Priscilla Tonman II

El Presidente

Mortified, I went over to an old rocking chair and sat down in the corner of the room. So much of staying classy, Priscilla. My mother would have been so proud.

I fidgeted with my tiramisu, having lost my appetite. Well, at least the officer was nowhere to be seen. He was probably mingling with his other eating clubbers. I got up to put my plate away, when I heard a soft voice behind me say, “So, the tiramisu was not that great, huh?” I turned around and the brunette was there, leaning against the wall behind me. He was wearing a baby blue, Ralph Lauren shirt with a matching navy blue sweater vest. His hair was softly flopping over his green eyes. If he was tanner, he could work at Abercrombie and Fitch. Ew. The surfer look was so not my thing. But I had to admit, his eyes were mysteriously green.

“Uhm, no, it was good. I just wasn’t that hungry anymore. After all, I had an early start to the food, as you mentioned so graciously in your eloquent speech.” I replied haughtily.

He gave a masculine cackle. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have, but at least I didn’t look right at you! I was subtle enough,” he said.

“Yes, thank you for your subtlety. I knew chivalry was not dead at Princeton.” I mused.

“I’m Eric. Eric Williams Jr. I’m the President of Cottage.” As he said this he put out his hand.

I shook his –woah, firm grip– hand, and notice a silver Tag Heur watch. “Priscilla. Priscilla Tonman. I’m… just a prospective sophomore.”

“Welcome, Priscilla. So do you have any questions in mind? How have we impressed you so far?” Eric asked, with a hint of bemusement.

“It’s remarkable. Your cottage is lovely. Everyone seems to be very friendly, especially your friend over there at the door.” I remarked. I noticed from the corner of my eye that Laura had begin to only half listen to the red haired girl she was conversing with. She was trying to hear what Eric was saying to me. That eavesdropper.

“Oh! That’s Alejandro. He’s quite a charmer. All the boys in Cottage are,” he grinned. “You know, we could use someone like you. I hope you are serious about us.”

I looked at him, and mulled it over for about three seconds. “Someone like me? What do you mean?” I asked. “Someone without etiquette at parties?”

He laughed again, and Laura’s eyes widened. She was dying to know what I had said to make the President laugh so hard.

“Yes, that. And someone who is not afraid of challenging themselves or anyone else. Also, you seem loyal. Coming over here with your friend did not go unnoticed.” He turned to Laura and waved. She blushed and turned her full attention back to the red haired girl. Damn, I thought I was being subtle, I thought. I guess my eye rolls and sighs were obvious.

He continued, “Just think about it. I promise you I’m one of those people who the more you know, the more you’ll like.” He leaned in, and whispered in my ear, “Good night, Ms. Tonman.”

I stood there, as he walked away and began greeting other people. It wasn’t until Laura approached me that I realized he had taken my plate when he leaned in.

As we left Cottage, I was so preoccupied I was barely listening to what Laura was saying. Something about a second round and something about a cute German boy.

As I got ready for bed, my mind kept going back to Eric. I listened to Adele on my iPhone, but his laughter kept drifting back. His eyes were the last thing I remembered before I fell asleep.

Not a good sign. I should have known Manolos were not a good idea.

Priscilla Tonman I

The Cottage

I knew it would be a bad idea to wear my Manolo Blahniks to Cottage. It was raining lightly, but my suede pumps were discoloring as I stepped into my third puddle. I sighed.

My best friend Laura glanced at me suspiciously and squealed, “I hope you’re not backing out on me! You promised, Pris!”

“Of course not, I’m just confused why you chose Cottage over The Ivy Club.” I replied tiredly, for the umpteenth time. Laura, with her blonde and luscious locks, her Herve Leger dress-perfect body and cherry lips courtesy of Chanel rouge, should be confident with anything and everything. Unfortunately, the phrase looks can be deceiving has not been so true, ever. Her insecurity, though unexpected, was a hit amongst guys. I suppose the Damsel in Distress story will never get old.

She grabbed my hand, but as she did, her Coach Chelsea umbrella shook, splashing rain droplets onto my Burberry trench.  I resisted the urge to whimper. It was new too! “We are here!” she pointed to the brown bricked, well, cottage. How aptly named, I thought.

We could see people inside already, though it clearly was not a party. No loud music, only soft murmuring and the occasional forced laughter.

I took a breath as Laura knocked on the maroon door. A cute latino boy outfitted in Brooks Brothers from head to toe opened the door slowly and deliberately.

“Welcome to the University Cottage Club, the most exclusive eating club and organization in the northern hemisphere,” he drawled demurely. His gently rolled r’s were kind of cute. But hello, did he forgot about the Masons? Or Yale’s Skull and Bones? Most exclusive I think not.

Laura, barely able to constrain herself, let out a girl squeak and pushed past him. I smiled at him apologetically, and he winked back seductively. Oh, these Princeton eating clubbers. Or perhaps it was oh these Latinos.

There were about thirty people standing around the main living room, milling about, smiling too much. It was a typical bicker session. Princeton eating clubs’ bickering process was exactly like the rush process for a fraternity or sorority. Except unlike other schools, Princeton, as usual requires a huge intellect as well. Getting in was difficult, because impressing people as smart as you, or smarter, was nearly impossible. Which explained why Laura was so nervous. I was not nervous because I simply did not care. Personally, I preferred Tiger Inn, another selective eating club, because all the athletes were there. I liked athletes because I was always guaranteed a good laugh with them. My other friend Tommy, a junior majoring in Economics, was a Tiger Inn member.

The living room was nice enough. Not great, but cozy. There were some maroon Ikea couches, with cream colored pillow cases, embroidered with the famous UCC logo. While I was admiring the photography on the walls, Laura had already begun sweet talking one of the officers of the Eating club. I could literally see his eyes melt as she started batting her eye lashes. Which, by the way, is totally effective. I have definitely had it work twice, once when asking my ex-boyfriend to bring me to the movie theatre, and once when I forgot my homework. Mr. Johnston definitely could not bring himself to punish me while I was wearing my Ardell false eyelashes.

 

I wondered over to the refreshments table to get some exquisitely wrapped sushi. Next to the foie gras and scallop sushi was a plate of fish tacos, rolled into beautiful flowers, complete with garnishments of parsley. There appeared to be no normal food – I guess Cottage wanted to show off a bit – so I took a foie gras sushi and tiramisu with so many alternating chocolate layers it must have taken the poor chef a few hours to make.

Surprisingly, the foie gras sushi was delicious. Whoa, who knew liver could go with Japanese rice so well?

I swallowed my second piece when a tall, brunette officer walked to the front of the room and declared to us all, “Welcome, sophomores and juniors. On behalf of Cottage, welcome to an opportunity of fraternity, friendship and of course, the finest food. Ubi Amici Ibidem Sunt Opes. Where there are friends, there are riches. Get to know us, and get us to know you. We only want the best, as do you, which is why you’re here.” Gentle laughter from the crowd.

He continued smoothly. “So here’s to a night of getting to know new friends,” he smiled knowingly and scanned the crowd, and stopped at me.  “Get some food and mingle with those who have already started!” That’s when I realized why no one was trying the decadent food. I was the only one who was holding a plate. Thankfully, not many people seemed to notice me, but the officer certainly did. He raised his eyebrows at my tiramisu and caught my eyes. His bright green eyes crinkled as he laughed silently at me.

This was going to be a long night.