Curiosity was going to get the better of her either way, so she may as well give in early. She peered through the beaded curtain, and as she drew near she was sure she heard sobbing.
In the corner of the book shop, Hooky held a Blank in his hand and was crying as Saul stood next to him, a hand on Hooky’s shoulder.
Frannie backed away. Later, as she got off after the lunch rush, Frannie hurried across Ocean Highway and straight down the stairs next to the Riviera Hotel, the sun beating down the whole way and heating the asphalt so hot that it burned her feet through her sandals. The burning on her feet always felt glorious, a sore prologue to joy.
Frannie emerged at the beach next to Hooky’s hut. She cast off her capris and work shirt as she spotted Hooky and the gang. They were all in a row beyond the chop, watching for waves.
Frannie grabbed a hard board from the shaping hut and paddled out next to Newp, who had taken off earlier to catch the waves. Hooky hung back more than usual, his face clouded by the shadow of the brim of his straw hat. Frannie let Newp go and paddled next to Hooky.
She wanted to ask him about the Blanks. She wanted to say, it’s the kookiest thing, Hooky, but my uncle is letting me in on his magic books and I have a knack for it, see, I’m part of a world you want to be a part of, or something, and before she could say anything, Hooky started talking.
“Your senses go haywire,” Hooky said. “If you stop and listen you can hear the way the air moves over the water and change around you, and beyond that you can hear the other surfers, and you can hear the highway. And these sounds are the same on every beach. Every beach. It’s all the same.”
What was this jive?
“You should enjoy your time at the cafe,” Hooky said. “Your uncle is a good fella.” And then he broke away, paddling as Frannie followed.
Commencing to surf was like coming to the edge of a whirlpool. You weren’t part of it and then you felt the tug, and then you’re suspended for a second and you’re in it, no longer thinking, your mind occupied and unoccupied by the active work, the wave, skittering forward and bringing your feet up. Every day, every hour it was the same, one minute she was a girl on a board and the next she was a surfing thing, a floating piece of the wave, a mixture of sound, water on wax on fiberglass, toes on board, riding the wave, no thoughts, no mom or pop, no Saul or Newp, only this, and only this for hours until the sun was down.
Sa Frannie glided back to shore and began to walk, Hooky and Newp were there, and Hooky said, “You’ve really taken a shine to it.”
She didn’t flush, but just smiled and nodded with what she thought would come across like humility. “It’s something else.”
Newp put his arm around her as the three of them walked in silence. Then Betty called from up at the highway. “There’s a call for you, Newp!”
“What is it?” Newp asked, but he kept his eyes on Frannie, like he was reluctant to look away.
“It’s a guy called Newberry, Tom Newberry,” Betty shouted.
“Okay?” Newp looked up, as in so?
“He’s a booking guy for Ed Sullivan.”
Newp froze. Ed Sullivan, that was the guy that Frannie’s parents liked to watch on TV, along with pretty much everyone else in America. “Holy—”
“Go!” Betty said. “Truly is holding the phone for you!”
By the time Frannie got to the cafe Newp was already on the phone in Saul’s office next to the kitchen. She pushed past Saul in the door and joined the crowd that was silently craning at Newp, who sat at Saul’s desk amidst two mountains of ledgers. Saul’s was a small, typical office, a madness of paper near which he took notes on a yellow notepad.
“Okay, we do,” he said, as he absently looked from Frannie to Saul to Betty to Truly. “We have a set that—the Weavers, yes. Yeah, people love that.” His snapped his fingers for a pen and Betty handed him one. Newp scribbled something and held the notepad up. LABOR DAY SHOW.
“No,” Betty’s eyes grew wide and Truly jumped, using Betty’s shoulders as a handhold for her springing.
“But we’re in California,” Newp said. “How would—really? Okay.” Newp was gripping his own forehead and Frannie found herself mimicking the gesture. Then Newp snapped at her and she came forward and he cupped the receiver as he rubbed her head. “I’m rubbing your head for good luck,” he said.
“You really need luck?” Frannie whispered.
Newp said, “Okay—goodbye,” and hung up. He was silent for a second.
“Well, come on!” Truly shouted.
“Out with it,” Frannie said as she put her arms around Truly and Betty.
Newp leaned back. “We are —you guys are—not only going to be on TV. You are going to be guests on the Ed Sullivan Labor Day Show.” He paused. “It's a folk thing, see. They said they read some notice in the LA Times and they want us to do, you know, Weavers stuff.”
“But this is California, how do we get there?” Truly said.
“Well, covered wagon, Truly,” Newp said. “They’re flying us in. God, I never thought I’d use those words. We’ll fly in to be on Ed Sullivan. ED! SULLIVAN!”
Frannie hugged everyone twice and then turned to Saul, but he was gone.
Saul didn’t come back for the rest of the night.
She got to her car and had a thought, a pressing need—she padded across the highway and this time took her time, sauntering through the Hotel Riviera, down the back stairs past the gorgeous Hollywood-star patios, and down to the beach.
She found Saul standing with Hooky at the water not far from Hooky’s hut., holding up a fishing net.
Chapter 18
Saul had his hands up, a silhouette against the rolling surf, lit by the moon and the light coming off of the Hotel Riviera. He seemed to be shouting, but she couldn't hear him over the ocean. “Saul!” she called. “What are you doing?”
Another figure emerged from the dark and stood next to Saul, then looked her way. It was Hooky. Frannie gasped as he came towards her, looking distracted and alarmed. “Frannie, not now. Go home.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, and the smile had gone out of her voice.
A whistle cut across the window. They looked back to see Saul gesturing for them to come back to him.
“Frannie.” Saul looked strange, standing in the water with his pants rolled up to his knees and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He held an item in each hand. The book in one hand made her think of TV preachers holding the bible up as they spoke, while in the other, he seemed to be holding a box. It was about shoebox size, with a long train of cloth or netting trailing from it.
“What's that?” Frannie asked.
“It's a box.”
“What's the tail hanging from it?”
“That’s a fishing net.”
Frannie stared. “Nope. I was hoping that that would make sense, but it's not happening.”
“She shouldn't be here,” Hooky said.
“Oh, she can probably help,” Saul said.
“I'm overwhelmed by your confidence, Saul,” Frannie said. “Seriously. What is this?”
“Sometimes it's better to do than explain,” Saul said.