere, he followed her to her truck, and when he tried to kiss her, she eluded him. She got in, he got in, and for the life of him, he couldnt remember exactly what happened after that. As far gone as he was at that point, he knew it wasnt sex. It wasnt love either or hatred, or dislike. What was this riddle? He couldnt figure it out. After whatever happened happened, Chico managed to walk back to the Beekman Arms, to make it all the way upstairs, to let himself into his room and to stagger to the bed and climb into it

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with all his clothes on, as if he had been asleep before he got there. He slept soundly until three AM, when his cell phone vibrated. When it woke him, he realized hed been sleeping with quite a headache. The first image that came to mind was an X-ray of a nail in a Korean mans head. He still couldnt remember what had happened the night before, so he had an image of himself gathering his thoughts as if they were pieces of shattered glass and sweeping them into the dustpan. It was Duncan on the phone talking fast, saying James went to Scranton for his nieces wedding. This didnt make any sense. James was Ambers caretaker. Now it made some sense. Then Duncan said he was alone at Sacred Greens with Amber, and the goat had decided to give birth tonight, of all nights, without James around. The goat was having a hard time. Maybe it was a breech kid. Amber had lost it. She was shaking. The goat was having a hard time. Chicos head kept throbbing. Duncan said Amber was screaming and weeping. She was certain her goat was going to die while trying to give birth and that the kid was going to die as well, and she couldnt get hold of a veterinarian. Usually it was James who took care of this, but his niece was getting married so he wasnt here. Duncan remembered that Chico had delivered Chelsea because the midwife never showed up, so perhaps he could come to Sacred Greens and deliver this kid. Amber was crying. Amber was desperate. She was so looking forward to her kid. Could Chico come, please? Driving past Northern Dutchess Hospital on his way to Ambers, Chico kept trying to recall what had happened the night before. When he finally did remember, he wished he hadnt. Amber was still crying when he got to her house. There was the sound of dogs barking. She locked them in the house. Duncan led him to the barn. Amber was wringing her hands. She kept repeating, I dont want my goat to die! Chico told her to step outside the barn, drink a glass of water and try to relax. He asked Duncan to stay with her. His head was still throbbing, and he couldnt believe how embarrassed he was. A rogue thought: he wished hed never met her. Who? Who was that? Ambers barn looked like a Hollywood barn, ready for a movie. It was rubbed, polished and scrubbed to the nooks and crannies.

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Everythingeven the haywas in its place. It smelled like some blue version of a Glade waterfall, or was it Lysol, clean, crisp white linen? It was as if the animal had been waiting nervously for Duncan and Amber to step out of the barn. With the thought that a good deed or a heroic act was about to be handed to him on a silver platter, Chicos headache subsided. Cabra, he whispered. He didnt have to do anything; it was happening. When the animal stopped to rest, Chico held the kid with both his hands. It rotated, and before he knew it, the kid was out. In the meantime, the whole evening had come back to him, what he had said and how he had behaved. He placed the kid against its mother and observed them for a few minutes before he called Amber and Duncan, who both rushed back into the barn. My kid! she exclaimed. My kid! she repeated several times. Hes beautiful! Look at him! she was saying when Chico stepped out of the barn. Chico said, Ill be right back, but he didnt mean it. There was the sound of dogs barking and more dogs barking. Quietly, Chico walked back to his car. The autumn leaves were crisp under his feet. He was hoping Duncan and Amber wouldnt hear his car and come out to ask him why he was leaving without saying goodbye, without toasting to the goat and the brand-new kid at Sacred Greens, but his car was far enough away from the barn, the Hollywood barn, good enough for Shirley Temple or Dorothy or Heidi. When Amber realized he was gone and that she didnt get a chance to thank him for everything hed done, she told Duncan to call him. As he drove back into the village of Rhinebeck, Chicos cell phone vibrated. He knew it had to be either Amber or Duncan calling to ask why he had sneaked away after having performed such a heroic act. He chose to ignore it and instead began to plan in his head what he would do the next day. As for Amber, she couldnt decide whether to enjoy her kid or to ask herself why Chico had disappeared without saying a word to them. Finally, she decided to enjoy the kid for a while before

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turning in and trying to get some sleep. Chico would probably come to yoga class the next day, and shed get her chance to thank him effusively. But around eleven the following morning, when Amber looked out the window of her Montgomery Street studio, she saw Chico walking out of Beekman Arms with his bag. He crossed the street, walked to his car, got inside and drove away. Immediately, she called the Beekman Arms to ask if they had given Dr. Chanca the package she had left for him earlier that morning. The receptionist said she had indeed given Dr. Chanca a small package and that he had checked out. At that specific crossroad of her life, this came close to the worst thing that could have happened to Amber. So she ran downstairs to where his car had been parked and stared at the empty spot, hugging herself because she hadnt put on a sweater. It was as if the empty space couldnt tell her why hed left. She was telling herself that all she wanted to do was to thank him. She stood there for a while, calculating that she had seen him less than twelve hours ago. She stared at the passing cars that were turning right to go south or turning left to go the other way. Still hugging herself, she crossed the street and walked over to the Beekman Arms, but she didnt go inside. She simply stood in front of the old inn, shivering because there was an autumn coolness in the air. Then she looked down and stared at the sidewalk where he had walked, and then she looked around for a trapdoor somewhere in the empty space, the one through which he had vanished into thin air, like a rabbit. She crossed Market Street and stood at the corner. Shed never lingered there long enough to read that sign, but there she was, with time on her hands. It read: White Corner, 1790. It was just a matter of waiting for the following Friday to thank him, but he didnt show up that Friday nor the one after that. Three weeks later, Amber asked Duncan about his dads whereabouts. Duncan shrugged, as was to be expected. His dad was probably busy. Amber insisted. Shouldnt he call? She said she never got a chance to thank him in person. Duncan said that sometimes he went without talking to his dad for a whole month. Amber wouldnt hear it. She wanted to call him now. Now meant NOW.

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Duncan looked at his watch, half past five on a Wednesday. This could be a good time, hed either have his cell phone on or he wouldnt. Dad! said Duncan. Meanwhile, Amber was staring at Duncan, wide-eyed. Hey! Long time no see. Amber and I are getting worried about you. Thank him for the kid, Amber whispered. Duncan was quiet, listening. Amber tried to hear. He was talking about being busy and harassed and having sciatica. Thank him for the kid! she whispered, so Duncan said, Amber wants to thank you for the kid. Again, Duncan went quiet, listening to what Chico had to say. She tried to hear, but she couldnt. Ask him when hes coming back, Amber whispered. When are you coming back, Dad? Duncan asked. Amber put her ear close to Duncans cell phone. He was trying to make things work out with Laura. Hes trying to patch things up with his wife, Duncan said to Amber. I have to get back to my paperwork, buddy, Chico said to Duncan, and theres a mountain of bills to pay. Ask him if hes coming to Rhinebeck this coming Friday, the day after tomorrow, Amber whispered. Are you coming to Rhinebeck Friday? Duncan asked. He listened. Amber heard. No. Then Duncan said to Amber, He has really bad sciatica, and hes trying to patch things up with his wife. Theyre back together again. Then Amber whispered, Ask him if he liked the lotionthe lunar lotion I dropped off at Beekman Arms. Staring at Amber, wide-eyed, Duncan said to Chico, Amber wants to know if you liked the lunar lotion. She heard Chico say, Yes, I did. Bergamot, Ylang Ylang, Rosewood. Thank Amber for me and tell her Im sorry. Duncan, Im busy, and the bills are making me anxious. I really have to go now.

Twenty-Five

hico was trying very hard to save his marriage. The past year had been rocky. He calculated that he had moved in and out of his house seven times, starting in August 2003, after the Guatemala trip. Finally, on Saturday, October 14, 2004, he moved back into the West New York house, hoping it was for good. He even said it was for good, and he said it several times to Chelseas great joy. Mommy and I will never separate again. That evening, they went out to dinner at Ruth Chris steakhouse on the waterfront. Laura was happy to be celebrating his fortieth birthday with him, even if it was a day late. She asked him what he had done the night before, and when he answered that he had chosen to be alone, she felt sorry for him. They decided to start all over again and even asked Chelsea if shed like yet another brother or sister. She replied she would like one more of each. Unfortunately, that evening, he couldnt manage to keep an erection. He was convinced it was because Lauras poodles were watching. At least they didnt fight. Laura tried her best and succeeded at being quite understanding. She remained that way on Sunday when it was no longer the poodles but the sciatica that was keeping him from performing. Fortunately, they had better luck on Monday morning. Chelsea was at school, the poodles were out in the yard, the mother-in-law was being taken for a wheelchair ride in the park and he had manageable sciatica, something like the sound coming out of someone elses earphones, loud but not too loud, simultaneously bearable and unbearable. Laura was on her knees, head down, pink gossamer nightgown over her head and elbows on a pillow in what she herself called total, shameless overture. He spread her knees apart further and entered her with no gentleness whatsoever. She gasped and groaned and yelled obscenities loudly, unabashedly, a remake of The Exorcist.

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He could always tell when she had enjoyed the sex by how embarrassed she was afterwards. Bashfully, she grinned and said she couldnt understand what had gotten into her. A few hours later, Chico proudly announced to Celestina, his housekeeper and office manager, that he and Laura were back together again and that he was happy. It was the best thing that could happen. Laura and he were meant for each other. This marriage was not a mistake. They had simply gone through a crisis, and he was seeing the end of the tunnel now. Several times, he said that if he werent walking with a cane because of his sciatica, everything would be perfect. But fate had it planned some other way. What Chico wished had happened in August of 2003 while they were in Guatemala was about to happen at the end of October 2004. The scandal came out in the open just when there was a glimmer of a chance that Chicos and Lauras marriage would work out. On October 26, the headline was: Franklin Pizarro Ready To Talk! Chico wished he could buy all the newspapers, burn them and do this every day until the reporters forgot about Franklin Pizarro, chatty, whiny, confessional Otilia and Operation O3. He couldnt just rely on Laura not reading the newspaper. There were papers all over her veterinary clinicnot just for reading, but also for soaking up urine! Halfheartedly, he asked Laura if shed like to go somewhere for a week or two: Paris, Rome, Venice, Tahiti, the Bahamas, Miami Beach, anywhere! Laura was adamant: she couldnt and wouldnt let her dogs and cats down. NO! In a desperate attempt to keep the news from Laura, Chico did purchase every newspaper being sold at the bodegas and newsstands within a two-block radius of her West New York veterinary clinic. After having pleaded guilty last month to taking hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash payments from vendors such as Paul Berks, a political consultant and a close friend; Manny Kosravi, a construction consultant who had a contract with the Hudson County Improvement Authority; and Jay Toll, a financial advisor to the Jersey City Municipal Utilities Authority, former County Executive Franklin Pizarro also admitted he had accepted tens of thousands of dollars in

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bribes from a vendor contracted to perform psychiatric services at the county jail and the county psychiatric hospital for contracts that sometimes exceeded $1 million a year. These envelopes had been passed to him by Freeholder Otilia Mancuso. After reading that, Chico kept driving around and purchasing more and more newspapers, then throwing them into the garbage. Then he parked in front of Emerson High School and began to read the article as if it were his death sentence. For a moment, he stopped reading, put his fingers to his forehead as if he had a big headache and cursed. Then he went back to reading. Franklin Pizarro testified that on several occasions in 2002 and 2003, Freeholder Otilia Mancuso gave him envelopes, each containing $10,000 in cash. Mancuso is seeking her sixth three-year term as freeholder in next weeks election and has a fundraiser scheduled for Halloween night. Chico opened the glove compartment and took out Ambers lunar lotion, hand mixed with mantra by Amber Delro. She had dropped it off at the Beekman Arms as a token of thanks for the kid goat. Hed left Rhinebeck almost three weeks ago with no intention of ever returning. Every once in a while, hed open the glove compartment and reach for the lotion, putting some on the palm of his hands, then putting his hands to his nose and enjoying the fragrance. When he did so images of the village of Rhinebeck came to his mind. Then his eyes went back to the newspaper. For all Freeholder Mancuso knew, the envelopes contained raffle books, Maldonado quoted. Maldonado also affirmed that Dr. Chico Chanca, Freeholder Mancusos psychiatrist boyfriend, could eventually be called by the defense, for he is listed as a witness for the prosecution, but is not, however, expected to testify. Still in his car, parked in front of Emerson High, Chico stopped to contemplate the building. This is where Amber had said shed gone to high school. He could almost hear her, I barely made it through high school! Then he calculated that he was living in Dutchess County right around the time that she was a bad student at Emerson. She was here, and he was there. Never

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until the Dutchess County Fair had they crossed paths. Had fate allowed it, perhaps they would have met in a health food store or in some patchouli-smelling yoga studio in Miami when they were both in Miami, but at that time, he was struggling to leave his hippie past behind and become part of the Cuban Coral Gables jet set, a very eligible medical student in a fancy car. Suddenly, the green ocean was right there, across the street from Emerson High. Then it was the leaves, the Dutchess County autumn leaves of so many colors. But before long, he was back in New Jersey staring at the building where a woman named Amber had gone to school some twenty years agothe very woman who had hand mixed the lotion he was enjoying at this very moment, hand mixed with mantra. He sat there and repeated the word no in his mind several times. No, please no. No no no. At least one prayer was answered. Laura did not read the newspaper that day. Then on Friday, October 27, Chico walked with a cane to Willys Bodega to buy the paper. The sciatica was killing him and threatening to ruin his marriage. If he could have made a wish, it would have been. No articles today, please, and easy on the sciatica. This was a wish that did not come true. Now Paul Berks was doing the talking. He started out by saying that Chanca was a hell of a character. He loves to say hes not from here. He sure isnt. Just something evil that came our way. He arrived in a Lamborghini, and before you know it, hes wining and dining Otilia. And do you know why Chancas going to get his cake and eat it, too? Because no one in the county, the city or the state has the slightest idea of what hes doing. Hes out to screw everyone, not just Otilia. Chico sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Maybe he should get a Lamborghini. He buzzed Celestina and told her to bring him some painkillers. That weekend, they fought. Laura was beginning to take it personally. She also said there had to be more to life than this. An October 30 article mentioned that Otilia Mancuso was the first Latina to hold a freeholder position and was once considered the highest-ranking Hispanic elected official in the state of New

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Jersey. Mancuso, 52, is running for a seventh term in November. Born in Jersey City, Mancuso holds a bachelors degree, attended law school in Jersey City and has an eighteen-year-old daughter, Pita. Chico downed some more painkillers with green tea. In October 2002, Franklin Pizarro accepted $10,000 from Dr. Chico Chanca at the League of Municipalities convention. The transaction was videotaped as part of an FBI sting. Franklin Pizarro has since pleaded guilty, to one count each of extortion and tax evasion.

Twenty-Six

he next day, the headline was: Love, Hudson County Style. And just about everyone at the veterinary clinic was devouring the paper. Whats going on here? Laura asked, sounding annoyed. Is this what youre paid to do? And whos next? she turned to ask the receptionist. A new boxer, the receptionist replied with her eyes still glued to the paper. What is it with the paper? Laura asked, sounding more annoyed than before. If you come here to read the paper, you should just stay home! Ahem . . . ever heard of work ethic? Can you get a hint? If you cant, well then, you happen to be reading the paper on my clock! Laura, you really should read this. Her assistant was sitting nearby, pointing to the paper. Im not from here. I dont care what happens here! Laura protested. What in the world can there be thats of any interest? Just read it. Laura took the paper from her assistant and walked away saying, Send the boxer in! Freeholder Otilia Mancusos picture was on the cover. Mancuso, 52, still denies having passed bribes to County Executive Franklin Pizarro from her lover, Hudson County psychiatrist Dr. Chico Chanca. Laura punctuated the sentence she had just read with an exclamation mark. Her lover? And suddenly she itched all over. Her lover! Laura repeated to herself, a bit louder. At the same time, she was scratching wildly. We were very much in love, Mancuso was quoted as having said on several occasions.

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In love? Laura said, even louder. In love! Even her face itched. In fact, she had fleas. This happened often. Finally, the receptionist heard, the assistant heard and even the people in the waiting room and their pets heard Laura yelling, The pomeranian! Inside the examination room, she yelled even louder, The pomeranian! Just when she felt she was going to have an MS episode, the new client walked into the examination room, also holding the paper, folded so that the only big bold letters that could be read was the word love. Is this Chanca related to you? the man asked, brandishing the paper. By the way, my names Manny, he said and held out his hand. Manny Kosravi. Laura held out her hand. No, were not related. Unfortunately, were married, she said. Youre a gorgeous boy, she added, but this time she was talking to the dog, a light-brown boxer puppy with four white feet. Thank you, said Manny. I got him as a stud, but he doesnt have any balls. Laura picked the puppy up, put him on the examination table and scratched his tummy so hed go on his back. We wont be using you as a stud, she said sweetly to the dog. No balls. They can be brought down, but hell need surgery for that. Id send him back to whoever sold him to you as a stud. Youre a breeder? How come I dont know you? Youre not from here, are you? Manny replied, Oh, Im definitely from here, uncomfortably so. Im an architect, or I used to be one. Now Im in construction. I have several construction companies, and I just purchased a property in upstate New York because I want to become a breeder when the time comes. I moved here from Miami perhaps twenty years agoFlorida, not Ohio. Well, welcome to Hudson County, Laura said before she volunteered more information. Im not from here either. Im also from Miami, Florida . . . or I used to be until my husband brought me here. He loves going to upstate New York.

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Which side of the river? I dont care, she replied, trying to move her skin like a dog because she still itched. Well, I cant believe that sissy husband of yours actually cheated on you. How do you know hes a sissy? Laura asked, but it sounded as if she agreed with him. Because he has to be a sissy . . . What about dinner on Friday? Excuse me? Laura asked, quite shocked. Dinner, as in a date. You look like youve never been asked out on a date. That would be unethical, Laura crossed her arms and said. Look, its with my dog that you have a doctor-patient relationship, not with me. It would be unethical if you decided to date my dog, and I wouldnt date him anyway since he doesnt have any balls. Laura looked down so he wouldnt see her face. She said something about the dog having balls, except they hadnt dropped, and then told him that she had given birth this year. He said he didnt see why that should keep her from going out on a date. Did she need a babysitter? The baby could come along anyway. I cant. I cant. It wouldnt be appropriate, she said. Ill wait till youre ready, he then said. Oh . . . K. LOVE, NEW JERSEY STYLE. In hindsight, Laura wondered how she hadnt put two and two together sooner than she did, but then again, everything is so obvious in hindsight. Back in her office, she opened a tube of Frontline flea and tick repellent and rubbed the oil into her hands as she stared at the picture on the front cover. The pomeranian! she repeated to herself and sat down to reread the article. We were very much in love. He was polite, he was tender, and he was always focused on me. It was romantic, it was passionate. We wanted to get married. Boyfriend. Lover. They wanted to get married. He was so handsome. She still loves him. He was tender. He would kiss her passionately.

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Kiss the pomeranian? Laura said out loud. That must be a lie. He does not kiss. He never kisses. In any case, he hadnt kissed Laura for a few years. Thinking back, he stopped when she kept insisting on him being rough, just a little bit rough and getting rough with him because he refused to get rough. She wanted him to hit her, once, just once. The thought of it turned her on, but he refused. He goes down on you but he doesnt kiss. The pomeranians lying. He helped Otilia get through the sorrow and humiliation that a former relationship had caused. The pomeranian thought she was trading up. He was not your typical macho guy. Thats true, Laura thought. Oftentimes, when they quarreled, Chico would say to Laura that he was sorry for not being the type of man she wanted, a jealous macho creep. Laura didnt even like the music he listened to: Indian chants, Krishna Das, Lhasa, The Doors, Hotel Costes. She didnt like music; there was no time for music. No, thats not true, she liked Boleros and what the Boleros said. In the car he always listened to Indian chants and chanted along. He seemed happy. To her great dismay, he had never been a jealous man. He ran off with Otilias life savings? 6,000? What if the client with the pomeranian is lying? Lauras internal dialogue then changed the subject. It was about time she went to bed with someone else, and the client with the boxer was not bad-looking, he had turned her on just by suggesting that he had balls. Perhaps she had made a mistake with Chico and he was not the love of her life after all. She couldnt believe shed made a mistake! Oh, she had wanted so badly for him to be the love of her life; he was so perfect for her, just like she was perfect for him. They met each other and fell in love . . . madly, madly! Im so mad! The psychiatrist lover. Madly! She never should have threatened him the way she had. He was very concerned about being rich and staying rich. He said hed rather die than be poor again. Psychiatrist lover, boyfriend, whatever. We were very much in love. Laura had known him when he was in love with her; she had known him to be tender, polite, full of attention, never jealous, never macho. He was hers for a while, but he didnt make love like she imagined they must in the Boleros. She wanted to say to the pomeranian, we too

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were very much in love. She liked to fight and make up. Now look at this, shes finding out about how he cheated on her in the paper, in public! Did the pomeranian also like to fight and make up? Did he go down on her? He couldnt have kissed her. Otilia Mancuso. He must like gordas, like his first wife. Chico had his cell phone turned off, so Laura called the office. Celestina said he was on the phone, did she want him to call her back? Ill hold, Laura said softly before yelling out, Celestina, I need to talk to my husband right now! Celestina put Laura on hold. At that very moment, Chico was on the phone saying, Twenty today, and the balance later, when its a done deal. Ill keep our agreement in my safe until then. After that, we never met. Celestina was buzzing him. Take it or leave it. Celestina was still buzzing him. I have to go, buddy. For the past week or so, the phone had been ringing off the hook, people calling for just one appointment with him. Even with his door closed, he could hear Celestina repeating over and over again, He is not taking new patients. Celestina, I heard you once, and Im not taking any calls. Celestina said, Chico, tu mujer on Line Two. There was a chance she hadnt read the paper, and even if she had, there was not much to lose since theyd quarreled bitterly the night before. She had accused him of feigning sciatica and of walking with a cane just to avoid sex. Before reminding him that they had only had sex twice in the past month, she had given him an ultimatum. He pressed Line Two. Whats up? he asked. Not you, she said, but lets start with Love, New Jersey Style. Hudson County style, he corrected her. What do you want me to tell you, Laura? he said, sounding hassled. Its all lies! Thats right, all lies, Laura said, sounding sarcastic, and I hate you. So when are you moving out? This afternoon, if you wish. The sooner the better. Id like you out before I get home. And I was also calling to tell you I have a date on Friday night. Thats Miriams night off, and that means you have to babysit. I dont

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want to leave the kids alone in the house with my mom and her nurse. No problem. At what time do you want me to pick them up on Friday? That means you cant run off to Poughkeepsie or wherever it is you go. He sounded more hassled. I dont go to Rhinebeck anymore. Listen, I have a lot of work to do. I have to get off the phone. No later than five, she said. Then you can leave right away. I dont want you and my date meeting. On which side of the river is Poughkeepsie? His answer was, Why should you care? Thats right. I dont care. Just as he hung up, Celestina came in with a guava pastry and chamomile tea, saying, Te me ests poniendo demasiado nervioso. Celestina, I cant deal with you right now . . . and take that pastry away. I told you I wanted papaya or mamey! Thats crap! he said, pointing to the pastry. Youre too skinny. You never eat. Take a bite of the pastel de guayaba and Ill bring you a mango. Thats all I could find. A pastel de guayaba is not bad food. Look at you. Youre walking with a cane! To hell with that cane! he said and reluctantly took a bite of the pastry, swallowed and said, I dont want mango. I hate mango! Go away, Celestina. No calls! I will bring you a medianoche at noon before you go out. Leave me alone, Celestina! I have to do my paperwork! And I have to pay my bills! Look at this! He picked up a bunch of unopened envelopes and yelled, How am I going to pay all this? He threw the envelopes across the room and yelled louder, My bills are interminable, and I dont have any money . . . and I dont want a medianoche. Its crap! Bring me hummus, lemon hummus and whole wheat pitaThe mini ones! Im at my wits end and not about to empezar a comer basura! Look at all the bills I have to pay! He sat down, put his head in his hands and said over and over again, My life is in shambles!

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You have to gain weight, Chico. Women do not like skinny men who walk with a cane, and you need to fall in love, Chico. Its a never-ending fight with Laura, who is nothing but a selfish woman! she said, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Falling in love is not on my list. Id rather have them cut my balls off when I go for a goddamn vasectomy if I ever find el maldito tiempo. And why the hell are we talking about this? Celestina, if you dont get out of my office Im going to fire you! he shouted. Djame tranquilo! Im broke! After she left, he put his head back in his hands and took a deep breath. He needed to focus. He needed to focus, he had to win. He couldnt lose this one, he could not lose. That was out of the question. He closed his eyes for a few moments, took a few more breaths, then got back to his work and worked for a good three hours before Celestina buzzed him to say the reporter was back and asking if he had a few minutes to spare. Send her in, he said. Since she had figured out his schedule, the reporter would always show up before noon, once or twice a week, because thats when he was at the office doing his paperwork. He usually left the office around one to do his rounds at the correctional facilities, then ended up at the main office of RPA and never returned to the office before six or seven. It was impossible to catch him then because he locked the building and didnt answer the phone. If she wished to catch him, morning was the time. He stood, held out his hand, and said her name. Melody! The pleasure of seeing you just never wears out. She was looking unhappy, and he was feeling insecurea bad combination. I can give you five minutes, he said. She didnt say anything but stared at him with disdain. By the way, he added, I cant tell you how proud I feel to be the psychiatrist lover in what you call an old-fashioned New Jersey love story. The phones ringing off the hook! I even have women calling the office begging for a date. There I was, trying to patch things up with my wife and now youve ruined everything. Abruptly, she asked, Why didnt you help my boyfriend?

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He was not expecting this. What? You heard. I dont remember. He probably wasnt taking his meds. You do remember, she said, threateningly. Well, I wasnt Sigmund Freud, and unfortunately, he happened to be Rat Man, Chico sat up straighter than usual and said. See! You do remember! Chico leaned forward. By the way, Freud never did cure Rat Man, maam. The meds made him stupid. It was either the meds, or . . . Instead of finishing his sentence Chico simply took his index finger to his temple and made circles. Coo-coo. Thats a funny way for a psychiatrist to refer to mental illness. Did they teach you that in medical school? Should I be showing more respect for mental illness, maam? Chico leaned back and asked. Dont you dare maam me again! Not only are you a bad person, but you are a disgrace to the profession, a bad doctor whos just in it for the money. The world is full of bad, dishonest, greedy, selfish, ruthless people like you! she said right before she burst out crying. He sat up. Never mind that too many epithets ruin the effect, to what do I owe the privilege of this outburst? he asked, staring at her, wide-eyed. Im the one who should be crying after the demeaning article you wrote about me! Which, by the way, was really poorly written. Do you always write as poorly? And why did you choose to write when you have absolutely no talent? I hate you. I hate this world, and I hate everyone in it! I should have committed suicide like my sister! I want to die. Will you please give me a prescription so I can kill myself? He continued staring at her in disbelief. They were silent for a few moments. Why is it that I am surrounded by crazy women? he asked the room before he buzzed Celestina and asked for peppermint tea.

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Peppermint tea is not going to do it for me! she said ferociously. I want something stronger. I want you to kill me. I beg you to kill me. Chico put his elbows on his desk and continued staring at her. Finally, he said, You should go ask a nice guy to kill you, not some greedy, selfish, incompetent prick. You only die once, you know. They sat in silence, the reporter sobbing quietly, until Celestina walked in with two cups of mint tea. Con cuidado, esta mujer est chiflada, Chico said to Celestina as he pointed to the reporter. Dont try to gossip about me in Spanish. I speak Spanish. She comes here to my office, interrupts me while Im in the middle of my work and asks me to kill her, Chico said to Celestina. And Im never going to get my goddamn paperwork done! Then he turned to the reporter. My paperwork is like trying to roll a rock up a hill, the myth of Sisyphus! Look at the time! he said loudly, staring at his watch. Its almost time for me to do my rounds. He addressed the reporter again, And if I dont get my paperwork done, Im the one whos going to commit suicide . . . so please leave as soon as youre done crying. The tissues are there for that. Oh, and I almost forgot . . . this afternoon I have to move back out of my house, thanks to you. Celestina was staring at the reporter. I kill you if you want, after all the ugly things you write about Chico. I didnt write anything ugly about him. Im just quoting people. Arms akimbo, Celestina said, You quote people? Who wrote the psychiatrist boyfriend? You! Who wrote the psychiatrist lover? You! Next time you call, I hang up the phone on you! Next time you come here, I push you down the stairs! Celestina, take it easy, Chico said. Then to the reporter, She gets a little overprotective. Soon after the reporter left, promising to return, Chico pulled open the middle right-hand side desk drawer and reached into it. Without looking, he searched until he found what he was looking for. Then he swiveled his chair around and stared at the Manhat-

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tan skyline. He remembered the time when hed looked out this very window in search of an absence. In his hands he had the bottle of hand lotion that he had finally taken out of his car. Ambers Lunar Lotion, hand mixed with mantra at Sacred Greens Farm. He opened the bottle, poured some lotion into the palm of his hand, rubbed his hands together, put his hands to his face and sat back in his chair. He must have fallen asleep. When he woke up, Celestina was knocking on his door. He told her to come in and she was holding an envelope in her hand. Someone named Amber Delro had dropped it off ten minutes ago. Celestina, why didnt you buzz me? I did! You didnt answer! He took the envelope and, without opening it, walked out of his office and out of the building. Once outside, he looked up and down Palisades Avenue, but there was no one in sight. Disappointed, he went back inside, sat behind his desk and opened the letter.

Twenty-Seven

tilia was pacing. I used to be different, she said casually. I dont remember ever being this scared, and I used to be young and skinny like my daughter. Shes a size zero, and I was almost as pretty as her. I really dont remember ever being this scared, and I was never middle-aged before now. Do you want anything to drink? I didnt say you were, and I wasnt either, Marta said. She had her eyes on the writing on a yellow pad. No, Im fine. Im just trying to remind myself because Im feeling so nostalgic today . . . and scared to death. One minute, Im bare-knuckled, and the next Im falling apart. Perhaps its time for another puppy. Something cold? I know you like fizzy water. I have some! Still looking at her notes, Marta uttered, Im the one whos going to be looking after the dog you already have, so you should consult with me first. Actually, Ill be sending your animal to my sister, who lives on a farm in Rhinebeck. No, Im fine. Rhinebeck! What a coincidence. Why didnt you tell me? Marta shrugged. It was irrelevant. An irrelevant coincidence! Otilia stopped to stare out at the Manhattan skyline and sighed. Another puppy! You could send me pictures and have my new puppy all housebroken for me by the time I get out. Marta cleared her throat and said, Im not laughing yet. Otilia started pacing again. So, tell me about your sister. If shes going to be in charge of Belinda Avellaneda, I want to know all about her. Theres nothing to know. Shes crazy, and shes not somebody I would frequent, but shes my sister. I want to talk about the way I look, Otilia said, almost pleadingly, and stopped again to stare out at the Manhattan skyline.

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Often, she tried to have this conversation with Marta, and Marta always waved it away, not finding it relevant or important. Besides, Marta believed Otilia didnt look too bad for a fifty-year-old woman. This annoyed Otilia to no end, for she took that compliment to be an insult. Id much rather you tell me that Im looking better, now that Im swimming and doing yoga and bicycling. And youre going to get jaundice from staring at that yellow pad. Id rather talk about my sister, Marta declared. Do you know she took vows of chastity? She shrugged before she changed the subject. Where are you doing yoga? Does it really help you lose weight? Finally, Otilia sat down and said, I wish I could take vows of chastity instead of them being imposed upon me. I know how you feel. You dont really think the yellow pad will make the whites of my eyes yellow, do you? By the way, you are looking much better. I noticed the other day. Im glad you gave up on being a false blonde. Thats a nice chocolate brown. And I lost twenty pounds. Cross training. And Ill never allow myself to be fat again, Otilia declared. Too bad Im not having the affair with Chico now. No one to touch me now that I love the way I feel. Marta reminded her, Looks are irrelevant. Otilia interrupted her. But look at me now! Suddenly Otilia stopped to think and then agreed with Marta. When there are so many important things going on in the world, why do so many people stop to worry about their body? So if we both agree, lets move on to another topic, Marta suggested. She consulted her notes before she said, Dr. Chanca coaxed and cajoled you until he finally convinced you to do something you otherwise would never have done. You are a victim, and this is entrapment. I own a movie called Entrapment, Otilia said, but I always fall asleep before the end. Marta was through with small talk. You have to get it in your head that you are a victim. You need to admit it! To declare it! To confess it! To shed tears! You need to wear victims clothing!

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Thats what a jury wantsa victim! Crocodiles, thats what they are, and they want to feel sorry for you! They want to cry for you, but they have to identify with you! And if they cant feel sorry for you, then your story is not worthwhile. This has to be the story of a single mom in search of an identity who struggles to make ends meet and do good for her town! For Gods sake, stop shouting, Marta! Marta had yet another idea. Your parents were humble. Otilia disagreed. So Marta insisted. They were immigrants, so they didnt always have money. No one will feel sorry for you if your parents werent humble. No one gives a damn about middle-class Hispanics, much less wealthy ones! So Im not going to wave the ethnic flag at the jury unless you Fine, Otilia interrupted. Does renting run-down apartments to people on welfare make a landlord humble? That was my dad. Your mother was a seamstress. She liked to sew. You worked while you were in high school. I babysat. You needed to work, and you were such a good student that, in spite of your existential circumstances, which included several abusive boyfriends and an abusive father, you still got accepted to one of the best colleges in the nation. Ahem! Best in terms of it being minority-oriented. Is NJCU really that good? I wish Id known before. I wouldve bragged about it. But lets say I needed money to pay for college, Otilia said sarcastically, and Junior Mancuso helped me. Did you ever hear about the scandal with him? It happened the first time I ran for office. And before you know it, youre in another abusive relationship. Junior may have been abusive, but dont go saying bad things about my dad. So youve always been a victim, Marta said.

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Back then, Junior Mancuso was telling every reporter that I took a million dollars of his. Never once taking her eyes off her notes, Marta insisted. A victim . . . used, coaxed, cajoled, discarded. Your entire life has been an identity crisissexual, social, racialso you need to come out of this with a new understanding of yourself and the world around you. The three million dollars would have gone up his nose anyway. What does coming out of this mean? Marta looked up and her reply was, Were going to put up a good fight, Otilia. Otilia chuckled. One? Two? Three years? Marta corrected her. Lets talk about it in terms of months. Two? Three months? Otilia asked hopefully. Thirty-six. Thirty, maybe. Oh, no, Otilia said, sounding hopeless. A few days before the 2004 election, Otilia walked into Pitas room, held the pomeranian close to her heart, looked Pita in the eye and cleared her throat before she started to talk. Much like a mediocre actress who had just learned her lines by rote, Otilia spoke fast, so much so that it ruined the effect. No drama here. She was simply wanting to get the confession out. The message was that chances were she was going to have to spend some time in prison. There were no spaces between her words. Perhaps this could have been expressed some other way, with silent pauses or background music, not like some childs Pledge of Allegiance. Pita didnt seem to understand at first. Looking confused, she put her curling iron down. What do you mean? For an instant, Otilia stopped to consider the smell of makeup and hair products in Pitas bedroom, the scent of a girl. There would be nothing like this in prison. Otilia mumbled, What part of what I just said didnt you get? Looking betrayed this time, Pita flung her hair back and protested, But, Mom, youre innocent! That awful boyfriend of yours used you and youre going to plead not guilty! The emotions were in crescendo. Youre not one of them! And whos going to take care of your dog?

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My attorney, and of course Im one of them because I learned Hudson County politics at the school of hard knocks. I was Chancas paramour and Pizarros political ally. Im no victim! Pita reached for the curling iron as if it were a gun. The pomeranian growled for no reason at all. Of course youre a victim, Mom . . . or can you at least pass for one? Arent you going to plead not guilty? And what about your stupid dog? Mom, I have a life and I dont want to spend it walking a yappy dog with a ridiculous name! There were less and less commas in this conversation. Belinda doesnt yap, and if its you youre worried about, I told you, Martas crazy sister whom Ive never met and who lives on some crazy farm near Rhinebeck, New York, is going to keep Belinda Avellaneda when the time comes. Yes, she does yap, and Mom, will you please get angry or put your mask back on? I cant stand you when youre for real, and just for that Ill take care of your dog. Gimme that dog! Otilia stepped back, still holding the pomeranian close to her heart. No! Not knowing what to make of this personthis other Otilia standing in front of her, Pita uttered not so much an arrogant, but a vanquished Whatever! She then said, I want my mother back! And she was dying to bring the dog back into this. Finally, she broke down and wept until Otilia warned her about puffy eyes and until she realized it wasnt even prison that Otilia wanted to talk about. It was about life after prison and how she couldnt wait until all this was over so she could run for office again. She was even considering buying a new puppy! I wont let them bar me from holding office ever again! Mom, how can you even think about winning an election after you get out of prison when you havent even won this one thats coming up? And how can you even think of getting another dog? Otilia must have deemed those to be rhetorical questions, because she simply said, Id like for you to brush your hair and also to wear a nice, conservative dress every day this week.

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This time, instead of reacting violently, Pita pointed to her walk-in closet and asked her mother to help her pick a nice, conservative dress. They both peeked in there before they realized they needed to walk in there. All this time Otilia was still holding the dog. There was some discussionno arguing, just talk. Otilia must have put the pomeranian down, because the animal ran out of the closet first, followed by Otilia and Pita, who had failed to find an appropriate dress because Pita didnt have anything appropriate in there. All she had were size-zero jeans, tight tees, tiny sweaters and denim miniskirts. They ended up at the Newport Mall and bought five days worth of politically correct dresses. During the ride back, Pita gave each dress a name. There was the Jane Eyre dress, the Scarlet Letter dress, the Mennonite dress, the I-wanna-be-a-nun-when-Igrow-up dress. . . . This was no time for jokes, but Otilia added, And you also need the drive-your-mom-to-federal-prison dress. In that case, Ill need a dress to pick you up in. Wear the same one. Ill be there around thirty-six months. By then, everyone will have forgotten what you were wearing when you dropped me off. There was a moment of silence, and instead of driving on, Otilia parked the car on the side of the road. She sighed, and they both started to cry. Four days later, Pita was parading around with her political mom in a gold Ford Crown Victoria from polling place to polling place in the Fourth District repeating each time that victory was not in doubt. They had been getting along ever since that one short conversation in Pitas bedroom. In the car, they joked about how their smiles were starting to hurt. Otilia commented that the dress Pita was wearing did indeed deserve its name. (She was wearing the one she had christened I-wanna-be-a-nun-when-Igrow-up.) They held hands. It was such a moment of harmony that Pita kissed her mom just as they were coming out of the car. A reporter took a picture of them, and it appeared on the front page the next day.

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Good luck, loyal constituents, hard work and glorious fate had it that Otilia Mancuso and Nacho Vargas were easily reelected to the Board of Freeholders. The voters did not seem to mind that Otilia had been indicted and Nacho was supposed to have been barred from holding public office. Corruption did not seem to come as a surprise; it was as commonplace and everyday as interrupted sidewalks, city trees, 99-cent deli coffee in Styrofoam cups with plastic lids and potholes mended with the provisional cold patch. Nacho rescinded his resignation and affirmed that he could easily serve from behind bars with no distractions. Embattled Freeholder Otilia Mancuso made it clear that her only crime was a crime of passion and that she would begin her fight in federal court with a plea of not guilty to the six charges against her. The morning after her victory, Otilia said in an interview that she felt honored to have been reelected and hoped to continue serving the people of Hudson County with the same fervor, respect and love she had for the past twenty-one years. It was, however, becoming more difficult to claim total innocence in the Franklin Pizarro scandal, so Otilia reluctantly did admit to having made some mistakes. She had no choice but she also claimed to be a victim. Her passionate love for a man had perhaps caught her between agreements of greed that she was unaware of at the time. The man that she had loved with passion had perhaps used her as a delivery person, and his name was Chico Chanca. If scandal there was, that greedy, heartless man would most probably walk away from it rich, while Otilia was suspected of wrongdoing and could possibly be charged with a crime. Otilia repeated over and over again that her only crime had been one of passion. A reporter compared Otilia to Juana the Mad of Spain, Isabella the Catholics hapless daughter. Juanas only crime was one of having loved a man too much. She fell in love with her husband and was used as a pawn by her husband, her father, her son and all the men in the Spanish court. The result was fifty years in prison; but Otilia didnt even need to be locked in the Castle of Tordesillas, for her prison was a prison of love. This was bloody food for the sharks, and Otilia was talking to every journalist who called her.

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Of course Dr. Chanca had loved her! He probably still did, but he was trapped in a loveless marriage to a greedy, selfish woman named Laura who was intent on spending all his hard-earned money. But this wasnt about that selfish, vindictive Laura who only cared about her breast implants. Nothing personal. Otilia was only defending Lauras poor, abused husband. Otilia insisted that a man does not treat a woman the way Dr. Chanca treated her because hes working for the FBI. He sure didnt need to be that zealous! Their lovemaking was wonderful! Should she go into the details? Before long, Otilia was likened to former president Bill Clinton. This left Dr. Chanca with no other part but that of Monica Lewinsky. Was it the FBI who ordered Dr. Chanca to perform romantically the way he had, every Friday afternoon at any one of ten sordid motels on Tonnelle Avenue in Jersey City? By the way, he had this thing for cheap motels, old carpets and cigarette burns on bedspreads. Once, he explained to her that it was a dissociative attraction. He loved to talk about himself! In spite of Dr. Chancas boyish flaws, Otilia confessed to the media that shed still marry him in a loving heartbeat. Hed make such a wonderful father. He was a wonderful fatherthe way he rushed out of their dovecote, whatever motel theyd agreed on that particular Friday, to go pick his daughter up at the River School. He was so attached to that beautiful little girl of his. Oh yes, hed shown Otilia a picture of his daughter Chelsea, the proud father that he was! They were lying naked on the cigarette-burned bedspread when Dr. Chanca produced a photograph of that adorable Chelsea, Chelsea of all names! What a coincidence! A propos, Dr. Chanca also had a little boy now! Charlie Chanca was born this past June. Otilia mentioned that she felt particularly connected to this baby that she had never actually met because Dr. Chanca had expressed a desire to have a child with her. And since I put my duties to the people of Hudson County before everything, I denied him this child he wanted. It could very well be that Dr. Chanca would not have had this second child with his selfish wife Laura had Otilia not been so loyal to her constituents.

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Otilia also confessed to having put all her trust and faith in Dr. Chanca, so much so that shed given him her life savings to invest $14,000 that shed been saving for her daughters college, whenever her daughter made up her mind to go to college. Hopefully, hed invested it well. And no, she did not know where her money was. One week after the election, this whole business about the savings really annoyed and scared Otilias attorney. Did he or did he not take your savings? We talked about it, Otilia replied. I asked him how I should invest it. Then what? I gave him the money. First, you said it was six, but now you have more than doubled it. You need proof that he took your money. If its not true, you have to find a way to take it back. The next day on her way to yoga class Otilia told a reporter that as far as her life savings went, she had been misquoted. Dr. Chanca had not, in fact, run off with her life savings. Her intention had been to compare Chanca to the horrible man in charge of her mutual fund. It was terrible humor, and I apologize, but I put them all in the same bag! All traders are traitors or the other way around, and from now on I refuse to talk without my attorney present!

Twenty-Eight

hat Friday in November, after the journalist left and Otilia wasonce againholding her head in her hands and weeping loudly, Chico Chanca was approaching the New Paltz/Poughkeepsie exit, listening to jazz. He lit a joint, inhaled deeply and thought about how he had created his past and managed to convince everyone he had traveled around the world with his hippie parents. Part of it was true, but not the part about traveling around the world. Lauras parents had sensed it when he asked her to marry him. They didnt want him! They said he came from nowhere! A Mister Nobody! Then they corrected it to Dr. Nobody! Chico inhaled again, going down the list of everything he had been successful in doing. Suicide was always an option if he lost and if it continued this way, with nothing, absolutely nothing to expect and if nothing meaningful or significant was going to happen to him ever again. He was not about to start all over again. He inhaled deeply and smiled. He parked in his usual spot and went to check the restaurants and bars before even bothering to check into the Beekman Arms. After Fosters and Terrapins, he walked into Gigis, and there she was, standing at the bar holding a tall glass of seltzer water, talking to a few healthy, wealthy, artsy, chic, either famous or halffamous and here for the weekend people. Amber! he said. Were you expecting me? She turned to him, opened her eyes wide and decided to tilt her head and say, I was. Ill get us a table. Ill be right with you, Amber said before she took leave of her forever friends. When they were seated, Amber asked, How long has it been? So he asked, What time is it?

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She insisted. Im serious! How long has it been? Since we last met? One month, maam. She chuckled. Howd you know where to find me? The smell of the crowd, maam. She chuckled again. And you smell like sinsemilla. Its the prayer beads, he said, pointing to what he was wearing around his neck. Then he picked up her arm and smelled her forearm. Does this taste as good as it smells? She looked away in a Morticia Addams kind of way. Have a taste, she said. So he ran his tongue from her wrist to her elbow. It tastes even better. You are so stoned, she said, sounding amused. Its the only way. By the way, I Googled you, she said. The first hit was from HealthGrades, and she bought his report for seven dollars. So she found out where he went to medical school, what his specialty was, how many years hed been practicing, that hed been board-certified and that there were no disciplinary actions against him. Once she was through with the physicians report, she typed his name again, only to discover that all the other hits also concerned him. Dr. Chanca, please do tell me about the cheap-motel sex you had with a with a middle-management politician. Ive taken vows of chastity, so I have to live it all vicariously. Chico looked up at the ceiling, and they remained silent for a few moments before he said, Did you know Dr. Chanca was Christopher Columbuss ruin? Dr. Chanca gave Columbus the wrong advice. By the way, they left something out. They left the campgrounds out. No one knows about the campgrounds. That didnt catch her interest. She wanted to talk about herself. She had as many projects as she had speaking engagements, and she wanted to brag. He downed a bottle of wine while she bragged and then insisted on talking about campgrounds. He said the first one was the Chattahoochee/Tallahassee West campground. That was his first taste of life in the United States. His dad was in charge of maintenance. Theyd gotten to Miami on a raft

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when he was three, that much was true; he said he could have been Elin before Elin. Since Amber didnt quite understand, Chico refreshed her memory. Elin was the little Cuban boy who escaped from Cuba on a raft and was sent back to Cuba by the authorities after his mother died. Chico said he could have been Elin, except that he left on a raft with his dad and his dad survived. After they were released by the US authorities after much questioning and red tape, his dad got a maintenance job at a Florida panhandle campground. Thats where he lived for three years, until he was seven years old and his dad was offered a managerial position at another campground in Jacksonville. So thats why you have a southern accent! Suddenly, Chico interrupted himself and said to Amber, Promise you wont tell anyone! Its very embarrassing. About your southern accent? After another three years in Jacksonville, his dad was offered a better managerial position at another campground in Savannah, and it was in Savannah that he met the hippies. By then, he was in third grade, and his dad was having him keep the campgrounds clean after the bus dropped him off from school. Hed go around picking up garbage and cleaning the communal bathrooms. It was in Savannah that he met the hippies who smoked pot, did yoga and talked about traveling the world, from ashram to ashram, so by the time Chico and his dad had moved to a campground in Calhoun, Georgia, Chico could easily talk about traveling the world. When the yellow school bus dropped him off at home, and the kids asked him if he really lived in a campground, he could easily tell them this particular campground was only a moment in his life. Amber kept repeating, So thats why you have a southern accent! You already said that. In Charleston, South Carolina, just as the school bus was dropping him off for the first time ever Chico said, I am not from here. Thats when he became Chico, or at least realized that people always called him Chico.

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Amber couldnt quite finish her sentence and didnt know exactly what to ask. Was that reason enough to become such a . . . such a . . . Dirtball, maam? Then what happened? she asked. He sighed. Everything happened at the same time. My dad got in trouble with the law, and my mom got an entry permit into Canada. We left for a campground outside of Montreal, where I got to meet my mom after eleven years. My dad left for Central America and left me in that campground with my mom. So thats why you speak French, Amber concluded. Thats right, maam. And why are you telling me all this? To warn you, maam. About fatal flaws. She seemed offended. Do you think I have fatal flaws? Yes, maam. I think you do. I think you could do yourself harm. I can see it. Im no longer promiscuous. Thats why I took vows of chastity two years ago. Chico inhaled. Thats not what I was referring to, maam. After he finished another bottle of wine all by himself because she still refused to drink, he walked her to her car, which was parked in the municipal parking lot off West Market Street. Before they got there, they kissed on the corner of Montgomery and West Market. Night had fallen and the temperature had gone down. There must have been other people in the parking lot and the movie theatre had just let out a batch from the seven PM showing. It was dark and the only light was coming from those refurbished old-fashioned streetlights. She leaned back against her car and he pressed his body against hers before kissing her again. She said, I cant stop. Id better go, he whispered. So reluctantly, she let him go. And instead of checking into the Beekman Arms, he went back to Gigis for a double espresso to help him drive straight back to New Jersey. On Route 17 in Ramsey, New Jersey, he was pulled over and arrested for a DUI at the very same moment that Otilia was curled up on her sofa, hugging

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the pomeranian Belinda Avellaneda and watching Anatomy of a Murder. Just when Lee Remick and James Stewart were talking about panties, Dr. Chanca was trying to explain to his arresting officer that this kind of thing did not happen to him, but they didnt seem to care or even to believe him. Call me Laura, Lee Remick said. To the arresting officers, Chanca was just another drunken nobody. You dont know who I am and Im not from here! It was when Ben Gazzara explained to his attorney that he had suffered from a dissociative reaction that Otilia fell asleep. The charge and arrest haunted Chico all week. Back in his office, he called his attorney several times to ask the same questions and repeat the same things. This was his first offense, wasnt it? He would enter with a not guilty plea. He had had an irresistible impulse! It was dissociative! How long before the trial? It could be as long as 180 days. How much would this cost? Whats a pretty penny? What about the other thing? There was talk that the other pretty pennies had been illegally earned and that he might perhaps have to give them back. It was just a rumor, a possibility of the United States v. Chico Chanca, a sequel to United States v. Otilia Mancuso. I worked for the FBI! It was an FBI sting! Chico yelled on the phone. Thats entrapment! Martin Pinzn, his attorney, replied, Dont yell at me. Im on your side. But Chico kept repeating, Its entrapment. The moneys been spent. I dont have any money to give back. Hell, I barely have enough money to pay this drunk-driving fine! There were bills to pay and not enough money to spread around. Chicos American Express cards had been cancelled for nonpayment, and so had two of his Visa cards. To make matters worse, Laura was using her credit cards like there was no tomorrow. From the statements, there was absolutely nothing she did not buy, from copper-lined frying pans to baby clothes, Kurana dog beds, a new BMW SUV, new breast implants and a whole new wardrobe for Chelsea. He noticed she had gone to Bergdorfs in New York City and spent nearly $10,000 on clothes and accessories. A pretty penny, he whispered to himself. Once in a while,

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he would call Laura and warn her, If I go down, you go down, but she didnt want to hear it. Were not trees. Just pay the bills, Chico. As if all that werent enough, Otilia just wouldnt stop talking to that obnoxious reporter who, in turn, would call him to confirm what she had just said or revealed or confessed. Had he really expressed a desire to have a child with Otilia? Did he run off with her life savings? Did he buy her a wedding ring? Did he really take his daughters picture out of his wallet and show it to Otilia after sex in a raunchy motel on Tonnelle Avenue? He denied everything to the point that he was getting tired of saying no. And every night in his Palisades Avenue apartment, he would fall asleep on the couch, stoned and drunk. Of course, the daily newspaper articles were gasoline for Lauras fire. She was making it a point to read the paper first thing every morning and then call him to tell him she hated him. With each day that passed, she hated him more and spent more. Whenever the credit line on a card was maxed, shed apply for a new card. It was cancer, a spending cancer. He pleaded with her, but she would not listen. All she could say was that she hated him more each day. After the Christmas holidays, they agreed to divorce. He told her she could keep whatever little there was left. She said shed rather waste it. At least were not from here! was Chicos reaction. When our world comes tumbling down and we have to leave in the middle of the night, at least well have the consolation of knowing we are not from here! In the meantime, Otilias trial that had been scheduled for January was rescheduled for March 2005, as was Chicos DUI trial. That January was cold and depressing, and Chico considered putting an end to his life several times. At least rumors of United States v. Chico Chanca had died down. It seemed he knew his life by heart. In the morning, he would try to deal with bills and paperwork. After he tired of the paperwork, he went to do his rounds in two different prisons. Around six, he returned to the office, as usual, and worked until he decid-

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ed it was too late to drive back to West New York to see the kids. Laura would be home, and he dreaded the thought of having to face Laura now that she hated him this much. On Friday, January 19, Chico drove to West New York to pick up Chelsea and Charlie so Laura could go on a date. Of course Laura was looking stunning, wearing too much vanilla perfume and a tight designer dress that showed off her flat tummy and brand-new $20,000 implants. She didnt appreciate it when Chico said she was wearing fuck-me shoes to go with the fuck-me boobs. The insult made her want to fluff up her hair that she was letting grow quite long, almost down to her waist. She also smelled of hair stuff, lots of it, to get the waterfall of curls effect. He noticed very shiny lipstick and hardly any eye makeup for the virginal effect. She was still wearing her engagement and wedding rings. They talked about the kids spending the weekend with him. Hed bring them back Sunday evening. Laura was fine with that. She kept glancing at her gold Cartier watch, one of many, many birthing presents. After some hesitation, Laura explained that her date had insisted on picking her up at the house. In other words, she didnt want her date to arrive while Chico was still there. I know. We wouldnt want him to get jealous, Chico said as he walked away, laden with overnight bags, children, toys and a baby stroller. Youre not even jealous, are you? Laura asked. Chico turned around and said, Insanely. You hide it well. As it turned out, Manny Kosravi did not like her house. He said something about how the man had to be a sissy to live in a Victorian house. Laura said that Chico was the one who found the house and fell in love with it first, but she liked it. Well, the man has no taste, Manny said. I bet you he drinks tea, he added. Laura was astounded. How in the world did you know that? I bet you he has a collection of teas, and his only problem in life is choosing which tea to drink.

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Will you please tell me how you picked up on that? You dont even know him! Laura was enjoying this. She couldnt remember having had such a good time in years. I bet you cant guess what his favorite pastime is. Manny stopped to think, then came up with the word, Ballet! Close enough! Laura said. On their way to The Iron Monkey, where he was taking her to dinner, there were some leftover signs encouraging voters to reelect Otilia. Until then, Laura had never paid attention to any of this. Now she noticed every one of Otilias leftover signs. Ward Four. Reelect Otilia Mancuso. Your Freeholder. Otilia! Laura wanted to scream! Manny said, Youd think our tax-payer dollars would go to taking down those signs. Laura was glad to walk into the restaurant, and she loved the conversation. She realized how much it had annoyed her all these years to be constantly around people who liked Chico and thought the world of him. During dinner, she came to the conclusion that he had put her there because he was conceited and insecure. Manny even put some doubt in her mind as to how much money Chico made and actually had. How do you know all this? she kept asking. I know tons of guys just like him who pretend to be loaded and who owe tons of money. Its easy, you know. With the amount of money you tell me he spends and you spend, Ill bet you anything hes broke. Laura had some doubts about that. He wasnt broke; he had lots of money. But how did she know? Did they have the same bank account? Did she have access to his papers? Had she ever seen any numbers? The guys smoke and mirrors, Manny said. If I were you, Id worry about my practice, because you dont know how much money he owes. Laura frowned and started to doubt. She was, indeed, expecting to walk away from this marriage with quite a bit of money and to keep her practice, but what if Chico had nothing?

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Manny, who had just purchased a $2 million apartment at the Sugar House, asked her why she lived in West New York. Because its cheaper? His apartment was stunning. All the windows faced the water. Three bedrooms, three baths, living room, dining room, den, and Manny had decorated it all himself. On the walls there were pictures of the houses and buildings he had built. Some were in California, many in Florida, quite a few in New York and even some in Europe. Chico had promised to take her to Europe, but he never did. Every other year, they went to Guatemala to visit his father, and Laura was about as bored with the routine as she was with Chico. She noticed there were no dogs, so she asked, and he said he kept them on a farm in Orange County, New York. Why do you live in such a big place all by yourself? Laura asked the boxer, still quite impressed with his dwelling. Im waiting for the woman of my life. The right woman. And until I find her, Ill be all alone in this big apartment, he said as he drew her to him. She stared at him, wide-eyed, while he kissed her. He said he loved her already. He said he was jealous of her husband and wanted him out of her life as soon as possible. She didnt need to fight for money; she was a professional. She didnt need him! She had her career. She was successful at what she did. All she needed was to divorce him! Ill give you all the money you need! When he asked her about her lawyer, he couldnt believe what he heard. How could she leave it all up to her husband? If he was the one paying the lawyer, then who was the client? Darling, he said, youre smart. Figure it out. How could such an intelligent woman be so nave? Manny the boxer said he knew a good lawyer. Lets talk about this in bed, he then said. In bed? In bed! she said. Oh, my God! She stood up, grabbed her purse and ran into the bathroom. Inside, she made sure the door was locked, stepped into the shower, pulled her cell phone out of her beautiful handbag and, with a trembling hand, pressed the contact button, then Chicos name. It rang three times, and then he picked up, thank God!

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Chico, you have to come and get me. Im scared, and Im not ready to go to bed with him! She whispered all that in one breath. She said she was standing in his shower with all her clothes on and that he was probably outside the bathroom door and that she really hoped he hadnt taken his clothes off by now. Oh, how she regretted this. Chico, come get me! Please! Laurita, Im in bed with Charlie and Chelsea, and theyre sound asleep . . . so was I until you called. There was urgency in Lauras voice. Wake them up, put them in the car and come get me! Oh, my God. Hes knocking on the door! Chico yawned. Sounds like youre dating a serial killer. Hes asking me if everythings all right . . . and Im about to have an episode! Chico yawned again. Why dont you ask Ted Bundy or Jack the Ripper, whatever his name is, to put you in a cab? Chico, this is not a joking matter! she said as she opened the bathroom door. Here, talk to him! She then handed the phone to Manny and repeated the same thing. Who am I supposed to talk to? Manny asked. Talk to my sissy husband! Laura screamed right before she burst into tears. He loves to wear clogs! And Im having an episode! Oh, my God! Manny the boxer took the cell phone and stared at it as if hed never seen one before. Laura, in turn, pointed to it and, as if it made all the difference in the world, she whispered, He wears clogs. He has a whole collection of them, all different colors! Blue, green . . . she sniffed. . . . turquoise, tan, brown . . . cordovan, black. She burst into tears again. Dansko clogs! He was wearing clogs when we got married! she yelled. Then, softly, she said, I have MS, and I hurt! I hurt! The next day, Chico moved back into the West New York house. They tried to make their relationship work. They thought they wanted to be together more than anything in the world. They tried for three days, for four days, for five days. Mostly, they stayed away from the newspapers. They tried hard, but on the fifth day, Laura insisted on reading the newspaper, just to see if there was

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anything new. She swore she had forgiven Chico. She said she understood that it had been an FBI sting. Of course Otilia had meant nothing to him. He was simply out to entrap her. But Otilia just wouldnt stop talking, and her story was getting sorrier and sorrier. Not only that, but she was looking better and better. Howd she know about my implants? Otilia made the front page at least once a week, and she looked slimmer and more beautiful each week. How does she know what I like to do in bed and where I shave? Was she just guessing? These confessions were a spa, a trip to the beauty salon, a makeover, plastic surgery because the more she confessed, the more beautiful Otilia became. By the end of January, Otilias hair was dark brown and her lips were red. She, herself, admitted it was like magic realism! She was looking good, a vindictive Scheherazade. In the meantime, Chico and Laura were trying hard to make their marriage work, but the newspaper articles never stopped, run-on sentence upon run-on sentence. Still they tried and they tried, but Otilia would not stop swimming, bicycling, practicing yoga and, most important of all, talking. Shes talking through her elbows! Chico yelled out the window in a fit of frustration. For a while, he wanted more than anything to make the marriage work, and Laura seemed to feel the same. So they tried and they tried until Laura could take Otilias one thousand and one tales no more, and they finally had to give up. By the end of the summer of 2005, Laura was very focused on Manny Kosravi, the construction magnate. Chico Chanca was soon to become a bad chapter in her mismanaged past. Luckily, this was a chapter closer to the beginning than to the middle or the end of her book, which meant Laura still had timetime for love, time for good choices, time for more children and, most important of all, time to avoid ruin because United States v. Chico Chanca, although still far on the horizon, was already a squall line.

Twenty-Nine

reeholder Otilia Mancusos trial is scheduled to begin in US District Court in Newark on November 10, with Assistant US Attorney Rodrigo de Triana as lead prosecutor. Mancusos defense attorney, Marta Maldonado, affirms that Mancuso did not know what the envelopes she passed on to former County Executive Franklin Pizarro contained. Maldonado also says Dr. Chico Chanca is listed as a witness for the prosecution and could be called by the defense. Otilia was no longer on any medication, and she regretted it. Sometimes all she could do was joke about it. She missed the good old days when she thought she was the Xanax poster girl, and she explained to Marta that she was feeling out of control in a desperate sort of way. Marta urged her to stop being dramatic; things were simply what they were. In other words: Youre the one who got yourself here. As the date approached, November 10, 2005, the anxiety intensified. Often, and in vain, Otilia reminded herself this was not bad luck and that she had done this to herself. And with no one but herself to blame, she hugged her dog. It wasnt a fear of the unknown, for she knew quite well what she was up against; it was more like having an appointment to get a limb amputated, if freedom is a limb. One day you want to put it off, and the next youre dying to get this over with for whatever reason. She hugged her dog some more, tightly. She whispered I love you in her dogs ear. Being a pomeranian, the dog finally got tired of this and bit her. On November 12, a jury of seven men and five women listened to a recorded conversation between Otilia Mancuso and Dr. Chico Chanca, who was allegedly working for the FBI at the time. The sting was named after Otilia, Operation Ozone or O3, to catch corrupt politicians in Hudson County. In exchange, Dr. Chanca

]230[

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would not be charged with any crime. Thats what he said they told him. No! They didnt just tell him, they swore! He wasnt from here anyway, and for a while, he thought he had it made. He would never be broke again. Oh, how he loved his contracts! They were his blue suede shoes, and he was convinced he could keep his contracts and continue working for the county with Franklin Pizarros successor. The FBI had promised! But this was not happening. To Chico Chancas surprise, Franklin Pizarros interim successor, Harvey Ponce, nicknamed The Honest, had not renewed the county contracts. Harvey Ponce would never have become interim county executive had it not been for Franklin Pizarros fall! No county contracts meant having to downsize. Chanca had to let go of several psychiatrists working in his clinic. Without the county contracts, he didnt need this many psychiatrists. The problem is that he had signed five- to ten-year contracts with his fellow psychiatrists, and lately, even his partners were threatening him with a lawsuit. On November 13, Chico filed for bankruptcy. The once thriving psychiatric clinic around the corner from Bandera supermarket and restaurant in Union City closed its doors. There was a For Rent sign in front of the boring rectangular building. Another group of psychiatrists was seriously considering renting the space left empty. They put their heads together and wondered: Is this a good opportunity? Otilia drove past the building several times because she needed comfort. A rogue thought came to her: How did that architectural shoebox ever get approved by the zoning board? There was a sign posted on the door that she took the trouble to go and read the day she found parking nearby. In big, bold letters, it read, AUCTION, and the date when the furniture was to be sold: chairs, desks, electronics, couches, kitchen equipment. Otilia even considered going to the auction and buying something; not for love, only for comfort. After all, had it not been for her, this never would have happened. A couch or a chair from Chicos bankrupt clinic would certainly feel like those large bowls of cheesy pasta that she had forever given up.

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She was ready to buy anything his, to remind her of his downfall, right around the corner from Bandera restaurant and supermarket, that boring rectangular building thanks to an incompetent and corrupt zoning board. The sign still said Riverton Psychiatric Associates, and his name could still be read. Something left of him, carrion. She felt a pang of hunger, a screaming scarlet macaw, not a vulture. But it wasnt over yet. Chico Chanca was still standing. A squall line. But what about the money? Give back the money you stole! Throughout the years Dr. Chanca had been awarded contracts, not so much on his merit as a psychiatristbecause rumor had it that he was an incompetent psychiatristbut thanks to his deep pockets. This was therefore money acquired through illegal means: bribery. Should the millions of dollars awarded in contracts not be returned? The public question left Dr. Chanca kicking and screaming. He found it preposterous. Ive lost everything and Ive given everything I have to give! he said and repeated that all he wanted was to stop illegal activity. This would give the FBI a bad name. No one would ever again cooperate with the FBI if he was forced to give back the money to the county! He even suggested that he had been entrapped by the FBI. No one listened. No one believed him. No one cared. They only listened to themselves. Shouldnt Dr. Chancas license be revoked? Lately, Dr. Chancas leitmotif seemed to be, Were not from here! Now the question was: whos we? It certainly wasnt Dr. Chanca and his estranged wife Laura, because over the phone, an exasperated and angry Laura ordered Chico to stop using the pronoun we if it referred to her and him. Youre you, and Im me! Thats right, Chico yelled. My moneys yours, and your debts are mine! Ive been hearing about your hard-earned money. Thats right, he said, almost in tears, not knowing what else to say. At this rate, Ill end up in a skate shop sharpening blades like that dirtball Franklin Pizarro who entrapped me! Poor entrapped Chico! Laura said sarcastically.

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Chico, who was fending for himself, trying to justify every decision he had ever made in his life, and perhaps even trying to feel righteous, really did start to believe he was the one who had been entrapped. Every once in a while, hed stop to think and doubt and tell himself it could not possibly be. He had to be the one in control here. Invariably, hed stare at the wall paneling and yell out some rhetorical question like, Whats happening with my life, and what the hells going on with Otilia? In spite of his secret self-doubts, Dr. Chanca did have the bravado to show up in court on November 15, when Franklin Pizarro testified that he had accepted thousands upon thousands of dollars in bribes from Dr. Chanca in envelopes that had been passed to him by Freeholder Otilia Mancuso. Otilia didnt turn her head, and she regretted it. Oh, how she wanted to look Dr. Chanca in the eye, just as she was looking Franklin Pizarro in the eye. In cross-examining Franklin Pizarro, Marta Maldonado made reference to what is known as entrapment. She had a dictionary in hand, ready to be opened to the word entrapment and she read the definition. Then she stood there quietly, for only a minute, long enough to make it an uncomfortable silence. Maldonado argued that Dr. Chanca was filling Otilia Mancuso with Xanax while working for the FBI and luring her to commit a crime she would not have committed under normal circumstances. Over and over again, Maldonado repeated quite loudly, He filled her with Xanax! She even had a prescription filled by Dr. Chanca to prove it. She brandished it as if it were a winning lottery ticket. And no fiduciary relationship! she said with a deep voice. No paper trail! she yelled straight at Chanca. The judge had to remind her it wasnt Dr. Chanca who was on trial. Maldonado lost it or pretended to lose it. But his license should be revoked! And he should return the money he acquired illegally! Dr. Chanca was sitting in the back of the room with his head in his hands, looking down at his signature clogs. The jury was asked not to take what had just been said under consideration. In other words, Forget everything you just heard!

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Franklin Pizarro continued his testimony the next day. Otilia listened. Dr. Chanca sat in the back of the room with his head in his hands. Maldonado, wearing red, was eager and ready to continue cross-examining Franklin Pizarro. You broke your oath of office within a year of being elected, you crook! Maldonado said loudly enough for the jury to flinch and Otilia to flinch and even Dr. Chanca to flinch. Franklin Pizarros reaction was, I already pleaded guilty to that. Already? Already doesnt quite do it! Marta said loudly. You rat! Turning to the judge for moral support, Franklin Pizarro protested, Whats this woman got against me? I never did anything to her! You defrauded the people of Hudson County, and I happen to be one of them! Marta yelled. Order in the court! Ms. Maldonado, youre an experienced attorney, and you should know better! One more outburst like this, and Ill have you in contempt of court! Marta paid no heed. And twelve more defrauded citizens are sitting right there in the jury boxhonest men and women who work for their living! Ms. Maldonado, I will see you in my office! When court was in session again, the jury was shown a videotape shot in Weehawken at the Harborside fundraiser in 2003, the day Otilia Mancuso passed an envelope containing $10,000 to Franklin Pizarro. Hardly anyone could recognize Otilia, who at the time was blonde and overweight. Look at her! Marta Maldonado said. Look at her then and look at her now and tell me looks are irrelevant! The jurys eyes went from a blonde, overweight Otilia to a thin, brunette Otilia, who looked like a slightly older version of Catherine Zeta-Jones, and marveled at the difference. Twenty-four eyes, they couldnt believe what they were seeing. Dr. Chanca created that vicious, corrupt, Xanax-addicted fat blonde in the video! What you have before you is the real Otilia Mancuso. Shes honest, healthy, intelligent, beautiful and ready to

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take blame for what she would not have done under normal circumstances! She didnt have a makeover! All she did was deliver herself from him, the devil incarnate! I will have no more histrionics in my court! This is turning into a circus! Marta went on, A circus, perhaps, but this time theres no fat lady for everyone to laugh at! Ms. Maldonado! Ive said it once, and Ill say it again . . . Otilia turned around and tried to look Dr. Chanca in the eye, but he was looking down. She tried again several times, but he was like a bad waiter; she could never catch his eye. Thats what falling in love with the wrong man will do to a woman, Marta Maldonado concluded. That one time, she spoke softly. The judge eyeballed her. Outside during the break, Otilia said to Marta, All this time I thought you were white Hispanic bread. I never wouldve guessed you were this intense. Chancas not going to get away with this, Marta said. She had bad breath from so much talking. He reminds me of my exhusband. Im the one whos on trial here, Otilia said. Have one of these Listerine strips. Your breath is terrible. Arent you partners with your ex? Maldonado, Maldonado & Maldonado? Staring down the hallway at Chico, Marta said, I wasnt planning on doing any kissing. Yes, Im partners with my ex. That doesnt keep me from hating him. We even argue over whos the first Maldonado in the triome, him or his dad. I think its me, he thinks its him and his dad keeps reminding us that hes the founding partner. Otilia chuckled. Have one of these Listerine strips anyway. Im going to bring him down. You just watch me. What the hell is this? she asked, staring at the strip. Just stick it in your mouth. Its like a host. Youre Catholic, arent you? Im whatever hes not, Marta said with the strip in her mouth, pointing her head down the hallway.

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Suddenly Otilia turned to face Marta and stared at her. There was a glimmer in her eye: joyful, mischievous, almost fanatical. The next day in court, after having questioned Franklin Pizarros wife Elisabeta and having brought up inconsistencies in Franklin Pizarros testimony, Marta Maldonado called Franklin Pizarro a liar who would say anything to get a more lenient sentence. As if he couldnt believe what he had just heard, Dr. Chanca looked up, and at that very same moment, Otilia turned around and caught his eye, by surprise. He was so upset that he walked out. Two days before Christmas, Franklin Pizarro testified that the first time Otilia Mancuso passed him money from Dr. Chico Chanca was during a meeting in her political club late in 2002. She gave him the envelope and said, This is from a friend of mine, Chico Chanca, who wants it used for . . . whatever, the campaign, whatever, yourself, your family, Elisabeta, whatever. You can buy Elisabeta a nightgown at Victorias Secret, or whatever. She kept on repeating the word whatever. A month later, Franklin Pizarro said he received another envelope at the Harborside Financial Center, in Weehawken, over by the Ruth Chris Steakhouse and TGI Fridays. Court was adjourned until the New Year. The judge walked past the American flag and around the Christmas tree before he disappeared into the woodwork. He looked annoyed and weary. In silence, Marta drove Otilia home. IF YOU LIVED HERE, YOUD BE HOME NOW. In the car, they talked about plans for the holidays. Marta told Otilia she was welcome to spend it with her and her old mother: no big deal, roast pig, cassava and talk about the good old days that never were. Cuba is a fabricated memory, Marta commented. All the more so now that my fathers dead. Hes becoming one more fabricated memory! Thanks for the invitation, Marta, but Pitas going to spend Christmas Eve with her dads family in West Orange, and I think I need to be alone. Are you going back to the office?

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Yes. I need to tie up some more loose ends, and I havent had my daily quarrel with my ex-husband yet. The doorman greeted Otilia as she approached him. She acknowledged the greeting as she walked past him. Her feet hurt, so she took her high heels off in the elevator. Ten minutes later, Otilia walked past the doorman again, wearing old sneakers or what she called los zapatos del barrio. This time the doorman greeted Otilias pomeranian, who was pulling on the leash, eager to be outside. They went for a long, cold walk under the sign: IF YOU LIVED HERE, YOUD BE HOME NOW. Twenty minutes later, Otilia and her pomeranian walked past the doorman again. And less than ten minutes later, Otilia walked past the doorman again. This time, she was wearing boots and was on her way to the Newport Mall to do some Christmas shopping. Otilia did not have herself a Merry little Christmas. Pita was in West Orange with her paternal grandparents, so there was no reason for her to cook or to eat or to put on lipstick or even to make the slightest effort. There were a few presents for Pita under the old plastic Christmas tree, waiting for Pitas return from West Orange, as well as a present for Marta and some presents from Pita to Otilia that could certainly wait. Otilia wasnt about to open presents by herself. Only the dog got presents on Christmas Eve, more than she could handle: a new collar, a new crate, a new bed, a chew toy called a bong and peanut-butter-flavored cookies. Around nine PM, Otilia fell asleep on the couch hugging her dog, barely halfway through the film A Touch of Evil. In the meantime, not very far away, in Union City to be exact, Chico was doing much the same, except that he had no dog with him and that the film still playing while he slept was Anatomy of a Murder. Otilia had given him this DVD on some special occasion when they were still seeing each other or in love. Of course, Chico had forgotten all about Otilias connection to the DVD; otherwise he wouldnt even have considered watching it, much less falling asleep while it was playing, for fear that it would crawl out of the player like some gooey thing and cut him or bite him before making its way into his head like a rusty nail.

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Nothing was right. His divorce from Laura had come through between court sessions. She was threatening to marry Manny Kosravi, and he sensed she was considering having a child with him because all of a sudden she wanted to be rid of her implants. And while all this was going on, Chico just couldnt stop grieving the loss of Celestina, his housekeeper, who had succumbed to a massive heart attack a week before Christmas. New Years Eve was much the same. Chico spent it alone in the apartment above his office, stoned and drunk, trying to keep his eyes open long enough to watch the end of Anatomy of a Murder, afraid to sleep, afraid to even peek out the window for fear that Otilias nano-particles would be down there looking up at his window. She was succeeding in getting inside his brain, just like a bullet or nail! Otilia, in turn, tried to watch the film Entrapment to the end, but she fell asleep at ten. Pita was back from West Orange but she was out partying with some newly made friends. On January 1, 2006, Chico drove to Rhinebeck hoping to see Amber if just for an hour or two. Union City was so gloomy on New Years Day that there was not much else to do, and the thought of seeing snow on pine trees instead of dog urine on snow made him happy, at least for a few seconds. The thought of seeing Amber made him happy as well, for a minute or more. Unfortunately, Amber was in Long Beach, and many of the boutiques in the village of Rhinebeck were closed for the holiday. Since the Beekman Arms was closed for remodeling, he checked into a humid motel in Hyde Park near a roller skating rink (also closed) and remained locked in his room for two days, afraid of nothing in particular, afraid all the same, afraid of Otilia, whose face was getting more and more chiseled and whose lips were getting redder and redder. He turned his cell phone off in case she was in there, ready to jump out. He didnt dare turn the television on for the same reason, and a laptop was out of the question. He hadnt checked his email, much less done his paperwork or paid any bills in over a month. At least he had managed to make it all the way to Rhinebeck in hopes of seeing Amber, of finding a way of justifying himself to

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himself and also of trying to figure out how life could have turned out. It seemed so late now, so late in the game, and he didnt believe in second chances. Getting away from Otilia, keeping her away from his brainthat was what his life had become lately. In the meantime, ninety miles away, Otilia was planning ahead. She was planning for prison life, a daily exercise routine (yoga and tai chi), followed by journal writing, reading environmental science books and planning for the next election. She had decided that after she was released from prison, she would run for mayor. Marta promised her she would not be barred from holding public office for the rest of her life, but after twenty-one years, she was tired of being a freeholder! How could she have been so devoid of ambition? No wonder shed been depressed! As soon as youre convicted, you will have to resign, Marta reminded her. As soon as I get out of prison, Ill get a new puppy and run for mayor! If Ryan Black can do it, so can I! I deserve to be the mayor of Union City! As soon as youre convicted, theyre going to make a motion to remove you from office, so if I were you, Id have a letter of resignation ready. Marta, you write it, and Ill take a look at it. I have other things to write . . . which reminds me . . . a check for you? Okay, you write me my check, and Ill write the letter of resignation. Letters of resignation are best written by someone else, Otilia commented. Back in court, Marta pounded away at Franklin Pizarros integrity and mentioned several times the money he had kept in a file cabinet, thousands upon thousands of dollars tucked in pornographic magazines! This was the person representing the citizens of Hudson County! As tightfisted as he was, he never even bought Otilia a cup of coffee! Rumor had it hed come to the freeholder meetings and the party meetings for the free coffee and donuts, like the rat he is! When he wasnt hoarding money, he was leafing through girly magazines, the kind with the legs spread apart that hide nothing!

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Ms. Maldonado, that is irrelevant! Several times, Marta had to be reminded that Franklin Pizarro was not the one on trial here, that Franklin Pizarro had already been tried and convicted and that he was about to go and serve time in prison. On January 27, Otilia took the stand. She was feeling very emotional, if not dramatic, and she thought she was having chest pains. It was obvious she had lost even more weight. She was wearing a black Armani wool crepe jacket and skirt and a silvergray rabbit fur scarf that added a dramatic touch to the very stylish outfit. Two final touches: pearl earrings and true red lipstick. Its too bad she had waited her entire life to look this good. Her bottom lip was all pumped and juicy-looking. Pita, her daughter, was sobbing quietly, but loud enough for everyone to hear. Otilia began by answering questions about her relationship with Dr. Chanca, who was in court and looking down at his clogs. She had gone to seek advice from him for depression because she had overheard hysterical women at Titas Beauty Parlor mentioning that he had worked wonders for them. He had made them realize life wasnt over after menopause. It was at Titas Beauty Parlor that she got her hair bleached and dyed blonde, a total mistake indicative of her addled emotions. After Otilia had put two and two together, she realized she had already met the miracle psychiatrist on several occasions, either at the freeholder chambers, or at the science center, or at the Masonic temple and the list went on. She couldnt say for sure, but perhaps at that moment he was already stalking her. When Dr. Chancawho was presentfirst approached her, he wanted to talk about county contracts and to complain about Franklin Pizarros ways. Franklin Pizarro this, Franklin Pizarro that, Franklin Pizarro the devil incarnate . . . (Otilia borrowed that from Marta who had used it to describe Chico Chanca). Profusely, Otilia said she apologized to Dr. Chanca on behalf of her political ally. After all, we are here for you! she had said to Chico. And you! And you! she then turned to the jury and added. Then she realized what she was doing and apologized.

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Back to this particular encounter with Dr. Chanca. Unfortunately, for a while, the conversation went like most conversations go. Dr. Chanca was focused on himself. He complained about his selfish and abusive wife Laura, whom he never should have married. Otilia, in turn, talked about herself. She told him she was depressed, very depressed, because her beloved boyfriend, Manny Robles, had left her for a younger and better-looking woman. Dr. Chanca said that was nothing compared to his trials and tribulations with Laura, who was determined to waste every penny hed ever made and then some. Otilia didnt agree. She was convinced she was the less fortunate, and this strangely resembled oneupmanship. This once, Otilia must have put in the last word, because Dr. Chanca gave her Xanax and told her she was a beautiful woman. He took the Xanax out of his pants pocket and handed it to her. The vial still had his body heat on it. And right there in her office, right away, he said he regretted not being married to her, not having a child by her. Right away, he talked about children and pregnancy. What did the sticker on the vial say? It was a prescription he had written out for himself, Otilia said. Thats the first Xanax prescription he gave me. The first of many. Proceed. They agreed to meet for lunch and all she could do for the next few days was daydream about him. It was as if he had cast a spell on her. She was aroused, or was it the Xanax? Otilia said she had just come out of a relationship and was not exactly expecting to turn around and be swept off her feet. He caught her on the rebound. No . . . the Xanax caught her on the rebound. On the second day of questioning, Otilia talked about their first luncheon together at the Bandera restaurant in Union City. He told her in one sentence that his office was right around the corner and that he had been in love with her for years. Before she knew it, she was in a Tonnelle Avenue motel with him. They both struggled with the oh-so tight, reinforced body shaper she was wearing under her clothes. Was there alcohol involved? No! Hed

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ordered diet Cokes. Had she planned to have sex with him that very same day? Would I have worn such a tight body shaper? They had to do quite a bit of struggling with the undergarment. It was like giving birth to a difficult child. By the time they got her out of that thing, he didnt even bother to take her panties off. He simply pulled them aside and penetrated her with urgency. Court was adjourned. The judge disappeared into the wood paneling; the talk about the panties must have embarrassed him. On the third day, looking beautiful and scared, Otilia cleared her throat and uttered the word Rhinebeck. She said she had to talk about what happened to her in Rhinebeck. The village of Rhinebeck, she repeated. Its in New York. The court was all ears. One could hear a pin drop and one could almost hear Dr. Chico Chanca cringing. Imagine every womans sexual fantasies put together, imagine every sexual fantasy there ever was, imagine pleasure, unspeakable, indescribable pleasure, Otilia began. Imagine love! Chanca walked out, or rather, he limped out because his sciatica was worse than ever. Everyone turned to see him walk out. Otilia paused and remained silent until he was gone. She then cleared her throat. It was in Rhinebeck that Otilia decided to help Dr. Chanca bribe Franklin Pizarro. She had been reluctant to commit any wrongdoing up until then, but in Rhinebeck, she said she fell in love, passionately, deeply in love. She considered Rhinebeck to be the gates to her prison of love. Day Ten. We were very much in love, Otilia said. Silence followed before she repeated, We were very much in love. Day Eleven. Dr. Chanca returned. We were very much in love, Otilia said. She shed a tear, and her red lips were as shiny as that tear. Marta wiped a tear from her own cheek as well. Otilia wore black, and Marta wore red. The judge warned about the court turning into some kind of movie. He wouldnt have it! Were real people! Were not actors and actresses, and that includes you, Ms. Maldonado!

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Pita sobbed quietly, but everyone heard. Hell, whos crying now? Pita then turned and stared at Dr. Chanca and yelled, You destroyed my family! Are you happy? With his shoulders up by his ears, Dr. Chanca left the premises. Had he not been walking with a cane, he would have left hurriedly. Court was adjourned. Day Fifteen. Chanca walked in with a cane and sat down in the back with his head in his hands and his shoulders up by his ears. He was looking gray and tired, as if ten or fifteen years had elapsed. The judge was also looking worn out. Marta wore red, and Otilia wore black. There was yet another moment of silence before Otilia said, I stand my ground. I will not allow anyone to tell me he did not love me. She cleared her throat. Love doesnt have to last forever for it to be true love. She asked for water. After having managed to take a sip of water without ruining her lipstick, Otilia admitted there was corruption in Hudson County politics. Then, to everyones surprise, including Martas, she said that if there were people lined up wanting to put an end to corruption, she wanted to be the first in line. With her voice in crescendo, she said, I already paid! We all need to give the money back! I need to give the money back! Franklin Pizarro needs to give the money back! Chico Chanca needs to give the money back! Then the jurors gasped, and the audience gasped, and even the judge must have gasped. I am the decoy! Operation O3 was named after me, and Im the one who named myself O3, because when you get too close to ozone, its deadly, but when ozones up in the heavens, ozone is good! After yelling order in the court several times, the judge ordered the court adjourned until February 12. Day Eighteen. When Chico Chanca was interviewed by a reporter from The Jersey Journal, he said Freeholder Otilia Mancuso did not know the contents of the first few envelopes he passed to the former County Executive Franklin Pizarro. He also said in passing that he had never intended to fall in love with her, but that it was indeed something that had happened. She had made it into his mind and his heart like a parasite! Better yet, like a protein!

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But never mind mad cow disease, he yelled at the reporter. Take one look at me! Her nickname shouldnt be Ozone, it should be Protein, because you cant kill a protein! He blamed Otilia for everything that had gone wrong in his life, the bills he couldnt pay, his gray hair, his sciatica, his confusion and his divorce. Before he met her, he was sitting on top of the world, like a canopy tree, taking all the nutrients, making good money and on his way to becoming a prominent Hudson County psychiatrist. And look at me now! No wife! No kids! No money! No practice! No housekeeper! No one to feel sorry for me! Do you want to know what happens when a tree falls? Well, take a look at me! The reporter mentioned that Dr. Chanca was looking quite disheveled and confused, so much so that she could barely recognize him. Where was the handsome man with the good posture? What have you done to me, Otilia? Dr. Chanca was quoted as saying, or asking. Day Nineteen. In another sudden reversal, Otilia admitted in court that she knew everything. The word entrapment was defined for the second time. Chico was not present in court that day or the next day. As a matter of fact, he never returned again. He wasnt even there for Martas ninety-minute summation in the third and final month of trial. Marta called Franklin Pizarro a ruthless rat, Chico Chanca a rootless vulture and Otilia Mancuso a worthy woman who had sacrificed her life to the citizens of Hudson County. The prosecution, in turn, reminded the jury that Otilia Mancuso was not above Franklin Pizarro and Chico Chanca. On the contrary, she was a tough public official, selfish, greedy, uncaring and lusty. She was one of them. Just to make a point, the prosecution repeated: She is one of them! The jury deliberated until the following Wednesday. Why were they taking this long? Were they taking too long? Otilia paced and interlaced her fingers and even tried to pray. Should she go to church? Marta told her not to get her hopes up. Were going to win, but were going to lose.

Thirty

n Wednesday morning a jury of seven men and five women convicted Otilia Mancuso on all five counts. Otilia held her breath and suddenly realized that all along, she had been expecting something else, something resembling an acquittal. She thought she was ready to be convicted. Now her chest hurt, and she was feeling sick. Her face grew hotfor a moment, she thought she couldnt hold it in. What if they took a picture of her? She swallowed hard and didnt even look at Marta while she was hopelessly trying not to look at Pita. Now Pita had a convict for a mother! No girl deserves a convict for a mother, thats what Otilia was thinking. There was silence in the court for an eternity, or at least until Pita cried out, No! Again, Pita yelled No! and then she jumped out of her seat and ran to her mother. The judge stared at them in disbelief, and they hugged. Its all right, Otilia whispered in Pitas ear. Im fine with this, and Im going to be fine. Its under control. I have plans. Not knowing how else to comfort Pita, she added, I got myself here, so I can manage. Reluctantly, the judge allowed them to take a few more seconds to embrace before calling for order, first with a normal tone of voice, then a bit louder, since no one was paying any heed. By then everyone seemed to have something to say to the person next to them. This is not a weekly sitcom! the judge yelled. Many people, including important ones, kept looking around and wondering about Chico Chancas whereabouts. Their gazes and their shoulders betrayed perplexity and curiosity. As if Chico

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Chanca were hiding somewhere in the courtroom, their eyes kept searching. Chico Chanca was nowhere to be found. Those who had tried calling him knew that he wasnt answering his phone. Those who had tried to leave a message knew his inbox was full. Several reporters were well aware of the fact that he wasnt in his Palisades Avenue office or in his Palisades Avenue apartment above his office. Even the Jehovahs Witnesses knew he wasnt answering the doorbell. There was a rumor that Dr. Chanca was dead, that he had sworn to kill himself before today, but it was impossible to determine who had spread the rumor that was as pertinent as a smell, coffee or ozone. And the big deal about Chanca swearing to die before today wasnt so much the trial or the jurys conclusions and determinations. The big deal was the auction, the public auction. Everything in his clinic was to be sold at auction. Everything had to goeven the psychiatric manuals, the pictures on the walls and the rugs! It wasnt that he owned that much; it was that he had lost that much. A month ago, he had told a reporter that each item to be auctioned was a symbol of something he had lost. Otilia wore black, and Marta wore red. The prosecutor was saying that he would file a motion in state superior court seeking Otilia Mancusos removal from office immediately. The sentencing hearing was scheduled for the following Wednesday. What do you do after youve been convicted? Do you run and hide? Pita had gone back to her seat. Otilia whispered something in Martas ear, and Marta seemed to think it was a good idea. An hour later, Otilia, Marta and Pita were being shown to their table at the Bandera restaurant. She wanted the table by the large window so she could see Union City. As she walked to her table, people greeted her and told her how sorry they were. She said she was okay. She said she never realized how much she loved Union City and Weehawken and Jersey City, and she apologized to them. What does one eat before a bankruptcy auction? Otilia asked, consulting the menu. Meat, I suppose, Marta mumbled, or chicken. Didnt he feed you a lot of chicken? Otilia shrugged.

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Are we really going to go shopping for furniture after this? Pita asked. Just a little somethinga chair, a couch, a token, Otilia said. Frankly, I cant think of any other way to spend my afternoon. Whatever you want to do, Pita said. She was acting as if it were Mothers Day or Otilias birthday. Is he really dead? If he isnt, he soon will be, Marta said casually. At this point, hes bankrupt, and hes about to lose his license to practice medicine. So if he isnt dead, hes looking for a job. So what happens now? Otilia asked. Marta shrugged. Youll have your sentencing hearing next week. Then well appeal. I need to write you another check, dont I? Yes. Please dont forget. Do lawyers get paid a lot? Pita asked Marta. Im thinking about studying to become a lawyer. Before Marta could answer truthfully, the waiter came to ask if he could start them out with something to drink. They ordered three ice waters with lots of ice. Otilia turned her head and stared out at Union City. Every now and then, she was reminded of the rough road ahead. Marta, his office was right around the corner, Otilia said and pointed that way. Thats where were going after lunch, remember?

Thirty-One

ursing a bandaged wrist, former County Freeholder Otilia Mancuso sat silent, looking desperate during her five-and-ahalf hour sentencing hearing. Seeking justice, never pity, she tried in vain to hide her dog-bitten hand from those present in the courtroom. The Honorable Rodrigo de Triana began by saying that he had some reservations when it came to the FBIs methods for tracking down corrupt politicians. Was it appropriate to induce them to become corrupt? How would the other lonely, middle-aged women in the world react if a handsome, intelligent, wealthy man openly declared his passion for them? He added that there was definitely something weird about the FBI using Chico Chanca under these circumstances, and the Assistant US Attorney did not look happy when the judge said that. Other federal officials looked upset as well. Finally, the judges rhetorical questions were, Did the FBI prompt Dr. Chanca to have sexual intercourse with Freeholder Mancuso? Did the FBI pay for the motels? Was the FBI offered a special rate at these dastardly motels? Involuntarily, people in the courtroom nodded either yes or no. Marta nodded yes-no-yes-no, the jury nodded no-yes, Otilia nodded yes-yes, and Pita seemed to find the question so totally revolting that she eyeballed the ceiling. In spite of these reservations, the Honorable Rodrigo de Triana firmly stated that Otilia Mancuso could have resisted Dr. Chanca and should have. Dont middle-aged women have any respect for themselves? What example are they setting for the younger generations? Fifty-year-old women should not be having sex in cheap motels. That is how the judge felt. Otilia looked away and almost regretted the times when she was having sex in cheap motels.

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At that point the judge gave Otilia a twenty-three-month sentence in federal prison. Rewind, fast forward, stop, start, stop and start again. The mood went from reinforced, slimming undergarments to overalls, from cheap motels to panties to federal prison. Otilia was flushed. Again, she had to keep herself from vomiting. The thought of having purchased a couch at the auction a week before did not help at all. She was alone. Pita Mancuso sat in the courtroom and wept bitterly. As for Mancusos attorney, Marta Maldonado, she said that the judges comments about there being something weird in the FBIs methods could be used as the basis for an appeal. All the while, Marta Maldonado was glaring at some federal officials, and when this was called to her attention, she said she would have gladly bared her teeth had she been a wolverine. The odd twist of justice was that Franklin Pizarro had turned informer and therefore became the chief informer against Otilia Mancuso, who was ready and willing to begin serving her sentence in April, after her daughter Pita, moved into her grandparents house in West Orange and her dog was safely ensconced on a farm near Rhinebeck that was owned by Marta Maldonados sister. Looking down at her hands, Otilia apologized to her daughter and to all the people of Hudson County, regardless of whether or not they had voted for her. As for Chico Chanca, who was not charged with any wrongdoing in this trial, he was still nowhere to be found. The most recent rumor had it that he had moved away from the area, while last weeks rumor still had it that he was dead. But there were sightings of Chico Chanca every so often. The owner of the Starlite Motor Inn said Chico Chanca had spent three nights out in the parking lot sleeping in his car. Willy, the owner of Willys Bodega, said he came in to buy the paper and so did the butcher at La Estrella supermarket. Everyone agreed he no longer looked good, that he was walking with a cane and that practically overnight, his chocolate-brown head of hair had turned salt and pepper. Miriam, who owned the little restaurant on the corner of Bergenline and Tenth, declared that he came in for flan every

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Wednesday or Thursday, looking quite disheveled and smelling of marijuana and booze. His estranged wife Laura said she was ready and eager to start a new life and therefore couldnt care less about him. Yes, he had visitation rights. No, he never came to see his kids. No, he wasnt paying child support. How could he? He put all his money in the windmills. And she had not talked to him for over six weeks. Everything was disconnected except for his cell phone service, but he never answered, and his inbox was full. It was impossible to leave a message. If she could have left a message, she would have, of course she would have, just to let him know how much she hated him. Slow time. After the sentencing, there wasnt that much to do except wait for the day of surrender. Marta had volunteered to drive Otilia to Connecticut, then swing up and around to Rhinebeck to drop off Otilias beloved pomeranian. Otilia was on Amazon.com often, wondering about what books to buy, some serious ones and some less serious ones, especially for the first few days, books that Marta had agreed to send her every week, books that would accompany her, comfort her, guide her and take her out of there to exotic places like Europe, where she had never been. She remembered having made plans to travel to Europe with him. Now that everything was behind her, she no longer had to pronounce his name. It could remain unsaid. You cant take anything with you, Marta reminded her often. Its like dying. You cant take anything with you. When you get there, theyll take the belongings you brought in with you. I will send you a book a week. Marta, you sound like a recording. Its important that you know what to expect. After you die, they should station you at the earthly exit gates. Id much rather talk about what I can hope for, by the way. So would anybody, but at this point, we have to focus on what you can expect. As the day of surrender approached, Otilia walked her dog more and more often. She wasnt even staying in her immediate

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neighborhood. Instead, she would get in the car and drive to Palisades and Second or Third, over by the park and the Doric Tower. From there, shed walk her pomeranian all the way to Fifteenth Street, always past 916 Palisades Avenue, where he used to live and work and still did, allegedly, except that he wasnt there. There was no one there, and the building, presumptuously called the West Hoboken, was starting to show some signs of neglect. For her, the building symbolized her downfall. She had never even been inside it. She always stopped to stare at it, though, and even considered buying it when she got out. Often, she walked around the back and looked around. Her pomeranian seemed to appreciate the tiny yard. So Otilia nodded. Yes, if the opportunity arose, she would buy this place. One week from surrender, Otilia drove to his West New York house that now stood empty with a For Sale sign nailed to a tree in the front yard. That same afternoon, she inquired about putting her condo on the market. Day Zero, the day of surrender. Otilia didnt sleep at all that night. All she could think of was Marta saying, You will be surrendering tomorrow. Thanks for reminding me. I almost forgot. I didnt think youd forgotten, but we need to go over everything one more time. Otilia pretended to recite. I cant take anything with me. They left early, around seven AM. Otilia glanced at the sign: IF YOU LIVED HERE, YOUD BE HOME NOW. Then she left it behind her. She forgot all about it. Marta drove up US-1, Tonnelle Avenue, to the New Jersey Turnpike. As they were going across the George Washington Bridge, Marta said, Youll have a counselor. Fooling with her dogs fur, Otilia said, Now it sounds as if Im going to camp. I just want you to know what to expect. Death camp. Otilia tee-heed before she started to weep. Weve been over this a million times!

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One more time cant hurt. You have money in your account, so you can go to the commissary and buy stuff like food, toiletries, a radio. Theyll give you toiletries, but get your own and Ill send you a book a week. Ive never been to Connecticut, Otilia said as if it mattered. She had stopped crying. There are some wonderful hiking trails around the Federal Correctional Institution in Danbury. Wonderful! Otilia said sarcastically. She didnt want to cry again, but she did. Im so glad Pita isnt with us, and Im so scared! Stop at the next gas station and let me run away! I cant go through with this! Nonsense, Marta said. Ill start the appeal process, and before you know it, Ill be picking you up and taking you home. They made good time. At nine AM they were there, and at half past nine, Otilia surrendered. A week later, when Otilia was allowed to speak on the phone with a journalist, she was quoted as saying, Yes, my attorney is working on an appeal, and prison isnt as bad as I had imagined.

Epilogue

wo years later, in a black and white motel in Hyde Park called The Roosevelt Grande, Chico Chanca had the barrel of a gun in his mouth when his cell phone vibrated. He stared at it in bewilderment, as if embarrassed by the blunder, not quite believing he had forgotten to turn it off. He would have had the same facial expression had the thing vibrated in some forbidden place: a bed, a cinmathque, a yoga class, commencement, a funeral dirge, or religious services. After a moment of hesitation, he traded the gun for the phone and checked to see who had interrupted him. The call was coming from Ambers mobile, so he answered, except it wasnt Amber. Duncan said, Dad, Im so glad you picked up! Im worried about Amber. Chico hadnt seen Amber in quite a while and was unaware of the fact that she had cut her foot with a pitchfork, perhaps three weeks ago, and developed an infection. It was not a question but was more like an echo. Youre worried about Amber. Duncan explained that Amber, being Amber, had decided to forego antibiotics. She was convinced aloe was just as effective. But this morning, it looked very bad; her leg was swollen. The area was very dark, it smelled bad, and she was running quite a temperature. Could he come over? Again, the echo, Can I come over . . . Quickly, he decided he could go over and check on Amber. It was early yet, and since he felt he had only one last thing to do, he had plenty of time, so if it didnt get done this morning, it could get done this afternoon or this evening or even tomorrow. He put the gun away and drove to Sacred Greens Farm, hoping Duncan

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had exaggerated and that in a couple of hours, he could return here and finish what he had started. Unfortunately, Ambers condition was even worse than he had expected. She insisted she was fine. She said she didnt need a doctor. One moment, she was stubborn, and the next, she was in a stupor. When Chico mentioned he was going to call an ambulance, she got very angry. So he threatened to call an ambulance if she didnt allow Duncan and him to carry her into his car this very instant! First she burst into tears, and finally she relented. They were on 9G when she asked, What happened to you? It sounded as if she had had too much to drink but a split second of consciousness. I lost everything, Chico answered. She didnt listen. You never came to visit again, she said, as if that were all that mattered. Then she added, Im dead tired. Oh, Chico, Im so tired. Dont waste any energy, maam. Well be there in no time. I should have listened to you when you talked about fatal flaws. Please dont talk. They were silent the rest of the way, at least until Northern Dutchess Hospital was straight ahead of them and to the right and Chico felt compelled to utter some words of reassurance. The gravity of Ambers condition called for immediate action. They didnt even say good-bye. And in the meantime, Duncan was trying to reach Ambers sister, whose secretary had said something about her being either on her way to Connecticut or on her way back from Connecticut. Chico never made the connection between Ambers sister and Amber, and at that point, no one else had. Chico and Duncan sat and drank vending-machine coffee in the waiting room until they heard the verdict. Three days later, Ambers leg was amputated right below the knee, and when she came off the anesthesia, she immediately asked Duncan if Chico was planning to come and visit. Marta was there, and she knew what had happened, but Duncan preferred not to tell Amber what had happened, so he just said something

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vague. Chico is no longer here. He left town without saying goodbye. Isnt that just like Chico? In spite of having been made aware of the unhomely connection between those three, Marta much preferred not to give it the slightest attention. As a matter of fact, she flatly refused to think about it twice, none of this who-would-have-guessed stuff. She simply stood there and glared at bleary-eyed Duncan, who was trying to make light of the gates of hell. A few minutes later, Duncan and Marta were standing outside in the parking lot. Duncan handed Marta a small crate. She walked to her car, opened the passenger door and put the crate inside. Then she walked around the car and drove away without even looking at Duncan or uttering any words of comfort. For a few minutes, Duncan wondered why she had such an attitude, as if she blamed him for something. Then he shrugged. It didnt really matter. Amber remained in the hospital for nearly three weeks, and in spite of the distance, her sister Marta made it a point to come and visit every three days. Marta, however, was not available on February 14, the day of the blizzard, when Amber was discharged from Northern Dutchess with a temporary prosthesis. Regardless of the fact that the two sisters had argued on the 12th and sworn never to talk to each other again, it so happened that on that same exact day, Marta was on her way to the Federal Correctional Institution in Danbury because one of her clients was being released after having served a sentence of nearly two years, and Marta felt she had to be there to drive her client back to New Jersey. The whole way back to New Jersey, the conversation was casual: dogs and real estate. Not one word about Dr. Chanca, although Otilia had heard. She was very glad her dog had not forgotten her. By the way, Pita had a boyfriend, a boy from West Orange. She was planning to go to college. There was no mention of Dr. Chanca. Yes, Pita would continue living at her grandparents. Otilia was so glad her dog still loved her. Then it was in front of them, the building. IF YOU LIVED HERE, YOUD BE HOME NOW

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It was still there, as if nothing had ever happened, as if big, tall buildings could never fall. Marta dropped Otilia off. She said shed come back to check on her later. The doorman greeted the pomeranian, and Otilia greeted the doorman as if yesterday had been yesterday. Inside Apartment 2008, all the curtains were drawn. The calm after the fall, a two-year hiatus worth of creatures that had thrived in the space left empty and open in Otilias absence.

tilia Mancuso is a self-professed Xanax poster girl who works, sleeps, breathes, loves and bribes in Hudson County. She has lived in a high rise next to the Holland Tunnel ever since she was elected to the Hudson County Board of Chosen Freeholders. Her sudden and unexpected electionto a seat vacated by the untimely death of her predecessor in a sleazy motelmade her the first woman to be elected legislator at the county level. But now, all Otilia wants is to click her heels together and disappear from the mess shes in. Her lovera charming psychiatrist who provides millions of dollars worth of services to county facilities convinces her to deliver an envelope full of money to the county executive. Soon, she finds herself charged with four counts of aiding and abetting extortion and three counts of mail fraud. Cuban-American writer Beatriz Rivera serves up another offbeat love story full of oddball characters in absurd situations: a clog-wearing, tea-drinking psychiatrist obsessed with yoga, financial success and cheap-motel sex; his gorgeous wife, a passionate animal rights advocate and brilliant veterinarian with a predilection for expensive designer clothing, organic food and breast implants; and the owner of an organic food farm and a yoga school, who has taken an eternal vow of chastity. Loosely based on the machinations of New Jersey politicians, the off-the-wall antics of Riveras eccentric characters are sure to entertain and amuse. Praise for the work of Beatriz Rivera: Recurring characters, family relationships and the Jersey City Hispanic barrio connect the stories, as does Riveras delicious sense of humor.
Library Journal on African Passions and Other Stories

A large cast of endearingly self-absorbed characters struggle along in Riveras surehanded comedy as private fantasy, public aspiration and hard reality collide.
Publishers Weekly on Midnight Sandwiches at the Mariposa Express

An inventive, provocative oddity, this is a tantalizing work that draws readers into an engrossing twilight world. Publishers Weekly on Playing with Light BEATRIZ RIVERA is the author of several books in which Latinas deal with questions of identity and tradition. They include Do Not Pass Go, Playing with Light and Midnight Sandwiches at the Mariposa Express.

Photo by Charles Barnes

Cover design by Mora Des!gn

Arte Pblico Press University of Houston 452 Cullen Performance Hall Houston, Texas 77204-2004 www.artepublicopress.com Order by phone: 800-633-ARTE