I turned back to Ford, who told me, “Come over some night and we’ll have a film festival in the screening room. I’ve got original Hammer and Castle films and old projectors that go tick-tick-tick. I mean, if you like horror.”

“I write horror stories,” I said casually, hoping he wouldn’t think I was too weird.

“Really? I’ve tried to write. I got two hundred pages of a time-travel story done, and then I got stuck. Do you write about monsters?”

“Mine are political allegories, more like the original Frankenstein, so, yes, I write about monsters.”

“My father used to read Frankenstein to me at bedtime.”

Cricket shook her head and said, “You really are making him sound like a kook.”

She returned to her conversation with Ian. I went on to discuss scientific developments that science fiction had successfully predicted, and it seemed natural for the Poindexters to stay for dinner.

Ian pulled bottles of a spicy, smoky cabernet franc from the cellar, and we grilled vegetables and juicy filet mignons that were in the fridge. I put away the steaks I’d bought.

Ian and I shared a resistance to the effects of alcohol and other drugs, which was unusual even among vampires, and I felt a little envious of Ford, who got more and more sozzled and expansive as we finished our meal with glasses of cognac outside in the dark.

Cricket just got flirtier, but she was careful to touch and smile at her husband, too, keeping him off guard. It was close to midnight when she teasingly unbuttoned her blouse and said, “Since we’re all friends here and I already saw Milagro …”

Ford watched goggle-eyed and adoring as Cricket did a strip-tease on the lawn, and Ian smiled at her bump-and-grind. She had a svelte body, and my ex-fiancé, whose career was perfecting breasts, would have admired the craftsmanship that had gone into her full, perky set.

Cricket dived into the pool and Ford quickly stripped to his boxers and jumped in. His wife floated on the surface and laughed. “Come in! The water’s fine.”

Ian said, “Another time,” but I took it as a dare.

“Why not? We’re all friends,” I said, and pulled off my dress. Although Ford was besotted by his bride, he wasn’t unimpressed when I undid the hook on my ivory lace bra. I let him get a good look before jumping in the water.

Ford did cannonballs, Cricket displayed a smooth side stroke, and I tried to see how long I could swim underwater.

After the night got chilly, we got out, wrapped ourselves in towels, and said shivery good nights. Cricket promised to have us over soon, gazing at Ian the whole time.

When they had gone, I said, “I’m surprised you didn’t jump in the water. Cricket was totally sexing you up with her eyes.”