Diana Peterfreund - Under the Rose

“Aye,” said the women.

“Aye,” said the men.

“Aye.” Angel shrugged and joined in.

“Aye,” said Puck. “We’d never want ’boo to be uncomfortable. ”

“Aye,” I said, and smirked at Poe.

Thorndike took a deep breath. “The motion is passed.” She looked at Poe. “We request that Patriarch Poe of D176 leave the Inner Temple for the duration of the meeting.”

And then she tapped the gavel thrice, once, and twice on the pillar.

Poe didn’t look at her. He kept his cold gray eyes on me, and for a moment, when the last crack of the gavel sounded through the room, I thought I saw him flinch.

“Fine,” he said, shrugging to his feet. “I’m out of here.” His stately walk across the room was accompanied by not a single glance at any of the Diggers who’d just thrown him out. At the door, he paused. “If you guys hope to win back the favor of the patriarchs, let me give you a gentle hint. This is not the way to make it happen.”

The door closed behind him and we all sat (or in my case, stood) in silence. Connubial Bliss frowned down at me. I ignored her. It was bad enough I had to put my love life up to the scrutiny of my own club members. Poe was over the line.

“Okay,” Puck said at last, breaking the tension. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Enough of that. Bring on the sexy stories.”

I smiled, and he grinned back. Sexy stories, huh? Without you in them, how sexy could they be? As I stood there, watching him do his best to get the rest of our brothers back on track and winking at me with those copper-colored eyes, I knew as sure as the painted chick behind me was naked that someday soon, I would have a story with George.

And I’d be super-glad I’d waited until after my C.B.

From: Lancelot-D176@phimalarlico.org

To: Bugaboo-D177@phimalarlico.org

Subject: Re: C.B.s and other indignities

no matter what you said in your e-mail, i can tell your c.b. went well! you survived! i knew you would! i’m sorry this whole patriarch thing is dragging out. i can speak from experience that it’s no fun when the people you look up to are turning their backs on you. but our decisions are correct. i know it. hang in there. i think soze will steer you right. he’s the best choice for club secretary because he knows how to win the hearts and minds of the alums. and if things start to get real sticky, you’ve got poe right there on campus to help you guys out. i know he would love to be involved.

things here are going well. there’s something so open about this landscape. all the old bullshit begins to seem so unimportant. maybe you should rethink your whole grad school idea and come live with me in the wintry north? i promise you, that thing they say about the male population is *not* just the stuff of legend.:-)

I think Malcolm may have been spending too much time with his Brokeback Mountain DVD. But all in all, a sweet e-mail. Maybe if it had been him in the Inner Temple last night instead of Poe, I wouldn’t have been so adamant about current-members-only. Malcolm wouldn’t hold my C.B. against me. And the rest of my club—who would later have to offer up their own peccadillos—didn’t judge me for the mistakes I’ve made in my relationships, for breaking the heart of a wonderful boy like Brandon, for engaging in illicit activity with some guy I didn’t even know. Heck, George was probably proud of me for it! I could confess anything and they wouldn’t hold it against me, like I didn’t hold admissions of cheating against—

I heard a thump and a giggle through the wall separating my room from Lydia’s.

— against Josh. I mean, not yet anyway. Besides, everyone makes mistakes.

There was a bit of rustling and then, “Shhh! What are you doing?” A little squeal of pleasure.

Didn’t they have a Monday morning class to get to or something? They were supposed to be so smart and high-achieving and Phi Beta Kappa and all—didn’t they have work to do?

I certainly did. I had yet to schedule a meeting with my thesis advisor to discuss my senior project. Unfortunately, I still didn’t have a firm topic. Or any topic. I clicked over to my word processing program and reviewed my notes. Not exactly impressive. Certainly not worthy of honors in the major, and definitely nothing that would stand out on a grad school application. But, what was three-fourths of a literary degree worth but to make the flimsy look substantial? I began to edit.

There was another giggle from the vicinity of Lydia’s room. I rolled my eyes and kept typing. They’d been sequestered in there all morning, and I’d bet dollars to donuts there was no political science summit going on.

Right after I pressed Save, there was a knock at our suite door. I stilled, waiting to see if there’d be any rustling through the wall to signal they’d get it. But Lydia and Josh were clearly not in any position to be pulling themselves together and answering the door. I sighed, and fingered my messy topknot. Fine. Some of us were doing homework, and some of us were hooking up, but whose right to refuse interruption seemed more valid? The couple’s. Of course.

I padded across our parquet floor and opened the door. Behind it stood Brandon Weare.

“Hi, Amy” were the first two words I’d heard from him in more than a month. “Can we talk?”

I hereby confess:

I’m scarred by the experience.

THINGS I WANTED TO SAY TO BRANDON

1)“Of course. Can we talk about your beautiful girlfriend?”

2)“What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I love you when I had the chance?”

3)“You couldn’t maybe have come at a time when I looked positively smashing?”

4)“Sure. It wasn’t bad enough that my roommate and my society brother were getting it on while I’m trying to do my homework. I need more romantic torture today and a tête-à-tête with the ex fits the bill.”

THINGS I DID SAY

1)“Brandon. Wow. Hi. Come in.”

And then I put my hand to my hair in the universal girly gesture of “Oh, look what a mess I am, I usually look so much better than this,” and ushered him into the room. I took a seat on the couch. He hesitated, then sat across from me on the coffee table. (Pinprick #1)

“How have you been?” he asked.

“Good. You?”

“Busy.” He smiled sheepishly and began folding a stray piece of paper on the table. “Working my ass off on my thesis. Have you started yours yet?”

I shook my head. “No. I need to soon, though. I was just e-mailing my advisor about our meeting.”

“What are you going to write about?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I admitted. Brandon and I used to talk about our Lit papers all the time. I wondered if he now had those conversations with Felicity. I wondered if he proofread Felicity’s papers for her and then sent them back to her in the shape of little paper airplanes.

Brandon folded a nose onto the airplane he was creating out of a “subscribe to Cosmo ” postcard. Yeah, that’s exactly what he did. Brandon flirts with aerogami. I watched his hands. His summer tan had faded, and they were back to being the pale olive color I remembered. I’d always loved how his skin looked against mine. At the thought, my skin flushed with heat.

To get my mind off its train of thought, I said, “I’m thinking maybe something with feminist theory. Maybe some sort of examination of female myths from several traditions.”