“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 troubleshooter 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
