The Rosie Effect
Page 82
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‘The professor showed me the paper that I had demanded to have re-marked and it was incomprehensible. A rant!’
The Prince laughed. ‘Anyway, I decided that acid was the pick of them—for quality of experience. And safety, everything.’
‘You chose lysergic acid diethylamide? As the optimum drug?’
‘I took one tab of LSD. And you know how everyone says one dose can’t make you an addict? Well I’m the guy they should put in the education videos. Because it was just the best, the most fantastic experience of my life. All I wanted to do was keep repeating it. And you know what?’
‘No.’
‘I couldn’t. Not reliably, anyway. I had bad trips, so-so trips, I had all sorts of shit, and then I started trying other stuff. I tried everything. For a long time. I never got what I wanted again. So I started backing off. Which is where I am now. Just this.’
He waved his sake glass. I was not drinking alcohol, as a result of my recent resolution. It was interesting to watch the Prince’s mood change as the drink took effect. It struck me that Rosie probably had the same experience watching Gene and me descend into intoxication, now that she was temporarily a non-drinker.
‘So you’ve solved the problem,’ I said.
‘Except for wasting the best years of my life. No partner, no kids, no job.’
‘No job?’ Disaster. ‘You require a job. The other things are optional, but you need a job.’
‘I’m a drummer. An all-right drummer. You know how many all-right drummers there are in the world? I thought I might have got something going here, but it didn’t work out.’
My phone vibrated. It was Gene.
With Rosie at Café Wha? WTF are you?
I texted Gene back and he invited me to join them. Commanded me to join them.
‘Do you want to hear some music?’ I asked the Prince. He remained my first priority and, although his emotional state seemed much improved, my own experience told me the problem was not solved.
‘Why not? Maybe the band won’t turn up and I can play a couple of hours of drum solos.’
I told the Prince not to speak. I needed to think. Walking is good for thinking, as are other repetitive activities. Unfortunately, the walk to Greenwich Village was insufficiently long to generate a solution to the Prince’s problem.
The venue was downstairs. As we opened the door, I realised why Gene had uncharacteristically chosen to spend his evening listening to live music. On the front of the band’s drum kit were the words Dead Kings. Behind the drums was George.
I looked at the Prince.
‘You knew he was playing here?’ he said.
‘No. It’s a result of human interconnectedness.’
Although I had heard George practising multiple times, I had never seen him undertake his most characteristic repetitive activity. We stood inside the door and observed for a while. The Prince was watching his father and I was looking for Rosie and Gene. Due to the large number of patrons, I did not succeed in locating them.
I asked the Prince’s opinion of his father’s competence.
‘Better than he used to be.’
‘Better than you?’
‘He’s good for the Dead Kings. It’s not all about technical expertise. It’s about how you work together. People used to criticise Ringo, but he was a great drummer for the Beatles.’
We waited by the entrance for another three songs. While we listened, my mind completed the problem-solving process. I made a mental note to be less critical of my students’ use of earphones while studying.
The singer announced a short break and I tracked George as he walked to a table in front of the stage. Rosie’s red hair was unmistakable. I instructed the Prince to wait and walked over. George and Gene were pleased to see me, Rosie possibly less so.
‘Nice of you to join us,’ she said. ‘I gather you’ve eaten.’
‘Correct. I need to speak to Gene.’
‘Of course you do.’
I pulled Gene away and explained what I wanted to achieve. I had a theoretical solution, but the social protocols were too complex for me to execute. Gene, of course, was totally confident.
‘I’ll speak to George. You speak to whatever-his-name-is.’
‘The Prince.’
‘The Prince. Right. I’m doing this on two conditions, Don. Number One is you’ve got to, got to, make an effort to fix things up with Rosie.’
‘I’ve made all possible efforts.’
‘Didn’t look like it tonight. Number Two is you have to break a rule.’
A chill ran through my body. Gene was asking a high price. He pointed to a sign: Absolutely no recording or photography.
‘Get your phone out. This is going to be a moment for the ages.’
Gene returned to his table. I could see him speaking to George, who responded by looking around frantically. But the timing was perfect. The band was reassembling and George was required on stage.
They played one song, then George, who had his own microphone, made an announcement.
‘My son is here tonight. I haven’t seen him for a very long time. His name is also George and last time I heard him play he was a sight better than I am.’ There was applause, and the Prince waved. George beckoned him up, and he refused, but I pushed him, and informed him that I would persist if necessary.
The Prince stepped onto the stage and George indicated that he should take his place behind the drums. The band started playing, and George and I sat with Rosie and Gene. George was focused on the stage. The Prince seemed competent. When the song was over, George started to get up. I put down my phone, which had been running the video application that had led to my arrest, and stood in front of him.
The Prince laughed. ‘Anyway, I decided that acid was the pick of them—for quality of experience. And safety, everything.’
‘You chose lysergic acid diethylamide? As the optimum drug?’
‘I took one tab of LSD. And you know how everyone says one dose can’t make you an addict? Well I’m the guy they should put in the education videos. Because it was just the best, the most fantastic experience of my life. All I wanted to do was keep repeating it. And you know what?’
‘No.’
‘I couldn’t. Not reliably, anyway. I had bad trips, so-so trips, I had all sorts of shit, and then I started trying other stuff. I tried everything. For a long time. I never got what I wanted again. So I started backing off. Which is where I am now. Just this.’
He waved his sake glass. I was not drinking alcohol, as a result of my recent resolution. It was interesting to watch the Prince’s mood change as the drink took effect. It struck me that Rosie probably had the same experience watching Gene and me descend into intoxication, now that she was temporarily a non-drinker.
‘So you’ve solved the problem,’ I said.
‘Except for wasting the best years of my life. No partner, no kids, no job.’
‘No job?’ Disaster. ‘You require a job. The other things are optional, but you need a job.’
‘I’m a drummer. An all-right drummer. You know how many all-right drummers there are in the world? I thought I might have got something going here, but it didn’t work out.’
My phone vibrated. It was Gene.
With Rosie at Café Wha? WTF are you?
I texted Gene back and he invited me to join them. Commanded me to join them.
‘Do you want to hear some music?’ I asked the Prince. He remained my first priority and, although his emotional state seemed much improved, my own experience told me the problem was not solved.
‘Why not? Maybe the band won’t turn up and I can play a couple of hours of drum solos.’
I told the Prince not to speak. I needed to think. Walking is good for thinking, as are other repetitive activities. Unfortunately, the walk to Greenwich Village was insufficiently long to generate a solution to the Prince’s problem.
The venue was downstairs. As we opened the door, I realised why Gene had uncharacteristically chosen to spend his evening listening to live music. On the front of the band’s drum kit were the words Dead Kings. Behind the drums was George.
I looked at the Prince.
‘You knew he was playing here?’ he said.
‘No. It’s a result of human interconnectedness.’
Although I had heard George practising multiple times, I had never seen him undertake his most characteristic repetitive activity. We stood inside the door and observed for a while. The Prince was watching his father and I was looking for Rosie and Gene. Due to the large number of patrons, I did not succeed in locating them.
I asked the Prince’s opinion of his father’s competence.
‘Better than he used to be.’
‘Better than you?’
‘He’s good for the Dead Kings. It’s not all about technical expertise. It’s about how you work together. People used to criticise Ringo, but he was a great drummer for the Beatles.’
We waited by the entrance for another three songs. While we listened, my mind completed the problem-solving process. I made a mental note to be less critical of my students’ use of earphones while studying.
The singer announced a short break and I tracked George as he walked to a table in front of the stage. Rosie’s red hair was unmistakable. I instructed the Prince to wait and walked over. George and Gene were pleased to see me, Rosie possibly less so.
‘Nice of you to join us,’ she said. ‘I gather you’ve eaten.’
‘Correct. I need to speak to Gene.’
‘Of course you do.’
I pulled Gene away and explained what I wanted to achieve. I had a theoretical solution, but the social protocols were too complex for me to execute. Gene, of course, was totally confident.
‘I’ll speak to George. You speak to whatever-his-name-is.’
‘The Prince.’
‘The Prince. Right. I’m doing this on two conditions, Don. Number One is you’ve got to, got to, make an effort to fix things up with Rosie.’
‘I’ve made all possible efforts.’
‘Didn’t look like it tonight. Number Two is you have to break a rule.’
A chill ran through my body. Gene was asking a high price. He pointed to a sign: Absolutely no recording or photography.
‘Get your phone out. This is going to be a moment for the ages.’
Gene returned to his table. I could see him speaking to George, who responded by looking around frantically. But the timing was perfect. The band was reassembling and George was required on stage.
They played one song, then George, who had his own microphone, made an announcement.
‘My son is here tonight. I haven’t seen him for a very long time. His name is also George and last time I heard him play he was a sight better than I am.’ There was applause, and the Prince waved. George beckoned him up, and he refused, but I pushed him, and informed him that I would persist if necessary.
The Prince stepped onto the stage and George indicated that he should take his place behind the drums. The band started playing, and George and I sat with Rosie and Gene. George was focused on the stage. The Prince seemed competent. When the song was over, George started to get up. I put down my phone, which had been running the video application that had led to my arrest, and stood in front of him.
