Secret Society Girl (24 page)

Clarissa and I tackled her, while Jenny looked on calmly. ―The first step is confessing,‖ she said with a wry smile.

―And the next is getting wasted.‖ Odile grabbed me with one hand and Jenny with the other.

―Let‘s go.‖

Clarissa steered us away from the nightclub Odile had chosen, into a smaller, more classic Eli bar. It enjoyed a reasonably healthy crowd of Sunday evening drinkers, but not so many that our group couldn‘t find a nice, out-of-the-way table at which to commiserate. (See? I knew I could come up with a better use for that word!) The bar was split-level, with tables above, and a bar, dance floor, and stage below. We headed up to the top level, where the five of us squeezed into a brown leather booth. I found myself shoved between Demetria and Jennifer, who, with arms folded and a look of supreme disgust on her face, seemed to harbor a desire to be anywhere other than in a pub with the ―Brotherhood of Death.‖

Or Sisterhood of Death, as the case may be.

Curiously, Odile and Clarissa, though thinner than all three of us, seemed to fill the other side of the booth to capacity as well. Must be leaving room for their egos.

―First things first,‖ Demetria announced. ―Let‘s get some alcohol into Madame Tightass over here.‖

―I don‘t drink,‖ Jennifer responded, obviously in no doubt as to whom Demetria referred.

―Why ever not?‖

―Well, to start with, it‘s illegal. I‘m only twenty.‖

I ruminated on whether that made her holier-than-thou genius more or less tolerable.

―Never stopped me breaking into Daddy‘s bourbon,‖ said Clarissa, signaling the barkeep from the lower level.

―Nor me,‖ said Odile. ―But then, but the time I was seventeen, I‘d already had a stint in rehab.

What meth didn‘t do to me, Miller Lite won‘t.‖

―Miller Lite?‖ I shook my head. ―I need something stronger than that tonight.‖

Clarissa grinned. ―You bet.‖ As the barman approached, she laid three twenties on the table.

―This is what I want,‖ she said, looking him carefully in the eye and twiddling with something at her collar. ―You got pomegranate juice?‖

He looked at the money, then at us. ―Who are you girls?‖

―We‘re who you think we are,‖ she said simply. ―312. Five of them. Straight up, please, and with a twist.‖

We all stared at her, openmouthed, as the barkeep rushed—actually, jogged—away down the steps.

―How did you know?‖ I asked.

She smiled again and I noted that the thing on her collar was her Rose & Grave pin.

―Membership, girls, has its privileges. And so does legacy. This was my daddy‘s favorite bar when he was a Knight of D143. Stands to reason that they‘d have the society drink.‖

Now Demetria looked smug. ―Fake it till you make it? Is that your strategy?‖

―No,‖ said Clarissa. ―But I do intend on enjoying the rights I‘ve earned. Like Amy said, we‘re full-fledged members of Rose & Grave, whether they like it or not. I, for one, am going to act like it.‖

―Does that include terrorizing bartenders?‖ I asked.

She fluffed her hair. ―That was a simple request, honey. I‘d only untuck the terror if we were denied.‖ She settled back in her seat, then tilted her head to the side, studying Demetria as if seeing her for the first time. ―You know, Demetria, I never noticed this before in your baggy shirts, but you‘ve got a great rack. Have you ever thought about losing the kente cloth and going for something in a deep V-neck knit? I‘m thinking coral, or maybe even peach, with your skin tone. I‘ve got this sweater from BCBG—‖

Demetria blinked at her and even Jenny looked shocked. ―Let‘s focus on the issue at hand.

Making sure we keep getting the privileges of membership.‖

―Yes, but do we even want to be members of Rose & Grave anymore?‖ I fingered the pin on the strap of my bag. Was it only two days ago that I‘d received it? Already it seemed to belong to me. ―They made it pretty clear that hardly any of them want us there.‖

―I don‘t care what they want,‖ Demetria said. ―I already heard way too much about that. I‘d rather hear about us. I want to know why each of you joined. I think that if we still believe the society can fulfill the reasons we first accepted the tap, then we should fight. If not—‖

―Bail?‖ asked Odile.

Demetria nodded, and since it sounded like a decent plan, we all agreed. Demetria went first.

―To me, it was a question of changing society from the inside. There‘s a certain amount you‘re going to listen to some black dyke from Pittsburgh, and then there‘s the amount you‘ll listen to her if she‘s waving an Eli diploma in your face, and then, on top of that, there‘s the amount you‘ll listen—‖

―If she‘s got a phalanx of powerful Diggers backing her up?‖ I cut in.

―You got it, sister.‖

―Do you really think that old-boys‘ network will back you up, Digger or no?‖

Here‘s where Demetria started looking sheepish. ―Not anymore. I‘d hoped being tapped meant they were willing to listen to someone like me. Apparently, what it really meant is that they hoped they could make someone like me listen to them.‖

To my left, Jennifer shuddered.

The drinks arrived in tall, frosted martini glasses and Clarissa slid them along the table. ―Just take a sip, Jenny,‖ she instructed.

Odile tasted the concoction, then smiled in appreciation at her seatmate. ―Well, I can‘t say I had any explicit motive for joining like you did, Dee. To me, it‘s one more exclusive party. If I‘m a Digger, I‘m a VIP to that many more people.‖ Her tone was completely unapologetic, and so sincere I wasn‘t even sure if I could feel offended.

Clarissa blinked at her, shocked, I was sure, at being out-snobbed. She turned to the other side of the table. ―I‘m a legacy,‖ she said. ―Of course I was going to join if given the opportunity. It would be like not attending Eli. I‘m a Cuthbert. We‘re Diggers. Period.‖

Jennifer traced the rim of her glass, then dipped her pinky in the liquor and sucked on it before responding. ―Same as Demetria, I guess. Change the Diggers from the inside out.‖ She looked at me as if satisfied she‘d provided a good enough answer. ―And you, Amy?‖

They all leaned forward. ―Yes, what about you?‖ someone else asked.

Whence the curiosity? My reasons—such as they were—were no better than the rest of theirs, and ―My friend-with-benefits told me to stop thinking so hard‖ didn‘t seem like particularly strong motivation. I shrugged. ―It seemed the right thing to do. It‘s‖—my voice dropped to a whisper—―the most powerful society on campus…in the country. Networking galore. Um, are we sure this place isn‘t bugged?‖

―Bugged?‖ Clarissa asked. ―By whom? The special Digger police you were talking about earlier?‖

Don‘t tell me—another conspiracy theory. ―Can someone please provide me with a list of what about Rose & Grave is true and what is false?‖

Clarissa laughed. ―The second I get one, I‘ll share it. But you have a point. The walls have ears.

Malcolm would be telling us—‖

―Discretion!‖ we all said in unison, lifting our glasses and laughing. I stared down at the 312. It looked like a cosmopolitan that had spent too much time listening to death metal. The bubblegum pink coloration had turned bloodred and almost opaque. I could hardly see the spiral of lemon zest at the bottom. I tasted it. Tart beyond the telling, with a kick of sweetness at the backside that couldn‘t have been simple syrup. I couldn‘t detect the alcohol at all. It didn‘t taste precisely like the ―blood‖ I‘d drunk at initiation, but I imagined that for the Digger hoping for a little kick in the faith, it would serve as a reasonable reminder.

―Do you know what they put in this?‖ I asked Clarissa.

She winked at me. ―It‘s a secret.‖

Everyone rolled their eyes. I glanced over at Jennifer, who seemed to be making inroads into hers despite her protestations. ―So you and Demetria seem to be the only ones with real reasons to be members,‖ I said. ―Do you still want to be?‖

―My resolve remains as firm as always.‖ Jennifer took another sip.

―My reason doesn‘t strike you as valid?‖ Clarissa asked.

―No more than mine does,‖ I replied. ―And let‘s not even talk about Odile.‖

Odile polished off her drink. ―It works for me, which makes it perfectly good. We don‘t need to get as noble as these two chicks. If we want to be in the‖—she lowered her voice—―
thingamajig
for selfish reasons, then who‘s to tell us we can‘t? Doesn‘t mean they won‘t benefit from the association as well. They help us along, we‘ll be the best little members they can ask for. That‘s my philosophy anyway.‖

And it was tough to have a problem with that.

―Yes. Who cares why we joined?‖ Clarissa said. ―The point is, if we were tapped, then we obviously deserved it, and we should get the rights and privileges associated with it, no matter what kind of genitalia we have. If Odile wants to join merely to get lobster for dinner every Thursday night, then that‘s her business. Not theirs. What the—
thingamajigs
—get out of it is having the great Odile Dumas as a member.‖

―And that‘s pretty freakin‘ cool,‖ said Odile, signaling the bartender for another 312.

Demetria rolled her eyes.

But I couldn‘t be so flippant. It was pretty cool. They were lucky to have Odile Dumas as part of their in-crowd. It definitely gave the old-boys‘ network some 21st century Hollywood cred.

And Demetria, who, one step at a time, was going to change the world. I definitely couldn‘t imagine a cogent argument against Clarissa. Not only was she a legacy, but as soon as she was back on the New York socialite scene, she‘d practically run the city. And Jennifer Santos would be the next Bill Gates. That left only…me.

Where did Amy Haskel come in?

Clarissa‘s phone—well, it went off, since ―rang‖ is probably not the appropriate term for the bubbly sound effects issuing from her cell.

She glanced at the display. ―Uh-oh, girls, it‘s George.‖

Okay, I admit it: pulse sped.

She flipped down the mouthpiece and carried on a quick conversation. Five minutes later, the rest of the junior taps arrived.

―We‘ve been looking for you everywhere,‖ said George, shoving into the Odile-Clarissa side of the table and winking at me. ―The meeting kind of broke up the second you left.‖

―But I see you didn‘t leave with us,‖ snapped Demetria, reluctantly scooting over to let Josh and Greg pile in. Kevin took the remaining seat next to George (really not a lot of space on that side) and Benjamin the basketball player (Big Demon, like Little Demon, was a name given to a tap of a particular size) pulled up an end table and a few chairs for himself, Omar, and a very disgruntled-looking Nikolos (a.k.a. Graverobber).

―Well, at first we were all in shock,‖ Benjamin said, settling in and waving at the bartender.

―Though not as badly as the seniors. I don‘t think anyone had ever just walked out of a—‖

―
Thingamajig!”
the girls all yelled.

―—meeting before. Nobody knew what to do.‖

―So we all just sat there, staring at one another,‖ Kevin added.

―Until we realized that we wanted to cast our lot with you all,‖ finished Greg. ―Where are the bloody drinks?‖

Bloody
was right. I slid over the rest of mine and he knocked it back.

―He wanted to ‗cast his lot with us,‘ too?‖ I asked skeptically, pointing at Nikolos.

The men were saved from answering when the bartender arrived, looking scandalized. He did a quick head count. ―Where are the other three?‖ he asked.

―Abroad.‖ Clarissa handed over a credit card. ―Start a tab.‖

―They know us here?‖ Josh asked.

―Oh, honey,‖ said Clarissa. ―We‘ve even got an official
drink
.‖

Several hours and at least five rounds of 312s later (perhaps we should have moved to pitchers), the dozen new taps at the table were in possession of darkly stained lips and had proceeded to hammer out a plan of action.

―What I still don‘t get,‖ Kevin, one of the few naysayers left in the group, said, ―is why this is our responsibility rather than the seniors‘.‖

―They‘re short-timers,‖ Demetria explained. ―In a few weeks, they‘re out of here and the closed tomb will be our problem. It doesn‘t matter so much to them.‖