(Continued from “San Francisco, Here We Come!”)
Thankfully, I heard from Sal the next day—Monday afternoon! Through text messages, we arranged for me to come over at 11:30 am Tuesday, Michael’s and my last full day in San Francisco.I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. I was going to get to see Ursula’s house!
On Tuesday morning, Michael and I said goodbye to our friends and their two fluffy cats, and got in our rental car parked out front. We drove in light rain down Lincoln Way along the south edge of Golden Gate Park, then catty-corner through the park and along the Panhandle. Turning left on Baker Street, we started looking for the house after a few blocks. After passing several other Victorian homes on the tree-lined street, we found a parking spot a couple doors down from our destination.
The rain had stopped and the sun had just broken through the clouds. A good omen, I mused. We decided I would introduce Michael to Sal and ask if it was OK if he tagged along for the tour. We walked up the 10 steps to the entryway, where twin, green-colored wood doors with oval windows stood side by side: 715-717 Baker St.
A small, hand-scrawled sign instructing visitors to knock was taped next to the apparently malfunctioning doorbell of Sal’s—and previously the Cheshire’s—flat. I rapped on the door a few times, and saw a handsome, somewhat sleepy-looking young man in pajama-like pantaloons and T-shirt walking toward the door.
He opened it and graciously welcomed Michael and me into his home. After smiles and handshakes all around, Sal, a doctor, explained his attire and bed-head by way of saying he’d been on call the night before. He invited us into his bay-windowed living room to chat for a while, before showing us the house. I couldn’t wait to see it! (To be continued…)