Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [140]
“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.”
“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