LAW AND ORDER

During the time JR and I had the talent agency I began thinking about my future. I started thinking about law school and going into entertainment law. This became even more prominent in my thoughts after we broke up. I’d gone back to school and received my BA from UC Irvine in preparation and was ready to move forward—I’d legally changed my name to Schuyler, thinking that sounded more professional than Sky. Scott was on board.

Going back to school…at 30something.

I’d attempted to go back not long after I moved to Los Angeles, but didn’t stick with it. I needed to finish up a degree before I could get into law school. I don’t remember how I got everything in order to be able to do so. It must have been a real pain in the ass—digging up transcripts from various schools from 10+ years ago, sorting out what would transfer and what I’d have to take to graduate. Oh yeah, and choose a program in which I could get a degree.

I went with a BA in Social Ecology. Do I remember what that means now? Only sorta. Basically it was a program the looked at society and social institutions using an ecological paradigm. Yeah. What appealed to me was the variety of topics the classes included—sociology, law enforcement, business, etc. It allowed me to create a program that was as close to prelaw as possible.

I only had a few general ed courses to complete while focusing on my major. I made it through. Mom and dad and my best friend, John David, came to my graduation. I was so excited to have mom and dad come, I rented a limo to pick them up at the airport and bring them to Laguna.

I remember meeting Christi, who was in one of my classes. We became friends. At some point I told her I was gay. She was like, “duh.” I was like, “really?” She was like, “the first day of class I saw you…good looking, dressed fashionably, a pierced ear, and wearing a gold chain necklace and matching bracelet.” Oh.

Christi and I became good friends. A decade or so later—when I was living in Paris—I went to London for my birthday. I stayed with Christi and her husband, Cameron, who had a job there.

Back to law school.

I took the LSAT. I did ok—I deplored tests and usually only did ok. I looked around at law schools. One in particular caught my attention, California Western School of Law in San Diego. It was a small school then, around 600 students. Tuition was reasonable…for a law school. The biographies of the professors interested me, two openly gay. The school itself seemed inclusive. I decided that’s where I wanted to go.

I had a regular customer at the Meridian who sort of took me under his wing when I told him I was planning on going to law school. He had been on college boards, maybe even a regent. I’m pretty sure he was gay. He coached me on my application and even wrote a wonderful letter of recommendation for me. I put all my eggs in one basket. And it paid off.

I got in.

Scott and I were still together at the beginning of school. I was still driving my little white Honda Civic I bought after giving up my Maverick Grabber in Los Angeles. The school was a 150 mile roundtrip commute each day. I joined a gym in San Digo early on. I’d leave home in time to go to the gym before classes. I recorded lectures and would listen to the tapes during the commutes.

Cal Western offered summer courses. You could conceivably finish law school in two years rather than the normal three. That sounded good to me, so I planned to do that.

The first year or so of law school is all required courses: Civil Procedure (Civ Pro), Constitutional Law (Con Law), Contracts, Torts, Criminal Law and Procedure, Legal Research & Writing, and Property Law. They throw a lot at you that first year—at some point I found out that part of the reason for this is that they’re trying to weed out as many people as possible. Reading assignments, combined, were often 200 to 300 pages a day/night. Not living nearby, this was often a challenge.

I had two favorite professors, Susan Channick (Contracts) and Scott Ehrlich (Property). Scott was openly gay—Barbara Cox (Property II) was the other. Scott took me on as one of the students he mentored. He got me involved in the Gay Student Union at the school. I don’t remember much about the classes themselves, but do remember Scott always wore a tie. He was known for it. And Mrs. Channick almost always wore heels…and had the calves to show for it. I was envious of her calves—no matter how much I worked on my calves, they never amounted to much.

That first year was intense. So much reading. So much learning new concepts. So much commuting. It makes for some good, commiserating friendships. Barbra Haas was one of them. I don’t really remember any of the others. I don’t really even remember much about Barb, just that we were buddies. At the end of the first semester, after finals, we had a big party at someone’s house in San Diego. I proved my true friendship with Barb while holding her hair back as she was puking in the bathtub. We had a beach party at the end of our first year.

I went straight through into the summer, as several others of us 1^st years did. I did not, however, do that the following year. I year and a half straight through was more than enough of a challenge for me. We started out our 2^nd year after finals, but before grades came out. It was a bit of a freakish thing. You’d walk into a class and someone from your year would not be there—didn’t make it through finals. How I survived, I’ll never know. But I did improve in my thinking and analytical skills. I know this because Barb told me so based on my class participation.

The next summer, rather than go straight through, I enrolled in a University of San Diego summer class in international law…in Paris. Yes, the one in France. Scott’s parents gave each of their kids a substantial financial gift every year. I was able to use a portion of ours to pay for my three months in Paris.

Sidebar…

At this point, Scott and I’s relationship was going south, for a number of reasons. Which was one of the reasons I wanted to do this study abroad. We argued over me using some of that gift money. I think my side of the argument was that we’d been together for nearly four years, that the money was gifted to us, not just him. He finally said ok.

My friend, Jean- François—who I met while working at the Meridien Hotel in Newport Beach, CA—was going to be out of Paris most of the time I was going to be there, so he offered to let me stay in his flat in central Paris. It was maybe a half hour walk to the school where my classes were. I enjoyed my walk. It was early enough that the city was just starting to come to life. Delivery trucks making their deliveries to various businesses, restaurants and cafés. A favorite boulangerie was open by then, not far from the school. I’d stop for a croissant or pain chocolat every morning.

I made a few friends with other American students, but didn’t really hang out with them. I’d been to Paris a number of times by then and already had a circle of Parisian friends. That’s who I spent most of my time with, getting further immersed in French culture.

Most of those friends smoked. I was used to that, but never really considered smoking myself. Until…finals. That stress got me started. And by started, I mean Frenc cigarettes. Gallois. Gitanes. Etc. They were strong. So strong that the first few times I lit up, I would get a hardon. Serious. Even after returning home, I would buy a pack of cigarettes and every now and then grab one and go out for a walk at night. It would take me back to that time in Paris. My cigarette addicted friends hated me. I had to keep a pack of cigarettes in the freezer because I would only indulge now and then. I was never addicted.

Once back on home soil, Scott and I called it quits. Or more accurately, I called it quits, and moved to San Diego for my last year of law school. Part of that was because I’d met Philippe, a Frenchman. I met him at the gym. We’d started working out together. A few times I’d spent the night at his place. Maybe because I had tests or something the next day. We never had sex, though. Even though Scott and I were splitting up, he was very respectful of that relationship. As much as I’d hoped, nothing every came of that.

Then I met Scott Borden, also at the gym—seems to be a thing for me, making bfs at the gym. Borden had his own travel agency, back when those were still a thing. He was good looking, funny. We started dating. He turned out to be very sexy. And sexual.

I’d found this great little one-bedroom apartment not far from Cal Western. It was right in the flight path of planes landing at the San Diego airport. That airport is so close to downtown that the planes come in very low over the city. So low, going over my building I could read the larger of the numbers on the tail. If they were taking off the opposite direction, the backwash would shake the building.

I came home from school one day to find a note taped to my door and a red ribbon running from the card under the door and into my apartment. I opened the door and followed it through the apartment until it led to a brand new microwave oven, a birthday gift from Borden. Another part of that note was to pack a bag and be ready for a pick up at such and such a time.

He picked me up but wouldn’t answer any of my questions. We went to the airport and boarded a plane for San Francisco! After checking into our hotel, he took me out to dinner at a fancy French restaurant. We returned to SD the next day. It wasn’t long after that I gave up my landing path apartment and moved in with Borden.

Backup…

I enjoyed playing tricks on him. At some point, for some reason, he gave me keys to his car and his house. I was finished at the gym before him one day. On a whim, I found his car and moved it to another spot. He was sure it had been stolen and called the police, then noticed it where he had not parked it. Another time, he was out of town. I went over to his house, letting myself in. I proceeded to move all the living room furniture into the back of the house so that when he came home he’d walk into an empty house.

I don’t know why he asked me to move in with him. But he did. And I did.

I’d always been a pretty good student through my youthful school days. In law school I was barely average. One of our professors told us that A students become judges, B students become law professors, C students make all the money. Average or not, I made it through. I graduated from California Western with my JD.

For a graduation present, Scott whisked me of to Paris…for 52 hours. I took him to all my favorite haunts. We were hardly at the hotel except for maybe a short few hours to sleep. I forsook him for a few hours after bumping into one of my former Parisian bfs, Yannic. He was not amused. It was a whirlwind, but some of the best 52 hours of my life.

Graduation was at the Spreckels Organ Pavilion in Balboa Park. Scott Zucker and other friends of ours came. John David came. My mom and dad came—we hosted them at Scott’s house. My law school mentor, Scott, handed me my diploma and gave me a big hug. We, Scott, hosted a celebration at the house afterward. Food and drink. Friends and family.

After graduating and studying the California Bar Exam, I decided that was not going to be for me. I’d been to Seattle a few times, thanks to Dr Dave. I decided that’s where I wanted to be.