The Midnight Tour

“We missed a lot of things last night,” Monica pointed out.

“Well, we can go back. That’ll be fine.”

So back they went to Pier 39.

There, Owen stayed by Monica’s side while she explored every shop. In each place, she seemed to look at every item. At the Christmas store, she bought a golden ornament depicting the San Francisco skyline. At the magnet store, she bought a Golden Gate Bridge refrigerator magnet. At the shell store, she bought a little seashell man driving a little seashell car. “Isn’t it just adorable?” she asked.

“Very nice,” Owen said.

Later, they stood around and waited ten minutes for a stage show to start. The performer, however, turned out to be Wilma the Wonder Girl—the same juggler/comic they’d watched last night. “Oh, God,” Owen said. “I don’t think I can watch her again.”

Monica cast him a pouty look. “Aren’t we in a fine mood?”

“Well, she was a smart-ass, abrasive, and not funny. And we’ve already seen her act. It’ll probably be exactly the same, except for whatever poor stooge she drags out of the audience to humiliate this time.”

“If you don’t want to stay for the show, just say so.”

“I’d rather not. I’m really getting tired. Can’t we just go back to the hotel?”

“We can’t go yet. You don’t want to miss the seals, do you?”

“They’re probably the same seals we saw last night.”

“Aren’t they darling? Let’s go watch them. Just for a little while, okay?”

“Sure. Okay.”

“They’re just so cute.”

So Owen walked with Monica to the far end of the pier. There, they turned and followed the noise of barks and roars to the viewing area.

Out in the water a short distance away were hundreds of sea lions. Though they weren’t directly illuminated, plenty of light reached them from the pier. Quite a few people stood at the wooden rail to watch them. Owen and Monica found an empty space at the rail.

“Aren’t they just wonderful?” Monica said.

“Yeah, they’re great.”

She squeezed his hand.

They stood there watching.

Owen’s feet hurt, but he didn’t complain. He just stood there and watched the sea lions.

And watched them.

And watched them.

This is what Monica wants to do, so we’ll do it till she’s done. I’m not going to ruin it for her the way she ruins everything for me.

Not many of the sea lions were swimming around. Most seemed to be piled on the numerous platforms, snuggling against each other—and on top of each other—resting or sleeping. Once in a while, one would slide off into the water. Sometimes, a sea lion would get tired of swimming, climb aboard a platform and nudge its way into the crowd. Every so often, a quarrel would seem to take place—two of the creatures darting their snouts at each other and barking. Mostly, though, nothing much happened.

This is such a thrill, Owen thought.

I can stand here with Monica for an hour and stare at a bunch of boring seals, but she won’t even stick it out with me to the end of the Beast House tour. How is that fair?

“I guess I’m about ready to go,” Monica finally said. “How about you?”

“I guess so.”

She squeezed his hand. As they started walking away, she said, “We’ll have to come back and see what they do in the daytime.”

“That’s a good idea,” he said.

“I could watch them for hours, couldn’t you?”

“I think we just did.”

Monica tossed back her head, barked out a laugh, then said, “Oh, you’re such a silly.”

Owen tried not to grimace as he trudged along the Embarcadaro with Monica. He probably wasn’t the only person with sore feet. The walkway was crowded with other couples and families heading back toward the main area of Fisherman’s Wharf—probably going to hotels or parked cars—now that most of Pier 39 had closed for the night.

The crowd walked a gauntlet of beggars/performers: a man who stood motionless on top of a box, apparently doing his impression of a statue; a lone saxophone player; a legless guy with a cardboard sign announcing he was a disabled Vietnam veteran; a trio of bongo players; the traditional blind man with dog; the crippled woman with baby; a fat woman in dirty white leotards who danced like a ballerina and appeared to be quite mad.

Owen glanced furtively at these people. He wished they would go away and leave everyone alone.

Hoping to escape from them, he and Monica crossed the road. They ran into a few beggars, anyway. And a stumbling drunk. And someone passed out in the entryway of a closed swimsuit boutique. But there didn’t seem to be so many on this side of the road.

No matter where you go, Owen thought, you can’t get away from them.

At last, he and Monica arrived at their hotel.

And finally they reached their room.

Owen pulled off his shoes and flopped onto the bed.

“Not so fast,” Monica said. “We need ice.”

Ice. For their cream sodas. Monica absolutely had to drink a cream soda every night before bedtime.

Yesterday, after checking into the hotel, they’d immediately gone in search of a six-pack. The quest had taken them more than an hour.

She’ll spend the whole afternoon hunting for cream soda, but can’t hang on fifteen more minutes in Beast House...

And can’t go after her own damn ice, even though my feet are killing me and she knows it.

Owen groaned, sat up, struggled into his shoes, and got to his feet. Then he limped over to the dresser and picked up the ice bucket.

“Do you want me to go with?” Monica asked.

“No, that’s all right. You can just stay here and relax.”

“Do you have your key?”

He nodded and left the room. And limped down the hallway toward the distant ice machine.

Nobody else was around.

Owen felt as if somebody had spent hours whacking the bottoms of his feet. The carpet helped, but not much.

It certainly silenced his footsteps.

Voices came softly from behind some of the doors he passed.

He heard laughter, too.

Nice to know someone’s having a good time.

At last, he staggered to a halt in front of the ice machine.

He set the bucket onto the rack underneath the spout, then pressed a button. The machine groaned and rumbled. Gobs of ice started dropping into his bucket.

When the bucket was full, he released the button.

The machine went silent.

He heard the quiet ding announcing the arrival of an elevator.