“It’s not dark, it’s just foggy. And breakfast in this joint is at seven.”
“I’ll go without.”
“No, you won’t. We have things to do.”
“Lucas … please …” He watched her struggle out of sleep. His hair was combed, his teeth were brushed, his eyes were bright. He had been up since five. He had a lot on his mind.
“Kezia, if you don’t get off your ass, I’ll keep you on it all day. And then you’ll be sorry!” He ran his hand smoothly from her breast to her belly.
“Who says I’ll be sorry?”
“Don’t tempt me. But come on, babe. I want to show you the town.”
“In the middle of the night? Can’t it wait a few hours?”
“It’s seven-fifteen.”
“Oh God, I’m dying.”
And then, laughing at her, he picked her up out of bed, and deposited her in the bathtub of warm water he had run while she slept.
“I figured you wouldn’t be up to a shower this morning.”
“Lucas, I love you.” The hot water lulled her gently, as she lay looking sleepily into his eyes. “You spoil me. No wonder I love you.”
“I figured there had to be a reason. And don’t take too long. They close the kitchen at eight, and I want some food in my stomach before I drag you around town.”
“Drag me, eh?” She closed her eyes and sank deeper into the tub. It was an ancient bathtub that stood high off the floor on gold-leaf claw feet. It would have been large enough for both of them.
They breakfasted on pancakes and fried eggs and bacon. And for the first morning in years, Kezia didn’t even bother to read the paper. She was on holiday, and she didn’t give a damn what the world had to say. “The world” would only complain, and she was not in the mood for complaints. She felt too good to be bothered with that.
“So where are you taking me, Lucas?”
“Back to bed.”
“What? You got me up, just to go back to bed?” She looked incensed and he laughed.
“Later. Later. First, we take a look at the town.”
He drove her through Golden Gate Park and they walked around its lakes and kissed in hidden corners under still-flowering trees. Everything was still green and in bloom. The rusty look of the East in November was so different, and so much less romantic. They had tea in the Japanese Garden, and then drove out to the beach before driving back through the Presidio to look out over the bay. She was having a balclass="underline" Fisherman’s Wharf, Ghiradelli Square, The Cannery….
They ate fresh crab and shrimp at the stands at the wharf, and reveled in the noise of Italian vendors. They watched old men playing boccie in Aquatic Park, and she smiled watching one very old man teach his grandson how to play. Tradition. Luke smiled too, watching her. She had a way of seeing things that he had never thought of before. She always had a sense of history, of what had come before and what would come later. It was something to which he’d never given much thought. He lived with his feet firmly planted in now. It was an exchange they gave to each other. She gave him a sense of her past, and he taught her to live where she was.
As the fog lifted, they left their borrowed car down at the wharf, and took the cable car to Union Square. It made her laugh as they rolled down the hills. For the first time in her life she felt like a tourist. Usually she moved across a regulated map between familiar houses in cities she had known all her life, from the homes of old friends to the homes of other old friends, wherever she was, the world over. From one familiar world to another. But with Luke being a tourist was fun. Everything was. And he loved the way she enjoyed what he showed her. It was a fun town to show—pretty, and easy, and not too crowded at that time of year. The rugged natural beauty of the bay and the hills made a pleasing contrast to the architectural treasures of the town; skyscrapers all politely herded downtown, the gingerbread Victorians nestled in Pacific Heights, and the small colorful shops of Union Street.
They drove over the Golden Gate Bridge just because she wanted to see it “up close,” and she was enchanted.
“What a handsome piece of work, isn’t it, Luke?” Her eyes scanned far above to its spires piercing the fog.
“So are you.”
They dined that night at one of the Italian restaurants on Grant Avenue. A place with four tables for eight where you sat next to strangers, and made friends as you shared soup and broke bread. She talked to everyone at their table; this was new to her too. Luke grinned as he watched her. What would they have said if they had known she was Kezia Saint Martin? The idea made him laugh more. Because they wouldn’t have known. They were plumbers and students, bus drivers and their wives. Kezia Saint Who? She was safe. With him, and with them. That pleased him; he knew that she needed a place where she could play, without fear of reporters and gossip. She had blossomed in the brief time since she’d flown into town. She needed that kind of peace and release. He was glad it was something he could give her.
They stopped for a drink at a place called Perry’s on Union Street before going home. It reminded her a bit of P. J.’s in New York. And they decided to walk home from there. It was a pleasant walk over the hills, dotted with small parks along the way. The foghorns were bleating at the edge of the bay, and she kept stride beside him, holding his hand.
“God, Luke. I’d love to live here.”
“It’s a good place. And you don’t even know it yet.”
“Not even after today?”
“That’s just the tourist stuff. Tomorrow we see the real thing.”
They spent the next day driving north on the coast Sanson Beach, Inverness, Point Reyes. It was a rugged coastline that looked much like Big Sur farther south. Waves crashing against the cliffs, gulls and hawks soaring high, long expanses of hills, and sudden sweeps of beaches, unpopulated and seeming almost to be touched by the hand of God. Kezia knew what Luke had meant. This was a far cry from the wharf. This was real, and incredibly beautiful, not merely diverting.
They had an early dinner in a Chinese restaurant on Grant Avenue, and Kezia was in high spirits. They were seated in a little booth with a curtain drawn over the doorway and you could hear giggles and murmurs in other booths, and beyond, the clatter of dishes and the tinkling sound of Chinese spoken by the waiters. Kezia loved it, and it was a restaurant Luke knew well, one of his favorite hangouts in town. He had been there the night before she arrived, to tie up the loose ends about the strike at San Quentin. It was an odd thing, talking about dead men and inmates over fried wonton. It seemed immoral somehow, when he gave it much thought, but mostly he didn’t. They had learned to accept what they lived with. The realities of men in prison, and the cost of changing that system. It cost some men their lives. Luke and his friends were the generals, the inmates were the soldiers, the prison administrators the enemy. It was all very simple.
“You’re not listening to me, Lucas.”
“Hm?” He looked up to see Kezia watching him with a smile.
“Something wrong, darling?”
“Are you kidding? How could there be?” She was watching his eyes, and he pushed thoughts of San Quentin from his mind, but something was bothering him. A sense of foreboding, of … something. He didn’t know what. “I love you, Kezia. It was a beautiful day.” He wanted to chase the painful thoughts away, but it was getting harder to do.
“Yes, it was. You must be tired from all that driving though.”
“We’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight.” He chuckled at the thought and leaned forward for a kiss.
It wasn’t until they left that he saw the same face he had seen too often during the weeks he’d spent in San Francisco. As he looked around and saw the man darting back into one of the booths with a newspaper under his arm, it was suddenly too much for him.