“I thought about that,” I admitted. “But after getting to know her, I don’t think she’s any more likely to cheat me than you.”
Smokey looked at me askance. “Are we talking about the same Vestibule? The girl who arm-twisted you into a date when the fate of the world was hanging in the balance?”
I frowned. Smokey was referring to a time in the not-too-distant past when we’d needed Vestibule’s help to save the planet. She’d used the opportunity to wrangle a date with me in exchange for her assistance.
“Okay, she went a little over the top once,” I agreed, “but that’s not a true reflection of who she is.”
“Maybe,” Smokey intoned, sounding unconvinced. “But speak of the devil, here comes your new bestie now.”
I followed Smokey’s gaze and noted that Vestibule was indeed headed towards the corner of the room that we had staked out as our own. As generally happened whenever I saw her these days, I found myself smiling for no apparent reason as she approached.
She wore a feminine version of the costume I currently had on: a slinky, sleeveless black dress with a gold sash around her waist, along with a gemmed Wesekh collar and a Cleopatra wig with a bob cut. Like me, she had gold sandals and armbands, although the latter was connected to her dress by some colorful material that opened up like an elaborate pair of wings when she spread her arms.
She also sported a bejeweled headpiece, as well as an armband around her right bicep that was designed like a serpent. Finally, her makeup had been applied in an exotic fashion that included a multicolored hue on her eyelids, as well as an Eye of Horus around one eye.
All things considered, if I was a pharaoh, then she was a goddess. Watching as she sauntered towards us – walking practically in time to some upbeat music playing in the background – it was easy to understand why, in addition to being a superhero, she also had a career as a high-paid fashion model.
“Hey,” she said as she stepped close to give me a hug. “Glad you could make it.”
“No problem,” I stated a moment later as we separated. “Thanks for the invite.”
“Me, too,” Smokey added. “Although if I’d known there was a couples theme, I would have found someone to drag along as my gangster girlfriend.”
“Gun moll,” Vestibule declared.
Smokey raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Gun moll,” Vestibule repeated. “That’s the official term for a criminal’s girlfriend or female companion. Or you can just say ‘moll.’”
Smokey cast a furtive glance in my direction that clearly relayed his surprise. In return, I gave him an I-told-you-so look. As I had mentioned earlier, Vestibule was a lot brighter than my friends and I had previously assumed.
“Anyway,” she went on, “it’s only by happenstance that Jim and I are matching. Did he tell you about our bet?”
Smokey nodded. “He did, and I’m surprised you didn’t make him wear something utterly embarrassing.”
“Trust me, I was tempted,” Vestibule admitted with a laugh. “In fact, my original impulse was to have him dress as a circus clown. But I decided to show mercy – plus, the costume shop was having a two-for-one special on matching outfits.”
“And here we are,” I said, spreading my hands expansively.
Vestibule looked as though she were about to make a comment, then unexpectedly cocked her head slightly to the side, as if listening for something. A moment later, it became plainly obvious that she had actually been listening to something, as she suddenly reached out and grabbed my hand.
“Come on,” she practically demanded. “You’re dancing with me.”
I had no time to protest as she quickly dragged me out onto the dance floor. A few seconds later, we were completely surrounded by an army of our peers, all swaying, grinding, and stepping to the rhythm of a song I recognized as having just reached number one on the charts.
Needless to say, some of those around us were more rhythmic than others. Vestibule, for instance, was great, and I could easily have imagined her with a career as a dancer were she not a model. At the other end of the spectrum was a kid to my left dressed as a vampire, who seemingly didn’t know his right foot from his left and kept bumping into me.
I had no idea how to rate my own dance skills, since it was a rare activity for me. However, my ego got a nice boost when Vestibule leaned towards me and, shouting above the music, declared, “I think I’ve found my new dance partner! You’re great!”
I didn’t have my empathic abilities fully cranked up, but from what I could sense, Vestibule wasn’t just being kind. She was actually being sincere, and as a result I found myself grinning broadly and felt my cheeks turning red.
Her compliment was enough to make me stay on the dance floor even as the current song ended and another began. This one was some kind of line dance, which quickly became apparent as almost everyone on the dance floor squared off into rows. I didn’t know the song, but it was easy enough to pick up on the steps (especially since the moves were all repetitive). More to the point, it was actually a lot of fun – probably more so because I was next to Vestibule the entire time – and it seemed that the song came to an end all too soon.
At that juncture, the DJ made a distinct change in the music selection, because the next thing he played was a popular slow song. People immediately deserted the dance floor in droves, and I had planned to be one of them. However, I hadn’t taken more than a step in that direction before a felt a solid grip latch onto my wrist like a vise.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Vestibule admonished. “You’re not stranding me on the dance floor during a slow song.”
Before I could verbalize a response, she stepped in close
