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the surgeon’s son is a secret
     devotee?”
    Though Luz is fond of Carlos Alberto, it is her nature to be provocative, and Lily wants to avoid an upset. “Don’t you remember,
     Luz?” she says palliatively. “Carlos Alberto has been working on a novel about a girl who is possessed by the spirit of the
     goddess. And your mother has been helping him with the details.”
    “Of course I remember,” says Luz, an avid aficionada of soap opera news. “It was a more literary version of his radio novela
     called
Maria del Sorte.
That new actress was supposed to read the role of Maria. If I recall, she was a blond bombshell and the casting director
     said she exuded sensuality, which is code for Big Tits. No wonder you became so interested in the subject, Carlos Alberto.”
    Two circles of red have appeared high on Carlos Alberto’s cheeks. “My dear Luz,” he says stiffly, “whether an actress is a
     bombshell or not is hardly relevant on radio. But for your information, I never had the chance to meet and personally observe
     the physical proportions of the person in question; I never even knew her name.”
    “Coromoto Sanchez, that was her name. Yes, I remember now,” says Luz.
    “Lo que sea; I couldn’t care less,” he says. “My interest in Maria Lionza stems from my research for my novel. And my present
     involvement in the novela business is purely financial. Some of us still have to earn money, you know; we can’t sit around
     all day, listening to Passion Radio and waiting for someone to write the next episode.”
    He has touched a nerve, and now Luz is livid, her eyes flashing dangerously. Lily herself has never suffered from the Latin
     American addiction to soap operas; her father had forbidden them when she was growing up, saying they were for imbeciles who
     had no lives of their own—an opinion shared by her husband, who has never witnessed the enactments of his own scripts. But
     Luz is no imbecile, and her interest in novelas extends beyond that of spectator—she is a senior shareholder and coproducer
     at TVista. Before the discussion heats up further, Lily, who cannot bear quarrels, nervously interjects. “It’s a good thing
     you are both so good at this telenovela business. Because
Soledad
paid for the construction of this house, and
Amor sin duda
has paid most of our bills for more than two years.”
    Fortunately Marta returns with the candles and the discussion comes to a close. Though Luz and Carlos Alberto are still glaring
     at each other, they are quiet as she begins the rosary to Maria Lionza, which, Lily observes, is just like the traditional
     rosary if you don’t pay attention to the words. Afterward, Marta says, “Now we must offer the baby’s spirit a happy memory.
     Someone has to tell a story.”
    “Lily should do it, since it’s her baby,” says Luz sulkily.
    Lily, who is relieved that Luz has decided to be participatory instead of disruptive, says, “All right, then. I will tell
     the story of how I fell in love.” She eyes her husband mischievously. “You are not obliged to listen. Perhaps you’d like to
     find something more manly to do.”
    But Carlos Alberto says, “Show me the Criollo, man or woman, who can resist a good love story, and I’ll show you a dead Criollo.”

    It is true that all through high school and even through college, Lily kept her word to her mother not to get into trouble
     with boys or allow them to distract her from her studies. Nevertheless, her fascination with them remained undiminished for
     the duration of her college education.
    Between the beginning of her first year and the end of her senior year at the Universidad Central, Lily double-majored in
     architecture and in men. Handsome, intelligent, eminently eligible young men who believed they could change the world armed
     with their education and their wit, and with Lily beside them. When they held her close, undulating to an irresistible salsa
     beat, and raided her generous