affaire, as they say, with Olga María, he fell head over heels in love with some accountant who worked at the agency. That’s what I’m telling you: you can never trust a man. He even tried to seduce me, the brute. He was still going on about how much in love he was with Olga María — and then he leapt at the first opportunity to ask me over for dinner, with the excuse that he wanted to talk about her. I wasn’t buying a word of it, my dear. The way he looked at me when he asked me over, and then again, at a soiree at Olga María’s, let’s just say it wasn’t exactly the way you look at your confidante. But he was very handsome, that Julio Iglesias, so I played along. He told me he wanted me to see his apartment; after all, we could speak freely there, and he promised to whip up a fettuccini al pesto, his own special recipe. He’s a really good cook, my dear. I made it clear from the get-go that the only reason I’d accepted his invitation was out of friendship with Olga María. I swear the minute I entered his apartment I didn’t let him change the subject; I asked him what Olga María thought of his furniture, the pictures on the walls, the décor in general. I hung out with him in the kitchen, because he hadn’t finished cooking, and he poured me a glass of delicious Rioja, then he started rattling on about his great love for Olga María, his passion, the most amazing thing he’d experienced in El Salvador; he even rolled his eyes, that Julio Iglesias, when he repeated that nonsense about how he was willing to do anything to save his relationship with her. Yes, my dear, men are disgusting. Just imagine, when afterward I found out he was already going out with the accountant at the agency. But that evening in his apartment he was playing the same old tape: Olga María’s indifference was killing him, I needed to help him, convince Olga María to get back together with him. I just let him talk; the wine was delicious and so was the dinner. It was during dessert when I told him I was envious of the intensity of his love for Olga María, nobody was in love with me that way. Why did I say that, my dear? Suddenly, he changed: he was quiet for a moment, then he started playing a new tape, and now it was as if Olga María had never existed, he started off saying he couldn’t believe me, he absolutely couldn’t believe that somebody wasn’t deeply in love with a woman like me, he’d noticed how beautiful I was the first time he saw me, but he’d always thought I looked down on him or just wasn’t interested. He took off from there, my dear, seducing me, absolutely shamelessly, not taking at all into account the fact that I’d come to his apartment to talk about his relationship with Olga María, and pretty soon he was brushing up against me, flirting, whispering in my ear, holding my hand, trying to kiss me. But I didn’t let him, no, my dear, I didn’t. I told him to behave himself. But he kept pushing himself on me — so pigheaded. At one point he almost managed to kiss me. That’s when I stood up and told him I was leaving, he wasn’t showing me any respect. To tell you the truth, though, that Julio Iglesias was gorgeous, and I was plenty tempted to let him have his way with me, and maybe, my dear, he read my mind, because he sure didn’t put the brakes on, he just kept insisting. Men are not to be trusted. That’s why I divorced Alberto, and I have no regrets: it’s the best thing I could have done, and I said as much to Olga María at the time: it isn’t worth complicating your life, it’s better to be with one man or none at all. I’m glad they’ve already started serving coffee, my throat is dry, and I’m so exhausted I’m afraid I’m going to collapse. Pass me a cup. If you want, let’s go out on the terrace for some fresh air. There are so many cars parked in front and half the people haven’t even arrived yet. This place will be packed later tonight, my dear, with everybody from the advertising world and Sergio’s friends from the association of travel agencies. I wonder how many of our classmates from the American School will show up. It’s been so long since we had a class reunion. Chele Yuca will be here, that’s for sure, considering how in love with Olga María he’s always been. You know him, don’t you? His first name is Gastón: he was the handsomest boy in our class. Did you see my mother, she’s standing next to the coffin talking with Alberto? Those two always got along well. I don’t know how my mother can stand him. No, my dear, I’ve got nothing to say to him; we were married for a year, and in that time we said everything we had to say to each other — and there was plenty of time left over. Alberto is the most boring man you can imagine. I don’t know how I managed to put up with him for a whole year. He’s always at his computer, for hours and hours, the whole day if he doesn’t have anything better to do. It can drive you to despair, my dear, he doesn’t want to go out, or meet people, or go to the movies — it’s atrocious. I practically had to drag him out to dinner parties. But my mother says he’s very intelligent and that’s why his business is doing so well, and she says he’s the most knowledgeable person in the country not only about finances but about everything that’s going on in the world, and that’s why he has so much money, all her friends assure her that he’s the number one financial consultant. As far as I’m concerned, let him make all the money he wants, my dear, let him go to Wall Street with his computers for all I care, but don’t let him dare get anywhere near me — he’s like the plague, he infects you with boredom in a matter of seconds. The problem is that my mother still doesn’t accept the fact that we’re divorced, she just can’t understand how someone can send a man packing who makes that much money, even if he does bore you to tears; as far as she’s concerned, you’re supposed to live with the same man your whole life. No, my dear, I’m not going to change her this late in the game. I guarantee you, the moment she hears I plan to marry someone else, she’s going to come to me with a ton of objections, unless, that is, he’s got more money than Alberto. Olga María didn’t believe it either when I told her I was divorcing Alberto; I told her I couldn’t stand him anymore, I’d rather go back and live with my parents than be so unbearably bored any longer. She told me not to leave him — our problem was we didn’t have any children. Can you imagine? I wasn’t about to have kids with somebody like that. Pure madness. No, I don’t think my father will come: he’s at the finca dealing with no end of problems. Now that I see what he has on his plate, I’m convinced Doña Olga did the right thing to sell the fincas Don Sergio left her. Owning coffee plantations isn’t what it used to be, there’s one setback after another these days, first the communists taking them over and not allowing the harvest, and now the drop in prices. It never ends, my dear. That’s why Doña Olga was right to get rid of them, it was for the best. My father should do the same, and I’ve told him so, but he’s pigheaded, very attached to his land. Hey, look who just arrived. I can’t believe it, it’s José Carlos, that crazy photographer, I thought he’d already left the country, what a surprise. He was working at Marito’s agency until a few weeks ago. He takes beautiful photographs, a real artist; he studied in Boston, then stayed there for a few years and took photos of famous artists, of afternoons on the beach and in forests, of old buildings. He published a book of his photographs: Olga María showed it to me, inscribed with a poem José Carlos wrote to her. He’ll be going back to Boston in a few days. He could only stand this country for a year. He says he’s bored here. Just look at him, all scrawny and awkward looking, but still, there’s something attractive about him. Olga María went out with him, for only a few weeks, but enough to get to know him. It was sort of the same story: Marito and José Carlos went to grammar school and high school together at the San José Externado, best friends growing up, until the war, then they each took a different path, but as soon as José Carlos decided to return, Marito offered him a job at the agency, and they became thick as thieves again. So José Carlos started coming over to their house a