The restaurant where James had invited me for our second date oozed ostentatious luxury: soft lighting, waiters gliding silently between tables, like shadows. James fit right ina tailored suit, an eye-catching watch shimmering against his wrist, that smug half-smile reserved for men whore used to feeling like the centre of every room.
Order whatever you fancy, he tossed out, barely glancing at the menu. I cant stand it when a woman limits herself.
It sounded grand, like a charming line from a fairy tale about a generous prince. But a flicker of unease crept in. Was it his scrutinising gaze, or the way he eagerly rattled off tales of ex-girlfriends who, as he claimed, only saw him for his wallet?
I picked the duck salad and a glass of riesling. James went all out: steak, tartare, a whole bottle of expensive red. As he mulled over business woes, bemoaned shallow people, and waxed poetic about values and spiritual connection, I listened and nodded. Yet I felt offas if I was at an exam, wary of a trick question just waiting to trip me up.
A performance of one
When the waiter placed the black leather bill folder on the table, James maintained his steady stream of philosophical musings. Lazily, he reached inside his jacket pocket, then another, before patting his trousers. His expression shiftedconfidence replaced by a show of confusion.
Blast he muttered, staring me dead in the eye. Looks like I mustve left my wallet either at the office or in my other car.
He spread his arms, feigning helplessness but minus any hint of panic. He never asked the waiter to wait, nor reached for his phone to sort out a bank transfer. He simply looked at me.
What a silly situation, eh? he continued, reclining in his chair. Could you help me out? Pay now, and Ill send it across later. Or next time, I’ll treat youwith interest.
In that instant, his intentions were glaring. This wasnt an accident. It was a testone hed been mulling over for half an hour earlier.
Id heard these storiesread them on forums, seen them in cheap dramas. Never did I expect to be starring in one myself, and certainly not opposite a grown man, successful at least at first glance.
His logic was embarrassingly basic: If the woman pays for both without protest, shes goodhelpful, willing to keep things afloat. If she refuses, shes mercenary and only here for the money. Sitting across from me now was no businessman, but a manipulator, eager to play his game.
He was certain he would win. In his world, the prospect of a relationship with such a desirable catch would surely have me quietly fetching my card.
Calculated cold
I opened my bag, slow and composed. James visibly relaxed, assuming the trap had worked.
Of course, not an issue, I said gently and called the waiter over.
Could you split the bill, please? I stated clearly. Im paying for mine. The gentleman can settle his steak, wine, and dessert.
His smile flickered away instantly.
What do you mean? he hissed, leaning in. I told you, Ive no wallet!
I understand, I nodded, tapping my phone to the machine. But were barely acquainted. Paying for myselfits perfectly normal. As for dinner, especially at a pricey restaurant you chose and ordered the most extravagant dishes, Im afraid thats not my responsibility. Youre an adult, youll figure something out.
The waiter froze, glancing awkwardly from me to him as James began to flush, layer by layer his polish falling away, revealing plain rudeness beneath.
Are you serious? he hissed. All over a bit of money? I said I would repay you. I just wanted to test you.
And you have, I replied, rising from my chair. Im someone who wont let herself be manipulated.
I was almost out the door, but felt the scene needed a final touch. He sat there, angry, embarrassed, and wallet-less.
Returning to the table, I rummaged through my wallet for some crumpled notes and loose coinsthose scraps that always collect at the bottom of my bag.
Oh, and by the way, I added, if your wallets in your other car, I suppose you wont have money for a taxi either?
I placed the money next to his wine glass.
This is for your tube fare. Dont worry, youll make it home. Think of it as my contribution to your study of the female soul.
A few diners at neighbouring tables glanced over. James looked as though he had been slapped.
I walked out into the night.
That evening cost me a mere salad and a glass of winenot a bad price for spotting a persons true nature and saving myself years of heartache. I hope he learned something, though men like him rarely change.
What would you have done in my place: swooped in to save the forgetful suitor, or taken the difficult but honest stand?
