California REALITY – Day 3 – Ventura Makes Way to LA “Weakly”

Cindy and I giggled like schoolgirls all the way down the winding roads back into downtown, which took all of a minute. This would be an easy commute by car or on foot. We passed the theatre, where the tech crew continued to work outdoors building wintery flats for the Christmas show. The end of the business day was approaching, and the one thing I needed more than anything else at this moment was a detailed map of the city…but before that, a mental health break: one of the many second-hand bookstores.
Cindy too is an avid reader, and when she saw my reaction at the bookshelves at 2010 Sunset Drive, she suggested we get me something to Christen its shelves. Having no need to transport furniture from one coast to the other, she felt strongly that I needed something tangible to connect with to make this move real. As we passed the “Everything Adult” store (I’m sure I’ll “Christen” that later), we went into a quintessential tattered and torn bookshop, complete with a disinterested spinster counter clerk. We perused the selections in cramped quarters, and after a bit of time I discovered a book of poems, paintings and essays on the life of the artist. Entitled “Ep;phany” (the semi-colon is intentional), it spoke to me and I purchased it on the spot.
Across the street, the Convention and Visitors’ Bureau awaited. Their building signage outside is missing the “A” from Ventura, but you can still see the shadowy mark it has left on the façade. I had a bone to pick with them already, as I had signed up for their mailing list weeks ago, and received no materials, but the front desk clerk, Jill (from Australia), was so charmingly apologetic, it was easy to forgive her. She offered some free materials, but not sufficient a stash to satiate my need for a detailed map. I purchased a comprehensive layout, thanked Jill for her assistance, and told her that when I returned, I would be more than happy to “buy them an A” for out front. She didn’t get it. Crikey.
It was now near 6 pm, and Jen and her entourage were due to pick me up; after checking in, I learned they would be another half hour or so. Rather than infringe upon any more of Cindy’s time, I thanked her profusely for all she’d done. We had another one of those moments of silence, knowing that this was going to be a good thing, and we bid farewell as she dropped me off at Dagnan’s, an authentic Irish pub on the corner of Main and Chestnut.
Jennifer had pointed out this place in the morning when we arrived. It has frosted glass windows in the shape of Irish harps, rich wood floors and tables, and a very friendly staff. A long L-shaped bar on the far end called to me as I took a few moments – finally – to myself. The vast selection of draft beers flummoxed me for a moment, but I honed in on a Stella Artois, and made my way through the cocktail hightops to a corner near one of the frosted harps.
I closed my eyes for a moment and meditated on the day’s events. I would have been remiss if I did not send up a prayer of gratitude, so I tuned everything out just long enough to express my thanks to heaven above, and I felt a swell of emotion fill me as a tear came to my eye from such pure unadulterated joy.
Soon Jennifer, Chris and Lauren arrived from their wine tasting in Los Olivos, and it would seem that the cheese and crackers that accompanied the tasting barely attacked their hunger. Each of them variously ordered a build your own burger, and as they ate, they recounted tales of the day, in particular, Jen’s “report card” from the winery: “Jennifer sometimes gets too aggressive with her ‘swirling.’” I swirled my Stella in agreement.
Back on the LA freeway, we zoomed south as my next port of call awaited: a visit with my college friend Sean, whom I’ve not seen in 20 years. Jen Mapquested directions on her iphone and we were quickly weaving down Laurel Canyon (and I mean weaving; it’s practically a rollercoaster) into one of the many chambers of the heart of LA. It took a few moments longer than expected, and we actually thought we were lost; but as we crossed over Sunset Boulevard in The Valley, we knew we were near. We circled the block, and I called Sean’s partner, Robert (Sean was performing in a show at the moment). He guided us in front of his building, where my entourage of sommeliers relinquished control and left me staring at a pair of cast iron gates as they “swirled” back down The 101 to nurse their tannen-induced headaches.
I approached the courtyard of 1261 N. Flores Street with a bit of trepidation. The Royal Gardens is fairly similar to the Aaron Spelling now-vintage TV hit Melrose Place, with a u-shaped courtyard and terracotta tiles, lush with foliage. All it needed, truly, was a pool. Robert said to go to the far right corner and look up at the oversized windows and I’d see him. And there he was: standing there like the ghost of Hamlet’s father, a warm, amber light glowing behind him.
Robert is a robust man a few years my senior, and he and Sean have been together for well over a decade. Their apartment was vacated by actress Jean Smart before they acquired it, and it has high ceilings and sweeping architectural nooks and crannies, including a curving fireplace that they fill with candles and accent cylinder lamps. As Robert got me a glass of water and we each took a seat on opposing couches, Sean called to relay his completion of the show he was performing in, and that he was on the way.
Robert was more than entertaining, recounting many stories of LA theatre; he is a professional union actor, has worked for Disney in special events, is an acting coach, and like many gay men in LA, is a bit of an activist. He and Sean actually broke ground by being the first domestic partners to receive benefits from Disney – it is documented in their annals – and I was taken with his stories and warm good nature.
We chatted and chatted, and I was facing the entrance through which I’d arrived, expecting Sean to come through it at any moment.
Imagine my surprise when I heard a familiar voice behind me: “Patrick Emmett Michael Hunt O’Hara. How the hell are ya?”
I stood up and turned. There he was. Sean Galuszka, my college friend. 20 years melted away as we embraced, and I felt like a kid again.