Page 46 of Love vs The Ooze Monster!
“I haven’t agreed to marry you, yet. And Iwon’t, until you’ve proposed properly.” Mabel declared. “I don’t care if Lew left me to you or not, a lady still has standards.”
Jackpot!
Boyd dropped to one knee. “Will you marry me, Miss Harrison?” He asked very formally. “I’ve known you were the only girl for me, from practically the first day we met.”
Mabel blinked. “Practicallythe first day?” She seemed insulted. “Well, what in the world took you so long?”
“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes.’” Boyd decided, standing up to kiss her smartly. He was the big winner today, no doubt about it. “There. Engaged.”
“That doesn’t count! I need a ring for it to count.” Mabel protested, but she didn’t sound very annoyed. In fact, she was grinning at him. “You need to try that whole proposal again later.Muchlater. Because right now, I’m focused on finding the ooze monster and…”
Her words were cut off by half the population of Volstead hysterically screaming in unison. The noise came from the direction of the movie theater, loud enough to carry in the quiet evening. Something huge was happening in the center of Volstead and there wasn’t much doubt as to what that “something” might be.
“Well, you found the ooze monster.” Boyd deduced. “Must be your lucky night, too.”
Chapter Thirteen
Stuck with a real alarm clock: (1920s slang) Unable to shake the annoying chaperone ruining your fun
It had been a mistake to invite such an alarm clock to the picture show.
When Dave failed to show up for their date, Frances had been mad enough to make the rash choice of inviting Mrs. Patten along in his place. She’d wanted to see the new Rudolph Valentino film again and she wasn’t going to let some louse standing her up get in the way. About ten minutes after she made that impetuous decision, she’d regretted it.
Mrs. Patten was about as much fun as a dripping wet blanket suffocating your face.
The landlady didn’t like the “rowdy” crowd at the theater. Didn’t like “risking her life and good name” by being out after six pm. Didn’t like Rudolph Valentino, because he was “obviously foreign.” Didn’t like how “arctic cold” it was with her sweater off or how “stifling hot” it was, once she put it on. And sheespeciallydidn’t like Frances flirting with the “hooligan” at the ticket counter. Her dramatic sighs and disapprovingtskshad put a real damper on Frances efforts to replace Dave with someone more reliable.
All in all, the old lady was a real pill.
They left the theater early, just so Frances could end the outing as quickly as possible. The sooner she escaped Mrs. Patten, and the rigid boardinghouse, and this whole crappy town the better. She was meant for thingsmuchbigger than Volstead. Hollywood called her. Frances could be a star. Shewouldbe a star. She knew it.
Unfortunately, she was also broke.
Frances had her eyes set on the future, though. It was why she’d snuck into Norris’ room the moment she learned he’d been killed by some gun-wielding vampire in the mortuary. She was no dummy. She knew what was really happening around the boardinghouse.
Frances knew Norris was bootlegging subpar moonshine, in between his crossword puzzles. He’d always wanted to be notorious and exciting, but even as a criminal he was dull. He couldn’t even do anything interesting with his money! He just rolled it up and stuck it in a drawer.
She knew Mabel was secretly fucking her handsome boss. Shehadto be. Who could really blame her, though? The man was gorgeous and had a wicked smile any smart girl would fall for. Frances had no idea why Boyd Cassiday was wasting his time with some prissy old maid, when a soon-to-be-movie star was right there in front of him. Men could be so dumb.
And she kneweverythingabout Mrs. Patten. Sneaking around was one of Frances’ particular skills. She was a born audience, always watching and listening to the stories playing out around her. Mrs. Patten wasn’t nearly as clever as she thought she was.
That was the other reason Frances had invited the old lady to the movies. Because, even Norris’ ill-gotten savings weren’t going to be enough to establish her in Hollywood. She needed more. Lots more. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to grab for it. When you had dreams as bright as Frances’, you had to make sure they all came true. Nothing could stand in your way, certainly not some crabby landlady.
“My mama’s third husband, Leroy, worked in a greenhouse.” She told Mrs. Patten, as they left the theater and started for the boardinghouse.
“Thirdhusband?”
Frances ignored that pointed remark. “He used to bore us every night at dinner, talking about rare plants. His favorites were the poisonous ones. Hemlock. Belladonna.” She paused meaningfully. “Versicolor Hydrozoa.”
Mrs. Patten wasn’t a fool. She picked up on Frances meaning real quick. Her lips pursed. “You’ve been poking around my garden.”
“I have. And I know what those damn orange flowers are.” She paused. “Or what theywere, before you stripped off most of the petals and carted them off to who knows where.”
“They’re being watched over by my dear Mr. Patten.”
“Who probably died from them, too.” Frances theorized.
“Mr. Patten would thank me for that mercy, if he could. Ending a man’s torment is the Christian thing to do.”
