Surf and Sand, The Girl In The Seaside Hotel

SURF AND SAND

The Girl in the Seaside Hotel

W. B. EDWARDS

Surf and Sand, The Girl in the Seaside Hotel

Original Text Copyright © 2019 by William B. Edwards. All Rights Reserved.

2023 revision copyright by William B. Edwards

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. 

Cover photo and design by the Author 

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental. 

Please visit my website at:

I dedicate this work to the memory of my parents, and to my very special sister, Susan Edwards.

And my uncle, Ben Washam, who always encouraged me to write.

Contents

PRELUDE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

PRELUDE

In the clear summer sky high above the sparkling blue cove, a bird of prey floated on the warm morning updrafts, seeking perhaps a squirrel or an unwary rabbit on the steep, rocky bluffs below. To the south the cliffs rose even more sharply before turning further west out to sea, while to the north the long wide beaches gleamed nearly white in the morning sun. Curving gently north and westward, the shoreline’s beauty was broken only by protruding man-made structures—a large marina, rock jetties, concrete fishing piers, and most prominently, one old weather-beaten hotel that sat brooding just behind the sand.

In the water below the circling falcon, five surfers floated here and there in various locations within the cove, each enjoying their own time and place in the world of waves, water, and energy that was surfing in 1959. The modern art of board surfing was just getting started, and the tall blonde young man, along with his companions—three teenage boys, and one young girl—were riding what would today be called long boards. None wore a rubber strap, known today as leashes, around their ankle to prevent a long swim if they fell, as these hadn’t been invented yet. However, their surfboards were the latest hand-shaped creations of foam, wood, and fiberglass available, all much lighter than the solid redwood boards of only a few years earlier, making the sport possible for anyone, even a small 12-year-old girl.

And this girl was having the time of her life that morning, riding these fantastic perfect peelers rolling in over the cove’s reefs. The waves were much better formed and easier to ride than the fast sandbar waves she’d been learning how to surf on over the last few months. Just now, as she finished her fifth or sixth ride of the morning inside the cove, she felt so thrilled that she paused for a moment, sitting on her board facing the shore, exulting in the totality of her experience. It was just too wonderful for words! The smooth blue-green translucent rollers broke over the reef in such a way as to make long glassy peelers that were perfect for riding. She was also keenly aware of the rocky floor beneath her, which she knew would be much less forgiving than the sandy beach she was accustomed to if she fell and was forced to swim in to retrieve her board. Her older friend and surfing mentor had explained the cove’s bottom and how to surf the reef’s two main breaks before the five of them had paddled out an hour or two before.

She had many reasons to feel grateful this morning, her twelfth birthday, and as she swung her blue and white striped board around to start another long paddle back towards the take-off spot, she was grinning so hard her sunburned face felt as if it might crack at any moment. As she lay prone on her board, it seemed as if she had the entire cove all to herself, for none of her companions were within her line of sight. So, pushing herself upright on the board with her palms, she began paddling while sitting on her knees. What she saw next turned her joy to dread in an instant!

Across the entire mouth of the cove rose a great wave, a long sinister wall of dark green menace, and the girl knew instantly she was in serious trouble. This must be what the older surfers called a sneaker wave, a dreaded close-out set, and she knew she was caught much too far inside, trapped in the worst position she could be.

She began thinking clearly now, whether to continue paddling as fast as she could towards the wave, which she felt was already hopeless, or whether to stop and turn around and paddle in towards the shore and hope the wave would break far enough behind her so she could ride out the rough whitewater to the rocky beach. She was in the wrong position for either choice, she thought. But the girl didn’t stop, she didn’t hesitate or freeze, she just kept paddling instead, her eyes fixed on the great scary wall of water, her arms digging as fast and as fiercely into the water as she had ever paddled before, and for a brief moment it looked as if the wave might be backing off slightly over some deeper water between the reefs, and maybe she might make it over the top after all.

Then the great wall of water reared up steeply and finally, sucking everything in its path up into its beautiful but terrifying face, streaked now with odd traces of foam that somehow looked like eyes. And as it felt the drag of the shallow rocky bottom beneath it, the wave had no choice but to throw its thick hissing crest far out in front of itself, where its impact would likely be right on top of the girl and her board.

And so, the brave little girl instinctively rolled off her surfboard, abandoning it to an unknown fate as she dove deep for the safety of the bottom, her eyes wide open, the green turning to utter blackness in front of her, her lungs burning. She exhaled a little precious air to relax, knowing she could hold her breath a long time, and then she wasn’t scared anymore.

CHAPTER ONE

The ancient Surf and Sand Club Hotel stood quietly in the misty dawn, with only the sandy beach and a narrow concrete boardwalk at her feet to protect her from the sea. Constructed in 1917, she was not truly ancient, but the years and the salty air had not been kind. Her once elegant white and black paint was faded and peeling, her fire escapes rusted brown. Access to her black tarred roof had been closed off to guests for many years now, but Mary Nell Morgan knew the way. Her secret way, as she thought of it. Soon enough she stood alone up there, six stories high, gazing out across the sand and sea. The ocean was gray in the cool misty morning, smooth as glass under the overcast sky, the occasional wave showing a dark green face. Down below the sand was hard and smooth, as the tide had gone very low at dawn. Dark clumps of seaweed littered the beach, and neither her brother nor any other surfer sat in the water below the hotel, as only a few small waves were breaking. Then she spotted three surfers sitting on their surfboards on the other side of the fishing pier a few blocks away, and after watching them for a while, she recognized her brother’s red surf trunks and his dark green board. But it didn’t look like any of the boys were catching rides.

It was June of 1959, school was out, and 11-year-old Nell wanted to learn how to surf too, just like her older brother Lonnie, but her mother was resisting the idea, saying it wasn’t anything a girl should do. It wasn’t safe and didn’t look dignified, whatever that meant. Ginger had barely tolerated Lonnie’s involvement, at least at first. Once she got used to the idea, it seemed, her mother stopped resisting. They’d only moved to the hotel the summer before, and neither she nor Lonnie had ever heard of surfing or much of anything else about the Pacific Ocean and its beaches before they’d arrived. Nell did remember a sandy beach in Beirut when her father had rescued her when she was being pulled under in the waves as her mother stood screaming in the sand. And she remembered gazing in wonder down at the vast Atlantic Ocean from the airplane’s window flying home the summer before. But they were here now, and Lonnie had immediately fallen in love with the ocean and the surfers he saw standing tall and composed, gliding along in the curling waves next to the fishing pier south of the hotel. Nell was hoping to try surfing this summer. She would probably need to find a surfboard first, though. Lonnie had worked hard all winter and spring mowing lawns and doing other odd jobs on the weekends in the nearby neighborhoods, saving up his money to buy a used surfboard. Then he’d spent hours and days paddling around out in front of the hotel, catching lots of little waves and falling off repeatedly until he could rise quickly enough to stand up and control the board. The local boys had watched him, made fun of him, but eventually a few grew to like Lonnie, giving him a few tips and guidance. Now he was out there every day, before and after school. Now that summer was here, he’d be out there even more. And his board was too heavy for her.

Nell was a tiny bit jealous, she supposed, but she loved her brother and couldn’t help feeling proud of him. It was true they didn’t spend as much time together as they had last summer, but Nell didn’t want to hold that against him. She had other things now.

Nell left the roof, moving quietly through seldom used stairwells and hallways, which when used in certain combinations, made what Nell considered her secret passageways, before finally arriving in the dark basement pool area through an old service door few people used or even knew of. She found her locker in the back corner of the women’s showers and in the total darkness quickly changed into her damp black one-piece bathing suit, her pool suit, as she considered it. The darkness didn’t bother her, she knew every inch of the locker room by heart by now.

The half Olympic sized hotel swimming pool was quiet and serene in the early hours, the only light in the deserted room coming from six narrow windows rising from street level in the east and south walls, creating an eerie glow. Nell stood silently on the steps at the shallow end, her feet and calves in the waiting water, and feeling very calm, dove finally into the welcoming liquid towards the deep end. She swam slowly along the bottom, her eyes wide open in the silent coolness of the clear blue water. Her goal was always the same: to reach the deep end wall, turn around under water, swim all the way back, then turn and do it once more, all without raising her head above the surface. This was her own secret world, a silent blue world that was all hers, and hers alone.

Except maybe it wasn’t.

This routine had become her morning ritual over the last year. Nell had felt a strong connection with both the room and its pool since the first day she and Lonnie began their swimming lessons here, something their mother had arranged for them only a week or so after moving into the hotel. The Hermosa Swim Club pool, as it was called, opened to guests and the general public at 9:30 in the morning, but almost immediately, Nell decided she didn’t like having to share the pool with other people. Well, except for Lonnie, of course. But he’d stopped coming to the pool with her almost as soon as he’d started surfing. Which, she thought now, was just as well. It was just better when she had it to herself.

But she soon learned that in order to have the pool entirely to herself she must find a way to get in before it opened. Before the hotel’s handyman or the Club Lifeguard or anybody else arrived and started turning on lights and spoiling things. Luckily, her mother had provided both her and Lonnie with a set of the hotel’s master keys for emergencies, which of course they were forbidden to tell anybody about. But the keys allowed her to visit the Swim Club long before it opened. However, she still needed to avoid being noticed by the desk clerk or any other hotel employee, who might complain to her mother or the owner and give her away. She soon discovered a heavy metal door at the rear of the women’s locker room, but her key didn’t work in its ancient looking lock, so for a while she could only use that door as an exit. But then Nell managed to convince the hotel’s old handyman, Mr. Becker, to show her where the key to that door was hidden. She didn’t have to be quite so sneaky after that, but it also meant that Mr. Becker knew about her secret. She thought that was okay, because he was an ally.

And Nell never felt lonely when she was swimming in her pool, because she was simply used to being alone, which had never bothered her. But although the room seemed vast and empty in the early hours, Nell soon began to sense that something strange was happening. It felt like someone was watching her, although she was quite watchful herself and could find no hiding places where someone could spy on her. Soon, she began to wonder if there really were such a thing as ghosts, even though she never heard any strange noises or saw anything floating over the water or under the ceiling. No, it was just an odd feeling that came and went, and Nell decided it only seemed spooky because the room was dark and empty.

In time, she would have other ideas. Perhaps a story Mr. Becker told her would have something to do with her thinking?

After completing several laps, Nell realized she was hungry, and as the light shining through the high windows was now quite bright, she knew the sun had risen over the hills to the east. She got out of the water, grabbed her towel, and padded quickly into the women’s showers to rinse the chlorine off. After changing back into her clothes, she hurried out the heavy back door, letting it clang shut behind her as she made her way upstairs to their apartment on the sixth floor. Her mother would be making breakfast for her and Lonnie.

THE FORMER DELUXE HONEYMOON Suite that Virginia Morgan was given as part of her employment agreement at the Surf and Sand Hotel had been converted into a two-bedroom apartment, including a single bath with tub and shower, a cramped kitchen with a four-burner gas stove and a small refrigerator. The living room contained a sofa bed, two leather armchairs, a small black and white television, a hi-fi phonograph, and a large bookcase nestled between the two tall windows. These windows opened onto the fire escape outside and like the ones in the adjacent kitchen, faced north. In the hallway just across from the bath was a smaller bedroom perfect for Nell and all she claimed to need or want. Originally a walk-in closet, Ginger had requested it be converted before they moved in. Of course, Lonnie hadn’t argued, as he’d never had a room to himself before, and he now had the smaller bedroom, right next to the bath. The large bedroom at the end of the hall was of course Ginger’s, and the only other room with windows, which faced both north and east.

It was nearly eight o’clock on this summer morning, and both Mary Nell and Lonnie were expected to be in the kitchen on time for their breakfast. Scrambled eggs, home fried potatoes with onions and peppers, toast and butter, and homemade strawberry jam. There was coffee brewing on the stove in the percolator, which only Ginger would drink. It was still only milk or juice for her kids.

Lonnie arrived, after taking a quick shower to rinse the saltwater off, wearing his usual cut-off denim shorts and T-shirt and the locally popular blue deck shoes. Then it was Nell, back from her usual morning swim in the basement, looking bright and clean, her curly reddish blonde hair still damp and wild.

Ginger hadn’t found the courage yet to tell her daughter that her boss, Tony Hazelwood, was considering shutting the old swimming pool down to save money. Mary Nell would be heart broken. She would have to help her find another outlet. But Ginger also couldn’t help but marvel how quickly both children had become addicted to their new environment, to both the swimming pool and the ocean. Her brother Albert had begun jokingly calling them water-rats, and she chuckled at the sobriquet. She supposed all those years of living in the Arabian desert sands was making them crave getting wet.

Nell watched her brother wolf down his eggs and potatoes, his dark hair wet and slicked back, his face and arms already brown from the sun.

Any good waves this morning? she asked.

Lonnie looked as if he’d only just noticed her presence. He looked down at his plate and said, Nah...flat as you out there.

Lonnie! Ginger exclaimed, glancing at Nell, who was grinning. That’s not acceptable.

Sorry, Nellie. Lonnie gave her his smirky smile, wiggling his thick dark eyebrows.

Nell, said his sister, just Nell, not Nellie! She glanced at her mother before adding, Please.

Oh, Nell sounds swell, but sure does smell, Lonnie sang.

Ginger sighed audibly, giving Lonnie what she hoped was a stern look, and sipped her coffee.

Summer is here now, she announced. And the hotel will be filling up with tourists, so things will be getting busy, especially at night. She rose and moved towards the kitchen sink, where she turned to stand with her back to the window, her eyes focused on Lonnie.

Lonnie, I want you to take yourself down to the kitchen and speak to Geoff Malek this morning. Ask him about a job. Bussing tables or washing dishes, or whatever.... she trailed off as she turned to gaze out the window.

Lonnie frowned, then his face brightened.

I could work nights, couldn’t I? Yeah, sure! I could surf all morning, and buss some tables at night. That would be cool, man! So perfect. 

Lonnie was 14 years old, and already thinking of what kind of car he could buy when he was 16. But he was also thinking of Jennifer Hazelwood, the owner’s 15-year-old daughter, who would be working in the hotel’s diner most evenings now that summer was here.

Well, I’m just saying that you should go down and talk to Geoff, it’s up to him what job he might offer you. You know I can’t pull strings.

Ginger turned away from the window and returned to the table with her coffee.

Nell watched her brother as he finished eating his breakfast. He’s happy now, she thought. Looking at her mother though, she noticed once again how Ginger occasionally seemed to drift away, her usually watchful gaze focusing somewhere distant, perhaps somewhere in the past, and not here with them. Nell didn’t understand why her mother seemed to fade away like that. It had only started after they’d moved into the hotel, but Nell thought it might have something to do with her Daddy, who was still over in Arabia, working for Aramco. This idea made Nell feel that she should be missing her father more than she did, but in fact, she hardly remembered him now. Her memories of him were mixed up with her spotty memories of the three oil pump station compounds they’d lived on at different times, the last one called Rahfah, out in the vast and windy desert. In her mind she pictured Rahfah’s single unpaved residential street lined with a dozen or so gray concrete homes, the lonely one-room schoolhouse on a small hill, and the huge tin-roofed building housing the company store, a cafeteria, a movie house, billiards tables, shuffleboards, and a bowling alley. There was also a wonderful assortment of giant rusting old cranes and other discarded vehicles on the other side of what Nell remembered as a very wide expanse of empty desert sand, one that stretched as far as the camp’s perimeter fence, just behind their house. The assortment of junk equipment made a wonderful playground for the camp kids, especially Nell and Lonnie. The empty desert sand sitting between their house and the junkyard would flood when heavy rains came, and Nell remembered watching her father paddling a wooden skiff or paddleboard across while sitting on his knees. Her father had set fox traps out by the fence, behind the junkyard, since they kept chickens in a coop in their backyard. When the water was gone, the thick mud would quickly dry and split, the pieces curling up at their ends, which made loud cracking sounds when they walked on it. They were lucky, Nell remembered now, because the houses across the street from theirs didn’t have a junk yard or a sometimes lake behind them, but large black oiled sand circles instead, which were used as golf putting ‘greens’ by the management and camp guests.

Two years earlier, when she was barely nine years old, she had been sent home, along with her mother and brother, to live with their grandparents in Los Angeles. Nell had few memories of life in California. She’d been out in the Saudi Arabian desert since she was only two years old, except for short vacation trips home every 18 months, usually to visit the grandparents. Then the Suez Canal crisis had convinced Daddy to send them home for good, that much she knew.

Or at least that was what her mother told people. And her father had not been home since.

When will Daddy get a vacation? she asked suddenly, surprising herself, while Lonnie stared at her with an odd expression.

Ginger seemed to gather herself from somewhere, stood, and began picking up plates and silverware.

I’m not completely sure, Nell. Before this summer ends, I imagine.  She turned away from the table with her hands full towards the sink. We’ll have to wait and see.

I can’t wait to show him my surfing, said Lonnie.

Have you written to him? Either of you? Ginger arched a dark eyebrow, and watching her mother, Nell was struck once again with how attractive her mother was, with her soft curly brown hair and milky smooth complexion.

I will, said Nell, wondering what she’d say when she did.

Me too, said Lonnie, getting to his feet. Hey, my turn for the dishes Mom. He came around the table and hugged his mother. At 14 years old he was already taller than her by a few inches. And thanks for breakfast, Mom! It’s always so good!

Ginger beamed, poured herself another cup of coffee and sat back down at the table. Nell made for the bathroom, and when she came out, she told her mother she was going for a long walk along the Strand.

Wear your hat, she was told. That sun is too strong.

Back in her room, Nell put on her blue one-piece swimsuit, the one she regarded as her exclusive ocean suit, and then her soft white jean shorts and light blue tee-shirt over the suit. She wore her favorite faded blue tennie’s with no socks, exactly like her brother’s, and a floppy white fishing hat her mother had found at a yard sale. She grabbed her beach towel and a pair of big dark sunglasses her grandma had given her recently, then ran quickly down the back stairwell (she hated using the elevator) and was bounding out of the hotel’s side service door into the alleyway minutes later, turning left towards the beach and the now bright blue summer morning.

THE CONCRETE BOARDWALK that Nell chose to explore that morning divided the wide sandy beach from the mostly small cottage-style homes and businesses dotting the hillsides all along the shore. As she walked along her hungry young eyes devoured both the vast blue ocean on her left and the gleaming white shoreline stretching far ahead towards the Manhattan Beach Pier and beyond, where the coastline noticeably curved westward. Behind the curving shoreline the brown and green hills of the distant Santa Monica mountains rose in the distance. And everything she saw felt within her reach that morning, even if she really had