Authors: Dorothea Benton Frank
“Gee, even I didn’t know that!” he said.
“Or maybe it was his brother or his son, but anyway he hired one of them to be his driver slash tour guide and there are plenty of stories there, too. Anyway, he was quite the character, way bigger than life, practically flamboyant, and I have no doubt that his bohemian shenanigans worked Dorothy’s nerves.”
“Why? I would think George Gershwin would be a blast?” Sara said.
“Well, I’m sure he was fun but remember he made the Heywards, who were arch-conservatives, to the outside world at least, wait for years until he got around to making the musical with them. Dorothy was struggling to live on DuBose’s income and that was no easy task.”
“Oh, I get it. Gershwin was rich and they knew it. And he probably knew they weren’t and she thought he didn’t mind stringing them along?” Sara said.
“My smart daughter,” I said and blew her a kiss. “What Gershwin didn’t know was that Dorothy was loaded, too.”
“Wait, I don’t get it. Why was she living on like bread and water when she had a lot of money? I saw those recipes of hers.”
“Because she didn’t want to emasculate DuBose with her trust fund,” I said.
“Although,” John said, “it should be pointed out that DuBose didn’t mind dipping into Dorothy’s resources to build a house for his mother.”
“Listen, John. That could’ve been Dorothy’s idea. Remember they were living with his mother, Janie, and she was some piece of work.”
“What a story,” Sara said.
“That story is the why of how we all came to be together tonight,” I said.
We dropped Sara off at Aunt Daisy’s and when she went to give me a good-night hug she whispered, “He’s fabulous, Mom.”
“I know,” I said and smiled with relief.
John walked her inside to check for robbers and thieves and came back a few minutes later.
“She’s a wonderful girl,” he said. “She’s going to make an incredible Dorothy Heyward. She even looks like her a little bit.”
“Thanks! And I think you’re right. She’s tiny like Dorothy was. If she bobbed her hair like they did in the thirties she might be a dead ringer with the right makeup.”
“Well, we can fit her with a wig and see,” John said. “Anyway, I’m anxious to start rehearsals, aren’t you?”
“I’m just anxious period,” I said.
“I’ve got the cure for
that,
” John said, and made a low-pitched growl that sounded like a leopard getting ready to pounce.
Men. So silly.
We arrived back at the Porgy House and I was still chuckling to myself.
“Want to have a nightcap?” I said.
“What do
you
think?” he said.
My anxiety was completely addressed and it magically dissolved before the night ended and I thought, whew, if Sara had been in the next room during this steamy episode, she’d spend the rest of her life in analysis.
Monday at ten Sara and I made our way to the Dock Street Theater.
“I fully expect the spirit of Emmett Robinson to open the door,” I said, opening the door myself.
“Who’s he?” Sara said.
“He was the most cherished artistic director of the Footlight Players and he was Alfred Hutty’s best friend. His daughter is a new friend of mine.” I told Sara how Jennet had helped me tell Heather Parke to get lost.
“Wow. I want to meet her.”
“Oh, you will! I’ll make sure you do.”
We were meeting John with a lighting person, a sound engineer, a stage manager, and two assistants to see about props and costumes. The main stage was free so we decided we would begin there and just do a read-through to get used to the acoustics. Everyone trickled in and by ten thirty had introduced themselves to one another and we got started. A familiar face arrived with a cooler of drinks and sandwiches.
“Don’t I know you?” I said.
“I’m Christi Geier. I think we met at the Red Drum.”
“Oh, right! Well, how nice to see you again. Wow, you’ve got a job, your LSATs, and now this? That’s a lot to juggle.”
“Yeah, but you know what? I loved Professor Risley’s playwrighting class so much, when he put out a call for volunteers, I jumped at it! Who wouldn’t want to work on a play about the Heywards?”
“Actually, it’s more about Dorothy.”
“Oh, really? Have you read the script?”
“Yeah, about a thousand times. I wrote it.”
“Oh! I didn’t know you were a playwright.”
“I didn’t either. Well, now I am . . .” I could feel myself blushing.
“Oh my goodness. Congratulations!”
“Thanks! And that’s my daughter . . .”
I sat in the audience in different places to see if I could hear Sara. Her young voice was so clear and carried so well, the only place I had a little trouble hearing her was the far corners of the house. John and the sound engineer decided to place several discreet and tiny wireless mikes on the floor stage left and right, which corrected that issue. Lists were made of props and costumes scene by scene and over the next three weeks, the props and costumes were found and approved or not and it looked like we were finally getting our proverbial act together.
At last, we got to dress rehearsal and it was almost flawless. Sara said, not to worry, she would be the reincarnation of Dorothy herself within twenty-four hours. The word was out that our play was a
must-see
and every single performance was sold out.
Aunt Daisy and Ella were home, for a change, Patti and Mark were flying in that afternoon. Alice and Russ were coming for an early dinner and we were all mighty excited. As soon as Patti and Mark checked into the Jolly Buddha, her favorite, we were all to gather with John at Aunt Daisy’s and Ella’s for moussaka and feta cheese salad and what other Greek delights Ella had taken a shine to on their trip. Patti apologized at least ten times for not making the cake. She’d had a wedding to bake for or she would have come down days ago. I told her it didn’t matter one bit. There was no way I’d be able to swallow food. I just wanted to get to the theater and have the first performance of
Folly Beach
behind me.
“I’ve been stuffing grape leaves over here, Mom. Gross. When are you coming over?”
“I’ll be there soon.” I was just waiting for John to arrive. It was just three.
A few minutes later he knocked on the door.
“Hey,” he said. “You look beautiful! Success must agree with you!”
I had on a new dress, something kind of silky and retro that I thought Dorothy might have worn.
“Oh, John! What a journey this has been. How can I ever thank you?”
“Oh, I know a few things . . .”
“Bad!” I said and then, “oh, John, I’m so nervous about tonight.”
“Don’t be. Sara’s got this baby nailed. All you have to do is show up and collect tons of applause and bouquets with your daughter.”
“And you, too, Mr. Director.”
“I only had the slightest hand in this entire venture, ma’am,” he said in what I think he thought was a Rhett Butler accent.
You see, this was one of the small peculiarities with theater people—they spoke in accents whenever they felt like it, leaving you to guess who they were imitating.
We went to Aunt Daisy’s and stayed for only an hour. Sara was anxious, too, so we thanked everyone, kissed everyone, and they all told us to go break a leg. Happily, we arrived at the Dock Street unscathed and before we knew it, our eight o’clock curtain time was gaining on us. I went backstage to kiss Sara for luck. She turned to me in her dressing room, and with her wig, makeup, and period dress, she was almost Dorothy Heyward in the flesh. I was dumbfounded.
“Well, darling, I just came back here to say knock ’em dead.”
“Thanks, Mom,” she said.
“Need anything?”
“No. I’ve got it all covered. And Mom?”
“Hmmm?”
“Thanks for this, you know, this chance.”
“My pleasure.” My eyes started to tear. “Okay then, I’ll be the wild one in the back row with Aunt Daisy and the gang.”
The theater was filled and the lights were going down. The stage manager was calling
places
and a few minutes later the curtain rose. Sara climbed out of Dorothy Heyward’s grave, brushed herself off, kissed her fingertips, and touched the headstone of DuBose right next to hers. Then she came down center stage and spoke.
“I married an actual renaissance man. Yes, I really did! The story I have to tell you is about the deep and abiding love we shared . . .”
Ninety minutes later the curtain fell, the audience was silent, and then, after what seemed like a year, there began the sound of thundering applause that grew so loud I started to cry. Sara took her bows, John his, and then they waved me up to the stage. People stood as I tried to make my way there without tripping or just falling out of my shoes and dissolving into a pool of relief. I couldn’t believe how well it had gone but it was true. They cheered, they even whistled, and I joined Sara and John onstage. Somewhere in the back of the theater a small woman arose from her seat, a small woman who was the clone of Dorothy Kuhns Heyward. She smiled at us, we acknowledged her, she saluted us, and she vanished in front of our eyes. I caught John’s and Sara’s faces and their eyes were wide in surprise. But we should not have been surprised. After all, this was the Lowcountry, where impossible becomes possible every single day.
September 2010
“H
ey, I got here as fast as I could!” John said. “How’s Alice?”
“Screaming her brains out,” I said. “Poor thing, she’s waiting for the anesthesiologist to show up and give her an epidural. Poor Russ is in there, sweating. And she’s two weeks early. She’s probably scared to death.”
“Is her mother on the way?”
“Maureen? Last I heard she was trying to get a flight,” I said.
We were gathered in the lobby outside the emergency room where Alice was being admitted. They were going to move her up to labor and delivery as soon as they finished the paperwork.
“You want a bottle of water or something?” he said.
“Gosh, that would be great,” I said, “it’s only about a thousand degrees.”
“Yeah, and it’s not humid, either,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
It was so humid that when I took off my sunglasses, there was water under my eyes. Even the hair on my arms, which wasn’t much more than light fuzz, was swollen and going in different directions. Never mind the hair on my head. It was a ponytail day, with gel.
Russ appeared from behind the swinging doors.
“Mom?”
“What’s the matter?”
“I can’t take it, Mom. She’s calling me things I didn’t even know she knew the names of!”
“
Get
back in there! This
instant
! All you have to do is
listen
! She’s going
through
it! She’s dealing with the pain the same way most women do! They scream and yell because it hurts like hell! Where’s the anesthesiologist?”
“I’ll go find out!”
“Good idea.”
He disappeared again.
John came back with ice-cold water and I was glad to have it.
“There was a Russ-sighting.”
“Oh, yeah? Is everything okay?”
I laughed and said, “Yeah. But it might be nice if the doctor would give her an epidural soon. Russ said she’s calling him some very naughty names. I don’t blame her.”
“Yeah, you’ve been there.”
“I called Addison every filthy thing under the sun. But then he
was
every filthy thing under the sun.”
“Oh, did I tell you I heard from Manhattan Theater Club?”
“No! And?”
“They want to present
Folly Beach
in the spring!”
“With Sara?”
“With Sara, and you and me!”
“Wait, John! I have Aunt Daisy’s business to see about. I can’t go anywhere!”
“Yes, you can. It’s only a two-week run and I already called Miss Daisy because I knew that was what you’d say. She’s home that whole month and she’ll cover for you.”
“She will? Wonderful! So how many productions does that make?”
“Including San Francisco? Fourteen.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Yeah, so what are you writing about next?”
“You’re kidding right?”
“No, ma’am! You’ve got to get back to the desk and write!”
“After the baby’s born.”
“Well, in most cases, that would be in a few hours.”
“After they bring the baby home then.”
“That could be as soon as tomorrow.”
“After the baptism then.”
“Do I detect a little reluctance on the part of America’s newest playwright sensation to get back to business? Do you want to be known as a one-hit wonder?”
“No!” But what was I going to write about?
Russ reappeared. He looked haggard.
“We’re going upstairs.”
“Did she get her epidural?”
“No, the doctor said it was too late. She’s nine and a half centimeters. But she’s gonna be in room 516.”
“What? You’d better get upstairs on the double, boy, or you’re gonna miss the whole thing!”
Russ spun around and was gone. We took the elevator up to the fifth floor and waited. About an hour later Russ came and found us. He was smiling so proudly, just beaming really.
“She’s a girl. You have a granddaughter, Mom. Her name is Daisy Ella and she’s the most beautiful little girl in the whole entire world.”
“Oh, Russ!” I threw my arms around him and hugged him with all my might. “Oh! I can’t wait to meet her!”
“Congratulations, Russ!” John said and shook his hand soundly.
“Thanks!”
All summer long, Aunt Daisy and Ella had been planning nurseries for the baby. Ella was crocheting blankets and Aunt Daisy was shopping. They decorated an elaborate baby’s room for Russ and Alice at their house but they made another even more elaborate one at their own house on Folly Beach. We could already see there was going to be a lot of bickering about to whom that baby really belonged.
“How’s Alice?”
“Alice? She’s thrilled. Tired but thrilled. Come say hello!”
We went in room 516 and there was Alice, propped up in bed with her hair brushed and wearing a fresh gown, holding beautiful little Daisy Ella Cooper in her arms. I looked at my granddaughter and wept. In fact, we all did.
A month later, as the temperature became bearable and the marsh grass began to turn brown, we had a lovely christening at the Catholic church on Folly Beach. Once again, Patti and Mark, who were to serve as godparents, were staying in the Jolly Buddha. Maureen was still staying with Russ and Alice as she had been since she arrived two days after the baby was born, which was driving Russ seriously crazy. And Sara, who was suddenly in demand for a role in this movie or that play could not be with us.
“I still don’t understand why she didn’t come,” Alice said over dinner at Aunt Daisy’s.
“Are you serious? Because she’s reading for the second time for a leading role in a Julia Roberts film,” John said. “As I understand it, she’s the most likely candidate.”
Alice’s face turned beet-red. The corners of Patti’s mouth turned up.
“You always said she had what it took, Cate. I’m just so happy for her,” Patti said.
“You never stop believing in your kids, Patti. That’s just what a parent does.”
Well, later on we were to learn that Sara did indeed win the part.
“Mom? Julia Roberts is so cool.”
“Do you call her Julia?”
“Yeah! She’s like totally grounded and normal and I love her, but so does everybody . . .”
Sara gushed. I listened, happy to know she was at last getting that chance she wanted, to act in a grand arena. Movies. What could be more exciting for her? I still preferred theater, but I was so happy for my Sara.
Maybe it was a week later, or maybe it was two weeks, but I know it was sweater weather on the beach. I found one of Dorothy’s recipes for something called Widow’s Punch and thought, what the heck? John and I both qualified for that one. So I mixed up a batch, chilled it, and poured it into a thermos. We had plans to take a walk down to the far end of the beach that overlooks the Morris Island Lighthouse. He was bringing sandwiches and I had beverage duty. I put the thermos in a canvas tote bag and when he arrived I got in his car and off we went. We passed locals, surfers, and tourists and finally came to the place where we parked and walked the distance to the part of the beach we wanted to see. Once there, I spread a blanket on the soft sand and John sat down beside me.
“Want a glass of Widow’s Punch?”
“What? You want turkey or ham?”
“Let’s share half and half,” I said. “Yeah, it’s Dorothy’s recipe.”
“Hmmm. Well, I brought something else with me,” he said and pulled out a pair of wire-cutters. He was going to cut my ring off and I was going to cut his.
“Finally!” I said and stuck out my palm. In one snip and a twist, the shackles of Addison Cooper were off. “Let me do yours.”
And I did.
“What should we do with them?” he said, holding the broken rings in his hand.
I stood up and offered him my hand. We walked to the water’s edge.
“I’ll bet you ten bucks you can’t throw them to the lighthouse,” I said.
“Really?”
He did the windup for the pitch and threw them far out into the water, but not far enough. The same thing happened with the second one.
“Too bad,” I said. “Ten dollars is a lot of money.”
“Too bad,” he said, “what a waste of two good rings.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m thinking pretty soon we’ll just have to buy two more.”
“John Risley! Are you asking me to marry you?”
“I don’t know. I was just thinking of making an honest woman of you. Really. That’s all.”
“Oh, you want to marry me for the sake of the neighbors? The bohemians out here on Folly Beach? You think they care? You’re such a terrible liar.”
“Nah, I guess I wanted to ask you to marry me because I really love you, Cate.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a little satin sack. “Tricia Gustofson at Crogan’s said you’d like this. What do you think?” He held up a perfectly gorgeous diamond ring, the center stone surrounded by so many little diamonds it was almost blinding in the afternoon sun.
“You’re asking me to marry you?” I said, as he slipped the ring over my knuckle.
“What would you say if I did?”
“Well,” I stepped in close to him and kissed one cheek. “I’d say they got married on Folly Beach,” I said, and kissed his other cheek. “And then they moved into the Porgy House and lived happily ever after.”
“Isn’t that a coincidence? That’s exactly what I’d say, too.”