Mendoza licked his lips suggestively. “Drinks for me and for my guest,” he called, as one of the tray-bearing waiters approached. The young man stooped, deftly balancing a beverage-laden platter. He took one stemmed glass from the cluster and handed it to Mendoza. Then he glanced at Ren. “Your wish, senorita?”
“Por favor,a margarita,light on the ice.”
After considering a moment, the waiter selected a glass and handed it over. Ren took the stem in a delicate grasp, moving his hand in such a manner that the long maroon nails he had attached for the evening flashed, each adorned with a silver filigree pattern and a tiny sparkling stone. He ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of the glass, taking up the crystals of salt clinging there. Then he took a sip—smooth, strong, and perfectly blended. No more or less than he’d expected. He sipped again, savoring the flavor and sure the liquor would not impact him.