by Helen Ellis
Tootsie said, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, you can never be too sure what young girls will do.”
She took Nicole’s hand again. It was a habit of hers, taking people by the hand. Nicole had known Mrs. Steptoe all of her life, but the habit never ceased to catch her off guard. Mrs. Steptoe’s hands were always lotioned and toasty. Nicole tried to wiggle her fingers, stiff and seizured in Tootsie’s like a stroke.
“Relax,” said Tootsie. She massaged Nicole’s hand. “I can see things about you, just as I can see Stewart’s girl could be his wife. She’s got strong hands.”
Nicole felt pins and needles in her fingers. She squirmed from the pressure that Tootsie applied.
“You’re confused,” said Tootsie. “I know you’re confused. You don’t want to rush because your mother wants you to. You do want to rush because you could be with Sarina.”
Nicole didn’t say anything.
“You have feelings for her. I know. You can’t help it. I know.”
Nicole felt very tired. She stared across the room to where Sarina crossed her arms and her mother kept on talking.
Tootsie said, “She’s telling her about what her mother did when we were in college, you know, before the wheel.” Tootsie laughed at her own joke, then took a moment, then said, “Did you know Sarina’s mother went to Auburn ’cause we didn’t let her in?”
Nicole shook her head.
“She got blackballed because of what your mother found out.”
Nicole knew that she should ask. “What’d she find out?”
“That Sarina’s mother was a thief. When we were juniors, your mother and I, she was the Tri Delta pledge director and I was a Rho Chi. Rho Chis take the rushees around. We’re incognito. Tourguiders-slash-counselors made up of girls from all the sororities. We’re supposed to remain impartial. Help the rushees. Absolutely no contact with our houses. But your mother and I couldn’t help ourselves and she asked me about a girl in my group.”
“Sarina’s mother.”
“Exactly. She said there was something about her. She was too friendly or too weird. I can’t even remember. But she kept getting called back. She was prettier then. Not as heavy as she is today.”
“So what happened?”
“So, on Serious Night, your mother planted my engagement ring in the rest room and that woman took it. Your mother stopped her as soon as she came out. It was right in her hand, ready to walk out the door.”
“How do you know she wasn’t giving it back?”
“We knew.”
Nicole pulled her hand free from Tootsie’s ever-tightening hold. “So what does this have to do with anything?”
“Your mother is the Standards Chair. She held her tongue when Sarina rushed last year. Sarina got in so that she could help you get in. If your mother wanted to, she could let the Summers’ secret out. Make the other girls think stealing runs in the family.”
“So she’s threatening her?”
“It’s worked before. Didn’t you ever notice that Sarina’s mother never makes it to the poker play-offs? She made it once. Placed third at Auburn semifinals. But when your mother found out she marched right across the street. Told her to forfeit her spot or she’d let the rumors fly. She’d have no cheaters in her house. How could your mother keep her eyes on the cards, when she had to watch the silverware, her jewelry, the kitchen sink—”
“She wouldn’t steal the sink. Plus Sarina loves me.”
“Sweet, sweet pumpkin. You are blinded by that girl. Believe me, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, Sarina Summers is not the best seed in the pack. I’ve held her hand. I’ve seen how deep her selfishness goes.” Tootsie stood up, but when Nicole did not join her, she bent over, face-to-face, and whispered, “To the core.”
On the first day of rush, Nicole stood with her group on the lawn mower–streaked grass of the Tri Delta front yard. For more than social rank, Tri Delta stood out. It was a modern round building—sort of like a big birthday cake. She looked down Sorority Row at the other clusters of sixty girls teetering on the lawns of Alpha Chi, Phi Mu, Kappa Kappa Gamma and other houses she could not recognize far off in the distance. When the clock hit 11:00 A.M., Nicole would attend the first of fifteen introductory parties.
Ice-water teas were not really get-to-know-yous. Mrs. Hicks had briefed her on what really went on. On the surface, the parties lasted two days and only ice water was served. They were fifteen minutes a piece, with fifteen-minute breaks for the Rho Chis to get their girls together and get them to the next house. Most girls thought that these parties were their chance to put their best foot forward, to make a good impression, to become something they never were in their hometowns of Not As Popular As She’d Like To Be. But they were wrong. The truth was that before the first rushee stepped into an Alabama sorority house, every decision as to who would be kept and who would be cut had already been made. For the past two weeks the sisters had gathered in their sorority basements or rooms where the windows were blacked out with construction paper. GPAs were examined. Class activities tallied. The pledge director ran a slide show where every rushee’s picture was flashed and pros and cons were thrown out in the dark
“She screwed her high school principal!”
“She throws more leg than a stable full of horses!”
“Boob job!”
“Boob job!”
“I hear she has an eating disorder.”
When Nicole’s picture came up, Sarina had been instructed by Mrs. Hicks to say, “Nicole Hicks. Rush to Pledge.” The pledge director had been instructed by Tootsie to second the vote, surely cinching a Tri Delta bid.
Before Nicole knew it, Sorority Row was filled with clamor and commotion. Sisters cheered and filed out of each house. They sang. They moved their hands in unison. Some of the sisters took a rushee by the hand and led her into the house while the remaining girls clapped.
Inside, the rushees were traded among teams of five Tri Delta sisters. The sisters were very polite. They were full of Coke for breakfast. They asked Nicole questions and really seemed interested in her answers.
Nicole was relieved that no one mentioned the report card incident or her police record for causing a public disturbance. She hardly had to talk at all. Everything seemed choreographed. One smooth-moving machine that had been tinkered with by her mother.
When it was time to go, she was passed to Sarina.
“It’s okay,” said Sarina. “I want you to join.”
Nicole felt Sarina lace her fingers between her own. They joined a double line of optimists and sisters that moved through the receiving room like the largest bridal party ever.
“I want us to be friends again,” Sarina whispered as the other girls sang Go TRI Delta, Ba-Dum-Da-Dum! “I’m really sorry I haven’t been around much. It would be so much easier if you’d pledge Tri Delt.”
Nicole looked at Sarina from the corners of her eyes. Her lips seemed fuller. Her lashes even darker. She was still so put together. So well groomed. A perfect vision. Nicole let Sarina hug her as she sent her out the door.
Back on the Tri Delta lawn, Nicole saw only Sarina as all the girls waved from the windows, then shut the shutters to do whatever they did until opening their doors to the next group of girls.
Nicole knew what they did. Her mother had told her. As soon as the doors were shut, clipboards were pulled out from under sofa cushions, from inside of drawers. Notes were made. Votes were taken by method of Heads Down, Hands Up. All the girls stood with their eyes on the carpet. When a rushee’s name was called, all hands shot toward the ceiling. Fingers spread for yes. Fists equaled no. The greatest amount of cutting took place after the ice-water teas. Some girls were cut from rush altogether. Others were requested by every single house. On the third day of rush, the Rho Chis gave their rush group a list of sororities who had invited them back for skit nights.
Skit nights were half-hour parties, where the rushees were served punch and cookies. The houses put on shows to keep
everybody interested. There were four parties per night. Alpha Chis did Alice in Wonderland. Zetas did Snoopy and the Gang. The Deltas were the best because they did Motown. Sisters wore tailored tuxes and long sequined gowns. They sang “Ain’t too proud to beg.” It could be quite inspiring.
During the course of these parties, the real judgments were made. The rushees were scrutinized. They were grilled on cold smiles. At some houses a girl’s character was reduced to What Her Daddy Does and Who Her Mother Was.
In Nicole’s case, her own doings overshadowed her parents’ accomplishments. Even if her daddy did anchor the news, no one wanted to give a bid to Nicole. So while the other girls in her rush group hurried from lawn to lawn, Nicole sat in the Hicks house and waited for 10:00 P.M. on the second of skit nights when she was expected at Delta Delta Delta, the only house to ask her back.
On Serious Night, the rushees went to only three houses. The parties lasted an hour and a lot of crying and confessions went on. At the Tri Delt house, Nicole touched the pearls her mother had fastened around her neck. They had belonged to Mrs. Hicks’ mother and they were not imitation.
“They’ll scare the other girls,” Mrs. Hicks had whispered giddily. “You can relax now. You’re a shoo-in.”
On Squeal Day it turned out that her mother was right. Nicole got her bid in the courtyard of the Ferguson Center. The Rho Chis gave them out and once the girls got them in their hot little hands, they went running toward Sorority Row. It was a half-mile run, but Nicole ran with them—past the Natural History Museum, through the quad—faster and faster toward the houses that chose them.
Nicole and forty-nine others stopped at Tri Delta. Sisters were everywhere, screaming “Find your pledge sister!” The pledges streamed into the sorority house. It was the first time Nicole had been past the living room. She ran through the dining room, through the kitchen, straight upstairs. She searched for her name on every sister’s bedroom door. When she found it, spelled out in bright cardboard letters, she pounded hard against the wood.
“Who is it?” came a grandmotherly voice.
“Nicole Hicks!”
“Who?”
“Nicole Hicks!”
“Say it right.”
Nicole thought for a second. Should she use her middle name? Should she say Miss Nicky? Then she understood. She called, straining to raise her voice over the other pledges going berserk on every side of her, “It’s me! Pledge Nicole!”
Sarina swung open the door and, in one swift yank, pulled Nicole’s shirt over her head. For about two seconds, Nicole stood in her bra in the hallway. Sarina jerked her into her room. There were framed pictures everywhere. Sarina and other girls pressing their cheeks to one another, saying cheese for the camera, holding out see-through plastic cups full of beer for proof of party.
Sarina rooted under her reading pillow. She produced a blue T-shirt with squeal day ironed onto the back. Delta Delta Delta was spelled out in white and gold on the front pocket. “Put it on!” she said, beaming. “Put it on! Put it on!”
Sarina grinned as Nicole pulled the T-shirt over her head.
“Tuck it in, tuck it in!” Sarina yanked Nicole’s belt off its hook. She unzipped her shorts and stuffed Nicole’s shirt in, her nails slightly scratching her waist and her hips. Sarina bounced like she had in their cheerleader days. “Let’s go!” she said. “Lake Party! Let’s go!”
The lake party was the first of many. Nicole had fun because Sarina never left her side. The SAEs crashed and Sarina introduced them. They got Nicole drinks. They flirted. They joked. All the girls congratulated Nicole and she congratulated the other pledges.
“It’s going to be tough,” Sarina said over margaritas. “But once pledging is over, the pressure’s off.”
“What pressure?” Nicole said as one of the SAEs took off his jeans shorts and sprinted butt-nekkid straight into the shallow part of the lake.
“Just trust me,” Sarina told her. “Promise me, you’ll do what I say.”
Nicole looked at Sarina, her white shoulders pink from SPF 6, her tank top loose from too many washes. She tried to remember the last time they had stood this close in public. The last time they were seen as sisters. Although Nicole had never seen them as sisters. It had been years. But the years were now just a memory. “I’ll do anything,” Nicole said. “Just tell me what you want.”
A month later, pledging was halfway through. Nicole’s class was the first pledge group to pledge for only eight weeks. From Sarina’s class back through history, pledging had lasted the entire fall semester. But there had been too many lawsuits over so-called hazing. So the Greek Council had cut the pledge time in half. The sisters and alumnae were not very happy.
Sarina had said, “It’s too little time to really get to know a girl.”
Mrs. Hicks had told Nicole this would work to her advantage. “It gives you less time to screw up. You can hold out for eight weeks.”
“Sure,” Nicole had said, but a month later she was totally exhausted.
School was in full swing and Delta Delta Delta insisted on organizing her whereabouts. She was to eat lunch and dinner at the house. Attend study hall four times a week. There were fund-raising projects for local charities. Carnivals for Cervical Cancer. Marathon Walks to sponsor Juvenile Diabetes. There were pledge meetings and miscellaneous meetings and fraternity swaps at least twice a week.
And then there was Homecoming. The pledges did all the work. They painted the banners and posters and the faces of each other. They built the float. They rode it and threw candy at the faculty’s kids. They went in droves to the polls to vote for Homecoming queen, who had been picked for this fall’s win the past spring by the Machine.
The Machine was the secret white Greek political party (the six black Greek houses were set on the edge of campus on West Fourth Street and equally distant from the machine). The Machine told members who to vote for in every conceivable category. Even though independents outnumbered Greeks six to one, the Greeks ran the university because they were organized and cast their ballots. Each school year, the Machine rotated its houses through important positions. The Homecoming queen was always a Greek. So was the student body president. The Golden Key Captain too. Once the university president had to overthrow the election for Crimson White editor. The independent candidate had been a Tuscaloosa News columnist for three years running. Since she was thirteen, she’d interned with her dad, who was the top crime reporter at The Birmingham Herald. For fun, the Machine put up a bruiser from the dregs of ATO. His nickname was Dick Brain. Guess which one won.
Throughout all Homecoming activities, each pledge was given a goldfish.
“If it dies,” Sarina told Nicole, “you don’t get in. If it dies, even legacy can’t save you.”
Nicole brought the fishbowl to eye level. The bowl was the size of a Florida orange. The fish bobbed unconcerned under the water.
Sarina said, “Be sure to keep its water clean.”
Nicole looked through the bowl at her friend. The glass made Sarina’s eyebrows warp into one.
“Did you hear me?” Sarina said. “Don’t let it die.”
“I won’t.” Nicole looked at the fish, and the fish, lacking eyelids, had no choice but to look back. “I’ll name him Jeepers Peepers.”
“Whatever. Just make sure he doesn’t end up in the toilet.”
Nicole kept the fish with her wherever she went. In the car, she put the bowl in the coffee cup receptacle. In the tub, she set Jeepers Peepers on the porcelain edge.
Mrs. Hicks said she’d watch Nicole’s fish. Nicole could leave him with her and pick him up when she needed him.
Nicole declined. Like the other pledges, she brought Jeepers Peepers to every meal at the Delta house. Mixed in with the gravy boats and salt-and-pepper shakers, goldfish swam at every table.
“This is getting gross,” said one of the seniors.
Another one said, “If I did it, they’re doin’ it. You know it’s tradition.”
Always first to go for seconds, sometimes thirds, Nicole reached around Jeepers Peepers and poured gravy over her pot roast, mashed potatoes, even her corn.
After Homecoming, the pledges were taken to a cabin in Deerlick Park. They were blindfolded and arranged in five rows of ten. They were pushed to their knees, their hands tied behind their backs.
Nicole was at the end of the front line. She knew she should be scared when Mary Lou Jenkins began to cry. What had begun as a nervous giggle soon catapulted into high-pitched hysterics.
“I can’t,” she spat out through sad, sorry sobs. “I can’t. You can’t make me!”
Nicole shook her head in hopes of loosening her blindfold, but the knot was secure and she only saw stars.
“Just do it,” said the pledge director. “It’s not like we’re branding you.”
“I can’t!”
“Yes you can. You can and you will.”
Whatever it was they wanted Mary Beth Jenkins to do, she finally did and seemed to take pleasure in watching everyone that followed her do it. Her dolphinlike laugh could be heard over the other pledges’ giggles or shrieks or No Ways!
When Nicole’s blindfold was removed, it took a few hairs out of the back of her head. She turned around to see who the culprit was only to realize that all the Tri Delts and nine knowing pledges were staring at her. Nicole turned her head front and center. Fifty pledge sisters held goldfish bowls. Nine of those bowls held nothing at all.
Sarina stood in front of Nicole and held out Jeepers Peepers like a snowman in a snow globe about to be shook.
Nicole said, “You’re kidding.”
Sarina twisted her head from side to side. She clenched her teeth so hard the bleach job showed. She brought her fishbowl to her open lips. As the cupful of water ran down Sarina’s chin, it soaked her shirt and Nicole could see that her bra clipped in the front. When the water was gone, Nicole saw Jeepers Peepers through the bottom of the bowl. He slapped against Sarina’s smile. With one quick motion, Sarina turned his body with her tongue. She clamped her teeth down on his tail. She took the bowl away and brought her face to hover over Nicole’s.
