Sorority Sisters (22 page)

Laurie

–
Spring 1981
–

Today, Karen got married, just a half hour ago. I was not one of her bridesmaids, a fact that jolted me at first, but which I have come to accept with a sort of muffled heaviness.

Today, Doug Anderson and I have been dating for three years. I don't want to believe these two facts, not being a bridesmaid and dating Doug, are related in any way.

Even if they are, I love Doug.

He takes care of me, something I appreciate more than I thought I would since Karen and I shared our apartment for only a year. Karen said she needed to move to be closer to her job; she moved to a one-bedroom apartment in Santa Monica. I bought a condo in Marina del Rey, which is also closer to ULA than North Hollywood.

I know she said she needed to move, that it was all about the commute, but I think my dating Doug had something, maybe a lot, to do with our separating. The memory of him being Diane's Doug still hung between us then, between all of us. He hadn't become my Doug yet, I suppose.

Three years of dating, and Doug still hasn't asked me to marry him. I have to admit to being surprised, and a little hurt, by that. I try not to think about it; being at Karen's wedding has lowered my mental resistance and now I find myself thinking unwelcome thoughts.

I've been sleeping with Doug almost from the first date, not at all like me, and I don't know how it happened except to say that Doug is irresistible. I love him. What I felt for Pete Steinhagen is like a dream compared to what I feel for Doug.

I talked about it with Karen in North Hollywood, telling her I was in love with Doug, that he was
the one
. Karen kept a neutral expression on her face and let me talk and talk and talk. She's such a good friend.

Doug asked Karen out on a date once, back in college. He told me that. It was very sensitive of him, and very adorable, how afraid he looked when he told me, hoping I wouldn't think the worst. The worst? That he asked out a cute Beta Pi? I was extremely moved by his consideration; in fact, that moment on the white couch in our tiny living room, Karen not yet home from work, was when I first knew I was falling in love with Doug. That confession, so unnecessary and so disarming, was so completely and so remotely different from Pete, who never told me anything and who kept everything from me, two very different things. That confession, yes, that moment, his eyes so blue and so hopeful and so vulnerable—that was the moment I knew I loved him. It was September 1978, the sun was setting behind the trees, the light scattering across the shag carpeting of the apartment, and his golden hair was sparkling in the light. He laid his heart out to me, and I picked it up.

But from that day to this, little has changed in our relationship. I don't see him that often because of his navy duty stations, but when I do see him, it's blissful. If only we were married, then I wouldn't be alone so much, and neither would he.

I really need to stop coming to weddings.

Pete and Beth live in Chicago now. I just happened to hear that from one of Pete's old fraternity brothers, Matt Carlson (also known as Lavender Barrette), when I saw him at Bill Staniszeski and Holly Clark's wedding. I didn't ask Matt about Pete. I think that's important. I don't even remember how or why Matt brought it up, but he did. Maybe he thought I still might care, and I know I showed him that I didn't. But it was good to see him again; he's a fun guy, a nice guy, and he always can find a way to make me laugh about the craziest things.

I never talked to Pete after he and Barbie got engaged, except for that one time in my senior year when, just to hear his voice again and in a moment of pathetic weakness on my part, I called him; he answered the phone, the phone in the house he shares with Barbie, and I listened with my heart in my throat. Then I hung up without saying a word.

I have to admit that I don't understand why Doug hasn't proposed. We talk about getting married all the time. We say things like, “After we're married we ought to get a place in Palos Verdes.” Things like that. I want to marry him. I feel like I've always wanted to marry him. Sometimes, most pointedly at other people's weddings, I wonder why he doesn't seem to want the same thing.

Pete used to say that I thought too much. Maybe he was right about that.

I don't drink at weddings, which is not the non sequitur it might seem; I don't drink because I don't want to get sentimental, demanding, weepy, or any combination of the above. I have only lately come to admit to myself that I do this so that I can keep everything calm and cool for Doug. No tearful questions about getting married. No questions of any sort. No demands.

Karen and Jim had a whirlwind courtship that lasted six months before he proposed. The wedding is twenty-two months to the day of his first receipt for the Heller plates. Yes, he kept it.

I spent a lot of days thinking about that after Karen called to tell me about Jim and about her wedding; when she first told me she was engaged after only a few months of dating him, I was worried about her and told her she should wait. I think even as the words were coming out of my mouth I knew it was the wrong thing to say, that it sprang from jealousy that Jim could fall in love with her so utterly and so desperately that he would be in such a hurry to marry her.

The comparisons are inescapable.

Karen was sweet about it, even though I was raining on her parade. She kept telling me that she knew what she was doing, that she and Jim were sure, and that she appreciated me being worried about her.

So Karen Mitchell married Jim Nelson in the gardens of the Bel-Air Country Club.

Jim is from La Jolla, but he works in Century City, and since Karen and her parents are all here in Los Angeles now, the wedding is in Bel Air. I think everyone was excited that there was an open date at the Bel-Air Country Club. It's a beautiful, serene place.

It actually has a very countrified feeling to it, a very upscale,
every blade of grass accounted for
country feeling. Karen and Jim are having a garden wedding. The trees are huge and overarching, the flowers lush and colorful, the air soft and warm. I've never considered a garden wedding before now, but this is quite lovely. I think this might be a good idea. I wonder what Doug would think of a wedding at the Bel-Air Country Club, though I also wonder if Karen would feel as if I “stole” her wedding.

“Laurie,” Karen says, coming over to me and giving me a hug.

She looks radiant. She's grown out her hair so that it just brushes her shoulders. I've never seen her with hair that covers her ears, let alone touches her shoulders. She looks feminine and young, completely bridal.

“It was beautiful,” I say. “You are beautiful. It was a beautiful ceremony. I'm so happy for you.”

“Let me grab Jim,” she says. Turning her head this way and that, she spots Jim across the lawn, rushes over to him, and slips her arm through his, apologizing to the elderly couple he was talking to, dragging him over to me. Jim is smiling the whole time, laughing at her, putting his arm around her waist and holding her next to him as they walk over to me.

“Laurie, hi. Thank you for coming,” Jim says.

“You couldn't keep me away,” I say brightly, pulling him in for a hug. Where is Doug? He should be at my side for this informal couples moment.

“As if we'd want to,” Jim says.

“As if I'd let him,” Karen says, her words tripping on the back of his. “All the Beta Pis are here—well, most of them. Have you seen Ellen? She looks exhausted. Make sure you talk to her, okay? I just wish Diane had been able to make it. I miss her so much; don't you?”

Yes, I do. But not as much as I probably should because, as much as I fantasize otherwise, being with Doug does make things slightly uncomfortable, particularly with Diane. In fact, Diane, Karen, Ellen, and I haven't been together, in the same room, since college. I think we all know, without having to dissect it, that it's better that way. Or perhaps it's not better, only easier.

“I do, and I'll track down Ellen the first chance I get. I think work is very hard right now, and with Mike still being in school . . .”

I let the thought trail off, and Karen and I exchange a look ripe with unspoken frustration and confusion about Ellen and Mike. She works and he goes to school. He never seems to graduate; he just stays in school. He could be Peter Pan's older brother.

Diane is in DC now, and very lonely. I need to get out and see her, before I start my job at Higgins, Stafford, and Lee, a law firm in Pasadena. I graduated from law school a week ago.

“Congratulations on the job. I hear they're a good firm. Good people,” Jim says, reading my mind.

I nod and smile. They are a good firm. I had good grades. I also had good connections: my father was in the same Rho Delta Pi pledge class as Roy Stafford. I did not mention that in my application, but my father mentioned it to Mr. Stafford on the phone; I know this because Mr. Stafford told me about that phone conversation the day I was formally hired. It was on my lips to say, “Thank you,” but I didn't. It didn't seem the appropriate response somehow.

“Speaking of good people, have you met Jim's cousin Jeff?” Karen says on a shudder. “I've been trying to figure out how to get him deported. No luck yet.”

“I aced that test. I think I can help you out. Pro bono,” I say.

“You two are lethal as a pair,” Jim says, laughing. “I'm overmatched.”

“We'll go easy on you since it's your wedding day,” I say.

“Laurie, would you excuse us for a minute?” Jim says with a huge smile of regret. “I need to introduce Karen to my aunt. She came from Virginia and is only staying one night.”

“Sure,” I say. “Again, congratulations.”

Jim leans forward and gives me a quick hug. Karen does the same, her hug lingering and fierce.

“I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?” she says. “Don't go anywhere.”

I nod and watch them walk across the lawn, saying hello to everyone they pass, arm in arm, easy in each other's company, at ease in their effortless couple-ness.

The sense of isolation and longing rises in me so hard that it hurts. While the pain creeps along my spine, I look for Doug. He left for the restroom thirty minutes ago. How long could the line be?

At the thought, Doug appears at one of the French doors to the ballroom where the reception will be formally taking place; we've been lingering in the garden, the sunlight and roses enticing everyone to stay outside. Everyone except Doug. Doug has been to the bathroom.

I find that more annoying than I probably should.

Doug, his dark blond hair glimmering, his skin glowing, his eyes gleaming as blue as the sky—in short, looking as magnificent as any man has ever looked since men started bathing and shaving—beckons me and motions toward the wide French doors. The wedding reception is about to begin. I move through the crowd to join him, my heart wobbling just a bit, my smile a bit loose and happy. I swing between so many emotions, between annoyance and delight, confusion and joy. I'm a swirling top of emotions. This must be love, to quote an old song, although Karen and Jim do not seem to be enjoying the same brand of love that I am.

“Where were you?” I ask Doug once I have fought my way to his side. He has remained by the door, waiting for me. Annoyance makes an appearance. I look into his smiling blue eyes and try to find delight. Annoyance whispers,
Why didn't he come for
you?
Delight answers,
He waited for
you.

“The line was a mile long,” he says, taking my elbow and leading me into the room. The room is large and high-ceilinged, airy and sunlit. It's just the sort of room you'd expect to see overlooking such an exalted garden. There are circular tables covered in white tablecloths with pale pink linen napkins folded on top of the white china plates. In the center of each table is a floral arrangement of light pink tulips and dark pink tea roses and white calla lilies. The whole room looks like hope and joy and love, like springtime promise and eternal youth. “Where are we sitting?” Doug mumbles, looking at the table. There are no place cards on the circular tables. The only “assigned” seating is at the head table, a long rectangle where Karen and Jim and their bridal party sit. Jim's parents and Karen's parents are making the rounds of the room now, saying hello to everyone, stopping at each table. It's informal, nicely so. It's friendly and social and warmly inviting. My sisters did not have wedding receptions like this.

“I can't understand why you're not in the bridal party. You two are best friends,” Doug says. “Where are we going to sit?”

I wouldn't be sitting with him if I was in the bridal party, but I don't bother to say that. There's no point in saying that.

There are tables of Beta Pis: Ellen and Mike; Cindy and her husband, Bob, married for only seven months; Lee Deming and Tom Foster, a guy she's been dating for about a year; Pi and Dan Coble, their fifth date; Missy and Craig. These couples take up the better part of three tables, scattered throughout the room, not clustered together, grouping into a tight unit. That's not our way. I think all those years of Rush have seeped into our bloodstream; we mingle. We are bonded, always aware of one another, yet we mingle. Because I know that, I don't feel excluded that no one has saved two seats for Doug and me.

Doug and I find a place at a table with Jim's aunt and uncle from Rhode Island, not to be confused with his aunt from Virginia, a widow. At our table are also friends of Mrs. Mitchell's from her college days, a college friend of Jim's and his wife, and two female friends of Karen's from the Broadway. We are ten to a table and we are a lively group. Doug is smiling and friendly; the girls from Broadway are shy and giggling in his presence. He smiles away their nervousness, comforting them, comforting the whole table with his confident manner and his beautiful bearing. I have seen him do this before. In fact, he does it all the time. It is just part of who he is.