Sean and Robert have a neighbor downstairs. He is a Doctor with a very busy schedule – and a golden retriever named Buddy. She is as beautiful as can be, getting on in years, and has a bit of a hip condition. Due to the Good Doctor’s busy schedule, he will often bring Buddy up to their back deck, where Sean or Robert will tend to her throughout the day as need dictates. It is an amicable arrangement from which Buddy benefits most of all, having two gay uncles and a daddy.
Still, I am infuriated at the Good Doctor. I find it remarkably irresponsible of him to even consider himself a pet owner. Enough soap box. Don’t get me started.
I awoke at 6 AM to the sound of a text message alert; Jen had notified me the night previous that “tomorrow = rain = traffic…can sean take you to the train?” Considering all Jen has done for me this last week, it only made sense not to have her drive two hours to LA on the day before Thanksgiving in the rain, just to pick me up and return and not even enjoy the downtown. Sean considered it a bonus – extra time together.
As I smoked out back, I heard the patter of paws combined with a heavy step ascending nearby. The Good Doctor was dropping Buddy off for the day…the prick. I smiled weakly as he tethered her leash to the banister, then listened for his footsteps to fade away. Buddy stared at me blankly, longingly. I put my hands down low to reach out to her, and she hobbled toward me and nestled between my legs. There we sat and listened to intermittent sprinkles of leftover showers from the previous night’s news-making “flood.”
Now very much awake, I decided to take a quick walk back down to Basix, to see if they had coffee to go, which they did, in a café connected to the restaurant. Another cute barista waited upon me with a smile that should be showcased in a Colgate commercial. I added two shortbread snowballs with powdered sugar to the pair of coffees, and headed back up the now neatly-pruned tree-lined Flores Street.
Sean awoke a few moments after I sat down at the dining room table, and I offered the second cup of coffee to him, which he divided further in two to share with Robert, who trailed behind not long after. Each of them enjoyed the shortbread, and soon Robert was back to work in the kitchen, whipping up more Thanksgiving scents. Sean had asked whether Robert wanted to spend some time with us before he dropped me off at Union Station, but Robert politely declined, encouraging us to enjoy our time; he had far too much to do in the kitchen today. Sean conceded with a sigh, and we headed for Beverly Hills.
The houses are exactly what you think they are, except for one unusual corner home that looks like it came off the set of a Disney Halloween film…we dubbed it the witchy poo house, with its cottage peaks and harvest colored shingles. Sean rides his bike through here often and knows the back roads. We veered onto Rodeo Drive, into the heart of opulence, then down Hollywood Boulevard, past Grauman’s Chinese Theatre and parked to grab lunch and see some of the Hollywood Walk Of Fame.
Standing on Kevin Spacey near the Metro Link that could actually connect me to Union Station without driving, there was a moment of indecision about what to eat and whether we would continue the drive to Union Station itself. Sean wanted to take me back uptown to Filippe’s, home of the original French Dip…but time was fleeting, the highway was jammed, and we took the side roads up through Silver Lake, one of several areas where Sean used to live. He lit up like a firecracker when we passed an authentic Mexican Taco stand he used to patronize, and said it was destined to be: if I was going to take any memory of good Mexican food with me, this was sure to be it.
And it was.
Shortly thereafter (shorter than either of us thought), Union Station approached off of Alameda…Sean joked that he wasn’t stopping, just slowing down enough to boot me out the door. I wondered if he was in cahoots with Jen. Was this a slight attempt to say, “Alright, little bird, time to fly on your own?”
Evidently it was, as I hugged him goodbye from the passenger seat, got out and watched him drive away, and – for the first time since I’d arrived in California – found myself completely and utterly alone.
All part of Jen Urbano’s Secret Plot, I’m sure.
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