The Rosie Project
Page 38

Bianca and I took the two vacant seats between Stubble Man and Frances, following the alternating male-female pattern that had been established. Rosie began the introductions, and I recognised the protocol that I had learned for conferences and never actually used.
‘Don, this is Stefan.’ She was referring to Stubble Man. I extended my hand, and shook, matching his pressure, which I judged as excessive. I had an immediate negative reaction to him. I am generally not competent at assessing other humans, except through the content of their conversation or written communication. But I am reasonably astute at identifying students who are likely to be disruptive.
‘Your reputation precedes you,’ Stefan said.
Perhaps my assessment was too hasty.
‘You’re familiar with my work?’
‘You might say that.’ He laughed.
I realised that I could not pursue the conversation until I introduced Bianca.
‘Rosie, Stefan, allow me to present Bianca Rivera.’
Rosie extended her hand and said, ‘Delighted to meet you.’
They smiled hard at each other and Stefan shook Bianca’s hand also.
My duty done, I turned to Laszlo, whom I had not spoken to for some time. Laszlo is the only person I know with poorer social skills than mine, and it was reassuring to have him nearby for contrast.
‘Greetings, Laszlo,’ I said, assessing that formality would not be appropriate in his case. ‘Greetings, Frances. You found a partner. How many encounters were required?’
‘Gene introduced us,’ said Laszlo. He was staring inappropriately at Rosie. Gene gave a ‘thumbs up’ signal to Laszlo, then moved between Bianca and me with the Champagne bottle. Bianca immediately upended her glass. ‘Don and I don’t drink,’ she said, turning mine down as well. Gene gave me a huge smile. It was an odd response to an annoying version-control oversight on my part – Bianca had apparently responded to the original questionnaire.
Rosie asked Bianca, ‘How do you and Don know each other?’
‘We share an interest in dancing,’ Bianca said.
I thought this was an excellent reply, not referring to the Wife Project, but Rosie gave me a strange look.
‘How nice,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit too busy with my PhD to have time for dancing.’
‘You have to be organised,’ said Bianca. ‘I believe in being very organised.’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie, ‘I –’
‘The first time I made the final of the nationals was in the middle of my PhD. I thought about dropping the triathlon or the Japanese cookery course, but …’
Rosie smiled, but not in the way she usually did. ‘No, that would have been silly. Men love a woman who can cook.’
‘I like to think we’ve moved beyond that sort of stereo-typing,’ said Bianca. ‘Don’s quite a cook himself.’
Claudia’s suggestion that I mention my competence in cooking on the questionnaire had obviously been effective. Rosie provided some evidence.
‘He’s fabulous. We had the most amazing lobster on his balcony.’
‘Oh, really?’
It was helpful that Rosie was recommending me to Bianca, but Stefan was displaying the disruptive-student expression again. I applied my lecture technique of asking him a question first.
‘Are you Rosie’s boyfriend?’
Stefan did not have a ready answer, and in a lecture that would have been my cue to continue, with the student now healthily wary of me. But Rosie answered for him.
‘Stefan is doing his PhD with me.’
‘I believe the term is partner,’ said Stefan.
‘For this evening,’ said Rosie.
Stefan smiled. ‘First date.’
It was odd that they did not seem to have agreed on the nature of their relationship. Rosie turned back to Bianca.
‘And yours and Don’s first date too?’
‘That’s right, Rosie.’
‘How did you find the questionnaire?’
Bianca looked quickly at me, then turned back to Rosie. ‘Wonderful. Most men only want to talk about themselves. It was so nice to have someone focusing on me.’
‘I can see how that would work for you,’ said Rosie.
‘And a dancer,’ Bianca said. ‘I couldn’t believe my luck. But you know what they say: the harder I work, the luckier I get.’
Rosie picked up her Champagne glass, and Stefan said, ‘How long have you been dancing, Don? Won any prizes?’
I was saved from answering by the arrival of the Dean.
She was wearing a complex pink dress, the lower part of which spread out widely, and was accompanied by a woman of approximately the same age dressed in the standard male ball costume of black suit and bowtie. The reaction of the ball-goers was similar to that at my entrance, without the friendly greetings at the end.
‘Oh dear,’ said Bianca. I had a low opinion of the Dean, but the comment made me uncomfortable.
‘You have a problem with gay women?’ said Rosie, slightly aggressively.
‘Not at all,’ said Bianca. ‘My problem’s with her dress sense.’
‘You’ll have fun with Don, then,’ said Rosie.
‘I think Don looks fabulous,’ said Bianca. ‘It takes flair to pull off something a little different. Anyone can wear a dinner suit or a plain frock. Don’t you think so, Don?’
I nodded in polite agreement. Bianca was exhibiting exactly the characteristics I was looking for. There was every chance she would be perfect. But for some reason my instincts were rebelling. Perhaps it was the no-drinking rule. My underlying addiction to alcohol was causing my subconscious to send a signal to reject someone who stopped me drinking. I needed to overcome it.