Abilene, standing shoulder to shoulder with her friends, watched a herd of young men stampede down the stairs. They let out whoops and war cries. Only a few were fully dressed. Some wore robes. Many were bare to the waist, some wearing only shorts or pajama bottoms. A few wore nothing but skivvies. What’ve we gotten ourselves into here? Abilene wondered. Her heart slammed so hard that she felt dizzy, and she struggled to catch her breath.
As those at the front of the crowd reached the parlor’s entryway, Vivian raised her beer bottle. ‘Greetings, fellas!’
A cheer went up.
‘Quiet down ’n take your seats,’ she announced. ‘The show will not begin until you’re all seated and we have your undivided attention.’
‘You’ve sure as shit got that,’ said a leering thick-neck who looked like a body-builder. He wore black, bikini underwear. He peered at the tops of Abilene’s breasts as he sauntered past her.
I’m gonna have a coronary
, she thought.
I’m gonna drop dead on the floor and they’ll gang-bang me while they wait for the paramedics
.
Every single one of the Sigs - and Abilene figured there must be more than twenty of them - ogled her and Cora and Finley and Vivian (especially Vivian, of course), and most of them even gawped at Helen, whose massive bosom threatened to pop free of her low-cut dress.
A lot of the guys had red faces. Some looked nervous. Others grinned. Abilene saw plenty of shaking heads. She heard sighs and a few low whistles.
At least they’re all strangers
, she thought.
She’d seen most of them around campus, but Rush Week hadn’t taken place yet so there were no freshmen among them. It was daunting that they were all upper-classmen, but a relief that nobody here was in classes with her.
Turning around, she watched them scurry for easy chairs and crowd onto the sofas, pushing and shoving. Several of them ended up sitting on the floor’s plush, burgundy carpet.
Soon, all of them were seated except one. He was a tall, slender guy with short hair and a smirking face. He wore faded blue gym shorts and sandals. He stood in front of an armchair that looked like a throne.
‘On behalf of my somewhat astonished brothers,’ he said, ‘I bid you welcome to the Sig house. I’m Cliff Rogers, President.’ With that, he sat down.
Vivian raised her beer bottle toward him. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Vivian Drake, but I suppose all of you know that.’
Nods, murmurs, grins.
‘I’m Cora Evans, Viv’s roommate.’
‘Abilene Randolph.’
‘Helen Winters.’
‘Finley here. Virginia Finley.’ As she spoke, she swept the audience with her camera.
‘We want you all to know our names,’ Vivian said. ‘Know them and remember them. And remember what we do here tonight.’
‘And what, exactly, is that?’ Cliff asked.
‘First, we collect.’
‘Collect?’
She smiled broadly and nodded. ‘Five hundred bucks. That’s the amount, right?’
‘Does anyone know what she’s talking about?’ Cliff asked, scanning his frat brothers.
They all shook their heads, murmured disclaimers, and tried to act innocent.
‘Whoever’s keeping the kitty,’ Cora said, ‘had better run and fetch it.’
‘Or the show doesn’t go on,’ Vivian added. ‘The way we see it, a live show with the five of us’ll be a lot more fun for you fellas than a plain old videotape of just me.’
‘In addition,’ Finley announced, ‘you’ll get a tape of the festivities. To help you remember.’
‘You aren’t serious,’ Cliff said.
‘Watch and see,’ Vivian said.
‘Money first,’ Cora said.
Eyes narrow, Cliff regarded the girls. Then he nodded toward a husky guy on one of the sofas. ‘Rathbone, go get it.’
A cheer went up.
Rathbone rose to his feet, hitched up his sagging boxer shorts, and strode toward Finley. He jabbed an index finger at her lens. ‘You,’ he muttered. ‘You’re meat.’
‘I’m trembling,’ she said.
Several of the guys booed and jeered.
‘Hey Boner, she beat you out?’ someone called.
Rathbone flipped his middle finger at his detractors, then hurried from the parlor. Swinging around, Finley taped his exit.
After he was gone, the room fell silent. The girls stood motionless, side by side. The Sigs stared at them, eyes darting about, never settling, focusing briefly on breasts here, faces there, then moving on but coming back a few moments later.
This was a very stupid idea, Abilene thought. Should’ve just let Finley hand over the shower room tape.
We’re out of our minds
.
She suddenly ached to whirl around and run for it.
But she stood her ground.
She’d agreed to the plan. It had seemed like madness from the instant it came out of Finley’s mouth. But Vivian had fallen for it with vengeful glee. They’d all fallen for it.
Now we’re gonna get reamed, Abilene thought.
Rathbone came back into the parlor, stepped in front of the girls, gave Finley a murderous glare, then offered a thick stack of money to Vivian.
She set her beer bottle on the carpet at her feet, and took the money. She counted it. Finished, she smiled. ‘Is everybody ready?’
The Sigs went wild, clapping, stomping their feet, shouting and whistling.
‘Could we have some music?’ Vivian yelled. ‘Something lively.’
One of the guys rushed over to the stereo.
Michael Jackson came on, singing ‘Bad.’
The girls began.
They danced, writhing sensuously, bobbing their heads with the beat, rolling their shoulders, thrusting out their pelvises. Finley taped the guys as she danced. Abilene, Helen and Cora smiled and waved their beer bottles. Vivian flapped the stack of money in front of her face like a fan.
‘Take it off,’ Cliff called.
The others started chanting it.
‘Take it off, take it off, take it off!’
‘Ladies?’ Vivian asked.
They nodded.
Vivian switched the bills to her left hand. She slipped her right hand slowly, very slowly, down the top of her gown. Abilene, following suit, reached inside her own gown and caressed her breast. So did Cora. So did Helen.
The guys went wild, cheering and hooting.
Vivian’s hand came out with a Bic lighter. She kicked over the beer bottle at her feet. Abilene, Cora and Helen upended their bottles. The fluid burbled out, splashing onto the carpet.
A stench of gasoline filled the air.
Fire erupted from Vivian’s lighter.
She touched it to the money.
The Sigs went silent.
Shouting, ‘Don’t ever fuck with us!’ Vivian hurled the fiery bills into the air.
Abilene glimpsed them fluttering down toward the fuel-soaked carpet. Most of them seemed to be burning. Most of the Sigs looked as if they’d been kicked in the nuts.
She didn’t stick around to watch the outcome.
None of the Sigs pursued them when they fled the house. They must’ve been too busy - as Finley had predicted - trying to extinguish the fires and maybe save some of the money.
Fire trucks never came.
The fraternity house didn’t bum down.
The following week, a new carpet was installed and a rumor went around campus that a drunken Sig had fallen asleep in the parlor while smoking a cigarette.
Finley, as promised, mailed a copy of the videotape to the boys.
Abilene, Helen, Finley, Cora and Vivian stuck together after that, their friendship welded by the madness of that night -welded, too, by determination to protect one another from avenging Sigs.
During the remainder of their undergraduate years at Belmore, they ran into many Sigs. Sigs gave them strange looks. Sigs muttered things, always out of hearing range. Sigs never asked any of them for a date.
And Sigs never, ever fucked with them.
CHAPTER FIVE
The kitchen of the Totem Pole Lodge had cupboards, counters, a pantry, large sinks, a walk-in freezer, and empty spaces where Abilene figured refrigerators and stoves had once stood. It also had cobwebs, dust balls, and layers of grime on its counter tops and linoleum floor.
'Looks like the maid missed this place,’ Finley said.
‘She doesn’t do kitchens,’ Abilene said.
Vivian twisted a faucet handle. It squeaked. No water came from the spout. ‘Great,’ she muttered, then gave her dirty hand a disgusted glance. ‘I suppose there’s no electricity, either.’
‘Not likely,’ Cora said.
Vivian looked down at her bright yellow sundress, apparently searching for a place to wipe her hand. ‘Does anybody have a Kleenex, or something?’
‘Use this,’ Abilene said. Stepping up close to Vivian, she raised her knee.
‘Thanks.’ Vivian rubbed her hand on a leg of Abilene’s faded, denim cut-offs.
‘Should’ve worn grubbies.’
‘She doesn’t believe in grubbies,’ Cora pointed out.
Helen tugged open the door of the walk-in freezer, glanced inside, then shut it quickly.
‘Something in there?’ Cora asked.
‘Not that I could see. Pretty dark.’
As Cora opened it to take a look herself, Abilene wandered over to the sinks. Above them were grimy windows. From the position of the kitchen, to the left of the dining area, she knew that the windows must be facing the rear of the lodge. She was surprised to see that all the glass was intact.
Leaning forward, she peered through one of the panes. She saw the shaded floor of a porch, a wooden railing at its far side, blue sky, tree tops in the distance, and not much else.
‘Over here,’ Finley said.
Abilene turned away from the window. Finley, off to her right, was standing in front of a door. Shifting the camera to her left hand, she knocked back a bolt. She twisted the knob and jerked. The door stayed put, and she stumbled toward it. Bracing her feet and crouching slightly, she gave the knob another sharp tug. With splintery crackles, it broke free of its jamb and swung at her. Its hinges squawked. Its edge only missed her face because the door’s sudden release had sent her staggering backward.
Regaining her balance, she stepped outside. ‘Hey, neat! ’ she called.
Abilene went after her. Surprise at finding the porch high above the ground was forgotten the moment she met the fresh air. She’d been vaguely aware of the kitchen’s stuffy heat and musty smells, but hadn’t realized just how bad it’d been until leaving it behind. Here, the air smelled rich with fragrances of the forest. The warm breeze felt cool. She untucked her blouse, lifted its front, and felt the breeze caress her belly while she wiped sweat off her face.
‘I don’t think I want to go back in there,’ she said.
‘Hey, guys!’ Finley called. ‘Get out here!’
Abilene unfastened a few lower buttons, then looked around as she raised her shirttails and tied them in a half-knot under her breasts.
The porch extended along the entire rear of the lodge. At both ends, stairways led down from the long, second story balcony. The stairways met the porch and descended from there to the ground. Directly in front of her, another set of stairs led downward.
‘This is something,’ Cora said.
‘Oh,’ Vivian said. ‘Great.’
Abilene heard the door from the kitchen grind shut.
‘Fantastic,’ Helen said.
Abilene didn’t know whether they were talking about the fresh air or the scenery.
Now that she had recovered from the stifling atmosphere of the kitchen, it was the view that amazed her.
The rear grounds of the lodge.
She stepped to the edge of the stairway for a better look. Finley was already there, camera to her face. Abilene halted beside her and muttered, ‘Weird.’
‘I’ll say. But neat.’
The lodge cast a heavy shadow halfway across the swath of level land. The far half was bathed in dusty golden light from the late afternoon sun. The end of the field and both its sides were walled by dense forest.
It looked like an oasis.
A picnic area.
A park that had seen better days.
Gazing at it, Abilene felt strange mixtures of excitement, nostalgia and apprehension.
A red brick barbecue stood in the shadow, its chimney almost as high as the porch. A lone picnic table remained near the edifice. There may have been many such tables, once, but only this one remained. It was weathered like driftwood (like the totem poles out front, Abilene thought), and littered with leaves. Weeds climbed its legs.
Off beyond the barbecue was a strip of concrete that resembled a miniature runway - the runway of an airport abandoned long ago. Dandelions grew in its web of cracks. Abilene could see enough of its faint markings, however, to know that it had once been a shuffleboard court.
A ruin, now.
In the days before it was a ruin, in the days before weeds overpowered the trim grass, people had probably played croquet on the part of the field behind the shuffleboard court. Abilene could almost hear the soft clack of colliding wooden balls.
And the ring of a horseshoe clanging into a steel stake.
If they played shuffleboard, she thought, they had to play croquet and horseshoes.
It must’ve been nice. Peaceful, idyllic.
She turned her eyes to the swimming pool. It was way off to her left, far enough from the lodge to be clear of the afternoon shadow, close to the line of woods at the northern side of the lawn. Several flagstone paths converged on it. The pool’s stone deck, like the forlorn shuffleboard court, was littered with forest debris and seamed with weeds. From here, the pool looked empty. At one end was a high dive, a low board, and a slide.