"I know. This is the bluest water in the world." He hissed for a waiter. "I'm going to order a hell of a meal, young lady. A side of barbecued beef and some corn cakes the like of which you never tasted and—just trust my judgment."
"Can we get drinks here?"
"They have a white wine that beats anything in France."
The food was good and the wine was potent. When they were done eating, Jerry wanted more wine. "No more wine," Hall smiled. "Nibble on this cheese, and while you're nibbling I'm going to order a punch I've just composed in honor of this day. Let's call it Punch Para Las Mujeres Bonitas."
"Whatever that means," Jerry said, dreamily.
"Oh, it's wonderful. Black rum and passion-flower juice and tamarinda and wild cherry juice and—just wait. I'll be right back." He walked across the plateau to the outdoor bar and had a long discussion with the attendants.
Jerry was staring into the sea when he returned. "You know?" she sighed.
"What?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking that I've been looking at the sea and not thinking at all."
"Cigarette?"