The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

Past the open door to the telephone exchange were the stairs that led up to the flat that Myra May shared with her friend and co-owner, Violet Sims, and their little girl, Cupcake, the sweetheart of Darling. At this very moment, Myra May could hear Violet’s light footsteps over her head as she moved around, putting Cupcake to bed and getting ready to settle down to some needlework (she liked to embroider little things for the baby) or a library book before bedtime. Violet was one of Miss Rogers’ most devoted customers at the Darling Library. She liked to improve her mind.

Myra May took off her apron and hung it on the peg beside the door to the exchange. She was well aware that their upstairs flat was not a luxury penthouse and the diner was by no means the Ritz. That distinction belonged to the Old Alabama Hotel, on the other side of the courthouse square, where guests sat down to dining tables that were all gussied up with white tablecloths, damask napkins, tall candles, and crystal bowls of flowers. And while they enjoyed their tomato frappe, asparagus vinaigrette, filet mignon wrapped in bacon, and maple nut sundae, they could listen to Maude LeVaughn playing tasteful dinner music on the rosewood square grand piano in the hotel lobby. Everybody said that it was all just as elegant as the finest Mobile hotel.

The Old Alabama, however, had recently raised the cost of a meal from seventy-five cents to a dollar, which generally limited the clientele to traveling gentlemen who had come to Darling on an expense account—and there weren’t too many of them, these days. Most Darlingians couldn’t fork over four bits a plate for dinner, even if it did come with flowers, candles, and Maude LeVaughn at the piano.

On the other hand, almost everybody could afford a meal at the Darling Diner. The tables were covered in oilcloth; the paper napkins stood up proud in a shiny metal holder with red Bakelite salt and pepper shakers on either side; and instead of Maude LeVaughn’s keyboard rhapsodies, the Philco behind the counter was likely to be reporting the current price of pork bellies and soybeans or playing Ted Lewis and his “In a Shanty in Old Shanty Town.”

But you could get a plate of fried chicken, meat loaf, or liver and onions, along with sides of boiled cabbage or green beans or okra with fatback and onions, or potato salad and sliced fresh tomatoes, plus all the coffee you could drink. This would set you back just thirty cents, plus ten cents if you wanted a piece of pie—a generous piece, one-sixth of a whole pie instead of the measly one-eighth served over at the hotel.

There were plenty in town who preferred the diner, and not because it was cheap, either. It was on account of Euphoria Hoyt, the colored cook who had come as part of the deal when Myra May and Violet bought the diner and half of the Darling Telephone Exchange from old Mrs. Hooper a couple of years before, and who was famous all across southern Alabama. Euphoria was known not just for her crispy, crusty fried chicken, but also for her pies, especially the ones with meringue on top, which stood up in tantalizing bronzed peaks and swirls and curls all over their chocolate or lemon or banana cream filling. In fact, Euphoria’s reputation was a more important drawing card at the Darling Diner than candles and flowers and Mrs. LeVaughn’s piano music at the Old Alabama Hotel.

But there was a drawback. Euphoria might be one of the best cooks in southern Alabama, but she was also queen of the kitchen, ruler of the roost, and sovereign of the skillet, all rolled into one—and she knew it. She made sure that Myra May and Violet and even Earlynne Biddle’s boy knew it, too. And lately, she had begun acting on her queen-hood, coming in late or going home early, at her royal pleasure.

In fact, today was the third time in the past seven days that Euphoria had taken off her apron and headed out the door, leaving Violet to make the biscuits and Myra May to fry the chicken and bake the meat loaf. The two previous times, Euphoria had shown up right on time the next morning, tying on her apron just as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened the day before. But even though Myra May knew she should sit down and have a serious heart-to-heart with Euphoria about this deplorable behavior, she just couldn’t stiffen herself to the task. Her heart quailed within her. She lacked the courage. While Myra May was tough about a great many things, she was a scaredy-cat when it came to dealing with Euphoria.

And with good reason. If Myra May got feisty about the need to show up and leave on the dot, Euphoria might just up and quit. And that would be a catastrophe, especially since they had agreed to cater the garden party at the Kilgores’ on Friday night. Thirty couples, plus special guests. Myra May wasn’t sure that she and Violet could handle the job alone, without Euphoria.