Mama always said, “leave them with a little lagniappe, it’ll keep them coming back for more.”
Like putting a sprig of mint in a sweating mason jar of ice-cold sweet tea, it’s the only thing that’ll simmer down that summer heat. It’s that heat that gets them.
They aren’t expecting so much spellbinding sultriness. They expect either a genteel southern lady, coy and demure like Melanie Wilkes, or a femme fatale given to that crazy inside a milky glass of absinthe like Blanche DeBois. There is no either or.
They go searching for a myth but they find something extra.