The Rosie Effect
Page 80
I had been focused on the newly opened bookings ten days ahead and had not observed a single unreserved spot at 8.00 p.m. under today’s date. It had probably been there all the time. I clicked on it, and the booking program responded with a request for credit card details. I had a reservation for two for this evening!
‘Believe me,’ said Gene. ‘She won’t have made plans. I’ll lock her in for dinner with me to make sure, and you can roll up and surprise her.’
‘What happened to your shirt?’ said Sonia.
‘A laundry accident.’
‘It looks like you tie-dyed it. You can’t go out looking like that.’
‘The restaurant is highly unlikely to refuse me entry. If my shirt was unhygienic or I had failed to wash or—’
‘It’s not about the restaurant. It’s about Rosie.’
‘Rosie knows me.’
‘Then it’s about time you were a bit less predictable. In the right direction.’
‘I’ll borrow—’
‘You will not borrow one of Dave’s. Have you looked at Dave lately?’ Dave’s weight reduction project was going as badly as my marriage.
I detoured to Bloomingdale’s on the way to the apartment. There were other menswear shops closer to the route, but it would be inefficient to navigate an unfamiliar layout. Expert salesmanship resulted in a new pair of jeans to accommodate a change in my waist measurement. I estimated my current BMI at twenty-four, an increase of two points. This was totally unexpected. My return to a version of the Standardised Meal System meant my carbohydrate intake was again tightly managed. My exercise effort of running, cycling and martial-arts classes had been stable, and I should have been burning additional kilojoules in the cold weather. A few seconds of reflection sufficed to identify the variable factor: alcohol. I now had another reason to reduce my drinking.
As I walked towards the apartment building, a man of about my own age approached from the opposite direction carrying a coffee in each hand. He smiled and waited for me to enter the security code for the front door. University laboratories and computer rooms are similarly secured, and our compulsory training had covered exactly this scenario.
‘Let me take one of your coffees,’ I said. ‘So you can enter the code and I am not complicit in a security violation.’
‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ he said. ‘Game’s not worth the candle.’ He began to walk away.
It seemed that I had foiled an attempted break-in. Unless I alerted the police, the man would be back to take advantage of a less conscientious tenant. He could be a murderer, rapist or a person who might violate one of the many building bylaws with impunity. And Rosie was in the building!
As I unclipped my phone from my belt to dial 911, another possibility occurred to me. The man’s accent was familiar, as was the metaphor comparing the cost of illumination with the enjoyment of recreation. I called out to him.
‘Are you visiting George?’
He walked back.
‘That was the idea.’
‘You can press the buzzer. He’s on the top floor.’
‘I know. I wanted to knock on his door.’
‘Better to use the buzzer. That way if he doesn’t want to see you he doesn’t have to open the door.’
‘You worked it out.’
I had made the right decision. It was easy to forget that George was a rock star, or at least a former rock star, and therefore likely to be pursued by autograph hunters and other stalkers.
‘Are you a fan of the Dead Kings?’ I said.
‘Not really. I got enough of them growing up. George is my father.’
My facial-recognition ability is poor, and humans tend to over-recognise patterns, due to the greater risk of failing to recognise them. But there was a distinct resemblance in the thin face and the long, curved nose.
‘You’re the drug addict?’
‘I think the term they use here is recovering addict. I’m George.’
‘George too?’ I said.
‘Actually, George Four. Started with my great-grandfather George. So my old man’s George the Third. You’ve met him?’
‘Correct.’
‘So it fits, doesn’t it? The madness of George the Third. And I’m George the Fourth, the Prince Regent. That’s what my family used to call me. The Prince.’
It was possible that the Prince was an imposter, an inventive autograph hunter, but I was confident I could protect George from him if necessary. Assuming he wasn’t armed.
‘I’m going to check you for weapons then take you up,’ I said. The formulation seemed natural, though it was possibly derived from visual entertainment rather than direct experience.
The Prince laughed. ‘You’re having me on.’
‘This is America,’ I said, in what I hoped was an authoritative voice, and patted him down. He was clean.
George was not home or not answering. It was now 7.26 p.m. and I needed to allow thirty-five minutes to travel to the restaurant.
I could not leave the Prince in the building unsupervised.
‘I propose telephoning your father.’
‘Don’t bother. I’m not planning to be around after tomorrow. It was just on the off-chance.’
‘If he says no, it’s the same result as if you leave. You don’t see him.’
‘It’s not the same. Not by a long shot. But go ahead.’
George’s phone was not responding.
‘Believe me,’ said Gene. ‘She won’t have made plans. I’ll lock her in for dinner with me to make sure, and you can roll up and surprise her.’
‘What happened to your shirt?’ said Sonia.
‘A laundry accident.’
‘It looks like you tie-dyed it. You can’t go out looking like that.’
‘The restaurant is highly unlikely to refuse me entry. If my shirt was unhygienic or I had failed to wash or—’
‘It’s not about the restaurant. It’s about Rosie.’
‘Rosie knows me.’
‘Then it’s about time you were a bit less predictable. In the right direction.’
‘I’ll borrow—’
‘You will not borrow one of Dave’s. Have you looked at Dave lately?’ Dave’s weight reduction project was going as badly as my marriage.
I detoured to Bloomingdale’s on the way to the apartment. There were other menswear shops closer to the route, but it would be inefficient to navigate an unfamiliar layout. Expert salesmanship resulted in a new pair of jeans to accommodate a change in my waist measurement. I estimated my current BMI at twenty-four, an increase of two points. This was totally unexpected. My return to a version of the Standardised Meal System meant my carbohydrate intake was again tightly managed. My exercise effort of running, cycling and martial-arts classes had been stable, and I should have been burning additional kilojoules in the cold weather. A few seconds of reflection sufficed to identify the variable factor: alcohol. I now had another reason to reduce my drinking.
As I walked towards the apartment building, a man of about my own age approached from the opposite direction carrying a coffee in each hand. He smiled and waited for me to enter the security code for the front door. University laboratories and computer rooms are similarly secured, and our compulsory training had covered exactly this scenario.
‘Let me take one of your coffees,’ I said. ‘So you can enter the code and I am not complicit in a security violation.’
‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ he said. ‘Game’s not worth the candle.’ He began to walk away.
It seemed that I had foiled an attempted break-in. Unless I alerted the police, the man would be back to take advantage of a less conscientious tenant. He could be a murderer, rapist or a person who might violate one of the many building bylaws with impunity. And Rosie was in the building!
As I unclipped my phone from my belt to dial 911, another possibility occurred to me. The man’s accent was familiar, as was the metaphor comparing the cost of illumination with the enjoyment of recreation. I called out to him.
‘Are you visiting George?’
He walked back.
‘That was the idea.’
‘You can press the buzzer. He’s on the top floor.’
‘I know. I wanted to knock on his door.’
‘Better to use the buzzer. That way if he doesn’t want to see you he doesn’t have to open the door.’
‘You worked it out.’
I had made the right decision. It was easy to forget that George was a rock star, or at least a former rock star, and therefore likely to be pursued by autograph hunters and other stalkers.
‘Are you a fan of the Dead Kings?’ I said.
‘Not really. I got enough of them growing up. George is my father.’
My facial-recognition ability is poor, and humans tend to over-recognise patterns, due to the greater risk of failing to recognise them. But there was a distinct resemblance in the thin face and the long, curved nose.
‘You’re the drug addict?’
‘I think the term they use here is recovering addict. I’m George.’
‘George too?’ I said.
‘Actually, George Four. Started with my great-grandfather George. So my old man’s George the Third. You’ve met him?’
‘Correct.’
‘So it fits, doesn’t it? The madness of George the Third. And I’m George the Fourth, the Prince Regent. That’s what my family used to call me. The Prince.’
It was possible that the Prince was an imposter, an inventive autograph hunter, but I was confident I could protect George from him if necessary. Assuming he wasn’t armed.
‘I’m going to check you for weapons then take you up,’ I said. The formulation seemed natural, though it was possibly derived from visual entertainment rather than direct experience.
The Prince laughed. ‘You’re having me on.’
‘This is America,’ I said, in what I hoped was an authoritative voice, and patted him down. He was clean.
George was not home or not answering. It was now 7.26 p.m. and I needed to allow thirty-five minutes to travel to the restaurant.
I could not leave the Prince in the building unsupervised.
‘I propose telephoning your father.’
‘Don’t bother. I’m not planning to be around after tomorrow. It was just on the off-chance.’
‘If he says no, it’s the same result as if you leave. You don’t see him.’
‘It’s not the same. Not by a long shot. But go ahead.’
George’s phone was not responding.
