Sorority Sisters (21 page)

Laurie

–
Summer 1
978
–

“So, what do you think? I know it's just a card table, but with the tablecloth on it, you barely tell, right?” Karen says, standing across the room, her hands on her hips, her expression both critical and hopeful.

“It's wonderful,” I say. “I don't know how you did it, but the whole apartment looks charming.”

“Well, we were starting out with standard Hollywood 1950s style. It's hard to go wrong from there,” Karen says.

I could have gone wrong from that start, but I leave it at that. Karen and I rented an apartment on Riverside Drive in North Hollywood. It's a two-story apartment building with all the apartment doors on one side of the building, the second-floor balcony walkway providing an overhang for the first-floor apartments below. We got a first-floor apartment, which is a good thing since I'm positive we couldn't have carried our mattresses up a flight of stairs, let alone a couch.

“I can't understand how you made maroon-and-peach tile look cute,” I say. There is peach tile with maroon trim tiles in the kitchen and the bathroom. The walls in the apartment are painted cream and the only air conditioner is a unit hanging out the bedroom window. The carpet is brown shag with the shag so tired at this point that not a single strand is sitting up at attention. The apartment was old, tired, a little grim, and small, but it was the right price at $245 a month, and it's a half a mile from the 101.

“I just didn't fight it,” she says, straightening the tablecloth that was perfectly straight to begin with. “Go with the flow, you know?”

“If you say so,” I say.

“With that attitude, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Karen says.

“
Casablanca
,” I say. “See? I'm learning.”

“I'm so glad we're still rooming together; aren't you? It makes it seem almost like we haven't graduated. I still can't get used to not living in the house. It's so quiet with just the two of us!”

It is, and I'm not sure how long it's going to take me to get used to that, or if I ever will. I've lived for so many years in the midst of a throng of women, hiding in plain sight, able to become a part of something bigger than I am, even if it's only for a year or so. Now it's just the two of us in a one-bedroom apartment on the edge of the Valley. It is very quiet.

“I'll try to talk more loudly. Will that help?” I say.

“Give it a try. We'll see how it goes,” she says. “So, really, you like what I'm doing with the apartment? You didn't have much say in it.”

“I had no say in it, but that's fine with me. I think it looks great. I don't know how you did so much with a card table and two twin beds, but I'm impressed.”

“Don't forget the white Naugahyde couch,” she says, grinning. She got it at a consignment shop on Sunset, and it was vile, but after scrubbing it with cleanser and piling it with pillows from Nepal, it looks almost chic.

“You got a couch? I'll take it for a test flight.”

We'd left the door open because of the heat, and there, crossing the threshold and walking into my apartment, is Doug Anderson. My heart shivers as he enfolds me in his arms for a quick hug.

“You found it!” I say. “Isn't this the cutest apartment? Karen gets all the credit.”

“Hi, Karen,” Doug says.

“Hi,” she says. “I need to get the closet in order. You guys don't mind me.”

With that, she walks into the bedroom and closes the door.

Doug walks over to the couch and sits down, spreading his arms across the back, grinning at me. One of the pillows slips to the floor. “It's a nice apartment. I'm glad you and Karen are living together again. She's always been your closest sorority friend—am I right?”

“Yes. I guess so,” I say. “Can I get you something to drink? We have sodas and milk. We still need to buy a coffeemaker. Sorry.”

The sound of the cars on Riverside can be heard inside the apartment. From the bedroom, I can hear the faint clink of hangers being pushed together. Above us, someone walks across his apartment and turns on a faucet.

“It's a little noisy, isn't it?” Doug says with a smile. “I'm sure you'll get used to it.”

“I can't get you anything?”

“Nothing from the fridge,” he says, patting the spot next to him.

I settle down next to him, leaning into his shoulder, smiling from my heart. I don't know how I ended up with Doug, with Diane's Doug, but I did. It all happened very fast, and it's still happening, in a way; we're still getting to know each other, finding our way into a relationship that was born as the college years were dying. Diane is gone now, stationed in Virginia, a continent between us, and Doug, at least for now, is here with me. It won't last. He's only going to be here for another week, leaving just before Ellen's wedding, which is probably ideal timing. I wouldn't want to face Ellen with Doug at my side, not at her wedding when she's supposed to be a blissful bride, though I can't imagine Ellen ever being blissful about anything, at least not for very long. It's easier with Karen. Karen has the knack for making everything easier, even my dating Doug.

“I thought I'd take you both out to dinner,” Doug says, his hand stroking the back of my neck, kissing my temple. “I'd like to make up for not helping you move in.”

“You couldn't help that, though we would have loved some muscle for the heavy lifting.”

“How'd you manage it?”

“Karen ran into a guy getting out of his car in the parking lot, had him laughing in about a minute, and, presto chango, he held one end of the couch while we held the other.”

Doug smiles. “Strategic strike. Well-done, Karen.”

“I'll ask her if she's up for dinner,” I say, kissing him quickly on the mouth before I get up. He pulls me back down and kisses me harder, a passionate kiss that makes my knees weak. “Or not,” I say on a breath of air.

“No, go ahead,” he says. “I'll behave myself. That's a promise.”

“Hey,” I say, opening the bedroom door to see Karen with a pile of clothes on her twin bed about two feet tall. “Doug would like to take us to dinner.”

“Oh, no, you go ahead. I've got to get this organized before I can relax and even think about eating. By the time you get home we should be able to sleep in these beds.”

“Really?” I say, looking around the room. It's a complete disaster, and half of the disaster is mine, but Doug is here and I want to go. It's as cold-blooded as that.

“Well, don't ask me to sign in blood, but yeah, it's possible you might actually be able to sleep in your bed tonight.”

“I can't wait.”

“Hey, would you mind if I hung some pictures without you? I just want to get everything set up the way I want it. Unless you wanted to do it?”

“No, go ahead. Whatever you want to do, I'm fine with it.”

“Okay, thanks. And have fun.”

She's back to tossing clothes around her bed before I can close the door behind me, grabbing some up by their hangers, moving others to the foot of the bed, making sense of it, obviously, though I can't see her method. I'm not even sure why I'm bothering to close the door to the living room, but she did it first, and so I do it.

Doug is standing right behind me, just barely on the living room side of the doorway, and I almost step on his foot as I turn around and face the living room. He catches me with a grin.

“Sorry. I just wanted to see how big the bedroom was,” he says.

“Just big enough for two twin beds and a dresser,” I say. “Would you like to see the bathroom?”

“No, I'm good,” he says. “I take it it's just the two of us?” When I nod, he smiles and says, “Perfect. Let's get Mexican. I heard of a good place in Sherman Oaks. When do you need to be back?”

“Anytime. The night is ours.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” Doug says as he escorts me out of the apartment.

E
llen

–
Summer 1978
–

“So, we all want to know,” Pi says, “are you still a virgin?”

I look around the room, the tiny living room in Laurie and Karen's new apartment. Half of us are sitting on the floor, but I've got the best seat in the house since I'm the guest of honor; I'm on the right side of a white couch that squeaks every time I shift my weight. It feels like the hot seat.

“You all want to know? Who wants to know?” I say.

Missy, Pi, Cindy, Joan, Candy, Holly, and Lee raise their hands. Laurie doesn't. Karen calls, “Don't tell us,” from the kitchen. Diane abstains since she's in Virginia doing her navy thing. It's a toss-up whether Diane would raise her hand or not.

Pi looks around the room. “The
want to knows
win by a landslide. So. Are you?”

I grin. “To the bitter end. Hey, I made it this long. I'm going the distance.”

“But you're not going all the way,” Missy says.

“Not for another thirteen days,” I say. “Somebody tell me the wait is worth it.”

“Ask Mike,” Pi says. “He'll tell you.”

We all laugh at that. Mike hasn't been nice about waiting. I haven't been nice about being pushed. But then, there's never been anything nice about our relationship.

“I think it's good you're waiting,” Karen says, coming around the corner from the kitchen with a tray of drinks. We're drinking mimosas because it's the only thing Karen knows how to make, besides screwdrivers, and Karen says
mimosa
sounds prettier than
screwdriver
, and who can argue with that? We're all dressed up, most of us in dresses, except Missy, who's wearing white pants and a blue silk shirt, slugging down mimosas at my bridal shower. I can't believe I'm getting married. I'm finally going to go all the way.

“So, come on. What can I expect?”

“You'll like it,” Cindy says. “Just don't expect it to last very long.”

“You need to go out with a better class of guy,” Missy says. “It can last all night, if you want it to.”

“No wonder Craig quit water polo. You wore him out,” Pi says.

Missy smiles and lights a cigarette. “Have you heard him complain?”

“No guy is ever going to complain about that,” Candy says.

“Can you open the door? It's getting hot in here,” Holly says.

Laurie opens the apartment door. Laurie is not in this conversation. Laurie doesn't dare be in this conversation. We all know she's going out with Doug—Karen told us that—and none of us is cool with that. There's nothing to be done about it, but we sure as hell don't need to hear about it from Laurie. I can't understand what's wrong with her that she'd go over to the enemy like that. It makes me wonder if I ever knew Laurie at all.

“And it's not the conversation because you haven't told her anything,” Joan says.

“Joan, okay, I'm actually asking this, but are you a virgin?” I say. “I can't tell.”

“I guess that's good,” Karen says, laughing. “Look, when do you want the cake? It won't fit in the fridge and the icing is looking drippy.”

“Let them eat cake!” I say. Karen disappears around the corner to do her cake thing, Laurie right behind her.

We all look at Joan. Joan looks down at her drink and says, “I haven't been a virgin since I was sixteen. I lost it to Benedict.”

“And you guys are still together. Wow. That's cool,” I say.

“I wish I'd waited,” she says.

“You mean, like, till now?” Pi says.

Joan shrugs. “Probably not. But I still wish I'd waited. I was so young.”

“And felt so old. God, I thought I knew everything at sixteen,” I say.

“You still think that,” Missy says.

“No, now I know I know everything.”

“Are you glad you waited?” Cindy asks.

“Yeah. I just hope it was worth it.”

“It will be,” Karen says, coming back in with the cake. It's a cake with white frosting and the words
This is it!
in red icing on top. “See how well I know you?”

We all laugh. I cut the cake; we eat it and slug mimosas until there's no more champagne and we're stuck with plain orange juice, but that's okay. It's time to start sobering up for the drive back to Northridge, back to Ed and my childhood bedroom, back to the pool where I played Marco Polo with my Girl Scout troop, back to the yellow kitchen where I ate Oreos and drank milk every day after school. Back to childhood.

Only thirteen more days. I'll be Mrs. Ellen Dunn in thirteen more days. I'll finally be able to scratch that itch that Mike starts in me every time he looks in my direction. He'll sure as hell be happy about that. Me, too.

Karen

–
Spring 1979
–

I got promoted in March and could finally quit that drive downtown every day. It was brutal, not seeing the apartment in daylight except on the weekends. I'd leave in the dark and get home in the dark. I felt like a mole. It didn't help that my office didn't have a window, and that some idiot had painted it deep forest green. I was starting to feel like a character in a Grimms' fairy tale. Laurie dating Doug also added to the generally Grimm feeling.

Anyway, I got promoted to department manager at the store in Century City, literally on the border of Beverly Hills, and now the drive is through Coldwater Canyon, in daylight. I feel like a new girl. Plus, Doug isn't in California anymore and doesn't get leave much. It may not be very nice to think that, but I think it anyway.

I don't have time to date since I work too many hours. I also am not meeting anyone to date. Just a tiny detail, right? Every guy I meet is married, because they all married their college sweethearts, naturally. I knew this would happen. I couldn't seem to do anything about that and so it happened to me. I'm alone. The girl who was never without a guy, is without a guy. There's not a guy in sight.

You know what? I'm not happy about it, but I thought it would feel worse than this. I'm actually doing okay.

“I just got a call from the buyer and she's concerned that Heller isn't moving as quickly as it did last year at this time,” I say to my assistant manager. “I want to come up with a new display and get it set up by Saturday morning. Any ideas?”

My assistant manager, Kent, says, “We did the rainbow theme last year.”

“So we're not doing that again. I'll just look around and try to think of something. Would you check the stockroom and see how much Heller we have back there? I may want to pull it all out.”

Kent leaves the floor and I start wandering around, looking at all the displays, wondering where to move things, imagining what things will look like. I'm the manager of five departments, one of them being pictures/mirrors. I wonder if I could do something with mirrors and the Heller plates? All of my departments are spread in a semicircle around the top of the escalator; it's a great place for grabbing a customer's attention. In theory, anyway.

No, my English degree has nothing to do with this job, but this is the job I got right out of school. It's an old, familiar story, isn't it?

“Excuse me. I'm looking for Helen?”

I turn and say, “Helen? Sorry. My name's Karen.”

And then I look, and he's cute and tall and lean and has dark brown hair and dark brown eyes and he's smiling at me in that confused way guys smile when they're lost in the big, scary mall.

“Hi,” he says, obviously looking me over. My hair is still short, but not as short, and I've gotten a perm, which I regretted instantly, and I'm wearing work clothes, which means a really nice outfit that I'm also not averse to getting dirty in the stockroom. “So you don't know a Helen? My mom wants Helen, plates or cups or something. For Mother's Day.”

“She gave you an assignment, huh? And sent you to the mall and now you're lost and confused and can't find Helen.”

“That about covers it,” he says, looking sheepish and funny and just plain adorable. “Help?”

“I think what your mom wants is Heller plates. They're really high-quality plastic and they come in every color you can imagine and, since I can tell that your mom is a discerning shopper with exquisite taste, she's going to love having Heller dinner plates. Heller mugs. Heller salad plates. And anything else Heller makes that I carry. If I sell you everything we carry in Heller, believe me, I'll be fine with that.”

I laugh. He laughs.

I tingle. I'm not sure if he tingles, but he's sparkling. He buys four Heller dinner plates in purple and walks over to the escalator without looking back. Until he's on the escalator; then he looks back.

The next day, while I'm on a ladder at the top of the escalator landing, hanging bright yellow plastic watering cans by clear fishing line from the ceiling panels, the escalator deposits him almost at my feet.

“Hey, that looks dangerous,” he says.

“Imagine how it feels,” I say. “I give everything to my art.”

“Don't you need someone to hold the ladder for you?”

“I'd prefer it if someone would climb the ladder for me.”

He laughs. I laugh.

I climb down from the ladder with only three out of nine watering cans hung.

“I thought I'd get my mom more Heller. I mean, four plates. She might need some cups, right?”

“Four purple plates,” I say. “Would you like four purple mugs or would you like to spice it up and get hot pink? Or maybe yellow?”

I walk over to the Heller display—the old Heller display. The new one, with yellow watering cans, will be finished by tonight. He follows me. I can feel him behind me, and I like the feeling.

“I'm never against spicing things up,” he says.

“Does your mother know that about you?” I say, looking at him.

“I think she suspects.”

“Then she won't be surprised if you don't match purple with purple. I mean, your mom must be pretty adventurous herself if she wants purple plates.”

“Well, she didn't ask for purple plates, but I think she'll like them.”

“She has to like them. It's your Mother's Day gift to her; it's, like, a law.”

He smiles. I smile. We ignore the Heller display.

“I'm Jim.”

“I'm Karen.”

“I remember. Karen . . . ?”

“Karen Mitchell, department manager and ladder climber.”

“Jim Nelson, pharmaceutical rep and Heller expert.”

“You're a Heller expert?”

“I plan to be,” he says.

I grin. He grins.

Summer 1979
–

I walk into the apartment and Doug is there. I halt at the entrance, my key still in the lock, feeling like I just walked into a brick wall.

“Hi, Karen,” he says with a smile.

“Hi,” I say, pulling out my key and tossing it into the pewter dish on the desk next to the door. “Where's Laurie? I thought she had class.”

“She does. She said I could hang out here until she gets back, sleep on the couch. I'm only here for two days. You don't mind, do you?”

“No, that's fine,” I say, walking past him and into the bedroom. I normally change my clothes the minute I get home from work, but now I don't want to. I walk down the three-foot hall to the bathroom and do my thing in there, and when I open the door, Doug is standing right in front of me. “Hey. It's all yours.”

“No, I'm good,” he says, backing up just enough for me to get out.

I walk through the doorway into the kitchen and open the fridge. “Can I get you anything? We have sun tea.”

“Thanks.”

I pour two glasses and hand him his. He doesn't move. I do. I walk out of the kitchen and into the living room. It's a small apartment and there's no place to go where he isn't going to be five steps away from me. The fact that he seems determined to be in whatever room I'm in only makes it worse.

I don't like Doug. I haven't liked Doug since he reacted so badly to my refusing to go out with him. I don't like that Doug asked me out and that he asked Laurie out. He should have left all of us alone once he did what he did to Diane. I don't let myself think about what Laurie should or shouldn't have done. I love Laurie and I want to keep loving Laurie, but Doug makes it all very complicated and it's pretty obvious that he doesn't care that he makes it complicated. I don't like that either.

I sit at the desk chair in the living room. He can have the couch or the armchair. I'm past caring if he thinks that looks rude because, okay, it is a little rude, but he makes me uncomfortable. Doug comes into the living room, sees me at the desk chair, smirks, and sits back down on the couch.

“Hard day at the office?” he says.

“About average,” I say. “I'm sorry not to be better company, but I need to get some bills paid. Can you entertain yourself? The TV's all yours.” I turn to face the desk and pull out my checkbook. I only need to pay two bills, but if I dawdle, I might be able to make it last for twenty minutes. I don't know what I'll do after that. Clean out my purse?

Doug gets up off the couch—I can hear the squeak—and walks across the room toward me. I turn, moving the chair so that it's facing out, and stare at him.

“What's wrong, Karen? Don't you like me?”

“I like you just fine.”

“You don't act like it.”

“I lied. It was a hard day at the office. I'm just exhausted.”

“Sit on the couch. Relax,” he says, hovering over me.

I bolt up from the chair and say, “Oh, my God, I forgot. I need to return a library book. It was due yesterday.”

Doug smiles and it's not beautiful. He's not beautiful. Oh, he's still gorgeous—I'm not blind—but he makes my skin crawl.

“I'll go with you.”

“No. You stay. Laurie will be home any minute.”

“Laurie doesn't get out of class until six, and then she'll be stuck in traffic, so I'm thinking, seven? Seven thirty? What should we do with ourselves until then?”

“I'm going to the library. You do whatever you want to do.”

I grab my keys and my purse; the door is only a few inches from where I'm standing, but I can't seem to get to it. Doug steps around me and in front of me and suddenly I'm backing up toward the TV and the bedroom door.

“I just feel like there's this thing between us,” Doug says. “I want us to be friends.”

“The thing between us is Laurie,” I say.

“I thought it was Diane,” he says.

“Either. Or,” I say. “Take your pick. Oh, yeah. You did.”

“I tried to pick you. I wanted to pick you,” he says, looking down at me in what I'm sure he thinks is confused compassion or something equally false. “I've always liked you, Karen.”

“Yeah. You told me.”

His shirt is unbuttoned to his nipple line, and then he unbuttons another few buttons, opening his shirt all the way. His chest is nearly hairless and dark gold in color. He's the golden boy, and he knows it. He's always known it.

“How about a hug? Between friends?” he says.

“Doug! I'm back! They canceled my last class,” Laurie says from the doorway.

Doug turns around calmly and smiles at her, opening his arms for her. She drops her purse on the floor and is swiftly enfolded in his arms.

“I'll leave you guys alone. I need to run some errands anyway,” I say, sliding around them.

“Thanks, Karen,” Laurie says, turning in Doug's arms to look at me.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Doug says with a sweet smile.

I shut the door behind me. It slammed a bit, but I'm blaming that on the wind.