Reluctantly she stood up, frightened by his tone. She put a hand over his change, waited. He did not notice. She put the money into her apron pocket, heaving her chest. Then she got the blonde. "You wanna buy me a drink, honey?" the blonde said. "Sit down!" The blonde turned to the Mexican. "Make it a double." She sat down. "Talk!" "Whatdaya wan' me to say, honey?" "Just talk." He had seen the pulse in the vein in her neck. The neck was skinny, and the face was pinched, lined with heavy powder. Her eyes were weary, and her thin hands moved jerkily. "Just talk." When she saw his wallet, as he brought it out to pay, she said, "Maybe we oughtta go somewhere to talk." Her voice was flat and nasal, and she tossed her head. She ruffled her coarse dirty-colored hair with an automatic gesture. Parr wanted to kill her, and his hands itched at the delicious thought. But not tonight. Not tonight. He was too tired. He ... tonight he just wanted to think about it. And then he wanted to sleep and rest and think. She tossed off the drink. "Another one, Bess," she said shrilly, glancing at him. He took two bills out of his wallet, two twenties, put them on the table, pushed one of them toward her without looking at it. She drank two more shots quickly, eagerly, hungrily, as if there was need to rush through them and get them safely inside. She leaned across the table, her eyes heavy. "I'm gonna talk, okay? Man wants to hear woman talk. Get yer kicks like that, okay. You're buyin'.... Hell, I bet you think I'm a bad girl. I'm not a bed girl--bad girl." Her hands twitched drunkenly below her flat breasts. "There was a sonofabitch in my town.... I came from up north, Canada." She drank again, hastily. "I could go for you, know what?... I'm getting drunk, that's what. Fooled ja, didn't I? Listen. You wouldn't believe this, but I can cook. Cook. Like hell. Wouldn't think that, eh? Hell, I'm good for a lotta things. Like being walked on. Jever wanna--walk on a girl? Listen. I knew a guy, once...." Parr said, "Shut up!" For one instant, there was sickness and revulsion, and desire to comfort her, but it vanished almost before it was recognized. She closed her mouth. He pushed the twenty dollar bill into her lap. "You be here tomorrow. Tomorrow night." "Okay." "You be here tomorrow night." "Sure, sure, honey." "You be here tomorrow night, and don't forget it." She smiled drunkenly. "I'm here ... most nights, honey...." "You be waiting for me." "I'm always ... waitin', honey. Ever since I remember, honey, waitin'. Just waitin', honey." But the next morning, when Parr awoke, Lauri was trying to center on his open mind. She was in San Francisco, looking for him. The depression came back, and the guilt--the knowledge of treason--that made him want to go to a mirror and stand, watching blood trickle down his face in cherry rivulets like tears. And fear. When he shielded, she resumed the pressure. * * * * *