Bessie raised her arms, showing off the bundle.
He nodded and led them through the small parlor into a hallway connected to the dining room—and Honoree stopped to stare.
Sun-bright yellow and green floral end chairs, a forest-green silk mohair upholstered sofa, porcelain table lamps with hand-painted bases, and silk bell shades—it was a page fromMotion Picturemagazine, except better. The only furnishings that didn’t fit were two large paintings hanging above the fireplace. They seemed too stoic, too stiff, not quite right for the Queen of the Stroll. They were more like the French paintings Kenny talked about at the Art Institute of Chicago.
“I should introduce Lil to Kenny,” she said to Bessie. “His paintings of chorus girls and jazz bands, or even his photographs of flappers and Bronzeville, would better suit the furniture.”
Bessie’s response was a soundless, mouth-open expression of awe. She had never seen anything as marvelous as Lil’s home in her life.
“Mrs. Armstrong will be right out. Wait here,” Maximilian said. “And don’t worry about the shouting. Those two like to talk loud.” He was referring to the screaming match on the other side of the door. Honoree started to object about being abandoned, but he’d already walked away.
“Should I wait on the porch?” Bessie asked.
Honoree took the bundle from her arms. “No, not on the porch, maybe in the dining room. This will only take me a moment.”
The party hadn’t started, but the house was set up for entertaining. The phonograph was in the dining room, and the tables and chairs had been moved against the windows, leaving plenty of room for dancing. Bessie wouldn’t be in the way.
“I’ll be right there as soon as I’m done.”
With no other choice but to eavesdrop until someone opened the door, Honoree settled in for a listen. The Armstrongs were discussing a lanky bug-eyed Betty—Lil’s words—who had tried to cash in on Louis’s New Orleans charm. Lil wasn’t having it. Louis swore he never messed with any woman in Chicago, other than Lil. A few choice words later, the door opened.
“Hello,” Honoree said, feeling she’d been caught stealing the silverware.
The couple stood on opposite sides of a bedroom. Two single beds, a set of dressers, some lamps, and end tables were all Honoree dared to glimpse. She wanted to keep her eyes on Lil, difficult to do since she couldn’t help being a nosy busybody.
Dark-skinned with a thin layer of processed hair on his head, Mr. Armstrong dabbed sweat from his brow. When he spotted Honoree, he smiled. The man wasn’t Joe Brooks, but he had a devastating smile.
“And who’s this?” His voice drawled with a tangy mix of swamp water and hot peppers. Honoree’s father, also from New Orleans, had the same twang. Louis glanced at his wife.
“She’s one of the girls from the chorus and a seamstress, too. See the bundle in her arms?”
“What’s your name?” Louis opened a drawer.
“Honoree, Honoree Dalcour.”
The drawer opened, he removed a white handkerchief and strolled over to Lil. “Nice to meet you, Honoree.” He walked by her into the hallway. “Don’t take too long, honey bunny. We’re gonna have a mess of people show up here tonight.” He blew Lil a kiss and left.
“Let me see those dresses.” Lil ushered her into the bedroom.
A small-boned woman with a well-rounded figure, Lil made creating fashions for her effortless. She and Honoree had similar shapes, although Honoree was taller. “I brought you three dresses to try on. I hope you’ll like at least one of them. But I can always make adjustments if the size is off.”
Twenty minutes later, Lil had tried on all the dresses. “I love them,” she said. “I’m going to wear the navy-blue silk tonight.” It had a pale pink sheet panel and rhinestones and pearls sewn on the seams.
“It looks great on you.”
Lil dipped a hand into her purse and removed a stack of dollar bills. “Twenty bucks? The rest of what I owe you, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A few seconds later, Lil was twirling in front of her floor-length vanity mirror. “This is perfect. They are all perfect. Next, I love a floor-length dress.”
“I can do that.”
“Excellent.”
Honoree folded up the burlap and wandered back toward the door, uncertain of which way to go or what to do next.
Lil stood in front of the mirror. “You should stay for the party.”
