The Rosie Effect
Page 99
I had no opportunity to determine the cause of her emotional state, as David added, ‘Or perhaps he was practising—Don and his partner Rosie are expecting their first child in the New Year. We have a small gift for you.’
I walked up to the stage with Rosie. It was possibly inappropriate to accept a gift that was given on the premise that Rosie and I were remaining together. I was considering what I should say, but Rosie solved the problem.
‘Just say “thank you” and take it,’ she said as we walked to the stage. She was holding my hand, which was bound to reinforce the incorrect impression.
The Dean gave us a parcel. It was obviously a book. After that he offered ritual season’s greetings and people began departing.
‘Can we wait a few minutes?’ said Rosie, who seemed to have partially recovered.
‘Of course,’ I said.
Within five minutes, everyone had left, including Gene and Lydia. There was only David Borenstein, his assistant and us.
‘Would you mind showing the video of Don again?’ Rosie asked the Dean.
‘I’m packing up,’ said his assistant. ‘You can have the DVD, if you want.’
‘I thought it was the right touch to finish on at this time of year,’ said the Dean. ‘The soft side of the hard man of science. I suppose you know it well,’ he said to Rosie.
We took the subway to what had been our home. Rosie did not speak. It was only 7.09 p.m. and I wondered whether I should try again to persuade her to participate in the memorable experiences I had planned. But I was enjoying holding her hand on our last night together and thought it advisable not to do anything that might change the situation. I was carrying the Dean’s present in my other hand, so Rosie had to open the door to our apartment.
Gene was waiting with a magnum of champagne and multiple glasses—because we had multiple guests. More precisely, he had seven glasses. He filled them and distributed six of them to me, Rosie (in violation of pregnancy rules), Lydia, Dave, George and himself.
I had several questions, including the reason for the presence of Dave and George, but started with the most obvious.
‘Who’s the seventh glass for?’
The question was answered by a very tall, strongly built male, approximately sixty years old, walking in from the balcony, where I guessed he had been smoking a cigarette. It was 34—Phil, Rosie’s father, who was supposed to be in Australia.
Rosie squeezed my hand very tightly, as though to earn some hand-holding credits, then let go and ran over to Phil. As did I. My brain was taken over by a flood of sympathy for his distress on the night his wife had been killed. It was doubtless the result of the Phil Empathy Exercise and the resultant nightmares, and was so powerful that it overwhelmed my distaste for physical contact. I reached Phil approximately a second before Rosie did and threw my arms around him.
He was predictably surprised. I expect everyone was surprised. After a few seconds, with his encouragement, I let go. I remembered his promise to come over and beat the shit out of me if I screwed up. Obviously I had fulfilled that condition.
‘What have you two done?’ he said. He didn’t wait for an answer, but took Rosie out to the balcony. I hoped the surprise had not motivated her to have a cigarette.
‘He was waiting here when we got back,’ said Gene. ‘Camped outside the door with a carry-on bag.’
Not everyone was as vigilant as I was in preventing the entry of unauthorised visitors, though of course I would have recognised Phil and allowed him access.
‘Did he explain why he came?’ I asked.
‘Did he need to?’ said Gene.
I remembered that Phil did not drink alcohol, and quickly drank his glass to avoid embarrassment.
Gene explained that he had summoned Dave and George so they could collectively give me a present. From its size and shape I deduced that it was probably a DVD. It would be my only DVD, as I source my video material through downloads. I wondered if Lydia had been involved in making an environmentally irresponsible choice.
When Rosie and Phil returned, I opened the Dean’s present. It was a humorous book on fatherhood. I put it down without saying anything.
Gene, Dave and George’s present was a video recording of It’s a Wonderful Life, which they advised me was a traditional Christmas movie. It seemed an unimaginative choice for three of my closest friends, but I was conscious that choosing gifts was extremely difficult. Sonia had suggested purchasing Rosie high-quality decorative underwear for Christmas, noting that gifts of this kind were traditional in the early years of marriage. It was a brilliant idea, and had allowed me to replace the items damaged in the Laundry Incident, but the process of matching the stock at Victoria’s Secret with Rosie’s purple-dyed originals had been awkward. The gift was still in my office.
‘So,’ said Gene, ‘we’re going to drink champagne and watch It’s a Wonderful Life. Peace on earth and goodwill.’
‘We don’t own a television,’ I said.
‘At my place,’ said George.
We all went upstairs.
‘Metaphors are not Don’s strength,’ Gene said as George loaded the DVD. ‘So, Don, we bought you this film because you bear some resemblance to George.’
I looked at George. It was an odd comparison. What did I have in common with a former rock star?
Gene laughed. ‘There’s a George in the movie. James Stewart. He does a lot for his friends. Allow me to testify first. When my marriage was beyond saving, Don was the last to give up on it. He gave me somewhere to live even though Rosie had every reason to make that a hard decision for him. He was a mentor for my son and daughter and’—Gene took a breath and looked at Lydia—‘he set me straight when I screwed up. Not for the first time.’
I walked up to the stage with Rosie. It was possibly inappropriate to accept a gift that was given on the premise that Rosie and I were remaining together. I was considering what I should say, but Rosie solved the problem.
‘Just say “thank you” and take it,’ she said as we walked to the stage. She was holding my hand, which was bound to reinforce the incorrect impression.
The Dean gave us a parcel. It was obviously a book. After that he offered ritual season’s greetings and people began departing.
‘Can we wait a few minutes?’ said Rosie, who seemed to have partially recovered.
‘Of course,’ I said.
Within five minutes, everyone had left, including Gene and Lydia. There was only David Borenstein, his assistant and us.
‘Would you mind showing the video of Don again?’ Rosie asked the Dean.
‘I’m packing up,’ said his assistant. ‘You can have the DVD, if you want.’
‘I thought it was the right touch to finish on at this time of year,’ said the Dean. ‘The soft side of the hard man of science. I suppose you know it well,’ he said to Rosie.
We took the subway to what had been our home. Rosie did not speak. It was only 7.09 p.m. and I wondered whether I should try again to persuade her to participate in the memorable experiences I had planned. But I was enjoying holding her hand on our last night together and thought it advisable not to do anything that might change the situation. I was carrying the Dean’s present in my other hand, so Rosie had to open the door to our apartment.
Gene was waiting with a magnum of champagne and multiple glasses—because we had multiple guests. More precisely, he had seven glasses. He filled them and distributed six of them to me, Rosie (in violation of pregnancy rules), Lydia, Dave, George and himself.
I had several questions, including the reason for the presence of Dave and George, but started with the most obvious.
‘Who’s the seventh glass for?’
The question was answered by a very tall, strongly built male, approximately sixty years old, walking in from the balcony, where I guessed he had been smoking a cigarette. It was 34—Phil, Rosie’s father, who was supposed to be in Australia.
Rosie squeezed my hand very tightly, as though to earn some hand-holding credits, then let go and ran over to Phil. As did I. My brain was taken over by a flood of sympathy for his distress on the night his wife had been killed. It was doubtless the result of the Phil Empathy Exercise and the resultant nightmares, and was so powerful that it overwhelmed my distaste for physical contact. I reached Phil approximately a second before Rosie did and threw my arms around him.
He was predictably surprised. I expect everyone was surprised. After a few seconds, with his encouragement, I let go. I remembered his promise to come over and beat the shit out of me if I screwed up. Obviously I had fulfilled that condition.
‘What have you two done?’ he said. He didn’t wait for an answer, but took Rosie out to the balcony. I hoped the surprise had not motivated her to have a cigarette.
‘He was waiting here when we got back,’ said Gene. ‘Camped outside the door with a carry-on bag.’
Not everyone was as vigilant as I was in preventing the entry of unauthorised visitors, though of course I would have recognised Phil and allowed him access.
‘Did he explain why he came?’ I asked.
‘Did he need to?’ said Gene.
I remembered that Phil did not drink alcohol, and quickly drank his glass to avoid embarrassment.
Gene explained that he had summoned Dave and George so they could collectively give me a present. From its size and shape I deduced that it was probably a DVD. It would be my only DVD, as I source my video material through downloads. I wondered if Lydia had been involved in making an environmentally irresponsible choice.
When Rosie and Phil returned, I opened the Dean’s present. It was a humorous book on fatherhood. I put it down without saying anything.
Gene, Dave and George’s present was a video recording of It’s a Wonderful Life, which they advised me was a traditional Christmas movie. It seemed an unimaginative choice for three of my closest friends, but I was conscious that choosing gifts was extremely difficult. Sonia had suggested purchasing Rosie high-quality decorative underwear for Christmas, noting that gifts of this kind were traditional in the early years of marriage. It was a brilliant idea, and had allowed me to replace the items damaged in the Laundry Incident, but the process of matching the stock at Victoria’s Secret with Rosie’s purple-dyed originals had been awkward. The gift was still in my office.
‘So,’ said Gene, ‘we’re going to drink champagne and watch It’s a Wonderful Life. Peace on earth and goodwill.’
‘We don’t own a television,’ I said.
‘At my place,’ said George.
We all went upstairs.
‘Metaphors are not Don’s strength,’ Gene said as George loaded the DVD. ‘So, Don, we bought you this film because you bear some resemblance to George.’
I looked at George. It was an odd comparison. What did I have in common with a former rock star?
Gene laughed. ‘There’s a George in the movie. James Stewart. He does a lot for his friends. Allow me to testify first. When my marriage was beyond saving, Don was the last to give up on it. He gave me somewhere to live even though Rosie had every reason to make that a hard decision for him. He was a mentor for my son and daughter and’—Gene took a breath and looked at Lydia—‘he set me straight when I screwed up. Not for the first time.’
