“She did? Does he know where she is?” “He doesn’t know from nothing, doll. She gave him a first class concussion. Walloped him with a glass ashtray. On the back of his head. Must have snuck up on him when he had his back turned.” “God!” Beebo exclaimed. “And then took off, hysterical, according to the elevator boy. She screamed all kinds of stuff at him. He says. Half of it’s crap, of course. But he did tell me one thing—” “What’s that?” “She told him those pants he was wearing would never make a man of him.” After a surprised silence Beebo gave a wry tired little laugh. “Jesus,” she said. “She must have been screwy.” “The elevator boy thought so. It sounds kind of bad. I’d better call Marcie.” “I called her at three.” “God, Beebo, don’t make it any worse than it is!” “Relax. I didn’t leave my name. Just asked for Laura and Marcie said she wasn’t there. Well, Jackson? Now what? We call the cops?” “You want us all to get thrown in the jug? They’d love to run in a bunch of queers. No, let’s wait a day. She’s a sensible girl underneath it all. She’ll come to her senses and I’m the first one she’ll call.” Terry, on the bed beside him, gave a contemptuous snort. “I wish I felt so confident,” Beebo said. “Yeah,” Jack said. “I do too,” he admitted. “Okay, boy, keep in touch.” Jack hung up and sat drooping on the bed, the fatigue showing in his face. “God, you look old,” Terry said with a characteristic lack of tact. “How old are you? You never told me.” “Eighty-two,” Jack said. Terry grinned, “I don’t believe you.” “You’re not supposed to.” “How old? Tell me.” Jack stood up and turned to face him, in no mood for jokes. “Terry, don’t bug me. I’ve had enough of you today.” Terry gaped at him. Jack had never talked harshly to him and now he was doing it every time he opened his mouth. “I love this girl,” Jack told him. “I don’t know why, but I do know that for once I’ve found a decent sweet kid who isn’t out for every damn thing she can get from me. She can give a little, she doesn’t have to take all the time.” “Oh, you love her!” Terry said sarcastically, propping himself up on his elbows. “That’s swell. Just swell! Thanks for letting me in on it.” “And I’ll probably love her long after you’ve climbed out of this bed for the last time, you little bastard. You and a dozen other guys. It’s a kind of love you don’t know much about, Terry.” He was too tired, too worried, to take much heed of what he said or how. His resentment spilled out and it felt good to let go with it and he did. Terry wasn’t used to being disciplined. He had managed, in eighteen crafty years, to avoid it. So he was surprised at himself when he reacted to Jack’s tongue lashing with a renewal of interest in him. He lay back on the bed and watched Jack strip to his underwear. Jack was not a beautiful man physically; tough and wiry, but not beautiful. Yet Terry watched him with enjoyment, wondering what to expect from him next.