Bruce muttered a reply into his phone. Pamela sat beside him, rolling her eyes furiously. Harley had a cigarette between her lips and leaned against the arm of the sofa, her gaze sweeping back and forth across the dance floor.
After a while, Bruce slapped his phone down on the table and slumped back dejectedly, looking as though he had finally passed out drunk.
Harley pulled out her phone and began taking pictures of Bruce. With the fingers of her other hand, she removed the cigarette from her mouth, exhaled a puff of smoke, and said, "This is top-secret gossip: Batman getting drunk in the middle of the night. Wouldn't people from other universes have their jaws drop if they saw this?"
Pamela reached out and nudged Bruce, but he waved her hand away. Leaning forward, Pamela stretched out her arm and felt around Harley's side for the cigarette, then lit one for herself and put it in her mouth.
"I really don't know how long he's going to keep losing his mind." Pamela exhaled smoke, though it sounded more like a sigh. "I was wrong. I shouldn't have thought it was a good thing for him not to be Batman. He ought to learn more from Batman."
"Batman my ass!" Bruce muttered. He rolled over, folded his arms around himself, and went back to sleep facing the other direction.
Pamela called over a waiter carrying drinks and ordered another glass. She took a sip, then pursed her lips from the burn.
Harley rested her elbow on her knee and played on her phone. Rows upon rows of messages scrolled across the screen as though she were trading memes with someone in a group chat.
In the dim light, Pamela noticed Harley's phone and asked, "Is that a new model