The Rosie Effect

13

Our three-person household was settling into a regular schedule. After dinner, Rosie went to her office while Gene and I consumed cocktail ingredients.

‘What’s the deal?’ said Gene. ‘You’ve signed up for some sort of assessment?’

‘You were able to deduce that from my conversation?’

‘Only because of my professional knowledge of the subtleties of human discourse. I’m amazed Rosie didn’t grill you harder.’

‘I think her mind is occupied with other matters,’ I said.

‘I think you’re right. So?’

I was in a quandary. My EPDS questioning had absolved Rosie of postnatal depression risk, but her answers had revealed the presence of stress. Should I add to it by telling her the full story, or fail to meet Lydia’s requirement, which in turn would result in an adverse report to the police, possible arrest and incarceration, and hence even greater stress to Rosie?

Gene seemed to offer my only hope. His social skills and manipulative abilities are more sophisticated than mine will ever be. Perhaps he could propose a solution that did not involve telling Rosie or going to jail.

I told him the story of the Playground Incident, reminding him that the sequence of events was initiated by his suggestion. His overall reaction appeared to be one of amusement. I took no consolation from this: in my experience, amusement is often correlated with embarrassment or pain on the part of the person causing it.

Gene poured himself the last of the blue Curaçao. ‘Shit, Don. I’m sorry if I’ve somehow contributed to this, but I can tell you that just turning up with a completed questionnaire isn’t going to work. I can’t see any way out that doesn’t involve telling Rosie or going to jail.’ I could see that he was unhappy with his conclusion: as a scientist he regarded an unsolved problem as a personal insult. He emptied his glass. ‘Got anything else?’

While I visited the coolroom, Gene must have continued to work on the problem.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve got to take this woman—Lydia—at her word. What’s the difference between a social worker and a Rottweiler?’

I was unable to see the relevance of the question, but he answered it himself.

‘The Rottweiler gives you your baby back.’ It was a joke, probably in bad taste, but I understood that we were two buddies who had been drinking and this was the context in which such jokes were told. ‘God, Don, what is this stuff?’

‘Grenadine. It’s non-alcoholic. You require a clear head. And you’re getting distracted. Continue.’

‘So the essence is this: you have to front the social worker and you have to bring Rosie. You can make an excuse—’

‘I could say she was ill due to pregnancy. Highly plausible.’

‘You’re only buying time. You might provoke her into submitting the report anyway. You don’t want to provoke a Rottweiler.’

‘I thought your point was that social workers and Rottweilers are different.’

‘My point was that they are only slightly different.’

Slightly different. The concept prompted an idea.

‘I could hire an actress. To impersonate Rosie.’

‘Sophia Loren.’

‘Isn’t she older?’

‘Joking. Seriously, the problem would be that she wouldn’t know you well enough. I figure that’s what the social worker’s going to be focused on—can this woman handle Don Tillman? Because you’re not—’

I finished his sentence for him ‘—exactly average. Correct. How long do you think it would take to know me adequately?’

‘I’d say six months. Minimum. Sorry Don, but I think telling Rosie is the lesser of two evils.’

I delegated the problem to my subconscious for a further week: Week 9 of Bud’s gestation. The mark on the tile representing his size was now 2.5 centimetres long, and my drawing of his slightly changed shape was more accomplished, due to practice.

The actor idea was attractive, and I found it difficult to abandon. In problem-solving parlance I had become anchored—unable to see alternatives. But Gene was right: there was no time to brief a stranger on my personality to the extent that she could answer probing questions from a professional. In the end, there was only one person who could help me.

I told her the story of the Playground Incident, and the requirement for an assessment. I tried to make it clear that my priority was to avoid causing stress and that the EPDS questionnaire had indicated that Lydia’s fears were unfounded. Nevertheless, I needed to emphasise the risk of not cooperating.

‘We have to show up and be assessed as parents and take her advice or I’m going to be prosecuted, deported and banned from contact with Bud.’ I may have exaggerated slightly, but Gene’s image of a Rottweiler was still in my mind. Martial-arts training did not cover attack dogs.

‘Bitch. She’s got to be way out of line doing this.’

‘She’s a professional who has detected risk factors. Her requirement seems reasonable.’

‘I think you’re being kind. Which is so like you. Anyway, I’m happy to do whatever I can to help.’

This was an incredibly generous response. I had been agonising over whether to proceed with my strategy, but the offer was clear.

‘I need you to impersonate Rosie.’

I interpreted Sonia’s expression as shock. I had not discussed the plan with Gene, but I was aware of his opinion that accountants were skilled at deception. I was relying on it being accurate.

‘Oh my God, Don.’ She laughed, but I detected nervousness. ‘You’re kidding me. I’m just saying that—I know you’re not. Oh my God. I don’t think I could be Rosie.’

‘Morally or in terms of competence?’

‘Oh, you know me. Totally immoral.’ This was not my impression of Sonia, but was consistent with Gene’s view of her profession. ‘Rosie and I are so different.’

‘Correct. But Lydia hasn’t met Rosie. She doesn’t even know she’s Australian. Just that she’s a medical student with no friends.’

‘No friends? What about Dave and me?’

‘She only sees you because of me. Most of her interaction is with her study group. Occasionally she sees Judy Esler. She’s primarily interested in intellectual conversation.’

‘I’ll have to catch up on my reading. You want a coffee?’

We were at Dave and Sonia’s apartment. It was a Sunday, but Rosie had gone into university in violation of the ‘weekend free time’ rule and Dave was also working. Sonia claimed that her Italian heritage required regular espresso coffee, and had a high-quality machine. Coffee was an excellent idea, but not the first priority.

‘After we resolve the impersonation question.’

‘After I have my coffee.’

When Sonia returned with my double espresso and her pregnancy-compatible decaffeinated cappuccino, she appeared to have prepared a speech.

‘All right, Don, it’s just one session, no more?’

I nodded.

‘And no forms to fill in or anything, nothing to sign?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Nothing was certain, but as Lydia was officially assessing me as a paedophile, it seemed unlikely that she would report anything about Rosie or the parenthood aspect. Sonia was probably right in characterising her behaviour as ‘way out of line’.

‘All right. I’m going to do this for you, for two reasons. The main one is because you’ve been so great to Dave. I know he’d be insolvent without the cash he gets from George the Drummer. I know that.’

Dave definitely did not know that Sonia knew that. Dave was extremely concerned to ensure that Sonia was unaware of his business problems. Which was a ridiculous expectation, considering Sonia’s profession.

Sonia finished her coffee. ‘But I don’t want you to tell Dave,’ she said.

‘Why not?’

‘He’s got enough on his mind. You know Dave, he’s a worrier.’

This was true. The motivation for the deception was to avoid causing stress to Rosie. It would be a terrible outcome if the solution caused stress to Dave, leading to a heart attack or stroke, which he was already susceptible to because of his weight. But secrets were accumulating. I am extremely poor at deception. I promised Sonia that I would do my best, but that my best was likely to be significantly below the average human ability to lie. I was in need of Gene’s skills, but his skills were a result of his personality which I was not in need of.

‘What’s the second reason?’ I asked.

‘To put that bitch back in her box,’ said Sonia. She was laughing.

Rosie was putting flowers into our two vases and the wine decanter when I arrived home. She was wearing shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. Her shape was not visibly different from its normal state of perfect.

‘I need a break from study,’ she said. ‘You were right about things getting out of perspective.’

‘Excellent idea,’ I said. ‘You need to minimise stress.’

‘How is Sonia doing?’ said Rosie.

‘Sonia is doing extremely well. Dave is nervous about becoming a father. As is normal for men.’

Rosie laughed. ‘Hey, I’ve been thinking. About what you said last week about us getting some counselling. I was probably a bit defensive. Maybe it would be a good idea. If you feel you need it.’

‘No, no, I was only thinking of you. I’m feeling highly confident. Excited.’

‘Okay. Well, I’m okay too. Let me know if you change your mind.’

Eight days earlier, I would have accepted Rosie’s offer. But now the Sonia approach seemed a better solution. There would be less stress for Rosie, less risk of the process being derailed by her becoming confrontational and less danger that she might be exposed to a negative assessment of my readiness for fatherhood.

I arranged to meet Sonia at her place of work on the Upper East Side in the hope that I might be able to combine the pre-interview briefing with learning about advances in reproductive technology. But ‘place of work’ translated into ‘nearby coffee shop’.

‘I don’t work anywhere near the labs. I only met Dave because I thought his company had overcharged us.’

‘Had they?’

‘No, Dave screwed up the paperwork. But he was so honest about it, I bought him a coffee. Here.’

‘Leading to sex after only two dates.’

‘Dave told you that?’

‘It’s incorrect?’

‘Completely untrue. We didn’t sleep together until we were married.’

‘Dave lied?’ Incredible. Dave was scrupulously honest.

Sonia laughed. ‘No, I lied. You couldn’t tell?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m extremely gullible.’ Fooling Lydia, who was probably accustomed to dealing with welfare cheats, alimony avoiders and accountants within her own organisation, would be more difficult.

‘You definitely didn’t tell her that Rosie was Australian?’

‘I said that she didn’t have any family here. She—you—can be from any location except New York.’

‘All right. Take me through this depression test.’

‘She may use some other. I’ve researched several. The common factor appears to be that risk of depression is detected via the respondent feeling unhappy and anxious.’

‘Isn’t psychology amazing? I wonder what these people get paid for sometimes.’

‘Do you think we’ll be able to deceive her?’

‘Don’t worry, Don. The trick is only to lie about the things you have to lie about. You be you, I’ll be me, except for the name. I’m happy. And completely normal.’

I almost failed to recognise Sonia in the enormous foyer of the Bellevue Hospital. I had only ever seen her in her work costume and, on social occasions, in jeans. She was wearing a large patterned skirt and a white frilled shirt, creating an overall impression of a folk dancer. She greeted me effusively.

‘Ciao, Don. It’s a beautiful day, no?’

‘You’re sounding strange. Like a comedian pretending to be Italian.’

‘I am Italian. I’m only living here one year. I’ve got no family here, like you say to the lady. But I’m very happy! Because of the bambino!’ She rotated on the spot, and the centrifugal force caused her skirt to extend. She laughed.

Sonia’s grandparents on her father’s side were Italian, but she did not speak Italian. If Lydia brought in an interpreter, we would be in trouble. I recommended Sonia keep the use of the accent subtle. But it was a brilliant idea to create a foreign Rosie without imitating an Australian accent, which would appear inauthentic next to mine.

‘I’m sorry to take you away from your studies,’ said Lydia after indicating that we should sit down. ‘You must be very busy.’

‘I’m very busy all the time,’ said Sonia. She looked at her watch. I was impressed by the acting.

‘How long have you been in the States?’

‘Since the start of the medical course. I come here for study.’

‘And before that, what were you doing?’

‘Working in an IVF facility in Milano. It is from this that I become interested in medicine.’

‘How did you and Don meet?’

Disaster! Sonia looked at me. I looked at Sonia. If one of us had to invent a story, it was best that it be Sonia.

‘At Columbia. Don is my teacher. Everything is happening rapido.’

‘When are you due?’

‘December.’ This was the correct answer for Sonia.

‘Did you plan to get pregnant so quickly?’

‘When you work in IVF, you learn how precious it is to have a baby. I think I’m so lucky.’ Sonia had forgotten the accent. But she sounded highly credible.

‘And you’re planning to defer your studies when you have the baby?’

This was a tricky question. Sonia—the real Sonia—planned to take a year off work, which was causing Dave stress, due to the impact on income. If Sonia answered as herself rather than as Rosie, I would be forced to act as Dave for consistency and would doubtless fail to be convincing. It was better that Sonia gave the answer that Rosie would give. Except that she did not know it. I answered for her.

‘Rosie intends to continue her studies uninterrupted.’

‘No break?’

‘A minimum of a week. Possibly more.’

Lydia looked at Sonia. ‘A week? You’re only taking a week off to have a baby?’

Lydia’s obvious surprise and disapproval was consistent with David Borenstein’s advice. Sonia’s surprise was consistent with her not being Rosie and her own plans to take indefinite leave. We were all in agreement—except Rosie who was not in the room. I tried to present her position.

‘The birth of a baby is no more disruptive than a minor upper respiratory tract infection.’

‘You think having a baby is like having a cold?’

‘Without the disease aspect.’ Rosie’s analogy had been faulty in that respect. ‘More equivalent to taking a week’s leave to attend the baseball play-offs.’ Sonia gave me a strange look; my baseball reference had doubtless been prompted by subconscious thoughts of Dave.

Lydia changed the topic. ‘So, with Rosie studying full-time, you’re the sole breadwinner.’

Rosie would hate me answering ‘yes’ to this question. My answer was true until recently. ‘Incorrect. She works in a bar in the evenings.’

‘I guess she’ll be giving that up at some point.’

‘Absolutely not. She considers it critical to contribute to the finances.’ As Sonia had said, most of the time it was possible to tell the truth.

‘And what do you see as your role?’

‘In what respect?’

‘I’m thinking, with Rosie studying full-time and working part-time, you might need to help with the baby.’

‘We’ve discussed it. Rosie requires zero assistance.’

Lydia turned to Sonia. ‘Are you comfortable with all that? Is that what you think?’

I had temporarily forgotten that Sonia was a virtual Rosie, and had been speaking of Rosie as a person external to our conversation. I hoped Lydia had not noticed. But the answer was a simple ‘Yes’. Lydia would have a consistent story, consistent with mine, consistent with Rosie having exactly what she required for happiness, consistent with reality.

‘Well—’

‘Before you answer,’ said Lydia, ‘tell me a bit about your family. Was your mother allowed to speak for herself?’

‘Not really. My father decided what she said and did.’

‘So they were very traditional?’

‘If you mean, did my father go to work and come home and never cook and expect dinner on the table while my mom who had diabetes had to manage five kids, yes, we were traditional. Tradition was the excuse.’ The Italian accent had gone. Sonia was sounding angry.

‘Seems like you might be about to follow in her footsteps.’

‘Seems like it, doesn’t it? It was all about my father’s job. Oh, he had to work so hard. So hard. Well, you know what, I didn’t marry my father. I’m expecting just a little bit more from Dave.’

‘Dave?’

‘Don.’

There was a pause. Lydia was probably working backwards from Sonia’s error to arrive at the inevitable conclusion that she was an imposter. I needed an explanation. My mind was racing and the solution was so elegant that it overrode my natural aversion to lying.

‘My middle name is David. My father’s name is also Donald, so sometimes I’m called Dave. To avoid confusion.’ The idea was prompted by my cousin Barry and his father who is also named Barry, leading to my cousin being known within the family by his middle name, which is Victor.

‘Well, Don-Dave, what do you think of what Rosie just said?’

‘Rosie?’ Now I was seriously confused. Sonia, Rosie, Don, Dave, Barry, Victor, which was also my grandfather’s name. My father’s father. I was about to be a father, too. Of a child with a temporary name.

‘Yes, Donald-David, Rosie. Your wife.’

With time I could have untangled it. But with Lydia staring at me, I gave the only practicable answer.

‘I need to process the new information.’

‘When you’ve processed it, book another appointment.’ Lydia waved the police file. We were dismissed. And the problem was not solved.

Sonia had to return to work, so we debriefed on the subway.

‘I have to tell Rosie,’ I said.

‘What are you going to say to Lydia? “Hello, this is the real Rosie? I’m a con man as well as a paedophile and an insensitive slob?”’

‘There was no mention of insensitivity and slobbishness.’

‘If you were a bit more sensitive, you might have picked it up.’ It was Sonia’s stop, but I got off too. The conversation was obviously critical, in two senses of the word.

‘Sorry, I’m angry with myself,’ said Sonia. ‘I messed it up. I don’t like to mess up.’

‘The accidental use of Dave’s name was totally understandable. I had to concentrate hard to avoid calling you Sonia.’

‘It’s a bigger deal than that. Things aren’t going the way I’d hoped with Dave and me. We tried for so long and now he’s not interested.’

I knew why. Dave was stressed by work and the possibility of business failure, leading to the prospect of Sonia having to work in violation of her plans, leading to rejection of Dave as a suitable partner, leading to divorce, estrangement from his child and all meaning disappearing from his life. We had reviewed this sequence many times.

Unfortunately, I could not share the state of the business with Sonia, as this might accelerate the process. Now Sonia was identifying another path that might lead to the same conclusion.

Sonia continued. ‘I’ve been reading up on everything, trying to do everything right, and he seems to think the pregnancy has nothing to do with him. Do you know what he did last night?’

‘Ate dinner and went to bed?’ It seemed the most likely scenario.

‘You couldn’t have put it better. I’d made a meal right out of the pregnancy book, covering seven of the ten power foods. I had it waiting for him when he came in, and you know what he’d done? He’d bought a hamburger. A double cheeseburger with bacon and guacamole. He’s supposed to be on a diet.’

‘Did it have tomato and leafy greens?’

‘What?’

‘I’m counting the pregnancy power foods.’

‘He sat and ate it in front of me. And then went to bed. Just so inconsiderate.’

I thought it best not to reply. Dave trying to save his marriage, leading to working harder, leading to stress, leading to hamburger consumption and exhaustion, leading to health and marriage problems. More material to process.

Neither of us spoke as we walked from the subway to the IVF facility. Sonia inexplicably went to hug me, but remembered in time. ‘Don’t say anything to Dave. We’ll get through it.’

‘Can I tell him that part? About getting through it? He may also be worried about marriage failure.’

‘He said that?’

‘Correct.’

‘Oh God. It’s all so hard.’

‘Agreed. Human behaviour is highly confusing. I’ll tell Rosie about Lydia tonight.’

‘No, you won’t. It’s my fault, and I don’t want to be responsible for upsetting Rosie. Sounds like she’s already carrying the weight of the world. We’ll get it right next time.’

‘I’m not sure what we have to do.’

‘Lydia and I are saying the same thing. You need to think more about supporting Rosie. No matter what she’s saying about being independent, she needs your help.’

‘Why would she lie?’

‘She’s not lying, not deliberately. She’s got this idea of herself as Wonder Woman. Or maybe she thinks you don’t want to help. Or can’t help.’

‘So I need to demonstrate a contribution to the pregnancy process?’

‘Support. Taking an interest. Being there. That’s all Lydia and I are looking for. And Don?’

‘You have a question?’

‘How many power foods in the hamburger? There was lettuce and tomato. On both of them.’

‘Eight. But—’

‘No buts.’

This time she did hug me. I kept still and it was over quite quickly.