away the oldest, in his late thirties, and Terry took it for granted that Jack should run the show. When he didn't, Terry was disappointed and then disillusioned, so that the romance developed long cracks that couldn't be patched. But he was very fond of Jack. He felt a large easy affection for him. "If I could just live with you and you wouldn't be so jealous and nosey all the time!" he complained impatiently to Jack.

"Jealous and nosey! Holy God, what am I supposed to do when I come home and find some s.o.b. I've never seen before in my bed with you? Tuck you in?" "That only happened once." Terry would sit, while he talked, with his feet up on the furniture, eating something--he was always eating something and laughing at Jack. The more desperate Jack got, the funnier it looked to Terry. He didn't laugh to be mean. He laughed because he was amused; because Jack, with his horn-rims sliding down his nose and his face contorted and his pants open and his angry voice riding the scales, looked funny. But it drove Jack frantic.

"Can't you think of something to do besides sitting there and spitting seeds on the rug and splitting your goddamn sides? Am I that funny? Do you enjoy torturing me so much that you just have to laugh?"

"Yes," Terry said. "I just have to." And he chuckled.

Jack couldn't stand it. He turned away with his hands over his face for a minute. Laura would not have recognized this Jack; this tormented man, angrily in love with the wrong person, who stuck to a doomed attachment as if every new shock and every unexpected pain only strengthened his need for the boy. And strangely enough, they did.

The more Terry hurt him, whether unintentionally or not, the tighter Jack clung to him. But there were times when he thought he couldn't bear it. "Terry, why do you do this to me?" he implored. "You'll destroy me." "I love you, Jack, but you're too melodramatic," Terry said gently. "All right, damn it! I'll quit the melodrama if you'll quit the cruising." Terry popped the last of an orange into his mouth and licked his fingers. "No bargains," he said in a light voice.

Jack felt all the force drain out of him. Terry could get him to the point where he could go no farther; where his anger and shame were swollen so huge they threatened his balance. He couldn't keep shouting and berating the boy. And yet he couldn't let the thing drop and ignore it.

He went to Terry's chair and stood there staring at him, feeling weak and helpless, feeling a strangling need come up inside him; wanting to choke Terry and wanting to kiss him all at the same time. And Terry looked up at him with warm concern and said, "You know what you need, Jackson?"

"What?" Jack asked hoarsely.

Terry picked up another orange. "New frames," he said, waving the fruit at Jack's glasses. "Those things keep sliding down your nose. You look like a damn owl. I don't know how you can stand it."

"You can stand some things better than others, Terry," Jack said, tense all

over.

"I should think it would drive you nuts. You need a smaller size." "Terry," Jack said softly. "I love you." The words burned his tongue, but he got them out.

"I love you too, honey," Terry said, smiling at him. And he meant it. That was the hardest part for Jack to take. It brought him to his knees in tears, his

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