‘This is getting surreal,’ said Gene. ‘Now we’re relying on Don to look after the people issues.’
We were becoming distracted. Distractions were everywhere. Text messages, Lydia consulting her watch, Gene responding to Lydia consulting her watch.
‘Do you have to be somewhere?’ he said to Lydia.
‘Not really, but I have to eat. I feel like this is going to take a while.’
‘I’ll order pizza,’ said Gene.
While Gene was on the phone, there was a knock. It was the young journalist and the photographer who had been interviewing the Dead Kings: Sally and Enzo.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Sally. ‘We just wanted to check that everything was okay with the lady who went to hospital. And…it seems there’s a story here, if you’d like to share it.’
‘Not if it means Don going through it again,’ said Gene, who had rejoined us. He paused. ‘I suppose I’m here all night anyway. I’ll get some pizza for you guys too.’
‘We won’t be that long,’ said Sally.
‘That’s what you think,’ said Gene. ‘Family-size margheritas and pepperonis to share?’
Sally the journalist was obsessed with the details of the Sonia Emergency, whereas I remembered Rosie’s and B1’s concern about misreporting of the Lesbian Mothers Project. I considered it vastly more important for their readers to have information about important research than an isolated instance of a pregnancy complication. Although I did my best to relate both stories accurately, while accommodating Sally’s frequent requests to omit detail, I suspected she did not achieve a full understanding of events. Rosie spent most of the time on the phone.
After Sally and Enzo left, I resumed the conversation with Lydia, Rosie and Gene. I had classified it as very important, but not so urgent as to require refusing the press interview. I was having to perform some real-time schedule adjustment to maintain sanity.
‘I’ve been trying to reach Dave,’ Rosie said.
‘Why?’
‘To find out what’s happened with Sonia and the baby, that’s why.’
‘Emergency caesarean, as predicted. No permanent damage to either party.’
‘What? How do you know?’
‘Text message from Dave 138 minutes ago.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’
I explained about priorities. Now I could resume the explanation of the therapy deception.
‘Boy or girl?’ said Rosie.
‘Male, I think.’ I checked my message. ‘No, female.’ It was a detail that could have waited. It would be years before the difference was important.
‘Wait,’ said Lydia. ‘Why did Sonia do all this for you? She could have gotten herself in a lot of trouble. She still could.’ The last statement was obviously a threat, but even I could see that Lydia lacked conviction.
‘She said it was in compensation for assistance that I gave to Dave. I did some work that was necessary to prevent his business failing. In fact, it was necessary but not sufficient. Dave’s filing and computer systems were also inadequate. His invoice generation procedure—’
Rosie interrupted. ‘Dave’s business is in trouble?’
‘Was. I’ve now rectified all problems. Except the lack of time for administration. I sourced a Hewlett Packard four-in-one and reconfigured—’
It was Gene’s turn to interrupt. ‘Dave’s filing system is all very interesting but can we focus on the Number One priority: Don’s got it into his head that he’s not going to make it as a father. That Rosie’s better off without him. And Rosie’s picked up on that and thinks he doesn’t want to be a father. That’s crap. Don can do whatever he puts his mind to. Am I right, Lydia?’
‘Technically, I’m sure he can,’ said Lydia. ‘My concern was about him understanding others’ needs and being supportive.’
‘Like understanding that his friend’s business is failing and that if it happens everything is going to come tumbling down, marriage and all? And then fixing it?’
‘I’m talking about emotional—’
‘I only provide practical advice,’ I said. ‘I avoid emotional issues.’
‘I try not to provide advice at all,’ said Lydia. ‘This is something you have to work out for yourselves.’
‘Not so fast, Lydia,’ said Gene. ‘Don left Rosie because you told him he was bad for her. He made a life-changing decision based on your advice.’
‘In response to a fictitious scenario. An accountant pretending to be an Italian peasant girl pretending to be an Australian medical student.’
I corrected Lydia’s oversimplified scenario. ‘You assessed me as unsuitable prior to meeting Sonia.’
She spoke to Gene. ‘I was concerned. I’d met Don before. Over lunch.’
Rosie stood up. I recognised anger. ‘You had lunch with Don? And then saw him as a patient? When did you have lunch with him?’
‘With my friend, Judy Esler.’
‘My friend Judy Esler. At the Japanese fusion place in Tribeca? So you’re the bitch from hell who diagnoses autism at twenty paces? Fuck.’
‘Judy called me that?’
Lydia stood up, then Gene stood up and put one hand on Rosie’s shoulder and the other on Lydia’s. ‘Let’s hear Lydia out first. She’s not the only one who overstepped the mark.’
Lydia sat down. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I was out of line at lunch. Don got under my skin. I stayed involved because I felt for Rosie…Sonia…because I felt sorry for any woman having a baby with a man who wasn’t connected.’
Rosie sat down too.
‘After all this,’ Lydia continued, ‘I’m not concerned with Rosie becoming psychotic or depressed and nobody noticing. If you’d told me you had an eminent professor of psychology, a trained observer, living in the house’—she smiled at Gene and Gene smiled back—‘I would have let it go.’
It seemed that the problem was solved. But Lydia had not finished.
‘I’m not Don’s therapist. But you two are going to have some challenges. I don’t think Don’s dangerous, and I’m sure he’s done many good things for his friends, but he’s—’
I saved Lydia the problem of finding tactful words. ‘Not exactly average.’
She laughed. ‘Good luck working it out. You’re both smart people but parenting isn’t easy for anyone. And forget any of that evolutionary-psychology crap that idiot friend of yours told you.’
The evolutionary-psychology crap was presumably the information I had shared about sexual compatibility on the day of the Bluefin Tuna Incident.
‘How are you getting home?’ said the person Lydia had just called my idiot friend.
‘I’ll get the subway.’
‘I’ll come for the walk,’ said Gene. ‘Sounds like we have a common issue with these geneticists who think they’ve got human behaviour sewn up.’
Rosie and I were left alone in the apartment. There was some pizza left over. I pulled out the cling wrap and Rosie moved to take it from me. I held on to it and in a practised motion—a very practised motion—I tore off a perfectly sized sheet and wrapped the pizza.
Rosie watched. She had not spoken since identifying Lydia as someone that Judy Esler had criticised.
‘You don’t have to go back to Dave’s tonight,’ she said. ‘But you know I’ve got a ticket home tomorrow, don’t you?’