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“I have to go,” I say.
“Okay. I understand. We can talk later. You want a piece of advice?”
“No.”
“Get a lawyer, Anna. It doesn’t look good. The timing isn’t great either, what with the Forrester lecture coming up.”
I return to my office and sit with my head in my hands. I just can’t believe Ryan would do this. I don’t understand why he hates me so much. What did I ever do to him? I don’t evenknowhim. I have to find him. I have to talk to him. I can’t let this happen; will they even let me have the prize if I’m found guilty of…what did he say again? Sexual harassment? That’s ridiculous. Surely he will never prove that. My reputation is sterling. Is that the word? Thank god I got him to delete the photo. That’s one thing I can be grateful for. It’s his word against mine, except for Geoff that is, who will tell everyone.I saw you, remember?
An email alert pops up on my screen and I look up. It’s from Jack Dawson at the Forrester Foundation and I click on it immediately.
Anna, we’re so excited about tomorrow. Just one thing, if you could email me the scans of your proof notebooks. As you know, at the Foundation we appraise not just the proof but the creative process that led to it. I understand my colleague asked for this last week. Before tomorrow if possible, would be much appreciated.
I look forward to it.
I can’t. I just can’t. My brain is zapped. I vaguely remember some email about sending the notes and I just dismissed it. It’s not my fault these people can’t decipher an elegant proof unless it’s pureed and spoon-fed to them.
I don’t have time for this. My mouse hovers over the reply button but what am I going to say? I’ll get back to you?
I shift the cursor over to the delete button and click.
Twenty-Five
It is an honor to stand here and present, officially, my solution of the Pentti-Stone conjecture to the Forrester Foundation.
This is the opening sentence of my lecture and I repeat it to myself like a mantra—a trick that June taught me earlier—to keep myself focused.
“You only need to remember the first sentence,” she said, “and the rest will come.”
It is an honor…I am standing on the stage in the large auditorium. We only use this space for conferences, panels or public talks, like the one I’m about to give. Its raked seating is split into two tiers with a balustrade running along the middle. The walls are covered in beige cloth that, coupled with the comfortable grey seats—padded, no hard plastic here—gives the space an acoustic hush. Everything here was recently refurbished—thanks to a financial grant I secured two years ago—and it still has that smell of newness.
I’m a bit nervous, but in a good way. Frankly, it was a godsend to have June help me prepare earlier. It enabled me to put aside the Ryan situation, for one thing. I didn’t tell her, although I will, but not today. Right now, I am focusing on the lecture and doing the breathing exercises she demonstrated earlier. I have my laptop, and a bottle of mineral water—again, June’s orders, in case I start to cough. “Or even if you lose your train of thought, you can take a sip and get yourself back on track. No one will know.” She also suggested I have my phone nearby—on silent of course—in case I need to access my notes.
“When did you become such an expert?” I asked her.
“I did a course on public speaking once. Never used it. I’m glad it’s come in handy finally.”
It certainly has. I feel calm, prepared, quietly confident. I’ve been mic-ed, we’ve tested everything, including the screen above me where my slides are projected. I look up at a sea of faces, hundreds of them, staring back at me. From my vantage point it looks like every single seat is filled, even the ones right up there at the back of the sloping seating. A deep, genuine sense of pride overcomes me, like a balloon slowly expanding in my chest and, in spite of everything, or maybe because of everything, I wish Luis was here.
To my left, on the edge of the stage, a technician fiddles with a camera on a tripod. He gives me a thumbs-up that we are ready to go. High above me the screen displays the first slide, which is just the title of my lecture:The Pentti-Stone Conjecture, or Love among Prime Numbers.
The Dean of the School of Science introduces me as needing no introduction, which provokes a ripple of laughter through the audience. Then a hush settles and I am ready to begin.
I click on my laptop and display the first slide.What is it about prime numbers and their random affection for each other?
I talk abouttwinprimes, a pair of primes that are separated by two. I describesolitarynumbers and how all prime numbers are solitary as far as we know. I tell them aboutperfectnumbers and how together they form aclub, to whichweirdnumbers do not belong. I show them someamicablenumbers, not to be confused withfriendlynumbers or, their relations,sociablenumbers. I introducecousinprimes andgoodandhappyprimes and close this chapter withbetrothednumbers, also known asquasi-amicablenumbers.
“Whoever said mathematics wasn’t sexy clearly never studied number theory.”
They laugh. As an introduction, it was good. I can tell. People are quiet, they’re taking notes, the ones I can see when I shield the light with one hand are smiling. Then I spot Geoff and Mila in the front row whispering to each other and it throws me. I wish I hadn’t seen them. I take a sip of water and click the mouse. The next slide introduces the meat of my lecture and is titled,What is the Pentti-Stone Conjecture?
When my phone buzzes on the lectern in front of me I glance at it without thinking. It’s a text with a thumbnail. I’m about to look away when I see the word.WHORE.I feel a sudden tightening of my chest as I swipe my thumb over it.
The room is silent. They’re all waiting for me, but I can’t move. I can’t take my eyes off the picture which now fills the screen of my phone. I didn’t recognize it at first. I didn’t recognizeme. But it is me, lying back on a dark grey carpet, my arm flung loosely over my eyes. I’m naked, although you can only see down to my waist, but my breasts are exposed, large, indecently filling up the screen. There’s a murmur through the audience and I look up finally, and for a moment I forget why I’m standing here. Then my phone buzzes again.
Enjoy your next slide. I know I will!
I slap down the laptop screen and turn around, looking up. It’s still the previous slide.What is the Pentti-Stone Conjecture?but I panic, lift my laptop and yank out the lead.
