expanding his chest and flexing his muscles proudly as he called to the bartender.

"Give him a drink . . . er, what do you drink, Jerry?"

"Just a little scotch. I don't drink much... it would interfere with my timing in ballet school which I attend in the evenings after work."

"Give him a drink of scotch, bartender, and I'll take another of the same. Rod turned to Jerry and watched his hands.

Jerry was slowly rubbing his palms on his hips to the back of his knees as though straigtening out the creases in his trousers.

"What's the matter, Rod, is there something bothering you?"

"Yes, I just can't figure it out." Jerry smiled. "Can't figure what out?"

"Normally, I would be cursing you out, or throwing you through that plate glass window, and yet here I am standing talking to you as though I had known you for years."

"Well," Jerry smiled. "When you get the urge to start tossing people through the window, kindly let me know... I bruise easily."

They both laughed, Rod looking at him intensely.

"Where do you live, Rod?" Jerry smiled coyly.

"Oh, right around the corner. I just found an apartment for me and my wife when she comes from Detroit. Since I started working in my uncle's lumber yard, I've been able to fix it up real nice. I even have a guest room which I sometimes sleep in it's so comfortable."

"I live way out in Canarsie." Jerry sipped his drink pensively.

"Canarsie? You mean to tell me that you travel way out in Brooklyn in all of this cold." Rod's face showed uncontrollable interest.

"I only come over here on Friday nights to ease by own loneliness-

that's why you see me here now." Jerry looked into Rod's eyes as Rod blushed slightly. "Besides where else would I go?"

"Do you know how to cook?" Rod looked back to his drink.

"Well, I used to cook for the Swansons; one of the richest families on the Hudson, and they were crazy about me."

"I haven't had a real home-cooked meal or breakfast since I left Detroit." Rod smiled and stared at Jerry.

"I could make a deal with you if it would be pleasing to you."

"What's that?" Rod asked almost knowing the answer.

"If you let me stay in the guest room tonight, I'll get up early in the morning and cook you a real home-cooked breakfast-Juice, coffee, milk, ham, eggs, potatoes, toast and jelly." Jerry half-closed his eyes waiting for Rod's answer as a modern ballad started playing on the jukebox.

"Well, for some reason I like you, and I'm game, but remember, no funny business. Fair enough?" Rod asked Jerry as Jerry started swaying to the rolling beat of the music.

"A deal... let's go." Rod drank his drink and they started for the door. "Jerry, there's one question I would like to ask you?"

Jerry looked up at him. "Yes, what is it, Rod?"

"Why are people like this?" He waved his hand around him as he opened the door with the other.

"Well, I can sum it up in two little sentences in my opinion."

"Yes?" Rod was holding the door open as Jerry started through.

"In every man there's a certain amount of woman. In every woman there's a certain amount of man."

"As simple as that?" The cold wet snow hit them both full in the face as Rod pulled up his collar and put his arm around Jerry's shoulder.

"As simple as that. . . ."

9