Spring Fire (2 page)

Mother Nesselbush sighed and answered Leda. "This is a pretty strong note, dear. You know our alums never make their requests quite so adamant."

Kitten Clark tapped her nails angrily on the top of the glass coffee table. She was the official social chairman for the sorority, the girl who was responsible for seeing that Tri Eps dated fraternity men. Her motto was pasted up over the mirror in the soft jade-green room where she and Marybell Van Casey lived: "If he's got a pin
—he's in!"

Underneath these words, a penciled addition to the rule read blithely: "Like Flynn!"

"Nessy," Kitten said, "so far on our list we have four goon girls. Legacies. We
have
to take legacies, but we don't have to take Susan Mitchell! What did the K.C. alums ever do for us?"

Viola Nesselbush straightened herself, tugged harshly at her corset, and leaned forward intimately. She whispered in a rasping tone, one finger held forward significantly. "Now listen, girls. Remember that new set of silverware you all want for the house? The one with the Tri Epsilon crest on it? Well, girls, if we pledge this little girl, I think the K.C. alums will see to it that you get that silverware. In fact, girls," she added coyly, "I'll personally guarantee it."

A spontaneous round of applause rose from the gathering, and the faces of the Tri Eps grinned approval.

"She may be halfway attractive," Marybell Van Casey offered. "After all, just because she's a sweat-socks is no sign she's utterly repulsive."

Casey's voice was tinged with defiance. She was a major in physical education, and all of her classes, with the exception of English and vertebrate zo, took place in the arid surroundings  of the  gymnasium. Her build was heavy and muscular, but her face was attractive and she was pinned to a Delta Pi who played baseball.

The president of Tri Epsilon sorority rose gracefully and stood beside the piano facing the group. She wore a crisp pair of white shorts, a black halter, and a black velvet ribbon in her hair. Her name was Marsha Holmes, and there was a mild, poised quality about her that commanded respect and admiration from her sorority sisters. Whenever Marsha spoke, her gray eyes watched the individual faces of her audience carefully, and her low husky voice made her words sound wistful and honest. Marsha had learned much about people from her father, the Reverend Thomas Holmes, and the serenity she wore so easily had been practiced long years at church functions.

"I think everyone agrees," she said calmly, "that Susan Mitchell is excellent Tri Epsilon material. The purpose of a sorority is to help a girl grow, and if Susan needs our help, it will be our privilege to give it to her. Let's all make a special effort to show Susan that Tri Epsilon is a friendly house
—the kind of house that she would be proud to live in."

For a moment there was a holy stillness. Leda blew a cloud of smoke up into the air in tiny rings. She said, "Amen!" She said, "Amen and hail the new Christ child!"

The following morning, a few minutes before the taxis arrived with the rushees, Mother Nesselbush gave the final instructions.

"Remember, girls, the phonograph is your signal to dance with one of the rushees. Don't, for heaven's sake, girls, don't leave a girl without a partner. You'll be able to tell a whole lot about a rushee by dancing with her. Notice how she dances, and in speaking to her, try your best to determine whether she would make a satisfactory Tri Ep. We know most of the facts on these girls, but it's up to you to verify them. And one more thing. In regard to the Mitchell girl
—be patient. She may not look like a Tri Ep, but girls, I'm to the point where I'll insist that she be one. Now—go to it, and good luck!"

Susan Mitchell arrived in the first taxi along with four other rushees. Beside them she looked like a great hound dog that had been forced to romp with a select group of dachshunds, Pekinese, and toy poodles. Her manner was sprightly and buoyant, and she lacked the poised reserve of the others who walked with her up the long path to the marble steps, where Kitten Clark waited to greet them. She was smiling when her hand caught Kitten's, and her voice was too impetuous and ingenuous. "Hi" she said. "Hot, isn't it?"

Kitten glanced hastily at the name tag. She should have known. The dimples came in her cheeks, and her hand guided Susan lovingly toward Mother Nesselbush. "This is Susan Mitchell," Kitten said. "Mother Nessy will introduce you to the girls."

Mother Nesselbush's fat fingers reached for Susan's arm, and as she led her through the porch door to the living room she exclaimed, "What a lovely name! Susan! Or Sue? Which one do you like best?"

"Most folks call me Mitch," the girl answered, and Mother Nessy said, "That's a darling name! Mitch!"

Marsha Holmes interpreted Nessy's wink correctly. She rushed forward immediately and checked the name tag. Then she sat beside Susan Mitchell on the divan and she talked in that mellow, soft voice. She brought the girl cool mint punch and round jelly cookies, and she punctuated every sentence with "Mitch." Through the house she guided the girl, showing her the neat, pastel-colored rooms, the grand tile bathroom with the glass shower and tub stalls, the spotless white kitchen, the cellar with the washing machines and dryers and irons, and the closed-off section known as The Den, where Tri Eps brought their dates for ping-pong and Cokes. Soon Kitten Clark finished greeting the rushees and joined the entourage, and Marybell Van Casey followed along, and Jane Bell, the pert, efficient rush chairman, and they were all smiling and saying, "Do you like it, Mitch?", "Wait till you see this, Mitch," and "You are going to come back, Mitch?"

Mitch felt confident and proud. She sat at the bridge table with the Tri Eps flocking to her, and her eyes saw the wretched lanky girl in the corner near the window, alone, fumbling frantically with her purse, feigning an interest in its contents, ignored by the smooth busy figures in white. Another girl in a creamy yellow suit enjoyed the same attention Mitch received, the white formals reaching to light her cigarettes, bending to smile benignly, kneeling adoringly at her feet as she sat there in the stuffed chair and let the cool breeze from the porch ruffle her hair lightly. There was a fat girl in a red suit standing awkwardly with Mother Nesselbush in the doorway of the room, not speaking, looking fearfully at the assembly. A small, pug-nosed rushee with a flip feathered hat whispered fervently to two Tri Eps. Mitch saw them all, hearing the voices talking to her on all sides, answering and listening and watching until her eye rested on a girl standing near the piano. The girl was beautiful. Her white gown began just above her breasts and came in tight at her waist and full down to her ankles, where it ended and allowed spike-heeled silver shoes to glisten clean and clear. She was picking up records from a stack there on the top of the piano, reading the labels, and dividing them into two piles. When she felt Mitch's fixed look, she answered it and Mitch grinned, looking back quickly at Kitten, who was explaining how the Tri Epsilon house had been redecorated over the summer. For several minutes Mitch knew that the girl was staring at her now, and a warm flush rose to her face. There was something about the girl. She had never seen her before, but there was something familiar in that fast second when they had looked at one another.

In a moment the phonograph was turned on, and throughout the room girls paired off and moved to the center of the floor. Kitten grabbed Mitch's hand. "Do you like to dance?" she asked, pulling her forward. Mitch nodded, and as they danced, Kitten held her off so that she could talk and watch Mitch's face.

"How do you like Tri Epsilon?" she asked.

"Fine," Mitch told her, and naively, "but of course, I haven't been to the other houses yet."

Kitten said, "You will come back, won't you, Mitch? We all hope you'll save your most important dates for us. Try to save two and eight."

"I didn't know there was a difference."

"Yes." Kitten smiled and pressed Mitch's hand. "There certainly is. Will you try?"

Mitch said she would. At the hotel she had heard the rushees talk ecstatically about the Tri Eps. They were rated tops nationally, and the Cranston chapter was the leading sorority on the college campus. A hot stir of pleasure enveloped Mitch. She had not known the fear her father had known for her when she had thought of rush week, but there was always the subconscious worry that she might be too uncut and plain for sorority sophisticates. During the summer the college catalogues and booklets had come through the mail, and she had flicked through the pages, seeing the pictures of debonair, glamorous young people her own age. But not like her. Mitch knew that then
—and again when Kitten talked to her and Marsha walked with her, and Marybell Van Casey sat beside her and smoked long cigarettes and talked about tennis and swimming and things Mitch understood. Still different, all of them. Mitch was aware of that fact, but she no longer pondered the differences. They liked her anyway. They wanted her to join Tri Ep.

Jane Bell danced with Mitch. Casey. Kitten again. Marsha. The lilting lyrics of "Temptation" filled the room. Suddenly Mitch felt a wave of uncanny turbulence, relieved then when she turned and saw the girl standing next to her. The beautiful girl who had stood at the piano. Marsha laughed and said, "Mitch, I don't think you've met Leda Taylor."

Susan Mitchell was taller than Leda Taylor. Leda held her and led her along the waxed floor. Mitch was conscious of her own breathing, corning in gasps and causing her chest to heave uncomfortably against Leda's She smelled the faint pungent perfume that Leda wore, and her hand on Leda's bare shoulder was hot and rough. The words to the song sounded loud in her ears, and they embarrassed her, dancing to them close to this girl.

"So you're Susan Mitchell," the girl said, and Mitch could not hear her own answer. She did not talk for those minutes when they were together before the music ended, and Leda Taylor did not talk again. When it was over, a note sounded on the piano, and Marsha Holmes hummed the note.

"Form the loving circle," Marsha said. "Join hands."

Leda grasped Mitch's hand tightly. As the Tri Eps hummed the melody, there was a slow swaying motion in the circle of girls, and when the words came, Mitch could feel Leda's eyes on her.

"Love you, I love you,
 Come be a Tri Ep girl.
 Love you, I love you,
Come be an Ep-si-lon pearl."

Mitch looked down at Leda and then away toward the French doors and the drapes and the sun outside.

 Let me make my-message clear.
 Love you, I love you,
Come be a Tri Ep girl.”

"I suppose," Leda said when the song was finished, "that you'll come back."

"Yes."

"I'll see you then," Leda said. She said, "I'll see you then," and glided away while Mother Nessy ran forward to hug Mitch. "The taxis are waiting, dear," she told Mitch, "and we have to hurry you all away. Remember, Susan, Tri Epsilon is counting on you. We hope you're counting on Tri Epsilon."

Past Kitten Clark and Marsha, Marybell and Jane, their "Come backs" echoing in her ears, Mitch felt the sun on her arms, heard the nervous honking of the cabs' horns, and remembered only the green color of Leda's eyes, and the four words, "I'll see you then."

* * *

That evening Marsha looked up from the stuffed peppers and the tossed salad in front of her. "I noticed you were Susan Mitchell's partner in the loving circle this morning," she said to Leda.

"Wasn't my fault. I danced with her and it happened to be the last dance."

"Well, what did you think of her?"

Leda toyed with her crust of bread, spreading the butter thickly around the edges and on the sides. "We need the silverware," she answered.

"But the girl has possibilities, too. I mean, she certainly isn't backward or shy."

"I don't know anything about the girl. I had one dance with her."

Kitten Clark sat opposite Marsha. She clinked her fork on her plate and said, "Well, believe me, if she were anyone but Edward Mitchell's daughter, she'd get a nice, fat, round blackball from yours truly. She's hickey! I mean, absolutely hickey!"

"But she is Edward Mitchell's daughter," Marsha broke in, "and let's all of us remember that. The girl hasn't pledged yet, you know. Other houses will be after her too."

Casey said, "She says she swims. We could use her on the intramural swimming team."

"You'll find a way to
use
her," Leda said. "I'm not worried about that."

After she said it, she bit hard into the bread and the layers of butter. Casey's eyes flashed and she spurted out angry words. "What are you talking about?" she demanded. "Since when have you cared a damn whether a girl got an even break in this sorority? You throw a blackball around at the drop of a hat, and all of a sudden you're so damned self-righteous. This is a new twist."

Leda knew it. She pushed her plate away and stood up. "Must be the heat," she said. "I don't care a hoot about Mitchell. She can go back to Seedmore for all I care. Right now, lover boy is waiting."

She ran to the side door, to the tall brown-haired boy with the pipe jutting from his jaw, and the sweater that said Sigma Delta, and she murmured, "Jakie," and moved close to him.

"You finished fast," he said. "Wanna walk?"

“Yes, Jake-O."

"We can pick up some beer in Campus Town. Then wanna walk back out
—to the stadium?"

"You know I do."

"You always do. That's why you're my baby. Because you always do."

"Let's hurry, Jake."

The long red car waited at the corner for the light to be green, and Mitch sat behind the wheel with Fredna Loughead in the front seat beside her. She had met Fredna at the hotel. Fredna was trying to convince her that Delta Rho was a better house than Tri Ep.

"They liked you too, Mitch," she said, "and I know they'll ask me. Why don't you join with me?"

"I don't know. I can't make up my mind. All of them were so wonderful to me."

"The Delta Rhos aren't snobs, either."

The light went green and Mitch saw them. They were standing at the curb waiting. Leda Taylor looked up. There was a brief flicker of recognition, a half-smile. Mitch grinned broadly this time and waved, but Leda took the boy's arm and turned to talk with him. The car moved away and Mitch watched them as long as she could through her mirror.