Mercedes cleared her throat and spat on the sidewalk as soon as she got off the bus. Luli, already unfurling her umbrella against the mid-morning sun, did a little dance to avoid it. "Ay, chica, you spit like a truck driver!"

Mercedes turned and scowled at her fellow bus rider, stopping at the edge of the street.

She waits for me, thought Luli. That is different.

Every day, the two women rode the 571 bus from Eighth Street through the suburban sprawl down to Bayside Estates - two of the many thousands of economic pilgrims that would toil for the ghosts who had abandoned their luxurious enclaves for careers and spa appointments and private schools. For nine dollars an hour Mercedes and Luli would scrub, wash and clean the possessions of invisible residents. The bus returned at 5:20 to take them away.

The two were not friends. Mercedes would have been content to continue her daily passage on the vaguely air-conditioned bus in solitude, but gradually became aware of Luli, who always seemed to be the same number of seats away no matter where Mercedes sat. Over the next few months, the gap between them began to slowly decrease. This was a glacial process; months passed before words were exchanged.

Mercedes chose not to acknowledge Luli's inexorable approach, but one day she slipped and their eyes made contact. The look lasted for no more than a second but had transmitted a message that had expanded in her mind and began to occupy more and more of her thoughts.

Eventually, names were exchanged, pleasantries spoken. But so far, the only thing Luli had let pass between her very sensuous lips was the usual banal chit-chat about weather and employers.

"Luli, every day, I spit in the same spot. If it bother you so, why you never say nothing?"

Luli remained silent as they crossed the street behind a hot blast of diesel fumes and walked east. Mercedes had to shield her eyes from the glare of the South Florida sun. She had grown up in the foothills overlooking Caracas, where the mountain air swept down over her town. Never so thick and hot as it was here. Today, she felt like an ant walking under a magnifying glass.

"We can share my umbrella," said Luli.

"Are you sure 'bout that? I might sweat on you."

"No problemo." The two began walking side by side, bare arm brushing against bare arm. The canopy of pink sunlight filtering through the umbrella gave Luli's fair skin a warm blush. Mercedes' head began to fill with the citrussy scent of Luli's Herrera.

"Did I ever tell you,'� said Luli in a low whisper, "mi papi? He was a truck driver."

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