Wily, Jack and Angel. Teenage surfers who meet on the beaches of Malibu during the summer of 1966. Wily, the rich, rebellious senator's son. Jack, the poor Native American. Angel, the mysterious rich girl who arrives in a 1948 Ford Woody with three bodyguards and two attack dogs.
"They watched her Woody climb the winding dirt road, followed by the Galaxie, its 500 engine rumbling.
“I saw her first,” said Jack, dead-serious, not taking his eyes from her cars.
“I saw her first,” said Wily. “But I think she likes you better, anyway. Your
sincere act.”
“It’s not an act, fucknut.”
“Flip you for her?”
“No.”
“C’mon, we always toss the coin. What’s different about her?”
“You know she’s different,” Jack said, finally turning to look at Wily.
“Yeah, three armed bodyguards different.”
“I didn’t think you saw them.”
“How could anyone not see them? I was looking around for the PT boat out beyond the breakers with John Wayne standing behind a machine gun, firing at us.” Wily mimed jerking behind a machine gun, back and forth, mowing down the enemy. “”Die you Commie surfers! Die!” They laughed. “And that nose certainly makes her stand out from the crowd. It’s the eighth wonder of the world.”
“I like her nose. It’s as good as Sitting Bull’s, bro. It’s way too far from Barbie doll for you.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m flipping anyway. Tails says she’s mine,” Wily said. He tossed a quarter high and reached out his palm to catch it. But missed. Where was it? He backed up and leaned down. It had sliced into the sand on its edge. Neither heads nor tails. Sticking straight up.
“Jury’s still out, bro,” Wily told Jack, jutting his chin at the vertical quarter in the sand.
“No,” Jack said, serious. He kicked the quarter in a spray of sand. “I’m asking you to back off.”
“You’re dreaming, Jack. She had three guards with her today, just for her to go surfing. Those were trained attack dogs, too, probably cost a fortune. And that Woody probably cost more than you’ll make in ten years. She’s out of your league, a rich girl. You’re just going to get hurt, Jack.”
“But she’s not out of your league? With your dad a Senator, and you being moneybags-rich, too?”
“That’s not fair. You know the old man cut me off for being a hippie, and calling me a stupid bum and a disappointment, because I’m not going to Harvard and become a ruthless clone of him. That asshole.”
“Yeah, and your grandma came to your rescue and is sending you to art school, so you’re still getting it handed to you on a silver spoon.”
“Yeah, and I’m not complaining. It’s a good school. I’m just saying, don’t put your hand in the fire with Angel. You’re going to get burned.”
“Oh, for my own good? Are you saying you don’t want her?”
“No. She’s cool and mysterious, and she surfs like I can’t believe.”
“And righteous to behold, too, right?”
“Beyond-beyond,” Wily agreed. “Except for that honking nose.”
“See?” Jack shouted at him, thrilled. “You’re all ‘except-for,’ dude. You don’t want her. I think she might be part-Native.”
“Wishful thinking, bro. She’s got to be Jewish.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“You’d think, with the kind of serious bank she’s obviously got, she’d get a beak rebuild like all the other Hymie hotties in L.A.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be a fake Barbie doll.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right. But, why?”
“Listen to you! You’re such a beauty whore, even if it’s fake! How do your fucking preppies put it? Right!” Faking a snotty accent: “She’s very interesting-looking, isn’t she?” They laughed. “How the hell should I know? Maybe she doesn’t want to hide her Jewishness.”
“Yeah. She doesn’t care what people think. Yeah, that’s a plus.”
“Now, her nose is a plus for you? Because she’s rebelling against the Europeanstandard of beauty?” he said, disgusted. “So we both want her, let’s just put it out there.”
“Hey! Dial it down, bro. So far, she thinks I’m a joke, and she likes you -- nothing subtle or e-quivocal about it.”
“That’s right, she likes me. I know it won’t go anywhere serious – I’m not retarded. We may never even see her again. But I’m asking you to back off, if we see her again. I’m going for it, and I don’t want it to come between us.”
Wily gave his best friend a fierce, searching look, then plopped down cross-legged on the sand.
“Well?” Jack demanded, angry, now.
“That bad, huh?” Wily asked.
“Yep.”
“Take your shot,” Wily said, giving in. “I’m out. Girls come and go, but you and me are brothers.”
Wily jumped up and spread his arms wide.
“We are brothers of the sea!” he shouted toward the sunset ocean. “Brothers of the sand! Brothers of the waves! We are brothers of Malibu!”
Jack laughed and exhaled, relieved. Wily usually found a way to diffuse conflict, absurdly. Usually. The other times he fought to the death – against Jack, against anybody, even when outnumbered, even against cops. His rage at his father and all he stood for was always there, always eager to erupt.
Jack laughed out loud at Wily backlit by the sunset and shouted with him: “We are brothers of Malibu!”
Thank God, Wily was taking himself out of the competition. Jack wanted her. He had been feeling a deep excitement in his entire body and mind since she had stepped out of her cool Woody. And the way she had looked and smiled at him. A girl like that, interested in him instead of Wily -- the Senator’s son, the funny, rich, rebel with the GTO convertible and a pocketful of money to take girls to rock concerts and restaurants.
Until today. This extraordinary day, the most astonishing girl they had ever met had chosen him."
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