A celebration.

The first thing that struck me as weird about the restaurant was the music. I mean, I've heard some weird stuff in my time, don't get me wrong, but this was something completely new. A slightly twangy beat to it, and the group of people dancing in the center of a section of the main floor was not something that was much to my experience.

The main lobby of the place was wide open, with an obviously daily polished counter attended by at least three well groomed and scrubbed post teenagers.

The restaurant itself for the most part seemed incredibly upscale. Far out of my price range, and I momentarily winced thinking about the fact that the prime rib seemed to be in the same price category as a secondhand Schwinn.

"Good evening, are you here with the Bride or the Groom?" The Maître d'hôtel was the epitome of snooty. The first thought that came to my mind was I should pull an Abe Froman joke or threaten to yell rat. The perfectly done hair and elegant sport coat screamed bribe me, and the look of resigned politeness was the clearest indication that he didn't want to wait on me that I had ever seen.

I momentarily looked around the nearly empty lobby and the half empty restaurant, and could tell a "We Don't Serve Your Kind Here" when I saw it. He wouldn't say it of course. They never do these days. But a private party that would of course be fine with the RIGHT people sitting down and joining the party. Other than that, we're closed, so sorry, and there's a McDonald's down the way...

"We're not here with the wedding." I said straightforward, looking over at one of the older women who was raising her glass and shouting something that sounded like "Nope" along with numerous other people. "But the restaurant looks pretty empty..."

The man cut me off without even bothering to listen to the rest of my request. The look of distaste on his face was evident as he observed me and Maria. "May I have your cell numbers and we will text you when your table is ready?"

"Yeah... I don't give that out." I said with a smile. "But I don't mind waiting right here. Just let us know."

"Sir, I'd have to ask you to please not wait in front of the podium."

"You can see that I'm standing right here, nowhere near that podium." I had taken four solid steps to the side, nowhere near the flow of non-existent traffic.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to please lower your voice."

"What? I didn't raise my voice at all."

"Sir, Please don't threaten me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Sir, If you don't leave, I'm going to have to call security."

"Why not call the cops?" I looked over at Maria. "Clearly I'm the one threatening him, aren't I, Officer Lopez?"

"Hey, tell your earpiece guy to lose the bullshit. We're going." Maria pulled on my arm with a shrug. "C'mon, next up is four big guys showing up right out of nowhere to corroborate his story if you make a big deal about it."

I kept my face neutral as we walked back out of the lobby into the chill night air. The general tenor of the staff had changed. There was no smiles now, just a chilly response as we walked back across the road and returned to the car.

"So... apparently I just picked a tech mafia place for dinner." Maria shrugged. "My bad. Never ate here, and just thought... you know... everything else had been working out so well, I thought we might be able to do something... sweet."

"I hate formal restaurants anyway..." I shrugged. "Ten bucks says they ran your plate when you pulled up and decided to paint a nice big NO on the computer, for some reason."

"My credit's not THAT bad..." Maria grumbled, pulling the car out of the spot. "Got any ideas?"

"Well, my wife keeps telling me about how she went down to the beach and looked at the stars...I'm thinking we swing by the grocery store, grab a picnic and hit the beach."

"Wow... was that her idea? " Maria asked, turning back onto the road down the cliff.

"Nah, but we've got a clear night, looks like. Would rather be outside enjoying it than trapped in a restaurant with a loud party we aren't invited to."