San Francisco
Part 9

As soon as I was about a block away from the hotel, I took off my t and tied it around my waist. Hmmm. Why not catch a streetcar and get a taste of the local atmos?

I sat next to some old, bald dude who was all dressed up in a button down shirt, tie, dark slacks, and shiny shoes. "Hi. I'm new in town. Name's Daniel. Is this streetcar going to a fancy dress party?"

"Could be," the old guy smiled. "Name's Jim. Actually, the passengers on this tram are pretty typical for this town... multicultural. But they manage to find a commonness across the social barriers."

"I've seen you before. You been on TV? Boris something... uh... Russian. Yeltsin? Nah... he's fat, and you're not. And he's not bald. And you don't have an accent. Are you famous?"

"Not really. But you will be if you keep skating around town without a shirt."

"You're all dressed up. Going somewhere special?"

"Church."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Well, I guess I shouldn't be sitting next to you like this... sorry. I'll put my shirt on."

"Don't worry about your shirt, Daniel. Besides, I'm inclined to think that the majority of passengers prefer you without it. I certainly do."

"You do? Cool. So who's the dude over there with the weird hat and the guitar?"

"It's called a fez... the hat, I mean. He's often a traveller on this streetcar, and always wears his maroon, embroidered fez. And I think the instrument is a cross between a mandolin and a guitar."

"Check out his jacket! Totally outasight!"

"He obviously likes bright colors... and judging by his swarthy complexion, he probably hails from somewhere between Morocco and Azerbaijan."

"Is that far from here?"

"You'd need more than a streetcar, Daniel. He never makes an attempt to sing, though... just tunes his instrument and strums a few chords, then tunes it again. Usually people ignore him as one of this city's many harmless crazies."

"You think he's crazy? Doesn't look crazy. Just kinda different."

"What I meant was that he lives in his own world, and is culturally distant from the rest of us."

"He probably thinks I'm crazy."

"Are you?"

"I dunno," I shrugged. "What do you think?"

"I think you're very charming. And I'm flattered that you've introduced yourself."

At the next stop, a dude about sixteen, carrying a skateboard, boarded the tram. He was wearing baggy cargos, an oversize t, two earrings on the right, and a knitted cap. Totally cute! Woohoo! Slim and kinda natural, like he was happy to be who he was and couldn't give a fuck. He watched the old guy with the fez for a few minutes, then asked, "Could I try it? I know a few chords."

It was like totally cool to see how the old dude looked up at the kid and smiled broadly, like he was really blown away by someone taking an interest. Then he handed the guitar to the young guy who strummed a tune I didn't recognize... but it was way fucking cool. And the old guy with the fez was beaming big time.

After the kid had finished strumming, he handed the guitar back to the old dude and said, "Thanks." At the next stop, the old dude got off the tram, and a bunch of new people got on.

"So what did you think?" Jim asked.

"About the teen playing the old dude's guitar? Awesome."

"I've seen the man in the fez many times and, for once, he wasn't ignored or stared at as if he were crazy. That boy treated him with respect."

Two of the new passengers were like 20-something. They sat where the dude with the fez had been, and were wearing designer rave fashions. One had spiky blonde hair, the other dark dreadlocks and a goatee. Both had lots of rings, bracelets, piercings and tattoos, and were having a pretty animated convo. Suddenly, I felt totally fucking ridiculous, as well as conspicuous. There I was shirtless, sitting next to a dolled-up dude going to church, and opposite a couple of guys who were dressed to the fucking nines. I had to get outa there fast. But just as I was preparing to stand, Jim said something to the dude with the dark hair.

"Rudy?"

"Jim!" the dude cried, then jumped up and gave him a big hug.

For several minutes they chatted about old times. From what I could gather, Rudy was Venezuelan and a former friend of Jim's ex-roommate who was the ex-lover of an ex-porn star who sometimes went to Jim's church. Hello? And I was crazy? Yeah, right.

As the convo progressed, I found out that Rudy was a sometimes bike messenger and a keyboard player in a band. He was also a singer. And the blonde dude he was with was his lover. Hmmm. SF was one helluva interesting town!

As Jim stood in readiness to get off at the next stop, he and his friends said "later" to each other. Then Jim turned to me and smiled, "Ubi caritas et amor, ibi Deus est."

"Did you understand what Jim said?" I asked after the old guy had left the tram.

"Something about love crossing all barriers...God doesn't fit into anyone's idea of him. Do you always dress like this?"

"Huh? Oh... yeah... well, kinda. I'm new here, and... well back home in Florida we..."

"Hey, don't feel embarrassed, dude. You look great. Very great. If there were more guys like you on our streetcars, more people would use public transport."

"Yeah! You'd be good for the environment," agreed his blonde friend with a wide grin. "Public transport with eye candy. Now that I like! Woohoo!"

"Yeah! A streetcar named desire!"

Then they both cracked up something wicked, but I wasn't sure why.

I bladed the rest of the way to the park on the southern side of the Golden Gate Bridge and saw Spencer's blue Bronco parked nearby. There were a bunch of windsurfers out on the bay, but they were too far away to recognize. Then I noticed a note flapping in the breeze under Spencer's windshield wiper.

"Daniel buddy - back about noon - I owe you a BJ - love Spencer."

I read the note twice. Then a third time. He owed me a BJ? Allright! I was getting a skin-splitter already! Woohoo!

To pass the time, I bladed around the park and noticed all kinds of people from various ethnic backgrounds, including many Mexicans. After my experience on the streetcar, I felt as though I could speak to any one of them and they would become my friend. It was a weird feeling -- a happy feeling -- a kinda warm glow inside that made me wanna blade as fast as I could and feel the freedom of the wind in my face. And I figured it must've had something to do with that old chrome-dome dude on the bus, Jim. He was the last person I'd have expected to be friendly with a couple of flamboyant gays dripping with body hardware. Jim was about as straight as a dude could get, and yet there was something about him... kinda like Pop but better dressed. And not as grumpy.

It was about 12:30 by the time a windsurfer began to make his way toward the shore where I was waiting. There was another guy not far behind him. "Spencer!" I yelled as I recognized the first dude, then felt like a dork for getting so damn excited and waving my arms all over the fucking place. Why couldn't I be calm and sophisticated like he was? Jeez. I was gonna have to get a fucking grip on myself.

"Hi, Daniel," he beamed, flashing those awesome set of sparkling pearlies again as his craft came to a halt. "Sorry we're a bit late." We? He must've meant the second windsurfer who was maybe thirty yards behind. "That's Wicked Willie behind me. He's joining us for lunch... and whatever." Whatever? Hmmm... did Willie know about the note under Spencer's windshield wiper? "Y'know something, Daniel?" he grinned as he unzipped his wettie and peeled it down to his waist. "The nice thing about windsurfing is that all you need is water and wind. Daniel?"

"Huh?"

"I said the nice thing about..."

"Yeah, I heard. Water and wind. Sorry... I was gawking again. You've got a hot chest. It's f... uh, awesome."

"Thanks. Yours ain't too shabby either. Anyway, you don't have to worry about the right breaks or some dude riding your tail..."

"Whose tail?" Willie laughed as he joined his bud, then unzipped his wettie before offering me his hand. "Hi, Daniel. Spencer's told me all about you."

"He has? Oh... hi, Willie."

"There's even a gay windsurfing club here," Spencer continued as he dismantled his sail. "Willie and I went to one of the BBQs last summer, but somehow we just couldn't connect to it."

"No girls," Willie cracked, then noticed the note under the Bronco's wiper. "There's a message here for you, Spencer."

"Actually," I said as I quickly grabbed the piece of paper and screwed it up in my hand, "it was a message for me."

"You like Mexican food?" Spencer asked. "I hope you do 'cause that's what I've got planned for lunch. I do serious chillies rellenos and dynamite frijoles. You like beef or chicken enchiladas? And I make a wicked guacamole sour cream dip. There's a whole bunch of Mexican food shops around town, so I got it all organized early this morning."

"You staying over tonight, Daniel?" Willie asked.

"Huh?"

"Spencer was saying..." But Willie was suddenly cut short by Spencer who elbowed his bud, and gave him a quick sideways glare.

"I haven't been invited. Besides, I'd need Pop's permission."

"Does that mean you'd like to sleep over?"

"I guess," I shrugged as I helped the guys load their sailboards onto the Bronco. "You guys are going too damn fast. Will Motor Mouth be there?"

"Nope. He kissed a light pole this morning on his skateboard at high speed. Helluva bruised face. He's in hospital, but he's OK. Frightened the shit out of us, though. So you wanna call Pop and ask him?"

"I didn't bring anything... I mean like a toothbrush or clothes and stuff."

"I've got plenty of spare toothbrushes and towels. And we can put your clothes in the wash."

"So what'll I wear?"

Spencer secured his board to the roofrack with the last of the elastic straps, then grinned at me. "You can wear anything you like, Daniel. I've got a couple of business suits."

"Yeah, right."

After we'd arrived at the beach house, Spencer and Willie got busy in the kitchen while I phoned Pop. "And don't worry about mom... I'll phone her from here. Will you be OK alone tonight?"

"I'm having dinner with the publisher and a few friends of his. Actually, I was worried about you being alone. Silly me. I should've known you'd have made friends with half of San Francisco's population by now. Give me a call in the morning just to let me know you're OK. And give my love to your mom."

"Sure, Pop. Hey, Pop?"

"What?"

"Loveya."

"Thank you, Daniel. I love you, too. Have a wonderful time with your friends. I'll look forward to your telling me all about it."

"All about what?"

"Daniel... you're incorrigible."

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