Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [80]
“Not at all.”
He signaled for the waiter and explained that he had changed his mind, they could charge him for the mussels but I was offended by their presence and this was a very important night. The waiter, thoroughly confused, took them away and promised to take it off the bill anyway.
“Jesus, Risley, I’m sorry. You must think I’m really crazy . . .”
“No. I know what crazy looks like and you’re not it.”
I paused then and looked at him, pushing my platter of antipasto toward him to share.
“Have some. Please. You want to talk about her?”
He helped himself to a slice of mozzarella and a piece of red pepper.
“I’ll tell you about her. I promised you I would if you’d like me to, but finish telling me about Dorothy and why DuBose is such a bum.”
“Okay,” I said and helped myself to more wine. He took the bottle right out of my hand and poured it himself.
“Forgive my oversight, ma’am.”
“Thanks. Well, first of all, I think that having some sense of permanence, you know, a place where she truly belonged, was the most important thing in the world to her. And I think being respected and famous in the world of serious literature was way too important to him. And when they met, she had this great education, she was a promising playwright, and she probably had wads of money that was left to her. He was adorable, soft-spoken, and most likely very attentive and probably had a pretty sophisticated demeanor.”
“So, he’s a bad guy because . . .”
“He saw her as a ticket for him and his momma out of poverty. That’s not to say he didn’t care for her. I think he must have, because in all the old photographs and press he sure seems devoted to her. But she had been treated like an orphan . . .”
“Well, she was one.”
“No, I know that, so was I, so maybe I’m sensitive to that. But here was someone who also appealed to her intellectually, socially, and yes, despite all of his grotesque infirmities, he appealed to her physically, too. She, who had never enjoyed anything close to great health, was in far better shape than he was. She could save him. Women adore saving men. And he needed saving.”
“From what?”
John was smiling and relishing his carpaccio, picking up the parmesan shavings with his fingers. He was clearly enjoying himself.
“Poverty. His mother. The ravages of polio and all the other diseases he had in his life. And professionally, too.”
“And what did she get out of it?”
“A home. And the great satisfaction of restoring his family’s name in Charleston and helping to build his name in the literary world and in the theatrical world. And she got the love of her life.”
“So, you think he married her for her money?”
“Yep. Definitely. I mean, he was living with his momma! And the fact that she understood writing for the theater and had a real gift for it. Dorothy was happy for him to give up his business and try to live on only what they earned. And she was meek enough to stay in his shadow and let him be the star.”
“You think DuBose wanted Dorothy’s thunder?”
“No, I just think it was there for the taking and he took it but he always kept her at his side. Look, you don’t have to read very far to discover how ambitious he was. What man has his portrait made that often? What straight man, anyway?”
“There were rumors.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah. I mean, the guy was a shrimp with deformities and so soft-spoken people had trouble understanding him. Oh! You’ll love this! When they started up the Poetry Society, he went around with this petition for incorporation asking people to sign it and they thought they were signing up for a Poultry Society.”
“That’s pretty funny.”
John sat back in his chair and stared at me for what seemed like an incredibly long period of time. I just continued eating, finishing up the last of the olives and caponata, waiting for him to say something.
“You know,” he said, “I’m not sure that I agree with what you’re surmising about them but here’s something. I don’t think contemporary historians have ever looked at