After Jon Ross and I split up, I rented a room from Mary, a fellow server at Tony’s Sea Landing. I’d visited Laguna Beach and knew that’s where I wanted to be. Taking the room with Mary gave me the chance to get away from Jon Ross, regroup and look for a place to live in Laguna.
I talked him into allowing me to keep our ’75 Cadillac Eldorado convertible until I could get my own car—I needed to get back and forth to work and find a place to live. I remember spending a night in the car in Laguna, sleeping on the voluminous backseat. I found a crappy little studio apartment the next day. At least a place to sleep while looking for a real apartment.
I finally found a great little one-bedroom at #5 Acacia Dr, though the address might have actually been on Cliff Drive. Main Beach was maybe a five-minute walk away. Heisler Park was at the end of the alley behind our building. The property consisted of two separate buildings: the front one, on Cliff, had garages below and five units above those; the back building, separated from the front by a walkway, had garages and my apartment on the first floor and four units above.
My unit had a front door and a back door. The back door was right off the door into the garage. Very convenient since my parking space was right there. I rarely used the front door, though friends would when they came to visit. The pizza delivery guy used it, too. Cute little pizza delivery guy.
I was not above flirting with cute delivery boys. I answered the door in a towel, having just showered. I took my pizza and asked what time he got off work. He nervously replied. There was a knock at my door a little after 9:00 that night.
Time out…
There was a high hedge out front that created privacy for the living and bedrooms. Part of that hedge were a number of bird of paradise plants. I never had to pay for birds of paradise while I lived there. The living room window was a large picture window. Between that and the window in the back door, the apartment had lots of light. Off the living room, between the bedroom and bathroom, was a dressing area with a built-in closet and vanity/dresser.
I soon found my own car. A 1962 Buick Skylark convertible. Black with red leather interior, tan top. I loved that car.
I landed a job at Las Brisas, an upscale seafood restaurant on the cliffs above the beach, next to Heisler Park, just off Main Street, and a short walk from home. It’s a beautiful restaurant with amazing views of the Pacific Ocean. Two friends, Jim and Randy, who lived next door to me in one of the front apartments, also worked there. Jimmy was a hoot to work with. He was an amazing bundle of energy and humor. He would have been great at standup. Mother’s Day was always one of the busiest days in the restaurant. Jimmy showed up stoned—as he often did—and kept a coffee mug of champagne in the side station. He was high and drunk the whole day. Thing was, he had such a huge personality and so much energy all the time, you couldn’t really tell the difference.
There was a hot, bodybuilder-built assistant manager there, Brian. Shorter, stocky type, blondish hair—though ginger where the sun don’t shine. I don’t always pick up on someone hitting on me. I think it was Jimmy who said Brian had the hots for me.
Feelings. Mutual.
So I started flirting back. He invited me home with him after work one night. He lived just a few blocks away. I was so eager to see his body naked, I was hard the whole walk there. Brian had a great apartment on the top floor of an old house. His view from the bedroom window looked out to the ocean. His body did not disappoint. More muscleman than I’d ever had before. I could hear the waves breaking on the beach from the bedroom window. At least, after were being quiet.
It was a good run, Las Brisas. Until I was fired—I don’t recall why. No, it wasn’t because I slept with the assistant manager. I left at the end the lunch shift, walked home, and knocked on Jimmy and Randy’s door. Randy opened the door. I held up my termination notice. He invited me into a haze of pot smoke. He’d been fired shortly before I had. It was a very high afternoon.
There were five of us in the apartment complex who became good friends. Me, Jimmy—who had a gay twin brother—Randy, Teresa, who lived above me and was also a pothead, and Diane in the upstairs end unit in the back building. We could access the roof outside Diane’s apartment. We’d gather there on the roof on Friday evenings and drink margaritas, watch the sun set, smoke some weed. It was great for watching the 4th of July fireworks, too. And gratifying to sit there and watch all the traffic trying to get out of Laguna after they were over.
I got a job at the Meridian Hotel in Irvine, CA after I was fired. They had two in-house restaurants, one, a fine dining, upscale place. I became a server in the other one, the café. It was a good job and a good place to work. The Meridian was part owned by Air France. When they flew into LA, the crews were bused down and stayed in the hotel. I met a number of sexy Frenchmen. I eventually became a floor manager—higher wage, but I could still wait tables, too.
About the same time, I got a job as a server at the Crowne Pointe in Dana Point, a little south of Laguna. It was another upscale place. Seafood. The owner’s wife, who managed it, scared the shit out of everybody, including me. For some reason she liked me. I was the only one she would let serve her or her friends if they were dining there. Though, she was always rude to me.
I was working two jobs for a couple reasons. Plans to go back to school and plans for a 30th birthday bash. The birthday bash never happened. I ended up taking myself to Paris instead.
For a small, beach town, Laguna was full of the gays. Some put it on par with West Hollywood and Fire Island, though on a smaller scale. There were three gay bars and a gay beach. I frequented them all. The Little Shrimp, The Boom Boom Room at the Coast Inn, Main Street, Ron’s—which was also a restaurant—and West Street Beach. Ok, that’s five. Ron’s came along later.
After four years in a relationship, pretty much right after I came out to myself, I was ready to sow some wild oats. I had my cart before the horse. But, being in a relationship early on in the AIDS epidemic probably saved my life. When I did start in on the wild oats, I was older and wiser when it came to man to man sex.
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