“Louise? Tidye?” a woman’s voice whispered. “Dee says to come to Eleanor’s cabin immediately.”
“Eleanor the swimmer?” Tidye asked.
“Yes, see the open door down there? That’s the one.”
“Why?” Tidye croaked.
Louise slid out of her bunk as whoever was at the door mumbled an indistinct reply. What was going on? Below her feet, after several days of rolling, the floor felt stable. No rain, no heavy winds. She tilted her head to listen to sounds above the steady low rumble of the ship’s engine. Everything sounded fine and she didn’t smell anything burning.
When Tidye shut the door and switched the cabin light on, her face appeared yellow and waxy.
“Who was that? What’s happening?” Louise asked, her head still thick with sleep.
“Olive. She didn’t really say.”
“What time is it?”
Tidye held her wristwatch up to the light. “Five o’clock.”
Both women grumbled and pulled on dressing gowns before leaving their cabin and making their way down the hall. When they reached Eleanor’s cabin, they found Dee leaning against the doorway smoking a cigarette and watching the smoke from her exhalation drift toward the ceiling.
Mrs. Sackett, the women’s swim team chaperone, stepped from the doorway and beckoned. The athletes followed her. No one spoke.
There, draped across the bunk, lay Eleanor, still in a plum-colored evening gown dotted with seed pearls. Her dark finger curls appeared frizzy and mascara streaks trickled down her cheeks. Her eyes flashed in indignation as the women filed into the tiny room.
“Can’t a girl get a little peace around here first thing in the morning?” she said, her voice hoarse. She waved her hand in dismissal. “Everyone get out.”
Mrs. Sackett and Mr. Brundage towered over Eleanor’s bed, while the team’s physician sat on its edge with a stethoscope poised between his index finger and thumb. He moved it toward her chest, but she pushed him away.
“This is ridiculous. Everyone out!” she repeated, louder than before.
“Now, Mrs. Jarrett,” Mr. Brundage said, looking down his nose at the swimmer. “What happened last night constitutes a serious offense.”
“What? Drinking? When we received our uniforms, you said drinking and smoking were up to the discretion of each individual athlete.”
“You were hardly partaking in an after-dinner drink. I would describe you as intoxicated. Mrs. Sackett confirms you were seen cavorting on the Promenade Deck with a champagne coupe in your hands well after curfew.”
“So was everyone in the first-class cabins. All of your precious men were drinking whiskey and gin by the bucketload and playing poker. Isn’t gambling a violation of the Olympic oath?”
“My dear, you’re in no condition to pass judgment.”
“Listen, this is my third Olympic Games and I have a gold medal already.” Even in her bedraggled state, her beautiful wide-set dark eyes glittered sharp and dangerous. “If I want a little champagne, it’s my right. I’m of age and married. Don’t you dare criticize me.”
Mr. Brundage straightened the lapels of his dark suit and gave her a pitying look before turning to the physician. “Well, Dr. Lawson?”
The man crossed his legs, his face dour. “It appears that Mrs. Jarrett is an acute alcoholic.”
“Are you kidding?” Eleanor raised herself to sitting. “If that’s the case, you better give the same news to the rowers, the boxers, the marksmen . . . hmm, probably every male athlete on this boat. And the reporters too. Why, those first-class cabins filled with all of your cronies are wetter than anything outside that porthole. And let’s not forget that the reason you know that I was drinking is because you were there too. Didn’t I see a martini in your hand, sir?” Her mouth, smeary with crimson lipstick, slashed into an angry thin line with the last word.
Mr. Brundage’s face darkened. A vein at his temple pulsed. He straightened his tie and turned to the women filling the doorway. “Ladies, let this be an example of what can befall you should you choose to engage in immoral behavior. As of now, Mrs. Eleanor Holm Jarrett is officially off the Olympic team and must disembark immediately when we reach Hamburg.”
There was a collective sharp inhalation of breath.
Eleanor’s face whitened. “You can’t do that to me.”
“I can and I have.” He wagged his finger. “It’s a shame you’ve failed to take things seriously.” He turned away from the swimmer and moved toward the door, but Eleanor lunged forward and pointed an index finger at him. The diamond bracelet around her wrist caught the light from the sconce on the wall and flashed like the eyes of an animal in the night.
“Don’t walk away from me like that. The newspapers call me the greatest backstroke swimmer in the world. You must hate the fact that I’m a talented woman with money and a career. My independence represents everything you fear, doesn’t it? You’re a small man, Mr. Brundage, a small man indeed.”
He turned back to her but said nothing, though the tightening of his jaw was evident to all. He glanced at Eleanor, his expression icy, before facing the rest of the women. “Show’s over, ladies. I recommend that you return to your rooms to prepare for the day. Follow the curfew for the remainder of this trip. I will not tolerate any unladylike behavior from any of you. Am I clear?”
Only the rustling of silk dressing gowns could be heard as the athletes shifted uneasily before drifting back to their cabins as if sleepwalking. Louise laced her fingers through Tidye’s and found them cold. Not until the door was shut behind them in their cabin did they face each other.
“Oh Lord, that Brundage man frightens me,” Louise whispered.
Tidye switched off the light and sank onto her bunk, pulling her knees to her chest. “We need to try to catch another hour or so of sleep. This feels like a bad dream.”
“Maybe someone can talk some sense into him,” Louise said,
