But Susan’s seven or eight years younger than Selena. What did she know? Because: People do want to be young and beautiful. When they meet in the street, male or female, if they’re getting older they look at each other’s face a little ashamed. It’s clear they want to say, Excuse me, I didn’t mean to draw attention to mortality and gravity all at once. I didn’t want to remind you, my dear friend, of our coming eviction, first from liveliness, then from life. To which, most of the time, the friend’s eyes will courteously reply, My dear, it’s nothing at all. I hardly noticed.

Susan, I asked, you still seeing Ed Flores?

Went back to his wife.

Lucky she didn’t kill you, said Ann. I’d never fool around with a Spanish guy. They all have tough ladies back in the barrio.

No, said Susan, she’s unusual. I met her at a meeting. We had an amazing talk. Luisa is a very fine woman. She’s one of the office-worker organizers I told you about. She only needs him two more years, she says. Because the kids—they’re girls—need to be watched a little in their neighborhood. The neighborhood is definitely not good. He’s a good father but not such a great husband.

I’d call that a word to the wise.

Well, you know me—I don’t want a husband. I like a male person around. I hate to do without. Anyway, listen to this. She, Luisa, whispers in my ear the other day, she whispers, Suzie, in two years you still want him, I promise you, you got him. Really, I may still want him then. He’s only about forty-five now. Still got a lot of spunk. I’ll have my degree in two years. Chrissy will be out of the house.