Archive for August, 2010

Ratatouille, Not Really

Wednesday, August 25th, 2010

Kimberly Beck Clark and Fredde Duke

I bonded with Kimberly, my BFF over a dog named Sidney (often called Bitters , still don’t know why) but the real story goes like this. My best male friend up the street was David Feder who just sort of got stuck with me because of geography, i.e., our parents’ choice of homes on South Roxbury Drive. The day he and his family moved in (7th grade) I walked up the street, knocked on their door and announced that I’m available to be friends with anyone, any age. I was just glad to have fresh neighbors on a block that was getting a little stale.

The boys were CUTE, oh my God. David was exactly my age, my grade, Michael was my brother’s age, and Kayla was the adorable little sister that I would befriend and babysit and possibly be a bad influence on. I always wanted my own real sister and now I had one. I loved the Feders and chose to hang out there rather than at my own much quieter home. Over the years, the Feder boys would go out with plenty of my closest friends and presently (if you read my blog) you know that Michael ended up with my very close friend Kimme after she lost her husband to cancer.

When David and I were around 19 years old, he told me about this beautiful girl he met that was now his girlfriend. He wouldn’t stop talking about her. Fred, he would say, she’s SO great, she’s SO beautiful, I can’t wait for you to meet her. Clearly, he was a goner, madly in love. His former girlfriend, Sherry, had given him an Australian Shepherd dog that we were all wild about. Sidney. Cutest dog I’d ever seen in my life. I used to steal him for the night to sleep with me in my beach bungalow near the pier. Sidney became everybody’s dog and should one day have his own hardcover biography.

One day, when I still had not met Kim, David’s new girlfriend, I was on a commercial audition in Hollywood. I overheard that it was to be shot in Hawaii, a place I’d never been; I wasn’t a privileged kid like the others from Beverly Hills. So that’s when full-blown, serious “I really need this job” ambition came into play. I danced and sang and performed my heart out. I was very focused. It was quite a cattle call, the whole world of actors at that time were there including my old friend from high school, Scott Colomby. So, while waiting to be called, I sat near him and was very calm, saving my energy for “the room”.

While seated there with Scott, a bouncy young thing bopped up to him and was just filled with energy and enthusiasm. She said, “Oh my God,” a bit like a valley girl, “I just cut my hair!!!” After she walked away, I remember thinking maybe she was a bit of a bimbo. In truth, I have that same friendly energy, so there might be a lot of people out there thinking the same of me. Bimbo. (more…)

To Die for Mandel Bread

Wednesday, August 4th, 2010

okay, in person it was quite the sight, 1983, pregnant with Oliver

I’m not exaggerating when I say I gained a person during my first pregnancy. Not an eight-pound person, a fifty-pound person. And fifty looks more like a hundred on my tiny frame. I’ll try to track down a picture to prove it.
At the time, I was often seen in the nicest restaurants sporting a leopard print Fiorucci number, a one-piece that was meant to have a big belt cinching it to show off your hot early-eighties bod. But I was dressing “for two” and looked more like a giant spotted pumpkin than the sexy dame I thought I was. Strangers laughed at me when they took in the sight. A real ego booster.
Cedars, where I gave birth, became a huge party where all my friends visited at all hours. I was one of the first of us to have a kid. Okay, Kimme, Sherry and Barbara started a bit before me, but it really seemed like I was hosting a big premiere. Think “The Wizard of Oz” and the moment she wakes from the dream, looks around the room and says to each person “…and you were there, and you were there…. “ Well, all of YOU reading this were probably there — only it wasn’t a dream.
Periodically, everyone would leave my room en masse to visit the nursery to look at my new, perfect, ten-days-late, stunning child with the Mick Jagger lips. And no, I didn’t fuck Mick — though I met him a few months after Oliver was born and told him it WAS his baby. Should I totally digress to that story? Sure, why not. (more…)