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green-tinted glass. At least that was good; she hated the kind that was too sweet.
    She remembered Edward not being able to handle a margarita that was too sour. It was a strange contradiction in his personality; his demeanor and cutting sarcasm were so bitingly acidic, and yet he liked his margaritas sweet. In fact, oftentimes he would end up getting some fruity variety like strawberry or peach. Hallie had always found that very comical about him and very telling.
    “ Hey Hallie, what do you think of the place?”
    “ What?” Her mind was drawn back to the oddly animated face of Monica Quimby. It had become evident to her that Monica had been on a mission all night. She was bound and determined that the group of four seated in the midst of a Friday night crowd at La Casa Grande should have fun, even if she had to manually force the joy down all of their respective throats.
    “ The restaurant, the margarita Greg here. You’re not giving any of them much attention.”
    Hallie smiled back at the joyful Monica whose slitted brown eyes were darting little sparks of rage in her direction.
    “ Oh, I’m sorry. My mind wandered. The place is well, very atmospheric.”
    The younger man seated next to her cleared his throat, “Well that should appeal to your writer’s imagination, right Hallie?” She turned to him and smiled blankly. His teeth were perfect sheets of white peering from behind thin lips. He seemed nice enough, nice looking, curly brown hair but obviously a good five to ten years her junior. What the hell was Monica thinking? “Um, what sorts of books do you write Hallie? Monica said something about political thrillers.”
    She deliberately took a big slurp of her sour margarita, “No, not exactly.”
    Monica beamed with calculation, “Well, they do have a lot of mystery in them, right Hal.”
    “ They’re vampire books.”
    The two, yuppie gentlemen turned with surprise at the announcement. Richard Belkin, Monica’s date for the evening, reflected the most genuine expression of vacuous astonishment that Hallie could ever remember witnessing. “Really? Well that’s not what you said. . .”
    Monica compulsively jumped in, “Well, they do have a political spin, you know – metaphorically socially relevant and all of that.”
    Richard, a contained business type, seemingly well groomed but with closely cropped red hair of an amazingly bright shade, was not to be sidelined by her friend’s subterfuge.
    To Hallie, he inquired pointedly, “Is this true Hallie? Do you write with a politically, metaphorical intent?”
    She looked at him and smiled with a humor that seemed to draw its strength from her margarita glass. She was also wondering what the hell he’d actually just said, “No Richard, I don’t.”
    There was a delightful splash of stunned silence and then the youngish Greg, who seemed intent on protecting her for some obscure reason that she didn’t want to fathom interjected, “Well Hallie, then what do your books mean?”
    She picked up an oversized chip and dipped it in the salsa sauce that seemed determined to scorch her lips. Although at the moment, she was curiously numb to it. “They don’t mean anything. They’re about a vampire that kills people.”
    He was smiling, but she couldn’t see his overly bright teeth anymore. “Really?”
    She was truly beginning to feel bubbly now, “You know, I do like this restaurant Monica. What a great choice. I hope dinner comes soon. I’m starving.”
    Monica’s glinting eyes seemed frozen in her face now, “Well Richard tell us about that new project you’ve been working on.”
    His mouth pinched a little as he took a not too effective stab at sarcasm. “Oh, I doubt that would sound too interesting after hearing about Hallie’s vampire books,” he sniped.
    Hallie noted the pained expression on Monica’s face. This Richard was beginning to remind her of Edward a bit. Of course, she’d always thought that Monica and Edward would have been