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7

Outside it was raining, but the atmosphere in the Department of Economics was celebratory. Peter refrained from sipping champagne out of his plastic glass during Professor Åke Sturesson’s long-winded speech. The greying 60-year-old with glasses and a goatee beard spoke before an audience of around 30 exuberant colleagues, who politely broke off their mingling to listen.

‘So we are going to be the core recipient of the Swedish Research Council’s new funding for Future Wealth and Welfare. Entirely in line with the Lisbon Strategy, the goal is to create a distinguished center of research…’

Peter suppressed a yawn, drew a deep breath and lost his concentration because of a small, blond woman. She was really pretty, that new graduate student, Jeanette with the upturned nose… And what great breasts! He had always been attracted to women with good posture and suitably deep décolletage; it radiated self-confidence and sent a look-at-me message that he knew he wasn’t alone in appreciating. He fired a small, playful smile her way. She smiled blushingly back at him.

He hadn’t exaggerated. If there was anyone who didn’t need to read about how to become a pick-up expert, it was Peter Stavenius. Peter was quite sure that he knew what the secret was. First, he simply liked people in general and beautiful women in particular. Second, he didn’t care that much. ‘If you don’t get one, there are a thousand others waiting,’ his grandmother used to say, and it was really true for him. Every flirt and new contact was an exciting exploration of possibilities. But there wasn’t really anything at stake; it didn’t really matter whether this girl liked him or not.

Matt, the exchange student who lived in the dorm, was impressed and claimed that Peter hypnotized most women within a radius of about 10 meters. Peter smiled, flattered at the memory of how thankful Matt had been just to borrow that book, The Game, that Kalle had given him. Matt had acted like he had been given a love bible directly from the hands of the Master.

The department secretary, Lilian Blom, was one of the countless women who appreciated young Peter, but when Sturesson’s speech was over she turned her attention to Cissi. ‘Many of the applicants had promising research strategies, but we think that…’

The end of the sentence disappeared in a buzz of excited voices. Cissi leaned toward the well-dressed 55-year-old with her hand cupped around her ear, ‘What?’

‘The rumor is that we won because of your idea, that students and people from disciplines other than economics should be invited to participate!’ Lilian strained to make herself heard.

Cissi smiled with pride. ‘Yes, I think it will be good. Welfare isn’t just about economics.’

‘Indeed!’ Lilian gave her a loaded paper plate. ‘Perhaps happiness is also a little bit about raspberry cake! Yes?’

Sturesson appeared behind Peter and eagerly put his arm over his shoulder. ‘I talked to your father about the good news. You’re a third-year student now, right?’ Peter barely had time to nod before the Professor continued, ‘Yes, I told Lennart; in the application we promised to include students in the project, and of course you are a given.’ He slapped Peter lightly on the shoulder before he let go.

It was obvious that Peter was expected to be grateful. He hesitated; in all honesty he wasn’t really sure what he was being offered. That was one problem with his masterly contact with women: it meant that he often failed to pay attention to other things. Now he risked looking like a complete idiot if he asked about something the Professor had just explained at length.

‘I’m not really sure…’ Peter searched his memory, frantically looking for an abbreviation he had heard somewhere in the speech. ‘Eh, yeah, I wonder what OMC really means?’ Peter quaked at the thought of the reaction he might get. The last thing he wanted was for Åke to call his dad and say that his son was completely uneducable. It seemed like Lennart was constantly getting information that supported that conclusion anyway.

Fortunately, Åke’s florid face showed no sign of surprise or disappointment. Peter now concentrated on what Sturesson had to say, despite the fact that Jeanette was standing at the door trying to catch his eye.

‘Yes, it refers to the open method of co-ordination. So the member states’ welfare systems will become more similar, because nobody wants to be the worst. You know, the Third Pillar!’ The man with the goatee smiled sunnily at his chosen rising star.

Peter’s smile was stiff and fake, ‘But how is it supposed to work in practice?’

Now the Professor’s face darkened, ‘That’s exactly what I just said!’

Damn! thought Peter. Silence is golden.

‘And besides you, we are going to choose two more students,’ continued Sturesson, ‘a graduate student and a first-year economics student. We are going to begin by getting the public on board, so the first publication will be directed at a wide audience, not academics, and one of the chapters will be yours! So young man, now all you have to do is roll up your shirtsleeves and make history!’

Not just incomprehensible, but deadly boring, too. A bunch of demands and expectations already communicated to his father. But Sturesson didn’t know who he was dealing with. Peter knew all there was to know about graceful exits and he shook his head. He arranged his face in a flattered but regretful expression. ‘Oh, I am really grateful for the offer, but unfortunately I can’t accept it.’

Sturesson looked disappointed, but nodded. ‘I understand. Pity. I thought you might be able to do it as your senior thesis, but of course you’re also very busy with the family business, aren’t you?’

Peter nodded. Letting someone guess incorrectly was, after all, the most convenient of white lies.

When the celebration was over, Sturesson found Cissi and stuck a stack of papers in her hand. It was the printed copy of the department’s winning application. Cissi looked questioningly at her advisor.

‘Read here,’ he muttered and pointed to a particular passage of the text.

‘Um… fresh perspectives measuring up to the challenges of our time. New interdisciplinary perspectives… students and practitioners from different walks of life.’ They had taken her ideas word-for-word! Cissi was warm with pride.

‘Wow, that’s great… that you’re working from that perspective and it succeeded! Congratulations!’ Cissi chose her words carefully. She smiled and gave the application back to him.

The Professor squirmed and pulled at the collar of his jacket, as if it were suddenly too warm and he needed air. ‘Yes, so, we must promote mobility in research and such… but there are some problems with this, because now we’re really in a hurry. I can recruit a third-year student, but this multi-disciplinary and “different walks of life” stuff… I don’t know, maybe I went a little overboard?’

He scratched his neck irresolutely. ‘You teach a lot; can you find some undergraduate who has been a mechanic or something, who can do some kind of first publication in the spring, someone we don’t have to be ashamed of?’

‘Yeah, okay, I understand. When do you need a name?’ wondered Cissi carefully.

‘Now.’

Cissi was filled with strong, mixed feelings when she walked home, umbrella up to protect her from the rain. When she worked on the application it was understood that she would be part of the project; it was so close to her own research focus – Welfare in a Globalized World. And now they had won! She looked longingly at an appropriate lamppost, but restrained her happy impulse to swing around it theatrically, hollering ‘I’m Singing in the Rain!’

At the same time, she was angry. It was the impossible deadline that irritated her. It wasn’t the first time that graduate students had been forced to step in and cover for Sturesson’s shortcuts. But it was the first time it had affected her. He had written something that sounded good, without actually being prepared to do it. It was her idea, and she had nothing against helping to get it done, but he could have said something a few months ago, so she wouldn’t have to pull a rabbit out of her hat.

Luckily, she had a really good idea. She smiled inwardly at the puddle in front of her. And she stamped like Gene Kelly, so that water splashed in all directions. Cecilia Åström had just turned 35, but a stuffy grown-up was something she would never be!