Peter sat curled up in the armchair with his well-thumbed copy of Charlotte's Web; he had just gotten to the chapter where the Arables were taking Wilbur the pig to the county fair. He was home alone: Davy was on a date, and Micky had talked Mike into seeing Gold Diggers of 1935 at a revival house in Van Nuys. The sound of the door opening startled him out of his reading. He glanced at his watch: it was just past eleven.

Davy strode in, looking dapper in his pink-and-green striped shirt. The heels of his new pointed-toed boots clicked on the floor. He smiled brightly at Peter. "Hey, how's it going, mate?"

"Great – it's nice just having a quiet night with a good book. How was your date with..." Peter paused, as if deep in thought. "Michelle?"

Davy grinned and sat down. "I know, it's hard keeping track of all the names. I can barely remember sometimes. Yeah, it was Michelle." His smile faded. "The date was OK; nothing special. We went for Italian at Papa Lorenzo's, then dancing at the Cotton Candy Club; the usual. After a while, it felt like things were sort of going nowhere, so I made up some excuse about having an early rehearsal tomorrow and took Michelle home. She didn't seem to mind very much."

"I noticed you came back pretty early for a Friday night", Peter said.

Davy was silent for a moment. "You know, Pete, I just don't get it. There are so many girls; I swear there's a new one every bloody week. Every time, I think, 'Oh, she's going to be the one.' But it never, ever works out."

Peter said nothing; he looked at Davy with sympathy. Another expression flickered over his face, but it was gone before Davy could read it.

"It's always the same: 'Oh, Davy, you have such beautiful brown eyes.' And then, 'I love your accent. It's so cute.' I feel like I'm in a movie or something, only it's the same role every time. 'David Jones, Professional Englishman.' I never get to just be meself." He stared off into the distance for a moment, musing. "I know...I'm very lucky to be...", he smiled modestly, "nice-looking. I'm sure a lot of chaps wish they could say that. But I get so bloody tired of just being...handsome. That's all any of these girls ever notice about me; that, and me accent."

"You are really good-looking, Davy", Peter replied matter-of-factly.

"Thanks..." Then Davy gazed at Peter thoughtfully. "Why couldn't it be the way things are with you and me? You know, I can always talk to you, about whatever pops into me head. We can have a laugh together, or we can be serious. I never feel like I have to put on an act with you." Davy grinned again. "If you were a girl, Peter, I bet we'd have lots of fun on a date..."

All of a sudden, the copy of Charlotte's Web fell to the floor; Peter bent to pick it up. Were it not for that, Davy would almost certainly have noticed the crimson flush on his cheeks.