Hazing Meri Sugarman

by M. Apostolina

  I gulped. “No, it’s me. Cindy Bixby.”

  Then doors swung wide from the balcony. I ­didn’t even know there was a balcony, but I could see that it was very big, with a large Jacuzzi that was gently bubbling. In swept Meri, an absolute vision in a white fluffy robe and turban towel, her face red and flushed. Just like a movie star.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she whispered. “What’s your name again?”

  “Cindy Bixby,” I gulped.

  “That’s right. Cindy Bixby. Gloria calls you our ‘little bow-wow.’ I ­don’t think that’s very nice, do you?”

  Was this a trick question? I ­wasn’t sure. I decided to be honest.

  “I ­don’t know. I’ve been called worse things,” I limply offered.

  “I ­don’t think it’s very nice at all,” said Meri softly. “I think it’s mean. I’ll tell her to stop. As president-elect, I can do that. But let’s take a moment to look at why she says it. And correct it. Would you like to do that?”

  I ­didn’t know what she meant. I was completely out of my league here. Correct what? The next thing I knew, we were in my room on the second floor. My suitcase and trunk were empty. The scholarship girls must have put everything away. Meri swung open my closet, revealing all of my clothes neatly hanging. Then, lightning fast, she took each item out, quickly assessed it, and hurled it over her shoulder until there was nothing left in my closet except for a few plain T-shirts and my Alpha Beta Delta pledging outfit. She sniffled. Was she crying? Did she have allergies?

  “It’s been a long road for you, ­hasn’t it?”

  Before I could answer, she charged out of the room. I stood there rattled. A few seconds later Shanna-Francine gleefully popped her head in.

  “Meri wants you out front.”

  Twenty minutes later Meri and I were whisked off in a town car, both of us in the backseat. I ­couldn’t see who the driver was. The partition was black and firmly closed. Where the heck were we going? Meri whispered, staring straight ahead, “A smart girl makes a genuine effort to find out what goes on at second base or on the ten-yard line, and she should know better than to draw to an inside straight.”

  Huh? I’m going to have to make a real effort to start understanding Meri. She’s so sophisticated, and she says so many interesting things, and yet I always feel at a loss. Still, I was a bit concerned. I was already missing my first class, and I had no idea where we were going, or when we would be back. I cautiously reminded her that I did, in fact, have several classes to go to today. She giggled lightly.

  ­“You’re funny.”

  Wow. Meri is amazing. She ­didn’t just take me shopping, she took me shopping! Remember that scene in Pretty Woman? Oh my God, forget it, this was better. We went everywhere. Lord & Taylor, Neiman’s, Banana Republic, and lots and lots of superchic little boutiques. Meri did everything. After my complete measurements were taken at the first place, we blew into one store after another and Meri picked everything out: Yves Saint Laurent, Chanel, St. John Sport, Calvin Klein, Guess, Dior. And shoes. Way more than ten pair. I ­couldn’t even keep track. At first I was bowled over. I told her there was no way in a million trillion years I could ever pay her back for any of these clothes, no matter how hard I worked or how many part-time jobs I took on. She softly chuckled.

  “Pay? You’re a funny bunny.”

  And on we went. This boutique, that store, even the fancy Rumson River Shopping Mall, where Meri greeted a group of young children, led them into Toys “R” Us, and sweetly announced:

  “Go on. Take anything you want. Pretend I’m Michael Jackson. Only you ­don’t have to put out.”

  Then we were off to the Lili Mar Lili salon. I was plopped into a chair. Meri pulled aside my hairstylist, whispered in his ear. A clip here, a clip there, then a dye job, a few more clips. I ­couldn’t believe it. My mousy brown hair—gone. My stringy haircut—a thing of the past. I stared at myself in the mirror and ran my hands through my thick raven hair. Meri leaned in next to me.

  “What do you think?” she whispered.

  What did I think? I looked fantastic. I looked just like Meri. It was late afternoon by the time we returned to Alpha Beta Delta. Meri retreated to her room. Shanna-Francine and Lindsay gaped at me, flabbergasted.

  ­“You’re beautiful!” exclaimed Lindsay.

  “You think?” I squealed, whirling in a circle, showing off my new canary yellow Chanel outfit. “Am I a hottie?”

  Shanna-Francine suddenly clamped her hand over my mouth.

  “Shh. ­Don’t ever say that again.”

  Uh-oh. I still have so much to learn. “Hottie” is on the Alpha Beta Delta list of undesirable words and phrases. Meri believes that “language is like a virus,” and Shanna-Francine helpfully showed both Lindsay and me the long list of forbidden words that Meri has compiled as part of her duties as president, which include “Hottie,” “Hella,” “Wack,” “Awesome,” “Dude,” “All that,” “Tight,” “’Sup,” along with phrases like, “It’s all good” or “All about”—which means that these words cannot be used in the form of “It’s all about Donatella” or “I’m all about chillin’ today”—as well as “I’m down,” as in, “I’m so down for getting a dragon tattoo this afternoon.”

  After dinner—it was catered!—Lindsay and I joined Shanna-Francine, Gloria, Meri, and the rest of the sisters for movie night in the living room. It was foreign: The Piano Teacher, starring Isabelle Huppert, and it was kind of scary and creepy, but I ­wasn’t too sure what was going on because we ­weren’t allowed to turn on the DVD subtitling display.

  “Learn French,” whispered Meri.

  Still, it was getting late, and when the movie ended, I politely told everyone that I had to go upstairs to study for my classes tomorrow. Everyone exploded with laughter. I swear, you’d have thought I’d just said the funniest thing ever. I looked over to Lindsay, who shrugged helplessly.

  “Oh, let her,” said Gloria, waving me away.

  Tomorrow I’ll be having my first class with Professor Scott since discovering you know what. I ­don’t know how I’ll face him. An hour later Lindsay hopped onto my bed. We had such a nice just-girls chat, and we playfully pinched each other. Were we really here? And was it really true, as Lindsay had heard downstairs, that we no longer had to go to classes? How is that possible? My door swung open. It was Gloria.

  ­“You’re really going to class tomorrow?” she barked.

  “Of course I am,” I said. “I ­can’t fail. And besides, I want to go.”

  “You want to go,” she said, like she was testing the words out. “Okay, look, do whatever you want, but that’s not going to give you much time. The house is throwing a benefit tomorrow night. Meri’s appointed you and Lindsay to organize it. Guests will be arriving by nine. Frankly, I ­don’t see how ­you’re going to pull it off and go to class too, but whatever. Just ­don’t screw it up.”

  Then she was gone. Lindsay and I gulped. Plan a benefit? What did that entail? Deciding we’d figure it out in the morning, Lindsay said good night and retreated to her room. I guess it’s time for me to turn out my lights now, but I ­can’t sleep—just like last night. This time, though, it’s not because I’m afraid or nervous or anything like that. I’m happy. I caught my reflection in the mirror. Who is that happy-go-lucky girl? This has all happened so fast. But it has happened. I’m really here.

  September 8

  Dear Diary:

  Classes, shmasses. Ha! I sure have learned a lot about the house today. Whatever the girls of Alpha Beta Delta want, we get. Woo hoo! Trouble with your GPA? No prob. With the goods on Dean Pointer and most of the professors in the Hoover File, adjustments can be made. Want a better parking spot? Dibs on dessert in the cafeteria? Maybe even a spa weekend at the Cape? Not to worry. Just talk to Meri. She’ll take care of everything. And planning the charity benefit? A snap.

  “You ­don’t really have to, like, do anything,” babbled Shanna-Francine cheerfully, handing us a phone sheet. “Just mak
e a few calls. Oh, and pick a theme.”

  Between us, Lindsay and I called the caterer, the party planner, and the DJ, and I picked a theme: “Camelot.” It was perfect. I even ordered cute little matching pillbox hats for all the girls to wear. It was expensive, but Shanna-Francine said not to worry about that.

  Later, when Lindsay and I strolled past the Great Lawn after lunch, we knew everyone was staring at us. And whispering. So this is what it’s like to be envied. Oh, I love it! Suddenly bounding up to us was Bud.

  “Cyn, whoa. Total hottie. Like, who knew?”

  “Is a bee buzzing by?” asked Lindsay.

  “Mmm. I think so,” I answered, catching on.

  “Someone should tell that poor little bee to move it—if he values his GPA.”

  Oh my God, it was so nasty. And easy. And fun. And Bud deserved it. He shirked away. “Hottie.” Please. I think Lindsay and I are going to make a wonderful little twosome. I barely even notice that she’s practically always shielding herself with an open umbrella anymore. It’s just so Lindsay. Bud Finger. Ugh. The likes of him seem very far away now. Thank goodness for that. When we crossed the street, I saw Patty. I was so excited to see her, and I wanted to tell her all about Alpha Beta Delta, but Lindsay held my arm back.

  “I think that’s someone you used to know. Get it? NOKD.”

  “NOKD?”

  “‘Not Our Kind, Dear.’”

  She was right. I’m different now. I’m better. I need to be careful. I looked down at the ground as we strolled past, totally ignoring Patty when she called out my name. That was hard. But it was absolutely the right thing to do. I’ve got to be strong.

  The charity benefit was a blast. There was yummy food (and the catering guys were cute), and wine, and drinks, and we all looked so fabulous in our matching little pillbox hats. It was packed, too. Practically every RU professor, along with Dean Pointer, a very severe, tall man in his mid-fifties, was there, and they each had to pay close to three hundred dollars just to get in.

  “All the proceeds are going to the National Scarpiella Foundation,” Meri informed me.

  I was confused.

  “Wait a minute. Scarpiella’s an Italian chicken dish with sausage.”

  “Your point being?”

  Then she tittered and sashayed off with Gloria. There were lots of guys there too. Wow. I’m talking handsome guys from the RU football team, and the swim team and the soccer team too, though I ­didn’t see Keith Ryder. Maybe he and Meri are still on the outs. I started getting a little drunk as the night wore on, and I think Shanna-Francine was too. She ­couldn’t stop giggling. I mean, I know Shanna-Francine’s the type to giggle loudly at any given moment, but she was really giggling up a storm now.

  “Great ’shrooms,” she blurted out. Then she handed me some mushrooms. “Here. Try some and pass ’em on.”

  She must have been really drunk to pick out a bunch of mushrooms from the buffet salad bowl. I nibbled on one. I was hungry, I realized, so I ate the rest of them and then figured, hey, maybe I should have a little salad with my mushrooms. Ha!

  I should probably mention that it’s four in the morning now and I ­don’t think I’ll be falling asleep anytime soon. I drank too much. That has to be it. I ­can’t stop smiling. And giggling. Really. In fact, an hour or so after I had my salad, I was the life of the party, or so it seemed. Every word I heard struck me as hysterically funny. But probably the funniest word I heard all night was “umbrella.” Ha! It still makes me laugh. Umbrella. Oh my God, that’s so funny. Umbrella-umbrella-umbrella. Why is that word so funny? Why ­can’t I stop smiling? Umbrella-umbrella-umbrella. That. Is. So. Fucking. Funny. Umbrella-umbrella-umbrella. I love me. My room is happy. It told me. Keith Ryder is superdreamy. Why ­wasn’t he at the party tonight? Paisley. Ha! Paisley-paisley-paisley. He-he. Oh. My. God. I. Have. To. Stop. Now. I. Am. Just. Too. Damn. Much.

  September 9

  Dear Diary:

  My life rocks! And guess what? The room I’m in is the exact same room that Mom was in when she was at Alpha Beta Delta, even when she was president (it was Meri who decided that presidents needed more appropriate quarters, so she knocked the walls down upstairs, and I totally agree with her on that). I e-mailed Mom this morning. I’ll bet she’s so proud of me. I’m really and truly following in her footsteps. Well, except for one thing. I’m not a cheerleader and I never have been (even though I did watch an old video of Mom cheering at an RU game once and tried out the cheers myself; I can do them!). And everyone knows cheerleaders meet the nicest boys. Oh, well. I guess I ­can’t have everything.

  Breakfast was late this morning, since everyone was still recovering from last night’s Scarpiella Charity Ball. Meri and Gloria ­weren’t there, which was nice, in a way, because Lindsay and I got to know the other girls a little better. Everyone was impressed to learn that Mom was president of Alpha Beta Delta when she was here, and one girl even suggested that I put my name in the running for president this year. According to the house by-laws, there have to be at least two candidates. I thought about it for a moment. It would be a nice tribute to Meri, being that I’m sort of her protégée (as Shanna-Francine said), and everyone’s going to vote for her anyway. During the past two years, Shanna-Francine has been the one who’s run against her, but she ­doesn’t want to do it again this year.

  “I mean, it’s not like I had to do anything as a candidate,” she said. “But you know, I’ve already lost twice.”

  Losing to Meri Sugarman would be an honor for me, and who knows, maybe it’ll even put me in good stead if I decide to run for president next year after Meri graduates—though the thought of actually being president and assuming all of Meri’s awesome responsibilities seems ridiculous.

  “All those in favor of nominating Cindy, raise your hand,” announced Lindsay.

  Every single girl raised her hand. I almost cried. Most of these girls barely even know me, but they really seem to like me. One of them said I was a “good peeps.” Can my life possibly get any better? Oh, yes, it can. To the amusement of everyone, I decided to go to my classes today. Heck, I know I ­don’t have to, but I like learning, so there’s no reason to stop now. I had three classes, and when I stepped into each room, it felt like I was royalty. My professors even knew my name. They were so thrilled to see me—and a little nervous, too—and in my last class, when Professor Macinhouser gave a pop quiz, he told me that I was exempt.

  “But I want to take it,” I insisted. “I studied.”

  He looked at me a little strangely, then bent down and whispered, “As long as it’s clearly understood that I’m not forcing you to take it. I want that on the record. And I ­won’t count the grade toward your GPA without your approval. Is that okay? Will that be all right?”

  I assured him it was. I strolled lazily through the campus afterward. The sun was casting warm rays when I passed the football field. I almost gasped. The football team dashed out onto the field for practice. There was Keith Ryder, looking as superhandsome and cute as ever. I watched for a moment, but I kept my distance, especially when I saw a bunch of pretty girls in adorable cheerleader outfits jog onto the sidelines and practice their routines. A couple of the football players offered a few horse whistles. It would be so incredible to be a college cheerleader like Mom and meet a cute football player like Dad, but I have other good qualities now. And I am in Alpha Beta Delta. I continued on from the field, making my way to the house. A town car pulled up alongside me.

  “Woof, woof.”

  I whipped around. It was Gloria. The town car stopped and she swung open the passenger-side door, waving me inside. I climbed in back, sitting right between Gloria and Meri, who were sipping lemon-drop martinis.

  “You ­can’t woof at her anymore,” whispered Meri to Gloria. “She’s my little bow-wow now. Right, Cindy?”

  It’s funny. Having Meri call me her “little bow-wow” ­didn’t feel nasty at all. In fact, it felt like an endearment. They were very amused when I told them I
went to my classes today and took a pop quiz.