protector who must guard an object carefully, less to keep it from harm
than to keep it as a possession. The word “mother” floated around there
somewhere and Leda could not catch it and stop it like that, so it
rested with her momentarily. In that moment her breasts felt hard and
bothersome. Mother, she thought, and seeing Jan off there again, she
felt the sharp edge of hatred gnawing into her boredom, inside where she
was thinking now for that very slow minute.
* * * * *
Downstairs in the president’s suite, Marsha talked to Robin.
“... because if everyone had her own way, Robin, we wouldn’t be a
unified group. There have to be rules.”
“But rules like that are crazy. I never heard of dating only boys who
belong to fraternities. Gee, next week when classes start, I’ll meet a
lot of independents. It’s worse than racial prejudice.”
“Robin, tell me something. Why do you want to join a sorority?”
“My mother wants me to. She never had the money when she was in college.
I guess she always wanted to make up for it by having me belong.”
Marsha walked toward the window and watched the trees in the yard near
the side of the house. “If you don’t believe in all that a sorority
does,” she said, “one way to fight is to fight from the inside—where the
rules and regulations are being made. Sometimes it takes a while. But
there are good things about living here like this, and you can’t fight
effectively if you don’t keep those good points in mind.”
Robin looked up at her and smiled. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “I’m
a pretty clumsy rebel.”
As she left the suite and passed the phone in the hall, it rang shrilly
and she lifted the arm from the cradle. It was for Kitten Clark, and
reaching up for the buzzer on the left of the booth, she found the name
and pushed the tiny button. A voice called down, “Got it on three. Hang
up on two, please.” Robin walked past a room where some pledges were
gathered, learning the words to the Tri Ep song. “Tri Epsilon is a
friendly house where every girl’s a queen,” they sang in close, harmonic
tones, raising their voices slightly for the next line: “And all the
frat men love her.”
Chapter Three
“... and this,” Kitten Clark said, “is Susan Mitchell.”
Mitch stepped forward there in the front hall of the Tri Ep house and
shook hands with Dirk Henry. He was a plump, short person, and walking
along beside him, Mitch felt like a large wire-drawn giraffe. When they
reached the front steps, he said, “Clive’s car is down the street. We’re
going to the house.”
“What fraternity are you in?” Mitch asked. “Kitten never even told me
what house you were from.”
He opened the jacket to his coat and displayed a plain oval-shaped
silver pin, fixed to the pocket of his shirt. “Recognize it?”
Mitch stammered. “I’m afraid I’m not too good at spotting them yet.”
“Sigma Delta,” he said proudly. “It’s just the pledge pin. That’s why
you didn’t recognize it. Here’s the car.”
Bud Roberts was president of Sig Delt. Would he be at the party? The
thought lost its force when Dirk opened the door, and Mitch saw Robin
Maurer seated in front with Clive.
“Hi, Mitch,” she cried. “Want you to meet Clive McKenzie, my unlucky
blind date for the evening.”
They drove for a few blocks until they reached a palatial two-story
brick house. Oak trees towered self-consciously over the entrance and
cast shadows on the Greek letters ΣΔ, outlined in sparkling white
lights.
As they piled out of the car and went up the walk, there was a sweet
aroma of roses and honeysuckle.
“Smells marvelous,” Mitch said.
“It’s Henry, our houseboy. He has a passion for flowers. Keeps the yard
in damn fine shape, Henry does.” Dirk’s tone sounded forced and
pontifical, and Mitch glanced sideways at him to see if there were any
trace of a smile, but he was dead serious.
At the doorway, a small old woman waited to greet them. In the harsh
light of the chandelier inside the entrance, her white face looked
heavily powdered like the top of a sponge cake, and her silver-colored
hair had a strong purple tint.
“This is Mother Carter,” Dirk said. “How’s the party going, Mom?”
Mitch and Robin shook her hand and passed on with the boys through
spacious rooms with parquet floors to a winding stairway that led
downward.
“You’ll like the Tack Room,” Clive assured them. “Cost Sig Delt three
thousand.”
Robin groaned significantly, and it was hard to tell whether she was
expressing awe or disgust.
The Tack Room was lined on either side with large red leather booths,
and around the walls on oak shelves there were pictures and trophies
that were difficult to distinguish in the dim lighting. At the head of
the room there was a large circular bar. Behind this a pledge worked,
opening bottles of Coke and soda. Liquor was forbidden at fraternity
parties, and so the flasks were hidden at the tables where a score of
couples huddled together. Everyone was singing when Mitch and Robin
entered with their dates.
“Roll me over, Yankee soldier.
Roll me over, lay me down, and do it again.
“This is number three and my hand is on her knee,
Roll me over, lay me down and do it again.
Roll me o-ver in the clo-ver,
Roll me over, lay me down, and do it again.”
“I’ll get the setups,” Clive yelled back at them as they settled in a
corner, and he pushed his way through the crowd. Robin sighed and said,
“Last night I drank chug-a-lug. Not tonight!”
Dirk joined the singing enthusiastically, and Mitch stared around the
room, wondering if Leda and Jake were there. And Bud Roberts. Across
from her, a girl with long raven hair pulled away from the lean boy who
was whispering in her ear. “Kee-ryst!” she exclaimed, and the rest of
her words were gobbled and gone amid the singing and the pounding clink
of bottles and feet tapping time with the music.
An hour dragged, monotonous and unrelieved, with the same songs and the
sour taste of the whisky that Mitch barely touched. Clive and Dirk sang
every song, stopping only to swig their drinks and refill them, and
point out the various “brothers” who were big shots—football players,
and the editor of the campus humor magazine, and a graduate student who
was a Phi Beta Kappa, and, inevitably, Bud Roberts. Clive pointed at
him, and Mitch looked and saw him, leaning against the wall, grinning
crookedly. He began to weave his way toward them, slowly, at an amble,
his hands stuffed into his baggy pants pockets, his green checkered
sports shirt open at the neck.
Mitch said, “I think I’ll go to the powder room.” She had noticed the
red arrow and the dark letters on the wall announcing, “Women go this
way!” Dirk nodded as she rose to leave, and Robin said, “Wait a second,
friend, I’ll string along.”
“One at a time,” Bud Roberts said, standing squarely in front of the two
girls. “It’s a house rule. One at a time.” And then, “How are you
tonight, Miss Mitchell?”
“Fine.”
“Good! Now, if you’ll allow me, I’ll lead you to our ladies’ room.” He
grinned at Robin. “You’ll have to wait.”
Mitch’s cheeks grew hot as his hand held her elbow and pushed her along.
The singing was loud and painful in her ears.
“How do you feel tonight?” he said. “Feel better?”
“Yes.”
“You know, you’re sort of a challenge to me.”
“Why don’t you forget it?” Mitch said. “Why don’t you just be a
gentleman?”
“Spoken by a true lady, at the door of the ladies’ room.”
Mitch pulled the door open and slammed it shut, thankful to be rid of
him, to have the touch of his hand off her arm. Inside, the room was
feminine and attractive, with small dressing tables, flowered couches
and chairs, and a downy blue rag rug with green trim. Her examination of
the handsome room was arrested suddenly as she stood before the mirror
and reached for her comb. There, to the left of her, a huge cardboard
figure dangled brazenly. It was that of a man, naked except for a
flapping fig leaf across which was written, “Lift and look.”
Automatically, her hand reached for the fig leaf, and drew back. Her
curiosity was mixed with shame and guilt. She ignored it and began
combing her hair, fixing her lipstick, and powdering her nose. It
remained to obsess her in a peculiar way. Again she glanced at it, and
then, remembering that Bud had said, “One at a time,” she realized that
no one would see her examine the figure, and once more her hand touched
the loose leaf. Slowly and fearfully she raised it. Suddenly and swiftly
a fierce bell deafened her ears, ringing out a vibrant wail throughout
the Sigma Delta fraternity house. Gales of laughter and shouts started
in the room outside, and Mitch drew back and stood shocked, her hands
shaking with scalding embarrassment.
The voices and calls persisted and Mitch sat down for long, frenzied
minutes. She could hear them coming closer until they stood at the door,
singing.
“Never lift a fig leaf, lady, let the poor guy be!
That is,
That is,
If it’s idle cu-ri-os-i-ty!
“Never lift a fig leaf, lady, just to steal a glance,
Unless,
Unless
You fol-low with ro-mance!
“Now! Ain’t you coming out?
Ain’t you coming out?
Ain’t you ev-er, ev-er comin’ out?”
She knew that she could not. They were waiting for her and she could not
get up and walk to the door and pass them. Not now. It was a joke, she
realized that, but it was _his_ joke. And everyone would be shaking with
laughter, knowing what she had done. Anger mounted in her, and her hands
wrung with a seething anxiety. Over and over they sang the song and
shouted and she sat there. Very gradually the voices died away and then
it was finished and they had left the door. Short, round tears loitered
in the corners of her eyes and escaped down her face as she blotted them
with her handkerchief and straightened herself. She listened at the
door, and the noise was not there, but back at the booths where they all
were. Opening it a few inches, she saw that Bud had waited. There was a
look of smug defiance on his face.
“C’mon,” he said. “No one will bother you now.”
She slammed the door shut harshly and held onto it from the inside. He
was the last one she could look at—his face leering that way, the slimy,
suggestive tone, and the hand that reached for her.
“By God, you’ll come out! You’ll come out!” he shouted, and heaving
himself at the door before she could twist the lock and secure it, he
held her arms back and kicked the door shut behind him.
“Damn you,” he said, the sick, sweet odor of liquor flowing from his
mouth. “Damn you and your damn innocence! You wanted to look, didn’t
you? By God, look, then!”
Mitch wrested herself free, and grabbing the china vase on the table,
she brought it down on his head, and left him staggering back against
the wall. Then, running, she tripped up the stairs, past the ghostlike
face of Mother Carter, through the door, and beyond the gangling oak
trees. She ran down the street in the tar-black night.
When she stopped running, a block away, the near lights of the stadium
told her she was streets away from the Tri Epsilon house. Gasping for
breath, her body perspiring feverishly, she stumbled along until she saw
the white house on the corner. As she approached it, she noticed the
sign ΔΡ, and she remembered Fredna, the girl she had met at the hotel
during rush week. Instantly, she quickened her pace and climbed the rows
of brick steps. A couple sat on the porch, and the girl looked up at
Mitch as she passed the swing where they were.
“May I help you?” she said, standing, coming toward Mitch so that she
could view her in the light of the porch.
“Fredna Loughead. I was—looking for her.”
The girl said, “Fredna’s on a blind date tonight. She won’t be home
until closing hour. Can I take a message?” She had a quizzical
expression in her alert eyes.
“Well, I—I guess I’m lost.” Mitch stuttered nervously. “I’m a Tri
Epsilon pledge. I can’t find the house.”
“Really?” the girl said, her tone gaining interest, her lips parting in
a ready smile. “Well now, how did that happen? You’re a pledge, you
say?”
“Yes, I am. I—I had a fight and—well, I just got lost.”
“A fight? That’s terrible. Why, that’s awful. Look, I’ll tell you what
we’ll do. Biff and I will walk you home. It’s just a few blocks, and we
were going to take a walk anyway, weren’t we, Biff?”
The boy got up from the swing and studied Mitch. “Yes,” he said. “We’d
be glad to walk you home.” There was a bright jeweled pin on his
sweater. “I live right across the street from you. Delta Pi. We’re
neighbors.”
“And,” the girl said in sirupy tones, “you can tell us all about this
fight of yours while we walk along.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” Mitch said as they started down across the
damp grass. “I guess I just lost my temper.”
* * * * *
Bud Roberts reeled back against the pale blue wall, and felt the warm
trickle of blood on his forehead. He touched it with his finger and
stared at its vivid color and stood there, slumped unevenly, resting.
The door was partially open and the sound of many feet came rushing to
him, and he straightened himself and walked into their midst, not
stopping the blood as it ran. A girl shrieked out at the sight of him,
and two young men rushed to aid him as he walked up to them all.
“You O.K. fellow?”
“Yeah,” Bud drawled, “I’m O.K.”
“Man, she really bruised you.”
They stood about him gaping up at his wound. Bud said, “Where’d she go?”
“She took off,” Dirk answered. “She took off like a bat out of hell, up
the stairs and out. Robin here tried to call to her.”
“Are you a Tri Ep?” Bud asked Robin. “Are you one of that bunch?”
“Yes.” Robin was uneasy. The crowd thickened. She wondered where Mitch
had gone. “Why did she hit you?” Robin said incredulously. “I didn’t
even know she knew you.”
“Because she’s a poor damn sport, that’s why. Every night I plug old
cardboard Adam up for one girl to bite on it, and she was the wrong
girl. Then when I made the men stop singing, and quieted them down so
she wouldn’t feel bad about coming out, she slugged me. Well, by God,
she’s the last Tri Ep to come to this house.”
He took out his handkerchief and held it to the blood. Mother Carter had
come downstairs and squeezed through the crowd and seen him. She caught
her breath in a quick hissing sound and ran to take his arm. With
exaggerated caution she led him from the room, saying she hoped it was
not a concussion, saying the young lady should be reported. “And she
scooted right past me, too,” she said, “and the devil was in her eyes.”
Clive McKenzie turned to Robin. “Under the circumstances,” he said, “I
think I’d better drive _you_ back to the Tri Epsilon house.”
His voice was stiff and brusk, and members of other sororities stood
beside their dates watching as Robin picked up her coat and Mitch’s coat
and walked toward the stairway with Clive.
“I guess you realize,” Clive said as he opened the car door, “that this
means trouble for your house. Probably a black-listing.”
Robin said, “I wonder where she went. It’s so dark and everything.”
“Hits a guy with a flowerpot! God!” Clive cursed. “Goddamn!”
* * * * *
The meeting lasted until two o’clock that morning. When Leda came
upstairs, Mitch was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her hands clenched
and shaking. Leda said nothing. She put her shoes in the flowered shoe
bag behind the closet door and wiggled out of her skirt. Mitch watched
her and felt strange, as though she were in a play on a stage and the
people in the audience were waiting and watching and she did not know
her lines. “I’m sorry, Leda,” she said finally. “I’m awfully sorry I got
everyone in a jam.”
Leda took out her brush and the bobby pins from the small yellow box on
the top of the bureau. “I guess I just don’t belong,” Mitch continued.
“I guess I just don’t know how to act right. I don’t know much about
jokes like that, and Bud Roberts and the way he acted after. Look, Leda,
I am sorry.”
“I’m afraid,” Leda said into the mirror, “that it doesn’t help anything
being sorry. You really made a mess of it. You know, the Delta Rhos
_aren’t_ our best friends. You would pick that house to run to.”
“I didn’t tell them anything. Just that I had a fight. Honest.”
“And Biff Collins. He _would_ be in on it. You couldn’t have picked two
worse people to help you find your way back home. You didn’t have to
tell them anything. They’ll have their own stories circulating before
morning. God!”
“Is there anything I can do?” Mitch looked at the beautiful girl and her
eyes ached where there should have been tears.
“Yes,” Leda answered coolly. “There is. You can grow up! You can forget
yourself and come out of your lousy damn shell and grow up! Don’t you
think I know how you felt? Don’t you think I know what Roberts is like
and how you felt? Do I look dumb and stupid, Mitch? Mitch, look at me!
Do I look dumb and stupid?”
Mitch stared. The tears had welled up and were held fast and there was a
heaviness about her lids and the drummer was back inside her, beating
away fast. Leda stood before her in her sheer white pajamas with her
face red from excitement and her voice harsh and sharp.
“No,” Mitch answered her. “I’m the one that’s dumb and stupid, I
suppose. But I can’t help it. Everything’s so dirty and nasty. I can’t
understand—”
Leda cut in and held Mitch’s shoulders. “You make me sick, Mitch! You
make me retch! I bet you still think babies grow under cabbage leaves.
Well, they don’t. I’ve got news, Mitch, they don’t grow under any
goddamn cabbage leaves. I had to learn it! I had to learn it the hard
way. Goddamn you, anyway!”
The tears broke then and came to Mitch’s eyes in a great rush and down
her cheeks onto her slip and she said Leda’s name over and over. Leda
sat beside her and began to talk as though she were not talking to the
girl, but to the wall and the curtains and the Venetian blinds.
“When I was ten—_ten_—I was out in the back yard and Jan was sitting
there with Dave, the man she was sleeping with then, and he came over to
me and felt me. He said, ‘Boy, she’s a nice one!’ and Jan laughed. Jan
said, ‘You won’t even stop at kids, you bastard,’ and then they both
laughed. You know what I did, Mitch? I laughed too. I’ve been laughing
ever since. You should know what I laughed at. You should know some of
the goddamn funny jokes I laughed at!”
“Leda, please stop. I started all this. Please stop.”
“Why? Because you don’t want to hear the story of my life? Is it raising
the hair on your head, Mitch? You want to know something else? I used to
lie in bed and listen at night. We had a bungalow out in L.A. when Jan
and I lived there, and Jan’s room was right next to mine. I used to hear
them. I used to hear them plain as everything—the springs creaking and
the breathing. I used to go crazy listening.”
There was an eeriness about the room and the way Leda looked straight
ahead with her eyes fixed and unmoving. Mitch squirmed uncomfortably,
not wanting to hear any more, but Leda kept on.
“And Jake! Want to know what Jake did tonight? After Bud announced that
the Tri Eps were black-listed, Jake and I got to the house and heard the
news. Jake took me back to the car. And after, Mitch, after it was over,
Jake said, ‘We’ll find some way to have this, even if I can’t take Tri
Eps out. They won’t stop this, baby.’ He didn’t say, ‘The hell with the
whole goddamn bunch of them. They can’t keep us apart.’ He said, ‘We’ll
find some way to have this.’ But what’s funnier, Mitch—what’s even
funnier—was that I felt that way too. I didn’t say it, but I felt it.
That’s all I want from him. I hate his guts and it’s all I want from
him. Sometimes I don’t even want that and then there’s nothing. I don’t
know what I want, Mitch. I’m afraid of what I want.”
She looked at Mitch and she said, “Mitch, that was why I was mad when I
first came in the room. Because you brought it out in the open. Because
you made the whole thing as goddamn plain as the nose on my face. You
caused the trouble—you and that bastard Roberts. Because now the whole
damn sorority is black-listed and I’ve got to act as if I care and as if
Jake cares and oh, my God, it’s hell. We don’t care. What a laugh!”
Mitch saw Leda’s face, and it was strange and unfamiliar. The features
fell apart and they would not unite again. There was the wide, sensuous
mouth and the nose and the eyes and the chin and they were like pieces
of the puzzle that was Leda’s face that had not been put together. Mitch
felt cold and hard, as though this room and this house and this whole
new life were a dream and tomorrow she would wake up and her father
would say, “What a sleepy-head you are, black-eyed Susan!”
The room was still except for a slight knocking sound that the blinds
made in the wind. Leda stood up.
“Sometimes I drink too much,” she said now because it was over, “and I
talk like a fool late at night. I’m sorry, Mitch. Forget it, kid, will
you?”
Mitch said yes but she knew no. She knew no she would never forget it,
not the loneliness that gnawed away at Leda and the way she had said it.
“Tomorrow you go over for your course cards,” Leda said. “Better get
some sleep.”
“What do you think they’ll do about what happened?”
“I don’t know, kid. They’ll think of something. Don’t worry about it.”
Mitch pulled her slip over her head and jerked off her brassiere. She
stepped into the pants of her pajamas and buttoned the coat.
“I’ll get the light, Leda,” she said, but Leda only looked at her and
did not answer. When the room was dark, Leda said, “Mitch, come over and
rub my back, will you?”
She sighed then when the large hands came on her body and gently ran
over her back. “Mitch,” she said, “I like you. From the first day. You
knew that.... Do you hear me, Mitch?”
The room was black and the wind blew and drops of rain fell on the roof
and it was tin.
“I hear you, Leda.”
“You looked at me when I was standing by the piano. I’ll never forget
that look.”
“I thought you were—beautiful.”
“Now what do you think of me, Mitch? Honestly.”
“I’ve never known anyone like you. I’ve had friends before, you know,
school friends. You’re different, though.”
“Do you like to touch me?”
“Yes. I—used to be timid about touching people. I don’t know. When the
kids asked me to scratch their backs, I used to dislike it. Now—I like
it. With you.”
“The rain sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Want to crawl in with me?”
Mitch didn’t answer. She pulled the covers back and lay beside Leda,
taking her hand from her back and turning over to face the other way.
When Leda’s arms came around her to hold her, she felt a warm aching
that eased into peace and she slept until the rain stopped and the sun
came through the blinds in the morning.
* * * * *
Marsha said, “So you see, Mitch, it’s up to you. I know it’s a
ridiculous request, but we’ve got to save the reputation of Tri Ep.”
Mitch backed the car into a space in front of the library. Outside it
was hot, and even now in the early morning, near ten, the people passing
in the streets had a tired, damp look about them. A bespectacled young
man dropped his books and stooped to gather them.
“But why?” Mitch turned to Marsha. “Why would Bud Roberts want me to ask
him to our housewarming? It doesn’t make sense.”
“All I know is what he told me on the phone. He said, ‘If Susan Mitchell
asks me to your housewarming, I’ll forget it.’ That’s what he said.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Listen, Mitch, it’s three weeks away and you won’t have to be alone
with him. It’s right at the house, and we’ll all be around. Try to
believe me, I know how you feel. I’d never ask you to do it except that
we can’t afford an enemy like Sig Delt. If they black-list us, the other
fraternities will be too proud to date us too. And after all, Mitch, you
did make it pretty messy when you ran to another sorority for help.”
The car was hot and Mitch opened the door. She said, “O.K., I’ll ask
him. I better get my course cards. The line’s getting longer by the
minute.”
“Thanks, Mitch.” Marsha smiled and touched her hand. “Thank you very
much.”
Marsha waited to cross the street while Mitch joined the line, standing
behind a tall, angular blond boy. A warm buzz began in Mitch’s stomach
when she thought of Leda. She traced an L in the dirt with her foot, and
shielded her eyes from the sun with her arm.
The blond boy said, “Hot!”
Mitch nodded. The line inched forward while he talked to her. “Then
we’re in three courses together,” he said. “Swell!”
Afterward, as they sipped Cokes slowly in Mac’s, he told her that his
name was Charlie Edmonson.
The rain started heavily on the roof of Mac’s and splashed down at the
windows. “My car!” Mitch exclaimed. “The windows are down!”
They ran to the door and stood under the awning, watching the rain teem
down. “Can’t get to it in this,” he said. “It’ll be a quick one,
anyway.”
People in the streets dodged for shelter, and one boy rolled his pants
up to his knees and tore off with a newspaper over his head.