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it.’
        A cheer went up.
        Rathbone rose to his feet, hitched up his sagging boxer shorts, and strode toward Finley. He jabbed an index finger at her lens. ‘You,’ he muttered. ‘You’re meat.’
        ‘I’m trembling,’ she said.
        Several of the guys booed and jeered.
        ‘Hey Boner, she beat you out?’ someone called.
        Rathbone flipped his middle finger at his detractors, then hurried from the parlor. Swinging around, Finley taped his exit.
        After he was gone, the room fell silent. The girls stood motionless, side by side. The Sigs stared at them, eyes darting about, never settling, focusing briefly on breasts here, faces there, then moving on but coming back a few moments later.
        This was a very stupid idea, Abilene thought. Should’ve just let Finley hand over the shower room tape.
         We’re out of our minds .
        She suddenly ached to whirl around and run for it.
        But she stood her ground.
        She’d agreed to the plan. It had seemed like madness from the instant it came out of Finley’s mouth. But Vivian had fallen for it with vengeful glee. They’d all fallen for it.
        Now we’re gonna get reamed, Abilene thought.
        Rathbone came back into the parlor, stepped in front of the girls, gave Finley a murderous glare, then offered a thick stack of money to Vivian.
        She set her beer bottle on the carpet at her feet, and took the money. She counted it. Finished, she smiled. ‘Is everybody ready?’
        The Sigs went wild, clapping, stomping their feet, shouting and whistling.
        ‘Could we have some music?’ Vivian yelled. ‘Something lively.’
        One of the guys rushed over to the stereo.
        Michael Jackson came on, singing ‘Bad.’
        The girls began.
        They danced, writhing sensuously, bobbing their heads with the beat, rolling their shoulders, thrusting out their pelvises. Finley taped the guys as she danced. Abilene, Helen and Cora smiled and waved their beer bottles. Vivian flapped the stack of money in front of her face like a fan.
        ‘Take it off,’ Cliff called.
        The others started chanting it.
        ‘Take it off, take it off, take it off!’
        ‘Ladies?’ Vivian asked.
        They nodded.
        Vivian switched the bills to her left hand. She slipped her right hand slowly, very slowly, down the top of her gown. Abilene, following suit, reached inside her own gown and caressed her breast. So did Cora. So did Helen.
        The guys went wild, cheering and hooting.
        Vivian’s hand came out with a Bic lighter. She kicked over the beer bottle at her feet. Abilene, Cora and Helen upended their bottles. The fluid burbled out, splashing onto the carpet.
        A stench of gasoline filled the air.
        Fire erupted from Vivian’s lighter.
        She touched it to the money.
        The Sigs went silent.
        Shouting, ‘Don’t ever fuck with us!’ Vivian hurled the fiery bills into the air.
        Abilene glimpsed them fluttering down toward the fuel-soaked carpet. Most of them seemed to be burning. Most of the Sigs looked as if they’d been kicked in the nuts.
        She didn’t stick around to watch the outcome.
        None of the Sigs pursued them when they fled the house. They must’ve been too busy - as Finley had predicted - trying to extinguish the fires and maybe save some of the money.
        Fire trucks never came.
        The fraternity house didn’t bum down.
        The following week, a new carpet was installed and a rumor went around campus that a drunken Sig had fallen asleep in the parlor while smoking a cigarette.
        Finley, as promised, mailed a copy of the videotape to the boys.
        Abilene, Helen, Finley, Cora and Vivian stuck together after that, their friendship welded by the madness of that night -welded, too, by determination to protect one another from