Sorority Sisters

by Claudia Welch

  “Did you ever see The Omega Man? With Charlton Heston?” Karen asks, standing up to look out the window with the rest of them. I get up, too. I might as well take a look at the AG mob hanging around on our part of the sidewalk.

  Various murmurings are all Karen gets as reply.

  “Yeah. So?” I prompt.

  The AGs are looking pretty aggressive, standing near our bikes like that. Six slender, pretty girls with dark hair of various lengths and textures wearing adorable, if sporty, outfits, talking pleasantly outside the Beta Pi house. Definitely a mob. Definitely up to no good.

  “So everybody gets this virus and gets turned into a zombie or a vampire or something equally gross,” Karen says, “and that’s it. Once you get turned, you’re turned. There’s no going back.”

  “Oh, my God,” Ellen says, glancing away from the window to look at the rest of us. “Cindy’s gone Omega.”

  “She can’t be turned,” Karen says.

  “I guess we’ll have to kill her,” Laurie says. When we all look at her, she says, “Hey, I saw the movie. That’s all that’s left to do once they turn Omega.”

  “Maybe all we have to do is kill Andi. She’s the one who turned her,” I say.

  “If only it were that simple,” Karen says. “And I mean that.”

  Nobody has forgiven Andi and her clique for how they were during Rush, dinging girls because they weren’t pretty enough or thin enough. It was disgusting. And now she gets this whole group of previously nice girls to act just like her. Add in that she’s a complete slut, and that’s all she wrote. Like I have room to talk.

  “Let’s go to the Four-O,” Ellen says. “I can’t look at these AGs for another minute.”

  The Four-O. Doug might be there. I don’t think it’s such a great idea, which has to be a first for me when someone mentions the Four-O.

  “I’ve got psych in twenty minutes,” Laurie says.

  “Stop whining, McCormick. You need to get drunk. We all need to get drunk,” Ellen says. “Come on, Diane. The first shot is on me.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I look like hell, my eyes are puffy and bloodshot—”

  “Missy, blow some smoke in her face. Blame it on that,” Ellen says. “Come on. We’re going. Don’t let Doug I feel no love for you Anderson take the Four-O away from you.”

  “Damn straight,” Missy says, smiling at me.

  I want to hide. I want to flaunt myself and drive Doug insane with desire and regret. I want to turn back the clock and do it all differently, finding my way into a place where Doug loves me. But none of that is going to happen so I might as well get drunk.

  “Damn skippy,” I say, retucking my shirt into my pants and then fluffing my hair. We all do a little fluff and puff on our hair, all except Missy. “Laurie, screw psych. We all need a good drunk right about now, right?”

  Laurie looks at me, grins, grabs her cigarettes, and says, “I was probably flunking that class anyway.”

  Laurie

  – Spring 1977 –

  An hour later and we were all well on our way to being drunk. I don’t get drunk as a rule, but this was a special occasion, an act of friendship and support for Diane because Doug broke her heart while his feet were still tangled in the sheets. Pete might be doing the same thing to me.

  Yes, I’m still with Pete, though I’m not sure what the phrase being with Pete actually means. We’re dating and we’re a couple, but I can’t forget Barbie, and I sometimes think that I’m his ULA girlfriend and that Barbie, on that high cliff above Malibu, still thinks Pete is hers. I want to believe that Pete loves me and that he truly broke it off with Malibu Barbie. I want to believe that he’ll propose to me before he graduates in a few weeks. I can seduce myself into believing so many things. I can create defensive lines of belief and refuse entrance to all errant thoughts, barring the door to doubt and dismay and disbelief. My defenses are so very firm and so long established now.

  Defenses. I need defenses with Pete.

  “No! I can’t eat my burger listening to ‘Heart of Gold’!”

  I look over and see Matt Carlson, aka Lavender Barrette, his fists full of hamburger raised to his mouth, and his expression shocked, outraged, and purely comical.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Diane says from the back of our booth. “You don’t like doper music? That’s un-American, son.”

  “Take pity on me,” Matt says. “Cover my ears so I can eat. I’m starving.”

  “When did you last eat?” Missy asks, slumped next to Diane, toying with her cigarette against the ashtray.

  “Lunchtime,” Matt says with a silly, sweet expression on his face. I’ve never paid very much attention to Matt before and I can’t understand why I am now. I might be well and truly drunk, for the first time in my life. As it’s for a good cause, I’m not going to regret the hangover I’ll surely have tomorrow. Like all drunken declarations, this is so easy to say now.

  Karen bursts out laughing. “Poor baby. What is it now? Five?”

  “What music do you like to eat to, Matt?” Diane asks, her arms draped across the back of the red vinyl booth, looking at Matt like he’s a mouse and she’s a cobra.

  What I’m going to remember about this moment is that Diane does not look like a brokenhearted woman. She looks confident and happy and ready for anything. She looks like she never heard the name Doug Anderson and wouldn’t care if he walked in and danced naked on the bar. She looks like a woman in control of herself and of every guy within the sound of her voice.

  I adore this woman and this moment. In this one small way I want to live in it forever.

  “With a hamburger?” Matt responds with a grin, putting down his burger. “Rock and roll. What else?”

  “How about a Sammy’s burger?” Diane asks. Sammy’s is a wild burger dive a few miles from campus. The burgers are juicy, thick, and sloppy with secret-ingredient chili piled on top. I’ve found it to be an acquired taste.

  “Pink Floyd. Or Cheech and Chong. Depending on how hammered you are,” Matt says.

  Diane nods. Missy laughs. Karen smiles and asks, “And with a hot dog?”

  “A polka,” Matt answers promptly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know all this.”

  “Food and music for one hundred, Art,” Diane says. “Is played whenever tuna salad is served. Please remember to give your answer in the form of a question.”

  “What is . . . the Starkist jingle?” Matt answers, picking up his burger again and taking a healthy bite. “I’m guessing, though. Being a guy, I never eat tuna salad. That’s chick food,” he says, his mouth full of hamburger, a gob of ketchup stuck to one corner of his mouth. He licks it off a second later.

  “Come over here so I can slap you,” Diane says. “I’m too lazy to get up.”

  “By the way,” Matt says, apropos of nothing, “it’s not five. It’s seven. How long have you guys been in here?”

  “Oh, crap. I think I have class tonight,” Karen says. “What day is it? Thursday?”

  “Thursday,” Diane confirms.

  We all slide out so Karen can escape. Missy slides out at the same time. Ellen is at the bar, laughing with some guy I’ve never seen before.

  The door to the Four-O opens and we all—all of us who are here to comfort Diane in her hour of Doug crisis—swing our heads to look. We’ve been doing that since we got here. If Doug comes in, and he easily could—we don’t own the Four-O, after all—it’s going to get ugly. I’m not sure how it’s going to get ugly, but it will. We’re in a very ugly mood.

  Sleeping with a girl just to throw her out of bed after she gave you everything she had to give, every last bit of herself.

  ROTC jerk.

  But it’s not Doug Anderson coming in the Four-O. It’s Pi, with her brother Jared in tow. I forgot that Pi left about half an hou
r ago. I think it was half an hour ago. Things are getting very fuzzy. I think being fuzzy might have a certain appeal, under the right circumstances, and this is clearly one of them.

  Pi has more than just Jared with her. Following them in is a really cute guy with chlorine blond hair. He’s tall. His hair is wet. I look at Pi and Jared again. Their hair isn’t wet, so it’s not raining.

  I look at Wet Head again. Yes, it’s definitely wet.

  “Look who’s been playing in the fire hydrant,” Diane says.

  “Maybe he was in a wet T-shirt contest,” I say.

  “I’d vote for him,” Diane says.

  Pi drags Jared over; Wet Head follows.

  “Guys? You’ve met my brother Jared, right?” Pi asks, pushing Jared in front of her like he’s a treat she’s offering. “This is Jared’s friend from the water polo team, Craig McAllister. Jared, Craig, meet Diane, Laurie, and this is Missy.”

  “Water polo team? You didn’t say your brother was on the water polo team. Talk about holding out,” Diane says.

  “He quit,” Pi says as Jared is opening his mouth to answer. Jared smiles, grabs Pi’s arms by the elbows, and gently shoves her into the next booth, where she lands on the arm of a guy who doesn’t seem to mind at all that a pretty girl was just shoved nearly into his lap.

  “I decided it was time to explore other options,” Jared says diplomatically.

  “Like drinking,” Craig says, running a hand through his damp hair.

  “You don’t drink, Craig?” Diane asks.

  “I’m really sure I didn’t say that. I like anything wet,” Craig says, grinning at her.

  “Oh, man, I think we’re in for trouble tonight,” Diane says on a laugh.

  “Define trouble,” Missy says, coming up to stand next to Craig. Missy looks like a cat on the prowl. Craig doesn’t look like he minds being hunted. Let the games begin. “You don’t look like trouble to me. Do I look like trouble to you?”

  “Define trouble,” Craig says, staring first at Missy, then at the rest of us.

  Pi disengages herself from the guy she landed on, the guys at the other table laughing. “Poor Craig doesn’t get out much. All that water, you know.”

  “What year are you, Craig?” Missy asks.

  “Junior. You?” Craig says.

  “Sophomore, but I’m very mature for my age,” Missy answers.

  “And very shy,” Diane says.

  Pi has drifted off to join Ellen at the bar. Missy is working hard to drift off with Craig, who looks happy enough about it. Jared sits down on the edge of the booth next to Diane, and we all scoot over to make room for him. I’m on the other end of the booth, my back to the door, but Diane is still in the middle, protected from . . . whatever might come through the Four-O door.

  “Are you interviewing yet, Jared?” I ask.

  “Some,” he says. “I’m thinking about law school, though.”

  Jared starts talking to a guy in the booth behind him, leaving Diane and me alone, in theory at least.

  Diane isn’t looking at Jared and doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to the conversation at our table. Her eyes are half-closed, her head is resting against the high-backed seat, and she’s spinning a ring on her finger methodically.

  “Are you okay?” I ask softly.

  “I’m okay,” Diane answers briskly. She sits up and fiddles with the gold chain around her neck. “Enough about me. How are things with you and Pete? How come you’re not on a date with him tonight?”

  “Besides the fact that it’s a Thursday and I’ve been holed up in here for most of the day?” I ask on a laugh.

  “Yeah. Besides all that,” she says. “I haven’t seen him lately. Are things okay with you guys?”

  “Fantastic,” I say, and then I pause. Do I have to lie about this? Do I need defenses against this topic, with this girl? I’m not sure anymore. I only know that this wall feels comfortable and familiar; I can hide here indefinitely. Things aren’t truly fantastic with Pete, but they’re not disastrous either. We occupy a middle ground that is often murky, but again, familiar. I’m not unhappy. I’m simply unsure, and even that feels familiar. He always seems just out of reach, like he’s about to float away from me unless I hang on tight.

  “I was expecting you two to be engaged by now,” Diane says.

  I jerk my gaze to hers, shrug, and say, “He wants to find a job first.”

  Pete hasn’t actually said that, but I’ve inferred it. It is the most logical reason, as well as being the most practical.

  “What’s his major?”

  “Business,” I say. “I think he’s hoping for IBM.”

  “That would be cool,” Diane says lazily, leaning her head back against the red vinyl again.

  “Is it going to be okay for you, seeing Doug at all that ROTC stuff?” I ask.

  “It’s going to have to be, isn’t it?” she says, her eyes closed.

  I have no answer to that. I live in the same world, the world of deciding that everything is okay when a rebellious corner of your heart cries that it’s not okay.

  We sit silently for a few minutes, the jukebox switching from “Heart of Gold” to “Good-bye Yellow Brick Road” to “Money.”

  “Finally! A song worthy of my burger!” Matt crows. Of course, the problem is that he’s finished his burger already. Matt throws down his paper napkin, stands up, and runs his hands over his belly. He doesn’t actually have a belly. Actually, Matt looks better and better, just flat-out better-looking, every time I see him.

  “Are you okay?” Holly asks. I look up from my hands, my cigarette burning down dangerously low to my fingers, the orange glow teasing my skin. I crush out my cigarette and glance over at Diane, certain that the question is for her. “I just heard about it from Bill. I didn’t even know you guys had broken up.”

  Holly is staring at me. Why is she staring at me?

  “What are you talking about?” Diane asks.

  The entire bar seems to have fallen silent. Funny, but I can hear my heart beating in my ears, even over Pink Floyd.

  “About Pete,” Holly says, crouching down next to me, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet. “About Pete getting engaged to some girl at Pepperdine. When did you guys break up?”

  Diane grabs my thigh under the table and squeezes it. I know she’s squeezing me—I can see her hand, clearly. It’s only that I can’t feel it. I can’t seem to feel anything. All I can feel is my heart beating, the sound of it in my ears like a rock-band drum.

  But I don’t feel anything.

  I don’t feel anything.

  That’s the beat. That’s the song. That’s what I keep repeating.

  It’s true.

  It’s going to be true and it’s going to stay true. I’ll make it true. Everything is numb and is going to stay numb.

  He doesn’t want me.

  Numb. Let me be numb. I’m building walls as fast as I can, building up my defenses against this, forcing back the pain, denying the rejection, ignoring everything I feel and everything he doesn’t feel. I won’t think about how alone I am.

  I’ve always been alone.

  I look down at Diane’s hand on my leg. She’s got a death grip, holding on to me.

  “A while ago,” I say, punching my pack of cigarettes until another slides out. “I didn’t want to bother you guys about it.”

  “Okay, Laurie,” Diane says softly, gripping my thigh just above the knee where no one can see. “Okay.”

  She keeps saying okay. I don’t know why because I am okay. I don’t feel a thing. Or I won’t. In a minute. Just give me a few minutes, God, to pull myself together. I’ve got to keep it together. There’s no one to keep me in one piece except for me.

  Just me.

  Ellen

>   – Spring 1977 –

  “Look who Missy snagged,” Pi says. “It took her all of fifteen seconds.”

  I look down the bar and see Missy talking to a cute pool-blond guy with slightly damp hair. “He’s a hunk,” I say. Mike Dunn enters the Four-O just then. He looks good, and bad, kind of tough and very sexy. I remember when I hated the guy. I don’t hate him anymore. I almost wish I did.

  Life was a lot easier when I had everything figured out.

  “Way to go, Missy,” Pi says, snorting laughter.

  I make myself keep looking at Missy, her brown hair as mussed as usual, her jeans tight and blouse unbuttoned a single button too low, leaning into the guy from her waist up, smiling, talking into his ear. He looks happy about the whole deal. What guy wouldn’t?

  “She likes to have a good time,” I say. “She’s very take no prisoners.”

  “What’s she going to do? Kill him?” Pi says, waving the bartender over so she can order another beer. Pi drinks, but not a lot. She’s purely a social drinker. I’m not sure what that means anymore.

  “If she did, he’d die with a smile on his face,” I say.

  “I heard Missy got called in front of the Standards Committee again,” Pi says.

  A sorority is sort of a mini-government, with committees all over the place and elected positions like president, vice president, chaplain . . . Yes, chaplain. We all need a taste of a high moral tone every now and then, don’t we? That’s the rumor, anyway. If the Standards Committee thinks you’re doing anything that could reflect badly on Beta Pi, you get called in and called out. That the Standards chairman last year was Andi Mills is hysterical since Andi never met a bra she liked and never met a button she could manage to button. This year, the year measured from January to December, the Standards chairman is Dana Woodcock. Missy getting called to answer to Dana Woodcock is a joke. Missy could eat Dana for breakfast, and probably did. What happens in Standards is supposed to be entirely secret, which means only five or six people know about Missy getting called in. Today. Give it a week and we’ll be into double digits.