For Rick

Tags

Angeles Crest, Bob Marley, cancer, Hollywood Bowl, Lake Castaic, Los Angeles, Mulholland Drive, music, pancreatic cancer, reggae, Santa Monica, Sloan's, Switzer Falls, Three Little Birds, Venice Beach, West Hollywood

Back when I lived in WeHo (West Hollywood), I had a boyfriend named Rick for one torrid summer. Don’t know how we met; think it was through his friend and later roommate, Steve, when I bumped into the two of them at an Asian Food Festival. It’s weird that I suddenly can’t remember the first date that we went on or the first time that he kissed me or anything like that. Yet that summer we were inseparable and spent nearly all of our time together; maybe even a little longer than that summer. He had a truck and a motorcycle. We spent most of our time at Lake Castaic, Venice Beach and cruising around up on Mulholland Drive. His young son, Matthew, who was 3 or 4 years old, was with us about a quarter of the time, too. The three of us would pedal boat at Lake Castaic, we’d sleep together when Rick had Matthew for the night (with Rick in between, of course!) and Matthew enjoyed sitting on my lap, too. As for Rick, he was the epitome of a party animal when we were together. We were young and wild, after all! Once we were on the motorcycle at a stop light in Santa Monica. Rick looked back at me and demanded loudly “Kiss me, you fool!” Everyone in the surrounding vehicles started laughing. Another time when I was half asleep on the back of the motorcycle, he admonished me to “Hold on!” as he revved his engine and we proceeded to race a car and another motorcycle down the street. One of the first times we were cruising Mulholland Drive on the motorcycle on a Sunday afternoon, we were going a little too fast coming around a turn where the paved road had some sand/dirt on it. We spun out and I was actually thrown from the motorcycle to the other side of the road. I was laying there all out of breath when Rick came running over and picked me up. When he saw blood on me, he was consumed with guilt and looked as if he would cry. I was checking myself and realized that the blood had come from HIM! I had a few little dents and scratches, but HE was the one that was bleeding. His blood had dropped onto me when he picked me up! Still, we looked a mess. When we got back to the apartment and Steve saw us, he asked “What the hell happened to you two?!” Rick’s answer “I let Tina drive.” On one of those balmy summer nights when it was well after 1:30 a.m., we rode up to a lookout point on Mulholland, hid the bike in some bushes and sat there talking. We eventually fell asleep in each other’s arms. I only woke up because it started to get a little bit chilly! No, we didn’t spend the night up there; we got on the motorcycle and rode back to WeHo. Most of the time, whenever we’d go out, I’d spend the night at his apartment, which was actually walking distance from mine. In the morning he’d drop me via motorcycle at my apartment in my little Betsey Johnson dress and “cha cha” heels from the night before. As he kissed me goodbye, the guys who were doing construction directly across from my apartment building would always whistle and clap! We spent an inordinate amount of time drinking Long Island Iced Teas at a bar called Sloan’s; maybe it was because Steve was the manager there. On karaoke night, Rick and his friends would introduce themselves as the Baby Seal Killers and sing something horrendous; they couldn’t carry a tune at all. He couldn’t really dance, either, but he had such enthusiasm! The funniest thing is that we used to call each other “Wendy.” This came about because one of his friends had a girlfriend named Wendy who would ALWAYS make excuses, go out without said boyfriend and/or say she was doing something else. One night when I was at Sloan’s by myself, Steve announced that there would be an after party at his apartment. Some guy was all over me, but I said that I was going to Steve’s after party. The guy said that he was going, too! When we got back to Steve’s, I quietly asked Steve if Rick was home. He said “Yes.” I snuck into Rick’s room and jumped into bed with him. (The other guy was none too happy to realize that I’d disappeared, so to speak.) Rick woke up and asked “Where have you been ’cause you smell like a brewery?!” That was probably the moment when we started calling each other Wendy. It would confuse the hell out of people to hear us address each other by the same name. Besides, Wendy WOULD be a strange name for a guy, right? Whenever there was a wait at a restaurant and the person would ask Rick what his name was for the wait list, he’d say “Wendy,” we’d laugh maniacally and everyone would look at us like we were lunatics. One of my favorite memories was the 4th of July. We took the bike up on Mulholland again and joined a crowd of people strategically situated overlooking the Hollywood Bowl. We couldn’t hear the music, but we could see the fireworks for free. Rick’s mother had been diagnosed with cancer. After we’d been together for a couple of months, he informed me (one afternoon when we were hiking to Switzer Falls at Angeles Crest) that she wanted to meet me that day. I was all sweaty and my hair was sticking out everywhere. Rick sat me down on a rock and patiently braided my hair before we went to his mom’s house. He was always a sweetie like that. His mother was really nice; that was the only time I ever met her. She died within a year, but Rick and I weren’t together when she passed. To make this true romance short, we broke up and made up a few times. Eventually, we broke up for good. In the end, I wasn’t really speaking to him any more. Then I moved to San Francisco and never gave him much thought after that. A few years ago, I was back in Los Angeles hanging out with Steve. I asked how Rick was doing. He told me that Rick had ended up getting married and having more kids, but had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. After the diagnosis, the end came quickly. I was shocked and saddened. Today, for whatever reason, he was on my mind. So this is dedicated to him.

Rick and Me at Knott’s Berry Farm

Matthew & Rick

Thanks for the memories, Rick/Wendy. You were all kinds of generous, sweet and funny. Most of all, you were one hell of a good time! I wish that we hadn’t ended the way we did, and wish that we would have been friends again. At last, you’re with your mom once more. Since Bob Marley was constantly playing at Steve’s and your apartment, this song is for you. “Don’t worry ’bout a thing. Every little thing’s gonna’ be alright.” Rest in peace, my friend.