Mitch's classes —suave, confident young men whose loafered feet stretched out in the aisles, and whose bold guffaws echoed after the profs' jokes. They had names like Grey Gregg and Big Tom D. and Rabbit Man and they sat in clumps together. There was something different about them, Mitch thought, something that was not neutral but cold and hot as they willed in their way with others.
"I said, how come you don't have your car in the lot today?"
"Leda borrowed it. She had to pick up some equipment downtown."
"Your roommate?"
"Yes."
"If I had a car, I guess I'd be afraid to let people borrow it. Maybe not. Hard to tell when you're as far from having a car as I am."
"Leda's careful."
"Must be going to be a big old party at your house Saturday."
"Pretty big."
"Just girls?"
"No," Mitch said. "Boys and girls."
"I was going to — I have this job downtown at Messer's Drugstore. Usually work week ends. That's why I haven't been able to ask you out. I was going to ask you out Saturday, but—"
They cut across Swampcot Street and waited for the light to change. "Will you ask me some other week end?" Mitch said as they walked on.
"Sure."
"Because I have a date Saturday."
When they reached the circular walk to the Tri Epsilon house, Charlie said good-by and handed Mitch the French book he was carrying for her, and he said after he said good-by, "Be good, Sue."
The Tri Eps were busy trimming the entrance to the dining room in pink and blue streamers and Robin Maurer was polishing the mirror in the hall. She paused when Mitch entered the hall.
"Get lost," she advised. "They got work around here that would scare an elephant."
"Looks good. Who's your date, Robin?"
"Some blockhead. I've seen him once. Looks like those prehistoric men in our soc books."
"You know who mine is."
"Yes," Robin said, wringing out the cloth, "I know. Marsha gave me a little lecture too, all about bowing and scraping to Sig Delt. I don't know, though. She's the only one in this bunch I trust"
"Hey," Jane Bell called to Mitch. "Change your clothes and pitch in here. We need some work done in the basement if Mother Nessy lets us use it Saturday."
At a previous Tri Epsilon party, a fraternity man had spent his entire evening and half of the following day on the moth-eaten divan behind the ping-pong table in the Tri Ep cellar. He was very drunk and it had happened last year and Mother Nesselbush had been called on by the Dean of Women to explain the incident. Since then, the basement was termed "off limits" for house parties. This year there was a skinny hope that it would not be a restricted area.
The hope died shortly after Mitch changed into a pair of jeans and headed off in the direction of the back steps. There, congregated in a small mass, Tri Eps faced Mother Nessy. Her answer was a very adamant no, supplemented with the viewpoint that basements encouraged extravagant necking, liquor drinking, which was forbidden, and other "things."
Leda heard them arguing back there when she drove Mitch's car in the drive and pulled the packages out. She set them down in the living room and went upstairs. As she took her worn green suede coat off and tossed the matching beret to the top of the closet, she noticed the yellow paper on Mitch's desk. It was Marsha's paper. Marsha had reams of this paper, pale lemon-colored onionskin with a small silver initial at the top. The third time this week, Leda realized. Whenever Mitch could not be found, she was down in the suite helping Marsha, or in the evening after closing hours, making cinnamon toast in the kitchen with Marsha, or listening to records with Marsha in the living room. Irritated, Leda glanced at the scrawled words on the yellow paper:
"Want to help me trim the side hall for the party? I'll meet you there when you're changed. Love, Marsh."
"Good God!" Leda said aloud. "Trimming the side hall with Marsh. What a great big fat kick that is!"
She stretched out on the bed and shut her eyes. In a
"I said, how come you don't have your car in the lot today?"
"Leda borrowed it. She had to pick up some equipment downtown."
"Your roommate?"
"Yes."
"If I had a car, I guess I'd be afraid to let people borrow it. Maybe not. Hard to tell when you're as far from having a car as I am."
"Leda's careful."
"Must be going to be a big old party at your house Saturday."
"Pretty big."
"Just girls?"
"No," Mitch said. "Boys and girls."
"I was going to — I have this job downtown at Messer's Drugstore. Usually work week ends. That's why I haven't been able to ask you out. I was going to ask you out Saturday, but—"
They cut across Swampcot Street and waited for the light to change. "Will you ask me some other week end?" Mitch said as they walked on.
"Sure."
"Because I have a date Saturday."
When they reached the circular walk to the Tri Epsilon house, Charlie said good-by and handed Mitch the French book he was carrying for her, and he said after he said good-by, "Be good, Sue."
The Tri Eps were busy trimming the entrance to the dining room in pink and blue streamers and Robin Maurer was polishing the mirror in the hall. She paused when Mitch entered the hall.
"Get lost," she advised. "They got work around here that would scare an elephant."
"Looks good. Who's your date, Robin?"
"Some blockhead. I've seen him once. Looks like those prehistoric men in our soc books."
"You know who mine is."
"Yes," Robin said, wringing out the cloth, "I know. Marsha gave me a little lecture too, all about bowing and scraping to Sig Delt. I don't know, though. She's the only one in this bunch I trust"
"Hey," Jane Bell called to Mitch. "Change your clothes and pitch in here. We need some work done in the basement if Mother Nessy lets us use it Saturday."
At a previous Tri Epsilon party, a fraternity man had spent his entire evening and half of the following day on the moth-eaten divan behind the ping-pong table in the Tri Ep cellar. He was very drunk and it had happened last year and Mother Nesselbush had been called on by the Dean of Women to explain the incident. Since then, the basement was termed "off limits" for house parties. This year there was a skinny hope that it would not be a restricted area.
The hope died shortly after Mitch changed into a pair of jeans and headed off in the direction of the back steps. There, congregated in a small mass, Tri Eps faced Mother Nessy. Her answer was a very adamant no, supplemented with the viewpoint that basements encouraged extravagant necking, liquor drinking, which was forbidden, and other "things."
Leda heard them arguing back there when she drove Mitch's car in the drive and pulled the packages out. She set them down in the living room and went upstairs. As she took her worn green suede coat off and tossed the matching beret to the top of the closet, she noticed the yellow paper on Mitch's desk. It was Marsha's paper. Marsha had reams of this paper, pale lemon-colored onionskin with a small silver initial at the top. The third time this week, Leda realized. Whenever Mitch could not be found, she was down in the suite helping Marsha, or in the evening after closing hours, making cinnamon toast in the kitchen with Marsha, or listening to records with Marsha in the living room. Irritated, Leda glanced at the scrawled words on the yellow paper:
"Want to help me trim the side hall for the party? I'll meet you there when you're changed. Love, Marsh."
"Good God!" Leda said aloud. "Trimming the side hall with Marsh. What a great big fat kick that is!"
She stretched out on the bed and shut her eyes. In a
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