Helen chuckled. “You’d be surprised. I’ll eat anything.”
“We’ll just have one drink and then go find food.”
A bartender arrived at their table wiping his hands on the small apron he wore around his thick waist. “Well, well, what are the three of you doing in a place like this?”
Betty said, “We just won races up the street at the armory. We’re here to celebrate.”
The man cocked an eyebrow. “What kinda races?”
“Running. You can read all about it in tomorrow’s papers,” Helen said.
“We don’t serve unescorted dames here. I could lose my license,” the bartender growled.
“Well, we’re in luck then, because here comes my husband.” Caroline pointed to Howard as he reappeared.
“You’re with these ladies?” the bartender asked Howard, making it clear by his unamused expression that he considered Caroline, Betty, and Helen to be anything but ladies.
“I am.” Howard smirked at the women, removing his fedora with a flourish.
“Fine. What’ll it be?”
“We’ll have three extra-dry martinis,” Betty said without looking at a menu. “I’ll take extra olives in mine, please.”
“You got it,” the man said, glaring at Betty before turning to Howard. “You?”
“A Manhattan, please.”
The bartender gave them all a final contemptuous look and lumbered to the bar. Caroline wrinkled her nose. “I almost wish Howard wasn’t with us, just so we could have picked more of a fight with him.”
“I’d rather not have to bail you out of jail, my dear,” Howard said.
“What’s in a martini, anyway?” Helen asked.
“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.” Betty lit a cigarette.
Helen looked around at the dark walls of the bar and the scuffed floor and shrugged. She pulled a cocktail napkin closer and began to tear little pieces off its corner. “You should have seen the list of things my coach left me to think about before my race. A lot of it is stuff he usually does for me, like asking about the schedule, how many qualify from each heat to advance, all those details. And then there are strategy suggestions like making sure I pay attention to my early throws because those count and trying to avoid the outside lanes on the track.” By now she had torn the napkin to shreds, and she knew she was talking too much, but she couldn’t stop. “He also wrote, ‘The best always get beat—prolong it as long as possible.’”
Betty swept the destroyed napkin into her palm before dumping it into her pocket. “Don’t worry. At some point, everyone loses. That’s what competition is all about.”
Helen chewed on her lower lip, grateful that she hadn’t caused them to lose the relay. Running races by herself was easier. It felt great to be surrounded by teammates, but worrying that she’d let people down caused too much stress. And honestly, she didn’t want to rely on anyone else either. It felt much safer to go it alone. “I guess so, but I really don’t want to lose to Stella Walsh. She’s the worst.”
“Clearly you’ve never met Babe Didrikson,” Caroline grumbled.
“But Stella’s such a loner,” Betty said. “She never seems to have anyone at races with her and she always vanishes afterward, never talks to anyone. She doesn’t seem to have any friends. Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen her so much as laugh.”
Caroline considered this. “You’re right. She’s certainly different.”
At her mention of different, Helen became wary. “What do you mean?”
“When I think back to Los Angeles, she had a room to herself at the Chapman Park, where all of us gals were staying, but we never saw her. Even when she won the gold in the hundred-meter, she didn’t celebrate. She just left the stadium immediately and disappeared, even wearing her track clothes out onto the street afterward. She’s aloof, a loner.”
“Do you think it’s by choice?” Helen asked.
“Well, she doesn’t make things easy for herself. I mean, her choice to race for Poland hasn’t endeared her to anyone.”
“Why did she do that?” Helen asked.
“They offered her money.” Caroline shrugged. “She needs to make a living and it’s hard to do that as an athlete, especially a woman athlete.”
“But I think it was more than that,” Betty mused. “She doesn’t seem to belong anywhere. She’s lived in Cleveland for ages but doesn’t embrace this country, and yet she doesn’t really seem to be Polish either. Helen, think about it: Didn’t it feel strange to be on your own today?”
“It wasn’t as much fun as when Coach Moore’s around, that’s for sure.”
“Exactly. Racing unattached from a team, not having a coach, all of that can feel isolating, so we avoid doing it, but that’s how Stella races all the time. It must be hard.”
The bartender returned with four glasses balanced on his tray and placed them on the table, sloshing each one slightly, but he made no move to clean up the mess. “This is it. No more drinks this evening. These three ladies shouldn’t be here, mister. I don’t care how well they did tonight in a race.”
Howard stirred his drink. “Got it. I appreciate your enlightenment.”
The bartender frowned, but shuffled away.
“I’ll bet he’s in the back room now looking up the word enlightenment in the dictionary,” Howard said. The women giggled.
“To tonight’s win,” said Betty, lifting her drink toward Caroline, Helen, and Howard.
Helen’s eyes widened as she drank from her glass, and she could see Caroline and Betty exchange amused glances. The drink spilled down her throat and burned and it may have even taken the roof of her mouth off, but she liked it. She wasn’t afraid of its heat. Before she knew it, she had downed the whole thing, and a warm sense of relaxation spread through her. She could get used to this.
After a few minutes and more contemptuous looks from the barkeep, the group finished their drinks and went outside to the sidewalk. Helen looked at Caroline’s and Betty’s faces reflecting the lights within the bar and a sense of expansive affection came over her. She had meant to have Betty sign her autograph book, but she didn’t feel like digging around in her bag to get it out. And she wasn’t worried. After tonight’s success, she suspected she’d be seeing Betty in Providence.
40.
June 1936
Malden, Massachusetts
LOUISE TOOK A JOB IN THE LAUNDRY. THE WORK LEFT her hands chafed with lye and seared with angry burns, but it was a job. A job without responsibility for anyone else but herself. Now she understood what Mama meant when she had said it was a relief to not become entangled in another family’s affairs. Deep in the dark humid recesses of the laundry rooms, Louise told herself she couldn’t hurt or disappoint anyone.
The night after that terrible day in the park, Dr. Conway had arrived at the Stokes home. His skin appeared sallow and bags hung under his eyes. He found Louise in the kitchen, sitting at the table with Mama and Julia, listless. He greeted Mama with a respectful nod and cleared his throat. “Ann Clark is fine now. Her throat opened back up so her breathing stabilized, I stitched up her chin, and she’s exhausted, but she’ll be back to herself in no time.”