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Show Woodworth/192 Warren gestures at her, and she raises her head at the word "lady". Notices Gary's head go up too. "And for you?" Warren asks, turning to Rachael. "Scotch," Rachael says miserably. Then, "Make it a double. This is going to be great." Warren misses the irony in her voice. "And you?" he asks Gary. "Beer," Gary says. "Draft." He reaches for his wallet. "This round is on me," Warren says. His eyes roll behind his glasses like fish in an aquarium. He is as drunk as I am, Marty realizes. "I'm Warren DeVries," Warren says, extending his braceleted hand to Gary. She expects Gary to refuse to shake his hand, but he extends his left hand, and they graps each other. Almost as if they are holding hands. "Gary Peterson," he says. Gary adjusts his weight, and Marty notices that his right arm is around Rachael. The thumb. Stroking her shoulder? If she tries to find out for sure, she may have to meet his eyes. "Did you two really just meet?" Warren asks. He looks simple boyish. So what? she wonders. The guy is dumb. "No. We'ye met before," Gary says. He hugs Rachael to him. "Through a mutual friend." "This is a great place," Warren says. A wizard at useless conversation. "It's really easy to meet people here." "You mean women," Gary says. Still ok. His voice is relaxed, pleasant. "Yeah," Warren laughs. A huffy guffaw that starts from somewhere in his manicured interior. "You can actually meet women in just about any bar in Boston or Cambridge," Gary says. "They say the ratio is three women to every guy." The waitress arrives and deposits their drinks on the ta%£e~. Gary takes^^long swallow of beer and licks the foam |