A few days later we were in Jupiter, where we would spend the most beautiful winter of our lives, often just the two of us alone, or surrounded by dear friends.

Sometimes I went out to do errands with Rene. In order not to be recognized, I wore dark glasses and a hat. I cut my hair very short. Quite often, Rene was the one recognized first. From then on he was part of my image. And that really made me happy. We were more than one. People saw me and thought of him; they saw him, they thought of me. We were together for life.

For the first time in years, we watched the Grammies and Oscars on TV, alone in our living room. And I realized how painful and exhausting these bullfights could be. I'd never said it, not to Rene, and not even to myself, but I really don't like galas, the false Joy that reigns, the invisible daggers that the women point at each other, all the while with fake smiles. Everybody wants to flatten everybody else. Every woman wants to have the most beautiful gown. Or maybe the one that's most talked about.

Rene never liked to hear me say anything at all negative about anything, especially not about another singer or someone in show business. Except when we were alone, of course. And even then! For him, talking bad about other people is vulgar.

And yet after we had begun our vacation, as if the roles had been reversed, it was me especially who talked and recounted to him what we had lived, just as he had recounted each of my shows to me in the past. Every evening, after supper, we sat down in the main living