Frankly Speaking: Color, scenes and stories from the beach

I’ve long enjoyed the mystique of beach life and its warmth, its peace, its security and, most of all, the unforgettable characters. From a security standpoint, for example, where else could Susie leave an open handbag containing highly classified government documents, and her batch of “buy one, get one free” restaurant coupons on her beach chair, and then take a leisurely two-mile walk down the beach, trusting the inviolability of that handbag? And this in the face of the well-advertised instances in supermarkets where handbags have been stolen, in full view, from shopping baskets — and, in the streets, snatched right out of the arms of the owner. No, the beach honor code is something else. Think about it. It’s the highest and purest form of trust. Then we have the couple from New York City who conduct spirited conversations, assured that no one can hear them. For us sand-splashed year-round veterans, however, we know that sound travels unimpeded for long distances over the sand. Here’s a play by play I recently overheard at Vanderbilt Beach in Florida: “Murray, look at that one, will you? Did you ever notice that the ones who wear thongs, shouldn’t?” “You wear thongs, Sheila.” “Yeah, but who sees them at the Bridge Club.” Suddenly, Sheila’s cell phone belts out the lilting strains of “Feelings.” She stares at the screen for a moment, and then puts the phone down. “Well, aren’t you going to answer it, Sheila?” “No, it’s my mother.” “Your mother? Why … Why wouldn’t you answer it? We came a long way just to see her.” “Because she doesn’t know we’re here yet. She thinks we get in on Thursday.” “She’s your mother, for God’s sake, and we’re within a half mile of her place. Answer the phone!” “I’m not going to. She can wait till Thursday. I just can’t be around her too much, Murray. We always have this discussion. You know her. She talks a blue streak. You can’t get a word in edgewise…. And besides, she keeps telling me I wear too much gold. And she’s constantly bugging me that my lipstick doesn’t follow my lip line. I keep telling her that I have to wear it that way, because I have tiny lips. And, besides, if I did call her, she’ll probably want us to come over.” “Sheila, that’s why we’re here… I don’t understand you. Anyway, the woman’s on her last legs. She could die before you get there.” “She’s not going to die, Murray. She’s still got payments on that old Bentley.” “Look, sweetheart, I’m uneasy being here and not contacting her. It gives me agita.” “Well, then you call her, or take some Tums.” “She’s your mother. She brought you into the world. I don’t believe how callous you are.” “I didn’t ask her to bring me into the world. That’s beside the point. I just don’t like to have her breathing down my neck… She’s a very needy person. As far as I’m concerned, she’s here in Florida. We live in the Bronx. That’s the ideal distance between us… Oh, OK, I’ll call her, but just to shut you up. You’ve got some mouth on you, Murray.” “Hello, Mom? This is Sheila... Yeah, we’re on our way. We’re on the Jersey Turnpike. The traffic is terrible. I’ll call you once we stop. Maybe after the toll booth... No, he can’t talk, either. He’s sleeping. Bye, Ma. Look, I’ll call you later. I think we’re in a dead zone. You’re fading out. Bye.”