Greek: Double Date (3 page)

After shepherding them together and into the society’s door, Dean Bowman had stepped down to give the next generation their rightful place. Including Cappie, who during his time as Kappa Tau president had been subject to many of the dean’s tirades. Cappie saw the dean too much as an oppressive authority figure and too little as a fellow member to be totally at ease in his presence. Some illusions were harder to shatter than others, especially when Amphora members still had to treat the dean normally in public—not that Cappie ever treated any dean, police officer or authority figure normally. His upbringing was far too anticonformist for that.

Hopefully the next confessor to reveal his or her innermost secrets to society members would have fewer dead pets in their history than the girl who’d spoken at an earlier meeting.

Not that Evan was in the mood to care. The Amphora Society members were supposed to be successful, the best and brightest of their generation. Last year at this time, he’d felt that way. He was dating—and considering marrying—Casey Cartwright, the only girl he’d ever met who didn’t want him for his legendary Chambers family inheritance, and he was on his way to becoming Omega Chi president. Now he’d been dumped by Casey, had foolishly and painfully dated social climber Frannie to dull the feeling of loneliness then cheated on her rampantly for reasons he didn’t really understand, and finally had collapsed under the weight of the ridiculous responsibilities his parents attached to his trust fund by telling them off and basically asking to be disinherited. And now here he
was, answering to Cappie, his freshman-year roommate and former rival for Casey’s affections. For the sake of the competition between Omega Chi and Kappa Tau, they remained enemies on the surface, but had started to repair their friendship within the confines of the Amphora Society hall.

“Are you drunk?” Cappie asked, looking at him warily.

“Are you asking?” Evan said with a lopsided grin. “You? Cappie? Of Kappa Tau?”

“See, that’s why I’m asking. Because if
I
was drunk, it would be no big deal, even though I happen to be observing my sober hour of the day. To cleanse the body. Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

“Not down here.”

“Yeah. But my point is that you are drunk and I am sober, so either this is part of some weird new ritual that I was supposed to have heard about when I was passed out at the last meeting, or the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse approach-eth.” Cappie eyed Evan as if waiting for an explanation. Knowing Cappie, he wouldn’t give up until he either got one or tricked one out of him.

Evan tried to switch topics. “I need to get out of the All-Greek Formal.”

“You can’t drink yourself into illness, dude. I’ve tried. Go lick some doorknobs. Or the floor in here.” Cappie looked around. “It’s not like you don’t own a tux. Or is the mighty Evan Chambers afraid of going stag? Because I will not gay-escort you. I still have to pretend to hate you in public.”

“Frannie and I broke up.”

“Ouch! Rejection.” He patted Evan on the shoulder. “It happens to the best of us. And the worst of us. In my vast experience, I can attest that even strippers will reject you.”

Evan chuckled. “Really?”

“Did you know they don’t take American Express? But seriously, Frannie ditched you? Her meal ticket?”

“That was the problem.” And just thinking about it gave Evan a headache. He definitely did not want to have the I-gave-up-my-trust-fund conversation with Cappie—not right now, anyway. “And
I
dumped
her.
”

“
What?
Am I getting crazy in my ears? Because that would be reason to celebrate, and this does not look like a celebratory stupor. I can tell the difference in stupors.”

“I bet you can,” Evan said.

Thankfully, the first confessor of the night took her place at the front next to the newly elected head of the society.

“Before we begin tonight’s confessions with Miss Sarah Franklin, does anyone have a pressing matter to bring before the society?” their new fearless leader asked.

Cappie, of all people, sprang up. “I do.”

Brett’s eye roll could practically be heard. “Yes, Cappie.” Which really meant,
No, Cappie, sit back down
.

But Cappie wasn’t interested in taking the hint. Instead he actually went to the front and stood before the other members in their carved wooden chairs. “It is my understanding that the bond between Amphora Society members is our most sacred tradition.”

“Yes, Mr. Cappie.” The president clearly had a
where are you going with this?
expression on his face.

“I say we not besmirch that bond by ignoring the agony of our sacred brother Mr. Chambers, who is right now mourning the death of his own sacred relationship with a beautiful if slightly ethically questionable woman. We should endeavor, as his society siblings, to support him in his time of need.”

“Mr. Chambers has not offered the confessional, if that’s what you mean.” The president glanced at Evan. “Nor does it appear he wants to.”

“This is not about the confessional. Evan doesn’t want to explain his problems to another person. He wants us to support him. And I think the best way to support him is to join him in a spirit of revelry over his emerging triumphant from a difficult situation—with some sacred amphora jar wine.”

The president, who had not had Cappie’s vote, sighed. “Nice try.” With his more serious voice, he said to the crowd, “Our initiate is correct in that we should support each other in our times of need. We will all drink the amphora wine together—
after
the meeting and confessionals. Please be seated.”

Cappie retook his seat. Evan was the only person not enthusiastic about this turn of events. “So now everyone knows.”

“Hey—you didn’t have to confess it yourself, and I scheduled a party instead.”

“You are making me drown in misery.”

“No,” Cappie said, nudging him. “I just really like that wine.”

“Yeah? How much? How can that be? Sushi’s not even
supposed to be cooked. There has to be some kind of discount. Okay. Fine, e-mail me the cost sheet. Thanks. Bye.” Rusty Cartwright shut off his phone, closed his apartment door and collapsed on the couch, his feet hanging off the armrest and his head on the seat cushions.

Dale, in the old-fashioned rocking chair that had made its way into their apartment via his mother, an overenthusiastic garage-sale shopper, was knitting, with a heavy science textbook in his lap. He didn’t even look up at Rusty’s dramatic entrance. “So is there food for next weekend? Because I could always declare it a public fast.” Dale was shorter than Rusty and a little stocky. His dark brown hair was longer, straighter, and fell just below his ears. Like an engineering department student stereotype, he had thick glasses shielding his dark eyes and pale face. Dale was unlike most Cyprus-Rhodes students in a number of ways. For one, he was a die-hard Southerner, yet he rarely spoke with an accent.

“I didn’t know you could repent while celebrating,” Rusty said. “And, yes, there is food. There’s even a meal at the hotel for the people arriving the night before. I finally found a place under the budget.”

“It was good of you to volunteer,” Dale said. “Gets you away from the House of Sin.”

“That’s a good name for a strip club.”

“It was the name of a strip club in my hometown,” Dale said. “It had a great sidewalk for picketing. After school on Fridays, we would celebrate our freedom by heading downtown to save some souls from temptation.”

“You know, technically, you could say that you spent your Friday nights in high school at a strip club.”

Dale said innocently, “And why would I be tempted to say that?”

Rusty sighed. Male posturing wasn’t worth explaining to a Christian fundamentalist who was currently knitting while sitting in a rocking chair. “Anyway, I didn’t really volunteer. I mean, I did, but it was more because my advisor heavily suggested I do it if I wanted to keep my place in the honors program.”

“I thought you said Dr. Hastings hated you.”

“He does.”

“Oh.” Dale at least got that. He wasn’t dumb, after all—that was the entire point of the engineering event. “Well, he is your advisor. Besides, if you had a 4.0 grade point average, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Dale, what was our agreement?”

“That if you got me a date I would stop rubbing your GPA in your face?”

“And you will have a date. I promise.” He added, “I’m working on it. That, and feeding a bunch of hungry alumni.”

Rusty suspected that Dale wasn’t truly over Sheila. That, or just the loneliness of single life was making Dale moody. He had quietly complained until Rusty had ended the conversation by offering to get him a date.

“Hey, do you have the guest list? And can I get a peek?”

“Yes, Microsoft will be there,” Rusty said, too tired to get up and get the actual list. “And every other major employer of engineers. But they’re sending random people. It’s not as if celebrities are gonna be there.”

“I’d love to be the Bill Gates of electrical engineering. Make millions of dollars, then give it all away to do missionary work and bring some faith to Africa.”

“I think Bill Gates is more about bringing food to Africa.”

“You can do that part. You know all about ordering food.” Fortunately for Dale he meant it as innocently as he meant everything else, which made Rusty less inclined to punch him. He wasn’t a violent person, really—neither of them were—but dealing with advisors and then the demands of cranky alumni was starting to wear on the younger Cartwright. Dale’s eyebrows rose hopefully. “Do you think they’ll let me play at the after-party?”

“Probably not. All I had to say was the band name and it was shot down. Darwin Lied isn’t winning you a lot of fans in the science and technology departments.”

“Darwin Lied is not about fans. It’s about the music. Maybe Silicon Valley hippie liberals aren’t ready for the amazing power of the truth. Did you know evolution is still taught in textbooks without warning labels in forty-nine states?”

“
Yes,
Dale.”

“The ignorance of some people. It’s an uphill battle.”

“Then can you not fight it in front of the rest of the honors engineering program?”

“I promise to hold out until the food comes.”

Rusty decided that would have to be good enough.

For once, Casey was early for her Sunday brunch date with her brother, and Rusty was late. Sad, because he had the food—and when he did arrive, it was bagged and obviously bought in a hurry from the campus bakery, located inside the social action center. Inside, the center was actually quite dismal and littered with posters from protests that neither Casey nor Rusty were a part of, but outside was the beautiful campus green and tables and chairs for students to enjoy the sunshine with their overpriced coffee.

“Croissant. Yum.” She didn’t say it sarcastically, but calling it a brunch really implied a lot more than a croissant. She waited for Rusty to unload, because if he didn’t start talking soon, he would definitely explode.

“My advisor is running me ragged,” he said. “Not academically, but over this awards dinner. I had to find a bidder under the university budget for the food, and the hotel we were supposed to send the alumni to was booked, so I had to talk the receptionist into a better deal at another hotel. I have four days before anyone important arrives and I’m having dreams that everyone goes to the wrong hotel and the only food sent is a giant bagel and I have to explain how I ordered a room-size bagel in front of the dean of the department in my underwear.”

“That’s why I suggested that Ashleigh run for social chair and keep the position for as long as possible, back before she was president. Welcome to the world of event planning.”

“Yeah, I am
not
going into hospitality. And speaking of honors engineering, did you find a date for Dale?”

She raised her hand, but it was more of a lowered wave. “Looks like I’m as desperate as he is for a solution to your problem.”

“Don’t say that. It’ll be Dale’s dream come true! But don’t be surprised if he asks you to come to the after-party. His band is playing.”

“Their music was surprisingly good, but I could do without the gospel lyrics.”

“Me, too.”

“And the name.”

“Me and you and everyone who has ever been part of a university science department and will be at this event, so I really need him not to mention it.
Especially
not in front of the biological advancement engineers.” He looked at her directly for the first time, something he didn’t tend to do when he was ranting. “Thank you for doing this. This means a lot to me, and it’ll mean way more to him. And then to me again if you get him to stop talking about Darwin Lied or his breakup with Sheila.”

“He still has a major crush on me, doesn’t he?”

Rusty shrugged. “He hasn’t mentioned it lately, but he hasn’t had a reason to. And a lot of reasons not to. Jordan said Sheila used to give her the evil eye, like Jordan was going out with me just to get to Dale or something. Now it’s just awkward when she sees her, because of the breakup.”

“There’s your solution. Convince Dale that Sheila is a witch and trying to cast a spell on Jordan. Baptists don’t like witches, do they?” Casey took another bite of her breakfast, which tasted leftover. “Though that could horribly backfire.”

“If it worked, yeah, pretty much the backfiring. He would probably storm out and sleep on the lawn until we found a new apartment. Or recite Bible passages until she throws me out by association.”

“With my name on the lease,” Casey said. “Okay, no witch angle. He could use a normal girlfriend—who’s not me.”

“I don’t know.” And it really sounded like he didn’t. “He still talks about his spiritual purity and redemption. He really cares about it. It’s important to him, and now that he’s lost it to Sheila, he might do something crazy. Like lose his faith. Did I tell you he asked her to marry him? That’s when she dumped him. Either way, it’s depressing. Everyone gets into horrible fights and depressions and feuds because of relationships. Dale is the one guy I know who was, like, above all that. And now this. He really needs to have a great time with a nice girl, no pressure, no judgment.”

Casey found herself nodding. The only girls she knew who didn’t obsess about guys and get depressed about their dating lives were either ditzy or heavily medicated. “So you’re really protecting him, with this date to the honors event.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I just want him to remain…I don’t know. Dale. He needs his self-respect back. He didn’t hold out for marriage like he planned to, and he definitely needs someone better than Sheila to help him get back to normal.”

Casey swatted his head, disheveling his curly hair further than it was already disheveled. “Aw. That’s so sweet.”

“Stop looking at me like I’m a baby kitten.”

“Your concerned expression is a good look for you. You should try it around Jordan.” She cringed. “Oh, my God. Did I just give my baby brother dating advice? I must be more stressed out than I thought.”

“What do you have to worry about?”

“A date for the formal. And don’t say his name.”

“Dale?”

“No, dork.”

It took him a second. “Cappie. Well, he’ll be there.”

“But not as
my
date. Ashleigh is representing ZBZ by taking our house hasher and I am going solo. Way to make an impression with Panhellenic.”

“The only thing I know about the Panhellenic is that it’s a group of Greeks arbitrarily judging other Greeks, and that it’s a dirty word at Kappa Tau. At least the IFC isn’t so strict.”

“You can’t be surprised by that.”

Rusty sighed. “Not really. Why do you care, anyway? Not about going alone, but about what Panhellenic thinks? You haven’t recently committed any pranks that almost got you and your whole house suspended.” He was referring to the homecoming incident, which had brought a plague on both the houses of Kappa Tau and Zeta Beta Zeta after a few of them had sabotaged the IKI float. Casey was legitimately uninvolved.

“Because my new advisor suggested that working with the council might be a good thing to have on my résumé for a political career. ZBZ has a Panhellenic representative, of course, but I’m wondering if there isn’t some way I can get involved.”

“Your new advisor? What happened to your old one?”

“I left prelaw and my advisor went with it. The paperwork is still crawling through the gooey muck of the registrar’s system, but if it goes through I may be switching to poli-sci.”

“Political science? Do you have the credits to graduate on time with that major?”

“If I load up in my final semester, yes. I know Mom and Dad would definitely not appreciate paying for a fifth year. So my academic career is…not in crisis mode…but my social life is.”

“I know I sound like a hypocrite for saying this—” because
he had a girlfriend, of course “—but finding the right person is much less important right now. I know you’ve spent most of college in one relationship or another but…you’re a ZBZ and you’re good with people. I’m sure you’ll find someone eventually.”

“Who is not Cappie.”

“You know, you’re the one who keeps bringing up his name.”

Casey finished her croissant with a very unsatisfying munch. “I know. Bad habit. Let’s talk about something else. Like…Rob?” She saw him emerge from around the corner of the student center and, upon seeing them, head in their direction.

“You know Robert Howell?” Rusty asked.

“
You
know Robert Howell?”

“He’s Dean Bowman’s new assistant, and Bowman is, like, obsessed with the engineering event going well. Alumni money and all that.”

“I know. About Rob, that is. He came by the ZBZ house with a code of conduct Ashleigh had to sign,” she explained quickly. “Hi, Rob.”

“Casey, right?” He looked a little hesitant. “I’m here to get some paperwork from Russell, actually. Do you guys—”

“The food order is on my flash drive. My printer is busted,” Rusty interrupted. “Casey’s my sister. I know we kinda don’t look or act alike—”

“You know you can print your paperwork at the student center,” Casey said, rather insistently. “That is, if Mr. Howell is willing to wait.”

“Please, call me Rob,” he said, smiling shyly. “And, yes, I can wait. In fact I’m paid hourly, so take your time.”

Rusty jumped up. “Got it. Food order. Printer. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Rob sat down on the bench next to Casey. “So what’s going on in the exciting world of ZBZ? Or can you not tell me because of a sorority code?”

“We’re not the Amphora Society.” At his look of confusion, Casey explained, “It’s like Cyprus-Rhodes’s Skull-and-Bones, but way more underground and way less threatening. I’m not sure it even exists, but two of my ex-boyfriends spent a huge chunk of time searching for their secret lair.”

“I take it they didn’t find it.”

“It remains a mystery to me to this day,” she said. “But ZBZ is not, like, secret. We’re just normal girls—hanging out, obsessing about clothing and guys, listening to the pledges complain about mandatory study hours…”

“You’re pledge educator?”

“I was pledge educator, then interim president, and now I’m pledge educator again. I don’t know when I decided that scheduling was going to be the bulk of my college experience, but here I am.”

“You sound…I don’t want to say—”

“Depressed? And you’re not way off the mark. I love ZBZ, enough to put up with all of the institutional nonsense and overeager pledges, but I’m a senior. I’m supposed to be cynical about my college experience, thinking of wasted time as the clock ticks down to real life.” She added, “Wow, that is depressing.”

“It’s realistic,” Rob said. “A little frustration with the system can spur you to move on to bigger and better things. That’s why I left Cornell—it was a bad atmosphere for me. And their political science department was really lacking. Mostly overworked but tenured professors, biding their time until they decide to retire.”

“You’re poli-sci?”