“Ah, Felicity, always so busy memorizing my schedule.” True. How else would she have been able to track me down when Dragon’s Head was pulling all those pranks?
“Exactly,” Felicity replied.
“I think you have it mixed up with something else.” I smiled through clenched teeth. “But you know me. I can’t get enough of Dostoevsky.”
It helped, of course, that The Brothers Karamozov was thick enough to pass for a lethal weapon if you wielded it just right.
“We were going to check out this new boutique downtown,” Kalani said. “Want to come?”
Oh, we were, were we? I looked at Felicity, at her unabashed expression of challenge. Unbelievable. She was after my tap. My. Tap.
Naturally, Dragon’s Head would want a girl of Kalani’s caliber for themselves, but why would Felicity, of all people, be the one in charge of recruiting her? She wasn’t in the journalism scene. Did Dragon’s Head have a vastly different M.O. when it came to finding society members? Did she want her because her part-Polynesian background fit into Felicity’s idea of an Asian-American tap?
Nah. That would be giving her way too much credit. Dragon’s Head wanted Kalani—Felicity wanted Kalani—because they knew I was gunning for her.
This was the society’s newest volley in our decades-long feud.
“Sure,” I said to Kalani, still looking at my nemesis. “I’d love to.”
I swiftly discarded the notion that Dragon’s Head had, in fact, bugged the Inner Temple. They wouldn’t need to think hard to figure out which juniors we were after. Malcolm and Jamie had told me last year that it was commonplace for societies to compete for the top-tier taps, and Kalani was a golden girl when it came to secret society wish lists.
I wondered how many of the other potential taps were being similarly wooed. My fingers itched to tap out a quick text message to Jenny or Clarissa. Watch yr backs. DH on the prowl. But it was tough to type, walk, and remain insinuated into Felicity and Kalani’s conversation all at the same time. I decided to concentrate on the latter two.
Right now, unfortunately, they were discussing fashion. My understanding started at “Don’t wear white shoes after Labor Day” and ended somewhere around my abject disdain for formal shorts, so I had little to contribute. I settled for the occasional sage nod and “hmmmm.”
We were going to a boutique, though. Which meant that if Clarissa’s clothes know-how was at all reflected in her childhood friend, Felicity was going to come off looking a lot better than I was. Score a point for Dragon’s Head.
Then we came to the boutique. Felicity’s nose wrinkled, then smoothed as she smiled at Kalani. “Neat,” was all she said.
Neat was clearly the opposite of what she meant. I peered into the windows. It looked like a Renaissance Faire had exploded in there. Corsets and swords, tiaras and gauntlets, velvet capes embroidered with Celtic knots and pillows printed with scenes from the Bayeux Tapestry. The stencil on the glass doorway read: THE SIGN OF THE UNICORN.
We entered, fairy bells tinkling to signal our arrival.
A woman dressed like Stevie Nicks appeared behind the counter. “Blessed be,” she said to us, her hands folded serenely before her chin. A row of books at her back proclaimed all manner of spells and herbal remedies.
“Are you Wiccan?” I asked Kalani. Demetria might approve if I brought some non-mainstream religion into the mix.
“No,” she said, and wandered down an aisle stuffed with brocaded skirts. “I just like the clothes.” News to me, what with her never-ending supply of beige suits.
Felicity was still standing at the entrance, desperately searching around for some fragment of what she thought proper boutique clothing looked like.
“Hey, Felicity,” I called, then pointed at a giant bronze dragon in the corner. “Check it.” I followed Kalani down the aisle. If she liked costumes, she’d fit right in with Rose & Grave. This was getting better every minute.
Kalani held a dress of green and gold up to her body, then checked out her reflection in the ornate mirror at the end of the row. “It’s silly, I know. But my parents were in the Society for Creative Anachronism when I was growing up, so I was always kind of interested. I actually joined the Eli chapter my freshman year, but then I got too busy with … other activities to keep it up.”
Like the paper. I couldn’t imagine how much she had to give up in order to run the EDN. Still, she found time to get a literary agent and keep a full course load. I hoped she’d find time for Rose & Grave, though I was beginning to doubt very much that she needed us anywhere near as much as we needed her.
She held the dress in front of me. “You should try on this one. It goes so well with your eyes.”
I held out the sleeves, which were shaped like giant wings. “Great, I needed a new frock for the jousting tournament this weekend.”
She brightened. “There’s a jousting tournament this weekend?”
“I was joking.”
“Right.” She frowned and picked at a loose thread. “Hey, thanks for tagging along. Felicity’s nice and all, but she’s been a little clingy lately. Know what I mean?”
Not really. Felicity didn’t cling so much as pounce. Usually armed. “What does she want?” I asked. This was good news. Kalani was clearly more annoyed by Felicity’s attention than intrigued enough to join Dragon’s Head. Like Arielle and me, in reverse.
“Long story,” Kalani whispered, then turned back to the clothes racks as Felicity came down the row. “I’m going to try this one on,” she said, and pulled out a gown in a pale, tarnished silver brocade. Even in RenFaire getup, Kalani favored beige.
I rubbed one yellow sneaker against the other as Kalani headed toward the dressing room in the back, leaving me alone with Felicity.
“So what do you think?” I asked her blithely, holding the green and gold gown up to my front. “Is it me?”
“Drop dead,” Felicity countered, her eyes on the dressing room door.
“She told me you’ve been bothering her,” I went on. “I guess she and I have that in common.”
“That’s all you’ll have in common,” Felicity hissed.
“Why don’t you step aside,” I hissed back. “Don’t you know when you’re outclassed?”
“Outclassed? Are you kidding? By you?”
I lifted my chin. “By my people.”
“Oh, classic, Amy. You’ve anticipated my ‘you and what army’ argument.”
“If I remember correctly,” I said, “it was you who needed the army. Your entire society all rallying to the cause of what, exactly? Right—keeping me away from your boyfriend.” I turned to her. “And how is Brandon these days?”
Felicity stood very still, but there was a flicker in her eyes that revealed my barb had struck deep. “You,” she said, “are an unbelievable bitch.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Kalani emerged from the dressing room, swaying her hips so the material in the skirt bloomed out and swirled around her. “Well? What do you think?”
The gown was stunning. She looked like a Hawaiian Queen Elizabeth. “Where are you going to wear it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The Silver Slipper Ball, if I have the guts to go in costume instead of just formal.”
“That’s Eli for you,” I said. “A formal dance every week or two, and costume balls you can set your watch by.”
“I guess,” Kalani said. “But of course I’m going to the Silver Slipper. I just don’t know if this is too much. This is only my second one. Last year I just did boring black cocktail. I wanted to go all out this time.”
“I’ve never been,” I said. Who could keep track of every formal dance at Eli?
“Oh, you should!” Kalani exclaimed. “Especially since this is your last year. I’ll try to snag you an invite.”
Felicity stiffened, then looked at her watch. “My goodness, look at the time. I’ve got a meeting I just have to get to. You don’t mind, do you?” She smiled at Kalani.
Felicity gave me a smug smile. “Break a leg, Amy.” And then she was off.
Um, did I just win? I stared after her in confusion, then turned back to my quarry. Well, that was easy. Guess my comments really hit home.
“So?” Kalani held out her wing-like arms. “Do you think this is too over the top?”
The corset part of the gown cinched Kalani’s waist in tight, accenting her wide hips and turning her breasts into a shelf you could practically set drinks on. Above the decolletage, her golden skin glowed and her dark eyes sparkled. She might, in fact, be having a tough time breathing with that thing on, if the blush spreading across her cheeks was any indication.
This beat beekeeper outfits any day of the week. She looked regal and elegant—far more capable like this than she had even in her business suits.
“It’s over the top,” I agreed. “But in a good way.”
Kalani bounced. “I know, it’s fabulous. Now all I need is a date.”
An opening. “Hey,” I said. “A friend of mine is having a party on Thursday night. I bet there will be a lot of cute guys there.” George, at least, would be required to show up. Not that I wanted to foist him on Kalani. Or introduce any more society incest into the group. Still, an opening is an opening. “Want to go with me? It’ll be fun. She’s got this really swank loft, and she always goes all out for her parties. Champagne, caviar—it’s extraordinary. Like a modern-day Gatsby.”
“Ooh, sounds fun,” Kalani said. “Wait, you said it’s tomorrow night?”
I nodded. Kalani slumped.
“Darn, I can’t.”
“Deadline at the newspaper?”
She turned back toward the rack. “No.”
Wait, I knew that coy little turn, that refusal to answer direct questions. I knew it because I’d been practicing it since the moment I was tapped into Rose & Grave.
“Then why?” I asked, as my fingernails bit into my palms in fear and anticipation.
“I have society stuff.”
She had what? No, we were society stuff. We were the society she was supposed to have stuff with.
“Yeah, every Thursday and Sunday night. You know how it goes.” She shrugged, and the dress shivered all around her.
Yes, I knew exactly how it went, because I had been doing the every-Thursday-and-Sunday-night thing all year.
And then it hit me. The Silver Slipper. The formal ball given for the last hundred years by—
“You’re in St. Linus Hall?” I fought to make it a question, though I already knew the answer.
St. Linus Hall was the only three-year society on campus. The only society whose endowment beat Rose & Grave’s. The only one who could possibly have stolen my tap from me.
Because they got to her at the beginning of her sophomore year.
“Yeah,” she said. She cast me a hesitant look over her shoulder. “You’re not one of those people who think society members are lunatic, old boys’ club, coffin-sleeping, robe-wearing freaks, are you?”
“No,” I choked.
“Because the Hall’s not like that. We’re not like, I don’t know, the Diggers or something. Those guys are weird.”
“You know?” I managed to say. “I think I will try this on.” I grabbed the green and gold dress and sprinted for the changing room. Inside, behind the relative sanctuary of the heavy maroon curtain, I pushed my fist against my mouth and let out a strangled cry.
No! Why? She was perfect, absolutely perfect. It would be the one thing I managed to do right in my whole Digger experience—tap someone better than me. Tap someone who really belonged in the organization. Who would make the patriarchs proud, make them see that Jamie and Malcolm’s class hadn’t screwed everything up by letting girls in, by letting me in.
But she was already in a society. And worse, she thought we were freaks! And when a girl in a Queen Elizabeth gown she’s planning on wearing to a formal dinner dance tells you that you are the weird one, you know you’re way out there.
I couldn’t tap her into Rose & Grave if she was already in St. Linus Hall. That’s how it worked. We might make an exception for Phi Beta Kappas like Josh, but that wasn’t a real society. It was a pin you wore on graduation day and a lunch with the dean.
No wonder Felicity had split when she heard “The Silver Slipper.” I had a hard time keeping track of all the formal events at Eli, but she and her wardrobe filled with Vera Wang must have the damn list memorized. Stupid St. Linus Hall. What had Kalani called it? The Hall. Stupid nickname. What were they, Hollers? They were such a weird entity. Three years, open membership roster. They even had public areas of their tomb where members could invite visitors. They let non-members come hear their speakers, attend their bashes. The Silver Slipper, I remembered now, was supposed to be the best party on campus. Part of me still wanted to go.
But seriously, what was the point of a secret society if nothing was secret?1*
I yanked out my cell phone and flipped it open. Text message to Jenny Santos:
A: U messed up … big-time.
The reply came back in seconds:
J: U OK?
I typed furiously the gown forgotten.
A: Y didnt u find out kalani in st linus?
J: No! Im sorry. Had no idea.
Then, after a few moments:
J: Leaving lab. Call me.
A: Cant shes rt here.
“Amy?” Kalani called. “You need a hand with the corset? They can be a little tricky.”
I hoped she attributed my groan of frustration to the clothing and not to my current convo. I typed to my fellow knight:
A: Now what?
But Jenny appeared to be thinking. Either that or she’d put her phone away and gone back to class.
J: Now … Topher.
“Argh!” I said aloud.
Kalani peeked her head inside the curtain. “What’s with all the yelps of pain? You haven’t even taken your pants off.”
1*The confessor is loath to admit how appealing the St. Linus Hall configuration actually seemed to her at that moment. All the fun of a secret society, but none of the whole “barbarian” nonsense. Imagine having Lydia at one of the Digger parties!
At least I was finally getting somewhere with my thesis. My new mantra: I am a typing fiend.
So while knowledge of these mysteries remained an exclusively male privilege, the entrance or initiation into this awareness was most often guarded by a female entity. After all, though it is Aeneas who—
Ping.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Really Sorry
—Aeneas who peers into the underworld, it is the Sybil who shows him the way.
Ping.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Really, really sorry.
I cleared my throat and kept typing.
Dante’s homage to this event is echoed in his choice to make Aeneid author Virgil himself the guide for Dante’s own trip through both the Inferno and the Purgatorio. However—
My cell phone began to buzz.
ONE NEW TXT FROM
JENNY
SUBJ: Astoundingly Sorry
I turned the phone display-side-down.
—However, when they arrive at Paradise, the desirable destination, the one that Dante presumably wishes to actually join, his initiation comes care of not only an angelic female gatekeeper, Matelda, but also a female tour guide: his childhood love, Beatrice.
An IM window popped up on my screen, masking my deathless prose.
HelloGorgeous: Why are you ignoring Jenny?
Clarissa. I typed back Busy working. Go ‘way.
HelloGorgeous: This isn’t the end of the world, you know.
AmyHaskel: You’re right. Which is why I don’t care and am busy working on something actually important for a change: women-as-gatekeepers in epic poetry. Tap Topher. I don’
t care.
HelloGorgeous: Don’t use the imperative mood with me, young lady! *You* need to tap Topher. Look at it this way: If you *had* known about Kalani, what would you be doing differently now?
Taking Arielle more seriously. Not encouraging her to join Quill & Ink, that was for damn sure.
HelloGorgeous: This is all for the best anyway. It will help cement our relationships with the patriarchs.
AmyHaskel: Lie back and think of England?
I clicked back over to my thesis window.
Of course, it remains to be seen whether or not such initiations are really in the character’s best interest. Sometimes it’s just a major-league annoyance to join their stupid club.
I sighed and deleted the latest sentence, then clicked back to IM.
AmyHaskel: I’d have to trade for him, you know. I got a girl marble.
HelloGorgeous: Amy, it’s Jenny. You can have my boy marble if you want. I’m so sorry.
I remembered Jenny’s chosen tap, the engineer in search of the physical location of the soul.
AmyHaskel: You’d do that for me?
HelloGorgeous: Sure. It was my screwup. I’ve only gotten as far as their Eli apps. So far. I should have dug deeper. And besides, you’re my Diggirl.
She’d give up the tap she wanted so I could have the tap I didn’t. Something about that was deeply twisted.
AmyHaskel: No, Jenny. We’ll figure something out.
I just didn’t know what.
On Thursday morning, I entered the auditorium in the Geology department, walked down the row to Arielle Hallet’s desk, and dropped an invitation to the party on top of her notebook.
She looked up. “What’s this?”
“What do you think?” I replied, trying not to sound as weary as I felt. “I’d like you to come to a party tonight.”
Tap & Gown Page 10
