“He’s not my frien’ no more.”

“That’s okay-who cares who he is? I’m showing you pictures of you.” He made his voice soft, with an effort, and said in English, “Every one of them, you look good enough to eat.” Offering her the prints again. “This guy I mention, Teddy, I never saw a guy with the look he has in his eyes. I think he adores you.”

“Yeah?”

“Listen, he’s my prize. He’s polite. He smells good. He cleans his fingernails. I believe he’ll take you to Howard Johnson for dinner.”

“I’m going to the States pretty soon. Couple of days.”

“He keeps his hundred-dollar bills in a money belt, under his shirt.”

Iris said, “Oh? Where’s he stay?”

At the DuPont Plaza. But he wasn’t there. The doorman said oh, that guy, he went out with his camera. For the next minute Isidro crept his taxi along Ashford Avenue, suffering anxiety, trying to concentrate on the tourists, Iris scowling, telling him she was late for her appointment… And there he was, the flowered shirt, the camera bag-thank you, Jesus-coming out of Walgreen’s. Look what a nice guy he was.

Iris said, “He looks like the kind who’s afraid of the dark.”

Isidro said, “You’ll love him, as I do.”

“You believe it?” Isidro said to Teddy. “She saw you at the beach and would like to meet you.” The two of them standing in front of Walgreen’s, tourists walking past them, Isidro’s own tourist adjusting his sunglasses as he glanced at the taxi, shy.

“How’d you run into her?”

“At the Foto place. It was lucky, uh? She recognize me because of you. I tole her, sure, I know him. I think he would like to meet you also.”

“What’d she say exactly?”

“Ask me if I drive for the photographer. I say, sure. Maybe he like to take your picture.” Isidro took a chance, a liberty, and winked at the tourist. “She’s a very nice girl. She has an appointment in Isla Verde, but I think she can be free this evening.”