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would that upset him? Aren’t they many years divorced?” She leaned forward as if in confidence. “You know, it’s strange to know so much about someone I’ve just met.”
    “Definitely a downside of fame, everyone knowing your business.” Paul was slicing lemons, placing them in a blue and yellow flowered bowl on the top of the bar. “They have been divorced for quite a few years now but when every move you make is followed by the press, you appreciate a little heads-up when something’s going to happen. He found out about her marriage from an entertainment news show on the telly, and right after that the reporters were ringing for his reaction.” He took another lemon from the bag and sliced into it. “I always thought she was a bit of a bint, like every other woman he gets involved with. I’m one of his closest friends but I don’t recall her ever making a point to talk to me.” Paul leaned forward and opened his eyes wide. “Self-centered cow.”
    “Paul Hutchings! I’ve never heard you trash talk someone before. There’s another side to our friendly hotelero.”
    “Only when it comes to Mark’s girlfriends.”
    “I see. He’s invited me along to La Paz tomorrow. I’m afraid I said yes.”
    “Just keep the conversation away from ex-wives and work and I’m sure he’ll be as charming as I am.”
    “Maybe half ... if he works at it.” Sandra took another drink from her over-sized margarita glass.
    Paul’s gaze jumped to the bar entrance. “Ian, welcome!” Sandra turned in her stool and waved as Ian approached. He was dressed in floral board shorts and flip flops. “I’m guessing by your attire you won’t be taking the stage tonight.”
    “Not tonight, no. Just dropping by for a beer and some enchanting conversation.” He ordered a Dos Equis and hopped onto the stool beside Sandra, turning toward her. “And you’re looking very nice this evening.”
    Sandra glanced down at her wet-bottomed capri pants and pink v-necked shirt. “I thought you had a better sense of fashion than that, being a Montrealer. I just came back from a beach walk.”
    “Exactly my point—colour in your cheeks, windblown hair, sand between your toes—what could be more attractive?”
    “You’d compliment me if I were wearing a burlap sack and hadn’t washed my hair for two weeks.”
    “Ooh, fetching. You might be right.” He really could be quite enchanting, which is why he often had a lovely woman on his arm. “So how’s the painting coming along?”
    “Very good, actually. I’m well into a second piece and, get this, sold the first one.”
    “Sold one? I thought you didn’t do that.”
    “Okay, well technically I gave it away, but to someone who was willing to pay me for it, and pay well I might add.”
    “And who, may I ask, was this person with impeccable taste in art?”
    “A friend of Paul’s, Mark Jeffery. Have you met him?” asked Sandra.
    “Briefly, here at the hotel a few weeks ago. Is he still here?”
    “Not here at the hotel but in the village. I think he bought a house.”
    “In San Leandro? Now why would he do that? Doesn’t a big shot like him want a fortress closer to civilization?”
    “Apparently not,” said Sandra. Paul set down a brown bottle with two red Xs on its label. “Paul, did Mark buy the house in San Leandro?”
    “I think he’s leasing, not sure for how long.”
    “There you have it. I didn’t think there were any movie-star-worthy properties in the area.” Ian poured the amber beer into his glass.
    “I think he’s here because Paul’s here.”
    “Maybe,” Paul said, “but more likely because it was a convenient place to camp for a while. Excuse me.” He left the bar to attend to a couple standing at the please wait to be seated sign.
    “So anyway, Mr. Jeffery was here one morning, saw my painting, and offered to buy it to hang in his new house. Exciting, don’t you think?”
    “Absolutely. Good for you. Now,” he tilted his head and raised his