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.
“Take my hand and hold it, dear,
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.
“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 nice red 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 simply: “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
