The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies Page 14

  Strictly speaking, she knew she didn’t need a trim for another week or two. But a haircut would put her side-by-side with Nona Jean Jamison in front of their twin mirrors, where she could maybe get an answer to some of her questions. And there was nobody else in the Bower. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  But it was a little while before Bessie could sit beside Nona Jean. By the time Bettina got her shampooed and in the chair for her trim, Miss Jamison was stretched out on her back with her head in the shampoo sink and Beulah, gloved, was working brown dye into her platinum hair. Bessie knew it was brown because she could hear Beulah telling Miss Jamison that, when she asked what shade it was.

  “ ‘Mocha brown’ is what it says on the package,” Beulah said. “Exactly what you want.”

  Mocha brown! Bessie had to blink again. Why in the world was Miss Jamison having that beautiful platinum hair dyed mocha brown-especially when she must have invested a ton of money into getting it platinum in the first place? It made no sense at all. Bessie was itching to know why she was doing it.

  But by the time Bettina got Bessie pin-curled and finger-waved and ready to go under the dryer, Miss Jamison was sitting on the other side of the room, her head in a wrap, a magazine on her lap, and a cigarette in her hand, waiting for the mocha brown color to set. And when Bessie was dry and ready to be combed out, Miss Jamison was back with her head in the shampoo sink, and Beulah was rinsing and conditioning her mocha brown hair.

  But at last they were sitting side by side in the chairs. Bessie met Miss Jamison’s eyes in the mirror and gave her head a wondering shake.

  “Mercy me,” she said. “What a difference a little color makes.”

  “Don’t it just?” Beulah replied cheerfully, snipping a bit off the left side of Miss Jamison’s bob and shaping it with her hands. “I said to Miz Jamison, I was afraid the brown might make her look just a teensy bit older. But it don’t at all, do you think, Bessie?”

  “Not a bit of it,” Bessie lied, as Bettina pulled the last curler out of her hair. “I think brown is a perfect color for you, Miss Jamison. But if you’ll forgive a bit of neighborly nosiness, why would you-”

  Miss Jamison cut her off. “Because I felt like it,” she replied, in a curt, mind-your-own-damn-business tone clearly designed to deter other questions. She reached for the pack of Marlboros and the gold cigarette lighter on the counter, and lit one.

  “Just wanted a change, I’ll bet,” Bessie said, and wondered who it was that Miss Jamison was trying to hide from. It was the only reason she could think of for dyeing that pretty platinum hair a muddy brown. “By the way, how’s your aunt this morning?” In explanation, she added, “I heard that little commotion over there yesterday evening.”

  “She’s better, thank you.” Miss Jamison blew out a stream of smoke, glancing warily at Bessie in the mirror as if she were wondering just how much she had heard.

  “Miss Hamer gets like that every so often,” Bessie said in a comforting tone. “Of course, the folks who live on her block are used to it, but I wondered if maybe it bothered you, you being new and all. Next time she starts screaming up a storm, I’ll run across the street and give you a hand.”

  Miss Jamison began, “We don’t want-” She bit her lip. “Thank you, but I think we can manage.”

  Bessie went on. “And how’s Miss Lake? Is she feeling some better, too?” To Beulah, who was still wielding the comb, she said, in an explanatory tone, “Miss Lake is Miss Jamison’s friend, who came with her from Chicago.”

  “Oh, really?” Beulah said. She smiled. “Why, how nice, Miz Jamison. You tell your friend that we’re here to help, whenever she needs a trim or a set. All she has to do is ring us up. Or just come on over. We can almost always fit her in.”

  “Actually, DessaRae is kind of worried about her,” Bessie went on. “Says she keeps to her room and won’t come out, even for meals.” She looked back at Miss Jamison. “Is there something we can do to make her feel more at home? Or if she’s sick and needs a doctor, I’m sure Doc Roberts would be glad to-”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” cried Miss Jamison piteously. “This is none of your beeswax! Why is everybody in this one-horse burg so damned nosy?”

  Beulah leaned forward and put her hand on Miss Jamison’s shoulder. “We don’t mean a thing on God’s little green earth by it, Miz Jamison, really we don’t. We’re just friendly, is all.”

  Bettina, who had said nothing all this while, added, “This is the South, y’know, Miz Jamison. Down here, we may not have much to share, but we do care ’bout one another.” She grinned. “That’s partly ’cause we’re all related. Turns out I’m Beulah’s second cousin twice removed, and we didn’t even know it.”

  That was the cue Bessie had been waiting for. “Which reminds me,” she said brightly. “I was thinking last night, Miss Jamison-I met your mother when she visited Miss Hamer, years ago. I was trying to remember her name, but my memory isn’t as good as it used to be. I’m sure I have it somewhere in my genealogical records, though. I’ve got family trees for every family in town.” This wasn’t exactly true (she was missing three or four), but she thought it might give Miss Jamison-if that’s who she really was-something to think about.

  “My mother?” Miss Jamison said hesitantly, looking startled. “You met her?”

  “Oh, I’m sure I did. What was her name?”

  Miss Jamison frowned, pulling on her cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke. But if she was stalling for time, she was saved by the slam of the screen door. Leona Ruth Adcock burst in, her sweater flapping around her thin hips.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she cried in her usual excitable tone. “Miz Jergins came over to tell me that her oldest daughter Jolina is goin’ to have a baby. She’s just thrilled to death. It’s early days yet, though, and she said not to tell anybody. But I’m sure she wouldn’t mind me lettin’ you-all know about it.”

  Bessie suppressed a smile. Mrs. Jergins would not have mentioned Jolina’s baby to Leona Ruth if she hadn’t wanted the whole town to know. Everybody in Darling knew that Leona Ruth was constitutionally unable to keep a secret.

  Bettina looked up from her work on the back of Bessie’s head. “Jolina’s havin’ a baby!” she exclaimed. “Oh my goodness, that’s just so nice. They’ve been wantin’ one for the longest time. She told me that Doc Rogers said it was likely her husband who couldn’t.” She frowned a little “Guess Doc must’ve been wrong, huh? Either that or-”

  “Bettina,” Beulah said briskly, “it’s time you got Bessie finished up. I’m sure she’s got better things to do this mornin’ than sit there waitin’ for you to finish combin’ her out.”

  “Yes’m,” Bettina said, and busied herself with the comb.

  “There’s coffee in the kitchen, Leona Ruth,” Beulah said. “Help yourself.”

  “I just had half a pot, with Mrs. Jergins,” Leona Ruth replied, parking herself in a chair where she could see everybody. She straightened the skirt of her green plaid cotton dress. “I’ll sit down here and take a load off. Mornin’, Bessie.”

  “Good morning, Leona Ruth,” Bessie said, and waited to see what would happen next. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “Why, I don’t think I know you,” Leona Ruth said, craning her neck to get a better look at Miss Jamison, whose brown bob was by this time nearly finished. “Do I?”

  Bessie thought Miss Jamison must be getting very tired of questions, but she managed a halfway civil tone. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” She tapped her cigarette ash in the ashtray on the counter. “I’m Miss Hamer’s niece, over on Camellia Street.” She met Bessie’s eyes in the mirror, almost as if she were challenging.

  “Well, ain’t that nice!” Leona Ruth said enthusiastically. “Miss Hamer is a dear soul.” She looked down her long, sharp nose and her tone turned mournful. “Although Miz Jergins-she lives a couple houses down from your aunt-said the pore ol’ thing had a terr’ble bad spell again last night. Said she hollered for t
he better part of an hour. Sounded like she was bein’ murdered.”

  Miss Jamison started to reply, but Bessie beat her to it.

  “It wasn’t anything like an hour,” she said, coming to Miss Jamison’s rescue. “Wasn’t more than ten minutes. The ladies and I were sitting out on the front porch and heard the whole thing, start to finish.” But she knew Leona Ruth. By the time she got through telling the story, Miss Hamer would be yelling bloody murder from noon to way past midnight.

  Beulah took off Miss Jamison’s pink cape and brushed the back of her neck. “Well, Miz Jamison, what d’you think of your new look?” She handed her a mirror so she could see the back of her hair. “Turned you into a completely different person, don’t you think? Your friends up there in Chicago will never in the world recognize you.”

  Bessie suddenly put two and two together. Why, the reason Miss Jamison had changed her hair color was staring her right in the face. The woman didn’t want to be recognized by somebody who knew her as a blonde! Maybe she was running away from her career as a dancer. Maybe she was trying to escape from a jealous lover, or-

  “Doesn’t look like me at all, that’s for sure,” Miss Jamison said in a resigned tone, inspecting her image from all angles. She glanced up at Beulah. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Trivette. You did a swell job on short notice, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just that…” She put the mirror down and got out of the chair. “It’s such a change, that’s all.”

  Bettina looked up from her combing. “It’s the cat’s meow,” she said in an admiring tone. “Why, if somebody hadn’t seen you before you walked in that door this mornin’, they’d never in the world guess that you were platinum.”

  Leona Ruth looked startled. “You were platinum?”

  “She sure was,” Beulah said, sounding proud. “As silver and sassy as a new-minted dime. Never know it to look at her now, would you? A totally new woman.”

  “Well, my word,” Leona Ruth said, in a wondering tone. “Platinum. Why, you must be the person that man was lookin’ for.”

  “Man? What man?” Miss Jamison asked sharply.

  “Oh, some fella,” Leona Ruth said, screwing up her face. “It was yesterday afternoon, maybe five o’clock. Right after it rained, anyway. I heard a knock at my front door. When I went to see who, it was some man I’d never seen before. All dressed up an’ dapper in a three-piece suit and tie and hat, an’ not one of those Monkey Ward suits, neither. Shoes shined so bright, they looked like they’d been polished with a cold buttered biscuit. Said he was a visitor in town, which I already knew, o’ course, since I’d never seen him before, and I could tell he was a Yankee from the way he talked. Said he was looking for a couple of friends of his. One was a platinum blonde, he said. Had to be you!”

  Bessie looked at Miss Jamison. Her eyes were growing large and the color was draining out of her face.

  “What did he… What did he look like?” she whispered.

  “Look like?” Leona Ruth pulled her brows together. “Well, that’s easy. He was wearin’ one of those snappy brim hats, but he took it off when he was speakin’ to me, real polite, an’ he was bald. Bald and shiny as a billiard ball. Kind of man, you see him once, you cain’t never forget him.”

  “No,” Miss Jamison moaned. “Oh, no.” She was so pale that Bessie was sure she was about to pitch face forward in a dead faint. Her knees began to wobble and she put out her hand in a helpless appeal.

  “Come on, honey, you gotta sit down before you fall down.” Beulah put her arm around Miss Jamison’s waist. Bessie, still wearing her pink cape, jumped up to help. Together, they got her to a chair and she sank into it. Beulah turned to Bettina.

  “Bettina, honey, go and get Hank’s whiskey bottle. He hides it in the hall cupboard, second shelf, back corner, where he thinks I never look. And bring a glass of water, too. Hurry!”

  “I don’t want any whiskey,” Miss Jamison whispered. “I’m all right.” But she wasn’t all right, Bessie saw. Her face was white and her fingers were trembling. She clasped her hands together tightly and looked at Leona Ruth. “Did he… Did the man say who he was?”

  Leona Ruth was watching avidly, and Bessie knew that this story was going to be all over town before dinnertime. “Yes, he did. Gold is what he said. Mr. Gold.”

  “Gold.” Miss Jamison gave a half-hysterical laugh. “Gold. That’s rich. Oh, that’s rich.”

  “Why?” Bessie asked.

  “Because his name is Diamond,” Miss Jamison said miserably. “Frankie Diamond.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, god,” she moaned. “What am I going to do?”

  Bessie turned back to Leona. “What exactly did this fella say, Leona Ruth?”

  “Well, like I said, he was lookin’ for a platinum blonde and a woman with short black hair. Said he knew they’d come to Darling, but he didn’t have any idea where they were stayin’, so he was knockin’ on doors and askin’ around.” She swallowed, looking anxious. “He was real polite and soft-spoken. Nice as pie, he was, but he had a cold look in his eye. I wouldn’t want to tangle with that one.”

  “Oh, he’s polite, all right,” Miss Jamison said bitterly. “He’s a charmer, he is. A real snake.”

  Bettina was back with a glass with water in it and the whiskey bottle-the local bootleg whiskey. Beulah uncorked the bottle and poured a healthy slug into the glass. “Here. Drink this, honey. You’ll feel better.”

  Miss Jamison took a sip, coughed, and took another. The color began to come back into her face.

  Leona Ruth peered at Miss Jamison. “This Yankee fella-I reckon he’s not a friend of yours, huh?”

  “No,” Miss Jamison said, and took another sip. “He’s definitely no friend.” The fear in her voice was so plain that everybody heard it. In a pleading tone, she added, “If he comes back, Mrs. Adcock, I beg you not to tell him that you’ve seen me.” She looked at the others. “Everybody. Please don’t tell him about me!”

  “Well, of course we won’t tell him,” Beulah said heartily. She looked at Bettina, who nodded.

  “No platinum blondes whatsoever in this town,” Bettina added. She put an imaginary key in her lips and turned it.

  Bessie scowled at Leona Ruth. “Did you hear that, Leona? This is not something you can go around telling people about, the way you usually do.” She hardened her voice. “And if I hear one word of this outside this room, I’ll know it was you who told.” She looked from Beulah to Bettina. “We’ll all know, won’t we, girls?”

  Beulah and Bettina nodded solemnly.

  “I won’t say a word.” Leona Ruth held up her hand, palm out. “I promise. But he said he was goin’ around askin’ people, so I’m not the only one he’s talked to.”

  “Did this Mr. Gold say where he was staying, Leona?” Bessie asked. “Or how long he was going to be in town?”

  “Said he’d be at the hotel through Monday afternoon or maybe later, and if I happened to run across his friends, I should be sure to stop and leave a message for him at the front desk.” Leona Ruth was eyeing Miss Jamison with an avid curiosity. “If he’s not a friend of yours, then why is he lookin’ for you?”

  “Leona Ruth,” Bessie said sharply, “it is none of our business why that man is looking for anybody.”

  “You’re a hundred percent right, Bessie,” Beulah said. “Bettina, you can get started on Miz Adcock’s shampoo now. I’ll finish up with Miz Bloodworth.” To Miss Jamison, she said, “You just sit there for a few minutes and sip on that whiskey.”

  “No,” Miss Jamison said. She put down the glass and pushed herself out of the chair. “I have to get back to Miss Hamer’s right away.” Her pocketbook was on a nearby chair, and she picked it up. “What do I owe you for everything?”

  “Well, let’s see,” Beulah said. “We agreed to a dollar fifty on that wig, and your cut and color was two dollars. Call it three fifty.” She went to a shelf and took down a blue hat and gloves and a cardboard hatbox tied with a string.

  Miss Jamison took out four
dollar bills. She gave it to Beulah and took the box. “Keep the change.”

  “Why, thank you,” Beulah said, surprised. The Bower ladies didn’t often tip.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be able to get back to Miss Hamer’s house all right?” Bessie asked worriedly. “If you’ll hold up until I’m finished, I’ll walk with you.”

  “No, no, I’ll be fine,” Miss Jamison said. “But I’m wondering-is there a back alley I could take?”

  “Sure is, hon,” Beulah said. “Just go through the fence by the hollyhocks, turn right, and keep on goin’ for a couple blocks. You should end up right smack behind your aunt’s house.” She glanced down at Miss Jamison’s high heels. “Better stay with the street, though. Won’t do those pretty shoes any good to walk on cinders. The alley is where people dump their coal clinkers.”

  “I’ll chance it,” Miss Jamison said grimly. “Thank you.” She went to the door and peeked out apprehensively, as though she was afraid that the baldheaded man might be lurking in Beulah’s rose garden. The coast must have been clear, for she turned and waved and then went down the stairs. She was wobbly, Bessie saw, but she’d probably be all right, once she got out in the air.

  “A wig?” Leona Ruth asked with a short laugh, as the screen door closed behind Miss Jamison. “Did you sell her that ratty old redhead wig of yours, Beulah? Shame on you!”

  Bessie got back in the chair and Beulah picked up a comb. “Bettina,” she said, “get started on that shampoo, will you?”

  When Bettina had the water running, Bessie asked, in a low voice, “Did she really buy your old beauty school wig, Beulah? The one you loaned to the Ledbetter girl for the Academy’s senior play?”

  Beulah nodded. “She was thinkin’ to order one, but when I showed her mine, she said it would do just fine, especially since she wouldn’t have to wait for it to come in the mail.” Beulah’s eyes met Bessie’s in the mirror. “You want to know what I think, Bessie? I think Miz Jamison bought my old red wig for that friend you mentioned, Miss Lake. The one DessaRae says is hidin’ out in her room. And she dyed her hair brown ’cause she’s hidin’ out from that baldheaded Yankee, who means her no good, whoever he is. Those two ladies don’t want that man to know they’re here in Darlin’.”