"The one from MTV?" "Yeah, that's right," Vince said. "The guy that's won all the awards, and he's been written up in Gourmet magazine." "Oh, yes," I said, stalling for time in the hope that some brilliant flash of inspiration would hit to help me dodge this terrible fate. "The award-winning caterer."

"Dexter, this guy is big. He could make your whole wedding." "Well, Vince, I think that's terrific, but-"

"Listen," he said, with an air of firm command that I had never heard from him before, "you said you would talk to Rita about this and let her decide." "I said that?" "Yes, you did. And I am not going to let you throw away a wonderful opportunity like this, not when it's something that I know Rita would really love to have."

I wasn't sure how he could be so positive about that. After all, I was actually engaged to the woman, and I had no idea what sort of caterer might fill her with shock and awe. But I didn't think this was the time to ask him how he knew what Rita would and would not love. Then again, a man who dressed up as Carmen Miranda for Halloween might very well have a keener insight than mine into my fiancée's innermost culinary desires.

"Well," I said, at last deciding that procrastinating long enough to escape was the best answer, "in that case, I'll go home and talk to Rita about it." "Do that," he said. And he did not storm out, but if there had been a door to slam, he might have slammed it.

I finished tidying up and trundled on out into the evening traffic. On the way home a middle-aged man in a Toyota SUV got right behind me and started honking the horn for some reason. After five or six blocks he pulled around me and, as he flipped me off, juked his steering wheel slightly to frighten me into running up on the sidewalk. Although I admired his spirit and would have loved to oblige him, I stayed on the road. There is never any point in trying to make sense of the way Miami drivers go about getting from one place to another. You just have to relax and enjoy the violence-and of course, that part was never a problem for me. So I smiled and waved, and he stomped on his accelerator and disappeared into traffic at about sixty miles per hour over the speed limit.

Normally I find the chaotic mayhem of the evening drive home to be the perfect way to end the day. Seeing all the anger and lust to kill relaxes me, makes me feel at one with my hometown and its spritely inhabitants. But tonight I found it difficult to summon up any good cheer at all. I never for a moment thought it could ever happen, but I was worried.