Jack laughed a little, privately. “That’s because you’re a girl, Mother,” he said. “I can tell ’cause you got long hair.” Laura began to sweat under his searching eyes. “That’s not the point,” she said, exasperated. “Marcie has a sweet disposition. She’s very quiet. It must be Burr.” “Quiet?” Jack laughed. “The way that girl talks she’s about as quiet as Grand Central during rush hour.” “All right, she talks a lot.” Laura was getting mad. “That doesn’t mean she likes fights. Or men who thrive on them.” “That’s just what it does mean. Believe it. It’s true.” “You’re screwy.” “You’re in love.” “What?” She said it in a shocked whisper, staring at him, feeling her cheeks go scarlet. “What does that mean?” she said. Her voice was dry and small and her hands were wet. Jack drank another shot. Then he put the glass down and leaned toward her over the table, his face serious. “You’re gay, Laura.” Laura was speechless for a moment, surprised beyond her capacity to think or feel. Then an awful sick trembling came up in her throat. For a minute she hung between flight and a fight. She was furious, scared and humiliated. It never occurred to her to deny the truth. Jack had hit the bull’s eye. She clenched her fists on the table top and violent things came to her lips. But before she could utter them Jack spoke again. “Oh, don’t look so damn mad. You’re not the only one.” He sighed, crushing his cigarette in a scorched ashtray. “I am too. So don’t give me a martyr act.” And he nodded again to the waitress. Laura put her hands over her face suddenly, pressing one hand over her mouth to catch the sobs. She heard the waitress come up and turned her head to the wall. “Same for me,” Jack said. “How about the lady?” “Bring her a double whisky.” Laura could feel the woman looking at her curiously. She wanted to evaporate. She hated the impersonal curiosity of this stranger. After a minute Jack said, “She’s gone.” Laura put her hands down, but she couldn’t look at him. She just said, rather hopelessly, “How did you know?” “Takes one to know one,” he said with light sarcasm. “_How?_” Laura demanded. “You’re a man.” “So I’m a man. You’re a girl. We’re both queer.” “How did you know?” she said sharply, looking at him now. “You’ve got a crush on Marcie. That’s how.” Laura gasped a little. “Is it so obvious?” she asked, frightened. Jack shook his head. “To me, maybe, but only because I was looking for it.” “You were? Why?” “I’m always looking for it.” He was bantering again. She realized now that he had called her Laura when he said it: _You’re gay, Laura_. He was dead serious then. “Do you look for it even in girls?” she said. “In anybody. You might say it’s a hobby with me. I spot one and I think to myself, ‘Another poor bastard like me.’ It boosts my morale. I guess it’s a case of misery loves company.” “I’d rather suffer alone,” she said, not without pride. “You’ll get over that. When you learn your way around.”