At work on Monday Laura’s phone rang halfway through the morning.
“Doctors Hollingsworth, Carstens, and Hagstrom,” she said,
business-like. What a mouthful! she thought to herself.
Her listener apparently had the same idea. “Jesus, what a
tongue-twister,” he said. “What happened to Smith?”
“There is no Dr. Smith,” she said, taken aback.
“Oh, don’t be so damn formal, Mother. It’s not like you. I thought I’d
better apologize while I’m sober. I was drunk the last time.”
“I know. How are you, Jack?” She smiled at the thought of his face.
“Bored. But healthy. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in your face Friday
night.”
“It’s okay. Forget it.”
“Just for that I’ll give you a free ticket to see my analyst. He’s a
great guy. He needs you.”
“He needs me?”
“Have you got fifty bucks a week to spend on your salvation?”
“I haven’t got fifty bucks a week to spend on my _groceries_,” she said.
“Well, I guess he doesn’t need you as much as I thought. But I’d be glad
to stake you to your first session. After that it becomes habitual. You
crave it. You’ll find the money somehow.”
Laura was laughing. “Give it to Marcie, not me,” she said. “She’s the
one who loves to talk.”
“You do some pretty good talking yourself.”
“I do?”
“You got lyrical in defense of oddballs Friday night.”
“I did not! Let’s not go into that again anyway,” she said. “Look, Jack,
I’d like to talk to you, but—”
“I know, you’re at work. So am I. Don’t you ever get tired of work?”
“I’m on probation here. If I don’t do well they’ll fire me in June.”
“So your poor virtuous hardworking little life revolves around that
office.”
“Now you’re being an ass again.”
“I’m telling you, Laura, you’d make a good soap opera. So would the rest
of us. We’re all a bunch of nuts in a million nutsy little soap operas.
Will Burr marry Marcie? Will Jack take the pledge? Will Laura stick it
out till June? Tune in tomorrow. We won’t have the answer for you, but
we’ll sell you soap like all hell. Do you know why people buy soap?”
“To wash themselves.”
“No. They like to play with themselves in the bathtub.”
Laura had to laugh at him. “You fool,” she said. “Jack, I can’t talk to
you, honestly.”
“Okay. I’ll call back.”
“No, no, call tonight.”
“But I want to see you tonight.”
She was unaware that she might have impressed him on their date, and he
took her by surprise. “You do?”
“Well, don’t sound so damn shocked. You’re a nice girl even if you are
ten feet tall. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
“No, I can’t, Jack.”
“Okay, eight.”
“I’m busy.”
“The hell you are.”
“I am.”
“You lie! I have an instinct about these things. Eight sharp.”
All at once Laura became aware of another voice calling her. “Laura?” It
was Dr. Hollingsworth. He was standing over her desk and she looked up
suddenly like a scared little kid.
“Yes, sir?” she said. She hung up without even saying goodby to Jack.
* * * * *
Jack Mann was not a pushy type. On the contrary, he was rather shy,
although it rarely showed. He went to parties and hid behind a stream of
wisecracks. He did the same thing on dates. He did it with anyone and
everyone. It was a sort of defense mechanism, a way of hiding his real
self, and he had done it for so many years that by now it was second
nature. Even people who knew him fairly well, like Burr and Marcie,
never saw beneath this facade of witticism. They thought that _was_
Jack: all funny asides and not much serious straight talk. It was hard
to take him seriously. He didn’t want that. He wanted to be laughed at,
to be amusing, and he usually contrived to be. He was content to let
people take him for a wag.
But once in a while he ran across somebody who made him feel sick of the
mask he hid behind. Somebody who made him yearn to talk, quietly and
seriously, about the things that mattered to him. It happened when he
was unlucky enough to fall in love. Or when he met a loner like himself
and felt an unspoken sympathy. It happened with Laura.
It wasn’t easy for him to call her back. It would have been, if she
hadn’t appealed to his emotions. There were a lot of girls he called
just for the sake of their mutual amusement, or just to amuse himself.
But if he bantered lightly with Laura it was more because he couldn’t
help it than because he wanted to, more because he had found it almost
impossible to talk straight anymore.
At eight o’clock he showed up at the apartment. He walked into the
living room without knocking and said, “It’s me.” When nobody answered
he wandered through to the bedroom and found Laura giving Marcie a home
permanent. “God, what a stink!” he said.
Laura looked up in surprise. “I thought you were kidding,” she said.
“About the date.”
He smiled at her. She was dressed in tight chinos and a boy’s shirt. It
was her favorite after work outfit. “You weren’t planning on the Stork
Club, I see,” he cracked.
“I wasn’t planning on anything.”
“That’s a dangerous attitude, Mother. Always plan on something. Avoid
accidents.”
“Jack, you can’t have her,” Marcie said. “I’ll never get this thing
right without her.” She waved a plastic curler at him helplessly.
“You’re better off without it, doll. Take it from me. Come on, we’ll go
as you are.”
“Jack, I can’t. I had no idea—”
“Come on. I want to talk to you.”
“We can talk here.”
“No we can’t. Marcie’s here.”
“I won’t listen,” Marcie said with a smile.
“Besides, I can’t talk,” he said, and Laura caught a glimpse of the
shyness hidden in him. “I’m sober as a post.” He shrugged. “Let’s go.”
“I can’t go like this.”
“Never mind the pants, they’re becoming.”
For some deep buried and curious reason she was flattered. She stood
there hesitating and Jack took advantage of her. He grabbed her arm and
pulled her toward the door.
“Kidnapper!” Marcie wailed.
“My coat—” Laura said.
“You don’t need one. It’s balmy.”
“So are you.”
“Thanks.” He guided her down the steps.
This was a switch for Laura. She had never been especially attractive to
men before, starting at the beginning with her father and going right on
up through college. She didn’t look warm and soft and yielding. She was
remote and involved in herself, aloof from everybody, men included. She
didn’t like them very much and they sensed it.
Now, here was a well educated intelligent male giving her the rush. She
didn’t understand it. Jack didn’t appeal to her physically any more than
any other man; in fact, a little less. He was small, wiry, rather owlish
in his horn rims. He looked like an ivy league undergrad. She guessed he
was about twenty-five. Laura was twenty. But she supposed that in five
or six years she might be as cynical as Jack was. She liked to hear him
say things she never dared to say herself.
They went to a little bar a few blocks away where Laura had gone once
with Marcie for a beer. It was a quiet spot with a steady clientele.
They walked in and took a booth in the back. “I usually prefer the bar,”
said Jack, “but I always end up telling my troubles to the bartender. So
we’ll sit back here.”
Laura felt a little strange walking into a bar in a pair of pants, but
she was with a man and she hoped that made it all right.
“Just a beer,” she said to Jack. A year ago she would have said. “Just a
coke.” And said it in a way to make him think she disapproved of liquor.
But lately she had picked up a taste for beer. Beth liked it and so did
Marcie. That was too much for Laura. There must be something to it. So
she had gotten into the habit of having one now and then in the evening
when she got home from work. It relaxed her. It made her feel that she
could think of Merrill Landon without exploding, or of Marcie without
crawling out of her skin. She felt like maybe she could stand it, living
this way with Marcie, and everything would turn out all right.
The waitress brought their drinks, and Jack poured her beer for her.
Then he downed his shot and drank some water. He seemed to be looking
for a way to talk to her. “How long have you and Marcie been together?”
he said finally.
_That’s an odd way to put it_, Laura thought warily. “Since January,”
she said.
“Oh, yeah. I guess Burr mentioned it. He likes you.” He smiled at her
and she relaxed a little.
“Why don’t Burr and Marcie get along?” she asked.
Jack shrugged and hailed the waitress. Then he looked at Laura. “They
don’t want to,” he said. “It would spoil the fun.”
“They love each other,” said Laura.
“Physically, yes, they do.”
Laura didn’t like his definition. “Marcie says they might get married
again.”
“Yeah. They’re just blind enough to do it, too.”
“Marcie’s not blind!”
“Sorry. A slip of the tongue.” He grinned and drank the fresh drink the
waitress had just delivered.
“Well, she’s not,” Laura said, disconcerted by his manner. “She really
loves Burr—at least, she thinks she does.”
He put his glass down. “Marcie hasn’t learned to love yet,” he said.
“You mean she doesn’t love Burr?” She asked the question eagerly.
“No,” he said quietly, studying her. “She loves physical excitement. She
loves a big virile passionate sonofabitch to make a fuss over her.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, disappointed. “She doesn’t fight just for the
sake of fighting. It’s just with Burr. She never fights with me.”
Jack laughed a little, privately. “That’s because you’re a girl,
Mother,” he said. “I can tell ’cause you got long hair.”
Laura began to sweat under his searching eyes. “That’s not the point,”
she said, exasperated. “Marcie has a sweet disposition. She’s very
quiet. It must be Burr.”
“Quiet?” Jack laughed. “The way that girl talks she’s about as quiet as
Grand Central during rush hour.”
“All right, she talks a lot.” Laura was getting mad. “That doesn’t mean
she likes fights. Or men who thrive on them.”
“That’s just what it does mean. Believe it. It’s true.”
“You’re screwy.”
“You’re in love.”
“What?” She said it in a shocked whisper, staring at him, feeling her
cheeks go scarlet. “What does that mean?” she said. Her voice was dry
and small and her hands were wet.
Jack drank another shot. Then he put the glass down and leaned toward
her over the table, his face serious. “You’re gay, Laura.”
Laura was speechless for a moment, surprised beyond her capacity to
think or feel. Then an awful sick trembling came up in her throat. For a
minute she hung between flight and a fight. She was furious, scared and
humiliated. It never occurred to her to deny the truth. Jack had hit the
bull’s eye. She clenched her fists on the table top and violent things
came to her lips. But before she could utter them Jack spoke again.
“Oh, don’t look so damn mad. You’re not the only one.” He sighed,
crushing his cigarette in a scorched ashtray. “I am too. So don’t give
me a martyr act.” And he nodded again to the waitress.
Laura put her hands over her face suddenly, pressing one hand over her
mouth to catch the sobs. She heard the waitress come up and turned her
head to the wall.
“Same for me,” Jack said.
“How about the lady?”
“Bring her a double whisky.”
Laura could feel the woman looking at her curiously. She wanted to
evaporate. She hated the impersonal curiosity of this stranger. After a
minute Jack said, “She’s gone.”
Laura put her hands down, but she couldn’t look at him. She just said,
rather hopelessly, “How did you know?”
“Takes one to know one,” he said with light sarcasm.
“_How?_” Laura demanded. “You’re a man.”
“So I’m a man. You’re a girl. We’re both queer.”
“How did you know?” she said sharply, looking at him now.
“You’ve got a crush on Marcie. That’s how.”
Laura gasped a little. “Is it so obvious?” she asked, frightened.
Jack shook his head. “To me, maybe, but only because I was looking for
it.”
“You were? Why?”
“I’m always looking for it.” He was bantering again. She realized now
that he had called her Laura when he said it: _You’re gay, Laura_. He
was dead serious then.
“Do you look for it even in girls?” she said.
“In anybody. You might say it’s a hobby with me. I spot one and I think
to myself, ‘Another poor bastard like me.’ It boosts my morale. I guess
it’s a case of misery loves company.”
“I’d rather suffer alone,” she said, not without pride.
“You’ll get over that. When you learn your way around.”
Laura was still trembling all over. “Listen to me, Jack,” she said,
leaning over the table and brushing the last tear impatiently from her
cheeks. “I never heard that word—gay—like you use it until our date
Friday. Nobody ever called me ‘gay’ before. I didn’t even know what it
meant. But I’ll tell you this: I never touched Marcie. I’ve never tried
to get away with anything with her. Never. She doesn’t know and she
never will.” She said this almost fiercely, but Jack only smiled at her.
“Okay,” he said. “Don’t preach at me. I believe you. I believe you
haven’t been climbing into Marcie’s bed after hours, anyway. But don’t
let Marcie fool you. She can be wild sometimes. She gets in crazy moods
and she’ll do anything. I saw her go up to a bum in Central Park and
kiss him once on a dare. A big ugly slob of a guy. It was enough to get
her killed, but she loved it.”
Laura was revolted. But not surprised. Not after what Marcie had done to
her last Friday night.
“She couldn’t possibly suspect me,” she said stubbornly. “I never do a
thing.”
“You did plenty in The Cellar Friday night.”
“I—I did?” She felt that old sick feeling come over her again.
“You looked at her like you had ideas. You held the door for her. You
argued with Burr.”
“But all I said was—”
“All you said was you were gay. To anybody who bothered to figure it
out. Well, I did, that’s all.”
Laura’s face was hot and she tried to defend herself. “All I did was
defend them—homosexuals, I mean. I just said they were human beings, not
animals. Is that against the law?”
“Not ‘they,’ Mother,” Jack said softly. “‘We.’ You’re one of us.”
“But Burr and Marcie don’t know that,” she said, almost pleading with
him to agree.
Jack raised a finger to his lips. “Everybody will know it if you don’t
keep your voice down,” he said. “Okay, Burr doesn’t know it. As for
Marcie, you live with the girl. You should know.”
“She couldn’t,” Laura said, but she felt shaky.
“You aren’t sure, are you? Why don’t you find out?”
“How?” She looked at him eagerly.
“Ask her.” He laughed to see her face fall.
“Damn you!”
“Okay. Don’t ask her. Make a pass at her.”
“You’re mad!” Laura stared at him, shocked. “I’d never do such a thing!
She might—why, my God, she might call the police. Or Burr. She’d hate
me. I couldn’t stand it. Jack, don’t tell me to make a fool of myself.
Do you want to get me into a tragic mess?”
“I want to keep you _out_ of one, Mother. That’s why I’m talking this
way.”
“Well, act like you did, then. You drag me down here, when I didn’t want
to come in the first place, and tell me—” She swallowed convulsively.
“—tell me I’m _gay_.” She spat the word at him. “And then you have the
gall to sit there and tell me to make love to Marcie—” She almost choked
on the words. “—when you know damn well she’d probably be revolted by
it, she’d—”
“Calm down, Mother, have a drink.” And he held her glass up to her until
she took it from him. It burned her throat but she was too worked up to
care.
“Now,” said Jack. “I asked you down here to tell you I know you’re gay.
And so am I. I want to be friends with you, Laura.” She glanced up at
him, and found that he was embarrassed, for all the liquid courage he
was consuming, and it was hard for him to talk. “Damn it,” he said. “I’m
so used to talking like an idiot, I can’t say what I mean anymore. I—I
wanted to tell you—to warn you, Laura—I was in the situation you’re in
now. Once. Long ago. I fell for a roommate of mine, I didn’t think he
knew anything either. I didn’t see how it was possible. I was so damn
careful. I never said anything, I never _did_ anything. Jesus Christ, I
even avoided the guy. I went out of my way to avoid him. But I was nuts
about him, Laura. I wanted him so bad it hurt. I’d lie there in the dark
and tell myself, ‘You can’t have him, you can’t have him’ over and over.
I’d say, ‘Who the hell do you think you are? If you were the prettiest
boy on earth he wouldn’t look twice. And, Mann, you aren’t the prettiest
boy on earth. You’re the ugliest.’ Whenever we talked late at night,
whenever we went anywhere together, whenever we touched I used to burn
up inside, I used to die of it. I wanted to kiss him, feel him all over,
just hold him. God, it killed me! But I never let on. Never. And one
day—this’ll give you an idea of what to expect, Mother—one day after all
this noble chastity and virtue and self-denial crap I was going through,
he came up to me and said, ‘Jack, I hate to say this, but I’m moving
out.’”
“Why?” Laura asked softly, her forehead wrinkled with sympathy.
“Because I was gay. He didn’t say it that way, of course. He didn’t say,
‘Because you’re queer, you poor bastard. I’m sorry for you but I can’t
take it any more.’ I could have stood that. But he just handed me a lot
of bull.”
Laura felt like crying again. But she only said, “Isn’t that something
to be grateful for? He tried, anyway.”
“Yeah. He tried.” He said it so acidly that Laura was afraid to say any
more.
“There’ve been a lot since Joe,” he said, after a while. “Just like
there’ll be a lot for you after Marcie.” Laura tried to protest but he
waved her down. “I know, I know, you’re going to keep hands off. You’re
going to spend your whole life ignoring sex, ignoring what you are.
Denying that you want it, running away from it. I was going to, too.
That was twenty-five years ago.”
“Twenty-five years ago!” Laura stared at him. “How old are you, Jack?”
“Forty-two. Surprised?” He smiled at her gaping astonishment.
“I thought you were maybe five years older than I am. Twenty-five or so.
You _can’t_ be forty-two.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. I can’t be. But I sure as hell am.”
“I don’t believe it.”
He grinned. “Good,” he said. “I like to fool people.”
“Why?” It seemed crazy. “What does a man care how young he looks? I
thought that was for women,” Laura said.
“Women and gay boys. Do you think some pretty twenty-year-old is going
to fall for a fat bald, middle-aged bastard with not even a bankroll to
offer? I’m ugly, Mother. That’s enough of a handicap. When I start
looking old, I’ll quit.”
“You’re not ugly, Jack,” she said gently, trying to console him.
But he took it with a sardonic laugh. “Only a Mother could love me,” he
said.
“Don’t talk like this. You make me so sad.”
“Ahhh, Christ,” he said, and drank. He looked up at Laura, and she could
see he wasn’t focusing very well now. “I came here to talk about you
anyway, not me. What did your father do to you when you were five years
old?”
Laura started. “When did I say that? Did I mention my father?” she
asked.
“Yes. In The Cellar. Probably as good a place as any.”
“I—I didn’t mean _my_ father,” she said.
“Don’t fib to me, Laura. Let’s be friends.”
After a few moments, she said, “I can’t talk about it, Jack.”
“What did he do?”
“We—we were at a summer resort.” It began to spill out of her. Jack had
bared his anguish, and she felt suddenly safe with him, and needed. “We
were there for a vacation one summer. We went fishing on the lake—Father
and Mother and my brother and me.” Her voice grew soft as she spoke.
“The boat capsized. I was the only one he could save. I was the closest
to him. Mother and Rod drowned.” She shut her eyes with a little gasp
against the old horror, still so sharp in her heart, like a big ugly
needle stuck there to remind her she had no right to be alive. “All my
life I’ve felt as if I killed them. He says I did. He hates me because
I’m not his son. He hates me because I’m not my own mother, his wife.”
Jack seemed completely sober for a minute, staring at her with his brows
knit. She put her head down and cried quietly. “That’s all,” she said.
“I can’t tell you any more.”
“You don’t need to,” he said softly. “Jesus.”
She took a deep breath and sat up, feeling as if she had lightened the
weight of that leaden secret by sharing it. She was somewhat surprised
to find that she was able to share it. She felt very close to Jack, as
if they were now truly friends. Each of them had risked a little of
himself to the other. And neither, now, was sorry.
With a sigh, she looked at her watch. It was getting late. “I have to
get up early,” she said, her voice still unsteady. “So do you. I know,
Burr’s always yelling about the hours. Let’s go.”
“One more,” he said, holding up his glass. “I’m not quite through with
you yet.”
“I don’t get it,” Laura said to him. “We don’t even know each other.
This is the second time we’ve seen each other. And here we are talking
like old friends.”
“You’re wrong, Laura. We know each other a lot better than some people
who’ve been acquainted for years. Like Burr and Marcie. We know each
other instinctively, don’t you feel that? I wouldn’t have called you
otherwise. You wouldn’t have let me drag you out tonight otherwise.”
“Don’t talk about Marcie as if she didn’t have a brain in her head,”
Laura said.
Jack smiled. “You _are_ in love,” he said. “This is serious. She has a
few brains, Mother, she just doesn’t use them.”
“She’s not stupid,” Laura defended her eagerly.
“She’s not sacred either.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Oh, yes you did. I thought Burr was once.”
“Burr?” Laura stared at him. “Did you—were you—”
“Nuts for Burr? Yes. Once. When I first met him.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Thank God. I got over it. I go for big virile sons of bitches,
just like Marcie. But I take care not to room with them anymore.”
Laura shook her head, a wry little smile on her face. “Don’t you ever
fall for the gay ones?”
“I try to make a point of it.” He grinned sadly. “Unfortunately I
sometimes miss the point. If you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s just as well. I met Burr at work when he was hired about four
years ago. I knew he was straight.”
“What’s ‘straight’?”
“Everything that’s not ‘gay’—so I pussyfooted around the issue. I made
him like me. I did his homework for him. I made him laugh. I told him
what to tell the boss. I double-dated with him and Marcie and I was an
usher at the wedding. I was Number One trouble-shooter _after_ the
wedding. He thinks I’m indispensable.”
“But you—you don’t still—”
“No, I don’t. Not anymore. But I still like to be with him. I like to
watch them fight.” He smiled at her. “You do too.”
She felt embarrassed, as if he were looking through her clothes to her
naked feelings.
“However,” he went on, “I’m not under any lovely illusions about him
being an intellectual giant. Or Marcie either. And I know damn well he
won’t give me a tumble if I just stick around long enough.” He gave her
a piercing look. “Those are your illusions, Mother,” he said. “I suggest
you drown them.”
“What does that mean?”
“You can set Marcie’s hair till the moon turns blue and she’s not going
to crawl into your bed to thank you for it.”
“I don’t expect her to.”
“Sure you do. It’s a mark of our breed. We’re hopeless optimists.
Otherwise we’d all commit suicide. We get a crush on somebody, and if
he’s straight we figure we’ll just love him so much he’ll _have_ to turn
gay. It doesn’t work that way. Marcie isn’t going to start kissing you
just because you want her to.”
Laura was incensed. “She already has,” she snapped.
Jack’s eyebrows went up. “When?” he said.
“The night we got back from The Cellar. She said she felt funny in there
with all those girls staring at her. She said she used to touch tongues
with a girl when she was in her teens, and she wanted to do it again.
And she did. You—you—” She didn’t know what to call him. “You had to
call me up right in the middle, just when I thought—” She stopped
herself. “Oh, this isn’t like me,” she moaned. “I never talk like this.”
“Only to yourself, hm?” He laughed. “I mess up your daydreams and your
affair. God! What more can I do? I’m becoming the Man in your Life,
Mother.” His laughter fizzled slowly, and Laura could tell he was quite
drunk from the way he let his head hang for a minute. “You know,” he
said and wagged a finger at her, articulating cautiously, “I never have
trouble thinking when I’m drunk. But my tongue gets sloppy.” He laughed
a little. “I say what I want to say, that’s one good thing. But it
sounds sloppy as hell.” He finished the drink in front of him. Laura
started to get up, but he caught her wrist and said, suddenly very
serious again, “You’re in trouble, Laura. Marcie’s straight. Accept
that. It’s a fact. If she’s playing games with you, she’s doing it for
private kicks, not to give you a thrill. And her kicks have nothing to
do with being gay. They have to do with going out on a limb, with acting
nuts once in a while. Maybe she’s just pushing _you_ out on a limb to
see if you’ll fall off. And you’ll fall all right. Flat on your can.” He
stopped for a minute to focus his gaze on her. “Marcie’s about as queer
as Post Toasties, Laura. Take my advice: move out.”
“But I can’t! I won’t!” she exclaimed defensively. “Why should I? I’ve
done nothing wrong!”
“I hadn’t either when Joe gave me the glad news.”
“I’m not you. I’ve done nothing I’m ashamed of.”
“No, but you will. If you hang around, feeling like you feel. You were
saved by a phone call Friday night. What if my timing isn’t so good next
time?”
“I don’t want to move out.” She said it stubbornly like a thwarted
child.
“All the more reason why you should.”
Laura got indignant. “I’ve got more will power than you give me credit
for and I’m not going to be scared out.”
“What are you going to do for will power if she gets cold some night and
crawls into your bed to keep warm? Or you take a shower together? Or she
feels like pulling your nerves out by the roots one by one again, and
makes you play let’s-touch-tongues just for the hell of it? Just to see
if she can get you sent up for sodomy? Be thankful you’re female,
Mother. At least your passion won’t stand up and salute her.”
“I’ve had enough from you tonight!”
“Okay, okay. But I advise you to find a nice butch somewhere and set up
housekeeping in the Village. Or at least, cultivate a few lovelies down
there so you’ll have a place to let off steam when Marcie feels like
playing games.”
“You’re drunk and repulsive.”
“I know what I am, Laura. Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m going home.”
“I’m coming with you.” He got up unsteadily and followed her toward the
door. Outside he stopped her. “Don’t hate me, Laura,” he said. And she
couldn’t, looking at him there in the pink glare of neon, short and
plain, brilliant and miserable, offering her his curious stinging
sympathy.
“I wish I could,” she said and shook her head.
He smiled at her. “I’ll walk you home,” he said.
“You don’t need to. Why don’t you get a taxi and get yourself home?”
“Are you suggesting I can’t walk?”
“No.” She laughed.
“You are. Just for that I’m going to walk you home whether you like it
or not. To prove I can.”
“All right.” But she had to lead him most of the way. Jack could talk
better than he could navigate when he was high. When they reached the
apartment she hailed a cab for him and put him in it. She stood there
watching it pull away down West End Avenue, watching it till it was
indistinguishable from the sea of red tail lights traveling with it. And
she felt an awakening affection for him.