He had no recollection of Alpert being there, or he hadn’t until this very moment. Now it came to him, a shimmering image of Dick with his arm around a beautiful young man, the two of them appearing there in the firelit room just as the drug was coming on. Both were grinning and looking down on him and Joanie as if they were subjects in a lab somewhere. It gave him an odd feeling to recover the memory now because he’d never studied with Professor Alpert and barely knew him and because Professor Alpert was known to be a homosexual. He’d never encountered a homosexual before and the whole concept of men wanting other men was alien to him, and while he’d read case studies and Havelock Ellis and Freud (it is nothing to be ashamed of, no vice, no degradation), he didn’t know how he felt about it down deep, especially at a time when he’d been so vulnerable, so open and defenseless and uncertain. And Pahnke too. Yes, it was a comfort to know he was there, a medical doctor, but he was also a fellow student—a competitor—and to think Walter had even considered sticking a needle in him, of violating him, made him feel ill.

“It was our feeling that you should work through it,” Tim was saying, “because it’s the only way to really open up and strip away all those layers of societally imposed crap—I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Tell you the truth, I don’t really have all that clear a recollection.”

“You got out into the backyard for a while there, dropped an article of clothing or two”—a laugh—“nothing essential, just your jacket. And trousers. But Walter and I were there with you and we got you back inside and settled in front of the fireplace and that seemed to do the trick. Your wife? She was fine, by the way. Just went deep and didn’t move a muscle all evening. She did write up her report, didn’t she?”

“Yes. And I’ve been meaning to get it to you. My report too, but I don’t know how coherent it’s going to be—”

Tim’s hand rose and fell in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’ll be fine. As I say, it’s all part of the catalog we’re building.” They’d come to the end of the walk and Tim stopped again. “I’m heading this way,” he said, pointing to his left. “A meeting. But we’ve got a date for Saturday night, right?”

“Saturday? I don’t know, I was going to, I don’t know—Corey, my son? I promised to take him to a movie.”