She got up and stood next to him. Grabbing the pole, trying to look interested in the subway map next to his head. She didn’t want to scare him. He read the New York Times, folding it in quarters.

—Excuse me, she said, and he looked up at her. He looked so old in person, nothing like he did on television. He waited for her to speak. She didn’t know where to begin. Should she tell him about la Loca’s TV or the yola, or when Dallas was born? He was waiting and she wasn’t prepared. She didn’t have a camera on her. Oh my, she thought. He will think I’m crazy if I don’t say anything.

—Excuse me, Bobby, she said.

—My name is Patrick.

—Are you sure? Bobby Ewing from la televisión, no?

—I did play Bobby, but—

—Yo lo sabía, she said and looked around to show people how right she was. And why didn’t they look excited?

—I have photos of my children. Aquí está Dallas, and mi hijo, Bobby. I named him after you, well, actually, his real name is Roberto María, after his great-uncle who saved like a hundred people, but in America nobody cares about Roberto María, so I told my son, you want to be an important man like Bobby Ewing, you have to have an important name like Bobby Ewing. Patrick pulled his shirt collar away from his neck.

—Please, my name is Patrick Duffy. Bobby was a fictional character.

—What’s that?

Esperanza didn’t know that English word.

—Make-believe, not real.

—But Bobby’s a much better name for you. I prefer Bobby, if you don’t mind.

—But it’s not my name. He looked over her head. She had him cornered.

—Let the lady call you Bobby, the big man standing by the door said.

Patrick Duffy tucked his newspaper under his arm. The train stopped between stations.

—I can give you an autograph. He pulled out a pen from his jacket.

—On a check, Esperanza teased.

The man standing by the door chuckled.

—So what do you want from me?

—Want? Nothing. Just to tell you about my kids.

Why was he so upset? Esperanza turned around and noticed that everyone was staring. Esperanza wanted to touch his face. The skin was so pale and blotchy. Was he really the man she saw on TV? Had he ever ridden on a horse?

—A man like you should wear moisturizer, she said and the churchgoing lady laughed with Esperanza.

—What?

The train moved again.

—All that horseback riding is chafing your skin. It’s the wind, you know. White people like you get chafing right around the cheeks.

She wished one of her kids was there to see him. No one would believe her. Maybe she should get the autograph as proof.

—Give me something of yours.

—Are you insane?

—I don’t know that word, she lied.

—Insane, Patrick said and twirled his finger around his ear.

—Why would you say such a thing? I just wanted something of yours to show my children. Like a business card. I came from D.R. to go to Dallas. And now I find you in New York City. My children will never believe it.