“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen, my goodness. Well, you’re hardly the youngest. There are a few other high-school-age track and field girls and some swimmers and divers too. I believe little Eleanor Holm is fourteen and Olive Hasenfus can’t be much more than that. Good heavens, isn’t this heat wave dreadful? The New York Post is reporting that six people died yesterday, poor souls. I hope it goes away when we get out onto open water.” With her silk stockings and tightly fitting lilac-colored serge suit, it was easy to see why the woman had a steady stream of sweat rolling down her temples. She stopped by a door and checked her list. “Let’s see . . . yes, here we are. This is your cabin. It will be tight. I’m afraid we were supposed to be on a different ship, but it suffered a recent fire. So now everyone’s jammed aboard this one. All three hundred and fifty of us, dear me.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Yes, well, you’re going to have to be very careful and alert. We’re packed in here like sardines. You could get knocked over by gymnasts flipping on their mats on the C Deck, stabbed by the fencers or punched by the boxers on the Sun Deck, shot by the men competing in the modern pentathlon on the rear back deck, or kicked by the horses galloping on the treadmills set on the D Deck. I make it all sound positively lethal, but keep a lookout and you’ll be fine. Just wait until tomorrow when you try the track installed on the Promenade Deck. We’ve told the athletes doing field events that they are not to throw javelins and discuses while we’re out at sea. Too risky. The cyclists are only permitted to ride their bikes during certain times, but I’m sure they’ll be whizzing around without any respect for the rest of us.” She leaned over and said in a conspiratorial tone, “They can be a bit superior, but if you ask me, they look rather absurd on their little contraptions. And just wait until the boat starts rolling while they’re speeding around. Mark my words, it will knock them down a few pegs.” She gave a breathy giggle. “Now, General MacArthur plans to have a meeting up on the Promenade Deck once we’ve pushed offshore, and he will explain the assigned practice times. Just keep a cool head, follow directions, and everything will go smoothly.”
Betty’s mind reeled. Stabbed? Shot? Kicked? What exactly had she signed up for? But then she looked at the matronly figure of Mrs. Allen buttoned up in her department store ensemble, topped with her carefully constructed beauty-salon coiffure. She didn’t appear to be the type who would live too dangerously.
Mrs. Allen cleared her throat. “I can tell you’re a good one. Everyone’s been so skeptical of the girl runners. You know all of this talk about being morally objectionable? Well, it’s ridiculous. And what of those girl swimmers and divers? Now, they’re the ones who need to be watched closely. Between the two of us, it seems that prancing around in those little bathing costumes gives them airs. Why, they’re just counting the days until they land film deals. In the meantime, they think they can get away with murder. Oh goodness, their chaperone”—she clucked—“that poor woman is going to have her hands full.” A blast of the ship’s horn made them both jump and Mrs. Allen placed her palm on her chest. “Mercy me, I need to get back up to the gangway to find some of the other girls and make sure they know where they’re going.” She frowned. “You’re a quiet thing, but you can introduce yourself to the girls in your cabin, right? Can you do that?”
Betty nodded. “Yes, everything will be grand.”
“There you go,” Mrs. Allen said over her shoulder as she hustled herself back toward the stairs.
Betty inhaled and gave a little knock on the cabin door before entering. Two young women lounged on a pair of bunks; one had her head hidden behind a copy of Photoplay. A third empty bunk hung above the other two, its height clearly designating it as the least desirable of the set.
“Sorry, kid. This isn’t the nursery. Keep moving down the hall,” one of the women said, folding an arm behind her neck and stretching her lanky legs out on the thin wool blanket beneath her.
From the narrow space between the bunks, Betty looked back and forth at her cabinmates. She had a sister in her late twenties back at home, Jean, and Betty had always been relegated to being the baby of the family. No more. She dropped her suitcase. “I’m Betty Robinson, your other roommate.”
The second woman put down her magazine as she pushed herself into a sitting position and extended a hand toward Betty. “Don’t pay any attention to Dee. She’s deluded into thinking she’s a riot, poor thing. Hey, don’t I know you from home? You’re from Chicago, isn’t that right?”
Betty studied the woman. She appeared forthright and plain, her smile genuine.
“Yes, I’ve been training with the Illinois Women’s Athletic Club.”
“I’m on the South Side of the city and getting to the IWAC is a pain in the neck for me, so my boyfriend trains me. My name’s Caroline Hale and”—she pointed to the other woman—“that’s Dee Boeckmann. You’re another sprinter, right?”
“Yes, I’m running the hundred.”
“Trying to be the fastest women in the world, huh?” Dee asked with an air of self-importance. “I heard that Elta Cartwright is a real speed devil. Didn’t she win the trials? And then there are those Canadians—what are they calling them? The Matchless Six? Sounds like you two have your work cut out for you.”
Caroline flashed her palm at Dee to stop her. “Cripes, quit giving us such a hard time and loosen up. This is supposed to be fun, remember?” And with that, she raised a lipstick and traced it carefully around her mouth before plucking a battered pack of Lucky Strikes from her pocketbook lying on the edge of her bunk. “Want one?” she asked, holding it out.
Betty had never smoked before, but she was on the adventure of a lifetime, so why not? She slid one from the packet and leaned in for Caroline to light it. The smoke burned her throat as she inhaled and she coughed, but it felt sophisticated to hold a cigarette aloft. She took another drag. Thankfully, the second try went down smoothly.
Dee frowned. “Couldn’t you two do that outside? I’m feeling a little seasick.”
“Already? We haven’t even shoved off from the dock yet. Don’t be such a killjoy.” Caroline swung her legs to the floor and balanced her cigarette between two long fingers as she stood, grinning. “But that’s not such a bad idea. What do you say, Betty, want to go out to the deck and see what kind of trouble we can get into? If we’re lucky, maybe Johnny Weissmuller will be out there in his swim trunks. Did you see the pool? It’s barely bigger than a piss pot.”
“There’s a pool?” Betty asked.
“Sure, how do you think the swimmers keep up their training?” Caroline said.
“Say, why are you so interested in Johnny Weissmuller? Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Dee asked.
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I can’t look. There’s no ring on my finger yet.” She winked at Betty, exhaled a long plume of smoke, and held the door open. “All right, well, that settles it. Put down your bag, Betty. Let’s take a tour of this place. If we’re lucky, the fellas will already be training with their shirts off. Let’s have some laughs. We’ve earned them! For God’s sake, you know what I did to raise a little spending cash for this trip?”