The Rosie Project (Don Tillman #1)(40)

‘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.

We finished our entrées and the band played a few loud chords. Stefan walked over to them and took the microphone from the singer.

‘Good evening, everyone,’ he said. ‘I thought you should know that we have a former finalist in the national dancing championships with us this evening. You may have seen her on television. Bianca Rivera. Let’s give Bianca and her partner Don a few minutes to entertain us.’

I had not expected my first performance to be so public, but there was the advantage of an unobstructed dance floor. I have given lectures to larger audiences, and participated in martial-arts bouts in front of crowds. There was no reason to be nervous. Bianca and I stepped onto the dance floor.

I took her in the standard jive hold that I had practised on the skeleton, and immediately felt the awkwardness, approaching revulsion, that I feel when forced into intimate contact with another human. I had mentally prepared for this, but not for a more serious problem. I had not practised with music. I am sure I executed the steps accurately, but not at precisely the correct speed, and not at the same time as the beat. We were immediately tripping over each other and the net effect was a disaster. Bianca tried to lead, but I had no experience with a living partner, let alone one who was trying to be in control.

People began laughing. I am an expert at being laughed at and, as Bianca pulled away from me, I scanned the audience to see who was not laughing, an excellent means of identifying friends. Gene and Rosie and, surprisingly, the Dean and her partner were my friends tonight. Stefan was definitely not.

Something major was required to save the situation. In my dancing research, I had noted some specialised moves that I had not intended to use but remembered because they were so interesting. They had the advantage of not being highly dependent on synchronised timing or body contact. Now was the time to deploy them.

I performed the running man, milking the cow, and the fishing imitation, reeling Bianca in, though she did not actually move as required. In fact she was standing totally still. Finally, I attempted a body-contact manoeuvre, traditionally used for a spectacular finish, in which the male swings the female on either side, over his back and between his legs. Unfortunately this requires cooperation on the part of the partner, particularly if she is heavier than a skeleton. Bianca offered no such cooperation and the effect was as if I had attacked her. Unlike aikido, dancing training apparently does not include practice in falling safely.

I offered to help her up, but she ignored my hand and walked towards the bathroom, apparently uninjured.

I went back to the table and sat down. Stefan was still laughing.

‘You bastard,’ Rosie said to him.