The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

“Oh, no, ma’am, I’m sorry,” Raylene Riggs said quickly. “I am not lookin’ for a house, at least, not yet. Maybe later I will, after I’ve landed a job.” She cleared her throat apologetically. “That’s actually what I’m lookin’ for. A job.”


Myra May was nearly out of patience. Didn’t this woman know anything? “Well, then, you want to pick up a copy of the Darling Dispatch. If there’s any jobs to be had in this town, that’s where you’ll find them.” Lots of luck, she thought ironically. Job openings in Darling were few and far between. Anybody who had one hung on to it like grim death.

“But I’m not lookin’ for just any old job.” The woman pulled in her breath. “What I mean to say is that I hear your cook is quittin’. There at the diner, I mean. That’s why I’m callin’, Miz Mosswell. I am a real good cook with lots of experience. I thought I might could—”

“I don’t know where you heard that,” Myra May snapped. “About our cook, I mean.”

“A . . . friend of mine happened to hear it,” Raylene Riggs said, almost apologetically. “He says that Euphoria is a real good cook and he’ll truly miss her fried chicken. But he thinks my meat loaf is even better than hers and my meringue pies—”

Myra May cut her off again. “She didn’t actually quit—she just took off a little early one day. So you tell your friend he can rest easy about his fried chicken. We are not in need of a cook.” I hope, she added silently, thinking of Friday night’s party. Oh, lord, lord, I hope.

There was a moment’s pause. Then, “Well, I guess I must’ve heard wrong. My friend also works with Miz Euphoria’s oldest boy, Chauncy, at the depot here in Monroeville, you see. Chauncy happened to mention that his mama and her sister, Jubilation, have decided to set themselves up in business, in one of those little joints over in Maysville.”

Myra May gulped a breath. She knew for a fact that Euphoria had a sister named Jubilation and that her son Chauncy unloaded freight at the railroad depot over in Monroeville. Maysville was the colored section of Darling, on the east side of the railroad tracks, and several juke joints there were known to serve very good food. Altogether, the story had the ring of truth. Myra May shivered. Was it possible that Euphoria’s recent irregularities were inspired by a plan to strike off on her own?

But she didn’t want to let on what she was thinking. She steadied herself and said, cautiously, “Well, I don’t know anything at all about that, Miz Riggs. Far as I know, we’ve still got us a cook. A real good one, at that.”

“It sounds like Chauncy was misrememberin’,” Raylene Riggs replied hesitantly, “or else he maybe didn’t have all the facts.” She wasn’t making any effort to disguise the disappointment in her voice. “But I wonder—well, how ’bout if I just give you the phone number, here at this place where I’m stayin’? That way, you can call me if things don’t turn out the way you think. I’m available now, in case you find out that you need help right away.” Without waiting for Myra May to answer, she rattled off a telephone number.

Myra May reached for a pencil. “What was that again?” she asked, reminding herself to be polite. After all, the woman was only looking for a job, like lots of other out-of-work, out-of-luck people these days. Anybody who heard about a possible opening was smart to jump on it lickety-split, since there were bound to be a couple dozen folks in line before the day was an hour older. She wrote down the number the woman had given her.

“Thanks,” she said. “I don’t think we’ll need anybody, but if we do, we’ll let you know.”

“That’s all I’m askin’,” the woman said. She added, with what Myra May thought was an odd, lingering reluctance, “It’s been real nice talkin’ to you, Miz Mosswell.” A breath, and then, with greater—and more puzzling—intensity. “Just real nice. I appreciate it.”

“Same here,” Myra May replied uneasily, and broke the connection. Next to her at the switchboard, Nancy Lee shifted in her chair. Myra May noticed that she had not unplugged her switchboard jack, which meant that she’d been listening in—not usually allowed, but she would’ve overheard Myra May’s half of the conversation anyway.