floor. “Someone could get hurt. We’re renovating.”
“Oh,” I said. “So no evening prayers?”
He flushed. “No. No evening prayers. No morning prayers tomorrow. We’re closed for renovation.”
“When will you reopen?” I asked.
“No time soon,” he said quickly. “There’s much to be done. We’ve only just started.”
I peered around his shoulder at the holes. “Yeah, I can see that. What are you planning to do?”
His brow creased. “Planning to do?”
“What are you going to change?”
“Oh, everything. The floor. The walls. It will take a long, long time. Until then, you should go up to the Joss House in Weaverville. That’s the closest one.”
“So you’re completely closed? No prayers? No classes?”
“Classes?”
“Yeah, like I thought maybe I might want to take tai chi or something. That’s Taoist, isn’t it? You all invented tai chi, right?”
“Plenty of tai chi classes in Sacramento without coming here.” He moved forward, herding me back down the stairs. “Try the Y. Or the community college.”
“Yeah,” I said, allowing him to direct me toward the door. “Okay. The community college. I might try that.”
“Great. Good luck.” We were at the door now and he all but shoved me out.
The doors of the temple closed. This time I heard the lock click.
My senses are more tuned into things that aren’t human than those that are. Most days, I find vampires and werewolves easier to read than the guy sitting next to me on the bus. Sometimes, however, human emotion comes through loud and clear.
The young priest in the Bok Kai Temple was scared. I could smell it from a mile away.
I LEFT MY CAR ON I STREET AND WALKED OVER TO MCCLANNIGAN’S Olde Towne Pub. Norah had made an excellent choice. It was loud. It was noisy. The drinks were huge. Plus, I knew the bartender.
Norah and Tanya were already at a table. I spotted them almost as soon as I walked in. Norah tended to give off a glow. I think it’s her innate goodness shining through. Either that or she has actually slathered so much sunscreen on her Nordic white skin that she’s become translucent. I motioned to them that I was going to the bar to get a drink and then join them. They both waved and nodded, grinning broadly. I grinned myself. I was actually going out with friends on a Friday night. Maybe underneath it all I was a real girl. Now if I could only get rid of these strings that seemed to always be jerking me around.
I bellied up to the big wooden bar and waited to get Paul’s attention. It didn’t take long. I saw his head come up as he scented me.
I’m always amazed that Paul gets away with his bartender gig. It’s not that he isn’t good at it. He’s amazing, like Tom Cruise in Cocktail amazing. I just keep waiting for someone to check and see how long he’s been working at McClannigan’s. Or to notice the photo.
Up and down the hallway that leads to the restrooms, there are a series of photos of Old Sacramento before it was Old Sacramento and it was just Sacramento. There’s even an old sepia-toned photo of the inside of McClannigan’s as it was in about 1912. The big wooden bar is there with the huge mirror behind it. Standing behind the bar is a broad-shouldered man with a ponytail and a beard. It’s Paul.
The beard’s a little fuller. The collar is way higher and a bazillion times starchier. Still, it’s Paul and anyone who actually bothers to take a good hard look should notice. So far, apparently, no one has taken a good hard look. Or they’re just too shit-faced on Paul’s awesome gin and tonics to see straight.
Paul has been bartending at McClannigan’s since around 1908. No wonder he’s good. He’s been practicing for a superlong time. Because of his seniority, he pretty much gets to pick his hours, too. Someday, I figure someone will also notice that Paul never works during a
“Oh,” I said. “So no evening prayers?”
He flushed. “No. No evening prayers. No morning prayers tomorrow. We’re closed for renovation.”
“When will you reopen?” I asked.
“No time soon,” he said quickly. “There’s much to be done. We’ve only just started.”
I peered around his shoulder at the holes. “Yeah, I can see that. What are you planning to do?”
His brow creased. “Planning to do?”
“What are you going to change?”
“Oh, everything. The floor. The walls. It will take a long, long time. Until then, you should go up to the Joss House in Weaverville. That’s the closest one.”
“So you’re completely closed? No prayers? No classes?”
“Classes?”
“Yeah, like I thought maybe I might want to take tai chi or something. That’s Taoist, isn’t it? You all invented tai chi, right?”
“Plenty of tai chi classes in Sacramento without coming here.” He moved forward, herding me back down the stairs. “Try the Y. Or the community college.”
“Yeah,” I said, allowing him to direct me toward the door. “Okay. The community college. I might try that.”
“Great. Good luck.” We were at the door now and he all but shoved me out.
The doors of the temple closed. This time I heard the lock click.
My senses are more tuned into things that aren’t human than those that are. Most days, I find vampires and werewolves easier to read than the guy sitting next to me on the bus. Sometimes, however, human emotion comes through loud and clear.
The young priest in the Bok Kai Temple was scared. I could smell it from a mile away.
I LEFT MY CAR ON I STREET AND WALKED OVER TO MCCLANNIGAN’S Olde Towne Pub. Norah had made an excellent choice. It was loud. It was noisy. The drinks were huge. Plus, I knew the bartender.
Norah and Tanya were already at a table. I spotted them almost as soon as I walked in. Norah tended to give off a glow. I think it’s her innate goodness shining through. Either that or she has actually slathered so much sunscreen on her Nordic white skin that she’s become translucent. I motioned to them that I was going to the bar to get a drink and then join them. They both waved and nodded, grinning broadly. I grinned myself. I was actually going out with friends on a Friday night. Maybe underneath it all I was a real girl. Now if I could only get rid of these strings that seemed to always be jerking me around.
I bellied up to the big wooden bar and waited to get Paul’s attention. It didn’t take long. I saw his head come up as he scented me.
I’m always amazed that Paul gets away with his bartender gig. It’s not that he isn’t good at it. He’s amazing, like Tom Cruise in Cocktail amazing. I just keep waiting for someone to check and see how long he’s been working at McClannigan’s. Or to notice the photo.
Up and down the hallway that leads to the restrooms, there are a series of photos of Old Sacramento before it was Old Sacramento and it was just Sacramento. There’s even an old sepia-toned photo of the inside of McClannigan’s as it was in about 1912. The big wooden bar is there with the huge mirror behind it. Standing behind the bar is a broad-shouldered man with a ponytail and a beard. It’s Paul.
The beard’s a little fuller. The collar is way higher and a bazillion times starchier. Still, it’s Paul and anyone who actually bothers to take a good hard look should notice. So far, apparently, no one has taken a good hard look. Or they’re just too shit-faced on Paul’s awesome gin and tonics to see straight.
Paul has been bartending at McClannigan’s since around 1908. No wonder he’s good. He’s been practicing for a superlong time. Because of his seniority, he pretty much gets to pick his hours, too. Someday, I figure someone will also notice that Paul never works during a
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