The Zeta Omicron Rho house was the oldest frat house on campus, and the largest. They were known for accomplishments of their alumni and their ingenuity at constructing entertainments for themselves. Their residence was the envy of their competition: filled with fine furniture, antiques, indoor swimming pool, gym, and a meeting room lined with composite photographs running back a hundred years. Their counterparts on sorority row, the Zeta Rho Omicrons, were known for their high G.P.A. and their competitive spirit. The female Zetas had a residence equally envied by their competitors, containing a beauty salon within. The Zetas regularly socialized, and had a long tradition of the ZZ Cotillion, where each group provided an Saturday evening's entertainment for the other's alumni at different venues.
The first meeting of the Zeta men after Spring Break was a relaxed one until the Treasurer's report. Treasurer Goggles Larkin stood shaking in his boots: "We're broke," he warbled tentatively.
"What the hell do you mean, we're broke?" President Bill Parkinson yelled.
"We don't have shit in the bank," Goggles replied, squinting through coke bottle glasses. "Spent it all for the going away party for Spring Break. We got the hall deposit for the ZZ Cotillion, and the liquor, but we don't have enough to hire a kitchen staff or to buy food. And we got nothing for entertainment the rest of the school year."
A general hubbub flooded the Zeta house meeting room. Bill banged his gavel several times in a vain attempt to restore order before putting two fingers in his mouth and letting out a shrill whistle that almost cracked the windows. The frat brothers settled down after that, and listened as Goggles stood before them, his eyes distorted by his inch thick glasses, read out payment after payment that left them only $4.62 in their account. "Has everybody paid their dues?" Bill said when it was over.
"Yeah," Goggles replied. "Even Tank Watson, who's never on time." Tank smiled broadly, rose and made an elegant bow, which was greeted with a chorus of catcalls.
"Shit," Bill said. "We've got no chance for a fund raiser 'til the end of the semester."
The men of Zeta looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders perplexed until Fingers Whitehouse stood up and said: "Hey, Bill, I've got an idea."
"Chair recognizes Brother Fingers."
"Well, Tank and Goggles went to culinary school last summer, so why don't we get them to whip up some nice finger food for the cotillion at the Parkhurst Country Club. The owner's a Zeta, so he'll front us the money for the grub until we can pay him back. I'll play the piano, and Lowell can belt out some velvet oldies. We offer them Pickle Party Punch and a very different money raising opportunity."
"What?"
"A Cakewalk."
Hostile murmurs filled the room and a couple of guys threw potato chips at Fingers. "Not must any cakewalk," Fingers continued. "A Beef-Cakewalk."
Chubby Atkinson stood up and asked a question. "Is that anything like the slave sale we usually have?"
"Yeah, Chubby, only instead of having them bid on us individually, they all pay every time for a chance to get one of us. And this year, no limits."
Bill banged his gavel. "How is this better than a slave auction?"
"We don't show them the 'cake' before they win it. After sucking down some punch and getting good and hammered, they'll pay out every time, thinking they'll get some great stud like Depp or Clooney. It won't matter if it's Tank or Chubby coming through, cause their money's already gone."
"Yeah, that sounds better," Tank said, standing up. "Chubby and me's tired of old lady Hemminger paying a dollar for the both of us. She's got ten acres to clean up and she doesn't touch it from year to year."
"What's this about no limits?" Goggles said, drooling a little.
"Since it's not an auction, it'll get the old bats interested and we don't have to worry about slave bullshit. We smile and blink at act studly for them, do our Chippendales imitation. After they've sucked down enough punch, they won't remember whether we did anything constructive or not."
General assent resounded through the hall, and Bill put it to a vote, which passed easily.
The next day Fingers and and his girlfriend Kaylee Simpson went by the Greek Council with the program for their parts of the ZZ Cotillion. They were dressed in their respective Zeta sweatshirts with blue jeans and sneakers. Kaylee was a tall, dark haired young woman, pleasantly shaped, and looked splendid next to her tall, dark haired boyfriend with long arms and fingers. They walked with their inner arms around each other's waists, and she was pointing at him, shaking her finger: "It'd better not be another damn slave sale. Mom was so pissed after last year's event, she threatened to stay away this year, and if she stays away then I don't get two hundred dollars monthly fun money."
"Relax, baby. They'll love it. Just as much as our guys will love the painting contest."
"Yeah, right. At least we don't have to run around in those damn bunny outfits and get our butts pinched black and blue."
They reached the Student Union and went up to the Greek Affairs to meet the Coordinator. Macy Evers was a tall, thin girl woman extremely long hair in pig tails, glasses and a business coat and tie, with matching skirt. She graduated five years earlier, getting to stay on campus with the help of the Iotas, who had enough influence to get her the office job. Her crossed legs behind the desk bore witness to years of athletic competition. Her foot tapped rapidly in the air as she put down the first page of the Zeta men's program for the Cotillion: "What's this about a Cakewalk?"
"You know what a cakewalk is Macy," he said, spreading his hands in innocence. "Women make a donation, walk in a circle, and if they land on the right number, they get a cake."
