West Hollywood Antics
Andy Garcia, Southern California downpours and Strawberry Guava
“Play the Julia Roberts song and hand me a lighter.” It’s the first thing Shannon said when she got into my car at LAX. The song was ready on Spotify and the cigarette was nearby.
The last time we were in Los Angeles at the same time she scored us a convertible for our rental because she made us late for our reservation right after unsuccessfully trying to hit on Sam Elliott at the airport. It had been a minute, but it felt like the previous weekend.
I didn’t know the Grammy’s were the same weekend until the day before she arrived. We headed straight to Yamashiro for lunch and were told it was closed for a private party, but they would be open for dinner in about an hour. I stared at my friend and immediately blamed her for us not being invited to the lunch. She took it on the chin and we decided to kill an hour in West Hollywood before circling back.
There was no circling back. There was a car parade protest we inadvertently ended up in a few miles down the road and the only way for us to avoid it was to head onto the Pacific Coast Highway. This would always be a good plan for me, but she decided to bring the gloomy, rainy, Bay Area weather with her.
Malibu was cloaked in an early dusk with light rain, so dark you couldn’t even see the waves crashing on the beach. The plan was to head to Zuma Beach and reenact the Kendall Roy scene from Succession without getting into the water. This is how it played out.
“I’m starving.”
“Me too. Zuma is about another twenty-five minutes down the road.”
“It’s raining.”
“I’m calling Nobu.”
Nobu was a 90-minute wait at the bar and I didn’t feel like we had luck on our side. Who knew every restaurant in Los Angeles would be booked on Grammy’s weekend? The parking lot into Duke’s looked promising. We didn’t have reservations, but the valet told us that it definitely wouldn’t be a long wait. Duke’s is a great brunch spot, but we had just missed out on Yamashiro and Nobu, we would be eating our feelings a bit.
The meal was good. Service was fast and you thankfully see the waves a bit from the window. It was the coldest day I’d ever spent in Malibu and it felt more like Half Moon Bay. We both remarked on how the cigarette would be amazing once we got back to the car.
We drove down PCH and did the obligatory photos at Santa Monica. I had to explain to her that I was a true friend for stopping because the boardwalk was our equivalent to Fisherman’s Wharf. It’s nice, but you avoid it if you can unless there are visitors.
We continued down PCH to home.
“Why does your beach look more working class than where we were for dinner, the air even feels colder here.” She was not asked to exit the vehicle yet.
“Google map my address, I want to turn down here, but let me know when we hit this street.”
“You can make your way around Malibu, but you get lost within a mile of your place? What an asshole.” We both laughed, but in my defense, one main road is easier to remember than a bunch of turns.
When your best friend of thirty years comes to town you spend the entire time talking. Entire life plans and goals were made and forgotten by brunch the next day.
The goal for the next day was Andy Garcia’s show at the Catalina Jazz Club. The plan was to leave at around 4:30 to arrive well before 6pm so we could leisurely enjoy dinner before the show.
What happened was time mismanagement and walking out of the house at 5:15 to a rain storm. I told her to drive because, by the time we got to my car, I had given up. We made it two blocks before she decided it wasn’t for her.
“I can keep driving, but do you trust me?”
I lit a cigarette, “What’s the worst that can happen? It’s raining, everyone is going 20 mph.”
“Remember when I crashed your car?”
These are teachable moments. I had just remarked that nothing could happen, which meant I had set us up for failure. We pulled over and swapped seats and I drove through an ocean of water to get to Sunset Blvd.
Arriving at the jazz club, the parking attendant told us to, “park in any space that’s open but don’t block the spaces or you’ll get towed.” Neither of us understood what he meant and neither of us bothered to ask.
Imagine a tic tac toe board. That’s what the parking spaces looked like. We pulled into the bottom space in the middle and stared at the center piece wondering if being directly across from it was a violation or if only the diagonal slots were okay. In the meantime, a Tesla pulled up and tried to parallel park in the center spot. He failed, but by the time he could turn around, someone had parked in the final open slot and blocked him in. It was another Tesla.
The guy stepped out of his red Tesla and approached the two men getting out of the white Tesla. “I’m sorry, you can’t park there you’re blocking the center parking slot and I need to get out.”
“Do you work here? No, then fuck off.” Then the white Tesla guys walked into the venue. We felt what was coming. He turned to us.
“Could you please move so I can exit?”
She will deny this, but Shannon turned to me and whispered, “Fuck him, he’s the one that wanted to park in the middle. Let him stay in the middle.”
I’m all about compromise. I rolled down the window and said, “Is it okay if I park here after you exit?” He was noncommittal. Shannon muttered something else, but I moved for him and went back to our spot.
Red Tesla gets out and pops his trunk, removing his upright bass case from the trunk.
“Biiitch, you wanted to block the bass player. I’m telling Andy.” I laugh.
“Lies. All lies I told you to move for him.” He looked stressed as he hurried inside the venue. We waved. He acknowledged me but gave Shannon the cold shoulder.
We made our way inside without falling or drowning and were shown to our table. This is when the night got interesting. We had a table, front and center and as I go to remove my jacket a woman approached our table.
“This is my table.” She informs us.
The host tells her that he assigns tables and he never assigned hers. The woman grabs the back of one of the seats and yells that she wants that table because it’s close to the stage.
I was there to witness Shanon get punked by a Beverly Hills housewife. It was slightly embarrassing, but I thought it was immediate karma for being mean to the bass player. Between her and I, I’m the formidable-looking one. The host turned to me and I told him to get us another table.
We were taken to a table close to the stage but in direct view of the piano. I didn’t mind, but someone was fuming. I couldn’t stop laughing. We ordered food and drinks and were lucky that the table in front of us next to the stage was empty.
A guy arrived shortly after us and was escorted to that empty table. When he went to sit down, Shannon stated, a bit louder than a whisper, “This asshole. is going to block the little view I have.” God has a sense of humor and a minute later the bass player comes down to hug the guy, his friend.
The appetizers arrived and all I hear is, “Great, not only can he not park for shit he has to mess up my view of the show.” It was magical and I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome to the night.
My view was great. I even had a great view of the bass player that brought so much joy before the night started. I don’t know what it looked like for the girl to my right, but she soon got up to take video from the center of the room.
It was a great show. I love supper clubs. The ability to eat and drink at the same table that I see the show without having to spend an hour walking through the arena is a plus.
In the middle of the show, Governor Newsom sent a mass text message to all Californians letting us know Southern California was in a state of emergency due to the weather. It was raining that bad and we didn’t think it was on the drive there.
At the end of the night, Andy thanked the crowd and told everyone to drive home safely since most of us had a long drive to get home. Shannon and I turned to each other at the same time and said, “He was talking to you, I live here.”
Plans to crash the Chateau Marmont Grammy’s after-party were thwarted. Driving pass, security was standing right at the valet with umbrellas and you weren’t even allowed to stop or enter the hotel. With the rain pelting us through the half-open car windows we cruised back home and talked about the show, the bass player, and the drunk that took our original table.
I will go back to the Catalina Jazz Club for another show in the future. I hope Shannon is part of those plans because we’ve now made it a tradition that she gets embarrassed in front of celebrities during her visits.
“Why isn’t your window down?”
“It’s raining.”
“Then how are you smoking?”
“My vape.”
“Vaping? I tried it before, but it was stupid. Hand me that.”
I vape strawberry guava now. Thanks, Shannon.