Chapter 1
I may have found a solution to the Wife Problem. As with somany scientific breakthroughs, the answer was obvious inretrospect. But had it not been for a series of unscheduledevents, it is unlikely I would have discovered it.
The sequence was initiated by Gene insisting I give a lectureon Asperger’s syndrome that he had previously agreed todeliver himself.
The timing was extremely annoying. The preparation could betime-shared with lunch consumption, but on the designatedevening I had scheduled ninety-four minutes to clean mybathroom. I was faced with a choice of three options, none ofthem satisfactory.
1. Cleaning the bathroom after the lecture, resulting in loss ofsleep with a consequent reduction in mental and physicalperformance.
2. Rescheduling the cleaning until the following Tuesday,resulting in an eight-day period of compromised bathroomhygiene and consequent risk of disease.
8/2903. Refusing to deliver the lecture, resulting in damage to myfriendship with Gene.
I presented the dilemma to Gene, who, as usual, had analternative solution.
‘Don, I’ll pay for someone to clean your bathroom.’
I explained to Gene - again - that all cleaners, with thepossible exception of the Hungarian woman with the short skirt,made errors.
Short-skirt Woman, who had been Gene’s cleaner, haddisappeared following some problem with Gene and Claudia.
‘I’ll give you Eva’s mobile number. Just don’t mention me.’
‘What if she asks? How can I answer without mentioning you?’
‘Just say you’re contacting her because she’s the only cleanerwho does it properly. And if she mentions me, say nothing.’
This was an excellent outcome, and an illustration of Gene’sability to find solutions to social problems. Eva would enjoyhaving her competence recognised and might even be suitablefor a permanent role, which would free up an average of threehundred and sixteen minutes per week in my schedule.
Gene’s lecture problem had arisen because he had anopportunity to have sex with a Chilean academic who wasvisiting Melbourne for a conference. Gene has a project tohave sex with women of as many different nationalities aspossible. As a professor of psychology, he is extremelyinterested in human sexual attraction, which he believes islargely genetically determined.
This belief is consistent with Gene’s background as a geneticist.
Sixty-eight days after Gene hired me as a post-doctoralresearcher, he was promoted to head of the PsychologyDepartment, a highly contro-versial appointment that wasintended to establish the university as the Australian leader inevolutionary psychology and increase its public profile.
9/290During the time we worked concurrently in the GeneticsDepartment, we had numerous interesting discussions whichcontinued after his change of position. I would have beensatisfied with our relationship for this reason alone, but Genealso invited me to dinner at his house and performed otherfriendship rituals, resulting in a social relationship. His wifeClaudia, who is a clinical psychologist, is now also a friend.
Making a total of two.
Gene and Claudia tried for a while to assist me with the WifeProblem. Unfortunately, their approach was based on thetraditional dating paradigm, which I had previously abandonedon the basis that the probability of success did not justify theeffort and negative experiences. I am thirty-nine years old, tall,fit and intelligent, with a relatively high status andabove-average income as an associate professor.
Logically, I should be attractive to a wide range of women. Inthe animal kingdom, I would succeed in reproducing.
However, there is something about me that women findunappealing. I have never found it easy to make friends, and itseems that the deficiencies that caused this problem have alsoaffected my attempts at romantic relationships. The ApricotIce-cream Disaster is a good example.
Claudia had introduced me to one of her many friends.
Elizabeth was a highly intelligent computer scientist, with avision problem that had been corrected with glasses. I mentionthe glasses because Claudia showed me a photograph, andasked me if I was okay with them. An incredible question!
From a psychologist! In evaluating Elizabeth’s suitability as apotential partner - someone to provide intellectual stimulation,to share activities with, perhaps even to breed with -Claudia’s first concern was my reaction to her choice of glassesframes, which was probably not even her own but the result ofadvice from an optometrist. This is the world I have to live in.
Then Claudia told me, as though it was a problem: ‘She hasvery firm ideas.’
10/290‘Are they evidence-based?’
‘I guess so,’ Claudia said.
Perfect. She could have been describing me.
We met at a Thai restaurant. Restaurants are minefields for thesocially inept, and I was nervous as always in these situations.
But we got off to an excellent start when we both arrived atexactly 7.00 p.m. as arranged. Poor synchronisation is a hugewaste of time.
We survived the meal without her criticising me for any socialerrors. It is difficult to conduct a conversation while wonderingwhether you are looking at the correct body part but I lockedon to her bespec-tacled eyes, as recommended by Gene. Thisresulted in some inaccuracy in the eating process, which shedid not seem to notice. On the contrary, we had a highlyproductive discussion about simulation algorithms. She was sointeresting! I could already see the possibility of a permanentrelationship.
The waiter brought the dessert menus and Elizabeth said, ‘Idon’t like Asian desserts.’
This was almost certainly an unsound generalisation, based onlimited experience, and perhaps I should have recognised it asa warning sign. But it provided me with an opportunity for acreative suggestion.
‘We could get an ice-cream across the road.’
‘Great idea. As long as they’ve got apricot.’
I assessed that I was progressing well at this point, and didnot think the apricot preference would be a problem. I waswrong. The ice-cream parlour had a vast selection of flavours,but they had exhausted their supply of apricot. I ordered achocolate chilli and liquorice double cone for myself and askedElizabeth to nominate her second preference.
‘If they haven’t got apricot, I’ll pass.’
11/290I couldn’t believe it. All ice-cream tastes essentially the same,due to chilling of the tastebuds. This is especially true of fruitflavours. I suggested mango.
‘No thanks, I’m fine.’
I explained the physiology of tastebud chilling in some detail. Ipredicted that if I purchased a mango and a peach ice-creamshe would be incapable of differentiating. And, by extension,either would be equivalent to apricot.
‘They’re completely different,’ she said. ‘If you can’t tell mangofrom peach, that’s your problem.’
Now we had a simple objective disagreement that could readilybe resolved experimentally. I ordered a minimum-size ice-creamin each of the two flavours. But by the time the serving personhad prepared them, and I turned to ask Elizabeth to close hereyes for the experiment, she had gone. So much for‘evidence-based’. And for computer‘scientist’.
Afterwards, Claudia advised me that I should have abandonedthe experiment prior to Elizabeth leaving. Obviously. But at whatpoint?
Where was the signal? These are the subtleties I fail to see.
But I also fail to see why heightened sensitivity to obscure cuesabout ice-cream flavours should be a prerequisite for beingsomeone’s partner. It seems reasonable to assume that somewomen do not require this. Unfortunately, the process offinding them is impossibly inefficient. The Apricot Ice-creamDisaster had cost a whole evening of my life, compensated foronly by the information about simulation algorithms.
Two lunchtimes were sufficient to research and prepare mylecture on Asperger’s syndrome, without sacrificing nourishment,thanks to the provision of Wi-Fi in the medical library café. Ihad no previous knowledge of autism spectrum disorders, asthey were outside my specialty.
The subject was fascinating. It seemed appropriate to focus onthe12/290genetic aspects of the syndrome, which might be unfamiliar tomy audience. Most diseases have some basis in our DNA,though in many cases we have yet to discover it. My ownwork focuses on genetic predisposition to cirrhosis of the liver.
Much of my working time is devoted to getting mice drunk.
Naturally, the books and research papers described thesymptoms of Asperger’s syndrome, and I formed a provisionalconclusion that most of these were simply variations in humanbrain function that had been inappropriately medicalised becausethey did not fit social norms -constructed social norms - that reflected the most commonhuman configurations rather than the full range.
The lecture was scheduled for 7.00 p.m. at an inner-suburbanschool. I estimated the cycle ride at twelve minutes, and allowedthree minutes to boot my computer and connect it to theprojector.
I arrived on schedule at 6.57 p.m., having let Eva, theshort-skirted cleaner, into my apartment twenty-seven minutesearlier. There were approximately twenty-five people millingaround the door and the front of the classroom, but Iimmediately recognised Julie, the convenor, from Gene’sdescription: ‘blonde with big tits’. In fact, her breasts wereprobably no more than one and a half standard deviationsfrom the mean size for her body weight, and hardly aremarkable identifying feature. It was more a question ofelevation and exposure, as a result of her choice of costume,which seemed perfectly practical for a hot January evening.
I may have spent too long verifying her identity, as she lookedat me strangely.
‘You must be Julie,’ I said.
‘Can I help you?’
Good. A practical person. ‘Yes, direct me to the VGA cable.
Please.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You must be Professor Tillman. I’m so glad youcould make it.’
13/290She extended her hand but I waved it away. ‘The VGA cable,please.
It’s 6.58.’
‘Relax,’ she said. ‘We never start before 7.15. Would you like acoffee?’
Why do people value others’ time so little? Now we wouldhave the inevitable small talk. I could have spent fifteen minutesat home practising aikido.
I had been focusing on Julie and the screen at the front ofthe room.
Now I looked around and realised that I had failed to observenineteen people. They were children, predominantly male, sittingat desks. Presumably these were the victims of Asperger’ssyndrome. Almost all of the literature focuses on children.
Despite their affliction, they were making better use of theirtime than their parents, who were chattering aimlessly. Mostwere operating portable computing devices. I guessed their agesas between eight and thirteen. I hoped they had been payingattention in their science classes, as my material assumed aworking knowledge of organic chemistry and the structure ofDNA.
I realised that I had failed to reply to the coffee question.
‘No.’
Unfortunately, because of the delay, Julie had forgotten thequestion. ‘No coffee,’ I explained. ‘I never drink coffee after3.48 p.m. It in-terferes with sleep. Caffeine has a half-life ofthree to four hours, so it’s irresponsible serving coffee at 7.00p.m. unless people are planning to stay awake until aftermidnight. Which doesn’t allow adequate sleep if they have aconventional job.’ I was trying to make use of the waiting timeby offering practical advice, but it seemed that she preferred todiscuss trivia.
‘Is Gene all right?’ she asked. It was obviously a variant onthat most common of formulaic interactions, ‘How are you?’
14/290‘He’s fine, thank you,’ I said, adapting the conventional reply tothe third-person form.
‘Oh. I thought he was ill.’
‘Gene is in excellent health except for being six kilogramsoverweight. We went for a run this morning. He has a datetonight, and he wouldn’t be able to go out if he was ill.’
Julie seemed unimpressed and, in reviewing the interaction later,I realised that Gene must have lied to her about his reason fornot being present. This was presumably to protect Julie fromfeeling that her lecture was unimportant to Gene and toprovide a justification for a less prestigious speaker being sentas a substitute. It seems hardly possible to analyse such acomplex situation involving deceit and sup-position of anotherperson’s emotional response, and then prepare your ownplausible lie, all while someone is waiting for you to reply to aquestion. Yet that is exactly what people expect you to be ableto do.
Eventually, I set up my computer and we got started, eighteenminutes late. I would need to speak forty-three per centfaster to finish on schedule at 8.00 p.m. - a virtuallyimpossible performance goal.
We were going to finish late, and my schedule for the rest ofthe night would be thrown out.
Chapter 2
I had titled my talk Genetic Precursors to Autism SpectrumDisorders and sourced some excellent diagrams of DNAstructures. I had only been speaking for nine minutes, a littlefaster than usual to recover time, when Julie interrupted.
‘Professor Tillman. Most of us here are not scientists, so youmay need to be a little less technical.’ This sort of thing isincredibly annoying. People can tell you the supposedcharacteristics of a Gemini or a Taurus and will spend fivedays watching a cricket match, but cannot find the interest orthe time to learn the basics of what they, as humans, aremade up of.
I continued with my presentation as I had prepared it. It wastoo late to change and surely some of the audience wereinformed enough to understand.
I was right. A hand went up, a male of about twelve.
‘You are saying that it is unlikely that there is a single geneticmarker, but rather that several genes are implicated and theaggregate expression depends on the specific combination.
Affirmative?’
16/290Exactly! ‘Plus environmental factors. The situation is analogousto bipolar disorder, which -’
Julie interrupted again. ‘So, for us non-geniuses, I thinkProfessor Tillman is reminding us that Asperger’s is somethingyou’re born with.
It’s nobody’s fault.’
I was horrified by the use of the word ‘fault’, with its negativecon-notations, especially as it was being employed by someonein authority. I abandoned my decision not to deviate from thegenetic issues.
The matter had doubtless been brewing in my subconscious,and the volume of my voice may have increased as a result.
‘Fault! Asperger’s isn’t a fault. It’s a variant. It’s potentially amajor advantage. Asperger’s syndrome is associated withorganisation, focus, innovative thinking and rational detachment.’
A woman at the rear of the room raised her hand. I wasfocused on the argument now, and made a minor social error,which I quickly corrected.
‘The fat woman - overweight woman - at the back?’
She paused and looked around the room, but then continued,‘Rational detachment: is that a euphemism for lack of emotion?’
‘Synonym,’ I replied. ‘Emotions can cause major problems.’
I decided it would be helpful to provide an example, drawingon a story in which emotional behaviour would have led todisastrous consequences.
‘Imagine,’ I said. ‘You’re hiding in a basement. The enemy issearching for you and your friends. Everyone has to keeptotally quiet, but your baby is crying.’ I did an impression, asGene would, to make the story more convincing: ‘Waaaaa.’ Ipaused dramatically. ‘You have a gun.’
Hands went up everywhere.
17/290Julie jumped to her feet as I continued. ‘With a silencer.
They’re coming closer. They’re going to kill you all. What doyou do? The baby’s screaming -’
The kids couldn’t wait to share their answer. One called out,‘Shoot the baby,’ and soon they were all shouting, ‘Shoot thebaby, shoot the baby.’
The boy who had asked the genetics question called out, ‘Shootthe enemy,’ and then another said, ‘Ambush them.’
The suggestions were coming rapidly.
‘Use the baby as bait.’
‘How many guns do we have?’
‘Cover its mouth.’
‘How long can it live without air?’
As I had expected, all the ideas came from the Asperger’s‘sufferers’.
The parents made no constructive suggestions; some even triedto suppress their children’s creativity.
I raised my hands. ‘Time’s up. Excellent work. All the rationalsolutions came from the aspies. Everyone else was incapacitatedby emotion.’
One boy called out, ‘Aspies rule!’ I had noted this abbreviationin the literature, but it appeared to be new to the children.
They seemed to like it, and soon were standing on the chairsand then the desks, punching the air and chanting ‘Aspiesrule!’ in chorus. According to my reading, children withAsperger’s syndrome frequently lack self-confidence in socialsituations. Their success in problem-solving seemed to haveprovided a temporary cure for this, but again their parentswere failing to provide positive feedback, shouting at them andin some cases attempting to pull them down from the desks.
Apparently they were more concerned with adherence to socialconvention than the progress their children were making.
18/290I felt I had made my point effectively, and Julie did not thinkwe needed to continue with the genetics. The parents appearedto be reflecting on what their children had learned and leftwithout interacting with me further. It was only 7.43 p.m. Anexcellent outcome.
As I packed up my laptop, Julie burst out laughing.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘I need a drink.’
I was not sure why she was sharing this information withsomeone she had known for only forty-six minutes. I plannedto consume some alcohol myself when I arrived home but sawno reason to inform Julie.
She continued, ‘You know, we never use that word. Aspies. Wedon’t want them thinking it’s some sort of club.’ More negativeimplications from someone who was presumably paid to assistand encourage.
‘Like homosexuality?’ I said.
‘Touché,’ said Julie. ‘But it’s different. If they don’t change,they’re not going to have real relationships - they’ll never havepartners.’ This was a reasonable argument, and one that Icould understand, given my own difficulties in that sphere. ButJulie changed the subject. ‘But you’re saying there are things -useful things - they can do better than… non-aspies? Besides killing babies.’
‘Of course.’ I wondered why someone involved in the educationof people with uncommon attributes was not aware of thevalue of and market for such attributes. ‘There’s a company inDenmark that re-cruits aspies for computer applications testing.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Julie. ‘You’re really giving me adifferent perspective.’ She looked at me for a few moments.
‘Do you have time for a drink?’ And then she put her handon my shoulder.
I flinched automatically. Definitely inappropriate contact. If I haddone that to a woman there would almost certainly have beena problem, possibly a sexual harassment complaint to the Dean,which could have consequences for my career. Of course, noone was going to criticise her for it.
19/290‘Unfortunately, I have other activities scheduled.’
‘No flexibility?’
‘Definitely not.’ Having succeeded in recovering lost time, I wasnot about to throw my life into chaos again.
Before I met Gene and Claudia I had two other friends. Thefirst was my older sister. Although she was a mathematicsteacher, she had little interest in advances in the field. However,she lived nearby and would visit twice weekly and sometimesrandomly. We would eat together and discuss trivia, such asevents in the lives of our relatives and social interactions withour colleagues. Once a month, we drove to Shepparton forSunday dinner with our parents and brother. She was single,probably as a result of being shy and not conventionallyattractive.
Due to gross and inexcusable medical incompetence, she is nowdead.
The second friend was Daphne, whose friendship period alsoover-lapped with Gene and Claudia’s. She moved into theapartment above mine after her husband entered a nursinghome, as a result of demen-tia. Due to knee failure,exacerbated by obesity, she was unable to walk more than afew steps, but she was highly intelligent and I began to visither regularly. She had no formal qualifications, havingperformed a traditional female homemaker role. I consideredthis to be an extreme waste of talent - particularly as herdescendants did not return the care. She was curious aboutmy work, and we initiated the Teach Daphne Genetics Project,which was fascinating for both of us.
She began eating her dinner in my apartment on a regularbasis, as there are massive economies of scale in cooking onemeal for two people, rather than two separate meals. EachSunday at 3.00 p.m. we would visit her husband at thenursing home, which was 7.3 kilometres away. I was able tocombine a 14.6-kilometre walk pushing a wheelchair withinteresting conversation about genetics. I would read20/290while she spoke to her husband, whose level of comprehensionwas difficult to determine but definitely low.
Daphne had been named after the plant that was flowering atthe time of her birth, on the twenty-eighth of August. On eachbirthday, her husband would give her daphne flowers, and sheconsidered this a highly romantic action. She complained thather approaching birthday would be the first occasion in fifty-sixyears on which this symbolic act would not be performed. Thesolution was obvious, and when I wheeled her to myapartment for dinner on her seventy-eighth birthday, I hadpurchased a quantity of the flowers to give her.
She recognised the smell immediately and began crying. Ithought I had made a terrible error, but she explained that hertears were a symptom of happiness. She was also impressedby the chocolate cake that I had made, but not to the sameextent.
During the meal, she made an incredible statement: ‘Don, youwould make someone a wonderful husband.’
This was so contrary to my experiences of being rejected bywomen that I was temporarily stunned. Then I presented herwith the facts -the history of my attempts to find a partner, beginning withmy assumption as a child that I would grow up and getmarried and finishing with my abandonment of the idea as theevidence grew that I was unsuitable.
Her argument was simple: there’s someone for everyone.
Statistically, she was almost certainly correct. Unfortunately, theprobability that I would find such a person was vanishinglysmall. But it created a disturbance in my brain, like amathematical problem that we know must have a solution.
For her next two birthdays, we repeated the flower ritual. Theresults were not as dramatic as the first time, but I alsopurchased gifts for her - books on genetics - and she seemedvery happy. She told me that her birthday had always beenher favourite day of the year. I21/290understood that this view was common in children, due to thegifts, but had not expected it in an adult.
Ninety-three days after the third birthday dinner, we weretravelling to the nursing home, discussing a genetics paper thatDaphne had read the previous day, when it became apparentthat she had forgotten some significant points. It was not thefirst time in recent weeks that her memory had been faulty,and I immediately organised an assessment of her cognitivefunctioning. The diagnosis was Alzheimer’s disease.
Daphne’s intellectual capability deteriorated rapidly, and we weresoon unable to have our discussions about genetics. But wecontinued our meals and walks to the nursing home. Daphnenow spoke primarily about her past, focusing on her husbandand family, and I was able to form a generalised view of whatmarried life could be like. She continued to insist that I couldfind a compatible partner and enjoy the high level of happinessthat she had experienced in her own life. Supplementaryresearch confirmed that Daphne’s arguments were supported byevidence: married men are happier and live longer.
One day Daphne asked, ‘When will it be my birthday again?’
and I realised that she had lost track of dates. I decided that itwould be acceptable to lie in order to maximise her happiness.
The problem was to source some daphne out of season, but Ihad unexpected success. I was aware of a geneticist who wasworking on altering and extending the flowering of plants forcommercial reasons. He was able to supply my flower vendorwith some daphne, and we had a simulated birthday dinner. Irepeated the procedure each time Daphne asked about herbirthday.
Eventually, it was necessary for Daphne to join her husband atthe nursing home, and, as her memory failed, we celebratedher birthdays more often, until I was visiting her daily. Theflower vendor gave me a special loyalty card. I calculated thatDaphne had reached the age of22/290two hundred and seven, according to the number of birthdays,when she stopped recognising me, and three hundred andnineteen when she no longer responded to the daphne and Iabandoned the visits.
I did not expect to hear from Julie again. As usual, myassumptions about human behaviour were wrong. Two daysafter the lecture, at 3.37 p.m., my phone rang with anunfamiliar number. Julie left a message asking me to call back,and I deduced that I must have left something behind.
I was wrong again. She wanted to continue our discussion ofAsperger’s syndrome. I was pleased that my input had been soinfluential.
She suggested we meet over dinner, which was not the ideallocation for productive discussion, but, as I usually eat dinneralone, it would be easy to schedule. Background research wasanother matter.
‘What specific topics are you interested in?’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I thought we could just talk generally … get toknow each other a bit.’
This sounded unfocused. ‘I need at least a broad indication ofthe subject domain. What did I say that particularly interestedyou?’
‘Oh … I guess the stuff about the computer testers inDenmark.’
‘Computer applications testers.’ I would definitely need to dosome research. ‘What would you like to know?’
‘I was wondering how they found them. Most adults withAsperger’s syndrome don’t know they have it.’
It was a good point. Interviewing random applicants would bea highly inefficient way to detect a syndrome that has anestimated pre-valence of less than 0.3 per cent.
I ventured a guess. ‘I presume they use a questionnaire as apreliminary filter.’ I had not even finished the sentence when alight went on in my head - not literally, of course.
23/290A questionnaire! Such an obvious solution. A purpose-built,scientifically valid instrument incorporating current best practiceto filter out the time wasters, the disorganised, the ice-creamdiscriminators, the visual-harassment complainers, the crystalgazers, the horoscope readers, the fashion obsessives, thereligious fanatics, the vegans, the sports watchers, thecreationists, the smokers, the scientifically illiterate, thehomeopaths, leaving, ideally, the perfect partner, or, realistically,a manageable shortlist of candidates.
‘Don?’ It was Julie, still on the line. ‘When do you want to gettogether?’
Things had changed. Priorities had shifted.
‘It’s not possible,’ I said. ‘My schedule is full.’
I was going to need all available time for the new project.
The Wife Project.
Chapter 3
After speaking with Julie, I went immediately to Gene’s office inthe Psychology building, but he was not there. Fortunately hispersonal assistant, The Beautiful Helena, who should be calledThe Obstructive Helena, was not there either and I was able toaccess Gene’s diary. I discovered that he was giving a publiclecture, due to finish at 5.00p.m., with a gap before a meeting at 5.30 p.m. Perfect. I wouldmerely have to reduce the length of my scheduled gym session.
I booked the vacant slot.
After an accelerated workout at the gym, achieved by deletingthe shower and change tasks, I jogged to the lecture theatre,where I waited outside the staff entrance. Although I wasperspiring heavily from the heat and exercise, I was energised,both physically and mentally. As soon as my watch showed5.00 p.m., I walked in. Gene was at the lectern of thedarkened theatre, still talking, apparently oblivious to time,responding to a question about funding. My entrance hadallowed a shaft of light into the room, and I realised that theaudience’s eyes were now on me, as if expecting me to saysomething.
25/290‘Time’s up,’ I said. ‘I have a meeting with Gene.’
People immediately started getting up, and I observed the Deanin the front row with three people in corporate costumes. Iguessed that they were there as potential providers of financeand not because of an intellectual interest in primate sexualattraction. Gene is always trying to solicit money for research,and the Dean is constantly threatening to downsize the Geneticsand Psychology departments because of insufficient funding. It isnot an area I involve myself in.
Gene spoke over the chatter. ‘I think my colleague ProfessorTillman has given us a signal that we should discuss thefinances, critical as they are to our ongoing work, at anothertime.’ He looked towards the Dean and her companions.
‘Thank you again for your interest in my work - and ofcourse that of my colleagues in the Department of Psychology.’
There was applause. It seemed that my intervention had beentimely.
The Dean and her corporate friends swept past me. She said,just to me, ‘Sorry to hold up your meeting, Professor Tillman.
I’m sure we can find the money elsewhere.’ This was good tohear, but now, annoyingly, there was a throng around Gene. Awoman with red hair and several metal objects in her ears wastalking to him. She was speaking quite loudly.
‘I can’t believe you used a public lecture to push your ownagenda.’
‘Lucky you came then. You’ve changed one of your beliefs.
That’d be a first.’
It was obvious that there was some animosity on the woman’spart even though Gene was smiling.
‘Even if you were right, which you’re not, what about the socialimpact?’
I was amazed by Gene’s next reply, not by its intent, which Iam familiar with, but by its subtle shift in topic. Gene has socialskills at a level that I will never have.
26/290‘This is sounding like a café discussion. Why don’t we pick itup over coffee sometime?’
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve got research to do. You know, evidence.’
I moved to push in but a tall blonde woman was ahead ofme, and I did not want to risk body contact. She spoke with aNorwegian accent.
‘Professor Barrow?’ she said, meaning Gene. ‘With respect, Ithink you are oversimplifying the feminist position.’
‘If we’re going to talk philosophy, we should do it in a coffeeshop,’
Gene replied. ‘I’ll catch you at Barista’s in five.’
The woman nodded and walked towards the door.
Finally, we had time to talk.
‘What’s her accent?’ Gene asked me. ‘Swedish?’
‘Norwegian,’ I said. ‘I thought you had a Norwegian already.’
I told him that we had a discussion scheduled, but Gene wasnow focused on having coffee with the woman. Most maleanimals are programmed to give higher priority to sex than toassisting an unrelated individual, and Gene had the additionalmotivation of his research project. Arguing would be hopeless.
‘Book the next slot in my diary,’ he said.
The Beautiful Helena had presumably departed for the day, andI was again able to access Gene’s diary. I amended my ownschedule to accommodate the appointment. From now on, theWife Project would have maximum priority.
I waited until exactly 7.30 a.m. the next day before knockingon Gene and Claudia’s door. It had been necessary to shift myjog to the market for dinner purchases back to 5.45 a.m.,which in turn had meant going to bed earlier the previousnight, with a flow-on effect to a number of scheduled tasks.
I heard sounds of surprise through the door before theirdaughter Eugenie opened it. Eugenie was, as always, pleased tosee me, and requested that I hoist her onto my shoulders andjump all the way to the27/290kitchen. It was great fun. It occurred to me that I might beable to include Eugenie and her half-brother Carl as myfriends, making a total of four.
Gene and Claudia were eating breakfast, and told me that theyhad not been expecting me. I advised Gene to put his diaryonline - he could remain up to date and I would avoidunpleasant encounters with The Beautiful Helena. He was notenthusiastic.
I had missed breakfast, so I took a tub of yoghurt from therefrigerator. Sweetened! No wonder Gene is overweight. Claudiais not yet overweight, but I had noticed some increase. Ipointed out the problem, and identified the yoghurt as thepossible culprit.
Claudia asked whether I had enjoyed the Asperger’s lecture.
She was under the impression that Gene had delivered thelecture and I had merely attended. I corrected her mistake andtold her I had found the subject fascinating.
‘Did the symptoms remind you of anyone?’ she asked.
They certainly did. They were an almost perfect description ofLaszlo Hevesi in the Physics Department. I was about to relatethe famous story of Laszlo and the pyjamas when Gene’s sonCarl, who is sixteen, arrived in his school uniform. He walkedtowards the refrigerator, as if to open it, then suddenly spunaround and threw a full-blooded punch at my head. I caughtthe punch and pushed him gently but firmly to the floor, so hecould see that I was achieving the result with leverage ratherthan strength. This is a game we always play, but he had notnoticed the yoghurt, which was now on our clothes.
‘Stay still,’ said Claudia. ‘I’ll get a cloth.’
A cloth was not going to clean my shirt properly. Laundering ashirt requires a machine, detergent, fabric softener andconsiderable time.
‘I’ll borrow one of Gene’s,’ I said, and headed to theirbedroom.
When I returned, wearing an uncomfortably large white shirt,with a decorative frill in the front, I tried to introduce the WifeProject, but28/290Claudia was engaged in child-related activities. This wasbecoming frustrating. I booked dinner for Saturday night andasked them not to schedule any other conversation topics.
The delay was actually opportune, as it enabled me toundertake some research on questionnaire design, draw up alist of desirable attributes, and produce a draft proformasurvey. All this, of course, had to be arranged around myteaching and research commitments and an appointment withthe Dean.
On Friday morning we had yet another unpleasant interactionas a result of me reporting an honours-year student foracademic dishon-esty. I had already caught Kevin Yu cheatingonce. Then, marking his most recent assignment, I hadrecognised a sentence from another student’s work of threeyears earlier.
Some investigation established that the past student was nowKevin’s private tutor, and had written at least part of his essayfor him.
This had all happened some weeks ago. I had reported thematter and expected the disciplinary process to take its course.
Apparently it was more complicated than this.
‘The situation with Kevin is a little awkward,’ said the Dean.
We were in her corporate-style office and she was wearing hercorporate-style costume of matching dark-blue skirt and jacket,which, according to Gene, is intended to make her appearmore powerful. She is a short, slim person, aged approximatelyfifty, and it is possible that the costume makes her appearbigger, but I cannot see the relevance of physical dominance inan academic environment.
‘This is Kevin’s third offence, and university policy requires thathe be expelled,’ she said.
The facts seemed to be clear and the necessary actionstraightforward. I tried to identify the awkwardness that theDean referred to. ‘Is the evidence insufficient? Is he making alegal challenge?’
29/290‘No, that’s all perfectly clear. But the first offence was verynaive. He cut and pasted from the internet, and was picked upby the plagiarism software. He was in his first year and hisEnglish wasn’t very good.
And there are cultural differences.’
I had not known about this first offence.
‘The second time, you reported him because he’d borrowedfrom an obscure paper that you were somehow familiar with.’
‘Correct.’
‘Don, none of the other lecturers are as … vigilant … as you.’
It was unusual for the Dean to compliment me on my widereading and dedication.
‘These kids pay a lot of money to study here. We rely ontheir fees.
We don’t want them stealing blatantly from the internet. Butwe have to recognise that they need assistance, and … Kevinhas only a semester to go. We can’t send him home afterthree and a half years without a qualification. It’s not a goodlook.’
‘What if he was a medical student? What if you went to thehospital and the doctor who operated on you had cheated intheir exams?’
‘Kevin’s not a medical student. And he didn’t cheat on hisexams, he just got some help with an assignment.’
It seemed that the Dean had been flattering me only in orderto pro-cure unethical behaviour. But the solution to herdilemma was obvious. If she did not want to break the rules,then she should change the rules. I pointed this out.
I am not good at interpreting expressions, and was not familiarwith the one that appeared on the Dean’s face. ‘We can’t beseen to allow cheating.’
‘Even though we do?’
The meeting left me confused and angry. There were seriousmatters at stake. What if our research was not acceptedbecause we had a reputation for low academic standards?
People could die while cures for30/290diseases were delayed. What if a genetics laboratory hired aperson whose qualification had been achieved through cheating,and that person made major errors? The Dean seemed moreconcerned with perceptions than with these crucial matters.
I reflected on what it would be like to spend my life living withthe Dean. It was a truly terrible thought. The underlyingproblem was the preoccupation with image. My questionnairewould be ruthless in filtering out women who were concernedwith appearance.
Chapter 4
Gene opened the door with a glass of red wine in his hand. Iparked my bicycle in their hallway, took off my backpack andretrieved the Wife Project folder, pulling out Gene’s copy of thedraft. I had pruned it to sixteen double-sided pages.
‘Relax, Don, plenty of time,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have acivilised dinner, and then we’ll do the questionnaire. If you’regoing to be dating, you need dinner practice.’
He was, of course, right. Claudia is an excellent cook and Genehas a vast collection of wines, organised by region, vintage andproducer.
We went to his ‘cellar’, which is not actually below ground,where he showed me his recent purchases and we selected asecond bottle. We ate with Carl and Eugenie, and I was ableto avoid small talk by playing a memory game with Eugenie.
She noticed my folder marked ‘Wife Project’, which I put onthe table as soon as I finished dessert.
‘Are you getting married, Don?’ she asked.
‘Correct.’
‘Who to?’
32/290I was about to explain, but Claudia sent Eugenie and Carl totheir rooms - a good decision, as they did not have theexpertise to contribute.
I handed questionnaires to Claudia and Gene. Gene pouredport for all of us. I explained that I had followed best practicein questionnaire design, including multiple-choice questions, Likertscales, cross-validation, dummy questions and surrogates.
Claudia asked for an example of the last of these.
‘Question 35: Do you eat kidneys? Correct answer is (c)occasionally. Testing for food problems. If you ask directlyabout food preferences, they say “I eat anything” and then youdiscover they’re vegetarian.’
I am aware that there are many arguments in favour ofvegetarianism. However, as I eat meat I considered it would bemore convenient if my partner did so also. At this early stage,it seemed logical to specify the ideal solution and review thequestionnaire later if necessary.
Claudia and Gene were reading.
Claudia said, ‘For an appointment, I’m guessing (b) a littleearly.’
This was patently incorrect, demonstrating that even Claudia,who was a good friend, would be unsuitable as a partner.
‘The correct answer is (c) on time,’ I said. ‘Habitual earlinessis cu-mulatively a major waste of time.’
‘I’d allow a little early,’ said Claudia. ‘She might be tryinghard.
That’s not a bad thing.’
An interesting point. I made a note to consider it, but pointedout that (d) a little late and (e) very late were definitelyunacceptable.
‘I think if a woman describes herself as a brilliant cook she’s abit up herself,’ said Claudia. ‘Just ask her if she enjoys cooking.
Mention that you do too.’
This was exactly the sort of input I was looking for - subtlenuances of language that I am not conscious of. It struck methat if the33/290respondent was someone like me she would not notice thedifference, but it was unreasonable to require that my potentialpartner share my lack of subtlety.
‘No jewellery, no make-up?’ said Claudia, correctly predictingthe answers to two questions that had been prompted by myrecent interaction with the Dean.
‘Jewellery isn’t always about appearance,’ she said. ‘If you haveto have a question, drop the jewellery one and keep themake-up. But just ask if she wears it daily.’
‘Height, weight and body mass index.’ Gene was skimmingahead.
‘Can’t you do the calculation yourself?’
‘That’s the purpose of the question,’ I said. ‘Checking they cando basic arithmetic. I don’t want a partner who’smathematically illiterate.’
‘I thought you might have wanted to get an idea of what theylook like,’ said Gene.
‘There’s a question on fitness,’ I said.
‘I was thinking about sex,’ said Gene.
‘Just for a change,’ said Claudia, an odd statement as Genetalks constantly about sex. But he had made a good point.
‘I’ll add a question on HIV and herpes.’
‘Stop,’ said Claudia. ‘You’re being way too picky.’
I began to explain that an incurable sexually transmitted diseasewas a severe negative but Claudia interrupted.
‘About everything.’
It was an understandable response. But my strategy was tominimise the chance of making a type-one error - wasting timeon an unsuitable choice. Inevitably, that increased the risk of atype-two error - rejecting a suitable person. But this was anacceptable risk as I was dealing with a very large population.
34/290Gene’s turn: ‘Non-smoking, fair enough. But what’s the rightanswer on drinking?’
‘Zero.’
‘Hang on. You drink.’ He pointed to my port glass, which hehad topped up a few moments earlier. ‘You drink quite a bit.’
I explained that I was expecting some improvement for myselffrom the project.
We continued in this manner and I received some excellentfeedback. I did feel that the questionnaire was now lessdiscriminating, but was still confident it would eliminate most ifnot all of the women who had given me problems in the past.
Apricot Ice-cream Woman would have failed at least fivequestions.
My plan was to advertise on traditional dating sites, but toprovide a link to the questionnaire in addition to posting theusual insufficiently discriminating information about height,profession and whether I enjoyed long walks on the beach.
Gene and Claudia suggested that I also undertake someface-to-face dating to practise my social skills. I could see thevalue of validating the questionnaires in the field, so, while Iwaited for online responses to arrive, I printed somequestionnaires and returned to the dating process that Ithought I had abandoned forever.
I began by registering with Table for Eight, run by acommercial matchmaking organisation. After an undoubtedlyunsound preliminary matching process, based on manifestlyinadequate data, four men and four women, including me, wereprovided with details of a city restaurant at which a bookinghad been made. I packed four questionnaires and arrivedprecisely at 8.00 p.m. Only one woman was there!
The other three were late. It was a stunning validation of theadvantages of field work. These women may well haveanswered (b) a little early or (c) on time, but their actualbehaviour demonstrated35/290otherwise. I decided to temporarily allow (d) a little late, onthe basis that a single occasion might not be representative oftheir overall performance. I could hear Claudia saying, ‘Don,everyone’s late occasionally.’
There were also two men seated at the table. We shook hands.
It struck me that this was equivalent to bowing prior to amartial-arts bout.
I assessed my competition. The man who had introducedhimself as Craig was about my own age, but overweight, in awhite business shirt that was too tight for him. He had amoustache, and his teeth were poorly maintained. The second,Danny, was probably a few years younger than me, andappeared to be in good health. He wore a white t-shirt. Hehad tattoos on his arms and his black hair contained someform of cosmetic additive.
The on-time woman’s name was Olivia, and she initially (andlogically) divided her attention among the three men. She toldus she was an anthropologist. Danny confused it with anarchaeologist and then Craig made a racist joke about pygmies.
It was obvious, even to me, that Olivia was unimpressed bythese responses, and I enjoyed a rare moment of not feelinglike the least socially competent person in the room. Oliviaturned to me, and I had just responded to her question aboutmy job when we were interrupted by the arrival of the fourthman, who introduced himself as Gerry, a lawyer, and twowomen, Sharon and Maria, who were, respectively, anaccountant and a nurse.
It was a hot night, and Maria had chosen a dress with thetwin advantages of coolness and overt sexual display. Sharonwas wearing the conventional corporate uniform of trousers andjacket. I guessed that they were both about my age.
Olivia resumed talking to me while the others engaged in smalltalk- an extraordinary waste of time when a major life decisionwas at stake. On Claudia’s advice, I had memorised thequestionnaire. She36/290thought that asking questions directly from the forms couldcreate the wrong ‘dynamic’ and that I should attempt toincorporate them subtly into conversation. Subtlety, I hadreminded her, is not my strength.
She suggested that I not ask about sexually transmitted diseasesand that I make my own estimates of weight, height and bodymass index.
I estimated Olivia’s BMI at nineteen: slim, but no signs ofanorexia. I estimated Sharon the Accountant’s at twenty-three,and Maria the Nurse’s at twenty-eight. The recommendedhealthy maximum is twenty-five.
Rather than ask about IQ, I decided to make an estimatebased on Olivia’s responses to questions about the historicalimpact of variations in susceptibility to syphilis across nativeSouth American populations. We had a fascinating conversation,and I felt that the topic might even allow me to slip in thesexually-transmitted-diseases question. Her IQ was definitelyabove the required minimum. Gerry the Lawyer offered a fewcomments that I think were meant to be jokes, but eventuallyleft us to continue uninterrupted.
At this point, the missing woman arrived, twenty-eight minuteslate. While Olivia was distracted, I took the opportunity torecord the data I had acquired so far on three of the fourquestionnaires in my lap. I did not waste paper on the mostrecent arrival, as she announced that she was ‘always late’.
This did not seem to concern Gerry the Lawyer, whopresumably billed by the six-minute interval, and shouldconsequently have considered time to be of great value. Heobviously valued sex more highly as his conversation began toresemble that of Gene.
With the arrival of Late Woman, the waiter appeared withmenus.
Olivia scanned hers then asked, ‘The pumpkin soup, is it madewith vegetable stock?’
I did not hear the answer. The question provided the criticalinformation. Vegetarian.
37/290She may have noted my expression of disappointment. ‘I’mHindu.’
I had previously deduced that Olivia was probably Indian fromher sari and physical attributes. I was not sure whether theterm ‘Hindu’
was being used as a genuine statement of religious belief or asan indicator of cultural heritage. I had been reprimanded forfailing to make this distinction in the past.
‘Do you eat ice-cream?’ I asked. The question seemedappropriate after the vegetarian statement. Very neat.
‘Oh yes, I am not vegan. As long as it is not made with eggs.’
This was not getting any better.
‘Do you have a favourite flavour?’
‘Pistachio. Very definitely pistachio.’ She smiled.
Maria and Danny had stepped outside for a cigarette. Withthree women eliminated, including Late Woman, my task wasalmost complete.
My lambs’ brains arrived, and I cut one in half, exposing theinternal structure. I tapped Sharon, who was engaged inconversation with Craig the Racist, and pointed it out to her.
‘Do you like brains?’
Four down, job complete. I continued my conversation withOlivia, who was excellent company, and even ordered anadditional drink after the others had departed in the pairs thatthey had formed. We stayed, talking, until we were the lastpeople in the restaurant. As I put the questionnaires in mybackpack, Olivia gave me her contact information, which Iwrote down in order not to be rude. Then we went ourseparate ways.
Cycling home, I reflected on the dinner. It had been a grosslyinefficient method of selection, but the questionnaire had beenof significant value. Without the questions it prompted, I wouldundoubtedly have attempted a second date with Olivia, whowas an interesting and nice person. Perhaps we would havegone on a third and fourth and fifth date, then one day, whenall of the desserts at the restaurant38/290contained egg, we would have crossed the road to theice-cream parlour, and discovered they had no egg-freepistachio. It was better to find out before we made aninvestment in the relationship.
Chapter 5
I stood inside the entrance of a suburban house that remindedme of my parents’ brick veneer residence in Shepparton. I hadresolved never to attend another singles party, but thequestionnaire allowed me to avoid the agony of unstructuredsocial interaction with strangers.
As the female guests arrived, I gave each a questionnaire tocomplete at their convenience and return to me either at theparty or by mail. The host, a woman, initially invited me tojoin the crowd in the living room, but I explained my strategyand she left me alone. After two hours, a woman of aboutthirty-five, estimated BMI twenty-one, returned from the livingroom, holding two glasses of sparkling wine.
In her other hand was a questionnaire.
She passed me a glass. ‘I thought you might be thirsty,’ shesaid in an attractive French accent.
I was not thirsty, but I was pleased to be offered alcohol. Ihad decided that I would not give up drinking unless I found anon-drinking partner. And, after some self-analysis, I hadconcluded that (c)40/290moderately was an acceptable answer to the drinking questionand made a note to update the questionnaire.
‘Thank you.’ I hoped she would give me the questionnaire andthat it might, improbably, signal the end of my quest. She wasextremely attractive, and her gesture with the wine indicated ahigh level of consideration not exhibited by any of the otherguests or the host.
‘You are a researcher, am I right?’ She tapped thequestionnaire.
‘Correct.’
‘Me, also,’ she said. ‘There are not many academics heretonight.’ Although it is dangerous to draw conclusions based onmanner and conversation topics, my assessment of the guestswas consistent with this observation.
‘I’m Fabienne,’ she said, and extended her free hand, which Ishook, careful to apply the recommended level of firmness.
‘This is terrible wine, no?’
I agreed. It was a carbonated sweet wine, acceptable onlybecause of its alcohol content.
‘You think we should go to a wine bar and get somethingbetter?’ she asked.
I shook my head. The poor wine quality was annoying but notcritical.
Fabienne took a deep breath. ‘Listen. I have drunk two glassesof wine, I have not had sex for six weeks, and I would ratherwait six more than try anyone else here. Now, can I buy youa drink?’
It was a very kind offer. But it was still early in the evening. Isaid,‘More guests are expected. You may find someone suitable ifyou wait.’
Fabienne gave me her questionnaire and said, ‘I presume youwill be notifying the winners in due course.’ I told her that Iwould. When she had gone, I quickly checked herquestionnaire. Predictably, she failed in a number of dimensions.
It was disappointing.
41/290My final non-internet option was speed dating, an approach Ihad not previously tried.
The venue was a function room in a hotel. At my insistence,the convenor disclosed the actual start time, and I waited inthe bar to avoid aimless interaction until then. When Ireturned, I took the last remaining seat at a long table,opposite a person labelled Frances, aged approximately fifty,BMI approximately twenty-eight, not conventionally attractive.
The convenor rang a bell and my three minutes with Francescommenced.
I pulled out my questionnaire and scribbled her name on it -there was no time for subtlety under these circumstances.
‘I’ve sequenced the questions for maximum speed ofelimination,’ I explained. ‘I believe I can eliminate most womenin less than forty seconds. Then you can choose the topic ofdiscussion for the remaining time.’
‘But then it won’t matter,’ said Frances. ‘I’ll have beeneliminated.’
‘Only as a potential partner. We may still be able to have aninteresting discussion.’
‘But I’ll have been eliminated.’
I nodded. ‘Do you smoke?’
‘Occasionally,’ she said.
I put the questionnaire away.
‘Excellent.’ I was pleased that my question sequencing wasworking so well. We could have wasted time talking aboutice-cream flavours and make-up only to find that she smoked.
Needless to say, smoking was not negotiable. ‘No morequestions. What would you like to discuss?’
Disappointingly, Frances was not interested in furtherconversation after I had determined that we were notcompatible. This turned out to be the pattern for the remainderof the event.
42/290These personal interactions were, of course, secondary. I wasrelying on the internet, and completed questionnaires began toflow in shortly after my initial postings. I scheduled a reviewmeeting in my office with Gene.
‘How many responses?’ he asked.
‘Two hundred and seventy-nine.’
He was clearly impressed. I did not tell him that the quality ofresponses varied widely, with many questionnaires only partiallycompleted.
‘No photos?’
Many women had included photos, but I had suppressed themin the database display to allow space for more important data.
‘Let’s see the photos,’ Gene said.
I modified the settings to show photos, and Gene scanned afew before double-clicking on one. The resolution wasimpressive. It seemed that he approved, but a quick check ofthe data showed that the candidate was totally unsuitable. Itook the mouse back and deleted her. Gene protested.
‘Wha wha wha? What’re you doing?’
‘She believes in astrology and homeopathy. And she calculatedher BMI incorrectly.’
‘What was it?’
‘Twenty-three point five.’
‘Nice. Can you undelete her?’
‘She’s totally unsuitable.’
‘How many are suitable?’ asked Gene, finally getting to thepoint.
‘So far, zero. The questionnaire is an excellent filter.’
‘You don’t think you’re setting the bar just a tiny bit high?’
I pointed out that I was collecting data to support life’s mostcritical decision. Compromise would be totally inappropriate.
43/290‘You always have to compromise,’ Gene said. An incrediblestatement and totally untrue in his case.
‘You found the perfect wife. Highly intelligent, extremely beautifuland she lets you have sex with other women.’
Gene suggested that I not congratulate Claudia in person forher tolerance, and asked me to repeat the number ofquestionnaires that had been completed. The actual total wasgreater than the number I had told him, as I had not includedthe paper questionnaires. Three hundred and four.
‘Give me your list,’ said Gene. ‘I’ll pick out a few out for you.’
‘None of them meet the criteria. They all have some fault.’
‘Treat it as practice.’
He did have a point. I had thought a few times about Oliviathe Indian Anthropologist, and considered the implications ofliving with a Hindu vegetarian with a strong ice-creampreference. Only reminding myself that I should wait until anexact match turned up had stopped me from contacting her. Ihad even rechecked the questionnaire from Fabienne theSex-Deprived Researcher.
I emailed the spreadsheet to Gene.
‘No smokers.’
‘Okay,’ said Gene, ‘but you have to ask them out. To dinner.
At a proper restaurant.’
Gene could probably tell that I was not excited by theprospect. He cleverly addressed the problem by proposing aneven less acceptable alternative.
‘There’s always the faculty ball.’
‘Restaurant.’
Gene smiled as if to compensate for my lack of enthusiasm.
‘It’s easy. “How about we do dinner tonight?” Say it after me.’
‘How about we do dinner tonight?’ I repeated.
44/290‘See, that wasn’t so hard. Make only positive comments abouttheir appearance. Pay for the meal. Do not mention sex.’ Genewalked to the door, then turned back. ‘What about the paperones?’
I gave him my questionnaires from Table for Eight, the singlesparty and, at his insistence, even the partially completed onesfrom the speed dating. Now it was out of my hands.
Chapter 6
Approximately two hours after Gene left my office with thecompleted Wife Project questionnaires, there was a knock onthe door. I was weighing student essays, an activity that is notforbidden, but I suspect only because nobody is aware that Iam doing it. It was part of a project to reduce the effort ofassessment, by looking for easily measured parameters such asthe inclusion of a table of contents, or a typed versushandwritten cover sheet, factors which might provide as goodan indication of quality as the tedious process of reading theentire assignment.
I slipped the scales under my desk as the door opened andlooked up to see a woman I did not recognise standing in thedoorway. I estimated her age as thirty and her body massindex at twenty.
‘Professor Tillman?’
As my name is on the door, this was not a particularly astutequestion.
‘Correct.’
‘Professor Barrow suggested I see you.’
46/290I was amazed at Gene’s efficiency, and looked at the womanmore carefully as she approached my desk. There were noobvious signs of unsuitability. I did not detect any make-up.
Her body shape and skin tone were consistent with health andfitness. She wore glasses with heavy frames that revived badmemories of Apricot Ice-cream Woman, a long black t-shirt thatwas torn in several places, and a black belt with metal chains.
It was lucky that the jewellery question had been deletedbecause she was wearing big metal earrings and an interestingpendant round her neck.
Although I am usually oblivious to dress, hers seemedincompatible with my expectation of a highly qualified academicor professional and with the summer weather. I could onlyguess that she was self-employed or on holiday and, freed fromworkplace rules, had chosen her clothes randomly. I couldrelate to this.
There had been quite a long gap since either of us hadspoken and I realised it must be my turn. I looked up fromthe pendant and remembered Gene’s instructions.
‘How about we do dinner tonight?’
She seemed surprised at my question then replied, ‘Yeah, right.
How about we do dinner? How about Le Gavroche and you’repaying?’
‘Excellent. I’ll make a reservation for 8.00 p.m.’
‘You’re kidding.’
It was an odd response. Why would I make a confusing jokewith someone I barely knew?
‘No. Is 8.00 p.m. tonight acceptable?’
‘Let me get this straight. You’re offering to buy me dinner atLe Gavroche tonight?’
Coming on top of the question about my name, I wasbeginning to think that this woman was what Gene would call‘not the sharpest tool in the shed’. I considered backing out, orat least employing some delaying tactic until I could check herquestionnaire, but could not47/290think of any socially acceptable way to do this, so I justconfirmed that she had interpreted my offer correctly. Sheturned and left and I realised that I did not even know hername.
I called Gene immediately. There seemed to be some confusionon his part at first, followed by mirth. Perhaps he had notexpected me to handle the candidate so effectively.
‘Her name’s Rosie,’ he said. ‘And that’s all I’m telling you.
Have fun.
And remember what I said about sex.’
Gene’s failure to provide me with more details was unfortunate,because a problem arose. Le Gavroche did not have a tableavailable at the agreed time. I tried to locate Rosie’s profile onmy computer, and for once the photos were useful. Thewoman who had come to my office did not look like anycandidate whose name began with ‘R’. She must have beenone of the paper responses. Gene had left and his phone wasoff.
I was forced to take action that was not strictly illegal, butdoubtless immoral. I justified it on the basis that it would bemore immoral to fail to meet my commitment to Rosie. LeGavroche’s online reservation system had a facility for VIPs andI made a reservation under the name of the Dean afterlogging on using relatively unsophisticated hacking software.
I arrived at 7.59 p.m. The restaurant was located in a majorhotel. I chained my bike in the foyer, as it was raining heavilyoutside. Fortunately it was not cold and my Gore-Tex jackethad done an excellent job of protecting me. My t-shirt was noteven damp underneath.
A man in uniform approached me. He pointed towards thebike, but I spoke before he had a chance to complain.
‘My name is Professor Lawrence and I interacted with yourreservation system at 5.11 p.m.’
It appeared that the official did not know the Dean, orassumed that I was another Professor Lawrence, because hejust checked a clipboard48/290and nodded. I was impressed with the efficiency, though it wasnow 8.01 p.m. and Rosie was not there. Perhaps she was (b)a little early and already seated.
But then a problem arose.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but we have a dress code,’ said the official.
I knew about this. It was in bold type on the website:
Gentlemen are required to wear a jacket.
‘No jacket, no food, correct?’
‘More or less, sir.’
What can I say about this sort of rule? I was prepared tokeep my jacket on throughout the meal. The restaurant wouldpresumably be air-conditioned to a temperature compatible withthe requirement.
I continued towards the restaurant entrance, but the officialblocked my path. ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I wasn’t clear. You needto wear a jacket.’
‘I’m wearing a jacket.’
‘I’m afraid we require something a little more formal, sir.’
The hotel employee indicated his own jacket as an example. Indefence of what followed, I submit the Oxford EnglishDictionary (Compact, 2nd Edition) definition of ‘jacket’: 1(a) Anouter garment for the upper part of the body.
I also note that the word ‘jacket’ appears on the careinstructions for my relatively new and perfectly clean Gore-Tex‘jacket’. But it seemed his definition of jacket was limited to‘conventional suit jacket’.
‘We would be happy to lend you one, sir. In this style.’
‘You have a supply of jackets? In every possible size?’ I didnot add that the need to maintain such an inventory wassurely evidence of their failure to communicate the rule clearly,and that it would be more efficient to improve their wording orabandon the rule altogeth-er. Nor did I mention that the costof jacket purchase and cleaning must add to the price of theirmeals. Did their customers know that they were subsidising ajacket warehouse?
49/290‘I wouldn’t know about that, sir,’ he said. ‘Let me organise ajacket.’
Needless to say I was uncomfortable at the idea of beingre-dressed in an item of public clothing of dubious cleanliness.
For a few moments, I was overwhelmed by the sheerunreasonableness of the situation. I was already under stress,preparing for the second encounter with a woman who mightbecome my life partner. And now the institution that I waspaying to supply us with a meal - the service provider whoshould surely be doing everything possible to make mecomfortable - was putting arbitrary obstacles in my way. MyGore-Tex jacket, the high-technology garment that hadprotected me in rain and snowstorms, was being irrationally,unfairly and obstructively contrasted with the official’s essentiallydecorative woollen equivalent. I had paid $1,015 for it, including$120 extra for the customised reflective yellow. I outlined myargument.
‘My jacket is superior to yours by all reasonable criteria:
imper-meability to water, visibility in low light, storage capacity.’
I unzipped the jacket to display the internal pockets andcontinued, ‘Speed of dry-ing, resistance to food stains, hood …’
The official was still showing no interpretable reaction, althoughI had almost certainly raised my voice.
‘Vastly superior tensile strength …’
To illustrate this last point, I took the lapel of the employee’sjacket in my hands. I obviously had no intention of tearing itbut I was suddenly grabbed from behind by an unknownperson who attempted to throw me to the ground. Iautomatically responded with a safe, low-impact throw to disablehim without dislodging my glasses. The term‘low impact’ applies to a martial-arts practitioner who knowshow to fall. This person did not, and landed heavily.
I turned to see him - he was large and angry. In order toprevent further violence, I was forced to sit on him.
‘Get the fuck off me. I’ll fucking kill you,’ he said.
50/290On that basis, it seemed illogical to grant his request. At thatpoint another man arrived and tried to drag me off. Concernedthat Thug Number One would carry out his threat, I had nochoice but to disable Thug Number Two as well. No one wasseriously hurt, but it was a very awkward social situation, and Icould feel my mind shutting down.
Fortunately, Rosie arrived.
Jacket Man said, apparently in surprise, ‘Rosie!’
Obviously he knew her. She looked from him to me and said,‘Professor Tillman - Don - what’s going on?’
‘You’re late,’ I said. ‘We have a social problem.’
‘You know this man?’ said Jacket Man to Rosie.
‘What do you think, I guessed his name?’ Rosie soundedbelligerent and I thought this might not be the best approach.
Surely we should seek to apologise and leave. I was assumingwe would not now be eating in the restaurant.
A small crowd had gathered and it occurred to me thatanother thug might arrive, so I needed to work out a way offreeing up a hand without releasing the original two thugs. Inthe process one poked the other in the eye, and their angerlevels increased noticeably. Jacket Man added, ‘He assaultedJason.’
Rosie replied, ‘Right. Poor Jason. Always the victim.’ I couldnow see her. She was wearing a black dress withoutdecoration, thick-soled black boots and vast amounts of silverjewellery on her arms. Her red hair was spiky like some newspecies of cactus. I have heard the word‘stunning’ used to describe women, but this was the first time Ihad actually been stunned by one. It was not just the costumeor the jewellery or any individual characteristic of Rosie herself:
it was their combined effect. I was not sure if her appearancewould be regarded as conventionally beautiful or evenacceptable to the restaurant that had rejected my jacket.
‘Stunning’ was the perfect word for it. But what she did waseven more stunning. She took her phone from her51/290bag and pointed it at us. It flashed twice. Jacket Man movedto take it from her.
‘Don’t you fucking think about it,’ Rosie said. ‘I’m going tohave so much fun with these photos that these guys will neverstand on a door again. Professor teaches bouncers a lesson.’
As Rosie was speaking, a man in a chef’s hat arrived. Hespoke briefly to Jacket Man and Rosie and, on the basis thatwe would be permitted to leave without further harassment,Rosie asked me to release my assailants. We all got to ourfeet, and, in keeping with tradition, I bowed, then extended myhand to the two men, who I had concluded must be securitypersonnel. They had only been doing what they were paid for,and had risked injury in the course of their duties.
It seemed that they were not expecting the formalities, but thenone of them laughed and shook my hand, and the otherfollowed his example.
It was a good resolution, but I no longer felt like eating at therestaurant.
I collected my bike and we walked into the street. I expectedRosie to be angry about the incident, but she was smiling. Iasked her how she knew Jacket Man.
‘I used to work there.’
‘You selected the restaurant because you were familiar with it?’
‘You could say that. I wanted to stick it up them.’ She beganto laugh. ‘Maybe not quite that much.’
I told her that her solution was brilliant.
‘I work in a bar,’ she said. ‘Not just a bar - the Marquess ofQueensbury. I deal with jerks for a living.’
I pointed out that if she had arrived on schedule she couldhave used her social skills and the violence would have beenunnecessary.
‘Glad I was late then. That was judo, right?’
52/290‘Aikido.’ As we crossed the road, I switched my bike to myother side, between Rosie and me. ‘I’m also proficient in karate,but aikido was more appropriate.’
‘No way. It takes forever to learn that stuff, doesn’t it?’
‘I commenced at seven.’
‘How often do you train?’
‘Three times per week, except in the case of illness, publicholidays and travel to overseas conferences.’
‘What got you into it?’ asked Rosie.
I pointed to my glasses.
‘Revenge of the nerds,’ she said.
‘This is the first time I’ve required it for self-defence since Iwas at school. It’s primarily for fitness.’ I had relaxed a little,and Rosie had provided an opportunity to slip in a questionfrom the Wife Project questionnaire. ‘Do you exercise regularly?’
‘Depends what you call regularly.’ She laughed. ‘I’m theunfittest person on the planet.’
‘Exercise is extremely important for maintaining health.’
‘So my dad tells me. He’s a personal trainer. Constantly on mycase.
He gave me a gym membership for my birthday. At his gym.
He has this idea we should train for a triathlon together.’
‘Surely you should follow his advice,’ I said.
‘Fuck, I’m almost thirty. I don’t need my dad telling me whatto do.’
She changed the subject. ‘Listen, I’m starving. Let’s get apizza.’
I was not prepared to consider a restaurant after the precedingtrauma. I told her that I intended to revert to my original planfor the evening, which was cooking at home.
‘Got enough for two?’ she asked. ‘You still owe me dinner.’
This was true but there had been too many unscheduledevents already in my day.
‘Come on. I won’t criticise your cooking. I can’t cook to savemy life.’
53/290I was not concerned about my cooking being criticised. But thelack of cooking skills on her part was the third fault so far interms of the Wife Project questionnaire, after the late arrivaland the lack of fitness.
There was almost certainly a fourth: it was unlikely that herprofession as waitress and barmaid was consistent with thespecified intellectual level. There was no point in continuing.
Before I could protest, Rosie had flagged down a minivan taxiwith sufficient capacity for my bike.
‘Where do you live?’ she asked.
Chapter 7
‘Wow, Mr Neat. How come there are no pictures on thewalls?’
I had not had visitors since Daphne moved out of the building.
I knew that I only needed to put out an extra plate andcutlery. But it had already been a stressful evening, and theadrenaline-induced eu-phoria that had immediately followed theJacket Incident had evaporated, at least on my part. Rosieseemed to be in a permanently manic state.
We were in the living area, which adjoins the kitchen.
‘Because after a while I would stop noticing them. The humanbrain is wired to focus on differences in its environment - soit can rapidly discern a predator. If I installed pictures or otherdecorative objects, I would notice them for a few days andthen my brain would ignore them. If I want to see art, I go tothe gallery. The paintings there are of higher quality, and thetotal expenditure over time is less than the purchase price ofcheap posters.’ In fact, I had not been to an art gallery sincethe tenth of May, three years before. But this informationwould55/290weaken my argument and I saw no reason to share it withRosie and open up other aspects of my personal life tointerrogation.
Rosie had moved on and was now examining my CDcollection. The investigation was becoming annoying. Dinner wasalready late.
‘You really love Bach,’ she said. This was a reasonablededuction, as my CD collection consists only of the works ofthat composer. But it was not correct.
‘I decided to focus on Bach after reading G?del, Escher, Bachby Douglas Hofstadter. Unfortunately I haven’t made muchprogress. I don’t think my brain works fast enough to decodethe patterns in the music.’
‘You don’t listen to it for fun?’
This was beginning to sound like the initial dinner conversationswith Daphne and I didn’t answer.
‘You’ve got an iPhone?’ she said.
‘Of course, but I don’t use it for music. I download podcasts.’
‘Let me guess - on genetics.’
‘Science in general.’
I moved to the kitchen to begin dinner preparation and Rosiefollowed me, stopping to look at my whiteboard schedule.
‘Wow,’ she said, again. This reaction was becoming predictable.
I wondered what her response to DNA or evolution would be.
I commenced retrieval of vegetables and herbs from therefrigerator.
‘Let me help,’ she said. ‘I can chop or something.’ Theimplication was that chopping could be done by aninexperienced person unfamiliar with the recipe. After hercomment that she was unable to cook even in a life-threateningsituation, I had visions of huge chunks of leek and fragmentsof herbs too fine to sieve out.
‘No assistance is required,’ I said. ‘I recommend reading abook.’
56/290I watched Rosie walk to the bookshelf, briefly peruse thecontents, then walk away. Perhaps she used IBM rather thanMac software, although many of the manuals applied to both.
The sound system has an iPod port that I use to playpodcasts while I cook. Rosie plugged in her phone, and musicemanated from the speakers. It was not loud, but I was certainthat if I had put on a podcast without asking permission whenvisiting someone’s house, I would have been accused of a socialerror. Very certain, as I had made this exact mistake at adinner party four years and sixty-seven days ago.
Rosie continued her exploration, like an animal in a newenvironment, which of course was what she was. She openedthe blinds and raised them, creating some dust. I considermyself fastidious in my cleaning, but I do not need to open theblinds and there must have been dust in places not reachablewithout doing so. Behind the blinds are doors, and Rosiereleased the bolts and opened them.
I was feeling very uncomfortable at this violation of mypersonal environment. I tried to concentrate on foodpreparation as Rosie stepped out of sight onto the balcony. Icould hear her dragging the two big pot plants, whichpresumably were dead after all these years. I put the herb andvegetable mixture in the large saucepan with the water, salt,rice wine vinegar, mirin, orange peel and coriander seeds.
‘I don’t know what you’re cooking,’ Rosie called out, ‘but I’mbasically vegetarian.’
Vegetarian! I had already commenced cooking! Based oningredients purchased on the assumption that I would be eatingalone. And what did ‘basically’ mean - did it imply somelimited level of flexibility, like my colleague Esther, who admitted,only under rigorous questioning, that she would eat pork ifnecessary to survive?
Vegetarians and vegans can be incredibly annoying. Gene has ajoke: ‘How can you tell if someone is a vegan? Just wait tenminutes57/290and they’ll tell you.’ If this were so, it would not be so muchof a problem. No! Vegetarians arrive for dinner and then say,‘I don’t eat meat.’
This was the second time. The Pig’s Trotter Disasterhappened six years ago, when Gene suggested that I invite awoman to dinner at my apartment. He argued that my cookingexpertise would make me more desirable and I would not haveto deal with the pressure of a restaurant environment. ‘Andyou can drink as much as you like and stagger to thebedroom.’
The woman’s name was Bethany, and her internet profile didnot mention vegetarianism. Realising that the quality of the mealwould be critical, I borrowed a recently published book of ‘noseto tail’ recipes from the library, and planned a multi-coursemeal featuring various parts of the animal: brains, tongue,mesentery, pancreas, kidneys, etc.
Bethany arrived on time and seemed very pleasant. We had aglass of wine, and then things went downhill. We started withfried pig’s trotter, which had been quite complex to prepare,and Bethany ate very little of hers.
‘I’m not big on pig’s trotters,’ she said. This was not entirelyunreasonable: we all have preferences and perhaps she wasconcerned about fat and cholesterol. But when I outlined thecourses to follow, she declared herself to be a vegetarian.
Unbelievable!
She offered to buy dinner at a restaurant but, having spent somuch time in preparation, I did not want to abandon the food.
I ate alone and did not see Bethany again.
Now Rosie. In this case it might be a good thing. Rosie couldleave and life would return to normal. She had obviously notfilled in the questionnaire honestly, or Gene had made anerror. Or possibly he had selected her for her high level ofsexual attractiveness, imposing his own preferences on me.
Rosie came back inside, looking at me, as if expecting aresponse.
‘Seafood is okay,’ she said. ‘If it’s sustainable.’
58/290I had mixed feelings. It is always satisfying to have the solutionto a problem, but now Rosie would be staying for dinner. Iwalked to the bathroom, and Rosie followed. I picked up thelobster from the bath, where it had been crawling around.
‘Oh shit,’ said Rosie.
‘You don’t like lobster?’ I carried it back to the kitchen.
‘I love lobster but …’
The problem was now obvious and I could sympathise.
‘You find the killing process unpleasant. Agreed.’
I put the lobster in the freezer, and explained to Rosie that Ihad researched lobster-execution methods, and the freezermethod was considered the most humane. I gave her a websitereference.
While the lobster died, Rosie continued her sniffing around. Sheopened the pantry and seemed impressed with its level oforganisation: one shelf for each day of the week, plus storagespaces for common resources, alcohol, breakfast, etc., and stockdata on the back of the door.
‘You want to come and sort out my place?’
‘You want to implement the Standardised Meal System?’ Despiteits substantial advantages, most people consider it odd.
‘Just cleaning out the refrigerator would do,’ she said. ‘I’mguessing you want Tuesday ingredients?’
I informed her that, as today was Tuesday, no guessing wasrequired.
She handed me the nori sheets and bonito flakes. I requestedmac-adamia nut oil, sea salt and the pepper grinder from thecommon resources area.
‘Chinese rice wine,’ I added. ‘Filed under alcohol.’
‘Naturally,’ said Rosie.
She passed me the wine, then began looking at the otherbottles in the alcohol section. I purchase my wine in half-bottles.
59/290‘So, you cook this same meal every Tuesday, right?’
‘Correct.’ I listed the eight major advantages of theStandardised Meal System.
1. No need to accumulate recipe books.
2. Standard shopping list - hence very efficient shopping.
3. Almost zero waste - nothing in the refrigerator or pantryunless required for one of the recipes.
4. Diet planned and nutritionally balanced in advance.
5. No time wasted wondering what to cook.
6. No mistakes, no unpleasant surprises.
7. Excellent food, superior to most restaurants at a much lowerprice (see point 3).
8. Minimal cognitive load required.
‘Cognitive load?’
‘The cooking procedures are in my cerebellum - virtually noconscious effort is required.’
‘Like riding a bike.’
‘Correct.’
‘You can make lobster whatever without thinking?’
‘Lobster, mango and avocado salad with wasabi-coated flyingfish roe and crispy seaweed and deep-fried leek garnish.
Correct. My current project is quail-boning. It still requiresconscious effort.’
Rosie was laughing. It brought back memories of school days.
Good ones.
As I retrieved additional ingredients for the dressing from therefrigerator, Rosie brushed past me with two half-bottles ofchablis and put them in the freezer with the lobster.
‘Our dinner seems to have stopped moving.’
60/290‘Further time is required to be certain of death,’ I said.
‘Unfortunately, the Jacket Incident has disrupted the preparationschedule. All times will need to be recalculated.’ I realised atthis point that I should have put the lobster in the freezer assoon as we arrived home, but my brain had been overloadedby the problems created by Rosie’s presence. I went to thewhiteboard and started writing up revised preparation times.
Rosie was examining the ingredients.
‘You were going to eat all this by yourself?’
I had not revised the Standardised Meal System since Daphne’sde-parture, and now ate the lobster salad by myself onTuesdays, deleting the wine to compensate for the additionalcalorie intake.
‘The quantity is sufficient for two,’ I said. ‘The recipe can’t bescaled down. It’s infeasible to purchase a fraction of a livelobster.’ I had intended the last part as a mild joke, and Rosiereacted by laughing. I had another unexpected moment offeeling good as I continued recalculating times.
Rosie interrupted again. ‘If you were on your usual schedule,what time would it be now?’
‘6.38 p.m.’
The clock on the oven showed 9.09 p.m. Rosie located thecontrols and started adjusting the time. I realised what she wasdoing. A perfect solution. When she was finished, it showed6.38 p.m. No recalcula-tions required. I congratulated her onher thinking. ‘You’ve created a new time zone. Dinner will beready at 8.55 p.m. - Rosie time.’
‘Beats doing the maths,’ she said.
Her observation gave me an opportunity for another WifeProject question. ‘Do you find mathematics difficult?’
She laughed. ‘It’s only the single hardest part of what I do.
Drives me nuts.’
If the simple arithmetic of bar and restaurant bills was beyondher, it was hard to imagine how we could have meaningfuldiscussions.
61/290‘Where do you hide the corkscrew?’ she asked.
‘Wine is not scheduled for Tuesdays.’
‘Fuck that,’ said Rosie.
There was a certain logic underlying Rosie’s response. I wouldonly be eating a single serve of dinner. It was the final step inthe abandonment of the evening’s schedule.
I announced the change. ‘Time has been redefined. Previousrules no longer apply. Alcohol is hereby declared mandatory inthe Rosie Time Zone.’
Chapter 8
As I completed dinner preparation, Rosie set the table - notthe conventional dining table in the living room, but a makeshifttable on the balcony, created by taking a whiteboard from thekitchen wall and placing it on top of the two big plant pots,from which the dead plants had been removed. A white sheetfrom the linen cupboard had been added in the role oftablecloth. Silver cutlery - a housewarming gift from myparents that had never been used - and the decorative wineglasses were on the table. She was destroying my apartment!
It had never occurred to me to eat on the balcony. The rainfrom early in the evening had cleared when I came outsidewith the food, and I estimated the temperature at twenty-twodegrees.
‘Do we have to eat right away?’ asked Rosie, an odd question,since she had claimed that she was starving some hours ago.
‘No, it won’t get cold. It’s already cold.’ I was conscious ofsounding awkward. ‘Is there some reason to delay?’
‘The city lights. The view’s amazing.’
63/290‘Unfortunately it’s static. Once you’ve examined it, there’s noreason to look again. Like paintings.’
‘But it changes all the time. What about in the early morning?
Or when it rains? What about coming up here just to sit?’
I had no answer that was likely to satisfy her. I had seen theview when I bought the apartment. It did not change much indifferent conditions. And the only times I just sat were when Iwas waiting for an appointment or if I was reflecting on aproblem, in which case interesting surroundings would be adistraction.
I moved into the space beside Rosie and refilled her glass. Shesmiled. She was almost certainly wearing lipstick.
I attempt to produce a standard, repeatable meal, but obviouslyingredients vary in their quality from week to week. Today’sseemed to be of unusually high standard. The lobster salad hadnever tasted so good.
I remembered the basic rule of asking a woman to talk aboutherself.
Rosie had already raised the topic of dealing with difficultcustomers in a bar, so I asked her to elaborate. This was anexcellent move. She had a number of hilarious stories, and Inoted some interpersonal techniques for possible future use.
We finished the lobster. Then Rosie opened her bag and pulledout a pack of cigarettes! How can I convey my horror?
Smoking is not only unhealthy in itself, and dangerous toothers in the vicinity. It is a clear indication of an irrationalapproach to life. There was a good reason for it being the firstitem on my questionnaire.
Rosie must have noticed my shock. ‘Relax. We’re outside.’
There was no point in arguing. I would not be seeing heragain after tonight. The lighter flamed and she held it to thecigarette between her artificially red lips.
‘Anyhow, I’ve got a genetics question,’ she said.
‘Proceed.’ I was back in the world I knew.
64/290‘Someone told me you can tell if a person’s monogamous bythe size of their testicles.’
The sexual aspects of biology regularly feature in the popularpress, so this was not as stupid a statement as it mightappear, although it embodied a typical misconception. Itoccurred to me that it could be some sort of code for a sexualadvance, but I decided to play safe and respond to thequestion literally.
‘Ridiculous,’ I said.
Rosie seemed very pleased with my answer.
‘You’re a star,’ she said. ‘I’ve just won a bet.’
I proceeded to elaborate and noted that Rosie’s expression ofsatisfaction faded. I guessed that she had oversimplified herquestion and that my more detailed explanation was in factwhat she had been told.
‘There may be some correlation at the individual level, but therule applies to species. Homo sapiens are basicallymonogamous, but tac-tically unfaithful. Males benefit fromimpregnating as many females as possible, but are able tosupport only one set of offspring. Females seekmaximum-quality genes for their children plus a male tosupport them.’
I was just settling into the familiar role of lecturer when Rosieinterrupted.
‘What about the testicles?’
‘Bigger testicles produce more semen. Monogamous speciesrequire only sufficient for their mate. Humans need extra totake advantage of random opportunities and to attack thesperm of recent intruders.’
‘Nice,’ said Rosie.
‘Not really. The behaviour evolved in the ancestral environment.
The modern world requires additional rules.’
‘Yeah,’ said Rosie. ‘Like being there for your kids.’
‘Correct. But instincts are incredibly powerful.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Rosie.
65/290I began to explain. ‘Instinct is an expression of -’
‘Rhetorical question,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ve lived it. My mother wentgene shopping at her medical graduation party.’
‘These behaviours are unconscious. People don’t deliberately -’
‘I get that.’
I doubted it. Non-professionals frequently misinterpret thefindings of evolutionary psychology. But the story wasinteresting.
‘You’re saying your mother engaged in unprotected sex outsideher primary relationship?’
‘With some other student,’ replied Rosie. ‘While she was datingmy’
- at this point Rosie raised her hands and made a downwardsmovement, twice, with the index and middle fingers of bothhands - ‘father.
My real dad’s a doctor. I just don’t know which one. Really,really pisses me off.’
I was fascinated by the hand movements and silent for a whileas I tried to work them out. Were they a sign of distress atnot knowing who her father was? If so, it was not one I wasfamiliar with. And why had she chosen to punctuate herspeech at that point … of course!
Punctuation!
‘Quotation marks,’ I said aloud as the idea hit me.
‘What?’
‘You made quotation marks around “father” to draw attentionto the fact that the word should not be interpreted in theusual way. Very clever.’
‘Well, there you go,’ she said. ‘And there I was thinking youwere reflecting on my minor problem with my whole fuckinglife. And might have something intelligent to say.’
I corrected her. ‘It’s not a minor problem at all!’ I pointed myfinger in the air to indicate an exclamation mark. ‘You shouldinsist on being informed.’ I stabbed the same finger to indicatea full stop. This was quite fun.
66/290‘My mother’s dead. She died in a car accident when I was ten.
She never told anyone who my father was - not even Phil.’
‘Phil?’ I couldn’t think of how to indicate a question mark, anddecided to drop the game temporarily. This was no time forexperimentation.
‘My’ - hands up, fingers wiggled - ‘father. Who’d go ape-shitif I told him I wanted to know.’
Rosie drank the remaining wine in her glass and refilled it. Thesecond half-bottle was now empty. Her story was sad, but notuncommon. Although my parents continued to make routine,ritual contact, it was my assessment that they had lost interestin me some years ago.
Their duty had been completed when I was able to supportmyself. Her situation was somewhat different, however, as itinvolved a stepfather.
I offered a genetic interpretation.
‘His behaviour is completely predictable. You don’t have hisgenes.
Male lions kill the cubs from previous matings when they takeover a pride.’
‘Thanks for that information.’
‘I can recommend some further reading if you are interested.
You seem quite intelligent for a barmaid.’
‘The compliments just keep on coming.’
It seemed I was doing well, and I allowed myself a moment ofsatisfaction, which I shared with Rosie.
‘Excellent. I’m not proficient at dating. There are so many rulesto remember.’
‘You’re doing okay,’ she said. ‘Except for staring at my boobs.’
This was disappointing feedback. Rosie’s dress was quiterevealing, but I had been working hard to maintain eye contact.
‘I was just examining your pendant,’ I said. ‘It’s extremelyinteresting.’
Rosie immediately covered it with her hand. ‘What’s on it?’
67/290‘An image of Isis with an inscription: Sum omnia quae fueruntsun-tque eruntque ego. “I am all that has been, is and willbe.” ’ I hoped I had read the Latin correctly; the writing wasvery small.
Rosie seemed impressed. ‘What about the pendant I had onthis morning?’
‘Dagger with three small red stones and four white ones.’
Rosie finished her wine. She seemed to be thinking aboutsomething. It turned out not to be anything profound.
‘Want to get another bottle?’
I was a little stunned. We had already drunk therecommended maximum amount. On the other hand, shesmoked, so obviously she had a careless attitude to health.
‘You want more alcohol?’
‘Correct,’ she said, in an odd voice. She may have beenmimicking me.
I went to the kitchen to select another bottle, deciding toreduce the next day’s alcohol intake to compensate. Then I sawthe clock: 11.40p.m. I picked up the phone and ordered a taxi. With any luckit would arrive before the after-midnight tariff commenced. Iopened a half-bottle of shiraz to drink while we waited.
Rosie wanted to continue the conversation about her biologicalfather.
‘Do you think there might be some sort of genetic motivation?
That it’s built into us to want to know who our parents are?’
‘It’s critical for parents to be able to recognise their ownchildren. So they can protect the carriers of their genes. Smallchildren need to be able to locate their parents to get thatprotection.’
‘Maybe it’s some sort of carry-over from that.’
‘It seems unlikely. But possible. Our behaviour is stronglyaffected by instinct.’
‘So you said. Whatever it is, it eats me up. Messes with myhead.’
68/290‘Why don’t you ask the candidates?’
‘ “Dear Doctor. Are you my father?” I don’t think so.’
An obvious thought occurred to me, obvious because I am ageneticist.
‘Your hair is a very unusual colour. Possibly -’
She laughed. ‘There aren’t any genes for this shade of red.’
She must have seen that I was confused.
‘This colour only comes out of a bottle.’
I realised what she was saying. She had deliberately dyed herhair an unnaturally bright colour. Incredible. It hadn’t evenoccurred to me to include hair dyeing on the questionnaire. Imade a mental note to do so.
The doorbell buzzed. I had not mentioned the taxi to her, sobrought her up to date with my plan. She quickly finished herwine, then stuck her hand out and it seemed to me that Iwas not the only one feeling awkward.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s been an evening. Have a good life.’
It was a non-standard way of saying goodnight. I thought itsafer to stick with convention.
‘Goodnight. I’ve really enjoyed this evening.’ I added, ‘Goodluck finding your father’ to the formula.
‘Thanks.’
Then she left.
I was agitated, but not in a bad way. It was more a case ofsensory overload. I was pleased to find some wine left in thebottle. I poured it into my glass and phoned Gene. Claudiaanswered and I dispensed with pleasantries.
‘I need to speak with Gene.’
‘He’s not home,’ said Claudia. She sounded disoriented. Perhapsshe had been drinking. ‘I thought he was having lobster withyou.’
69/290‘Gene sent me the world’s most incompatible woman. Abarmaid.
Late, vegetarian, disorganised, irrational, unhealthy, smoker -smoker! - psychological problems, can’t cook, mathematicallyincompetent, unnatural hair colour. I presume he was making ajoke.’
Claudia must have interpreted this as a statement of distressbecause she said, ‘Are you all right, Don?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘She was highly entertaining. But totallyunsuitable for the Wife Project.’ As I said these words,indisputably factual, I felt a twinge of regret at odds with myintellectual assessment. Claudia interrupted my attempt toreconcile the conflicting brain states.
‘Don, do you know what time it is?’
I wasn’t wearing a watch. And then I realised my error. I hadused the kitchen clock as my reference when phoning the taxi.
The clock that Rosie had reset. It must have been almost 2.30a.m. How could I have lost track of time like that? It was asevere lesson in the dangers of messing with the schedule.
Rosie would be paying the after-midnight tariff in the taxi.
I let Claudia return to sleep. As I picked up the two plates andtwo glasses to bring them inside, I looked again at thenight-time view of the city - the view I had never seen beforeeven though it had been there all the time.
I decided to skip my pre-bed aikido routine. And to leave themakeshift table in place.
Chapter 9
‘I threw her in as a wild card,’ said Gene when I woke himup from the unscheduled sleep he was taking under his deskthe next day.
Gene looked terrible and I told him he should refrain fromstaying up so late - although for once I had been guilty of thesame error. It was important that he eat lunch at the correcttime to get his circadian rhythm back on schedule. He had apacked lunch from home, and we headed for a grassy area inthe university grounds. I collected seaweed salad, miso soupand an apple from the Japanese café on the way.
It was a fine day. Unfortunately this meant that there were anumber of females in brief clothing sitting on the grass andwalking by to distract Gene. Gene is fifty-six years old, althoughthat information is not supposed to be disclosed. At that age,his testosterone should have fallen to a level where his sexdrive was significantly reduced. It is my theory that hisunusually high focus on sex is due to mental habit. But humanphysiology varies, and he may be an exception.
Conversely, I think Gene believes I have an abnormally low sexdrive. This is not true - rather I am not as skilled as Gene in71/290expressing it in a socially appropriate way. My occasionalattempts to imitate Gene have been unsuccessful in theextreme.
We found a bench to sit on and Gene commenced hisexplanation.
‘She’s someone I know,’ he said.
‘No questionnaire?’
‘No questionnaire.’
This explained the smoking. In fact, it explained everything.
Gene had reverted to the inefficient practice of recommendingacquaint-ances for dates. My expression must have conveyedmy annoyance.
‘You’re wasting your time with the questionnaire. You’d bebetter off measuring the length of their earlobes.’
Sexual attraction is Gene’s area of expertise. ‘There’s acorrelation?’
I asked.
‘People with long earlobes are more likely to choose partnerswith long earlobes. It’s a better predictor than IQ.’
This was incredible, but much behaviour that developed in theancestral environment seems incredible when considered in thecontext of the current world. Evolution has not kept up. Butearlobes! Could there be a more irrational basis for arelationship? No wonder marriages fail.
‘So, did you have fun?’ asked Gene.
I informed him that his question was irrelevant: my goal wasto find a partner and Rosie was patently unsuitable. Gene hadcaused me to waste an evening.
‘But did you have fun?’ he repeated.
Did he expect a different answer to the same question? To befair, I had not given him a proper answer, but for a goodreason. I had not had time to reflect on the evening anddetermine a proper response. I guessed that ‘fun’ was going tobe an over-simplification of a very complex experience.
72/290I provided Gene with a summary of events. As I related thestory of the dinner on the balcony, Gene interrupted. ‘If yousee her again -’
‘There is zero reason for me to see her again.’
‘ If you see her again,’ Gene continued, ‘it’s probably not agood idea to mention the Wife Project. Since she didn’tmeasure up.’
Ignoring the incorrect assumption about seeing Rosie again, thisseemed like good advice.
At that point, the conversation changed direction dramatically,and I did not have an opportunity to find out how Gene hadmet Rosie. The reason for the change was Gene’s sandwich.
He took a bite, then called out in pain and snatched my waterbottle.
‘Oh shit. Oh shit. Claudia put chillies in my sandwich.’
It was difficult to see how Claudia could make an error of thiskind.
But the priority was to reduce the pain. Chilli is insoluble inwater, so drinking from my bottle would not be effective. Iadvised him to find some oil. We headed back to the Japanesecafé, and were not able to have any further conversation aboutRosie. However, I had the basic information I needed. Genehad selected a woman without reference to the questionnaire.
To see her again would be in total contradiction to therationale for the Wife Project.
Riding home, I reconsidered. I could see three reasons that itmight be necessary to see Rosie again.
1. Good experimental design requires the use of a controlgroup. It would be interesting to use Rosie as a bench-mark tocompare with women selected by thequestionnaire.
2. The questionnaire had not produced any matches to date. Icould interact with Rosie in the meantime.
73/2903. As a geneticist with access to DNA analysis, and theknowledge to interpret it, I was in a position to help Rosie findher biological father.
Reasons 1 and 2 were invalid. Rosie was clearly not a suitablelife partner. There was no point in interaction with someone sopatently inappropriate. But Reason 3 deserved consideration.
Using my skills to assist her in a search for importantknowledge aligned with my life purpose. I could do it in thetime set aside for the Wife Project until a suitable candidateemerged.
In order to proceed, I needed to re-establish contact withRosie. I did not want to tell Gene that I planned to see heragain so soon after telling him that the probability of my doingso was zero. Fortunately, I recalled the name of the bar sheworked at: the Marquess of Queensbury.
There was only one bar of that name, in a back street of aninner suburb. I had already modified the day’s schedule,cancelling my market trip to catch up on the lost sleep. Iwould purchase a ready-made dinner instead. I am sometimesaccused of being inflexible, but I think this demonstrates anability to adapt to even the strangest of circumstances.
I arrived at 7.04 p.m. only to find that the bar did not openuntil 9.00 p.m. Incredible. No wonder people make mistakesat work.
Would it be full of surgeons and flight controllers, drinking untilafter midnight then working the next day?
I ate dinner at a nearby Indian restaurant. By the time I hadworked my way through the banquet, and returned to the bar,it was 9.27 p.m.
There was a security official at the door, and I prepared myselffor a repeat of the previous night. He examined me carefully,then asked,‘Do you know what sort of place this is?’
74/290I am quite familiar with bars, perhaps even more familiar thanmost people. When I travel to conferences, I generally find apleasant bar near my hotel and eat and drink there everyevening. I replied in the affirmative and entered.
I wondered if I had come to the right location. The mostobvious characteristic of Rosie was that she was female, andthe patrons at the Marquess of Queensbury were withoutexception male. Many were wearing unusual costumes, and Itook a few minutes to examine the range. Two men noted melooking at them and one smiled broadly and nodded. I smiledback. It seemed to be a friendly place.
But I was there to find Rosie. I walked to the bar. The twomen followed and sat on either side of me. The clean-shavenone was wearing a cut-off t-shirt and clearly spent time at thegym. Steroids could also have been involved. The one with themoustache wore a leather costume and a black cap.
‘I haven’t seen you here before,’ said Black Cap.
I gave him the simple explanation. ‘I haven’t been here before.’
‘Can I buy you a drink?’
‘You’re offering to buy my drink?’ It was an unusualproposition from a stranger, and I guessed that I would beexpected to reciprocate in some way.
‘I think that’s what I said,’ said Black Cap. ‘What can wetempt you with?’
I told him that the flavour didn’t matter, as long as itcontained alcohol. As in most social situations, I was nervous.
Then Rosie appeared from the other side of the bar, dressedconventionally for her role in a collared black shirt. I washugely relieved. I had come to the correct place and she wason duty. Black Cap waved to her. He ordered threeBudweisers. Then Rosie saw me.
‘Don.’
‘Greetings.’
75/290Rosie looked at us and asked, ‘Are you guys together?’
‘Give us a few minutes,’ said Steroid Man.
Rosie said, ‘I think Don’s here to see me.’
‘Correct.’
‘Well, pardon us interrupting your social life with drinks orders,’
Black Cap said to Rosie.
‘You could use DNA,’ I said.
Rosie clearly didn’t follow, due to lack of context. ‘What?’
‘To identify your father. DNA is the obvious approach.’
‘Sure,’ said Rosie. ‘Obvious. “Please send me your DNA so Ican see if you’re my father.” Forget it, I was just mouthingoff.’
‘You could collect it.’ I wasn’t sure how Rosie would respondto the next part of my suggestion. ‘Surreptitiously.’
Rosie went silent. She was at least considering the idea. Orperhaps wondering whether to report me. Her responsesupported the first possibility. ‘And who’s going to analyse it?’
‘I’m a geneticist.’
‘You’re saying if I got a sample, you could analyse it for me?’
‘Trivial,’ I said. ‘How many samples do we need to test?’
‘Probably only one. I’ve got a pretty good idea. He’s a familyfriend.’
Steroid Man coughed loudly, and Rosie fetched two beers fromthe refrigerator. Black Cap put a twenty-dollar note on thecounter, but Rosie pushed it back and waved them away.
I tried the cough trick myself. Rosie took a moment tointerpret the message this time, but then got me a beer.
‘What do you need?’ she asked. ‘To test the DNA?’
I explained that normally we would use scrapings from theinner cheek, but that it would be impractical to obtain thesewithout the subject’s knowledge. ‘Blood is excellent, but skinscrapings, mucus, urine-’
‘Pass,’ said Rosie.
76/290‘- faecal material, semen -’
‘It keeps getting better,’ said Rosie. ‘I can screw a sixty-year-oldfamily friend in the hope that he turns out to be my father.’
I was shocked. ‘You’d have sex -’
Rosie explained that she was making a joke. On such a seriousmatter! It was getting busy around the bar, and there were alot of cough signals happening. An effective way to spreaddisease. Rosie wrote a telephone number on a piece of paper.
‘Call me.’
Chapter 10
The next morning, I returned with some relief to the routinethat had been so severely disrupted over the past two days.
My Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday runs to the market are afeature of my schedule, combining exercise, meal-ingredientspurchase and an opportunity for reflection. I was in great needof the last of these.
A woman had given me her phone number and told me tocall her.
More than the Jacket Incident, the Balcony Meal and even theexcite-ment of the potential Father Project, this had disruptedmy world. I knew that it happened regularly: people in books,films and TV shows do exactly what Rosie had done. But ithad never happened to me. No woman had ever casually,unthinkingly, automatically, written down her phone number,given it to me and said, ‘Call me.’ I had temporarily beenincluded in a culture that I considered closed to me. Althoughit was entirely logical that Rosie should provide me with ameans of contacting her, I had an irrational feeling that, whenI called, Rosie would realise she had made some kind of error.
78/290I arrived at the market and commenced purchasing. Becauseeach day’s ingredients are standard, I know which stalls to visit,and the vendors generally have my items pre-packaged inadvance. I need only pay. The vendors know me well and areconsistently friendly.
However, it is not possible to time-share major intellectualactivity with the purchasing process, due to the quantity ofhuman and inan-imate obstacles: vegetable pieces on theground, old ladies with shopping buggies, vendors still settingup stalls, Asian women comparing prices, goods being deliveredand tourists taking photos of each other in front of theproduce. Fortunately I am usually the only jogger.
On the way home, I resumed my analysis of the Rosiesituation. I realised that my actions had been driven more byinstinct than logic.
There were plenty of people in need of help, many in moredistress than Rosie, and numerous worthy scientific projectsthat would represent better use of my time than a quest tofind one individual’s father. And, of course, I should be givingpriority to the Wife Project. Better to push Gene to select moresuitable women from the list, or to relax some of the lessimportant selection criteria, as I had already done with theno-drinking rule.
The logical decision was to contact Rosie and explain that theFather Project was not a good idea. I phoned at 6.43 a.m. onreturning from the run and left a message for her to call back.
When I hung up, I was sweating despite the fact that themorning was still cool. I hoped I wasn’t developing a fever.
Rosie called back while I was delivering a lecture. Normally, Iturn my phone off at such times, but I was anxious to putthis problem to bed. I was feeling stressed at the prospect ofan interaction in which it was necessary for me to retract anoffer. Speaking on the phone in front of a lecture theatre fullof students was awkward, especially as I was wearing a lapelmicrophone.
They could hear my side of the conversation.
79/290‘Hi, Rosie.’
‘Don, I just want to say thanks for doing this thing for me. Ididn’t realise how much it had been eating me up. Do youknow that little coffee shop across from the Commerce Building- Barista’s? How about two o’clock tomorrow?’
Now that Rosie had accepted my offer of help, it would havebeen immoral, and technically a breach of contract, to withdrawit.
‘Barista’s 2.00 p.m. tomorrow,’ I confirmed, though I wastemporarily unable to access the schedule in my brain due tooverload.
‘You’re a star,’ she said.
Her tone indicated that this was the end of her contribution tothe conversation. It was my turn to use a standard platitude toreciprocate, and the obvious one was the simple reflection of‘You’re a star’.
But even I realised that made no sense. She was thebeneficiary of my star-ness in the form of my geneticsexpertise. On reflection, I could have just said ‘Goodbye’ or‘See you’, but I had no time for reflection.
There was considerable pressure to make a timely response.
‘I like you too.’
The entire lecture theatre exploded in applause.
A female student in the front row said, ‘Smooth.’ She wassmiling.
Fortunately I am accustomed to creating amusementinadvertently.
I did not feel too unhappy at failing to terminate the FatherProject.
The amount of work involved in one DNA test was trivial.
We met at Barista’s the next day at 2.07 p.m. Needless to say,the delay was Rosie’s fault. My students would be sitting intheir 2.15 p.m.
lecture waiting for my arrival. My intention had been only toadvise her on the collection of a DNA sample, but she seemedunable to process the instructions. In retrospect, I was probablyoffering too many options and too much technical detail toorapidly. With only seven minutes to discuss the problem(allowing one minute for running to80/290the lecture), we agreed that the simplest solution was to collectthe sample together.
We arrived at the residence of Dr Eamonn Hughes, thesuspected father, on the Saturday afternoon. Rosie hadtelephoned in advance.
Eamonn looked older than I had expected. I guessed sixty,BMI twenty-three. Eamonn’s wife, whose name was Belinda(approximately fifty-five, BMI twenty-eight), made us coffee, aspredicted by Rosie. This was critical, as we had decided thatthe coffee-cup rim would be an ideal source of saliva. I satbeside Rosie, pretending to be her friend. Eamonn and Belindawere opposite, and I was finding it hard to keep my eyesaway from Eamonn’s cup.
Fortunately, I was not required to make small talk. Eamonnwas a cardiologist and we had a fascinating discussion aboutgenetic markers for cardiac disease. Eamonn finally finished hiscoffee and Rosie stood up to take the cups to the kitchen.
There, she would be able to swab the lip of the cup and wewould have an excellent sample. When we discussed the plan, Isuggested that this would be a breach of social convention, butRosie assured me that she knew Eamonn and Belinda well asfamily friends, and, as a younger person, she would be allowedto perform this chore. For once, my understanding of socialconvention proved more accurate. Unfortunately.
As Rosie picked up Belinda’s cup, Belinda said, ‘Leave it, I’ll doit later.’
Rosie responded, ‘No, please,’ and took Eamonn’s cup.
Belinda picked up my cup and Rosie’s and said, ‘Okay, giveme a hand.’ They walked out to the kitchen together. It wasobviously going to be difficult for Rosie to swab Eamonn’s cupwith Belinda present, but I could not think of a way of gettingBelinda out of the kitchen.
‘Did Rosie tell you I studied medicine with her mother?’ askedEamonn.
81/290I nodded. Had I been a psychologist, I might have been ableto infer from Eamonn’s conversation and body languagewhether he was hiding the fact that he was Rosie’s father. Imight even have been able to lead the conversation in adirection to trap him. Fortunately we were not relying on myskills in this arena. If Rosie succeeded in collecting the sample,I would be able to provide a far more reliable answer thanone derived from observations of behaviour.
‘If I can offer you a little encouragement,’ Eamonn said,‘Rosie’s mother was a bit wild in her younger days. Verysmart, good-looking, she could have had anyone. All the otherwomen in medicine were going to marry doctors.’ He smiled.
‘But she surprised us all and picked the guy from left fieldwho persisted and stuck around.’
It was lucky I wasn’t looking for clues. My expression musthave conveyed my total lack of comprehension.
‘I suspect Rosie may follow in her mother’s footsteps,’ he said.
‘In what component of her life?’ It seemed safer to seekclarification than assume that he meant getting pregnant to anunknown fellow student or dying. These were the only facts Iknew about Rosie’s mother.
‘I’m just saying I think you’re probably good for her. Andshe’s had a rough time. Tell me to mind my own business ifyou like. But she’s a great kid.’
Now the intent of the conversation was clear, although Rosiewas surely too old to be referred to as a kid. Eamonn thoughtI was Rosie’s boyfriend. It was an understandable error.
Correcting it would neces-sarily involve telling a lie, so I decidedto remain silent. Then we heard the sound of breakingcrockery.
Eamonn called out, ‘Everything okay?’
‘Just broke a cup,’ said Belinda.
Breaking the cup was not part of the plan. Presumably, Rosiehad dropped it in her nervousness or in trying to keep it fromBelinda. I82/290was annoyed at myself for not having a back-up plan. I hadnot treated this project as serious field work. It wasembarrassingly unprofessional, and it was now my responsibilityto find a solution. It would surely involve deception, and I amnot skilled at deception.
My best approach was to source the DNA for a legitimatereason.
‘Have you heard about the Genographic Project?’
‘No,’ said Eamonn.
I explained that with a sample of his DNA we could trace hisdistant ancestry. He was fascinated. I offered to have his DNAprocessed if he organised a cheek scraping and sent it to me.
‘Let’s do it now, before I forget,’ he said. ‘Will blood do?’
‘Blood is ideal for DNA testing, but -’
‘I’m a doctor,’ he said. ‘Give me a minute.’
Eamonn left the room, and I could hear Belinda and Rosiespeaking in the kitchen.
Belinda said, ‘Seen your father at all?’
‘Next question,’ said Rosie.
Belinda instead responded with a statement. ‘Don seems nice.’
Excellent. I was doing well.
‘Just a friend,’ said Rosie.
If she knew how many friends I had, she might have realisedwhat a great compliment she had paid me.
‘Oh well,’ said Belinda.
Rosie and Belinda returned to the living room at the same timeas Eamonn with his doctor’s bag. Belinda reasonably deducedthat there was some medical problem, but Eamonn explainedabout the Genographic Project. Belinda was a nurse and shetook the blood with professional expertise.
As I handed the filled tube to Rosie to put in her handbag, Inoticed her hands were shaking. I diagnosed anxiety,presumably related to the imminent confirmation of herpaternity. I was not surprised when83/290she asked, only seconds after leaving the Hughes’s residence, ifwe could process the DNA sample immediately. It wouldrequire opening the lab on a Saturday evening but at least theproject would be completed.
The laboratory was empty: throughout the university, thearchaic idea of working Monday to Friday results in anincredible under-utilisation of expensive facilities. The universitywas trialling analysis equipment that could test for parent-childrelationships very quickly. And we had an ideal DNA sample. Itis possible to extract DNA from a wide variety of sources andonly a few cells are needed for an analysis, but thepre-paratory work can be time consuming and complex. Bloodwas easy.
The new machine was located in a small room that had oncebeen a tea-room with sink and refrigerator. For a moment Iwished it had been more impressive - an unusual intrusion ofego into my thoughts.
I unlocked the refrigerator and opened a beer. Rosie coughedloudly. I recognised the code and opened one for her also.
I tried to explain the process to Rosie as I set up, but sheseemed unable to stop talking, even as she used the scraperon her inner cheek to provide me with her DNA sample.
‘I can’t believe it’s this easy. This quick. I think I’ve alwaysknown at some level. He used to bring me stuff when I was akid.’
‘It’s a vastly over-specified machine for such a trivial task.’
‘One time he brought me a chess set. Phil gave me girly stuff- jewellery boxes and shit. Pretty weird for a personal trainerwhen you think about it.’
‘You play chess?’ I asked.
‘Not really. That’s not the point. He respected that I have abrain. He and Belinda never had any kids of their own. I havea sense that he was always around. He might even have beenmy mum’s best friend.
But I’ve never consciously thought of him as my father.’
84/290‘He’s not,’ I said.
The result had come up on the computer screen. Jobcomplete. I began packing up.
‘Wow,’ said Rosie. ‘Ever thought of being a grief counsellor?’
‘No. I considered a number of careers, but all in the sciences.
My interpersonal skills are not strong.’
Rosie burst out laughing. ‘You’re about to get a crash coursein advanced grief counselling.’
It turned out that Rosie was making a sort of joke, as herapproach to grief counselling was based entirely on theadministration of alcohol. We went to Jimmy Watson’s onLygon Street, a short walk away, and as usual, even on aweekend, it was full of academics. We sat at the bar, and Iwas surprised to find that Rosie, a professional server ofdrinks, had a very poor knowledge of wine. A few years agoGene suggested that wine was the perfect topic for safeconversation and I did some research. I was familiar with thebackgrounds of the wines offered regularly at this bar. Wedrank quite a lot.
Rosie had to go outside for a few minutes due to her nicotineaddiction. The timing was fortunate, as a couple emerged fromthe courtyard and passed the bar. The man was Gene! Thewoman was not Claudia, but I recognised her. It was Olivia,the Indian Vegetarian from Table for Eight. Neither saw me,and they went past too quickly for me to say anything.
My confusion at seeing them together must have contributed tomy next decision. A waiter came up to me and said, ‘There’s atable for two that’s just come free in the courtyard. Are youeating with us?’
I nodded. I would have to freeze the day’s market purchasesfor the following Saturday, with the resulting loss of nutrients.
Instinct had again displaced logic.
Rosie’s reaction to finding a table being set for us on herreturn appeared to be positive. Doubtless she was hungry butit was reassuring85/290to know that I had not committed a faux pas, always morelikely when different genders are involved.
The food was excellent. We had freshly shucked oysters(sustainable), tuna sashimi (selected by Rosie and probably notsustainable), eggplant and mozzarella stack (Rosie), vealsweetbreads (me), cheese (shared) and a single serving ofpassionfruit mousse (divided and shared). I ordered a bottle ofMarsanne and it was an excellent accompaniment.
Rosie spent much of the meal trying to explain why shewanted to locate her biological father. I could see little reasonfor it. In the past, the knowledge might have been useful todetermine the risk of genetically influenced diseases, but todayRosie could have her own DNA analysed directly. Practically,her stepfather Phil seemed to have executed the father role,although Rosie had numerous complaints about hisperformance. He was an egotist; he was inconsistent in hisattitude towards her; he was subject to mood swings. He wasalso strongly opposed to alcohol. I considered this to be athoroughly defensible position, but it was a cause of frictionbetween them.
Rosie’s motivation seemed to be emotional, and, while I couldnot understand the psychology, it was clearly very important toher happiness.
After Rosie had finished her mousse, she left the table to ‘goto the bathroom’. It gave me time to reflect and I realised thatI was in the process of completing a non-eventful and in facthighly enjoyable dinner with a woman, a significant achievementthat I was looking forward to sharing with Gene and Claudia.
I concluded that the lack of problems was due to three factors.
1. I was in a familiar restaurant. It had never occurred to meto take a woman - or indeed anyone - to Jimmy86/290Watson’s, which I had only previously used as a source ofwine.
2. Rosie was not a date. I had rejected her, comprehens-ively,as a potential partner, and we were together because of a jointproject. It was like a meeting.
3. I was somewhat intoxicated - hence relaxed. As a result, Imay also have been unaware of any social errors.
At the end of the meal, I ordered two glasses of sambuca andsaid,‘Who do we test next?’
Chapter 11
Besides Eamonn Hughes, Rosie knew of only two other ‘familyfriends’
from her mother’s medical graduation class. It struck me asunlikely that someone who had illicit sex with her motherwould remain in contact, given the presence of Phil. But therewas an evolutionary argument that he would wish to ensurethat the carrier of his genes was receiving proper care.
Essentially this was Rosie’s argument also.
The first candidate was Dr Peter Enticott, who lived locally. Theother, Alan McPhee, had died from prostate cancer, which wasgood news for Rosie, as, lacking a prostate gland, she couldnot inherit it. Apparently he had been an oncologist, but hadnot detected the cancer in himself, a not-uncommon scenario.
Humans often fail to see what is close to them and obvious toothers.
Fortunately, he had a daughter, with whom Rosie had socialisedwhen she was younger. Rosie arranged a meeting with Nataliein three days’ time, ostensibly to view Natalie’s newborn baby.
I reverted to the normal schedule, but the Father Project keptintruding into my thoughts. I prepared for the DNA collection- I did88/290not want a repeat of the broken cup problem. I also hadanother alter-cation with the Dean, as a result of the FlounderIncident.
One of my tasks is to teach genetics to medical students. Inthe first class of the previous semester, a student, who did notidentify himself, had raised his hand shortly after I showed myfirst slide. The slide is a brilliant and beautiful diagrammaticsummary of evolution from single-cell organisms to today’sincredible variety of life. Only my colleagues in the PhysicsDepartment can match the extraordinary story that it tells. Icannot comprehend why some people are more interested inthe outcome of a football match or the weight of an actress.
This student belonged to another category.
‘Professor Tillman, you used the word “evolved”.’
‘Correct.’
‘I think you should point out that evolution is just a theory.’
This was not the first time I had received a question - orstatement- of this kind. I knew from experience that I would not swaythe student’s views, which would inevitably be based onreligious dogma. I could only ensure that the student was nottaken seriously by other trainee doctors.
‘Correct,’ I replied, ‘but your use of the word “just” ismisleading.
Evolution is a theory supported by overwhelming evidence. Likethe germ theory of disease, for example. As a doctor, you willbe expected to rely on science. Unless you want to be a faithhealer. In which case you are in the wrong course.’
There was some laughter. Faith Healer objected.
‘I’m not talking about faith. I’m talking about creation science.’
There were only a few moans from the class. No doubt manyof the students were from cultures where criticism of religion isnot well tolerated. Such as ours. I had been forbidden tocomment on religion after an earlier incident. But we werediscussing science. I could have89/290continued the argument, but I knew better than to besidetracked by a student. My lectures are precisely timed to fitwithin fifty minutes.
‘Evolution is a theory,’ I said. ‘There is no other theory of theorigins of life with wide acceptance by scientists, or of anyutility to medicine.
Hence we will assume it in this class.’ I believed I had handledthe situation well, but I was annoyed that time had beeninsufficient to argue the case against the pseudo-science ofcreationism.
Some weeks later, eating in the University Club, I found ameans of making the point succinctly. As I walked to the bar, Inoticed one of the members eating a flounder, with its headstill in place. After a slightly awkward conversation, I obtainedthe head and skeleton, which I wrapped and stored in mybackpack.
Four days later, I had the class. I located Faith Healer, andasked him a preliminary question. ‘Do you believe that fishwere created in their current forms by an intelligent designer?’
He seemed surprised at the question, perhaps because it hadbeen seven weeks since we had suspended the discussion. Buthe nodded in agreement.
I unwrapped the flounder. It had acquired a strong smell, butmedical students should be prepared to deal with unpleasantorganic objects in the interests of learning. I indicated the head:
‘Observe that the eyes are not symmetrical.’ In fact the eyeshad decomposed, but the location of the eye sockets was quiteclear. ‘This is because the flounder evolved from a conventionalfish with eyes on opposite sides of the head. One eye slowlymigrated around, but just far enough to function effectively.
Evolution did not bother to tidy up. But surely an intelligentdesigner would not have created a fish with this imperfec-tion.’
I gave Faith Healer the fish to enable him to examine it andcontinued the lecture.
He waited until the beginning of the new teaching year tolodge his complaint.
90/290In my discussion with the Dean, she implied that I had tried tohu-miliate Faith Healer, whereas my intent had been toadvance an argument. Since he had used the term ‘creationscience’, with no mention of religion, I made the case that Iwas not guilty of denigrating religion. I was merely contrastingone theory with another. He was welcome to bringcounter-examples to class.
‘Don,’ she said, ‘as usual you haven’t technically broken anyrules.
But - how can I put it? - if someone told me that a lecturerhad brought a dead fish to class and given it to a studentwho had made a statement of religious faith, I would guessthat the lecturer was you.
Do you understand where I’m coming from?’
‘You’re saying that I am the person in the faculty most likelyto act unconventionally. And you want me to act moreconventionally. That seems an unreasonable request to make ofa scientist.’
‘I just don’t want you to upset people.’
‘Being upset and complaining because your theory is disprovenis unscientific.’
The argument ended, once again, with the Dean being unhappywith me, though I had not broken any rules, and me beingreminded that I needed to try harder to ‘fit in’. As I left heroffice, her personal assistant, Regina, stopped me.
‘I don’t think I have you down for the faculty ball yet,Professor Tillman. I think you’re the only professor who hasn’tbought tickets.’
Riding home, I was aware of a tightness in my chest andrealised it was a physical response to the Dean’s advice. Iknew that, if I could not‘fit in’ in a science department of a university, I could not fit inanywhere.
Natalie McPhee, daughter of the late Dr Alan McPhee, potentialbiological father of Rosie, lived eighteen kilometres from the city,within91/290riding distance, but Rosie decided we should travel by car. Iwas amazed to find that she drove a red Porsche convertible.
‘It’s Phil’s.’
‘Your “father’s”?’ I did the air quotes.
‘Yeah, he’s in Thailand.’
‘I thought he didn’t like you. But he lent you his car?’
‘That’s the sort of thing he does. No love, just stuff.’
The Porsche would be the perfect vehicle to lend to someoneyou did not like. It was seventeen years old (thus using oldemissions technology), had appalling fuel economy, little legroom, high wind noise and a non-functioning air-conditioningsystem. Rosie confirmed my guess that it was unreliable andexpensive to maintain.
As we arrived at Natalie’s, I realised I had spent the entirejourney listing and elaborating on the deficiencies of the vehicle.
I had avoided small talk, but had not briefed Rosie on theDNA collection method.
‘Your task is to occupy her in conversation while I collectDNA.’ This would make best use of our respective skills.
It soon became clear that my back-up plan would benecessary.
Natalie did not want to drink: she was abstaining from alcoholwhile breastfeeding her baby, and it was too late for coffee.
These were responsible choices, but we would not be able toswab a cup or glass.
I deployed Plan B.
‘Can I see the baby?’
‘He’s asleep,’ she said, ‘so you’ll have to be quiet.’
I stood up and so did she.
‘Just tell me where to go,’ I said.
‘I’ll come with you.’
The more I insisted that I wanted to see the baby alone, themore she objected. We went to its room and, as she hadpredicted, it was sleeping. This was very annoying, as I had anumber of plans that involved collecting DNA in a totallynon-invasive way from the baby,92/290who was, of course, also related to Alan McPhee. UnfortunatelyI had not factored in the mother’s protective instinct. Everytime I found a reason to leave the room, Natalie followed me.
It was very awkward.
Finally, Rosie excused herself to go to the bathroom. Even ifshe had known what to do, she could not have visited thebaby, as Natalie had positioned herself so that she could seethe bedroom door and was checking frequently.
‘Have you heard about the Genographic Project?’ I asked.
She hadn’t and was not interested. She changed the topic.
‘You seem very interested in babies.’
There was surely an opportunity here if I could find a way toexploit it. ‘I’m interested in their behaviour. Without thecorrupting influence of a parent present.’
She looked at me strangely. ‘Do you do any stuff with kids? Imean Scouts, church groups …’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s unlikely that I’d be suitable.’
Rosie returned and the baby started crying.
‘Feeding time,’ said Natalie.
‘We should be going,’ said Rosie.
Failure! Social skills had been the problem. With good socialskills I could surely have got to the baby.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said as we walked to Phil’s ridiculous vehicle.
‘Don’t be.’ Rosie reached into her handbag and pulled out awad of hair. ‘I cleaned her hairbrush for her.’
‘We need roots,’ I said. But there was a lot of hair, so it waslikely we would find a strand with its root attached.
She reached into her bag again and retrieved a toothbrush. Ittook me a few moments to realise what this meant.
‘You stole her toothbrush!’
‘There was a spare in the cupboard. It was time for a newone.’
93/290I was shocked at the theft, but we would now almost certainlyhave a usable sample of DNA. It was difficult not to beimpressed by Rosie’s resourcefulness. And if Natalie was notreplacing her toothbrush at regular intervals Rosie had doneher a favour.
Rosie did not want to analyse the hair or toothbrushimmediately.
She wanted to collect DNA from the final candidate and testthe two samples together. This struck me as illogical. If Natalie’ssample were a match, we would not need to collect furtherDNA. However, Rosie did not seem to grasp the concept ofsequencing tasks to minimise cost and risk.
After the problem with the baby access, we decided tocollaborate on the most appropriate approach for Dr PeterEnticott.
‘I’ll tell him I’m thinking about studying medicine,’ she said. DrEnticott was now in the Medical Faculty at Deakin University.
She would arrange to meet him over coffee, which wouldprovide an opportunity to use the coffee-cup swab procedurethat currently had a one hundred per cent failure rate. Ithought it unlikely that a barmaid could convince a professorthat she had the credentials to study medicine. Rosie seemedinsulted by this, and argued that it did not matter in any case.
We only had to persuade him to have a drink with us.
A bigger problem was how to present me, as Rosie did notthink she could do the job alone. ‘You’re my boyfriend,’ shesaid. ‘You’ll be financing my studies, so you’re a stakeholder.’
She looked at me hard. ‘You don’t need to overplay it.’
On a Wednesday afternoon, with Gene covering a lecture forme in return for the Asperger’s night, we travelled in Phil’s toycar to Deakin University. I had been there many times beforefor guest lectures and collaborative research. I even knew someresearchers in the Medical Faculty, though not Peter Enticott.
94/290We met him at an outdoor café crowded with medical studentsback early from the summer break. Rosie was amazing! Shespoke intelligently about medicine, and even psychiatry, in whichshe said she hoped to specialise. She claimed to have anhonours degree in behavioural science and postgraduateresearch experience.
Peter seemed obsessed with the resemblance between Rosieand her mother, which was irrelevant for our purposes. Threetimes he interrupted Rosie to remind her of their physicalsimilarity, and I wondered if this might indicate some particularbond between him and Rosie’s mother - and hence be apredictor of paternity. I looked, as I had done in EamonnHughes’s living room, for any physical similarities between Rosieand her potential father, but could see nothing obvious.
‘That all sounds very positive, Rosie,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t haveanything to do with the selection process - at least officially.’
His wording appeared to imply the possibility of unofficial, andhence unethical, assistance. Was this a sign of nepotism andthus a clue that he was Rosie’s father?
‘Your academic background is fine, but you’ll have to do theGAMSAT.’ Peter turned to me. ‘The standard admission test forthe MD programme.’
‘I did it last year,’ said Rosie. ‘I got seventy-four.’
Peter looked hugely impressed. ‘You can walk into Harvardwith that score. But we take other factors into account here,so, if you do decide to apply, make sure you let me know.’
I hoped he never went for a drink at the Marquess ofQueensbury.
A waiter brought the bill. As he went to take Peter’s cup, Iautomatically put my hand on it to stop him. The waiter lookedat me extremely unpleasantly and snatched it away. I watchedas he took it to a cart and added it to a tray of crockery.
95/290Peter looked at his phone. ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘But nowthat you’ve made contact, stay in touch.’
As Peter left, I could see the waiter looking towards the cart.
‘You need to distract him,’ I said.
‘Just get the cup,’ said Rosie.
I walked towards the cart. The waiter was watching me but,just as I reached the tray, he snapped his head in Rosie’sdirection and began walking quickly towards her. I grabbed thecup.
We met at the car, which was parked some distance away.
The walk gave me time to process the fact that I had, underpressure to achieve a goal, been guilty of theft. Should I senda cheque to the café? What was a cup worth? Cups werebroken all the time, but by random events. If everyone stolecups, the café would probably become financially non-viable.
‘Did you get the cup?’
I held it up.
‘Is it the right one?’ she said.
I am not good at non-verbal communication, but I believe Imanaged to convey the fact that while I might be a petty thiefI do not make errors of observation.
‘Did you pay the bill?’ I asked.
‘That’s how I distracted him.’
‘By paying the bill?’
‘No, you pay at the counter. I just took off.’
‘We have to go back.’
‘Fuck ’em,’ said Rosie, as we climbed into the Porsche andsped off.
What was happening to me?
Chapter 12
We drove towards the university and the lab. The FatherProject would soon be over. The weather was warm, thoughthere were dark clouds on the horizon, and Rosie lowered theconvertible roof. I was mulling over the theft.
‘You still obsessing about the bill, Don?’ Rosie shouted over thewind noise. ‘You’re hilarious. We’re stealing DNA, and you’reworried about a cup of coffee.’
‘It’s not illegal to take DNA samples,’ I shouted back. This wastrue, although in the UK we would have been in violation ofthe Human Tissue Act of 2004. ‘We should go back.’
‘Highly inefficient use of time,’ said Rosie in a strange voice, aswe pulled up at traffic lights and were briefly able tocommunicate properly. She laughed and I realised she hadbeen imitating me. Her statement was correct, but there was amoral question involved, and acting morally should overrideother issues.
97/290‘Relax,’ she said. ‘It’s a beautiful day, we’re going to find outwho my father is and I’ll put a cheque in the mail for thecoffee. Promise.’ She looked at me. ‘Do you know how torelax? How to just have fun?’
It was too complex a question to answer over the wind noiseas we pulled away from the lights. And the pursuit of fun doesnot lead to overall contentment. Studies have shown thisconsistently.
‘You missed the exit,’ I said.
‘Correct,’ she replied, in the joke voice. ‘We’re going to thebeach.’
She spoke right over the top of my protests. ‘Can’t hear you,can’t hear you.’
Then she put on some music - very loud rock music. Nowshe really couldn’t hear me. I was being kidnapped! We drovefor ninety-four minutes. I could not see the speedometer, andwas not accustomed to travelling in an open vehicle, but Iestimated that we were consistently exceeding the speed limit.
Discordant sound, wind, risk of death - I tried to assume themental state that I used at the dentist.
Finally, we stopped in a beachside car park. It was almostempty on a weekday afternoon.
Rosie looked at me. ‘Smile. We’re going for a walk, then we’regoing to the lab, and then I’m going to take you home. Andyou’ll never see me again.’
‘Can’t we just go home now?’ I said, and realised that Isounded like a child. I reminded myself that I was an adultmale, ten years older and more experienced than the personwith me, and that there must be a purpose for what she wasdoing. I asked what it was.
‘I’m about to find out who my dad is. I need to clear myhead. So can we walk for half an hour or so, and can youjust pretend to be a regular human being and listen to me?’
I was not sure how well I could imitate a regular humanbeing, but I agreed to the walk. It was obvious that Rosie wasconfused by98/290emotions, and I respected her attempt to overcome them. As itturned out, she hardly spoke at all. This made the walk quitepleasant - it was virtually the same as walking alone.
As we approached the car on our return, Rosie asked, ‘Whatmusic do you like?’
‘Why?’
‘You didn’t like what I was playing on the drive down, didyou?’
‘Correct.’
‘So, your turn going back. But I don’t have any Bach.’
‘I don’t really listen to music,’ I said. ‘The Bach was anexperiment that didn’t work.’
‘You can’t go through life not listening to music.’
‘I just don’t pay it any attention. I prefer to listen toinformation.’
There was a long silence. We had reached the car.
‘Did your parents listen to music? Brothers and sisters?’
‘My parents listened to rock music. Primarily my father. Fromthe era in which he was young.’
We got in the car and Rosie lowered the roof again. Sheplayed with her iPhone, which she was using as the musicsource.
‘Blast from the past,’ she said, and activated the music.
I was just settling into the dentist’s chair again when I realisedthe accuracy of Rosie’s words. I knew this music. It had beenin the background when I was growing up. I was suddenlytaken back to my room, door closed, writing in BASIC on myearly-generation computer, the song in the background.
‘I know this song!’
Rosie laughed. ‘If you didn’t, that’d be the final proof thatyou’re from Mars.’
Hurtling back to town, in a red Porsche driven by a beautifulwoman, with the song playing, I had the sense of standing onthe brink of another world. I recognised the feeling, which, ifanything, became99/290stronger as the rain started falling and the convertible roofmalfunctioned so we were unable to raise it. It was the samefeeling that I had experienced looking over the city after theBalcony Meal, and again after Rosie had written down herphone number. Another world, another life, proximate butinaccessible.
The elusive … Sat-is-fac-tion.
It was dark when we arrived back at the university. We wereboth wet.
With the aid of the instruction manual, I was able to close thecar roof manually.
In the lab, I opened two beers (no cough-signal required) andRosie tapped her bottle against mine.
‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘Well done.’
‘You promise to send a cheque to the café?’
‘Whatever. Promise.’ Good.
‘You were brilliant,’ I said. I had been meaning to convey thisfor some time. Rosie’s performance as an aspiring medicalstudent had been very impressive. ‘But why did you claim sucha high score on the medical admission test?’
‘Why do you think?’
I explained that if I could have deduced the answer, I wouldnot have asked.
‘Because I didn’t want to look stupid.’
‘To your potential father?’
‘Yeah. To him. To anybody. I’m getting a bit sick of certainpeople thinking I’m stupid.’
‘I consider you remarkably intelligent -’
‘Don’t say it.’
‘Say what?’
‘For a barmaid. You were going to say that, weren’t you?’
Rosie had predicted correctly.
100/290‘My mother was a doctor. So is my father, if you’re talkingabout genes. And you don’t have to be a professor to besmart. I saw your face when I said I got seventy-four on theGAMSAT. You were thinking, “He won’t believe this woman isthat smart.” But he did. So, put your prejudices away.’
It was a reasonable criticism. I had little contact with peopleoutside academia, and had formed my assumptions about therest of the world primarily from watching films and television asa child. I recognised that the characters in Lost in Space andStar Trek were probably not representative of humans ingeneral. Certainly, Rosie did not conform to my barmaidstereotype. It was quite likely that many of my otherassumptions about people were wrong. This was no surprise.
The DNA analyser was ready.
‘Do you have a preference?’ I asked.
‘Whichever. I don’t want to make any decisions.’
I realised that she was referring to the sequence of testingrather than the choice of father. I clarified the question.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking about it allafternoon.
Alan’s dead, which would suck. And Natalie would be my sister,which I’ve got to tell you is pretty weird. But it’s a sort ofclosure if that makes sense. I like Peter, but I don’t reallyknow anything about him.
He’s probably got a family.’
It struck me once again that this Father Project had not beenwell thought through. Rosie had spent the afternoon trying tosubdue un-wanted emotions, yet the motivation for the projectseemed to be entirely emotional.
I tested Peter Enticott first, as the hair from Natalie’s brushrequired more time for pre-processing. No match.
I had found several roots in the wad of hair, so there was noneed to have stolen the toothbrush. As I processed them, Ireflected that Rosie’s first two candidates, including the one shehad felt was a high101/290probability, Eamonn Hughes, had not matched. It was myprediction that Alan’s daughter would not match either.
I was right. I remembered to look at Rosie for her reaction.
She looked very sad. It seemed we would have to get drunkagain.
‘Remember,’ she said, ‘the sample’s not from him; it’s hisdaughter’s.’
‘I’ve already factored it in.’
‘Naturally. So that’s it.’
‘But we haven’t solved the problem.’ As a scientist I am notaccustomed to abandoning difficult problems.
‘We’re not going to,’ said Rosie. ‘We’ve tested everyone I everheard of.’
‘Difficulties are inevitable,’ I said. ‘Major projects requirepersistence.’
‘Save it for something that matters to you.’
Why do we focus on certain things at the expense of others?
We will risk our lives to save a person from drowning, yet notmake a donation that could save dozens of children fromstarvation. We install solar panels when their impact on CO2emissions is minimal - and indeed may have a net negativeeffect if manufacturing and installation are taken into account -rather than contributing to more efficient infra-structureprojects.
I consider my own decision-making in these areas to be morerational than that of most people but I also make errors of thesame kind. We are genetically programmed to react to stimuliin our immediate vicinity. Responding to complex issues that wecannot perceive directly requires the application of reasoning,which is less powerful than instinct.
This seemed to be the most likely explanation for my continuedinterest in the Father Project. Rationally, there were moreimportant102/290uses for my research capabilities, but instinctively I was drivento assist Rosie with her more immediate problem. As we dranka glass of Muddy Water Pinot Noir at Jimmy Watson’s beforeRosie had to go to work, I tried to persuade her to continuewith the project but she argued, rationally enough, that therewas now no reason to consider any member of her mother’sgraduation class more likely than any other.
She guessed that there would be a hundred or more students,and pointed out that thirty years ago, as a result of entrenchedgender bias, the majority would be male. The logistics of findingand testing fifty doctors, many of whom would be living inother cities or countries, would be prohibitive. Rosie said shedidn’t care that much.
Rosie offered me a lift home, but I decided to stay and drink.
Chapter 13
Before abandoning the Father Project, I decided to checkRosie’s estimate of the number of father candidates. It occurredto me that some possibilities could be easily eliminated. Themedical classes I teach contain numerous foreign students.
Given Rosie’s distinctly pale skin, I considered it unlikely thather father was Chinese, Vietnamese, black or Indian.
I began with some basic research - an internet search forinformation about the medical graduation class, based on thethree names I knew.
The results exceeded my expectations, but problem-solving oftenrequires an element of luck. It was no surprise that Rosie’smother had graduated from my current university. At the time,there were only two medical courses in Melbourne.
I found two relevant photos. One was a formal photo of theentire graduation class, with the names of the one hundredand forty-six students. The other was taken at the graduationparty, also with names.
There were only one hundred and twenty-four faces,presumably104/290because some students did not attend. Since the gene-shoppinghad occurred at the party, or after, we would not have toworry about the non-attendees. I verified that the one hundredand twenty-four were a subset of the one hundred andforty-six.
I had expected that my search would produce a list ofgraduates and probably a photo. An unexpected bonus was a‘Where are they now?’
discussion board. But the major stroke of luck was theinformation that a thirtieth anniversary reunion had beenscheduled. The date was only three weeks away. We wouldneed to act quickly.
I ate dinner at home and rode to the Marquess ofQueensbury.
Disaster! Rosie wasn’t working. The barman informed me thatRosie worked only three nights per week, which struck me asinsufficient to provide an adequate income. Perhaps she had aday job as well. I knew very little about her, beyond her job,her interest in finding her father and her age, which, based onher mother’s graduation party being thirty years earlier, mustbe twenty-nine. I had not asked Gene how he had met her. Idid not even know her mother’s name to identify her in thephoto.
The barman was friendly, so I ordered a beer and some nutsand reviewed the notes I had brought.
There were sixty-three males in the graduation party photo, amargin of only two over the females, insufficient to supportRosie’s claim of discrimination. Some were unambiguouslynon-Caucasian, though not as many as I expected. It was thirtyyears ago, and the influx of Chinese students had not yetcommenced. There was still a large number of candidates, butthe reunion offered an opportunity for batch processing.
I had by now deduced that the Marquess of Queensbury wasa gay bar. On the first visit, I had not observed the socialinteractions, as I was too focused on finding Rosie and initiatingthe Father Project, but this time I was able to analyse mysurroundings in more detail. I was105/290reminded of the chess club to which I belonged when I was atschool.
People drawn together by a common interest. It was the onlyclub I had ever joined, excluding the University Club, whichwas more of a dining facility.
I did not have any gay friends, but this was related to myoverall small number of friends rather than to any prejudice.
Perhaps Rosie was gay? She worked in a gay bar, althoughthe clients were all males.
I asked the barman. He laughed.
‘Good luck with that one,’ he said. It didn’t answer thequestion, but he had moved on to serve another customer.
As I finished lunch at the University Club the following day,Gene walked in, accompanied by a woman I recognised fromthe singles party - Fabienne the Sex-Deprived Researcher. Itappeared that she had found a solution to her problem. Wepassed each other at the dining-room entrance.
Gene winked at me, and said, ‘Don, this is Fabienne. She’svisiting from Belgium and we’re going to discuss some optionsfor collabora-tion.’ He winked again, and quickly moved past.
Belgium. I had assumed Fabienne was French. Belgianexplained it.
Gene already had France.
I was waiting outside the Marquess of Queensbury when Rosieopened the doors at 9.00 p.m.
‘Don.’ Rosie looked surprised. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘I have some information.’
‘Better be quick.’
‘It’s not quick, there’s quite a lot of detail.’
‘I’m sorry, Don, my boss is here. I’ll get into trouble. I needthis job.’
‘What time do you finish?’
‘Three a.m.’
106/290I couldn’t believe it! What sort of jobs did Rosie’s patronshave?
Maybe they all worked in bars that opened at 9.00 p.m. andhad four nights a week off. A whole invisible nocturnalsubculture, using resources that would otherwise stand idle. Itook a huge breath and a huge decision.
‘I’ll meet you then.’
I rode home, went to bed, and set the alarm for 2.30 a.m. Icancelled the run I had scheduled with Gene for the followingmorning to retrieve an hour. I would also skip karate.
At 2.50 a.m. I was riding through the inner suburbs. It wasnot a totally unpleasant experience. In fact, I could see majoradvantages for myself in working at night. Empty laboratories.
No students. Faster response times on the network. No contactwith the Dean. If I could find a pure research position, with noteaching, it would be entirely feasible. Perhaps I could teach viavideo-link at a university in another time zone.
I arrived at Rosie’s workplace at exactly 3.00 a.m. The doorwas locked and a ‘Closed’ sign was up. I knocked hard. Rosiecame to the door.
‘I’m stuffed,’ she said. This was hardly surprising. ‘Come in -I’m almost done.’
Apparently the bar closed at 2.30 a.m. but Rosie had to cleanup.
‘You want a beer?’ she said. A beer! At 3 a.m. Ridiculous.
‘Yes, please.’
I sat at the bar watching her clean up. The question I hadasked sitting in the same place the previous day popped intomy mind.
‘Are you gay?’ I asked.
‘You came here to ask me that?’
‘No, the question is unrelated to the main purpose of my visit.’
‘Pleased to hear it, alone at three in the morning in a bar witha strange man.’
107/290‘I’m not strange.’
‘Not much,’ she said, but she was laughing, presumably makinga joke to herself based on the two meanings of strange. I stilldidn’t have an answer to the gay question. She opened a beerfor herself. I pulled out my folder and extracted the partyphoto.
‘Is this the party where your mother was impregnated?’
‘Shit. Where did this come from?’
I explained about my research and showed her myspreadsheet. ‘All names are listed. Sixty-three males, nineteenobviously non-Caucasian, as determined by visual assessmentand supported by names, three already eliminated.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding. We’re not testing … thirty-onepeople.’
‘Forty-one.’
‘Whatever. I don’t have an excuse to meet any of them.’
I told her about the reunion.
‘Minor problem,’ said Rosie. ‘We’re not invited.’
‘Correct,’ I said. ‘The problem is minor and already solved.
There will be alcohol.’
‘So?’
I indicated the bar, and the collection of bottles on shelvesbehind it.
‘Your skills will be required.’
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘Can you secure employment at the event?’
‘Hang on, hang on. This is getting seriously crazy. You thinkwe’re going to turn up at this party and start swabbingpeople’s glasses. Oh man.’
‘Not us. You. I don’t have the skills. But, otherwise, correct.’
‘Forget it.’
‘I thought you wanted to know who your father was.’
‘I told you,’ she said. ‘Not that much.’
108/290Two days later, Rosie appeared at my apartment. It was 8.47p.m., and I was cleaning the bathroom, as Eva theshort-skirted cleaner had cancelled due to illness. I buzzed herupstairs. I was wearing my bathroom-cleaning costume ofshorts, surgical boots and gloves but no shirt.
‘Wow.’ She stared at me for a few moments. ‘This is whatmartial-arts training does, is it?’ She appeared to be referring tomy pectoral muscles. Then suddenly she jumped up and downlike a child.
‘We got the gig! I found the agency and I offered them shitrates and they went yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t tell anyone. I’llreport them to the union when it’s over.’
‘I thought you didn’t want to do this.’
‘Changed my mind.’ She gave me a stained paperback.
‘Memorise this. I’ve got to get to work.’ She turned and left.
I looked at the book - The Bartender’s Companion: AComplete Guide to Making and Serving Drinks. It appearedto specify the duties of the role I was to perform. I memorisedthe first few recipes before finishing the bathroom. As Iprepared for sleep, having skipped the aikido routine to spendfurther time studying the book, it occurred to me that thingswere getting crazy. It was not the first time that my life hadbecome chaotic and I had established a protocol for dealingwith the problem and the consequent disturbance to rationalthinking. I called Claudia.
She was able to see me the next day. Because I am notofficially one of her clients, we have to have our discussionsover coffee rather than in her office. And I am the oneaccused of rigidity!
I outlined the situation, omitting the Father Project component,as I did not want to admit to the surreptitious collection ofDNA, which Claudia was likely to consider unethical. Instead Isuggested that Rosie and I had a common interest in movies.
109/290‘Have you talked to Gene about her?’ asked Claudia.
I told her that Gene had introduced Rosie as a candidate forthe Wife Project, and that he would only encourage me tohave sex with her. I explained that Rosie was totally unsuitableas a partner, but was presumably under the illusion that I wasinterested in her on that basis. Perhaps she thought that ourcommon interest was an excuse for pursuing her. I had madea major social error in asking her about her sexual orientation- it would only reinforce that impression.
Yet Rosie had never mentioned the Wife Project. We had beensidetracked so quickly by the Jacket Incident, and after thatthings had un-folded in a totally unplanned way. But I saw arisk that at some point I would hurt her feelings by telling herthat she had been eliminated from consideration for the WifeProject after the first date.
‘So that’s what you’re worried about,’ said Claudia. ‘Hurting herfeelings?’
‘Correct.’
‘That’s excellent, Don.’
‘Incorrect. It’s a major problem.’
‘I mean that you’re concerned about her feelings. And you’reenjoying time together?’
‘Immensely,’ I said, realising it for the first time.
‘And is she enjoying herself?’
‘Presumably. But she applied for the Wife Project.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Claudia. ‘She sounds pretty resilient.
Just have some fun.’
A strange thing happened the next day. For the first time ever,Gene made an appointment to see me in his office. I hadalways been the one to organise conversations, but there hadbeen an unusually long gap as a result of the Father Project.
110/290Gene’s office is larger than mine, due to his higher statusrather than any actual requirement for space. The BeautifulHelena let me in, as Gene was late in returning from ameeting. I took the opportunity to check his world map forpins in India and Belgium. I was fairly certain that the Indianone had been there before, but it was possible that Olivia wasnot actually Indian. She had said she was Hindu, so she couldhave been Balinese or Fijian or indeed from any country witha Hindu population. Gene worked on nationalities rather thanethnicit-ies, in the same way that travellers count the countriesthey have visited. North Korea predictably remained without apin.
Gene arrived, and commanded The Beautiful Helena to fetch uscoffees. We sat at his table, as if in a meeting.
‘So,’ said Gene, ‘you’ve been talking to Claudia.’ This was oneof the negatives of not being an official client of Claudia: I didnot have the protection of confidentiality. ‘I gather you’ve beenseeing Rosie. As the expert predicted.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but not for the Wife Project.’ Gene is my bestfriend, but I still felt uncomfortable about sharing informationabout the Father Project. Fortunately he did not pursue it,probably because he assumed I had sexual intentions towardsRosie. In fact I was amazed that he didn’t immediately raisethe topic.
‘What do you know about Rosie?’ he asked.
‘Not very much,’ I said honestly. ‘We haven’t talked muchabout her.
Our discussion has focused on external issues.’
‘Give me a break,’ he said. ‘You know what she does, whereshe spends her time.’
‘She’s a barmaid.’
‘Okay,’ said Gene. ‘That’s all you know?’
‘And she doesn’t like her father.’
Gene laughed for no obvious reason. ‘I don’t think he’sRobinson Crusoe.’ This seemed a ludicrous statement aboutRosie’s paternity111/290until I recalled that the reference to the fictional shipwrecksurvivor could be used as a metaphorical phrase meaning ‘notalone’ or in this context ‘not alone in not being liked by Rosie’.
Gene must have noticed my puzzled expression as I worked itout, and elaborated: ‘The list of men that Rosie likes is not along one.’
‘She’s gay?’
‘Might as well be,’ said Gene. ‘Look at the way she dresses.’
Gene’s comment seemed to refer to the type of costume shewas wearing when she first appeared in my office. But shedressed conventionally for her bar work and on our visits tocollect DNA had worn un-exceptional jeans and tops. On thenight of the Jacket Incident she had been unconventional butextremely attractive.
Perhaps she did not want to send out mating signals in theenvironment in which Gene had encountered her, presumably abar or restaurant. Much of women’s clothing is designed toenhance their sexual attraction in order to secure a mate. IfRosie was not looking for a mate, it seemed perfectly rationalfor her to dress otherwise. There were many things that Iwanted to ask Gene about Rosie, but I suspected that askingwould imply a level of interest that Gene would misinterpret.
But there was one critical question.
‘Why was she prepared to participate in the Wife Project?’
Gene hesitated a while. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘I don’t thinkshe’s a lost cause, but just don’t expect too much. She’s got alot of issues.
Don’t forget the rest of your life.’
Gene’s advice was surprisingly perceptive. Did he know howmuch time I was spending with the cocktail book?
Chapter 14
My name is Don Tillman and I am an alcoholic. I formedthese words in my head but I did not say them out loud, notbecause I was drunk (which I was) but because it seemed thatif I said them they would be true, and I would have no choicebut to follow the rational path which was to stop drinkingpermanently.
My intoxication was a result of the Father Project - specificallythe need to gain competence as a drinks waiter. I hadpurchased a cocktail shaker, glasses, olives, lemons, a zesterand a substantial stock of liquor as recommended in TheBartender’s Companion in order to master the mechanicalcomponent of cocktail making. It was surprisingly complex, andI am not naturally a dextrous person. In fact, with theexception of rock climbing, which I have not practised since Iwas a student, and martial arts, I am clumsy and incompetentat most forms of sport. The expertise in karate and aikido isthe result of considerable practice over a long period.
I practised first for accuracy, then speed. At 11.07 p.m., I wasexhausted, and decided that it would be interesting to test thecocktails113/290for quality. I made a classic martini, a vodka martini, amargarita and a cock-sucking cowboy - cocktails noted by thebook as being among the most popular. They were allexcellent, and tasted far more different from one another thanice-cream varieties. I had squeezed more lime juice than wasrequired for the margarita, and made a second so as not towaste it.
Research consistently shows that the risks to health outweighthe benefits of drinking alcohol. My argument is that thebenefits to my mental health justify the risks. Alcohol seems toboth calm me down and elevate my mood, a paradoxical butpleasant combination. And it reduces my discomfort in socialsituations.
I generally manage my consumption carefully, scheduling twodays abstinence per week, although the Father Project hadcaused this rule to be broken a number of times. My level ofconsumption does not of itself qualify me as an alcoholic.
However, I suspect that my strong an-tipathy towardsdiscontinuing it might do so.
The Mass DNA Collection Subproject was proceedingsatisfactorily, and I was working my way through the cocktailbook at the required rate. Contrary to popular belief, alcoholdoes not destroy brain cells.
As I prepared for bed, I felt a strong desire to telephone Rosieand report on progress. Logically it was not necessary, and itis a waste of effort to report that a project is proceeding toplan, which should be the default assumption. Rationalityprevailed. Just.
Rosie and I met for coffee twenty-eight minutes before thereunion function. To my first-class honours degree and PhD, Icould now add a Responsible Service of Alcohol certificate. Theexam had not been difficult.
Rosie was already in server uniform, and had brought a maleequivalent for me.
114/290‘I picked it up early and washed it,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want akarate exhibition.’
She was obviously referring to the Jacket Incident, even thoughthe martial art I had employed was aikido.
I had prepared carefully for the DNA collection - zip-lock bags,tissues, and pre-printed adhesive labels with the names fromthe graduation photo. Rosie insisted that we did not need tocollect samples from those who had not attended thegraduation party, so I crossed out their names. She seemedsurprised that I had memorised them, but I was determinednot to cause errors due to lack of knowledge.
The reunion was held at a golf club, which seemed odd to me,but I discovered that the facilities were largely for eating anddrinking rather than supporting the playing of golf. I alsodiscovered that we were vastly overqualified. There were regularbar personnel who were responsible for preparing the drinks.
Our job was merely to take orders, deliver drinks and, mostimportantly, collect the empty glasses.
The hours spent in developing my drink-making skills hadapparently been wasted.
The guests began arriving, and I was given a tray of drinks todis-tribute. I immediately perceived a problem. No name tags!
How would we identify the DNA sources? I managed to findRosie, who had also realised the problem but had a solution,based on her knowledge of social behaviour.
‘Say to them, “Hi, I’m Don and I’ll be looking after you thisevening, Doctor -” ’ She demonstrated how to give theimpression that the sentence was incomplete, encouraging themto contribute their name. Extraordinarily, it turned out to work72.5 per cent of the time. I realised that I needed to do thiswith the women as well, to avoid appearing sexist.
Eamonn Hughes and Peter Enticott, the candidates we hadeliminated, arrived. As a family friend, Eamonn must haveknown Rosie’s115/290profession, and she explained to him that I worked evenings tosupplement my academic income. Rosie told Peter Enticott thatshe did bar work part-time to finance her PhD. Perhaps theyboth assumed that we had met through working together.
Actually swabbing the glasses discreetly proved the most difficultproblem and I was able to get at most one sample from eachtray that I returned to the bar. Rosie was having even moreproblems.
‘I can’t keep track of all the names,’ she said, frantically, as wepassed each other with drinks trays in our hands. It wasgetting busy and she seemed a little emotional. I sometimesforget that many people are not familiar with basic techniquesfor remembering data.
The success of the subproject would be in my hands.
‘There will be adequate opportunity when they sit down,’ I said.
‘There is no reason for concern.’
I surveyed the tables set for dinner, ten seats per table, plustwo with eleven seats, and calculated the attendance atninety-two. This of course included female doctors. Partners hadnot been invited. There was a small risk that Rosie’s father wasa transsexual. I made a mental note to check the women forsigns of male features, and test any that appeared doubtful.
Overall, however, the numbers looked promising.
When the guests sat down, the mode of service moved fromprovision of a limited selection of drinks to taking orders.
Apparently, this arrangement was unusual. Normally, we wouldjust bring bottles of wine, beer and water to the table, but, asthis was an upmarket function, the club was taking orders andwe had been told to ‘push the top shelf stuff’, apparently toincrease the club’s profits. It occurred to me that if I did thiswell I might be forgiven for any other errors.
I approached one of the tables of eleven. I had alreadyintroduced myself to seven of the guests, and obtained sixnames.
I commenced with a woman whose name I already knew.
‘Greetings, Dr Collie. What can I get you to drink?’
116/290She looked at me strangely and for a moment I thought I hadmade an error with the word-association method I was usingand that her name was perhaps Doberman or Poodle. But shedid not correct me.
‘Just a white wine, thanks.’
‘I recommend a margarita. World’s most popular cocktail.’
‘You’re doing cocktails?’
‘Correct.’
‘In that case,’ she said, ‘I’ll have a martini.’
‘Standard?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ Easy.
I turned to the unidentified man beside her and tried the Rosiename-extraction trick. ‘Greetings, my name is Don and I’ll belooking after you this evening, Doctor -’
‘You said you’re doing cocktails?’
‘Correct.’
‘Have you heard of a Rob Roy?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, put me down for one.’
‘Sweet, dry or perfect?’ I asked.
One of the men opposite my customer laughed. ‘Cop that,Brian.’
‘Perfect,’ said the man I now knew as Dr Brian Joyce. Therewere two Brians but I had already identified the first.
Dr Walsh (female, no transsexual characteristics) ordered amargarita.
‘Standard, premium, strawberry, mango, melon or sage andpineapple?’ I asked.
‘Sage and pineapple? Why not?’
My next customer was the only remaining unidentified man, theone who had laughed at Brian’s order. He had previously failedto respond to the name-extraction trick. I decided not to repeatit.
‘What would you like?’ I asked.
117/290‘I’ll have a double-coddled Kurdistani sailmaker with a reversetwist,’ he said. ‘Shaken, not stirred.’
I was unfamiliar with this drink, but assumed the professionalsbehind the bar would know it.
‘Your name, please?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I require your name. To avoid errors.’
There was a silence. Dr Jenny Broadhurst, beside him, said,‘His name’s Rod.’
‘Dr Roderick Broadhurst, correct?’ I said by way ofconfirmation.
The rule against partners did not apply, of course, to peoplewho were in a relationship with someone from the same class.
There were seven such couples and Jenny was predictablysitting beside her husband.
‘What -’ started Rod, but Jenny interrupted.
‘Quite correct. I’m Jenny and I’ll have a sage and pineapplemargarita too, please.’ She turned to Rod. ‘Are you being ajerk? About the sailmaker? Pick on someone with your owncomplement of synapses.’
Rod looked at her, then at me. ‘Sorry, mate, just taking thepiss. I’ll have a martini. Standard.’
I collected the remainder of the names and orders withoutdifficulty.
I understood that Jenny had been trying to tell Rod discreetlythat I was unintelligent, presumably because of my waiter role.
She had used a neat social trick, which I noted for future use,but had made a factual error which Rod had not corrected.
Perhaps one day he or she would make a clinical or researchmistake as a result of this misunderstanding.
Before I returned to the bar, I spoke to them again.
‘There is no experimental evidence of a correlation betweensynapse numbers and intelligence level within primatepopulations. I recommend reading Williams and Herrup, AnnualReview of Neuroscience.’
I hoped this would be helpful.
118/290Back at the bar, the cocktail orders caused some confusion.
Only one of the three bar persons knew how to make a RobRoy, and then only a conventional one. I gave her theinstructions for the perfect version.
Then there was an ingredient problem with the sage andpineapple margarita. The bar had pineapple (tinned - the bookhad said ‘fresh if possible’ so I decided that this would beacceptable) but no sage. I headed for the kitchen where theycould not even offer me dried sage.
Obviously this was not what The Bartender’s Companion hadcalled a‘well-stocked bar, ready for any occasion’. The kitchen staffwere also busy, but we settled on coriander leaves and I tooka quick mental inventory of the bar’s ingredients to avoidfurther problems of this kind.
Rosie was also taking orders. We had not yet progressed tothe stage of collecting glasses, and some people seemed to bedrinking quite slowly. I realised that our chances would beimproved if there was a high turnover of drinks. Unfortunately,I was unable to encourage faster consumption, as I would beviolating my duty as the holder of a Responsible Service ofAlcohol certificate. I decided to take a middle ground byreminding them of some of the delicious cocktails available.
As I took orders, I observed a change in the dynamic of theecosys-tem, evidenced by Rosie looking annoyed as she camepast me.
‘Table Five won’t let me take their order. They want to waitfor you.’
It appeared that almost everyone wanted cocktails rather thanwine.
No doubt the proprietors would be pleased with the profitresults. Unfortunately it appeared that staff numbers had beencalculated on the basis that most orders would be for beer orwine, and the bar personnel were having trouble keeping up.
Their knowledge of cocktails was surprisingly poor, and I washaving to dictate recipes along with the orders.
The solution to both problems was simple. Rosie went behindthe bar to assist while I took all the orders myself. A goodmemory was a huge asset, as I did not need to write anythingdown, or process just119/290one table at a time. I took orders for the whole room, thenrelayed them back to the bar at consistent intervals. If peopleneeded ‘time to think’, I left them and returned rather thanwaiting. I was actually running rather than walking, andincreased my word rate to the maximum that I consideredcomprehensible. The process was very efficient, and seemed tobe appreciated by the diners, who would occasionally applaudwhen I was able to propose a drink to meet a particularrequirement or replayed a table’s orders when they wereconcerned that I might have misheard.
People were finishing their drinks, and I found that I couldswab three glasses between the dining room and the bar. Theremainder I grouped together and indicated to Rosie as I leftthe tray on the bar, rapidly advising her of the owners’ names.
She seemed a little pressured. I was enjoying myself immensely.
I had the presence of mind to check the cream supplies beforedessert was served. Predictably the quantity was insufficient forthe number of cocktails I expected to sell to complement themango mousse and sticky date pudding. Rosie headed for thekitchen to find more. When I returned to the bar, one of thebarmen called out to me, ‘I’ve got the boss on the phone. He’sbringing cream. Do you need anything else?’ I surveyed theshelves and made some predictions based on the ‘ten mostpopular dessert cocktails’.
‘Brandy, Galliano, crème de menthe, Cointreau, advocaat, darkrum, light rum.’
‘Slow down, slow down,’ he said.
I wasn’t slowing down now. I was, as they say, on a roll.
Chapter 15
The boss, a middle-aged man (estimated BMI twenty-seven),arrived with the additional supplies just in time for dessert, anddid some re-organisation of the process behind the bar. Dessertwas great fun, although it was hard to hear orders over thevolume of conversation. I sold primarily the cream-basedcocktails, with which most of the diners were unfamiliar, butresponded to enthusiastically.
As the food waiters cleared the dessert dishes, I made a roughmental calculation of our coverage. It depended a great deal onRosie, but I believed we had samples from at least eighty-fiveper cent of the males. Good, but not optimum use of ouropportunity. Having ascer-tained the names of the guests, I haddetermined that all but twelve of the Caucasian males from thegraduation party were present. The missing twelve included AlanMcPhee, unable to attend due to death, but already eliminatedby means of his daughter’s hairbrush.
I headed for the bar, and Dr Ralph Browning followed me.
‘Can I bother you for another Cadillac? That was maybe thebest drink I’ve ever had.’
121/290The bar staff were packing up, but the boss said to Rosie,‘Make the man a Cadillac.’
Jenny and Rod Broadhurst appeared from the dining room.
‘Make that three,’ said Rod.
The other bar personnel surrounded the owner, and there wasa conversation.
‘These guys have to go,’ said the boss to me, shrugging hisshoulders. He turned to Rosie. ‘Double time?’
Meanwhile, the diners were forming a throng around the bar,raising their hands for attention.
Rosie handed a Cadillac to Dr Browning then turned to theboss.
‘Sorry, I need at least two to stay. I can’t run a bar for ahundred people by myself.’
‘Me and him,’ said the boss, pointing to me.
Finally, I had a chance to use my expertise. Rosie lifted thehinged part of the bar and let me through.
Dr Miranda Ball raised her hand. ‘Same again, please.’
I called to Rosie, loudly, as the bar area was now very noisy.
‘Miranda Ball. Alabama Slammer. One part each sloe gin,whisky, Galliano, triple sec, orange juice, orange slice and acherry.’
‘We’re out of triple sec,’ yelled Rosie.
‘Substitute Cointreau. Reduce the quantity by twenty per cent.’
Dr Lucas put his finished drink on the bar, and raised hisfinger.
One more.
‘Gerry Lucas. Empty glass,’ I called.
Rosie took the glass: I hoped she realised that we didn’t havea sample for him yet.
‘Another Anal Probe for Dr Lucas.’
‘Got that,’ she called from the kitchen. Excellent, she hadremembered to swab.
122/290Dr Martin van Krieger called out, loudly, ‘Is there a cocktailwith Galliano and tequila?’
The crowd quietened. This sort of question had becomecommon during dinner, and the guests had seemed impressedwith my responses. I took a few moments to think.
Martin called out again, ‘Don’t worry if there isn’t.’
‘I’m re-indexing my internal database,’ I said to explain thedelay. It took a few moments. ‘Mexican Gold or FreddyFudpucker.’ The crowd applauded.
‘One of each,’ he said.
Rosie knew how to make a Freddy Fudpucker. I gave the bossthe Mexican Gold recipe.
We continued in this mode, with great success. I decided totake advantage of the opportunity to test all male doctorspresent, including those I had previously filtered out because ofincompatible ethnic appearance. At 1.22 a.m. I was confidentthat we had tested all but one person. It was time to beproactive.
‘Dr Anwar Khan. Approach the bar please.’ It was anexpression I had heard used on television. I hoped it carriedthe required authority.
Dr Khan had drunk only from his water glass, and carried itwith him to the bar. ‘You haven’t ordered a drink all night,’ Isaid.
‘Is that a problem? I don’t drink alcohol.’
‘Very wise,’ I said, although I was providing a bad example,with a beer open beside me. ‘I recommend a Virgin Colada.
Virgin Mary.
Virgin -’
At this moment, Dr Eva Gold put her arm around Dr Khan.
She was obviously affected by alcohol. ‘Loosen up, Anwar.’
Dr Khan looked back at her, and then at the crowd, whowere, in my assessment, also exhibiting the effects ofintoxication.
‘What the hell,’ he said. ‘Line up the virgins.’
He put his empty glass on the bar.
123/290I did not leave the golf club until very late. The last guestsdeparted at 2.32 a.m., two hours and two minutes after thescheduled completion time. Rosie, the boss and I had madeone hundred and forty-three cocktails. Rosie and the boss alsosold some beer of which I did not keep track.
‘You guys can go,’ said the boss. ‘We’ll clean up in themorning.’ He extended his hand to me and I shook itaccording to custom, although it seemed very late forintroductions. ‘Amghad,’ he said. ‘Nice work, guys.’
He didn’t shake Rosie’s hand but looked at her and smiled. Inoticed that she was looking a little tired. I was still full ofenergy.
‘Got time for a drink?’ said Amghad.
‘Excellent idea.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m going. All the stuff’sin your bag. You don’t want a lift, Don?’
I had my cycle, and had only drunk three beers over thecourse of a long evening. I estimated that my blood alcoholwould be well below the legal limit, even after a drink withAmghad. Rosie departed.
‘What’s your poison?’ said Amghad.
‘Poison?’
‘What do you want to drink?’
Of course. But why, why, why can’t people just say what theymean?
‘Beer, please.’
Amghad opened two pale ales and we clicked bottles.
‘How long have you been doing this?’ he asked.
Though some deception had been necessary for the purposesof the Father Project, I was not comfortable with it.
‘This is my first work in the field,’ I said. ‘Did I make someerror?’
Amghad laughed. ‘Funny guy. Listen,’ he said. ‘This place hereis okay, but it’s mostly steak and beer and mid-range wine.
Tonight was a one-off, and mainly because of you.’ He dranksome beer, and looked124/290at me without speaking for a while. ‘I’ve been thinking ofopening in the inner west - a little cocktail bar with a bit offlair. New York feel, but something a bit extra behind the bar,if you know what I mean. If you’re interested -’
He was offering me a job! This was flattering, considering mylimited experience, and my immediate irrational thought wasthat I wished Rosie had been present to witness it.
‘I already have a job. Thank you.’
‘I’m not talking about a job. I’m talking about a share in abusiness.’
‘No, thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. But I think you would findme unsatisfactory.’
‘Maybe, but I’m a pretty good judge. Give me a call if youchange your mind. I’m in no hurry.’
The following day was Sunday.
Rosie and I arranged to meet at the lab at 3.00 p.m. She waspredictably late, and I was already at work. I confirmed thatwe had obtained samples from all attendees at the reunion,meaning we had now tested all but eleven of the Caucasianmales in the class.
Rosie arrived in tight blue jeans and a white shirt and headedfor the refrigerator. ‘No beer until all samples are tested,’ Isaid.
The work took some time, and I needed to source additionalchemicals from the main laboratory.
At 7.06 p.m. Rosie went out for pizza, an unhealthy choice, butI had missed dinner the previous night and calculated that mybody would be able to process the extra kilojoules. When shereturned, I was testing the fourth-to-last candidate. As we wereopening the pizza, my mobile phone rang. I realised immediatelywho it was.
‘You didn’t answer at home,’ said my mother. ‘I was worried.’
This was a reasonable reaction on her part, as her Sundayphone call is part of my weekly schedule. ‘Where are you?’
125/290‘At work.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’
It was embarrassing to have Rosie listen to a personalconversation, and I did everything I could to terminate itquickly, keeping my responses as brief as possible. Rosie startedlaughing - fortunately not loudly enough for my mother tohear - and making funny faces.
‘Your mother?’ she said when I was finally able to hang up.
‘Correct. How did you guess?’
‘You sound like any sixteen-year-old boy talking to his mum infront of -’ She stopped. My annoyance must have beenobvious. ‘Or me talking to Phil.’
It was interesting that Rosie also found conversation with aparent difficult. My mother is a good person, but very focusedon sharing personal information. Rosie picked up a slice ofpizza and looked at the computer screen.
‘I’m guessing no news.’
‘Plenty of news. Five more eliminated, only four to go. Includingthis one.’ The result had come up while I was on the phone.
‘delete Anwar Khan.’
Rosie updated the spreadsheet. ‘Allah be praised.’
‘World’s most complicated drink order,’ I reminded her. DrKhan had ordered five different drinks, compensating for hisabstinence earlier in the evening. At the end of the night, hehad left with his arm around Dr Gold.
‘Yeah and I messed it up too. Put rum in the Virgin Colada.’
‘You gave him alcohol?’ I presumed this was in violation of hispersonal or religious standards.
‘Maybe he’ll miss out on his seventy-two virgins.’
126/290I was familiar with this religious theory. My public position, asnegotiated with the Dean, is that I regard all non-science basedbeliefs as having equal merit. But I found this one curious.
‘Seems irrational,’ I said. ‘Wanting virgins. Surely a woman withsexual experience would be preferable to a novice.’
Rosie laughed and opened two beers. Then she stared at me,in the way that I am not supposed to do to others. ‘Amazing.
You. You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I don’tknow why you’re doing this, but thanks.’ She tapped her bottleagainst mine and drank.
It was enjoyable to be appreciated, but this was exactly what Ihad been worried about when I spoke to Claudia. Now Rosiewas asking about my motives. She had applied for the WifeProject and presumably had expectations on that basis. It wastime to be honest.
‘Presumably you think it’s in order to initiate a romanticrelationship.’
‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ said Rosie.
Assumption confirmed.
‘I’m extremely sorry if I’ve created an incorrect impression.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Rosie.
‘I’m not interested in you as a partner. I should have told youearlier, but you’re totally unsuitable.’ I tried to gauge Rosie’sreaction, but the interpretation of facial expressions is not oneof my strengths.
‘Well, you’ll be pleased to know I can cope. I think you’repretty unsuitable too,’ she said.
This was a relief. I hadn’t hurt her feelings. But it did leave aquestion unanswered.
‘Then why did you apply for the Wife Project?’ I was using theword‘apply’ loosely, as Gene had not required Rosie to complete thequestionnaire. But her answer suggested a more serious level ofmiscommunication.
‘ Wife Project? ’ she said, as if she had never heard of it.
127/290‘Gene sent you to me as a candidate for the Wife Project. Awild card.’
‘He did what?’
‘You haven’t heard of the Wife Project?’ I asked, trying toestablish the correct starting point.
‘No,’ she said, speaking in the tone that is traditionally used forgiving instructions to a child. ‘I have never heard of the WifeProject. But I’m about to. In detail.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But we should time-share it withpizza-consumption and beer-drinking.’
‘Of course,’ said Rosie.
I explained in some detail about the Wife Project, including thereview with Gene and field visits to dating establishments. Ifinished as we consumed the final slices of pizza. Rosie had notreally asked any questions except to make exclamations such as‘Jesus’ and ‘Fuck’.
‘So,’ said Rosie. ‘Are you still doing it? The Wife Project?’
I explained that the project was still technically active, but inthe absence of any qualified candidates there had been noprogress.
‘What a shame,’ said Rosie. ‘The perfect woman hasn’t checkedin yet.’
‘I would assume that there is more than one candidate whomeets the criteria,’ I said, ‘but it’s like finding a bone-marrowdonor. Not enough registrations.’
‘I can only hope that enough women realise their civic dutyand take the test.’
It was an interesting comment. I didn’t really feel it was aduty. In the last few weeks, reflecting on the Wife Project andits lack of success, I had felt sad that there were so manywomen who were looking for partners, and desperate enoughto register, even though there was only a low probability thatthey would meet the criteria.
‘It’s entirely optional,’ I said.
128/290‘How nice for them. Here’s a thought for you. Any womanwho takes that test is happy to be treated as an object. Youcan say that’s their choice. But, if you spent two minuteslooking at how much society forces women to think ofthemselves as objects, you might not think so. What I want toknow is, do you want a woman who thinks like that? Is thatthe sort of wife you want?’ Rosie was sounding angry.
‘You know why I dress the way I do? Why these glasses?
Because I don’t want to be treated as an object. If you knewhow insulted I am that you think I was an applicant, acandidate -’
‘Then why did you come to see me that day?’ I asked. ‘Theday of the Jacket Incident?’
She shook her head. ‘Remember at your apartment, on yourbalcony, I asked you a question about the size of testicles?’
I nodded.
‘It didn’t strike you as odd that here I was, on a first date,asking about testicles?’
‘Not really. On a date I’m too focused on not saying oddthings myself.’
‘Okay, strike that.’ She seemed a little calmer. ‘The reason Iasked the question was that I had a bet with Gene. Gene, whois a sexist pig, bet me that humans were naturallynon-monogamous, and that the evidence was the size of theirtesticles. He sent me to a genetics expert to settle the bet.’
It took me a few moments to process fully the implications ofwhat Rosie was saying. Gene had not prepared her for thedinner invitation.
A woman - Rosie - had accepted an offer of a date with mewithout being pre-warned, set up. I was suffused with anirrationally disproportionate sense of satisfaction. But Gene hadmisled me. And it seemed he had taken advantage of Rosiefinancially.
‘Did you lose much money?’ I asked. ‘It seems exploitative fora professor of psychology to make a bet with a barmaid.’
129/290‘I’m not a fucking barmaid.’
I could tell by the use of the obscenity that Rosie was gettingangry again. But she could hardly contradict the evidence. Irealised my error - one that would have caused trouble if Ihad made it in front of a class.
‘Bar- person.’
‘ Bartender is the established non-sexist term,’ she said. ‘That’snot the point. It’s my part-time job. I’m doing my PhD inpsychology, okay? In Gene’s department. Does that make sensenow?’
Of course! I suddenly remembered where I had seen herbefore - arguing with Gene after his public lecture. I recalledthat Gene had asked her to have coffee with him - as hehabitually did with attractive women - but that she hadrefused. For some reason I felt pleased about this. But if I hadrecognised her when she first came to my office, the wholemisunderstanding could have been avoided. Everything nowmade sense, including the performance she had given in hermedical-school enquiry. Except for two things.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I am a barmaid, and I’m not ashamed of it. Youcan take me or leave me as a barmaid.’ I assumed she wasspeaking metaphorically.
‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘That explains almost everything.’
‘Oh, that’s fine then. Why the “almost”? Don’t feel you have toleave anything hanging.’
‘Why Gene didn’t tell me.’
‘Because he’s an arsehole.’
‘Gene is my best friend.’
‘God help you,’ she said.
With matters clarified, it was time to finish the project, althoughour chances of finding the father tonight were looking poor.
Fourteen130/290candidates remained and we had only three samples left. I gotup and walked to the machine.
‘Listen,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m going to ask you again. Why are youdoing this?’
I remembered my reflection on this question, and the answer Ihad reached involving scientific challenge and altruism toadjacent humans. But as I began my explanation I realised thatit was not true.
Tonight we had corrected numerous invalid assumptions anderrors in communication. I should not create a new one.
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
I turned back to the machine and began to load the sample.
My work was interrupted by a sudden smashing of glass. Rosiehad thrown a beaker, fortunately not one containing anuntested sample, against the wall.
‘I am so so over this.’ She walked out.
The next morning there was a knock at my office door. Rosie.
‘Enter,’ I said. ‘I assume you want to know the final threeresults.’
Rosie walked unnaturally slowly to my desk where I wasreviewing some potentially life-changing data. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Ifigured they were negative. Even you would have phoned ifyou’d got a match.’
‘Correct.’
She stood and looked at me without saying anything. I amaware that such silences are provided as opportunities for meto speak further, but I could think of nothing useful to say.
Finally, she filled the gap.
‘Hey - sorry I blew up last night.’
‘Totally understandable. It’s incredibly frustrating to work sohard for no result. But very common in science.’ Iremembered that she was a science graduate, as well as abarmaid. ‘As you know.’
131/290‘I meant your Wife Project. I think it’s wrong, but you’re nodifferent from every other man I know in objectifying women- just more honest about it. Anyway, you’ve done so muchfor me -’
‘A communication error. Fortunately now rectified. We canproceed with the Father Project without the personal aspect.’
‘Not till I understand why you’re doing it.’
That difficult question again. But she had been happy toproceed when she thought that my motivation was romanticinterest even though she did not reciprocate that interest.
‘There has been no change in my motivation,’ I said, truthfully.
‘It was your motivation that was a concern. I thought youwere interested in me as a partner. Fortunately, thatassumption was based on false information.’
‘Shouldn’t you be spending the time on your objectificationproject?’
The question was perfectly timed. The data I was looking at onmy screen indicated a major breakthrough.
‘Good news. I have an applicant who satisfies all requirements.’
‘Well,’ said Rosie, ‘you won’t be needing me.’
This was a truly strange response. I hadn’t needed Rosie foranything other than her own project.
Chapter 16
The candidate’s name was Bianca Rivera and she met allcriteria.
There was one obstacle, to which I would need to devote time.
She noted that she had twice won the state ballroom dancingchampionship, and required her partner to be an accomplisheddancer. It seemed perfectly reasonable for her to have somecriteria of her own, and this one was easy to satisfy. And Ihad the perfect place to take her.
I called Regina, the Dean’s assistant, and confirmed that shewas still selling tickets for the faculty ball. Then I emailedBianca and invited her as my partner. She accepted! I had adate - the perfect date.
Now I had ten days to learn to dance.
Gene entered my office as I was practising my dance steps.
‘I think the longevity statistics were based on marriages to livewomen, Don.’
He was referring to the skeleton I was using for practice. Ihad obtained it on loan from the Anatomy Department, and noone had asked what I required it for. Judging from the pelvissize, it was almost133/290certainly a male skeleton, but this was irrelevant for dancingpractice.
I explained its purpose to Gene, pointing out the scene fromthe film Grease that was showing on the wall of my office.
‘So,’ said Gene, ‘Ms Right - sorry, Dr Right, PhD, just poppedinto your inbox.’
‘Her name’s not Wright,’ I said, ‘it’s Rivera.’
‘Photo?’
‘Not necessary. The meeting arrangements are quite precise.
She’s coming to the faculty ball.’
‘Oh shit.’ Gene went silent for a while and I resumed dancingpractice. ‘Don, the faculty ball is Friday after next.’
‘Correct.’
‘You can’t learn to dance in nine days.’
‘Ten. I started yesterday. The steps are trivial to remember. Ijust need to practise the mechanics. They’re considerably lessdemanding than martial arts.’
I demonstrated a sequence.
‘Very impressive,’ said Gene. ‘Sit down, Don.’
I sat.
‘I hope you’re not too pissed off at me about Rosie,’ he said.
I had almost forgotten. ‘Why didn’t you tell me she was apsychology student? And about the bet?’
‘From what Claudia said, you guys seemed to be having agood time.
I thought if she wasn’t telling you it was for a reason. Shemay be a bit twisted but she’s not stupid.’
‘Perfectly reasonable,’ I said. On matters of human interaction,why argue with a professor of psychology?
‘I’m glad one of you is all right with it,’ said Gene. ‘I have totell you, Rosie was a little unhappy with me. A little unhappywith life. Listen, Don, I persuaded her to go to the ball. Alone.
If you knew how often134/290Rosie takes my advice, you’d realise what a big deal that was.
I was going to suggest you do the same.’
‘Take your advice?’
‘No, go to the ball - alone. Or invite Rosie as your partner.’
I now saw what Gene was suggesting. Gene is so focused onattraction and sex that he sees it everywhere. This time he wastotally in error.
‘Rosie and I discussed the question of a relationship explicitly.
Neither of us is interested.’
‘Since when do women discuss anything explicitly?’ said Gene.
I visited Claudia for some advice on my crucial date withBianca. I assumed that she would be there in her role asGene’s wife, and I advised her that I might require assistanceon the night. It turned out she wasn’t even aware of the ball.
‘Just be yourself, Don. If she doesn’t want you for yourself,then she’s not the right person for you.’
‘I think it’s unlikely that any woman would accept me formyself.’
‘What about Daphne?’ asked Claudia.
It was true - Daphne was unlike the women I had dated. Thiswas excellent therapy; refutation by counter-example. PerhapsBianca would be a younger, dancing, version of Daphne.
‘And what about Rosie?’ asked Claudia.
‘Rosie is totally unsuitable.’
‘I wasn’t asking that,’ said Claudia. ‘Just whether she acceptsyou for yourself.’
I thought about it for a few moments. It was a difficultquestion.
‘I think so. Because she isn’t evaluating me as a partner.’
‘It’s probably good that you feel like that,’ said Claudia.
135/290Feel! Feel, feel, feel! Feelings were disrupting my sense ofwell-being.
In addition to a nagging desire to be working on the FatherProject rather than the Wife Project, I now had a high level ofanxiety related to Bianca.
Throughout my life I have been criticised for a perceived lackof emotion, as if this were some absolute fault. Interactions withpsychiatrists and psychologists - even including Claudia - startfrom the premise that I should be more ‘in touch’ with myemotions. What they really mean is that I should give in tothem. I am perfectly happy to detect, recognise and analyseemotions. This is a useful skill and I would like to be better atit. Occasionally an emotion can be enjoyed -the gratitude I felt for my sister who visited me even duringthe bad times, the primitive feeling of well-being after a glass ofwine - but we need to be vigilant that emotions do not crippleus.
I diagnosed brain overload and set up a spreadsheet to analysethe situation.
I began by listing the recent disturbances to my schedule. Twowere unquestionably positive. Eva, the short-skirted cleaner, wasdoing an excellent job and had freed up considerable time.
Without her, most of the recent additional activities would nothave been possible. And, anxiety notwithstanding, I had my firstfully qualified applicant for the Wife Project. I had made adecision that I wanted a partner and for the first time I had aviable candidate. Logic dictated that the Wife Project, to which Ihad planned to allocate most of my free time, should nowreceive maximum attention. Here, I identified Problem NumberOne.
My emotions were not aligned with logic. I was reluctant topursue the opportunity.
I did not know whether to list the Father Project as positive ornegative but it had consumed enormous time for zero outcome.
My arguments for pursuing it had always been weak, and Ihad done far more than could reasonably be expected of me.
If Rosie wanted to locate and136/290obtain DNA from the remaining candidates, she could do soherself.
She now had substantial practical experience with the collectionprocedure. I could offer to perform the actual tests. Once again,logic and emotion were not in step. I wanted to continue theFather Project.
Why?
It is virtually impossible to make useful comparisons of levels ofhappiness, especially across long periods of time. But if I hadbeen asked to choose the happiest day of my life, I wouldhave nominated, without hesitation, the first day I spent at theAmerican Museum of Natural History in New York when Itravelled there for a conference during my PhD studies. Thesecond-best day was the second day there, and the third-bestthe third day there. But after recent events, it was not soclear. It was difficult to choose between the Natural HistoryMuseum and the night of cocktail-making at the golf club.
Should I therefore consider resigning my job and acceptingAmghad’s offer of a partnership in a cocktail bar? Would I bepermanently happier? The idea seemed ludicrous.
The cause of my confusion was that I was dealing with anequation which contained large negative values - most seriouslythe disruption to my schedule - and large positive values - theconsequential enjoyable experiences. My inability to quantifythese factors accurately meant that I could not determine thenet result - negative or positive.
And the margin of error was huge. I marked the FatherProject as being of undetermined net value, and ranked it themost serious disturbance.
The last item on my spreadsheet was the immediate risk thatmy nervousness and ambivalence about the Wife Project wouldimpede my social interaction with Bianca. I was not concernedabout the dancing - I was confident that I could draw on myexperience of preparing for martial-arts competitions, with thesupplementary advantage of an optimum intake of alcohol,which for martial arts is not permitted. My137/290concern was more with social faux pas. It would be terrible tolose the perfect relationship because I failed to detect sarcasmor looked into her eyes for greater or less than theconventional period of time. I reassured myself that Claudia wasessentially correct: if these things concerned Bianca excessively,she was not the perfect match, and I would at least be in aposition to refine the questionnaire for future use.
I visited a formal costume hire establishment as recommendedby Gene and specified maximum formality. I did not want arepeat of the Jacket Incident.
Chapter 17
The ball was on a Friday evening at a reception centre on theriver. For efficiency, I had brought my costume to work, andpractised the cha-cha and rhumba with my skeleton while Iwaited to leave. When I went to the lab to get a beer, I felt astrong twinge of emotion. I was missing the stimulation of theFather Project.
The morning suit, with its tails and tall hat, was totallyimpractical for cycling, so I took a taxi and arrived at exactly7.55 p.m., as planned.
Behind me, another taxi pulled up and a tall, dark-hairedwoman stepped out. She was wearing the world’s mostamazing dress: multiple bright colours - red, blue, yellow, green- with a complex structure including a split up one side. I hadnever seen anyone so spectacular. Estimated age thirty-five,BMI twenty-two, consistent with the questionnaire responses.
Neither a little early nor a little late. Was I looking at myfuture wife? It was almost unbelievable.
As I stepped out of the taxi, she looked at me for a momentthen turned and walked towards the door. I took a deepbreath and followed. She stepped inside and looked around.
She saw me again, and139/290looked more carefully this time. I approached her, close enoughto speak, being careful not to invade her personal space. Ilooked into her eyes. I counted one, two. Then I lowered myeyes a little, downwards, but only a tiny distance.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘I’m Don.’
She looked at me for a while before extending her hand toshake with low pressure.
‘I’m Bianca. You’ve … really dressed up.’
‘Of course, the invitation specified formal.’
After approximately two seconds she burst into laughter. ‘Youhad me for a minute there. So deadpan. You know, you write“good sense of humour” on the list of things you’re lookingfor, but you never expect to get a real comedian. I think youand I are going to have fun.’
Things were going extremely well.
The ballroom was huge - dozens of tables with formallydressed academics. Everyone turned to look at us, and it wasobvious that we had made an impression. At first I thought itmust be Bianca’s spectacular dress, but there were numerousother interestingly dressed women. Then I noticed that the menwere almost without exception dressed in black suits with whiteshirts and bowties. None wore tails or a hat. It accounted forBianca’s initial reaction. It was annoying, but not a situation Iwas unfamiliar with. I doffed my hat to the crowd and theyshouted greetings. Bianca seemed to enjoy the attention.
We were at table twelve, according to the seating index, righton the edge of the dance floor. A band was tuning up.
Observing their instru-ments, it seemed that my skills atcha-cha, samba, rhumba, foxtrot, waltz, tango and lambadawould not be required. I would need to draw on the work ofthe second day of the dancing project - rock ’n’ roll.
Gene’s recommendation to arrive thirty minutes after the officialstart time meant that all but three of the seats at the tablewere already140/290occupied. One of these belonged to Gene, who was walkingaround, pouring Champagne. Claudia was not present.
I identified Laszlo Hevesi from Physics, who was dressed totallyinappropriately in combat trousers and a hiking shirt, sittingnext to a woman whom I recognised with surprise as Francesfrom the speed-dating night. On Laszlo’s other side was TheBeautiful Helena. There was also a dark-haired man of aboutthirty (BMI approximately twenty) who appeared not to haveshaved for several days, and, beside him, the most beautifulwoman I had ever seen. In contrast to the complexity ofBianca’s costume, she was wearing a green dress with zerodecoration, so minimal that it did not even have straps to holdit in place. It took me a moment to realise that its wearer wasRosie.
Bianca and I took the two vacant seats between Stubble Manand Frances, following the alternating male-female pattern thathad been established. Rosie began the introductions, and Irecognised the protocol that I had learned for conferences andnever actually used.
‘Don, this is Stefan.’ She was referring to Stubble Man. Iextended my hand, and shook, matching his pressure, which Ijudged as excessive. I had an immediate negative reaction tohim. I am generally not competent at assessing other humans,except through the content of their conversation or writtencommunication. But I am reasonably astute at identifyingstudents who are likely to be disruptive.
‘Your reputation precedes you,’ Stefan said.
Perhaps my assessment was too hasty.
‘You’re familiar with my work?’
‘You might say that.’ He laughed.
I realised that I could not pursue the conversation until Iintroduced Bianca.
‘Rosie, Stefan, allow me to present Bianca Rivera.’
Rosie extended her hand and said, ‘Delighted to meet you.’
They smiled hard at each other and Stefan shook Bianca’shand also.
141/290My duty done, I turned to Laszlo, whom I had not spoken tofor some time. Laszlo is the only person I know with poorersocial skills than mine, and it was reassuring to have himnearby for contrast.
‘Greetings, Laszlo,’ I said, assessing that formality would not beappropriate in his case. ‘Greetings, Frances. You found apartner. How many encounters were required?’
‘Gene introduced us,’ said Laszlo. He was staringinappropriately at Rosie. Gene gave a ‘thumbs up’ signal toLaszlo, then moved between Bianca and me with theChampagne bottle. Bianca immediately upen-ded her glass. ‘Donand I don’t drink,’ she said, turning mine down as well. Genegave me a huge smile. It was an odd response to an annoyingversion-control oversight on my part - Bianca had apparentlyresponded to the original questionnaire.
Rosie asked Bianca, ‘How do you and Don know each other?’
‘We share an interest in dancing,’ Bianca said.
I thought this was an excellent reply, not referring to the WifeProject, but Rosie gave me a strange look.
‘How nice,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit too busy with my PhD to havetime for dancing.’
‘You have to be organised,’ said Bianca. ‘I believe in being veryorganised.’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie, ‘I -’
‘The first time I made the final of the nationals was in themiddle of my PhD. I thought about dropping the triathlon orthe Japanese cook-ery course, but …’
Rosie smiled, but not in the way she usually did. ‘No, thatwould have been silly. Men love a woman who can cook.’
‘I like to think we’ve moved beyond that sort of stereo-typing,’
said Bianca. ‘Don’s quite a cook himself.’
142/290Claudia’s suggestion that I mention my competence in cookingon the questionnaire had obviously been effective. Rosieprovided some evidence.
‘He’s fabulous. We had the most amazing lobster on hisbalcony.’
‘Oh, really?’
It was helpful that Rosie was recommending me to Bianca, butStefan was displaying the disruptive-student expression again. Iapplied my lecture technique of asking him a question first.
‘Are you Rosie’s boyfriend?’
Stefan did not have a ready answer, and in a lecture thatwould have been my cue to continue, with the student nowhealthily wary of me.
But Rosie answered for him.
‘Stefan is doing his PhD with me.’
‘I believe the term is partner,’ said Stefan.
‘For this evening,’ said Rosie.
Stefan smiled. ‘First date.’
It was odd that they did not seem to have agreed on thenature of their relationship. Rosie turned back to Bianca.
‘And yours and Don’s first date too?’
‘That’s right, Rosie.’
‘How did you find the questionnaire?’
Bianca looked quickly at me, then turned back to Rosie.
‘Wonderful.
Most men only want to talk about themselves. It was so niceto have someone focusing on me.’
‘I can see how that would work for you,’ said Rosie.
‘And a dancer,’ Bianca said. ‘I couldn’t believe my luck. Butyou know what they say: the harder I work, the luckier I get.’
Rosie picked up her Champagne glass, and Stefan said, ‘Howlong have you been dancing, Don? Won any prizes?’
I was saved from answering by the arrival of the Dean.
143/290She was wearing a complex pink dress, the lower part ofwhich spread out widely, and was accompanied by a woman ofapproximately the same age dressed in the standard male ballcostume of black suit and bowtie. The reaction of the ball-goerswas similar to that at my entrance, without the friendlygreetings at the end.
‘Oh dear,’ said Bianca. I had a low opinion of the Dean, butthe comment made me uncomfortable.
‘You have a problem with gay women?’ said Rosie, slightlyaggressively.
‘Not at all,’ said Bianca. ‘My problem’s with her dress sense.’
‘You’ll have fun with Don, then,’ said Rosie.
‘I think Don looks fabulous,’ said Bianca. ‘It takes flair to pulloff something a little different. Anyone can wear a dinner suitor a plain frock. Don’t you think so, Don?’
I nodded in polite agreement. Bianca was exhibiting exactly thecharacteristics I was looking for. There was every chance shewould be perfect. But for some reason my instincts wererebelling. Perhaps it was the no-drinking rule. My underlyingaddiction to alcohol was causing my subconscious to send asignal to reject someone who stopped me drinking. I needed toovercome it.
We finished our entrées and the band played a few loudchords. Stefan walked over to them and took the microphonefrom the singer.
‘Good evening, everyone,’ he said. ‘I thought you should knowthat we have a former finalist in the national dancingchampionships with us this evening. You may have seen heron television. Bianca Rivera.
Let’s give Bianca and her partner Don a few minutes toentertain us.’
I had not expected my first performance to be so public, butthere was the advantage of an unobstructed dance floor. Ihave given lectures to larger audiences, and participated inmartial-arts bouts in front of crowds. There was no reason tobe nervous. Bianca and I stepped onto the dance floor.
144/290I took her in the standard jive hold that I had practised onthe skeleton, and immediately felt the awkwardness, approachingrevulsion, that I feel when forced into intimate contact withanother human. I had mentally prepared for this, but not for amore serious problem. I had not practised with music. I amsure I executed the steps accurately, but not at precisely thecorrect speed, and not at the same time as the beat. We wereimmediately tripping over each other and the net effect was adisaster. Bianca tried to lead, but I had no experience with aliving partner, let alone one who was trying to be in control.
People began laughing. I am an expert at being laughed atand, as Bianca pulled away from me, I scanned the audienceto see who was not laughing, an excellent means of identifyingfriends. Gene and Rosie and, surprisingly, the Dean and herpartner were my friends tonight. Stefan was definitely not.
Something major was required to save the situation. In mydancing research, I had noted some specialised moves that Ihad not intended to use but remembered because they wereso interesting. They had the advantage of not being highlydependent on synchronised timing or body contact. Now wasthe time to deploy them.
I performed the running man, milking the cow, and the fishingimit-ation, reeling Bianca in, though she did not actually moveas required.
In fact she was standing totally still. Finally, I attempted abody-contact manoeuvre, traditionally used for a spectacularfinish, in which the male swings the female on either side, overhis back and between his legs. Unfortunately this requirescooperation on the part of the partner, particularly if she isheavier than a skeleton. Bianca offered no such cooperationand the effect was as if I had attacked her. Unlike aikido,dancing training apparently does not include practice in fallingsafely.
I offered to help her up, but she ignored my hand and walkedtowards the bathroom, apparently uninjured.
145/290I went back to the table and sat down. Stefan was stilllaughing.
‘You bastard,’ Rosie said to him.
Gene said something to Rosie, presumably to preventinappropriate public anger, and she seemed to calm down.
Bianca returned to her seat, but only to collect her bag.
‘The problem was synchronisation,’ I tried to tell her. ‘Themetro-nome in my head is not set to the same frequency asthe band.’
Bianca turned away, but Rosie seemed prepared to listen to myexplanation. ‘I turned off the sound during practice so I couldfocus on learning the steps.’
Rosie did not reply and I heard Bianca speaking to Stefan. ‘Ithappens. This isn’t the first time, just the worst. Men say theycan dance…’ She walked towards the exit without saying goodnight tome, but Gene followed and intercepted her.
This gave me an opportunity. I righted my glass, and filled itwith wine. It was a poorly made gordo blanco with excessiveresidual sugar.
I drank it and poured another. Rosie got up from her seatand walked over to the band. She spoke to the singer, thenthe drummer.
She returned and pointed at me in a stylised manner. Irecognised the action - I had seen it twelve times. It was thesignal that Olivia Newton-John gave to John Travolta in Greaseto commence the dance sequence that I had been practisingwhen Gene interrupted me nine days earlier. Rosie pulled metowards the dance floor.
‘Dance,’ she said. ‘Just fucking dance.’
I started dancing without music. This was what I had practised.
Rosie followed according to my tempo. Then she raised herarm and started waving it in time with our movements. I heardthe drummer start playing and could tell in my body that hewas in time with us. I barely noticed the rest of the band startup.
Rosie was a good dancer and considerably easier to manipulatethan the skeleton. I led her through the more difficult moves,totally146/290focused on the mechanics and on not making errors. TheGrease song finished and everyone clapped. But before wecould return to the table, the band started again and theaudience clapped in time: Satisfaction.
It may have been due to the effect of the gordo blanco on mycognitive functions, but I was suddenly overwhelmed by anextraordinary feeling - not of satisfaction but of absolute joy. Itwas the feeling I had in the Museum of Natural History andwhen I was making cocktails. We started dancing again, andthis time I allowed myself to focus on the sensations of mybody moving to the beat of the song from my childhood andof Rosie moving to the same rhythm.
The music finished and everyone clapped again.
I looked for Bianca, my date, and located her near the exitwith Gene. I had presumed she would be impressed that theproblem was solved, but even from a distance and with mylimited ability to interpret expressions, I could see that she wasfurious. She turned and left.
The rest of the evening was incredible, changed totally by onedance.
Everyone came up to Rosie and me to offer compliments. Thephotographer gave us each a photo without charging us. Stefanleft early.
Gene obtained some high-quality Champagne from the bar, andwe drank several glasses with him and a Hungarian postdocnamed Klara from Physics. Rosie and I danced again, and thenI danced with almost every woman at the ball. I asked Gene ifI should invite the Dean or her partner, but he considered thisto be a question beyond even his social expertise. In the end Idid not, as the Dean was visibly in a bad mood. The crowdhad made it clear that they would rather dance than listen toher scheduled speech.
At the end of the night, the band played a waltz, and when itwas finished I looked around and it was just Rosie and me onthe dance floor.
And everyone applauded again. It was only later that I realisedthat I had experienced extended close contact with anotherhuman without147/290feeling uncomfortable. I attributed it to my concentration oncorrectly executing the dance steps.
‘You want to share a taxi?’ asked Rosie.
It seemed a sensible use of fossil fuel.
In the taxi, Rosie said to me, ‘You should have practised withdifferent beats. You’re not as smart as I thought you were.’
I just looked out the window of the taxi.
Then she said, ‘No way. No fucking way. You did, didn’t you?
That’s worse. You’d rather make a fool of yourself in front ofeveryone than tell her she didn’t float your boat.’
‘It would have been extremely awkward. I had no reason toreject her.’
‘Besides not wanting to marry a parakeet,’ said Rosie.
I found this incredibly funny, no doubt as a result of alcoholand de-compensation after the stress. We both laughed forseveral minutes, and Rosie even touched me a few times onthe shoulder. I didn’t mind, but when we stopped laughing Ifelt awkward again and averted my gaze.
‘You’re unbelievable,’ said Rosie. ‘Look at me when I’m talking.’
I kept looking out the window. I was already over-stimulated. ‘Iknow what you look like.’
‘What colour eyes do I have?’
‘Brown.’
‘When I was born, I had blue eyes,’ she said. ‘Baby blues. Likemy mother. She was Irish but she had blue eyes. Then theyturned brown.’
I looked at Rosie. This was incredible.
‘Your mother’s eyes changed colour?’
‘ My eyes. It happens with babies. That was when my motherrealised that Phil wasn’t my father. She had blue eyes and sodoes Phil.
And she decided to tell him. I suppose I should be grateful hewasn’t a lion.’
148/290I was having trouble making sense of all that Rosie was saying,doubtless due to the effects of the alcohol and her perfume.
However, she had given me an opportunity to keep theconversation on safe ground. The inheritance of commongenetically influenced traits such as eye colour is more complexthan is generally understood, and I was confident that I couldspeak on the topic for long enough to occupy the remainder ofour journey. But I realised that this was a defensive action andimpolite to Rosie who had risked considerable embarrassmentand damage to her relationship with Stefan for my benefit.
I rolled back my thoughts and re-parsed her statement: ‘Isuppose I should be grateful he wasn’t a lion.’ I assumed shewas referring to our conversation on the night of the BalconyMeal when I informed her that lions kill the offspring ofprevious matings. Perhaps she wanted to talk about Phil. Thiswas interesting to me too. The entire motivation for the FatherProject was Phil’s failure in that role. But Rosie had offered noreal evidence beyond his opposition to alcohol, ownership of animpractical vehicle and selection of a jewellery box as a gift.
‘Was he violent?’ I asked.
‘No.’ She paused for a while. ‘He was just - all over the place.
One day I’d be the most special kid in the world, next day hedidn’t want me there.’
This seemed very general, and hardly a justification for a majorDNA-investigation project. ‘Can you provide an example?’
‘Where do I start? Okay, the first time was when I was ten.
He promised to take me to Disneyland. I told everyone atschool. And I waited and waited and waited and it neverhappened.’
The taxi stopped outside a block of flats. Rosie kept talking,looking at the back of the driver’s seat. ‘So I have this wholething about rejection.’ She turned to me. ‘How do you dealwith it?’
‘The problem has never occurred,’ I told her. It was not thetime to begin a new conversation.
149/290‘Bullshit,’ said Rosie. It appeared that I would need to answerhonestly. I was in the presence of a psychology graduate.
‘There were some problems at school,’ I said. ‘Hence themartial arts. But I developed some non-violent techniques fordealing with difficult social situations.’
‘Like tonight.’
‘I emphasised the things that people found amusing.’
Rosie didn’t respond. I recognised the therapy technique, butcould not think of anything to do but elaborate.
‘I didn’t have many friends. Basically zero, except my sister.
Unfortunately she died two years ago due to medicalincompetence.’
‘What happened?’ said Rosie, quietly.
‘An undiagnosed ectopic pregnancy.’
‘Oh, Don,’ said Rosie, very sympathetically. I sensed that I hadchosen an appropriate person to confide in.
‘Was she … in a relationship?’
‘No.’ I anticipated her next question. ‘We never found out thesource.’
‘What was her name?’
This was, on the surface, an innocuous question, though Icould see no purpose in Rosie knowing my sister’s name. Theindirect reference was unambiguous, as I had only one sister.
But I felt very uncomfortable. It took me a few moments torealise why. Although there had been no deliberate decision onmy part, I had not said her name since her death.
‘Michelle,’ I said to Rosie. After that, neither of us spoke for awhile.
The taxi driver coughed artificially. I presumed he wasn’t askingfor a beer.
‘You want to come up?’ said Rosie.
I was feeling overwhelmed. Meeting Bianca, dancing, rejectionby Bianca, social overload, discussion of personal matters -now, just150/290when I thought the ordeal was over, Rosie seemed to beproposing more conversation. I was not sure I could cope.
‘It’s extremely late,’ I said. I was sure this was a sociallyacceptable way of saying that I wanted to go home.
‘The taxi fares go down again in the morning.’
If I understood correctly, I was now definitely far out of mydepth. I needed to be sure that I wasn’t misinterpreting her.
‘Are you suggesting I stay the night?’
‘Maybe. First you have to listen to the story of my life.’
Warning! Danger, Will Robinson. Unidentified alienapproaching!
I could feel myself slipping into the emotional abyss. I managedto stay calm enough to respond.
‘Unfortunately I have a number of activities scheduled for themorning.’ Routine, normality.
Rosie opened the taxi door. I willed her to go. But she hadmore to say.
‘Don, can I ask you something?’
‘One question.’
‘Do you find me attractive?’
Gene told me the next day that I got it wrong. But he wasnot in a taxi, after an evening of total sensory overload, withthe most beautiful woman in the world. I believed I did well. Idetected the trick question.
I wanted Rosie to like me, and I remembered her passionatestatement about men treating women as objects. She wastesting to see if I saw her as an object or as a person.
Obviously the correct answer was the latter.
‘I haven’t really noticed,’ I told the most beautiful woman inthe world.

Chapter 18
I texted Gene from the taxi. It was 1.08 a.m. but he had leftthe ball at the same time as I did, and had further to travel.
Urgent: Run tomorrow 6 a.m. Gene texted back: Sunday at8: Bring Bianca’s contact info. I was about to insist on theearlier date when I realised that I could profitably use the timeto organise my thoughts.
It seemed obvious that Rosie had invited me to have sex withher. I was right to have avoided the situation. We had bothdrunk a substantial quantity of Champagne, and alcohol isnotorious for encouraging unwise decisions about sex. Rosie hadthe perfect example. Her mother’s decision, doubtless promptedby alcohol, was still causing Rosie significant distress.
My own sexual experience was limited. Gene had advised thatit was conventional to wait until the third date, and myrelationships had never progressed beyond the first. In fact,Rosie and I had technically had only one date - the night ofthe Jacket Incident and the Balcony Meal.
152/290I did not use the services of brothels, not for any moralreason, but because I found the idea distasteful. This was not arational reason, but, since the benefits I was seeking were onlyprimitive, a primitive reason was sufficient.
But I now seemed to have an opportunity for what Genewould call‘no-strings-attached sex’. The required conditions were in place:
Rosie and I had clearly agreed that neither of us had aninterest in a romantic relationship, then Rosie had indicated thatshe wanted to have sex with me. Did I want to have sex withRosie? There seemed no logical reason not to, leaving me freeto obey the dictates of my primitive desires. The answer wasan extremely clear yes. Having made this completely rationaldecision, I could think of nothing else.
On Sunday morning, Gene met me outside his house. I hadbrought Bianca’s contact details and checked her nationality -Panamanian.
Gene was very pleased about the latter.
Gene wanted full details of my encounter with Rosie, but I haddecided it was a waste of effort to explain it twice: I would tellhim and Claudia together. As I had no other subject to discussand Gene had difficulty in running and speaking concurrently,we spent the next forty-seven minutes in silence.
When we returned to Gene’s house, Claudia and Eugenie werehaving breakfast.
I sat down and said, ‘I require some advice.’
‘Can it wait?’ said Claudia. ‘We have to take Eugenie tohorseriding and then we’re meeting people for brunch.’
‘No. I may have made a social error. I broke one of Gene’srules.’
Gene said, ‘Don, I think the Panamanian bird has flown. Putthat one down to experience.’
‘The rule applies to Rosie, not Bianca. Never pass up a chanceto have sex with a woman under thirty.’
‘Gene told you that?’ said Claudia.
153/290Carl had entered the room and I prepared to defend myselfagainst his ritual attack, but he stopped to look at his father.
‘I thought I should consult with you because you’re apsychologist and with Gene because of his extensive practicalexperience,’ I said.
Gene looked at Claudia, then at Carl.
‘In my misspent youth,’ he said. ‘ Not my teens.’ He turnedback to me. ‘I think this can wait till lunch tomorrow.’
‘What about Claudia?’ I asked.
Claudia got up from the table. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing Genedoesn’t know.’
This was encouraging, especially coming from his wife.
‘You said what?’ said Gene. We were having lunch in theUniversity Club as scheduled.
‘I said that I hadn’t noticed her appearance. I didn’t want herto think I saw her as a sexual object.’
‘Jesus,’ said Gene. ‘The one time you think before you speak isthe one time you shouldn’t have.’
‘I should have said she was beautiful?’ I was incredulous.
‘Got it in one,’ said Gene, incorrectly, as the problem was thatI hadn’t got it right the first time. ‘That’ll explain the cake.’
I must have looked blank. For obvious reasons.
‘She’s been eating chocolate cake. At her desk. For breakfast.’
This seemed to me to be an unhealthy choice, consistent withsmoking, but not an indicator of distress. But Gene assured methat it was to make herself feel better.
Having supplied Gene with the necessary backgroundinformation, I presented my problem.
‘You’re saying she’s not The One,’ said Gene. ‘Not a lifepartner.’
154/290‘Totally unsuitable. But she’s extremely attractive. If I’m going tohave uncommitted sex with anyone, she’s the perfect candidate.
She has no emotional attachment to me either.’
‘So why the stress?’ said Gene. ‘You have had sex before?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘My doctor is strongly in favour.’
‘Frontiers of medical science,’ said Gene.
He was probably making a joke. I think the value of regularsex has been known for some time.
I explained further. ‘It’s just that adding a second personmakes it more complicated.’
‘Naturally,’ said Gene. ‘I should have thought of that. Why notget a book?’
The information was available on the internet, but a fewminutes of examining the search results on ‘sexual positions’
convinced me that the book option would provide a morerelevant tutorial with less extraneous information.
I had no difficulty finding a suitable book and, back in myoffice, selected a random position. It was called the ReverseCowboy Position (Variant 2). I tried it - simple. But, as I hadpointed out to Gene, the problem was the involvement of thesecond person. I got the skeleton from the closet and arrangedit on top of me, following the diagram in the book.
There is a rule at the university that no one opens a doorwithout knocking first. Gene violates it in my case but we aregood friends. I do not consider the Dean my friend. It was anembarrassing moment, especially as the Dean was accompaniedby another person, but entirely her fault. It was fortunate thatI had kept my clothes on.
‘Don,’ she said, ‘if you can leave off repairing that skeleton fora moment, I’d like you to meet Dr Peter Enticott from theMedical Research Council. I mentioned your work in cirrhosisand he was keen to meet155/290you. To consider a funding package.’ She emphasised the lasttwo words as though I was so unconnected with universitypolitics that I might forget that funding was the centre of herworld. She was right to do so.
I recognised Peter instantly. He was the former father candidatewho worked at Deakin University, and who had prompted thecup-stealing incident. He also recognised me.
‘Don and I have met,’ he said. ‘His partner is consideringapplying for the MD programme. And we met recently at asocial occasion.’ He winked at me. ‘I don’t think you’re payingyour academic staff enough.’
We had an excellent discussion about my work with alcoholicmice.
Peter seemed highly interested and I had to reassure himrepeatedly that I had designed the research so there was noneed for external grants. The Dean was making hand signalsand contorting her face, and I guessed that she wanted me tomisrepresent my study as requiring funding, so that she coulddivert the money to some project that would not be funded onits merits. I chose to feign a lack of comprehension, but thishad the effect of increasing the intensity of the Dean’ssignalling. It was only afterwards that I realised that I shouldnot have left the sexual positions book open on the floor.
I decided that ten positions would be sufficient initially. Morecould be learned if the initial encounter was successful. It didnot take long -less time than learning the cha-cha. In terms of reward foreffort, it seemed strongly preferable to dancing and I wasgreatly looking forward to it.
I went to visit Rosie in her workplace. The PhD students’ areawas a windowless space with desks along the walls. I countedeight students, including Rosie and Stefan, whose desk wasbeside Rosie’s.
Stefan gave me an odd smile. I was still suspicious of him.
‘You’re all over Facebook, Don.’ He turned to Rosie. ‘You’llhave to update your relationship status.’
156/290On his screen was a spectacular photo of Rosie and medancing, similar to the one that the photographer had given meand which now sat by my computer at home. I was spinningRosie, and her facial expression indicated extreme happiness. Ihad not technically been‘tagged’ as I was not registered on Facebook (social networkingnot being an interest of mine) but our names had been addedto the photo: A/Prof Don Tillman of Genetics and RosieJarman, PhD Candidate, Psychology.
‘Don’t talk to me about it,’ said Rosie.
‘You don’t like the photo?’ This seemed a bad sign.
‘It’s Phil. I don’t want him seeing this.’
Stefan said, ‘You think your father spends his life looking atFacebook?’
‘Wait till he calls,’ said Rosie. ‘ “How much does he earn?”
“Are you screwing him?” “What can he bench press?” ’
‘Hardly unusual questions for a father to ask about a manwho’s dating his daughter,’ said Stefan.
‘I’m not dating Don. We shared a taxi. That’s all. Right, Don?’
‘Correct.’
Rosie turned back to Stefan. ‘So you can stick your little theorywhere it fits. Permanently.’
‘I need to talk to you in private,’ I said to Rosie.
She looked at me very directly. ‘I don’t think there’s anythingwe need to say in private.’
This seemed odd. But presumably she and Stefan sharedinformation in the same way that Gene and I did. He hadaccompanied her to the ball.
‘I was reconsidering your offer of sex,’ I said.
Stefan put his hand over his mouth. There was quite a longsilence -I would estimate six seconds.
Then Rosie said, ‘Don, it was a joke. A joke.’
157/290I could make no sense of this. I could understand that shemight have changed her mind. Perhaps the problem aroundthe sexual objectification response had been fatal. But a joke?
Surely I could not be so insensitive to social cues to havemissed the fact that she was joking.
Yes, I could be. I had failed to detect jokes in the past.
Frequently. A joke. I had been obsessing about a joke.
‘Oh. When should we meet about the other project?’
Rosie looked down at her desk. ‘There is no other project.’
Chapter 19
For a week, I did my best to return to my regular schedule,using the time freed up by Eva’s cleaning and the cancellationof the Father Project to catch up on the karate and aikidotraining that I had been missing.
Sensei, fifth dan, a man who says very little, especially to theblack belts, pulled me aside as I was working the punching bagin the dojo.
‘Something has made you very angry,’ he said. That was all.
He knew me well enough to know that once an emotion wasidentified I would not let it defeat me. But he was right tospeak to me, because I had not realised that I was angry.
I was briefly angry with Rosie because she unexpectedlyrefused me something I wanted. But then I became angry withmyself over the social incompetence that had doubtless causedRosie embarrassment.
I made several attempts to contact Rosie and got heranswering service. Finally I left a message: ‘What if you getleukaemia and don’t know where to source a bone-marrowtransplant? Your biological father would be an excellentcandidate with a strong motivation to assist.
159/290Failure to complete the project could result in death. There areonly eleven candidates remaining.’
She did not return my call.
‘These things happen,’ said Claudia over the third coffeemeeting in four weeks. ‘You get involved with a woman, itdoesn’t work out …’
So that was it. I had, in my own way, become ‘involved’ withRosie.
‘What should I do?’
‘It’s not easy,’ said Claudia, ‘but anyone will give you the sameadvice. Move on. Something else will turn up.’
Claudia’s logic, built on sound theoretical foundations anddrawing on substantial professional experience, was obviouslysuperior to my own irrational feelings. But as I reflected on it,I realised that her advice, and indeed the discipline ofpsychology itself, embodied the results of research on normalhumans. I am well aware that I have some unusualcharacteristics. Was it possible that Claudia’s advice was notappropriate for me?
I decided on a compromise course of action. I would continuethe Wife Project. If (and only if) there was further timeavailable, I would use it for the Father Project, proceedingalone. If I could present Rosie with the solution, perhaps wecould become friends again.
Based on the Bianca Disaster I revised the questionnaire,adding more stringent criteria. I included questions on dancing,racquet sports and bridge to eliminate candidates who wouldrequire me to gain competence in useless activities, andincreased the difficulty of the mathematics, physics and geneticsproblems. Option (c) moderately would be the only acceptableanswer to the alcohol question. I organised for the responses togo directly to Gene, who was obviously engaging in thewell-established research practice of making secondary use ofthe data. He could advise me if anyone met my criteria.
Exactly.
160/290In the absence of Wife Project candidates, I thought hardabout the best way to get DNA samples for the Father Project.
The answer came to me as I was boning a quail. Thecandidates were doctors who would presumably be willing tocontribute to genetics research. I just needed a plausible excuseto ask for their DNA. Thanks to the preparation I had donefor the Asperger’s lecture, I had one.
I pulled out my list of eleven names. Two were confirmeddead, leaving nine, seven of whom were living overseas, whichexplained their absence at the reunion. But two had localphone numbers. One was the head of the Medical ResearchInstitute at my own university. I rang it first.
‘Professor Lefebvre’s office,’ said a woman’s voice.
‘It’s Professor Tillman from the Department of Genetics. I’d liketo invite Professor Lefebvre to participate in a research project.’
‘Professor Lefebvre is on sabbatical in the US. He’ll be back intwo weeks.’
‘Excellent. The project is Presence of Genetic Markers forAutism in High-Achieving Individuals. I require him tocomplete a questionnaire and provide a DNA sample.’
Two days later, I had succeeded in locating all nine livingcandidates and posted them questionnaires, created from theAsperger’s research papers, and cheek scrapers. Thequestionnaires were irrelevant, but were needed to make theresearch appear legitimate. My covering letter made clear mycredentials as a professor of genetics at a prestigious university.
In the meantime, I needed to find relatives of the two deaddoctors.
I found an obituary for Dr Gerhard von Deyn, a victim of aheart attack, on the internet. It mentioned his daughter, amedical student at the time of his death. I had no troubletracking down Dr Brigitte von Deyn and she was happy toparticipate in the survey. Simple.
161/290Geoffrey Case was a much more difficult challenge. He haddied a year after graduating. I had long ago noted his basicdetails from the reunion website. He had not married and hadno (known) children.
Meanwhile the DNA samples trickled back. Two doctors, bothin New York, declined to participate. Why would medicalpractitioners not participate in an important study? Did theyhave something to hide? Such as an illegitimate daughter in thesame city that the request came from? It occurred to me that,if they suspected my motives, they could send a friend’s DNA.
At least refusal was better than cheating.
Seven candidates, including Dr von Deyn, Jr, returned samples.
None of them was Rosie’s father or half-sister. Professor SimonLefebvre returned from his sabbatical and wanted to meet mein person.
‘I’m here to collect a package from Professor Lefebvre,’ I saidto the receptionist at the city hospital where he was based,hoping to avoid an actual meeting and interrogation. I wasunsuccessful. She buzzed the phone, announced my name, andProfessor Lefebvre appeared. He was, I assumed, approximatelyfifty-four years old. I had met many fifty-four-year-olds in thepast thirteen weeks. He was carrying a large envelope,presumably containing the questionnaire, which was destined forthe recycling bin, and his DNA.
As he reached me, I tried to take the envelope, but heextended his other hand to shake mine. It was awkward, butthe net result was that we shook hands and he retained theenvelope.
‘Simon Lefebvre,’ he said. ‘So, what are you really after?’
This was totally unexpected. Why should he question mymotives?
‘Your DNA,’ I said. ‘And the questionnaire. For a majorresearch study. Critical.’ I was feeling stressed and my voicedoubtless reflected it.
‘I’m sure it is.’ Simon laughed. ‘And you randomly select thehead of medical research as a subject?’
‘We were looking for high achievers.’
162/290‘What’s Charlie after this time?’
‘Charlie?’ I didn’t know anyone called Charlie.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Dumb question. How much do you wantme to put in?’
‘No putting in is required. There is no Charlie involved. I justrequire the DNA … and the questionnaire.’
Simon laughed, again. ‘You’ve got my attention. You can tellCharlie that. Shoot me through the project description. And theethics approval. The whole catastrophe.’
‘Then I can have my sample?’ I said. ‘A high response rate iscritical for the statistical analysis.’
‘Just send me the paperwork.’
Simon Lefebvre’s request was entirely reasonable. UnfortunatelyI did not have the required paperwork, because the projectwas fictitious. To develop a plausible project proposal wouldpotentially require hundreds of hours of work.
I attempted an estimate of the probability that Simon Lefebvrewas Rosie’s father. There were now four untested candidates:
Lefebvre, Geoffrey Case (dead), and the two New Yorkers,Isaac Esler and Solomon Freyberg. On the basis of Rosie’sinformation, any one of them had a twenty-five per centprobability of being her father. But having proceeded so farwithout a positive result, I had to consider other possibilities.
Two of our results relied on relatives rather than direct testing.
It was possible that one or both of these daughters were, likeRosie, the result of extra-relationship sex, which, as Gene pointsout, is a more common phenomenon than popularly believed.
And there was the possibility that one or more of myrespondents to the fictitious research project might havedeliberately sent a false sample.
I also had to consider that Rosie’s mother might not have toldthe truth. It took me a long time to think of this, as mydefault assumption is that people will be honest. But perhapsRosie’s mother wanted Rosie163/290to believe that her father was a doctor, as she was, ratherthan a less prestigious person. On balance, I estimated thechance that Simon Lefebvre was Rosie’s father was sixteen percent. In developing documentation for the Asperger’s researchproject I would be doing an enormous amount of work with alow probability that it would provide the answer.
I chose to proceed. The decision was barely rational.
In the midst of this work, I received a phone call from asolicitor to advise me that Daphne had died. Despite the factthat she had been effectively dead for some time, I detected inmyself an unexpected feeling of loneliness. Our friendship hadbeen simple. Everything was so much more complicated now.
The reason for the call was that Daphne had left me what thesolicitor referred to as a ‘small sum’ in her will. Ten thousanddollars. And she had also left a letter, written before she hadgone to live in the nursing home. It was handwritten ondecorative paper.
Dear Don,Thank you for making the final years of my life sostimulating. After Edward was admitted to the nursinghome, I did not believe that there was much left for me.
I’m sure you know how much you have taught me, andhow interesting our conversations have been, but you maynot realise what a wonderful companion and support youhave been to me.
I once told you that you would make someone a wonderfulhusband, and, in case you have forgotten, I am telling youagain. I’m sure if you look hard enough, you will find theright person. Do not give up, Don.
I know you don’t need my money, and my children do, butI have left you a small sum. I would be pleased if youwould use it for something irrational.
Much love,Your friend,Daphne Speldewind164/290It took me less than ten seconds to think of an irrationalpurchase: in fact I allowed myself only that amount of time toensure that the decision was not affected by any logical thoughtprocess.
The Asperger’s research project was fascinating but verytime-consuming. The final proposal was impressive and I wasconfident it would have passed the peer-review process if it hadbeen submitted to a funding organisation. I was implying it hadbeen, though I stopped short of forging an approval letter. Icalled Lefebvre’s personal assistant and explained that I hadforgotten to send him the documents, but would now bringthem personally. I was becoming more competent at deception.
I arrived at reception, and the process of summoning Lefebvrewas repeated. This time he was not holding an envelope. Itried to give him the documents and he tried to shake myhand, and we had a repeat of the confusion that had occurredthe previous time. Lefebvre seemed to find this funny. I wasconscious of being tense. After all this work, I wanted theDNA.
‘Greetings,’ I said. ‘Documentation as requested. All requirementshave been fulfilled. I now need the DNA sample andquestionnaire.’
Lefebvre laughed again, and looked me up and down. Wasthere something odd about my appearance? My t-shirt was theone I wear on alternate days, featuring the periodic table, abirthday gift from the year after my graduation, and mytrousers were the serviceable pair that are equally suitable forwalking, lecturing, research and physical tasks. Plus high-qualityrunning shoes. The only error was that my socks, which wouldhave been visible below my trousers, were of slightly differentcolours, a common error when dressing in poor light.
But Simon Lefebvre seemed to find everything amusing.
‘Beautiful,’ he said. Then he repeated my words in whatseemed to be an attempt to imitate my intonation: ‘Allrequirements have been165/290fulfilled.’ He added, in his normal voice, ‘Tell Charlie I promiseI’ll read the proposal.’
Charlie again! This was ridiculous.
‘The DNA,’ I said, forcefully. ‘I need the sample.’
Lefebvre laughed as though I had made the biggest joke of alltime.
There were tears running down his face. Actual tears.
‘You’ve made my day.’
He grabbed a tissue from a box on the reception desk, wipedhis face, blew his nose and tossed the used tissue in the binas he left with my proposal.
I walked to the bin and retrieved the tissue.
Chapter 20
I sat with a newspaper in the University Club reading room forthe third day in succession. I wanted this to look accidental.
From my position, I could observe the queue at the counterwhere Rosie sometimes purchased her lunch, even though shewas not qualified to be a member. Gene had given me thisinformation, reluctantly.
‘Don, I think it’s time to leave this one alone. You’re going toget hurt.’
I disagreed. I am very good at dealing with emotions. I wasprepared for rejection.
Rosie walked in and joined the queue. I got up and slipped inbehind her.
‘Don,’ she said. ‘What a coincidence.’
‘I have news on the project.’
‘There’s no project. I’m sorry about … last time you saw me.
Shit!
You embarrass me and I say sorry.’
‘Apology accepted,’ I said. ‘I need you to come to New Yorkwith me.’
167/290‘What? No. No, Don. Absolutely not.’
We had reached the cash register and failed to select any foodand had to return to the tail of the queue. By the time we satdown, I had explained the Asperger’s research project. ‘I hadto invent an entire proposal - three hundred and seventy-onepages - for this one professor. I’m now an expert on theSavant phenomenon.’
It was difficult to decode Rosie’s reaction but she appeared tobe more amazed than impressed.
‘An unemployed expert if you get caught,’ she said. ‘I gatherhe’s not my father.’
‘Correct.’ I had been relieved when Lefebvre’s sample hadtested negative, even after the considerable effort that had beenrequired to obtain it. I had already made plans, and a positivetest would have disrupted them.
‘There are now only three possibilities left. Two are in NewYork, and both refused to participate in the study. Hence, Ihave categorised them as difficult, and hence I need you tocome to New York with me.’
‘New York! Don, no. No, no, no, no. You’re not going to NewYork and neither am I.’
I had considered the possibility that Rosie would refuse. ButDaphne’s legacy had been sufficient to purchase two tickets.
‘If necessary I will go alone. But I’m not confident I canhandle the social aspects of the collection.’
Rosie shook her head. ‘This is seriously crazy.’
‘You don’t want to know who they are?’ I said. ‘Two of thethree men who may be your father?’
‘Go on.’
‘Isaac Esler. Psychiatrist.’
I could see Rosie digging deep into her memory.
‘Maybe. Isaac. I think so. Maybe a friend of someone. Shit, it’sso long ago.’ She paused. ‘And?’
168/290‘Solomon Freyberg. Surgeon.’
‘No relation to Max Freyberg?’
‘Maxwell is his middle name.’
‘Shit. Max Freyberg. He’s gone to New York now? No way.
You’re saying I’ve got one chance in three of being hisdaughter. And two chances in three of being Jewish.’
‘Assuming your mother told the truth.’
‘My mother wouldn’t have lied.’
‘How old were you when she died?’
‘Ten. I know what you’re thinking. But I know I’m right.’
It was obviously not possible to discuss this issue rationally. Imoved to her other statement.
‘Is there a problem with being Jewish?’
‘Jewish is fine. Freyberg is not fine. But if it’s Freyberg itwould explain why my mother kept mum. No pun intended.
You’ve never heard of him?’
‘Only as a result of this project.’
‘If you followed football you would have.’
‘He was a footballer?’
‘A club president. And well-known jerk. What about the thirdperson?’
‘Geoffrey Case.’
‘Oh my God.’ Rosie went white. ‘He died.’
‘Correct.’
‘Mum talked about him a lot. He had an accident. Or someillness -maybe cancer. Something bad, obviously. But I didn’t think hewas in her year.’
It struck me now that we had been extremely careless in theway we had addressed the project, primarily because of themisunderstand-ings that had led to temporary abandonmentsfollowed by restarts. If169/290we had worked through the names at the outset, such obviouspossibilities would not have been overlooked.
‘Do you know any more about him?’
‘No. Mum was really sad about what happened to him. Shit. Itmakes total sense, doesn’t it? Why she wouldn’t tell me.’
It made no sense to me.
‘He was from the country,’ Rosie said. ‘I think his father had apractice out in the sticks.’
The website had provided the information that Geoffrey Casewas from Moree in northern New South Wales, but this hardlyexplained why Rosie’s mother would have hidden his identity ifhe was the father. His only other distinguishing feature wasthat he was dead, so perhaps it was this to which Rosie wasreferring - her mother not wanting to tell her that her fatherhad died. But surely Phil could have been given thisinformation to pass on when Rosie was old enough to dealwith it.
While we were talking, Gene entered. With Bianca! They wavedto us then went upstairs to the private dining section.
Incredible.
‘Gross,’ said Rosie.
‘He’s researching attraction to different nationalities.’
‘Right. I just pity his wife.’
I told Rosie that Gene and Claudia had an open marriage.
‘Lucky her,’ said Rosie. ‘Are you planning to offer the samedeal to the winner of the Wife Project?’
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘Of course,’ said Rosie.
‘If that was what she wanted,’ I added in case Rosie hadmisinterpreted.
‘You think that’s likely?’
170/290‘If I find a partner, which seems increasingly unlikely, Iwouldn’t want a sexual relationship with anyone else. But I’mnot good at understanding what other people want.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ said Rosie for no obviousreason.
I quickly searched my mind for an interesting fact. ‘Ahhh …The testicles of drone bees and wasp spiders explode duringsex.’
It was annoying that the first thing that occurred to me wasrelated to sex. As a psychology graduate, Rosie may havemade some sort of Freudian interpretation. But she looked atme and shook her head.
Then she laughed. ‘I can’t afford to go to New York. Butyou’re not safe by yourself.’
There was a phone number listed for an M. Case in Moree.
The woman who answered told me that Dr Case, Sr, whosename was confusingly also Geoffrey, had passed away someyears ago and that his widow Margaret had been in the localnursing home with Alzheimer’s disease for the past two years.
This was good news. Better that the mother was alive than thefather - there is seldom any doubt about the identity of thebiological mother.
I could have asked Rosie to come with me, but she hadalready agreed to the New York visit and I did not want tocreate an opportunity for a social error that might jeopardisethe trip. I knew from my experience with Daphne that it wouldbe easy to collect a DNA sample from a person withAlzheimer’s disease. I hired a car and packed swabs,cheek-scraper, zip-lock bags and tweezers. I also took auniversity business card from before I was promoted toassociate professor. Doctor Don Tillman receives superiorservice in medical facilities.
Moree is one thousand two hundred and thirty kilometres fromMelbourne. I collected the hire car at 3.43 p.m. after my lastlecture on the Friday. The internet route-planner estimatedfourteen hours and thirty-four minutes of driving each way.
171/290When I was a university student, I had regularly driven to andfrom my parents’ home in Shepparton, and found that thelong journeys had a similar effect to my market jogs. Researchhas shown that creativity is enhanced when performingstraightforward mechanical tasks such as jogging, cooking anddriving. Unobstructed thinking time is always useful.
I took the Hume Highway north, and used the precise speedindication on the GPS to set the cruise control to the exactspeed limit, rather than relying on the artificially inflated figureprovided by the speedometer. This would save me someminutes without the risk of law-breaking. Alone in the car, Ihad the feeling that my whole life had been transformed intoan adventure, which would culminate in the trip to New York.
I had decided not to play podcasts on the journey in order toreduce cognitive load and encourage my subconscious toprocess its recent inputs. But after three hours I found myselfbecoming bored. I take little notice of my surroundings beyondthe need to avoid accidents, and in any case the freeway waslargely devoid of interest. The radio would be as distracting aspodcasts, so I decided to purchase my first CD since the Bachexperiment. The service station just short of the New SouthWales border had a limited selection but I recognised a fewalbums from my father’s collection. I settled on JacksonBrowne’s Running on Empty. With the repeat button on, itbecame the soundtrack to my driving and reflections over threedays. Unlike many people, I am very comfortable withrepetition. It was probably fortunate that I was driving alone.
With my unconscious failing to deliver anything, I attempted anobjective analysis of the state of the Father Project.
What did I know?
172/2901. I had tested forty-one of forty-four candidates. (And alsoseveral of those of incompatible ethnic appearance.) None hadmatched. There was the possibility that one of the sevenAsperger’s survey respondents who had returned samples hadsent someone else’s cheek scraping.
I considered it unlikely. It would be easier simply not toparticipate, as Isaac Esler and Max Freyberg had done.
2. Rosie had identified four candidates as being known to hermother - Eamonn Hughes, Peter Enticott, Alan McPhee and,recently, Geoffrey Case. She had considered the first three ashigh probability, and this would also apply to Geoffrey Case. Hewas now clearly the most likely candidate.
3. The entire project was reliant on Rosie’s mother’s testi-monythat she had performed the critical sexual act at the graduationparty. It was possible that she had lied because the biologicalfather was someone less prestigious. This would explain herfailure to reveal his identity.
4. Rosie’s mother had chosen to remain with Phil. This was myfirst new thought. It supported the idea that the biologicalfather was less appealing or perhaps unavailable for marriage. Itwould be interesting to know whether Esler or Freyberg werealready married or with partners at that time.
5. Geoffrey Case’s death occurred within months of Rosie’sbirth and presumably the realisation that Phil was not thefather. It might have taken some time for Rosie’s mother toorganise a confirmatory DNA test, by which time Geoffrey Casemight have been dead and hence unavailable as an alternativepartner.
173/290This was a useful exercise. The project status was clearer inmy mind, I had added some minor insights and I was certainthat my journey was justified by the probability that GeoffreyCase was Rosie’s father.
I decided to drive until I was tired - a radical decision, as Iwould normally have scheduled my driving time according topublished studies on fatigue and booked accommodationaccordingly. But I had been too busy to plan. Nevertheless, Istopped for rest breaks every two hours and found myself ableto maintain concentration. At 11.43 p.m., I detected tiredness,but rather than sleep I stopped at a service station, refuelledand ordered four double espressos. I opened the sun-roof andturned up the CD player volume to combat fatigue, and at 7.19a.m. on Saturday, with the caffeine still running all around mybrain, Jackson Browne and I pulled into Moree.
Chapter 21
I had set the GPS to take me to the nursing home, where Iintroduced myself as a family friend.
‘I’m afraid she won’t know you,’ said the nurse. This was theassumption I had made, although I was prepared with aplausible story if necessary. The nurse took me to a singleroom with its own bathroom.
Mrs Case was asleep.
‘Shall I wake her?’ asked the nurse.
‘No, I’ll just sit here.’
‘I’ll leave you to it. Call if you need anything.’
I thought it would look odd if I left too quickly so I sat besidethe bed for a while. I guessed Margaret Case was about eighty,much the same age as Daphne had been when she moved tothe nursing home.
Given the story Rosie had told me, it was very possible that Iwas looking at her grandmother.
As Margaret Case remained still and silent in her single bed, Ithought about the Father Project. It was only possible becauseof175/290technology. For all but the last few years of human existence,the secret would have died with Rosie’s mother.
I believe it is the duty of science, of humanity, to discover asmuch as we can. But I am a physical scientist, not apsychologist.
The woman in front of me was not a fifty-four-year-old malemedical practitioner who might have run from his parentalresponsibilities.
She was totally helpless. It would be easy to take a hairsample, or to swab her toothbrush, but it felt wrong.
For these reasons, and for others that I did not fully grasp atthe time, I decided not to collect a sample.
Then Margaret Case woke up. She opened her eyes andlooked directly at me.
‘Geoffrey?’ she said, quietly but very clearly. Was she asking forher husband or for her long-dead son? There was a timewhen I would have replied without thinking, ‘They’re dead,’ notout of malice but because I am wired to respond to the factsbefore others’ feelings. But something had changed in me, andI managed to suppress the statement.
She must have realised that I was not the person she hadhoped to see, and began crying. She was not making anynoise, but there were tears on her cheeks. Automatically,because I had experienced this situation with Daphne, I pulledout my handkerchief and wiped away the tears. She closed hereyes again. But fate had delivered me my sample.
I was exhausted, and by the time I walked out of the nursinghome there were tears in my own eyes from lack of sleep. Itwas early au-tumn, and this far north the day was alreadywarm. I lay under a tree and fell asleep.
I woke to see a male doctor in a white coat standing over meand for a frightening moment I was taken back to the badtimes of twenty years ago. It was only momentary; I quicklyremembered where I was176/290and he was only checking to see that I was not ill or dead. Iwas not breaking any rules. It was four hours and eightminutes since I had left Margaret Case’s room.
The incident was a timely reminder of the dangers of fatigueand I planned the return trip more carefully. I scheduled afive-minute break every hour and at 7.06 p.m. I stopped at amotel, ate an over-cooked steak and went to bed. The earlynight enabled a 5.00 a.m.
start on the Sunday.
The highway bypasses Shepparton, but I took the turnoff andwent to the city centre. I decided not to visit my parents. Theextra sixteen kilometres involved in driving the full distance totheir house and back to the highway would add a dangerousunplanned increment to what was already a demandingjourney, but I did want to see the town.
I drove past Tillman Hardware. It was closed on Sunday, andmy father and brother would be at home with my mother. Myfather was probably straightening pictures, and my motherasking my brother to clear his construction project from thedining table so she could set it for Sunday dinner. I had notbeen back since my sister’s funeral.
The service station was open and I filled the tank. A man ofabout forty-five, BMI about thirty, was behind the counter. As Iapproached, I recognised him, and revised his age tothirty-nine. He had lost hair, grown a beard and gained weight,but he was obviously Gary Parkinson, who had been at highschool with me. He had wanted to join the army and travel.
He had apparently not realised this ambition. I was remindedhow lucky I was to have been able to leave and reinvent mylife.
‘Hey, Don,’ he said, obviously also recognising me.
‘Greetings, GP.’
He laughed. ‘You haven’t changed.’
177/290It was getting dark on Sunday evening when I arrived back inMelbourne and returned the rental car. I left the JacksonBrowne CD in the player.
Two thousand four hundred and seventy-two kilometresaccording to the GPS. The handkerchief was safe in a zip-lockbag, but its existence did not change my decision not to testMargaret Case.
We would still have to go to New York.
I met Rosie at the airport. She remained uncomfortable aboutme purchasing her ticket, so I told her she could pay me backby selecting some Wife Project applicants for me to date.
‘Fuck you,’ she said.
It seemed we were friends again.
I could not believe how much baggage Rosie had brought. Ihad told her to pack as lightly as possible but she exceededthe seven kilogram limit for carry-on luggage. Fortunately I wasable to transfer some of her excess equipment to my bag. Ihad packed my ultra-light PC, toothbrush, razor, spare shirt,gym shorts, change of underwear and (annoyingly) bulkyparting gifts from Gene and Claudia. I had only been allowed aweek’s leave and, even then, the Dean had made it difficult. Itwas increasingly obvious that she was looking for a reason toget rid of me.
Rosie had never been to the United States, but was familiarwith international airport procedures. She was highly impressedby the special treatment that I received. We checked in at theservice desk, where there was no queue, and wereaccompanied through security to the business-class lounge,despite travelling in economy class.
As we drank Champagne in the lounge, I explained that I hadearned special privileges by being particularly vigilant andobservant of rules and procedures on previous flights, and bymaking a substantial number of helpful suggestions regardingcheck-in procedures,178/290flight scheduling, pilot training and ways in which securitysystems might be subverted. I was no longer expected to offeradvice, having contributed ‘enough for a lifetime of flying’.
‘Here’s to being special,’ said Rosie. ‘So, what’s the plan?’
Organisation is obviously critical when travelling, and I had anhour-by-hour plan (with hours subdivided as necessary)replacing my usual weekly schedule. It incorporated theappointments that Rosie had made to meet the two fathercandidates - Esler the psychiatrist and Freyberg the cosmeticsurgeon. Amazingly, she had made no other plans beyondarriving at the airport to meet me. At least it meant that therewere no incompatible schedules to reconcile.
I opened the schedule on my laptop and began outlining it toRosie.
I had not even completed my list of activities for the flightwhen she interrupted.
‘Fast forward, Don. What are we doing in New York? BetweenSaturday dinner at the Eslers and Freyberg on Wednesday -which is evening, right? We have four whole days of New YorkCity in between.’
‘Saturday, after dinner, walk to the Marcy Avenue subwaystation and take the J, M or Z train to Delancey Street,change to the F train -’
‘Overview, overview. Sunday to Wednesday. One sentence perday.
Leave out eating, sleeping and travel.’
That made it easy. ‘Sunday, Museum of Natural History;Monday, Museum of Natural History; Tuesday, Museum ofNatural History; Wednesday -’
‘Stop, wait! Don’t tell me Wednesday. Keep it as a surprise.’
‘You’ll probably guess.’
‘Probably,’ said Rosie. ‘How many times have you been to NewYork?’
‘This is my third.’
‘And I’m guessing this is not going to be your first visit to themuseum.’
179/290‘No.’
‘What did you think I was going to do while you were at themuseum?’
‘I hadn’t considered it. I presume you’ve made independentplans for your time in New York.’
‘You presume wrong,’ said Rosie. ‘ We are going to see NewYork.
Sunday and Monday, I’m in charge. Tuesday and Wednesdayit’s your turn. If you want me to spend two days at themuseum, I’ll spend two days at the museum. With you. ButSunday and Monday, I’m the tour guide.’
‘But you don’t know New York.’
‘Nor do you.’ Rosie took our Champagne glasses to the bar totop them up. It was only 9.42 a.m. in Melbourne, but I wasalready on New York time. While she was gone, I flipped openmy computer again and connected to the Museum of NaturalHistory site. I would have to replan my visits.
Rosie returned and immediately invaded my personal space.
She shut the lid of the computer! Incredible. If I had done thatto a student playing Angry Birds, I would have been in theDean’s office the next day. In the university hierarchy, I am anassociate professor and Rosie is a PhD student. I was entitledto some respect.
‘Talk to me,’ she said. ‘We’ve had no time to talk aboutanything except DNA. Now we’ve got a week, and I want toknow who you are.
And if you’re going to be the guy who tells me who my fatheris, you should know who I am.’
In less than fifteen minutes, my entire schedule had been tornapart, shattered, rendered redundant. Rosie had taken over.
An escort from the lounge took us to the plane for thefourteen-anda-half-hour flight to Los Angeles. As a result of myspecial status, Rosie and I had two seats in a row of three. Iam only placed next to other passengers when flights are full.
180/290‘Start with your childhood,’ said Rosie.
All it needed was for her to turn on the overhead light for thescenario of interrogation to be complete. I was a prisoner, so Inegotiated -and made escape plans.
‘We have to get some sleep. It’s evening in New York.’
‘It’s seven o’clock. Who goes to bed at seven? Anyway, I won’tbe able to sleep.’
‘I’ve brought sleeping pills.’
Rosie was amazed that I would use sleeping pills. She thoughtI would have some objection to chemicals. She was right aboutnot knowing much about me. We agreed that I wouldsummarise my childhood experiences, which, given herbackground in psychology, she would doubtless consider hugelysignificant, eat dinner, take the sleeping pills and sleep. On thepretext of visiting the bathroom, I asked the cabin manager tobring our dinner as quickly as possible.
Chapter 22
Telling Rosie my life story was not difficult. Every psychologistand psychiatrist I have seen has asked for a summary, so Ihave the essential facts clear in my mind.
My father owns a hardware store in a regional city. He livesthere with my mother and my younger brother, who willprobably take over when my father retires or dies. My oldersister died at the age of forty as a result of medicalincompetence. When it happened, my mother did not get outof bed for two weeks, except to attend the funeral. I was verysad about my sister’s death. Yes, I was angry too.
My father and I have an effective but not emotionalrelationship.
This is satisfactory to both of us. My mother is very caring butI find her stifling. My brother does not like me. I believe this isbecause he saw me as a threat to his dream of inheriting thehardware store and now does not respect my alternativechoice. The hardware store may well have been a metaphorfor the affection of our father. If so, my brother won, but Iam not unhappy about losing. I do not see my family veryoften. My mother calls me on Sundays.
182/290I had an uneventful time at school. I enjoyed the sciencesubjects. I did not have many friends and was briefly theobject of bullying. I was the top student in the school in allsubjects except English, where I was the top boy. At the endof my schooling I left home to attend university. I originallyenrolled in computer science, but on my twenty-first birthdaymade a decision to change to genetics. This may have beenthe result of a subconscious desire to remain a student, but itwas a logical choice. Genetics was a burgeoning field. There isno family history of mental illness.
I turned towards Rosie and smiled. I had already told herabout my sister and the bullying. The statement about mentalillness was correct, unless I included myself in the definition of‘family’. Somewhere in a medical archive is a twenty-year-oldfile with my name and the words ‘depression, bipolar disorder?
OCD?’ and ‘schizophrenia?’ The question marks are important- beyond the obvious observation that I was depressed, nodefinitive diagnosis was ever made, despite attempts by thepsychiatric profession to fit me into a simplistic category. I nowbelieve that virtually all my problems could be attributed to mybrain being configured differently from those of the majority ofhumans. All the psychiatric symptoms were a result of this, notof any underlying disease. Of course I was depressed: I lackedfriends, sex and a social life, due to being incompatible withother people. My intensity and focus were misinterpreted asmania. And my concern with organisation was labelled asobsessive-compulsive disorder. Julie’s Asperger’s kids might wellface similar problems in their lives.
However, they had been labelled with an underlying syndrome,and perhaps the psychiatric profession would be intelligentenough to apply Occam’s razor and see that the problems theymight face would be largely due to their Asperger’s brainconfiguration.
‘What happened on your twenty-first birthday?’ asked Rosie.
183/290Had Rosie read my thoughts? What happened on mytwenty-first birthday was that I decided that I needed to take anew direction in my life, because any change was better thanstaying in the pit of depression. I actually visualised it as a pit.
I told Rosie part of the truth. I don’t generally celebratebirthdays, but my family had insisted in this case and hadinvited numerous friends and relatives to compensate for myown lack of friends.
My uncle made a speech. I understood that it was traditionalto make fun of the guest of honour, but my uncle became soencouraged by his ability to provoke laughter that he keptgoing, telling story after story. I was shocked to discover thathe knew some extremely personal facts, and realised that mymother must have shared them with him.
She was pulling at his arm, trying to get him to stop, but heignored her, and did not stop until he noticed that she wascrying by which time he had completed a detailed exposition ofmy faults and of the embarrassment and pain that they hadcaused. The core of the problem, it seemed, was that I was astereotypical computer geek. So I decided to change.
‘To a genetics geek,’ said Rosie.
‘That wasn’t exactly my goal.’ But it was obviously the outcome.
And I got out of the pit to work hard in a new discipline.
Where was dinner?
‘Tell me more about your father.’
‘Why?’ I wasn’t actually interested in why. I was doing thesocial equivalent of saying ‘over’ to put the responsibility backon Rosie. It was a trick suggested by Claudia for dealing withdifficult personal questions. I recalled her advice not to overuseit. But this was the first occasion.
‘I guess because I want to see if your dad is the reasonyou’re fucked-up.’
‘I’m not fucked-up.’
184/290‘Okay, not fucked-up. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be judgmental.
But you’re not exactly average,’ said Rosie, psychology PhDcandidate.
‘Agreed. Does “fucked-up” mean “not exactly average”?’
‘Bad choice of words. Start again. I guess I’m asking becausemy father is the reason that I’m fucked-up.’
An extraordinary statement. With the exception of her carelessattitude to health, Rosie had never exhibited any sign of brainmalfunction.
‘What are the symptoms of being fucked-up?’
‘I’ve got crap in my life that I wish I hadn’t. And I’m notgood at dealing with it. Am I making sense?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Unwanted events occur and you lackcertain skills for minimising the personal impact. I thought whenyou said“fucked-up” that there was some problem with your personalitythat you wanted to rectify.’
‘No, I’m okay with being me.’
‘So what is the nature of the damage caused by Phil?’
Rosie did not have an instant reply to this critical question.
Perhaps this was a symptom of being fucked-up. Finally shespoke. ‘Jesus, what’s taking them so long with dinner?’
Rosie went to the bathroom, and I took the opportunity tounwrap the presents that Gene and Claudia had given me.
They had driven me to the airport, so it was impossible not toaccept the packages. It was fortunate that Rosie was notwatching when I opened them. Gene’s present was a newbook of sexual positions and he had inscribed it: ‘In case yourun out of ideas.’ He had drawn the gene symbol that he usesas his signature underneath. Claudia’s present was notembarrassing, but was irrelevant to the trip - a pair of jeansand a shirt. Clothes are always useful, but I had alreadypacked a spare shirt, and did not see a need for additionaltrousers in only eight days.
185/290Gene had again misconstrued the current nature of myrelationship with Rosie, but this was understandable. I could notexplain the real purpose for taking Rosie to New York andGene had made an assumption consistent with his world view.
On the way to the airport, I had asked Claudia for advice ondealing with so much time in the company of one person.
‘Remember to listen,’ said Claudia. ‘If she asks you anawkward question, ask her why she’s asking. Turn it back toher. If she’s a psychology student, she’ll love talking aboutherself. Take notice of your emotions as well as logic. Emotionshave their own logic. And try to go with the flow.’
In fact, Rosie spent most of the remainder of the flight to LosAngeles either sleeping or watching films, but confirmed - twice-that I had not offended her and she just needed time out.
I did not complain.
Chapter 23
We survived US Immigration. Previous experience had taughtme not to offer observations or suggestions, and I did notneed to use my letter of recommendation from DavidBorenstein at Columbia University characterising me as a saneand competent person. Rosie seemed extremely nervous, evento someone who is poor at judging emotional states, and I wasworried that she would cause suspicion and that we would berefused entry for no justifiable reason, as had happened tome on a previous occasion.
The official asked, ‘What do you do?’ and I said, ‘Geneticsresearcher,’ and he said, ‘Best in the world?’ and I said, ‘Yes.’
We were through.
Rosie almost ran towards Customs and then to the exit. I wasseveral metres behind, carrying both bags. Something wasobviously wrong.
I caught up to her outside the automatic doors, reaching intoher handbag.
‘Cigarette,’ she said. She lit a cigarette and took a long drag.
‘Just don’t say anything, okay? If I ever needed a reason togive up, I’ve got one now. Eighteen and a half hours. Fuck.’
187/290It was fortunate that Rosie had told me not to say anything. Iremained silent but shocked at the impact of addiction on herlife.
She finished her cigarette and we headed to the bar. It wasonly 7.48a.m. in Los Angeles, but we could be on Melbourne time untilour arrival in New York.
‘What was the deal about “best geneticist on the planet”?’
I explained that I had a special O-1 Visa for Aliens ofExtraordinary Ability. I had needed a visa after the occasionwhen I was refused entry and this was deemed the safestchoice. O-1 visas were quite rare and‘yes’ was the correct answer to any question about theextraordinari-ness of my abilities. Rosie found the word ‘alien’
amusing. Correction, hilarious.
Since we did not have bags checked, and the immigrationprocess had proceeded smoothly, I was able to implement mybest-case alternative and we caught an earlier flight to NewYork. I had made plans for the time gained through thismanoeuvre.
At JFK, I steered Rosie towards the AirTrain. ‘We have twosubway options.’
‘I supposed you’ve memorised the timetable,’ said Rosie.
‘Not worth the effort. I just know the lines and stations weneed for our journeys.’ I love New York. The layout is sological, at least uptown from 14th Street.
When Rosie had telephoned Isaac Esler’s wife she was verypositive about some contact from Australia and news from thereunion. On the subway, Rosie said, ‘You’ll need an alias. Incase Esler recognises your name from the Asperger’s survey.’
I had already considered this. ‘Austin,’ I said. ‘From AustinPowers.
International Man of Mystery.’ Rosie thought this was hilarious.
I had made a successful, deliberate joke that was not related toexhibiting some quirk in my personality. A memorable moment.
‘Profession?’ she asked.
188/290‘Hardware-store owner.’ The idea appeared in my brainspontaneously.
‘Okaaaaaay,’ said Rosie. ‘Right.’
We took the E train to Lexington Avenue and 53rd Street andheaded uptown.
‘Where’s the hotel?’ Rosie asked as I steered us towardsMadison Avenue.
‘Lower East Side. But we have to shop first.’
‘Fuck, Don, it’s after 5.30. We’re due at the Eslers’ at 7.30.
We don’t have time for shopping. I need time to change.’
I looked at Rosie. She was wearing jeans and shirt -conventional attire. I could not see the problem, but we hadtime. ‘I hadn’t planned to go to the hotel before dinner, butsince we arrived early -’
‘Don, I’ve been flying for twenty-four hours. We are doingnothing more with your schedule until I’ve checked it forcraziness.’
‘I’ve scheduled four minutes for the transaction,’ I said. Wewere already outside the Hermès store, which my research hadidentified as the world’s best scarf shop. I walked in and Rosiefollowed.
The shop was empty except for us. Perfect.
‘Don, you’re not exactly dressed for this.’
Dressed for shopping! I was dressed for travelling, eating,socialising, museum-visiting - and shopping: runners, cargopants, t-shirt and the jumper knitted by my mother. This wasnot Le Gavroche.
It seemed highly unlikely that they would refuse to participatein a commercial exchange on the basis of my costume. I wasright.
Two women stood behind the counter, one (age approximatelyfifty-five, BMI approximately nineteen) wearing rings on all eightfingers, and the other (age approximately twenty, BMIapproximately twenty-two) wearing huge purple glasses creatingthe impression of a human ant. They were very formallydressed. I initiated the transaction.
‘I require a high-quality scarf.’
189/290Ring Woman smiled. ‘I can help you with that. It’s for thelady?’
‘No. For Claudia.’ I realised that this was not helpful but wasnot sure how to elaborate.
‘And Claudia is’ - she made circles with her hand - ‘whatage?’
‘Forty-one years, three hundred and fifty-six days.’
‘Ah,’ said Ring Woman, ‘so we have a birthday coming up.’
‘Just Claudia.’ My birthday was thirty-two days away, so itsurely did not qualify as ‘coming up’. ‘Claudia wears scarves,even in hot weather, to cover lines on her neck which sheconsiders unattractive. So the scarf does not need to befunctional, only decorative.’
Ring Woman produced a scarf. ‘What do you think of this?’
It was remarkably light - and would offer almost zeroprotection against wind and cold. But it was certainly decorative,as specified.
‘Excellent. How much?’ We were running to schedule.
‘This one is twelve hundred dollars.’
I opened my wallet and extracted my credit card.
‘Whoa whoa whoa,’ said Rosie. ‘I think we’d like to see whatelse you have before we rush into anything.’
I turned to Rosie. ‘Our four minutes is almost up.’
Ring Woman put three more scarves on the counter. Rosielooked at one. I copied her, looking at another. It seemed nice.
They all seemed nice. I had no framework for discrimination.
It continued. Ring Woman kept throwing more scarves on thecounter and Rosie and I looked at them. Ant Woman came tohelp. I finally identified one that I could comment intelligentlyon.
‘This scarf has a fault! It’s not symmetrical. Symmetry is a keycomponent of human beauty.’
Rosie had a brilliant response. ‘Maybe the scarf’s lack ofsymmetry will highlight Claudia’s symmetry.’
190/290Ant Woman produced a pink scarf with fluffy bits. Even Icould see that Claudia would not approve and dropped itimmediately on the reject pile.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ said Rosie.
‘I don’t know. It’s unsuitable.’
‘Come on,’ she said, ‘you can do better than that. Imagine whomight wear it.’
‘Barbara Cartland,’ said Ring Woman.
I was not familiar with this name, but the answer suddenlycame to me. ‘The Dean! At the ball.’
Rosie burst out laughing. ‘Corrrrr-ect.’ She pulled another scarffrom the pile. ‘What about this one?’ It was virtuallytransparent.
‘Julie,’ I said automatically, then explained to Rosie and the twowomen about the Asperger’s counsellor and her revealingcostume. Presumably she would not want a scarf to reduce itsimpact.
‘This one?’
It was a scarf that I had quite liked because of its brightcolours, but Rosie had rejected as too ‘loud’.
‘Bianca.’
‘Exactly.’ Rosie had not stopped laughing. ‘You know moreabout clothes than you think you do.’
Ant Woman produced a scarf covered in pictures of birds. Ipicked it up - the pictures were remarkably accurate. It wasquite beautiful.
‘Birds of the world,’ Ant Woman said.
‘Oh my God, no!’ said Rosie. ‘Not for Claudia.’
‘Why not? It’s extremely interesting.’
‘Birds of the world! Think about it. Gene.’
Scarves were being sourced from multiple locations, pilingrapidly, being evaluated, tossed aside. It was happening soquickly that I was reminded of the Great Cocktail Night, exceptthat we were the191/290customers. I wondered if the women were enjoying their workas much as I had.
In the end I left the choice to Rosie. She chose the first scarfthat they had shown us.
As we walked out of the store, Rosie said, ‘I think I justwasted an hour of your life.’
‘No, no, the outcome was irrelevant,’ I said. ‘It was soentertaining.’
‘Well,’ said Rosie, ‘any time you need entertaining, I could usea pair of Manolo Blahniks.’ From the word ‘pair’, I guessedthat she was referring to shoes.
‘Do we have time?’ We had already used the time that Rosiehad intended for the hotel visit.
‘I’m kidding, I’m kidding.’
It was fortunate, as we had to move quickly to arrive at theEslers’
on schedule. But Rosie needed to change. There was abathroom at union Square station. Rosie dashed in andreappeared looking amazingly different.
‘That was incredible,’ I said. ‘So quick.’
Rosie looked at me. ‘You’re going like that?’ Her tonesuggested dissatisfaction.
‘These are my clothes,’ I said. ‘I have a spare shirt.’
‘Show it to me.’
I reached into the bag to get the alternative shirt, which Idoubted Rosie would prefer, and remembered Claudia’s gift. Ishowed the shirt to Rosie.
‘It was a gift from Claudia,’ I said. ‘I’ve got jeans as well, ifthat helps.’
‘All hail Claudia,’ said Rosie. ‘She earned the scarf.’
‘We’ll be late.’
‘Politely late is fine.’
192/290Isaac and Judy Esler had an apartment in Williamsburg. MyUScell-phone card was working to specification, and we were ableto navigate by GPS to the location. I hoped that forty-sixminutes met Rosie’s definition of ‘politely late’.
‘Austin, remember,’ said Rosie as she rang the bell.
Judy answered the door. I estimated her age as fifty and herBMI as twenty-six. She spoke with a New York accent, andwas concerned that we might have become lost. Her husbandIsaac was a caricature of a psychiatrist: mid-fifties, short,receding hair, black goatee beard, BMI nineteen. He was not asfriendly as his wife.
They offered us martinis. I remembered the effect this drinkhad had on me during the preparation for the Great CocktailNight and resolved that I would have no more than three.
Judy had made some fish-based canapés, and asked for detailsof our trip. She wanted to know whether we had been to NewYork before, what season it was in Australia (not a challengingquestion) and whether we planned to do any shopping and seeany museums. Rosie handled all of these questions.
‘Isaac’s off to Chicago in the morning,’ said Judy. ‘Tell themwhat you’ll be doing there.’
‘Just a conference,’ said Isaac. He and I did not need to do agreat deal of talking to ensure the conversation continued.
He did ask me one thing before we moved to the diningroom. ‘What do you do, Austin?’
‘Austin runs a hardware store,’ said Rosie. ‘A very successfulone.’
Judy served a delicious meal based on farmed salmon, whichshe assured Rosie was sustainable. I had eaten very little of thepoor-quality aeroplane food, and enjoyed Judy’s mealimmensely. Isaac opened some Pinot Gris from Oregon andwas generous in refilling my glass.
We talked about New York and the differences betweenAustralian and American politics.
193/290‘Well,’ said Judy, ‘I’m so glad you could come. It makes up alittle for missing the reunion. Isaac was so sorry not to bethere.’
‘Not really,’ said Isaac. ‘Revisiting the past is not something todo lightly.’ He ate the last piece of fish from his plate andlooked at Rosie.
‘You look a lot like your mother. She would have been a bityounger than you when I last saw her.’
Judy said, ‘We got married the day after the graduation andmoved here. Isaac had the biggest hangover at the wedding.
He’d been a bad boy.’ She smiled.
‘I think that’s enough telling tales, Judy,’ said Isaac. ‘It was alla long time ago.’
He stared at Rosie. Rosie stared at him.
Judy picked up Rosie’s plate and mine, one in each hand. Idecided that this was the moment to act, with everyonedistracted. I stood and picked up Isaac’s plate in one hand andthen Judy’s. Isaac was too busy playing the staring game withRosie to object. I took the plates to the kitchen, swabbingIsaac’s fork on the way.
‘I imagine Austin and Rosie are exhausted,’ said Judy when wereturned to the table.
‘You said you’re a hardware man, Austin?’ Isaac stood up.
‘Can you spare five minutes to look at a tap for me? It’sprobably a job for a plumber, but maybe it’s just a washer.’
‘He means faucet,’ said Judy, presumably forgetting we camefrom the same country as Isaac.
Isaac and I went down the stairs to the basement. I wasconfident I could help with the tap problem. My school holidayshad been spent providing advice of exactly this kind. But as wereached the bottom of the stairs, the lights went out. I wasn’tsure what had happened. A power failure?
‘You okay, Don?’ said Isaac, sounding concerned.
‘I’m okay,’ I said. ‘What happened?’
194/290‘What happened is that you answered to Don, Austin.’
We stood there in the dark. I doubted that there were socialconventions for dealing with interrogation by a psychiatrist in adark cellar.
‘How did you know?’ I asked.
‘Two unsolicited communications from the same university in amonth. An internet search. You make good dancing partners.’
More silence and darkness.
‘I know the answer to your question. But I made a promisethat I would not reveal it. If I thought it was a matter of lifeor death, or a serious mental health issue, I would reconsider.
But I see no reason to break the promise, which was madebecause the people involved had thought hard about whatwould be right. You came a long way for my DNA, and I’mguessing you got it when you cleared the plates. You mightwant to think beyond your girlfriend’s wishes before youproceed.’
He turned on the light.
Something bothered me as we walked up the stairs. At the top,I stopped. ‘If you knew what I wanted, why did you let uscome to your house?’
‘Good question,’ he said. ‘Since you asked the question, I’msure you can work out the answer. I wanted to see Rosie.’
Chapter 24
Thanks to carefully timed use of sleeping pills, I woke withoutany feeling of disorientation, at 7.06 a.m.
Rosie had fallen asleep in the train on the way to the hotel. Ihad decided not to tell her immediately about the basementencounter, nor mention what I had observed on the sideboard.
It was a large photo of Judy and Isaac’s wedding. Standingbeside Isaac, dressed in the formal clothes required of a bestman, was Geoffrey Case, who had only three hundred andseventy days to live. He was smiling.
I was still processing the implications myself, and Rosie wouldprobably have an emotional response that could spoil the NewYork experience. She was impressed that I had collected theDNA, and even more impressed that I had acted sounobtrusively when I picked up the dishes to assist.
‘You’re in danger of learning some social skills.’
The hotel was perfectly comfortable. After we checked in, Rosiesaid she had been worried that I would expect her to share aroom in196/290exchange for paying for her trip to New York. Like aprostitute! I was highly insulted. She seemed pleased with myreaction.
I had an excellent workout at the hotel gym, and returned tofind the message light blinking. Rosie.
‘Where were you?’ she said.
‘In the gym. Exercise is critical in reducing the effects of jetlag. Also sunlight. I’ve planned to walk twenty-nine blocks insunlight.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something? Today is my day. Andtomorrow. I own you until midnight Monday. Now get yourbutt down here. I’m hanging out for breakfast.’
‘In my gym clothes?’
‘No, Don, not in your gym clothes. Shower, dress. You haveten minutes.’
‘I always have my breakfast before I shower.’
‘How old are you?’ said Rosie, aggressively. She didn’t wait forthe answer. ‘You’re like an old man - I always have mybreakfast before I shower, don’t sit in my chair, that’s where Isit … Do not fuck with me, Don Tillman.’ She said the lastwords quite slowly. I decided it was best not to fuck with her.
By midnight tomorrow it would be over. In the interim, I wouldadopt the dentist mindset.
It seemed I was in for a root-canal filling. I arrived downstairsand Rosie was immediately critical.
‘How long have you had that shirt?’
‘Fourteen years,’ I said. ‘It dries very quickly. Perfect fortravelling.’
In fact it was a specialised walking shirt, though fabrictechnology had progressed significantly since it was made.
‘Good,’ said Rosie. ‘It doesn’t owe you anything. Upstairs. Othershirt.’
‘It’s wet.’
‘I mean Claudia’s shirt. And the jeans while you’re at it. I’mnot walking around New York with a bum.’
197/290When I came down for the second attempt at breakfast, Rosiesmiled. ‘You know, you’re not such a bad-looking guyunderneath.’ She stopped and looked at me. ‘Don, you’re notenjoying this, are you?
You’d rather be by yourself in the museum, right?’ She wasextremely perceptive. ‘I get that. But you’ve done all thesethings for me, you’ve brought me to New York, and, by theway, I haven’t finished spending your money yet. So I want todo something for you.’
I could have argued that her wanting to do something for memeant she was ultimately acting in her own interests, but itmight provoke more of the ‘don’t fuck with me’ behaviour.
‘You’re in a different place, you’re in different clothes. Whenthe me-dieval pilgrims used to arrive at Santiago after walkinghundreds of kilometres they burned their clothes to symbolisethat they’d changed.
I’m not asking you to burn your clothes - yet. Put them onagain on Tuesday. Just be open to something different. Let meshow you my world for a couple of days. Starting withbreakfast. We’re in the city with the best breakfasts in theworld.’
She must have seen that I was resisting.
‘Hey, you schedule your time so you don’t waste it, right?’
‘Correct.’
‘So, you’ve committed to two days with me. If you shutyourself down, you’re wasting two days of your life thatsomeone is trying to make exciting and productive and fun foryou. I’m going to -’ She stopped. ‘I left the guidebook in myroom. When I come down, we’re going to breakfast.’ Sheturned and walked to the elevators.
I was disturbed by Rosie’s logic. I had always justified myschedule in terms of efficiency. But was my allegiance toefficiency or was it to the schedule itself? Was I really like myfather, who had insisted on sitting in the same chair everynight? I had never mentioned this to Rosie. I had my ownspecial chair too.
198/290There was another argument that she had not presented,because she could not have known it. In the last eight weeks Ihad experienced two of the three best times of my adult life,assuming all visits to the Museum of Natural History weretreated as one event. They had both been with Rosie. Wasthere a correlation? It was critical to find out.
By the time Rosie came back I had performed a brain reboot,an exercise requiring a considerable effort of will. But I wasnow configured for adaptability.
‘So?’ she said.
‘So, how do we find the world’s best breakfast?’
We found the World’s Best Breakfast round the corner. It mayhave been the unhealthiest breakfast I had ever eaten, but Iwould not put on significant weight, nor lose fitness, brainacuity or martial-arts skills if I neglected them for two days.
This was the mode in which my brain was now operating.
‘I can’t believe you ate all that,’ said Rosie.
‘It tasted so good.’
‘No lunch. Late dinner,’ she said.
‘We can eat any time.’
Our server approached the table. Rosie indicated the emptycoffee cups. ‘They were great. I think we could both manageanother.’
‘Huh?’ said the server. It was obvious that she hadn’tunderstood Rosie. It was also obvious that Rosie had very poortaste in coffee - or she had done as I had and ignored thelabel ‘coffee’ and was enjoying it as an entirely new beverage.
The technique was working brilliantly.
‘One regular coffee with cream and one regular coffee withoutcream… please,’ I said.
‘Sure.’
This was a town where people talked straight. My kind oftown. I was enjoying speaking American: cream instead of milk,elevator199/290instead of lift, check instead of bill. I had memorised a list ofdifferences between American and Australian usage prior to myfirst trip to the US, and had been surprised at how quickly mybrain was able to switch into using them automatically.
We walked uptown. Rosie was looking at a guidebook calledNot for Tourists, which seemed a very poor choice.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
‘We’re not going anywhere. We’re there.’
We were outside a clothing store. Rosie asked if it was okay togo inside.
‘You don’t have to ask,’ I said. ‘You’re in control.’
‘I do about shops. It’s a girl thing. I was going to say, “Isuppose you’ve been on Fifth Avenue before”, but I don’tsuppose anything with you.’
The situation was symmetrical. I knew not to suppose anythingabout Rosie, or I would have been surprised by her describingherself as a ‘girl’, a term that I understood to be unacceptableto feminists when referring to adult women.
Rosie was becoming remarkably perceptive about me. I hadnever been beyond the conference centres and the museum,but with my new mind configuration, I was finding everythingfascinating. A whole shop for cigars. The prices of jewellery.
The Flatiron Building. The sex museum. Rosie looked at thelast of these, and chose not to go in. This was probably agood decision - it might be fascinating, but the risk of a fauxpas would be very high.
‘Do you want to buy anything?’ said Rosie.
‘No.’
A few minutes later, a thought occurred to me. ‘Is theresomewhere that sells men’s shirts?’
Rosie laughed. ‘On Fifth Avenue, New York City. Maybe we’llget lucky.’ I detected sarcasm, but in a friendly way. We founda new shirt200/290of the same genre as the Claudia shirt at a huge store calledBlooming-dale’s, which was not, in fact, on Fifth Avenue. Wecould not choose between two candidate shirts and boughtboth. My wardrobe would be overflowing!
We arrived at Central Park.
‘We’re skipping lunch, but I could handle an ice-cream,’ saidRosie.
There was a vendor in the park, and he was serving bothcones and prefabricated confections.
I was filled with an irrational sense of dread. I identified itimmediately. But I had to know. ‘Is the flavour important?’
‘Something with peanuts. We’re in the States.’
‘All ice-creams taste the same.’
‘Bullshit.’
I explained about tastebuds.
‘Wanna bet?’ said Rosie. ‘If I can tell the difference betweenpeanut and vanilla, two tickets to Spiderman. On Broadway.
Tonight.’
‘The textures will be different. Because of the peanuts.’
‘Any two. Your choice.’
I ordered an apricot and a mango. ‘Close your eyes,’ I said. Itwasn’t really necessary: the colours were almost identical, but Ididn’t want her to see me tossing a coin to decide which oneto show her. I was concerned that with her psychological skillsshe might guess my sequence.
I tossed the coin and gave her an ice-cream.
‘Mango,’ guessed Rosie, correctly. Toss, heads again. ‘Mangoagain.’
She picked the mango correctly three times, then the apricot,then the apricot again. The chances of her achieving this resultrandomly were one in thirty-two. I could be ninety-seven percent confident she was able to differentiate. Incredible.
‘So, Spiderman tonight?’
‘No. You got one wrong.’
201/290Rosie looked at me, very carefully, then burst out laughing.
‘You’re bullshitting me, aren’t you? I can’t believe it, you’remaking jokes.’
She gave me an ice-cream. ‘Since you don’t care, you canhave the apricot.’
I looked at it. What to say? She had been licking it.
Once again she read my mind. ‘How are you going to kiss agirl if you won’t share her ice-cream?’
For several minutes, I was suffused with an irrational feeling ofenormous pleasure, basking in the success of my joke, andparsing the sentence about the kiss: Kiss a girl, share herice-cream - it was third-person, but surely not unrelated to thegirl who was sharing her ice-cream right now with Don Tillmanin his new shirt and jeans as we walked among the trees inCentral Park, New York City, on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
I needed the hundred and fourteen minutes of time-out backat the hotel, although I had enjoyed the day immensely.
Shower, email, relaxation exercises combined with stretches. Iemailed Gene, copying in Claudia, with a summary of ouractivities.
Rosie was three minutes late for our 7.00 p.m. foyer meeting. Iwas about to call her room when she arrived wearing clothespurchased that day - white jeans and a blue t-shirt thing -and the jacket she had worn the previous evening. Iremembered a Gene-ism, something I had heard him say toClaudia. ‘You’re looking very elegant,’ I said. It was a riskystatement, but her reaction appeared to be positive. She didlook very elegant.
We had cocktails at a bar with the World’s Longest CocktailList, including many I did not know, and we saw Spiderman.
Afterwards, Rosie felt the story was a bit predictable but I wasoverwhelmed by everything, in a hugely positive way. I had notbeen to the theatre202/290since I was a child. I could have ignored the story and focusedentirely on the mechanics of the flying. It was just incredible.
We caught the subway back to the Lower East Side. I washungry, but did not want to break the rules by suggesting thatwe eat. But Rosie had this planned too. A 10.00 p.m. bookingat a restaurant called Momofuku Ko. We were on Rosie timeagain.
‘This is my present to you for bringing me here,’ she said.
We sat at a counter for twelve where we could watch thechefs at work. There were few of the annoying formalities thatmake restaurants so stressful.
‘Any preferences, allergies, dislikes?’ asked the chef.
‘I’m vegetarian, but I eat sustainable seafood,’ said Rosie. ‘Heeats everything - and I mean everything.’
I lost count of the courses. I had sweetbreads and foie gras(first time!) and sea urchin roe. We drank a bottle of roséChampagne. I talked to the chefs and they told me what theywere doing. I ate the best food I had ever eaten. And I didnot need to wear a jacket in order to eat. In fact, the mansitting beside me was wearing a costume that would have beenextreme at the Marquess of Queensbury, including multiplefacial piercings. He heard me speaking to the chef and askedme where I was from. I told him.
‘How are you finding New York?’
I told him I was finding it highly interesting, and explained howwe had spent our day. But I was conscious that, under thestress of talking to a stranger, my manner had changed - or,to be more precise, reverted - to my usual style. During theday, with Rosie, I had felt relaxed, and had spoken and acteddifferently, and this continued in my conversation with the chef,which was essentially a professional exchange of information.
But informal social interaction with another person hadtriggered my regular behaviour. And my regular behaviour and203/290speaking style is, I am well aware, considered odd by others.
The man with the piercings must have noticed.
‘You know what I like about New York?’ he said. ‘There areso many weird people that nobody takes any notice. We alljust fit right in.’
‘How was it?’ said Rosie as we walked back to the hotel.
‘The best day of my adult life,’ I said. Rosie seemed so happywith my response that I decided not to finish the sentence:
‘excluding the Museum of Natural History.’
‘Sleep in,’ she said. ‘9.30 here and we’ll do the brunch thingagain.
Okay?’
It would have been totally irrational to argue.
Chapter 25
‘Did I cause any embarrassment?’
Rosie had been concerned that I might make inappropriatecomments during our tour of the World Trade Center site. Ourguide, a former firefighter named Frank, who had lost many ofhis colleagues in the attack, was incredibly interesting and Iasked a number of technical questions that he answeredintelligently and, it seemed to me, enthusiastically.
‘You may have changed the tone a bit,’ she said. ‘You sort ofmoved the attention away from the emotional impact.’ So, Ihad reduced the sadness. Good.
Monday was allocated to visiting popular tourist sights. We hadbreakfast at Katz’s Deli, where a scene for a film called WhenHarry Met Sally was shot. We went to the top of the EmpireState Building, famous as a location for An Affair toRemember. We visited MOMA and the Met, which wereexcellent.
We were back at the hotel early - 4.32 p.m.
‘Back here at 6.30,’ said Rosie.
205/290‘What are we having for dinner?’
‘Hot dogs. We’re going to the baseball.’
I never watch sport. Ever. The reasons are obvious - orshould be to anyone who values their time. But myreconfigured mind, sustained by huge doses of positivereinforcement, accepted the proposition. I spent the nexthundred and eighteen minutes on the internet, learning aboutthe rules and the players.
On the subway, Rosie had some news for me. Before she leftMelbourne, she had sent an email to Mary Keneally, aresearcher working in her field at Columbia University. She hadjust received a reply and Mary could see her tomorrow. Butshe wouldn’t be able to make it to the Museum of NaturalHistory. She could come Wednesday, but would I be okay bymyself tomorrow? Of course I would.
At Yankee Stadium we got beer and hot dogs. A man in acap, estimated age thirty-five, estimated BMI forty (i.e.
dangerously fat), sat beside me. He had three hot dogs! Thesource of the obesity was obvious.
The game started, and I had to explain to Rosie what washappening. It was fascinating to see how the rules worked in areal game.
Every time there was an event on the field, Fat Baseball Fanwould make an annotation in his book. There were runners onsecond and third when Curtis Granderson came to the plateand Fat Baseball Fan spoke to me. ‘If he bats in both of theseguys he’ll be heading the league on RBI. What are the odds?’
I didn’t know what the odds were. All I could tell him was thatthey were somewhere between 9.9 and 27.2 per cent based onthe batting average and percentage of home runs listed in theprofile I had read. I had not had time to memorise thestatistics for doubles and triples.
Fat Baseball Fan nevertheless seemed impressed and we begana very interesting conversation. He showed me how to markthe programme with symbols to represent the various events,and how the more206/290sophisticated statistics worked. I had no idea sport could be sointellectually stimulating.
Rosie got more beer and hot dogs and Fat Baseball Fanstarted to tell me about Joe DiMaggio’s ‘streak’ in 1941 whichhe claimed was a uniquely odds-defying achievement. I wasdoubtful, and the conversation was just getting interesting whenthe game ended, so he suggested we take the subway to a barin Midtown. As Rosie was in charge of the schedule, I askedfor her opinion, and she agreed.
The bar was noisy and there was more baseball playing on alarge television screen. Some other men, who did not appear tohave previously met Fat Baseball Fan, joined our discussion.
We drank a lot of beer, and talked about baseball statistics.
Rosie sat on a stool with her drink and observed. It was latewhen Fat Baseball Fan, whose actual name was Dave, said hehad to go home. We exchanged email addresses and Iconsidered that I had made a new friend.
Walking back to the hotel, I realised that I had behaved instereotypical male fashion, drinking beer in a bar, watchingtelevision and talking about sport. It is generally known thatwomen have a negative attitude to such behaviour. I askedRosie if I had offended her.
‘Not at all. I had fun watching you being a guy - fitting in.’
I told her that this was a highly unusual response from afeminist, but that it would make her a very attractive partnerto conventional men.
‘If I was interested in conventional men.’
It seemed a good opportunity to ask a question about Rosie’spersonal life.
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ I hoped I had used an appropriateterm.
‘Sure, I just haven’t unpacked him from my suitcase,’ she said,obviously making a joke. I laughed, then pointed out that shehadn’t actually answered my question.
207/290‘Don,’ she said, ‘don’t you think that if I had a boyfriend youmight have heard about him by now?’
It seemed to me entirely possible that I would not have heardabout him. I had asked Rosie very few personal questionsoutside the Father Project. I did not know any of her friends,except perhaps Stefan who I had concluded was not herboyfriend. Of course, it would have been traditional to bringany partner to the faculty ball, and not to offer me sexafterwards, but not everyone was bound by such conventions.
Gene was the perfect example. It seemed entirely possible thatRosie had a boyfriend who did not like dancing or socialisingwith academics, was out of town at the time, or was in anopen relationship with her. She had no reason to tell me. Inmy own life, I had rarely mentioned Daphne or my sister toGene and Claudia or vice versa. They belonged to differentparts of my life. I explained this to Rosie.
‘Short answer, no,’ she said. We walked a bit further. ‘Longanswer: you asked what I meant about being fucked-up by myfather. Psychology 101 - our first relationship with a male iswith our fathers. It affects how we relate to men forever. So,lucky me, I get a choice of two.
Phil, who’s fucked in the head, or my real father who walkedaway from me and my mother. And I get this choice whenI’m twelve years old and Phil sits me down and has this “Iwish your mother could be here to tell you” talk with me. Youknow, just the standard stuff your dad tells you at twelve -I’m not your dad, your mum who died before you could knowher properly isn’t the perfect person you thought she was, andyou’re only here because of your mother being easy and Iwish you weren’t so I could go off and have a life.’
‘He said that to you?’
‘Not in those words. But that’s what he meant.’
I thought it highly unlikely that a twelve-year-old - even afemale future psychology student - could correctly deduce anadult male’s unspoken thoughts. Sometimes it is better to beaware of one’s208/290incompetence in these matters, as I am, than to have a falsesense of expertise.
‘So, I don’t trust men. I don’t believe they’re what they saythey are.
I’m afraid they’re going to let me down. That’s my summaryfrom seven years of studying psychology.’
This seemed a very poor result for seven years of effort, but Iassumed she was omitting the more general knowledgeprovided by the course.
‘You want to meet tomorrow evening?’ said Rosie. ‘We can dowhatever you want to do.’
I had been thinking about my plans for the next day.
‘I know someone at Columbia,’ I said. ‘Maybe we could gothere together.’
‘What about the museum?’
‘I’ve already compressed four visits into two. I can compresstwo in-to one.’ There was no logic in this, but I had drunk alot of beer, and I just felt like going to Columbia. Go with theflow.
‘See you at eight - and don’t be late,’ said Rosie. Then shekissed me. It was not a passionate kiss; it was on the cheek,but it was disturbing. Neither positive nor negative, justdisturbing.
I emailed David Borenstein at Columbia then Skyped Claudiaand told her about the day, omitting the kiss.
‘Sounds like she’s made a big effort,’ said Claudia.
This was obviously true. Rosie had managed to select activitiesthat I would normally have avoided, but enjoyed immensely.
‘And you’re giving her the guided tour of the Museum ofNatural History on Wednesday?’
‘No, I’m going to look at the crustaceans and the Antarcticflora and fauna.’
‘Try again,’ said Claudia.
Chapter 26
We took the subway to Columbia. David Borenstein had notreplied to my email. I did not mention this to Rosie whoinvited me to her meeting, if it did not clash with mine.
‘I’ll say you’re a fellow researcher,’ she said. ‘I’d like you to seewhat I do when I’m not mixing drinks.’
Mary Keneally was an associate professor of psychiatry in theMedical Faculty. I had never asked Rosie the topic of her PhD.
It turned out to be Environmental Risks for Early OnsetBipolar Disorder, a serious scientific topic. Rosie’s approachappeared sound and well considered. She and Mary talked forfifty-three minutes, and then we all went for coffee.
‘At heart,’ Mary said to Rosie, ‘you’re a psychiatrist rather thana psychologist. You’ve never thought of transferring toMedicine?’
‘I came from a medical family,’ said Rosie. ‘I sort of rebelled.’
‘Well, when you’ve finished rebelling, we’ve got a great MDprogramme here.’
‘Right,’ said Rosie. ‘Me at Columbia.’
210/290‘Why not? In fact, since you’ve come all this way …’ She madea quick phone call, then smiled. ‘Come and meet the Dean.’
As we walked back to the Medical building, Rosie said to me,‘I hope you’re suitably impressed.’ We arrived at the Dean’soffice and he stepped out to meet us.
‘Don,’ he said. ‘I just got your email. I haven’t had a chanceto reply.’
He turned to Rosie. ‘I’m David Borenstein. And you’re withDon?’
We all had lunch at the faculty club. David told Rosie that hehad supported my O-1 visa application. ‘I didn’t lie,’ he said.
‘Any time Don feels like joining the main game, there’s a jobfor him here.’
Coal-oven pizza is supposedly environmentally unsound, but Itreat statements of this kind with great suspicion. They arefrequently emotionally based rather than scientific and ignore fulllife-cycle costs.
Electricity good, coal bad. But where does the electricity comefrom?
Our pizza at Arturo’s was excellent. World’s Best Pizza.
I was interested in one of the statements Rosie had made atColumbia.
‘I thought you admired your mother. Why wouldn’t you wantto be a doctor?’
‘It wasn’t my mother. My father’s a doctor too. Remember?
That’s what we’re here for.’ She poured the rest of the redwine into her glass.
‘I thought about it. I did the GAMSAT, like I told PeterEnticott. And I did get seventy-four. Suck on that.’ Despite theaggressive words, her expression remained friendly. ‘I thoughtthat doing Medicine would be a sign of some sort of obsessionwith my real father. Like I was following him rather than Phil.
Even I could see that was a bit fucked-up.’
Gene frequently states that psychologists are incompetent atunderstanding themselves. Rosie seemed to have provided goodevidence for that proposition. Why avoid something that shewould enjoy and be good at? And surely three years ofundergraduate education in211/290psychology plus several years of postgraduate research shouldhave provided a more precise classification of her behavioural,personality and emotional problems than ‘fucked-up’. Naturally Idid not share these thoughts.
We were first in line when the museum opened at 10.30 a.m.
I had planned the visit according to the history of the universe,the planet and life. Thirteen billion years of history in six hours.
At noon, Rosie suggested we delete lunch from the schedule toallow more time with the exhibits. Later, she stopped at thereconstruction of the famous Laetoli footprints made byhominids approximately 3.6 million years ago.
‘I read an article about this. It was a mother and child, holdinghands, right?’
It was a romantic interpretation, but not impossible.
‘Have you ever thought of having children, Don?’
‘Yes,’ I said, forgetting to deflect this personal question. ‘But itseems both unlikely and inadvisable.’
‘Why?’
‘Unlikely, because I have lost confidence in the Wife Project.
And inadvisable because I would be an unsuitable father.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’d be an embarrassment to my children.’
Rosie laughed. I thought this was very insensitive, but sheexplained, ‘All parents are an embarrassment to their kids.’
‘Including Phil?’
She laughed again. ‘Especially Phil.’
At 4.28 p.m. we had finished the primates. ‘Oh no, we’redone?’ said Rosie. ‘Is there something else we can see?’
‘We have two more things to see,’ I said. ‘You may find themdull.’
212/290I took her to the room of balls - spheres of different sizesshowing the scale of the universe. The display is not dramatic,but the information is. Non-scientists, non- physical- scientists,frequently have no idea of scale - how small we are comparedto the size of the universe, how big compared to the size of aneutrino. I did my best to make it interesting.
Then we went up in the elevator and joined the HeilbrunnCosmic Pathway, a one-hundred-and-ten-metre spiral ramprepresenting a timeline from the big bang to the present. It isjust pictures and photos and occasional rocks and fossils onthe wall, and I didn’t even need to look at them, because Iknow the story, which I related as accurately and dramaticallyas I could, putting all that we had seen during the day intocontext, as we walked down and round until we reached theground level and the tiny vertical hairline representing all ofrecorded human history. It was almost closing time now, andwe were the only people standing there. On other occasions, Ihave listened to people’s reactions as they reach the end.
‘Makes you feel a bit unimportant, doesn’t it?’ they say. Isuppose that is one way of looking at it - how the age of theuniverse somehow diminishes our lives or the events of historyor Joe DiMaggio’s streak.
But Rosie’s response was a verbal version of mine. ‘Wow,’ shesaid, very quietly, looking back at the vastness of it all. Then,in this vanishingly small moment in the history of the universe,she took my hand, and held it all the way to the subway.
Chapter 27
We had one critical task to perform before leaving New Yorkthe following morning. Max Freyberg, the cosmetic surgeon andpotential biological father of Rosie, who was ‘booked solid’, hadagreed to see us for fifteen minutes at 6.45 p.m. Rosie hadtold his secretary she was writing a series of articles for apublication about successful alumni of the university. I wascarrying Rosie’s camera and would be identified as aphotographer.
Getting the appointment had been difficult enough, but it hadbecome apparent that collecting the DNA would be far moredifficult in a working environment than in a social or domesticlocation. I had set my brain the task of solving the problembefore we departed for New York, and had expected it to havefound a solution through background processing, but it hadapparently been too occupied with other matters. The best Icould think of was a spiked ring that would draw blood whenwe shook hands, but Rosie considered this socially infeasible.
214/290She suggested clipping a hair, either surreptitiously or afteridentifying it as a stray that would mar the photo. Surely acosmetic surgeon would care about his appearance.
Unfortunately a clipped hair was unlikely to yield an adequatesample - it needed to be plucked to obtain a follicle. Rosiepacked a pair of tweezers. For once I hoped I might have tospend fifteen minutes in a smoke-filled room. A cigarette buttwould solve our problem. We would have to be alert toopportunities.
Dr Freyberg’s rooms were in an older-style building on theUpper West Side. Rosie pushed the buzzer and a securityguard appeared and took us up to a waiting area where thewalls were totally covered with framed certificates and lettersfrom patients praising Dr Freyberg’s work.
Dr Freyberg’s secretary, a very thin woman (BMI estimatesixteen) of about fifty-five with disproportionately thick lips, ledus into his office. More certificates! Freyberg himself had amajor fault: he was completely bald. The hair-plucking approachwould not be viable. Nor was there any evidence that he wasa smoker.
Rosie conducted the interview very impressively. Freybergdescribed some procedures that seemed to have minimal clinicaljustification, and talked about their importance to self-esteem. Itwas fortunate that I had been allocated the silent role, as Iwould have been strongly tempted to argue. I was alsostruggling to focus. My mind was still processing thehand-holding incident.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rosie, ‘but could I bother you for something todrink?’
Of course! The coffee swab solution.
‘Sure,’ said Freyberg. ‘Tea, coffee?’
‘Coffee would be great,’ said Rosie. ‘Just black. Will you haveone yourself?’
‘I’m good. Let’s keep going.’ He pushed a button on hisintercom.
‘Rachel. One black coffee.’
215/290‘You should have a coffee,’ I said to him.
‘Never touch it,’ said Freyberg.
‘Unless you have a genetic intolerance of caffeine, there are noproven harmful effects. On the contrary -’
‘What magazine is this for again?’
The question was straightforward and totally predictable. Wehad agreed the name of the fictitious university publication inadvance, and Rosie had already used it in her introduction.
But my brain malfunctioned. Rosie and I spoke simultaneously.
Rosie said, ‘ Faces of Change.’ I said, ‘ Hands of Change.’
It was a minor inconsistency that any rational person wouldhave interpreted as a simple, innocent error, which in fact itwas. But Freyberg’s expression indicated disbelief and heimmediately scribbled on a notepad. When Rachel brought thecoffee, he gave her the note. I diagnosed paranoia and startedto think about escape plans.
‘I need to use the bathroom,’ I said. I planned to phoneFreyberg from the bathroom, so Rosie could escape while hetook the call.
I walked towards the exit, but Freyberg blocked my path.
‘Use my private one,’ he said. ‘I insist.’
He led me through the back of his office, past Rachel to adoor marked ‘Private’ and left me there. There was no way toexit without returning the way we had come. I took out myphone, called 411 - dir-ectory assistance - and they connectedme to Rachel. I could hear the phone ring and Rachel answer.
I kept my voice low.
‘I need to speak to Dr Freyberg,’ I said. ‘It’s an emergency.’ Iexplained that my wife was a patient of Dr Freyberg and thather lips had exploded. I hung up and texted Rosie: Exit now.
The bathroom was in need of Eva’s services. I managed toopen the window, which had obviously not been used for along time. We were four floors up, but there seemed to beplenty of handholds on the wall.
I eased myself through the window and started climbing down,slowly,216/290focusing on the task, hoping Rosie had escaped successfully. Ithad been a long time since I had practised rock climbing andthe descent was not as simple as it first seemed. The wall wasslippery from rain earlier in the day and my running shoeswere not ideal for the task. At one point I slipped and onlyjust managed to grasp a rough brick. I heard shouts frombelow.
When I finally reached the ground, I discovered that a smallcrowd had formed. Rosie was among them. She flung herarms around me.
‘Oh my God, Don, you could have killed yourself. It didn’tmatter that much.’
‘The risk was minor. It was just important to ignore the heightissue.’
We headed for the subway. Rosie was quite agitated. Freyberghad thought that she was some sort of private investigator,working on behalf of a dissatisfied patient. He was trying tohave the security personnel detain her. Whether his positionwas legally defensible or not, we would have been in a difficultposition.
‘I’m going to get changed,’ said Rosie. ‘Our last night in NewYork City. What do you want to do?’
My original schedule specified a steakhouse, but now that wewere in the pattern of eating together, I would need to select arestaurant suitable for a sustainable-seafood-eating ‘vegetarian’.
‘We’ll work it out,’ she said. ‘Lots of options.’
It took me three minutes to change my shirt. I waiteddownstairs for Rosie for another six. Finally I went up to herroom and knocked.
There was a long wait. Then I heard her voice.
‘How long do you think it takes to have a shower?’
‘Three minutes, twenty seconds,’ I said, ‘unless I wash my hair,in which case it takes an extra minute and twelve seconds.’
The additional time was due primarily to the requirement thatthe conditioner remain in place for sixty seconds.
217/290‘Hold on.’
Rosie opened the door wearing only a towel. Her hair was wet,and she looked extremely attractive. I forgot to keep my eyesdirected towards her face.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘No pendant.’ She was right. I couldn’t use thependant excuse. But she didn’t give me a lecture oninappropriate behaviour. Instead, she smiled and steppedtowards me. I wasn’t sure if she was going to take anotherstep, or if I should. In the end, neither of us did. It was anawkward moment but I suspected we had both contributed tothe problem.
‘You should have brought the ring,’ said Rosie.
For a moment, my brain interpreted ‘ring’ as ‘wedding ring’,and began constructing a completely incorrect scenario. Then Irealised that she was referring to the spiked ring I hadproposed as a means of obtaining Freyberg’s blood.
‘To come all this way and not get a sample.’
‘Fortunately, we have one.’
‘You got a sample? How?’
‘His bathroom. What a slob. He should get his prostatechecked. The floor -’
‘Stop,’ said Rosie. ‘Too much information. But nice work.’
‘Very poor hygiene,’ I told her. ‘For a surgeon. Apseudo-surgeon.
Incredible waste of surgical skill - inserting synthetic materialspurely to alter appearance.’
‘Wait till you’re fifty-five and your partner’s forty-five and see ifyou say the same thing.’
‘You’re supposed to be a feminist,’ I said, though I wasbeginning to doubt it.
‘It doesn’t mean I want to be unattractive.’
‘Your appearance should be irrelevant to your partner’sassessment of you.’
218/290‘Life is full of should-be’s,’ said Rosie. ‘You’re the geneticist.
Everyone notices how people look. Even you.’
‘True. But I don’t allow it to affect my evaluation of them.’
I was on dangerous territory: the issue of Rosie’s attractivenesshad got me into serious trouble on the night of the faculty ball.
The statement was consistent with my beliefs about judgingpeople and with how I would wish to be judged myself. But Ihad never had to apply these beliefs to someone standingopposite me in a hotel bedroom wearing only a towel. Itdawned on me that I had not told the full truth.
‘Ignoring the testosterone factor,’ I added.
‘Is there a compliment buried in there somewhere?’
The conversation was getting complicated. I tried to clarify myposition. ‘It would be unreasonable to give you credit for beingincredibly beautiful.’
What I did next was undoubtedly a result of my thoughtsbeing scrambled by a sequence of extraordinary and traumaticincidents in the preceding few hours: the hand-holding, theescape from the cosmetic surgery and the extreme impact ofthe world’s most beautiful woman standing naked under atowel in front of me.
Gene should also take some blame for suggesting that earlobesize was a predictor of sexual attraction. Since I had neverbeen so sexually attracted to a woman before, I was suddenlycompelled to examine her ears. In a moment that was, inretrospect, similar to a critical incident in Albert Camus’ TheOutsider, I reached out and brushed her hair aside. But inthis case, amazingly, the response was different from thatdocumented in the novel we had studied in high school. Rosieput her arms round me and kissed me.
I think it is likely that my brain is wired in a non-standardconfiguration, but my ancestors would not have succeeded inbreeding without219/290understanding and responding to basic sexual signals. Thataptitude was hardwired in. I kissed Rosie back. She responded.
We pulled apart for a moment. It was obvious that dinnerwould be delayed. Rosie studied me and said, ‘You know, ifyou changed your glasses and your haircut, you could beGregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird.’
‘Is that good?’ I assumed, given the circumstances, that it was,but wanted to hear her confirm it.
‘He was only the sexiest man that ever lived.’
We looked at each other some more, and I moved to kiss heragain.
She stopped me.
‘Don, this is New York. It’s like a holiday. I don’t want you toassume it means anything more.’
‘What happens in New York stays in New York, right?’ It wasa line Gene had taught me for conference use. I had neverneeded to employ it before. It felt a little odd, but appropriatefor the circumstances. It was obviously important that we bothagreed there was no emotional continuation. Although I did nothave a wife at home like Gene, I had a concept of a wife thatwas very different from Rosie, who would presumably step outon the balcony for a cigarette after sex. Oddly, the prospectdidn’t repel me as much as it should have.
‘I have to get something from my room,’ I said.
‘Good thinking. Don’t take too long.’
My room was only eleven floors above Rosie’s, so I walked upthe stairs. Back in my room, I showered, then thumbedthrough the book Gene had given me. He had been right afterall. Incredible.
I descended the stairs to Rosie’s room. Forty-three minutes hadpassed. I knocked on the door, and Rosie answered, nowwearing a sleeping costume that was, in fact, more revealingthan the towel. She was holding two glasses of Champagne.
‘Sorry, it’s gone a bit flat.’
220/290I looked around the room. The bed cover was turned down,the cur-tains were closed and there was just one bedside lampon. I gave her Gene’s book.
‘Since this is our first - and probably only - time, and youare doubtless more experienced, I recommend that you selectthe position.’
Rosie thumbed through the book, then started again. Shestopped at the first page where Gene had written his symbol.
‘Gene gave you this?’
‘It was a present for the trip.’
I tried to read Rosie’s expression, and guessed anger, but thatdisappeared and she said, in a non-angry tone, ‘Don, I’msorry, I can’t do this. I’m really sorry.’
‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘No, it’s me. I’m really sorry.’
‘You changed your mind while I was gone?’
‘Yeah,’ said Rosie. ‘That’s what happened. I’m sorry.’
‘Are you sure I didn’t do something wrong?’ Rosie was myfriend and the risk to our friendship was now at the forefrontof my mind.
The sex issue had evaporated.
‘No, no, it’s me,’ she said. ‘You were incredibly considerate.’
It was a compliment I was unaccustomed to receiving. A verysatisfying compliment. The night had not been a total disaster.
I could not sleep. I had not eaten and it was only 8.55 p.m.
Claudia and Gene would be at work now, back in Melbourne,and I did not feel like talking to either of them. I considered itinadvisable to contact Rosie again, so I rang my remainingfriend. Dave had eaten already, but we walked to a pizzarestaurant and he ate a second dinner. Then we went to abar and watched baseball and talked about women. I do221/290not recall much of what either of us said, but I suspect thatlittle of it would have been useful in making rational plans forthe future.
Chapter 28
My mind had gone blank. That is a standard phrase, and anexaggeration of the situation. My brain stem continued tofunction, my heart still beat, I did not forget to breathe. I wasable to pack my bag, consume breakfast in my room, navigateto JFK, negotiate check-in and board the plane to Los Angeles.
I managed to communicate with Rosie to the extent that it wasnecessary to coordinate these activities.
But reflective functioning was suspended. The reason wasobvious -emotional overload! My normally well-managed emotions hadbeen allowed out in New York - on the advice of Claudia, aqualified clinical psychologist - and had been dangerouslyoverstimulated. Now they were running amok in my brain,crippling my ability to think. And I needed all my thinkingability to analyse the problem.
Rosie had the window seat and I was by the aisle. I followedthe pre-take-off safety procedures, for once not dwelling ontheir unjustified assumptions and irrational priorities. In theevent of impending disaster, we would all have something todo. I was in the opposite position. Incapacitated.
223/290Rosie put her hand on my arm. ‘How are you feeling, Don?’
I tried to focus on analysing one aspect of the experience andthe corresponding emotional reaction. I knew where to start.
Logically, I did not need to go back to my room to get Gene’sbook. Showing a book to Rosie was not part of the originalscenario I had planned back in Melbourne when I prepared fora sexual encounter. I may be socially inept, but with the kissunderway, and Rosie wearing only a towel, there should havebeen no difficulties in proceeding. My knowledge of positionswas a bonus, but probably irrelevant the first time.
So why did my instincts drive me to a course of action thatultimately sabotaged the opportunity? The first-level answer wasobvious.
They were telling me not to proceed. But why? I identifiedthree possibilities.
1. I was afraid that I would fail to perform sexually.
It did not take long to dismiss this possibility. I might well havebeen less competent than a more experienced person andcould even have been rendered impotent by fear, though Iconsidered this unlikely. But I was accustomed to beingembarrassed, even in front of Rosie. The sexual drive wasmuch stronger than any requirement to protect my image.
2. No condom.
I realised, on reflection, that Rosie had probably assumed that Ihad left her room to collect or purchase a condom. Obviously Ishould have obtained one, in line with all recommendations onsafe sex, and presumably the concierge would have some foremergencies, along with spare toothbrushes and razors. The factthat I did not do so was further evidence that subconsciously Idid not expect to proceed. Gene224/290had once told me a story about racing around Cairo in a taxitrying to find a condom vendor. My motivation had clearly notbeen as strong.
3. I could not deal with the emotional consequences.
The third possibility only entered my mind after I eliminatedthe first and second. I immediately knew - instinctively! - thatit was the correct one. My brain was already emotionallyoverloaded. It was not the death-defying climb from thesurgeon’s window or the memory of being interrogated in adark cellar by a bearded psychiatrist who would stop atnothing to protect his secret. It was not even the experience ofholding Rosie’s hand from the museum to the subway,although that was a contributor. It was the total experience ofhanging out with Rosie in New York.
My instincts were telling me that if I added any more to thisexperience - if I added the literally mind-blowing experience ofhaving sex with her - my emotions would take over my brain.
And they would drive me towards a relationship with Rosie.
That would be a disaster for two reasons. The first was thatshe was totally unsuitable in the longer term. The second wasthat she had made it clear that such a relationship would notextend beyond our time in New York. These reasons werecompletely contradictory, mutually exclusive and based onentirely different premises. I had no idea which one wascorrect.
We were in the final stages of our descent into LAX. I turnedto Rosie. It had been several hours since she asked herquestion, and I had now given it considerable thought. Howwas I feeling?
‘Confused,’ I said to her.
I expected her to have forgotten the question, but perhaps theanswer made sense in any case.
‘Welcome to the real world.’
225/290I managed to stay awake for the first six hours of thefifteen-hour flight home from LA in order to reset my internalclock, but it was difficult.
Rosie had slept for a few hours then watched a movie. Ilooked over, and saw that she was crying. She removed herheadphones and wiped her eyes.
‘You’re crying,’ I said. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Sprung,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s just a sad story. Bridges of MadisonCounty. I presume you don’t cry at movies.’
‘Correct.’ I realised that this might be viewed as a negative, soadded, in defence, ‘It seems to be a predominantly femalebehaviour.’
‘Thanks for that.’ Rosie went quiet again but seemed to haverecovered from the sadness that the movie had stimulated.
‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘do you feel anything when you watch amovie?
You’ve seen Casablanca?’
I was familiar with this question. Gene and Claudia had askedit after we watched a DVD together. So my answer was theresult of reflection.
‘I’ve seen several romantic movies. The answer is no. UnlikeGene and Claudia, and apparently the majority of the humanrace, I am not emotionally affected by love stories. I don’tappear to be wired for that response.’
I visited Claudia and Gene for dinner on the Sunday night. Iwas feeling unusually jet-lagged, and as a result had somedifficulty in providing a coherent account of the trip. I tried totalk about my meeting with David Borenstein at Columbia, whatI saw at the museums and the meal at Momofuku Ko, butthey were obsessed with grilling me about my interactions withRosie. I could not reasonably be expected to remember everydetail. And obviously I could not talk about the Father Projectactivities.
226/290Claudia was very pleased with the scarf, but it provided anotheropportunity for interrogation. ‘Did Rosie help you choose this?’
Rosie, Rosie, Rosie.
‘The sales assistant recommended it. It was verystraightforward.’
As I left, Claudia said, ‘So, Don, are you planning to see Rosieagain?’
‘Next Saturday,’ I said, truthfully, not bothering to tell her thatit was not a social occasion - we had scheduled the afternoonto analyse the DNA.
She seemed satisfied.
I was eating lunch alone in the University Club, reviewing theFather Project file, when Gene arrived with his meal and aglass of wine and sat opposite me. I tried to put the file away,but succeeded only in giving him the correct impression that Iwas trying to hide something.
Gene suddenly looked over at the service counter, behind me.
‘Oh God!’ he said.
I turned to look and Gene snatched the folder, laughing.
‘That’s private,’ I said, but Gene had opened it. The photo ofthe graduating class was on top.
Gene seemed genuinely surprised. ‘My God. Where did you getthis?’ He was studying the photo intently. ‘It must be thirtyyears old.
What’s all the scribble?’
‘Organising a reunion,’ I said. ‘Helping a friend. Weeks ago.’ Itwas a good answer, considering the short time I had toformulate it, but it did have a major defect. Gene detected it.
‘A friend? Right. One of your many friends. You should haveinvited me.’
‘Why?’
‘Who do you think took the photo?’
227/290Of course. Someone had been required to take the photo. Iwas too stunned to speak.
‘I was the only outsider,’ said Gene. ‘The genetics tutor. Bignight -everyone pumped, no partners. Hottest ticket in town.’
Gene pointed to a face in the photo. I had always focused onthe males, and never looked for Rosie’s mother. But now thatGene was pointing to her, she was easy to identify. Theresemblance was obvious, including the red hair, although thecolour was less dramatic than Rosie’s. She was standingbetween Isaac Esler and Geoffrey Case. As in Isaac Esler’swedding photo, Case was smiling broadly.
‘Bernadette O’Connor.’ Gene sipped his wine. ‘Irish.’
I was familiar with the tone of Gene’s statement. There was areason for him remembering this particular woman, and it wasnot because she was Rosie’s mother. In fact, it seemed that hedidn’t know the connection, and I made a quick decision notto inform him.
His finger moved one space to the left.
‘Geoffrey Case. Not a great return on his tuition fees.’
‘He died, correct?’
‘Killed himself.’
This was new information. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ said Gene. ‘Come on, what’s this about?’
I ignored the question. ‘Why did he do it?’
‘Probably forgot to take his lithium,’ said Gene. ‘He had bipolardisorder. Life of the party on a good day.’ He looked at me. Iassumed he was about to interrogate me as to the reason formy interest in Geoffrey Case and the reunion, and I wasthinking frantically to invent a plausible explanation. I was savedby an empty pepper grinder. Gene gave it a twist, then walkedaway to exchange it. I used a table napkin to swab his wineglass and left before he returned.
Chapter 29
I cycled to the university on Saturday morning with anunidentifiable, and therefore disconcerting, emotion. Things weresettling back into their normal pattern. The day’s testing wouldmark the end of the Father Project. At worst, Rosie might finda person that we had overlooked - another tutor or caterer orperhaps someone who had left the party early - but a singleadditional test would not take long. And I would have noreason to see Rosie again.
We met at the lab. There were three samples to test: the swabfrom Isaac Esler’s fork, a urine sample on toilet paper fromFreyberg’s floor, and Gene’s table napkin. I had still not toldRosie about the handkerchief from Margaret Case, but wasanxious to get a result on Gene’s sample. There was a strongpossibility that Gene was Rosie’s father. I tried not to thinkabout it, but it was consistent with Gene’s reaction to thephoto, his identification of Rosie’s mother and his history ofcasual sex.
‘What’s the napkin?’ asked Rosie.
I was expecting this question.
229/290‘Retest. One of the earlier samples was contaminated.’
My improving ability at deception was not enough to fool Rosie.
‘Bullshit. Who is it? It’s Case, isn’t it? You got a sample forGeoffrey Case.’
It would have been easy to say yes but identifying the sampleas Case’s would create great confusion if it tested positive. Aweb of lies.
‘I’ll tell you if it’s the one,’ I said.
‘Tell me now,’ said Rosie. ‘It is the one.’
‘How can you know?’
‘I just know.’
‘You have zero evidence. Isaac Esler’s story makes him anexcellent candidate. He was committed to getting married tosomeone else right after the party. He admits to being drunk.
He was evasive at dinner.
He’s standing next to your mother in the photo.’
This was something we had not discussed before. It was suchan obvious thing to have checked. Gene had once given me anexercise to do at conferences: ‘If you want to know who’ssleeping with who, just look at who they sit with at breakfast.’
Whoever Rosie’s mother had been with that night would likelybe standing next to her. Unless of course he was required totake the photo.
‘My intuition versus your logic. Wanna bet?’
It would have been unfair to take the bet. I had the advantageof the knowledge from the basement encounter. Realistically, Iconsidered Isaac Esler, Gene and Geoffrey Case to be equallylikely. I had mulled over Esler’s reference to ‘people involved’
and concluded that it was ambiguous. He might have beenprotecting his friend but he could equally have been hidingbehind him. Though, if Esler was not himself the father, hecould simply have told me to test his sample. Perhaps his planwas to confuse me, in which case it had succeeded, but onlytemporarily. Esler’s deceptive behaviour had caused me toreview an earlier decision. If we reached a point where we hadeliminated all230/290other candidates, including Esler, I would test the sample I hadcollected from Margaret Case.
‘Anyway it’s definitely not Freyberg,’ said Rosie, interrupting mythinking.
‘Why not?’ Freyberg was the least likely, but certainly notimpossible.
‘Green eyes. I should have thought of it at the time.’
She interpreted my expression correctly: disbelief.
‘Come on, you’re the geneticist. He’s got green eyes so hecan’t be my father. I checked it on the internet.’
Amazing. She retains a professor of genetics, an alien ofextraordinary abilities, to help find her father, she travels for aweek spending almost every minute of the waking day withhim, yet when she wants the answer to a question on geneticsshe goes to the internet.
‘Those models are simplifications.’
‘Don, my mother had blue eyes. I have brown eyes. My realfather had to have brown eyes, right?’
‘Wrong,’ I said. ‘Highly likely but not certain. The genetics ofeye colour are extremely complex. Green is possible. Also blue.’
‘A medical student - a doctor - would know that, wouldn’tshe?’
Rosie was obviously referring to her mother. I thought it wasprobably not the right time to give Rosie a detailed account ofthe deficiencies in medical education.
I just said, ‘Highly un likely. Gene used to teach genetics tomedical students. That’s a typical Gene simplification.’
‘Fuck Gene,’ said Rosie. ‘I am so over Gene. Just test thenapkin. It’s the one.’ But she sounded less sure.
‘What are you going to do when you find out?’
This question should have been asked earlier. Failure to raise itwas another result of lack of planning but, now that I couldpicture Gene as the father, Rosie’s future actions became morerelevant to me.
231/290‘Funny you should ask,’ said Rosie. ‘I said it was about closure.
But I think, subconsciously, I had this fantasy that my realfather would come riding in and … deal with Phil.’
‘For failing to keep the Disneyland promise? It would surely bedifficult to devise a suitable punishment after so much time.’
‘I said it was a fantasy,’ she said. ‘I saw him as some sort ofhero. But now I know it’s one of three people, and I’ve mettwo of them. Isaac Esler: “We must not revisit the past lightly.”
Max Freyberg: “I consider myself a restorer of self-esteem.”
Wankers, both of them. Just weak guys who ran away.’
The lack of logic here was astounding. At most, one of themhad deserted her.
‘Geoffrey Case …’ I began, thinking Rosie’s characterisationwould not apply to him, but if Rosie knew about the mannerof his death she might interpret it as a means of escaping hisresponsibilities.
‘I know, I know. But if it turns out to be someone else, somemiddle-aged guy who’s pretending to be something he isn’t,then time’s up, arsehole.’
‘You’re planning to expose him?’ I asked, horrified. Suddenly itstruck me that I could be involved in causing great pain tosomeone, very possibly my best friend. To his whole family!
Rosie’s mother had not wanted Rosie to know. Perhaps thiswas why. By default, Rosie’s mother knew more about humanbehaviour than I did.
‘Correct.’
‘But you’ll be inflicting pain. For no compensatory gain.’
‘ I’ll feel better.’
‘Incorrect,’ I said. ‘Research shows that revenge adds to thedistress of the victim -’
‘That’s my choice.’
There was the possibility that Rosie’s father was Geoffrey Case,in which case all three samples would test negative, and itwould be too232/290late for Rosie to wreak her revenge. I did not want to rely onthat possibility.
I turned off the machine.
‘Stop,’ said Rosie. ‘I have a right to know.’
‘Not if it causes suffering.’
‘What about me?’ she said. ‘Don’t you care about me?’ Shewas becoming emotional. I felt very calm. Reason was incontrol again. My thoughts were straight.
‘I care about you enormously. So I can’t contribute to youdoing something immoral.’
‘Don, if you don’t do the test, I’m never going to speak to youagain.
Ever.’
This information was painful to process, but rationally entirelypredictable.
‘I’d assumed that was inevitable,’ I said. ‘The project will becomplete, and you’ve indicated no further interest in the sexualaspect.’
‘So it’s my fault?’ said Rosie. ‘Of course it’s my fault. I’m not afucking non-smoking teetotal chef with a PhD. I’m notorganised.’
‘I’ve deleted the non-drinking requirement.’ I realised that shewas referring to the Wife Project. But what was she saying?
That she was evaluating herself according to the criteria of theWife Project? Which meant -‘You considered me as a partner?’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Except for the fact that you have no idea ofsocial behaviour, your life’s ruled by a whiteboard and you’reincapable of feeling love - you’re perfect.’
She walked out, slamming the door behind her.
I turned the machine on. Without Rosie in the room, I couldsafely test the samples and then decide what to do with them.
Then I heard the door open again. I turned around, expectingto see Rosie. Instead it was the Dean.
233/290‘Working on your secret project, Professor Tillman?’
I was in serious trouble. In all previous encounters with theDean, I had been following the rules, or the infraction hadbeen too minor to punish. Using the DNA machine for privatepurposes was a substantial breach of the Genetics Departmentregulations. How much did she know? She did not normallywork on weekends. Her presence was not an accident.
‘Fascinating stuff, according to Simon Lefebvre,’ said the Dean.
‘He comes into my office and asks me about a project in myown faculty.
One that apparently requires that we collect his DNA. As youdo. I gather there was some sort of joke involved. Pardon mylack of humour, but I was at a slight disadvantage - havingnever heard of the project. Surely, I thought, I would haveseen the proposal when it went to the ethics committee.’
Up to this point, the Dean had seemed cool and rational. Nowshe raised her voice.
‘I’ve been trying for two years to get the Medical Faculty tofund a joint research project - and you decide not only tobehave grossly unethically but to do it to the man who holdsthe purse strings. I want a written report. If it doesn’t includean ethics approval that I somehow haven’t seen yet, we’ll beadvertising an associate professor position.’
The Dean stopped at the door.
‘I’m still holding your complaint about Kevin Yu. You mightwant to think about that. And I’ll have your lab key, thankyou.’
The Father Project was over. Officially.
Gene came into my office the following day as I wascompleting an EPDS questionnaire.
‘Are you okay?’ he said. This was a timely question.
234/290‘I suspect not. I’ll tell you in approximately fifteen seconds.’ Icompleted the questionnaire, calculated the result, and passed itto Gene.
‘Sixteen,’ I told him. ‘Second-highest score ever.’
Gene looked at it. ‘ Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale.
Do I have to point out that you haven’t had a baby recently?’
‘I don’t answer the baby-related questions. It was the onlydepression instrument Claudia had at home when my sisterdied. I’ve continued using it for consistency.’
‘This is what we call “getting in touch with our feelings”, is it?’
said Gene.
I sensed that the question was rhetorical and did not reply.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I think I can fix this thing for you.’
‘You have news from Rosie?’
‘For Chrissakes, Don,’ said Gene. ‘I have news from the Dean.
I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but DNA testing withoutethics approval - that’s “career over”.’
I knew this. I had decided to phone Amghad, the golf-clubboss, and ask him about the cocktail-bar partnership. It seemedlike time to do something different. It had been a weekend ofrude awakenings. I had arrived home after the interaction withthe Dean to find that Eva, my housekeeper, had filled in acopy of the Wife Project questionnaire. On the front, she hadwritten: ‘Don. Nobody is perfect. Eva.’ In my state ofheightened vulnerability, I had been extremely affected by this.
Eva was a good person whose short skirts were perhapsintended to attract a partner and who would have beenembarrassed by her relatively low socio-economic status as sheanswered questions about postgraduate qualifications andappreciation of expensive food. I reflected on all the womenwho had completed my questionnaire, hoping that they mightfind a partner. Hoping that partner might be me, even thoughthey did not know much about me and would probably bedisappointed if they did.
235/290I had poured myself a glass of Pinot Noir and gone out to thebalcony. The city lights reminded me of the lobster dinner withRosie that, contrary to the predictions of the questionnaire, hadbeen one of the most enjoyable meals of my life. Claudia hadtold me I was being too picky but Rosie had demonstrated inNew York that my assessment of what would make me happywas totally incorrect. I sipped the wine slowly and watched theview change. A window went dark, a traffic light changed fromred to green, an ambulance’s flashing lights bounced off thebuildings. And it dawned on me that I had not designed thequestionnaire to find a woman I could accept, but to findsomeone who might accept me.
Regardless of what decisions I might make as a result of myexperiences with Rosie, I would not use the questionnaire again.
The Wife Project was over.
Gene had more to say. ‘No job, no structure, no schedule.
You’ll fall apart.’ He looked at the depression questionnaireagain. ‘You’re falling apart already. Listen. I’m going to say thatit was a Psych Department project. We’ll make up an ethicsapplication, and you can say you thought it had beenapproved.’
Gene was obviously doing his best to be helpful. I smiled forhis benefit.
‘Does that take a few points off the score?’ he said, waving theEPDSquestionnaire.
‘I suspect not.’
There was a silence. Neither of us apparently had anything tosay. I expected Gene to leave. But he tried again.
‘Help me here, Don. It’s Rosie, isn’t it?’
‘It makes no sense.’
‘Let me put this simply,’ said Gene. ‘You’re unhappy - sounhappy that you’ve lost perspective on your career, yourreputation, your holy schedule.’
236/290This was true.
‘Shit, Don, you broke the rules. Since when do you breakrules?’
It was a good question. I respect rules. But in the lastninety-nine days, I had broken many rules, legal, ethical andpersonal. I knew exactly when it had started. The day Rosiewalked into my office and I hacked into Le Gavroche’sreservation system so I could go on a date with her.
‘All this because of a woman?’ said Gene.
‘Apparently. It’s totally irrational.’ I felt embarrassed. It was onething to make a social error, another to admit that rationalityhad deserted me.
‘It’s only irrational if you believe in your questionnaire.’
‘The EPDS is highly -’
‘I’m talking about your “Do you eat kidneys?” questionnaire. I’dsay genetics one, questionnaire nil.’
‘You consider the situation with Rosie to be the result ofgenetic compatibility?’
‘You have such a way with words,’ Gene said. ‘If you want tobe a bit more romantic about it, I’d say you were in love.’
This was an extraordinary statement. It also made absolutesense. I had assumed that romantic love would always beoutside my realm of experience. But it perfectly accounted formy current situation. I wanted to be sure.
‘This is your professional opinion? As an expert on humanattraction?’
Gene nodded.
‘Excellent.’ Gene’s insight had transformed my mental state.
‘Not sure how that helps,’ said Gene.
‘Rosie identified three faults. Fault number one was the inabilityto feel love. There are only two left to rectify.’
‘And they would be?’
237/290‘Social protocols and adherence to schedules. Trivial.’
Chapter 30
I booked a meeting with Claudia at the usual café to discusssocial behaviour. I realised that improving my ability to interactwith other humans would require some effort and that my bestattempts might not convince Rosie. But the skills would beuseful in their own right.
I had, to some extent, become comfortable with being sociallyodd.
At school, I had been the unintentional class clown, andeventually the intentional one. It was time to grow up.
The server approached our table. ‘You order,’ said Claudia.
‘What would you like?’
‘A skinny decaf latte.’
This is a ridiculous form of coffee, but I did not point it out.
Claudia would surely have received the message from previousoccasions and would not want it repeated. It would beannoying to her.
‘I’d like a double espresso,’ I said to the server, ‘and my friendwill have a skinny decaf latte, no sugar, please.’
‘Well,’ said Claudia. ‘Something’s changed.’
239/290I pointed out that I had been successfully and politely orderingcoffee all my life, but Claudia insisted that my mode ofinteraction had changed in subtle ways.
‘I wouldn’t have picked New York City as the place to learn tobe genteel,’ she said, ‘but there you go.’
I told her that, on the contrary, people had been extremelyfriendly, citing my experience with Dave the Baseball Fan, Marythe bipolar-disorder researcher, David Borenstein the Dean ofMedicine at Columbia, and the chef and weird guy atMomofuku Ko. I mentioned that we had dined with the Eslers,describing them as friends of Rosie’s family. Claudia’s conclusionwas simple. All this unaccustomed social interaction, plus thatwith Rosie, had dramatically improved my skills.
‘You don’t need to try with Gene and me, because you’re notout to impress us or make friends with us.’
While Claudia was right about the value of practice, I learnbetter from reading and observation. My next task was todownload some educational material.
I decided to begin with romantic films specifically mentioned byRosie. There were four: Casablanca, The Bridges of MadisonCounty, When Harry Met Sally and An Affair to Remember. I added To Kill a Mockingbird and The Big Country forGregory Peck, whom Rosie had cited as the sexiest man ever.
It took a full week to watch all six, including time for pausingthe DVD player and taking notes. The films were incrediblyuseful, but also highly challenging. The emotional dynamics wereso complex! I persevered, drawing on movies recommended byClaudia about male-female relationships with both happy andunhappy outcomes. I watched Hitch, Gone with the Wind,Bridget Jones’s Diary, Annie Hall, Notting Hill, LoveActually and Fatal Attraction.
240/290Claudia also suggested I watch As Good as It Gets, ‘just forfun’. Although her advice was to use it as an example of whatnot to do, I was impressed that the Jack Nicholson characterhandled a jacket problem with more finesse than I had. It wasalso encouraging that, despite serious social incompetence, asignificant difference in age between him and the Helen Huntcharacter, probable multiple psychiatric disorders and a level ofintolerance far more severe than mine, he succeeded in winningthe love of the woman in the end. An excellent choice byClaudia.
Slowly I began to make sense of it all. There were certainconsistent principles of behaviour in male-female romanticrelationships, including the prohibition of infidelity. That rule wasin my mind when I met with Claudia again for social practice.
We worked through some scenarios.
‘This meal has a fault,’ I said. The situation was hypothetical.
We were only drinking coffee. ‘That would be tooconfrontational, correct?’
Claudia agreed. ‘And don’t say fault, or error. That’s computertalk.’
‘But I can say “I’m sorry, it was an error of judgement,entirely my fault”, correct? That use of “fault” is acceptable?’
‘Correct,’ said Claudia, and then laughed. ‘I mean yes. Don, thistakes years to learn.’
I didn’t have years. But I am a quick learner and was inhuman-sponge mode. I demonstrated.
‘I’m going to construct an objective statement followed by arequest for clarification, and preface it with a platitude: “Excuseme. I ordered a rare steak. Do you have a different definitionof rare?” ’
‘Good start, but the question’s a bit aggressive.’
‘Not acceptable?’
‘In New York maybe. Don’t blame the waiter.’
241/290I modified the question. ‘Excuse me. I ordered a rare steak.
Could you check that my order was processed correctly?’
Claudia nodded. But she did not look entirely happy. I waspaying great attention to expressions of emotion and I haddiagnosed hers correctly.
‘Don. I’m impressed, but … changing to meet someone else’sexpectations may not be a good idea. You may end upresenting it.’
I didn’t think this was likely. I was learning some newprotocols, that was all.
‘If you really love someone,’ Claudia continued, ‘you have to beprepared to accept them as they are. Maybe you hope thatone day they get a wake-up call and make the changes fortheir own reasons.’
This last statement connected with the fidelity rule that I had inmy mind at the beginning of the discussion. I did not need toraise the subject now. I had the answer to my question.
Claudia was surely talking about Gene.
I organised a run with Gene for the following morning. Ineeded to speak to him in private, somewhere he could notescape. I started my personal lecture as soon as we weremoving. My key point was that infidelity was totallyunacceptable. Any benefits were outweighed by the risk of totaldisaster. Gene had been divorced once already. Eugenie andCarl -Gene interrupted, breathing heavily. In my effort to get themessage across unambiguously and forcefully, I had beenrunning faster than normal. Gene is significantly less fit than Iam and my fat-burning low-heart-rate jogs are majorcardiovascular workouts for him.
‘I hear you,’ said Gene. ‘What’ve you been reading?’
I told him about the movies I had been watching, and theiridealised representation of acceptable and unacceptablebehaviour. If Gene and Claudia had owned a rabbit, it wouldhave been in serious danger from242/290a disgruntled lover. Gene disagreed, not about the rabbit, butabout the impact of his behaviour on his marriage.
‘We’re psychologists,’ he said. ‘We can handle an openmarriage.’
I ignored his incorrect categorisation of himself as a realpsychologist, and focused on the critical issue: all authoritiesand moral codes consider fidelity critical. Even theories ofevolutionary psychology concede that if a person discovers thattheir partner is unfaithful they will have strong reasons forrejecting them.
‘You’re talking about men there,’ said Gene. ‘Because they can’tafford the risk of raising a child who doesn’t have their genes.
Anyway, I thought you were all about overcoming instinct.’
‘Correct. The male instinct is to cheat. You need to overcomeit.’
‘Women accept it as long as you don’t embarrass them with it.
Look at France.’
I cited a counter-example from a popular book and film.
‘ Bridget Jones’s Diary?’ said Gene. ‘Since when are weexpected to behave like characters in chick flicks?’ He stoppedand doubled over, gasping for breath. It gave me theopportunity to present him with the evidence withoutinterruption. I finished by pointing out that he loved Claudiaand that he should therefore be prepared to make allnecessary sacrifices.
‘I’ll think about it when I see you changing the habits of alifetime,’
he said.
I had thought that eliminating my schedule would be relativelystraightforward. I had just spent eight days without it and whileI had faced numerous problems they were not related toinefficiency or unstructured time. But I had not factored in theimpact of the enormous amount of turmoil in my life. As wellas the uncertainty around Rosie, the social-skills project and thefear that my best friends were on the243/290path to domestic disintegration, I was about to lose my job.
The schedule of activities felt like the only stable thing in mylife.
In the end, I made a compromise that would surely beacceptable to Rosie. Everyone keeps a timetable of their regularcommitments, in my case lectures, meetings and martial-artsclasses. I would allow myself these. I would put appointments inmy diary, as other people did, but reduce standardisation.
Things could change week by week.
Reviewing my decision, I could see that the abandonment ofthe Standardised Meal System, the aspect of my schedule thatprovoked the most comment, was the only item requiringimmediate attention.
My next market visit was predictably strange. I arrived at theseafood stall and the proprietor turned to pull a lobster fromthe tank.
‘Change of plan,’ I said. ‘What’s good today?’
‘Lobster,’ he said, in his heavily accented English. ‘Lobster goodevery Tuesday for you.’ He laughed, and waved his hand athis other customers. He was making a joke about me. Rosiehad a facial expression that she used when she said, ‘Don’tfuck with me.’ I tried the expression. It seemed to work byitself.
‘I’m joking,’ he said. ‘Swordfish is beautiful. Oysters. You eatoysters?’
I ate oysters, though I had never prepared them at home. Iordered them unshucked as quality restaurants promoted theiroysters as being freshly shucked.
I arrived home with a selection of food not associated with anyparticular recipe. The oysters proved challenging. I could not geta knife in to open them without risking injury to my handthrough slippage. I could have looked up the technique on theinternet, but it would have taken time. This was why I had aschedule based around familiar items. I could remove the meatfrom a lobster with my eyes closed while my brain worked ona genetics problem. What was wrong with standardisation?
Another oyster failed to provide an opening for my244/290knife. I was getting annoyed and about to throw the full dozenin the bin when I had an idea.
I put one in the microwave and heated it for a few seconds. Itopened easily. It was warm but delicious. I tried a second, thistime adding a squeeze of lemon juice and a grind of pepper.
Sensational! I could feel a whole world opening up to me. Ihoped the oysters were sustainable, because I wanted to sharemy new skills with Rosie.
Chapter 31
My focus on self-improvement meant that I had little time toconsider and respond to the Dean’s threat of dismissal. I haddecided not to take up Gene’s offer to construct an alibi; nowthat the breach of rules was in my conscious mind, it wouldbe a violation of my personal integrity to compound the error.
I succeeded in suppressing thoughts of my professional future,but could not stop the Dean’s parting comment about KevinYu and my plagiarism complaint from intruding into myconscious mind. After much thought, I concluded that the Deanwas not offering me an unethical deal: ‘Withdraw the complaintand you can keep your job.’
What she said was bothering me because I had myself brokenthe rules in pursuing the Father Project. Gene had once toldme a religious joke when I questioned the morality of hisbehaviour.
Jesus addresses the angry mob who are stoning a prostitute:
‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’ A stone fliesthrough the air and hits the woman. Jesus turns around andsays, ‘Sometimes you really piss me off, Mother.’
246/290I could no longer be equated with the Virgin Mary. I had beencorrupted. I was like everyone else. My stone-casting credibilityhad been significantly compromised.
I summoned Kevin to a meeting in my office. He was frommainland China, and aged approximately twenty-eight (estimatedBMI nineteen). I interpreted his expression and demeanour as‘nervous’.
I had his essay, partly or entirely written by his tutor, in myhand and showed it to him. I asked the obvious question: Whyhad he not written it himself?
He averted his gaze - which I interpreted as a cultural signalof respect rather than of shiftiness - but instead of answeringmy question, he started to explain the consequences of hisprobable expulsion. He had a wife and child in China, and hadnot yet told them of the problem. He hoped some day toemigrate, or, if not, at least to work in genetics. His unwisebehaviour would mean the end of his dreams and those of hiswife, who had managed for almost four years without him.
He was crying.
In the past, I would have regarded this as sad but irrelevant.
A rule had been broken. But now I was also a rule-breaker. Ihad not broken the rules deliberately, or at least not with anyconscious thought. Perhaps Kevin’s behaviour had been similarlyunconsidered.
I asked Kevin, ‘What are the principal arguments advancedagainst the use of genetically modified crops?’ The essay hadbeen on the ethical and legal issues raised by advances ingenetics. Kevin gave a comprehensive summary. I followed withfurther questions, which Kevin also answered well. He seemedto have a good knowledge of the topic.
‘Why didn’t you write this yourself?’ I asked.
‘I am a scientist. I am not confident writing in English aboutmoral and cultural questions. I wanted to be sure not to fail. Idid not think.’
I did not know how to respond to Kevin. Acting withoutthinking was anathema to me, and I did not want toencourage it in future247/290scientists. Nor did I want my own weakness to affect a correctdecision regarding Kevin. I would pay for my own error in thisregard, as I deserved to. But losing my job would not havethe same consequences for me as expulsion would for Kevin. Idoubted he would be offered a potentially lucrative partnershipin a cocktail bar as an alternative.
I thought for quite a long time. Kevin just sat. He must haverealised that I was considering some form of reprieve. But Iwas incredibly uncomfortable in this position of judgement as Iweighed the impact of various decisions. Was this what theDean had to do every day? For the first time, I felt somerespect for her.
I was not confident I could solve the problem in a short time.
But I realised that it would be cruel to leave Kevin wonderingif his life had been destroyed.
‘I understand …’ I started, and realised that this was not aphrase I was accustomed to using when talking about people. Istopped the sentence and thought for a while longer. ‘I willcreate a supplementary task - probably an essay on personalethics. As an alternative to expulsion.’
I interpreted Kevin’s expression as ecstatic.
I was conscious that there was more to social skills thanknowing how to order coffee and being faithful to your partner.
Since my school days, I had selected my clothes without regardto fashion. I started out not caring how I looked, thendiscovered that people found what I wore amusing. I enjoyedbeing seen as someone not tied to the norms of society. Butnow I had no idea how to dress.
I asked Claudia to buy me some suitable clothes. She hadproved her expertise with the jeans and shirt, but she insistedon me accompany-ing her.
‘I may not be around forever,’ she said. After some reflection,I deduced that she was talking not about death, but aboutsomething more248/290immediate: marriage failure! I had to find a way to convinceGene of the danger.
The actual shopping took a full morning. We went to severalshops, acquiring shoes, trousers, a jacket, a second pair ofjeans, more shirts, a belt and even a tie.
I had more shopping to do, but I did not require Claudia’shelp. A photo was sufficient to specify my requirements. Ivisited the optometrist, the hairdresser (not my regular barber)and the menswear shop.
Everyone was extremely helpful.
My schedule and social skills had now been brought into linewith conventional practice, to the best of my ability within thetime I had allocated. The Don Project was complete. It wastime to commence the Rosie Project.
There was a mirror on the inside of the closet in my officewhich I had never needed before. Now I used it to review myappearance. I expected I would have only one chance to cutthrough Rosie’s negative view of me and produce an emotionalreaction. I wanted her to fall in love with me.
Protocol dictated that I should not wear a hat indoors, but Idecided that the PhD students’ area could be considered public.
On that basis, it would be acceptable. I checked the mirroragain. Rosie had been right. In my grey three-piece suit, Icould be mistaken for Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird. Atticus Tillman. World’s sexiest man.
Rosie was at her desk. So was Stefan, looking unshaven asalways. I had my speech prepared.
‘Good afternoon, Stefan. Hi, Rosie. Rosie, I’m afraid it’s shortnotice but I was wondering if you’d join me for dinner thisevening. There’s something I’d like to share with you.’
Neither spoke. Rosie looked a little stunned. I looked at herdirectly.
‘That’s a charming pendant,’ I said. ‘I’ll pick you up at 7.45.’ Iwas249/290shaking as I walked away, but I had given it my best effort.
Hitch from Hitch would have been pleased with me.
I had two more visits to make before my evening date withRosie.
I walked straight past Helena. Gene was in his office looking athis computer. On the screen was a photo of an Asian womanwho was not conventionally attractive. I recognised the format- she was a Wife-Project Applicant. Place of Birth - NorthKorea.
Gene looked at me strangely. My Gregory Peck costume wasdoubtless unexpected but appropriate for my mission.
‘Hi, Gene.’
‘What’s with the “Hi”? What happened to “Greetings”?’
I explained that I had eliminated a number of unconventionalman-nerisms from my vocabulary.
‘So Claudia tells me. You didn’t think your regular mentor wasup to the job?’
I wasn’t sure what he meant.
He explained. ‘Me. You didn’t ask me.’
This was correct. Feedback from Rosie had prompted me toreassess Gene’s social competence, and my recent work withClaudia and the movie exemplars had confirmed my suspicionthat his skills applied to a limited domain, and that he was notemploying them in the best interests of himself and his family.
‘No,’ I told him. ‘I wanted advice on socially appropriatebehaviour.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Obviously, you’re similar to me. That’s why you’re my bestfriend.
Hence this invitation.’ There had been a great deal ofpreparation for this day. I gave Gene an envelope. He did notopen it but continued the conversation.
‘I’m like you? No offence, Don, but your behaviour - your oldbehaviour - was in a class of its own. If you want my opinion,you hid250/290behind a persona that you thought people found amusing. It’shardly surprising people saw you as a … buffoon.’
This was exactly my point. But Gene was not making theconnection. As his buddy, it was my duty to behave as anadult male and give it to him straight.
I walked over to his map of the world, with a pin for everyconquest.
I checked it for what I hoped would be the last time. Then Istabbed it with my finger, to create an atmosphere of threat.
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘You think people see you as a Casanova. Youknow what? I don’t care what other people think of you, but,if you want to know, they think you’re a jerk. And they’reright, Gene. You’re fifty-six years old with a wife and two kids,though for how much longer I don’t know. Time you grew up.
I’m telling you that as a friend.’
I watched Gene’s face. I was getting better at reading emotions,but this was a complex one. Shattered, I think.
I was relieved. The basic male - male tough advice protocolhad been effective. It had not been necessary to slug him.

Chapter 32
I went back to my office and changed from my Gregory Peckcostume into my new trousers and jacket. Then I made aphone call. The receptionist was not prepared to make anappointment for a personal matter, so I booked a fitnessevaluation with Phil Jarman, Rosie’s father in air quotes, for4.00 p.m.
As I got up to leave, the Dean knocked and walked in. Shesignalled for me to follow her. This was not part of my plan,but today was an appropriate day to close this phase of myprofessional life.
We went down in the lift and then across the campus to heroffice, not speaking. It seemed that our conversation needed totake place in a formal setting. I felt uncomfortable, which was arational response to the almost-certain prospect of beingdismissed from a tenured position at a prestigious university forprofessional misconduct. But I had expected this and myfeelings came from a different source. The scenario triggered amemory from my first week at high school, of being sent tothe headmaster’s office as a result of allegedly inappropriatebehaviour. The purported misconduct involved a rigorousquestioning252/290of our religious education teacher. In retrospect, I understoodthat she was a well-meaning person, but she used her positionof power over an eleven-year-old to cause me considerabledistress.
The headmaster was, in fact, reasonably sympathetic, butwarned me that I needed to show ‘respect’. But he was toolate: as I walked to his office I had made the decision that itwas pointless to try to fit in. I would be the class clown forthe next six years.
I have thought about this event often. At the time my decisionfelt like a rational response based on my assessment of thenew environment, but in retrospect I understood that I wasdriven by anger at the power structure that suppressed myarguments.
Now as I walked to the Dean’s office another thought occurredto me. What if my teacher had been a brilliant theologian,equipped with two thousand years of well-articulated Christianthinking? She would have had more compelling arguments thanan eleven-year-old. Would I have then been satisfied? I suspectnot. As a scientist, with an allegiance to scientific thinking, Iwould have had a deep-seated feeling that I was being, asRosie would say, bullshitted. Was that how Faith Healer hadfelt?
Had the flounder demonstration been an instance of bullying asheinous as the one committed by my religious educationteacher, even though I was right?
As we entered the Dean’s office for what I expected to be thelast time, I took notice of her full name on the door, and aminor confusion was resolved. Professor Charlotte Lawrence. Ihad never thought of her as ‘Charlie’, but presumably SimonLefebvre did.
We entered her office and sat down. ‘I see we’re in our jobinterview clothes,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t see fit tograce us with them during your time here.’
I did not respond.
‘So. No report. No explanation?’
253/290Again, I could not think of anything appropriate to say.
Simon Lefebvre appeared at the door. Obviously this had beenplanned. The Dean - Charlie - waved him in.
‘You can save time by explaining to Simon and me together.’
Lefebvre was carrying the documents that I had given him.
At that point, the Dean’s personal assistant, Regina, who is notobjectified by having the words ‘The Beautiful’ included in hername, entered the room.
‘Sorry to bother you, Professor,’ she said, ambiguously, as wewere all professors, for the next few minutes at least, but thecontext made it clear she was addressing the Dean. ‘I’ve got aproblem with your booking at Le Gavroche. They seem to havetaken you off the VIP list.’
The Dean’s face registered annoyance but she waved Reginaaway.
Simon Lefebvre smiled at me. ‘You could’ve just sent me this,’
he said, referring to the documents. ‘No need for theidiot-savant impression. Which I have to concede was beautifullydone. As is the proposal.
We’ll need to run it by the ethics guys, but it’s exactly whatwe’re looking for. Genetics and medicine, topic’s current, we’llboth get publicity.’
I attempted to analyse the Dean’s expression. It was beyondmy current skill set.
‘So congratulations, Charlie,’ said Simon. ‘You’ve got your jointresearch project. The Medical Research Institute is prepared toput in four mill, which is more than the budget actuallyspecifies, so you’re set to go.’
I presumed he meant four million dollars.
He pointed to me. ‘Hang on to this one, Charlie. He’s a darkhorse.
And I need him to be part of the project.’
I got my first real return on my investment in improved socialskills.
I had worked out what was going on. I did not ask a sillyquestion. I did not put the Dean in a position of untenableembarrassment where254/290she might work against her own interests. I just nodded andwalked back to my office.
Phil Jarman had blue eyes. I knew this but it was the firstthing I noticed. He was in his mid-fifties, about ten centimetrestaller than me, powerfully built and extremely fit-looking. Wewere standing in front of the reception desk at Jarman’s Gym.
On the wall were newspaper cuttings and photos of a youngerPhil playing football. If I had been a medical student withoutadvanced martial-arts skills, I would have thought carefullybefore having sex with this man’s girlfriend. Perhaps this wasthe simple reason that Phil had never been informed of theidentity of Rosie’s father.
‘Get the prof some gear and get his signature on a waiverform.’
The woman behind the counter seemed puzzled.
‘It’s just an assessment.’
‘New procedure starts today,’ said Phil.
‘I don’t require an assessment,’ I began, but Phil seemed tohave fixed ideas.
‘You booked one,’ he said. ‘Sixty-five bucks. Let’s get you someboxing gloves.’
I wondered if he realised that he had called me ‘prof’.
Presumably Rosie had been right, and he had seen thedancing picture. I had not bothered to disguise my name. Butat least I knew that he knew who I was. Did he know that Iknew that he knew who I was? I was getting quite good atsocial subtleties.
I changed into a singlet and shorts, which smelled freshlylaundered, and we put on boxing gloves. I had only done theoccasional boxing workout, but I was not afraid of getting hurt.
I had good defensive techniques if necessary. I was moreinterested in talking.
‘Let’s see you hit me,’ said Phil.
I threw some gentle punches which Phil blocked.
255/290‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Try to hurt me.’
He asked for it.
‘Your stepdaughter is trying to locate her real father becauseshe’s dissatisfied with you.’
Phil dropped his guard. Very poor form. I could have landed apunch unimpeded if we were in a real bout.
‘Stepdaughter?’ he said. ‘That’s what she’s calling herself? That’swhy you’re here?’
He threw a hard punch and I had to use a proper block toavoid being hit. He recognised it and tried a hook. I blockedthat too and coun-terpunched. He avoided it nicely.
‘Since it’s unlikely she’ll succeed, we need to fix the problemwith you.’
Phil threw a straight hard one at my head. I blocked andstepped away.
‘With me?’ he said. ‘With Phil Jarman? Who built his ownbusiness from nothing, who bench-presses a hundred andforty-five kilos, who plenty of women still think is a better dealthan some doctor or lawyer? Or egghead?’
He threw a combination and I attacked back. I thought therewas a high probability that I could take him down, but Ineeded to continue the conversation.
‘It’s none of your business but I was on the school council,coached the senior football team -’
‘Obviously these achievements were insufficient,’ I said. ‘PerhapsRosie requires something in addition to personal excellence.’ Ina moment of clarity, I realised what that something might be inmy own case. Was all my work in self-improvement in vain?
Was I going to end up like Phil, trying to win Rosie’s love butregarded with contempt?
256/290Fighting and contemplation are not compatible. Phil’s punchtook me in the solar plexus. I managed to step back andreduce the force, but went down. Phil stood over me, angry.
‘Maybe one day she’ll know everything. Maybe that’ll help,maybe it won’t.’ He shook his head hard, as though he wasthe one who had taken a punch. ‘Did I ever call myself herstepfather? Ask her that. I’ve got no other children, no wife. Idid all the things - I read to her, got up in the night, tookher horseriding. After her mother was gone, I couldn’t do athing right.’
I sat up and shouted. I was angry too. ‘You failed to take herto Disneyland. You lied to her.’
I scissored his legs, bringing him down. He didn’t fallcompetently, and hit the floor hard. We struggled and I pinnedhim. His nose was bleeding badly and there was blood all overmy singlet.
‘Disneyland!’ said Phil. ‘She was ten!’
‘She told everyone at school. It’s still a major problem.’
He tried to break free, but I managed to hold him, despite theim-pediment of the boxing gloves.
‘You want to know when I told her I’d take her toDisneyland? One time. Once. You know when? At her mother’sfuneral. I was in a wheelchair. I was in rehab for eightmonths.’
It was a very reasonable explanation. I wished Rosie hadprovided this background information prior to me holding herstepfather’s head on the floor with blood pouring from hisnose. I explained to Phil that at my sister’s funeral I made anirrational promise to donate to a hos-pice when the moneywould have been better applied to research. He seemed tounderstand.
‘I bought her a jewellery box. She’d been on her mother’scase forever to buy it. I thought she’d forgotten aboutDisneyland when I came out of rehab.’
‘Predicting the impact of actions on other people is difficult.’
257/290‘Amen to that,’ said Phil. ‘Can we get up?’
His nose was still bleeding and was probably broken, so it wasa reasonable request. But I was not prepared to let him goyet.
‘Not until we solve the problem.’
It had been a very full day but the most critical task was stillahead. I examined myself in the mirror. The new glasses, vastlylighter, and the revised hair shape made a bigger differencethan the clothes.
I put the important envelope in my jacket pocket and the smallbox in my trouser pocket. As I phoned for a taxi, I looked atmy whiteboard. The schedule, now written in erasable marker,was a sea of red writing - my code for the Rosie Project. Itold myself that the changes it had produced were worthwhile,even if tonight I failed to achieve the final objective.

Chapter 33
The taxi arrived and we made an intermediate stop at theflower shop.
I had not been inside this shop - or indeed purchased flowersat all -since I’d stopped visiting Daphne. Daphne for Daphne;obviously the appropriate choice for this evening was roses. Thevendor recognised me and I informed her of Daphne’s death.
After I purchased a dozen long-stemmed red roses, consistentwith standard romantic behaviour, she snipped a small quantityof daphne and inserted it in the buttonhole of my jacket. Thesmell brought back memories of Daphne.
I wished she was alive to meet Rosie.
I tried to phone Rosie as the taxi approached her apartmentbuilding, but there was no answer. She was not outside whenwe arrived, and most of the bell buttons did not have namesbeside them. There was a risk that she had chosen not toaccept my invitation.
It was cold and I was shaking. I waited a full ten minutes,then called again. There was still no answer and I was aboutto instruct the driver to leave when she came running out. Ireminded myself that it was I who had changed, not Rosie - Ishould have expected her to be259/290late. She was wearing the black dress that had stunned me onthe night of the Jacket Incident. I gave her the roses. I readher expression as surprised.
Then she looked at me.
‘You look different … really different … again,’ she said. ‘Whathappened?’
‘I decided to reform myself.’ I liked the sound of the word:
‘re-form’.
We got in the taxi, Rosie still holding the roses, and travelledthe short distance to the restaurant in silence. I was looking forinformation about her attitude towards me, and thought it bestto let her speak first. In fact she didn’t say anything until shenoticed that the taxi was stopping outside Le Gavroche - thescene of the Jacket Incident.
‘Don, is this a joke?’
I paid the driver, exited the taxi and opened Rosie’s door. Shestepped out but was reluctant to proceed, clutching the roses toher chest with both hands. I put one hand behind her andguided her towards the door, where the ma?tre d’ whom wehad encountered on our previous visit was standing in hisuniform. Jacket Man.
He recognised Rosie instantly, as evidenced by his greeting.
‘Rosie.’
Then he looked at me. ‘Sir?’
‘Good evening.’ I took the flowers from Rosie and gave themto the ma?tre d’. ‘We have a reservation in the name ofTillman. Would you be kind enough to look after these?’ It wasa standard formula but very confidence-boosting. Everyoneseemed very comfortable now that we were behaving in apredictable manner. The ma?tre d’ checked the reservation list.
I took the opportunity to smooth over any remaining difficultiesand made a small prepared joke.
‘My apologies for the misunderstanding last time. Thereshouldn’t be any difficulties tonight. Unless they overchill thewhite Burgundy.’ I smiled.
260/290A male waiter appeared, the ma?tre d’ introduced me, brieflycomplimenting me on my jacket, and we were led into thedining room and to our table. It was all very straightforward.
I ordered a bottle of chablis. Rosie still seemed to be adjusting.
The sommelier appeared with the wine. He was looking aroundthe room, as if for support. I diagnosed nervousness.
‘It’s at thirteen degrees but if sir would like it less chilled … ormore chilled …’
‘That will be fine, thank you.’
He poured me a taste and I swirled, sniffed and noddedapproval according to the standard protocol. Meanwhile, thewaiter who had led us to the table reappeared. He was aboutforty, BMI approximately twenty-two, quite tall.
‘Professor Tillman?’ he said. ‘My name’s Nick and I’m the headwaiter. If there’s anything you need, or anything that’s aproblem, just ask for me.’
‘Much appreciated, Nick.’
Waiters introducing themselves by name was more in theAmerican tradition. Either this restaurant deliberately chose todo so as a point of difference, or we were being given morepersonal treatment. I guessed the latter: I was probably markedas a dangerous person.
Good. I would need all the support I could get tonight.
Nick handed us menus.
‘I’m happy to leave it to the chef,’ I said. ‘But no meat, andseafood only if it’s sustainable.’
Nick smiled. ‘I’ll speak to the chef and see what he can do.’
‘I realise it’s a little tricky, but my friend lives by some quitestrict rules,’ I said.
Rosie gave me a very strange look. My statement was intendedto make a small point, and I think it succeeded. She tried herchablis and buttered a bread roll. I remained silent.
261/290Finally she spoke.
‘All right, Gregory Peck. What are we doing first? The My FairLady story or the big revelation?’
This was good. Rosie was prepared to discuss things directly.
In fact, directness had always been one of Rosie’s positiveattributes, though on this occasion she had not identified themost important topic.
‘I’m in your hands,’ I said. Standard polite method for avoidinga choice and empowering the other person.
‘Don, stop it. You know who my father is, right? It’sTable-Napkin Man, isn’t it?’
‘Possibly,’ I said, truthfully. Despite the positive outcome of themeeting with the Dean, I did not have my lab key back. ‘Thatisn’t what I want to share.’
‘All right then. Here’s the plan. You share your thing; tell mewho my father is; tell me what you’ve done to yourself; weboth go home.’
I couldn’t put a name to her tone of speech and expression,but it was clearly negative. She took another sip of her wine.
‘Sorry.’ She looked a little apologetic. ‘Go. The sharing thing.’
I had grave doubts about the likely efficacy of my next move,but there was no contingency plan. I had sourced my speechfrom When Harry Met Sally. It resonated best with me andwith the situation, and had the additional advantage of the linkto our happy time in New York. I hoped Rosie’s brain wouldmake that connection, ideally subconsciously. I drank theremainder of my wine. Rosie’s eyes followed my glass, then shelooked up at me.
‘Are you okay, Don?’
‘I asked you here tonight because when you realise you wantto spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want therest of your life to start as soon as possible.’
I studied Rosie’s expression carefully. I diagnosed stunned.
262/290‘Oh my God,’ said Rosie, confirming the diagnosis. I followedup while she was still receptive.
‘It seems right now that all I’ve ever done in my life is makingmy way here to you.’
I could see that Rosie could not place the line from TheBridges of Madison County that had produced such apowerful emotional reaction on the plane. She looked confused.
‘Don, what are you … what have you done to yourself?’
‘I’ve made some changes.’
‘Big changes.’
‘Whatever behavioural modifications you require from me are atrivial price to pay for having you as my partner.’
Rosie made a downwards movement with her hand, which Icould not interpret. Then she looked around the room and Ifollowed her eyes. Everyone was watching. Nick had stoppedpartway to our table. I realised that in my intensity I hadraised my voice. I didn’t care.
‘You are the world’s most perfect woman. All other women areirrelevant. Permanently. No Botox or implants will be required.’
I heard someone clapping. It was a slim woman of about sixtysitting with another woman of approximately the same age.
Rosie took a drink of her wine, then spoke in a verymeasured way.
‘Don, I don’t know where to start. I don’t even know who’sasking me- the old Don or Billy Crystal.’
‘There’s no old and new,’ I said. ‘It’s just behaviour. Socialconventions. Glasses and haircut.’
‘I like you, Don,’ said Rosie. ‘Okay? Forget what I said aboutouting my father. You’re probably right. I really really like you.
I have fun with you. The best times. But, you know I couldn’teat lobster every Tuesday. Right?’
‘I’ve abandoned the Standardised Meal System. I’ve deletedthirty-eight per cent of my weekly schedule, excluding sleep. I’vethrown out263/290my old t-shirts. I’ve eliminated all of the things you didn’t like.
Further changes are possible.’
‘You changed yourself for me?’
‘Only my behaviour.’
Rosie was silent for a while, obviously processing the newinformation.
‘I need a minute to think,’ she said. I automatically started thetimer on my watch. Suddenly Rosie started laughing. I lookedat her, understandably puzzled at this outburst in the middle ofa critical life decision.
‘The watch,’ she said. ‘I say “I need a minute” and you starttiming.
Don is not dead.’
I waited. I looked at my watch. When there were fifteenseconds left, I assessed that it was likely that she was about tosay no. I had nothing to lose. I pulled the small box from mypocket and opened it to reveal the ring I had purchased. Iwished I had not learned to read expressions, because I couldread Rosie’s now and I knew the answer.
‘Don,’ said Rosie. ‘This isn’t what you want me to say. Butremember on the plane, when you said you were wireddifferently?’
I nodded. I knew what the problem was. The fundamental,insur-mountable problem of who I was. I had pushed it to theback of my mind since it had surfaced in the fight with Phil.
Rosie didn’t need to explain. But she did.
‘That’s inside you. You can’t fake - sorry, start again. You canbehave perfectly, but if the feeling’s not there inside … God, Ifeel so unreasonable.’
‘The answer is no?’ I said, some small part of my brain hopingthat for once my fallibility in reading social cues would work inmy favour.
‘Don, you don’t feel love, do you?’ said Rosie. ‘You can’t reallylove me.’
264/290‘Gene diagnosed love.’ I knew now that he had been wrong. Ihad watched thirteen romantic movies and felt nothing. Thatwas not strictly true. I had felt suspense, curiosity andamusement. But I had not for one moment felt engaged in thelove between the protagonists.
I had cried no tears for Meg Ryan or Meryl Streep orDeborah Kerr or Vivien Leigh or Julia Roberts.
I could not lie about so important a matter. ‘According to yourdefinition, no.’
Rosie looked extremely unhappy. The evening had turned intoa disaster.
‘I thought my behaviour would make you happy, and insteadit’s made you sad.’
‘I’m upset because you can’t love me. Okay?’
This was worse! She wanted me to love her. And I wasincapable.
‘Don,’ she said, ‘I don’t think we should see each other anymore.’
I got up from the table and walked back to the entrance foyer,out of sight of Rosie and the other diners. Nick was there,talking to the maitre d’. He saw me and came over.
‘Can I help you with anything?’
‘Unfortunately, there has been a disaster.’
Nick looked worried, and I elaborated. ‘A personal disaster.
There is no risk to other patrons. Would you prepare the bill,please?’
‘We haven’t served you anything,’ said Nick. He looked at meclosely for a few moments. ‘There’s no charge, sir. The Chablisis on us.’ He offered me his hand and I shook it. ‘I think yougave it your best shot.’
I looked up to see Gene and Claudia arriving. They wereholding hands. I had not seen them do this for several years.
‘Don’t tell me we’re too late,’ said Gene, jovially.
I nodded, then looked back into the restaurant. Rosie waswalking quickly towards us.
‘Don, what are you doing?’ she said.
265/290‘Leaving. You said we shouldn’t see each other again.’
‘Fuck,’ she said, then looked at Gene and Claudia. ‘What areyou doing here?’
‘We are summoned to a “Thank you and celebration”,’ saidGene.
‘Happy birthday, Don.’
He gave me a gift-wrapped package, and put his arm aroundme in a hug. I recognised that this was probably the final stepin the male-male advice protocol, indicating acceptance of theadvice without damage to our friendship, and managed not toflinch, but could not process the input any further. My brainwas already overloaded.
‘It’s your birthday?’ said Rosie.
‘Correct.’
‘I had to get Helena to look up your birth date,’ said Gene,‘but “celebration” was a clue.’
I normally do not treat birthdays differently from other days,but it had struck me as an appropriate occasion to commencea new direction.
Claudia introduced herself to Rosie, adding, ‘I’m sorry, it seemswe’ve come at a bad time.’
Rosie turned to Gene. ‘A “thank you”? Thank you? Shit. Itwasn’t enough to set us up - you had to coach him. You hadto turn him into you.’
Claudia said, quietly, ‘Rosie, it wasn’t Gene’s -’
Gene put a hand on Claudia’s shoulder and she stopped.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ he said. ‘Who asked him to change? Who saidthat he’d be perfect for her if he was different?’
Rosie was now looking very upset. All of my friends (exceptDave the Baseball Fan) were fighting. This was terrible. Iwanted to roll the story back to New York and make betterdecisions. But it was impossible. Nothing would change the faultin my brain that made me unacceptable.
266/290Gene hadn’t stopped. ‘Do you have any idea what he did foryou?
Take a look in his office sometime.’ He was presumablyreferring to my schedule and the large number of Rosie Projectactivities.
Rosie walked out of the restaurant.
Gene turned to Claudia. ‘Sorry I interrupted you.’
‘Someone had to say it,’ said Claudia. She looked at Rosie, whowas already some distance down the street. ‘I think I coachedthe wrong person.’
Gene and Claudia offered me a lift home, but I did not wantto continue the conversation. I started walking, then acceleratedto a jog. It made sense to get home before it rained. It alsomade sense to exercise hard and put the restaurant behind meas quickly as possible. The new shoes were workable, but thecoat and tie were uncomfortable even on a cold night. I pulledoff the jacket, the item that had made me temporarilyacceptable in a world to which I did not belong, and threw itin a rubbish bin. The tie followed. On an impulse I retrievedthe daphne from the jacket and carried it in my hand for theremainder of the journey. There was rain in the air and myface was wet as I reached the safety of my apartment.
Chapter 34
We had not finished the wine at the restaurant. I decided tocompensate for the resulting alcohol deficit and poured atumbler of tequila. I turned on the television screen andcomputer and fast-forwarded Casablanca for one last try. Iwatched as Humphrey Bogart’s character used beans as ametaphor for the relative unimportance in the wider world ofhis relationship with Ingrid Bergman’s character, and chose logicand decency ahead of his selfish emotional desires.
The quandary and resulting decision made for an engrossingfilm. But this was not what people cried about. They were inlove and could never be together. I repeated this statementto myself, trying to force an emotional reaction. I couldn’t. Ididn’t care. I had enough problems of my own.
The doorbell buzzed, and I immediately thought Rosie, butwhen I pushed the CCTV button, it was Claudia’s face thatappeared.
‘Don, are you okay?’ she said. ‘Can we come up?’
‘It’s too late.’
Claudia sounded panicked. ‘What have you done? Don?’
268/290‘It’s 10.31,’ I said. ‘Too late for visitors.’
‘Are you okay?’ said Claudia, again.
‘I’m fine. The experience has been highly useful. New socialskills.
And final resolution of the Wife Problem. Clear evidence thatI’m incompatible with women.’
Gene’s face appeared on the screen. ‘Don. Can we come upfor a drink?’
‘Alcohol would be a bad idea.’ I still had a half-glass of tequilain my hand. I was telling a polite lie to avoid social contact. Iturned off the intercom.
The message light on my home phone was flashing. It was myparents and brother wishing me a happy birthday. I hadalready spoken to my mother two days earlier when she madeher regular Sunday evening call. These past three weeks, I hadbeen attempting to provide some news in return, but had notmentioned Rosie. They were utilising the speaker-phonefunction, and collectively sang the birthday song - or at leastmy mother did, strongly encouraging my other two relatives toparticipate.
‘Ring back if you’re home before 10.30,’ my mother said. Itwas 10.38, but I decided not to be pedantic.
‘It’s 10.39,’ said my mother. ‘I’m surprised you rang back.’
Clearly she had expected me to be pedantic, which wasreasonable given my history, but she sounded pleased.
‘Hey,’ said my brother. ‘Gary Parkinson’s sister saw you onFacebook. Who’s the redhead?’
‘Just a girl I was dating.’
‘Pull the other leg,’ said my brother.
The words had sounded strange to me too, but I had notbeen joking.
‘I’m not seeing her any more.’
‘I thought you might say that.’ He laughed.
269/290My mother interrupted. ‘Stop it, Trevor. Donald, you didn’t tellus you were seeing someone. You know you’re always welcome-’
‘Mum, he was having a lend of you,’ said my brother.
‘I said,’ said my mother, ‘that any time you want to bringanyone to meet us, whoever she or he -’
‘Leave him alone, both of you,’ said my father.
There was a pause, and some conversation in the background.
Then my brother said, ‘Sorry, mate. I was just having a go. Iknow you think I’m some sort of redneck, but I’m okay withwho you are. I’d hate you to get to this age and think I stillhad a problem with it.’
So, to add to a momentous day, I corrected a misconceptionthat my family had held for at least fifteen years and came outto them as straight.
The conversations with Gene, Phil and my family had beensurprisingly therapeutic. I did not need to use the EdinburghPostnatal Depression Scale to know that I was feeling sad, butI was back from the edge of the pit. I would need to do somedisciplined thinking in the near future to be certain ofremaining safe, but for the moment I did not need to shutdown the emotional part of my brain entirely. I wanted a littletime to observe how I felt about recent events.
It was cold and the rain was pouring, but my balcony wasunder shelter. I took a chair and my glass outside, then wentback inside, put on the greasy wool jumper that my motherhad knitted for a much earlier birthday and collected thetequila bottle.
I was forty years old. My father used to play a song writtenby John Sebastian. I remember that it was by John Sebastianbecause Noddy Holder announced prior to singing it, ‘We’regoing to do a song by John Sebastian. Are there any JohnSebastian fans here?’ Apparently there were because there wasloud and raucous applause before he started singing.
270/290I decided that tonight I was also a John Sebastian fan andthat I wanted to hear the song. This was the first time in mylife that I could recall a desire to hear a particular piece ofmusic. I had the technology.
Or used to. I went to pull out my mobile phone and realised ithad been in the jacket I had discarded. I went inside, bootedmy laptop, registered for iTunes, and downloaded ‘Darling BeHome Soon’ from Slade Alive! , 1972. I added ‘Satisfaction’,thus doubling the size of my popular music collection. Iretrieved my earphones from their box and returned to thebalcony, poured another tequila and listened to a voice frommy childhood singing that it had taken a quarter of his lifebefore he could begin to see himself.
At eighteen, just before I left home to go to university,statistically approaching a quarter of my life, I had listened tothese words and been reminded that I had very littleunderstanding of who I was. It had taken me until tonight,approximately halfway, to see myself reasonably clearly. I hadRosie, and the Rosie Project to thank for that.
Now it was over, what had I learned?
1. I need not be visibly odd. I could engage in the protocolsthat others followed and move undetected among them.
And how could I be sure that other people were not doing thesame - playing the game to be accepted but suspecting all thetime that they were different?
2. I had skills that others didn’t. My memory and ability tofocus had given me an advantage in baseball statistics,cocktail-making and genetics. People had valued these skills, notmocked them.
3. I could enjoy friendship and good times. It was my lack ofskills, not lack of motivation that had held me back.
Now I was competent enough socially to open my life to271/290a wider range of people. I could have more friends. Dave theBaseball Fan could be the first of many.
4. I had told Gene and Claudia that I was incompatible withwomen. This was an exaggeration. I could enjoy their company,as proven by my joint activities with Rosie and Daphne.
Realistically, it was possible that I could have a partnership witha woman.
5. The idea behind the Wife Project was still sound. In manycultures a matchmaker would have routinely done what I did,with less technology, reach and rigour, but the sameassumption - that compatibility was as viable a foundation formarriage as love.
6. I was not wired to feel love. And faking it was notacceptable. Not to me. I had feared that Rosie would not loveme. Instead, it was I who could not love Rosie.
7. I had a great deal of valuable knowledge - about genetics,computers, aikido, karate, hardware, chess, wine, cocktails,dancing, sexual positions, social protocols and the probability ofa fifty-six-game hitting streak occurring in the history ofbaseball. I knew so much shit and I still couldn’t fix myself.
As the shuffle setting on my media player selected the sametwo songs over and over, I realised that my thinking was alsobeginning to go in circles and that, despite the tidy formulation,there was some flaw in my logic. I decided it was myunhappiness with the night’s outcome breaking through, mywish that it could be different.
I watched the rain falling over the city and poured the last ofthe tequila.
Chapter 35
I was still in the chair when I woke the next morning. It wascold and raining and my laptop battery had exhausted itself. Ishook my head to test for a hangover but it seemed that myalcohol-processing enzymes had done their job adequately. Sohad my brain. I had unconsciously set it a problem to solveand, understanding the importance of the situation, it hadovercome the handicap of intoxication to reach a solution.
I began the second half of my life by making coffee. Then Ireviewed the very simple logic.
1. I was wired differently. One of the characteristics of mywiring was that I had difficulty empathising. This problem hasbeen well documented in others and is, in fact, one of thedefining symptoms of the autism spectrum.
2. A lack of empathy would account for my inability to respondemotionally to the situations of fictional characters in films. Thiswas similar to my inability to respond as others did to thevictims of the World Trade Center273/290terrorist attacks. But I did feel sorry for Frank the firefighterguide. And for Daphne; my sister; my parents when my sisterdied; Carl and Eugenie because of the Gene-Claudia marriagecrisis; Gene himself, who wanted to be admired but hadachieved the opposite; Claudia, who had agreed to an openmarriage but changed her mind and suffered as Genecontinued to exploit it; Phil, who had struggled to deal with hiswife’s infidelity and death and then to win the love of Rosie;Kevin Yu, whose focus on passing the course had blinded himto ethical conduct; the Dean, who had to make difficultdecisions under contradictory rules and deal with prejudiceabout her dress and relationship; Faith Healer, who had toreconcile his strong beliefs with scientific evidence; MargaretCase, whose son had committed suicide and whose mind nolonger functioned; and, critically, Rosie, whose childhood andnow adulthood had been made unhappy by her mother’s deathand her father problem and who now wanted me to love her.
This was an impressive list, and, though it did not include Rickand Ilsa from Casablanca, it was clear evidence that myempathy capability was not entirely absent.
3. An inability (or reduced ability) to empathise is not the sameas an inability to love. Love is a powerful feeling for anotherperson, often defying logic.
4. Rosie had failed numerous criteria on the Wife Project,including the critical smoking question. My feelings for hercould not be explained by logic. I did not care about MerylStreep. But I was in love with Rosie.
274/290I had to act quickly, not because I believed the situation withRosie was likely to change in the immediate future, but becauseI needed my jacket, which was, I hoped, still in the rubbishbin where I had thrown it. Luckily I was already dressed fromthe previous evening.
It was still raining when I arrived at the bin, just in time tosee it emptied into a garbage truck compactor. I had acontingency plan, but it was going to take time. I turned thebike around to head for home and crossed the road. Slumpedin a shop doorway, out of the rain, was a hobo. He was fastasleep, and he was wearing my jacket. I carefully reached intothe inside pocket and extracted the envelope and my phone.
As I remounted my bike, I saw a couple on the other side ofthe street watching me. The male started to run towards me,but the woman called him back. She was making a call on hermobile phone.
It was only 7.48 a.m. when I arrived at the university. A policecar approached from the opposite direction, slowed as it passedme, then signalled a U-turn. It occurred to me that it couldhave been summoned to deal with my apparent theft from thehobo. I turned quickly down the bicycle path, where I couldnot be followed by a mo-tor vehicle, and headed towards theGenetics building to find a towel.
As I opened the unlocked door of my office it was obviousthat I had had a visitor, and who that visitor had been. Thered roses were lying on my desk. So was the Father Projectfile, which had been removed from its home in the filingcabinet. The list of father-candidate names and sampledescriptions was on the desk beside it. Rosie had left a note.
Don, I’m sorry about everything. But I know whoTable-Napkin Man is. I’ve told Dad. I probably shouldn’thave but I was very upset.
I tried to call you. Sorry again. Rosie.
There was a lot of crossed-out writing between Sorry againand Rosie. But this was a disaster! I needed to warn Gene.
275/290His diary indicated a breakfast meeting at the University Club. Ichecked the PhD area, and Stefan was there, but not Rosie.
Stefan could see that I was highly agitated, and followed me.
We reached the club, and located Gene at a table with theDean. But at another table, I saw Rosie. She was with Claudiaand seemed very distressed. I realised that she could besharing the news about Gene, even prior to a DNA ratification.
The Father Project was ending in total disaster. But I hadcome for something else. I was desperate to share myrevelation. We could resolve the other problem later.
I ran to Rosie’s table. I was still wet as a result of forgettingto dry myself. Rosie was obviously surprised to see me. Idispensed with formalities.
‘I’ve made an incredible mistake. I can’t believe I’ve been sostupid.
Irrational!’ Claudia made signals for me to stop, but I ignoredthem.
‘You failed almost every criterion of the Wife Project.
Disorganised, mathematically illiterate, ridiculous foodrequirements. Incredible. I considered sharing my life with asmoker. Permanently!’
Rosie’s expression was complex, but appeared to includesadness, anger and surprise. ‘It didn’t take you long to changeyour mind,’ she said.
Claudia was frantically waving at me to stop, but I wasdetermined to proceed according to my own plan.
‘I haven’t changed my mind. That’s the point! I want to spendmy life with you even though it’s totally irrational. And youhave short earlobes. Socially and genetically there’s no reasonfor me to be attracted to you. The only logical conclusion isthat I must be in love with you.’
Claudia got up and pushed me into her chair.
‘You don’t give up, do you?’ said Rosie.
‘I’m being annoying?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘You’re being incredibly brave. I have the bestfun with you, you’re the smartest, funniest person I know,you’ve done all276/290these things for me. It’s everything I want and I’ve been tooscared to grab it because -’
She stopped but I knew what she was thinking. I finished hersentence for her.
‘Because I’m weird. Perfectly understandable. I’m familiar withthe problem because everyone else seems weird to me.’
Rosie laughed.
I tried to explain.
‘Crying over fictitious characters, for example.’
‘Could you live with me crying in movies?’ said Rosie.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘It’s conventional behaviour.’ I stopped as Irealised what she had said.
‘You’re offering to live with me?’
Rosie smiled.
‘You left this on the table,’ she said, and pulled the ringcontainer from her bag. I realised that Rosie had reversed herdecision of the previous night, and was in effect rolling backtime to allow my original plan to proceed at an alternativelocation. I extracted the ring and she held out her finger. I putit on and it fitted. I felt a major sense of relief.
I became aware of applause. It seemed natural. I had beenliving in the world of romantic comedy and this was the finalscene. But it was real. The entire University Club dining roomhad been watching. I decided to complete the story accordingto tradition and kissed Rosie. It was even better than theprevious occasion.
‘You’d better not let me down,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m expectingconstant craziness.’
Phil walked in, his nose in a plaster cast, accompanied by theclub manager. She was followed by two police. The managerpointed Gene out to Phil.
277/290‘Oh shit,’ said Rosie. Phil walked over to Gene, who stood up.
There was a brief conversation and then Phil knocked him tothe floor with a single punch to the jaw. The police rushedforward and restrained Phil, who did not resist. Claudia ran upto Gene, who was slowly rising. He appeared not to beseriously injured. I realised that under the traditional rules ofromantic behaviour, it was correct for Phil to assault Gene,assuming he had in fact seduced Rosie’s mother when she wasPhil’s girlfriend.
However, it was not certain that Gene was the culprit. On theother hand, numerous men were probably entitled to punchGene. In this sense, Phil was dispensing romantic justice ontheir behalf. Gene must have understood, because he appearedto be reassuring the police that everything was okay.
I redirected my attention to Rosie. Now that my previous planhad been reinstated, it was important not to be distracted.
‘Item Two on the agenda was your father’s identity.’
Rosie smiled. ‘Back on track. Item One: let’s get married. Okay,that’s sorted. Item Two. This is the Don I’ve grown to knowand love.’
The last word stopped me. I could only look at Rosie as I tookin the reality of what she had said. I guessed she was doingthe same, and it was several seconds before she spoke.
‘How many positions in that book can you do?’
‘The sex book? All of them.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘It was considerably less complex than the cocktail book.’
‘So let’s go home,’ she said. ‘To my place. Or your place ifyou’ve still got the Atticus Finch outfit.’ She laughed.
‘It’s in my office.’
‘Another time. Don’t throw it out.’
We got up, but the police, one man and one woman, blockedour path.
278/290‘Sir,’ said the woman (age approximately twenty-eight, BMItwenty-three), ‘I’m going to have to ask you what’s in yourpocket.’
I had forgotten the envelope! I pulled it out and waved it infront of Rosie.
‘Tickets! Tickets to Disneyland. All problems solved!’ I fannedout the three tickets, took Rosie’s hand and we walked towardsPhil to show him.
Chapter 36
We went to Disneyland - Rosie, Phil and I. It was great funand appeared to be a success in improving all relationships.
Rosie and Phil shared information and I learned a lot aboutRosie’s life. It was important background for the difficult butessential task of developing a high level of empathy for oneperson in the world.
Rosie and I were on our way to New York, where being weirdis acceptable. That is a simplification of the rationale: in realitywhat was important for me was to be able to make a newstart with my new skills, new approach and new partner,without being held back by others’ perceptions of me -perceptions that I had not only deserved but encouraged.
Here in New York, I am working in the Department ofGenetics at Columbia University, and Rosie is in the first yearof the Doctor of Medicine programme. I am contributing toSimon Lefebvre’s research project remotely, as he insisted on itas a condition of providing funding. I consider it a form ofmoral payback for using the university’s equipment for theFather Project.
280/290We have an apartment in Williamsburg, not far from theEslers, whom we visit regularly. The Cellar Interrogation is nowa story that Isaac and I both tell on social occasions.
We are considering reproducing (or, as I would say in a socialencounter, ‘having children’). In order to prepare for thispossibility, Rosie has ceased smoking, and we have reduced ouralcohol intake.
Fortunately we have numerous other activities to distract usfrom these addictive behaviours. Rosie and I work in a cocktailbar together three evenings a week. It is exhausting at times,but social and fun, and supplements my academic salary.
We listen to music. I have revised my approach to Bach, andam no longer trying to follow individual notes. It is moresuccessful, but my music tastes seem to have been locked in inmy teens. As a result of failing to make my own selections atthat time, my preferences are those of my father. I canadvance a well-reasoned argument that nothing worth listeningto was recorded after 1972. Rosie and I have that argumentfrequently. I cook, but reserve the meals of the StandardisedMeal System for dinner parties.
We are officially married. Although I had performed theromantic ritual with the ring, I did not expect Rosie, as amodern feminist, to want to actually get married. The term‘wife’ in Wife Project had always meant ‘female life partner’.
But she decided that she should have‘one relationship in my life that was what it was supposed tobe’. That included monogamy and permanence. An excellentoutcome.
I am able to hug Rosie. This was the issue that caused me themost fear after she agreed to live with me. I generally findbody contact unpleasant, but sex is an obvious exception. Sexsolved the body contact problem. We are now also able to hugwithout having sex, which is obviously convenient at times.
Once a week, in order to deal with the demands of living withanother person, and to continue to improve my skills in thissphere, I spend281/290an evening in therapy. This is a small joke: my ‘therapist’ isDave and I provide reciprocal services to him. Dave is alsomarried and, considering that I am supposedly wired differently,our challenges are surprisingly similar. He sometimes bringsmale friends and colleagues from work, where he is arefrigeration engineer. We are all Yankees fans.
For some time, Rosie did not mention the Father Project. Iattributed this to the improved relationship with Phil and thedistraction of other activities. But, in the background, I wasprocessing some new information.
At the wedding, Dr Eamonn Hughes, the first person we hadtested, asked to speak to me privately.
‘There’s something you should know,’ he said. ‘About Rosie’sfather.’
It seemed entirely plausible that Rosie’s mother’s closest friendfrom medical school would know the answer. Perhaps we hadonly needed to ask. But Eamonn was referring to somethingelse. He pointed to Phil.
‘Phil’s been a bit of a screw-up with Rosie.’
So it wasn’t only Rosie who thought Phil was a poor parent.
‘You know about the car accident?’
I nodded, although I had no detailed information. Rosie hadmade it clear that she did not want to discuss it.
‘Bernadette was driving because Phil had been drinking.’
I had deduced that Phil was in the car.
‘Phil got out, with a broken pelvis, and pulled Rosie out.’
Eamonn paused. He was obviously distressed. ‘He pulled Rosieout first.’
This was truly an awful scenario, but as a geneticist myimmediate thought was ‘of course’. Phil’s behaviour, in pain andunder extreme pressure, would surely have been instinctual.
Such life-and-death situations occur regularly in the animalkingdom and Phil’s choice was in line with theory andexperimental results. While he had presumably revisited thatmoment many times in his mind, and his later feelings282/290towards Rosie may have been severely affected by it, hisactions were consistent with the primitive drive to protect thecarrier of his genes.
It was only later that I realised my obvious error. As Rosiewas not Phil’s biological daughter, such instincts would not havebeen applicable. I spent some time reflecting on the possibleexplanations for his behaviour. I did not share my thoughts orthe hypothesis I formed.
When I was established at Columbia, I requested permission touse the DNA-testing facilities for a private investigation. Theywere willing to let me do so. It would not have been aproblem if they had refused. I could have sent my remainingsamples to a commercial laboratory and paid a few hundreddollars for the tests. This option had been available to Rosiefrom the beginning of the Father Project. It is now obvious tome that I did not alert Rosie to that option because I wassubconsciously interested in a relationship with her even then.
Amazing!
I did not tell Rosie about the test. One day I just packed mybag with the samples that I had brought with me to NewYork.
I started with the paranoid plastic surgeon, Freyberg, who wasthe least likely candidate in my assessment. A green-eyed fatherwas not impossible, but there was no other evidence makinghim more probable than any of the previous candidates. Hisreluctance to send me a blood sample was explained by himbeing a generally suspicious and unhelpful person. Myprediction was correct.
I loaded Esler’s specimen, a swab from a fork that hadtravelled more than halfway around the world and back again.
In his darkened basement, I had been certain he was Rosie’sfather. But afterwards I had come to the conclusion that hecould have been protecting a friend or the memory of a friend.
I wondered if Esler’s decision to become a psychiatrist hadbeen influenced by the suicide of the best man at his wedding,Geoffrey Case.
I tested the sample. Isaac Esler was not Rosie’s father.
283/290I picked up Gene’s sample. My best friend. He was workinghard on his marriage. The map was no longer on his wallwhen I went in to submit my resignation to the Dean. But Ihad no recollection of seeing a pin in Ireland, Rosie’s mother’sbirthplace. There was no need to test the table napkin. I tossedit in the waste bin.
I had now eliminated every candidate except Geoffrey Case.
Isaac Esler had told me that he knew who Rosie’s father wasand that he was sworn to secrecy. Did Rosie’s mother - andEsler - not want Rosie to know that there was a family historyof suicide? Or perhaps a genetic predisposition to mentalillness? Or that Geoffrey Case had possibly killed himself in thewake of the news that he was Rosie’s father and that hermother had decided to remain with Phil? These were all goodreasons - good enough that I considered it highly likely thatRosie’s mother’s one-night encounter had been with GeoffreyCase.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the DNA sample thatfate had delivered to me without Rosie’s knowledge. I was nowalmost certain that it would confirm my hypothesis as to herpaternity.
I cut a small portion of the cloth, poured over the reagent,and let it sit for a few minutes. As I watched the fabric in theclear solution, and mentally reviewed the Father Project, Ibecame more and more confident in my prediction. I decidedthat Rosie should join me for this result, regardless of whetherI was right or wrong. I texted her. She was on campus andarrived a few minutes later. She immediately realised what Iwas doing.
I put the processed sample in the machine, and waited whilethe analysis proceeded. We watched the computer screentogether until the result came up. After all the blood-collecting,cheek-swabbing, cocktail-shaking, wall-climbing, glass-collecting,flying, driving, proposal-writing, urine-mopping, cup-stealing,fork-wiping, tissue-retrieving, toothbrush-stealing,hairbrush-cleaning and tear-wiping, we had a match.
284/290Rosie had wanted to know who her biological father was. Hermother had wanted the identity of the man she had sex with,perhaps only once, on an occasion of emotion-drivenrule-breaking, to remain a secret forever. I could now fulfil bothof their wishes.
I showed her the remains of the blood-stained singlet fromJarman’s Gym with the sample square cut out of it. Therewould be no need to test the handkerchief that had wipedMargaret Case’s tears.
Ultimately, the entire father problem was caused by Gene. Healmost certainly taught the medical students an oversimplifiedmodel of the inheritance of common traits. If Rosie’s motherhad known that eye colour was not a reliable indicator ofpaternity, and organised a DNA test to confirm her suspicions,there would have been no Father Project, no Great CocktailNight, no New York Adventure, no Reform Don Project - andno Rosie Project. Had it not been for this unscheduled seriesof events, her daughter and I would not have fallen in love.
And I would still be eating lobster every Tuesday night.
Incredible.
AcknowledgmentsThe Rosie Project was written quickly. I poked my head upfor just long enough to consult with my writer wife Anne,daughter Dominique and my novel-writing class at RMIT, ledby Michelle Aung Thin.
After being adopted by Text Publishing, the manuscriptbenefited enormously from the attentions of my editor, AlisonArnold, who understood exactly what I was aiming for, and thepassionate support of Michael Heyward and his team, inparticular Jane Novak, Kirsty Wilson, Chong Weng Ho andMichelle Calligaro. Anne Beilby’s efforts in bringing Rosie to theattention of international publishers have ensured that Don andRosie’s story will be told in thirty languages.
But the underlying story has a longer pedigree. It began as ascreenplay, developed during screenwriting studies at RMIT.
Anne, my son Daniel and I workshopped the original plotduring a walk in New Zealand. A work-up for the characterswas published as The Klara Project: Phase 1 in TheEnvelope Please in 2007 and I completed the first draft of thescreenplay, with a different plot and a nerdy Hungarian Klarainstead of Rosie, in 2008, having taken some time to decidethat it was a comedy rather than a drama. The story changedsignificantly over five years, very much for the better, and forthat I have to thank the many people who encouraged,criticised and pushed me not to be satisfied with what I had.
The faculty at RMIT taught me the principles of story-telling, aswell as offering specific advice on the script. Special mentionsare due to286/290Clare Renner, Head of School; Tim Ferguson, comedy legend;David Rapsey and Ian Pringle, seasoned film producers whodid not stint on the tough love; and Boris Trbic who gave mean appreciation for the screwball comedy. Cary Grant wouldhave made a perfect Don. Jo Moylan was my writing buddythrough a year of the most radical changes. Making short filmswith the audiovisual students, under the leadership of RowanHumphrey and Simon Embury, taught me much about whatworked and what didn’t. As I watched my extraneous dia-loguehit the digital equivalent of the cutting-room floor, I learned alot about writing economically. Kim Krejus of 16th Street ActorsStu-dio organised talented actors for an enlightening reading.
I am fortunate to belong to a talented and hard-workingwriters’
group: Irina Goundortseva, Steve Mitchell, Susannah Petty andMay Yeung. Rosie was regularly on the agenda, and Irina’senthusiasm for the short story was instrumental in my taking itfurther. Later, Heidi Winnen was the first person outside myfamily to suggest that the novel might have potential.
The script benefited from the astute feedback of screenwritinggurus Steve Kaplan and Michael Hauge. Their involvement wasin turn made possible by Marcus West of Inscription and theAustralian Writers’
Guild who sponsored a prize for romantic comedy writing in2010.
Producers Peter Lee and Ros Walker and director John PaulFischbach also offered valuable criticism.
The path to publication began when The Rosie Project wonthe Victorian Premier’s Literary Award for an unpublishedmanuscript in 2012, and I acknowledge the Victorian StateGovernment and the Wheeler Centre for sponsoring andadministering the award. I also thank the judges, Nick Gadd,Peter Mews, Zoe Dattner and Roderick Poole, for their bravechoice.
Many other people have supported Rosie and me on thesix-year journey from concept to published novel, notably JonBackhouse,287/290Rebecca Carter, Cameron Clarke, Sara Cullen, Fran Cusworth,Barbara Gliddon, Amanda Golding, Vin Hedger, Kate Hicks,Amy Jasper, Noel Maloney, Brian McKenzie, Steve Melnikoff,Ben Michael, Helen O’Connell, Rebecca Peniston-Bird, AprilReeve, John Reeves, Sue and Chris Waddell, Geri and PeteWalsh, and my fellow students at RMIT.
Don’s lobster salad is based on a recipe from Teage Ezard’sContem-porary Australian Food. Perfect for a romanticevening on a balcony with a bottle of Drappier roséChampagne.

The End