The Rosie Effect (25 page)

After multiple requests to assist with or even merely observe an actual birth, David Borenstein finally gave me contact details for Dr Lauren McTighe, who was based in Connecticut.

She called on a Saturday evening as the boys’ group finished take-out pizza at George’s. I explained the situation
to my companions and, to my surprise, not only Dave but also George and Gene decided to join us.

‘You don’t need the knowledge,’ I said.

‘Male bonding,’ said George. ‘Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be about?’

I called Lauren back to ensure that their presence would not be a problem.

‘If you want. But you better warn them about the complications. It may not have a happy ending.’

We hailed a taxi and I gave the driver Dave’s address so we could collect his vehicle.

‘Bugger that,’ said George. ‘This is an emergency, right?’

‘A breech birth,’ I said. ‘Apparently there are additional problems. I’m expecting to learn a great deal.’

‘We’re going straight to Lakeville, Connecticut,’ said George to the taxi driver. ‘I want you to wait and drive us back.’

‘I don’t take this cab anywhere past—’

George, who was in the front seat, gave the driver some money held together by a rubber band, and the driver was silent as he counted it. He did not object further.

It was hard to believe that George had acquired such wealth during the brief period that the Dead Kings had been popular almost fifty years ago. I assumed that, being a rock musician, he would have wasted the majority on illicit drugs. His payment of the taxi driver provided a good opportunity to ask.

‘Where do you get all your money from?’

‘That’s what I like about you, Don. Straight to the point.’

Being straight to the point is what people generally
don’t
like about me.

‘Straight question, straight answer,’ said George. ‘Alimony.’

Gene laughed. ‘Let me guess. You had to work so hard to pay off four wives that you accidently ended up making some for yourself. Or one of them died and the quarter you got back was enough to live like a king.’

‘Close enough,’ said George. ‘My first wife died three years ago. Cancer. I left her when the band started to get noticed. Thought I could do better. Rock star and all. I never really did. I could say they were all the same, but the problem was
I
was all the same. When you have the same problem with four women, you start to think it might have something to do with you.’

‘Not sure how that helped financially,’ said Gene. ‘You’re not saying she left you all her money?’

‘I
am
saying that. Not all of it, but enough. I had to pay two-thirds of my income to her back in the day, and when we had a few hits that turned out to be quite a bit. I was pissing my third up against the wall and she was buying property. When she died she left half of it for me.’

‘Very generous of her,’ said Gene.

‘It was me or our son. He’s already blown his share. She must’ve seen that coming; left some to me so I could bail him out. She was no Jerry Hall, but I never did any better. Take note, young Donald.’

I had taken note. George’s advice, generalised and then particularised for my situation, seemed clear. If I couldn’t make it with Rosie, I couldn’t make it with anyone. If my
marriage failed, I would not try again. My choice was Rosie or the remainder of my life without a partner. Or a child.

The journey took two hours and sixteen minutes, eight minutes longer than predicted by my navigation application.

‘You’re just in time,’ said Lauren (age approximately forty-five, BMI twenty-three). ‘I’ve been holding off till you arrived, but she’s in quite a bit of distress and I couldn’t leave it much longer. This is Ben.’

She indicated a man in a checked shirt (age approximately forty, BMI thirty) standing a few metres away. He came over and we shook hands according to convention. His hand was extremely sweaty; I diagnosed anxiety. It was a good opportunity to practise my reassurance techniques.

‘The mother’s survival prospects are close to 100 per cent, although the difficult birth may result in a temporary reduction in fertility. The baby’s survival probability is approximately eighty-five per cent.’

Ben looked relieved. ‘Not bad odds,’ he said. ‘Fingers crossed.’

George looked at the mother. ‘Poor cow,’ he said.

Lauren was brilliant! It is always fascinating to watch a competent professional at work. She explained exactly what she was doing, and provided additional commentary on alternative possibilities and procedures. George held a halogen light powered from the battery in Lauren’s vehicle while I assisted her to alter the position of the calf. The cow was held in a corral, hence unable to move far.

It was aesthetically unpleasant work, but I was familiar
with the necessary mindset from dissecting mice and the intellectual stimulation exceeded the unpleasantness. It was so interesting!

Gene talked with Ben. Dave, who was not feeling well, sat in the taxi.

‘All right,’ said Lauren. ‘We’re going to need the tractor.’

Lauren reached inside the cow and explained that she was attaching a chain to the unborn calf’s feet. George gave the light to Gene and began talking to the mother, who was making noises indicating distress.

Ben attached the other end of the chain to the tractor, and the pulling process began. In a human birth, forceps would have taken the place of the tractor. Or—more likely—a caesarean would have been performed. Nevertheless there were numerous anatomical similarities, and the three-dimensional experience was invaluable.

‘All right, Don. You’re going to have to help me catch it.’ Fortunately ‘catching’ did not require the coordination of catching a ball—Lauren and I merely had to take the weight of the calf as it emerged. It did, along with vast quantities of fluid, drenching both of us. It was extremely slippery but we managed to avoid dropping it. One leg was at an odd angle, but the calf began breathing. The mother was still standing.

‘Broken leg,’ said Lauren. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘What do you think?’ said Ben.

‘I’m afraid it’s probably best to put it down, unless you want to hand feed it.’

Dave staggered from the taxi. ‘Don’t shoot it. I’ll take it home if I have to.’

My immediate thought was that this was a brilliant idea. Dave and Sonia’s baby would have its immune system strengthened by cohabiting with a farm animal. But a moment’s reflection revealed multiple problems with raising a lame calf in a New York apartment.

Ben smiled. ‘I owe you guys. What’s your name, again?’

‘Dave.’

‘Okay, Dave, meet Dave the calf. He owes you his life. And Lauren—all you guys. My wife’ll feed him. She’ll curse you every day.’

24

After making a phone call for advice, George commanded the taxi to detour via a bar in White Plains. It was 10.35 p.m. and we had not eaten. I was wearing clothes lent to me by Ben the Farmer to replace those soaked during the delivery of Dave the Calf.

‘Beer tonight,’ said George. He ordered four. We drank them rapidly and George ordered more.

‘I’ll let you in on a secret,’ he said. ‘Looking after that poor cow was good karma. Made up a wee bit for not being at the birth of my first kid.’

‘The one with the thrifty mother?’ said Gene.

‘That’s the one. I was on the road.’ He paused. ‘They rang the hotel and I was with a groupie. That’s the way it was back then.’

I was amazed. ‘You were having sex with another woman while your wife gave birth to your son?’

‘How did you know it was a boy?’

‘You mentioned it earlier. And it’s on the internet.’

‘I’ve got no bloody secrets. Except what I just told you.’

‘We should all share a secret,’ said Gene. ‘One each. Tell us one of yours, Don.’

‘A secret?’ In the sixteen weeks since the Playground Incident, I had accumulated multiple secrets, but it seemed unwise to disclose any after drinking beer. Conversely, George’s decision to share an example of morally repugnant behaviour seemed to be a gesture of friendship, allowing each of us to disclose something immoral or illegal and receive advice from the others, knowing that our behaviour was unlikely to be as shameful as George’s. It was a subtle social manoeuvre, but my analysis had taken some time.

‘I’ll go first, then,’ said Gene. ‘But this goes no further, all right?’

George made us perform a ludicrous four-handed handshake.

‘Guess how many women I’ve slept with.’

‘Less than me,’ said George. ‘If you can count them, it’s less than me.’

‘More than me,’ I said.

Gene laughed. ‘Go on.’

I remembered Gene’s map, with a pin for each nationality. I allowed for a further fifty per cent to accommodate multiple women of the same origin and more recent conquests.

‘Thirty-six.’

‘Way off.’ Gene drank some more beer, then held up an open hand. ‘Five.’

I was astonished. Was Gene lying? It was a reasonable hypothesis, given that, if he was not lying now, he must have lied repeatedly in the past. Perhaps, being unable to compete with George for the highest total, he was aiming to be the least promiscuous.

Dave also appeared astonished. Astonishment was the appropriate reaction. ‘Five?’ he said. ‘I mean, that’s—’

‘—less than you, right?’ Gene was smiling.

‘I don’t cheat on my wife, but—’

It was only four more than me! ‘What about the open marriage? What about the map?’

‘The open marriage never got off the ground. The first woman had issues. Bunny-boiling types of issues. I had enough of that with my first wife.’

‘Game isn’t worth the candle,’ said George.

‘Not at this age, anyway,’ said Gene.

‘What about the map?’ I asked—again. There were twenty-four pins in Gene’s map before he had temporarily reformed and pulled it down. ‘What about Icelandic Woman?’

‘I buy dinner. If they’re up for having dinner one-on-one, I reckon that’s a date. You don’t go out to dinner by yourself with a married man unless you’re up for it. The rest would follow if I wanted it to.’

This was incredible. The consequences of Gene lying to make his behaviour appear
worse
than it was had been disastrous. I pointed out the obvious.

‘Claudia threw you out because you admitted to having
sex with Icelandic Woman. But you only purchased dinner. Correct?’

‘Actually, I had to fight her off. She was—what is it you say, George?’

‘No Jerry Hall?’

Gene laughed.

I brought the discussion back on track. ‘So tell Claudia the truth and she’ll accept you back. All problems solved.’

‘It’s not as easy as that.’

‘Why not?’

We all looked at Gene. Nobody spoke. We were acting like therapists. I was wishing that I could fix the Rosie problem simply by telling the truth.

‘I doubt Claudia would have any interest in me if I wasn’t who she thinks I am. It’s part of why she’s attracted to me.’

‘She’s attracted to you because you cheat?’ I said. ‘All theories…
your
theories—’

‘Women like men who can attract other women. They need to be reminded that they’ve got someone other women want. Look at George. All that form didn’t stop you finding three more wives.’

‘If I hadn’t had the form, maybe I could have got by with one. But Don’s got a fair point—there’s nothing to lose by coming clean.’

‘It’s deeper than that. We let it go too long, till it was past saving. If I look back, it was after Eugenie was born. I started playing the game, even if I didn’t take it all the way. You can’t neglect a marriage for nine years and expect to go back. Anyway, I’ve found someone else.’

‘Who?’

‘You know who. I’ve shared my secret.’ He turned to Dave. ‘What about you?’

Dave looked back at Gene. ‘You’ll understand what this means. The baby’s not mine.’

We were stunned into being therapists again and waited for Dave to speak.

‘We did the IVF thing, and I’ve got some problems. Some to do with the weight, some not. So in the end it was her egg and some other guy’s wriggler.’

I presumed
wriggler
was a synonym for sperm and not penis.

‘Now I’m wondering if me not being around, working late—all the stuff Sonia complains about—is because I don’t want to put time into some kid who doesn’t have my genes. I mean, subconsciously.’ He looked at Gene. ‘Like you said.’

‘Shit,’ said Gene. ‘There’s nothing wrong with working hard to earn a dollar.’

‘Funny,’ said Dave. ‘Until you told me about how the gene thing worked, I was afraid that Sonia would leave me. Now I realise I’ve got no more investment in our baby than I have in Dave the Calf. And if she figures that out, then why would she want me around?’

Gene laughed. ‘Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at the complexity of the whole business. Trust me, Sonia won’t leave you because of that. The great thing about homo sapiens is that we’ve got a brain that can override our instincts. If we want it to.’

I had been so interested in the revelations from George,
Gene and Dave—astonishing revelations—that I had not had time to think of one of my own. George saved me.

‘Don told us his bit the other night, when he said he was doing it hard with his marriage. Want to give us an update?’

‘I’m acquiring knowledge of the birth process. I have professional-level expertise on the subject of attachment of babies to same-sex and mixed-sex couples, and the consequent impact on oxytocin levels. And I’m seeing a therapist to review progress.’

‘How’s the relationship?’ said George.

‘With Rosie?’

‘That’d be the one.’

‘No change. I haven’t had a chance to apply the knowledge yet.’

We were all silent in the taxi on the way home. Two thoughts were occupying my mind: Gene’s lies had cost him his marriage. And telling the truth could no longer save it.

When the elevator stopped at my floor, George asked if I had a few minutes to check something upstairs.

‘It’s extremely late,’ I said, although I suspected I would have trouble sleeping. I had not drunk sufficient alcohol to counteract the effects of adrenaline from the excitement of Dave the Calf and, despite reinstating my original bedtime schedule, I had slept erratically since the removal of the mattress.