“What did I say about barking at the seagulls?” he asked. Hegave the leash a slight yank. “Come on.”
Allen and Frankie strolled along Long Beach Avenue, peoplewatching and gull watching. Every parking space along the avenue was taken.There were SUVs with paddleboards, kayaks, and surfboards strapped to theirroofs. There were old beat-up junkers and brand new Porsches. There were smallRVs and larger ones that took up two spaces. There were motorcycles, mopeds,and scooters squeezed in between other vehicles. The two passed vacationerafter vacationer, tourist after tourist. Allen nodded and said, “How ya doin'today?” and “How's it going,” to many of them as he passed them by. Everyone hespoke to was a lot friendlier than the housekeeper.
At the Sun and Surf Restaurant, Allen and Frankie switchedto the other side of the street. Allen inspected the many beach houses alongthe way, even commenting several times that maybe he and Frankie should haverented a house instead of staying at an old motel. Most of the houses that saton Long Beach Avenue were nothing fancy. It looked to Allen as though most ofthe old properties hadn't had any improvements made since the last time hevisited. A good percentage of the million dollar homes were in worse shape thanhis hundred thousand dollar place back home. Location, location, location.
“This place serves breakfast,” said Allen.
He stopped in front of the Oceanside Store, looking up atthe long sign that was mounted to the roof and stretched from one end of thebuilding to the other.
The Oceanside Store is more of a diner than a store. Therewere a few groceries inside, and some other things a vacationer at the beachmight need, like beach towels, sunscreen, batteries, chips, soda, candy, souvenirmugs, and whatnot. Inside, to the left of the door, was a counter to order andpay for food. To the right of the door were several coffee machines. There wasalso a service counter out front.
“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” Allen read. “Maybe we shouldtry this place in the morning.” Allen looked back over his shoulder at theocean. “Nice view.” His eyes went back to the diners seated at the two picnictables. “They seem to be enjoying the food.”
Allen gave the leash a gentle tug, and the two were on theirway. He checked his watch. “We could have eaten lunch there, but I didn't seeanyone drinking alcohol. I could use a drink.”
As they passed the Liquid Dreams Surf Shop, Allen commented,“Maybe we should take surfing lessons, Frankie. Whaddaya think?”
A blond kid with a crew cut was sitting on a wooden benchout front of the surf shop. He was bare-chested, with his black and bluewetsuit folded over at the waist, and the arms dangling off the edge of thebench. His surfboard lay across his lap and he was giving it a thorough waxing.The kid overheard Allen and said, “We can do that. We do private lessons.” Hereached around behind him and fiddled with the zipper of his wetsuit.
“How much?”
“Around a hundred bucks.”
“What do I do, make an appointment?”
“Yeah, just call up a day or two ahead, and we'll fit yain.”
“Maybe I'll do that. Thanks.”
“No problem, dude, but you'll have to teach the dog afteryou learn how.”
Allen looked down at the mutt. “Ya hear that, Frankie? Don'tworry, pal, I'll give you the family discount.”
The kid laughed and returned to his waxing.
“Come on, boy.”
Stones Throw was the next place they stopped. Allen checkedhis wristwatch.
“Yeah, it's time for lunch,” he said. “Stones Throw. Drink,eat, stay,” he read aloud. “Two outta three ain't bad.”
Allen stepped up to the hostess stand.
“Good afternoon,” said the young woman. She reached up andtucked her long brown hair behind her ear. “How many?”
“Just me and the dog,” Allen replied. “Is there a tableavailable outside?”
The hostess looked down at her laminated table sheet. “Isnext door okay?”
Allen looked to his left at the deck on stilts attached tothe end of the two-story Stones Throw Motel. “Didn't even know there was a nextdoor,” he said. “But sure, that would be fine.”
The young woman, whose name tag read Mya, scratched out oneof the two-tops on the table sheet and said, “Right this way.” She picked up amenu as she walked around the podium.
Allen followed her across the alley, onto a brick sidewalk,and up the stairs. She led him to his table, and he sat down facing the water.Behind him was the motel. The decking was gray composite. The railing postswere covered in white vinyl. The railings were thin steel cables.
Mya bent down and scratched Frankie's head. “Beautiful dog,”she said.
“Well, he's a dog supermodel, so …”
“Is he really?”
“No. Frankie's just a regular dog model, andan actor.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. You've probably seen him in a few commercials.”
“Oh my God. What ones?”
“Let's see … there was the one for Gullible HostessesAnonymous. He was also in—”
“Very funny.” Mya was grinning but at the same time tryingto look angry.
“I'm just joking with you. He's actually never had a callback.”
Mya rose and put her hands on her hips. “Are you finished?”
“I had a few more, but we can do it tomorrow.”
“I'm off tomorrow.”
“Your loss. It was gonna be some real funny shit.”
Mya just shook her head and turned back toward the steps.Before she ascended, she looked back over her shoulder. Allen gave her a biggrin … purposefully too big.
Allen noticed a table of college-age guys to his right,staring at Mya as she crossed the deck. They were the only other customers onthe deck. One said something, but Allen couldn't hear what it was. It wasobviously hilarious, based on the other four's reaction. One of the kids lookedover at Allen. Allen nodded; the kid nodded back.
“Looks like everyone loves Mya,” Allen said, mostly tohimself.
He crossed his legs and picked up the menu, as he leanedback in his chair. “Another nice view,” he said to the dog.
“Welcome to Stones Throw,” said a tall, skinnytwenty-something with a man bun and black, thick-rimmed glasses.
“Welcome to my table,” Allen
