before abandoning the father project, i decided to checkrosie’s estimate of the number of father candidates. it occurredto me that some possibilities could be easily eliminated. themedical classes i teach contain numerous foreign students.

given rosie’s distinctly pale skin, i considered it unlikely thather father was chinese, vietnamese, black or indian.

i began with some basic research – an internet search forinformation about the medical graduation class, based on thethree names i knew.

the results exceeded my expectations, but problem-solving oftenrequires an element of luck. it was no surprise that rosie’smother had graduated from my current university. at the time,there were only two medical courses in melbourne.

i found two relevant photos. one was a formal photo of theentire graduation class, with the names of the one hundredand forty-six students. the other was taken at the graduationparty, also with names.

there were only one hundred and twenty-four faces,presumably104/290because some students did not attend. since the gene-shoppinghad occurred at the party, or after, we would not have toworry about the non-attendees. i verified that the one hundredand twenty-four were a subset of the one hundred andforty-six.

i had expected that my search would produce a list ofgraduates and probably a photo. an unexpected bonus was a‘where are they now?’

discussion board. but the major stroke of luck was theinformation that a thirtieth anniversary reunion had beenscheduled. the date was only three weeks away. we wouldneed to act quickly.

i ate dinner at home and rode to the marquess ofqueensbury.

disaster! rosie wasn’t working. the barman informed me thatrosie worked only three nights per week, which struck me asinsufficient to provide an adequate income. perhaps she had aday job as well. i knew very little about her, beyond her job,her interest in finding her father and her age, which, based onher mother’s graduation party being thirty years earlier, mustbe twenty-nine. i had not asked gene how he had met her. idid not even know her mother’s name to identify her in thephoto.

the barman was friendly, so i ordered a beer and some nutsand reviewed the notes i had brought.

there were sixty-three males in the graduation party photo, amargin of only two over the females, insufficient to supportrosie’s claim of discrimination. some were unambiguouslynon-caucasian, though not as many as i expected. it was thirtyyears ago, and the influx of chinese students had not yetcommenced. there was still a large number of candidates, butthe reunion offered an opportunity for batch processing.

i had by now deduced that the marquess of queensbury wasa gay bar. on the first visit, i had not observed the socialinteractions, as i was too focused on finding rosie and initiatingthe father project, but this time i was able to analyse mysurroundings in more detail. i was105/290reminded of the chess club to which i belonged when i was atschool.

people drawn together by a common interest. it was the onlyclub i had ever joined, excluding the university club, whichwas more of a dining facility.

i did not have any gay friends, but this was related to myoverall small number of friends rather than to any prejudice.

perhaps rosie was gay? she worked in a gay bar, althoughthe clients were all males.

i asked the barman. he laughed.

‘good luck with that one,’ he said. it didn’t answer thequestion, but he had moved on to serve another customer.

as i finished lunch at the university club the following day,gene walked in, accompanied by a woman i recognised fromthe singles party – fabienne the sex-deprived researcher. itappeared that she had found a solution to her problem. wepassed each other at the dining-room entrance.

gene winked at me, and said, ‘don, this is fabienne. she’svisiting from belgium and we’re going to discuss some optionsfor collabora-tion.’ he winked again, and quickly moved past.

belgium. i had assumed fabienne was french. belgianexplained it.

gene already had france.

i was waiting outside the marquess of queensbury when rosieopened the doors at 9.00 p.m.

‘don.’ rosie looked surprised. ‘is everything okay?’

‘i have some information.’

‘better be quick.’

‘it’s not quick, there’s quite a lot of detail.’

‘i’m sorry, don, my boss is here. i’ll get into trouble. i needthis job.’

‘what time do you finish?’

‘three a.m.’

106/290i couldn’t believe it! what sort of jobs did rosie’s patronshave?

maybe they all worked in bars that opened at 9.00 p.m. andhad four nights a week off. a whole invisible nocturnalsubculture, using resources that would otherwise stand idle. itook a huge breath and a huge decision.

‘i’ll meet you then.’

i rode home, went to bed, and set the alarm for 2.30 a.m. icancelled the run i had scheduled with gene for the followingmorning to retrieve an hour. i would also skip karate.

at 2.50 a.m. i was riding through the inner suburbs. it wasnot a totally unpleasant experience. in fact, i could see majoradvantages for myself in working at night. empty laboratories.

no students. faster response times on the network. no contactwith the dean. if i could find a pure research position, with noteaching, it would be entirely feasible. perhaps i could teach viavideo-link at a university in another time zone.

i arrived at rosie’s workplace at exactly 3.00 a.m. the doorwas locked and a ‘closed’ sign was up. i knocked hard. rosiecame to the door.

‘i’m stuffed,’ she said. this was hardly surprising. ‘come in –i’m almost done.’

apparently the bar closed at 2.30 a.m. but rosie had to cleanup.

‘you want a beer?’ she said. a beer! at 3 a.m. ridiculous.

‘yes, please.’

i sat at the bar watching her clean up. the question i hadasked sitting in the same place the previous day popped intomy mind.

‘are you gay?’ i asked.

‘you came here to ask me that?’

‘no, the question is unrelated to the main purpose of my visit.’

‘pleased to hear it, alone at three in the morning in a bar witha strange man.’

107/290‘i’m not strange.’

‘not much,’ she said, but she was laughing, presumably makinga joke to herself based on the two meanings of strange. i stilldidn’t have an answer to the gay question. she opened a beerfor herself. i pulled out my folder and extracted the partyphoto.

‘is this the party where your mother was impregnated?’

‘shit. where did this come from?’

i explained about my research and showed her myspreadsheet. ‘all names are listed. sixty-three males, nineteenobviously non-caucasian, as determined by visual assessmentand supported by names, three already eliminated.’

‘you’ve got to be kidding. we’re not testing … thirty-onepeople.’

‘forty-one.’

‘whatever. i don’t have an excuse to meet any of them.’

i told her about the reunion.

‘minor problem,’ said rosie. ‘we’re not invited.’

‘correct,’ i said. ‘the problem is minor and already solved.

there will be alcohol.’

‘so?’

i indicated the bar, and the collection of bottles on shelvesbehind it.

‘your skills will be required.’

‘you’re kidding me.’

‘can you secure employment at the event?’

‘hang on, hang on. this is getting seriously crazy. you thinkwe’re going to turn up at this party and start swabbingpeople’s glasses. oh man.’

‘not us. you. i don’t have the skills. but, otherwise, correct.’

‘forget it.’

‘i thought you wanted to know who your father was.’

‘i told you,’ she said. ‘not that much.’

108/290two days later, rosie appeared at my apartment. it was 8.47p.m., and i was cleaning the bathroom, as eva theshort-skirted cleaner had cancelled due to illness. i buzzed herupstairs. i was wearing my bathroom-cleaning costume ofshorts, surgical boots and gloves but no shirt.

‘wow.’ she stared at me for a few moments. ‘this is whatmartial-arts training does, is it?’ she appeared to be referring tomy pectoral muscles. then suddenly she jumped up and downlike a child.

‘we got the gig! i found the agency and i offered them shitrates and they went yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t tell anyone. i’llreport them to the union when it’s over.’

‘i thought you didn’t want to do this.’

‘changed my mind.’ she gave me a stained paperback.

‘memorise this. i’ve got to get to work.’ she turned and left.

i looked at the book – the bartender’s companion: acomplete guide to making and serving drinks. it appearedto specify the duties of the role i was to perform. i memorisedthe first few recipes before finishing the bathroom. as iprepared for sleep, having skipped the aikido routine to spendfurther time studying the book, it occurred to me that thingswere getting crazy. it was not the first time that my life hadbecome chaotic and i had established a protocol for dealingwith the problem and the consequent disturbance to rationalthinking. i called claudia.

she was able to see me the next day. because i am notofficially one of her clients, we have to have our discussionsover coffee rather than in her office. and i am the oneaccused of rigidity!

i outlined the situation, omitting the father project component,as i did not want to admit to the surreptitious collection ofdna, which claudia was likely to consider unethical. instead isuggested that rosie and i had a common interest in movies.

109/290‘have you talked to gene about her?’ asked claudia.

i told her that gene had introduced rosie as a candidate forthe wife project, and that he would only encourage me tohave sex with her. i explained that rosie was totally unsuitableas a partner, but was presumably under the illusion that i wasinterested in her on that basis. perhaps she thought that ourcommon interest was an excuse for pursuing her. i had madea major social error in asking her about her sexual orientation– it would only reinforce that impression.

yet rosie had never mentioned the wife project. we had beensidetracked so quickly by the jacket incident, and after thatthings had un-folded in a totally unplanned way. but i saw arisk that at some point i would hurt her feelings by telling herthat she had been eliminated from consideration for the wifeproject after the first date.

‘so that’s what you’re worried about,’ said claudia. ‘hurting herfeelings?’

‘correct.’

‘that’s excellent, don.’

‘incorrect. it’s a major problem.’

‘i mean that you’re concerned about her feelings. and you’reenjoying time together?’

‘immensely,’ i said, realising it for the first time.

‘and is she enjoying herself?’

‘presumably. but she applied for the wife project.’

‘don’t worry about it,’ said claudia. ‘she sounds pretty resilient.

just have some fun.’

a strange thing happened the next day. for the first time ever,gene made an appointment to see me in his office. i hadalways been the one to organise conversations, but there hadbeen an unusually long gap as a result of the father project.

110/290gene’s office is larger than mine, due to his higher statusrather than any actual requirement for space. the beautifulhelena let me in, as gene was late in returning from ameeting. i took the opportunity to check his world map forpins in india and belgium. i was fairly certain that the indianone had been there before, but it was possible that olivia wasnot actually indian. she had said she was hindu, so she couldhave been balinese or fijian or indeed from any country witha hindu population. gene worked on nationalities rather thanethnicit-ies, in the same way that travellers count the countriesthey have visited. north korea predictably remained without apin.

gene arrived, and commanded the beautiful helena to fetch uscoffees. we sat at his table, as if in a meeting.

‘so,’ said gene, ‘you’ve been talking to claudia.’ this was oneof the negatives of not being an official client of claudia: i didnot have the protection of confidentiality. ‘i gather you’ve beenseeing rosie. as the expert predicted.’

‘yes,’ i said, ‘but not for the wife project.’ gene is my bestfriend, but i still felt uncomfortable about sharing informationabout the father project. fortunately he did not pursue it,probably because he assumed i had sexual intentions towardsrosie. in fact i was amazed that he didn’t immediately raisethe topic.

‘what do you know about rosie?’ he asked.

‘not very much,’ i said honestly. ‘we haven’t talked muchabout her.

our discussion has focused on external issues.’

‘give me a break,’ he said. ‘you know what she does, whereshe spends her time.’

‘she’s a barmaid.’

‘okay,’ said gene. ‘that’s all you know?’

‘and she doesn’t like her father.’

gene laughed for no obvious reason. ‘i don’t think he’srobinson crusoe.’ this seemed a ludicrous statement aboutrosie’s paternity111/290until i recalled that the reference to the fictional shipwrecksurvivor could be used as a metaphorical phrase meaning ‘notalone’ or in this context ‘not alone in not being liked by rosie’.

gene must have noticed my puzzled expression as i worked itout, and elaborated: ‘the list of men that rosie likes is not along one.’

‘she’s gay?’

‘might as well be,’ said gene. ‘look at the way she dresses.’

gene’s comment seemed to refer to the type of costume shewas wearing when she first appeared in my office. but shedressed conventionally for her bar work and on our visits tocollect dna had worn un-exceptional jeans and tops. on thenight of the jacket incident she had been unconventional butextremely attractive.

perhaps she did not want to send out mating signals in theenvironment in which gene had encountered her, presumably abar or restaurant. much of women’s clothing is designed toenhance their sexual attraction in order to secure a mate. ifrosie was not looking for a mate, it seemed perfectly rationalfor her to dress otherwise. there were many things that iwanted to ask gene about rosie, but i suspected that askingwould imply a level of interest that gene would misinterpret.

but there was one critical question.

‘why was she prepared to participate in the wife project?’

gene hesitated a while. ‘who knows?’ he said. ‘i don’t thinkshe’s a lost cause, but just don’t expect too much. she’s got alot of issues.

don’t forget the rest of your life.’

gene’s advice was surprisingly perceptive. did he know howmuch time i was spending with the cocktail book?