“Oh, balls!” Jack said. “Never hurt you, hell! She left you, didn’t she! She slept with a guy and married him. What do you want, Mother, a silk-lined accident-proof guaranteed romance? Good for six months with lotsa kicks and no pain? Or your money back? They don’t come that way. Ask anybody. Ask me. Ask Terry.” And then his face softened. “She’s gone, Laura,” he said quietly, significantly. “And you can’t go back to Marcie.” Laura sat down and let the tears roll down her face, and her mouth trembled. “And I can’t go back to Beebo,” she whispered. Jack walked over to her and leaned on the table, one arm on either side of her. He put his head against hers and said into her ear, almost in a whisper, “Beebo loves you, honey. She’s no Beth. No Marcie. She’s herself, and for all you know, that may be even better.” Laura covered her face then and cried. Fifteen minutes later Jack, who had gone into the bedroom to dress, came back to the kitchen and said, “I’m going to the office for the rest of the day. Somebody has to pay the rent.” He looked at Terry with a wry smile. Laura looked up quickly. “I’ve _got_ to talk to her, Jack. Where can I find her?” “Beebo? She’s working. Stick around till I get home, Mother. Sleep. You look like hell. Get Terry to read you a story or something. You can see her tonight.” “Thanks.” She looked at him with wet eyes and then she smiled. “Thanks, Jack. For everything.” He grinned. “It’s those damn oysters,” he said. “I’m a new man.” He winked at Terry and left. Chapter Seventeen The Cellar was not very crowded when Laura walked in at eight o’clock. By a quarter to nine, when Beebo got there, the place had filled up a little and the juke box was going. Dutton, the sketch artist, was making a few bucks with the tourists. There was a tableful of them in one corner that he was working on. Beebo sat down at the bar and began to josh the bartender. She didn’t see Laura, and Laura’s heart was pounding so high in her chest that she was afraid to go near Beebo. She didn’t know what to say. She was sickeningly afraid of a rebuff, and she hung back in a sweat. She deserved a rebuttal, but she was afraid she couldn’t take it. She watched Beebo for a while, her face shaded slightly as she leaned away from the bar lights. She let the heads of the people next to her serve as a sort of cover behind which she could dodge when Beebo glanced her way. For a while she was tortured to see Beebo chatting with other women; young pretty girls, like the two high-schoolers Laura had met with her one night. * * * * *