Susan Albert - The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

And on their last night Gerald had taken them to see the Naughty and Nice Sisters in Mr. Ziegfeld’s notorious Frolic, where Miss Lily Lake and Miss Lorelei LaMotte paraded onto the stage right over the heads of the gasping audience, on a runway made of see-through glass. In another act, scantily clad dancers strutted out into the audience, encouraging male customers to use the glowing tip-ends of their cigars to burst the balloons that covered essential parts of the girls’ anatomy. Walter had been bug-eyed, and even Verna couldn’t remember a more exciting evening.

So even though she swore she didn’t have a sentimental bone in her body, Verna certainly had a few sentimental memories and this was the best of them. Walter had been happy and she had been happy and that happiness had followed them like a rosy cloud all the way back to Darling, Alabama, where Walter had stepped out in front of the Greyhound bus and Verna had become a widow.

And there, just a half block ahead of her, teetering along on her ridiculous red high heels, was the reason for that happiness. Miss Lorelei LaMotte, who had put on a performance that had made Walter’s eyes bug and made Verna laugh out loud. Miss Lorelei LaMotte, who had given Verna and Walter something interesting and unusual to talk about on their long journey home. And Verna, who wouldn’t ordinarily have bothered to do any such thing, felt suddenly compelled to tell Miss LaMotte just how happy her performance had made them. She picked up her pace.

But right when Verna had almost caught up, Miss LaMotte slowed, looked around as if to make sure where she was, then turned to go into Lima’s Drugstore, which stood at the southwest corner of the courthouse square. At that same moment, a 1929 lemon yellow Cadillac Phaeton, the canvas top folded back, came down the street at a fast clip, trailing a thick cloud of dust. It was Mr. Bailey Beauchamp’s Cadillac, driven by Mr. Beauchamp’s colored man, Lightning, with Mr. Beauchamp himself, dressed in his usual white suit and wearing a white straw hat, sitting in the backseat, smoking a large cigar. As the Cadillac zipped past the drugstore corner, Verna saw Mr. Beauchamp’s head swivel, like one of those funny wooden dolls with its head on a spring. He was staring at Miss LaMotte. He was still staring as Lightning drove into the next block.

Verna chuckled. Miss LaMotte was a head turner, all right. It was no surprise that she had attracted Bailey Beauchamp’s attention. He was a gallant Southern gentleman, of course, and the owner of one of the largest plantations in the area. But he had been widowed three years before, and in the time since, had developed quite a reputation with the ladies. He was currently reputed to be pursuing Mrs. Sophia Hobart, a widow of substantial fortune and influence in Darling. Rumor had it that Mrs. Hobart was planning to go to Atlanta to shop for her trousseau, so the announcement of their engagement was expected soon.

Verna turned and followed Miss LaMotte inside Lima’s Drugstore. Owned and operated by Mr. Lester Lima, the shop had a glass display window that featured a variety of products. Today, it was a pyramid of men’s Brylcreem (“For Head-First Brilliance”), Wildroot Hair Tonic (“For Dandruff and Falling Hair”), and an assortment of combs and hairbrushes, along with a large poster that featured a handsome man being rejected by a pretty girl, with the ominous warning, “You should have used Listerine-kills germs in 15 seconds!” The shop was long and narrow, with a soda fountain on the left, where Earlynne Biddle’s son Benny was washing glasses, and a cosmetics department on the right, where Bunny Scott used to work. Mr. Lima himself presided over the pharmacy department at the back of the store.

Benny looked up. “C’n I help you?” he asked, shaking the suds off his hands. “Oh, hi, Miz Tidwell. C’n I make you a banana split? A malt, maybe?”

“Not today, thanks, Benny,” Verna replied. “I’m just browsing.”

“That’s jake.” Benny grinned and nodded toward the back of the store. “Real looker, ain’t she?” He licked his lips hungrily. “Hotsy totsy.”

“Your mother wouldn’t approve of that language, Benny,” Verna said sternly.

The boy looked down. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean nothin’.”

Verna turned away to a display of boxes of Euthymol and Pepsodent toothpastes, glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder. She had expected to see Miss LaMotte, who was a cosmetics customer if she had ever seen one, browsing the lipstick and nail polish displays. But she wasn’t. She had gone directly to the back of the store, to the pharmacy counter, where she was handing a piece of paper to Mr. Lima, a tall, thin man in a white coat and a pair of round gold glasses that rode low on his long, thin nose.

Mr. Lima examined the paper. Frowning, he handed it back to Miss LaMotte. “I am sorry, madam,” he said, “but I can’t fill this prescription.”

“And why not?” Miss LaMotte demanded. She jabbed her finger at the paper. “It’s got the doctor’s signature on it. Right there. Can’t you see?” She spoke fast, in a high, clipped voice. She seemed to have lost any Alabama accent she might have once had. She sounded, Verna thought, like a Yankee. An impatient Yankee.

Verna stepped past the toothpaste, moving a little closer, not wanting to miss anything. She bent over, pretending to read the label of a bottle of Lydia Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. She couldn’t see Miss LaMotte’s face, but she could see the line of her jaw, which was a bit saggy. Still, the platinum blonde hair looked pretty much as it had ten years ago, and while the lady was wearing far more clothing than she had worn on Mr. Ziegfeld’s stage, the line of her generous bust was very obviously the same. Verna turned and caught Benny staring at Miss LaMotte’s figure. He colored, dropped his head, and went back to his soapsuds.

Mr. Lima cleared his throat. “I can’t fill it, madam, because it’s over a year old. I suggest that you visit Dr. Roberts. Show him this and tell him why you need it. I’m sure he’ll be able to-”

“But Dr. Roberts is out of town!” Miss LaMotte shrilled. “He won’t be back until Tuesday or Wednesday.” She pushed the paper back across the counter. “I need this filled today. Right now! It’s vitally important. It’s a matter of life and death!”

Life and death? Verna pulled in her breath. Really, if Miss LaMotte’s health was in danger, Mr. Lima ought to sell her enough of whatever it was to tide her over until she could get in to see Doc Roberts. Or maybe she needed the medicine for Miss Hamer. Either way-

“My dear lady,” Mr. Lima said. “Veronal is a dangerous barbiturate. I cannot and will not fill a prescription for it unless the patient-I assume that is yourself-is under the care of a doctor. Preferably a Darling doctor.” He looked down at the prescription. “Not a doctor in Illinois.”

Veronal. Verna let her breath out. Sleeping pills. So it wasn’t a matter of life and death, after all-although insomnia wasn’t pleasant. Verna knew, because she sometimes suffered from it herself. Her favorite remedy was a glass of warm milk and a handful of soda crackers. The combination usually put her to sleep.

“It’s not for me.” Miss LaMotte tapped her foot impatiently. “But if you won’t fill it, you won’t. What can I buy instead? Something to make her sleep.”

“It’s for an adult?” Mr. Lima asked.

Miss LaMotte gave a short laugh. “When she’s not acting like a spoiled child. But yes, she’s an adult. What can I buy that will get her a good night’s sleep?”

“Well, let’s see.” Mr. Lima turned, scanned the shelves behind him, and reached for a bottle. “I can suggest Dr. Miles’ Nervine. It comes in either pill form or liquid. We sell a great deal of it here, particularly to the ladies.” He held up the bottle and read the label aloud. “For sleeplessness, nervousness, irritability, nervous headache, and functional hysterical disturbances.”