The restaurant that Edward invited me to for our second date radiated ostentatious luxury. The lighting was dim, the servers glided through the room like shadowssilent and discreet. Edward fit right into this worldimmaculate suit, eye-catching watch, and the smug half-smile of a man who believed himself the centre of any gathering.
Order anything you fancy, he said casually, barely glancing at the menu. I dislike it when a woman limits herself.
It was a charming phrase, the sort youd hear in a tale about a generous prince. Yet something felt offa subtle unease crept over me. Perhaps it was the way he appraised me, or how eagerly he recounted stories of former girlfriends, claiming they saw him only as a walking wallet.
I chose a duck salad and a glass of Chardonnay. Edward went all out: steak, tartare, a bottle of expensive red. He mused about business, lamented the superficiality of people, and pontificated about values and spiritual connection. I listened and nodded, but it felt more like an interview than a dateas if at any moment, Id be asked some trick question.
A One-Man Performance
When the waiter placed the black leather bill folder on the table, Edward didnt skip a beat. Still waffling on about lost morals, he lazily reached for his inside jacket pocket, then the other, patted his trousers, and his expression shiftedconfidence gave way to feigned confusion.
Ah, he said, looking me dead in the eye. Seems I left my wallet either in the office or in the other car.
He shrugged, acting helpless, but he wasnt rattled. He didnt ask the waiter to wait, nor did he reach for his phone to make a bank transfer. He just watched me.
Well, what an absurd situation, he continued, reclining in his chair. Mind helping out? You pay now, Ill return the money later. Or, Ill treat you next timeplus interest.
Right then, it became clear: this wasnt forgetfulness or an accident. He was carrying out a planned test, the kind hed spoken about for half an hour.
Id read about these games on forums, seen them in tacky TV dramas, but never imagined Id face one myself, especially from a grown, successful-looking man.
The logic was embarrassingly simple: if the woman pays without complaint, shes good, accomodating, ready to rescue and carry the weight. If she refused, she was branded mercenary and after his money. Sitting in front of me was less a businessman and more an insecure manipulator, intent on playing examiner.
He was sure hed win. In his mind, the prospect of a relationship with such a catch would surely compel me to quietly fetch my card from my handbag.
A Touch of Ice
I calmly and slowly opened my bag. Edward visibly relaxed; he thought his scheme had worked.
Of course, no trouble at all, I said gently, summoning the waiter.
Could you split the bill, please? I asked crisply. Ill pay for my order. The steak, wine, and dessert are for the gentleman here.
His smile vanished.
What do you mean? he hissed, leaning towards me. I told you, I dont have my wallet.
I understand, I nodded, tapping my phone on the card reader. But were barely acquainted. Paying for myself is perfectly reasonable. As for the dinner of the man who invited me to an expensive restaurant and chose the priciest dishessorry, but thats not my responsibility. Youre a grown man, Im sure youll figure something out.
The waiter hovered, awkwardly shifting his gaze between us. Edward started to blush, his façade peeling away to reveal ordinary rudeness beneath.
Seriously? he whispered. Over a few quid? I said Id repay you. I just wanted to test you.
And you have, I said, standing up. Im not someone wholl be manipulated.
I was halfway to the door but sensed the scene needed a final flourish. He was left at the table, furious and bewildered, walletless.
I returned, dug out some crumpled bills and loose changethe kind that accumulates at the bottom of a handbag.
Oh, and by the way, I added. If your wallet is in the other car, you probably dont have money for a taxi, either?
I placed the money beside his glass of expensive wine.
For the Underground. Consider it my contribution towards your research into the female psyche.
A few people at neighbouring tables glanced over. Edward looked as though he’d been slapped.
I walked out into the night.
That evening cost me only a salad and a glass of winea small price for seeing someone’s true colours and saving myself years of regret. I hope he learned something, though people like him rarely change.
What would you have done in my shoes: rescued the forgetful date, or chosen the tough but honest path? Sometimes, standing up for yourself means discovering the truth soonerand sparing yourself unnecessary heartache.
