The Las Nevadas Psycho

PASTELS

cw: f slur (used casually + derogatorily)

I'm on the verge of tears as we arrive at Pastels since I'm positive we won't get decent seats but the table is good, and relief that is almost tidal in scope washes over me in an awesome wave.
At Pastels Foolish knows the maître d' and though we made our reservations only twenty minutes ago from another restaurant we're immediately led past the overcrowded bar into the pink brightly lit main dining room and seated at at excellent booth for five, up front. It's really impossible to get a reservation at Pastels and I think Jacobs, myself, even Davidson and Schlatt, are impressed by Gamers' prowess in securing a table.

Things seem to be going smoothly. The maître d' has sent over five complimentary Bellinis but we order drinks anyway. The Ronettes are singing 'Then He Kissed Me', our waitress is a little hardbody and even Jacobs seems relaxed even though he hates the place.
"Hey, isn't that the new guy?" Davidson asks, pointing to the table opposite us where a man with slicked-back black hair sits, clearly on a date with a hardbody- blonde, big tits, great legs- and it looks like he is having the red snapper pizza, which Jacobs is particularly fond of.
"How'd you know, Davidson?" Jacobs asks suspiciously. "Isn't he supposed to start on Monday? How'd you know what he looks like?"
"Met him at Hannah Rose's Christmas party, couple years back, '85 I think it was? Wait no, '86, I was out of town in Arizona in '85," Davidson recalls.
"Why doesn't Wilbur go over and say hello then?" Schlatt suggests with a grin. I feel annoyed that he's put me up to this so I fold my arms and shake my head slowly.
"No way am I talking to that asshole."

"C'mon Soot, go say hi," Jacobs taunts, sipping on his Bellini. He's clearly very drunk at this point and I have a fleeting urge to take him back to my place and stab him but I resist.
"Why don't one of you do it, cuz I'm not," I say. But they won't stop insisting and the new guy, Alex Quackity I remember his name was, even takes the time to look over at us since we're being so loud and one of us has probably said his name at some point in this conversation, which may have also alerted him.
The chick he's with seems concerned and reaches out a hand and he takes it uncomfortably and generally looks like he does not want to be here. Maybe it's Pastels' food, maybe the chick isn't good enough, but I suspect it's something to do with the chick because Pastels' food is famously really great. The red snapper pizza is a favourite of Jacobs'.
"Go on," Davidson says. "Go talk to him, maybe you guys can even have sex later."
"I'm only doing this because you'd love to," I reply, pissed. "Especially the sex part."
"I mean, according to Jacobs we're all homosexuals, so..." Schlatt interjects, smirking as he knows I will tell nobody about the incident at Davidson's Christmas party.

Quackity is wearing a four-button double-breasted linen suit by Redaelli, a cotton broadcloth shirt by Ascot Chang, a patterned silk tie by Eugenio Venanzi and loafers by Brooks Brothers. The chick is wearing a silk blouse with mother-of-pearl sequins and a silk chiffon skirt by Valentino and silver earrings by Reena Pachochi.
"Go on, Soot," someone says- I can't tell who- and I give in and head over towards Quackity's table. He sees me approaching and immediately stops talking to the chick, looking visibly uncomfortable and I realise that he wants to get away from his date.

"Hi," I say, sticking my hand out for him to shake. "Wilbur Soot."
"Alex Quackity," he says suspiciously, shaking it. He seems very on-edge and nervous and I have no idea why but also no intention to ask him about it, so I let it be. "I'm going to be in the office next to yours," I explain. "You're starting a new job at P&P, right?"
"Actually, I transferred here from L'Manburg, but yeah, I'm new here," he replies to me, seeming to be relieved that I have justified my approaching him and that I am not just a creep looking in on his date.
"That's great. Hey, we have an extra seat at the table I'm at, you wanna come join us?" I ask, forcing a smile. I've got so used to faking a smile or laughter that it looks real to any bystander and you would have to look very close at my behaviour to realise it is not real.
He looks uneasy. "Who are they?"
"Guys from P&P. The drunk one is Jacobs- Karl Jacobs-, the one with muttonchops is Jonathan Schlatt, the one with the dark brown hair is Foolish Gamers and the mediocre one- you see, the one wearing that ill-fitting suit there?- is George Davidson." He still looks uneasy, so I add, "They won't bite, I promise."