A-Splendid-Ruin(31)

“We’re going swimming?” I asked Goldie.

“Have you ever been?”

“Not ever.” There’d been no money for it. Even Coney Island had been out of reach. “Goldie, I can’t swim. I don’t even have a bathing costume.”

“There are shallow ends just for splashing. And as for the rest”—she patted the bag—“I’ve planned for everything.”

She led the way into the Grecian temple entrance, then down a broad stairway several flights to the swimming tanks, ringed on each level by promenades and stadium observation decks. A domed glass ceiling and walls of windows fronting the oceanside blasted sunlight. Tropical plants and arching palms decorated the staircase and restaurant verandas. It was warm and humid, smelling of salt water and fried food and hair oil, echoing with children’s squeals and people talking as they meandered the promenades.

Goldie took me to the ladies’ dressing rooms and pulled from her bag two parcels wrapped in paper.

“Here’s your bathing costume, as I promised.” She was vibrating in a way that reminded me of Aunt Florence at tea, that barely suppressed tension, though in Goldie it wasn’t tension but excitement. “Now, don’t scold.”

I took the package. “Why should I scold?”

“Just open it.”

I tore away the paper. Inside was folded white fabric instead of the black or gray I’d expected. I shook it out. At first, I thought she’d brought the wrong package. It looked more like an undergarment. It was skirted, with short bloomers beneath, the bodice cut in a deep V to a belted waist, the V filled in with black-and-white-striped fabric that repeated at the hem of the skirt and decorated the short sleeves.

I gaped at my cousin. “What is this?”

“Your bathing costume, of course.”

“This is a bathing costume? It’s no bigger than a handkerchief!”

“Don’t be silly. It’s much larger than that.” Goldie held hers—which matched mine, but in black—against her body.

“Where are the stockings?”

“There are no stockings, Mabel.”

“But our legs will be showing.”

“I know.” Goldie grinned and widened her eyes in mockery. “Isn’t it wonderful? Now we will actually feel the water!”

I stared at it dubiously. “This looks indecent.”

“It’s the very latest fashion, May. Half of the girls in there will have them on. Don’t tell me you’re too afraid to wear it.”

“No, but—”

Goldie sighed and grabbed it from my hands. “Oh very well. Look like some old matron if you want. They’ve got costumes for rent, but they’re those ancient wool things that make everyone look awful.”

“Goldie—”

“Go on, go get one. Here.” She pulled some coins from her bag and shoved them at me. “But you’re ruining everything.”

“Don’t be silly.” I pushed the coins away and grabbed the suit back. “Of course I’ll wear it. I was only surprised.”

She gave me the golden smile that made me her puppet. I ducked into the dressing room and changed, then tried desperately to ignore the shocking pale thinness of my legs, the exposed expanse of skin. I tugged at the skirt, hoping it might miraculously unfurl to cover at least my thighs, but it remained stubbornly short. Perhaps people would mistake my white legs for matching stockings.

I stepped out, self-conscious, barefoot, only to hear Goldie’s cry of dismay.

“What is it?” I asked.

She was inside another dressing room. “Oh, I can’t believe it! No, no, no!”

“What’s wrong?”

“They sent the wrong size! Oh, I will scream at that salesgirl for this. I told her.”

“Surely we can pin it in places,” I suggested.

“May, it’s far too small. I can’t even get it over my hips. Oh, hell!”

Some of the other women in the changing rooms turned to look. I crept closer and lowered my voice, trying not to seem too relieved. “You can wear mine.”

“Don’t be a fool. You’re a foot taller at least. It will never fit.”

I was not a foot taller. Only a few inches, but it was true that my costume fit perfectly, and I saw no real way for Goldie to wear it. “There’s no help for it then. We can go swimming another day.”

“No, no. I don’t want to ruin your fun. I’ll go rent a bathing suit. You go on out. I’ll meet you in the warm tank closest to the one for the women and children.”

“Closest?” I asked. “You mean we aren’t swimming in the women’s tank?”

Goldie poked her face out. “Why would we, when we can flirt with half-dressed men? Now go. I’ll meet you in a few minutes. If you aren’t talking to some man by the time I get there, I’ll send you back to Brooklyn!”

“I’ll just wait for you here.”

“You absolutely will not. Go!” She shooed me away with a laugh. “You’re a Sullivan, and Sullivans go forth!”

I stepped from the dressing room, making my way to the tanks. The sun glared onto the water through the many windows and the ceiling. Swimmers scrambled over slides and springboards and bobbed in the tanks, all of them black suited, most of the women stockinged. There were only a few dressed like me.