San Francisco
Part 2

Next morning, over breakfast, I casually mentioned to my mom that I wasn't gonna go back to school after summer vacation. Her mouth was full of cereal, and she gave me the weirest look before she swallowed, almost choking herself. Andy and Greg were also staring at me in amazement.

"You're not what?"

"How do you know we don't have a Charles Andy Williams at our school? I can't take the risk. And I'm not gonna roller blade anymore. Matter of fact, I'm not going outside, not even to walk the dog. I might get mugged. And you shouldn't be driving, mom. Too many car accidents out there."

"What on earth...???"

"It's simple, mom. I'm gonna stay home and watch TV where it's safe. And I'll have to think twice about swimming in the pool as well."

A few days later, Pop was looking pretty damn sharp in his smart pants, shirt and jacket as mom drove the old dude and me to Tampa airport where mom gave me a last minute lecture. "Now make sure you call every day."

"Yes, mom."

Our first flight was to New Orleans, where we connected with a direct, business-class flight to San Francisco. Along the way, Pop explained more about the reason for his trip.

"I didn't wanna tell your mom too much, or you for that matter. There's an old friend of mine... a guy I used to know during the old "Flower Power" days. He was a typical hippie, walking around in a pot-induced haze. I figured he was a certainty fall off the edge of the earth, but he didn't. He eventually woke up to himself, and now he's a successful publisher... a multi millionaire."

"You lived in San Francisco?"

"For a few years, way back during my crazy youth."

"You were a hippie?"

"Just a casual observer. Never really got into that Woodstock scene."

"So how come you guys were friends?"

"We met, and clicked. But after a while he became tired of my lecturing him about drugs and shit. We drifted apart. Anyway, recently he found my stories on the internet, and wrote me. We hadn't seen each other in years. He wants me to write a novel."

"Like in a book? Wow! How cool is that?"

Pop also told me that his bud was picking up the tab for the entire trip, which explained why were flying business class. Woohoo! We were being treated like kings! Naturally, I was pigging out on everything that was edible, and there was no end to the food and drinks. The hostess kinda took a shine to me as well, and smiled everytime she arrived at my seat.

"I'm sorry, Daniel, but we can't serve beer to minors."

"That's OK. Two beers for Pop. Nothing for me."

Late afternoon, we landed at Oakdale Airport, which was for domestic flights, and took a shuttle bus over the Bay Bridge. I could see the famous Golden Gate Bridge in the distance, and couldn't wait 'til I got to ride over that one. Woohoo! This was totally fucking awesome!

When we arrived at the Mark Hopkins Inter-Continental Hotel, I couldn't believe it. It was like a French castle straight outa some fairy story... bristling with spires and gables. "The original mansion was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and subsequent fire," Pop explained.

"Earthquake???"

"Don't worry, Daniel. I'm sure you've experienced many of those in bed with your friends... and survived. The hotel was rebuilt with the addition of a central tower and opened in 1926. It's since been refurbished many times, including last year."

"Who's the guy in the fancy suit? Is that Mark Hopkins?"

"He's the concierge. Don't you know anything about hostelry, Daniel? Hopkins died before the original mansion was completed in 1878. He was the founder of the Central Pacific railroad."

Everything about the place was totally unreal, including the lobby, which blew me away big time... leather couches, expensive carpets, chandeliers, intricate ceilings.

"You sure your bud's picking up the tab? This place must cost a fucking fortune!"

"All paid for in advance. And stop cussing. This is a sophisticated establishment."

Our room was like a small house, furnished with what looked to me like antiques, but Pop explained that they were replicas... expensive replicas, though. "So this is what it feels like to be a millionaire," I commented as I gazed out the window at the magnificent panorama of the city, the huge blue bay, and the imposing Golden Gate.

"Enjoy it while you can. This is Nobb Hill where the "nobs" built their extravagant mansions in the 1870s."

"Where did they get the money?"

"The gold rush, shipping, trade, the railway. There was also the odd author who visited here. Robert Louis Stevenson described Nob Hill as the "Hill of Palaces".

"The dude who wrote "Treasure Island"?"

"Yep."

"I don't get it, Pop. Why would your friend put us up in a place like this? Why not some regular hotel?"

"I told him I wasn't interested in writing a novel or, for that matter, coming to San Francisco."

"Playing hard to get, huh?"

"Not really. I'm happy to do what I'm currently doing, and to live where I presently live. Anyway, part of the reason I agreed to come here was because I thought it might be an adventure for you."

"You did this for me?"

"I'd better phone my friend and let him know that we've arrived safely. Then you can phone your mom."

Following the phone calls, I took a shower while Pop took a snooze.

Naked as a jay bird, and smelling like expensive soap, I returned to the living room and saw Pop dead to the world, sprawled out on the larger of the two beds as though he'd just come crashing through the ceiling. I figured the smaller bed would be mine, but, hey, that was cool. Hell, just being here in this totally rad place was cool!

For a while I investigated our room with all its awesome period furnishings, and imagined what life must've been like back in the late 19th century, with its steam trains and tall ships. "Why, Horatio, my good man! How absolutely delightful to see you again!" Then I bounced on my bed a few times to check it out. Woohoo! Wicked!

On the bedside table there was some literature about the history of the hotel. "San Franciscans proclaimed it "architecturally perfect, flawless in its erection..." That cracked me up totally, especially since I'd already gotten a roaring boner. There was something about the atmos of our room that was horny as hell... like I was the prince of my own palace, and I could do whatever the fuck I wanted. Yes!

Several of the brochures were about local attractions, but the one that got my attention was about windsurfing on SF Bay. I was gonna have to check that out, even if it was only for a look. The pics were totally rad, with guys doing all kinds of killer maneuvers.

Rather than in-room dining, or eating at the hotel restaurant, Pop suggested that we take a tour around the local 'hood. "Chinatown's just down the road. More restaurants than you can poke a stick at, and the best ones are always packed with Chinese. That's how you can tell. We can take a cable car down to North Beach."

"How come they built a city on such a hilly area?"

"Views, Daniel. Views. The early pioneer city planners preferred a squared-off grid, so the downtown streets scare the hell outa newly-arrived drivers. Hence the cable cars... best way to get around."

"Do you think our room is horny?"

"I think elegant is a more apt description."

"Well, it got me hot as hell, Pop. All that fucking luxury, man! Whoa! Outasight! I had a skin-splitter while you were sleeping, and I was really hanging to jack off. I was thinking about blowing all over you while you were sprawled out on the bed."

"But you didn't."

"Disappointed?"

"No."

"So you're glad I didn't?"

"No."

"You wish I had?"

"No."

"I told my mom about my teasing you. She thought it was weird."

"Do you blame her?"

"Guess not. But she doesn't understand. It's cool when you get all bent outa shape."

"What if I didn't? What if I took you seriously?"

"I know you, Pop. You wouldn't."

"So it's a game?"

"Yeah... a cool game, though. Don't you think?"

Eventually, we found a restaurant that was packed to the fucking rafters with Chinese, plus a few Caucasians. It was one of those all-you-can-eat buffet places. "This is the one," Pop smiled as I followed him inside.

Mountains of food was piled high on tables that were surrounded by people heaping stuff onto their plates. And the air was filled with voices chattering away in a high-pitched, sing-songy language that I couldn't understand at all. Meanwhile, Pop had charged ahead, filling his plate like it was gonna be his last meal.

"Hi, you look a little confused," said a strange voice.

"I am." Then I did a double take. The guy behind me was like maybe nineteen or so, and totally fucking awesome, with a killer smile, and teeth that sparkled like on some TV ad for toothpaste. "I'm kinda new at this."

"New in town?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, why don't you just follow my lead. You look like the kinda guy who likes what I like."

"I do?"

"Sure. You like Gong Bao chicken? Sweet and sour fish? Garlic scallops? Mongolian lamb? Just follow me and choose what I choose. I'm sure you'll like it. I eat here a lot. By the way, my name's Spencer."

"Daniel."

"Pleased to meet you. On vacation?"

"Kinda. I'm with that white-haired dude just ahead of us. The one who's trying not to spill stuff all over the fucking joint. He's here on business, and I'm just kinda tagging along."

"Your dad?"

"Just a friend. We're from Tampa, Florida."

"Tampa? Interesting. You staying long?"

"Maybe a week. We're staying at the Inter-Continental."

"On Nobb Hill? Whoa! And you're eating here?"

"Pop suggested it. He's not my pop, but I call him Pop. We're not rich or anything. Our accomodation is being paid for. So it's like free. Y'know?"

"Free is cool. Hey, I'm with some buds, so I'd better split. Hope you enjoy your food."

"Thanks."

"See ya."

"Hey!" I yelled as the guy walked away with his plate.

"Yep?" he replied as he turned, then flashed his killer pearlies again.

"Uh... thanks."

"No prob. Enjoy your stay, Daniel."

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