So we tried to find another Stella. And there just wasn’t one, not one woman in the club with the dew still on her. “All we’ve got are Blanches,” I said, meaning all we had were faded women who could play the part of Blanche, Stella’s faded sister. “That’s life, I guess—twenty Blanches to one Stella.” “And when you find a Stella,” said Doris, “it turns out she doesn’t know what love is.”
