Beebo scoured the Village. She knew it inside and out and backwards: all the gay bars, the favorite coffee shops, the side streets; the markets, the boutiques, the stalls and the brownstones; the parks, the alleys, the bookshops. Some were closed, some stayed open half the night. Wherever people collected down there, sooner or later Beebo investigated the spot. The hours stretched out. Every hour or so she called Jack’s apartment and talked to Terry. He simply said, “Jack’s not back yet. He hasn’t called in. Okay, I’ll tell him.” And as Beebo walked she began to feel a real fear for Laura’s safety, a tender concern that welled up in her and aroused her own contempt. At three in the morning she muttered, “Oh, the hell with it. Nobody can cover the whole damn Village in one night.” She called the penthouse. Marcie, wide awake and alarmed, answered, hoping it would be Laura. She wasn’t sure if she had a boy or a girl on the phone; she only knew it wasn’t Laura. “Marcie?” Beebo said. “Yes. Who’s this?” “A friend of Laura’s. Is she there?” “No. Do you know where she is?” “I wish I did.” “Who _is_ this?” “I’ll call you back.” Marcie sat holding the receiver and staring perplexed at the phone some minutes after Beebo hung up. Jack got back in the first light of dawn to find Terry asleep. He sat down without taking his jacket off, and called Beebo. No answer. Terry rolled over and looked at him. He was a medium-sized well-built boy, bright and handsome and easily bored, affectionate by nature, but spoiled, quick with his temper and quick with his generosity. He was not quite sure, being young and desirable, if he was in love with Jack. He liked being admired by a lot of people. But he was not the money grubber Jack had painted for Laura. He liked to be dominated and he was waiting for Jack to make a move in that direction. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked Jack. “Where’s Beebo?” “How should I know? You’re the one who knows it all.” “Just this once, don’t get smart with me, lover. I gotta find her.” Jack was too worried to coddle him. “She’ll call back on the hour. She’s been calling in every God-damn hour since you went out. I can’t get any sleep around here. Who’s this Laura, anyway? She must be a living doll.” “I’ve told you a dozen times. She’s a friend.” “You act like she was a lover.” Jack stared at his handsome arrogant young face. “So what?” he said. “You have your affairs. I have mine.” And he turned around and walked into the bathroom and left Terry staring after him. Jack never talked that way to him, not even when he caught him _in flagrante delicto_. He never showed an erotic interest in girls, either. The phone rang fifteen minutes later. It was Beebo. Terry answered and handed Jack the phone, listening to the conversation with his eyes half open. “Absolutely no soap,” Beebo said. “I’ve been all over the damn Village. Nobody’s seen her.” “She saw Landon earlier this evening,” Jack said.