The bearded boy rose suddenly, his metal chair screeching on the tile. Everyone looked up. He stood a moment, embarrassed by the attention, and fussed with beer bottle and glass until he was ignored.

He came directly to Zoe's table.

"Pardon me, ma'am," he said in a low voice. "I was wondering if I might buy you a drink. Please?"

Zoe inspected him, tilting her head, trying to make him out in the twilight. He was very tall, very thin. Dressed in a tweed jacket too bulky for his frame, clean chinos, sueded bush boots.

Thin wrists stuck from the cuffs of his heavy jacket, and his big head seemed balanced on a stalk neck. His smile was hopeful. The long hair and scraggly beard were blond, sun-streaked. He seemed harmless.

"Sit down," she said softly. "We'll each buy our own drinks."

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

His name was Chet (for Chester) LaBranche, and he was from Waterville, Maine. But he lived and worked in Vermont, where he was assistant to the president of Barre Academy, which was called an academy but was actually a fully accredited coeducational liberal arts college with an enrollment of 437.

"I really shouldn't be here," he said, laughing happily. "But our comptroller came down with the flu or something, and we had already paid for the convention reservation and tickets and all, so Mrs. Bixby-she's the president-asked me if I wanted to come, and I jumped at the chance. It's my first time in the big city, so I'm pretty excited about it all."

"Having a good time?" Zoe asked, smiling.

"Well, I just got in this morning, and we had meetings most of the day, so I haven't had much time to look around, but it's sure big and noisy and dirty, isn't it?"

"It sure is."

"But tomorrow and Wednesday we'll have more time to ourselves, and I mean to look around some. What should I see?"

"Everything," she told him.

"Yes," he said, nodding vigorously, "everything. I mean to. Even if I stay up all night. I don't know when I'll get a chance like this again. I want to see the fountain where Zelda Fitzgerald went dunking and all the bars in Greenwich Village where Jack Kerouac hung out. I got a list of places I made out in my room and I aim to visit them all."

"You're staying here in the hotel?" she asked casually.

"Oh yes, ma'am. That was included in the convention tickets. I got me a nice room on the fifth floor, one flight down. Nice, big, shiny room."

"How old are you, Chet?"

"Going on twenty-five," he said, ducking his head. "I never have asked your name, ma'am, but you don't have to tell me unless you want to."

"Irene," she said.

He was enthusiastic about everything. It wasn't the beer he gulped down; it was him. He chattered along brightly, making her laugh with his descriptions of what life was like at the Barre Academy when they got snowed in, and the troubles he already had with New York cabdrivers.

She really enjoyed his youth, vitality, optimism. He hadn't yet been tainted. He trusted. It all lay ahead of him: a glittering world. He was going to become a professor of English Lit. He was going to travel to far-off places. He was going to own a home, raise a family. Everything.

He almost spluttered in his desire to get it all out, to explain this tremendous energy in him. His long hands made grand gestures. He squirmed, laughing at his own mad dreams, but believing them.

Zoe had three more glasses of white wine, and Chet had two more bottles of beer. She listened to him, smiling and nodding. Then, suddenly, the swimmers were gone, the pool was dimmed. Tables had emptied; they were the last. The sleepy waiter appeared with their bill.

"Chet, I'd like to see that list you made out," Zoe said. "The places you want to visit. Maybe I can suggest some others."

"Sure," he said promptly. "Great idea. We don't have to wait for the elevator. We can walk; it's only one flight down."

"Fine," she said.

She carried her glass of wine, and he carried his bottle and glass of beer. As he had said, his room was nice, big, and shiny. He showed it off proudly: the stack of fluffy towels, the neatly wrapped little bars of soap, the clean glasses and plastic ice bucket.

"And two beds!" he chortled, bouncing up and down on one of them. "Never thought I'd get to stay in a room with two beds! I may just sleep in both of them, taking turns. Just for the sheer luxury of it! Now… where's that list?"

They sat side by side on the edge of the bed, discussing his planned itinerary. Never once did he touch her, say anything even mildly suggestive, or give her any reason to suspect he was other than he appeared to be: an innocent.

She turned suddenly, kissed his cheek.

"I like you," she said. "You're nice."

He stared at her, startled, eyes widening. Then he leaped to his feet, a convulsive jump.

"Yes, well…" he said, stammering. "I thank you. I guess maybe I've been boring you. Haven't I? I mean, talking about myself all night. Good Lord, I haven't given you a chance to open your mouth. We could go downstairs and have a nightcap. In the bar downstairs. Would you like that? Or maybe you want to split? I understand. That's all right. I mean if you want to go…"

She smiled, took his hand, drew him back down onto the bed.

"I don't want another drink, Chet," she said. "And I don't want to go. Not yet. Can't we talk for a few minutes?"

"Well… yeah… sure. I'd like that."

"Are you married, Chet?"

"Oh no. No, no."

"Girlfriend?"

"Uh, yes… sort of. Sure, she's a girlfriend. A junior at the Academy, which is against the rules because we're not supposed to date the students. You know? But this has been going on for, oh, maybe six or seven months now. And she's been sneaking out to meet me, but vacation started last week and we've got plans to see each other this summer."

"That's wonderful. Is she nice?"

"Oh yes. I think so. Very nice. Good fun-you know? I mean fun to be with. Alice. That's her name-Alice."

"I like that name."

"Yes, well, we usually meet out of town. I mean, the place isn't so big that people wouldn't notice, so we have to be careful. I have wheels, an old, beat-up crate, and sometimes we go to a roadhouse out of town. Sometimes, on a nice night, we'll just take a walk and talk."

"Is she pretty?"

"Oh yes. I think so. Not beautiful. I mean, she's not glamorous or anything like that. She wears glasses. She's very nearsighted. But I think she's pretty."

"Do you love her, Chet?"

He considered that a long moment.

"I don't know," he finally confessed. "I really don't know. I've given it a lot of thought. I mean, if I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I really don't know. But it's not something we have to decide right now. I mean, it's only been six or seven months. She's coming back for her senior year, so we'll have a chance to get to know each other better. Maybe it'll just, like, fade away, or maybe it'll become something. You know?"

She put her lips close to his ear, whispering…

"Have you had sex together?"

He blushed. "Well, ah, not exactly. I mean, we've done… things. But not, you know, all the way. I respect her."

"Does she have a good body?"

"Oh God-oh gosh, yes! She's really stacked. I mean, she's a swimmer and all. Doesn't smoke. Has a beer now and then. Keeps herself in very good shape. Very good. She's almost as tall as I am. Very slender with these big… you know…"

"Why haven't you had sex with her?"

"Well, uh… you know…"

She wouldn't let him off the hook. It was suddenly important to her to learn what Chet and Alice had done together.

"She wants to, doesn't she, Chet?"

"Oh yes. I think so. Sometimes we get started and it's very difficult to stop. Then we cool it. That's what we say to each other: 'Cool it!' Then we laugh, and get, uh, control again."