Beauty Queen

the gay demonstration. Openly, the men and women there expressed nothing but contempt for the "pansy parade," as PO Bronsky called it. But Mary Ellen wondered how many of them were feeling the same secret nervousness that she felt.
    She and five other sergeants were called in to see Captain Bader immediately.
    Bader was sitting at his desk, wearing dark circles under his eyes and an air of disgust with the whole world.
    "You and your squads are being assigned to the Colter headquarters area," he said. "They've asked for our help up there. It looks like it's going to be big, very big. You'll have all the crowd-control backup we can get."
    Mary Ellen knew what this meant. It meant mounted police, Mace, tear gas—the works.
    "The Colter people are apparently shitting a brick," Bader went on dryly. "They didn't realize what a hornet's nest they've stirred up."
    He was scanning reports on his desk.
    "Funny thing, though. We've had a couple of anonymous phone tips that we're going to have a little help from some of the demonstrators. If we see any big tough motorcycle types out there, we're supposed to handle them with kid gloves, because they're supposed to be on our side. They apparently don't want a riot either."
    Bader looked at all of them broodingly.
    "At any rate, I want you to make it very plain to your squads that I don't want to hear any complaints about unnecessary police brutality. If things get out of hand, use your heads first. Is that clear?"
    As the sergeants trooped out to roll call, she heard one of them say, "Didn't the Hell's Angels say they'd keep order at a rock concert a few years ago? And some guy wound up getting stabbed to death ..
    At her roll call, Mary Ellen stood crisp and straight in front of the rows of uniformed men, who were sprawled in their chairs taking notes. The men had learned the hard way that she didn't like comments like "Isn't she pretty today." They were all business, taking notes and weighing her words.
    "The brass say no brutality," Mary Ellen told them. "And I will have to emphasize that to you gentlemen."
    She didn't even trade looks with Danny, who sat with head bent. She could only guess at the turmoil of feelings going on inside Danny's crisp blue jacket.
    And then, all too soon, they were on the street in front of Colter's headquarters at 38th and Park.
    It was after seven. A light summer rain was falling.
    The area already teemed with "walk-bys," and with police, and TV camera crews with their sound trucks, and photographers and curious onlookers. Mounted police sat on their big bay horses, whose necks and rumps glistened in the rain.
    The police had thrown up yellow wooden barricades around part of the block where the Colter headquarters stood. Lights burned brightly in the Colter office. Mary Ellen could see some of the Colter people in there, trying to pretend they were working glancing nervously over their shoulders at the street outside.
    Unfortunately, since the office faced out on Park Avenue, the police could not block off the entire avenue—especially since it was the tail end of the rush hour, and the traffic was still heavy.
    So they were simply making the marchers keep to the outside of the barricades.
    Mary Ellen stood in front of the yellow barricades, sweltering in her slicker, repeating, "Move along, please. Just move along."
    She was amazed at the size of the march. Gay people were pouring into the area from all directions. They walked swiftly and silently and purposefully, as if they were going to work. There was little to distinguish their manner from the rush-hour masses which had filled the streets an hour or two before—except that all of them signaled their gayness in some way.
    They hoisted signs such as WE PROTEST COLTER'S CRUELTY TO GAYS. They wore T-shirts lettered with things like "Closets are for clothes." They raised their fists. Little groups sang "We Shall Overcome." Several groups carried huge banners with the names of gay churches.
    The leather men were very visible. They must have turned out in force from all over the metropolitan area—a grapevine just as fast and efficient as the police force's radio. Many of them were in full dress—unsmiling, forbidding, impressive in their full regalia—their black leather caps and broad chain-draped shoulders looming above the crowd.
    Mary Ellen stood there at the barricades with her heart in her mouth. If things got out of hand, that crowd might crush her like a dead dry leaf. She felt