by Vin Packer
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 dink 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 romance!
"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. 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 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 ΔP, 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.
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 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 be 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."
There was an eeriness about the room and the way Leda looked straight ahead with her eyes fixed and un-moving. 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'" 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."