Chris Yee, another friend of Rob's, went with me, and thank God he did, because this involved renting a car and making our way to a house in Laurel Canyon. During the drive from Burbank Airport, I told Chris that I bet there'd be valet parking, and sure enough, when we arrived at the house, there was a squad of women done up in black pants, bowties, white shirts inscribed with "Valet of the Dolls." They disappeared our silver Kia. We got lost trying to find the front door.
Several male guests getting out of cars wore dark suits and ties, and Chris momentarily freaked out because he was wearing jeans and a North Face jacket. I said, Rob was in the entertainment industry! The business types will wear suits and the creative ones will wear jeans. I was right. It was about half and half, if you count black t-shirts and jackets in the suit category. Overheard snippets of conversation re scripts and nominations.
The house was built up the side of a steep hill, four levels, the second of which was devoted to the party. A sumptuous buffet, a bar, photos of Rob and his sister in 1950's Roy-and-Dale cowboy outfits, pictures of Rob and his partner Emanuel in European sidewalk cafes, and a framed cover of the New York Times magazine that featured Rob when he was a dancer with Merce Cunningham. Elegant bouquets of yellow roses and white hydrangeas. An poster-sized photograph of Rob, the one that appeared with his obituary in Variety. Outside, the back garden was terraced, the main level a worn astroturf lawn with tables and more bouquets and another bar, another poster of Rob. The sun shone, the eucalpytus swayed in a light breeze.
The most touching moments: Meeting four of the "Six Saints," as Emanuel called them, close women friends of Rob's who brought food to him, called 911, spent nights in hospital rooms, and kept him company when Emanuel was traveling. Each wore a tiny silver wishbone pinned to her sweater. And talking to Rob's stepmother, Mary, whom he adored and who had traveled from San Jose, with her sister, who lives with her in the house where Rob grew up.
Meeting Mary was both moving and instructive. In her eighties, having lost both her stepchildren to cancer this year, she is grieving but lively, deeply empathic but accepting of death in a way that I can imagine was a great comfort to Rob. As Chris said, she is a role model.
And then, very soon, it was over, and we stood on the front steps of the house waiting while the lady valets rushed around retrieving and delivering cars. People chatted about all sorts of things, plans for getting together for lunch next week. And I thought, is this it? It's over? The way I always do after a memorial service or funeral. We reclaimed our Kia and drove back to Burbank.
