She looked at Barby over the rim of her coke glass, her lips twisted scornfully. “I guess she's all right--if you like that kind. I like normal pie myself." Through Barby's mind there flashed the names of half dozen hidden disabilities--TB, cancer, leukemia, all the names that flashed at you from billboards and magazine ipages. She said weakly, "Normal?" "Sure, she's a Lesbian." Barby's puzzled expression was all the answer she needed. "Don't you know what a Lesbian is? it's a woman who likes other women.” "Well, I like other women. Don't you?" "To go to bed with, stupid. Instead of men." "But I don't see how--" She ran through her considerable knowledge of the relationship between men and women. "I mean, what do they do?" Betty shrugged. Either she didn't know, or, more likely, she considered it an unfit subject to discuss at a drugstore counter. "They find ways," she said darkly. "They're not like other people." She gathered up her handbag, gloves and packages, preparatory to getting down from the high stool.
