Chapter 9
Eleanor Landers took particular pains with her make-up and attire. She had been given a room which three other new pledges-Ruth Jorgenson, Myrna Henshaw and Marcia Alton-shared with her. Kathy Edwards, she had learned, and much to her relief, was rooming with Roberta MacDonald and Marge Jones, with the sophomore DGT member brunette Liz Valcour teaming up with the newly pledged trio to help give them tips in how to adhere to the sorority code. Cissy Williams visited the room where Eleanor and her three colleagues were quartered, every now and then, just to give them a pep talk on the responsibilities of being a DGT. Eleanor had the feeling Cissy didn't much like her, and it was mutual so far as she was concerned.
There wasn't too much trouble getting the bathroom for a shower, because her three roommates didn't have any weekend dates and were content just to laze around before Mrs. Emmons rang the gong for supper. Eleanor stood under the shower spray and reveled in the stinging cold splash of water against her creamy nudity, feeling alive and eager for the night ahead. And when she had dried herself with a big thick Turkish towel, she sprayed just a hint of Chanel Number Five at the elbow and armpits and her slim wrists. As for make-up, just a touch of green eye shadow and black mascara to the lashes, and very little lipstick. For once, she wanted to have a man judge her by her natural physical attributes. That was why the dress was a good deal more important than make-up.
The dress was one she'd packed away and hadn't worn yet, and it was hanging in a plastic wardrobe bag in the big closet she shared with the other three pledges. When she walked back into the spacious room with its double bed on one side and low wide couch on the other, she was wearing gauzy off-black nylons and black leather pumps, a white satin-elastic panty girdle and matching strapless bra with the narrowest of bandeaus. And svelte Myrna Henshaw whistled admiringly: "Hey, lookit Elly! Whose heart are you gonna break tonight?"
"Don't call me Elly, please," Eleanor said stiffly. She felt a mature woman in comparison with these ingenuous teenagers, even if they were attending college. Ruth was just a big beautiful blonde, built for home and a family but not the long haul of an academic career, and she was first to admit it. And Myrna, for all her pert looks, had been a baker's daughter back in Peoria and helped out on Saturdays by selling to customers in her dad's store. As for Marcia Alton, that petite charmer didn't have an ounce of sophistry to her make-up.
"Oh, so sorry, Your Majesty," Myrna made a low curtsy. "But seriously speaking, you've got a perfectly scrumptious figure. I used to think being slim was an advantage with boys, but one look at you and I've got my doubts."
"I forgive you for calling me Elly," Eleanor grinned, both amused and pleased by this flattering avowal. "Now I want your opinion on this dress."
She brought it out of the closet, slipped off the plastic wardrobe bag, and then slowly donned it. Even Marcia and Ruth joined in the "Oohs" and "Ahhs" that Myrna exhaled. It was made of silver lam‚ and at the cleft of the breasts it had a sheer black net panel in the shape of an oval, which revealed the inner curves of those magnificent round love globes and enhanced the creamy satin of the bare flesh just beneath. It was an off-the-shoulder dress, with sewn-in slip, and it clung lovingly to Eleanor's alluringly smooth-curved hips and rounded thighs as if she had been poured into it.
"Wow!" Myrna murmured, shaking her head. "It must have cost a fortune."
"It's a Balenciaga, dear. I got it in Paris," Eleanor purred, hugely satisfied with the effect. She could have hoped for no better tribute, because girls are usually catty about one another's clothes. But the looks of awe and envy shining on those three lovely faces about her left no room for doubts.
"Well, we better be getting down to supper. It's lamb stew," Marcia said reluctantly. "I don't have to ask whether you're joining us, do I, Eleanor?"
"No, darling. And don't wait up."
"Who's the lucky boy?" June wanted to know.
"Really, dear," Eleanor drawled languidly, putting a hand to the carefully styled oval bun at the back of her regal head, "can you see me going out on a date with some clumsy boy in a dress like this? Never you mind who it is. He's mine, and one of these days you'll see a 'Hands Off sign on him. When the proper time comes, never fear. So, enjoy your lamb stew. And give Madame President my best regards. I don't want to make her too envious, seeing this dress, so I'll sneak off right now. Bye, all!"
The white Ford Thunderbird was parked in a little garage in Marwell, about five miles away from campus. But Eleanor had anticipated how to get to it without trouble. She had asked Dave Vandenburg, a big, gangling junior who sat in the back row in the English Lit class, if he'd be a perfect angel and come by and pick her up about six-ish this evening. She wanted, she had told him, to ask his advice on doing a theme about James Joyce's "Ulysses." And Dave, she knew, had eyed her so avidly and longingly ever since she had started that class, that she knew he'd grab at the chance to be alone with her. Sure enough, there was his old blue Nash parked at the curb of the DGT house, and he was grinning from ear to ear. She wore a light cloth coat with a Peter Pan collar, smart and expensive and acquired at Bonwit Teller just before she'd come to Marwell.
"Thanks, Dave. It was sweet of you to pick me up.
Can you drive me into town?"
"You know it, Eleanor. Gee, I was thinkin' maybe we could grab a steak and-"
She put a hand on his knee and stared soulfully into his calf-like brown eyes. "Oh, I'm so dreadfully sorry, Dave dear. You see, my car's parked in that garage next to the grocery store. And I have to drive to Springfield to see a sick cousin. We'll do it some other time. But while we're driving there, I did so want to hear your ideas about that Joyce book. I can't seem to make head or tail of it, and I just know a smart fellow like you has it all doped out."
"Well, now," he grinned sheepishly, "I don't like to brag, but I do know a lot about Joyce. You see, my dad used to teach high school, and-"
For the next ten minutes, Dave Vandenburg rambled on and on about Joyce and "Ulysses" and how the author had made use of the technique of "stream of consciousness" so that you could identify with his train of thought. Eleanor Landers nodded and put in an admiring, "My gracious, how smart you are to have figured all that out!" at a propitious moment every so often, and the serious-faced junior was in seventh heaven and, needless to say, completely taken in by Eleanor's trumped-up story about the sick cousin. He insisted on driving the Thunderbird out of the garage himself and making sure it was gassed and oiled up sufficiently for the trip to Springfield. And after the big white car vanished in the distance, he stood looking after it with adoration in his eyes, shaking his head and sighing, "Gosh." Eleanor Landers had made another conquest. But it was hardly--likely to occupy her mind for very long. She was, however, careful to head the Thunderbird in the direction of Springfield, knowing that Dave was watching. Because Hanneford was, as anybody knew, in the opposite direction...
She had an hour for twenty miles, but she wanted that extra time for thinking things out. She could foresee what might happen tonight. This Balenciaga dress was going to work him up if he were any kind of man at all, and she was very sure he was very much a man. And mature and a bachelor; she had checked very carefully on Mark Torrance, because Tonia Morris, another devoted friend from Comstock Hall, worked in the registrar's office and had access to the files on faculty as well as students. And Tonia had confirmed Mark Torrance's quite eligible status. And he was a full professor, which meant high academic standing. It was certainly true that he couldn't afford to be involved in any kind of scandal. Once a teacher has the black mark of dalliance with one of his female pupils against his record, future jobs become as scarce as the proverbial hens' teeth.
If he were one of those fumbling campus males, she could expect mauling, whining or sullen anger, or maybe even a hectic struggle to defend her virtue. With a man like Mark Torrance, there wasn't any such danger. You said yes or no to a man like that, and he accepted it because he knew the score. He might just catch her imagine enough to want to have him around for a long time, maybe even as a husband. Marriage to a professor would please both Dad and Laura, and put an end to their policing her. At the same time, it would also leave her free to flirt all she liked and have any number of discreet little affairs, just to prove her powers. What she wanted was a court, a retinue as in the days of yore, as if she were a princess with everyone bowing to pay her tribute. Mark could very well be her prince, and there would be others happy to play the role of court jester or intimate attendant.
Of course she had no intention of yielding to his importunities this very first date. She was quite certain he would try to get her to go to bed with him, and she was anticipating how she would rebuff him. She would tempt him till he was mad for her, always with the promise of eventual fulfillment, and then it would be the ring, bell, book and candle or nothing. And she was prepared for his saying nothing too. Or she would be their next date. She was going to drive back to Chicago next weekend and buy one of those tiny transistorized tape recorders which could fit inside a purse. She would let him go on hoping he was going to score, let the little recorder take down all his foolish, impassioned protestations of undying love. And then, when she would tell him that he had to make it legal before he could take her to bed, if he refused, the tape recorder would be the convincer. Playing it to the dean of women wouldn't exactly help his reputation on campus. He would be looked upon as a corrupter of young womanhood, a defiler of trusting, hopeful innocence. She was going to pay him back a little for his cynicism this afternoon, or her name wasn't Eleanor Landers.
She had smoked half a dozen cigarettes and driven in a wide circle around the edge of Hanneford. Glancing at her wrist watch, she saw that it was twenty after seven.
He was waiting for her in a booth at the back of the cozy little restaurant. There weren't many customers around, and no one she recognized. He rose to meet her and to help her off with her coat. When he removed it, his eyes widened and he remarked softly, "I ought to have told you that Hanneford isn't quite Chicago. I'm afraid that imagine dress is going to be wasted. And it won't make their steaks one bit better."
"You think it'll be wasted, Mark?" she murmured back as she seated herself at the very back of the booth. There was a light fixture overhead, and she wanted the light above and behind her to intensify the aura of the silver lam‚". She could tell by his frown as he sat down opposite her that it was already beginning to work. He couldn't help stealing a covert glance at the net panel which exposed the tempting inner curves of her round breasts. And that was hardly a professorial glance he had stolen, either.
"To answer your question, no," he finally said as he looked around for the waitress. She was a little bespectacled plump woman who greeted them cordially and handed each a large menu, volunteering, "In case you folks aren't fish eaters on Friday, we've got some gorgeous filet mignons tonight."
"Say no more," Mark chuckled, handing her back the menu. "Thick, medium, covered with mushrooms and crisp shoestring potatoes. A tossed salad with vinegar and olive oil, and have the chef just rub the bowl with garlic, not leave it in. Hm-a shrimp cocktail to start with. Black coffee with strawberry shortcake for dessert-and cover the shortcake with berries, never mind the whipped cream. Any wine tonight, Miss?"
"Just domestic," the waitress said apologetically.
"A bottle of red then-and please don't chill it. Well, Eleanor, how does that sound?"
"Heavenly, when I think of the lamb stew they were going to have at the house tonight," she laughed. "The very same for me, except I like my steak rare."
"Right away," the waitress bobbed her head and hastened off to the kitchen.
"You sound bloodthirsty with that preference for rare meat," Mark chuckled, offering her a cigarette. Eleanor purposely leaned forward more than was necessary to accept it; she was well aware how her bosom surged against the sheer net paneling of the silver lame dress. And when he struck a match to light it for her, she could see the open admiration in his blue eyes. It was going to be ever so simple. He might be the smartest English Lit professor anywhere in the U.S., but he would just be duck soup for her. It was a pity she hadn't thought of the little tape recorder earlier. But then she had to give him credit for having a little more polish than a B.M.O.C.; he was hardly--likely to go overboard in his protestations of undying love their very first date. And there would be others. Quite a few others.
"Oh, I'm not. You've misjudged me," she said airily.
"Have I?"
"Yes. You think I'm a scheming, conniving girl."
"I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't noticed a hint of it in your personality, Eleanor. And I'm interested in finding out why you want to date a stick in the mud like myself. I'm just a professor at a small Illinois college, not overly distinguished. And you don't have to impress me with your charm and beauty-which are considerable-to get a good grade. You're not that stupid."
"Did you ever stop to think that sometimes a girl has to pretend it's leap year, when she wants to go after a man she just happens to like? Or maybe you can't help thinking what you do because you are a professor and I am one of your students. But I do wish you would, just the same."
He waited till the waitress had set down their shrimp cocktails and a bottle of special sauce. "Well, that's at least a fairly original line, I'll give you that," he countered.
She dug a fork viciously into an unoffending shrimp and glared at him as she jabbed the fork towards him. "You said we were going to meet as boy and girl. Why don't you start acting that way, then, Mark? I don't want to feel like one of your students. But if you keep twisting my words and making fun of me, I'll start thinking that maybe I misjudged you instead."
"Oh? You've already formed some opinions about me?"
She put the fork daintily to her red mouth, watched him as she chewed the tender baby shrimp and swallowed it. Then she nodded very slowly. "A few."
"For instance?"
"That you're not exactly the woman-hater you want me to think you are, Mark. That you're probably as lonesome as I am. Sure I'm lonesome. Just because I'm in a sorority doesn't mean I've got what I want out of life. I come from Chicago, from a very wealthy family. There's night life there, and the orchestra and opera, and wonderful restaurants, and sports and everything. And the most marvelous shops. And here I'm cooped up in a little college town, and I don't dare do anything I shouldn't-where back home it would be lots easier. And I don't much care for the inane, immature fellows that all the other girls seem to be crazy about."
"I noticed you talking to Dave Vandenburg the other day after class."
"Oh, him," Eleanor sniffed contemptuously. "I just wanted him to drive me to town so I could get my car and meet you here, you idiot. Do you honestly think I'd go for that big ape, all arms and legs and that sappy grin of his? Give me some credit, Mark, please!"
"He's a pretty fair student. I think he's going to teach when he finishes here."
"I didn't come all this way to meet you just to talk about Dave Vandenburg," she hissed, again jabbing her fork into the depleted cocktail glass.
"I'm sorry. I guess I have been teasing you a little," he confessed with a boyish grin. "Let's start all over again. I'm glad you did brazen it out and ask me to date you. Sure I'm lonesome too. Even a professor has feelings. And the girl in that pulse-quickening silver dress is definitely not the girl I see in class every afternoon from two to three. In fact, she's far more beautiful."
"Well, that's more like it," Eleanor Landers breathed. She put down her fork and leaned back, turning her most fascinating smile on him. It was going to be so easy. She could sound him out this first date, and then, the next time, she would be ready to let him talk all he liked about how desirable she was. She had an even more revealing dress hanging in the closet in her room back at the sorority house. And he had just admitted he was lonesome too.