Chapter Text
(Y/N) shrugged further into her fur shawl, wishing she had opted to wear a dress with longer sleeves as she peered up through the car window, the weather outside cold enough for her warm breath to leave circles of fog on the glass. Clouds brimmed the sky above the small swing club that was popular among Brooklyn natives, and the leaves of stocky trees danced over its entrance.
The black Ford shuttered to a halt alongside the curb, tires mucking up the sopping, orange leaves that lay in the gutter. She heard the driver set the parking brake and open his door, then her own. Her lips tilted upward, in a manner so faint you wouldn’t recognize it if you didn’t know her personally, as she accepted his extended hand.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Dailey. I do hope it won’t be too much trouble for you to return in just two hours,” she inquired of the driver.
“Not at all, my dear. Now go,” he ushered with kind eyes. “Have fun, dance, meet somebody.”
She chuckled lightly. “Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mr. Dailey.”
He raised his hands to signal the that the subject had been dropped and returned to the driver’s door, hand stopping just short of the silver handle. “Just chalk it up to an old man’s optimism, I suppose.” He winked, gave a short wave, and slid into the seat.
“Mischievous old man”, (Y/N) muttered under her breath, a smirk playing at her lips, as the car pulled away.
Upon entering this swing lounge one could expect to be met with the lilting music of a live band, and greeted by the sight of people dancing to their heart’s content on polished wood floors, lounging on velvet couches and chairs, or perhaps perched on a barstool.
The change in atmosphere was impossible to ignore the moment she passed the coat check. The chill that leaked from the front doors was replaced with a muggy intimacy that signalled of dance and booze. She couldn’t wait to immerse herself in it.
(Y/N) quickly scurried to the bathroom first, wanting to ensure she hadn’t mussed up her hair or makeup on the drive over. She plopped herself gently on a light pink pouf that sat in front of one of the many mirrors lining the wall. There, several other women stood chatting about one thing or another, some engrossed in conversation while others merely tittered briefly as they adjusted their appearance. Giving herself a once-over she simply tucked a strand or two of hair back in place and huffed in anticipation. She certainly hoped she didn't look intimidating or unapproachable.
***
“Take the black car,” her mother had insisted, “and the driver, too,” she added, never having bothered to learn his name in the six years Mr. Dailey had worked for them. “We want him to see that you have money, let him know you have something to bring to the table.” She rifled through the expanse of clothes before her, trying to found the perfect outfit to send her daughter out in.
“You know Mother, as it turns out I’ll be busy that evening. Greta asked if someone was willing to take over her shift on that day, something about her husband working overtime and their usual childcare service being unavailable. I’m really very sorr–”
She raised a resolute hand and stopped her daughter mid-excuse. “Absolutely not. You’ve been dodging these plans purposefully for weeks now, and don’t think I don’t know that’s exactly what you’ve been doing,” she reprimanded with a wagging finger. Her mother turned back around to the closet, audibly rejecting every piece of clothing.“No, no, no– hideous– who even bought this for you?” (Y/N) rolled her eyes in defeat as soon as the woman’s back was turned. “This Greta girl can sort out her problems herself. You have your own husband to worry about.”
“I don’t have a husband, Mother.”
“And that’s exactly what you need to worry about! For goodness sake, you’re 25 years old, darling. By your age I already–”
“Already had two children,” she finished for her. “I know, Mother, we’ve discussed this before.”
The older of the women looked back at her daughter patronizingly. “I’m only looking out for you, my sweetest one. You don’t want to grow old alone, do you? You’ve seen how your Aunt Victoria ended up, yes?” she warned with her eyebrows raised in disapproval.
A very successful and wealthy pianist is what had become of Aunt Victoria. She travelled the world performing in top bands and occasionally conducting the soundtrack to a Hollywood hit. (Y/N) actually looked up to her aunt, admiring the nomadic and independent lifestyle she adopted. Despite all of this, she was considered a failure in the eyes of her sister, entirely because of the fact that she never married.
“Actually, Mother, that is something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you.” She twisted her fingers tightly, anxiety weighing in her stomach and lead replacing her tongue.
“And what’s that, my dear?” her mother questioned without turning her head.
“Well… Aunt Victoria is very wealthy, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And you are most concerned for my well-being financially, yes?”
“Of course, darling. All I want is for you to be well-off.”
“That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say. You see, Mr. Turner recently offered me a promotion in both position and pay, and I know that we agreed I would work for only one year, and during that time I am supposed to find someone to marry, but–”
“This dress simply must be thrown out,” she heard her mother call as she left the room. “Where would you even wear such a thing?”
Her face immediately fell at the lack of regard her Mother had for the future she envisioned. “Mother, were you listening to me?” The older woman sauntered back into the room, focused on the tag of a different blouse she had picked up, as if she would be pleased with anything her daughter owned. “Mother?” she pressed once more.
“Hm?” She glanced up. “Oh yes, I heard you.” She folded the blouse over her arm and interlaced her fingers. “Um, no. I don’t think that would be okay.” Her smile was tight and she shook her head short and quick.
(Y/N)’s heart sunk. She fought back the tears that prickled at her eyes and gripped the sides of her chair, shoulders pulled stiff and head nodding dumbly. How could she have allowed herself to expect anything less? She felt her mother’s bony hand cradle her chin.
“A silly old secretary job won’t provide you the same security as a husband. Trust me. Now,” she clapped her hands together and spun on her heel to face the closet, “we must go shopping this weekend, you have absolutely nothing to wear.”
***
She smiled, now, at the irony of it. Her mother wanted her to be happy, and thinking financial security was the only way to ensure this, completely disregarded her deepest wishes.
At the very least she was allowed to choose the location. (Y/N) had stumbled upon this quaint, little club on another rainy night as she ran indoors to avoid the fat raindrops that painted the sidewalk. She appreciated the way it felt cozy and welcoming in contrast to the stuffiness of the lounges she and her mother frequented. That night, (Y/N) curled up on a chaise lounge and watched happy people dance for a good hour before she realized her mother would be expecting her home shortly. It was the most content and relaxed she had felt in weeks. She promised herself she would visit again.
She carried herself over to the bar, intending to soften her nerves even if only slightly, dodging dancing feet all the way. The bartender perked up at the sight of her approaching. “What can I do for the lovely lady?” he asked, wiping off his hands and leaning in slightly.
“I’ll have a Sidecar”, she told him, quickly adding a please and thank you. Lifting herself swiftly onto a barstool, (Y/N) crossed her ankles, hardly paying notice to someone settling into the seat beside her.
“Put it on my tab, Andy,” the stranger piped up. The bartender gave a slight nod as he continued mixing her drink.
“That’s very kind of you, sir.” She turned to face the meddling stranger, caught off guard by how attractive he was. She took in his strong jaw and steely-yet-friendly blue eyes.
“Now, now, none of this ‘sir’ business here,” he chuckled. “I’m James, but my friends call me Bucky. Besides, it’s nothing for the beautiful Mrs.-?”
“Miss,” she corrected him. “Miss (L/N).”
“And does Miss (L/N) have a first name?” he asked, hunched over his own glass.
His confident voice was absolutely enchanting and she found herself swiveling in his direction. “(Y/N).”
He nodded and his eyes glinted, but whether it was due to intoxication or flirtation she couldn’t tell. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Andy set the drink down in front of her and she was grateful for the distraction as she felt her face heat up in a blush. “I just can’t believe whoever you’re here with left you by yourself.”
“I’m here alone, actually.” She couldn’t quite tell why, but it made her proud to say that, and she found herself sitting up a tad bit straighter.
"A pretty dame like you? I hardly believe that."
Dame. (Y/N) was quickly reminded of the fact that she was in Brooklyn, a far reach from the type of man her mother expected her to bring home one day. She had herself questioning her thinking behind coming to this side of the city. The odds of finding a man here that didn’t have a job in manual labor for a living were slim to none. (Y/N) could already perfectly imagine the secretly-horrified-yet-polite smile on her mother’s face if she were to introduce “Bucky” to her. (Y/N) dear, how nice of you to introduce us to your… friend.
“Miss (L/N)?” he asked.
(Y/N) brought herself back to the present, the crystal blue of his eyes rejecting every doubt in her mind. “So sorry,” she continued, “lost in my thoughts I suppose.”
“You seem like someone who has plenty of thoughts going on in that pretty head of yours. You also seem like someone who doesn't get many chances to voice them.” He knowingly blinked at her.
This gently strummed one of her nerves. Part of (Y/N) didn't quite like being read so easily. “And why do you care?”
“You pique my interest. I'd like to be the one to hear you out, if you'd do me the honor of letting me take you out sometime.” He explored her face, the expression remaining curious and unsure. “If I may be so blunt,” he soon added, following her silence.
She gracefully hopped off her barstool and fixed the satin skirt that settled gently at her knees. Bucky glanced around as he recognized the incoming rejection. He prepared to leave the bar himself; getting shot down tended to be the part of the night when he decided to head home. He laid a tip for Andy down on the counter, being sure to cover both drinks, and shrugged his jacket onto his shoulders, turning toward the door.
“Where are you going, Mr. Barnes?”
“Well I thought- ”
“If you want a date, why wait until later? We're both free right now. The city is only a few blocks down. If you would just give me a moment to freshen up before we leave?” she implored.
Bucky gaped at (Y/N), brow slightly furrowed. He began to feel butterflies at the thought that his night was not yet over. “Y-yes,” sputtered at last. “Go right ahead. I’ll be right here when you’re ready to go.”
He watched her drift back to the powder room. Then Andy’s voice piped up behind him, thick with a Brooklyn upbringing.
“She seems like a feisty one. Bit of a handful, ya know?”
“How do you mean?” Bucky countered.
“The feisty ones are trouble, my friend. Take my advice, it's based on experience. I grew up in a family of strong-headed women; Nana and Ma were not to be trifled with. With those types of women, you'll never get a word in edgewise.”
“Maybe,” he turned to his longtime friend, hands in pockets, “but Lord knows they're the exciting ones.”