My Gene Winfield Story – Part 2

One Night, One Dance, One Legend—And a Secret I Almost Didn’t Say

Last time on my adventures with Gene Winfield: I turned down a chance to have dinner with him. As a consolation, I promised to take him dancing the following year.

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After the 2013 contest, I spent the rest of the year looking forward to the following year’s show. I daydreamed about seeing Gene again. Yes, I had a loyal boyfriend, but my mind wandered—what if I had said yes to dinner? I was a hot rod pin-up gal with stars in my eyes.

I forgot to mention last time that right after I turned Gene down, we did a photoshoot together with Vintage Girl Studios. The photographer, Tyna Calderone, took us to one of the car displays, where we posed on a couch with Gene and graphic artist Scott Fisk. Ginger and I were on either side of Gene, arms around him, legs on display, striking cheeky pin-up poses. We even held spray guns. It was a blast.

Even though I’m an old married lady now, I still have one of those photos on my nightstand in a sparkly heart frame that Ginger gave me. When I got the digital images of the shoot from Tyna, I made one into a card and sent it to Gene’s shop in California. I thanked him and reminded him of my promise—if he returned next year, I’d take him out dancing.

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March 2014 rolled around, and the next World of Wheels came with it. My weekend would be spent organizing the pin-up contest alongside Ginger Jordan (Tina Smith), Jenny Starr (Ms. WOW 2012), and Janice Allen of The Bombshell Betties. I even asked Rick if I could work Gene’s merch booth, but he shut me down, saying that “pretty girls were too much of a distraction” for Gene. Oh well, I tried.

When I arrived at the Seaport Convention Center that Saturday morning, Ginger had already texted me. Guess who asked about you last night at dinner? Gene.

A year later, and he still remembered me? I couldn’t believe it.

When I greeted him, his whole face lit up. He hugged me and told me I looked beautiful. His cologne—familiar and intoxicating—lingered in the air.

The day flew by as I worked the booth next to Gene’s display, secretly wishing I could ditch the pin-up dress, throw on work clothes, and help chop Chris Dargue’s Rad Cad Cadillac with the guys.

That night, Gene announced he wanted to go dancing—but no one else was up for it. It was cold, rainy, miserable. And, after turning him down last year, I wasn’t sure if he’d ask me again.

I turned to Ginger. “What do I do?”

She grinned. “Call Glenn and tell him you want to dance with Gene.”

So I did.

Glenn answered groggily. He’d been napping, waiting for me to call so he could pick me up.

“You WHAT?” he said when I told him my plan.

“Gene Winfield wants to go dancing! Let’s take him.”

“But where?” Glenn hesitated. “I’m not dressed for going out.”

“Who cares? Capone’s? The Continental? Someplace with oldies music and a dance floor. Just come.”

To my surprise, he agreed.

I told Gene, “If you’d like to go dancing, my boyfriend and I will take you.”

His whole face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Just give me 20 minutes to freshen up,” he said.

As we walked through the convention center, he told everyone—like an excited kid—that he was going dancing. Rick Finamore winked at him and said, “You’re a lucky man, Gene!”

I stood at the entrance in my red Pin-up Couture wiggle dress, Persian lamb coat, and white mink collar, feeling like I’d stepped out of the 1940s.

When Gene returned, he was sporting a black leather jacket over a gray-and-black pinstriped shirt. His black hair, still thick at 86, was slicked into a pompadour. And that cologne… I never found out what it was, but damn.

With rain pouring down, Glenn finally arrived at the convention center in my Ford Fiesta. I told Gene to sit in the front. I watched Glenn’s face from the backseat—he was in awe, like a teenager meeting his idol.

After about a twenty-minute drive, The Continental came into view, its signature red canopy glowing under the streetlights. The rain hadn’t let up, and the big oak doors stood solid and welcoming, just as they always had. Inside, the deep buttoned red upholstered booths and dark wood paneling gave the place its old-school supper club charm. Stained glass accents cast golden pools of color over the bar, and the ornamental Greek decor gave the place the feel of a bye-gone era, perfect for the kind of night that already felt like stepping back in time.

Glenn parked close to the entrance. Gene opened the back door for me, ever the gentleman, and we scurried inside, shaking off the cold drizzle.

At the bar, Gene and Glenn, who both did not drink, ordered sodas; I got a cider—and as soon as the music picked up, Gene and I found our way to the dance floor.

The DJ played a mix of oldies and swing tunes, and Gene showed me his moves. I was a swing dancer (or, as Gene called it, jitterbug), so we combined styles, twirling and laughing. His energy was contagious. “Shake it up!” he’d call out, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

At one point, I danced with Glenn. “Thanks for doing this,” I said.

He smiled. “Gene’s a really nice guy.”

I laughed. “He said the same thing about you.”

As the night wound down, the DJ played “Tonight, Tonight” by the Mello Kings.

Gene turned to me and, without hesitation, pulled me into closed position—his right hand placed firm at the top of my back, my left hand resting lightly on his shoulder, our other hands clasped just above our shoulders. We swayed in perfect 4/4 time, moving effortlessly across the floor.

And then, with a tinge of honey in my voice, I teased, “You know, Gene, if I didn’t have a boyfriend, you might have been a lucky man.”

For a split second, I wondered if I had crossed a line—was it appropriate to say that with Glenn sitting just a few yards away at the bar? But moments like this don’t always come again. A once-in-a-lifetime dance with a legend, a chance to let him know how much I adored him, even if it was only in a playful, harmless way.

Gene’s eyes widened, surprise flashing across his face. Then, instead of answering, he pulled me in just a little closer. Our cheeks brushed as we swayed, the warmth of his against mine. His grip was firm and steady—like he was savoring the moment, too.

I had turned him down the year before, but at least now, at this moment, he knew how fond I was of him.

The night was over. Glenn drove Gene back to his hotel, and before he left, he asked for a picture with him—like a total fanboy.

As we drove home, Glenn chatted excitedly about the night. I couldn’t stop smiling. In my mind, “Tonight, Tonight” played on repeat.

I'll always have this moment now that Gene has gone to that hot rod world in the sky. A dance with a legend etched in my heart forever.

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For your listening pleasure: Tonight Tonight by The Mello Kings

Mz. World of Wheels 2013 with Vintage Girl Studios: