Morris. Thank you, Morris. [ Harry turns his most charming press-worthy smile at the bartender, waiting only long enough for him to turn his back before he's finishing his first margarita in one go and reaching for the second. ]

And Harley. It's a pleasure. [ That handshake is returned, though quickly, as the tremor in his hands is coming back, and he wants to keep them to himself as much as possible. He smiles at her, the perfect picture of put-together-ness, aside from how he looks like he's been hit by a Mack truck. ]

Let me make it up to you by ordering something from the kitchen to go with this. Nachos, maybe? Loaded nachos.