What kind of ink do you sign with?

It took Gayle only a few hours to fetch his duffel and bags from the hotel. The taxi driver looked at him curiously when he gave the address. “You sure that’s right?” he asked. “That’s like a boarding house for dames only.”

“I’m renting the basement from them,” he explained.

“Yeah?” The cabbie sounded interested. “Planning to get a little action?”

“Uh,” said Gayle. “No, probably not. That could get me kicked out, and I need this place to stay in school and, uh, avoid getting drafted.” The cab started with a jerk, pushing him back into the cushions.

“Pfft,” said the driver. “I was you, I’d volunteer for the draft now, while they ain’t no war going on. My time in the service was no picnic, but it was after WWII and before Korea. Stationed in Germany and stayed drunk the whole two years.”

“I don’t, I don’t, uh, I don’t…” Gayle stammered.

The cabbie lit an unfiltered cigarette, disgusted, and to further demonstrate his disregard for Gayle’s announced and implied morals, spewed the smoke so it would be blown into the younger man’s face in the back seat.

The cab started with a jerk accent, pressing Gayle back into the seat before he could begin to complain about the smoke.

*

The cabbie smoked the whole trip, and when they arrived at the sorority, Gayle exited the cab still coughing and waving his arms. He gave the driver a scowl along with the fare plus a half-generous tip, and ended up with his duffle over his right shoulder and his suitcase in his left hand, staggering toward the flight of stairs into the stately former mansion.

Three girls at the top of the steps watched his approach with some curiosity. Stella, the tall girl with the mane of brown hair, started down the steps but a touch the slender, elegant blonde stopped her. “He’s a guy,” said Ash. “He doesn’t want you helping him.”

The third girl, Mallory, giggled. “He’s doing okay. It’ll be good to have someone in the house that can open jars and reach the top shelves.” Mallory was notably short as well as exceptionally curvy.

Stella grinned and shrugged. At the moment, such jobs fell to her, but she didn’t mind. She’d grown up on a ranch and was used to physical work. Still, she called out to the boy, her drawl sounding friendly. “Y’all need any help there?”

Gayle resisted the urge to look around to see if anyone was with him, he could hear the driver putting the cab in gear and recognized the polite Texas use of the plural form of you. He laughed. “I’m fine, but if someone could get the door?”

Giggling again, Mallory opened the big, wide front door and all three girls stood aside as Gayle moved in, doing his masculine best not to show any strain.

“I hope you’re the new renter,” Ash commented as he passed by her.

“Yup,” he said. “I’m Gayle, and I’ll be renting the basement room at least for this semester.”

“Uh, huh,” Ash murmured. “Miz Frankie told us you would. I’m Ash, and I’m second year, physical education major.” All the girls were checking out Gayle’s physique and exchanged winks and glances after he passed them.

“Oh, first year, undeclared major, so far,” Gayle amended his introduction.

“I’m Stella,” said the tall girl. “Second year, food science.”

Mallory giggled. “First year, also undeclared, my name is Mallory.”

None of them had used last names since they were all young Americans in a casual setting.

Mallory scurried ahead of Gayle to open the door leading to the basement stairs. “Be careful,” she called to him as he began the steep descent then thought better of it. Ash reached into the space from the hallway and found a light switch to relieve some of the gloom, but the stairs were still narrow and awkward.

Putting half his load down on the tiny landing, Gayle ferried it into the depths in two trips, thanking the girls for their help. “I’ll put things away later, but I want to be sure I got acquainted right now. Have I got your names right?” he asked. “Ash, Stella and Mallory?”

They all nodded, but Ash put in, smiling, “My first name is actually Ashleigh, and Mallory is usually known as Bunny.” 

Stella laughed and Mallory, or Bunny, turned bright red. “I started here in Spring semester, and I wore a rabbit costume to an Easter party for some kids,” she confessed.

“It was just so appropriate a nickname,” put in Ash. “We all love Bunny.”

“You guys!” protested the younger girl. But Gayle noted she didn’t tell anyone not to call her Bunny.

He tried the name out. “Bunny?” he said to her.

She rolled her eyes but smiled and nodded. “Mallory is my Grandpa’s last name, and it’s a mouthful, huh?” Everyone laughed, not because it was funny but because Mallory—Bunny—obviously enjoyed sharing a bit about herself.

Ash glanced at the big timepiece on the mantle above the fireplace. “The grandmother clock says we’re having dinner in less than an hour. Anybody hungry?”

Everyone agreed that they were, but Gayle had a question. “I see the antique big, old clock, but what’s the difference between a grandmother clock and a grandfather clock?”

Bunny giggled, and Stella rolled her eyes as Ash replied, “Duh! A grandmother clock doesn’t have a peen-dulum.” She distorted the last word to get the punchline.

“Oh,” said Gayle with a slow grin. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

And everyone laughed again, but this time because it was funny.

“Do we have to do anything to help prepare dinner?” Gayle asked.

Ash shook her head. “We take turns, theirs a chores signup in the kitchen. Besides helping with meals, there’s vacuuming, setting out the trashcans, mowing the lawn or shoveling snow, depending on season. And sometimes Miz Frankie adds some special chore.”

“Huh,” said Gayle. This hadn’t been mentioned earlier, but it didn’t surprise him. It was a usual sort of arrangement in any co-operative living.

“Counting you,” Ash continued, “there’s twelve us and usually only thirty chores or so. You’re expected to sign up for two or three, but Miz Frankie will assign chores if there aren’t enough volunteers. Oh, and don’t sign up for any chores that would have you going upstairs. At least, not until we get to know you better.”

All the girls nodded, and Gayle did too.

“Have you signed the covenant yet?” Ash asked.

“Uh, no?” Gayle made it a question, not sure what a covenant might be.

“It’s like a contract between all of us,” put in Stella.

Bunny nodded, making her ponytail bounce. “Uh, huh. We rent this place and Miz Frankie is really our employee to run it for us.”

“Oh, uh, I thought she was the landlady,” Gayle admitted.

“No,” Ash explained. “The owner is a foundation trust whose members are all people who enrolled here and were chosen to fill vacancies in the board by the other trustees. They’re almost all former sorority sisters and graduates. The whole thing was set up by a group of women about fifty years ago who bought the building, started the sorority, and donated money to the trust.”

“Wow,” said Gayle. “I had no idea.” He followed the girls through the entry hall and into the dining room. The smell of dinner preparations in the kitchens beyond began to penetrate the building.

“The Articles of Covenant are the agreement between people who live here and the sorority and the trust. You have to agree to abide by the rules in order to stay.” Ash gestured at a large, ledger-style book lying on the buffet in the dining room.

“What kind of rules?” asked Gayle, moving toward the buffet.

“You can read them before you sign, but they’re pretty simple and obvious, like pay your bill on time, keep your space clean, and don’t offend visitors or your roomies with your behavior,” said Ash.

“Yeah,” Bunny agreed. “Not that hard to do, even for me.” She giggled.

“Common sense for living in a group,” added Stella.

Gayle made a noise, “Hmm, mm. I’ll read it and probably sign tonight. How long do I have?”

Ash waved a hand. “A month before the Covenant has to be signed. And even then, you might be able to stay, month to month. We’d vote on it. But if you sign, then you have a guarantee that your room is available as long as you want it, and you abide by the Covenant which includes being enrolled and attending classes. And you get a vote, too.” She grinned.

“Yeah, wow,” said Gayle, picking up the Covenant. Fifty years worth of signatures filled the last few pages. Turning to the beginning of the book, he started to read.

The girls all exchanged smiles.

*

In the kitchen, working to prepare the evening meal, Miz Frankie spoke to herself. “What is the collective noun for everyone who shares the same Covenant?” she asked.