She looked around her, half consciously searching for someone. But the girl in the black pants wasn’t there. The crowd was much the same as before, but thinner. The artist was walking around with his sketch pad, stopping to talk to tablesful of friends. The bar was crowded, more than the tables. Jack came back, put a fresh glass in front of her, and sat down. “Now. What was her name?” he said. Laura opened her eyes slowly. “Who?” “Number one.” She wrinkled her nose in some disgust. “Jack, she wasn’t a number. Or an animal. Or part of a collection.” “What was she?” “She was a wonderful girl.” “Beautiful like Marcie?” “No. Beautiful—but not like Marcie. They have some features in common. But Beth was taller. She was quite boyish.” She felt a little embarrassed suddenly, putting it this way. “Marcie’s very feminine.” “What are you?” Laura stared at him over the rim of her glass. “What am I?” she repeated, confusedly. “Do I have to be anything? I don’t know.” “You’ll find out fast enough,” he said. “Beth probably taught you a lot. The one who brings you out always does.” “Yes, she did,” she said dreamily. Beth had loosened her up wonderfully when they were together. She had taken her by the hand and led her to herself. She had also abandoned her there. But Laura couldn’t hold anything against her. That had been a sacred love and always would be in her memory, like all loves that are broken off in full passion. If they had been together till it had worn off a little, Laura might have left her without any desperate regrets and loneliness. She might have been able to see Beth as a whole person, not as an ideal. But it hadn’t happened that way, and Beth still looked like a goddess to her. Now, in a new world, with new people, she wasn’t sure what she was. With Marcie she felt aggressive and violent. Here, in the Cellar, with so many eyes on her, she felt timid. Jack grinned at her. “You’re a boy,” he said. “With Marcie, anyway. My friend won’t like that.” Laura put her glass down. “I’m a girl,” she said. “Don’t look at me that way.” Jack put his head back and laughed. “Correction,” he said. “You’re a girl. Why don’t you move down here where you don’t have to be either?” “Everybody has to be one or the other.” “You’re too literal, Laura. Cut off your hair. Wear those pants you look so nice in. Get some desert boots, a car coat and some men’s shirts, and you’re in business.” “Jack,” she said, “You are positively revolting.” “That’s the uniform,” he said. “Can’t join the club without it.” “I don’t want to join.” “Yes you do. You feel good in pants. You swagger.” “I do not!” But she was laughing at him. At herself. “Shhh!” he said softly. “Or they’ll cut you off. Here comes dinner.”