Wedding Night

sleeves, as though he’s some sort of rugged, pharmaceutical-research version of Indiana Jones. He really shouldn’t. His forearms are all white and veiny.
    “If you want an adventure in life …” He pauses for effect and practically growls, “Then this is the place to start.”
    He’s homed in on a girl in the front row, whose white shirt is unbuttoned to reveal a deep, tanned cleavage. She has long blond hair and big blue eyes and seems to be scribbling down every word he’s saying.
    “Let’s show the DVD, Steve,” I say brightly, dragging him away before he actually drools over her. The lights dim and our first DVD clip starts rolling on the screen behind us.
    “Bright lot,” whispers Steve as he sits down beside me. “I’m impressed.”
    Impressed by what? Her bra size?
    “You can’t know if they’re bright yet,” I point out. “We haven’t talked to them.”
    “You can see it in the eyes,” Steve says airily. “I’ve been at this game long enough to know potential when I see it. That fair-haired girl in the front row looks very promising.
Very
promising. We should talk to her about the scholarship program. Scoop her up before any of the other pharmaceutical companies get to her.”
    For God’s sake. He’ll be offering her a six-figure contract next.
    “We’ll give them
all
information about the scholarship program,” I say severely. “And maybe you could try not to address every remark to her boobs?”
    The lights come up and Steve strides center stage, pushing his sleeves up still farther, as though he’s about to split some lumber and single-handedly construct a cabin with it.
    “Let me share with you a few of the newest advances we’ve made and those we hope to make in the future. Maybe with your help.” He twinkles at the blond girl, and she smiles back politely.
    Onto the screen comes a picture of a complicated molecule.
    “You’ll all be familiar with onium-poly hydrogen fluorides.…” Steve gestures at the screen with a pointer, then stops. “Before I continue, it would be useful to know what you’re studying.” He looks around. “There’ll be biochemists here, obviously—”
    “It doesn’t matter what they study!” Deborah cuts him off sharply before anyone can answer. To my surprise, she’s leapt up out of her seat and is heading toward the stage. “It doesn’t matter what they study, surely?”
    She’s as tense as a spring. What’s going on?
    “It’s just a useful guide,” explains Steve. “If all the biochemists could raise their hands—”
    “But you take students from all subjects.” She cuts him off. “You say so in your materials. So it’s irrelevant, surely?”
    She looks panicky. I
knew
something was wrong.
    “Any biochemists at all?” Steve is looking at the silent room, baffled. Normally, at least half our audience is biochemists.
    Deborah is ashen. “Could we have a word?” she says at last, and beckons us desperately to one side. “I’m afraid …” Her voice trembles. “There was an error. I sent the email to the wrong set of students.”
    So that’s it. She’s left out the biochemists. What an idiot. But she looks so upset, I decide to be kind.
    “We’re very open-minded,” I say reassuringly. “We’re not only interested in biochemists. We also recruit graduates in physics, biology, business studies.… What are these students studying?”
    There’s silence. Deborah is furiously chewing her lips.
    “Beauty,” she mutters at last. “Most are trainee makeup artists. And some are dancers.”
    Makeup artists and dancers?
    I’m so flummoxed I can’t reply. No wonder they’re all so stunning and fit. I catch a glimpse of Steve—and he looks so gutted I suddenly want to giggle.
    “That’s a shame,” I say innocently. “Steve thought this seemed a very promising bunch. He wanted to offer them all scientific research scholarships. Didn’t you, Steve?”
    Steve scowls evilly at me and rounds on Deborah. “What the
fuck
is going on? Why are we giving a lecture on a career in pharmaceutical research to a room full of bloody makeup artists and dancers?”
    “I’m sorry!” Deborah looks like she wants to weep. “Bythe time I realized what I’d done, it was too late. I’ve been set a target of attracting more blue-chip companies, and you’re such a prestigious firm, I couldn’t bear to cancel—”
    “Does
anyone
here want to work in pharmaceutical research?” Steve addresses the room.
    No one raises