The Rosie Effect (39 page)

The subway was full of people wearing Santa hats. Had I been acceptable as a father, I would one day have played that role. I would have been required to do all the things my own father had done. He had been an expert at producing non-average gifts and experiences for Michelle, Trevor and me.

I would have had to learn a whole new set of skills and master numerous activities. Based on observations of my parents and of Gene and Claudia, some of the activities would surely have been joint projects with Rosie.

The faculty party was held in a large meeting room. I estimated the number of guests as 120. Only one was unexpected. Lydia!

‘I didn’t realise you were employed by Columbia,’ I said.
If she was a colleague, there was surely some further ethical problem with our interactions.

She smiled. ‘I’m with Gene.’

As is usual with these occasions, there was low-quality alcohol, uninteresting snacks and too much noise for productive interaction. Incredible to collect some of the world’s most eminent medical researchers in one place and then dull their faculties with alcohol and drown out their voices with music that they would probably require their children to turn down at home.

It took me only eighteen minutes to consume enough food to eliminate any requirement for dinner. I hoped Rosie had done the same. I was about to find her and suggest we leave when David Borenstein made an amplified announcement from the stage. I could not see Rosie. She might not realise that the commencement of formalities was our signal to depart.

‘It’s been a big year for the College,’ said the Dean. I might as well have been back in Melbourne; the Dean at home would have used the same words. It was always a big year. It had been a big year for me too. With a disastrous ending.

‘There have been some significant achievements,’ the Dean continued, ‘and these will all doubtless be given due recognition in appropriate forums. But tonight I’d like to celebrate a few that may not…’

As the Dean called researchers to the stage to receive applause for achievements in support and teaching, showing poor-quality videos of them at work, I began to feel better. It was not my destiny to raise children directly, but there was
every possibility that one day a good father—someone who was making a valuable contribution to his child’s upbringing—would choose not to drink alcohol to excess as a result of a genetic test that indicated he was susceptible to cirrhosis, and would survive to raise his child. That test would be a result of my six years of work breeding mice, getting them drunk and dissecting their livers. Perhaps a lesbian couple would make better and more confident decisions about bringing up their child thanks to the Lesbian Mothers Project of which I was a part. I would have perhaps forty-five to fifty years more to make contributions, to live a worthwhile life.

I was going to miss Rosie. Like Gregory Peck in
Roman Holiday
, I had been granted an unexpected bonus that was destined to be temporary because of who I was. Paradoxically, happiness had tested me. But I had concluded that being myself, with all my intrinsic flaws, was more important than having the thing I wanted most.

I realised that Gene was standing beside me, jabbing me in the ribs with his elbow.

‘Don,’ he said, ‘are you okay?’

‘Of course.’ My thoughts had blocked out the Dean’s words, but now I focused on them again.
This was my world
.

‘And, in the same spirit as the Australian Nobel Laureate who swallowed bacteria to demonstrate that it would give him an ulcer, one of our own Australians put himself on the line in the cause of science.’

Behind the Dean, a video recording had appeared on the screen. It was me, on the day I had lain on the floor and allowed a lesbian couple’s baby to crawl over me to determine
the effect on its oxytocin. Everyone started laughing.

‘Professor Don Tillman as you’ve never seen him before.’

It was true. I was amazed to see myself. I was obviously happy, far more so than I remembered. I had probably not fully appreciated my emotional state at the time, due to my focus on conducting the experiment correctly. The video went for approximately ninety seconds. I became aware of someone on my other side. It was Rosie. She was gripping my arm hard and crying, profusely.

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.’

Gene sat down and Dave stood up. ‘Don saved my baby and my marriage and my business. Sonia’s going to take over the administration. So I’ll have some time with her and with Rosie. Our baby.’

Rosie looked at me and then back at Dave, and then at me again. She had not been informed of the choice of name.

George stood up. ‘Don…’ He was overcome by emotion and could not continue.

George attempted to hug me, and probably found me unresponsive. Gene took over. ‘Rosie and I were there on the night that Don decided that the most important thing in his life could wait while he looked after someone else. For the rest of you, Don has the event on video.’

I was feeling embarrassed. I am adept at problem-solving, but only in the practical sense. Solutions such as suggesting that an accountant could contribute to her husband’s business or recommending a change of personnel in a rock band were deserving of credit, but not such an emotional response.

Then Lydia—
Lydia—
stood up. ‘Thank you for letting me be a part of this. Can I just say that Don’s example has helped me overcome a…prejudice. Thank you, Don.’

Lydia’s testimony was a little less emotional, which was a relief. I was surprised that my arguments had persuaded
her of the acceptability of eating unsustainable seafood.

Everyone looked at Phil for a few seconds, but he said nothing.

George started playing the movie, then all four of the Dead Kings, including the Prince, arrived. George the Third drew everyone beers and was about to start the movie again when the Eslers buzzed, followed shortly afterwards by Inge. Gene and Rosie had made phone calls. Lydia and Judy Esler went out on the balcony and were gone for some time.

It seemed appropriate that I should invite my remaining local friends. I called the Dean and Belinda—B3—and within an hour we had the entire B Team as well as the Borensteins. George drew more beers and, for the first time, his apartment actually resembled a functioning English pub. He seemed extremely happy in his role as host. Rosie had resumed holding my hand.

The story of the James Stewart character’s struggles and near suicide was interesting and highly effective at manipulating emotions. It was the first time I had cried at a movie, but I was aware that others were having the same response. I was also experiencing emotional overload due to Rosie’s proximity, the endorsement of the most important people in my life and the pain of my marriage ending. Rosie was going to leave an awful hole.

She had to explain at the end of the movie that she had changed her mind.

39

Rosie and I had the
best Christmas ever
. We were on the plane from Los Angeles to Melbourne and crossed the International Date Line, thus virtually eliminating the day that had given me so much stress in the past. We were further upgraded to first class and the cabin was only half-full. The stewards were incredibly friendly. Rosie and I talked about Christmases of the past, which had been painful to her also, due to the absence of her mother as a result of death. Phil’s family and her mother’s relatives were good people but annoyingly intrusive. I could relate to this.

We talked about our plans. Rosie had accepted my theory of three relationships and was willing to trial my approach to the division of responsibilities. My performance with the lesbian mothers’ baby had given her reassurance that I would
be able to relate emotionally to Bud. I warned her that it might take some time.

‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘I guess I was worried that you would somehow mess up my relationship with him or her.’

‘You should have just said so. I’m good at solving problems and following instructions. I would have done whatever was necessary to preserve our relationship.’ The responsibility I had volunteered for aligned with my instincts in the same way that Rosie’s giving priority to the baby aligned with hers.

Rosie would defer her decision about continuing at Columbia for a few months. This seemed sensible.

Phil decided to stay in New York for Christmas, sharing our apartment with Gene, as well as Carl and Eugenie, who were due to join their father for January. He was
extremely
happy about everything—seeing Rosie, the Bud situation, and Rosie and me being together—but recognised that we would enjoy some time in his house alone in Melbourne to recover from jet lag and acclimatise to summer.