The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

Miss Jamison started to reply, but Bessie beat her to it.

“It wasn’t anything like an hour,” she said, coming to Miss Jamison’s rescue. “Wasn’t more than ten minutes. The ladies and I were sitting out on the front porch and heard the whole thing, start to finish.” But she knew Leona Ruth. By the time she got through telling the story, Miss Hamer would be yelling bloody murder from noon to way past midnight.

Beulah took off Miss Jamison’s pink cape and brushed the back of her neck. “Well, Miz Jamison, what d’you think of your new look?” She handed her a mirror so she could see the back of her hair. “Turned you into a completely different person, don’t you think? Your friends up there in Chicago will never in the world recognize you.”

Bessie suddenly put two and two together. Why, the reason Miss Jamison had changed her hair color was staring her right in the face. The woman didn’t want to be recognized by somebody who knew her as a blonde! Maybe she was running away from her career as a dancer. Maybe she was trying to escape from a jealous lover, or— “Doesn’t look like me at all, that’s for sure,” Miss Jamison said in a resigned tone, inspecting her image from all angles. She glanced up at Beulah. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Trivette. You did a swell job on short notice, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just that . . .” She put the mirror down and got out of the chair. “It’s such a change, that’s all.”

Bettina looked up from her combing. “It’s the cat’s meow,” she said in an admiring tone. “Why, if somebody hadn’t seen you before you walked in that door this mornin’, they’d never in the world guess that you were platinum.”

Leona Ruth looked startled. “You were platinum?”

“She sure was,” Beulah said, sounding proud. “As silver and sassy as a new-minted dime. Never know it to look at her now, would you? A totally new woman.”

“Well, my word,” Leona Ruth said, in a wondering tone. “Platinum. Why, you must be the person that man was lookin’ for.”

“Man? What man?” Miss Jamison asked sharply.

“Oh, some fella,” Leona Ruth said, screwing up her face. “It was yesterday afternoon, maybe five o’clock. Right after it rained, anyway. I heard a knock at my front door. When I went to see who, it was some man I’d never seen before. All dressed up an’ dapper in a three-piece suit and tie and hat, an’ not one of those Monkey Ward suits, neither. Shoes shined so bright, they looked like they’d been polished with a cold buttered biscuit. Said he was a visitor in town, which I already knew, o’ course, since I’d never seen him before, and I could tell he was a Yankee from the way he talked. Said he was looking for a couple of friends of his. One was a platinum blonde, he said. Had to be you!”

Bessie looked at Miss Jamison. Her eyes were growing large and the color was draining out of her face.

“What did he . . . What did he look like?” she whispered.

“Look like?” Leona Ruth pulled her brows together. “Well, that’s easy. He was wearin’ one of those snappy brim hats, but he took it off when he was speakin’ to me, real polite, an’ he was bald. Bald and shiny as a billiard ball. Kind of man, you see him once, you cain’t never forget him.”

“No,” Miss Jamison moaned. “Oh, no.” She was so pale that Bessie was sure she was about to pitch face forward in a dead faint. Her knees began to wobble and she put out her hand in a helpless appeal.

“Come on, honey, you gotta sit down before you fall down.” Beulah put her arm around Miss Jamison’s waist. Bessie, still wearing her pink cape, jumped up to help. Together, they got her to a chair and she sank into it. Beulah turned to Bettina.

“Bettina, honey, go and get Hank’s whiskey bottle. He hides it in the hall cupboard, second shelf, back corner, where he thinks I never look. And bring a glass of water, too. Hurry!”

“I don’t want any whiskey,” Miss Jamison whispered. “I’m all right.” But she wasn’t all right, Bessie saw. Her face was white and her fingers were trembling. She clasped her hands together tightly and looked at Leona Ruth. “Did he . . . Did the man say who he was?”

Leona Ruth was watching avidly, and Bessie knew that this story was going to be all over town before dinnertime. “Yes, he did. Gold is what he said. Mr. Gold.”

“Gold.” Miss Jamison gave a half-hysterical laugh. “Gold. That’s rich. Oh, that’s rich.”

“Why?” Bessie asked.

“Because his name is Diamond,” Miss Jamison said miserably. “Frankie Diamond.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, god,” she moaned. “What am I going to do?”