The restaurant was on top of the ferris wheel that was trends in New York dining; at the moment, it was popular enough that the Pope would have to slip a hundred dollar bill to the maitre'd to get a table. When famous people went there, it wasn't a sign of the restaurant's fame that they would dine there, but rather a sign of their fame that the restaurant would accept them. It had a name, of course, but that only drifted on the short-term memory. After all, in six months, it would be another establishment's turn on top.
Mikal walked in with the sort of quiet confidence that is sometimes mistaken by the ignorant for swagger; in fact, it was the exact opposite. Swagger is the sort of thing people have when they lack confidence within, but seek to show it externally; Mikal entered the restaurant secure in the knowledge that he was the most important being in it, and utterly uncaring of the opinions of anyone else present. He wore a suit by Armani, and wore it in such a way that suggested Armani suits were invented for him to wear, and that the rest of us were just allowed to try them on. In point of fact, this was true.
He stepped up to the maitre'd and said, "Table for two, non-smoking...nothing by the window, though. I hate having to look out at the city while I eat. It ruins my appetite."
"And do you have an appointment, sir?" The maitre'd was not impressed.
"Appointments are for people--" He was interrupted by a shrill bleeping noise coming from his breast pocket. "Hold on. I have to take this." He reached into his pocket and whipped out a cell phone. "Go." There was a pause. "Absolutely not--no, I'm not--Beni, interrupt me again and I'll condemn your soul to the Storm of a Thousand Swords--thank you. No. I'm not doing another lamp contract right now; I just got out of a ten-thousand year contract, and I'm not interested.--I don't care what they're offering.--That much?--That many?--Let me consider it, then. But five hundred years is the most I can commit this time around, Beni. We've got serious backers for that traveling shop in 2543, and I don't want to lose them.--Look, it's going to have to wait; I've got a client follow-up to do, here, and I'd like to get a seat before she arrives.--OK, love to the spawn. Buh-bye." He closed the phone, and smiled apologetically at the maitre'd. "Sorry," he said. "Agents. You know how it is."
The maitre'd shook his head with what was probably meant to be a sympathetic reaction, but he simply didn't have the knack. "No, sir. I am afraid I only deal with the restaurant; that occupies quite enough of my time. For you see, sir, we are entirely booked up. I cannot give you a table."
Mikal pointed. "That one's free."
The maitre'd followed his gaze. "There are two people sitting there, sir."
Mikal narrowed his eyes, and there was a faint, but discernible mist that flowed from his outstretched finger. It swirled around the couple, who instantly vanished. "I see it as empty."
The maitre'd blinked and nodded, his eyes faintly glazing over for a moment. "You are correct, sir. But there are other people waiting--"
Mikal smiled. "But I was here first. Check the list."
The maitre'd looked down, just as the ink on the waiting list seemed to crawl beneath his gaze. "Indeed, sir, I apologize once again. A table for two, immediately. And your companion?"
"She should be along momentarily. I'll just sit down to order, and when she gets here, you can direct me to her."
"What will she be looking like, sir?"
"You'll know her. She makes quite an impression."
*****
He had just completed his order (roasted dodo breasts, passenger pigeon sauteed in brandy, and a bottle of wine that had never existed) when Susan came through the door. She was small, slight, and most definitely not stacked; perhaps a little mousy, but charming enough in an Audrey Hepburn sort of way. And so it was interesting to watch; as she walked through the room, an observer from somewhere around the area of the chandelier would observe a fascinating ripple effect as every head turned to face her, every eye gravitated towards her as though on swivels, and every single person in the room became suddenly aroused. (The chandelier observer probably wouldn't have noticed that last one, except in the cases of a few exceptionally well-endowed men.) She stepped up to the maitre'd, who surreptitiously crumpled up his list and threw it away.
"Would you like a table, madam? Or perhaps two? Or, if you would like to speak to the owner, I could try to convince him to give you the entire restaurant. It would be an honor to work for you. I would need no pay; simply the chance to--"
Susan smiled. Three men and two women, including the maitre'd, had orgasms. "No, dear boy. No thank you; I'm really just here to meet someone. In fact, there he is over there." She gestured towards Mikal's table. "Thank you for your help, though; if you'd like to fuck anyone in the room while I'm here, just tell them I said it was all right."
The maitre'd blushed. "Thank you, madam, but I am certain I would just imagine them to be you. Would you like me to carry you to your table? I would hate for you to have to strain anything."
"No, I do prefer walking. Keeps me trim."
