I stepped out for just a moment, but that moment was indeed, well, monumental. I played the voicemail to a number I didn't have saved in the phone.
"Money, what's happening?!"
Whoa. Wait...Donovan?! The guy went incommunicado in 2017? The guy who others have called since then "a recluse. No one can get a hold of him." - that guy? In the message, he spoke of cleaning and finding mementos from Santa Barbara long ago, pictures, so on. A fellow friend texted and we talked. He prepared me for the call and said to circle back: "I want to see how it goes with you two."
Bracing, I made the call. "As I live and breathe, is that YOU on my phone? How the hell are you?" And while my initial talk was of the right now, I couldn't help but hold on the edge of the diving board - the whole "where they hell have you been? Why didn't you return calls? Not just to me, to anyone?!" I rolled with it. Soon, no time had elapsed at all. We were zooming through the past handful of years and then complaining about the Dodgers bullpen. Nothing had changed. Then he said, "just wanted to let you know, I'm moving." Out of state. And now it all made sense.
The past few years had been tough. The store's contents go in storage, and the building closes. Videos and posters are sold to QT, no doubt for a pretty large sum of dough re mi, but also the final straw: it'll never come back. That's done. Family issues compound all this. Whatever was an idea in the past is now top of mind. What's holding him here besides friends and some family? And if he's truly gone underground, why hang around here?
I shared the news of a new video store in Dealville - the size of a master bedroom, but full of swag and good vibes. It's just as much a hangout as anything else. Having talked to the owners, they shared the fiscal wheeling and dealing it took, something he no doubt was well aware of, and maybe weary. He seemed only mildly interested. As if that whole thing was in the past, never to return.
After a bit of time, I stopped on by for a shocking, too-brief visit: the interior of the house had been remodeled. There was a new dog, just as chunky as the old ones. This time, though, the mood was somber. He was wearing a T shirt I bought him in 2015 (if not earlier). He talked in more depressing tones. We shared health issues, his more pressing than anything I've dealt with, thank goodness. He showed the new house pictures, along with what was left to do here. I had to break away, but I didn't like it. I left hastily; not of my own volition or his either, but I felt unsettled. I still wasn't sure when moving day would be, but I didn't want to end on that kind of note.
So, last week, impromptu in the way it used to be, I asked if he was up for lunch - my treat. He'd have to dress for the outside world, of course, but how could he say no? Things were more like "the old days" again. On the way to a diner, we lamented the Covid closure of Four n' 20, home of the legendary pies and late nights. He brought up Thanksgiving Eve 2005, when his fridge broke down and he had to scramble to get one 2 days before all the sales...oh, and as I helped bring it in with him, I naively asked if he'd measured that the damn thing fit in the front door. (It didn't) I brought up Thanksgiving Eve 2009, when he was suddenly tasked to get the food for the next day's meal. Joining him on the trip was only highlighted when a wino came out of nowhere trying to take the food out of the trunk of the late, lamented Saturn. Laughs and more laughter.
While dining (he chose the memorable combination of a cheesesteak, curly fries, and slice of cheesecake...steak 'n cake) we continued to talk old and new. How the Dodgers shut out the Angels twice in a row, by the same score, with THAT pitching staff. How people reacted when the store closed, and the shady things he was "asked" to do by former customers. "People who thought they were my friend. They weren't." I mentioned how much the store did for people, for so long, and yet there were still leaches after him? "Oh yes. (sigh)" Part of me thought that, by this point, they had faded away. They had to have, right? But just how much of that is now forced to gel with...well, when you move, what're you gonna do? He did 1 thing (the family business) for a living since being a kid. Middle aged crazy, maybe a fresh start is needed for a guy like that.
"Yeah. The way I live, I can no longer afford to live here." He's not alone: the LA Times would have you believe the eastbound and northbound freeways are jammed. There's some truth to that. How much? I'm not sure, but here's another example.
Upon returning to his place, Summer having finally arrived weeks late to Dealville, we lounged by the pool. I reflected back to those early days, the first BBQ/pool party I attended: sitting at a picnic table next to Joe Alaskey, asking about 80's stand-up while he shared insane Andy Kaufman stories. (The same early, to me, parties I wrote about last year) Hanging out when his dad recuperated from a stroke - no parties then, just one guy helping out another. Many nights watching the Dodgers, TV movies, Swingtown episodes, the list goes on. And yes, all the others taking advantage of his generosity. They'd arrive looking for free food, free rentals, anything. Some even stole. But then the dust would settle, the sun would go down, the game would end. He knew I didn't need all of that...though it was nice. It was simply the hang. It ebbed and flowed.
Every year, the end of the baseball season led to some depression - he'd take a break for a couple of weeks and not talk to anyone. But then it'd start up again. It'd be more of the same. And then weddings, and offspring, and more time in-between. Fewer returned calls. More visits where I do all the heavy lifting. Later still, it turned to nothing. Years upon years, and not just me: all the people who are friends whom I met at the store, at those cookouts...all got the same response. 6 years.
I watched the new thumpy doggy swim in the pool. We laughed. I thought about meeting Smiley in his old apartment. About how her behavior at the first pool party she attended was nearly grounds for a break-up. And had I done that...well, yeah, obviously my life would be different. I ended up just creating some distance in time between she and I hanging out, and of course I had to spell out everything over and over again (because that's what I still have to do with her to this day), but it was an "either you adjust or IT'S OFF." She got the message. But had she not, or if it hadn't worked out, I knew damn well I could have just returned for another Dodger game, bringing over sandwiches or beer or both, and saying that it was over and he'd have said "Aw, that's too bad" and handed me a cool one. Life endures.
But she and I endured, too. The key element to what beginning there was between she and I was finally with me again. "So, I'm gonna do one last blowout here at the house before it's sold." The house might be empty, just the water and power running perhaps, but it's decided. I have another summer assignment from the Gold - I hope I can make it. Why do I think it'll feel like a school reunion? I've never attended any other reunion in my life, with good purpose. In this case, it would just seem wrong not to attend.
This time, when I left, I felt more refreshed and at ease. Donovan was his more typically gracious self. A thunderbolt then hit me: "Oh - you mentioned on the phone about cleaning my VCR. Can you still do that?" He didn't skip a beat. "Dude! All I need is Q-tips and rubbing alcohol. You--" He then turned his back and there was a giant jar of Q-tips with long sticks - the kind you see in a doctor's office. We both laughed. We also both realized, with one of us accepting, that he wasn't completely removed...at least not yet.
