It never would have happened if she hadn’t told that one little white lie.
Betty Deudon can’t really be held responsible. After all, she was only a schoolgirl standing on the sidewalk by Long Island City High with a classmate when the handsome French sailors, their red-pomponed hats rakishly askew, strode by.
“Let’s pick them up,” Betty told her girlfriend.
She smiles at the memory. “I didn’t speak French, but my friend did, and when they asked me how old…
