, she came
into the bar with Jim, laughing and having a good time. She waved at
Patrick like an old friend, but she didn't say anything to him. He felt
less isolated, seeing her. He hadn't touched her, but he knew her smell
and what she looked like underneath those clothes.

On Saturday, Parker invited him to a party at his house. When Patrick
arrived, the downstairs was full of people talking loudly and drinking
steadily. He learned that Parker, too, was a drop out--from
Harvard--and that the Mercedes had belonged to his mother. "You know,"
Patrick said to him after a few beers, "when people talk, I get the
feeling I'm missing something. It's like they're saying one thing but
really talking about something else. It's like there's another layer
underneath everything."

"You're learning," Parker said. Desperation crossed his face. He looked
as though he might get in his car and drive away forever. Instead, he
smiled helplessly and went for another drink. Patrick met Wilson's
wife, Elaine, a short cheerful woman with a plain face and an
extravagant body. Wilson was making pronouncements about the paintings
on Parker's walls, mentioning painters Patrick had never heard of.
Parker's two sons were running about having a great time. Parker and
his wife, Hildy, were both stout blondes with fair complexions and blue
eyes. Their boys were stamped from the same mold. Patrick could see
them someday hauling ladders, driving elegant old cars, and charming
well-to-do housewives.

Joe Burke showed up and introduced Patrick to his lady. "Sally
Daffodil," he called her. She was tall and athletic with a grace and
coloring that was like the flower. They were a good pair, Patrick
thought, funny and open, yet . . . He sensed reserves in them that ran
deep.

Patrick wasn't used to the company of so many sharp people in one room.
Gino Canzoni came in, the foreman of Parker's other, larger, crew. He
was tall and ironic. He had a rep on the crew for fearlessness at great
heights. "My wife, Cree," he said to Patrick. She was dark with slender
intelligent features. She had a blinding smile. The charm and pain and
hint of wildness in her smile obliterated Patrick's defenses.

"Hi," he said. She accepted his surrender.

"Welcome to town," she said gaily. He felt included. Gino and Joe had
grown up in Woodstock and were old friends. The group stood around
telling stories. "Before Gino took me to meet his family," Cree said,
"he told his moth