Posts Tagged ‘fredde duke’

The Graffiti Princess

Sunday, November 27th, 2011

Graffiti in my house today!!!!!

I was WAY ahead of my time. I liked graffiti. As a teenager, I invited all my friends to draw or write all over the wall in my bedroom. And I, in turn, often wrote on bathroom walls. I am not condoning it — and should be embarrassed by it — but at the time I even boldly signed my name to the thought or poem or whatever I had written. Sometimes at school, which is just crazy if you think about it. I would write something silly like, Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, so FUCK YOU!!!!!! (A regular Emily Dickinson.) And then my signature: “By Fredde Duke.” First and last name. Didn’t want anyone else getting credit. Not that there were many other Fredde’s using the girl’s bathroom.

One day, I get a note sent into the classroom for me. It was from Mrs. Friedman, the dreaded Girls Vice Principal. Uh oh, I thought, better come up with something about why there is so much graffiti around with my name attached. I slowly walked the long halls, head down, trying hard to devise a believable excuse. But somehow I was still cocky and sure-of-myself that I could pull off getting out of trouble. There was no denying the truth. If anyone took a trip to my house on Roxbury, there it would be in big black crayon (not spray paint) — the same raunchy, unoriginal, Roses are Red poem; the one that my mother would not clean off or paint over long after I moved out — and in fact, would leave there for potential buyers to see during the sale of the house.

I’ve yet to come up with a great lie when I head into the Girls Vice Principal’s office. And already seated there is a group of really beautiful girls from my grade. It was like a dream and suddenly you are somewhere else and you’re not sure how or why the dream just changed location or people. I’m still in my head, working out that excuse and not registering what is going on. That’s when Erica Farber’s face comes into focus. We called her Ricky, and she was the faintly elusive, always gorgeous, every-Jewish-boy’s shiksa dream. I also see my friend Janet Rasak, to me the most beautiful girl; exotic, Lebanese, smart, and extra sure of herself, but never stuck-up about any of her assets. And Betty Hakimoglu, so cute, unique, Turkish. I’m in a room with all these beauties when we are told that we are the ones that are up for Princess and Queen, the ultimate prize in popularity and grandness at Beverly Hills High School. Only the greatest of beauties have reigned before. So, I’m thinking, why am I in this group? This must be a prank or some clerical error. But NO, I’m informed that there were SO many votes for me that I will be up for both Princess AND Queen. What the fuck? They say this doesn’t usually happen. I’m scratching my head and mostly relieved that I’m not going to prison for defacing public property. Instead of jailbird, I might be Homecoming Queen. (more…)

Happy Epicurean Day To Me

Wednesday, November 23rd, 2011

I had the annual physical.  I asked the right questions.  At least the right ones for me.  My mother had a stroke in her 50’s; my dad had many strokes and then died in his 80’s after suffering a heart attack.  Dr. Oz is suggesting everyone get carotid artery ultra sounds. “ Let’s set one up” I said to my doctor.  Then later in my appointment, I ended up revealing the amount of butter and sugar I eat.  Daily.  It’s not the sugar I’m concerned about.  It’s only one little slice of cake per day.  I do tend to eat too much bread and butter at times though.  All my friends are on detox diets or gluten free.  I’m the last man standing.  Even Benjy succumbed recently and he not only doesn’t smoke (so proud of him) but now he’s a clean eater.  It’s almost no fun.  There’s no one left to eat forbidden foods with.  Like chips.  Fries dunked in mayonnaise the way I like them.

Today was the 1:15 appointment to get that scan.  The first call I got in the morning was my friend Andrea who had scored a croissant from the new French bakery in our hood.  I already know I’m a fan of Alain Giraud’s croissants from his other restaurants.  I’ve been waiting for a good restaurant to open in the Palisades for the full 20 years I have been a resident.

Second call of the morning was my daughter wondering what I was doing for lunch.  Perhaps I’d like to meet her at our favorite, the Beverly Hills Hotel coffee shop.  I tell her, I would love to have lunch but she must meet me and go with me for this scan first.  Oh, and we will be on my side of town.  West of the 405 freeway.  Let’s just say Santa Monica.

During the brief appointment with a technician, I remembered that my doctor had said let’s wait for the results, meaning not just the scan but my cholesterol and everything before going full speed ahead with my bread and butter addiction.  Everything was smooth sailing.  Cholesterol results are fine.   Well, maybe there is a touch of plaque for this artery scan and I’m not perfect.  Oh, well.  During the exam, the dude was telling my daughter and I that eating well and exercising are the key.   Before we left the office my wacky daughter looked at the tech guy and asked about some gland on her neck.    We left the office and I whispered, “He isn’t a doctor.” Then suddenly she announces loudly in front of all the patients in a cardiologist’s office that she’s craving hamburgers! (more…)

D, D & B and ME

Wednesday, November 16th, 2011

Dino, Desi & Billy were the Hansen or Justin Bieber of our day. It was the mid-to-late 60’s and the Beatles had hit the States and our hearts. But of course there was room to love other boys. And D, D & B were our homeboys. They were in our orbit; lived on our blocks, frequented the same restaurants. AND, they were CUTE!!!!! Oh, my God, they were — in Paris Hilton’s word — HOT!!!!!!!

About a year into Beatlemania, Dino, Desi & Billy formed their band. They became teenage heartthrobs across the country and were featured in all the popular teen magazines.

At about the time D, D & B were famous, Billy played on my brother Alan’s baseball team. Pony League games. I will never forget them … because they were long fuckin days for a bored little sister. Sitting in those bleachers was tedious. But there were some really cute boys on those teams, like Billy (Alan Harris and Steve Fine). My dad and Billy’s dad became friends in those bleachers. Both were older dads. They seemed to have a lot in common and we were invited to dinner at the Hinsches’. My dad formed his own friendships with Dino, Desi & Billy, and his whole life called Dean, “little Dean” and Desi, “little Desi” to distinguish them from their fathers – Dean Martin and Desi Arnaz.

Just as our dads formed a lifelong friendship, so did Billy and I. When I remarried , my brother Alan and his wife Kris threw us a small wedding party. Billy had been in the Beach Boys for years, so I asked him to give me a special present and sing “God Only Knows.” When he did there was not a dry eye in the house.

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Dance Battle

Wednesday, November 9th, 2011


Barnaby,
The day you were born seemed, at first, like any ordinary day. I dropped my car off for service then stopped to pick up a few gifts for the brother and sister you would soon meet. Then, it was off to St. Johns for a three-in-the-afternoon scheduled C-section. Thinking of it now, it sounds so strong and brave and unlike me. But on that day, I was prepared and matter-of-fact about it all.

Just nine days before, on Halloween, I wore my pants low and a shirt cropped high to show off my hugely pregnant stomach. It was your first costume. I drew eyes and a mouth; my big belly button was your nose. We caused quite a stir as I told random kids who stared that they too could get their stomach as big by connecting a bicycle pump to their belly button. We were so unforgettable that night, that people still remind me how outrageous it was.

pregnant with Barnaby

Within hours of arriving at the hospital, there you were!!!! And, you were a boy, not a girl or you would be named Holiday, after a childhood cat. You dodged that bullet.

Barnaby. With your great new name and a red dot on your forehead. I asked the doctor about the dot, it sort of concerned me. He gave some sure-of-himself answer saying it would go away in the next few weeks. Well, I grew to adore that red dot that never disappeared, distinguishing you in childhood photos from your brother.

You rocked your name. Always announcing loudly and proudly when asked, “Barnaby, like Barnaby Jones,” to new teachers or coaches. It always got a big laugh if they were old enough to understand the reference. Thank you, by the way, for being so mainstream as to play sports at all. We didn’t understand it, since your older brother was an artist and not the athletic type. We made jokes that you were really from the Winter family, our close family friends whose boys played competitive sports. (more…)

No Complaints

Thursday, October 27th, 2011


I’m Maurice Duke’s daughter, remember me? I said that a lot growing up. Still do. Just said it a lot at a memorial I crashed for one of my dad’s friends. The only time in my entire life that I asked someone if he knew my father and he said no was when I was a teenager eating lunch at Nate n’ Al’s deli in Beverly Hills. The person who said no was Johnny Carson. And I spent the rest of that lunch not believing his answer. Because my dad knew so many people, there was an illusion that he was much more famous than he really was. I actually didn’t and don’t care if he was famous; he was my idol just based on how wildly unique he was.

I can never celebrate my father enough. In our family, my dad’s birthday is a national holiday. We tend to celebrate him every day, so on his birthday, we step it up a notch. Last year, October 27’th, would have been his 100th birthday. I invited a lot of my friends — and what friends of his were still alive — and I screened a movie I made about him.

I should be ashamed to say, greatest night of my life!!! I gave birth three times. What gets me off the hook here is that the births were during the operative word, day. Technically, I might have been married in the early evening, but let’s just say late afternoon so I can keep saying the screening was the greatest night of my life. You know, without hurting anyone’s feelings.

My father never hurt anyone’s feelings on purpose. He was, however, blunt and outspoken to the point of being shocking. He used the C-word as if it were a term of endearment. When he used the word cooze, that’s when we knew the person he was talking about was a real c-u-n-t. A bathroom he always called a terlet. He moved to California from New York in the 40’s, yet a toilet was a terlet until the day he died in 1996.

Speaking of terlets, he often didn’t get up to use one. I cringe when I think of it, I didn’t speak of it in the movie I made, though others I interviewed did (I cut it) — but my dad used what he called a pish bottle. Shamelessly. He kept it sitting right there next to him all day long. Oy. And my brother and I had the nasty job of emptying the pish bottle. You see, my dad was handicapped, in case you haven’t been following my blog. He had polio and throughout his life he was saddled with a leg brace and a cane. It wasn’t always easy for him to get around so he ordered us around instead. We would bring him, fetch him, do for him. And we loved every second of it.

My dad woke up every morning of his life singing. He was happy to be here, always. We all strive to maintain being grateful. Everyone is always reminding themselves and others, be grateful. This was his natural state. Eternal gratefulness. Happy to have been given a blessed life. But we were the blessed ones. The ones who got to be around him and loved by him. (more…)

Please God I Need That Job

Tuesday, October 18th, 2011

me, Tracy, on location in Texas


I went to bat for my friend Tracy. She wanted the starring role in a movie my dad was producing, but it was really his friend Bob who was the money guy and director. If it were just my dad, it would have been a slam-dunk. So, I went to work on Bob. I pitched him for months, relentlessly. That’s me when I want or need to be – a dog with a bone. “Have you seen Tracy in Christopher Guest’s new movie?” I asked. “She’s brilliant.” Or: “Check out her credits, you’d be lucky to get her.” And: “Bob, let her audition, you won’t be sorry.” Finally, when I had exhausted all other angles, I went for the Boys Club Secret Society as a last try: “Your lead actor has always wanted to fuck her.” Yep, that did it. The part was hers. (more…)

Travel Abroad(s)

Wednesday, October 12th, 2011

 

The commercial kept calling out to us. A catchy tune and the promise of a round trip ticket to anywhere in Europe for under $500.  None of us could resist and the plan was in motion.  Andrea and I would fly from L.A. and land in New York for a layover where we’d meet Stacey at JFK.  Actually, it might be tricky since my two friends hadn’t even met yet.

It was the dead of winter.  Stacey called to let me know about this great coat she bought.  She couldn’t wait for me to see it because she just knew I was gonna love it.

Andrea did some research and picked out a boutique hotel, within walking distance of the Spanish steps.

Speaking of walking, those two girls were planning on walking the whole city every day.  They are both hardcore exercisers and felt that would be the best way to really see Rome.  I tire easily, so that was so not going to be me.  But, I would happily arrange to find some great restaurants.  We all know what we’re good at.  That’s my specialty.

When Andrea and I got off the plane to greet Stacey in the airport, she was hard to miss.  Her big, poofy, fuzzy, brown coat made her look like a bear, albeit a bear the color of cat barf and with an extra small head.  Yes, I was off to Rome with Fozzie Bear.  I couldn’t help myself and burst out laughing the moment I saw her.  All that build-up for well … it was indescribable. (more…)

Happy Mothers Day To Me!

Wednesday, September 28th, 2011

Do you ever feel like a plastic bag

Drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?

I woke with one of those hormonal migraines.  Not a great start to the day.  My oldest son, who was staying with me, was born 28 years ago to the day, May 8th.  It had made a most wonderful Mother’s Day gift.  And now he just announced he’s in a severe depression.

Do you ever feel, feel so paper thin

Like a house of cards, one blow from caving in?

I spent the next several hours in a dark room, preparing to go to my youngest son’s fourth audition for a singing competition reality show.  My headache was getting worse by the hour and I’m secretly praying for the call from Barnaby letting me off the hook.  A call in which he will say, oops, he got the time wrong and it’s done.  He will be on this new show or he won’t be, and I can then rest comfortably.  But no, that doesn’t happen.   At around 4:00 p.m. I walk into my husband’s office at home and announce in a very quiet, suffering voice that I will be heading to the downtown venue.  I feel for him since he needs to wake up for work at 4:00 a.m. and tell him he can pass on this one.  He offers to drive me anyway.  What a relief, I accept the generous offer.  I’d have jumped at if I weren’t in such pain.

Miraculously, we make it to downtown Los Angeles in twenty minutes.  Crossing my fingers, it looks like things might work out well.    We turn onto the right street and suddenly what come into focus are long lines with thousands of human beings.  It looks like chaos, though I’m sure there is an order to it all.  Dread sets in.  I hate crowds.  I text Barnaby a frantic message.  There is a spooky line of regular people.  He will know what I mean.  I get a text back from Vice, the other member of his group.  He says to tell a security guard that I’m a family member of Wild Thingz.  I do, and it helps us get in much faster.  We are led into a huge arena and herded here and there like cattle until we find our upper level seats.  The rest of the place fills with all the “normal” people who waited for hours in line.  They start to chant, Simon! Simon!  And suddenly it sinks in what is about to play out.  I do not watch reality shows very often, if at all.  I have never watched the one this Simon was on before.  I don’t, however, live under a rock, so I have landed on the channel a few times, long enough to see him abuse random performers.  At this point, I’m terrified of what is about to happen to my kid.  I look to my husband with sheer panic.  “Is this one of those shows where the guy is REALLY mean?”  I want him to answer, no, honey.  He doesn’t.  He tells me the truth as I start to curl into a fetal position. (more…)

I’ve Got a Brand New Pair of Roller Skates

Saturday, September 17th, 2011


I heard from Ruth, my erstwhile boyfriend’s mother (and my surrogate mother and neighbor), that she was expecting a young guest. Rumor had it the girl was my age. I got the feeling Ruth wanted me available, though she never framed it that way. But she knew how friendly I was and probably assumed I’d show the “British” girl around.

I was an out-of-work actress with no life whatsoever. The day she arrived, I threw on my new 70’s roller-boogie-disco skates and headed down to introduce myself. “Hi,” I said in my overly friendly, Welcome-to California, not-really laid-back at all kind of way. Hard to ignore my neon blue and yellow roller skates in place of proper shoes, the different colored bobby socks, clashing with all the other colors adorning me, namely the electric-blue-shimmer-spandex pants. Think Olivia Newton-John in Xanadu. Lisa, the girl from London, must have thought central casting had put out a call for a quintessential Hollywood actress type. Welcome to L.A. Let me show you around!!!!

And I did. We missed nothing. Went with my dad to Nate n’ Al’s for deli and wonderful old Jews coming onto her. Day trips to Malibu beach. She looked like me, or rather had very similar taste. We bonded over many like-minded things. Lisa had fantastic style, gorgeous with her naturally dark, curly, perfectly ringleted hair. I’ve paid fortunes for perms that failed to make me look like Lisa. The most beautiful blue eyes. A Jacqueline Bisset type. Lisa wore sleeveless shirts sporting some serious-looking, mysterious scars at her shoulder down to her elbow. And I was so impressed with how she rocked those scars, never covering them and comfortably exposing them. Made them sexy, like maybe I wanted some groovy scars like that. The story was she got them in a gnarly car accident. Pins, rods and all.

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Lake House

Monday, September 5th, 2011

I’m a looky-loo. I real estate dream shop online, a lot!!!! Late one night when my husband was safely sleeping,  I forwarded a photo of a house on a lake I had found and the subject said, “Lets buy this instead of doing an addition to our house.  It’s MUCH cheaper.”

So, instead of doing construction , we bought a house online in Quebec.  Doesn’t everyone in L.A. do that?  Come on.  You know you do.

Well, we did.

So, there we were that first week, enjoying our pristine lake when we got our first and possibly only visitor.  It was our neighbor, the retired judge who lives up the road on our quiet lake.

He was there to inform us about ecology and keeping the lake from getting that nasty blue algae that was killing a lot of the other lakes.  First we heard of that.  Perhaps we didn’t research enough.   Pollution was the culprit.  He told us about phosphates and to use phosphate- free soaps and detergents.  We were in.  He told us to let our grass grow wild right at the lake’s edge.  We were reluctantly in.  The former owners had loud parties and cut the grass long after they were told it wasn’t safe for our lake.  We would be the good citizens and stay on top of all that we could.  Have good lake etiquette.  And we did.  And we do. (more…)