The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

“Two hours,” Verna said. “I’ll wake you.”


The day had been a long one and Lizzy was bone-weary. Despite fretting over Verna’s bombshell (and no, she was definitely not jealous), she was soon asleep. How long she slept, she didn’t know. She was dreaming that she was driving a bumper car in a carnival ride, dressed in her gray silk party dress and wearing her silver earrings and bracelet. Mr. Moseley and Grady, driving separate cars, were bumping her car, very hard, each one shouting that he had come to take her to the party because she had promised to go with him. To make matters worse, she knew she had promised one of them but she couldn’t for the life of her remember which one, and she felt terribly guilty for forgetting such an important commitment—almost as important, it seemed in her dream, as a promise to marry.

And the minute she thought of that, Lizzy remembered that she definitely had promised to marry one of them. Which one? Was it Grady or Mr. Moseley? Or maybe she had promised to marry both of them! Oh, dear! She must love one of them, mustn’t she, or she would never have promised to marry him. Or maybe she loved them both?

But that was impossible—wasn’t it? And anyway, she couldn’t marry either one of them because she was wearing her gray dress (married in black you’ll wish yourself back; married in gray you’ll die far away) and she loved living in her little doll’s house all alone, with only Daffy for company. Which of course was entirely and unforgivably selfish, just as her mother said, but there was nothing she could do about that.

And then, to make matters worse, DeeDee Davis, decked out in her Miss Cotton gown and crown, suddenly appeared in Grady’s car. Grady pulled over to the side and the two of them began necking passionately. To escape the sight, Lizzy drove her car out a door and down a dark, winding alley into an empty field. She was sitting there, wondering what she should do next, when she felt someone gently shaking her shoulder. It was Mr. Moseley. “Wake up,” he said. “Wake up, Liz, it’s time to go to the party. Wake up!”

Startled out of the confusion of her dream, Lizzy opened her eyes into the shadows of Mildred’s pink guestroom. Verna was leaning over her, still shaking her shoulder, not so gently now.

“Wake up,” she repeated urgently. “Wake up, Liz!”

“What time is it?” Lizzy asked blurrily. Since she’d fallen asleep, the moon had risen and was casting silver tree shadows across the floor so that the room was in half-twilight.

“Eleven fifty-five,” Verna said in a whisper. “Wake up, Liz. Mildred is in Miss Dare’s room.”

Lizzy struggled to sit up. “Mildred? What’s she doing there?”

“Shh!” Verna put a finger to her lips. “They’re talking—in whispers, since they obviously don’t want to be overheard. But you can hear—sort of—if you put your ear to the door.”

Lizzy got up and went to the door. Crouching with her ear against it, she could hear two women’s voices, so low that only fragments of sentences were audible, and just barely. But she recognized Mildred’s voice—a Mildred who was even angrier than she had been that afternoon. And who definitely didn’t want Lizzy and Verna to overhear. Or did she? She might feel safer, knowing that somebody was listening.

“. . . telling you to leave my husband alone!” she said fiercely.

“. . . don’t know . . . talking about, my dear,” Miss Dare said. “I’m not—”

“You see this photograph?” Mildred demanded. “And . . . two letters, detailing. . . . I am no fool. I know . . . going on, and I’m telling you . . . leave him alone!”

Miss Dare’s laugh was like breaking glass. The floor creaked, as though she were moving around the room, and when she spoke, her voice was a little louder.

“I hate anonymous letters,” she said in a caustic tone. “They are so cowardly. But you’ve found us out, so I might as well admit it. I’m not the one you should be talking to, though. It was Roger’s idea in the first place, you know. He came after me. You should talk to him.”

The floor creaked again. Mildred’s voice was a little louder now, too. “I don’t believe that for a second,” she hissed. “You’re the one who tempted him. You’re a seductress. And I’m telling you, you have to stop. I won’t have you wrecking my marriage and destroying my husband’s business!”

“Destroying—”

“I know about those checks he wrote you. I don’t know what you were threatening to do if you didn’t get it, but you’re a blackmailer. You—”

“What checks?” Miss Dare broke in. “I don’t know anything about any checks.”

“Did you hear that?” Verna whispered, elbowing Lizzy. “Blackmail. Like I said!”

“We may look rich,” Mildred said, “but we’re not made of money. We can’t afford—”