Greek: Double Date, page 11
“That does sound like the deans,” Casey said. “Ours are pretty much the same.”
“It’s strange what life does to you. I thought all deans came from some dark, angry place when I was in college. And now I’m here, and the Bowster is the dean.”
“Dean Bowman was the Bowster? That was his name?” Cappie snickered.
Ted Griffin lowered his voice. “If you use it, you didn’t get it from me. Wait a few weeks so it’s less obvious, okay? I’d like to stay on speaking terms with him. And, no, I can’t spend the night telling Bowster stories, much as I’d like to. I think everyone would appreciate it far more than me going on about the accomplishment of a 4.0 grade point average—even the people with 4.0 grade point averages.” He had a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I do respond to e-mails. Why don’t you take my card—what’s your name, young man? There I go again! Young man!”
“Cappie,” he said, as Griffin produced business cards from the breast pocket of his jacket.
Griffin gave him one, and then said, “Casey Cartwright, right?”
She smiled and accepted the card. “Yes.”
“I was always good with names. Not actually talking to women, but getting their names right. I had that going for me, but not a lot else. It’s good to talk to someone who knows more than their way around the wiring of a black box. Shoot me an e-mail sometime if you have a question you think I can answer—and not just whether to cut the red wire or the green wire.”
“Thank you very much.”
He smiled and left them, to be rather suddenly jumped by another horde of admirers and deans, and Casey looked at the card in disbelief. “What was that about?”
“Chatting it up with Ted Griffin? Pretty basic concept, actually,” Cappie said.
She put the card in her pocketbook. “I don’t know why you did what you just did—if you did something intentionally, just because he was a KT—”
“He was a KT? Seriously? Awesome.”
Casey rolled her eyes, but at least Cappie hadn’t known.
“Anyway,” Cappie said, “as to doing something intentionally, I refuse to answer that question. I prefer to remain a man of mystery.”
“Thank you. I think.”
He bowed. “My lady.” And, as promised, he disappeared again, but this time she wasn’t as thrilled with his departure as before. He wasn’t being embarrassing, he was just being Cappie. The good part of Cappie, the one she liked.
“You know, you’re not obligated to do this.”
Evan slowly moved in a circular motion, so that Rebecca would spin around to the beat of the slow dance. He wasn’t the most coordinated person, but he knew how to dance whatever dance was required of him at a Greek formal.
“I thought you wanted to. Unless you don’t want to dance.”
Which he would think odd, because she’d accepted his invitation somewhat eagerly. “I mean stay with me,” Rebecca said, with a hard edge to her voice, but the menace didn’t seem directed at him. “The premise of this date was for you to serve as a buffer between me and Rob. He’s gone. You’re free to do as you please.”
“I like to think of myself as more than a buffer.”
“I’m serious.”
“And I’m serious. You asked for a date, you have one. Unless you want me to ditch you for some reason. Am I that repulsive?”
Rebecca softened her expression, which, Evan noticed, she wore very well. “No. I just thought I should let you know I’m relieving you of any perceived obligation.”
“Then call this one a freebie,” he said. “Also, if you haven’t noticed, I’m obligated to be here, and somewhat dateless myself, having driven away everyone important in my life.”
“Frannie was important?”
He shivered. “Frannie was…Frannie. She could make herself important. And she was, for what it’s worth, my girlfriend for a time. It counts for something. The motivation behind it wasn’t good on her side…but I wasn’t a saint, either.”
“You’re cutting her a lot of slack.”
“I have a newfound sympathy for people in bad positions and trying to make the best of it,” he said. He hadn’t loved Frannie, but he wouldn’t dismiss her so easily, as all of her former ZBZ sisters were eager to do. “Frannie and I are over. What she does from here isn’t my business at the moment, and hopefully won’t be my business in the future—if I have a business.”
Rebecca actually sounded supportive. “You still have law school.”
“It remains to be seen whether I need a scholarship or they’ll take my car instead of tuition.”
“Why did you throw away your trust fund?”
“It was more that I told my parents off—”
“Something I can relate to—”
“—and they’re the keys to my trust fund. Somewhat literally. It started getting crazy. At first there was this whole list of decisions about my life made by them that I had to follow to keep it. Then they decided to take away my money anyway because I said something that implied that I didn’t know what to do with it. As if any college kid knows what to do with millions of dollars.” He could actually say a number around Rebecca, who was not without her own fortune, somewhat mitigated by circumstances surrounding her father’s failing political career. “It got to be too much. Their rules kept changing, so I decided I didn’t want to play by them anymore. So it’s life on the open road.”
“Whatever you do, don’t go to Alaska.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t see that movie about that kid who gave all his money to charity and hitchhiked across the country, only to die of starvation in Alaska because he forgot to buy a map? I forget the name. Sean Penn directed it.”
“Into the Wild.”
“Right. That. Don’t go to Alaska.”
“And forget to buy a map and starve to death.”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “That’s not on my agenda, but I’ll take it into consideration.”
“I don’t see you as a wild-eyed hippie nature freak anyway.”
“Really? What gave you that impression? My filthy-rich lifestyle?”
“You’re an Omega Chi.”
“You know, I wasn’t always,” he said. “I pledged Kappa Tau first.”
“They didn’t take you?”
“They were a little too ambivalent for my tastes. I suppose if Egyptian Joe had been any more enthusiastic about me, I would be at their party right now, with a plastic beer can hat over my head and that horrible goatee I had freshman year.”
Now Rebecca smiled at the image. “Or you would be president, and you would be here.”
“In some alternate universe, maybe.”
“You don’t sound like you regret it.”
He shrugged. “I know it’s like my ritual duty to be down on the Kappa Taus, but really, they just weren’t the right fit for me. For Cappie, they’re perfect. Omega Chi is just my place—one of the few things I’ve ever been sure of in my life, on my own, that was not an idea introduced by my parents. They didn’t tell me to pledge, even if it would be good for my career. They didn’t say anything about it. I went from Kappa Tau to Omega Chi and I don’t think they even noticed until I had some officer position. It was all my decision.” Realizing they’d been talking about him for too long, he said, “Did your parents tell you not to pledge?”
“They told me not to make a fool of myself, so I did. The fact that I did it while wearing a ZBZ T-shirt and being filmed by drunken guys at spring break was just incidental and more of a hassle in the end. But it was worth it, however much crap I had to put up with when I got back to the house and Nationals complained about my behavior. It was my choice. What I wanted to do at that exact moment and no one could tell me differently, even though some people tried.”
“Casey?”
“And Cappie.”
“Rebecca, if Cappie’s telling you not to do something, then you probably shouldn’t do it. Or you should because it’s just that wild. It’s some kind of seal of approval for wildness.”
“I suppose.”
“I don’t know. I’m too tired of judging people. Do whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy.”
“I can’t tell if being destitute has made you wise or crazy.”
Evan said, “Neither can I.”
chapter ten
Rusty Cartwright felt that, for the first time in weeks, there was no reason to panic. The engineering event was going well. Everyone was here for the most part. No one was ill, and Professor Boyden’s faint proved just a dramatic flourish in front of the alumni from Microsoft. Raul Gonzalez didn’t have a high position in the company, but that didn’t stop him from being mobbed by every disgruntled professor and overeager student looking for the name of a director of human resources and possibly a word of recommendation. But Rusty had two years before he had to worry about that.
“Good job, Mr. Cartwright,” his advisor, Hastings, said to him as people were seated for the actual awards ceremony. “Get your grades back up and you might just be getting a trophy next year.” He turned his back on Rusty and was gone just as quickly as he appeared.
“Thank you,” he said.
“He’s a dick,” Cappie added.
“Yeah.”
“Spitter, if you want a trophy, just find a trophy store and buy one.”
“I know where it is. That’s how I got these.” He gestured to the tacky track trophies lined up in rows by the podium.
“That’s how Kappa Tau got all of our trophies.”
“You mean the ones that weren’t stolen.”
“That was implied. Also, Beaver added his soccer participation trophies from elementary school last year to make things a little more crowded.”
“You get those awards just for showing up.”
“Ask him how he got that scar on his hand.”
“You can’t play soccer with your hands. It’s, like, the one rule.”
“And that’s what makes it a great story.”
Rusty shook his head. The deans were taking their places on the dais, preparing for Griffin’s speech and the awards ceremony itself, brief though it was. “Did you just come here to stalk my sister?”
“Again with that word. Stalk. It’s so harsh.”
“Answer the question.”
“Please. The free food and open bar were also great motivators.”
“You could have gotten those at the formal that I had to miss to make sure the courses were served in the correct order.”
“Formals are lame. Always have been, always will be. Provided no one gets drunk and does something embarrassing—all the more likely with my presence elsewhere—there’s nothing about it that’s memorable.”
“Maybe if your girlfriend was there…”
“Is that what this is about? You have a phone. Call her and invite her to this shindig. Or at least the after-party.”
“I can’t ask Jordan to miss the Greek event of the semester.”
Casey looked at his watch. “It’s half over. She’s a girl, so her feet are killing her, her hair has the consistency of a brush tree and she just realized it by trying to straighten it in the mirror. You’re doing her a favor.”
“She’s supposed to support her sisters.”
“Unless one of them is in a wheelchair and she’s on push duty, she’s not supporting anything. Trust me on this one.”
It was appealing. “I’ll call her.”
“Good man.” Cappie slapped him on the back and disappeared in the direction of the bar.
Rusty sighed and watched the deans haphazardly try to find the correct seats. The microphone worked—he’d tested it. And at this point, he really didn’t care. He’d had very little sleep over the past few days, and it was starting to get to him. Even if Cappie was right about the formal, Rusty still wanted to be there and find out for himself. With Jordan. No way could dancing with her be lame.
“Why so glum, chum?” It was Chris McFadyen, the polymer scientist who worked in Silicon Valley. He wasn’t that much older than Rusty—ten years at most. “Wow. I can’t believe I just said that. Anyway, job well done, if you were organizing this thing. Weren’t you?”
“I helped out.” He didn’t mention his connection to the now-infamous Thursday-night caterers. “I got roped into it by Professor Hastings, actually. I skipped out of a study session with him to go to a party, and he was pissed. So I’m making it up to him.”
“Flattery will only get you so far,” Chris said. “I remember him. I had him freshman year and again as a senior. Hated his class both times. But I got through them.”
“With a 4.0 grade point average? Because I started okay, but mine’s been slipping.”
“I know two things—one, that I didn’t get a tacky trophy for any grade point average, and two, that I didn’t go to enough parties. So really, the worst of both worlds.” Chris rubbed his goatee. He did look sort of like a hippie, if in a formal suit, because it was with sandals. “In college everything seems like a big deal, and when you get out, it’s really not. The things you worried about seem worthless and the good moments seem better. But the professors don’t tell you that college isn’t the center of the universe because otherwise you might take them less seriously. I can’t blame them—college is the center of their universe. Every year a crowd leaves and a fresh crowd appears for them to impress and remold in their image, knowing that these students will forget their names by the end of next semester, if they bothered to learn them at all.”
“That makes it sound depressing,” Rusty admitted. Maybe he shouldn’t have, but he did.
“Some of them might think that. And some of them might legitimately just care about the joy of teaching. Or maybe some of them couldn’t find jobs in the real world, and make themselves up to be tyrants in their own worlds here. Not that people don’t get megalomaniac in the private sector, either. Or the public sector. The short story is, people are jerks because they need to feel important. But they’re only as important as you let them be. Sometimes it’s wise to suck up, sometimes you just ignore them, hand in your papers and move on. I can tell you that a 3.5 is not a whole lot different from a 4.0 to a corporation, except the latter implies you might not have had a social life and developed the skills you need to talk your way into that giant company you want to hire you. And then you can go on to be a salaried employee, slowly making your way up the ladder until college calls and gives you a free room at the local hotel if you’ll hang out with current students with a few shots of scotch in you.”
Rusty smiled. “How’s life after college?”
“Drinks cost more. It’s ridiculous, really. Take advantage of the opportunities you have now. Free beer! Ha, I love it.” He slapped him hard on the back. “You have my card, right?”
“Right. Thank you, Mr. McFadyen.”
“Chris! My name is Chris.” And, a little drunk, he shambled off, leaving Rusty to digest his rambling and dubious wisdom.
Rusty opened his phone, then remembered he had used up his invitation. Did it really matter this late in the night? He called Jordan. “Hey. Want to crash an engineering bash? And by that I mean, act politely and eat their desserts.”
“Yes. Any reason to get out of here,” Jordan said.
“You might have some trouble at the door.”
“Do you know any engineers who are stag?”
Rusty looked around the room at his fellow classmates chatting it up with the alumni. There was a serious disparity in the numbers between men and women. “Do you even have to ask?”
“I’m gone,” Jordan said to Calvin on her way out. “Don’t tell the other pledges I’m ditching.”
“Why would I? And where are you going?”
“The engineering event. Rusty got me an invite through his lab partner.”
Calvin shook his head. “Anywhere but here?”
“I hope they don’t have a dress code that involves heels,” she said. “Wait, they’re engineers.”
“Exactly.”
Jordan waved to Calvin with more exuberance than she’d shown the entire evening and ran off, barefoot, into the night and on to better things. Calvin straightened his cummerbund and returned to the dance hall.
“Why the long face?”
Calvin, mystified, looked at Heath.
“Yeah, I know, lame question. I’ve got another one with a frown and Charlie Brown. But seriously.”
“Everyone has pretty much left the formal or didn’t come. Or is dancing with their ex for some reason, if she could even be considered that.” He was looking at Evan and Rebecca, who by all appearances were actually enjoying themselves. “Or at least they have someone to dance with.”
“I thought you were going out with Michael, the TA?”
“No, so over that. He scared me off with his Moroccan food.”
“It was that bad?”
He chuckled. “No, it was just…too much. Like, he would probably say I should have brought him to the dance. That I should be proud and not afraid to make waves.”
Heath nodded. “It would be wicked awkward. I wouldn’t do it, although the Kappa Taus who actually came are too wasted to care.”
“Yeah, aren’t you acting president or something?”
“Cappie wanted to go to the honors engineering awards, for some reason. He picked my name out of the goldfish bowl. I should really abuse my powers and do something interesting and tyrannical, but it seems like too much effort. Clearly I have all the makings of great leadership.” Heath studied him. “You would be a good president. Of Omegi Chi anyway. You have…authority. A sense of responsibility. You’re not wasted after lunch every day.”
“Look, it was hard enough for me during pledge year. You think I would win an election? First gay president of Omegi Chi?”
“Dude, you’re gonna end up being a lot of ‘first gay’ things in your life. Just…embrace it.”
“Now you sound like Michael.”
“Ouch. Okay, sorry. Still smarting from that?”
