I wonder how I can write any story about this time without the sex and drugs, but let me try. I first moved into an apartment on Old Malibu Road with my boyfriend. When we split, I moved girlfriend roommates (Wendy, Diana) in and out so I could stay on the beach, but still be able to afford the pad. We partied a lot. But in our own homes. You see, several of us that were friends were scattered across the beach in different places. And we would float from one house to another. A lot.

Friends that would come visit me would wander to one of the boys’ homes and then might not come back until the following day. I’m not saying who or with whom. And I won’t implicate myself except to say– the name Heidi Fleiss comes to mind. Don’t get the wrong idea, I was never paid for my “matchmaking.”

The other friends who had apartments on the same beach I will name. At least, I will give you first names. Billy, Ricci and John.

One morning, someone was knocking on my door at the crack of dawn. I answered it very sleepy since I had probably only just nodded off. At the door were these two teenaged girls that I had recently met. They liked me and kind of wanted to be my friend (this is before Facebook), so they dropped acid and slept on the beach outside my house. To this day, those girls are still the best of friends and one of them is one of my closest girlfriends.

I said it would be hard to tell the story without the sex and drugs. I mean most of this time in the 70’s was about sex, drugs and rock and roll, a cliché, but the truth.

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Another time capsule moment would be when my friend on too many Quaaludes decided that he needed to carry my extra- heavy redwood chaise lounge down my flight of stairs because he thought he needed to be right on the sand and not on my deck. He and the chair fell the whole way, tumbling over each other and miraculously — maybe because he was “feeling no pain” — got right up and placed the lounge in its proper direction, facing the ocean, and spent the rest of the day crashed out and burning/tanning in the sun.

My dad used to like to come and hang out on my deck on weekends to “watch the scenery” as he said. Which really just meant, not the waves but the half naked chicks running around the beach.

There was this guy from Hoboken, New Jersey (the word you was always plural, YOOZ) and he lived with one of my girlfriends. Everyone was sort of in awe of him, and by awe, I mean afraid. He was very street. He seemed tough. And, he kind of was. But to me, he was a teddy bear. And he was a little in awe of me, and by awe, I mean respectful. When I would leave town, I would ask them to housesit for me. I needed them to watch my cat Cosmo. I was quite obsessed with my cat. I called him Smush or Kazh (short for Cosmo). The night before I left New Jersey dude in charge of my cat, I told him how to coax Cosmo back in at night. We stepped outside and I called for my cat. In my highest cat whispering voice, I called for Cosmo and hit the side of the can of food with a spoon. I then handed the can to this truly street guy and said, “Okay, now you try it.” He did, but sounded like Tony Soprano. “Hey, Coz, over heeeah!” he would say in a low ghetto voice. “NO, that’s not it, try it again (high-pitched, enticing ) Cozh, Smush, Cosmo.” Suddenly, Al Pacino in “Dog Day Afternoon” started calling my cat. And he was so not going to come to this guy. Me: “Let’s try this again.” It’s now becoming an elocution lesson—think “My Fair Lady.” Finally, he raises his voice an octave “Cozzzzhhhh!” and I say, “YES!!!!! Good job!!!!!” I sort of loved that he kept rehearsing with me. It was so out of character for him to have this little short broad pushing him around.

Living on Old Malibu Road in the 70’s was something! Sorry you missed it if you were born too late. Condoms were not a big part of our vocabulary like they are for you, the born- too- late crowd.

I would often eat at a restaurant at Cross Creek called Beecher’s Cafe.  They had the MOST amazing pecan pie, served warm with fresh whipped cream.  The restaurant is long gone so I am going to re-post my mother’s pecan pie recipe which is the best in the world!!!!

Evelyn Duke’s Pecan Pie

click twice to enlarge recipe

On second thought, I am adding more food to this story, scroll down to the pecan pie recipe.

John’s Garden.  Right there in the same park area at Cross Creek where Beecher’s Cafe was.  I go there at least twice a month for well over 20 years (can you say creature of habit?.)  I often complain about this way of eating but for some reason here at John’s Garden it works–standing in line, placing an order, waiting for it and eating outside on picnic tables.  I can and do make the sandwich that I order and share with my husband.  Avocado and jack cheese with sprouts on wheat bread.  They are VERY generous with the avocado, you might want to scoop some of it off your sandwich and dunk your potato chips in it.  There are tons of sandwiches and salads to order, all good.  And of course, there is the dude that has been there a lifetime and he will say to you after you pay your bill “You have a nice day now!!!.”

Tags: Beecher's Cafe, Beecher's Cafe at Cross Creek, fredde duke, Freddy Duke, fun times before aids, John's Garden, John's Garden at Cross Creek Malibu, Old Malibu Road, Old Malibu Road in the 70's, pecan pie recipe, sex and drugs and rock and roll

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