As it turned out, I got the yellow cup, which was fine with me, although I wondered if it meant that they didn't like me. When he had poured the coffee, Eduardo hustled back to the kitchen and returned with a small plate holding half a dozen pastelitos. And although they were not, in fact, shaped like Jennifer Lopez's derriere, they might as well have been. They looked like little cream-filled porcupines-dark brown lumps bristling with quills that were either chocolate or taken from a sea anemone. The center was open, revealing a blob of orange-colored custardy-type stuff, and each blob had a dab of green, blue, or brown on top.

Eduardo put the plate in the center of the table, and we all just looked at it for a moment. Manny seemed to be admiring them, and Vince was apparently feeling some kind of religious awe, as he swallowed a few more times and made a sound that may have been a gasp. For my part, I wasn't sure if we were supposed to eat the things or use them for some bizarre, bloody Aztec ritual, so I simply studied the plate, hoping for a clue.

It was finally provided by Vince. "My God," he blurted.

Manny nodded. "They're wonderful, aren't they?" he said. "But so-o-o-o last year." He picked one up, the one with the blue top, and gazed at it with a kind of aloof fondness. "The color palette really got tired, and that horrible old hotel over by Indian Creek started to copy them. Still," he said with a shrug, and he popped it into his mouth. I was glad to see that it didn't seem to cause any major bleeding. "One does grow fond of one's own little tricks." He turned and winked at Eduardo. "Perhaps a little too fond sometimes." Eduardo went pale and fled to the kitchen, and Manny turned back to us with a huge crocodile smile. "Do try one, though, won't you?"

"I'm afraid to bite one," Vince said. "They're so perfect."
"And I'm afraid they might bite back," I said.

Manny showed off a few dozen teeth. "If I could teach them that," he said, "I would never be lonely." He nudged the plate in my direction. "Go ahead," he said. "Would you serve these at my wedding?" I asked, thinking perhaps somebody ought to find some kind of point in all this.

Vince elbowed me, hard, but it was apparently too late. Manny's eyes had narrowed to little slits, although his impressive dental work was still on display. "I do not serve," he said. "I present. And I present whatever seems best to me."

"Shouldn't I have some idea ahead of time what that might be?" I asked, "I mean, suppose the bride is allergic to wasabi-basted arugula aspic?"