iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第17部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　where　Paul　is　sitting　by　the　window；　eyes　on　the　bookshelves；　puzzling　something　out。
　〃Are　you　bringing　the　diary　with　you？〃　I　ask。
　He　pats　the　bundle　of　rags　in　his　lap　and　nods。
　〃Where's　Charlie？〃　I　say；　looking　around。
　〃Already　gone；〃　Gil　tells　me；　guiding　us　out　to　the　hall。　〃To　see　the　proctors。〃
　He　takes　the　keys　to　his　Saab　and　places　them　inside　his　coat。　Before　closing　the　door　behind　us；　he　checks　his　pockets。
　〃Room　keys　。　。　。　car　keys　。　。　。　ID　。　。　。〃
　He's　so　careful；　it　makes　me　uneasy。　It　isn't　Gil's　way　to　concern　himself　with　details。　Staring　back　into　the　mon　room；　I　see　my　two　letters　sitting　on　the　table。　Then　Gil　locks　the　door　with　the　same　odd　precision；　rolling　the　knob　in　his　palm　twice　afterward　to　be　sure　that　it　yields　nothing。　We　walk　toward　his　car；　and　now　the　silence　is　heavy。　As　he　revs　the　engine；　proctors　shift　in　the　distance；　shadows　of　shadows。　We　watch　them　for　a　second；　then　Gil　jerks　the　gearshift　and　brings　us　gliding　into　the　darkness。
　
　Chapter　8
　
　Past　the　security　kiosk　at　the　north　entrance　to　campus；　we　turn　right　onto　Nassau　Street；　Princeton's　main　drag。　At　this　hour　it's　lifeless；　prowled　by　two　plows　and　a　salt　truck　that　someone　has　roused　from　hibernation。　Stray　boutiques　glow　in　the　night；　snow　gathering　below　their　storefront　windows。　Talbot's　and　Micawber　Books　are　closed　at　this　hour；　but　Pequod　Copy　and　the　coffee　shops　manage　a　small　bustle；　filled　with　seniors　rushing　to　plete　their　theses　in　the　eleventh　hour　before　departmental　deadlines。
　〃Glad　to　be　done　with　it？〃　Gil　asks　Paul；　who　has　retreated　into　himself　again。
　〃My　thesis？〃
　Gil　looks　into　the　rearview　mirror。
　〃It's　not　finished　yet；〃　Paul　says。
　〃e　on。　It's　done。　What　do　you　have　left　to　do？〃
　Paul's　breath　frosts　the　rear　window。　〃Enough；〃　he　says。
　At　the　stoplight；　we　turn　onto　Washington　Road；　then　toward　Prospect　Avenue　and　the　eating　clubs。　Gil　knows　better　than　to　ask　more　questions。　As　we　approach　Prospect；　I　know　his　thoughts　are　gravitating　elsewhere。　Saturday　night　is　the　Ivy　Club's　annual　ball；　and　it　has　been　left　to　him；　as　club　president；　to　oversee　the　arrangements。　After　falling　behind　while　finishing　his　thesis；　he's　gotten　into　the　habit　of　making　little　trips　to　Ivy　just　to　convince　himself　that　everything　is　under　control。　According　to　Katie；　by　the　time　I　arrive　to　escort　her　tomorrow　night；　I'll　barely　recognize　the　inside　of　the　club。
　We　pull　up　beside　the　clubhouse；　into　the　space　that　seems　to　be　reserved　for　Gil；　and　when　he　disengages　his　key　from　the　ignition　a　cold　silence　echoes　in　the　cabin。　Friday　is　the　lull　in　the　weekend　storm；　a　chance　to　sober　up　between　the　traditional　party　nights　of　Thursday　and　Saturday。　The　recent　snow　has　dampened　even　the　hum　of　voices　that　usually　drifts　in　the　air　as　juniors　and　seniors　return　to　campus　from　dinner。
　According　to　administrators；　the　eating　clubs　at　Princeton　are　〃an　upperclass　dining　option。〃　The　reality　is　that　the　eating　clubs　are　basically　the　only　option　we　have。　In　the　early　days　of　the　college；　when　refectory　fires　and　surly　innkeepers　forced　students　to　fend　for　themselves；　small　groups　banded　together　to　take　meals　under　the　same　roof。　Princeton　being　what　it　was　in　those　days；　the　roofs　they　ate　under；　and　the　clubhouses　they　built　to　support　those　roofs；　were　no　mean　affair；　some　of　them　are　nothing　short　of　manors。　And　to　this　day　the　eating　club　remains　Princeton's　peculiar　institution：　a　place；　like　a　coed　fraternity；　where　junior　and　senior　members　hold　parties　and　eat　meals；　but　do　not　reside。　Almost　one　hundred　and　fifty　years　after　the　institution　first　appeared；　social　life　at　Princeton　is　simple　to　explain。　It　lies　firmly　in　the　hands　of　the　clubs。
　Ivy　looks　grim　at　this　hour。　Cloaked　in　darkness；　the　sharp　points　and　dark　stonework　of　the　building　are　uninviting。　Cottage　Club；　next　door；　with　its　white　quoins　and　round　accents；　easily　outshines　it。　These　two　sister　clubs；　older　than　the　other　surviving　ten　on　Prospect　Avenue；　are　Princeton's　most　exclusive。　Their　rivalry　for　the　best　of　each　class　has　endured　since　1886。
　Gil　looks　at　his　watch。　〃They're　not　seating　for　dinner　anymore。　I'll　bring　us　up　some　food。〃　He　holds　the　front　door　open；　then　guides　us　up　the　main　stairs。
　It's　been　awhile　since　my　last　visit　here；　and　the　dark　oak…paneled　walls　with　their　severe…looking　portraits　always　give　me　pause。　To　the　left　is　Ivy's　dining　room；　with　its　long　wooden　tables　and　century…old　English　chairs；　to　the　right　is　the　billiards　room；　where　Parker　Hassett　is　playing　a　game　of　pool　alone。　Parker　is　Ivy's　village　idiot；　a　half…wit　from　a　wealthy　family　who　is　just　bright　enough　to　realize　what　a　fool　some　people　think　he　is；　and　just　dumb　enough　to　blame　everyone　else　for　it。　He　plays　pool　with　both　hands　moving　the　cue；　like　a　vaudeville　actor　dancing　with　a　cane。　Though　he　glances　over　at　us　when　we　pass；　I　ignore　him　as　we　mount　the　stairs；　heading　for　the　Officers'　Room。
　Knocking　twice　at　the　door；　Gil　enters　without　awaiting　a　reply。　We　follow　him　into　the　warm　light　of　the　room；　where　Brooks　Franklin；　Gil's　portly　vice　president；　sits　at　a　long　mahogany　table　extending　lengthwise　just　past　the　door。　Atop　the　table　stand　a　Tiffany　lamp　and　a　phone。　Around　its　edge　are　tucked　six　chairs。
　〃I'm　glad　you　showed　up　when　you　did；〃　Brooks　says　to　all　of　us；　politely　ignoring　the　fact　that　Paul　is　wearing　women's　clothes。　〃Parker　was　telling　me　his　costume　plans　for　tomorrow　night；　and　I　was　starting　to　think　I　might　need　backup。〃
　I　don't　know　Brooks　very　well；　but　ever　since　we　shared　an　introductory　economics　class　sophomore　year；　he　has　related　to　me　as　an　old　friend。　I'm　guessing　that　Parker's　plans　have　to　do　with　Saturday's　dance；　which　is　traditionally　a　Princeton…themed　costume　ball。
　〃You'll　fucking　die；　Gil；〃　Parker　says；　arriving　unannounced　from　downstairs。　Now　he　has　a　cigarette　in　one　hand；　a　glass　of　wine　in　the　other。　〃At　least　you　have　a　sense　of　humor。〃
　He　speaks　directly　to　Gil；　as　if　Paul　and　I　are　invisible。　Down　at　the　table；　I　can　see　Brooks　shaking　his　head。
　〃I've　decided　to　e　as　JFK；〃　he　continues。　〃And　my　date's　not　going　to　be　Jackie。　She's　going　to　be　Marilyn　Monroe。〃
　Parker　must　see　confusion　in　my　expression；　because　he　dashes　his　cigarette　into　an　ashtray　on　the　table。　〃Yes；　Tom；〃　he　says；　〃Kennedy　graduated　from　Harvard。　But　he　went　here　his　freshman　year。〃
　The　latest　product　of　a　California　wine　family　that　has　sent　a　son　to　Princeton；　and　to　Ivy；　for　generations；　Parker　cleared　both　of　those　hurdles　thanks　only　to　what　Gil；　charitably；　calls　the　Hassett　family's　momentum。
　Before　I　can　respond；　Gil　leans　forward。
　〃Look；　Parker；　I　don't　have　time　for　this。　If　you　want　to　e　as　Kennedy；　that's　your　business。　Just　try　to　show　some　taste。〃
　Parker；　who　seemed　to　expect　something　better；　shoots　a　sour　look　at　all　of　us　and　walks　off；　wine　in　hand。
　〃Brooks；〃　Gil　says　now；　〃can　you　go　down　and　ask　Albert　if　there's　any　dinner　left？　We　haven't　eaten　and　we're　in　a　rush。〃
　Brooks　agrees。　He　is　the　perfect　vice　president：　obliging；　tireless；　loyal。　Even　when　Gil's　favors　e　out　sounding　like　mands；　he　never　seems　to　be　ruffled。　Tonight　is　the　only　time　he　has　ever　looked　weary　to　me；　and　I　wonder　if　he　just　finished　his　thesis。
　〃Actually；〃　Gil　adds；　looking　up；　〃I'll　bring　two　of　them　up　here；　and　eat　mine　in　the　dining　room。　We　can　talk　about　the　wine　order　for　tomorrow　while　I　eat。〃
　Brooks　turns　to　Paul　and　me。　〃Good　to　see　you　guys；〃　he　says。　〃Sorry　about　Parker。　I　don't　know　what　gets　into　him　sometimes。〃
　〃Sometimes？〃　I　say　under　my　breath。
　Brooks　must　hear　me；　because　he　smiles　before　leaving。
　〃The　food　should　be　ready　in　a　few　minutes；〃　Gil　says。　〃I'll　be　downstairs　if　you　guys　need　me。〃　He　focuses　on　Paul。　〃We　can　go　to　the　lecture　as　soon　as　you're　ready。〃
　For　a　second　after　he　leaves；　I　can't　escape　the　feeling　that　Paul　and　I　are　mitting　some　kind　of　fraud。　We're　sitting　at　an　antique　mahogany　table　in　a　nineteenth…century　mansion；　waiting　for　someone　to　bring　us　our　dinners。　If　I　had　a　nickel　for　every　time　this　had　happened　to　me　since　I　got　to　Princeton；　I　would　need　another　one　to　rub　the　two　together。　Cloister　Inn；　the　club　where　Charlie　and　I　are　members；　is　a　small；　simple　building　with　a　cozy　stone　charm。　When　the　floors　are　polished　and　the　greens　are　trimmed　it's　a　respectable　place　to　draw　a　beer　or　shoot　some　pool。　But　in　scale　and　in　gravity　it　is　dwarfed　by　Ivy。　Our　chef's　first　priority　is　quantity；　not　quality；　and　unlike　our　Ivy　friends　we　eat　where　we　please；　rather　than　being　seated　in　the　order　of　our　arrival。　Half　of　our　chairs　are　plastic；　all　of　our　cutlery　is　replaceable；　and　sometimes　when　the　parties　we　throw　are　too　expensive；　or　the　taps　we　run　are　too　loose；　we　find　hot　dogs　in　the　lunch　tray　on　Fridays。　We　are　like　many　of　the　clubs　on　the　street。　Ivy　has　always　been　the　exception。
　〃e　downstairs　with　me；〃　Paul　says　abruptly。
　Unsure　what　he　means　by　it；　I　follow。　We　descend　past　the　stained…glass　window　that　runs　along　the　south　landing；　then　down　another　flight　of　stairs　into　the　basement　of　the　club。　Paul　leads　me　through　the　hall　toward　the　Presid