Sorority Sisters (12 page)

“Admiral Farragut,” Diane says. “We all die anyway.”

“Might as well get a cool quote out of it,” Karen says, getting up from the floor to gather our plates and take them to the kitchen.

“Jim-dandy,” Diane says. “I'm going to have to come up with a new one. I don't want that on my tombstone.”

“Eat shit and die is taken,” I say. “Missy grabbed it, didn't you?”

“I can live with that,” Missy says. “Gotta pee. Don't say anything fun until I get back.”

Missy walks to the bedroom in the back and closes the door to the bathroom.

“Are you still resisting Midshipman Temptation?” Karen asks. Before Diane can answer, Karen says, “You've got more willpower than I'd have.”

“Glad you think so,” Diane says.

Laurie raises an eyebrow. “Maybe taking him to the last party was a mistake.”

“Only if you think willpower is a good thing,” Diane says. “Which I'm sure you do. How's Pete feel about that?”

“Hey, come on,” Karen says, everything about her screaming
Settle down
. “Doug is the most gorgeous guy I've ever seen, so who can blame Diane? And Pete is obviously in love with Laurie, and what could be wrong with that? Okay, so Mike is kind of a thug, but I think we can all agree that Ellen can take him.”

We all laugh at that, even me. Because even though I'm not sure I can take Mike, I like the idea that I can.

“So, everyone's dating? Everyone has the man of her choice by the scruff of his neck? Nice. Nice and tidy. I love it,” I say.

Mike isn't my boyfriend, even though I am sort of dating him, but I want him to be my boyfriend, mostly when I'm drunk, and then I sober up and know that that's the dumbest decision in the world. And then I get plastered and he looks so good again. It's exhausting, but I'm young. I can take it. I'd just like to get the feeling that I'm not alone in my romantic struggles. I feel alone.

“I just dumped Brian. You can have him if you want him,” Missy says, coming back into the room.

“No kidding! What happened?” Karen asks from the kitchen, the water running into the sink.

“Things went south after I met his mother.”

“Bummer,” I say. “I'll pass.”

“Better now than later,” Diane says.

Karen finishes the dishes while we lie around, feeling full and sleepy.

“What the hell was that professor thinking?” I say after a few minutes. “That was so gross. What do I know now that I didn't before? I could have told you that watching a guy jerk off is never going to be a Hollywood moneymaker.”

“I saw a guy jerk off once,” Karen says. “Well, he kind of jerked off.”

“Isn't it an either-or thing?” I say.

“Like I'm an expert?” Karen says. “He was retarded or had water on the brain—I'm not sure—but he was in my high school and sat right in front of me in American History, and one day he put his hand down his pants—he wore really loose pants—and he started going at it.”

“Oh, my God!” I say, starting to laugh. “Nobody did anything?”

“Like what?” Karen says. “Even the teacher didn't know what to do.”

“So what happened?” Diane says.

“I watched. I couldn't look away, and I tried.”

Karen starts laughing and then we're all laughing.

“Guys are kind of gross,” I say.

“Now, now,” Karen says, coming out of the kitchen. “That's just your cultural prejudices speaking.”

“I can live with that.”

Dian
e

–
Spring 1977
–

Doug is lying on his bed, in his apartment off of Adams, naked and beautiful, and I am lying next to him, naked and exposed, feeling nervous about the sex, nervous about my ears, nervous about my less-than-perfect butt.

I just had sex with Doug Anderson. I just had sex with the guy I've been fantasizing about for two years. It was amazing. It was amazing because I love him; I want everything about him to become every single part of my life. I want to absorb him into me, which I have just sort of done, and I want to be locked to him for the rest of my life.

I love him.

Everything is so extremely and unbelievably perfect.

I run a hand over his chest, the hard, perfect hairlessness of it, the pale gold perfection of it. He lays his hand over mine, stilling me. I smile and we lie there, being still together, the intimacy of his bed, his sheets, the scent of sex binding us.

I love him. I love everything about him.

“You should get back to the house,” he says. “You'll get in trouble.”

“I can handle a little trouble,” I say, teasing him, reaching down to touch his penis.

He shifts his body, moving away from my touch, a polite smile on his face.

“Really. It's okay,” I say. “No one will know if I come in a few hours from now.”

He sits up, his bare feet on the floor, his muscular back to me.

He's so beautiful I want to sob just looking at him. I can't believe such an incredible guy wants me. All the years of being Monkey Baby fall away. I'm beautiful, really beautiful, because he thinks so.

“I don't want you to get in trouble,” he says.

“Me neither,” I say on a chuckle.

He's so cute, being so protective of my reputation. Dad is going to love him. Mom is going to fuss over him, buy his favorite booze, and we'll sit around and tell navy stories over the dinner table. It will all be so completely perfect.

“So, what time do you think I should head back?” I ask, sitting up and pulling the sheet around me. My boobs look better from this angle; plus my ears are covered by my hair.

“Now,” he says, reaching over for his jeans, slipping them on one foot at a time, standing up to zip them.

“Now?”

“Diane,” he says, looking down at me, naked in his bed. “I don't want you to get the wrong idea.”

“Okay,” I say, staring at him. His eyes still look so blue, even at night, even in the dark.

“I mean, this was great. You're great,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say, interrupting him, feeling this nasty thing building up inside of me, this weird vibe that it's all going wrong, that this isn't where I want the conversation to go and I'll do anything to head it off, to stop it cold, to freeze time and make it go back just sixty seconds. Just to the moment where we're lying side by side, barely touching, peaceful and content.

“I just feel like I need to be honest,” he says.

“Good plan,” I say.

Stop. Stop talking. Stop whatever it is that's in your head and that you're about to say to me. Go back sixty minutes to where you're kissing me and seducing me, urging me out of my clothes, pleading with me to let you in, to love you. Because I do love you.

I love you.

“Diane, this has been great, but I want you to know, I feel like I have to tell you, to be honest with you. I feel no love for you.”

I feel no love for
you.

I feel no love for you?

What the
hell
?

“What?” I say softly, my throat closing, suddenly feeling very, very naked. I'm afraid to move, afraid to show more of myself, to reveal myself to him. He's seen it all, but now I feel naked.

His blue eyes melt into mine. “I'm just being honest.”

I exhale sharply and hear the heaviness of tears in my throat. No.
Hell
, no.

“Okay,” I say, looking around the room for my clothes. They're all on the floor, scattered. I think my top is on the couch in the living room. “Yeah. What?”

“Diane,” he says. He looks embarrassed, uncomfortable, like I've messed this up somehow and he's too much of a gentleman to lay it all out for me, that explaining it to death would just humiliate us both. “Come on. It's just not going to work out.”

It's not going to work out. How does he know it's not going to work out? Because he saw me naked? Because I'm frigid or something? I'm not frigid. At least, I don't think I'm frigid.

“Yeah. Really. Okay,” I say, because I don't know what to say. I don't understand a single thing that's happening; all I know is that I've got to find my clothes and get the hell out of Dodge. “Could you give me a minute?” I say.

Doug looks a bit startled, but then he nods and leaves the bedroom. I jump out of bed and start rooting around the floor for my panties. I slide them on, backward, and I don't give a damn right now. I need to get out of here before I really embarrass myself by sobbing and clinging to him and begging him to love me, goddammit, please, why can't you love me? What is so wrong with me? I grab my jeans and pull them on, rooting around with my toes for my wedges. Doug comes back in with me half-dressed, naked from the waist up, running a quick hand through my hair. He's got my blouse.

“Just leave it,” I say, grabbing it off the bed when he tosses it there. I half want to run out the door, putting my shirt on as I walk, but I'm trying so hard to keep the tiniest bit of dignity. And then I think,
Little late for dignity, Ryan
, and so I walk out of the bedroom, thrusting one arm through a sleeve, see my bra smashed down in between the cushions of the couch, grab that, and walk out the door.

Doug is murmuring something, but it's not an apology and it's not words of love or regret, so I keep moving; once I'm out, down the concrete stairs and out the gate and onto the street, I shove my bra into my purse and finish buttoning my blouse.

I made it. I got out without making a scene.

That's when I start to cry.

I'm still crying when I get to The Row, and it's quiet, it's almost dead, and so I'm alone on the street. Bastard didn't even walk me home. I could have been raped, or mugged.

“Hey, baby, what's crawling out of your purse?” says some guy sitting on a lawn chair with a beer in the middle of what should be a lawn but what is, in fact, a dry patch of dirt. “I think you forgot something!” He laughs, swigs his beer, and I shove my bra deeper into my purse.

“Up yours.”

It's past midnight, about one, I guess, and I just want to get into the house and crawl into bed, but then I look at the house, that big light over the door, and I can't face it. I can't face anybody yet. They'll be up—someone will be up—and they'll see my face and they'll know I was out with Doug, and . . . Shit, I just can't face it. It's as I'm veering away from the house, digging around in my purse for my keys, when Karen comes out the front door. She's wearing wide-legged jeans and her old navy blue high school sweatshirt.

“Diane?” she says, holding the door open behind her.

Shit. I don't want anyone to see me now. I try to hide in the shadows, but I can't; there are too many damned lights on The Row.

“Diane? Are you okay?” she says.

“Yeah. I'm fine, sweetie. You go back to bed.”

She comes out, the big door closing behind her. She's barefoot, and the hem of her jeans is dragging three inches on the ground.

“I was playing backgammon with Ellen and saw you through the window. What happened?”

Then I start to cry again and she comes down onto the sidewalk and puts her arms around me and starts rocking me, like she's my mom or something, only my mom's not much of a hugger.

“What happened?” she says, rubbing my back, stroking my hair.

“I've got to get out of here,” I say, my breath hitching in my lungs, my nose running like a faucet. I wipe my nose on my sleeve, trying to suck it up and pull myself together, but I can't. I'm in a million, billion pieces and I can't get it together.

“Okay,” she says. “Let's go.” I pull back to stare at her and she grins at me, pushing my hair back behind my shoulders. “You're the one with the car, so I hope you have your keys.”

“I have them,” I say.

“Where should we go?”

“Sweetie, it's after midnight. I can't just drag you off—”

“If I had the car, I'd drag you off. How much gas do you have?”

“Enough . . .” I say, sniffing hard, smiling a little bit. “Enough to get us to the beach and back.”

“Great. I've always wanted to see the sun come up over the ocean.”

“Wrong ocean,” I say.

“Close enough,” she says.

And so on the long, dark drive to Santa Monica, I tell Karen everything and she listens and swears at all the right parts and we do watch the sun come up, and it is close enough.

 * * *

I
'm sure by now everyone knows what happened. I fell into a dead sleep when Karen and I got home from the beach, skipped all my classes, but I told Karen she could tell the crew what happened. Actually, I wanted her to tell. Better her than me. I didn't want to relive the whole thing again and again with each telling. When you live in a sorority house, there's one true thing: no secrets.

I take a deep breath, feel it catch in the bottom of my lungs as a huge sob, choke it down, and walk into the front five-way, the house party room. When we switch up rooms every semester, everyone wants this room.

The conversation stops instantly and four pairs of eyes hone in on my face like sniper rifles. Of course they do.

Missy is lighting up, the sound of her lighter clicking the noisiest thing in the room in that instant. She looks at me on a stiff inhale, her eyes squinting against the smoke.

Karen and Pi, who room in the five-way this semester, are scattered and sprawled on sloppily made beds around the room.

Ellen is over at the window.

It's a shocked tableau, like the last supper or something. All of them caught in mid-gossip, and here I appear, like Christ on the mountaintop.

Or something.

“Diane,” Pi says, “what the hell happened? What did that stupid shit Doug Anderson think he was doing?”

Pi is ten sticks of dynamite. She's Hawaiian and her real name is Linda, but no one has called her Linda in years. Because she's Hawaiian, someone started calling her
the Pineapple
, and before a week was out, she was Pi to everyone on The Row. As the phrase
stupid shit
slams out of her mouth, she enfolds me in a quick, hard hug.

I love Pi.

“I think I'm the stupid shit in this case,” I say, walking across the room to plop down next to Karen.

Karen leans her shoulder against mine and puts her hand on my thigh. “You don't have to talk about it,” she says.

“What's there to talk about?” Ellen snaps. “I say we kill him.”

We all laugh a little at that, and it lightens the pain more than the crying did; plus, I don't feel so alone in all this self-inflicted agony. I knew better; Dad told me what to do, or not do, and I didn't listen, and now I'm so completely messed up. I did this. I'm responsible.

Laurie walks into the room just then, stops cold, and says, “Oh, my God. Who died?”

“Doug Anderson. In about twenty-four hours, give or take,” Ellen says.

My heart wants to laugh, even if my face doesn't have the strength for it.

“What happened?” Laurie asks, dropping down on the floor to lean against a bed.

They all look at me. Of course they all look at me. It's no secret that I've had it bad for Doug Anderson since forever. It's also no secret that we've been going out for a few months, if by
going out
you mean hanging at the Four-O and taking him to Beta Pi parties, which I do. “I did the deed with Anderson last night,” I say as casually as possible. “Anybody got a Coke?”

Laurie gets up, slings her purse over the back of her desk chair, and reaches up for a Tab from her stash on the shelves above her desk. She holds the Tab out toward me, a questioning look on her face.

“I can't drink that shit, McCormick,” I say. “Forget it. Anyway, back to the sordid tale of my unruly love life.” Karen squeezes my leg and puts an arm around my shoulder. “He took me to a movie in Westwood, then back to his apartment, and so we did it, and then about a half a second later he gets all weird and turns to me and says, ‘Diane, I like you, and this was great, but I have to tell you something. I feel no love for you.'”

Of course, now I'm crying again, and not even a Coke to drown my sorrows in.

I'm not going to mention the little detail that I told Doug I loved him while we were doing it. Some things you just don't share with anyone. I'm really sorry that I shared it with Anderson. Just look where it got me.

“‘I feel no love for you'? Who the hell says that?” Ellen snarls.

“Doug Anderson,” Missy says.

“Did he tell you he loved you before?” Pi asks, pacing around the room.

“Yeah. Sort of. He said that he really
thought
he was falling in love with me,” I say. Because I don't just sleep around, okay? And I really love him. Or I did.

No. I still do.

The tears start up again, burning a hole in my chest.

He was everything I ever wanted. Everything. I just couldn't believe he was actually paying attention to me, wanting me, falling in love with me.

I guess I should have remained skeptical.

He said he was falling in love with me, or that he could see himself falling in love with me, things like that. Circling around it, like a shark around a baby seal, and I'm the seal, with big monkey ears. But when he was saying this stuff, when those beautiful words were coming out of his beautiful mouth, I believed every word. I wanted to believe. Who wouldn't?