Vestibule smiled and then teleported us.
***
Ultimately, we ended up going to three more parties, although we spent no more than an hour at each. Like the first shindig Vestibule had teleported us to, each of the following soirees had their own respective complement of celebrities. For the remainder of the evening, however, our little quartet generally stuck together. That said, being in costume meant that we typically stood out, which had its pros and cons.
On the one hand, we were essentially welcomed at each venue, as our presence typically served to liven things up – especially Cat. Her elaborate costume was a hit with everyone and so lifelike that one guy actually went so far as to grab her tail to see if it was real. (That act resulted in Cat threatening to maul him to death, and she said it with such conviction that – had I not been reading her empathically – I would have sworn she meant it.)
On the other hand, being the center of attention also meant that people were curious about us. Vestibule, of course, was a known commodity because of her modeling career. The rest of us were essentially no-names, which was fine with me. I couldn’t speak for the others, but I pretty much like my privacy, so I found myself ducking any and all questions of a personal nature, essentially sharing little more than my first name.
Eventually, however, our night on the town began to wind down. We left the last party (which was still going strong) shortly after midnight, this time departing on foot instead of teleporting. In accordance with Vestibule’s instructions, the limo was waiting for us when we stepped outside.
“Whew!” Smokey exclaimed as we piled into the back of the car. “Five parties in a row…that’s got to be some kind of record, even for a Friday night.”
Vestibule and Cat looked at each other and started laughing.
“Well, not a record,” Vestibule noted a moment later, “but it does get honorable mention.”
Smokey merely nodded at this, silently recognizing the fact that, as a teleporter, Vestibule could pop up at a hundred parties in a single night if that’s what she wanted to do.
“So what now?” Vestibule asked. “We can squeeze in a few more parties, or just call it a night.”
Smokey gave me an incredulous look, and I knew what he was thinking. I had teleported the two of us to the West Coast for the costume party, but our original time zone was actually a few hours ahead. In short, he was probably starting to feel run down. (I, on the other hand, had merely tweaked my physiological functions, so I could actually go indefinitely without feeling tired, although I’d pay the price later when I switched my biological systems back to normal.)
“To be honest, I’m a little hungry,” Cat stated. “I didn’t eat much at those parties.”
Vestibule turned her attention to me and Smokey. “You guys up for that? I know a great little late-night diner.”
I glanced at Smokey, not wanting to speak for him under the circumstances.
“Sounds great,” he said, sounding more chipper than he probably felt.
“Awesome!” Vestibule chirped, then hit a button on a nearby panel that operated an intercom for communicating with our driver.
Fifteen minutes later, we found ourselves exiting the limo in front of a ’50s-era diner with expansive windows on all sides except the back, and neon lights running along the edge of the roof. Smokey and Cat hustled inside to grab us a booth while I waited with Vestibule as she paid the driver. (Truth be told, she merely took a computer tablet that the chauffeur handed to her and tapped the screen a few times, presumably authorizing payment and a generous tip.)
As the driver pulled away and we began walking towards the diner entrance, I asked, “What do I owe you?”
“Huh?” Vestibule muttered, looking confused.
“For me and Smokey’s part of the limo ride,” I explained.
Vestibule laughed softly, then said, “You’re sweet to offer, but you guys barely spent any time in that car.”
“Still, it wasn’t free.”
“Actually, it was,” she countered. “My modeling agency took care of the tab, so don’t worry about it.”
I shrugged as I opened the door for her. “If you say so.”
Once inside, we spotted Smokey and Cat almost immediately, sitting across from one another in a booth next to one of the exterior windows. Upon reaching them, Vestibule slid into the seat next to Smokey, which left me sitting next to her cousin. However, I’d barely gotten comfortable before a middle-aged waitress appeared almost out of nowhere.
“Hi, what can I get you?” she asked in a dry tone. If she found anything strange about two Egyptians, a gangster, and a cheetah sitting in her section, it certainly didn’t show in her face (which remained expressionless) or her voice.
“We’ve got a couple of newbies with us,” Vestibule stated, “so how about four of the house specialty, with fries and sodas.”
“You got it,” the waitress said, then spent a moment getting each of our soda preferences (all of which she wrote on a small pad) before turning and walking away.
“Well, that was weird,” Smokey remarked after the waitress was out of earshot.
“What?” asked Cat.
Smokey inclined his head towards the waitress. “You don’t think it was odd that she didn’t say anything about our costumes?”
“I think you underestimate what counts for weird out here,” Vestibule countered. “This diner is a landmark, so you have people flocking here from all over the city, and some of them are coming from studio lots where they’re filming movies, television series, variety shows…”
“And they’re all dressed for various roles,” Smokey added as she trailed off. “So she gets people coming through here all the time in zany outfits, and now she’s numb to it.”
“Probably,” Cat noted.
“Anyway,” I droned, turning to Vestibule, “what’s this house specialty that you ordered?”
“Grilled cheese sandwiches,” she replied. “But they taste out-of-this-world delicious.”
“Guess
