“You had no right to make personal calls during working hours, for that matter,” Sarah said defensively. Laura picked up her purse and ran out of the office without another word. She went into a phone booth and called Jack. “Can I come over?” she said. “No. I’m in a mess.” “Please, Jack.” “Mother, for Christ’s sake! Be empathic for once, will you?” “All right, I’ll call Beebo.” “No don’t. She’s p.o.’d at you. She may never speak to you again after what you said to her.” Laura felt frantic. “Well, what am I supposed to do?” she said, half crying into the receiver. “I’ve practically lost my job.” “Go home to Marcie, Mother. Do _something_. I can’t help you out tonight. I’m sorry, honey.” And he was. “Oh, Jack, say something to me. Say something kind. Anything.” After a pause he said, “I love you, Mother. Only I’m not _in_ love with you. I wish to hell I was, it couldn’t be worse than Terry. Now be a doll and let me go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She felt the urgency to get away in his voice and let him go. For a moment she sat in the booth and dried her tears. She felt sick about Beebo but she was afraid to call her. * * * * * It was another torturous weekend for Marcie, who was beginning to feel as if she had ruined Laura’s life. It was Sunday night before they actually made any sort of communication with each other. Burr had been calling Marcie every night, trying to talk her into leaving the apartment. Their talks were short but the animosity had faded from them. Laura listened to them listlessly; she could not avoid hearing them in the small apartment. Marcie said things like, “Yes, she’s here.” “No, you _know_ I don’t want to see you.” “No, we aren’t, and don’t bring that up again.” “I know I did. I know what I did, Burr, don’t throw it in my face.” She refused to see him. Laura winced at all this, and finally she took to going out on the roof when he called. The windows were wide open, the weather being soft and pleasant now, and Marcie’s voice carried even out there. But it wasn’t so pervading, so persistent. On Sunday night, Laura went out and looked at the city while Marcie talked. The time passed almost without Laura’s being aware of it. She gazed across New York in the direction of the McAlton, wondering if her father was sitting in his room waiting for her. And then she looked down toward the Village and her heart gave a sick squeeze at the thought of Beebo. Beebo, who told her how terribly a love affair could hurt. Beebo, who told her to beware and then got caught in her own trap. Laura wondered if Beebo really loved her. If she could ever forgive her. Laura had attacked the very basis of her being: her body, her pride, her deepest needs. In that one quick wicked speech, Laura had ridiculed her. She felt the tears come. And she could hear Jack saying, “If Terry said that to me, I’d strangle him.” It was shameful.