Pretty in Plaid: A Life, a Witch, and a Wardrobe, or the Wonder Years Before the Condescending, Egomaniacal Self-Centered Smart-Ass Phase (20 page)

But for now? Their kind can do no wrong, even if they might piss me off individually by breaking a date or cheating on a friend.

I absolutely plan on marrying a fraternity guy because their ability to pledge allegiance to something bigger than themselves in the name of commitment—even though it’s sometimes guaranteed to suck
¹¹⁷
—is the exact quality I want in a husband.

Hey, Joanna!

I’m sorry I haven’t called in a couple of weeks but I’ve been so freaking busy with rush. I had no idea what life was like on the other side of the receiving line. I thought being a rushee was stressful, but it’s nothing compared to having to learn the songs and act in the skits and plan the menu and stuff. And being forced to vote on people? That’s . . . harsh.

The best news is that someone you know won the award for Best Rusher! My prize was a little gold sorority letter lavaliere with a gold arrow charm. (It looks AWESOME on me.) I was so superior at starting conversations and making people feel welcome that no one even cast a vote for anyone else. (Well, they did, but totally out of sympathy. I completely ruled.)

Regardless, I had such a great experience that I may just run for Rush Chairman next year.

Pi Love and mine,

Jen

Dear Joanna,

Exactly what is so fucking funny?

Curiously,

Jen

First She Was a Seed and Then She Was Trouble

(Gold Lavaliere, Part Two)

To the Gorgeous Women of the Indiana Eta Chapter:

Ha! I totally knew that line would get your attention! I’d first like to say I’m super-excited you’ve selected me as your Rush Chairman. Major snaps to all of you! I promise to not disappoint, but I’d like to make the following rules clear:

Jen’s Rules for a Supercool Rush

We’re going to have the super-est, coolest rush ever. Live, learn, and recognize.

I can’t and won’t do all the work myself. Let’s establish that right off the bat. I have some fab ideas that simply won’t work without 100% participation. I ran for this position not only so I could plan excellent parties, but because I care about the social, academic, and moral future of our chapter. Recognize that rush isn’t just about getting fun pledges. We’re going to be choosing future chapter presidents and Grand Council members. The actions we take during rush will have repercussions for YEARS to come. Keep this is mind!

BEHAVE YOURSELVES ACCORDINGLY. Rushees will see you on campus. You are to uphold the principles of this sorority in public.

You WILL attend rush workshops. Rush dates are listed on the attached page. With the approval of Panhel, we’ll also be able to have some informal stuff during the week. We’ll discuss the details at the workshops, which you all WILL attend. No excuses!

You will join a rush interest group or I will join it for you. Once again, I need, no, REQUIRE your help getting rush together. To aid me in my quest, I’ve appointed a rush interest group. You know who you are. Remember to appoint your own committees to help you. Rush is everyone’s responsibility and you should have no trouble finding willing volunteers. You ARE going to be a willing volunteer. Also? The rush interest group will be fun—pinky swear!

Have fun!! Rush will be a blast, especially because we’ll be putting on a helluva good show for the rushees. I’ll be handing out a number of awards after each party, so be on the lookout! I want all of you to ENJOY rush, not dread it. Plus, I appreciate suggestions, provided they are not stupid. (Mandy, the Little Mermaid skit is not going to happen. Get over it.)

Be positive!! I won’t tolerate negativity about rush! I don’t want to hear complaints that we never did it that way before. We’re breaking new ground with this rush and I demand everyone have a positive attitude about it. You will be happy or I will MAKE you happy. Remember, change can be good. You will embrace it.

Thanks again for placing your trust in me. I guarantee we will have a fun and successful rush!!

Enthusiastically Yours,

Jen Lancaster, Rush Chairman

The sun is to Joanna’s back, and so as she stands in front of me, all I can see is her golden outline. In a voice colored with curiosity and maybe a bit of disgust, she says, “Um . . . good morning?”

I’m sitting on the steps leading up to her off-campus apartment by the shop where they sell muffins the size of mag wheels. Since she’s a fifth-year senior, she’s no longer required to live at the sorority house.
¹¹⁸

Good thing, too. Hers was the closest place I could think to go after I woke up. I did
not
want to be walking around campus like this. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror when I stopped at the muffin place. My teased hair is flat in some places and even bigger in others. Mascara is smudged so deeply under my lids I may never get it all scrubbed off. My off-the-shoulder portrait-collar black leotard now looks trashy, rather than arty, as do the big bangle bracelets I’d paired with it. And my citrus green leopard-print miniskirt? Let’s just say some garments should never see the light of day. Completing the look, my gold sorority letter lavaliere and arrow charm glint in the hollow of my neck.

I stopped for a chocolate-chip muffin and hazelnut-flavored coffee, ordering them from the Mennonite lady who runs the store. She started to ask me if I needed help, then saw my necklace and gave me a wry smile. I wasn’t the first morning-after girl she’d served, apparently.

Joanna knew I was coming down here this weekend. The plan was to stay with Lisa in her sorority house in the hills north of campus. The three of us were supposed to try to hook up about twelve hours ago,
¹¹⁹
but Harry’s was beyond crowded and there was no way Joanna could have gotten back to us in the fishbowl before we left for the Wabash Yacht Club.

There’s an odd little hierarchy of desirable places to sit at Harry’s, the most popular bar on campus. When I say we were in the fishbowl, I mean the big window one can only reach after heading down the long narrow part of the bar, turning the corner, and then working one’s way down the west side all the way to the bay window in front. This is prime real estate because it’s separated from the rest of the bar by a low wall, which can be used as seating but mostly serves to highlight who is and is not cool, at least for the evening. The glass affords the opportunity, nay the obligation, for random inebriated passers-by to thrust sweaty butt cheeks against it, to the perpetual amusement of all who are seated.

One might think this is the best seat in the house, but that’s not the case. True barflies know the most desirable spot from which to see and be seen is “the fireplace seat”
¹²⁰
right inside the front at the crook of the bar, no matter that it’s freezing in winter and broiling anytime the air is running. Aficionados understand that this place—temperature notwithstanding—is the ideal spot to meet and greet all evening long. Plus, drink service is faster, and when the bar violates fire code—which is often—those in the good seats have an easier escape route and are far less likely to perish. So there’s that.

While I sit on Joanna’s steps toying with the charms on my necklace, I take in how naturally radiant she is. When we were freshmen, she’d roll out of bed, throw pants on, and go to class, whereas I’d get up an hour and a half early to shower and do my makeup. Maybe that’s why I cut class all the time—too much grooming.

Joanna’s wearing a drop-waist, floral Laura Ashley dress and her hair is tucked back into a tidy ponytail. Her face is naked, save for her trademark sheer rose Clinique lip gloss. She’s clutching a well-worn Bible and standing next to a cute guy with curly hair. They pulled up in his Volvo station wagon a few seconds ago.

Joanna goes to hug me, but then wrinkles her pert nose and settles for a pat on my shoulder. I may be a tad smoky. Or a tad something. Her silver arrow bracelet gets caught in my nest of hair and it takes a moment for us to untangle. “Did your party at the Playboy mansion run late?” Churchy or not, Joanna’s still the master of the well-timed snarky retort.

“Let me in and give me some sweats to put on before I kill you.” I turn to her companion, who’s standing in stunned silence. “Hi, I’m Jen, nice to meet you.” I hold out a hand adorned with chipped cherry-red nail polish.

He says, “I heard about you.” Then he bids Joanna a touch-free good-bye, gets in his station wagon, and pulls away from the curb carefully but quickly.

“Who’s that?” I ask as we climb her stairs.

“A guy I met at Harry’s.”

“Is he cool?”

She pulls a face and shrugs. “Doubtful. For our first date we went to church and then had breakfast.”

I step into Joanna’s bathroom to scour off a few layers of mascara and tequila. “You always say you want to date a nice guy.”

She gets me a glass of water while I scrub. She sets it on the side of the sink and sits down on the edge of the tub. “He might be
too
nice, but . . . whatever. I’m more interested in what happened to you. Tell me again why you’re dressed like a hooker.”

“Number one, blow me. I look hot.” I check myself out in the medicine cabinet mirror. Yikes. “Or rather I
looked
hot. In the dark. Now not so much.”
¹²¹

She snorts and crosses her legs. “Do go on.”

“Anyway, Lisa and I were at Yacht Club then we ran into some fraternity guys and we went back to their house for an after-hours. Then we did shots. Then it all got fuzzy. Then I woke up on a pullout couch in the formal living room. And before you ask, yes, I was clothed.” I take Joanna’s hairbrush and try to tame my back-combed mane. A cigarette butt falls out of it as I wrestle it into an elastic band. We both pretend we don’t notice while I rinse it down the sink.

Joanna talks to my reflection. “Points for being dressed. Yay, you, right?”

I glower at her. “I was sleeping next to
Dave
.”

“
Dave
Dave?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You
hate
Dave.”

“Yeah, apparently not anymore.” I snarl at my reflection. “Hey, which one of these is your toothbrush?”

She shudders. “None of them.” I brush as best I can with my index finger and a squirt of Aquafresh. “You’re accounted for—so what happened to Lisa?”

“Good question. She disappeared. By the way, can you drive me back to her place? All my things are there.” I spit and rinse, wiping my mouth on one of Joanna’s hand towels. She grabs it and stuffs it in the trash.

“I don’t have cooties.”

“You woke up next to
Dave
Dave. You might.”

I consider this. “Point well taken. Anyway, can you drive me?” “Sure. You wanna go now?”

“Nah. Let’s give it a bit. Lisa lives in the Acres and it’ll take her a while to do the walk of shame all the way up that hill.”

“I woke up naked in a dentist’s chair.”

I try not to choke on my Diet Coke while I digest Lisa’s statement. We’re kicked back in the TV room at her sorority house on a big L-shaped couch. There are hungover girls sprawled across every surface in the room. This looks kind of like the battlefield scene from
Gone With the Wind
, except instead of Union uniforms they’re all wearing Greek letters. (Also? They weren’t watching MTV back then.)

After hanging out at Joanna’s, I finally reconnected with Lisa around noon today. I tell her, “I woke up fully clothed next to
Dave
Dave. You win.”

Lisa rakes a hand through her spiral perm. “Yeah? What’s my prize?”

“Crabs?” I venture. She throws her empty plastic cup at me. “Seriously, how did you get
there
? Were you in an actual dentist’s office?”

She frowns. “Jesus, no! Someone had the chair in their room at the fraternity house. Dead dentist grandfather or something along those lines.”

“How did you get from just being in a room to a total state of undress?”

“How did I get
there
?” Lisa snaps. “I vaguely recall some bitch in a leopard skirt and lavaliere saying,
‘Oh, come on, do another shot. What’s the worst thing that could happen?’
Fortunately, Ted says it was totally platonic.”

“Then what’s with
the naked
?”

“He said he didn’t want me to ralph on my party clothes.”

“And in a fraternity full of men, not a single one had a spare T-shirt?” I ask. Lisa just shrugs. It’s best not to dwell on the details.
¹²²

“What’s the plan for the rest of the day? We gonna rally and head back to Harry’s for dinner?” Lisa was a sweet, innocent math major when we first roomed together. She was just a nice kid with a penchant for big acrylic sweaters, stuffed unicorns, and Val Kilmer posters. Then I took her to her first fraternity party on Halloween. I went as a waitress and we turned her into a bunch of grapes, affixing purple balloons to a little lavender camisole and a pair of purple tap pants. Turns out when alcohol is involved, it’s really fun to pop balloons and Lisa kind of ended the night in nothing but balloon shards and a skimpy set of underwear. Um . . . sorry?