|I was in Scary Spice's house this afternoon |
(Originally published on ABBAMAIL and 'Non ABBA Related' 2007)
However, I am learning a lot about the world we live in, which is increasingly online. It's shocking how much I do online. Pretty much everything. I wonder sometimes if it's worth writing a book about. Yet another thing to add to my 'to do' list, which is practically a novella unto itself. I suppose that's what blogs are for (sung to the tune of "That's What Friends Are For" by Dionne Warwick and friends).
Looking for work online is possibly even more humiliating than in person, but it uses less gas, and very little postage. And everything is online anyways, so there's little to no point driving around, pounding the pavement, blowing men in dark alleys to get work. Or perhaps I've merely been frequenting the wrong alleys. Hard to say.
Anyway, today I hooked up with a decorator who had to go take the Christmas decorations that he had put up in a house in Malibu. I said, it's January TENTH. They still have Christmas decorations up? He said, 'yes, that's why I need to go TODAY and take them down.' Well, better late than never, I suppose. Growing up white trash, we often still had our Christmas lights up come Easter, and in fact one time I think they just stayed up until the next Christmas, so I'm really not one to talk. I made him call ahead just to confirm that the house hadn't already burnt down due to the seven foot tall, highly combustible tinderbox in their living room, but fortunately everything was still standing. Unlike Suzanne Somers' Malibu home, which sadly burnt down last night. <waves to Suzanne>
So, as we were driving to Malibu, he was talking about his client. She's a thin black woman, from England, pregnant, with frizzy hair, named Melanie. Unfortunately, having been enticed by my provocative headline to this piece, you already know the punch line (don’t spoilers suck?!! Yes I mean you, Entertainment Weekly!!) but it turns out that this place is owned, and occupied, by none other than Ms Scary Spice!
It's a beautiful house, four stories, balcony on each floor, very modern, and I would describe the décor as modern minimalist, but then compared to my house, and several of the homes I've whored myself out to clean in the past few weeks, pretty much anything where you can see the baseboards is 'minimal.' I found it odd; while I was taking down the Christmas lights, on January tenth, and looking around, I noticed that there was no indication of who lived there. No photos, no gold records, no books or magazines, no mail lying around, no newspapers, no cds, nothing. A few tasteful pieces of art on the walls, and lots of chrome and glass amongst the earth tones. But all very tasteful, if anonymous. Lots of windows overlooking the canyon, not facing the ocean, which would disappoint me, but then how many copies did her last album sell; one has to remain realistic I suppose.
Of course, I had my camera with me, pretty much always do, but there were too many people around to snap a few discreet photos to share with you all. There was a maid, and/or nanny (who was very concerned about getting all the dried pine needles out of the lush carpet, on January tenth), and several groundskeepers (apparently the second Wednesday of the month is 'clean up' day) and a big white dog, who followed me around for the first half hour but then became bored watching me scrounge around on the balcony removing tiny Christmas lights, on January tenth. The mistress of the house wasn't home, perhaps at a visit to the obstetrician, as she is due any minute now. It's OK, because I did meet the Spice Girls once, at a tattoo parlour on Sunset Blvd in about 1998 (long story), and have all their autographs except Victoria (Posh), who was, apparently, too posh to be seen at a tattoo parlour on the Sunset Strip...
Rod Reynolds, Los Angeles, USA
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