corner, then Kappa Alpha Theta, and then Alpha Xi Delta. This side”—he gestured to the left—“is the backside of the fraternities. Lambda Chi Alpha, Sigma Alpha Epsilon, and here…” He headed to the very end of the cul-de-sac and drove into the last parking lot to the left. There were several cars in the lot, and at the end a huge pole with a basketball backboard and hoop split the asphalt into two sections. He drove right up to the building and pulled into a spot. He shut the car off and grinned at me. “Welcome to Beta Kappa.”
I got out of the car, resisting the urge to kiss the ground, and looked at the building. It was shaped in an L, around a yard with two massive trees. It was painted white with brown trim. A huge hammock was hanging between the massive tree trunks, and the lawn looked a little spotty in places. The lower end of the L was only half the height of the other side, with a wall almost completely of glass from which curtains hung. A huge red metal BK hung beside the door to the glass wall. A sidewalk ran alongside the building to this door, and bushes grew up beside it to shield the windows on that floor. In the two-story part of the building, which I was facing, was another door and a huge window on the second floor directly above. A guy was standing in that window, a cigarette in one hand, a Super Big Gulp in the other, just staring out.
Blair waved at him. “That’s Jerry Pollard,” he said when the guy inclined his hand in a slight wave back. “He loves to stare out the window all day.” He grinned at me. “He’s a little odd, but okay for the most part. But when he gets really drunk, he’s weepy.” He shuddered. “Don’t ever get cornered by him—it’s almost impossible to get away.”
“Um, okay,” I replied, looking up at him. He was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and jeans, with a CSUP baseball cap pulled down low on his forehead. “Any particular reason?”
“Nah. I think he just gets depressed when he drinks.”
“No, I mean why he stands in the window all the time.”
Blair laughed. “I don’t know. I’ve never asked. Maybe I should sometime.” He headed for the doorway. “Come on.”
I followed him into a hallway with a staircase directly to the right. It was gloomy and hot in the hallway, almost stiflingly so. The whole place smelled like old dirty gym socks. The hallway was painted white, and there was an all-weather carpet down on the floor. The doors were all painted brown, with small gold numbers mounted on them over peepholes. At the end of the hallway I could see a green chalkboard and mailboxes mounted on the wall. I took a deep breath. I could feel sweat forming under my arms and along my scalp, and I was considering pulling off my shirt when I was about halfway down the hall. Without warning, two saloon doors to my right suddenly swung open, almost hitting me. I jumped back, lost my balance, and fell back into the opposite wall.
“Dude! Are you okay? Man, I am so sorry.”
“Um, yeah.” I picked myself up off the floor and looked up at a handsome guy who had to be at least six four. He had bright blue eyes and curly brown hair, and he was grinning down at me.
He was also stark naked.
“Armagh, why don’t you watch where you’re going?” Blair snapped, walking back to us. “You could have hurt a prospective! Are you all right, Jeff?”
“Dude, I said I’m sorry.” He stuck out a huge right hand. “Rory Armagh.”
“Um, Jeff Morgan.” His hand closed around mine as I tried not to stare at him. His body was absolutely amazing. Broad, thick shoulders, huge chest, arms, flat stomach, a sprinkling of hair down the center of his chest to his—I definitely looked away after a quick glance.
He was HUGE.
“Nice to meet you, man.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder.
“Rory’s on the water polo team and an alternate to the national team.” Blair said from somewhere to my left. “And not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, if you catch my drift.”
“Ah, fuck you, Blair,” Rory said good-naturedly. “Seriously, man, you are okay, aren’t you?” When I nodded, he winked at me. “Well, if you guys want to spark one later, let me know,” Rory said, turning to walk down the hall. “I got some killer shit last night. You’re gonna love it,” he called back over his shoulder.
I bit my lower lip. Doesn’t he know the outside door is open and anyone outside can see him? I wondered. But then again, if I looked like that, I probably wouldn’t care either.
“You’ll have to forgive Rory and don’t judge the house by him,” Blair said. “He’s the only one who walks around naked. We’re going to have to pass a new house rule about it, I think, when the fall semester starts again. Ah, well, I guess it’s because he’s done porn.”
“What?” I couldn’t have heard that right. “Did you say—”
“Yeah, he’s done some porn. Come on, my room’s right over here.”
I turned back to stare after Rory’s white hard ass as it disappeared into a room we’d already walked past. I shook my head. He certainly had the body for porn, I figured. I’d never really seen any porn, just heard about it. My parents had our Internet service blocked for that. But…yeah, I’d pay money to see Rory naked.
I turned back as Blair slipped a key into a door and walked inside. I walked down the rest of the hallway and stepped through the door.
The room was about the same size—maybe a little smaller—as my bedroom at my parents’, but there was a lot more crammed into it. Up against one wall, there was a dresser and a desk with a laptop computer on it, and an iPod stereo system opposite a single bed directly across. A closet door hung open and I could see it was stuffed to overflowing with clothes. A window unit was humming and it was about thirty degrees cooler in the room than in the hallway. Blair opened a small refrigerator. “You want a beer?”
“Um, no.” I’d never had a drink of anything in my life harder than a glass of champagne once at a wedding. A lot of the kids at both Newton and Southern Heights had drank, I just never had. I’d tasted a beer once at a party, but hadn’t cared for the taste. I never could understand the other athletes at either school who drank and smoked—my parents always told me that you couldn’t be an athlete and do either, and the coaches had always said the same thing.
“Okay.” Blair shrugged, removing his sunglasses and putting them on his desk. I started looking at the posters on the walls. They were all movie posters: Action Hero and Vietnam Rescue starring Steve Blanchard on one wall—the ones on the facing wall were Mary Queen of Scots and To the Lighthouse starring Nicole Blair.
And then it clicked in my head.
I looked at one wall. “Blair,” I said aloud, and then looked at the other. “Blanchard.”
Blair grinned at me as he opened the bottom drawer of his dresser. “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. You’d be amazed how many people never get it and I have to tell them.” He rolled his eyes. “Shut and lock the door.” I did. “Yup, Mom and Dad.” He laughed. “I’m what they call a ‘star baby’, although they got divorced when I was little. I don’t remember them ever being married to each other.” He placed a large glass dragon and a baggie full of something on the desktop, and started filling a little silver bowl on the side of the dragon with pieces of something from the baggie. “Sit.” He gestured at the bed, so I sat down there, shrugging off my backpack. He got up and placed a towel along the bottom of the door, then walked back and lit the bowl, inhaling deeply as it filled with smoke. He set it back down, sat there for a few seconds before blowing a huge aromatic stream of smoke at the ceiling.
“Your parents are Nicole Blair and Steve Blanchard.” I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. “But they’re movie stars!”
“Yeah, well, you’re not in Kansas anymore, bud.” He took another hit. “Movie stars are a dime a dozen out here. And Mom’s not really a movie star, although she’s won an Oscar, which is more than Dad can say,” he said after exhaling another cloud.
“Wow.”