Folly Beach (28 page)

I was still laughing to myself about that when I picked up Ella to go back to the hospital. She put a big tote bag on the floor in the backseat and got in the front with me.

“Did you manage to get a nap?” I asked her as she was buckling her seat belt.

“Well, I closed my eyes but I didn’t sleep. I made a pie and brought it with me.”

“What kind?”

“Pecan. It’s so good. I think I’m gonna be taking the nurses a pie whenever I can so they’ll keep an extra eye on you-know-who.”

“Not a bad idea,” I said. “Did you eat?”

“I had a banana and a glass of milk. Whenever I’m worrying about something I lose my appetite.”

“Not me. I can always eat. Oh, I spoke to Russ and they’ll be meeting us there at some point. And Patti is flying in tonight. She lands at six thirty so I’ll be going out to pick her up and then I’ll bring her downtown to see Aunt Daisy.”

“That’s good. Be so good to see her. And you talked to Miss Sara?”

“Oh, yeah. And she’s marinating in a mood over me seeing John. I think she thinks I should be lonely and miserable, that it would be more suitable behavior for a widow.”

“Humph. All them kids is crazy as a bunch of bedbugs, too, ’eah? They don’t know how short life can be.”

“They don’t know a lot of things, Ella, but they have to learn their lessons in their own time.”

“Isn’t that fuh true? If you ask me, you became a widow a long time ago.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I said and nodded in agreement. “Sometime when Aunt Daisy is on the mend I’ll tell you some stories that will curl your hair.”

“God, I pray she’s gonna be on the mend today.”

“Me too. Sara wanted to come but I told her it wasn’t necessary. Besides, she has to work.”

“Well, she’s got bills to pay.”

“She’ll come as soon as she can take some time off.”

“I haven’t laid my eyes on that child since I don’t know when.”

“Well, she’s sure something else, I’ll tell you.”

“Humph. What’s it like to be twenty-five?”

“In today’s world? Must be hard.”

We rode the rest of the short trip in relative quiet, just moving with the traffic. We were tired and anxious but both of us were so glad, so relieved that Aunt Daisy was in the hospital, where she belonged.

I pulled in the parking lot and found a space.

“You hungry?” she said.

“No, I grabbed a bowl of cereal. My stomach wanted breakfast.”

This time it was easier to find Aunt Daisy’s room and there she was, right through the window, still sleeping. We decided to deliver the pie and went back to the nurses’ station.

The head nurse on duty was a beautiful young woman whose name tag read Tolli Rosol, RN. That had to be a shortened version of a family surname. I was guessing but it reminded me that down here in this part of the world we had more last names used as first names than any other part of the country. Unlike certain people in the entertainment world we didn’t name our children after fruit and inanimate objects. We were insanely proud of our ancestors and went to great lengths to honor them.

“I’m Ella Johnson, Daisy McInerny’s friend? And I made y’all this so you might keep checking on her. You know, make sure she’s doing all right?”

“You really made this pie for us? That is so sweet! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. I’ll bring you another one tomorrow.”

“You do that and Ms. McInerny will get spoiled rotten,” Nurse Rosol said.

“Humph,” Ella said and smiled. “Too late. She’s already rotten.”

Ella and I went back to Aunt Daisy’s room and resumed our positions. Ella went in for half an hour and then she came out and I went in. We did this Chinese fire drill of sorts until I was sick to death of my magazines and it was nearly five o’clock. There was no change in Aunt Daisy’s condition whatsoever. The only sound was the steady bleep from her heart monitor.

“Do you want to go get a bite to eat? I’ve got about forty-five minutes before I have to go get Patti. And there’s rush-hour traffic.”

“I guess so.”

Back in the cafeteria, we had a bowl of vegetable soup and a small mixed green salad that I devoured and Ella pushed around, barely eating at all.

“No good?” I said.

“Tastes like dishwater,” she said.

“Yeah, it actually does but that’s when I compare it to yours. Next to the one I make it tastes like heaven!” I looked at my watch. “I’ll be back in an hour, if she’s on time. Can I bring you anything?”

“No, honey. I still have my book to finish. But thanks and you drive carefully, okay?”

“Sure.”

Ella was deep into Harlan Greene’s
Mr. Skylark,
the story of John Bennett and the Charleston Renaissance. It was in the Porgy House among Aunt Daisy’s collection of books related in any way whatsoever to DuBose and Dorothy Heyward. She picked it up, saying if I was going to get myself all involved in this period of history, she wanted to know more, too. If I put all their laments of aging aside, Aunt Daisy and Ella fought hard to remain relevant and to keep their brains sharp. I had to believe it made a difference in their lives. They were good role models for everyone.

While I was cruising along I-26 in my car, I wondered then if there was anything in Aunt Daisy’s rental properties that required immediate attention. I would ask Ella tomorrow when I went to pick her up if I could help her sort things out. That way, we could go through the mail, the voice mail, check her books, and try to keep things moving along. Patti would help, too. She ran her own business. She would know what to do as well. I couldn’t wait to see my sister. There was no greater gift on this earth than a good sister.

I wasn’t comfortable with Ella’s plan to spend all of her time at Aunt Daisy’s bedside. At her age it couldn’t be good for her. We all knew how much she loved our aunt. She surely didn’t need to prove it. I would talk to that nice nurse and see what she said. Tolli Rosol. Sounds a little like the name of a Swiss village! Musical!

I gave John a ring and he picked up.

“Hey,” he said. “How’s it going? Any news?”

“Not a peep,” I said. “I’m on my way to the airport to get my sister.”

“Oh! I thought she wasn’t coming until next week. But I guess when she got the news . . .”

“Exactly. She changed her ticket the minute she heard. So, how was your day?”

“I’m going to bed early. I’m pooped!”

“That sounds like heaven but I’m afraid I’m in for another long night.”

“You poor girl. You and Patti want to have dinner tomorrow night?”

“Absolutely. I’m dying for you to meet her.”

“And tell her I can’t wait to meet her, too.”

“I will. So, I’ll call you tomorrow when we get free?”

“You know, I’m so used to spending the nights with you I don’t know what to do with myself this evening.”

“Well, if you want to meet my precious son, his pregnant disagreeable wife, and my wonderful sister all in one fell swoop you know where to find us!”

“I’ll see y’all tomorrow!”

We hung up; I pulled into the airport parking deck and found a spot. I told Patti I could meet her in baggage claim and when I got inside she had already arrived, and was there shooting the breeze with an ancient skycap.

“Patti! You’re early!”

“Hey, you! Yep! We landed twenty minutes earlier than we were supposed to.”

We hugged like we hadn’t seen each other in a year.

“Who lands early? Musta caught a tailwind! Is this all your stuff?”

She had a roll-on bag and a tote bag, her overcoat, and her purse. Her roll-on and tote bags were lime green canvas with bright red yarn pigtails hanging from the name tags.

“What’s this?” I said and gave the pigtails a flip with my finger.

“I want to be able to distinguish my bags from other people’s bags. Why?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

We hurried out to the car, threw her bags in the back, and got in.

“Wow, the temperature’s so nice. This is like spring. I don’t even need my coat. It’s been under twenty in New Jersey all week.”

“I don’t miss that,” I said and started the car.

“I’ll bet. So, tell me the truth,” she said, closing her door. “How’s Aunt Daisy?”

“She’s going to get better but right now, she’s still pretty sick.”

“Tetanus? Talk about scaring the crap out of me. Even Mark said I should get on the plane today. He sends you a smooch, by the way.”

“And send him one for me. Look, if you wanted to get scared, you should’ve been here last night. Patti, holy hell. I hear those ambulances coming and all I can think about is Addison swinging from the rafters. It’s been a very dramatic twenty-four hours.”

“You poor thing. I’ll bet it was awful.”

“Yeah, it really was. But you know, as much as I hate seeing her in that bed and knowing what I know now, I am so relieved. She could’ve died, you know.”

“That’s what Mark said.”

All the way downtown we talked and talked. I told her about my little tiff with Sara and that Russ and Alice would probably be at the hospital when we got there and that John was taking us out to dinner the next night. She was as worried as I was about Aunt Daisy but looking forward to seeing everyone just the same.

“So, you think it’s okay if I rub Alice’s stomach for good luck?”

“Oh yeah, Patti. You know Alice. She’d love that. I dare you.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll make you breakfast in bed the whole time you’re here. How’s that?”

“Just remember I like my coffee with one sugar and my toast light.”

“Sure. Big talk. Wait until you see the Porgy House.”

“Dump?”

“No, not at all. It’s adorable. Like a dollhouse.”

“How’s the piano?”

“Old Cunningham looks like she’s as happy as a clam.”

“A smiling piano. Only you would have a smiling piano!”

We arrived at the Medical University and saw Russ crossing the parking lot. I rolled down my window and called out to him.

“Hey! Russ! Wait for us!”

We parked and got out of the car and he hurried over to hug Patti and then me.

“Where’s Alice?” I said.

“In the car over there,” he said, pointing to his Jeep.

“What’s she doing in the car?” Patti said. “Hey, congratulations again, by the way.”

“Thanks!” he said. “I had the easy part, you know.”

“Gross,” I said. “What’s she doing? Is she coming in?”

“No, she’s afraid to come in.”

“What?” Patti said and we exchanged looks about his wife’s questionable behavior, which was almost never the thing either one of us would do.

“What’s she afraid of, son?” I said.

“Germs,” he said.

“Ooooh boy,” I said under my breath and thought great, it was going to be one long hot summer until that baby arrived.

Chapter Twenty-three

Setting:
The Porgy House at the piano.

Director’s Note:
Show photos of the beaches of Folly Beach, the church, and then George Gershwin with DuBose and Dorothy sharing a cocktail on the backstage scrim. Voice of DuBose comes from off-stage.

Act III

Scene 2

Dorothy:
I’ll remember that summer forever, the one when George Gershwin arrived on Folly Beach, with his cousin Henry Botkin, supposedly to get down to work. We were away when George showed up but I had rented a little cottage for him. When we asked him what kind of accommodations he wanted, he was adamant that he wanted to live like the natives. I thought, okay, I can manage that. The place I found was within walking distance of ours but it had no electricity or running water. He wanted native? I found him native. Wasn’t that terrible of me? Surprisingly, there was no objection from him, probably because he fell in love with Folly Beach the same way everyone else does. But it had to have taken some getting used to for a city-slicker like him.

In fact, there was a story in the
News and Courier
that Ashley Cooper, the pseudonym used by one of our favorite columnists, came out to visit him, and George, ever the well-dressed man, appeared in a getup that he probably wore in Palm Beach—a sport coat and an orange tie! But soon he put his sport coat and orange tie in the closet and spent most of his time walking on the beach and diving into the waves. I think I forgot to tell him about the sharks.

Anyway, it wasn’t long until George found himself a lady friend but as I hear it, she was not particularly impressed with him. She thought all his swimming and athletics were some silly attempt to make himself into a he-man. In fact, the rumor mill said that George spent more time swimming in the ocean and counting turtle eggs, painting watercolors, and playing golf than he did composing music.

By the time DuBose and I returned to Folly, George had a scraggly beard and he was as brown as a pecan. Well, DuBose was having no more delays and shenanigans from Mr. Gershwin, so the first thing he did was get him over to James Island where there was a huge Gullah population. He took him to schools and church services so George could see the “Double Clap” for himself. Don’t you know George got so excited, he joined in? And, to his credit, George always left a nice donation so that word would spread and he’d be welcome to visit the next place.

I think the biggest disagreement between DuBose and George was about how much of
Porgy and Bess
should be sung and how much should be spoken like regular lines in a play. George wanted the spoken lines to rhyme, because that was the American operatic tradition. But I think DuBose wanted the actors to speak in straight Gullah, because that was authentic to the Gullahs of the Lowcountry. I said, gentlemen, this is your musical and you can do whatever you want. I don’t think they were listening to me.

Then there was the argument of how much to keep and what to cut. The most unusual aspect of the writing of
Porgy and Bess
was that the majority of the time we were writing the libretto and some lyrics, we were in South Carolina and Gershwin was in New York. But George and DuBose devised their own notation system so that George and Ira could set our lyrics to music in the tempo we envisioned. Sounds wacky, but it worked!

So when George came down, I rented a piano for him from Siegling Music House, which was a real beauty, by the way, and we were to hear our lyrics set to his music for the first time. It was terribly exciting.

We went over to his cottage with some champagne and a shaker of something good and George played and played and played. It was so astoundingly beautiful and I was so moved that I cried like a baby. For the first time I saw George as he truly was in his heart. He wasn’t just an egomaniac. He was a brilliant young man who loved his music and he loved to play it for you. Now I ask you. What’s the matter with that?

Fade to Darkness