Winnie and Dora walked up bustling Second Ave. on Friday night, heading toward the soda shop where Winnie had agreed to meet Scott.
“Nervous about your date?” Dora asked.
“It’s not a date,” Winnie said, reminding Dora for the nth time that day. Reminding herself. “It’s an investigation.”
Dora’s excitement about what she insisted on calling a date made it hard for Winnie to keep her own jitters in check, but Winnie was still glad she’d told her friend. There were so many things she had to keep inside. She didn’t want to add another.
“I’ll take that as a yes. But you shouldn’t be! Just be yourself. How could Scott not adore you then?”
Winnie reached out and gave Dora’s arm an affectionate squeeze. For as long as Winnie’d known her, Dora had always had a soft spot for the underdog.
“That’s sweet,” Winnie said, then looked around nervously. “But don’t say his name so loud!” She knew it was silly to worry that a friend of his might overhear, but she couldn’t help it.
Dora wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You aren’t really mad?”
“No. But how I feel—it isn’t a joke to me.”
Dora gave her a squeeze, then let her go. “I know, doll-baby.”
But Dora didn’t really know. How could she? Any boy would be thrilled to find out Dora liked him. As sweet as she was to say that Winnie would charm Scott just by being herself, there had always been people who had no problem disliking the authentic Winnie.
Dora couldn’t understand because she had an ease with people that Winnie did not share, and beauty as the cherry on top. Winnie took time to warm up to people, and they to her. She knew her shyness sometimes made her seem cold, even judgmental, but being aware of this flaw didn’t bring her any closer to being able to fix it. In fact, she wasn’t sure it could be fixed—that it wasn’t just part of who she was, for better or worse.
They reached the soda shop, and Winnie could see it was packed with the typical Friday night crowd. She paused outside the door.
“Well, I guess this is where you leave me,” Winnie said, rocking back on her heels nervously. “Thanks for your help.”
Dora laughed. “Not a chance!” she said. “If you think I’m leaving without even laying eyes on lover boy, you’re crazy.”
Winnie sighed. She knew Dora well enough to know there was no point arguing.
The girls walked into the soda shop and pushed through the crowd of people milling around, sipping drinks, to order at the counter.
“Chocolate egg cream for me,” Dora told the soda jerk, who hurried off to make her drink without even checking to see if Winnie wanted anything.
This sort of response was so typical that it didn’t even register with Dora, but Winnie always noticed.
“What are you going to have, Winnie?” Dora asked cheerfully. “Some fries? A chocolate malt?”
The mention of food made Winnie queasy. Although she had skipped dinner, her stomach was all raw, roiling nerves.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, then don’t do it for your stomach—do it for my ego. That little waist of yours does a number on it.”
Winnie rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure—because your shape just drives the boys away.”
Dora had curves like Mae West. She often got double takes from boys and grown men alike, and she knew it.
“Keep in mind, I have help,” Dora said. “As Mother always says, you can’t land a first-rate husband with a second-rate girdle!”
The soda jerk returned with Dora’s drink. When she paid, he tilted his paper hat back to a jaunty angle and said, “Enjoy!” with a wink.
The girls turned their backs to the counter in search of a table, but none were free. A pair of boys at a corner table saw them scanning the shop. One got up and sauntered over. He was wearing a varsity sweater, and his blond hair was immaculately brushed and shiny with Brylcreem. Winnie took an immediate dislike to him.
“You’re welcome to sit with us,” he said, “if you want.”
Winnie gave Dora’s arm a little squeeze of protest. She was ignored.
“Well, sure!” Dora said, batting her lashes prettily. “That’s awful nice of you.”
They followed him back to his table. Dora slid into the booth after him, and Winnie sat across from her, next to a bored-looking boy who glanced over at her for a second and nodded an unenthusiastic hello. Apparently, he was as thrilled to be there as Winnie was.
“I’m Matty,” the blond said, “and that’s Roger.”
“Dora, and Winnie.”
“What’s a girl like you doing out alone on a Friday night?” Matty asked Dora.
Winnie resisted the urge to point out that Dora hadn’t exactly been alone.
“I figure any girls who need dates to have a good time must be pretty dull themselves,” Dora said. “And we don’t have any trouble having fun just the two of us, right, Winnie?”
Winnie nodded and glanced over at the clock behind the counter, cursing herself for being so nervous about being late to her rendezvous with Scott that she had instead arrived quite early.
“What, you bored?” the friend, Roger, asked her.
Winnie shrugged, aware that she was being a bit rude, but not really caring. She wished Dora had just left her to wait alone. No boys would have approached her, and she could have waited for Scott in peace.
“She’s a quiet one, isn’t she?”
“She can hear just fine, though,” Winnie said icily, trying unsuccessfully to keep the slight German lilt from creeping into her voice.
“Say, you aren’t a Kraut, are ya?” Roger asked suspiciously.
“I’m an American citizen,” Winnie said haughtily, then reluctantly added, “who immigrated from Germany.”
“So . . . yes?”
Winnie could think of no quick comeback, so she just glowered at him.
Dora gave Matty an annoyed look, and he quickly said, “Aw, leave her alone, Roge.”
“I’m just going to go wait for Scott outside,” Winnie said.
“Stay!” Dora said. “Please?”
“Yes,” Matty echoed disinterestedly, “please stay.”
Winnie shook her head and stood.
“Fine,” Dora said, glaring at her. Then to the boys, she said, “It was nice meeting you.” She paused for a moment—waiting for Matty to ask for her number, Winnie suspected—but the boys just nodded goodbye.
“Gee, thanks a lot,” Dora said, once they were out on the street.
“They were obnoxious.”
“Why can’t you ever just laugh things off? A couple of decent guys want to spend time with us, and at the slightest misunderstanding you become Little Miss Sourpuss.”
“You heard what his friend called me!”
“Your mind was made up before he said a peep. It would be nice if we could just have a good time sometimes, talk to a few boys without you frowning at them.”
Winnie crossed her arms over her chest. Stuff guys like that. Dora could have them. Those were the kind of boys who’d smashed up Herr Wagner’s store windows just because he was German, who tooled around Brooklyn in beat-up cars and threw cabbages at the immigrants in their telltale baggy clothes and heavy-soled shoes.
Still, she knew that Dora was right about one thing: her disinterest in those boys had little to do with being called a Kraut. Dora wanted a boy like Matty—or better yet, two or three of them—to take her to drive-ins and dances, and maybe to neck a little bit. Winnie wanted . . . well, she wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted from Scott, but something different. Something more substantial.
She tried to find the words for her dissatisfaction. “The world’s a huge place, filled with interesting people,” Winnie said, “so why should I waste any time smiling at a couple of jerks?”
Dora sighed. “Couldn’t you just be a little friendlier next time?” She nudged Winnie’s arm and pulled a funny face. “A little nicer, just for me?”
For Dora, being friendly was the most natural thing in the world—it was like her dimples had formed from smiling at everything and everyone. It wasn’t so easy for Winnie. She could no more fake friendliness than she could fake flu, which Brunhilde had never fallen for.
Winnie felt a sickening jump in her stomach, like the feeling when an elevator begins a speedy descent with a lurch, but much more intense. She tried to keep her face neutral as a split played itself out in her head. I hate that, for me, being out with you is fun enough, but you’re always scanning the crowd, looking for something better to come along, Split-Winnie said.
In some other world, she was bold enough to confront Dora. But here, all Winnie did was nod and say, “Fine. I’ll try to play nice next time you make us sit with a couple of dull strangers.”
Dora chose to ignore Winnie’s tone. She smiled brightly and said, “That’s all I ask.”
Yes, all Dora wanted was for Winnie to be the one making concessions yet again, Winnie thought, but of course, she said nothing.
It was only a few more minutes before Scott arrived, but it felt like an eternity. When Winnie finally saw him walking toward them, she waved enthusiastically—too enthusiastically—and then quickly dropped her hand. His wool overcoat was unbuttoned, so Winnie could see that he was dressed rather formally too, in a gray suit and a crisp white shirt with a dark tie knotted at the neck. Were the department mixers at Columbia such a dressy affair, or had he taken extra care with his clothing for her?
It was intimidating to see Scott looking so handsome—dashing, even—but then he grinned at her, and the expression made him look like the boy she knew again. She smiled right back.
“Hello, Winnie,” he said. “This must be Dora,” he added, offering his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Dora said.
She gave Winnie a significant look—a look that plainly said well done. Winnie blushed a little, but she was pleased by Dora’s obvious approval too.
“Were you going to join us for the party?” Scott asked uncertainly. “I’m only really allowed one guest, but I’m sure—”
Dora laughed. “Thank you, but no, that’s quite all right.”
Scott smiled in return. “It’s not how most girls prefer to spend their Friday nights, is it? Surrounded by a bunch of pontificating professors.”
“Pontificating professors! Our Winnie will love that, though, won’t she?”
It seemed a horrifying overstep—that our—but Scott didn’t laugh nervously or show discomfort of any kind. He just smiled, and said, “Hopefully!”
“We should probably . . .” Winnie said, trailing off.
“Yes,” Scott agreed. “The party starts in less than an hour.”
Dora pulled her into a hug. “I want you to tell me everything,” she hissed in Winnie’s ear.
When Dora pulled away, Winnie could have sworn Scott was grinning like he’d overheard.
She would kill Dora! She would simply kill her—if she didn’t die of embarrassment first.
Scott offered Winnie his arm. “Shall we?”
Winnie tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. She could feel the wiry muscle of his forearm even through the thick wool of his coat, hard under her fingertips. Any annoyance she felt toward Dora vanished. She suddenly wished it were spring, so Scott would be wearing a lighter coat.
But she shouldn’t forget the true purpose of the evening—to learn more about James’s whereabouts. If she let herself be distracted by her attraction to Scott, she might never figure out what had happened to his friend.
She imagined how grateful Scott would be when she helped him find James. Then, maybe the next time he invited her out, it really would be a date.
At least, she could hope.