The Rosie Result

by Graeme Simsion

  Allannah laughed. ‘About what? No. You’re so…articulate. Just like Hudson. Or I guess Hudson is like you. Blanche really likes him. He’s got her into science and space travel and now it’s all she talks about.’

  ‘You indicated last time we met that you were interested in discussing the science of vaccination.’

  ‘I did? Don’t bother. You’ll get frustrated with me. Or angry.’

  ‘Frustration is a possibility. But you seem rational to me. Rational people, if they have all the information and the brainpower to process it, should reach similar conclusions. But science is so complex that most of us are forced to rely on authorities. The theory that pharmaceutical companies would cover up side effects to promote vaccines is plausible.’

  ‘Don’t you get into trouble for having views like that?’

  ‘I said it was plausible. I don’t think it’s true. In any case, the postulated side effects of vaccines are minimal compared with the impact of diphtheria or rubella or measles.’

  ‘But Blanche will be okay because of…herd immunity… right? She won’t get anything and she’s safe from any side effects.’

  Allannah must have noticed my silence. ‘If you think vaccines are safe, then nobody’s telling you not to have your kids vaccinated. But, I mean, we were never meant to inject stuff into our bodies.’

  ‘Meant implies some sort of higher purpose or deity. Are you religious?’

  ‘Not traditionally…I get what you’re saying. I should let you and Hudson go. But thanks again for the laboratory stuff.’

  ‘Is there any change to the situation with the class clown?’ I asked Hudson while he was trapped in the Porsche.

  ‘Mr Warren caught him doing it again and said he’d move me to another desk. I said he should move Jasper—that’s his name—but he said it had to be me. And I didn’t want to move.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I like where I sit. Then Mr Warren said if it wasn’t bothering me that much, I could stay where I was and so could Jasper. I told him it was bothering me, but I really like where I sit.’

  ‘Do you want me to talk to Mr Warren about it?’

  I knew the answer already, but I also knew that Rosie would want to know whether I’d asked.

  I called Amghad to ask him to negotiate the rental of the lab, but he wanted to meet with me first. He specified a coffee shop less than a kilometre from our home. The owner was cleaning up and Amghad ordered beers.

  ‘You’re wondering why we’re drinking beer in a coffee shop?’ he said.

  I nodded, although alcohol was a better choice than coffee at 4.33 p.m.

  ‘It closed half an hour ago and it’ll be empty until 7.00 a.m. Wasted real estate, wasted liquor licence. In a couple of weeks that’s going to change: it’ll be my newest bar. Same name, same décor. A few coffee-based cocktails, to play to the theme. Neat idea?’

  I nodded, though I was unlikely to use its services. The street had numerous bars, but Rosie and I could produce better drinks at home in a more pleasant environment and at lower cost.

  ‘Don, I’ve been thinking about your idea. The more I think about it, the more I think it’s not going to fly. The science-lab thing has been done. I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but we’d need something more.’

  ‘Like pretending to be a coffee shop?’

  ‘This project’s a no-brainer. The space was available; it’s a busy street. With yours, the lab’s upstairs, off the main strips…it needs a bigger concept.’

  ‘You’re withdrawing your offer?’

  ‘I don’t want to lose money and I don’t want you to either. I talked to your lady at the lab. Smart operator. She said she tried to hire you. Told me a bit about your day job. You’re a dark horse, all right.’

  ‘It’s no longer my day job.’

  ‘So, you find another one. In the same game.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I can’t work during the day. How long do I have to create an alternative concept?’

  ‘Your lady said she’d keep the rental offer open until something else comes along, but, like I said, it’ll need to be something special.’

  I had long ago learned that withholding information from Rosie was unwise. The reduction in her stress levels was more than offset by the increase when she detected deceit.

  ‘The bar project appears doomed, Dave is arriving on Tuesday expecting me to have work for him and Blanche’s parents are still objecting to her being vaccinated.’

  ‘Don, do I get to put my bag down? Have you and Hudson eaten?’

  ‘You don’t need permission to put your bag down. We agreed to wait for you. I texted the information.’

  ‘Sorry, phone was flat. Just give me two…ten…minutes to get changed and we can talk over dinner. I’ve spent all day trying to get permission to hire an admin person so I don’t have to do what I spent all day doing. And in the middle of it, fucking Judas asks me to make coffee.’

  ‘I’ll brief you on the problems before you get changed. Then you can incubate your solutions while we eat.’

  ‘I heard you already. No killer concept. The rest follows, except the stuff about what’s-her-name—your new-age flake. If you want to take that on, that’s fine, but I don’t need to be involved.’

  Rosie’s mood improved during dinner. We were playing a mathematical game every night and I was also offering occasional lessons on social skills, which Rosie elaborated on.

  Me: When someone sends you an email conveying information, you should reply, even if no reply seems logically necessary.

  Rosie: You just have to say thanks or got it. Is that what you mean, Don?

  Me: Correct.

  Hudson: But got it is information. So, the other person has to reply and then…

  Me: Excellent point. Normally they don’t reply again after you give the unnecessary response. So, there’s a limit of one.

  Rosie: How can you guys make something so simple so complex?

  Me: It’s the opposite. We’re establishing simple rules to replace imprecise and error-prone intuitive decisions.

  Hudson: Anyway, I only use email for school. Mostly the emails go out to the whole class. It’d be seriously weird to write got it.

  Rosie: You’re probably right.

  Hudson: Okay, I’ll ignore what Dad said.

  Rosie and I waited until he had gone to bed, earlier thanks to the new schedule, to revisit the bar problem.

  ‘People—marketing experts—spend months coming up with so-called killer concepts,’ said Rosie. ‘And a lot of the time they don’t work. Don’t beat yourself up.’

  ‘It’s possible I considered myself more competent than marketing people.’

  ‘Academics always think they can do any job better, until they try it. Including designing a bar.’

  ‘If I’m incompetent to design a bar, we have a major problem.’

  Rosie sat back in her chair and looked at the ceiling. ‘I can go part-time again. Give up the chief-investigator role. You can take the job with the genetics-editing company or look for another academic job. Or see if you can go back to the old one.’

  ‘We could move Hudson to the public school. You suggested that.’

  ‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘But every time he moves it takes him ages to settle. Whatever’s wrong with the current school, we’ve no reason to think the alternative would be any better. And he is starting to settle. You’ve been doing well with him.’

  Except that was about to end. And we hadn’t even discussed Dave.

  16

  Five weeks and two days after our initial telephone conversation, Dave arrived at Melbourne airport, along with Sonia, Zina and the baby, Fulvio.

  I had swapped cars with Phil, after he had noted the cosmetic damage to the Porsche and made negative comments about Rosie’s driving. I was now using his vastly more practical Toyota four-wheel-drive. It seated seven people; the air-conditioning, heating and sound systems functioned reliably; and it was far less likely to suffer mechanical failur
e.

  Dave’s weight had increased substantially and I estimated his BMI at forty-five—morbidly obese. He was walking with the aid of a metal crutch, while Sonia pushed a luggage cart, and Zina, who was approximately eight weeks older than Hudson, guided a baby vehicle containing her brother.

  I knew better than to comment explicitly on Dave’s appearance, and raised the problem indirectly. ‘Greetings, Dave. You should modify your diet and begin an exercise program. Immediately.’ Sonia was nodding violently.

  ‘I’ve let it go too far,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to say it on the phone, but I don’t think I can help you with your bar thing. I’m just here while Sonia works, and I have to look after the kids…’

  ‘Gym sessions begin tonight. To assist in recovery from jet lag.’

  ‘Listen to Don,’ said Sonia. ‘He’s talking sense.’

  I had a well-equipped gym available at zero cost due to my father-in-law being the owner. Phil had met Dave when he visited us in New York and now appeared less shocked than I had expected by Dave’s appearance.

  ‘I’m no doctor but I’d think if you dropped the kilos you might not need the crutch. What do the doctors say?’

  ‘What you said. More or less.’ Dave looked embarrassed. ‘I enjoy my food.’

  ‘You don’t look like you’re enjoying anything much at the moment. It’s a habit and you’ll have to break it. You only need one rule: don’t eat junk.’

  ‘That’d do it,’ said Dave. ‘But man, it’s not easy to just turn it off.’

  ‘Distract yourself. Do something. You won’t eat when you’re working hard. You’re a drinker?’

  Dave nodded.

  ‘That’s junk too. Same rule. If you want to lose weight, stay off the booze. If you want to stay off the booze, keep busy.’ Phil was looking at me.

  I took advantage of driving time to provide Hudson with further guidance on social interaction. I was finding it difficult to describe desirable behaviours at an appropriate level of generality: they were either too situation-specific, hence unlikely to be of use on a daily basis, or too general, hence difficult for Hudson to interpret. If someone tells you that their dog has died, the appropriate response is to say you’re sorry to hear that and ask about their feelings rather than to demand details of the circumstances was probably too specific, as dog deaths were likely to be infrequent. But When someone has experienced a loss, express sympathy and focus on their emotions would lead to an inappropriate response to ‘I can’t find my eraser.’

  The bike-riding lessons had stalled following removal of the training wheels. Hudson had been riding confidently, and I had judged him ready to proceed to the next stage. He disagreed—and was right.

  With the supplementary wheels gone, his confidence disappeared, and he faced the traditional problem of learning to ride a bike: stability increases with speed, but so does fear of falling. He failed to pedal hard enough, then fell and grazed his knee. After that, he began making excuses to avoid practice. It was disappointing, particularly because it provided evidence that my father may have been right in refusing to buy me training wheels.

  Amghad and Rosie were also right: my best chance of a well-paid job was with Minh. It occurred to me that she might consider employing me on a non-standard-hours basis, which would allow me to continue with the Hudson Project.

  I called her, but she only wanted to talk about the bar. ‘I love your idea. I’ll be your best customer.’

  ‘Worst customer if you weren’t paying.’

  ‘But I have so many friends. Don, you have to do this thing. If you’ve lost your business partner, maybe I can come in.’

  It was a generous offer, but I trusted Amghad. I did not want Minh to lose her money as a result of relying on my business judgement.

  Minh refused to be dissuaded. ‘Meet me at the old lab. Seven p.m. We can brainstorm ideas. And you can make me a mojito.’

  I brought mojito ingredients, glasses and Dave with me. Minh was already inside, with her own liquor, lime juice, mint, sugar, soda and glasses. She laughed, and I introduced Dave.

  ‘Now you’re here,’ she said to Dave, ‘you can tell us how to make Don’s chilling idea work. Technically.’

  The lab was actually two large rooms. The refrigeration units were still in place.

  I outlined the requirement. ‘All liquor would need to be kept minimally above freezing point, which for most spirits is minus twenty-six degrees Celsius but for fortified wines such as vermouth is minus seven. Prosecco, champagne for mixing: minus five, hence we could share space with the fortified wines. Table wine is served at traditional recommended temperatures. Non-alcoholic mixers obviously freeze at zero degrees. Minus thirty-two for overproof spirits and liqueurs.’

  Dave walked over to the biggest refrigeration unit, examined the control panel and turned a dial. ‘Minus twenty-six. I’m done here. If your buddy had paid for my flight, you might not have wanted him to see that.’

  Minh put her bottle of rum in the freezer and laughed. ‘I like you. Mojito time.’

  I made two conventional mojitos, using ice, while we waited for the rum to chill, and Dave found a beer in one of the other fridges.

  ‘So, you need a big idea for the bar, a game-changer?’ said Minh.

  ‘Correct. But I know zero about marketing.’

  ‘What sort of bars do you like to drink at? Where do you go yourself?’

  ‘We drink at home. It’s cheaper and not noisy.’

  ‘Forget the money for a minute. You don’t like noisy bars. That’s a disruptive thought, because we associate bars with noise. The popular ones, anyway.’

  ‘It’s possible the unpopular bars are quiet due to being unpopular,’ I said.

  ‘Hard to say. But deliberately quiet—that could be a thing.’

  ‘We could put up a sign: Quiet, please,’ said Dave. ‘Call it The Library.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Minh.

  ‘I’m joking,’ said Dave. ‘My perfect bar would have a few good craft beers and wall-to-wall baseball. And a time-out room for Don.’

  I had enjoyed watching baseball in New York bars with Dave and George, but the sensory input sometimes became overwhelming and I would need to escape temporarily, usually to the street.

  ‘If you had multiple games playing, the obvious solution would be earphones, with channel selection,’ I said. ‘It’s common in gyms. Earphones would also reduce ambient noise, and possibly eliminate the need for time-outs.’

  ‘Keep going. Give me your perfect bar, Don,’ said Minh.

  ‘High-quality cocktails.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Minh.

  ‘Not “naturally”. Cocktail standards vary enormously. Customers pay for premium spirits but then the bartender uses poor-quality juice, or the cocktail is not made according to the official recipe or is insufficiently cold or too diluted.’

  ‘Which is what the cooling system is about, right? What else?’

  ‘Minimal waiting time. Eliminate the requirement to stand at the bar trying to balance the risk of unwanted physical contact and impolite behaviour with the need to attract attention and be served in the correct sequence. While being excluded from interaction with the people you are supposed to be socialising with. And paying for the drinks.’

  ‘I’m with you there,’ said Dave. ‘I buy a round and it’s three top-shelf margaritas, two glasses of Napa Valley Special Reserve 1999 under nitrogen, and all I want is a beer. The guy who invents a way of everyone paying for their own drinks without making me look like a tightwad…’

  ‘So, the requirement,’ said Minh, ‘is a quiet bar…’

  ‘No music,’ I said.

  ‘People can choose their own music. Or none. Earphones, like you said. Everybody orders from their tables—with an app, individually—straight to their credit card.’

  ‘Might as well just sit by themselves and use Facebook,’ said Dave.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Minh. ‘I guess a lot of people will want to do that. Good W
i-Fi, obviously. One room for conversation, one for solo stuff. Maybe the solo room should be the bigger one. What do you think, Don?’

  I thought about it. A bar with standardised high-quality drinks, where everything worked efficiently, without the need to wave for attention, perform social rituals with staff, negotiate drink orders and bills, calculate tips, check change: no interaction at all, except with your drinking companions. Such company being optional. A variety of entertainment and informative content on big screens, but no superfluous noise or lighting or decoration. World’s best bar.

  ‘Do you want to let your friend back in on the deal?’ said Minh.

  After I had made a low-temperature mojito with Minh’s rum, and she had pronounced it superior to the first (probably a result of the higher-quality rum or psychological factors, as liquor chilling had minimal impact in long drinks), she left Dave and me to lock up.

  ‘Since the refrigeration task is trivial, and you don’t have another job, I recommend you assist at the bar. Obviously in exchange for payment. I can provide training and you’ll have a valuable transportable competency.’

  ‘Buddy, I really appreciate you trying, but I’m spending all day looking after a baby, and then I’ve got to get Zina from school and fix her something to eat and make sure she does her homework. All I want to do in the evenings is have a burger and a beer, and sleep.’

  ‘A burger? Who’s doing the cooking?’

  ‘We’re still settling in. I’ve been getting take-out.’

  ‘Have you been attending the gym?’

  ‘Still finding my way around.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘So, that’s a no on the gym. Buddy, I’ve got nothing left in the tank.’

  ‘You’re in a loop. Lack of stimulation leading to lassitude and weight gain, leading to—’

  ‘Don, like I said—’

  There was one certain method to motivate Dave. It was brutal, but there seemed no other way.

  ‘If you fail to break the slob cycle, Sonia may leave you.’

  Dave sipped his beer. ‘I’m figuring that’s what’s gonna happen.’

  17

  Hudson and I drove to Shepparton again, this time with Rosie. My father was confined to bed and had ceased chemotherapy, which meant that he was now no longer ‘fighting cancer’ but ‘dying of cancer’.