“I am not! I’m just thinking.” He shrugged. “Same thing.” She found him very irritating then. “You don’t say,” she said, and looked away from him. “You hate me,” he said with a little smile. “Now and then.” “I messed up your daydream,” he said. “I’m rarely this offensive. Only when I’m sober. The rest of the time, I’m charming. Someday I suppose you’ll daydream about me.” Laura stared at him and he laughed. “At least, you’ll tell me about your daydreams.” “Never.” “People do. I have a nice face. Ugly, but nice. People think, ‘Jesus, that guy has a nice face. I ought to tell him my daydreams.’ They do, too.” He smiled. “What’s the matter, Mother, you look skeptical.” “What makes you think you have a nice face?” “Don’t I?” He looked genuinely alarmed. “It wouldn’t appeal to just anyone.” “Ah, smart girl. You’re right, as usual. A boy’s best friend is his mother. Only the _discriminating_ ones, my girl, think it’s a nice face. Only the sensitive, the talented, the intelligent. Now tell me—isn’t it a nice face?” “It’s a face,” said Laura. “Everybody has one.” He laughed. “You’re goofy,” he said. “You need help. My analyst is very reasonable. He’ll stick you for all you’ve got, but he’s very reasonable.” Burr, who was walking ahead of them with Marcie, turned around to demand, “Somebody tell me where I’m going.” “Turn right at the next corner,” said Jack. “You’re doing fine, boy. Don’t lose your nerve.” “I just want to know where the hell I’m going.” “That’s a bad sign. Very bad.” “Cut it out, Jack,” said Marcie. “Where are we going?” “A little bar I know. Very gay. I go there alone when I want to be depressed.” It sounded sinister, not gay, to Laura. “What’s it called?” she said. “The Cellar. Don’t worry, it’s a legitimate joint.” He laughed at her long face. Marcie laughed too, and Laura’s heart jumped at the sweetness of the sound. It made her hate the back of Burr, moving with big masculine easiness ahead of her in a tweed topcoat, his bristling crew cut shining. A few minutes later Jack led them down a few steps to a pair of doors which he pushed in, letting Laura and Marcie pass. Laura heard Burr say, behind her, in an undertone, “It _is_ gay,” and he laughed. “You bastard.” She was mystified. It looked pretty average and ordinary. They headed for a table with four chairs, one of the few available, and Laura looked around. The Cellar was quite dark, with the only lights placed over the bar and glowing a faint pinky orange. There were candles on the tables, and people crowded together from one end of the room to the other. Everybody seemed reasonably cheerful, but it didn’t look any gayer than any other bar she had been in. She looked curiously at Burr, but he was helping Marcie out of her coat. “No table service,” Jack said. “What does everybody want?”