in bathrobes on the path to the baths. They were paired off, Jo with Mark, Ted with Lou. They made attractive couples.

Could she have been wrong? Not one was obvious, not in the least. Both men looked athletic, Mark, tall and slim with his butch haircut, Ted with his short wrestler build and his completely bald head that was so shiny. Little Lou was all animated femininity. Jo, with her graying hair and plumpish figure, looked almost motherly and had a funny slow waddly walk with something like laconic dignity, like a dowager duck.

Why had she been so sure? It had been just that intuitive flash, from something the tall one said, something that recalled Doc. Then she remembered that vague feeling she had when she checked them in. Flimsy evidence. Silly. Just instinct. Instinct. Instinct? Oh!

Never sell instinct short, Pussy. Old Doc's telling you. You know our two biggest instincts? Hunger, then sex. Not mind hunger. Not mind sex. But stomach hunger and crotch sex. Right from the old breadbasket. Not the head. You just get instincts through the head. That's why Kinsey scares them, he tells them they're animal first. You know how I can pick the gay ones not even the least bit bulldykish or swish? Crotch instinct.

They came in after the third and last dinner gong, sober, spick-and-span, in fresh clothes. She showed them to their table herself.

"Enjoy your vapors?"

They were ecstatic.

"Migawd I feel like thirty-nine again!"

"How can anything sober you up so quick and make you feel so good?" "Never a hangover, that's our motto!" she smiled, and it was then she saw Lou's ring. Like hers and Doc's, with the tiny squares of turquoise! Then the other hand, Jo's hand, came and went with the waterglass, leaving as a magic moment the glimpse of the side-by-side identical rings-and she felt the hot flush start in her ankles and creep up like paralysis. Abruptly she beckoned over a waitress and walked away.

She found herself walking through the kitchen. In a sudden panic to be alone, she turned and went into her room. She mixed a highball, sank into her leather chair, and closed her eyes.

For christsakes Pussy, tell old Doc, or say something! Do you think rings are corny? I mean, I know some do. And you having been married, I mean jam and all, with a ring before. And like I said, this couple in Scottsdale I know made them and will take them back. But well, we sure do get along. Man! do we get along! And we had that talk, you know, and-oh, Pussy, I'm drunk, but I had to be to screw up courage. You know how I am, I can't play, it has to be for keeps. She found the tickle on her cheeks were tears.

Good gawd, after five years! After five tearless, insulated years, when she hadn't ever hardly recalled Doc. Then seeing those damn rings.

Their rings had caused the big quarrel, had hit the sore point. But Doc, I told you how those women noticed our rings, then the way they looked at us. They KNEW! I'm not like you, I can't say SO WHAT! All right, so maybe I AM ashamed of what I am.

Suddenly a gale of laughter carried from the bar. Saturday night! Her big money night! She had to be there. Quickly she did her face and hair and put on fresh clothes.

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