The restaurant where Andrew invited me for our second date radiated an air of flamboyant opulence: subdued lighting, waiters moving silently between tables like spectres, everything polished and immaculate. Andrew himself was woven neatly into the scenehis crisp suit, a gleaming watch, and that self-assured, almost smug half-smile of a man accustomed to being the centre of every room.
Order absolutely anything you like, he tossed out carelessly, not even glancing at the menu. I hate it when a lady feels she must hold back.
The words rang out like a line from a fairy tale about generous princes, but they set my nerves on edge. Maybe it was his scrutinising gaze, or the way he eagerly recounted tales of former girlfriends who, according to him, only saw him as a wallet.
I settled on duck salad and a glass of Riesling. Andrew, meanwhile, indulged himself: steak, beef tartare, a bottle of expensive claret. He mused about business, lamented the superficiality of modern folk, and pondered values and emotional intimacy, all while I listened and nodded, feeling as though I was attending an exam rather than a dateone where a trick question might be lurking around the corner.
**A One-Man Performance**
When the waiter placed the black leather folder with our bill on the table, Andrew didnt break stride. He continued his philosophical rambling, lazily reaching for his jackets inner pocket, then another, and finally patting his trousers. Suddenly, his expression shiftedconfidence giving way to a feigned bewilderment.
Oh, blast… he sighed, locking eyes with me. Seems Ive left my wallet either at the office or in my other car.
His hands spread in a show of helplessness, but I saw no real panic in him. He didn’t ask the waiter to wait; he didnt pull out his phone for a bank transfer. He simply stared at me.
Well, this is ludicrous, he continued, leaning back. Could you help out? Pay now, and Ill sort you out later. Or perhaps next time, Ill treatwith interest.
In that moment, it became clear: this wasnt an honest mistake, nor mere forgetfulness. I was staring at a premeditated testthe very sort hed been talking about half an hour earlier.
Id read about men like him on forums, seen them in low-budget dramas, but never thought Id encounter one personally, let alone from a successful, grown man.
His logic was laughably simplistic: if the woman pays for both without protest, shes good, a pushover, someone ready to rescue and carry burdens. If she refuses, shes mercenary and after his money. Now he wasnt a businessman at all, but an insecure manipulator set on playing examiner.
He fully expected victory was in his pocket. In his worldview, the prospect of a relationship with such an eligible bachelor would compel me to silently fish for my card.
**Cool Calculation**
I slowlyand as calmly as possibleopened my handbag. Andrew visibly relaxed, convinced his scheme had worked.
Of course, no trouble, I said softly, then gestured to the waiter.
Could you split the bill, please? I said clearly. Ill pay for mine. And the steak, wine, and dessert will be settled by the gentleman.
The smile vanished from his face.
What do you mean? he hissed, leaning toward me. I dont have my wallet.
I quite understand, I nodded, tapping my phone against the payment terminal. But we barely know each other. Its completely reasonable to pay for yourself. As for the man who invited me to an expensive restaurant and chose the priciest itemssorry, but thats not my responsibility. Youre a grown man; Im sure youll find a solution.
The waiter paused, awkwardly shifting his glance between us. Andrew began to redden, his veneer crumbling layer by layer, exposing plain rudeness underneath.
Are you serious? he hissed. Over a bit of money? I told you Ill pay you back. I just wanted to test you.
And you have, I said, rising from my chair. Im not someone who lets themselves be manipulated.
I was already heading for the exit, but sensed the final scene was left unfinished. He remained sitting, furious and at a loss, with no wallet.
I turned back to the table, dug out a few crumpled pounds and a handful of loose changethe sort of coins typically lurking at the bottom of a bag.
Oh, by the way, I added. If your wallet is in your other car, does that mean you dont have cab fare either?
I placed the money next to his glass of fine wine.
Thats for the Tube. Dont fret, youll make it home. Consider it my contribution to your research into the female mind.
A few people at neighbouring tables glanced over. Andrew looked as though hed been slapped.
I stepped onto the pavement.
That evening cost me only a salad and a glass of winea modest sum for glimpsing a mans true nature and saving myself years of heartache. I hope he learned something, though men like him hardly ever change.
What would you have done in my shoes: rushed to rescue the forgetful suitor, or stood your ground, firm and honest?
