Folly Beach (37 page)

“I guess when they make up their worthy minds.”

“Ugh. Well, you call me
the second
you hear anything, okay?”

“Listen, if they say yes, you’ll hear me screaming the whole way to Alpine. If they say no, you may as well take my number out of your speed dial.”

“They’re going to say yes, Cate. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Wouldn’t that be a dream?”

And it
was
but not the dream I expected. I was just coming back from the Next Stop Morocco, a house next to the Washout, where all the surfers went or I should say
hung out
. It was the last property Aunt Daisy acquired before she retired and hit the road. John’s car was parked in my yard. I hopped out of the Subaru and there he stood with a bottle of champagne and the most incredulous expression I’d ever seen on his face.

“What’s up? Did you
hear
? You
heard
! They said . . .
what
?
Tell me!
”

“You are one amazing woman,” he said, shaking his head and smiling.

“
Why?
Tell
me, you
stinker
!”

“So, I’m sitting in my office eating a tuna salad sandwich on whole wheat and the phone rings. It’s not just some flunky calling me it’s Ellen Dressler Moryl, the director of the entire Office of Cultural Affairs.”

“And?”

“And she tells me who she is and all that, like I don’t know, and then she says,
so, Professor Risley? How wed are you to producing this play
Folly Beach
at the college?
And I say, I think it’s a fine first effort, don’t you? Emerging voice and all that stuff. And she says,
Oh, yes, yes! But I happened to mention it to one of my colleagues from the Dock Street Theater and they just went crazy to put it up themselves!
You see, the Dock Street is a little bit excitable when it comes to anything about DuBose and Dorothy . . .”

“Wait! Stop! Are you telling me that the
Dock Street Theater
wants to present my play?”

“Yes.”

“For
real
?” I think I was squealing then.

“I’m still the director but, ma’am? You are the cat’s ass! I
knew
you could write! I just
knew
it!”

He put the champagne down on the steps, grabbed my arms, and swung me around.

“They love it?”

“They
adore
it!”

My heart was pounding so hard I thought I had better sit down, so I sat on the bottom step.

“I am . . . I’m completely shocked! I don’t even know what to say.”

“Well, why don’t we have a glass of champagne and plan our response.”

“I think the answer is a big fat yes!”

“No kidding?”

“Stop! Listen, I’m drinking out of Dorothy’s glasses tonight and if you tell I’ll pinch you!”

“I’m not telling a soul.”

I got up and unlocked the door. “I still don’t have a porch light, you know.”

“I’ll go to Lowe’s tomorrow.”

“Talk’s cheap,” I said.

We drank the champagne and I called everyone I knew. There were screams of delight from South Carolina to California and of course, Patti was beside herself with a hefty case of glee.

“I’m making a giant cake of the Dock Street Theater for opening night and I’m baking it in Dorothy’s oven.”

I laughed and said, “Be my guest!”

“Oh, Cate, this is just
thrilling
news!” she said.

“Yeah, I’m pretty thrilled, like right down to my toes. I just can’t believe it.”

“What did Sara say?”

“She’s quitting her job tonight, she’s flying here as soon as she can pack, and we start rehearsals next week.”

“She’s playing Dorothy? Hoo, boy!”

“Look, she’s John’s problem to direct, not mine. But you know what? I think she’ll do anything he tells her to. She’s stubborn but she’s not stupid. This is an enormous opportunity for her.”

“For all of you, Cate. This is an incredible opportunity for all of you. Oh, I am so proud of you!”

“Thanks, Patti. I love you, you know.”

“I know that.”

“Yeah, but sometimes you can’t say it enough.”

That weekend, I picked Sara up at the airport.

“Mom!”

I was waiting for her in baggage claim and there she was, hurrying to me. One minute I was alone in the world and in the next I had my beautiful daughter’s arms around my neck. I hugged her back as though I had not seen her in years.

“Do you have much luggage?”

“Um, Mom? I have everything that I could cram in three suitcases and ten more boxes coming at some point. My friends are sending them. Whew! I can’t believe I’m here!”

“Me either. This is so incredibly wonderful.”

“I’ve already memorized half of the lines, too.”

“Oh, honey, that’s great. We start rehearsals on Monday. Life’s pretty surreal, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say. Dad kicks the bucket and
boom
! Meet Cate the Beach Bunny playwright!” She started to giggle like a schoolgirl and the music of her laughter was so infectious that people, milling around waiting for their bags, too, looked at us and smiled.

Beach Bunny?

It was only with the help of two stalwart skycaps that we were able to load her bags into my SUV. Each one was a hernia-maker in its own right. I pulled out of the parking spot, paid the toll, and left the airport.

“How’re we going to get these terrible bags of mine in the house?”

“Aunt Daisy has an elevator.”

“Oh, I thought I was staying at the Porgy House with you!”

“Aunt Daisy wanted you to stay in her house if you would, because she’s in Greece and you know she worries about bandits all the time.”

“Mom! Come on! I want to be with
you.
”

“And the Porgy House has no shower . . .”

“No shower? So, like . . . how in the world do you wash your hair?”

“With considerable determination and about fifty different yoga poses. And it has no television, either.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

“So, what are
you
doing there? I mean, like what the hell, Mom. You’re a creature-comfort kind of girl.”

“When you see it, you might understand. It grows on you.”

“Oh, wait. This is about John, isn’t it? He sleeps over and you don’t want me to hear you guys getting crazy.”

I pulled the car over to the side of the road and said, “You listen to me and hear me good, young lady.
Yes,
it’s because of John and you’re right, I
don’t
want you to hear your mother having sex. Happy? And guess what else? John Risley is the nicest, finest man I know and he makes me happier than anyone I have ever known in my entire life. Furthermore, the only reason you are here is because of
him
.
He
is the one who insisted on you playing Dorothy. Sight unseen, he wanted
you
.”

“Mom . . .”

“I’m not finished. I also don’t think it’s a good idea for us to rehearse all day and then be together all night. You’re twenty-five years old. When it gets dark, all adults should retreat to their own camps. You and I have a tremendous opportunity here, Sara. The world comes to Piccolo Spoleto, scouts from every casting company on and off Broadway. Let’s not blow it because you don’t like the idea of your mother being in love with someone you don’t know. Give this a chance, Sara. Now, if you don’t think you can abide by my wishes, tell me right now and we’ll go straight back to the airport and I’ll buy you a ticket to Los Angeles. No hard feelings.”

“Jeesch, Mom. Seems to me somebody else memorized
their
lines.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

“So when do I get to meet John?”

“Tonight. He’s so excited to meet you he got a haircut.”

“He did?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s pretty sweet.”

We sat in silence for a few more minutes.

“Uh, Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“We can go now. Why don’t we all try to be adults here and give your plan a chance? But if I get scared all by myself in that big house, can I come over?”

“On occasion. Not too often.”

“Wow. He
must
be something.”

“He is.”

“Russ likes him. He said so.”

“So does Alice.”

“That’s it! I’m not saying one
freaking
word. If Alice likes him he must be a god. That snippy thing doesn’t like
anyone.
”

“That snippy thing is so sick that I actually feel sorry for her. But between us? Her behind is as big as Texas.”

“Oh my God! Really? When are we seeing them?”

“Tomorrow . . .”

We talked and gossiped like old friends the whole way out to Folly Beach. Once the boundaries were established, she took a deep breath and appeared to be acting her age. I hoped it would last. And when I told her that we had the piano Gershwin used in our possession she was absolutely astounded.

“Mom, that’s like totally amazing!”

“I know.”

I helped Sara get her bags into the house and gave her the key I had made for her. Fortunately, there was a guest room on the first floor—and it was a beautiful one—so we didn’t have to push and pull those horrible bags of hers up the steps. I pulled back the curtains and there was the Atlantic Ocean, and Sara stood at the sliding glass doors with me, awestruck. There were millions of white caps and ripples and the ocean was rolling in its glistening cobalt expanse as far as the eye could see.

“Wow,” Sara said.

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” I said and smiled.

“Not a bad room, huh, Mom?” She threw herself on the queen-size bed and bounced, making a guttural noise that suggested exhaustion.

The room was a pale shade of apple green and the fabric on the curtains and headboard was a dusty tangerine and green wide plaid that was embroidered over the plaid with olive green vines and flowers a deeper shade of peach. I realize that sounds ungapatched and maybe even fachalata but it was really beautiful. Aunt Daisy’s taste in fabrics was absolutely top-drawer.

“Not too shabby.”

“You can come over and wash your hair any time you want.”

“Thanks, honey. So get yourself settled and call me to let me know you’re ready. John’s picking me up at six so we’ll be right over. Oh, and here’s the key to Aunt Daisy’s car, so you have wheels.”

“Thanks. You’re right, Mom, as usual. This is the perfect place for me to stay.”

I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “See you in a bit,” I said and left.

Dinner that night was just wonderful. We went to Oak Steakhouse on King Street. They gave us a table downstairs near the piano and as coincidence would have it once again, the pianist was playing Gershwin, but he also played a lot of Cole Porter, so I wasn’t completely spooked.

But the most important thing was that John and Sara took one look at each other and nearly drowned in their mutual delight. All through a dinner of outstanding rib eyes, filets, and asparagus so fresh you could almost hear them growing, we talked about Dorothy and DuBose and that famous summer of 1934 when Gershwin stayed on Folly Beach for seven weeks.

“I think Dorothy thought he was a colossal pain in the derrière,” I said. “There’s a letter somewhere in her papers where she talks about Gershwin saying that there were so many alligators on Folly that they walked right up to his door, which of course is a wild exaggeration.”

“Oh, I think old George was just rapturous about being here,” John said.

“Rapturous?” Sara said, and giggled. “Twenty-five-cent word. Good one.”

“No seriously, y’all, here comes George Gershwin, Mister Bon Vivant of New York and Hollywood, to a crazy little island surrounded by mosquito-infested marshes and there’s not even a phone. What does he do? He takes off his shirt and goes around the town showing off his muscles and getting a tan. There’s even a story about how he hired Abe Dumas . . .”

“From M. Dumas and Sons on King Street?” John said.

“Yep.”