The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

“Of course.” Fannie reached up and pull Verna’s beret off her head. “But before we do that, let me show you something. I was thinking of you as I put this together.”


She turned and took down a red-and-gray-tweed newsboy-style hat from a hatstand on the shelf. “It’s perfect for you, Verna, especially with your new hairstyle. And it doesn’t need any trimming at all. With this style, plain is better. Here—sit down and try it on.”

When Verna sat down in front of the mirror, she discovered that Fannie’s newsboy hat was, indeed, just perfect for her. It made her feel dashing and adventuresome, quite unlike her usual practical, no-nonsense self—and not at all like a vaudeville impersonator. She picked up the gold hand mirror and turned this way and that, admiring it.

“It’s smashing!” she said excitedly. “I have to have it! How much?”

“How about a dollar fifty?”

Verna rolled her eyes. “Fannie, you never charge enough for your work.” She opened her pocketbook and took out two dollars. “Here—and I still think I’m getting a bargain.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Fannie said seriously.

“Yes, I do,” Verna said. She looked at herself in the mirror again. “I think I’ll wear it. With this gray jacket, I like red even better than blue.”

“I’ll put your beret in a bag for you,” Fannie offered.

“Thanks. And I need your help with this.” Verna handed her to-do list to Fannie, and they spent the next few minutes looking it over, with Fannie making suggestions and Verna scribbling quick notes.

When they were finished, Verna tucked the list away and said, offhandedly, “Oh, there’s something else, if you have just a moment.”

Fannie handed her the bag containing her blue beret. “What is it?”

Verna took a breath. “I understand that you and Mr. Duffy are . . . friends.”

“The Darling grapevine at work,” Fannie said with a fatalistic sigh. “Nothing in this town escapes notice, does it?”

“Well, are you?” Verna pressed.

Fannie gave her a straight look. “Acquaintances is a better word. I ran into him at the movie the other night. We sat together during the show and he walked me back to Mrs. Brewster’s. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m staying there until I can get into my flat. Miss Richards is supposed to have it until June, but I think she may be moving out early.” She made a face. “I hope so, anyway. Mrs. Brewster’s is like a prison. I would have much preferred to go to the Magnolia Manor, but all Bessie’s rooms are taken.” She raised one eyebrow. “So why are you asking about Mr. Duffy?”

Verna met her eyes. “Because one of the girls who lives on your floor saw you say good night to him. And then she heard you crying. She put two and two together and thought you might be upset because of something Mr. Duffy said.” Verna didn’t mention the missed kiss, which Rona Jean might or might not have interpreted correctly. And she didn’t mention Rona Jean’s name, not wanting to get her into trouble.

“The girl added wrong,” Fannie said tartly. “I do confess to crying, though. I stayed away until I thought I was over him and I could safely come back. But now I—” She threw up her hands. “Yes, I was crying, Verna. I’m afraid I do too much of that.”

“But not about Mr. Duffy?” Verna asked in surprise. Rona Jean had been mistaken.

“No, of course not. Why would I cry over him? I barely know the man. In fact, when we said good night, he asked me out to dinner. I thought it would be an agreeable thing to do—and Mr. Duffy certainly seems like a perfect Southern gentleman. I was about to say yes, but when I opened my mouth, I heard myself saying no.”

A perfect gentleman? Verna was jolted. That assessment didn’t fit the picture of Mr. Duffy she had been drawing in her mind.

“But if you thought it would be an agreeable thing to go to dinner,” she asked, “why did you say no?”