Iris and Lydia are watching a divinely tasteless tourist wedding on a beach in Mexic0, the ceremony punctuated by the recorded voice of the groom singing "We've Only Just Begun." Ominously, the word "narcotraficantes" floats into the conversation, not given another thought, except that the reader knows, the READER KNOWS! Something will come of this. Iris is 73 and charges through life with a certain comic grandeur, tossing off Spanish phrases as if where fluent. Lydia, her daughter, is cautious, middleclass --- her husband has "escaped" her. The air is one of golden sand and indolence. And, yes, we've only just begun.