Invitation

The invitation was elegant for all its simplicity:

The management & staff of

“the Epicure”

are hopeful that you might

grace us with your presence

as we celebrate the completion

of our recent renovations

at the Skyview Tower.

Come as you are

& join us for an evening

of good food, song & dance

on the 13th of next month,

featuring the incomparable

musical stylings of “Evanescence”.

The doors will open at 5:30 p.m.

for cocktails & hors d’oeuvres.

Choose your meal from

the entirety of our new menu.

(Yes, all the old favorites

will still be there.)

Meals will be served at 7 p.m.

Meet new people,

make new friends

& stay as long as you like

(as long as it’s not past

10 p.m., lol).

Follow the QR code below

to reserve your spot today.

I hold the invitation in my hands, nerves showing in the way I fumble with it as I wait in line. Nothing indicated that I needed it, but I brought it just in case. Few others have theirs & none are asked to produce them.

Opportunities like this don’t come along every day. “the Epicure” is considered the finest restaurant &/or nightclub in the tri-city area. Forget that. It’s hands down one of the best in the entire country. While far from the most expensive or exclusive dining experience one can find, it’s not cheap. It costs enough that most do not simply go on a whim. In my book, one would have to be an absolute agoraphobe to pass up such an offer.

It’s 5:42 & I believe even those agoraphobes must be here. The line before me is almost as long as that which follows. I got here a little before five. I understand those first to arrive did so in the wee hours of the morning, just in case space is limited.

Still, the line moves swiftly & by a quarter to six I’m already through the front doors & being greeted by one of several maître d's.

“So glad you could make it, Mr. Evans. Follow me & let me show you to your table,” he says with an amiable & familiar air.

“Thank you,” I reply as he guides me to the lift.

The Skyview Towers are 113 stories high, with “the Epicure” occupying the top eight floors The first two are for meal preparation, including a staging area for wait staff. The top six floors are the dining area & ballroom, consisting of one main floor & two balconies, each two stories high. The floors are opaque, except for one row of dining tables along the outer walls where they are made of clear glass such that diners can look directly beneath them to the grounds below. Each of the three dining levels extends an extra ten feet beyond the level beneath it to make this possible. The entire structure is round such that “the Epicure” is shaped like a glass bowl with a clear dome over top.

The view of the cities is jaw-dropping. The view of the night sky is beyond compare.

The lift is remarkably smooth & swift. In less than a minute we emerge onto the first balcony where he leads me to a table set for four. Marguerite is seated to my left, sipping on a gin & tonic. Sophie is to my right, asking the waiter for another Manhattan. Harry will be joining us soon. No, I do not know any of them, but I surmise those are their names on the front of their menus just as “Edward” is on the front of mine.

Edward Evans. Yeah, that’s my name.

The three of us are all dressed nicely, though casually & for comfort. I breathe a small sigh of relief.

“Andy will be your waiter for this evening. Cindy will be your bartender & wine steward. If you have any questions, simply ask them.” And just like that, our maître d' was off to greet other guests.

“I’ll bring that drink right out to you, miss. Would you like me to take this glass out of your way?” Cindy offers without missing a beat, as though Sophie had been asking her for a refill rather than Andy.

“Sure,” Sophie agrees gayly. She is not yet beginning to slur her speech. Still, I can’t help but wonder which drink she is on.

“What would you like, sir?” Cindy asks of me.

“A fuzzy navel would do nicely,” I respond. I’ve never been much for alcohol. But if it comes with an umbrella….”

We engage in some small chit-chat, check out the swag on the table. Most prominently, there is a brand-new cellphone at each place setting.

“I’ve heard of these!” Sophie picks hers up. “Some new kind of AI, projects a screen out in front of the phone you can make as big as you want…, & in 3D! It’s some pretty amazing stuff! Don’t need no special glasses or anything! But I didn’t know they’d come out with it yet. Maybe that’s what tonight is all about…, a product launch.”

Marguerite & I both look at each other.

“Could be,” I shrug. I have no idea. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Ten minutes later, Harry walks in, bold as brass. “Pabst Blue Ribbon,” is what he wants. “Don’t bother to remove the cap. That’s what the edge of the table is for!” He lets out a guffaw as he says this. It quickly becomes clear that Harry & Sophie are going to compete to see who can drink the other under the table.

That’s fine by me. Marguerite is the one to whom I am drawn.

“Call me Maggie,” she tells me. “Marguerite sounds too formal & stuffy.” She’s pretty, but not too pretty. More the girl next door than the cover of “Cosmopolitan” magazine. And easy to talk to, with a giggle so natural it’s not afraid to break out in a snort from time to time. We enjoy visiting almost as much as the other two enjoy their drinking contest, so much so that we completely forget to look at our menus until the room is almost full & Andy is taking orders from the table next to ours.

“Perhaps we should figure out what we want to eat before Andy gets put out with us,” I offer.

We both chuckle conspiratorially as we open our menus. Sophie & Harry barely notice, but decide to look at theirs, too.

Filet mignon with garlic mashed potatoes & collard greens. Buttered scallops & calamari fried in truffle oil. Portobello steaks with buttered beets. Swiss cheese & spinach omelets served with buttermilk pancakes. The menu is extensive, but certainly not exhaustive, though every offering makes my mouth water. Every entrée is a long-time favorite. They even have a tater tot casserole!

Maggie’s eyes go wide. “How am I ever going to decide? Everything on here is something I absolutely love! Strawberry pecan salad! Caesar! Chef! Fruit with a balsamic glace! Butternut squash soup! Minestrone! Lentil!”

“Where are you seeing those?” I ask, modestly confused. “I don’t see those on my menu.”

“Right here,” she points as she shows me. I look between our two menus. They are nothing alike.

“Are these all favorites of yours?” I ask.

She nods, looking me straight in the eye.

“These are my favorites,” I gesture with my menu, never losing her gaze. “How did they…?”

“I want this one!” Sophie points emphatically to the middle of hers. “It sounds funny!”

“Make that two!” Harry agrees.

“You can’t make that two. It’s not on your menu, silly!” Sophie objects.

“Well, then, make it three!” Harry slobbers.

Yeah, I don’t think I want any part of that conversation. Maggie & I stifle a knowing laugh together.

Andy is ready for us.

“What would you like, miss?”

Sophie slaps her menu down on the table with her pointer finger. “That one!”

“Make that four!” Harry bellows.

“Very well, sir,” Andy returns with a wry smile. “And what can I get for you, miss?”

“Gosh, I don’t know. It all sounds so good!” Maggie wavers.

“Why don’t you surprise us?” I offer, taking both our menus & offering them back to him.

“Very good, sir. I think I have just the thing. But hold onto the menus. A kind of souvenir for the evening.”

As Andy moves to his third & final table, Cindy returns to refresh our drinks & ask what we would like with our meals.

“Whatever pairs well with the surprise Andy cooks up for us,” Maggie answers.

“I agree, though in my case it should be so sparkling it’s practically soda pop.” I look to Maggie for a response. She laughs with me over it.

I like her.

“Another round!” Sophie slobbers.

“Make that two!” At least Harry has gone back down to a lower number.

With our orders placed, I excuse myself & head to the restroom. I’ve been nursing my fuzzy navel pretty slowly & don’t really need to use the bathroom yet. Still, it doesn’t hurt to drain what little is there before the meal comes, & it affords the opportunity to check my clothes & hair, make sure the fly is up & there’s nothing hanging from my nose. So far, I’m liking how this evening is panning out. I don’t want anything to spoil it.

From my stall, I overhear a few conversations among both diners & wait staff. I can’t really make out what they’re saying, just that at times there is a sense of urgency. I check my phone for messages. There aren’t any. All told I’m gone for about fifteen minutes. It’s almost seven. I should be getting back.

As I open the door to leave the restroom, I can see that most everyone in the dining room are standing, staring at the new phones they are holding in their hands. They look up at me, expressions of confusion, bewilderment & even shock upon their faces. All eyes follow me as I return to the table.

Harry & Sophie burst into laughter, holding onto one another & pointing at me. I look to Maggie. Her expression is pained, her eyes pleading, before she turns away in obvious discomfort.

I look at the new phone, removed from its box, lying on the table in front of my chair.

It is buzzing.