“Oh, but she might! Now let’s have it.”
“Jack, I don’t want you to think—”
“I think all the time. It’s a congenital defect.”
“Yes, but this—”
“Oh, for Chrissake, Marcie. Say it. Did you quarrel?”
“I—yes. We quarreled.”
“What about?”
“I can’t say.”
“Now you listen to me, God damn it, I’m getting worried.”
“About love.” She whispered it.
And Jack knew at once what was the matter. But why hadn’t Laura come to him? Why hadn’t she told him? She couldn’t be that ashamed. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her with the knowledge. He would be kind, with the kindness of deep sympathy. Something was wrong—more wrong than Marcie admitted, or more wrong than she knew. Or both.
“I can’t explain, Jack,” Marcie moaned.
“You don’t have to, Marcie. I get the message.”
“Should I call the police?”
“No,” he said quickly. Jack had an inborn aversion to cops. “I think I have an idea. I’ll call you back later. And call me the minute you hear anything.”
“I will, I promise!”
Jack called Beebo. “Marcie’s straight,” he said.
“So what, Jackson?”
“So Laura just found out—the hard way, apparently—and now she’s disappeared.”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Look, Jack, I don’t even want to talk about the kid. I don’t want to hear her name mentioned. She can go to hell as far as I’m concerned.”
“I’ve got to find her, Beebo, and you’ve got to help me.”
“The hell I do.”
“I want you to check the Lessie joints. They won’t let me in. I busted the mirror in The Colophon last month and they all hate me.”
“That’s your problem.”
“Beebo, for God’s sake. I know how bitchy she was. I’m not asking you to forget it. I’m asking you to help me find her. I think she went to see her father. From what she’s told me of him, she might be dead before we find her.”
There was a shocked silence and finally Beebo said, “Don’t play around with me, Jack. Tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth. He’s a real bastard. God knows what he might have done to her. He has the Devil’s own temper and he’s been beating hell out of her since she was five years old.”
There was a reluctant pause at Beebo’s end and finally she said, “All right, damn it. All right. I’ll go look for her. If she’s with her father I don’t know what good it’ll do to check the bars down here.”
“You never know. Besides, there’s not much time.”
“Okay, Jack. I’ll get going.”
“Call me as soon as you get back. Whether you find her or not.”
“Right. Where are you going?”
“The McAlton. To check with her old man.”
“What about Terry? Can you trust him alone?” she asked with slight sarcasm.
“No,” he said matter-of-factly, looking at Terry as he spoke, in a voice that betrayed none of his passion for the boy. “I’m counting on the smoked oysters to keep him out of trouble.”
Terry grinned a little but his eyes didn’t leave the television set.
Beebo laughed “Okay, doll, I’ll help you out, but don’t expect me to welcome Laura back and send her flowers. I’m through with that little bitch. If I find her I’ll drag her home by the scruff of the neck and dump her.”
“That’s good enough, Beebo. Thanks.”
Beebo scoured the Village. She knew it inside and out and backwards: all the gay bars, the favorite coffee shops, the side streets; the markets, the boutiques, the stalls and the brown-stones, the parks, the alleys, the bookshops. Some were closed, some stayed open half the night. Wherever people collected down there, sooner or later Beebo investigated the spot.
The hours stretched out. Every hour or so she called Jack’s apartment and talked to Terry. He simply said, “Jack’s not back yet. He hasn’t called in. Okay, I’ll tell him.” And as Beebo walked she began to feel a real fear for Laura’s safety, a tender concern that welled up in her and aroused her own contempt. At three in the morning she muttered, “Oh, the hell with it. Nobody can cover the whole damn Village in one night.” She called the penthouse.
Marcie, wide awake and alarmed, answered, hoping it would be Laura. She wasn’t sure if she had a boy or a girl on the phone; she only knew it wasn’t Laura.
“Marcie?” Beebo said.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“A friend of Laura’s. Is she there?”
“No. Do you know where she is?”
“I wish I did.
“Who is this?”
“I’ll call you back.”
Marcie sat holding the receiver and staring perplexed at the phone some minutes after Beebo hung up.
Jack got back in the first light of dawn to find Terry asleep. He sat down without taking his jacket off, and called Beebo. No answer. Terry rolled over and looked at him. He was a medium-sized well-built boy, bright and handsome and easily bored, affectionate by nature, but spoiled, quick with his temper and quick with his generosity. He was not quite sure, being young and desirable, if he was in love with Jack. He liked being admired by a lot of people. But he was not the money grubber Jack had painted for Laura. He liked to be dominated and he was waiting for Jack to make a move in that direction.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asked Jack.
“Where’s Beebo?”
“How should I know? You’re the one who knows it all.”
“Just this once, don’t get smart with me, lover. I gotta find her.” Jack was too worried to coddle him.
“She’ll call back on the hour. She’s been calling in every God damn hour since you went out. I can’t get any sleep around here. Who’s this Laura, anyway? She must be a living doll.”
“I’ve told you a dozen times. She’s a friend.”
“You act like she was a lover.”
Jack stared at his handsome arrogant young face. “So what?” he said. “You have your affairs. I have mine.” And he turned around and walked into the bathroom and left Terry staring after him. Jack never talked that way to him, not even when he caught him in flagrante delicto. He never showed an erotic interest in girls,
