She folded her arms. So she was going with Newp. She couldn’t add it up. He didn’t want to go. And she’d practically written him off. And he had wanted to stop her from coming. And Bermuda shorts. “Newp, what in God’s name are you wearing?”
“It’s a gas, you know?” he looked down at his getup. “I guess. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.” Newp was staring at her and she tried to stand up straighter.
He went on as he pulled a loose thread from his Bermuda shorts. “T-bone told me you needed a date, though, because, and I’m quoting on this, you wanted to make someone jealous.” He looked up. “That sound right?”
You know darn well that that’s right, she wanted to say. But she was struck by the round sadness in his eyes and she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “T-bone says all kinds of jazz. So what’s the plan?”
The plan was straight across the street to the Riviera. Newp put his arm in hers and they walked out past surfers scarfing early-evening sandwiches and cherry cokes and into the evening, which was salty and cool.
Into the courtyard of the Riviera, where Frannie saw a mix of families grilling hot dogs and couples in evening dress headed up wooden stairs to the restaurant, which Frannie knew boasted outdoor seating that hung right out over the beach, so that the whole ocean flickered at you as you ate. On quiet evenings through the summer, the place would empty out, and the beach people could wander over and occupy the best seats.
She’d been in there, but every time she went, she found herself less disappointed than unfinished in a way, as though such a place was too pretty to just hang out in; she wanted someone to be impressed with.
Newp had reserved a spot and it was a killer, right at the edge, so that when they approached the table, the silhouette of the flowers against the reflection of the sun on the water froze her for a moment.
When they sat Frannie heard a roar of chattering and cameras over near the bar. She couldn’t make anything out but the backs of a lot of suits and dresses. A waiter came by and lit a tiki torch near their table and Frannie nodded at the crowd. “Who’s the star?”
The waiter shrugged. Like he didn’t get into these things. Newp said, “I think it’s George Burns. He and Gracie are on vacation, I think they have the President’s Suite.” George Burns had a TV show where he knew it was a show. He could talk to the audience about how he was going to manipulate which way the story went. Mind-blowing stuff.
For a moment she caught a glimpse of the TV star, a slim man with light brown hair and a dinner jacket, telling jokes to the crowd in a cigar haze. “We’re lucky we got the seat we did,” she said. “Newp, you outdid yourself.”
“I’ll get us some drinks. We could eat if you like, but…”
“Oh, but there’s a whole pig roasting at the luau.” She reached out to pat his hand as he lifted the menu. She stared out at the waves. Frannie heard the sound of guitars and marimba coming from down the beach, out by Hooky’s Roost. She had to turn to look back in the direction of the hut, and she could see tiki torches and people gathering around the fire pit. “Wow,” she said. “It looks like the whole getup is on Hooky’s front door.”
“It is,” Newp said. “The fire pit is twelve feet from Hooky’s hut. The king is holding court.”
“Don’t you need to be setting up for your concert?”
“Pssh.” He waved. But he did look a little stressed, and she felt sorry she’d mentioned it. “Betty and Truly are as rehearsed as they can get, and I’ve already checked the juice. We have time.”
“Oh.”
“You’re worth it, you know,” he said. “I don’t know why you’d think you weren’t, but you are.”
She could think of no response as she looked out at the great chief of the waves.
He rescued her by saying, “So.”
“Yes?” Frannie leaned forward, and the waiter came back and she gripped the coke like a buoy. Why was she even nervous? “What is it, Newp?”
“You had some excitement yesterday.” He seemed to be trying to sound amazed, excited, but he sounded forced.
“Yes! We caught the bastard thing. Oh, Uncle Saul was brilliant.”
“Hooky, too, I hear.”
“Well, yes.” She nodded. “Saul called Hooky because he was trained in combat, and had Hooky do a – he called it a pincer move, with Saul’s car.”
“Yeah,” Newp said. “That’s amazing.”
She pursed her lips. “Newp, for crying out loud. What do you want me to say? That Saul should have called you? That you should have been there for the trap?”
“Frannie—first off, yes. I was at the roadside café, right? So yes, I would think I would be someone you could call.”
“He,” she said.
“What?”
“He; it was Saul who called Hooky, I didn’t have any idea this was going to happen. Not yesterday morning, and what, you were going to come to drop off my folks at the airport? Come on.” She touched his arm. “Come on! Bring a boy I’m dating to send my parents away? It was right place, right time. Or wrong, you know.”
“Really?” he looked out at the water.
“Yeah.” But yes, she thought, of course Hooky is the type for the job, the hero type, the muscles, the scowling hero we all know and want. Right now he’s about to give some girl a special night.
“Well, I just…” he stopped. “You know, this thing you’re into with your Uncle. It’s an important thing. I get that. So I want to help, okay, I want to be someone you can rely on. I want to be there.”
“Oh, Newp.”
“I just thought—I don’t know. I thought that we were adventuring, like the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew. You read those, right?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s Frank who she likes and Joe who she’s a great pal with,” Newp sipped his beer. “And I thought I was Frank. But I guess I was Joe.”
“Newp, no one is Joe.”
“Nah, I’m Joe.”
“You can feel as sorry for yourself as you like, you big baby, but I’m not going to say you’re Joe.” She dabbed her mouth. “Keep this up and you’ll be Nancy’s annoying girlfriend.”
“Yeah, okay.” He pulled out his wallet. “You ready to hit the concert?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good, because my sister and Truly are gonna knock ‘em dead.”
Chapter 39
As the luau crackled with fire and heat, Saul and Kurt enjoyed the quiet of an utterly empty restaurant.
The dybbuk box sat upstairs and the tomes Saul had been studying were stacked now on the bar next to the tequila and shot glasses, waiting for the ritual that would banish the contents of the box forever. Now all was quiet. They had closed the café after they last dinner party left, satisfied that most of their usual patrons would be at the beach. This turned out to be true; all evening less than three people came to the door, peering in and seeing the place deserted.
Kurt lit a roll-your-own and slapped a deck of cards on the bar. “So how come you didn’t go to the luau the kids are having?”