Lizzy, Verna, and Myra May got popcorn and peanuts, then found their seats and settled in expectantly, listening to Mrs. LeVaughn play the “Maple Leaf Rag” and looking around to see which of their friends had come out for an evening’s entertainment. The movie house wasn’t quite full, but there was a respectable crowd and the audience wasn’t disappointed in the film. The Saturday Night Kid was a romantic comedy about two lively young sisters—played by Clara Bow and Jean Arthur—who worked in a department store and were both in love with the same man, another store employee who was a compulsive gambler stealing company funds. After a half-dozen twists and turns, the characters got what was coming to them, and the audience went home smiling.

Back at the diner, Myra May turned on the gas burner under the coffee percolator. “I always thought that romantic comedies were silly,” Myra May said. “But I’ve changed my mind. The world is pretty grim. People need something to smile about.”

Lizzy leaned her elbows on the counter. The Closed sign was hung on the diner’s front door and the only light was the one in the back, so the dining area was comfortably dim. They had the place to themselves, and Myra May had turned on the radio. A crooner was singing, “Let a Smile Be Your Umbrella.”

“Heaven knows, there’s enough heartache going around,” Verna agreed. “People feel better if they can escape for a little while. Going to the movies on Saturday night gives them something to look forward to all week.”

“Right,” Myra May said, cutting generous slices of pecan pie. “The anticipation by itself is probably worth a quarter.” She cocked her head, listening to the radio. “Let a smile be your umbrella, on a rainy, rainy day,” she sang along with the music. “And if your sweetie cries, just tell her that a smile will always pay.”

“I wish it were that simple,” Lizzy said softly, taking the pie plates to the table. She was thinking of Violet and the situation in Memphis, and wondering how it was going to come out.

“I think what people need is to see the Nice and Naughty Sisters doing their act in the talent show,” Verna said with a wicked grin. “That would cheer them up pretty fast.”

Myra May snickered. “You bet it would.” The coffee was perking merrily, and she turned off the gas and picked up the pot. “But I thought you said that Miss LaMotte danced nearly naked, Verna. That kind of thing might be a big hit in New York, but this is Darling, for pity’s sake. I can just imagine what the Baptist preacher would say about a naked woman doing the shimmy in front of God and everybody.” She poured three cups of coffee and pushed them across the counter.

“Verna’s just teasing.” Lizzy said. “She knows Mildred Kilgore would never even consider inviting Miss LaMotte and her friend to do their act.”