Greek: Best Frenemies

by Marsha Warner

  “’Tis better to give than receive,” Rusty said but looked up as a guy Casey had never seen before came crashing down the stairs, somewhat literally. He was wearing a black T-shirt and slacks, and his eyes were bloodshot.

  “You!” He pointed a menacing finger at Rusty. “This was all…you, your plan!”

  “Um, maybe. But you did have fun, right? Casey, this is Alex. Alex, this is my sister—” Rusty didn’t try to continue the sentence when Alex unceremoniously dunked his head in the punch bowl and pulled it out with a growl as he rubbed the punch out of his eyes.

  “I will have my revenge—on all of you!” he said at unnecessarily loud volume. “You and…and your delicious raspberry schnapps.” He stumbled over to the door but didn’t make it, instead landing in the armchair. Rusty got up to flip him over so he was at least sitting up, and he promptly fell asleep in the chair despite the noise around him and his soaking-wet head.

  “Remind me not to drink the punch,” Casey said. “You are going to change that out, aren’t you?”

  “Hopefully the liquor will kill all the germs, but yeah, I’m sure someone will—Cappie.”

  “Way to ruin my surprise entrance,” Cappie said as he descended the steps—clearly not drunk, though his attire included only a tie to his usual repertoire. “Casey. You look…far too stunning to be at this party, but I’m glad you came anyway.” Before approaching her, he put a hand on Alex’s wet shoulder and got no response from him. “Spitter, assign some pledges to see that he gets home while I abscond with my fairy princess.”

  “What about the anti-sweetheart competition?”

  “Beaver’s all over that. If he forgets, it goes to the winner of the female beer pong tournament. Now, my lady?” He held out his hand for Casey to take and escorted her upstairs, away from the action, like the gentleman he sometimes had the tendency to be. “Would you like a drink?”

  “I’ve seen the punch bowl,” she said and followed him into his room. “So…you’re throwing a party?”

  “Hey, I have a lot to celebrate. I just finished a paper—a fifteen-pager.” He had drinks in his room. He pulled out two sodas from the minifridge and she gratefully accepted, kicking off her shoes as she sat down on his bed. “That’s term-paperworthy length.”

  “And how did you manage that with this atmosphere?”

  “I may have hit a rut about 4:00 a.m. last night. The finer points of the mechanics of what it is to be versus the final of Aristotle’s four causes, so I decided to call on a master. Who, by the way, is much more manageable when he’s drunk. And, like most grad students, is socially starved and needed only just the right amount of convincing from a certain fellow engineer to come to a KT party that he might not have known was a KT party.”

  “The guy passed out in your presidential armchair?”

  “The one, the only Alexander Izmaylov, teaching assistant to Professor Izmaylov of the philosophy department. Who, after four drinks, was more than willing to give me a few pointers in the right direction.”

  “He seemed pissed.”

  “You haven’t seen him sober. He was great. And so is my paper, in his estimation.” He held up the printout and set it aside on the bed stand. “And so are you, for forgiving me for my academic slacking.”

  “I didn’t say I forgave you.”

  “But your eyes tell me so much.”

  She kissed him, or he kissed her. She wasn’t sure who initiated it, but it was definitely mutual. “I forgive you. And I did appreciate the invitation, however it was delivered.”

  “By Rebecca, I assume?”

  “Eventually. At like, six o’clock, which was plenty of time. What did she make you promise to do in exchange?”

  “Just hold off the main party until the ceremony was over so people could do both. I think I got off easy.”

  “I think we all got off easy, after what we put her through,” Casey said and gave him the summary of Rebecca’s speech. “She was…well, she was still Rebecca, but she was very…grateful, almost.”

  “An appropriate tone for a speech. She is one coldly calculating bi—”

  “That word was used in the paper, and seeing it in print has not endeared me to it.”

  “Fine, fine. I’m sure she meant every word she said.”

  “The thing was, she sounded like she did.”

  “Well, maybe the sweetheart contest brought out Rebecca’s inner sweetness, as impossible as that sounds,” Cappie said, leaning against the headboard. “It’s not impossible. Just seemingly impossible, like me finishing a paper on time. Or thirty-three hours early. You can inspire people to do crazy things, Case. It’s a talent.”

  “Thank you.” It genuinely made her feel warm inside, especially to hear it from him. Cappie always meant what he said, in one way or another. “I did speak to Rebecca, by the way. I told her she could do whatever she wanted—drop out, sabotage the whole thing during a speech, put Abby in as a substitute, whatever. And this was what she chose. Kept us wondering until the last minute, though.”

  “That last part does sound more like Rebecca. So Rebecca got what she wanted—maybe—and I got what I wanted.”

  “Which was?”

  “A happy girlfriend. Now the only question that remains is if Casey Cartwright got what she wanted, which is really the most important question that can be asked.”

  “Well, let me think,” she said. “Rebecca won sweetheart and increased the house standing, all while not being at my throat anymore, my boyfriend proved reliable and responsible and I assume the shiner on my brother’s face has some reasonable explanation.”

  “Malfunctioning robots.”

  “So, yeah. I would say, I pretty much got what I wanted—and much more than I expected.”

  “So you’re happy?”

  She cuddled close to him. “Very happy.”

  After losing her for a brief moment while he made sure everything was straight with the caterers and seeing that everyone had a designated driver home, Evan found Rebecca by his car. “That eager to get home?”

  “Let’s just say it’s been a long week,” she said, “and sleep on the weekends is hard to come by when you’re in a sorority.”

  “You don’t look tired.”

  “I didn’t say I was.”

  He opened the car door for her and let her in, and they took a long drive before parking in a nice quiet overlook spot. It was a suspiciously warm midwinter Ohio night, and it was not so much the fresh air that was important but the fact that they were far away from their respective houses and all of the politics and pettiness both institutions implied, even if they were both devoted dearly to them. Besides, Evan bringing a sweetheart winner—tiara still on her head—back to his room was not very sweet-looking. They sat on the roof of the car, staring up at the stars, quiet for a long time.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Rebecca asked. “Because I know you’ll do anything for money these days.”

  “I’m a step away from male stripping if they raise house dues again,” Evan said. “Good thing I can veto that. But I was just thinking how grateful I am that I don’t have to do this again next year.” He stammered, “Not the driving or having you around. I mean the contest.”

  “Everyone means the contest. Fortunately all that drinking significantly shortens our collective memories and people will be excited about it all over again.”

  “And you?”

  “My dad still has his private jet. Turns out it was under my mother’s name so the courts couldn’t sell it for the settlement. This weekend next year, I’ll be at least six states away, possibly somewhere where you need a passport to get in.”

  Evan laughed because he knew it was at least partially true, but that was next year. She didn’t really know where she’d be, politically in ZBZ or academically in terms of CRU.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Where do you think you’ll be?”

  “There’s a terrifying thought,
” he said. “I’ll probably be at law school. Or I could get a townie job.”

  “You have had a series of embarrassing townie jobs, but if you were actually a townie, I might have to break up with you on principle.” That being, if they were even still together, or they were together now, at least in the conventional way. Rebecca never did anything conventionally, and it was one of the things Evan loved about her, even if he hesitated to use the word “love” around her for fear of getting smacked.

  He realized he had to answer her. “I’m applying to grad schools. The difference is, I may be entirely reliant on who provides me with financial aid. My student aid form is going to look very strange, and I may wind up at the University of Kentucky’s law school.”

  “Or you could spend a year at Club Med, working as a counselor. I learned in economics class that the company does their hiring in France, so they can legally request a picture with your application. That way they hire only attractive people. It’s what they value in their selection—kind of like Omega Chi.”

  “Hey, backhanded insults to Omega Chi from a sweetheart?”

  “Oh no! Will you take away my tiara and have someone else fulfill my duties? Which are what, exactly? Boat shows and embarrassing admissions on Larry King? Because I almost have the second one. I definitely have the sex-tape thing down pat.”

  “Yeah, I can’t believe I lived through that.” He was the other person on the tape, and it was when he was still with Casey. “And I can’t believe I lived through this week. Maybe I’m made of stronger stuff than I think I am.”

  “Please. You had to accept cookie-grams and get yelled at by people already determined to hate you because you’re not rich. I had to send cookie-grams and get yelled at for not being more enthusiastic.”

  “And that’s different how?”

  “It depends how much you like cookies.”

  “I love you.”

  It just came out, and Rebecca didn’t smack him. Not this time. Maybe it was the tiara. “Don’t make me smack you with my tiara.” Okay, maybe it wasn’t.

  “I still do.”

  “That’s not a word I’m willing to use.”

  “Right, you don’t believe in it, but I do,” he said. “And I’ll stand behind it.”

  “For as long as this lasts.” But Rebecca said it with a smile.

  That was right. They were in college, where everything was transitory. They were silent for a moment, pondering that.

  “Don’t you dare lavaliere me,” Rebecca said.

  “I’m glad you don’t expect it, because it’s not on me. And I think I’m cursed in that respect.” The only person he’d ever lavaliered was Casey, right before they broke up for good. He didn’t want to break up with Rebecca—plus, he knew she’d say no in a heartbeat. That was not the answer he was looking for. “I’ll settle for a normal girlfriend who just happens to have won the Omega Chi sweetheart competition.”

  “And I wasn’t even sweet.”

  “You didn’t need to be.”

  Rebecca arrived at the house late. Not early morning late, but much later than it was when she left the party with Evan. Her crown was sticking out of her purse and she removed her shoes before stepping into the empty house—at which point, the lights came on. “Surprise!”

  Maybe she was too tired to be horrified at the display awaiting her. Most of ZBZ and all of the pledges who had supported her were waiting, some in pajamas and some dressed, with streamers and balloons. Ashleigh hugged her and Rebecca didn’t stop her. That was how tired she was. Or, that was what she told herself.

  “We’re so happy for you!” Ashleigh said, if that wasn’t obvious enough. “Congratulations!”

  “What happened to going out with dignity?”

  “That ended when I changed into pajamas.”

  “What if I came home at dawn?”

  “Then even more of the food would be eaten and we definitely would have cracked the cake by now,” she said. “Casey sends her love.”

  “That’s the way she put it?”

  “One way or another, yes. She’s stuck at this Kappa Tau thing. She’ll have plenty of time to congratulate you tomorrow. I can’t believe you won! Oh, and you gave such a great speech! That totally did it!”

  The merits of her winning—and the defects of her competitors—went even later into the night, the girls propped up by the excitement, glory and the sugar in what they were eating. Rebecca finally escaped sometime before dawn and awoke to a quiet house—no one screaming, no campaign posters strewn about, just her and her tiara on the bed stand.

  Around noon, Casey called. “I wanted to congratulate you again.”

  “And you couldn’t wait the ten-minute walk?”

  “I’m…kind of staying away from the house for a while. Long story. Short version is I’m infectious. But I am proud of you.”

  “You know, over the phone it sounds even more condescending.”

  “I know. And you know I don’t mean it to be,” Casey replied. “What you did was beyond anything I expected you to do. Not because I didn’t think you could do it but because I didn’t think you would honor us like that, after the way we treated you all week. Which, by the way, was shameless, but you turned it all around. You really didn’t have to—I was honest about that—but you did, and I’m grateful. And I assume everyone in the house is just as grateful.”

  “If they show their gratefulness by letting me eat breakfast in peace, I’ll accept that as an answer. And to be clear, I did it to crush the competition with my high-road speech, not for you.”

  “Sure,” Casey said. “You know, over the phone it sounds even less convincing.”

  “Fine, fine, go ZBZ. Rah, rah, rah,” Rebecca said, and they both knew that was as close as she would ever come to admitting it. “So what happened to you, anyway?”

  Sunday mornings were always tough at Kappa Tau, perhaps tougher than Mondays in a way, especially when people didn’t have class Monday or feel like attending it. The smell of beer, vodka and maybe a little vomit mixed in permeated in the living room. Red cups and some guests were strewn about, and there was no hasher to help them clean it up. The pledges were experts at escaping this duty by being long gone. And it was quiet, which didn’t lend itself to people getting up. Casey woke in Cappie’s arms and wearing his shirt, and he felt her movements and rolled over. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” She was grateful that all they’d had were sodas. She was positive the rest of KT couldn’t say the same. She rubbed her eyes, which were itchy in the morning light. “I need to shower, if it’s not gross.”

  “Showering with you? Definitely not gross.”

  She grinned. “You know what I mean.”

  “I know that I need to get all of your makeup off my face,” he said and rubbed his face, then his eyes. “And that I might be allergic to your perfume, because I’m itchy as hell. Not that it makes me love you any less, of course.”

  “Of course. And it’s the same old perfume, so leave Chanel Number Nine alone.”

  He dragged himself out of bed, taking the covers with him, and went into the bathroom, emerging a few minutes later still rubbing his eyes, even if his face was cleaner and lipstick-free. “Seriously. What did you put on?”

  “Hey, I’m itchy, too. Maybe you have bedbugs again.”

  “No, they leave little bumps where they bite you, and we burned enough sheets last semester. If they come back, I am seriously calling in a priest to bless the place.”

  Once they were dressed—Casey in clothes she left at Cappie’s place for this reason—they went downstairs, and, upon smelling the place, decided to get some fresh morning air on the back porch. There, the remains of what never became the Rock’em Sock’em Robots were strewn about.

  “I guess we’re going to have to find a new Vesuvius,” Cappie said with a sigh as he took a place on the stoop.

  “Is that what this robot project was about? Vesuvius?”

  “And my legacy. For when I leave
the house. Like Rebecca was your legacy, or is your legacy. You’re leaving the house in her capable hands to keep it the most popular sorority, even if it may temporarily have been knocked from that position, and I feel obligated to leave them with something to remember me by. They remember Egyptian Joe for his volcano, the one before Vesuvius.”

  “You remember Egyptian Joe because he was your Big Brother and a good president. You were his legacy. President of Kappa Tau for two years? Keeping this place from falling apart more literally than it already is for that long is something to be remembered for. And, you know, not being a loser who doesn’t graduate. Oops…I used the G-word.”

  “It’s fine,” he said, and it sounded as if he really thought that it was. “It’s time to start using it anyway, but maybe not as often as possible.”

  “You were thinking about legacies. That implies…”

  “…graduating, yes. Which I intend to do with my winning paper that even the grumpy TA approves of. And, you know, my other classes that I’m actually not almost-failing. Besides, even if you were willing to come back and visit me, you can’t expect Rebecca to be nice to you every time.”

  “I almost never expect that. That’s why last night was so unexpected.” She looked at Cappie. “But people are full of surprises.”

  “I would kiss you, but I am afraid of further contact with your itching-powder-for-makeup.”

  “It’s not me! I used the same stuff as I always use.”

  “Well, I wasn’t wearing makeup.” He looked up at the knock on the porch door. “What is it?”

  Beaver stepped out, followed by Heath and Rusty. “We have a problem,” Rusty said, his eyes red and puffy.

  “We itch!” Beaver said. They all looked the same, in respects to their eyes, and it wasn’t just the hangovers.

  At which point Cappie’s phone went off. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the text message. “Hey, Spitter—when I sent you to Alex’s house, did you ask what he was sick with?”

  “No. He just said he was on antibiotics and couldn’t drink. Why?”