Richard Laymon - Blood Games

‘Do y’know who I am?’ Vivian asked, slurring her words.

‘Uh… sure.’

‘These’re my friends.’

‘Yo!’ Cora blurted, and raised her bottle as if toasting the guy.

‘Pleased to make yer ’quaintance,’ Helen said.

‘Howdy,’ Abilene greeted him, and winked.

Finley, behind them, said nothing as she videotaped the scene.

‘What are… what’s going on?’

‘Come t’see the fellas,’ Vivian said. ‘Hear they’re hankerin’ t’see me.'

‘Gonna let ush in?’ Helen asked.

‘We’re gonna give ’em a show,’ Vivian said. A roll of ohe shoulder sent a strap of her gown sliding down her upper arm.

A frat brother appeared behind the guy in the door and looked out. His mouth fell open. ‘Holy shit,’ he said. ‘What gives?’

‘We do,’ Abilene said, winking as she shook her beer bottle at him.

‘They want to come in.’

‘For Godsake, who’s stopping them? Step right in, ladies.’ He pulled his friend out of the doorway. ‘Go get the others, Bill. I’ll escort these ladies into the parlor.’

Whirling around, Bill dashed to the stairway just beyond the foyer. He sprang up the stairs two and three at a time.

‘I’m Doug,’ said the other. He held the door wide and swept his arm, gesturing for the girls to enter. ‘This is certainly an unexpected surprise.’

‘It’ll get even bedder,’ Vivian said, giving his cheek a brief caress as she staggered by.

‘You gals have been partying, huh?’

‘Just gettin’ started,’ Cora said.

‘Feelin’ wild ’n homy,’ Helen said.

Abilene halted, facing Doug. With a slanted grin, she said, ‘We know you Siggies’re wild ’n homy, too.’ Doug proved her point by fastening his eyes on her cleavage. ‘Yer gonna see a lot more’n that preddy soon.’

He blew through his pursed lips. ‘Whew. Can’t wait, if I do say so myself.’ Abilene walked on.

Looking back, she saw Finley poke her lens into the guy’s face. ‘I’m the official historian. The tape of tonight’s proceeding will be copied by my own self and sent to your esteemed fraternity.’

‘Great. Fabulous.’

Doug led them into the ‘parlor,’ a dimly lighted, plushly furnished room to the left of the foyer. As he scurried about, turning on lamps, the sounds of voices and thudding footfalls came from above.

Abilene heard whoops and yells.

Someone yelled, ‘You gotta be shitting me!’

Another voice shouted, ‘WHO?’

‘Fuckin’ A!’

'Five of ’em?’

‘I be died ’n gone to heaven!’

‘Let me at ’em! ’

‘Bombed? Oh, man!’

Doug laughed and shook his head. ‘Sounds as if the guys’ll be along any minute. Would you ladies like to be seated and make yourselves comfortable?’

They all glanced around at the sofas and easy chairs, as if considering the offer. Finley panned the room with her camera.

‘We can’t very well do what we’re gonna do,’ Vivian said, ‘if we’re sitting down.’

‘Sides,’ Cora said, ‘you guys’ll wanta be sittin’ for our show.’ Doug pursed his lips again and scrunched up his eyes. He appeared to be in an agony of expectation.

Abilene, standing shoulder to shoulder with her friends, watched a herd of young men stampede down the stairs. They let out whoops and war cries. Only a few were fully dressed. Some wore robes. Many were bare to the waist, some wearing only shorts or pajama bottoms. A few wore nothing but skivvies. What’ve we gotten ourselves into here? Abilene wondered. Her heart slammed so hard that she felt dizzy, and she struggled to catch her breath.

As those at the front of the crowd reached the parlor’s entryway, Vivian raised her beer bottle. ‘Greetings, fellas!’

A cheer went up.

‘Quiet down ’n take your seats,’ she announced. ‘The show will not begin until you’re all seated and we have your undivided attention.’

‘You’ve sure as shit got that,’ said a leering thick-neck who looked like a body-builder. He wore black, bikini underwear. He peered at the tops of Abilene’s breasts as he sauntered past her.

I’m gonna have a coronary , she thought. I’m gonna drop dead on the floor and they’ll gang-bang me while they wait for the paramedics .

Every single one of the Sigs — and Abilene figured there must be more than twenty of them — ogled her and Cora and Finley and Vivian (especially Vivian, of course), and most of them even gawped at Helen, whose massive bosom threatened to pop free of her low-cut dress.

A lot of the guys had red faces. Some looked nervous. Others grinned. Abilene saw plenty of shaking heads. She heard sighs and a few low whistles.

At least they’re all strangers , she thought.

She’d seen most of them around campus, but Rush Week hadn’t taken place yet so there were no freshmen among them. It was daunting that they were all upper-classmen, but a relief that nobody here was in classes with her.

Turning around, she watched them scurry for easy chairs and crowd onto the sofas, pushing and shoving. Several of them ended up sitting on the floor’s plush, burgundy carpet.

Soon, all of them were seated except one. He was a tall, slender guy with short hair and a smirking face. He wore faded blue gym shorts and sandals. He stood in front of an armchair that looked like a throne.

‘On behalf of my somewhat astonished brothers,’ he said, ‘I bid you welcome to the Sig house. I’m Cliff Rogers, President.’ With that, he sat down.

Vivian raised her beer bottle toward him. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Vivian Drake, but I suppose all of you know that.’

Nods, murmurs, grins.

‘I’m Cora Evans, Viv’s roommate.’

‘Abilene Randolph.’

‘Helen Winters.’

‘Finley here. Virginia Finley.’ As she spoke, she swept the audience with her camera.

‘We want you all to know our names,’ Vivian said. ‘Know them and remember them. And remember what we do here tonight.’

‘And what, exactly, is that?’ Cliff asked.

‘First, we collect.’

‘Collect?’

She smiled broadly and nodded. ‘Five hundred bucks. That’s the amount, right?’

‘Does anyone know what she’s talking about?’ Cliff asked, scanning his frat brothers.

They all shook their heads, murmured disclaimers, and tried to act innocent.

‘Whoever’s keeping the kitty,’ Cora said, ‘had better run and fetch it.’

‘Or the show doesn’t go on,’ Vivian added. ‘The way we see it, a live show with the five of us’ll be a lot more fun for you fellas than a plain old videotape of just me.’

‘In addition,’ Finley announced, ‘you’ll get a tape of the festivities. To help you remember.’

‘You aren’t serious,’ Cliff said.

‘Watch and see,’ Vivian said.

‘Money first,’ Cora said.

Eyes narrow, Cliff regarded the girls. Then he nodded toward a husky guy on one of the sofas. ‘Rathbone, go get it.’

A cheer went up.

Rathbone rose to his feet, hitched up his sagging boxer shorts, and strode toward Finley. He jabbed an index finger at her lens. ‘You,’ he muttered. ‘You’re meat.’

‘I’m trembling,’ she said.

Several of the guys booed and jeered.

‘Hey Boner, she beat you out?’ someone called.

Rathbone flipped his middle finger at his detractors, then hurried from the parlor. Swinging around, Finley taped his exit.

After he was gone, the room fell silent. The girls stood motionless, side by side. The Sigs stared at them, eyes darting about, never settling, focusing briefly on breasts here, faces there, then moving on but coming back a few moments later.

This was a very stupid idea, Abilene thought. Should’ve just let Finley hand over the shower room tape.