Spring Fire (3 page)

"Some buggy," Jake said. "Rushee?"

"A potential Tri Ep. Father's a millionaire."

"She gonna be your roommate?"

"My
roommate?"

"Well, you gals have to room with a pledge. I just thought you might pick a pledge with a convertible."

Leda laughed. She said, "Maybe that's an idea."

* * *

Back in the hotel room, Mitch finished unpacking some of her clothes. She hung them up and brushed them off, and when she was through, she slipped into her blue-striped pajamas and sat on the bed hugging her knees. She said, "Tri Epsilon," aloud, and then, "Delta Rho." She reached over to the night table, where the leather-bound books rested. On the cover of one, there was a picture of the huge house with the six white columns and the marble steps leading up to the door. The words underneath read: "Tri Epsilon is a friendly house."

For a moment she stared at it dreamily, and then, turning the page, she saw the clear full-length picture of Leda Taylor in the black dress wearing the crested crown, smiling. Mitch's fingers moved delicately down the picture as though she were touching a live object, and they stopped there at the words printed in bold blue letters. They said: "Where every girl's a queen."

Put your stuff in the top drawers," Leda told Mitch. "I don't mind bending down to get mine."

Mitch was used to new roommates and new surroundings and the strange formalities attached to this form of orientation. For six years she had attended boarding schools, and each year it was smoother and less uncomfortable. The first year she had hovered behind a closet door, too shy to undress in front of the girl with whom she shared the room. She had bolted the bathroom doors, and picked odd hours to do her grooming. Even her underclothes had been a source of embarrassment, and she had brought them to her room wet from their washing in the dorm sink, and hung them surreptitiously along the radiator near her bed. In time she had developed an unabashed nonchalance toward these matters and they no longer concerned her. But now, in Leda's presence, the casualness fell away, and Mitch found the old inhibitions again. She found that it was hard to talk to Leda, too, because she wanted to so badly. She wanted to remember the glib, natural responses that came so readily with others, but she could not.

"Tonight the pledges are supposed to go on blind dates," Leda said. "You know that?"

"Yes."

"Want to get out of it?"

"How?"

"By going out with a friend of Jake's. He's a fraternity brother. We'd double-date. It's O.K. with Kitten so long as you're with a fraternity man."

Mitch said, "I'd like that, I guess."

She knew what it would be like if Leda were along. She knew that she would forget how to act and what to say and that she would laugh too loud and too often. But she did not want to go on a date alone with a stranger, either.

"Like men, Mitch?"

"Sure, they're all right"

"I mean, really like them?"

Mitch's lips were tired from the painful grins she had been stretching them into all day. Leda laughed. "Never mind," she said. "You'll learn. I used to think you just had to lie there and that was it. Then I learned better."

Mitch pulled nervously at the string of pearls around her neck. Her face flushed scarlet. Leda noticed. "You'll have to get used to me, Mitch. I believe in being frank."

"I don't mind," Mitch answered. "I guess I'm kind of dumb."

"We're all dumb at first. But don't get fooled by some of them that play dumb. My God, to listen to this bunch, you'd think they were all virgins. But take it from me, most of them have had it. You ever fool around?"

"I
—I don't know too many fellows."

"Ever been kissed
—hard?"

"A few times, I guess." The pearls snapped then and rolled onto the floor. Mitch jumped down to chase them and Leda stopped one with her foot. "Couple of them under the desk," she said. "God! Never been kissed more than a few times. I started when I was six. Then I used to play doctor out in back of my house. God!"

Mitch did not answer. Her hands felt huge as she groped for the tiny, round pearls, and bending down there before Leda, she felt like an immense malformed giant. She was remembering how many other times she had heard references to sex, behind locked bedroom doors in boarding school, interspersed with thick laughter and raised eyebrows, and hands held at the mouth in gestures of awe and excitement. But now…

"You'll grow up in college," her father had said. "You'll be a real lady when you come home." She wondered vaguely what her mother had been like, and if she were a real lady, and how she would have told her about men and women and the things they did together. She thought of Billy Erickson
—the day in the bushes when he had showed it to her. The snake, she had called it to herself. The snake that men have.

"You'll have fun tonight," Leda said. "You'll like Bud Roberts. That's Jake's friend."

Mitch put the pearls in a box and sat awkwardly on the bed beside Leda. "I hope he likes me. You see, I’m not too used to men. In the other schools, I didn't see many. You know
—rules and all."

"Forget it! Look, we're going to buy some beer and get out on the Creek Road and just take life easy. You'll like Bud. He's no movie star, but he gets around plenty. He's Sig Delt president. Say, what about your car? We
could
walk, but
—"

"Sure," Mitch said. "Might as well take it. Only I don't like to drive at night very well. Not in a strange city."

"Can Jake drive? He's a peach on the roads. Careful as anything."

Mitch hesitated. Then she agreed. Leda pulled her sweater up over her head and loosened her bra. "Scratch my back, will you, kid?" she said. "God, I'm tired." She flopped on the bed, face down.

Timidly Mitch's hands reached over and rubbed her shoulders, and with her eyes fixed half shyly on Leda's body, she recalled doing this before
— a hundred times — but never so fearfully as now with Leda.

"Ummm. That's nice. Your hands are wonderful." For long minutes Leda let them run up and down her back. Susan Mitchell was an enigma. There was strength and force and power in her, queerly harnessed and checked, Leda thought. If it should be released, she would be stronger. Masterful. There had been a hint of this in her look that first day. It was the kind of look that an old acquaintance gives another, in a crowd where no one is aware that the two have known each other a long time. Leda balked at her own thoughts. This tall child was naive and uncomplicated, she scoffed inwardly, and there was no reason to be wary. Suddenly, on an impulse, Leda rolled over and lay with her breasts pushed up toward Mitch's hands. The girl jerked her hands away quickly and stood up.

"F-f-feel better?" She forced the words out

Leda stretched luxuriously. "Mitch, honey," she said, "look in the left closet and see if my yellow blouse is there. The one with the buttons down the back."

Mitch turned toward the door to the closet and opened it, grateful for this sanctum. She stood there moving the hangers down the rack.
I
used to think you just had to lie there and that was it.

"See it, honey?"

"No," Mitch answered, not looking at the color of the clothes. "I don't see anything at all."

* * *

Bud Roberts was a straight, narrow boy with a long nose and a square jaw. A cigarette hung loosely from his mouth, and as they rode along in the back of Mitch's car, he held his hands firmly, cracking his knuckles in regular, even movements. Mitch sat beside him, smoothing her skirt and glancing up at him now and then, searching frantically for something to say. The radio blared forth from the front seat, where Leda leaned against Jake.

"I love to ride along like this," Mitch managed to say. "It's so cool and everything," she added.

They turned down a dirt road and drove fast around the sharp corners and Mitch fell against Bud Roberts. "I'm sorry," she said, pulling away.

He had not said anything beyond "Hi" since they started on their evening. He had simply said, "Hi," and then they had climbed into the car and he had not said another word. Mitch tried to pretend that the silence was natural and she hummed a bit from one of the songs the Tri Eps had sung at dinner. The radio was noisy and she could not hear her own humming, but it made her feel better. She thought of Leda and how beautiful she was, and she felt a warm glow in her stomach when she remembered the way Leda had turned on her back that afternoon, and how lovely she had been. At her feet, in the car, the beer bottles rattled and she remembered how she hated the taste of beer. A slow panic mounted inside her as she imagined the hours ahead with the beer and the boy who did not talk. The panic was edged with anger and resentment.

When the car stopped and Jake called, "All out!" she was sick inside where a drummer beat fast against her breast, and dull loneliness gnawed there.

Bud Roberts caught the blanket that Jake tossed at him.

"We're going on up ahead," he said, and Leda called out, "See you later, Mitch."

Mitch stood there while Bud spread the blanket a few feet from the car. He was whistling now, but there was no tune
—just whistling with no order to the notes. Walking back to the car, he picked up the sack from the back seat and set it down by the blanket. Then he took a bottle opener from his shirt pocket and sat down.

"Like beer?" he said.

"Not too well. I'm not used to it."

With a flip of his wrist, he sprung the cap and the white foam bubbled out toward the top of the bottle. He held it up to Mitch and said, "Here." He opened another for himself and took a long swig.

Mitch sat down beside him and tasted the cold beer mincingly. It tasted bitter and sour. She coughed and said, "I haven't had any in a long time." Bud grunted and drank some more. He finished and reached for another bottle. "Through?" he asked, and Mitch shook her head. She sat quietly, wishing that Leda had not gone off with Jake, indignant that they had left her alone with Bud.

The silence was nervous and anticipating. After a while he reached over and pulled her down beside him there on the blanket. His mouth came on hers and she could feel the roughness of his beard. At first she tried to push him back and she struggled desperately. Then she let him kiss her.
Ever been kissed
—hard?

"You're a cold baby," Bud Roberts muttered in her ear. "That's all right. I like them cold."

"Leave me alone," Mitch said. "Will you leave me alone?"

He sat up and reached for the full bottle of beer that was Mitch's. He handed it to her and watched her swallow. In the darkness he could not see the tears that stung her eyes from the harsh taste of the beer. He waited and she took another swallow. She did not want to kiss him.

"Cigarette?" he said, passing her the pack.

She took one from him and let him light it. It would pass time. The smoke tickled her nose and she began to sneeze. Bud drank more beer and whistled nonchalantly, watching her as he handed her another bottle. The taste was like water now.

"Think you're going to like smoking?" Bud said, grinning at her.

The end of her cigarette was wet and soggy and she stubbed it out on the ground. She said, "I've smoked before."

He laughed and pulled her down again, and for another long minute she lay there impassively while his mouth pressed against hers, wet and hard.

"Take your coat off," he said.

"I will not!"

"Get it off. What's the matter? Rule against taking your coat off? I'm not going to undress you."

His hands worked on the buttons, and in a moment he was helping her out of it. The beer made her head swim and she did not care. He put her coat beside his own, and then he opened more beer, passing her another. It was smooth going down and she was grateful that he had not pushed her back again.

"How old are you?" he said.

"Seventeen."

"Jail bait, huh?" He laughed and reached over to touch her arm.

"What does that mean?"

"Means I'm not supposed to do this," he said, his hand patting her below the stomach.

She moved away. "Stop it, will you? Please!"

"That's just what I was explaining." He laughed again. "That I'd have to stop. Don't be so jumpy. You're doing a regular dance over there. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Don't touch me, then," she told him.

"Don't worry so much, baby… Tell me, how do you like rooming with Leda?"

She was glad that he was going to talk. She felt better and less restless as he lay back, his arms behind his head, his legs crossed lazily.

"I like her," she said. "She's been wonderful to me."

"She tell you much about Jake and her?"

"What would she tell me? Just that she likes him."

"Likes!" He hooted and then he said, "Yeah
—yeah," slow, and then, "Yeah, maybe she does only like him. Funny girl. She always has eyes."

"What?"

"She's always looking around. You know."

"Yes," Mitch said, not knowing at all.

"Drink some more of that beer," he said. "We're wasting good iced beer."

"You know, I like beer O.K. now," Mitch said with a frail semblance of excitement. "It's not bad at all."

"Good. Here
—rest your head."

He raised himself to a sitting position and spread his legs apart. He patted his chest lightly and said, "Here, baby
—rest your head here. We'll talk."

Mitch moved over and put her head on his chest, a hand resting on either knee.

"I'm glad you're so tall," she confided. "I’m so tall myself."

"Yeah," he said. "You're a long-legged gal, all right"

"Why didn't you talk coming up in the car? I was afraid you'd lost your tongue."

"I didn't," he said. "I just wanted to think."

"About what?" Mitch began to feel comfortable and easy with him. "What did you think about?"

His hands reached up and cupped her breasts quickly, and his knees held her in. "About this," he said, reaching one hand up to the blouse and down to her slip and inside touching her flesh. She grasped his arm as she wiggled to be free.