RINGWORM
 
by Michelle Rogge
 
 
Her breast itched.  She absent-mindedly reached inside her designer
blouse, down inside her sexy Bloomingdale's bra to scratch the itch --
that's when Annabelle discovered she had this three-quarter inch-
wide patch, scaly, white in the middle, surrounded by an unmistakable
red ring.
 
"Oh no," she groaned.  She had been so busy grading math tests --
trying to catch up after taking the weekend off to go to Omaha --
that she hadn't noticed this thing on her body, this infectious fungus,
growing, spreading.  It was huge.
 
She phoned her friend Lori.  "I've got ringworm."
 
"Oh no."
 
"That's what I said."
 
Lori sighed. "You were only at our house that one night.  When was
that -- three weeks ago?  I can't believe you got it."
 
"Yeah, well, I did, believe me," Annabelle said nervously.  "How do I
get rid of it?"
 
"I've got a tube of lotion I'll give you, a sample I got at the doctor's --
where is the ringworm?"
 
"This is the weird part."  Annabelle peeked inside her blouse again, to
make sure it was still there, before making her confession.  "It's on
my left boob."
 
"Your boob!  How in the world --"
 
"Don't ask me.  I held one of your kittens, and they had it, right?"
 
"Y-yes, but still -- I'm coming into town this afternoon.  I'll bring you
the lotion."
 
Annabelle tried not to sound panicky -- and failed .  "You can't come
any sooner?"
 
"For heaven's sake -- there's nothing to worry about.  A few hours
isn't going to make any difference."
 
Annabelle slammed down the receiver in her haste and rushed into the
bathroom.  She grabbed at whatever she could find on the shelves in
her medicine cabinet -- rubbing alcohol, a can of Off,  a tube of
diaper-rash cream a friend with twin babies had left behind.  She
dabbed and sprayed and smeared it all on.  Then, envisioning
ringworm spreading all over her body -- from wiping her forehead or
scratching her elbow or putting on earrings -- she washed her hands
carefully, slowly, thoroughly, for a solid ten minutes.
 
She sat down at the desk in her study again and stared at the math
test in front of her.  She could feel the spot burning its way below the
skin, infecting and probing deeper body parts, organs.  Perhaps it was
no accident that the ringworm had chosen to plant itself on her left
breast, directly over her heart.  She sat unmoving for quite some
time, her red-ink pen frozen in position over the paper in front of her,
only the morning sunlight shifting as it poured through the windows
on the east side of the room.
 
She couldn't wait for Lori to arrive.
* * * * * *
 
That afternoon, when her friend came, Annabelle greeted Lori as
politely as she could while reaching into Lori's bag for the coveted
medication.
 
Lori laughed.  "Annie, you're being ridiculous.  Ringworm can't hurt
you."
 
"No-o-o, I suppose not.  You just cover the spot with it?"
 
"Yes.  It doesn't take much."
 
When her friend wasn't looking, Annabelle poured the white lotion on
lavishly, rubbing it vigorously on the spot and then over her entire
breast.  She envisioned taking an hour-long bath in the stuff once a
day, every day, for the next five years.
 
Then her hand froze over her breast for a moment; slowly, she pulled
up her bra straps and put her blouse back on.
 
"Lori -- "
 
"What?"  Lori was already busy reading one of the exams on
Annabelle's desk.  "Annie, this is a tough test.  I don't remember much
of my high school algebra, but -- can more than one answer be
right?"
 
"Some answers are more right than others.  But only one answer is
correct," Annabelle said.  " Shut up for a minute, will you?  I have to
tell you something."
 
Lori put the paper back on the desk.  "I'm waiting."
 
"Barney and I fooled around this weekend."
 
Lori sneered.  She was not unattractive, with shoulder-length blonde
hair and brown eyes; just now, Annabelle thought her curling,
sneering lip made her look like Elvis.  "I knew something between you
and Barney was inevitable.  He's separated from his wife now, right?"
 
"Yes.  He moved out three weeks ago."
 
"Good.  That certainly makes things less complicated.  Now -- what do
you mean by 'fooled around' ?"
 
"We didn't 'do it.'  We just necked rather passionately."
 
"I see.  Sort of like teenagers."
 
"Yes, well -- " Annabelle was embarrassed, but she kept going.  "The
thing is, do you think he could have gotten ringworm?"
 
Lori laughed.  "I hope so.  He deserves it.  Annie, what are you fretting
over?  This isn't a sexual disease."
 
"No, but -- "  Annabelle sat down on the couch and tried not to be
nervous.  Normally, when she was upset, she would stroke her neck to
sooth herself, until it was quite red.  She made a conscious effort to
keep her hands together in front of her, in her lap.  The ringworm on
her breast burned with the same intensity as a hickey.  "Barney is
from a bad family background.  He grew up poor, and he's sensitive
about that.  He always jokes about his 'white-trash family,' but he's
trying to put that behind him."
 
"So?  What's that got to do with -- "  Lori's eyes narrowed as
comprehension dawned.  "I understand.  Getting ringworm would be
trashy."
 
Annabelle nodded.  "It certainly would.  He's worked hard to establish
himself out in one of the suburbs, to have a professional job, to
maintain a certain image -- "
 
Lori interrupted, "Annie, you know what Nick would say about this?" 
Nick was a mutual friend from their college days.
 
"Oh, he'd laugh scornfully and say, 'Dump him,' of course."
 
"Exactly.  I'm sure you're worrying more about it than this Barney
person ever would.  That guy needs to get caught with something."
 
Annabelle stared at the floor.  "Clearly, I can't talk to you about this."
 
Lori sighed.  "Annie --"
 
"Never mind.  Say -- Nick is going to be in town, tonight -- did he tell
you?"  		"Yeah.  We're all going out tonight, down to the Char
Bar -- don't forget."
* * * * * *
 
Annabelle worked steadily through the afternoon grading math tests. 
Where she could, she tried to give the student the benefit of a doubt,
giving them credit for getting problems half right.  Every so often, she
glanced at the phone, brooding.
 
Barney's intense blue eyes raking her figure.  Barney's impulsive
embrace in the middle of their conversation about Thai food.  Barney's
thin but dedicated lips nibbling her ears, trailing down her neck . . .. 
She wished desperately that she could remember whether he actually
got inside her bra.
 
At dinnertime she quit grading to call Barney in Omaha.  She had to tell
him about the ringworm, she reasoned.  It was the right thing to do. 
Besides, it was a novelty to be able to call him without worrying
about his wife answering.
 
He sounded surprised but pleased. "Annabelle!  I didn't expect to hear
from you so soon."
 
She hesitated.  "Barney -- there's -- there's a question I have to ask
you -- that I didn't have the courage to ask you when I was there."
 
"Oh yeah?"  She could hear him tense up, waiting.
 
"Is there any reason for me to move back to Omaha?"
 
There -- she'd said it.  She saw her future fuse for an instant with his;
the patch of ringworm on her breast tingled and throbbed.
 
He was silent; then he said slowly, "You mean, other than for a
teaching position.  I know you are looking for a job here."
 
"Yes I am, but -- "
 
"I guess I should tell you.  I talked to Maureen today."
 
"Oh."  She responded flatly.
 
"We've decided to get back together.  We still can't agree about
having children.  So we still have problems, but we think it's best to
try to work them out.  I guess the separation gave us time to cool off,
figure out what we wanted."
 
"I see."  She wondered if it would have made any difference if she
had actually slept with him; no, she didn't think so.  She would have
felt used.
 
He said quickly, "I know this is awkward.  But, I think you and I will
always be friends."  The passion and interest were gone from his
voice; maybe she had only imagined they existed.
 
She repeated, "Friends.  Well, as a friend, I should tell you -- I've got
ringworm."
 
Silence.  Then, "What do you mean, you've got -- ringworm?"
 
She pictured herself then as a shiftless, chain-smoking, single mother
living in a squalid trailer, wearing a Little Abner n' Daisy rag of a
dress.
 
"Just what I said.  I've got a small patch of ringworm on my left
breast.  It's a fungus."
 
She heard him sigh with relief; then his voice became quite cold.  "I
know what it is.  Fortunately, I never actually touched your breast."
 
That answered her question.
* * * * * * 
 
Nick drove from Deadwood to Vermillion, stopping only for gas.  He
considered driving straight through Vermillion and on to Omaha, but
the girls would make his life hell if he did.
 
Nick, Lori, and Annabelle had been friends since their undergraduate
years in college.  He listened to their woes over boyfriends; they in
turn listened to his woes over boyfriends as he related his often hair-
raising tales of going to the gay bars in Sioux Falls, Omaha, and
Minneapolis, and picking up men.  Lori would say, "I hope you use
condoms."  And he would answer, "Yes, Mother."   But that was one
way he never took chances; he always, always wore a condom. 
Actually, he had always managed to worry Lori and Annabelle more
with his drinking and driving combo.  Whenever they went out
together, one of the girls always insisted on driving.  Or if he showed
up at the girls' drunk, they would make him spend the night there.
 
Then he surprised them both by falling in love with a girl in Deadwood.
 
Vesta was twenty-two, blonde and small-boned like himself, with a
stubbornness and quiet passion he liked.  They were friends first, and
he was lonely, admittedly.  There wasn't a gay scene in Deadwood to
speak of.  So they became good friends.  And then they started
kissing.  And then, he admitted to himself that he would sleep with
her if she wanted to.  They did, and it wasn't so bad.  He didn't feel as
powerfully aroused when he slept with her, but he was in love with
her.  He couldn't figure that out.  He chased that around and around.
 
All that time, Vesta was afraid, saying, "You'll go back to it.  I know
you will."  And he would have to say over and over that he was in love
with her and would be faithful.  And -- surprising even himself -- he
was true.
 
But it wasn't Vesta's suspicions about his faithfulness or staying
straight that ended their relationship.  It was the miscarriage that
struck the death blow.
 
Driving in the car, he experienced the sadness of their loss all over
again.  He wished desperately that he could have carried the little girl
in his own body, that a womb might have magically evolved; he would
have found a way to keep the child inside him until it was time for her
to emerge.
 
But that was all over now.  And Nick didn't know what he wanted to
do.  He was straight for Vesta but he didn't think he could do that with
any other woman.  Sleeping with any woman, except Vesta, would be
like sleeping with his mother.
 
He grimaced when he saw the sign:  Vermillion, population 10,482.  
How long could he stand to hang out in one of the Vermillion bars with
Lori and Annabelle?  All those youngsters, those college
underclassmen who were so unaware of themselves.  He could pick
out the gay boys in the crowd right away, but that didn't matter. 
None of them would admit it.  They just knew they were different
somehow and fought to be like the rest.
 
He stopped at the Shop-EZ in Vermillion and filled up the tank of his
Volkswagen.  He walked into the convenience store and assessed the
clerk quickly -- hmm, he wasn't sure with this one.  Handsome,
certainly -- nice eyes.
 
Nick paid for the gas and glanced through the magazines.  There was
Elizabeth Taylor, the most beautiful woman in the world, on the cover
of Good Housekeeping.  He couldn't resist.  He bought the magazine
and asked for the clerk for some cigs too.
 
The clerk said, "I just love Liz myself."  
 
Nick smiled at him.  "So -- " he said with deliberate casualness " --
where's all the excitement tonight?"
 
"Not in Vermillion -- that's for sure."
 
They both laughed.
 
The clerk seemed to select his words with care.  "I don't usually hang
out in Vermillion."
 
"Yeah, give me Sioux Falls any day."
 
"Or Omaha," the clerk said.  "I'll take Omaha."
 
There it was.
 
Nick made tentative plans to meet the clerk, whose name was John,
at a Sioux Falls bar at twelve-thirty a.m.  That would give him plenty
of time to socialize with the girls; he wouldn't have to leave
Vermillion until eleven-thirty.
* * * * * *
 
That night, Annabelle, Lori and Nick drank beer and exchanged stories
about infectious diseases.  They had actually gotten together to
mourn Nick's recent breakup with his girlfriend Vesta.  But they
allowed themselves to get sidetracked talking about how Lori had
slept in her friend William's bed two days before she was supposed to
go to India and he casually informed her that he had scabies.
 
"I don't understand," Annabelle said.  "I thought William was gay."
 
"Fag hag," Nick said affectionately to Lori.
 
"He is gay, silly," Lori answered, making a face at Nick.  "We didn't
sleep sleep together.  I just slept in William's bed.  You can get
scabies just from sleeping in someone else's bed, without having
sex."
 
Annabelle said, "You didn't get it, though."
 
"No, but believe me, I was pretty worked up about it when he told
me.  I remember standing in the shower bawling, worrying about it."
 
"That's nothing," Nick said.  He pushed back his blonde, straight hair in
what Annabelle had always viewed as a distinctly feminine gesture. 
"Have you ever had crabs? That's pure hell.  That's one of the things
Vesta and I fought about."
 
"What do you mean?" Annabelle asked.
 
"Vesta never believed me when I told her I was faithful to her.  And I
guess I can't blame her."
 
Lori looked at him intently from across the table.  "But you were,
weren't you?"
 
"Hell, yes," Nick looked around the room restlessly.  "I loved her." 
Then his pale brown eyes settled on Annabelle.  "It was my own fault,
I suppose.  I would take her to my old hangouts and point out my old
lovers to her."
 
"At the gay bars?" Lori asked.
 
"Naturally."
 
Annabelle phrased the question in her mind before she actually asked
it.  "Now that you've broken up with Vesta, are you going to return to
your earlier lifestyle?"
 
"You mean my GAY lifestyle?"  He laughed.  "Come on, Annabelle, we
never footsy around with each other."
 
She put one hand on her mouth.  "I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to say
anything -- inappropriate."
 
"For God's sake, Annie," Lori said.  "Just spit it out."
 
"Okay-- "  Annabelle smiled.  "Here it is, Nick, boldly stated --  do you
think you will return to your gay lifestyle?"
 
He shrugged his shoulders, eying Annabelle critically.  " I wonder if
you understand what a loaded term 'gay lifestyle' is."
 
Annabelle's mouth hung open.  "You told me to go ahead and say it."
 
Lori and Nick both laughed.
 
"You were set up, Hon," Lori said.
 
  Nick said, "You mean all the one-night stands and flings I had with
men before I met Vesta."
 
"Yes," Annabelle said with relief.  "That's what I meant by 'gay
lifestyle.' "
 
"Well --" Nick paused.  "I guess that's what I'm doing later."  Then he
told them about his late-night date in Sioux Falls.
 
Lori frowned.  "So how does crabs fit into the picture?  You were
going to tell us about that."
 
Nick scoped the room, then looked fondly at the two girls.  He glanced
at the strand of pale pink pearls Annabelle was wearing around her
neck and the low V-cut blouse that revealed hints of cleavage.
 
He blurted, "Remember when Vesta and I had that big fight and she
kicked me out?"
 
"I should remember," Lori said drily.  "You slept on my couch for a
month."
 
"Well, you know I didn't sleep with anyone in the meantime.  But she
did, just to hurt me.  When we got back together, we discovered later
that we had crabs."
 
Both girls gasped.  "You never told us that," Annabelle said.
 
"She made me promise not to tell.  And she was so mad.  She was so
sure I'd given it to her.  She kicked me out that night."
 
"But then you got back together again," Lori prompted.
 
"The boomerang effect.  We've all experienced it," Annabelle said,
smiling.
 
"Hmm.  More like a bad penny that keeps showing up.  Anyway, we
both took medicine to get rid of the crabs.  But she didn't take it long
enough.  So, one night, feeling this familiar itch, I got up to go to the
bathroom.  Sure enough, our little friends had returned.  I started
crying.  I couldn't help it."
 
Nick noticed that Annabelle looked startled.  Evidently, after knowing
him all this time, she could still be surprised by his tears.  Or, maybe,
he thought cynically, she was buying into this whole macho thing that
men shouldn't cry.
 
He continued, "I came out,  saying to Vesta, 'They're ba-a-ck.'  But I
didn't feel especially like joking about it.  Vesta was so angry.  She
was positive I had been sleeping around.  We fought and fought. 
Eventually, because we couldn't get to a pharmacist until morning, we
lay down in the bed and tried to sleep.  The next day I went into the
men's bathroom at my workplace and used the medication."
 
"Was Vesta pregnant at that time?" Lori asked.
 
"Yes.  She was afraid of the medication.  But we had to get rid of the
infestation."
 
All three of them were silent for a minute.  Annabelle looked fully at
Nick, tears standing in her dark blue eyes.  Elizabeth Taylor eyes, he
thought.  He didn't have to tell her that his relationship with Vesta
was the best thing he had ever had; Annabelle understood.  But Nick
didn't want to think about that anymore tonight.  He had done enough
thinking and mourning.
 
Drumming his fingers on the table, he said to Annabelle, "So you might
have given this guy ringworm -- and you didn't even sleep with him. 
Why didn't you?"
 
"Because he was only separated from his wife."
 
Lori rolled her eyes and looked at Nick.  "Why bother with such
distinctions?"
 
He smiled at Annabelle.  "You've always been moral in your own way,
haven't you?"
 
"I suppose."  Annabelle blushed, embarrassed at this intent probing of
her would-be sex life.  "But if I were truly moral, I would find
someone who is completely unattached."
 
Nick stood up abruptly, checking his watch.
 
"Leaving for your romantic rendezvous?" Lori smiled her Elvis smile.
 
"Yes," Nick said.
 
"Shop E-Z certainly deserves its name," Annabelle commented.  "Or
maybe it should be called Shop Sleazy."
 
"No jeering from the peanut gallery, thank you.  Maybe I'll see you
one of you girls in the morning" -- he laughed -- "possibly at five a.m.
or so."
 
"Drive carefully," Lori said sternly.  "Don't drive drunk."
 
"Yes, Mother."
* * * * * *
 
Nick tried to picture this guy he was meeting in Sioux Falls, but
nothing came to mind.  For the life of him, he couldn't remember the
color of the clerk's eyes -- hell, he couldn't even remember his name. 
He did remember, when the guy turned to get Nick's cigarettes, that
he had a cute ass.  Nick laughed to himself.
 
The drive to Sioux Falls was monotonous -- long, continuous interstate
cutting through flat, uninteresting land.  He had sometimes
appreciated that seeming simplicity when he was driving drunk.  But
now he was sober; the effects of two whiskeys had worn off.  In the
moonlight, with the sky clear and full of stars, Nick saw the way the
land subtly curved, in small rises and falls.  He paid attention to the
hidden creeks and little valleys he had never noticed before.
 
His eyes kept straying from the road to follow the land's changes.  The
hills in the horizon seemed closer than ever before -- obtainable,
although he knew he could never really possess them.
 
"This land is easy to ignore if you are drunk," he thought, "and blind."
 
It was subtle -- lacking the starkness of western South Dakota, and
yet, it was not distinctly midwestern either.  It was a land
somewhere in between, unexpectedly attractive and fertile.
 
Keeping his eye on the road, he turned on the interior light and flipped
impatiently through his wallet photos until he found one of Annabelle. 
It was a cheap black-and-white photo, the four-for-a-buck, curtain-
background booth kind.
 
"Damned," he said aloud.  The picture didn't do her eyes justice.
 
The guy in Sioux Falls seemed less and less like a possibility -- a
stranger, after all.  But he realized something else -- another person
was carving out a space inside him.  Really, it was too late to meet
anyone new, male or female.   
 
Nick took the Centerville exit and, turning around, headed back to
Vermillion.
* * * * * *
 
Annabelle didn't seem surprised to see him.  She was still dressed in
her V-necked blouse and skirt, although she had taken off the pink
pearls.  "Decided not to go to Sioux Falls?"
 
"I knew it would be a bummer."
 
She laughed.  "Make yourself at home.  I'm going in the bathroom."
 
He turned on the TV and pulled off his jeans.  He glanced around
Annabelle's efficiency, then down at the double-bed.  The last time he
had stayed with Annabelle she was breaking up with a boyfriend who
did not, in Annabelle's words,  "know the meaning of the word
'faithful.' "  She huddled next to Nick, sobbing most of the night.  She
had seemed especially comforted by Nick's words, "Men are pigs." 
Nick smiled, wondering how much pig he had in him.  He found himself
thinking about Annabelle's gorgeous violet eyes; her quiet laugh; the
way her face softened in sympathy when he talked about Vesta . . .
and her delicate white neck and breasts.  Her hothouse-flower neck
and breasts, so sensitive, so pretty, like all of Annabelle.
 
In the bathroom, Annabelle pulled off her shirt and bra and stared
worriedly at her left  breast in the mirror.  The ringworm glowed with
the brilliance of a new tattoo.  She wondered, if by sharing the same
bedclothes, she could give this fungus to Nick.  Certainly, she
reasoned, the medication would kill off the top layer of ringworm. 
And she would be wearing a nightgown over it.  Maybe she should
wear a bra to bed too.
 
The bathroom door opened.
 
"Nick!  I'm practically naked."
 
She started to cover herself, but Nick grabbed her arms.  "Don't.  I
want to see."
 
She laughed nervously.  "You want to see the ringworm?"
 
"Partly."
 
"Partly," she echoed.  The ringworm began pulsing.  She wasn't sure
what was happening.  She stared at him staring at her breasts, at her
neck, at her face.  She wasn't imagining the passion, the open
tenderness, in her old friend's eyes.
 
She tried to diffuse the intensity, to return to their neutral friendship
level, saying lightly:  So, what do you think?  But at that moment Nick
lowered his head and quite deliberately placed his mouth on her left
breast in a certain place.
 
Her head fell back and her knees buckled slightly, in the manner of
one who is seduced, surprised by her own passion.
* * * * * *
 
Barney begged his wife to go with him to Freddy's, a gay bar in
Omaha, to hear his favorite band.
 
"I can't, honey, I've told you before," Maureen said.  "I have a
conference in Wisconsin I cannot miss.  I have to leave now.  I'll be
back in two days."
 
He sighed.  "I don't want to go to the bar alone, Maureen.  I'll get hit
on."
 
"So don't go."
 
He couldn't make her understand this was his favorite blues band and
that he couldn't not go.  He angrily shrugged off her parting, teasing
words, "Don't get picked up, honey" and dressed in loose, bulky pants
and a sweater for the evening out.
 
But when he got there that night, he cheered up immediately.  The
place was full of women as well as men -- and he was positive many
of them were not lesbians.
	A plan began forming in his head immediately.  He decided this
might be the easiest place in the world to pick up women, if all these
obviously sex-starved females had been hanging out with
homosexuals.  The thing he had to do was act sensitive and gay.  He
was sure he could pull it off.
 
Then Barney saw Annabelle, and he knew he wouldn't have to work a
gay angle at all.
 
There she was -- his South Dakota connection -- in deep conversation
at the bar with what Barney assumed was a gay male friend.  He
hadn't talked to her for two months -- ever since their ringworm
conversation.  He remembered Annabelle mentioning some gay male
friends, and this guy certainly looked like he was, the way he was
standing and gesturing -- extremely effeminate.  And this was a gay
bar.  All the same, Barney braced himself for the challenge of taking a
woman away from another man.  He imagined there would be some
sort of struggle.
 
He walked up to them.  "Annabelle!  What are you doing in Omaha?"
 
She turned quickly and smiled at him.  He thought she looked sexier
than ever in those body-hugging jeans.   He pictured himself doing her
from behind.
 
"Barney!  We're just in town visiting.  I'm surprised to see you here . .
. alone."  There was a pointed message in her words.
 
"Yeah, me too." He smiled ironically.  "I wanted to hear the band
that's here.  And Maureen couldn't go out tonight -- as usual.  In fact,
she's out of town."
 
"How -- inconvenient," Annabelle said.  "Let me introduce you to my
boyfriend, Nicholas Smythe."
 
Barney sized up the competition quickly.  It always heightened his
attraction for the woman when she was already attached.  But he
was caught off guard by this guy.  His first impression -- admittedly,
from a distance -- was that Nick was gay, and he wasn't certain he
wasn't still right about that; the way Nick was looking at Barney was
personal somehow -- very personal, as if he knew much about Barney
without ever having talked to him or touched him. Barney decided to
ignore this.
 
"You're a lucky guy," he said, shaking Nick's hand.  A surprisingly firm
grip.
 
"Yes," Nick said.  He looked at Annabelle warmly.
 
The three of them sat down together at a table.  Barney heard Nick
whisper to Annabelle, "He's cute!"  Barney relaxed -- Nick was gay,
after all.  That made his task of seducing Annabelle easier.
 
They chatted casually, but Barney could only think of one thing -- how
to get Annabelle alone.  When she got up to go to the bathroom,
Barney excused himself too.  As soon as they were in the narrow hall
near the bathrooms -- where no one else could see -- he pulled her
aside and kissed her hard.
 
She pulled back.  "Barney, you had no right to do that."
 
"I couldn't help it," he said.  "You look so damned beautiful."
 
He wanted to hold her against him, to let her feel his hard penis
against her soft body.
 
"I"m in love with Nick," she said.
 
"Maybe," he said.  "How can you be in love with somebody who's
obviously attracted to men?"
 
"He loves me."
 
"Maybe," he said again, this time more skeptically.  "Now, this thing I
feel for you --"
 
"Has got nothing to do with love," she said.
 
He searched his lower brain for something clever to say, that might
still get her in bed.  "You can't say that."
 
She was silent for a moment, staring down at his feet.  Barney got the
distinct impression she was angry.  But when she looked up at him
again, Barney couldn't read any emotion in her blackish eyes.
 
She said softly, "Did you know -- you've got ringworm on your lips?"
 
He said nothing, keeping his eyes carefully, respectfully, trained on
her face; but as soon as she walked into the women's bathroom, he
ran into the men's to stare intently in the mirror at his thin-lipped
mouth.
 
THE END