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.