I ripped the napkin from my lap and slapped it onto the table, causing CJ’s wineglass to spill. “Christ, Terry! This is Italian-made!” He shouted, as he blotted his cashmere overcoat.

The two waiters who were standing awkwardly on either side of me grabbed hold of my elbows and guided me to my feet as the manager scoffed at my drunken cursing. Stumbling toward the door, everyone in the restaurant was staring at me in shock. I ripped my hand free and brushed it through my thick hair.

“What?” I shouted as I bumped out the door onto the street.