Nicole was a Mom. She put her kids first. She put everybody else first… My sister had the ability to live life, live it bright and live it large… She had fun.’
Even if I haven’t exactly been ‘living it large’ here at Nicole’s House as of late; I’ve certainly been having some ‘fun’ even though I have been so busy with moving furniture and shifting plant pots while packing away the toys and putting the cherished family photographs into temporary storage.
And the reason for this interior upheaval?
As today is All Hallows Eve and I’ve long wanted to host a spooky soirée here at Nicole’s House; I thought it would be a great idea to ‘brighten’ up the place with terracotta pots of gnarled tree branches, lashings of cobwebs, an colony of spiders, bats and other fantasy folk, an abundance of peevish pumpkins and with enough candy and cake in which to sink a ship, 12th scale or otherwise!
As Nicole was always known throughout her life as a devoted and loving mother who loved nothing more than to decorate her home for a party, I’d like to think that I’ve managed to capture just a ‘little’ of her inspirational creative spirit this All Hallows Eve.
Now, where did I put my plate of cake?
When witches go riding.
And black cats are seen.
The moon laughs and whispers
‘Tis near Halloween
I have loved this quote for as long as I can remember and with a passion for anything and everything to do with Halloween, I always wanted a black cat and was beyond thrilled when Minnie B came to live with us last year; even though she can get into the occasional spot of mischief which is usually when she wants to grab my attention or else she’s pestering for a few of my cat ‘treats’.
But, I remain smitten with her and now that she has been created in 12th scale by the talented Pearl from Literature in Miniature as a Little Big Cat; Minnie B is also the inspiration for this All Hallows Eve tale.
At first Minnie B had been very excited to have received her special invitation to the party at Nicole’s House for this All Hallows Eve but as the day arrived and even with the promise of lots of delicious cake; she was not her usual happy self.
As well as a passion for the creation of ‘Small Worlds’, the Regency world of the Poet Lord Byron and chocolate, I also have an enduring interest in the life and legacy of Nicole Brown Simpson.
“I just don’t see how our stories compare -I was so bad because I wore sweats & left shoes around & didn’t keep a perfect house or comb my hair the way you like it – or had dinner ready at the precise moment you walked through the door or that I just plain got on your nerves sometimes.
I just don’t see how that compares to infidelity, wife beating, verbal abuse…
I just don’t think everybody goes through this….
I called the cops to save my life whether you believe it or not..”
These are the harrowing words written by Nicole shortly before her brutal murder on Sunday June 12 1994 in the garden of her Brentwood home in Los Angeles as her two children were sleeping.
Nicole’s former husband NFL hero and celebrity O.J. Simpson was subsequently arrested, tried and acquitted of her murder and that of her friend Ronald Goldman in a relentless blaze of publicity the following year.
I began to read about Nicole shortly after her murder in 1994, she was the focus for the research and publication of my BA thesis in 1999 and I have been reading about her ever since.
She was also the inspiration behind the design of my “California style” ocean-front house 875 South Bundy Drive June 1994 and now known as ‘Nicole’s House’, which before you ask, is created in 12th scale!
In June 1994 and shortly before her brutal murder, Nicole was making plans to leave her home at 875 South Bundy Drive in Brentwood, Los Angeles in order to escape the abuse and obsession that had characterised her long relationship with O.J. Simpson and only days before her death, Nicole had seen a beach house in Malibu available for rent and she was excited and positive at the prospect of a move there with their children.
‘Nicole’s House’ is a House created in Miniature that tells several narratives:
Firstly, there is a recreation of some of the principle rooms at 875 South Bundy Drive as they were discovered in the early hours of Monday June 13 1994 as the investigation into the murders of Nicole and Ronald Lyle Goldman was underway.
The additional rooms are created as a tribute to the style and essence of Nicole who loved the style of interior design that has come to typify the “California Look”.
Finally, as we know that Nicole was planning a move to a beach house in Malibu, ‘Nicole’s House’ is a poignant reminder of “what could have been”.
Adieu for now!
Brentwood was definitely not my neck of the woods. The conventional wisdom about this upscale ‘hood was that it was a place where people air-kissed, compared implants, and did lunch. During my stint in Beverly Hills, I discovered that the cliches were pretty much true.
The hills north of Sunset were jammed with multimillion-dollar estates hidden behind many millions more dollars’ worth of landscaping. All to create the illusion of privacy. The farther north you went, and the higher you climbed into the hills, the narrower the streets became, and the more obscure the street signs were. I strained to find Rockingham Drive.
There was a cruiser parked up ahead, where a uniformed officer directed traffic. A few civilians milled around outside an iron security gate. Some of them had the nervous, unfed look of reporters. Still, the scene was not exactly bustling with activity. I got the impression that the main show had come and gone.
I slipped unnoticed past the press and through the gate, where I got my first look at the larger Tudor-style house overhung with old eucalyptus trees. The manicured grounds seemed to glow an unnatural shade of green in the midday light. In one corner of the lawn stood a child’s playhouse. O.J. Simpson might be a has-been, I thought, but he must still be bringing in serious bucks to manage the upkeep on this place.
A white Ford Bronco sat nosed into the curb on Rockingham. Extending up the driveway from the rear of the vehicle was a trail of reddish-brown spots. The rust-colored droplets stopped several yards short of the house. The front door was open and in the foyer I could see more droplets. They appeared to be blood. Gingerly, careful to disturb nothing, I stepped inside.
Search warrant or no, it always felt weird to me to walk into the house of a stranger. But there’s also a voyeuristic fascination: what a person chooses to surround himself with tells you a lot about him. This interior of O.J. Simpson’s house was exquisitely appointed with overstuffed white furniture, Lalique glass, and Berber carpeting. And yet the place gave off a faint odor of mildew and neglect.
“Hey, Marcia, come upstairs. I want to show you something.” It was Brad Roberts. I followed him up the spiral staircase, where the wall was lined with photographs, mostly shots of O.J. Simpson with various fat cats.
It was on that stairway that I got my first look at the face of Nicole Brown Simpson.
She was blond, with handsome, almost mannish, features. Her hair, teeth, and skin all had that gloss peculiar to the West Side elite. In some of the photos she was with a pair of lovely brown-skinned children, a boy and a girl. They all wore ski attire. Her face was difficult to read. The expression in all the photos was uniformly happy, but her eyes were glazed. She had – how would you describe it – a thousand-yard stare.
By now, I knew that the Simpson had been divorced for two years. I found it peculiar that he still had her pictures everywhere. The photos of my ex were long gone from the walls and end tables.
I peeked into the master bedroom suite. From that vantage point I could see only the top and one side of the bed. Brad Roberts knelt on the floor. He reached under the box spring and, using his fingertips, pulled out a framed photo. It showed Nicole and her husband in evening dress.
“Is that the way you found it?” I asked.
“Yep,” he replied. “Just like that. Facedown. Under the bed.”
“Make sure they get a photo of that.” I told him.
Marcia Clark Without a Doubt (New York: Penguin Books 1998)