My college buddy, Rosa, came to LA to visit me and my roommate (also a college classmate) in 1994. Knowing that he was far more versed in LA nightlife, I called Shaun for a recommendation for a cool bar to visit in West Hollywood. He suggested a hot spot called The Pearl (the password to get in was “Harbor.” No joke). Shaun met us there that night- we had a great time. What became very clear over the course of a long night was that he was completely smitten with Rosa. The next morning he called me: he was very enthusiastic (putting it mildly) to see Rosa again so we made plans for the three of us to have dinner up in Malibu at the very tony Wolfgang Puck restaurant, Granita.
That afternoon, it was a Sunday, Shaun drove over from his place in Chavez Ravine and met us at my apartment in Westwood; when he arrived, Rosa and I were watching the very end of a movie- I let him in somewhat absentmindedly and, admittedly, Rosa and I said hi but we were both distracted by the movie we were trying to finish (this is before the days of Netflix, you kids, and they actually showed movies on TV). After the movie was over maybe 15 minutes later, we piled into my car and drove up PCH to Malibu, a 30-minute drive. Shaun was very (and uncharacteristically) quiet all the way to the restaurant. I tried to engage him by asking about the Getty museum (as we drove past and a place about which Shaun knew a lot); he made some snide remark and then went silent again. It was a very uncomfortable drive and I didn’t know why. Shaun was casting a very tense vibe in my little Honda- it felt like something very oppressive and vaguely threatening was looming over the three of us.
Everything became clear about 10 minutes after we sat down to dinner at Granita: Shaun erupted and made a huge scene, yelling in the restaurant about how we had disrespected him: because we didn’t stop the movie, jump out of our seats, and hug him when he arrived at the apartment, he thought we were dissing him. Literally everyone in the restaurant is staring at this lunatic yelling in the middle of a very elegant Wolfgang Puck restaurant. Rosa is very upset and crying. I am so fucking mortified, my jaw must’ve been on the floor. Shaun finishes his very public tirade and says, “well, I guess I’ve pretty much ruined dinner.” In retrospect, I wish I had punched him in the nose, which really was the only thing left that could’ve made a complete disaster any worse, a veritable cherry on a huge shit sundae. Shaun stands up and leaves. Since I had driven us up there, he calls a taxi and goes to Nancy Suminski’s (RIP) apartment, a mutual friend and recent USC radiology trainee who lived nearby in Malibu. Nancy is worthy of blog post of her own- an amazing person who was everyone’s Yoda at USC and later in life. Anyway, Nancy recalled seeing the taxi pull up to her place, the door opened and Shaun poked his head out, looking tentative and sheepish.
Fast forward four years to 1998: Shaun was an invited guest at our wedding. He brought our mutual friend, Rosa, as his date, unbeknownst to us (Yeah, THAT Rosa. Can you believe this shit?). As a side note, we had invited Rosa too, but we didn’t know they were dating, let alone on speaking terms. They flew out together from San Francisco. Over the course of the wedding and reception, Shaun took a bit of shine (honestly, a HUGE shine) to Kirsten’s lovely cousin Stacy who was newly divorced. Throughout the evening, Kirsten’s family were almost smirking, and laughing amongst themselves about how badly Shaun was behaving, going out of his way to make sure Stacy felt his affection. Rosa, having none of it, kicked him out of their room after a screaming confrontation in the hotel lobby late that night. Kirsten and I missed the fireworks display in the lobby, so we were very surprised to find Shaun’s luggage on the curb in front of the hotel when we left the reception around midnight. Well, maybe not that surprised.