“Too bad, doll. You can’t help yourself.” She laughed again. Laura tried to give her the change she had left, but Beebo wouldn’t take it. “Sure, I’ll take it,” she said. “And you’ll be flat busted. How’ll you get home?” Laura went pale then. She couldn’t go home. Even if she had a hundred dollars in her pocket. She couldn’t stand to face Marcie, to explain her crazy behavior, to try to make herself sound normal and ordinary when her whole body was begging for strange passion, for forbidden release. Beebo watched her face change and then she shook her head. “It must have been a bad fight,” she said. “You’ve got it all wrong, Beebo. It wasn’t a fight. It was—I don’t know what it was.” “She straight?” “I don’t know.” Laura put her forehead down on the heel of her right hand. “Yes, she’s straight,” she whispered. “Well, did you tell her? About yourself?” “I don’t know if I did or not. I didn’t say it but I acted like a fool. I don’t know what she thinks.” “Then things could be worse,” Beebo said. “But if she’s straight, they’re probably hopeless.” “That’s what Jack said.” “Jack’s right.” “He’s not in love with her!” “Makes him even righter. He sees what you can’t see. If he says she’s straight, believe him. Get out while you can.” “I can’t.” Laura felt an awful twist of tenderness for Marcie in her throat. “Okay, baby, go home and get your heart broken. It’s the only way to learn, I guess.” “I can’t go home. Not tonight.” “Come home with me.” “No.” “Well ...” Beebo smiled. “I know a nice bench in Washington Square. If you’re lucky the bums’ll leave you alone. And the cops.” “I’ll—I’ll go to Jack’s,” she said, suddenly brightening with the idea. “He won’t mind.” “He might,” Beebo said, and raised her glass to her lips. “Call him first.” Laura started to leave the bar and then recalled that all her change was sitting on the counter in front of Beebo. She turned back in confusion, her face flushing again. Beebo turned and looked at her. “What’s the matter, baby?” And then she laughed. “Need a dime?” She handed her one. For a moment, in the relative quiet of the phone booth, Laura leaned against a wall and wondered if she might faint. But she didn’t. She deposited the dime and dialed Jack’s number. The phone rang nine times before he answered, and she was on the verge of panic when she heard him lift the receiver at last and say sleepily, “Hello?” “Hello, Jack? Jack, this is Laura.” She was vastly relieved to find him at home. “Sorry, we don’t want any.” “Jack, I’ve got to see you.” “My husband contributes to that stuff at the office.” “Jack, please! It’s terribly important.” “I love you, Mother, but you call me at the God-damnedest times.” “Can I come over?” “Jesus, no!” he exclaimed, suddenly coming wide awake. “Oh, Jack, what’ll I do?” She sounded desperate.