About Face by Carole Howard Page A

and recognized the irony of her envying a life that had yielded fewer material possessions than her own. Carlos and Vivian had taken a different path than she had, and she wondered what it would have been like if she’d chosen that path too. No fancy house in the suburbs, no debt-free tuition for Josh, no corporate perks, but maybe idealism. Maybe passion.
    â€œIt’s beautiful,” Ruth said.
    â€œWell, we like it here, we really do. It’s kind of funky, sort of like us. But we can afford it and it’s a decent commute to our jobs, so that’s good too. I know you probably live someplace that’s much more—”
    â€œAnd the neighborhood’s great,” Carlos added. “The block association holds pot luck dinners every month. And a great public library a few blocks away. Too bad Ida’s grown up, because the public school’s terrific, a nice mix of middle-class and working-class kids. Very progressive program.”
    They continued through the living room and out the other end, careful not to knock over any of the items they slalomed around on the way. The apartment was laid out in a long line from the living room on the street side of the brownstone to the kitchen at the back. As they entered the next room, Vivian turned on its lights while Carlos doubled back to turn off the ones in the living room
    The bedroom had only a bed in the middle, a dresser on the wall to the left, and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, stuffed full and running over, on the right. The bedroom’s comparative emptiness brought its shabbiness into relief. The paint was peeling badly, and the bed was supported by three legs and a pile of books. They continued into the kitchen, where the chaos that was missing from the bedroom had taken refuge. A long narrow battered oak table was in front of them, set with four unmatched places. The cooking area was to the left, and a counter filled with jars, collectible chotchkies and telephone paraphernalia, was in between. Beyond the kitchen was a neglected garden in an interior courtyard that provided a little natural light.
    â€œWell, now you’ve seen it.” Vivian spoke louder than she needed to and shrugged. “Believe it or not, it’s a big step up from our place in Washington Heights, but that place went co-op a couple of years ago, so we had to leave. We were lucky to find this, boy we had to look and look, and you wouldn’t believe the places we saw and turned down. So here we are, all snug and at home.”
    David said, “Hey, this place is fabulous. I think if we’d seen a place like this when we were looking around for—”
    â€œSo, mi amigos , have a seat everyone.” Carlos turned out the lights in the bedroom and led everyone to the table. He took his place at the narrow end near the door, while Vivian directed Ruth and David to his right.
    â€œCarlos, my friend,” David said, “you seem to have gotten more Spanish than you used to be. I know your father’s Puerto Rican, but is this some kind of time-release ethnicity? Or have you changed parents?”
    â€œA lot of people at work have Spanish accents. I guess it’s catching,” Carlos said to the table top.
    â€œAnyway, I hope you still like Bloody Marys, ‘cause I still make the best ones you ever had,” Vivian said. “Really and truly, the best. You’ll see, the very best.” She reached into the refrigerator and took out four glasses and a pitcher, all thick glass with bubbles trapped inside, a blue stripe along the top. She stuck a celery stalk in each filled glass before passing them around. Ruth held her glass out and said, “In the immortal words of those wise volunteers who preceded us… ”
    â€œDon’t let the bastards get you down,” came the enthusiastic chorus, followed by clinks and gulps.
    Everyone sipped until Vivian insisted they bring each other up to date on their lives. “You