Terry had been enough to drive a strong man mad. If he had been nasty about things, Jack could have stood it better. He could have preserved his self-respect and he might have had the strength to kick Terry out sooner than he did. But Terry was a nice kid. He was delightful company, he was cooperative. Of course, he was also faithless, he took every cent Jack made as Jack made it, and he was hardly ever home. But...

"But, when he is home he's so goddam irresistable!" Jack had spluttered in frustration to Laura. "He throws his arms around me and starts sweet-talking me, and I'll be damned if he doesn't have me emptying my pockets, handing over all my cash, forgiving him anything, everything, if he'll only stay with me. "Jack," Laura said, "if you let him walk all over you, that's the quickest way to lose him. You know that. Why do you do it? Are you blind?"

"Yes," he had answered. "Blind drunk and blind stupid. It's killing me, living like this, Laura. But I can't open my eyes and look at it. I'd rather die slowly, by degrees." He had been so tight when he said this that she had trouble making out the words.

In truth, Jack couldn't explain it. He saw clearly enough, in spite of what he said, that Terry needed to be disciplined, controlled, cared for. And on the few occasions when fury or desperation drove him to dominate his young lover, Terry had been perversely contented and he had been faithful. And when the storms abated, those had been their happiest times together.

But they had been few and far spaced. Jack could feel his control slipping and because he didn't know why or how to stop it he would panic and lose it completely. And Terry's respect would go down the drain with Jack's selfcontrol.

"The hell of it is," Jack would say, trying to explain it to Laura-and himself, "that the more he sasses me, the more he humiliates me, the more helpless I get. I get so low there's no way to get back up again, except to hang on to Terry. There I am on my goddamn silly knees. And he hates it and I hate it, but I can't get up again without his help."

"How do you get down there in the first place?" Laura asked.

"I trip."

"On what?"

"On anything," he said. "On a love letter stuck in his dresser drawer, written to him by a stranger. Stuck right in there with his socks, as if he were inviting me to read the thing."

"Which you did."

"Which I did."

"That shouldn't throw you, Jack. Terry's a very handsome boy."

"I know what Terry is, thanks. I find mash notes from his drooling admirers stuck into his sock drawer. I take their phone calls and give him their messages. Next I'll be entertaining them in my own home." He downed a shot and slammed the small glass down on the bar.

"If you put up with all that guff you must like it," Laura said softly, trying to tease some sense into him.

"I must," he said laconically, and for a moment she thought he might come unglued. But he held himself together with a little will power and some leftover pride.

In a way, Jack did like all that guff. The misery of the affair was, that they both did. Terry loved to be over-mastered. So did Jack. Only Jack was far and