“The woman I was talking about—oh damn it, what was her name? It was just on the tip of my tongue. Carmen. I think her name was Carmen.”

The woman glanced away from the dance floor and toward me. “Don’t no Carmen work here,” she snapped knowingly.

“Yes, yes. You know her. She’s about my size, maybe a little shorter. I don’t know if she’s Mexican or what, but she was sort of dark skinned. Pretty good looking, and she had a scar up here by her eyebrow. I’m sure she told me her name was Carmen.”

“You be talking about Cathy, and she ain’t so good looking.”

“Cathy?” I echoed.

The woman spread her big hands on her knees and leaned toward me to sneer. “I know her because we both be in the bathroom at the same time the night she started and we both fixing up our makeup. I saw she lifted up her bangs and had this big ugly ‘ol scar on her forehead that she put some makeup over and powdered real careful.”

“That’s her. Of course. Cathy. How silly of me. I just met her recently. I don’t know her that well. Seems like a nice lady.”

“Seemed full of shit to me,” she snorted again.

I wondered how to play this. I didn’t want to seem too interested, but I couldn’t stop myself from blurting out my next question: “Did she say something to you?”

“Humph,” the woman snorted again and gestured dismissively with her big hands. “She be telling me about how she wasn’t going to be here long. She’s gonna be the star in some play up in Hollywood. That’s what everybody says, that they’re not going to be here long.” The woman laughed, her breath all over my face.

In the most profound sense, that is certainly true. We are just here for the short run. Some shorter than others, I thought, recalling again the awful sprawled body of the dead woman and the frozen pain on her face.

“She was an actress,” I said to keep the conversation moving.

“That’s what they all say.”

“Did she tell you when this play is going to be or where?”

The woman shrugged with disinterest while watching the dance floor. “I don’t know. I wasn’t listening. Dropping all those names like I’m supposed t’be impressed. Shit.”

It was then I saw a very short man standing in front of me, bowing slightly from the waist, a white handkerchief pressed into the hand he offered me. Four songs later he left me, and I started to look for Lupe.

Finally I spotted her leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette by a soft-drink machine. She looked bored. The woman in the blue microdot dress stood by her side, oblivious to her, swaying to the music and hungrily scouting the dance floor.