So, dating. I don’t know. Did we really go out on dates or was it just sleeping together? I had my little one-bedroom apartment in town, he lived in a house his parents owned, on Bluebird Canyon, south of town. We spent time at both. I suppose we went to dinner, out to the bars, worked out together, went to West Street Beach—the gay beach—together. Is that dating?
Scott was involved in PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians And Gays) and Stop AIDS Orange County. His parents, his family—an older sister and brother, Carina and Rich—were totally supportive of him. I think Jack was in Stop AIDS, too. It might have been after one of the meetings that he ended up on my lap on the way home. Over time, I got involved in those organizations with Scott.
Stop AIDS was about educating people about the disease itself, debunking some of the myths, and protecting yourself. They were mainly held in small group sessions in people’s homes. I hosted a couple in my apartment, as did Scott at his house. We taught people how to properly put on a condom, using bananas to demonstrate. One of the myths we debunked was “My dick is too big for a condom.” We put this one in the trash by having attendees, each with a condom, put it over their head then filling it with air by blowing.
One or two years into our relationship—or, knowing me, it might have been just a matter of months—we were in love enough that I was willing to give up my apartment and move in with him. Him and his big black cat, Gizzmo.
The house, up Bluebird Canyon Rd, had been an old cottage, renovated into a tri-level, three-bedroom house. The yard was terraced with a garden of flowers and fruit trees, a small lawn at the bottom on level with the driveway and the carport and garage. There was a large, brick back patio area off the kitchen with raised planters and a lower area—on level with the drive—that we later converted into a doggy toilet. On a clear day, we could see Catalina Island in the distance from the front deck.
We decided we wanted a dog. We found a breeder with a purebred Dalmatian for sale at a discount. We went to look at the puppies and fell in love with the one offered at a discount—but still cost us $300. We had to sign papers agreeing to have the pup neutered as soon as he was old enough. He descended from championship lines, but because his eyes were two different colors, they didn’t want him breeding. Thus, the discount.
Gizzmo was not amused.
He was a very laidback and easy-going cat. A puppy is not. As much as he tried to ignore the puppy, it was not unusual to walk into the living room and find Shanti with Gizzmo’s head in his mouth. We named the puppy Shanti, Sanskrit for peaceful. Bit of a misnomer.
For a purebred, Shanti was pretty smart. We were able to train him ourselves. He would sit, stay, and lay down. I think those basics are all we ever taught him. He was good at understanding a few words. We took him down to the beach frequently. He came to understand what we meant when we said beach. He’d start bouncing off the walls. Of course, that was his response whenever he heard each or reach, or even teach. He loved the beach. One of his favorite things was to catch sand we tossed into the air in his mouth…maybe not so smart. He was also a rockhound. We took walks on trails in the hills above Laguna. He would invariably find the biggest rock he could and try to bring it back to the car, eventually with our help. We had quite the collection of bigger-than-puppy sized rocks.
I was going to be starting law school in San Diego. Scott was up in Los Angeles for work two or three days a week. We were concerned about leaving Shanti alone so much. We’d had a doggy door installed in the slider leading out to the patio, so he could go outside for fun and to use the potty. But he’d still be alone. We discussed getting a second dog to keep him company. Shanti was about a year old then. Scott’s brother was looking to get rid of their dog, so we took him for a weekend to see how he and Shanti got along. They mostly got along fine. Shanti was a grazer when it came to eating—emptying his bowl over time, not all at once. Charlie was a gobbler. He would eat his food then down the rest of Shanti’s. Strike out.
We next went to a shelter to look into adopting. That’s where we found Spats. That wasn’t his name when we first saw him. He was a black mutt with white front feet. He’d been abused, had a couple of teeth missing or broken, some scars, and an indentation in his nose. We took him out for a walk. He had the neatest little prance when he walked. I liked that. I also liked that his coloring would work well with Shanti’s.
He came with a couple letters from others who had adopted him then brought him back to the shelter. Spats had some issues—a chewer and digger among them. We decided to give him a go anyway. We were told he’d apparently been abused by a man, or men. It was evident he didn’t trust us.
We got him home, introduced him to Shanti. He immediately ran to lay down under one of the tables in the living room. He lay there and watched everything going on. It was a while before he left his shelter. Over time, he began to adjust. He and Shanti hit it off. We never had any issues with him chewing or digging.
Well, there was that one time.
Scott and I had gone out for dinner. When we got home, there was an absence of the usual barking to welcome us back. We got out of the car, wondering what was going on. Walking up the stairs, before even getting on the deck, we could see that it looked like it had snowed in the living room. Once inside we saw a couple of unwound VHS tapes strewn about and a pillow off the sofa from which the stuffing had been liberated. Both dogs were cowering under tables. We had to laugh, figuring they just got carried away playing. We couldn’t punish them for that. Besides, it already seemed they knew they’d done something wrong.
Even though Spats and I seemed to connect, he still kept us at arm’s length. He was not affectionate with us like Shanti was. He would let us pet him, but that was about it. He liked to just lay somewhere and watch the goings on. I was laying on the sofa reading one night. I’m not sure where Scott was, probably at work downstairs. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, looked up, and there was Spats standing by the sofa looking at me. “What’s up, big guy?” He licked my nose once and jumped up on the sofa and lay down. I might have shed a tear or two. I wanted to call to Scott to come see this, but…let sleeping dogs lie. After that, he was my dog. He never gave more than one kiss at a time, but that was enough for me.
Scott and I had an active life together. I wouldn’t call us activists, but we marched in Pride Parades in Laguna, Long Beach, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. Sometimes we marched with STOP AIDS, sometimes with PFLAG. Shanti marched with us in Laguna—which was when we discovered dogs have an affinity for road apples.
Time out…
While in Los Angeles, after one of the parade/festivals, we were at a party. At some point I was introduced to a guy. He said, “Sky, do you know Jon Ross Enloe?” “Uh, yes.” “So you’re THAT Sky. I dated JR after you. He always talked about you. Always.” It’s a small world.
We traveled as much as we could. While working for Le Méridien, one of the perks was staying at sister hotels in the chain around the world. Our world at that time extended to San Francisco, where there was a Méridien hotel. We could stay three nights at a time for free and get 50% off food and beverage. Not a bad perk.
Our room at the Méridien was on a high floor, corner room. The windows came together in the corner with no pane. You could stand there and look straight down on two different streets. We did the usual sightseeing. Golden Gate bridge, Golden Gate Park and the city, on bicycles—we were young, we could do it then.
One of our trips up north was a road trip. We visited his family and some of the haunts from his college days. His sister, Carina, lived near Santa Rosa, CA. I think we stayed with them for a few days and ventured out from there. We experienced mud baths in Calistoga. We did enzyme baths at another spa. This started with tea in a Japanese style room looking out on a rock garden. We were served tea while the process was explained to us. Following that we were led to a room to get out of our clothes, then to our “bathroom.” This contained two large “bathtubs,” filled with cedar woodchips. The fermenting woodchops produce enzymes that produce heat. Once buried in the chips, the effects of the bath draw out toxins and impurities from the body. If nothing else, it’s amazingly relaxing. Once your time is up and you get out of the bath, there’s a soft brush to clean yourself off, and then a warm shower. After the shower and donning a robe, we were ushered into a dimly lit “quiet room.” White noise, like waves on the seashore, waft around you as you lay there and try not to fall asleep.
The mud bath was fun. The enzyme bath was divine.
For my graduation trip from UC Irvine, we went to Hawaii. Our rental car was upgraded to a Mustang convertible. We spent time on the Big Island and Kawai. We rented gear for snorkeling that we kept in the trunk of the car so we’d be able take advantage of the beaches and coves we came across. We drove out to the continuously erupting volcano on the Big Island. Then, you could walk out to where its tendrils were actually flowing across the landscape. We were close enough we had to back off when we felt our shoes getting too hot.
Kawai was still relatively undeveloped, mainly pineapple and sugar cane fields. Scott knew I loved horseback riding. He booked a riding adventure—a ride out to a waterfall, hike down, swim, and picnic lunch at the fall. As it turned out, we were the only two for that morning’s ride. Well, us and our very cute guide, Mike. He was a circus rider who worked in Hawaii during the off season. We both enjoyed seeing him nearly naked for the swim part. What a great adventure that was.
The Big Splash.
The Big Splash was a local fundraiser for AIDS organizations. Friends, who had a fabulous house up in the hills above Laguna, hosted the event. It was a mix of water ballet, singers, and vignettes sort of thing. They had a pool. I think they’d done it a year before I got into it with Scott. Most of it was in drag, of course. The water ballet was hysterical. Each year, they took a musical and squished it into 10 minutes. The year I was in the show, it was The Sound of Music. I, of course, was one of the Von Trapp girls. Scott did an amazingly hysterical send up of the VitaMetaVegamin scene from I Love Lucy. The show was a huge success and raised thousands of dollars. One of the men in the audience, from Palms Springs, loved the show. He offered to bring it to Palm Springs.
Steven Chase.
Steven was a well-known interior designer. He frequented Laguna Beach because, well, what gay man in California didn’t. He agreed to pay for the cost of bringing The Big Splash to PS and to host the show…at his house. It was to be a fundraiser for The Dessert AIDS Project. He arranged housing for everyone. Scott and I were assigned to stay in his guest house. There’s this trying-to-be-artful photo of us on the bed, reflected in the mirrored ceiling.
We did have some time for sightseeing. We took the gondola up to the top of Mount San Jacinto. That’s all I got.
Scott and I were tapped to provide the entertainment for the national PFLAG convention to be held in Long Beach, CA. Not sure how that came about. We contacted Saif to work with us to produce the show. We got several entertainment friends involved to perform. It all culminated with Saif’s friend, Bob, playing the scene from Tales of the City where Michael reads the letter to his mother, about being gay. That segued into the company singing We Are Family, from Dream Girls. It was mesmerizing, it was stunning, it was emotional. We were exhausted but jubilant that Orange County PFLAG had been represented so well.
Scott wanted to be a father. Not adopting kids, he had a drive to be a biological father. We had numerous talks about it. I liked kids. I had numerous nieces and nephews. I didn’t have the same drive, but came to the point that having kids would be ok with me.
I think it was probably after that, we decided we wanted to have a commitment ceremony. Which, back then, was the most a same sex couple could do—in addition to creating legal documents approximating the standing and benefits of a marriage. I wrote a letter to my parents. Just my parents, I think, maybe the sibs too, making the announcement. Scott’s family was thrilled and excited ab out the news. There was mostly silence from my family. The only other response I remember was a letter from my sister-in-law, Arlene. In it she reiterated their stand against homosexuality and that they could not accept nor be part of such a ceremony. She went on berate me for causing our mother so much hurt and pain. Talk about hurt and pain. That reaction, or lack of any reaction, was the straw that broke their brother’s back. I wrote them off. I had no contact with anyone in the family except for my parents. It was four or five years before we repaired our relationships.
The ceremony never took place.
Scott was a not quite up and coming landscape architect, but on the verge of becoming. I was, well, I was starting law school. Law school was kind of the beginning of the end. But then, my track record with lovers—as we called them back then—was three, maybe four years.
I don’t know what was, exactly. I’d start getting restless maybe. I know the sex tapered off—my doing, not theirs. I would start seeking out other avenues for satisfying my hornies. We didn’t have online porn back then, that I knew of anyway. I wasn’t unfaithful to Scott, exactly. No online porn, but there were 866 numbers you could call for phone sex. I got into that when I could.
Law school put a strain on our relationship. I was up early to drive to the gym in San Diego before going to school. I was in school all day, I’d listen to recordings of my classes on the way back to Laguna, do some reading, have dinner, do some more reading—there’s a shitload of reading your first year of law school—then go to bed.
I met a hot Frenchman at the gym, Philippe. I think this was in my second year of school. I was already a sucker for a hot French accent—sometimes literally. That on a hot French man with a hot French body was my downfall. Philippe had one of those short, stocky bodies that working out does wonders for. His body was beautiful.
We started working out together and becoming friends. He knew about me and Scott. For some reason I don’t recall, I would spend nights at his place to be closer to school the next day. Maybe it was during exams. Maybe I was looking for a way out of my relationship with Scott—in my mind, falling for someone else was a way to do that. We would share the same bed, but Philippe would never have sex with me while I was still with Scott.
Things between Scott and me unraveled. At some point I found and apartment in San Diego and moved down there in my second or third year of school. I think it was my 2nd. Between my second and third year I enrolled in an international law class in Paris, offered through the University of San Diego. Scott’s parents gave their kids a substantial sum of money every year—part of their tax/estate planning scheme. I had money for school, but needed more to be able to spend the summer in Paris. I asked Scott if I could have half of the money they’d given him (us?). I don’t think we argued about it, but he didn’t willingly hand it over right away. Since we were no longer living together, he didn’t think I was due any of it. I felt that since the money had come to us while we were still together, I was entitled to it. Maybe right, maybe wrong. It allowed me to enjoy a summer in Paris, even if a large part of it was taken up with classes. I thank him for that.
I don’t remember exactly how we broke up. I know I initiated it, but not how. I know it was hard for me, but it was devastating for Scott. He loved me, but a big part of it was not starting a family with me, realizing he’d have to start over.
We both went on with our lives. I survived law school and move to Seattle. He eventually found another partner who also wanted to have kids. They found a surrogate for their first one, using Scott’s sperm. A boy. She agreed to do it again with David’s sperm so the kids would be blood related. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out. But they did find another surrogate and ended up with twins. Boys. We’ve stayed in touch over the years. Met up with him and David in Vancouver when they were up this way. Haven’t seen them since, but I’ve enjoyed following their lives, mostly on Facebook.
I’ve always been so happy Scott finally got to be a dad.
Leave a Reply