2. Invitation

Just as I told Tina, my roommate Eric was working Thursday night. Around 8:00, I heard someone knock on the door.

​

I turned off the TV, shouting "Just a second."

 

I walked over and opened the door. There didn't appear to be anyone there. I was about to close the door again when a lovely lady in a dark green business suit slid over onto my feet and lay there. She must have been sitting against the door post.

​

I was captivated by her lovely form and her beautiful long auburn hair. She wasn't moving.

 

I quickly looked left and right, but saw nothing.

 

I stepped back a bit to let the woman fall more onto her back, then bent over to smooth some of the hair from her face. I was sure that I'd never met her. I'd certainly remember.

 

Then I noticed the envelope pinned to her jacket: "Tommy, you'd better get me inside."

​

After a moment's puzzlement, I realized the wisdom of the envelope's advice. I don't think it would be good for strangers to see me standing over an unconscious woman.

 

I lifted her under the arms, and I watched her head droop forward and her hair spray back down into her face. I dragged her back inside. I gently let her fall onto her back on the carpet in the living/dining/TV/computer room. (It was a small apartment.)

​

No doubt about it, she was stunning. Fair skin (not much makeup), soft lips slightly parted, lovely red hair falling this way and that. She breathed softly, and I watched her chest rise and fall a few times.

I tapped her lightly on the cheek. "Miss? Miss?"

 

She didn't come around. I got up and headed for a phone when I saw a man knock at the door frame. I suddenly realized that I hadn't closed the door after dragging the woman in.

​

The man in my door was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that said "Love the Game" above a cartoon of two sleeping women clad solely in their underwear. Under his arm, the man carried an old, worn coffee-table-sized book.

​

"Her name's Caroline," he said.

 

"And who are you?" I asked, more than a little nervous.

 

"I'm her husband," he said. "The name's John. You must be Tommy Walters."

 

"Look, mister," I said. "I just found her there! Honestly! I was just about to call 911!"

 

"Calm down, Tommy," he said. "She's fine. Did you open the envelope?"

 

"What?" I backed away a step.

 

"On her jacket," he said. "Did you open the envelope on Caroline's jacket? The one with your name on it."

 

"No," I said.

 

"Well ..." he said, and took a step inside, closing the door.

 

"What's going on?" I asked.

 

"Just open the envelope," he said. "Tina said you'd love it."

 

More than a little hesitantly, I headed back for the woman Caroline where she lay on the floor. I unpinned the envelope from her jacket, making sure I didn't touch her more than I had too. John sat down on the couch, his eyes on Caroline, a smile on his face.

 

"I just love this time of year," he said. "You're a very lucky young man."

 

With a glance at Caroline, I responded, "So are you."

 

I opened the envelope. Inside was a note:

 

Tommy Walters, you are hereby invited to serve as Charon in The Game this coming Saturday beginning at

6:00 PM. You are also invited to the pre-Game party this Friday night at 8:00 PM, and the post-Game party

Sunday afternoon, after resuscitation. All events are at the Gamma Gamma Sigma House, #9 Sorority Row.

​

Victims will include Miss Tina Stallworth, Miss Stephanie Washington, Miss Lisa Winter, Miss Sarah McCain,

Miss Tammy Cohen, Miss Melanie van Stott, Miss Lacey Barron, Miss Kim Wise, and Miss Jessica Brooks.

​

Below that were all the ladies' signatures.

 

"Caroline," John said, "is serving as Death Mistress."

 

Charon? The Game? Victims? Death Mistress? This was getting seriously bizarre.

 

John must have sensed my confusion.

 

"The Game," he said, "is an activity that the ladies have conducted annually since about 1955." He looked in the book he was carrying. "Sorry, 1956."

​

"What game?" I asked.

​

"The Game," he said. "It has no other name. It was so scandalous in the '50s that no one dared speak of it."

 

He stood up and walked over to Caroline. "The 'victims' are the players in the game, the 'Death Mistress' is something like a referee, and the 'Charon' or 'Charons' are judges, though they have other duties."

 

"A judge?" I asked. "What do they judge?"

 

He knelt down by Caroline's side, pulled back her jacket, and removed a small, cheap water pistol and a thin stack of index cards from under her skirt's waistband. "The ladies shoot each other with water guns like this," he said, "and you, as Charon, get to judge how well they die, and how well they stay dead."

 

He stood up. "Turn around," he said.

 

"What?" I asked.

 

"Or cover your eyes or something, Tommy," he continued. "It's bad luck for the Charon to see the victim arise."

 

I covered my eyes. What the hell.

 

"Arise, fair victim" John said.

 

A woman's voice said, "You can open your eyes now, Tommy."

 

I must admit that I was surprised. I opened my eyes. Caroline stood by her husband, wearing a soft white blouse, a calf-length green skirt, and heels. Her jacket was on the couch; she must have laid it there. So she was only acting!

 

Caroline spoke again, "We won't go into all the details now, since I don't want to be here when your roommate returns. Probably the best way to do this is to just play a little sample game." She looked at her husband.

 

"You're the Charon, Tommy," he said, "I'll be the Death Mistress and Caroline will be the Victim. Normally one of the other future victims would do most of the shooting, but I'll just have to do that as well."

 

He handed him an index card. On it was written:

 

Caroline in Tommy's Apartment (heels)

​

There was also a box drawn on the bottom of the card.

​

Without warning, John shot his wife with the water pistol, dampening her blouse just above her skirt line. Caroline looked at him in shock, then aimed a pleading look at me, then dropped soundlessly to the floor in a heap.

 

"OK, Tommy," John said, "on the card it says who will be shot (Caroline), where (your apartment), and what you are to remove after she's done her scene. In this case, it's her heels."

 

I stood there a moment, eyes down on Caroline.

 

"Well, go on, son," he said. "We don't have all night! Take off her heels."

 

I did as I was told. I tried to be gentle. I could tell, even when I just lifted her feet an inch or so and undid the buckles on her shoes, just how limp she was. It was also hard to miss how lovely she was, lying there crumpled, hair and arms and legs piled up like dirty clothes.

 

John handed me a pen, and told me to write a score on the card. He suggested a 1-10 scale.

​

I wrote "10." How do you beat this?

​

John the Acting Death Mistress took the card from me, then handed me another. "Keep the pen," he said.

 

The new card said:

 

Caroline in Tommy's Bathroom (skirt)

 

Really? I thought, and it must have shown on my face.

​

John nodded his head. This was going to be a great weekend.

 

I hurried off to the bathroom. Soon, I'd understand why Tina had come over earlier to help me clean it up.

 

After a moment, Caroline wordlessly walked into the bathroom, now in her stocking feet. I was standing over by the tub, and she took a couple of steps toward me. Her husband popped up in the doorway behind her and shot her in the back, mid-stride. I saw Caroline's eyes roll back, and then she fell forward onto me, knocking both of us into the tub.

​

After I got over the initial shock, and saw that Caroline was lying limply against me, I managed to get my behind up on the side of the tub, Caroline in my lap like a bag of sand. As I tried to catch my breath, Caroline poured off my thighs like water onto the floor, coming to rest with her head between the toilet and tub.

 

Caroline's skirt fastened with a set of buttons on the side. Afraid they'd change their minds, I quickly undid the buttons. She was wearing a slip underneath, silky and white. I slid the skirt off her hips and over her legs.

 

I wrote "10" on the card which I had laid on the counter by the sink.

 

I handed the card to John on my way out of the room. He gave me another:

 

Caroline in Tommy's Bedroom (blouse)

​

"The last one's free form," he told me.

​

The bedroom was just down the hall from the bathroom. I picked out a spot near the dresser where I could see the whole room and still be out of the way.

 

Caroline came in, now dressed only in her blouse, slip, and hose. Her husband walked behind her into the doorway. She walked over to my twin bed, lay down on her side, face toward me, away from John, and said, "OK."

​

He "sneaked" up on her, step by step. She lay there still, her eyes closed, softly breathing. He closed my hands around her neck.

 

Suddenly, she was awake. She struggled and kicked and fought to free herself from my grasp, to no avail. She squirmed around on the bed, pretending to gasp for air. He lifted her to almost seated, and then pushed her down again, never releasing his hold on her neck.

 

After a while, he said, "Love, remember the time."

 

She stopped for a moment, turning all the panic off like a light. "Oh, right," she said.

 

She resumed her struggling and gasping, but more fitfully now, and soon, she let out one long wheeze, closed her eyes, and stopped moving altogether.

 

John started unbuttoning her blouse, then looked at me and said, "Oh, yeah, right. That's your job."

 

He climbed off the bed, leaving Caroline lying there, her blouse half undone. She was wearing a white silk bra, and it was clear now that the slip was a half-slip.

 

I unbuttoned the blouse, straightened her legs, and rolled her onto her stomach. Doing so caused her feet and knees to slip off the mattress. She slid onto the floor, the slip moving up her legs to show her knees and some of her thighs.

​

I pulled the blouse off her arms, and tossed it onto the bed. She lay there on the floor, face down, unmoving.

 

I wrote another "10" on the card.

 

John handed me a small perfume bottle, the kind with the little squeeze bulb on one side.

 

"What's this?" I asked.

 

"They call it Sleep Spray," he said. "It's a mild sedative. You give it to the ladies after their last scene, then carry or drag them over to the Gamma Gamma Sig parlor, which is called 'The Morgue.' The spray helps them stay 'dead' until noon Sunday."

 

"So, that's why the judge is called Charon, after the Greek bearer of the dead," I said.

 

"Smart boy," John said. "Since you're a man, you get a special present on Sunday. It's not often that the ladies trust a man enough to serve as Charon. I was the last and that was, er, 10 years ago."

 

"Fifteen, dear" came a voice from the body on the floor.

 

"All right, fifteen," he said. "Now hurry up and spray her so we can get out of here. One squirt should do. She needs to make sure the stuff works, but I have to get her up for work in the morning."

​

I leaned over and pulled the hair back from her face. She lay there unmoving, her eyes peacefully closed. One small puff from the perfume bottle. She inhaled a bit deeper, and I saw little droplets of Sleep Spray on her nose and cheek. Her eyelashes fluttered a bit, but that was it. She lay as she was.

 

John put the old book he carried on the dresser. I could see now the words The Book of the Game emblazoned on the cover.

 

He lifted Caroline onto the bed, reached under her, and lifted her into his arms. She looked like a very lovely rag doll.

 

"Bring her clothes to the party tomorrow, OK?" he asked me on the way out.

 

"Sure," I said, and followed them out of the bedroom and down the hall.

 

When I reached the main room, however, I saw that another surprise had been arranged for me. The floor was littered with Gamma Gamma Sigma sisters, all lying shoulder-to-shoulder on their backs with their eyes closed, all wearing jeans and "Love the Game" T-shirts. They were barefoot.

 

"Say, Tommy," Caroline's husband said, "why don't you introduce me to your friends."

 

He sat down on the sofa with the unconscious Caroline in his lap. He lifted her a bit so that her head rested on his shoulder.

 

I just stood there, mouth open.

 

"You're being rude, son," the man said.

 

I walked over to the array of ladies.

 

"You know Tina Stallworth, don't you?" I asked as I indicated the leftmost girl, whose right hand was on her stomach, and her left hand palm-up at her side, her straight brown hair neatly tucked behind her.

 

"Tina's a theater major, " I continued, "from Miami." I gently touched the side of her face with the back of my hand. She let out a little sigh and her head turned limply toward the next in line. I reached across her, grabbed her shoulder and hip, and rolled her towards me onto her stomach. She lay there very still.

 

"There's a lot more I could say about Tina," I added, "but I'd better continue the introductions."

 

I stepped over Tina, knelt down and gently touched the cheek of the next woman in line, a petite lady with curly red hair. Her head fell into profile with a low breathy moan.

 

"This is Stephanie Washington, a Chemistry major from Michigan," I said. "She likes to play a little rough."

 

I stepped between Stephanie and the next girl, careful not to put weight on their arms or hands. I bent over, placed a hand beneath Stephanie's shoulder and hips, and rather forcefully threw her onto her stomach. Stephanie came to a rest near to Tina, legs slightly spread, one hand falling across the small of Tina's back. She also lay very still.

 

The next "victim" had thick black hair tied into a ponytail, curly strands escaping here and there. She was taller than the other girls, and very shapely. "Lisa Winter," I said, "journalism major and future Pulitzer Prize winner."

 

As I touched Lisa's cheek, she sighed softly and turned her head as the others had. I gently turned her onto her stomach, next to Stephanie. Lisa's leg lay across Stephanie's when she came to rest, their bare feet touching.

 

"Lovely Lacey Barron," I continued, indicating the blonde beauty lying in a toss of long curls. "Smart too," I continued. "She's a math major from San Diego."

 

As I touched Lacey's face, she took a little gasp, then, with a soft sigh, let her head fall to her left. After I rolled Lacey onto her stomach, I tenderly brushed her hair from her face.

 

The next woman was larger than the other girls, with a pretty face, soft as a baby's. She wore her deep brown hair in a ponytail which spilled onto her left shoulder. I touched her cheek as well and it fell a little awkwardly onto its side.

 

"Melanie van Stott," I said, "Stephanie's best friend. She's also a chemistry major from Michigan, but they never met each other until they joined Sigma Sigma Gamma."

 

I turned Melanie onto her stomach as well, but since she had a wider girth than the Lacey, she ended up laying partly across the blonde's back. "Melanie's one of the nicest people I know," I added. Melanie face turned a little pink.

 

Next in line was a woman whose long red hair streamed out above her head, mixing with the dark strands of the woman next to her.

 

"This is Sarah McCain," I said. "She grew up in London and she's a political science major."

 

At the touch of my hand, Sarah sighed a breathy "Aaah!" and turned her head toward the dark haired beauty beside her. I turned her over, and then smoothly combed through her hair with my fingers, until it streamed out again above her head.

 

"Is that not the most beautiful red hair you've ever seen?" I asked.

 

"No," Caroline's husband responded, and moved Caroline so that her head fell back, mouth opened, and her own lovely red hair fell in waves toward the floor.

 

"They're close," I said, and then turned my attention to the lovely woman who was next in line.

 

"Jessica Brooks," I said. At the touch of my hand on her cheek, she tensed up momentarily, then sunk down again with a nice little "Oooh".

 

As I turned her over, I said, "She looks like a supermodel, but she's going to be a doctor. She's a pre-med."

 

The next girl had short black hair and a very slight tan. She was a tall woman, with long long legs and lovely curves. At my touch, she shook as if electrocuted, jostling the lovely bespectacled woman next to her, until coming to a rest, her head turned like the others.

 

"Kim Wise," I said. "English major and world-class ham." I saw the edges of Kim's mouth turn up just the slightest bit at that.

 

I took each of Kim's arms and raised them over her head, Then I flipped her quickly onto her stomach, so that her arms remained over her head, laying across Sarah's and Jessica's hair. "She likes it a little rough, too," I said.

 

I looked at the last girl, the only one who still lay on her back. "Tammy Cohen," I said with a sigh. "Tammy, Tammy, Tammy. What am I going to do with you?"

 

The girl momentarily absorbing my attention was a small girl with brown wavy hair which fell across part of her face. She was wearing glasses. Her left hand lay against her throat, her right by her side.

 

I gently removed her glasses, folded them, and put them in my shirt pocket. I touched her face. It fell quickly away from me, more hair spilling across her cheek.

 

"So this is Tammy Cohen," John said from the couch. "Caroline is the only Sigma Sigma Gamma to ever win The Game three times, which is quite a feat. Caroline told me last year about this girl, Tammy Cohen, who had won twice, and she was only a sophomore then. She'd be a junior now. She was the only girl in the history of the sorority who even stood a chance of beating Caroline's record."

 

I rolled Tammy onto her stomach. "Tammy's another beautiful woman who's smarter than me," I said. "She's a physics major. From what you've just told me, she deserves something special."

 

I lifted Tammy under the arms. Her arms, head, and hair dangled down. I pulled her out over the other ladies, and then gently lowered her onto their backs. There were now nine lovely ladies, all lying face down on my floor, each with lovely rear-ends clad in denim, Tammy lying across the other eight.

 

After a moment of silence, Tina opened her eyes and said, "So you'll do it, right?"

Interlude

The phone rang once.

​

"Yeah?"

 

"There's something going on at the Walters place. About a half-dozen of the Sig sluts are there, along with an older couple that seem to hang out with them. Looks like some kind of weird ritual."

 

"See what Smallman can find out."

 

"Yes, sir."

Continue The Game (3. The Book of the Game)

 

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Copyright 2007-2019 DPsleepy.

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