by David Smith
“Blain, look at this!” She said, taking it all in, looking all the way to the south seeing Newport Pier in the distance, and then up the beach to the north where the coast gently curved to the left where, several miles up, Huntington Beach began. Much further north, they could see the Huntington Beach Pier in the distance, its image shimmering in the rising heat from the sand that stretched for miles. It was an extremely clear day and the island of Catalina, about thirty miles directly across the sea from the coast, was outlined in the distance. The sun radiated heat and light off the white sand that stretched as far as Malaysia could see.
“Like it?”
“It’s like a postcard!” Malaysia said. Blain smiled. Prior, he only thought of the beach as a hang-out for him and his friends, a place to swim, play Frisbee or just girl-watch. Suddenly, he realized he would forever think of the beach as something far more special.
Moving across the warm sand, they found an open area free of many beach-goers. Malaysia loved the feel of the sand as she slipped off her sandals and walked barefoot. It was early enough that the sun hadn’t baked the sand to the point it was too hot. In fact, Malaysia found the warm sand just right and couldn’t wait to lay out a towel and feel that warmth radiate up through to her skin.
They spread out towels on a sloped section of sand that let them look out over the water easily. Blain pulled out and then pulled open the two beach chairs he had brought, and Malaysia pulled out her camera.
“Smile,” she said as Blain had just sat down in the low chair.
“Cheese,” Blain said as she took his picture. She spun around and took a picture of the coast and the houses behind them that lined the boardwalk. A guy walking with a youngster came by. “Would you mind taking a picture of us, Sir?” Blain asked from his sitting position.
“No problem,” the man said, walking up the incline toward their spot.
“Thanks!” Malaysia said as she handed him the camera, showing where to push. She quickly came over to Blain and knelt down beside him.
“Say ‘Beach,’” the man said as the two said ‘beach’ and the camera clicked.
“Thank you,” Blain said as the man handed the camera back to Malaysia. She quickly looked at the picture on the back screen, shielding the glare of the sun with a cupped hand. She smiled at the picture, showing it to Blain. As he looked at the miniature image on the display, Blain wondered how much of this trip with him Malaysia would remember. He wondered if his picture would even get shown to her friends back home in Switzerland.
“That’s a keeper,” Blain said.
After putting the camera in the bottom of her bag, Malaysia knelt back down on her towel next to Blain. On her knees, she crossed her arms in front of her and began to pull her sundress off over her head. Blain watched with more than passing interest as she emerged from the cover up dress wearing a small, white bikini with brown strings threaded through the small triangles that cupped her curves. Rolling the dress up neatly and storing it in the bag with the camera, Malaysia adjusted the small suit and then looked at Blain.
“What?” She asked as she then sat back next to Blain on her towel.
“‘What?’ she asks,” Blain said, mimicking Malaysia. “Only the fact that I’m sitting on this beautiful beach on this perfect day with the most stunning woman within a hundred miles of here…that’s what.”
Malaysia laughed. “You need your eyes checked, Blain!”
Blain just looked at her, taking in her curves, her shape. “You do look stunning,” Blain finally said.
“Sooo, I guess you like my suit?”
Blain acted like he hadn’t noticed the suit. “Oh, the suit? Well, it covers too much of you,” Blain said sitting back in his chair, now acting like he wasn’t interested. “But I’m good with it,” he offered, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.
“Oh you are so bad!” Malaysia said. She sat down on her towel that was spread in front of her chair.
Blain sat back up in his chair and leaned over to Malaysia who was leaning back against the low-slung beach chair. “No, this is ‘bad,’” he said and gave Malaysia a very sensual kiss. He placed his hand over her stomach, then sliding it slowly around her side.
After he kissed her, he leaned back and closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his face and her eyes on him.
“I think I’m starting to like ‘bad,’” Malaysia whispered, leaning into his ear, taking a small nibble of his earlobe in the process.
Blain nodded, eyes shut. “Thought you might,” was all he said.
Malaysia smiled at Blain, his tan and muscular body was not hard on her eyes either. She was feeling such a strong emotional tug, looking at him. She suddenly found herself wanting to kiss him more.
A lot more.
After an hour and a half of soaking up the sun, tossing a Frisbee back and forth at the edge of the constant approaching and receding water, and dipping feet in the shallow breakers of the ocean, Blain said to Malaysia after they had sat back in their beach chairs, “Let’s take a walk along the boardwalk. I would like to show you the pier down there,” Blain said nodding to his left towards the Newport Pier a half mile down the beach.
“Is our stuff going to be safe here?” Malaysia asked when Blain asked her to take a walk with him.
“Sure. But bring your camera,” Blain said.
Slipping her sundress back over her suit and Blain pulling on his tee shirt, the two walked in flip flops the half mile along the boardwalk toward the Newport Pier. The boardwalk was a wide, concrete sidewalk that began at 36th street and traversed south all the way to the pier. Along the walk, they looked at the many houses—most of which had small courtyards facing the beach; many houses had small, intimate parties going on, of people cooking up lunch on portable grills, sitting under umbrellas drinking beer or sodas. Everyone said “Hello” as Blain and Malaysia passed. Malaysia had her baseball cap back on and sunglasses, but neither could hide her beautiful figure that Blain not only spied other guys admiring from a distance, but that he found he couldn’t keep his own eyes off.
As they reached the area by the pier, Blain took Malaysia into the various boutiques that lined the parking lot in front of the pier. A little later, he led her across the parking lot to the pier itself.
“This is so neat,” Malaysia said, walking along the pier. The smell of freshly-caught fish permeated the air. A handful of people were fishing off the sides of the pier; Malaysia noticed the colorful tackle boxes that the fishermen all had. They glanced down into five-gallon buckets that the people fishing had put their ‘catches’ in and saw the various fish caught, those large enough to keep. They walked to the end and looked out over the expanse of ocean. Malaysia asked about the island in the distance and Blain told her about the Channel Islands and specifically Catalina, the largest and closest to Newport Beach that appeared like a giant hunchback whale across the horizon.
“Mark that as another place I would love to show you someday, Missy,” Blain said, imagining being on the beautiful Santa Catalina Island with Malaysia. With kayaking, hiking, sailing, and shopping, the island would make a wonderful day trip for the two of them, Blain thought.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Blain asked, realizing they had not talked about the rest of the week before she was to leave. For some reason, this whirlwind experience seemed to make them both consider only taking the relationship one day at a time. One moment at a time.
“I’ve got, um, a thing with my parents,” Malaysia said, knowing that they had a rehearsal at the Honda Center in the morning; it was more of a practice for the band’s full show that was scheduled for Friday night.
“Bummer, I guess that shoots that idea,” Blain said as he continued leading Malaysia towards the end of the pier.
“What idea?”
“I was thinking it would be fun to take the Catalina Flier over to the island,” Blain said, pointing towards the visible landmass across the ocean. “It is going to be a beautiful day, the weather report said.”
Malaysia frowned, but then brightened. “I think I might be able get done early enough. It’s just something we are doing together in the morning,” she said.
“Cool; that might work. I was going to call in sick tomorrow, but instead, I’ll just work the morning shift, if you think you will be done early enough.”
The reached the end of the pier, walking around the small shop centered near the end and stopping at the rail.
They were leaning over the rail facing out toward the dark blue ocean beyond but their heads were turned towards each other. Their eyes focused not on the scenery but on the other person’s eyes.
“I’ll make sure we are done early enough,” Malaysia said, taking Blain’s hand and holding it tight.
3:30pm
“We have some time before dinner,” Blain said as they packed their bags in the back of his Camaro.
“Dinner? I don’t want you to buy dinner for me,” Malaysia said. She had called her sister on her cell phone, checking in and telling her that they may not be back until late. But Malaysia didn’t know what they were doing after the beach.
“Well, we can flip a coin or something for the bill,” Blain said. “I want to take you somewhere that I think you will like. Actually, a couple places.”
“More surprises?” Malaysia asked.
“Something like that,” Blain simply said, leaning over and giving Malaysia a kiss on her forehead.
4:15pm
“I’ll pick you up at five forty-five; does that give you enough time?” Blain asked as he pulled into the semi-circle drive at the entrance of the Marriott and got out of the car, leaving it running.
“Yes, I can be ready sooner, if you want to wait,” Malaysia said.
“I’ve got to pick up some stuff from my apartment and shower. I also want to make a quick stop and check something out. You sure you don’t want me to walk you up?”
“No, this is good, Blain,” Malaysia said, getting out and shutting the door. Blain met her at the back of the car where he had popped the trunk open. He handed her the Marriott bag. “I had so much fun today! It seems you never fail to impress me with your surprises!”
“Well, you make it easy. I’ve never had more fun with someone,” Blain said, turning towards her. “I can’t wait to see you. I will be back very shortly.”
“Me too,” Malaysia said, giving him a kiss. Blain moved his hand around her waist, feeling the soft curve of her figure under the thin summer dress, his hand resting on her hip. “Mmm,” Malaysia sighed, subconsciously, feeling him hold her. “Can’t wait,” she whispered.
Blain smiled, pulled away and shut the trunk, watching Malaysia walk toward the sliding double doors of the hotel entrance. “Oh, Missy,” Blain called out. “Wear something nice…not that you don’t look stunning in what you have on!”
“Okay! I’ll try!” she called back.
Blain smiled, and waved goodbye. He caught the staring eyes of one of the bellhops watching Malaysia walk into the lobby.
“Put your eyes back in,” Blain said to the young bellhop before hopping in behind the wheel of his car.
CHAPTER 32
Concealed Mystery
Tuesday, June 29th, 2010
4:30pm
Blain quickly drove to his apartment and laid out some things he wanted for the evening. He took a quick shower and dressed in tan slacks, a green and tan, button down short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of tan, Rinaldo Italian suede shoes.
Before leaving the apartment, Blain logged onto his computer and looked up which libraries might have local high school yearbooks. It didn’t take long for him to find the information he was seeking. Shutting down the computer, Blain left the apartment, locking the door behind him.
After putting things in his trunk and shutting it, Blain hopped into the car and left his apartment complex turning right off Crawford Canyon onto Chapman Avenue. He headed west about eight miles to Anaheim Boulevard, making a right then he turned left onto Broadway. Passing Harbor Boulevard, Blain made a left turn into the parking lot of the Anaheim Public Library.
“I’m looking for a 1959 yearbook for Anaheim High School,” Blain explained to the woman working the information desk at the recently remodeled library.
“No problem,” the woman said. She had a tag on her shirt that said, ‘Volunteer’. “Go around the corner to the right,” she said, pointing to the left side of the building. Blain listened while following her finger. “You should find a rack of yearbooks for several of the Anaheim area high schools there including Anaheim.”
“Thank you,” Blain said as he quickly walked around the corner and found the book case filled with annuals, listed by year and school.
Within a few minutes, Blain pulled out a well-worn 1959 Yearbook for Anaheim High. The home of the “Colonists,” as the school athletic teams were tagged, Anaheim High had a long and rich history. The 1959 year book identified the school’s 58th anniversary since it was built in 1901. Blain thumbed through the pages of black and white senior pictures. A small class of less than one hundred, Blain was able to locate quickly what he was looking for.
On page twenty-two, the third picture over was a bust shot of Nathan Paul Duncan’s senior portrait. Indeed, Blain saw that Nathan was certainly no ‘looker’ as Willie Riggio had described. Even the professional portrait couldn’t hide an awkward smile, scarred skin on his face from an obvious history of acne and probably limited hygiene in general, and hair that looked plastered with either Pennzoil or Vaseline, he couldn’t tell. Of course, Blain began realizing after comparing Nathan’s picture to others, oily hair was indeed the norm; Nathan’s hair ‘style’ was not just a ‘Nathan Duncan’ exception. Even though the products were still available, Blain had only vaguely heard of “Vitalis” or “Brylcreem.”
Not only did it appear that Nathan wasn’t much of a looker, but he also had that inability to take a good picture. Blain knew of a couple friends who were far better looking than Duncan appeared, handsome even, yet they too couldn’t take a good picture.
Blain went to the back of the book to look in the index. A little surprised, Blain found two other page listings in the yearbook for Nathan. Flipping to the page of the first one listed, Blain located a picture of Nathan Duncan reading a book in the school library, presumably, as there was a bookcase filled with books that could be seen behind Duncan who was sitting at a table. The caption, “Study, Study, Study, Nathan Duncan is hard at work,” was below the picture. Blain could again see what the old Landscaping foreman, Riggio, meant when he said Nathan was nothing to look at. Duncan’s posture at the table and relatively slight frame reminded Blain of the “ninety-eight pound weakling” expression.
Turning to the other listed page for Nathan Duncan, Blain found a shot of him in the “Campus Life” section of the yearbook. The caption read, “Nathan Duncan helps his younger sister Evelyn with her homework.” Blain examined the picture, specifically looking not at Nathan but now at his sister; Blain now had a name and a face to go with the knowledge of Nathan having a sister. The picture showed Nathan standing over a girl who was sitting at a lunch table with several books open before her.
The younger, female Duncan wore what looked like a white blouse in the black and white photo. Her face, unlike her brother’s, looked clear and smooth. Her build was also dissimilar; Evelyn had broader shoulders, and, from what Blain could see in the picture, she had attractive eyes. Only her hair seemed a bit mussed, perhaps because the picture looked like it had been taken outside, maybe on a windy day.
Quickly turning back to the index, Blain looked up Nathan’s sister’s name. Blain found she was listed in the sophomore class section; a smaller head shot than the seniors, her picture, a close up of her face, showed a rather demure-looking young lady with a pretty smile but again, rather unruly-looking hair.
Blain looked at his watch and saw that it was a little past five-thirty. He quickly closed the book, placed it back in the space he had found it, and walked out of the l
ibrary towards his car in the parking lot.
Nathan felt like he was one step closer to understanding the mystery about Nathan Duncan.
5:50pm
Blain pulled into the short term parking at the Marriott and trotted into the lobby, expecting to see Malaysia waiting inside.
Looking around the lobby Blain didn’t see her right away. There was a small, but inviting, lounge off the lobby where a number of people were sitting on high barstools around tall, but small diameter, circular tables. Colorful drinks sat on the tables or in the hands of most of those in the room. A small, empty dance floor was in the corner where an unmanned DJ booth sat off to the side. Blain, standing near the entrance of the lounge while looking in, figured that dancing was a few hours away still, sometime after the “happy hour” most likely.
Thinking that perhaps Malaysia was inside the lounge, Blain went in. Looking left then right, letting his eyes adjust to the darker, ‘mood lighting,’ inside, he saw, sitting at one of the small tables along the far right wall, Malaysia with Laura, each finishing a glass of red wine.
“Here are two of the prettiest girls in town, in one room no less,” Blain said as he approached their table. He stood next to the tall table facing the girls.
“Sweet talker,” Laura said, standing up. “Considering how much time you two are spending together, you might as well let our parents adopt you,” Laura said laughing. “So where are you taking my sister tonight?”
“A little place near Laguna Beach,” Blain said. “It’s called Five Crowns.”
