Spring Fire (7 page)

"Mitch," Leda said, breaking in, "who's the guy?"

"What?"

"They say you're hanging around with some guy after classes."

"Oh, Charlie. He's in a couple of my classes."

"Like him?"

"Sure."

Leda blew the smoke from her cigarette toward the ceiling. Mitch thought it was time now for the harangue on independents if Leda knew, and if not it would be time after she asked and knew then.

"Why don't you ask him to come Saturday? Tell Roberts to go jump and ask him."

"I can't. Marsha asked me to do this. Leda, you know why I had to ask Roberts."

"That's Marsha's idea. Listen, kid, don't be pushed around. Marsha could have settled it some other way."

"But I thought," Mitch said, confused, "I thought it was the only choice I had. I don't understand you now, Leda."

"You understand Marsha, apparently."

Mitch sat down on the bed and tried to reason why Leda was afraid again, almost as she had been that night. Weeks had passed and Leda had seemed aloof and busy, with Jake all the time, and tired in the evening. Now this, and Leda was angry.

"Charlie is an independent," Mitch said, "so he wouldn't be a good date to bring anyway."

"Charlie?"

"The boy you said I should ask instead of Roberts."

Leda searched in the bookcase for her Spanish text and finding it she grabbed her coat "I've got work to do," she said. "I can't think about it all the time. Do you hear me, Mitch? I can't think about it all the time!"

Mitch didn't say anything.

"Marsha! I'm so sick of hearing that girl's name. You think she's God, don't you? You think that girl is God?"

Mitch reached in the drawer beside her bed and found the nail polish. She was wearing it regularly now, bright red, and her nails were growing long and tapered.

Leda stood before her waiting for an answer but it did not come. She said, "I thought you were my friend. I thought you cared about me because no one else had ever given a damn. No friend. Jake cares for his own damn reasons and Jan doesn't care. The two Fs in my life. J for junk. But I thought you gave a damn and I ran around pouring my heart out telling you things. Then you run to Marsha when you have a problem and you do what Marsha says."

"I haven't." Mitch's voice cracked. "I talk to her because she's president."

"President! President of what? Of the world? Of the United States of America? I laugh my fool head off at her being president."

"I don't know what to say, Leda. I don't know why you're mad all of a sudden."

Leda shook her head and walked out of the room, sla
mmin
g the door. She walked down the hall and the steps and out of the door to the street, and she knew why it was this way. She knew. Before she had thought she knew, and she had erased it like a pencil mark on a sheet of new paper. It came back. And Susan Mitchell, of all those it might have been, and the way she was, like a baby.

Mitch watched her from the window until she was out of sight. Across the street the Delta Pi's were staging a song practice on their side lawn. In even rows of more than a dozen, they faced their white-flanneled leader and sang out in fine, gruff voices. They were singing the Cranston football team's "Fight Song," and listening to them, Mitch thought that this was the way she had pictured college. This singing, and the fall leaves outside, and the hazy questions in her mind about the French translation and the English composition, and no Leda, or Bud Roberts
—nothing like that. Still, there were Leda's eyes, and the deep blue tinge of hurt that had shown when she left like that

* * *

The housewarming was to begin immediately after the football game, and that Saturday afternoon the Tri Eps had gone in a body to the stadium. It was the first home game of the year, and tradition brought together the fervid assemblage of fraternity brothers and sorority sisters in solid blocks throughout the grandstands. To Mitch, it was a bewitching spectacle, with the lively mass of people and the beat of the drums in the uniformed band parading down the field. Robin Maurer sat beside her. Of all the pledges, Robin was the one whom Mitch knew and liked best. The others seemed to be absorbed into the whole, with no particular individual traits of their own. Sissy Callahan and Bebe Duncan and Jett Duquette and Travis King, all somehow alike, with die same neutrality toward you as the fraternity men's. Most of them wore their hair long, curled loosely, their faces tinted with the popular liquid powder base they all used. Their arms were caparisoned with silver bracelets, and their shoes varied only from loafers to saddle shoes and saddle shoes to loafers and they called everyone darling. That was together. Alone, there was Sissy's brother who flew transatlantic flights and had been married four times. Bebe Duncan's father was an author and his books were dedicated always "To B. and Bebe," because her mother's name was Beatrice. Jett Duquette was named after the race horse her uncle made his first million on. And Travis King had false teeth, which only made her more beautiful and which she talked about, often, in mixed company.

They sat there, too, with Robin and Mitch. But Robin was the one that counted. When the whistle blew and the football sailed off in the air, Mitch leaned forward and drank in the movements on the field below. The cheering and the songs and the tense moments near the goal line caught her up and carried her with them. Once Leda turned around from the row down in front of her and winked at Mitch. She saw the excitement on Mitch's face, the red, ruddy look to her cheeks, and the eyes shining as though she had fever. Mitch was happy then. It was their first exchange after yesterday's quarrel. There was something in the look that meant, "All right, it's all right," and Leda was beautiful, looking up like that and laughing.

During the half Marsha called down to Mitch and Robin to come up and sit with her. She was munching a hot dog, and some of the boys from Delta Pi had crawled under the ropes and were standing there chatting with her. Mitch and Robin scrambled up and joined them, and they met Ted and Lucifer, the two Delta Pis. When the band struck up the "Fight Song," the five of them roared out the words, and Mitch laughed at the way Lucifer sang, deep and loud like a bass drum.

"Hey," he said. "You're laughing at me."

The whistle blew and she sat down beside him for the next quarter. "I've seen you somewhere before," he said, "somewhere that smells vaguely of formaldehyde."

"Gosh," Mitch exclaimed, "that's right! Lab! You're in my zoology lab."

"No, no!" He smiled, tipping his black and gold fraternity cap. "You're in
my
zoology lab. Remember, I am Lucifer."

Mitch saw Leda looking back, searching for her, craning her neck and peering over the heads of the others to the seats Robin and Mitch had deserted. Mitch did not know why she leaned down and pretended to tie her shoe, so that Leda wouldn't see her. She did not know why, but she knew that it was better not to have her see.

"Walk you home," Lucifer said, after the game was won and elated students jumped about in the bleachers, hugging one another and singing out in husky choruses. "You're a neighbor, that's why. I only walk neighbors home. Hate foreigners from other streets."

Lucifer jabbered on about nothing and Mitch liked him. He was a short boy with huge thick glasses and an unbelievably short haircut. Mitch was taller than he was and he would not let her forget it, but the way he joked and the way he talked charmed Mitch.

"You're taller," he said, "and so you undoubtedly consider your length a blight on your whole day. Because why? Because Lucifer said he would walk you home. Because Lucifer is very tiny and prefers that his women be very tiny. And furthermore because you have a feeling you are going to fall madly in love with Lucifer. But never mind. Lucifer has a soul. It is very possible that he will make a little room in his life for you from time to time."

Mitch laughed. "Thanks," she said. "Any time you want me to reach up and hammer a nail in that's over your head . . ."

"My dear girl," Lucifer said, "a much funnier way of saying the same thing would have been to say, 'Call me when you can't reach the hatrack.' You see? Something simpler than what you said, though much the same essence."

Outside the Tri Epsilon house, cars were lined up and horns were blowing. The chairs on the lawn were filling up with young men, and Tri Eps were hurrying up the walk to join them.

"I understand you're warming your house tonight," Lucifer said. "Some of our boys were invited."

"Yes. I'm sorry you won't be here."

"Then ask me."

Mitch laughed. "I have a date, Lucifer."

"Where?"

"I don't see him now," Mitch said, looking the crowd over, "but he'll be here."

"Well, I tell you what. I'll wait with you until he comes. It'll be O.K. Tell him I'm your brother. Tell him I'm a gnome. He won't care. And when he comes, poof! Disappearing act"

She hesitated, but realized it was no use. Lucifer was determined. Together they made their way up to the porch, and Mitch went in to get him a glass of punch. On her way to the kitchen she met Marsha, and she explained that Lucifer had insisted on staying until Bud came. Marsha smiled and answered that she couldn't see how it would hurt anything. Then Mitch rejoined Lucifer and waited for Bud to come.

At seven o'clock Lucifer said, "It was a very delicious buffet, my little gazelle. Ah, your date
—he's corning tonight?"

"I don't know," Mitch said, thinking of the humiliation of being stood up, of having Lucifer here to witness it, and Tri Eps passing with their dates, looking to see if Mitch and Bud were getting along well, and Bud not there at all.

"You don't seem distressed."

"I'm not, really. I don't like it, of course. But I don't care for him either."

Lucifer said, "But he's tall. I suppose he's very, very tall."

"Quite tall, yes. Taller than I am."

"Ah, me," Lucifer sighed. "Vanity. Vanity, vanity."

Inside the group was singing "My Gal Sal." Mitch shivered, and thought about forgetting the housewarming and going up to bed, or taking Lucifer inside and forgetting Bud. Then, to punctuate her thoughts, there was a sharp voice: "Hey, Susan Mitchell!"

Bud Roberts was coming up the walk, carrying a box under his arm, smiling and talking in a loud voice. "Hi, there. I know I'm late."

"Bright boy," Lucifer said, rising, bowing, and moving away. "A commanding personality, that boy!" he said as he walked toward the sidewalk.

"Who's that?"

"Lucifer. I don't know his last name." Mitch didn't stand up or look up at him. Inside she was seething with anger.

"Look, let me explain it. I was late for a good reason."

"Yes?"

"I wanted to get you just the right kind of flower," he said, tearing the ribbon off the box and presenting her with an orchid. A brown orchid. Mitch stared. She stood up and stepped back from the flower, as though it would shatter if she were to go near it. It was beautiful.

"Forgive me?" he asked.

Mitch nodded.

"For everything, I mean, for everything! Let's make this a peace offering."

She took his arm after he pinned the orchid on, and they went into the house, where couples were dancing on the dining-room floor, which had been cleared of the tables,

"Got any punch?" Bud asked, and she led 'him back to the kitchen. He pulled a leather flask from his back pocket. "I want a shot in mine," he said. "How about you?"

"Put it away, Bud! It's not allowed."

Bud Roberts threw his head back and laughed. He reached for Mitch's hands and he said, "You know what? You're the first really innocent girl I've ever met. You're really innocent, aren't you?"

"I don't know," she said, "but I know liquor isn't allowed."

Kitten Clark and her date rushed into the kitchen. They were howling over something and Kitten grabbed his head and bit his ear. "Take that," she said, "and let it be a lesson." Bud offered them a drink, and Mitch felt the blood rise in her head when she saw Kitten pour a large shot into her punch glass. Kitten sensed Mitch's shock, and she said, "Look, it's O.K. as long as Nessy doesn't get wise. So take it easy." Her date took a straight swig from the bottle, and laughing again, they left the kitchen door swinging back and forth behind them.

"Here," Bud said. "I'll give you a light shot. This doesn't taste bad, like beer. You won't get sick."

Tired of being wrong all the time, Mitch let him "fix" her punch, and they joined the others. Marsha beamed at Bud and came rushing over to him, holding his hand for minutes after she shook it, smiling and saying nice things. Then others came
—Jane Bell and Skip and Mother Nessy and, at last, Leda.

"Hi," she said to Roberts, Jake standing beside her, a sly, lopsided grin on his face. Roberts shook their hands and when he held Leda's he did something to make Leda pull her hand away, and wipe it on her skirt and sneer at him half-smiling. "You never forget."

"Like an elephant," he said, "just like an elephant."

"Someday you're going to forget and you won't have any personality. You'll be a dope without your dirty jokes and your coy gestures."

Mitch shuddered to think what would follow, but Bud Roberts only stuck his hands in his pockets and looked admiringly at Leda. "You're the only girl who can deliver an insult," he said, "and still be a duchess. A mean duchess, though."

Jake took Leda's arm. "Cool off, Roberts," he said. "Cut your line, or pull your bait in."

Bud and Mitch danced and she found him easy to talk to and friendly. He kept getting her more punch, and each time putting a little more whisky in the glass, and telling her it was all right and that she wouldn't feel it. But she did. She felt light and happy and once or twice she touched his arm and said something complimentary to him. She said, "You're nice, Bud," and "You know, you look very nice tonight, Bud." He squeezed her close when they were dancing and she could feel his warm breath near her ears. She thought that their misunderstanding was a foolish, silly thing and that they had never understood one another until now. Now she was the lady her father wanted her to be and this was the ball and Bud Roberts was a gentleman.