“Beauty and intelligence don’t add up,” Jonas states. “They compete for the allocated space within each individual. That means the more one possesses of the former, the less they have of the latter. And the other way around.”
“I see…” Anand takes his cocktail from the bartender.
“In other words,” Jonas says, “the world is divided into pretty dimwits and plain sages.”
Anand squints at him. “Which one are you?”
Jonas shifts. “Self-assessments are unreliable… Besides, there’s a caveat. Beckhap’s law doesn’t work for men very well. Too many exceptions.”
Is he saying what I think he’s saying?No, I refuse to believe it.
With a quick glance at me, Jonas rubs it in. “In regards to females, none are exempt from Beckhap’s law. Which is why I prefer to call it the theory of women.”
Yep, heissaying exactly what I think he’s saying.
I fold my arms over my chest. “Would his lordship by any chance be a chauvinist prick?”
Jonas turns to me and stares. Nobody says a word.
In that silence, Anand drains his cocktail, slurping loudly. “I have the poem! People, I’m holding it! This one is philosophical, bold, powerful… A true beauty!”
Visibly relieved for the chance to cut short the standoff between Jonas and me, Liam urges Anand, “Out with it!”
“Hold my glass.” Anand thrusts it to the person next to him, strikes a pose, and recites:
If only I were a pig!
If only I were a dog!
I’d piss where I bloody please.
I’d poo where I bloody want.
The room erupts in applause.
Liam climbs on a chair and cups his hands to his mouth. “Anand is in the zone! I repeat, Anand is in the zone! This party is over!”
My deduction was correct. When Anand is sufficiently inebriated to compose and recite an atrocious poem, it’s the company’s signal that the collective body has had enough to drink and ought to call it a night.
Liam goes around the room, repeating the message to the recalcitrant individuals. I bid Peter good night, dash to the bathroom and then go to bed, praying that I’ll fall asleep easily. I’m lucky that the folks in the rooms around me are quiet. It could also be that the walls are soundproof.
Whichever the case, it only takes me an hour to fall asleep.
CHAPTER5
MARGOT
“I picked two Regency dances for this show,” Julia, announces. “The quadrille and the ländler.”
“Why not the waltz?” a rich baritone asks from the back.
I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know it’s Jonas.
“Would it be anachronistic?” he asks again.
“Not really, no,” Julia says. “The waltz showed up in the middle of the eighteenth century.”
He gives a satisfied nod. “Some of us already know how to dance it, which should make your job easier.”
