California REALITY – Day 3 into 4 – The Sun Comes Up Over Santa Monica Boulevard

He was as tall and trim as I recalled, with a mop top of curls about his brow, and several brushstrokes of stubble across his jaw line. Dressed far more dapper than in the sweatpants and plaid shirts of a college lad from yesteryear, he still looked as youthful and mythic as I remembered. Sean is a striking individual with a mischievously thin grin which often breaks into a great big smile.
We embraced in a long hug as he dropped his bags of props and costumes, and Robert excused himself to heat up a quick meal for Sean. Some performers don’t eat much before a show, and Sean is one of them, so he finds himself remarkably famished as the adrenaline rush drops post-performance. Robert returned with a chicken entrée, and Sean made no apologies as he ravaged it while I relayed the day’s events in Ventura. Both he and Robert are equally aware of Rubicon’s prestige, and I look forward to returning the favor and welcoming them for a visit; I do now, after all, have a guest bedroom.
Robert tidied up the kitchen as he had just purchased a slew of Thanksgiving needs and retired to the bedroom, while Sean and I sat head to toe on one couch and reminisced. We laughed and sparked each others’ memories and time dissipated as we realized that there are just some people in life that don’t ever leave you. And some things…don’t end.
Sean pulled out linens that he laid out for me in preparation for sleep; he too, was tired from the day, and we were going to have the whole day together tomorrow. He wrapped me up on the other couch like a pita sandwich in the comforter he had had back in college; he joked that it was still in excellent condition (and it was, for 20 years’ wear and tear), but there was a tiny waft of musk that still had his scent about it, and I drifted off quickly…from here on in, I was technically “on vacation” and looking forward to just…being.
I was up before either of them, well rested and still bearing a bit of my east coast body clock, I suppose. Now I could get a clear perspective on the layout of the courtyard. An umbrella table with chimenea welcomed me and I had a cigarette. Upon my return, the boys were up now, shamelessly milling about in briefs and boxers. Soon they were online, checking their daily messages from their agents. Sean was slated for an audition at 11 for a commercial for pop music star Spoon. Jeans and tee, plays guitar, must “jump” like David Lee Roth…we had a field day with THAT description. Sean downloaded a few MP3s of Spoon’s music, grabbed his father’s guitar, and started strumming, learning the chords…he noted things were not quite in tune, and quickly dashed to the bedroom for his capo…and his bass guitar…he was not about to “jump” and put his father’s guitar in jeopardy. Here I was, watching an actor – prepare.
We drove (climbed actually) back up winding Laurel Canyon and down into the valley on (where else?) Ventura Boulevard. Sean knows the drill of these things, and they are fleeting at best. Commercials are really impossible to prepare for, so you just go in and give them what they ask for. As he headed in, I walked Ventura less than two blocks, when he called and said he was done. I turned around, and in less than 10 minutes we were back at the Royal Gardens where Robert was already finished with two pumpkin pies, and had prepped a mash of sweet potatoes and cinnamon. The apartment was pungent with the scent of Thanksgiving.
We walked down a full block, along with Robert, to the corner café, Basix, at Santa Monica and Flores. Sean was especially disturbed to watch a series of trees on his street being pruned. Sean is part Native American and has an inherent respect and awe for nature. I tried to tell him not to look, but it’s kind of hard to ignore the sounds of chainsaws.
Our career waiter convinced me to have the homemade lemonade, which was quite refreshing as the sun warmed me under the awning; it is difficult to get one’s bearings about where exactly west is west and east is east out here. Lunch was a delight, as the “Robert and Sean Show” tuned in, and I was informed of the ins and outs of LA theatre, culture and lifestyles. Robert had a few work matters to tend to and then was going back to continue cooking, and we parted at the corner. Sean, now free for the rest of the day, looked up and down Santa Monica, asking what I wanted to do. I asked if there was a place nearby where I could by a cheap belt, for the one I had on was simply not servicing my waistline…and maybe a pair of shoes. My business Buster Browns were too tight, and the leather had shrunk from a rainy day last summer. My feet hurt.
Sean took a good look at me, eyed me up and down like an elevator: shrunken shoes, khaki pants, a dangling mess of a belt and an outdated pale blue oxford shirt was all the ammunition he needed.
“Patrick,” he said, “Let’s go shopping.”
My eyes widened with fear as I looked up and down the Boulevard and realized where I truly was: West Hollywood.