Two friends on a summer holiday in Spain become enamored with the same painter, unaware that his ex-wife, with whom he has a tempestuous relationship, is about to re-enter the picture.
— I have gone to bed with her.
— No!
— Yeah.
— When?
— Well, Juan Antonio and Maria Elena made this darkroom for me. <...> And we were down there in the darkroom. And I was working on some of my photographs, things... I wouldn't have done if she hadn't inspired me. And it happened very naturally for both of us. <...>
— Did you enjoy it?
— I did.
<...>
— Would you say, then, you are a bisexual?
— No... I see no reason to label everything. I'm me! You know.
Because after thousands of years of civilization... they still haven't learned to love.
The two had been close since college and shared the same tastes and opinions on most matters. Yet when it came to the subject of love, it would be hard to find two more dissimilar viewpoints. Vicky had no tolerance for pain and no lust for combat. She was grounded and realistic. Her requirements in a man were seriousness and stability. She had become engaged to Doug because he was decent and successful... and understood the beauty of commitment. Cristina, on the other hand, expected something very different out of love. She reluctantly accepted
suffering as an inevitable component of deep passion... and was resigned to putting her feelings at risk. If you asked what she was gambling
her emotions on to win, she would have been unable to say. She knew what she didn't want, however. And that was exactly what Vicky valued above all else.
