“Well, watch it. I don’t know what to tell you. Nothing seems to register. If I say ‘she’s not gay’ to you once more I’ll sound like a broken record. But she’s not. I don’t want to see you get stabbed, that’s all. Better you should blow off steam with Beebo until you get over Marcie.” “I’ve blown off about as much steam as I can stand,” Laura said, and Beebo laughed. “I’m through.” “Don’t be so dogmatic, Mother mine. You’ll only have to swallow your words and you’ll look like an ass doing it.” Laura wouldn’t believe him when he told her Marcie was straight. She wouldn’t because she didn’t want to. She had told him, she had even told Beebo now, that Marcie was falling for her. She didn’t dare believe it herself, but if somebody else did, maybe somehow that would help. Her desire, her pride, trapped her. “Thanks again, Jack,” she said. “One of these days I’m going to do the same for you. I swear.” “One of these days you may have to. And Laura—” “Yes?” “Watch out for Burr. You’re on his black list.” “What’d I do?” “He thinks you’re turning his pretty little sex-pot into a neurotic. He’s jealous.” Laura smiled, surprised. “Well?” said Beebo, when she hung up. “Going home to your little wife?” She grinned. “Beebo, sometimes you make me sick.” “I know. I’m enough to make you go straight. Go sleep with Jack tonight, it’ll do him a world of good.” “Oh, shut up!” “At least it’ll give him a whopper to tell his analyst.” Laura turned on her heel and left the room. She felt her clothes, hanging in the bathroom. They were still damp, but dry enough to iron. She brought them into the kitchen. “Where’s the ironing board?” she said. “Pretty determined, aren’t you?” “I certainly am.” “I’ve got dinner ready. You can eat before you go.” There was a faint tone of pleading in her voice, as if she knew the time had gone when sheer force was useless. Laura had made her mind up. “I don’t want another thing from you, not even dinner.” “No, not for another day or two,” Beebo said and her voice became rougher as she talked. “You just want to run down for kicks once or twice a week. I’m pretty damn convenient, aren’t I?” She pulled the board out from the wall and plugged the iron in, her movements sharp and angry. Laura felt a little afraid of her. Her blue eyes snapped and there was no trace of her usual humor in her face. “You’re the bitch, Laura, not me. You’re using me,” she said. “Go on, iron the damn thing.” She waved a hand at Laura’s dress and Laura spread it out on the board. “I’m sorry, Beebo,” Laura said, taken aback. “Sure you are.” “All right, Beebo,” she said softly. “I won’t bother you any more. Ever.”