Beauty Queen

daughter like that. She's got Jeannie's guts, and she's got all the common sense that Jeannie never had. I'm supposed to go to their apartment for dinner some night next week. You must come with me."
    His toe hit a crooked place in the concrete, and he nearly fell flat on his face.
    "Are you sure you're all right?" said Marion anxiously. "Do you want to sit down somewhere?"
    "No, I want to walk and look at the ships," said Bill violently. "I imagine Jesus had one too many before He went to the garden to pray. Don't you think? Do you want to walk with me and look at the ships?"
    "Of course," said Marion. "What made you think I wouldn't?"
    "I was beginning to think that you didn't want to look at ships with me anymore/' said Bill.
    "Well, we'll look at ships all you want," said Marion.
    For the first time, Marion publicly slipped his arm through Bill's, and they walked on down the waterfront together.
    A little farther on, Bill celebrated his first step toward freedom by hanging over a piling, right by one of the slummy old piers, and vomiting his lunch into the oily waters of the East River.
    Jeannie got out of the cab on the corner of Catherine Slip and South Street. The street was brightly lit, but almost deserted. The warm wind brought a strong sea smell from the East River.
    She looked around. It was actually the first time in her life that she had ever set foot on South Street. Farther down she could see the floodlit masts of a big sailing ship. That must be the Seaport Museum that everyone always talked about. Several cars were parked along the street, among them her father's Lancia.
    It was a little scary here. The gentle rain spattered her face, and she wrapped her raincoat around herself as she walked toward the corner building. The tall old shutters were closed, but she could see the lights inside. The door stood open just a crack.
    As she mounted the step, she could see about two dozen people sitting on metal folding chairs inside. On the other side of the room was a handsome old counter, hardwood-and-glass cupboards to the ceiling—this must have been a store one hundred years ago. She glimpsed someone standing up behind the counter, holding a book open.
    Arrested by the voice, she stopped by the door. It was her father's voice. He seemed to be reading from the Bible, from Revelations.
    .. Behold," Bill was saying, "I have set before thee an open door, and no man can shut it: for thou hast a little strength, and hast kept my word, and hast not denied my name."
    She smiled a little. It was nice to hear her father's voice reading the Bible.
    But as she stood there a moment longer, her smile faded.
    Her father stopped reading, and a discussion started.
    "... so we can only be sure this applies to gay people if we are sure all the stuff in the Old Testament doesn't apply to us," said a man's voice.
    "In other words," said a woman, "if we believe, if we accept Jesus Christ in this spirit, then that door is open ..."
    "Right," her father was saying. "Because if we have faith in Jesus Christ, if we accept Him, then He couldn't possibly throw that faith away . .
    Jeannie felt as if some heavy chilled fluid had been injected into her veins, forcing out all the warm blood. The people in the room were homosexuals who felt that the Bible did not condemn them. And her father was in there with them. What in God's name was he doing there? By rights he should be preaching the Word to them, telling them that they were doomed to fall in the lake of fire if they didn't stop practicing their special kind of sin.
    "But," somebody else said, "supposing we believe? And supposing we are wrong? And when we die, God says, 'Too bad for you, kid, I never did like queers . . .'"
    The group inside laughed a little.
    "But the straight believers have the same problem," said Bill. "In the long run, nobody can know for sure. All we can go on is simple faith . . ."
    Jeannie stood there, feeling the blood draining down out of her brain, feeling like she was going into shock. The sea smell clogged her nostrils, and she thought she was going to gag. Her father was in there talking with these homosexuals like he was one of them. How was it possible? Her father, so big and masculine, married to her mother for 32 years.
    Her mind still couldn't take it in. She decided to go in and investigate further, before flying off the handle and maybe making a fool of herself.
    She shoved at the door. It flew open with a bang— someone must have recently