The Noon sky seemed possessed of supernatural clarity with its perfect San Franciscan blue. It was an invigoration to Archie on the first day of his California odyssey.
He smiled at the sign above him: Voyager, Now, the name of the travel agency intrigued him as much as the person in the window standing beside the life-size cardboard cutout of Bette Davis. Archie smiled, recognizing the name was a pun on the title of the Davis classic.
A handsome face peered back from inside and then smiled as Archie entered the little shop on 18th Street near Douglass. The door chime cheerfully announced him. The smiling face, all eyes, cute in his way, Archie thought, seemingly ran up to him at the tinkling entryway with hand outstretched.
“Welcome! It’s been quite a day,” he frowned, “maybe you can stop…” and then brightening, suddenly grinned, “stop by a minute. My name is Jimmy. I was hoping to finally have someone to help out. It gets so quiet here.”
The travel agency was filled with golden walls, fantasy chairs and potted palms. It intrigued Archie with its clever confection of antique posters of faraway places and Pacific vistas. Archie smiled at Jimmy, who was incongruously dressed in white bell-bottoms with his gold-blond shoulder-length hair falling over a luminous blue Nehru jacket, open at the neck, with a striped blue and white polo underneath. On Jimmy, it all seemed fashionable. Archie immediately felt at ease. He noticed copies of Rolling Stone and other magazines on an end table, all dated twenty years ago from ’68.
“You’re not from the Castro, are you?” Jimmy asked with that sweet smile.
“No, I’m from New York. I bum around sometimes and this trip I want to visit Ft. Bragg. I’d like a nice place for a change.”
“I’ve got a really nice place for you then, ‘Bayview Valley.’ They’ve got great deals, particularly for single men of a certain kindness, if you don’t mind me asking.” He winked. He was fun.
“Me, myself and only, but I wouldn’t mind meeting somebody,” Archie laughed, looking closely at Jimmy.
Jimmy laughed back, “They’ve got a huge pool and hot tub.”
“Sure,” Archie agreed, then Archie suddenly asked him, “what did you mean by ‘quite a day?’”
“Oh,” Jimmy’s face darkened, “at the Golden Gate…I’d forgotten…but we need to get you to Bayview. It’s enchanting. And enchanted. I can give them a call now.” He turned and smiled and then went to look for a brochure for Archie.
Jimmy cupped his hand on the receiver during the call, dialing from a rotary phone. Another odd, old-fashioned, quaint little touch, Archie thought. Jimmy told him the price of the room and Archie thought he hadn’t heard right. $25 dollars a night? Jimmy wondered out loud if it might be higher than most places Archie stayed at? Archie told him to grab it. Then Jimmy told him they would hold it without a deposit until that evening. Which meant Archie needed to leave quickly. When Jimmy got off the line, he went to a manual typewriter and tap-tapped out the reservation receipt on a form he used with a carbon underneath. Archie hadn’t seen anyone do this in years. A real throwback.
“Goodbye, Archie, too bad we didn’t meet earlier,” Jimmy sighed sadly.

The Bayview Valley sign was swaying ever so slightly on its wooden mount when Archie arrived shortly after 5 p.m., following a long but stunning coastal ride. The sun was getting very low on the luminous horizon. The Pacific beckoned. He practically jumped out of his car and carried his one bag up the stone path that led to the entrance of an imposing two-story, Victorian manor house.
A young woman hurriedly ran out to the front desk from the dining room that she was helping to set for dinner. He told her he wanted to check in. She smiled at him and looked at her book. She had no reservation for him.
“But the travel agent called you. I was sitting next to him. From ‘Voyager, Now’ in San Francisco.”
“I’ve taken calls all day and that wasn’t one of them,” the young woman answered, “but it’s the middle of the week and we have plenty of rooms.”
Archie sighed in relief. He got his room, nevertheless feeling strange and perplexed. And astounded at the price, much more than $25. He later remembered Jimmy’s receipt, but when he checked his breast pocket it had crumbled into nothingness.
It didn’t matter. After a few wonderful days, he had believed he had found Heaven with the wonderful food, stunning landscape and his first attempt at horseback trail riding overlooking the Pacific. And meeting so many wonderful men. He laughed to himself.
Extravagant, but well worth it. He reluctantly started the car for the winding drive down the coast back to the city. Before leaving for the airport he stopped by the Castro to thank Jimmy.
He got there with time to spare but outside the agency looked somehow different. “Castro Travel” was what the sign now advertised on the street; “Voyager, Now” was nowhere to be seen.
He entered the agency door. No bell announced him. It barely looked like it had just a few days ago. All the colorful furniture was gone…posters and palms, too. Pale gray walls surrounded a mordant-looking man with gray hair and a lined face who had hung up the phone. He frowned at Archie.
“Can I help you?” he asked without much interest.
“Maybe I’ve made a mistake…I was looking for ‘Jimmy.’ This is ‘Voyager, Now’ isn’t it?”
“Twenty years ago. Were you here then? I’ve heard about the Jimmy.”
“The Jimmy?”
“Yes, he had been the owner. Did you know him back then?”
“No. I just met him last Tuesday. Here.”
The agent frowned at him, “Here? You couldn’t have. Particularly last Tuesday. From what I understand, October 18th was the 20th anniversary of his suicide jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge.”