The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

Charlie Dickens Has Lunch with His Wife and Is Enlightened



The telephone conversation that Charlie had held with Mata Hari (or Mattie Harry, as Baby Mann called her) had been brief and intriguing. She had to talk to him in person, she said, and it had to be today, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She told him to meet her at two thirty that afternoon, out at the old Loblolly School. Which left him plenty of time to finish the piece he was writing, then put on his hat and walk home through the oppressive noontime heat, for a leisurely lunch with his wife.

When he had returned to Darling to take over his father’s newspaper, Charlie had fallen into the habit of eating lunch at the diner, where he caught up on the news that hadn’t yet reached the Dispatch office. But now that he and Fannie were married, he almost always went home for lunch—an easy walk, kitty-cornered across the courthouse square to the small apartment above Fannie’s Darling Chapeaux shop, where the newlyweds lived.

Charlie’s life had changed in several other ways, major and minor, now that he and Fannie were married. He still played poker with the boys, but only once a month, instead of once a week. He only occasionally dropped in at Pete’s Pool Parlor, rather than making it his regular Saturday night stop. He only smoked at the office, because Fannie didn’t like the smell of cigarettes. And instead of his local white lightning, one of Fannie’s Atlanta friends kept them supplied with several good dinner wines, which they shared over Fannie’s good meals.

His weekends had changed, too. They used to be primarily valuable for sleeping off hangovers and having some of the hair of the dog that bit him. But now, when the weather was good, he and Fannie liked to get out into the countryside and ride around in his old blue roadster, stopping to pick flowers and admire the scenery. When it rained or was chilly, they stayed home and puttered around their neat little apartment, Charlie reading aloud to Fannie, while she cooked something special for him. Or they might listen to the Palmolive Beauty Box Theater on the radio (sentimental crap, Charlie thought, but he never said so for fear of hurting Fannie’s feelings), or play dance records on the Victrola. Charlie wasn’t much of a dancer, but he liked band music, and dancing gave him an excuse to hold Fannie, who fit so sweetly into his arms and was light as a feather on her feet. After a nice dinner (with wine), they could often be found dancing to “More Than You Know” and “It’s Only a Paper Moon” in their attractive living room, which Fannie had tastefully decorated, with stylish furniture, airy curtains, and art prints on the ivory-painted walls.