fraternity are you in?”
“Me?” Charlie pointed to himself, laughing. “I’m not a fraternity boy.
Too fancy for an old Kansas farmer.”
“Then you’re an independent,” Mitch said blankly, moving back from the
awning where the leak was and the rain came through. She thought of the
song they had sung at the Sig Delt house last night, the refrain humming
distantly in her ears.
“He’s a goddamn independent,
He’s a G.D.I.
Ignore! Ignore! Ignore the bas-tard!
Ditch the guy,
The G.D.I.”
“I think it’s letting up,” he said. “Want to run for it?”
Chapter Four
It was Thursday, the week of the Tri Epsilon housewarming party, and the
leaves on the trees along the streets of Cranston were the way they are
in October. Mitch stood in the entrance to Jacob Hall, glancing
nervously at her watch, moving up and down from the top step to the
second step.
“Sorry, Sue,” Charlie said when he arrived. “Professor Rudolph got
talking after class and I couldn’t get away from him.”
“We haven’t got time for a Coke. I have to get back to the house this
afternoon.”
They walked along the path to the street while Mitch explained that all
pledges had to assist in decorating the house for the party on Saturday.
As soon as she had said it, she felt a sudden surge of embarrassment
sweep through her. It had been three weeks now that she had been going
for Cokes after class with Charlie. He had asked her to go to a movie
one Tuesday evening, but the Tri Epsilon pledge study-hall system had
started, and pledges could not date on week nights.
“It’s just sort of a housewarming,” she said, hoping it sounded
unimportant and dull. Charlie scuffed his feet near the end of the
sidewalk where there was a space between the ground and the asphalt.
“Could I walk you on home?”
“Certainly.”
Kitten Clark passed them as they turned and she said hello to Mitch and
looked at Charlie with a flat expression in her eyes. She had seen Mitch
with him before, and she knew that he was an independent. His
awkwardness, the plain, loose-fitting clothes, and the conspicuous
absence of a fraternity pin pointed out the fact. As yet it was not a
matter of concern to Tri Epsilon, because Mitch had not had a week-end
date with him, or with anyone else since the trouble with Roberts. On
Saturday she would emerge from the cocoon for the housewarming and the
date with Bud. It was a complete enigma to Kitten why Roberts even
bothered. Perhaps to save face, and more to prove that no girl could hit
and run. Not him. She thought of the silverware that Mother Nessy had
promised Tri Epsilon if they pledged Susan, and hoped they would have it
in time for the buffet dinner on Saturday.
“How come you aren’t driving?”
Mitch hardly heard his question after they had passed Kitten. She was
thinking that Kitten would want to know who the boy was and what house
he belonged to. She wondered vaguely what Jane Bell would say; if she
would say that it was just as easy to have a Coke and walk home with a
fraternity man after class, and that it was preferable.
“Independents aren’t lepers,” she had told the pledge class at their
last meeting, “but fraternity men are preferable.”
There were fraternity men in all of Mitch’s classes—suave, confident
young men whose loafered feet stretched out in the aisles, and whose
bold guffaws echoed after the profs’ jokes. They had names like Grey
Gregg and Big Tom D. and Rabbit Man and they sat in clumps together.
There was something different about them, Mitch thought, something that
was not neutral but cold and hot as they willed in their way with
others.
“I said, how come you don’t have your car in the lot today?”
“Leda borrowed it. She had to pick up some equipment downtown.”
“Your roommate?”
“Yes.”
“If I had a car, I guess I’d be afraid to let people borrow it. Maybe
not. Hard to tell when you’re as far from having a car as I am.”
“Leda’s careful.”
“Must be going to be a big old party at your house Saturday.”
“Pretty big.”
“Just girls?”
“No,” Mitch said. “Boys and girls.”
“I was going to—I have this job downtown at Messer’s Drugstore. Usually
work week ends. That’s why I haven’t been able to ask you out. I was
going to ask you out Saturday, but—”
They cut across Swampcot Street and waited for the light to change.
“Will you ask me some other week end?” Mitch said as they walked on.
“Sure.”
“Because I have a date Saturday.”
When they reached the circular walk to the Tri Epsilon house, Charlie
said good-by and handed Mitch the French book he was carrying for her,
and he said after he said good-by, “Be good, Sue.”
The Tri Eps were busy trimming the entrance to the dining room in pink
and blue streamers and Robin Maurer was polishing the mirror in the
hall. She paused when Mitch entered the hall.
“Get lost,” she advised. “They got work around here that would scare an
elephant.”
“Looks good. Who’s your date, Robin?”
“Some blockhead. I’ve seen him once. Looks like those prehistoric men in
our Soc books.”
“You know who mine is.”
“Yes,” Robin said, wringing out the cloth, “I know. Marsha gave me a
little lecture too, all about bowing and scraping to Sig Delt. I don’t
know, though. She’s the only one in this bunch I trust.”
“Hey,” Jane Bell called to Mitch. “Change your clothes and pitch in
here. We need some work done in the basement if Mother Nessy lets us use
it Saturday.”
At a previous Tri Epsilon party, a fraternity man had spent his entire
evening and half of the following day on the moth-eaten divan behind the
ping-pong table in the Tri Ep cellar. He was very drunk and it had
happened last year and Mother Nesselbush had been called on by the Dean
of Women to explain the incident. Since then, the basement was termed
“off limits” for house parties. This year there was a skinny hope that
it would not be a restricted area.
The hope died shortly after Mitch changed into a pair of jeans and
headed off in the direction of the back steps. There, congregated in a
small mass, Tri Eps faced Mother Nessy. Her answer was a very adamant
no, supplemented with the viewpoint that basements encouraged
extravagant necking, liquor drinking, which was forbidden, and other
“things.”
Leda heard them arguing back there when she drove Mitch’s car in the
drive and pulled the packages out. She set them down in the living room
and went upstairs. As she took her worn green suede coat off and tossed
the matching beret to the top of the closet, she noticed the yellow
paper on Mitch’s desk. It was Marsha’s paper. Marsha had reams of this
paper, pale lemon-colored onionskin with a small silver initial at the
top. The third time this week, Leda realized. Whenever Mitch could not
be found, she was down in the suite helping Marsha, or in the evening
after closing hours, making cinnamon toast in the kitchen with Marsha,
or listening to records with Marsha in the living room. Irritated, Leda
glanced at the scrawled words on the yellow paper:
“Want to help me trim the side hall for the party? I’ll meet you there
when you’re changed. Love, Marsh.”
“Good God!” Leda said aloud. “Trimming the side hall with _Marsh_. What
a great big fat kick that is!”
She stretched out on the bed and shut her eyes. In a persistent,
conscious dream, Jake was beside her, his hands on her, her ears filled
with the harsh profane words he used. Then, in that crazy state of half
awareness, she projected herself into Jake’s ways and saw Mitch, large
and muscular, but less strong than Leda, who held onto her. Suddenly she
heard the footsteps in the hall and Mitch appeared, shaking the dream,
chattering noisily about the decorations, how Marsha had helped her with
her French assignment, and what Mother Nessy had said about the
basement.
“Mitch,” Leda said, breaking in, “who’s the guy?”
“What?”
“They say you’re hanging around with some guy after classes.”
“Oh, Charlie. He’s in a couple of my classes.”
“Like him?”
“Sure.”
Leda blew the smoke from her cigarette toward the ceiling. Mitch thought
it was time now for the harangue on independents if Leda knew, and if
not, it would be time after she asked and knew then.
“Why don’t you ask him to come Saturday? Tell Roberts to go jump and ask
him.”
“I can’t. Marsha asked me to do this. Leda, you know why I had to ask
Roberts.”
“That’s Marsha’s idea. Listen, kid, don’t be pushed around. Marsha could
have settled it some other way.”
“But I thought,” Mitch said, confused, “I thought it was the only choice
I had. I don’t understand you now, Leda.”
“You understand Marsha, apparently.”
Mitch sat down on the bed and tried to reason why Leda was afraid again,
almost as she had been that night. Weeks had passed and Leda had seemed
aloof and busy, with Jake all the time, and tired in the evening. Now
this, and Leda was angry.
“Charlie is an independent,” Mitch said, “so he wouldn’t be a good date
to bring anyway.”
“Charlie?”
“The boy you said I should ask instead of Roberts.”
Leda searched in the bookcase for her Spanish text, and finding it, she
grabbed her coat. “I’ve got work to do,” she said. “I can’t think about
it all the time. Do you hear me, Mitch? I can’t think about it all the
time!”
Mitch didn’t say anything.
“Marsha! I’m so sick of hearing that girl’s name. You think she’s God,
don’t you? You think that girl is God?”
Mitch reached in the drawer beside her bed and found the nail polish.
She was wearing it regularly now, bright red, and her nails were growing
long and tapered.
Leda stood before her waiting for an answer but it did not come. She
said, “I thought you were my friend. I thought you cared about me
because no one else had ever given a damn. No friend. Jake cares for his
own damn reasons and Jan doesn’t care. The two J’s in my life. J for
junk. But I thought you gave a damn and I ran around pouring my heart
out telling you things. Then you run to Marsha when you have a problem
and you do what Marsha says.”
“I haven’t.” Mitch’s voice cracked. “I talk to her because she’s
president.”
“President! President of what? Of the world? Of the United States of
America? I laugh my fool head off at her being president.”
“I don’t know what to say, Leda. I don’t know why you’re mad all of a
sudden.”
Leda shook her head and walked out of the room, slamming the door. She
walked down the hall and the steps and out the door to the street, and
she knew why it was this way. She knew. Before she had thought she knew,
and she had erased it like a pencil mark on a sheet of new paper. It
came back. And Susan Mitchell, of all those it might have been, and the
way she was, like a baby.
Mitch watched her from the window until she was out of sight. Across the
street the Delta Pi’s were staging a song practice on their side lawn.
In even rows of more than a dozen, they faced their white-flanneled
leader and sang out in fine, gruff voices. They were singing the
Cranston football team’s “Fight Song,” and listening to them, Mitch
thought that this was the way she had pictured college. This singing,
and the fall leaves outside, and the hazy questions in her mind about
the French translation and the English composition, and no Leda or Bud
Roberts—nothing like that. Still, there were Leda’s eyes, and the deep
blue tinge of hurt that had shown when she left like that.
* * * * *
The housewarming was to begin immediately after the football game, and
that Saturday afternoon the Tri Eps had gone in a body to the stadium.
It was the first home game of the year, and tradition brought together
the fervid assemblage of fraternity brothers and sorority sisters in
solid blocks throughout the grandstands. To Mitch, it was a bewitching
spectacle, with the lively mass of people and the beat of the drums in
the uniformed band parading down the field. Robin Maurer sat beside her.
Of all the pledges, Robin was the one whom Mitch knew and liked best.
The others seemed to be absorbed into the whole, with no particular
individual traits of their own. Sissy Callahan and Bebe Duncan and Jett
Duquette and Travis King, all somehow alike, with the same neutrality
toward you as the fraternity men’s. Most of them wore their hair long,
curled loosely, their faces tinted with the popular liquid powder base
they all used. Their arms were caparisoned with silver bracelets, and
their shoes varied only from loafers to saddle shoes and saddle shoes to
loafers and they called everyone darling. That was together. Alone,
there was Sissy’s brother who flew transatlantic flights and had been
married four times. Bebe Duncan’s father was an author and his books
were dedicated always “To B. and Bebe,” because her mother’s name was
Beatrice. Jett Duquette was named after the race horse her uncle made
his first million on. And Travis King had false teeth, which only made
her more beautiful and which she talked about, often, in mixed company.
They sat there, too, with Robin and Mitch. But Robin was the one that
counted. When the whistle blew and the football sailed off in the air,
Mitch leaned forward and drank in the movements on the field below. The
cheering and the songs and the tense moments near the goal line caught
her up and carried her with them. Once Leda turned around from the row
down in front of her and winked at Mitch. She saw the excitement on
Mitch’s face, the red, ruddy look to her cheeks, and the eyes shining as
though she had fever. Mitch was happy then. It was their first exchange
after yesterday’s quarrel. There was something in the look that meant,
“All right, it’s all right,” and Leda was beautiful, looking up like
that and laughing.
During the half Marsha called down to Mitch and Robin to come up and sit
with her. She was munching a hot dog, and some of the boys from Delta Pi
had crawled under the ropes and were standing there chatting with her.
Mitch and Robin scrambled up and joined them, and they met Ted and
Lucifer, the two Delta Pis. When the band struck up the “Fight Song,”
the five of them roared out the words, and Mitch laughed at the way
Lucifer sang, deep and loud like a bass drum.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re laughing at me.”
The whistle blew and she sat down beside him for the next quarter. “I’ve
seen you somewhere before,” he said, “somewhere that smells vaguely of
formaldehyde.”
“Gosh,” Mitch exclaimed, “that’s right! Lab! You’re in my zoology lab.”
“No, no!” He smiled, tipping his black and gold fraternity cap. “You’re
in _my_ zoology lab. Remember, I am Lucifer.”
Mitch saw Leda looking back, searching for her, craning her neck and
peering over the heads of the others to the seats Robin and Mitch had
deserted. Mitch did not know why she leaned down and pretended to tie
her shoe, so that Leda wouldn’t see her. She did not know why, but she
knew that it was better. Better not to have her see.
“Walk you home,” Lucifer said, after the game was won and elated
students jumped about in the bleachers, hugging one another and singing
out in husky choruses. “You’re a neighbor, that’s why. I only walk
neighbors home. Hate foreigners from other streets.”
Lucifer jabbered on about nothing and Mitch liked him. He was a short
boy with huge thick glasses and an unbelievably short haircut. Mitch was
taller than he was and he would not let her forget it, but the way he
joked and the way he talked charmed Mitch.
“You’re taller,” he said, “and so you undoubtedly consider your length a
blight on your whole day. Because why? Because Lucifer said he would
walk you home. Because Lucifer is very tiny and prefers that his women
be very tiny. And furthermore because you have a feeling you are going
to fall madly in love with Lucifer. But never mind. Lucifer has a soul.
It is very possible that he will make a little room in his life for you
from time to time.”
Mitch laughed. “Thanks,” she said. “Any time you want me to reach up and
hammer a nail in that’s over your head....”
“My dear girl,” Lucifer said, “a much funnier way of saying the same
thing would have been to say, ‘Call me when you can’t reach the
hatrack.’ You see? Something simpler than what you said, though much the
same essence.”
Outside the Tri Epsilon house, cars were lined up and horns were
blowing. The chairs on the lawn were filling up with young men, and Tri
Eps were hurrying up the walk to join them.
“I understand you’re warming your house tonight,” Lucifer said. “Some of
our boys were invited.”
“Yes. I’m sorry you won’t be here.”
“Then ask me.”
Mitch laughed. “I have a date, Lucifer.”
“Where?”
“I don’t see him now,” Mitch said, looking the crowd over, “but he’ll be
here.”
“Well, I tell you what. I’ll wait with you until he comes. It’ll be O.K.
Tell him I’m your brother. Tell him I’m a gnome. He won’t care. And when
he comes, poof! Disappearing act.”
She hesitated, but realized it was no use. Lucifer was determined.
Together they made their way up to the porch, and Mitch went in to get
him a glass of punch. On her way to the kitchen she met Marsha, and she
explained that Lucifer had insisted on staying until Bud came. Marsha
smiled and answered that she couldn’t see how it would hurt anything.
Then Mitch rejoined Lucifer and waited for Bud to come.
At seven o’clock Lucifer said, “It was a very delicious buffet, my
little gazelle. Ah, your date—he’s coming tonight?”
“I don’t know,” Mitch said, thinking of the humiliation of being stood
up, of having Lucifer here to witness it, and Tri Eps passing with their
dates, looking to see if Mitch and Bud were getting along well, and Bud
not there at all.
“You don’t seem distressed.”
“I’m not, really. I don’t like it, of course. But I don’t care for him
either.”
Lucifer said, “But he’s tall. I suppose he’s very, very tall.”
“Quite tall, yes. Taller than I am.”
“Ah, me,” Lucifer sighed. “Vanity. Vanity, vanity.”
Inside the group was singing “My Gal Sal.” Mitch shivered, and thought
about forgetting the housewarming and going up to bed, or taking Lucifer
inside and forgetting Bud. Then, to punctuate her thoughts, there was a
sharp voice: “Hey, Susan Mitchell!”
Bud Roberts was coming up the walk, carrying a box under his arm,
smiling and talking in a loud voice. “Hi there. I know I’m late.”
“Bright boy,” Lucifer said, rising, bowing, and moving away. “A
commanding personality, that boy!” he said as he walked toward the
sidewalk.
“Who’s that?”
“Lucifer. I don’t know his last name.” Mitch didn’t stand up or look up
at him. Inside she was seething with anger.
“Look, let me explain it. I was late for a good reason.”
“Yes?”
“I wanted to get you just the right kind of flower,” he said, tearing
the ribbon off the box and presenting her with an orchid. A brown
orchid. Mitch stared. She stood up and stepped back from the flower, as
though it would shatter if she were to go near it. It was beautiful.
“Forgive me?” he asked.
Mitch nodded.
“For everything, I mean, for everything! Let’s make this a peace
offering.”
She took his arm after he pinned the orchid on, and they went into the
house, where couples were dancing on the dining-room floor, which had
been cleared of the tables.
“Got any punch?” Bud asked, and she led him back to the kitchen. He
pulled a leather flask from his back pocket. “I want a shot in mine,” he
said. “How about you?”
“Put it away, Bud! It’s not allowed.”
Bud Roberts threw his head back and laughed. He reached for Mitch’s
hands and he said, “You know what? You’re the first really innocent girl
I’ve ever met. You’re really innocent, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “but I know liquor isn’t allowed.”
Kitten Clark and her date rushed into the kitchen. They were howling
over something and Kitten grabbed his head and bit his ear. “Take that,”
she said, “and let it be a lesson.” Bud offered them a drink, and Mitch
felt the blood rise in her head when she saw Kitten pour a large shot
into her punch glass. Kitten sensed Mitch’s shock, and she said, “Look,
it’s O.K. as long as Nessy doesn’t get wise. So take it easy.” Her date
took a straight swig from the bottle, and laughing again, they left the
kitchen door swinging back and forth behind them.
“Here,” Bud said. “I’ll give you a light shot. This doesn’t taste bad,
like beer. You won’t get sick.”
Tired of being wrong all the time, Mitch let him “fix” her punch, and
they joined the others. Marsha beamed at Bud and came rushing over to
him, holding his hand for minutes after she shook it, smiling and saying
nice things. Then others came—Jane Bell and Skip and Mother Nessy and,
at last, Leda.
“Hi,” she said to Roberts, Jake standing beside her, a sly, lopsided
grin on his face. Roberts shook their hands and when he held Leda’s he
did something to make Leda pull her hand away, and wipe it on her skirt
and sneer at him half-smiling. “You never forget.”
“Like an elephant,” he said, “just like an elephant.”
“Someday you’re going to forget and you won’t have any personality.
You’ll be a dope without your dirty jokes and your coy gestures.”
Mitch shuddered to think what would follow, but Bud Roberts only stuck
his hands in his pockets and looked admiringly at Leda. “You’re the only
girl who can deliver an insult,” he said, “and still be a duchess. A
mean duchess, though.”
Jake took Leda’s arm. “Cool off, Roberts,” he said. “Cut your line, or
pull your bait in.”
Bud and Mitch danced and she found him easy to talk to and friendly. He
kept getting her more punch, and each time putting a little more whisky
in the glass, and telling her it was all right and that she wouldn’t
feel it. But she did. She felt light and happy and once or twice she
touched his arm and said something complimentary to him. She said,
“You’re nice, Bud,” and “You know, you look very nice tonight, Bud.” He
squeezed her close when they were dancing and she could feel his warm
breath near her ears. She thought that their misunderstanding was a
foolish, silly thing and that they had never understood one another
until now. Now she was the lady her father wanted her to be and this was
the ball and Bud Roberts was a gentleman.
The orchestra that Tri Epsilon had hired was a small combo that played
half an hour out of every hour. Then they staged a gala intermission,
during which the orchestra members raced to the kitchen to refuel
themselves with many bottles of assorted liquors. Mother Nessy permitted
the musicians to have “alcoholic refreshments,” so there could be no
suspicion on her part if she were to enter the kitchen and see a young
man pouring a drink. He was merely “servicing” the hired musicians.
During intermission there were scores of young men occupied this way.
“That kitchen’s a mess,” Roberts said, “and the porch is jammed. How
about sitting in your car?”
Mitch felt lively and excited and she said, “Yes, that’d be fun.”
When he kissed her she did not mind the kiss. She snuggled up close to
him and laughed at nothing.
“You feel good, don’t you?” he said.
“Yes.”
He kissed her again, and this time her mouth was forced open and she was
hurt from his teeth and she drew back.
“Listen,” he said, “you’ve never been kissed much that way, have you?”
“No.”
“Let me show you something,” he said. “Let me show you how nice it can
be.”
The back door of the car opened and Marsha stood there with her date, a
large, happy-looking boy. “Can we sit this out with you?” she said.
“Every place is filled.”
Marsha’s date was Ken, and he impersonated professors and they laughed
for a while, but Bud did not laugh enthusiastically. Ken heard the music
when it started, later, after they had talked together, and Marsha said,
“Well, let’s all go back. There’s going to be a pinning. Jim Keeler is
going to pin Kitten tonight.”
A huge circle formed in the dining room and Jim Keeler stood in the
center, his arm around Kitten’s waist. From the side lines, Mother Nessy
beamed as the girls sang the “Sweetheart Song.” When it was finished,
the orchestra played “I Love You Truly,” and Jim pinned his large
fraternity pin on Kitten’s bosom. Then they danced and the others joined
in.
“C’mon,” Bud said to Mitch, “let’s get some punch in the kitchen.”
The kitchen was empty and Bud poured a large shot of whisky into Mitch’s
drink. “Susan Mitchell,” he said, holding his glass high, “the picture
of innocence.”