“Not the real vaudeville act,” Verna protested. She picked up the coffee cups and carried them to the table. “They could do a cleaned-up version. I mean, there’s all kinds of naughty, isn’t there? The Clara Bow kind, for instance, which is funny and cute and clever, like what we saw tonight. I’ll bet Miss LaMotte and Miss Lake could come up with something a lot less risqué than they did for Mr. Ziegfeld. Something that doesn’t have any S-E-X in it.”
“S-E-X.” Myra May put her finger against her cheek and pretended a puzzled frown. “That spells sex, doesn’t it?” She widened her eyes and lifted the pitch of her voice. “S-E-X. Why, of course it does!” She pulled three forks from a container of silverware and slid them across the counter. “Verna Tidwell, you wicked girl! Whatever can you mean, using that word in front of us ladies?”
All three of them laughed, but a little ruefully, because Miss Rogers, one of their Darling Dahlias, had said something very similar not very long ago. They all liked Miss Rogers but she was very old-fashioned.
“Well, it won’t work at all if Nona Jean Jamison isn’t going to own up to being Lorelei LaMotte,” Lizzy said in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s the first hurdle you’ll have to get over, Verna. Let me know if that happens.” She had her own reasons for wanting Verna to succeed, of course. If Miss Jamison could be persuaded to acknowledge that she was really Miss LaMotte, she might also be persuaded to agree to a newspaper feature story.
“You’re right,” Verna said thoughtfully. “I guess I’ll have to work on that.”
There was a loud, buzzy ring from the direction of the back room. “That’s the long-distance line,” Myra May said, wiping her hands on a towel. “You girls go ahead with your pie and coffee. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Lizzy and Verna sat down at the table. They were silent for a moment, eating their pie and drinking their coffee and listening to the radio. The band was now playing the first bars of “Life Is Just a Bowl of Cherries.” The announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, give a warm welcome to a new singer with a fabulous voice—somebody you’ll want to keep your eye on and tune your ears to. Here he is, Bing Crosby!”
The crooner came in on the beat. “Don’t take it serious,” he sang. “Life’s too mysterious.”
In a thoughtful tone, Verna said, “Hey, Liz, how about if you and I have a talk with Bessie after the Dahlias’ meeting tomorrow.” She grinned. “Bessie loves to dig around in people’s family history. She may know bushels about Lorelei LaMotte.”
“Sounds like a good place to start,” Lizzy agreed. “Sure. Let’s do that.” She hesitated, thinking that she ought to let Verna know what she had in mind. “Actually, I’m thinking of talking to Mr. Dickens about the possibility of writing a—”
But she didn’t get to finish her sentence. Myra May had just come into the diner from the Exchange. Her face was somber and there was a dark look in her eyes.