[email protected]
to: [email protected]
re: Dear, sweet—
—naive
Claudia: Is it possible that Gabe was merely jealous? After all, it does sort of sound like you were vibing on his friend. A lot of guys—even guys with girfriends—get bent out of shape about stuff like that.
Or so I hear.
“What do you think?” Charlie asked, twirling so as to give me a more accuratefull-body view of her gorgeosity (which, I will admit, is impressive). In preparation for our rush “cocktails,” Charlie wore a slip dress in a sleek gunmetal gray shade, and strappy shoes that looked dangerously uncomfortable. She had set her hair in hot rollers so that blond waves now tumbled over her otherwise bare shoulders, and her makeup managed to pick up on the subtle shimmer of the dress without making her look like a runaway Christmas tree ornament. I was impressed. She had clearly picked up some skills in the Georgia Peach beauty pageants of the past.
As an act of supreme kindness, she had even extended her expertise to me in a consultory role. I wore a lacy black skirt that just skimmed my knees, and a soft pink cashmere tank top that Charlie assured me complemented my light brown hair and brown eyes. Me, I was just going for as much comfort as I could, right down to the simple ballet flats I wore on my feet. “Very Hepburn,” Charlie had appraised, making a thumbs-up gesture. “Audrey, I mean.”
“Thanks,” I replied, taking a moment to touch up my eye makeup.
“Claudia, I really wanted to tell you again how much it means to me that you’re doing this,” Charlie said.
I felt a tinge of guilt. “Charlie, I told you, I’m just giving it a try. I promised I would go to this event tonight and keep an open mind—I certainly don’t think there’s anything wrong with rushing, or pledging, or whatever.
But,
I really do want to get more involved at the paper, and if I don’t want to stick with the rushing, you have to be cool about that.”
“Of course!” she insisted, giving me an enthusiastic but mindful-of-our-swanky-clothing squeeze. “I promise you I will. No worries, no hard feelings.”
She sounded sincere, I had to admit. But I was worried, nonetheless. It was the look in her eyes.
Two hours and twenty minutes later, which was two hours into “cocktails,” and the look in Charlie’s eyes had intensified to one of utter awe. I had to admit that the Tri-Delts were classy. Or, at least, their sorority house was. Again, it was a Colonial style house built of red brick, but it was nearlytwice the size of the Sigma-Nu house and vastly cleaner, which just goes to show about the fairer sex. Cocktails and mingling were being held in the sitting room, which, as near as I could tell, was a fancy word for a living room, just off of the enormous dining area. Charlie sat on a chaise in the far cor-ner, sipping a Cosmopolitan and telling an elaborate anecdote that somehow involved quite a bit of enthusiastic, tinkling laughter and the tossing of her hair back over her shoulder. This party was the flagship event of the rush period, intended to kick off the week as a “getting to know you” among all of the sisters of the various houses and all of the potential rushees. But, somehow, Charlie had practically become the primary attraction of the evening. I felt an odd and perhaps misplaced sense of pride. I also felt a sense of relief. If I decided that I didn’t want to do this, the girl would clearly be okay without me.
“Do you need another drink?” I looked up to find a very petite, very perky girl with short blond hair holding a silver serving tray laden with flutes of champagne. Another sister. I shook my head and tiltedmy own Cosmopolitan at her by way of demonstration.
“Oh, great,” she squeaked. She set her tray down and plopped onto the overstuffed chintz chair next to me. “We were worried that no one was drinking the Cosmos.” She pointed at her name tag. “I’m Meredith. I’m
to: [email protected]
re: Dear, sweet—
—naive
Claudia: Is it possible that Gabe was merely jealous? After all, it does sort of sound like you were vibing on his friend. A lot of guys—even guys with girfriends—get bent out of shape about stuff like that.
Or so I hear.
“What do you think?” Charlie asked, twirling so as to give me a more accuratefull-body view of her gorgeosity (which, I will admit, is impressive). In preparation for our rush “cocktails,” Charlie wore a slip dress in a sleek gunmetal gray shade, and strappy shoes that looked dangerously uncomfortable. She had set her hair in hot rollers so that blond waves now tumbled over her otherwise bare shoulders, and her makeup managed to pick up on the subtle shimmer of the dress without making her look like a runaway Christmas tree ornament. I was impressed. She had clearly picked up some skills in the Georgia Peach beauty pageants of the past.
As an act of supreme kindness, she had even extended her expertise to me in a consultory role. I wore a lacy black skirt that just skimmed my knees, and a soft pink cashmere tank top that Charlie assured me complemented my light brown hair and brown eyes. Me, I was just going for as much comfort as I could, right down to the simple ballet flats I wore on my feet. “Very Hepburn,” Charlie had appraised, making a thumbs-up gesture. “Audrey, I mean.”
“Thanks,” I replied, taking a moment to touch up my eye makeup.
“Claudia, I really wanted to tell you again how much it means to me that you’re doing this,” Charlie said.
I felt a tinge of guilt. “Charlie, I told you, I’m just giving it a try. I promised I would go to this event tonight and keep an open mind—I certainly don’t think there’s anything wrong with rushing, or pledging, or whatever.
But,
I really do want to get more involved at the paper, and if I don’t want to stick with the rushing, you have to be cool about that.”
“Of course!” she insisted, giving me an enthusiastic but mindful-of-our-swanky-clothing squeeze. “I promise you I will. No worries, no hard feelings.”
She sounded sincere, I had to admit. But I was worried, nonetheless. It was the look in her eyes.
Two hours and twenty minutes later, which was two hours into “cocktails,” and the look in Charlie’s eyes had intensified to one of utter awe. I had to admit that the Tri-Delts were classy. Or, at least, their sorority house was. Again, it was a Colonial style house built of red brick, but it was nearlytwice the size of the Sigma-Nu house and vastly cleaner, which just goes to show about the fairer sex. Cocktails and mingling were being held in the sitting room, which, as near as I could tell, was a fancy word for a living room, just off of the enormous dining area. Charlie sat on a chaise in the far cor-ner, sipping a Cosmopolitan and telling an elaborate anecdote that somehow involved quite a bit of enthusiastic, tinkling laughter and the tossing of her hair back over her shoulder. This party was the flagship event of the rush period, intended to kick off the week as a “getting to know you” among all of the sisters of the various houses and all of the potential rushees. But, somehow, Charlie had practically become the primary attraction of the evening. I felt an odd and perhaps misplaced sense of pride. I also felt a sense of relief. If I decided that I didn’t want to do this, the girl would clearly be okay without me.
“Do you need another drink?” I looked up to find a very petite, very perky girl with short blond hair holding a silver serving tray laden with flutes of champagne. Another sister. I shook my head and tiltedmy own Cosmopolitan at her by way of demonstration.
“Oh, great,” she squeaked. She set her tray down and plopped onto the overstuffed chintz chair next to me. “We were worried that no one was drinking the Cosmos.” She pointed at her name tag. “I’m Meredith. I’m
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