searched with travel-grimy hands for a cigarette in her pocket, but found only tobacco crumbs. Wearily she let herself sag against a shop window, evidently convinced it was silly to keep marching in the same direction, just because she had started out in it. Better to rest, to think a minute. Her gaze fell on Jack, who was studying her with a little smile. She looked square at him, and then her eyes dropped. He sensed something of her reaction: he was a strange man; she was a girl, forlorn and alone in a city she didn’t know. And probably too damn poor to squander money on cigarettes.
Jack strolled over to her, pulling a pack from his pocket and extending it with one cigarette bounced forward for her to take. She looked up, startled. She was four inches taller than Jack. There was a small pause and then she shook her head and looked away, afraid of him.
“You’d take it if I were somebody’s grandmother,” he kidded her. “Don’t hold it against me that I’m a man.”
She gave him a tentative smile.
“Come on, take it,” he urged.
She accepted one cigarette, but still he held the pack toward her. “Take ’em all. I have plenty. You look like you could use these.”
She obviously wanted to, but she said shyly in a round low voice, “Thanks, but I can’t pay you.”
Jack chuckled. “You’re a nice girl from a nice family,” he said. “Know how I know? Oh, it’s not because you want to pay for the pack.” She looked at him with guarded interest. “It’s because you’re afraid of me. No, it’s true. That’s the mark of a nice girl, sad to say. Men scare her. I can hear your mother telling you, ‘Dear, never take presents from a strange man.’ Right?”
She smiled at him. “Close enough,” she said softly, and inhaled some smoke with a look of relief.
“Well, consider this a loan,” he said, gesturing toward the cigarettes, and then he tucked them in her pocket next to the Guide. She jumped at the touch of his hand. He felt it but did not say anything. “You’re pretty new, aren’t you?” he said.
“I’m pretty used, if you want to know,” she said ruefully.
Jack laughed. “How old? Seventeen?”
“Do I look that young?” she asked, dismayed. There was intelligence in her regular features, but a pleasant country innocence, too. And she was uncommonly handsome with her black wavy hair and restless blue eyes.
“Do you have a name?” he asked.
“Do you?” she countered, instantly defensive.
He held out his hand affably and said, “I’m Jack Mann. Does that make you feel any better?”
She took his hand, cautiously at first, then gave it a firm shake. “Should it?” she said.
“Only if you live down here,” he answered. “Everybody knows I’m harmless.”
She seemed reassured. “I’m going to live here. I’m looking for a place now.” She paused as if embarrassed. “I do have a name: Beebo Brinker.”
He blinked. “Beebo?” he said.
“It used to be Betty Jean. But I couldn’t say it right when I was little.”
They smoked a moment in silence and then Beebo said, “I guess I’d better get going. I have to spend the night somewhere.” And she turned a sudden pink, realizing the inference Jack might draw from her remark. “Everybody” might know Jack down here, but Beebo wasn’t everybody. For all she knew he was harmless as a shark. The mere fact that he had a name wasn’t all that reassuring.
“Looks to me like you need some food first,” he said lightly. “There’s always a sack somewhere.”
“I don’t have much money.”
“Better to spend it on food,” he said. “Anyway, what the hell, I’ll treat you. There’s some good Wiener schnitzel about a block back.” He tried to take her wicker case to carry it for her, but she pulled away, offended as if his offer were a comment on her ability to take care of herself.
Jack stopped and laughed a little. “Look, my little friend,” he said kindly. “When I first hit New York I was as pea-green as you are. Somebody did this for me and let me save my few bucks for a room and job hunting. This is my way of paying him back. Ten years from now, you’ll do the same thing for the next guy. Fair?”
It was hard for her to resist. She was almost shaky hungry; she was worn out; she was lost. And Jack looked as kind as he was. It was a part of his success in salvaging people: they liked his face. It was homely, but in the good-humored amiable way that made him seem like an old friend in a matter of minutes.
Finally Beebo smiled at him. “Fair,” she said. “But I’ll pay you back, Jack. I will.”
They walked back to the German delicatessen, Beebo with a firm grip on her suitcase.
She finished her meal in ten minutes. Jack ordered another for her, over her protests, kidding her about her appetite.
“Jesus,” he said. “When did you eat last?”
“Fort Worth.”
“Indiana?” Jack stared.
“Yes. I ate three sandwiches in the rest room, on the train. That was yesterday.” Beebo drained her milk glass and put it on the table. The pneumatic little blonde waitress brought the second plateful. Jack, watching Beebo, who was watching the waitress, saw her wide blue eyes glide up and down the plump pink-uniformed body with curious interest. Beebo pulled back, holding her breath as the waitress leaned over her to set a basket of bread on the table, and there was a look of fear on her face.
Jack thought to himself, she’s afraid of her. Afraid of that bouncy little bitch. Afraid of … women?
When she had finished eating, Beebo glanced up at him. For all her physical sturdiness and arresting face, she was not a forward or a confident girl.
“You eat like a farm hand,” he chuckled.
“I should. I was raised in farm country,” she said, looking away from him. Her shyness beguiled him. “Thank you for the food.”
“My pleasure.” He observed her through a scrim of cigarette smoke. “If I weren’t afraid of scaring hell out of you, I’d ask you over to my place for a drink,” he said. She blanched. “I mean, a drink of milk,” he said.
“I don’t drink,” she told him apologetically, as if teetotaling were something hick-town and unsophisticated.
“Not even milk?”
“Not with strange men.”
“Am I really that strange?” he grinned, laughing at her again.
“Am I really that funny?” she demanded.
“No.” He reached over the table top unexpectedly and pressed her hand. She tried to jerk it away but he held it tight, surprising her with his strength. “You’re a lovely girl,” he said. It wasn’t suggestive or even romantic. He didn’t mean it to be. “You’re a sweet young kid and you’re lost and tired and frightened. You need one thing right now, Beebo, and the rest will take care of itself.”
“What’s that?” She retrieved her hand and tucked it behind her.
“A friend.”
She gazed at him, sizing him up, and then began to move from the booth.
“I’m no wolf,” Jack said, sliding after her. “Can’t you tell? I just like to help lost girls. I collect them.” And when she turned back with a frown of disbelief, he shrugged. “Everybody’s got to have a hobby.”
He bought some Dutch beer and sausage, paid the cashier, and walked with Beebo out the front door. On the pavement she stopped, swinging her wicker case around in front of her like a