Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [98]
“You don’t remember? You must be kidding me.”
He shook his head.
“Well, pardon me DuBose but a lady does not discuss her relationship to the cycles of the tides and the phases of the moon in mixed company or at all for that matter.”
“Ah yes, that’s what I was trying to forget. But I think our guest poet considered herself to be quite above anyone’s disdain. She was a very free spirit, wasn’t she? As was Amy Lowell . . .”
“Who smoked cigars and said that our gardens in Charleston weren’t exactly dazzling? That’s just poor manners if you ask me.”
“I suppose . . .”
“I’ll never forget how she asked everyone why she was never invited to dinner. How awkward!”
“Well, darling she’s from Boston,” DuBose said with his eyebrow in an arch, “and a scandal herself, to the Old Guard here anyway. She didn’t know that we ate our dinners in the middle of the day. How could she? But she was invited to loads of cocktail parties.”
“Yes. Yes, as I remember, she was everywhere. You know around ten years ago there was some fellow who claimed that cocktail parties were invented in Charleston. Do you remember that? Who was that man?”
“Don’t know, but I daresay the poor man simply didn’t understand the mechanics of how things are done around here. Which would be easy to believe.”
“Well, it should have been plain to see, really. I mean, it’s just a practical matter. Why shouldn’t our help be able to go back home for the evening? Just leave us a haunch of something we can carve up and a good strong bowl of planter’s punch and what else do you need for a party?” I said that as though I had a liveried staff of ten at our cottage, waiting to carve and pour. Besides, we went to many more parties than we gave.
“You only need interesting guests.”
“And maybe a basket of biscuits. Well, my darling DuBose, there’s been no shortage of interesting visitors to this fair city. Anyway, I think Miss Stein is better heeled than Miss Lowell was and would make a wonderful guest. We’ll have the whole town begging to come hear her.”
“You might be right. I’ll ask Bennett about it when I go into town. You know, we’re awfully close to finishing up the libretto for Porgy and Bess. Awfully close.”
“Praise the Lord!” I rubbed my hands up and down my upper arms. “Is there a chill in here or is it me?”
“No, it’s chilly. Tell you what. I’ll check the furnace and pour us a little cognac. How does that sound?”
“Oh, DuBose! You always know the perfect thing to do.”
That’s how it went with DuBose and me. Sweet and easy. I remember that night so well because we were that much closer to finishing Porgy and Bess, that much closer to Gershwin’s arrival, and that much closer to some financial relief.
Fade to Darkness
Chapter Twenty-two
The Hospital
We stayed at the hospital the whole night. Aunt Daisy was moved to intensive care and was receiving antibiotics and fluids through her IV. She had a heart monitor, a catheter, a blood pressure monitor cuff, and a pulse oximeter attached to her fingertip. The mere sight of the breathing tube scared me to death. The machines were blinking and making sounds in step with her pulse. Ella and I stood around the room waiting, waiting for what I’m not sure, but we waited all the same. Risley had fallen asleep in a geri-chair in the hall that reclined, and was snoring a little now and then. His snoring was the only thing that brought the occasional smile to our faces.
“He’s a sweet man, huh?” Ella said.
“The sweetest,” I said. “I should send him home. He’s got classes in the morning.”
“Let him rest for a little while,” Ella said. “He looks so comfortable.”
Completely sedated, Aunt Daisy was breathing a little easier but there was no other improvement that I could detect. And for as frightening as it was to see her in a hospital bed hooked up to all the machines and apparatus that she needed, I was so deeply relieved she was here.
We took turns going in and out of the room, sitting with her, and Aunt Daisy didn’t budge an inch or bat an eye. She was a very sick lady. Before long, the sun was