The bill was presented on a golden tray. The waiter, if you could call him that, stood above us, his chin raised well beyond what would be considered polite in such an establishment. Barry removed his wallet first. He glanced at the waiter.
"Probably not, sir," he said, gesturing toward Barry's card.
Linda was next.
She removed her Visa and turned her eyes toward him. He didn't bother replying. I was up.
My hands shook as I felt around for my wallet. I was sure he could see the sweat beading on my temples.
"Will this do?" I asked.
The credit card I held toward him felt like a spent lotto ticket. He made a sort of huffing sound and turned his eyes into mine.
"It might," he said, cooly.
He plucked it from my hand, spun on his heels and disappeared behind a red curtain.
"What the fuck? How much is the bill?" asked Linda.
"I haven't even seen it," I responded.
The waiter returned. His face revealed nothing.
"Sorry, sir. Declined."
I raised an eyebrow, questioning him.
"Not even close," he retorted. "Perhaps you have another card?"
We both knew there was no other card.