The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

“I guess.” Myra May sighed. “I’ll just be glad when she gets home, that’s all. I miss her. And we could use her help. We’ve been pretty busy here at the diner, and Olive has a bad cold and missed her shift at the switchboard last night. She’ll be out tonight, too. I’ve got to get back here right after the movie and fill in.” She glanced at the Snow’s Farm Supply clock on the back wall. “Speaking of which, looks like we’d better get going, don’t you think? We can come back later and have our pie and coffee.”


“Dessert after the show,” Verna said with a grin. “Sounds swell.”

As it turned out, the Snows and Mr. Dickens and his sister were going to the movie, too, so they all walked together down Franklin Street in a group, past the Dispatch building and Hancock’s Groceries. The Palace was at the end of the block, its brightly lit marquee jutting out over the sidewalk. The owner, Mr. Don Greer, stood outside, welcoming the patrons.

As usual, there was a line at the glass-fronted ticket window, where the Greers’ daughter Gladys sold tickets at twenty-five cents apiece, and at the candy counter, where Mrs. Greer did a land-office business selling candy, popcorn and hot roasted peanuts, as well as icy-cold bottles of Coca-Cola out of the cooler. Inside the theater, in the dimly lit haze of cigarette and cigar smoke that hung in the air, Mrs. LeVaughn was playing the piano. The movie was a talkie, so she wouldn’t be playing during the film. But while the younger folks loved the talkies, many oldsters still preferred silent films. They thought it wasn’t a night at the movies unless they could lean back in their seats and watch the flickering screen while they listened to Mrs. LeVaughn, who could play ragtime as well as Chopin. So Mr. Greer traded a movie ticket and a box of hot buttered popcorn for an hour of Mrs. LeVaughn’s piano, before he turned off the house lights and turned on the projector.

Lizzy, Verna, and Myra May got popcorn and peanuts, then found their seats and settled in expectantly, listening to Mrs. LeVaughn play the “Maple Leaf Rag” and looking around to see which of their friends had come out for an evening’s entertainment. The movie house wasn’t quite full, but there was a respectable crowd and the audience wasn’t disappointed in the film. The Saturday Night Kid was a romantic comedy about two lively young sisters—played by Clara Bow and Jean Arthur—who worked in a department store and were both in love with the same man, another store employee who was a compulsive gambler stealing company funds. After a half-dozen twists and turns, the characters got what was coming to them, and the audience went home smiling.





Back at the diner, Myra May turned on the gas burner under the coffee percolator. “I always thought that romantic comedies were silly,” Myra May said. “But I’ve changed my mind. The world is pretty grim. People need something to smile about.”

Lizzy leaned her elbows on the counter. The Closed sign was hung on the diner’s front door and the only light was the one in the back, so the dining area was comfortably dim. They had the place to themselves, and Myra May had turned on the radio. A crooner was singing, “Let a Smile Be Your Umbrella.”

“Heaven knows, there’s enough heartache going around,” Verna agreed. “People feel better if they can escape for a little while. Going to the movies on Saturday night gives them something to look forward to all week.”

“Right,” Myra May said, cutting generous slices of pecan pie. “The anticipation by itself is probably worth a quarter.” She cocked her head, listening to the radio. “Let a smile be your umbrella, on a rainy, rainy day,” she sang along with the music. “And if your sweetie cries, just tell her that a smile will always pay.”

“I wish it were that simple,” Lizzy said softly, taking the pie plates to the table. She was thinking of Violet and the situation in Memphis, and wondering how it was going to come out.

“I think what people need is to see the Nice and Naughty Sisters doing their act in the talent show,” Verna said with a wicked grin. “That would cheer them up pretty fast.”

Myra May snickered. “You bet it would.” The coffee was perking merrily, and she turned off the gas and picked up the pot. “But I thought you said that Miss LaMotte danced nearly naked, Verna. That kind of thing might be a big hit in New York, but this is Darling, for pity’s sake. I can just imagine what the Baptist preacher would say about a naked woman doing the shimmy in front of God and everybody.” She poured three cups of coffee and pushed them across the counter.

“Verna’s just teasing.” Lizzy said. “She knows Mildred Kilgore would never even consider inviting Miss LaMotte and her friend to do their act.”