THE
GINGERBREAD
HOUSE
ON
LA
COLLINA DRIVE
My Life
Caged
Behind
Phil
Spector’s Wall of Sound
Louis
Spector
—Chapter 1—
A
Pair of Twins for Christmas
The
year was 1971, Los Angeles, California and Mrs. Erickson, a social worker for
the county adoption agency, drove her station wagon in a state of euphoria. To
her amazement, she was sure she had hit the jackpot. She had been trying her luck for some time to
secure a home for my twin brother and me.
Finding a home for one five-year-old foster child was
difficult enough. Finding one that would
take two of them, especially when they were each burdened with an assortment of
learning and behavioral issues, was a monumental challenge in itself.
I sat in the far back of the station wagon alone, next to
what little items we owned that were stuffed into a plastic milk crate, with
our names “Louis” and “Gary” taped to the side.
Gary sat in the front seat with Mrs. Erickson, gazing out the window as
the car entered through a gate leading to a winding, narrow road named
LaCollina Drive.
To ensure the success of a longer, or hopefully permanent,
stay, Mrs. Erickson spent extra time on our presentation, haircut, pressed
clothes, and a few new tips on how to behave.
I’m sure to her, the prospect seemed promising. After all, who rejects
foster kids so close to Christmas?
Halfway up the road, we came to a chain-link fence covered
in ivy with signs warning of trespassing, danger of electric fences, and killer
dogs. We followed it until we reached an
iron gate that was left wide open, with additional warning signs that Mrs.
Errickson drove past. Upon our entrance
into the driveway, two ferocious German
Shepherds started barking at us. They
were caged behind a fence and tied to a pole by a long, heavy chain.
We parked in front of what looked like a long-forgotten
mausoleum the size of a mansion. Ivy crawled up its thick walls, twisting
through a balcony and broken shutters. The driveway was made up of individual stone
slabs, resembling tombstones in a crowded cemetery. Overlooking the driveway
stood a tower and an overpass leading to another section of the enormous house
that was obscured behind trees and wild shrubbery. In the center of the
driveway was a large stone fountain with two tiers sprouting weeds.
Gary and I stayed behind as Mrs. Erickson parked her car and
exited. We were afraid that the two
wild German shepherds might escape their cages and attack us. Mrs. Erickson
then headed to the front door to ring the doorbell under yet another sign that
read: “NEVER MIND THE DOGS. BEWARE OF
OWNER.”
Moments later, Gary decided to risk leaving the car and dashed
over to the fountain, climbed over, and jumped in. Eventually, I also took the
risk, seeing that the dogs were still in their cages, continuously barking.
Once I got to the fountain, I saw it was empty of water, so I climbed over,
joined my brother, and began kicking the dead leaves scattered about.
Though we were expected at the house, no one was around to
let us in, yet Mrs. Erickson continued ringing the doorbell, hoping that a
last-minute decision hadn’t been made that would force her to drive us back to
foster care. Then, a car pulled up. It was a brown Rolls-Royce
and the fanciest car I had ever seen. Gary and I remained in the fountain
as the driver’s side of the car opened, and out stepped a tall, burly man with a no-nonsense demeanor who made his way
to the front door where Mrs. Erickson was standing.
Then the back car door opened, and out stepped an attractive,
petite lady with thick black hair, light-brown skin,
and a perplexed look on her face after spotting us in the fountain. Before she
could say anything, her husband emerged from the car. He was perhaps just as petite
as she was, but his boots gave him a few more false inches, as did the thick
wig atop his head. His skin was ghost-like in comparison to his wife’s. His
eyes were hidden behind tinted shades, and his voice was high-pitched as he
shouted, “Merry Christmas!” to the bafflement of everyone around, including his
confused wife, who just stood staring at us. Unbeknownst to us, we were
presented as gifts for Christmas in the hopes of saving an otherwise crumbling
marriage.
Mrs. Erickson gestured for us to get out of the fountain,
and we obeyed. As we jumped out, the man
with the tinted shades approached us, licked the tip of his thumb, wiped away
any dirt on my face, and brushed his fingers through my hair to remove any dead
leaves. After doing so, he stepped back, looked me over, then did the same to
my brother. He then turned to his wife and proudly said, “Are they not
perfect?”
A moment later, we all gathered to where Mrs. Ericson was
standing along with the burly man who instantly opened the first set of iron gates
leading to a small entrance and a second set of iron gates, ones with glass
panels mirrored on the outside. Stepping
inside the foyer, my eyes lit up at the
sight of the tallest Christmas tree I had ever seen. The
top was forced to bow downward under the high ceiling. Adorning the surrounding
area were additional decorations of the holiday season, but the most prominent
items displayed were comprised of a shrine dedicated to the man and lady of the
house, who were introduced to us as Mr. and Mrs. Spector.
Directly ahead hung two black and white portraits. One was of Mr. Spector and the other of his
wife, with an ornate vanity mirror separating the two. A black marble table, just below the
portraits, clustered an array of additional photos, mostly of the Spectors,
with a few together while other photos showcased people of various forms of notoriety. Alongside the photos were framed articles and
letters. In two corners of the room were two ornate chairs, which we could not
sit on because the record albums were strategically propped, one being the Let It Be
album by the Beatles and the other a Christmas album with Mr. Spector dressed
up like Santa.
My gaze was then immediately drawn to an intriguing little
bronze statue. It was a monkey perched
atop a stack of books, intently studying a human skull. His expression was one of deep contemplation
as he scratched his head.
Next to the striking bronze statue, there was a rather
intriguing photograph of Mr. Spector caught in the act of sniffing something
from a spoon. The caption beneath the photo casually stated, "A little
snow at Christmas time never hurt anyone." It was a scene from the movie Easy Rider, in
which Phil Spector portrayed a notorious drug lord in the film, which starred
Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper. It was
rumored that Mr. Spector was only cast for the role because of his brown
Rolls-Royce, similar to an incident in Billy Wilder's movie Sunset Boulevard, a
story that portrays the tragic downfall of a once celebrated movie star.
Typically, I wouldn’t have stuck around to listen to the
conversation between the adults, nor would I have cared to examine all the curiosities
and pictures spread out over the tables, providing clues as to who the two people
in the house were. I would have preferred being outside in the backyard playing
with my brother, meeting other kids, or exploring the grounds as I had always
done shortly after arriving at a new house and after being excused to do so.
However, without knowing where the backyard was or if any other kids lived in
this house—and with
no sign of anyone willing to show me—I had no choice but to stay
close by in the foyer to look around while they talked.
The conversation was interrupted when a woman in a white
uniform appeared in the hallway. She was
holding the hand of a small child no older than two, navigating her way towards
us, then letting go of his hand as all observed the interactions between my
brother, me, and the child.
Mr. Spector introduced him to us as our new brother, Donte, who
closely resembled his mother. No sooner had he joined us; a problem arose
between him and Gary. After biting Gary on the leg, he was pushed to the ground, resulting in a tearful outburst.
Jumping into action, the woman, who was the nanny, snatched
up the child while Mrs. Erickson examined Gary’s leg, proclaiming it to be a minor
flesh wound.
At that time, Mr. Spector suggested everyone go to the
kitchen for a treat while he escorted Mrs. Erickson alone to another room down
the hallway. Upon hearing the order, George, the burly man who had opened the front
door, escorted everyone else toward the kitchen.
Following behind them, my eyes were immediately drawn to a
fascinating tapestry hanging on the wall. It depicted a group of beloved and familiar
characters: Goofy, Donald Duck, Pinocchio, the seven dwarfs, Bambi, and others.
They all stood together surrounding a TV set as Micky Mouse himself magically emerged
from it with a bit of help from Tinker Bell’s wand.
Just for a moment, I saw myself in the same scenario,
showing up within a fantasy as I was brought to a family with open arms, thanks
to Mrs. Erikson. As I walked away from the tapestry, I realized
I was alone in the hallway. Looking up, I saw two ominous statues atop pillars,
black as night, scantly covered in gold, and with vacant eyes. There was something unsettling about them. It was then I decided I should find the
others, but I had no idea which of the two doors at the end of the hallway they
went through.
Seeing the double doors that Mrs. Erickson, along with Mr.
Spector, went through slightly ajar, I cautiously entered, assuming Mrs.
Erickson could reunite me with the others.
As I stood atop the stairs, gazing down into the living room, I was
struck by the enormous size of the space. The only source of light came from a
floor lamp next to the two talking, leaving
me in the dark. Though bright and sunny outside, heavy drapes
allowed very little sunlight to seep through the three large French glass doors
that led out to the terrace.
Next to the two talking was an
equally impressive fireplace made of stone, large enough to walk into and cold
enough to consider it. The ceiling was a coffered ceiling, with thick wood
beams extending from each side of the room to the other, with murals painted in
each section. As for the furniture, some dated back to the early twenties, when
the house was first constructed, with the old style of the French, some with
floral motifs and figures, others with elegant red velvet upholstery, slightly tattered.
To the left of me, below the stairs,
was a modern black grand piano with sheets of music scattered about on the top
next to a metronome. At the bottom of
the steps, where my focus ended up, was a dome-shaped aquarium atop a pillar
filled with various kinds of fish. Accompanying them, at the bottom was a
deep-sea diver and a sunken ship along with the Creature from the Black Lagoon
and the remains of a dead pirate protecting his gold, with a sword piercing
through where his heart once was. Yet he
was still enjoying his jug of whisky aided by the constant flow of air bubbles.
Though I was not paying attention to the conversation
between the two, I overheard Mrs. Erickson clearly stating, “If there is a
problem, I’ll take them away.” And though she said it only once, the words
echoed in my head. Not sure what may classify as a “problem” had me worried
that perhaps not going with the others to the kitchen, sneaking in rooms I
shouldn’t be in, and eavesdropping on conversations were more than enough
problems for me to get into and so I cautiously snuck back out, closing the
door behind me. As I quickly turned
around, there stood George with his usual stern look. Assuming he would march me back into the living
room and tattle on me, ending any chance of remaining in the house, I surrendered
into somber resignation, as if I knew what was in store, only to be pleasantly
surprised when he reached over my head to make sure the door was securely shut
before asking, “Would you like some ice cream?”
Upon entering the kitchen, Gary and Donte had finished eating
their treats. Seeing a spot at the table across from my brother, I sat down. As
I did, another individual got up from his chair near the stove, opened a
cupboard, grabbed a ceramic bowl, and placed it near me. He was a hefty man
focused on one thing: preparing my treat. Grabbing from one of three
refrigerators, he took out a tub of vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, a can
of whipped cream, and a jar of cherries and brought them to the table near me,
but not before grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl on the table. Topping it off with silver sugar pearls, he placed
it in front of me, along with a large spoon, then returned back to his chair by
the stove as I enthusiastically dug into my ice cream sundae.
Shortly
after Mrs. Erickson left, we were shown our room. It was at the top of the stairs
on the second floor. Because we were meant as a surprise, the room was in no
way prepared for us. The furniture was no different from what was seen around
the house: elegant and extravagant. The
fancy desk in the room was filled with various accessories: scissors, a letter
opener, a stapler, a marble paperweight, and a heavy glass ashtray.
The room also had its own closet and bathroom, but the
closet remained locked, leaving us nowhere to put our things as the only
dresser in the room was occupied with someone else’s clothes. So, we left our stuff in the crates we brought
them in.
In the last few homes, the moment we were settled in and our
things put away, we would do one of three things: explore the house, mingle
with the couple whose house it was, or hang around with the other kids, if any,
who lived there. Disappointingly, that was not possible this time due to our
bedroom being locked, preventing us from leaving the room.
With nothing to do, we went through all the drawers, made
some room in the dresser for our things by throwing what was in there on the
floor, jumped on the double bed, and looked out the French window that had a
panoramic view of Beverly Hills and the backyard below.
Later that evening, our door was opened by the nanny, who
invited us downstairs for dinner, along with Donte. The same hefty man from
earlier cooked and served our dinner, then, once again, made an enjoyable dessert.
Before being brought back to our room, the nanny let us accompany her while she
put Donte to bed. It was the first time I saw his room.
It was obviously set up for a child, with its decorative furniture,
stuffed animals, mobiles, and Disney characters mounted on the walls. As the
nanny prepared Donte for bed, she turned on a rather elegant musical carousel
that played Brahms’s Lullaby next to a pair of bronzed baby shoes on a
wooden plaque that displayed a birth announcement with big, bold lettering: “PRESENTING THE SMASH HIT PRODUCTION OF DONTE PHILLIP SPECTOR.”
When the nanny was done and Donte was fast asleep, she took
us to our room, got us ready for bed, and tucked us in before locking the door.
That night, I awoke from a dream. It was one I often had, but that night, it
felt different. It always started the same, looking down an empty road to a
house in the distance. It wasn’t a large house, but rather a quaint and simple one.
I do not know if it was a previous house I’ve been to or one I saw on TV. Either
way, it was my home in the dream, and I was heading back. Only, it never got
any closer to me than when it first appeared in the distance down the road.
A moment later, a figure appeared standing in the doorway, waving
at me. Though I could never make out the face, I knew it was my mother, and I
was eager to return to her. Then, the dream shifted, and the house began
disappearing as it increasingly got farther away. I started running toward it but soon noticed
under my feet that street lines were quickly zipping away from me. I was moving
in the opposite direction of the house, getting further away from it along with
my mom, who was still standing in the doorway and waving.
Frustrated, I begin pounding on an invisible wall, only to
end up in the back section of a station wagon, pounding on the back window,
with Mrs. Erickson driving in the front. Suddenly, the window shattered, and I began
falling into an abyss with the street lines following me. I could hear Mrs.
Erickson say, “If there is a problem, I’ll take them away.” at which time I awoke.
Normally, I would run to the adult’s room for some comfort,
something I had done a few times at the previous houses after a bad dream, but
because my door was locked, I ended up gazing out the window, trying to
understand the dream, until finally, it dawned on me that my mother wasn’t greeting
me or waving for my arrival; instead, she was waving goodbye. With that
realization, my eyes swelled up.
By the time Christmas arrived, a few days later,
Gary and I had received a set of new clothes. The dresser had also been emptied, giving us
room for our new outfits. The desk was also cleared of its contents, including
all the sharp objects and the glass ashtray.
The closet, however, remained locked. By early evening, music began to
fill the house, echoing through the vents and vibrating up through the floor,
rattling the windows. They were the familiar holiday songs amplified by a
musical symphony of sound.
Gary and I were alone in the room until we heard
the sound of someone unlocking the door. When it opened, the nanny stepped in,
and with her was Donte. She instructed
us to put on our best clothes, the ones already laid out for us on our
bed. She then left, locking the door
behind her, leaving Donte with us. He
was already dressed and eager to see Santa. As for me, I didn’t know what to expect or
what was waiting for us downstairs. After hearing the song “A Marshmallow
World” echoing through the house, I was curious as to what exactly a
marshmallow world
would look like, and I assumed I would find out once our door was opened and
free to go downstairs.
Eventually, our door was once again unlocked. Mr. Spector entered, and in his hand, he held
two clip-on ties. One he gave to Gary and the other to me. He also had one
regular tie, which he tied around Donte while Gary helped me clip on mine. When done with fastening the ties, Mr. Spector
stepped back, licked the tip of his thumb then wiped away any dirt on our faces
just as he did the first day we arrived.
He then brushed his fingers roughly through our hair, styling it until satisfied.
Then he invited all three of us to go downstairs with him.
Though Gary and I were eager to walk ahead, we anxiously
followed behind until we reached the bottom of the steps, at which time, Mr.
Spector stepped aside, allowing us to run freely towards the magnificent
Christmas tree, where Ronnie was patiently waiting. The hallway was dark, illuminated only by a few small characters on
the floor, creating a pathway to the foyer.
The tree, in its splendor, was covered in lights that were, at the time,
flashing on and off, something we couldn’t fully appreciate during the day. Because we were locked in our room during the
night, we never saw the tree lit up, so it was a spectacular sight for us to watch.
Piled under the tree were presents, each displaying name tags,
but before we had a chance to open any of them, music began to intensify as the library door
behind us suddenly opened. Standing in
the door frame, with a bag of presents, was Santa Claus in a bright red suit
with a pure white beard covering his face while shouting out, “HO! HO! HO!
He then vigorously searched his bag for a present to pull out,
shouting out the name on the tag. When
the bag was empty, Santa hung around long enough for Mr. Spector to take a few
photos. Some with Santa alone, a few with us along with Santa, but none with
Mr. or Mrs. Spector. During the
gathering around the tree for a photo, I recognized the face behind the thick,
white beard to be no other than George, the no-nonsense, stern man, but for the
first time, with a smile on his face. When there were no more presents to open,
we returned to our rooms with our new toys and outfits. Later, Mr. Spector
locked our doors, including Donte’s. However, before going to bed, I took a tag
from my pocket, one I snatched from one of my presents, and placed it on the
nightstand beside my bed. In big, bold
letters, the tag read, “To Louis, from Mom and Dad,” that was enough for me to
feel accepted into the family and be confirmed that I finally have a mother and
a father.
Side Note: This is not the finished version, some changes will take place.
