SCENE NINE

SCENE NINE

Hilary’s flat.

A dinner party is well under way, though there is no dinner as yet, and no dinner table as such, only a finger-food first course on a coffee table, around which, more or less at floor level, sit Ursula, Julia, Spike and Amal, who is opening a bottle of champagne.

Bo has gone ‘outside’ to a notional balcony or patio, to smoke a cigarette, and is visible, withdrawn into herself.

It is not a successful dinner party. The hostess – Hilary, temporarily out of sight in the kitchen – is trying too hard, and has no talent for cooking. Amal has not met Spike, Ursula or Julia before; Amal and Spike have not taken to each other, and Spike is getting drunk, which increases his fluency but doesn’t improve his charity.

Ursula is not trying hard to help things along. Julia is doing her good-natured best. As a couple, Amal and Bo are at odds with each other.

The four already have glasses for the wine they are drinking, the bottle in evidence.

Amal That’s a very good question.

He pops the cork. Glasses are emptied down throats to receive the champagne. Amal empties his almost full glass carelessly into a potted flower which still has its gift-wrapping around it.

I don’t think I’ve ever been asked this question before. In fact, you may be the first person who’s ever asked it. Congratulations, Julia! So, yes indeed, what exactly is a hedge fund?

Julia Sorr-ee!

Ursula Well, I don’t know what a hedge-fund does. Do you, Spike?

Spike Yes.

Ursula Go on, then.

Spike No. I want to see if Amal knows.

Amal What? But I work in a hedge-fund!

Spike I prefer to be the judge of that.

Julia But I really want to know.

Spike Well, let’s say you have ten million pounds which you’d like to put to work. You decide to invest it in Krohl Capital Management. First, Jerry Krohl takes two per cent per year, £200,000, as his fee for taking your money to gamble with. Then he gambles with it, and he keeps twenty per cent of the winnings. If he loses, the losses are all yours.

Amal (mock-impressed) Do you work in a hedge-fund?

Bo wanders in and sits herself where she has left her glass of cola.

Ursula But why would anyone give... Could you explain what you actually spend your day doing?

Amal Do I have to? I don’t ask you about pilates. No offence.

Ursula None taken.

Julia It’s me who does pilates. You can ask me.

Amal With pilates, it’s very difficult to think of anything to ask.

Julia (humbly) I suppose so.

Ursula (to Bo) Dump him.

Bo has noticed the spillage of wine over the flowering plant.

Bo What have you done to my flower? Honestly.

Bo separates the plant from its paper, screws up the paper and chucks it at Amal.

Spike He spends his day staring at – how many computer screens is it, Amal?

Amal Call it seven.

Spike Seven. That would be stocks, bonds, commodities, currencies, pornography, Sky Sports and emails.

Julia It doesn’t explain why anyone would give him their money.

Spike Amal?

Amal Because Krohl Capital Management averaged sixteen per cent per annum return on capital. Averaged. After expenses.

(To Julia.) That’s a lot.

Julia (snaps) Yes, I do know that.

Bo The ultimate motivation is that banking regulations don’t apply to hedge-funds. In fact, getting round the rules is the reason for hedge-funds. Like Basel rules for capital reserves.

Amal I could explain that, but I decline. First it’s Basel rules, and before you know where you are, it’s arbitrage, leverage, securitisation... I refuse.

Bo Amal doesn’t mean to be rude.

Ursula Something’s burning.

Bo He’s embarrassed.

Hilary enters with food and plates, etc. Bo jumps up to help her. Space is made on the table. And so on.

Hilary Sorry it’s a bit overdone. Everyone help yourself. Give me a glass, someone... Oh, who brought that beautiful flower?... Bo, thank you! And champagne...

Spike commandeers the bottle, examining the label.

Spike What does this cost, Amal?

Amal That is so crass. A hundred quid.

Hilary Pay attention a minute. This evening is for Bo... and –

She waves the journal triumphantly.

– The Journal of Cognitive Studies! To Bo’s first publication! Has everyone got a glass?

Bo (to Hilary, shyly) Thank you.

Mine is not the only name on this paper.

Hilary Only the first.

Bo You all understand, there would be no paper without Hilary.

Hilary Not true. This is Bo’s paper, it’s her experiment, and it’s going to cause a stir.

Ursula (with the journal) It doesn’t look good if the authors are getting out from under. Let me. The toast is ‘ “Ultimate Goods”. B. Sheng-Tsu and H.J. Matthews’.

General toasting.

Hilary Done. Eat.

Dinner proceeds tentatively. Spike doesn’t eat.

Spike Did Leo Reinhart ask to see the raw data?

Hilary Do you really think he wouldn’t? He called it a beautiful experiment.

Spike A work of art.

Hilary (mildly) Oh, shut up, Spencer.

Julia What sort of stir will it cause, Hilly?

Hilary The sort where an experiment comes up with the wrong answer for a lot of people.

Spike Especially when it’s the wrong answer to its own question.

Hilary Spike is the sceptic at the feast, but Bo and I don’t care. I’m sorry about the feast, though. Don’t eat it. I’m so sorry, Bo.

Julia It’s really tasty.

Bo I don’t mind.

Ursula Interesting. Was the recipe in Cognitive Studies?

Amal There’s a certain sort of absent-mindedness about it, you mean?

Hilary Oh, bugger it!

She leaps into action, snatching everyone’s plate away, against half-hearted protests.

Cheese! Cheese and biscuits, coffee and I’ve baked a cake!

Bo I’ll help you. Don’t worry about it.

In a couple of beats, Hilary and Bo have left with the debris.

Spike has made no attempt to eat, but has helped himself to the champagne.

Ursula looks at the journal.

Ursula ‘Ultimate Goods’... Hilary makes altruism sound as if it has something to do with morality.

Spike She was always like that.

Julia Doesn’t it mean being good?

Ursula No.

Julia Well, it’s probably because she is good.

Ursula How do you work that out?

Julia I didn’t work it out.

Ursula Well, shut up, then.

Julia is hurt.

Oh, dear.

She hugs Julia, who resists.

Amal (to Julia) Altruism just means increasing someone else’s fitness at the expense of your own.

Spike Now you’re making it sound as if it’s got something to do with pilates.

Julia (bursts out) And you shut up, too!

Spike So sorry.

(To Ursula.) Tell her about vampire bats.

Ursula I’ll tell you the miracle of the brain worm, that’ll cheer you up. To begin with, there’s a parasite that lives inside a cow. The eggs come out with the cowpat. Problem: how does the parasite get back inside the cow to complete its life cycle? First, the eggs get eaten by a snail, and develop inside the snail before being ejected in a mucus; which is eaten by ants. About fifty of the tiny creatures are now inside an ant. They bore a hole in the stomach wall, and one of the fifty works its way up into the brain of the ant. This is the brain worm. It changes the behaviour of the ant, causing the ant to obsessively climb up to the tip of a blade of grass over and over again, thus increasing the ant’s chances of being eaten by a cow. But the brain worm’s life is over. Now, that’s what I call altruism.

Julia Well, I don’t! It’s horrible.

Hilary and Bo return with cheese, biscuits, etc. which they set down.

Hilary Stilton!

Julia Ugh! – No thanks!

Hilary What are we talking about?

Spike About you, of course.

(To Ursula.) Did you read it? It’s a corker. Eighty-eight kids in a sort of creative writing class with alternate-choice modules scored for egoist/altruist values... which shows, or is supposed to show, or could be said to show when held up to a strong light, that six-year-olds are nicer than eight-year-olds, who are nicer than ten-year-olds, who are nicer than twelve-year-olds.

Hilary It does show that.

Spike Which, our authors conclude, points to a strong indication that we start off nice and learn to be nasty, instead of the received wisdom that we start off nasty and learn to be nice. Ergo, good, or ultimate niceness, has its root in nature. Or rather human nature. Or rather human nature from when it separated from animal nature, which is actually a problem for people like me who can’t see the join. Does H. J. Matthews think it happened in earthquake, wind and fire?

Hilary (coldly) Feel free, Spike.

Spike And, by the way Fig. 3, showing an orderly transition from niceness to nastiness, gives off, if you don’t mind me saying so, a distinct whiff of week-old fish.

Bo (shocked) Excuse me?

Ursula (shocked) Spike...?

Hilary (grim) I’m going to get the coffee. Don’t imagine for a moment you’re staying the night.

Hilary goes back to the kitchen.

Spike I didn’t like the sound of that. (To Bo.) I suppose a fuck is out of –

Amal (objecting) Hey!

Ursula I don’t think you should drink any more.

Spike Sorry, have I given offence? Last thing on my mind. Sorry.

(To Bo.) Terribly sorry.

(To Julia.) I don’t suppose... No.

Julia I think you should eat something.

Spike Is that your best offer?

He finds something funny. He starts laughing to himself. He can’t stop laughing, until Ursula walks across to him and punches him in the face, knocking him over. Ursula goes back to her seat.

Amal (to Bo) To be fair to Spike, I actually understood your paper, the way he explained it. I’m going to read it again. I never got to the end.

Bo gives him a stare.

Bo I’m going to have a cigarette.

She goes ‘outside’.

Ursula (to Amal) Nice one.

Spike suddenly sits up, glazed.

Spike What did I miss?

Hilary enters with a coffee tray.

Ah! Coffee! Can I help?

Hilary No.

Amal (to Hilary) I’ve been trying to imagine everyone I work with as eight-year-olds.

Hilary Really? Why?

Amal Trying to imagine them as nice little boys and girls. The thing about the market is, it consists entirely of transactions between egoists. An altruistic trader, salesman, broker, customer... I mean, forget black swans, we’re talking African polar bears.

Hilary So?

Amal I can’t imagine them sharing their toffees with each other.

Spike I did. Opal Fruits... Opal Fruits are the Ultimate Goods of confectionery.

He is ignored.

Hilary Where’s Bo?

Julia Went outside for a smoke.

Hilary She doesn’t have to do that.

Outside, where Bo is smoking, there is the distant noise and illumination of modest fireworks.

Spike Julia is the Opal Fruit of pilates.

Hilary (to Julia) Could you pour the coffee for me?

Hilary and Julia have a moment of intimacy.

Julia Are you all right, Hilly?

Hilary Yes. Guess what? I burnt her cake, too.

Hilary is close to tears. She goes outside. The fireworks continue sporadically, and stop.

You’d never have guessed it’s my first dinner party.

Bo looks at her closely.

Bo Are you crying?

Hilary Fireworks make me cry.

Bo It doesn’t matter about the dinner.

Bo puts her arm tentatively around Hilary. Hilary allows herself to be comforted for a moment, then disengages.

Is Spike your boyfriend?

Hilary I hope not.

Bo Why is he being like that?

Hilary Because he is like that. We never agree about anything.

Bo You don’t seem to care what he said... about the paper.

Hilary I don’t. He said a lot more before you turned up. I’m used to Spike.

Bo What sort of lot more?

Hilary The same sort. But I went through the data line by line, and the paper is solid. Don’t lose confidence, Bo.

Bo (bursts out) I wish it wasn’t published! I didn’t do it for it to be in some journal where anyone can...

Hilary That’s silly. Publication is how you get on. Sometimes it gets to be a rough-house, but that’s part of the game.

Bo I think I may have done something bad.

Hilary (pause) Like what?

Bo There were ninety-six children to start with.

Hilary Well... okay. But you went with eighty-eight. Right? Eighty-eight participated.

Bo No, they all did.

Hilary But... wait... they all ninety-six participated? And – what? – eight kids didn’t stay the course, so you crunched the data for the rest – is that right?

Bo No, I did the math across all ninety-six.

Hilary And then what?

Bo Then I eliminated eight kids, and did the math again.

Hilary Then what?

Bo Then I showed you. When you got back from Italy.

Pause.

Hilary How did you choose the ones you eliminated? Was it random?

Pause.

(Quietly.) Shit.

You took out two from each group who were spoiling your result.

Bo They were freak results!

Hilary They were outliers, Bo! That’s what random does, that’s why experiments tend not to come out with every hair in place!

Why did you do it? How can you be so stupid?

Bo How can you?

Belatedly, Hilary catches up.

Hilary Bo...?

Bo I wanted to give you what would please you!

Hilary (unmoved) Yes. But ultimately, you wanted what you wanted, Bo.

It’s my fault. I missed it.

Bo (in tears) I’m sorry...

Bo hurries back indoors. Hilary stays outside.

Indoors, the group is focused on Amal. He is flourishing the almost empty champagne bottle, swigging from it.

Amal I’m good. I’ve been sitting on my hands for a year watching the market bet on water flowing uphill and flying pigs farting Chanel No. 5. I have to hold my mouth straight to stop laughing, because I’m the official arsehole and it’s all starting to look good for Amal. I don’t trade. I don’t pitch. I work on the computer models which are supposed to manage risk. So long as the market is correcting itself, the models look as if they’re working. In theory, the market is a stream of rational acts by self-interested people; so risk ought to be computable, and the models can be proved mathematically to crash about once in the lifetime of the universe. But every now and then, the market’s behaviour becomes irrational, as though it’s gone mad, or fallen in love. It doesn’t compute. It’s only computers compute.

He drains the bottle.

So I’m thinking about that.

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