The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

“Meat loaf for Deputy Norris,” Myra May yelled over her shoulder to Violet in the kitchen. She took a bottle of orange Nehi out of the ice cooler and popped the top with the beer opener she kept hanging from a string. Buddy liked orange soda with his meal.

“Aw, shucks,” Buddy said, and turned down his mouth. “And here I had my heart set on fried chicken.” He took a pack of Chesterfields out of his uniform pocket. “Why, I said to the sheriff as I was leavin’, ‘Roy, it’s Wednesday. I’m goin’ over to the diner and get me some of that good fried chicken.’” He scraped a match against his boot heel and lit his cigarette, and Myra May slid a metal ashtray across the counter to him.

J.D. leaned over to Buddy and growled, “When I finish up this here meat loaf, I might just go ’cross the tracks to the Red Dog. Euphoria and Jubilation are cookin’ over there.” He smacked his lips. “Bet they’d be glad to fry me up some chicken.” He said it just loud enough for Myra May to hear.

Myra May, who couldn’t decide whether she was being teased, folded her arms and replied with a frosty sarcasm, “Well, now, J.D., you just go on and do that. But you might want to take Buddy here with you. I hear the Red Dog can be rough, and you’re just a little guy.”

Mr. Musgrove threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Yeah, sure, J.D. I’d like to see you go over to the Red Dog. ’Cept if you did, you might not come back and I’d have to hire me a new helper.” He held out his empty cup. “I’ll have another cup of that java, Myra May.” He raised his voice. “And don’t you worry yore purty head none ’bout losing customers. We’ll stick by you ’til you get yourself a new cook. Won’t we, Buddy?”

“Reckon we will,” Buddy said, pulling on his cigarette. He swigged his Nehi, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing, and gave Myra May a disarming smile. “Reckon we ain’t got much choice.”

“Speak for yore selfs,” J.D. said grumpily. “You wise guys’ll change yore tune when you come in tomorrow with yore heart set on the Thursday pot roast and there ain’t nothin’ but fried green tomato sandwiches.”

Violet, who believed in good customer relations, stuck her head through the kitchen pass-through and spoke up. “J.D., honey, Billie Bob just brought in a string of fresh catfish, already cleaned. We’ve got it on tonight’s supper menu, but I can fry some up real fast for you, if you feel you haven’t had yourself enough to eat.”

J.D. fished in his pocket and pulled out some change. “Don’t reckon I will,” he muttered grumpily, counting it. “I ain’t got me but eighteen cents, and I don’t figger you’re givin’ it away.”

“Wish we could,” Violet said regretfully. She smiled at Buddy. “Same goes for you, Buddy. You want a plate of catfish instead of the meat loaf?”

Buddy brightened. “You’d fry up that catfish, Violet? Just for me? Why, that would be swell.” Buddy had had a mad crush on Violet ever since she arrived in Darling. He’d once said he’d lay down his life for her and her little Cupcake, and Myra May thought he probably would.

Mr. Dunlap spoke up. “Myra May, don’t you pay J.D. no never mind. He’s got rocks in his head. You just do the best you can. Like Marvin says, we’ll stand by you ’til you get a new cook.” He paused, adding judiciously, “That’s gonna be sometime soon, ain’t it?”

“Soon as we can,” Myra May said, and managed a smile. Deep down, though, she was desperately worried. The Red Dog might be a little rough for the likes of Marvin Musgrove and Mr. Dunlap. But the guys from Kilgore’s repair shop and the pool room down the street wouldn’t mind going over to Maysville if they thought they’d find a plate of Euphoria’s fried chicken waiting for them on the other side of the tracks.

Anxiously, she looked up at the clock. Twelve thirty. She had expected Raylene Riggs to come in early this morning and try out for Euphoria’s job, but the woman had telephoned and said she was still trying to get a ride over from Monroeville. She didn’t know when she was going to make it, or if she could. And it might be Saturday before they got any response to the article and the ad in the Darling Dispatch. The Watermelon Festival crowd would be in town by that time, and there was the Kilgores’ party to deal with. Myra May swallowed down her panic. She and Violet had been in tight spots before. Surely they could weather this one. But it wasn’t going to be easy.