to the couch. He took his own drink to the record cabinet. "Now, what would you like to hear?"

"Gee, I don't know. Looks like you've got everything."

"Not quite." Nelson smiled, then bethought himself. "Cigarette?"

"Huh? Oh, no thanks." Bob shook his head quickly and drank from his glass. He watched with admiration as Nelson struck a match and briskly blew smoke away. Then he ventured timidly, "My favorite composer is Verdi." "Afraid I haven't got any opera," Nelson apologized.

"Oh? Well, that's okay-I mean-

play anything. Something you like."

Bob reddened and stammered. "Just-

Nelson chose an album, drew the record carefully from it, tilted the surface in the light to inspect it, wiped it with a cloth and placed it on the turntable. He carefully set down the slender pickup arm. After a moment, during which he opened a window so that a breeze drifted in, warm and smelling of green growing things, music, startlingly large and real and lovely, rose and fell all around them in the enchanted air.

As Nelson drove him homeward along the winding foothill streets, past the houses sprawled expensively on their broad slopes of lawn, oleanders flaming by white walls, bougainvilla tumbling in heavy magenta cascades from deep shake roofs, Bob stared out at the waning afternoon and fought back tears. No day in his memory had been so good as these few hours spent in Nelson's beautiful house and later in the leaf-cool patio beside the mossy pool, with that heartbreaking, delicate music drifting out to them through the open doors, joined now and then by the bubbling whistle of a mockingbird.

He would never forget any part of it, especially not Dick Nelson himself, his golden good looks, his easy, adult assurance, his kindness to a boy he hardly knew, a boy who wore faded and threadbare levis not because it was the style but because they were what he owned, a boy whom nobody had ever before befriended, who expected to be shut out and lonely because he'd always found himself so.

"It was very nice of you-having me over and everything. The music and Cokes and I've never had such a wonderful-" He stopped, pained at how lame his words sounded. "You were very good to me," he blurted. Then he had to turn away because he was crying.

Nelson glanced at him. "I had a fine time," he said cheerfully. "That's lovely stuff, that Delius, isn't it-Brigg Fair, Walk Through Paradise Garden?"

Nodding, Bob groped in his pocket for a crumpled handkerchief he was ashamed of. He blew his nose and dried his eyes. Then he looked at Nelson, at the clear face of his new friend. And an awful feeling swelled inside his chest. Before he could stop himself he did a crazy, shameful thing. He leaned across, gripped Nelson's shoulder, and kissed him hard, on the mouth.

"Hey," Nelson cried, "no-look out." And he pushed his foot down on the brake pedal.

"Honest to God?"

Reece choked on cigarette smoke and bent forward, gasping with laughter. The loud sounds reverberated off the hard bright surfaces of the drive-in. Pretending to strangle, he fumbled weakly for his coffee cup and gulped from it. Tears ran down his face.

"You have to be kidding."