This next story makes Yolanda Yakketyyak very happy. We’ve been carrying a bit of secondhand sadness, you see. Poor Camille Grammer. Our cold, dark heart bleeds for the gal. Dumped by her cheatin’ hubby, beat up by her underhanded ex-bf, forced to sell her big ass (and very beautiful) “Chateau de Grace” estate in the legendary Serra Retreat. Downgraded to a sad mock-Med in a luxurious but rather unheralded gated community.
Damn! You see? Even really rich folks suffer too.
As you may or may not recall, it was Yolanda who revealed that Ms. Grammer’s old house was purchased by her very-rich neighbor Wendy Hughes for $12,940,000. Ms. Grammer — a former Club MTV dancer and Playboy model turned former Real Housewives of Beverly Hills star — quickly laid out $3,282,000 for a much smaller house in a different community near the Paradise Cove and Point Dume areas of Malibu. It’s a far cry from her old spread, that’s for certain.
What a downgrade!
But don’t count our gurl out yet. Yolanda just happens to know that Ms. Grammer is determined to spend the big bucks again. To that end, she just laid out $6,550,000 through something called “The Sea Life View Trust” for an original 1950 house on Malibu Road, one of the city’s most desirable stretches of sand.
Ms. Grammer, so it would seem, plans to keep a family home up in the hills and a beach home down by the shore. That’s a pretty baller lifestyle, especially when the two residences in question cost a total of $9,838,000.
Here’s the house. Unassuming is an understatement. This is about as humble-looking as any $6.5 million house you’ll ever see. A straighforward two-car garage and a wooden fence (both poop brown) make up the front facade. An overgrown ficus (?) tree overwhelms the small front courtard.
The house also sports one of the most unconventional front entrances Yolanda has ever laid eyes on. A door leads directly into the courtyard. Down two flights of wooden stairs, there’s a terrace with painted brick and a wood-framed glass door that we believe is actually the main access point to the house.
Indoors is a bit retro with that tile/brick surrounding a built-in shag carpet.
Okay, so it’s admittedly very dated and not necessarily in a good way. But there’s potential here! Nearly floor-to-ceiling windows. Spacious rooms.
Good Lord. Yolanda half-expected to see our gurl Tiffany Case to saunter out of that bedroom and glamorously tumble down the carpeted stairs and into James Bond’s lap. By the way, 007 should not and hopefully never will be a lady. This is James Bond we’re talking about! That’s just sacrilege. (Seriously, what the hell is wrong with people?! But we digress…)
The master suite is unexpectedly gigantic. In fact, it encompasses the entire second floor of the main house. The bathroom is riotous ensemble with some sort of granite or marble countertops that valiantly vie for retina-shredding dominance over the red tile and the wonderfully heinous wallpaper.
In addition to the 2-bed, 1.5 bath main house there’s also a detached guest suite located off the courtyard. A wee bedroom and a three-quarter bathroom with cobalt blue tiles are shoved up in there. The mini-mini-mini compound totals 2,043 square feet on a minuscule .14-acre lot.
Of course, the real value in the property is not in the house or the land itself but rather the location and the spectacular views. Malibu Road has long been one of the most desirable stretches of sand in the city. And it likely always will be — that is until the Big One allows the ocean to reclaim its long-lost territory. Right now there’s a coveted 50 feet of beach frontage.
In addition to Ms. Grammer’s $10 millon property portfolio, Yolanda has one other secret tidbit to share.
You see, Ms. Grammer went down to see her new house this weekend. Just to check on everything, make sure the locks were locked, the bolts were bolted and the waves were still waving, you see. Typical stuff.
It was a sunny Saturday. A old Ford pickup went rumbling across the scorched desert that is the Pacific Coast Highway. The Allman Brothers were blasting on the truck’s stereo, the high fade of dust kicked up by its rattling wheels. Camille sat in the driver’s seat, one arm hanging lazily on the window, cigarette dangling off her lip, one boot up on the dash.
Camille got to her new Malibu shack. She sauntered in the courtyard door, slid down the stairs, kicked open the front door. She’s Camille Grammer, after all. No rusty hinges are gonna stand in the way of our Malibu real estate queen. She creaked up the creaky stairs. Then she gasped audibly. Out there in front of her, laid out on the bed, draped in furs, was her old dancin’ pal Tiffany Case. Tiffany half-opened her deep brown eyes. She looked over. A slow grin crept across her face.
“Tiff,” Camille breathed. “That you?”
Tiffany flicked open a half-empty pack of Marlboros and stuck one in between her bone-white teeth. “In the flesh, Cammy,” she said, lifting her right leg off the bed, her mink coat parting to reveal her naked porcelain-colored limb.
“Wh-what… who let… how’d you get in here?” Camille stammered.
Tiffany half-raised her right arm, snapped her fingers, and cocked her delicate left eyebrow. “Baby, that ain’t the issue in the world today. Don’t question this truth. Just believe. I’m gonna take you back to the top, baby.” she cooed. Gesturing to the house around her, she added, “Oh, and I’ve made some minor renovations to this box of bones.” Tiffany pointed to the new chrome stripper pole out by the balcony, glinting in the Malibu sunlight. “Made in Taiwan with the sturdiest stuff. Have at it, babe. Show Kelsey what he’s missin’.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” stuttered Camille, still more shaken by seeing her co-worker from the Dancing Daisy Dukes strip club in Duluth, GA after so many long, dreary years than by the new stripper pole. “You do it. Show me that ray of sunshine I crave.”
Sighing, Tiffany swung her lithe legs over to the carpeted floor. As she stood up, the furs fell away to reveal her true attire — a skintight satin cocktail dress cut dangerously close to her hip. She slipped on her Loutoutins, marched over the pole, threw down a routine that would’ve made Miley Cyrus salute.
Camille nodded her head, glassy eyes hidden behind oversized sunglasses and said “Yeah baby, that’s the stuff, that’s the stuff. You still got it. Stick with that routine and you’ll be on Club MTV before you know it.” Tiffany raised an eyebrow. “Cammy, babe, you know that Club MTV hasn’t been on in twenty-four years, right?” Camille frowned momentarily, her thoughts adrift in time. “Really?” Tiffany lit her cigarette, still intact and clenched between her teeth. “Yeah baby, not since 1992. You believe that?” Shuddering, Camille shook her head. “Man, I thought ’86 would never end.”
Tiffany exhaled a weary billow of smoke. “You and me both, kiddo. You and me both.”
Selling agent: Susan Cosentino, Sotheby’s International Realty
Camille Grammer’s agent: Janice Burns, Pinnacle Estate Properties