The more the men sat around the living room discussing política, the more sugar Esperanza added in the desserts. She sewed draperies of lace, bought pink toilet paper, and added frills to the shower curtains.

But like rats, her family was beginning to turn against each other. They were fine when they were four, but now that they were five in one apartment, it was happening. —Don‘t slam the door! Who left the toilet seat up! What am I going to do with all of you? Esperanza yelled, knowing very well no one in the Colón household was listening to her. While the men talked about the past, Esperanza thought about the future. Her children like little mice, screaming, —It‘s mine, —I want, —Give me.

Esperanza escaped to her room to watch Dallas reruns even though she had seen most episodes; she memorized the way Pamela Ewing wore her hair, feathered up front and tied in the back in a French twist. She envied Pamela. Why couldn‘t Esperanza have all the things she wanted? It wasn‘t fair. Esperanza needed a new look. In the campo, the women would say it‘s not the dress, it‘s the hanger that makes the dress, but in America, that wasn‘t true. To be important, one has to look important.

—Do you really need another coat? Santo asked.

—I‘m tired of always wearing the same thing all the time. Esperanza had already picked out the coat. It was midcalf length, with a fake-fur collar, the coat had darts around the waist so that she could hide all the weight she was gaining.

—What‘s wrong with the one you bought last year?

—Pamela never says, I love this necklace, but because I don‘t need it, I won‘t buy it.

—Who‘s Pamela?

—You don‘t know anything, do you?

Santo seemed small in the living-room recliner. He looked tired and hungry, and yet he never wanted to eat unless he was famished, as if he were always on some diet. Forget him, she thought, hugging herself, feeling the rolls of fat around her waist, accentuated by the cinched belt.

—You‘ve become so cheap, she said.

—I‘m not cheap. I‘m an antimaterialist.

—Since when?

—Why do you always fight me, Esperanza?

—Don‘t raise your voice at me just because your father‘s here. Ever since he got here six months ago, you talk to me like I‘m deaf.

—I‘m not raising my voice, he said in a whisper. —And don‘t call me cheap.

—Go to Cuba if you want to live like un miserable. Damn you, Santo.

Esperanza hid away the store catalogs where she had circled all the things she wanted.

The more Don Chan preached, the more obsessed Esperanza became with acquiring things.

Esperanza saved her own pennies, just as she had for her trip on the yola a decade ago. She scrimped at every opportunity, while Santo tirelessly worked to save for the house she begged for. Half of her paycheck went to rent, but she cut corners on the groceries. Every minute she had alone, she counted the dollars and cents that added up to the new blouse she had seen at her neighbor‘s basement apartment. A real Chanel, which fell off a truck, in bright red, for only forty dollars; and the Gucci bag, just like the one in the magazine ad, the one that the guy who lived across the street stole when he worked at the high-end department store as a security guard. Santo could continue to wear his shoes with holes in the soles because he found them comfortable, but she much preferred to hike in the Fendi strappy sandals, one size too small, because when one gets stuff cheap, one has to expect a bit of discomfort. She liked to feel her shoes on her feet, silk on her skin, the weight of jewelry around her neck. The more she bought, the more insatiable she became. —God, can you help me out here? she asked, hoping he‘d help her win the lottery she played on Sundays.