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a better match. Honestly though, she’d never met anyone who she thought would be a good match for her. Sighing, she ate another big chip.
    Their portly Mexican waiter, still wearing an oversized green sombrero, approached the table; “Your food is on its way. Can I get anything else for you amigos?”
    Hallie piped up cheerfully, “Yes, another Margarita.”
    Monica added glumly, “How about another round for everyone?”
     
    He watched and that depressed him. He missed the flesh – moving among people, smoking a cigarette, and having a drink. Putting his arms around a beautiful woman. And Hallie, his Hallie, she was hilarious tonight; Hallie was drunk, but she was dazzling. He actually felt a little sorry for the inept young man that Monica had chosen for her. He was obviously way over his head, trying to make some sort of connection with the moody and mysterious brunette. But she had shut him down immediately and for Jack that brought a further admiration for the woman who was increasingly becoming so pivotal in his transient existence.
    Monica, of course, had chosen wrong. That in itself wasn’t a huge surprise. She hadn’t impressed him with any depth of perception. She wasn’t really capable of seeing the quick mind and soft beauty of Hallie Barkly that he had a growing appreciation for. It was too subtle for her kind and admittedly, not to his credit, he hadn’t seen it right away himself. He had once not so long ago spent the balance of his time mixing amongst that superficial breed. But not now, something integral had shifted in him or rather had been awakened. He felt that somehow he’d always been different, misplaced but just elected to ignore it.
    But here, when it was really too late for him, he was beginning to want more.
    Being around her, knowing who she was, and what he couldn’t have was quietly torturing him.
    It hadn’t been a late evening. Monica’s date seemed intent on cutting things short. “You know you could have tried a little harder. Did you even let Greg kiss you goodnight?”
    “ I was kind of waiting for him to grow hair on his face before we made out.”
    “ He’s not that young,” she sniped back.
    Hallie’s head was pounding. She buried it in a pillow on Monica’s couch. “Please he’s a schoolboy.”
    “ All right, I admit it. I thought you might do better with someone who wouldn’t be in control of things. And it would have been all right, if you hadn’t drank so much.”
    “ It was the only thing that kept me from bolting out the door.”
    “ You know, I’m going to have to smooth all of this over with Richard.”
    “ Richard is a prick,” she retorted with emphasis.
    “ He is not. He just has high standards.”
    “ And things would have gone so much better, if I had just written political thrillers.”
    “ You know, I’m trying to help you, trying to keep you from burying yourself in that house.” Monica fired back. Jack marveled at their exchange, wondering what on earth tied this relationship together. It was so odd to sit back and watch the fireworks. Monica doggedly clung to her pose of being a caring friend, but it was completely superficial or confused at best.
    He’d settled on the deep burgundy brocade couch in Monica’s Condo. Hallie had curled up on the other end, retreating into a pained, little lump.
    “ Maybe I like being buried,” she groaned. “I certainly prefer it to evenings like this one.”
    Monica flung her blonde head in exasperation. “Fine, I won’t make the mistake of trying to help you again.”
    “ Is that a promise?” She grumpily retorted. It was the liquor that had loosened her tongue. He wondered if indeed their peculiar affinity would survive the aftermath of this brutal honesty, not really caring if it didn’t.
    “ You know, if it were up to you Edward would be the last man you ever had anything to do with.”
    “ Would that be such a tragedy?”
    Monica just stood hovering near the couch, her brown eyes