One afternoon, as he returned from his appointment with Bengoa, Argenis saw his neighbor Vantroi dancing in his apartment, through the door he had left open to let some air in. The apartment was light on furniture. The only items Argenis could see were something that looked like a park bench against one wall, and a small table. In the middle of all this space in front of a twelve-inch Sony Trinitron TV connected to a VCR, Vantroi, clad in bike shorts, was copying Janet Jackson’s moves in the “When I Think Of You” video.

Argenis remembered that video, made so that it would look like it had been just one take; they used to play it on Channel 2 between programs. On his feet Vantroi wore a pair of Reebok Classics, so dirty that they existed only in mummified form, thanks to countless strips of duct tape. Argenis was feeling generous after his Temgesic, and went into his place to get the turquoise-blue Adidas with orange stripes on the sides, which his mother had bought in Carrefour. He had never once worn them and they smelled fantastic. He poked his head round his neighbor’s door and tossed the shoes in for him to try on.

“Who recorded the videos for you?” Argenis asked, since he knew there was no MTV in Cuba, and Vantroi answered, “Juani, my cousin in Chicago,” as he moved his feet along with the video, staring down at the Adidas. Without stopping the rhythmic movements of his shoulders and head, he came over to the door to tell Argenis, “I just really admire Paula Abdul’s work as a choreographer,” and added, still following exactly what was happening in the video, “that mix of jazz and street.”

At dinner, when she’d learned of Argenis’s extreme solidarity, Susana looked at him with a mix of tenderness and disapproval, and then asked if he had told either Bengoa or his father to give him the 500 dollars directly. Argenis said no, that he was waiting for the right moment. In fact, he had had no contact at all with his father aside from a signed photo José Alfredo had sent of himself with the newly elected president, and he felt a bit bad about firing Bengoa from his most lucrative side job. The next morning, as she bounced up and down on his balls, Susana made him promise her that he would talk to Bengoa about the 500 bucks that afternoon, moaning as she asked. Argenis came inside her to seal his promise and after a cold shower and a good lunch, he put on a button-down shirt with the khaki pants and leather moccasins his mother had chosen, in case some special occasion ever presented itself in Cuba. Susana kissed him before he left, something Mirta had never done, and he went down the stairs like a proud provider.

Bengoa greeted him affectionately, complimented his clothing, and told Argenis that the care he’d put into dressing was a sign of health. “You’re as good as new,” Bengoa told him on the way to his office, where he always performed the injection in front of Saturn. Argenis got nervous during the checkers game and Bengoa offered him a Popular and a swig of his Havana Club. He wet his mouth with the rum and waited to finish the cigarette before telling the doctor they had to discuss something. “What’s up, Argenis? Is Susana not doing a good job?” “It isn’t that,” he said. “It’s just that I think I can manage my own money.” Bengoa got serious, and put the yellow marble he was holding down onto the board at random, ending the game.