“I’m not questioning your honesty,” he said quickly. “Look, I’m not trying to get your goat. But you are a girl, and things may get heavy.”

“I’m a woman, Mr. Thayer, and I can look out for myself. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be in this kind of business. If things get heavy, I’ll figure out a way to handle them-or go down trying. That’s my problem, not yours. Now, you want to tell me about your son, or can I go home where I can turn on an air conditioner?”

He thought some more, and I took some deep breaths to calm myself, ease the tension in my throat.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I hate to, but I’m running out of options.” He looked up, but I couldn’t see his face. “Anything I tell you has to be strictly in confidence.”

“Righto, Mr. Thayer,” I said wearily. “Just you, me, and Arnie’s Steak Joynt.”

He caught his breath but remembered he was trying to be conciliatory. “It’s really Anita, my son’s girl friend. Not that Pete-my son, that is-hasn’t been a bit of a problem, too.”

Dope, I thought morosely. All these North Shore types think about is dope. If it was a pregnancy, they’d just pay for an abortion and be done with it. However, mine was not to pick and choose, so I grunted encouragingly.

“Well, this Anita is not really a very desirable type, and ever since Pete got mixed up with her he’s been having some peculiar ideas.” The language sounded strangely formal in his husky voice.

“I’m afraid I only detect things, Mr. Thayer. I can’t do too much about what the boy thinks.”

“No, no, I know that. It’s just that-they’ve been living together in some disgusting commune or other-did I tell you they’re students at the University of Chicago? Anyway, he, Pete, he’s taken to talking about becoming a union organizer and not going to business school, so I went down to talk to the girl. Make her see reason, kind of.”