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.