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expectation.
        Abilene, standing shoulder to shoulder with her friends, watched a herd of young men stampede down the stairs. They let out whoops and war cries. Only a few were fully dressed. Some wore robes. Many were bare to the waist, some wearing only shorts or pajama bottoms. A few wore nothing but skivvies. What’ve we gotten ourselves into here? Abilene wondered. Her heart slammed so hard that she felt dizzy, and she struggled to catch her breath.
        As those at the front of the crowd reached the parlor’s entryway, Vivian raised her beer bottle. ‘Greetings, fellas!’
        A cheer went up.
        ‘Quiet down ’n take your seats,’ she announced. ‘The show will not begin until you’re all seated and we have your undivided attention.’
        ‘You’ve sure as shit got that,’ said a leering thick-neck who looked like a body-builder. He wore black, bikini underwear. He peered at the tops of Abilene’s breasts as he sauntered past her.
         I’m gonna have a coronary , she thought. I’m gonna drop dead on the floor and they’ll gang-bang me while they wait for the paramedics .
        Every single one of the Sigs - and Abilene figured there must be more than twenty of them - ogled her and Cora and Finley and Vivian (especially Vivian, of course), and most of them even gawped at Helen, whose massive bosom threatened to pop free of her low-cut dress.
        A lot of the guys had red faces. Some looked nervous. Others grinned. Abilene saw plenty of shaking heads. She heard sighs and a few low whistles.
         At least they’re all strangers , she thought.
        She’d seen most of them around campus, but Rush Week hadn’t taken place yet so there were no freshmen among them. It was daunting that they were all upper-classmen, but a relief that nobody here was in classes with her.
        Turning around, she watched them scurry for easy chairs and crowd onto the sofas, pushing and shoving. Several of them ended up sitting on the floor’s plush, burgundy carpet.
        Soon, all of them were seated except one. He was a tall, slender guy with short hair and a smirking face. He wore faded blue gym shorts and sandals. He stood in front of an armchair that looked like a throne.
        ‘On behalf of my somewhat astonished brothers,’ he said, ‘I bid you welcome to the Sig house. I’m Cliff Rogers, President.’ With that, he sat down.
        Vivian raised her beer bottle toward him. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Vivian Drake, but I suppose all of you know that.’
        Nods, murmurs, grins.
        ‘I’m Cora Evans, Viv’s roommate.’
        ‘Abilene Randolph.’
        ‘Helen Winters.’
        ‘Finley here. Virginia Finley.’ As she spoke, she swept the audience with her camera.
        ‘We want you all to know our names,’ Vivian said. ‘Know them and remember them. And remember what we do here tonight.’
        ‘And what, exactly, is that?’ Cliff asked.
        ‘First, we collect.’
        ‘Collect?’
        She smiled broadly and nodded. ‘Five hundred bucks. That’s the amount, right?’
        ‘Does anyone know what she’s talking about?’ Cliff asked, scanning his frat brothers.
        They all shook their heads, murmured disclaimers, and tried to act innocent.
        ‘Whoever’s keeping the kitty,’ Cora said, ‘had better run and fetch it.’
        ‘Or the show doesn’t go on,’ Vivian added. ‘The way we see it, a live show with the five of us’ll be a lot more fun for you fellas than a plain old videotape of just me.’
        ‘In addition,’ Finley announced, ‘you’ll get a tape of the festivities. To help you remember.’
        ‘You aren’t serious,’ Cliff said.
        ‘Watch and see,’ Vivian said.
        ‘Money first,’ Cora said.
        Eyes narrow, Cliff regarded the girls. Then he nodded toward a husky guy on one of the sofas. ‘Rathbone, go get