As Kev took a few more sips of his drink, he did his best to avoid joining in on Gretchen and Lanon's conversation about the intricacies of the reverse spider guard and how being below someone else didn't necessarily mean you were not in control. Fang was still captivated by the theatrical chefs below. Kev looked around a bit and saw all the glass walls, with the exception of a private dining room with its frosted glass panels in one corner of the open-concept space. The only other mark on the sightline was the elevator.
"Hey Lanon," Kev asked, "where did you see the bathroom?" He regretted the question almost immediately when he saw the iguana's attention snap away from Gretchen and onto him.
"It is down the stairs, next to the kitchen," Lanon said.
"Thanks," Kev replied. He managed to get Fang to move out of the way, the wolf's eyes not leaving the kitchen where a small bonfire was being lit, the cow leg that Fang had ordered now being put on a rotisserie spit above the flames. "I'll be right back."
"If you are not back in five minutes, I will come to check on you," Gretchen said.
"Make it ten," Kev said, beginning to turn towards the staircase.
"Does that mean you need to poop?" Lanon asked, standing from the booth. "Or do humans take a long time to pee?"
"I take a long time to wash my hands," Kev murmured, less than impressed that Lanon had decided to join him on his escape from the conversation at the table.
"I guess I will find out," Lanon said.
Kev ignored him and made his way down the stairs. There were a few waitstaff in the small corridor before the swinging metal kitchen doors, entering orders and cashing out checks at electronic points of sale. There were a few racks of trays and a small drink station with water goblets. On either side of the aisle was a single door. They both had black and white images of an elephant's profile. Kev looked between them again. One of the sign's silhouettes had tusks.
Kev pushed the tusked door open and stepped into the bathroom. The room was a sleek, modern space, a cool contrast to the warm, minimalist dining room above. A long, single-basin sink, carved from a solid piece of black marble, ran the length of one wall, with a series of motion-activated, waterfall-style faucets. The entire wall above the sink was a single, seamless mirror, reflecting the soft, indirect lighting from a hidden ceiling cove. Across from the sink was a wall with several private bathroom stalls, their doors made of heavy, frosted glass that went from floor to ceiling, offering complete privacy.
Kev quickly chose the first one with an open door. The stall was surprisingly spacious, nearly two separate rooms in one. Against the far wall was the normal, if a bit expensive-looking, toilet, its porcelain gleaming. But the area Kev was in had a plush, low stool upholstered in grey velvet, situated in front of a small, polished wood desk with its own illuminated mirror. Nestled on the desk was an assortment of combs, brushes, and even a few stout nail-clippers, all sealed in small, individually wrapped plastic bags. A discreet slot in the wall dispensed warm, scented towels, and a small, built-in shelf held an array of high-end moisturizers and colognes. It was less a simple bathroom stall and more a private grooming station, designed for a quick touch-up or a moment of quiet refuge from the bustling restaurant.
Kev approached the toilet and yelped a bit when the lid began opening on its own. Before he could appreciate the programmed potty, Lanon's voice came through the stall wall, clear as day. "Does the bathroom excite you?"
Kev did his business as fast as he could. This was supposed to have been an escape from Lanon, but now he was stuck in a public bathroom, and the iguana was in the stall next to him, still loudly asking about how excited Kev was. He just hoped the other stalls weren't full.
When Kev was just about to finish up, he looked around and couldn't find the toilet paper. He panicked, more than a little bit. This can't be happening. "Uh, Lanon?" Kev called out.
"Yes?" Lanon said loudly. "Are you ready to report on your bathroom experience?"
"No!" Kev shouted, then asked, his voice strained with embarrassment, "Do you think you can pass me some toilet paper? My stall is out."
"Toilet paper?" Lanon said, sounding amused. "Why not use the bidet? Does toilet paper excite you?"
"NO!" Kev yelled again. He fumed, his cheeks burning. What the hell was a bidet?
He desperately looked around and his eyes landed on a small, electronic touch screen on the wall next to him. There were several glowing, stylized images on it: a gentle, cascading waterfall icon labeled 'Soft'; a more forceful, swirling vortex icon labeled 'Pulse'; a small icon of a leaf that seemed to represent 'Air Dry'; and a fourth, more ambiguous icon that looked like a musical note. Kev had no idea what any of them meant, so he hit the only button that made any sense in the situation, "rear". Well, it is for my rear, he thought.
Kev was not in a good mood as he slid back into the booth next to Fang. Lanon had been quite curious as to why he had shouted, "Oh, fuck! My ass!" so loudly.
"Please shut up. You didn't even use the bathroom. Why did you even follow me down there?" Kev grumbled.
"You can learn a lot about someone from their bathroom habits," Lanon said, sitting next to Gretchen. He picked up his fruity, mini-umbrella-topped drink and downed it in one sip before looking down at the oysters. "Ahh, one for each of us." Lanon passed one to Gretchen and Kev, before gesturing one towards Fang.
Kev rubbed Fang's arm. "I hope you're remembering to blink."
Fang pulled his gaze away from the floor below. The rotisserie beef had become a volleyball net for the chefs. The libero chef had just made a diving save on the large onion that acted as the 'ball.' "What?" he asked, blinking.
"We are having our appetizers. Something to set the stage for our night together," Lanon said. "I am so excited you all came with me to support Ms. Marybelle."
"And this is..." Fang said, delicately taking the offered mollusk.
"Food," Lanon grinned. He raised his oyster to his lips before looking expectantly at the others.
Kev and Fang glanced at each other before doing the same. The three of them slurped the oysters down. Kev's was cold, briny, and unexpectedly sweet, with a firm, almost silky texture that slid down his throat with a pleasant rush, leaving behind the clean, crisp taste of the sea.
"So nice of the chef to provide us with free aphrodisiacs," Lanon said, patting his lips with his napkin.
Kev was only halfway through swallowing his oyster when Lanon spoke, and he nearly choked. His coughing fit only settled as Donna approached their table.
"Sorry, I couldn't bring everything out at the same time," she said, putting a plate in front of Kev with a piece of dark tuna, seared perfectly on the outside and rare within, and a few spears of asparagus wrapped in some thin, crispy meat. There were a few artful splashes of sauce on the edge of the dish for dipping. Wait, is that... Kev looked at the sauce. It looked like a miniature painting of a flying duck.
"And for you," Donna said, putting a plate in front of Gretchen.
Kev grinned. When they'd said "side of chicken," he didn't realize they meant left or right side. The plate held half a roast chicken on a bed of greens.
"Can't have you running out of steam while watching Mr. Fang," Donna said with a smile.
Finally, she placed a fresh drink in front of Lanon. "Your meal is arriving next." She turned back to Fang and said, "Apologies, but they are working on plating your meal as we speak."
Fang was oblivious to the duck woman. He was captivated by a chef who had pulled out an axe and was chopping a large, round plank of wood from a log that had mysteriously appeared in the kitchen.
"So, when you were in the bathroom and you said-"
"You lot!" Kev was so thankful someone cut Lanon's question off, but when he looked up and saw the very wrinkled and sweaty-looking walrus man, he realized this was still better than hearing Lanon's next line.
"I should have known you ruffians were the ones who stole my table!" the walrus continued, his voice a wet, angry bark. "How dare you!" The walrus's eyes burned with fury when he realized Fang was completely ignoring him. He wiped his forehead with a napkin and said, "The nerve! I'll have you know that the people I am working with are quite dangerous, so if you lot don't get out of here this instant, you might end up... harmed."
"Is this man bothering you, Mr. Fang?" Gretchen asked.
"Who?" Fang said, his attention still glued to the kitchen below.
"What?!" The walrus was offended, highly offended. "How did you animals even make it past the host?!"
"Sorry," Kev said, hoping to calm the raging walrus. A few other customers were watching them now. "This table was open when we were being seated, and it's the same number of seats."
"You think that makes the tables the same?!" the walrus man said, he was nearly shouting.
"What about this table excites you?" Lanon asked, his tone one of genuine, clinical curiosity.
"This is a prime view of the city! I've been waiting for this spot for months!" the walrus gritted his teeth. "Get out of my table!"
"And why does a prime view of the city matter to you?" Lanon asked.
"Because it's the best!" the walrus man said vaguely, struggling for his thoughts for a moment before turning to Lanon. "It's like looking down on a prime hunting ground."
"Ahh. And what type of hunting excites you?"
"Clients. The wealthy kind. The kind that can afford to charter me."
"Excuse me, sir." The sudden reappearance of Donna seemed to startle the walrus man slightly. He stepped out of the way. She set a platter with a silver cloche in front of Lanon. She had a slightly distressed look on her face. "Would you like a towel, sir?"
"Oh yes," Lanon said. "I want the whole experience. Thank you, Ms. Donna." She grabbed the white towel that had been on her shoulder and passed it to Lanon quickly. "Please enjoy," she said, and then she turned and left.
"Couldn't she see I was talking to you lot?" the walrus man fixed his suit. "I'll be sure I mention her to the…" His voice trailed off.
Lanon had removed the cover from his meal.
There, on a bed of what looked like wilted grape leaves, sat a single, roasted bird. its skin a perfect, glistening golden-brown. Its delicate, toothpick-thin legs were crossed, and its head was tucked neatly under one wing. The sight was so incongruous on the large, ornate plate that it took a moment for Kev's brain to process it. Gretchen's green eyes went wide, and she let out a small, almost inaudible hiss, her nose wrinkling in disgust. Even the walrus was staring at the minuscule bird with an expression of pure, unadulterated confusion.
Lanon, however, was oblivious to their horrified reactions. "I saw this on TV," he said, his voice filled with a childlike excitement. "How exciting!" He then, with a dramatic flourish, draped the white towel over his head, completely obscuring his face and the tiny bird from view.
"Wh-what is that?" the walrus sputtered, pointing a flipper at the towel-shrouded iguana.
Kev didn't want to know. "Look, we're sorry for taking your table," he said, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy, "but we have already ordered and..." He glanced at the white towel, under which a series of small, crunching noises could now be heard. "...eating, I guess."
"Eating? Ha!" The walrus laughed mockingly. "It looked like you lot don't know the definition of a good meal. Fish and some cheap roast chicken."
"You look like you could benefit from less red meat," Gretchen said, her voice a low, cool counterpoint to his bluster.