Take my face (3 page)

The football season passed, then Christmas, and the spring semester drew to a close. Elsbeth resolved to do something about Robert's face during vacation. But in early June Robert was offered a summer job as stock-boy at Hegenbels, which he accepted. Elsbeth was uncomfortable but vaguely relieved. After all, they really didn't have the money.

Summer came to an end; Robert began his fourth semester. His grades continued excellent; he made the California Scholarship Federation, and the principal discussed scholarships with him. Robert was interested but vague; he had no clear picture of his future. And then there was always

the plastic surgery that sooner or later had to be undergone. He played halfback on the Varsity football team. Carr was second-string quarterback after Harold Garrow. The line was weak, competition tough. San Giorgio had a poor year, winning two, losing six.

Another Christmas, another spring semester, another Commencement. Grant Hovard graduated. Summer passed.

The fall semester began. Grant Hovard went down to Stanford for premed training. Carr was a senior; his pretty sister, Dean, a freshman. Julie was starting eighth grade.

Another football season came and went. San Giorgio tied Paytonville for league championship, and Robert achieved a certain grim reputation around the county. He was known as "The Face," or "No-Face"; sometimes as "The Masked Marvel"; and once, in a sports column, as the "Red Wolf of San Giorgio—when he doesn't blast 'em out of his way, he scares 'em stiff."

The prettiest girl in school was Cathy McDer-mott, a freshman. She was slender, beautifully formed. Her hair was the color of black coffee and hung past her shoulders; she had dark poetic eyes. Her father was Ralph McDermott, president and chief stockholder of the San Giorgio Building and Loan Association. They lived on Jamaica Terrace next to the Pendrys.

Robert took his courage in hand one day and asked her for a date. His voice trembled with nervousness. In a voice equally nervous, she told him thanks but she was all dated up. Later he happened to be walking behind her in the hall while she told her friend Lucia Small about it.

"And what did you say?" Lucia asked.

"What could I say? I told him I was dated ten years ahead."

They saw Robert, and fell silent.

"Hi," said Robert.

"Hi," said Cathy in a subdued voice.

Carr Pendry came up, gave Cathy a casual spank with his books. "What's going on here? Robert trying to make time with my girl?"

"More or less," said Robert. "Mostly less."

He walked away.

Carr's fraternity was Rho Sigma Rho, a trifle more exclusive than Beta Zeta. The sororities were Nu Alpha Tau (or the N ATs) and Tri-Gamma— known as "Lucky Thirteen," because membership was restricted to this number. Freshmen were pledged on "tag day" just before commencement, with "hell week" in September and initiation in October of the semester following.

Julie Hovard raised havoc with this system. She started high school at the beginning of Robert's last term; it was certain that she'd be pledged at the end of the year, either by the NATs or Tri-

Gamma. She wanted to go Tri-Gamma. Cathy Mc-Dermott, her best friend, was a Tri-Gamma pledge, along with Dean Pendry and Lucia Small, old Judge Small's daughter.

Cathy, Dean, and Lucia were all sophomores, a year or two older than Julie. Dean had auburn hair, a voluptuous figure, a lovely pale complexion. She was fifteen but looked older; she went out with boys from the junior college.

Lucia had an entirely different outlook on life. She was tall, aristocratic, alert. She had dark hair, sharp eyes, a high-bridged nose. She spoke of a career in psychology and planned to go on to Rad-cliffe.

During the summer, Marian Scheib moved south to Pasadena, leaving a vacancy in Tri-Gamma. Julie decided to take advantage of the situation. She told one of the NATs that she'd probably go Tri-Gamma, and hinted to Anne Bresdick, president of Tri-Gamma, that she'd already been asked to go NAT.

A furious four-day battle was waged around Julie, and as a result she was immediately pledged by Tri-Gamma.

Julie was now almost fourteen, the very breath of youth and vitality. She chattered and laughed and played games; she looked as if she found everything in the world a delightful surprise. She flirted widely, gaily, innocently. She sat across from

Robert in study hall, and he found it impossible to take his eyes off her. Julie flirted with him as readily as anyone else; sometimes Robert thought even more so . . . But no, it couldn't be . . . And yet—it was football season. Robert was a celebrity. He was declared the most effective halfback in San Giorgio history.

"—astonishing the change that comes over him," declared Bing Burns, sports editor of the Herald-Republican. "The difference between a quiet, retiring lad and a ravening tiger seems to be only a football uniform. Because Robert Struve just won't be stopped. The harder the going, the harder goes Robert. It's not that he's big, or heavy, or fast, he just refuses to say no . . ."

Already he'd had offers from Southern California, College of the Pacific, Maryland.

On September 27, 1948, Robert celebrated his eighteenth birthday. Elsbeth baked a small cake, roasted a chicken, and bought a bottle of sauterne. They ate by candlelight, and in honor of the occasion Robert drank a glass of wine.

Elsbeth looked at him fondly across the table. He had a well-knit husky frame, something under six feet. His hair was cropped short. Elsbeth thought if only his face were mended, he'd be such a nice-looking boy ... As soon as he graduated—plastic surgery.

After dinner, Robert went off to his room.

For once, he was not studying. He was examining the letter Barbara Fisher had passed him earlier in the day. Barbara was an important girl around school. She had an insolent triangle of a face, loose flaxen ringlets, and looked like a fashion model. She was Tri-Gamma, one of the Lucky Thirteen.

The letter was brief, tantalizing:

Dear Robert,

Lucky 13 rips the lid off! You are invited to attend the initiation of our four pledges: Lucia Small, Cathy McDermott, Julie Hovard, and Dean Pendry. Need we say, this is secret? This Saturday night, at the Martin house, out on Vinedale Road. You know where it is. If you can't come, let me know.

The idea fascinated Robert. He had visions of girl-rites—fair young bodies—madness—abandon . . . Julie Hovard . . . Something clenched in his stomach. He wouldn't go. Why did they seek him out?

The next day he waited beside Barbara Fisher's locker until she came. "What's going on at this affair?" he asked her.

She glanced at him sidelong, then looked away, into her locker. "Just the usual stuff. An initia-

tion. There'll be a party afterwards. Don't you want to come?"

"No," said Robert, "not especially."

"The rest of the team's invited, too," said Barbara.

"Oh," said Robert. He had thought they wanted him there alone.

She turned him another swift glance. "Are you coming?"

"I don't know for sure."

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Scared?"

"Okay," said Robert woodenly. "I'll come."

"Sure now?" said Barbara.

"Yes," said Robert.

She nodded casually and went off down the hall.

When Robert went to bed that night, the vision persisted. He fell asleep to a dream that he was dancing with Julie in the gymnasium, at one of the dances to which he never went. The music stopped; Julie turned up her face, gave him a look of heart-stopping significance. He reached out his arms, but she laughed and skipped off. Then she ran back, caught his hands, led him outside to a big sedan parked under the trees. He opened the door, she got in; he got in after her . . . Robert awoke.

He lay with his heart pounding. He wanted to go back to sleep, back to the dream ... He

reached up, felt his face. The coils felt hard, smooth as sausages. "I wonder," whispered Robert to himself. "I wonder ..."

The next day, remembering the dream, he watched Julie in the study hall. He studied the swell of her young hips, the jaunty little breasts. Somehow he felt closer to her. She looked up, saw him watching her, made a friendly grimace, half-nod, half-wrinkling of her nose, went back to work.

Robert bent over his books. What went on in her mind? Did she realize that she was responsible for his face? She seemed perfectly unconscious . . . Had she forgotten? He looked up again and found her watching him. She wasn't smiling; she was chewing thoughtfully on her pencil. He wondered if he dared ask for a date . . .

CHAPTER IV

The Saturday of the initiation was an open date on the football schedule; there was no game.

Elsbeth came home from work and went straight to bed, and Robert got his own dinner. When it came time for him to leave, Elsbeth was asleep.

Robert went over to Bob Goble's house and found Bob in his car, a stripped-down V-8. With him were the two big tackles: John Strykos and Babe Bazzari. They sat in the front seat passing a jug of sherry back and forth; in the back were two more jugs.

The three hailed Robert as a long-lost brother, and bundled him into the back seat. Robert was pleased and embarrassed.

Bob started to pass the jug back to Robert. John Strykos said, "Hell, give Robert a full one; he's a big boy."

Robert murmured something deprecatory. But he opened a jug, took a pull. The stuff was

pretty good; it had an olive-and-nut flavor and puckered the inside of his mouth.

"Don't suppose the coach would go much for this," said Robert humorously.

"This stuff is good for a guy," said Bazzari. "It puts steam in his pipes."

"Yeah," said Robert, and took another swallow.

"Hey," said John, "it's eight o'clock. Let's get the show on the road."

"C'mon, c'mon," agreed Bazzari, "let's get go-mg!

The Martin house on Vinedale Road had been vacant for eight months. It was an old-fashioned barn of a place, brown-shingled, half-submerged in ivy. The front door opened into an echoing living room, paneled with dark wood; an arch connected to the dining room, with the kitchen beyond. A hall gave access to two bedrooms and a bathroom. A big old house full of ghosts and faint sounds. A dozen redwood trees crowded the sky; the ground was dark and sour and dank. Hamilton Duncan, the present owner, had taken the house in satisfaction of a debt; now he found it impossible to get rid of.

Dorothy Duncan was Tri-Gamma. Her father had given her permission to use the house for the initiation. "Just be careful," he warned her.

"Don't light any fires. And don't raise too much hell, or you'll have the sheriff out."

At two o'clock Saturday afternoon, eight of the nine members—all except Barbara Fisher—arrived at the Martin house; they opened the doors and windows, ran dust mops over the hardwood floors, laid out the secret properties of the order.

There was only a sagging sofa and a few rickety chairs in the house; the girls arranged them in the living room, and spread blankets on the floor alongside the walls.

At four o'clock, Barbara Fisher arrived with the four pledges and refreshments, which the pledges had been required to buy. The pledges were taken to the porch, blindfolded, led through the living room into one of the bedrooms; here they were allowed to remove their blindfolds. On the floor they found a pile of burlap sacks and a pair of scissors.

"Okay, kids," said Anne Bresdick. "There's your clothes for the day."

"What are we supposed to do?" Julie asked.

"Take off your outer clothes, shoes and socks. The rest of it's up to you. There's two sacks apiece."

Cutting appropriate holes, the girls made themselves costumes, using one sack for a skirt, the other as a blouse.

At four-thirty, Barbara Fisher and Anne Bres-

dick came into the bedroom. They blindfolded the pledges and took them into the living room, lined them up with their backs to the sacred table.

The pledges were sprayed with purifying fluids. Anne Bresdick, president of the order, addressed them in a solemn voice, and the rites began.

At six o'clock they were allowed to remove the blindfolds, and now came the candle-lighting ceremony. The room was dark: there was only the glow of a single big green candle. Each member held his own candle; the pledges were given new ones.

"Each of these thirteen candles represents one of us," said Anne. "They'll be with us all our lives. They're our sacred candles, and during the great moments of our lives we light them.

"Each of you may now light your candle from the sacred green candle of the order."

Each of the four pledges lighted her candle, faces solemn and pale. The nine members approached the table and did likewise.

The pledges were next sworn; they bound themselves never to reveal the secrets of the order, to stand by their sisters through thick and thin.

Then came a ceremony with faintly erotic overtones. Each pledge lowered her burlap skirt and her step-ins and stood with her face to the wall.

Lucia Small made restless rebellious sounds. Dean Pendry was flushed, excited. Cathy McDer-mott stood rigid as a statue. Julie Hovard waited.

"A Tri-Gamma now is a Tri-Gamma always," Anne Bresdick chanted. And the initiates chanted back, "A Tri-Gamma now is a Tri-Gamma always."

"A Tri-Gamma now is a Tri-Gamma always," sang Anne, and the initiates sang dolefully back —over and over again, interrupting the liturgy with squeals as their buttocks were touched with black ink, pricked three times with a needle: tattooed.

"Wherever you go, you now are proven Tri-Gammas!"

"Must I show my bottom every time somebody asks if I'm Tri-Gamma?" growled Lucia, as they pulled up their garments.

Each pledge wrote her name on a gummed slip, sealed it with a drop of blood, and pasted it over the name of the girl whose place she was stepping into. The candles were blown out; the initiates were congratulated at having passed the first phase of the ordeal.

"First phase?" cried Julie. "Golly, do we have to go through more stuff?"

"You're all on probation until exactly one week from tonight—and then you become full members."