Laura finished her drink and placed the glass carefully on the bar, trying to sort out her thoughts. “If I do see him again,” she said, “it’ll be when I can tell him I’m a success. Financially. Socially. Every way. I want to tell him, ‘I have a good job, nice friends. I can get along fine in this world without you, and I’ll never need you again.’ And you know what else I’d like to say to him, Jack?” “Yeah.” He lit a cigarette. “‘Father, I’m queer. And it’s all your fault. Shove that up your rear and live with it!’ Yeah, I know. Shock the hell out of him. I tried that on—on a close relative once.” “What happened?” “I don’t really know. When his face went blue I took off. I haven’t been home since. I can’t go home to find out, as a matter of fact. I’m—shall we say—not welcome.” He said this with slow sarcasm. “Jack, I’m sorry,” she said gently, and looked at him sympathetically. It occurred to her now, when she found his own troubles paralleled her own, that he was very human and not a slick witty party boy without real feelings. He was lonely. _Everybody’s lonely_, she thought. _Marcie for a perfect mate. Beebo for a perfect girl. Jack for an affectionate boy. Me ... Poor Sarah ..._ That recalled Sarah to her mind. “Jack, I have a friend,” she said. “Congratulations.” “—named Sarah.” “Does Beebo know?” “And she wants a date.” “With a girl?” “—With a boy. She’s straight.” “What a shame.” “Can you help me out?” “I can help _you_, Mother, but can I help Sarah?” “You must know somebody. How about that boy who answered your phone tonight? Could he take her out?” “If he does I’ll break his head for him,” he said and laughed softly, knocking his cigarette ashes into a scorched aluminum tray in front of him. “Who is he, Jack?” she asked. “A friend. No, a lover. For the moment, anyway.” Laura put her hand on his arm. “Don’t be so cynical,” she said. “These things never last.” He shook his head. “Better to face it at the beginning.” “He must see something worthy in you or he never would have come to you in the first place.” She spoke awkwardly, but with sympathy. “He sees dollar bills.” Jack smiled. “Jack! Don’t be so hard on yourself. It hurts me.” She didn’t like to see him stick the pins in himself. It was all right when he did it to her, because it was in fun. She didn’t mind, she understood his need. But when he hurt himself he hurt in dead earnest. “Besides, you aren’t rich,” Laura said. “If that’s all he wanted, he’d find somebody else.” “I have a little put away,” he said. “I save it up in between affairs. When somebody irresistible comes along, I spend it like a fool. Makes a wonderful impression the first couple of weeks. Then I’m flat broke and all alone again. My chronic condition.” It was a pathetic revelation. Laura was taken aback by it. “You shouldn’t do it, Jack,” she said. “I can’t help it. I’ll hang on to him with anything. Anything I’ve got. Even dollar bills.”