San Jose, Costa Rica

Nestled within that vast cordillera which defines the east and west of Central America lies a charming little town called San Antonio de Escazu. Everyone in Costa Rica knows it. Only a select few know what lies along a precipitous dirt road which climbs the mountain behind it. There, in the third of five humble row houses edging a ravine, is where I can be found.

Or rather, it's where I live with Susan - a tall, rather prepossessing redhead of a roommate with the regal demeanour of a Romanov.

The three of us - with children raised, spouses gone, and the greatest challenges (we thought!) behind us - spent Christmas week socializing and having a wonderful time, all the while a teeny bit curious about what was going to happen next. I grew accustomed to Susan's steamer trunks in the hall; our tiny rowhouse was alive with the brilliant hues of her abstract paintings and garments, all expertly dyed and hung with care on any household item that would sustain them. Then as quickly as she arrived she blew out again, having found suitable digs elsewhere. I rather missed her. That is, until four weeks later when a semi-hysterical Costa Rican woman called at 4:00 a.m. asking for Susan. 'Yes, this is she,' said the Countess, and triggered a stream of invective, the gist of which was, 'I'm Jose's pregnant wife, I've just learned he's been sleeping with someone named 

So we did. Jose had no wife, she assured us. Then she too hung up. This was grounds for thought. Perhaps he had a secret wife? Perhaps his sister was protecting them? Perhaps his sister is his wife?

Then I forgot all about it until last week. ''What's the latest with the Jose issue?', I asked Susan when she got in from a shopping trip.
'That woman called again last night. I told her she should stop or I'll call the police, but...'

'Well, there is that other Jose... .'

'What other Jose?'

'I told you about him...the guy I was dating for awhile.'

'You dated somebody named Jose?'

Susan looked up from her groceries. 'Four years ago.'

'Is he married?' I asked.

'I don't think so...'

'You don't know?'

The baby of the household (at 48!), I rather thought I should be at the center of it all. I was far from the middle of this little tornado. A jealous husband is one thing, but this was somebody's jealous wife.

Who knows about that? All I knew is we now had two Susans and two Joses and endless possibilities. And the mystery calls continued, including one from a rather tentative young man who also wanted to talk with Susan.