Barbara Taylor Bradford Lists Sutton Place Pad

SELLER: Robert and Barbara Taylor Bradford
LOCATION: New York City, NY
PRICE: $18,995,000
SIZE: 5,310 square feet, 4 bedrooms, 4.5 bathrooms

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: A week or so ago, Your Mama received a message from our pal Misty Mountain who pointed us in the direction of a listing for a large apartment at River House, one of New York's most elite cooperative buildings located in the swank but somewhat isolated Sutton Place neighborhood of Midtown Manhattan. Misty Mountain was quite certain, even adamant that the significantly sized apartment, listed at $18,995,000, is owned by producer Robert Bradford and bestselling authoress Barbara Taylor Bradford. A little digging around on the interweb and sure enough, just like Misty Mountain promised, the hoity toity and very expensive River House residence is indeed owned by Mister and Missus Bradford.

Missus Bradford, a still quite spry septuagenarian, first worked as a fashion editor in London before marrying Mister Taylor and moving to the United States in the early 1960s where she became a successful syndicated columnist (Designing Woman) who wrote ad infinitum about the ins and outs of tasteful interior day-core. She later wrote a slew of children's books based on stories from the Bible and–according to her own biography–8 books on home day-core including How to Solve Your Decorating Problems in 1976 and Luxury Designs for Apartment Living in 1983.

Although her vast fortune pales in comparison to J.K. Rowling's billion dollar bank account, and no one is going to mistake the novels Missus Bradford pumps out at an almost alarming rate as lit-ruh-chuh, British born and hard working Missus Bradford is none the less one of the wealthiest writers alive due to the screaming sales figures of her 25 novels that include 1979's wildly successful A Woman of Substance, as well as Angel, Another Town, Emma's Secret and her most recent book Breaking the Rules.

Combined, Missus Bradford's books have sold more than 80,000,000 copies in 90 countries and in 40 languages. Impressive statistics by any account. To date, ten of Missus Bradford's books have been made into movies or mini-series' for the boob-toob. Most (if not all) were, not surprisingly, produced by her huzband Robert Bradford, a former actor who among other credits sang on a number of songs for the original Wizard of Oz.

We confess to never having read one of Missus Bradford's books but based on their titles and cover art Your Mama would have to classify Missus Bradford's novels as shlocky romance affairs with complicated and interwoven story lines. (We're pretty certain she would have even less flattering words for Your Mama's admittedly limited abilities as a wordsmith.) However, according to Missus Bradford a book can not be judged by its cover (or title) and in a 2004 interview in the Palm Beach Post, she curtly corrected the interviewer telling him that she is "not" (emphasis in the original) a romance novelist but rather a "family saga writer." Your Mama's not going to argue with her self-characterization because not only is Missus Bradford a formidable woman but she's about 80 some million books more successful than Your Mama so, you know, who are we to judge?

Anyhoo, after a peep around the property records Your Mama can't quite sort out when Mister and Missus Bradford bought their cooperative apartment at River House but it was most certainly prior to 2006. Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Listing information for Mister and Missus Bradford's big ol' apartment at River House states it measures 5,310 square feet and includes 4 bedrooms and 4.5 poopers plus a sizable staff suite comprised of three bedrooms–two of which have been merged into one, a single pooper and a large laundry room.

A private elevator landing opens to a foyer, which in turn leads to the 18 foot wide and 29' 9" living room, all done up and did over in various shades of blush and beige. There are three windows over looking the East River, walls upholstered in cream colored silk, polished hard wood floors, and a fireplace. An adjacent bar room–that Your Mama thinks was unfortunately carved out of what was once a much larger gallery style foyer–is furnished with a banquette covered in tufted mushroom colored velvet, a burled occasional table that probably cost as much as Your Mama's big BMW, and a built in bar of mahogany with a brass foot rail and a trio of bar stools that appear to be screwed into the floors.

On one side of the living room we find the library, also with a fireplace and also did up in shades of blush and beige, and on the other side the really red and rather theatrical dining room with its view of the East River. Besides the red (silk covered) walls Missus Bradford, who is responsible for her own day-core, outfitted the room with a burled walnut table and matching chairs, striped fire engine red drapery–those, hunnies, are most certainly draperies and not curtains–an antique crystal chandelier, and moldings given a faux tortoise shell treatment using brown paint and gold leaf.

Other rooms in the Mister and Missus Bradford's River House residence include a blue sitting room where the Missus displays her collection of blue and white porcelain pieces from England and France and where during the apartment's decorative re-do Missus Bradford discovered, uncovered and restored a painted canvas in the over-door. The monochromatic linen and stone colored painted was installed by the apartments original owner and a second similar canvas was found (and restored) in the over door leading from the dining room to the living room.

A long corridor from the foyer leads to the three bedrooms which the childless Bradfords have re-purposed into a sitting room/dressing room for the Mister, an office where the Missus spends the bulk of her days pounding out her family sagas and, at the back of the apartment, a den or family room custom fitted with loads of shiny wood built-ins that house the electronic and boob-toob equipment.

The primary access to the couple's private quarters, we are sorry to say, requires an inelegant squeeze past the built-in bar in the "bar room." Had this "bar room" not been carved out of the original gallery entrance the entrance to the master suite would make a lot more sense from a programmatic point of view. As it is, the path to the master suite is, at best, clunky.

The master suite consists of a fair if not over-sized bedroom with cherry red wall to wall carpeting, raspberry colored silk upholstered walls, a rose colored chaise lounge, and pink and blue chintz valances and drapery that was also used in the making of the canopy over the head of the bed. Listen butter beans, we don't mean to be mean, but lo-ward have mercy, the Bradford's bedroom looks like the sort of thing one might find at the Madonna Inn. Now children, Your Mama loves us some of that campy hot mess that is the Madonna Inn where the themed rooms have nutty names like Barrell of Fun, Country Gentleman, Krazy Dazy, and the truly crazy and famous Caveman suite. But children Your Mama would never our self nor do we recommend anyone else actually work over their boo-dwar like it could be the Revolutionary Rose room at the damn Madonna Inn.

Missus Bradford's personal pooper is accessed through her dressing room, an octagonal room that hides three closets behind the paneled walls. Believe it or not chickens, the dressing room day-core shows a modicum of restraint despite the crystal chandelier, the myriad of carved floral accents, the dressing table draped in flowered fabric, the black lacquer chinoiserie style dresser, and silver leaf moldings.

The casually elegant ink slinger, still dishing a pleasantly lilting English accent even after nearly 50 years in the U.S., once took Joy Philbin–that would be the wife of television's most annoying talking head Regis Philbin–on a tour of her generously scaled if old-fashioned apartment during which she said, "Apartments or houses that are devoid of accessories tend to look like hotel rooms." Your Mama agrees with Missus Bradford that proper and well executed day-core should absolutely reflect the personality, interests and quirks of the owner. However and despite knowing as much about the nuances and traits of "traditional" day-core as we do about brain surgery, we dare-say that Missus Bradford might have been wise to have heeded the sage advice of the inestimable and laser sharp Coco Chanel who supposedly said something along the lines of, "Before leaving the house, a ladee should look in the mirror and remove at least one thing."

Anyhoo, given the utter improbability that a single person who resides at the seriously selective River House would ever consider allowing Your Mama, our long bodied bitches Linda and Beverly or our mean ol' pussy Sugar to even cross the threshold of the lobby let alone live up in the old pre-war dowager, our opinion is really of little import. Never the less we'd sooner chop off a couple fingers than live in that stodgy and staid beast of a building that's about a million miles from anything. In Manhattan terms, a million miles is like four or five blocks and four or five blocks might as well be a million miles in Manhattan. Who wants to schlep more than a block or maybe two (by foot, cab or car service) in order to snatch up a late night candy snack at the nearest bodega or Korean deli? Plus, there's practically no place to eat over there on the farthest east side of Midtown Manhattan besides a Mac-Donalds and the old-school French restaurant Le Perigord, neither of which is on Your Mama's preferred list of dine-in or take-out establishments.

The relative dearth of services might help to explain why River House, once the cream of the co-operative crop in Manhattan, has declined in residential desirability over the last decade or so. There is no question that River House, built in a stunning Art Deco style in the early 1930s, is impressive and by most people's standards prohibitively and ludicrously expensive. However, Your Mama sees Old Ladee River House like an aristocratic blue blood living in reduced circumstances who still shows up for lunch in an expensive but very old couture suit, a pair of scuffed up Ferragamo pumps, and the only emerald choker she hasn't had to hawk in order to keep the lights on and pay her pinch faced housekeeper Helen to keep her from seeking employment with a younger and wealthier woman.

Although it's not uncommon for River House residents to list their cribs with sky high prices excess of twelve or even twenty million clams, according to Street Easy (and Dana Rubenstein at the New York Observer) the single most expensive apartment to change hands in the last 6 years went for a mere $10,000,000. One agent who does the bidness in the building told Miss Rubenstein that 9 years ago, back when River House was still the shit for old money types looking to live among their own kind and new money types looking for an instant air of old money, an apartment traded for $12,500,000. That may be true but we find no easily accessible record of that transaction. Either way those selling prices are far below the asking numbers of 4 of the 5 spreads currently available on the open market at River house and make Your Mama think that the price tag on Mister and Missus Bradford's prairie like pad is, perhaps, a bit more than optimistic.

The most expensive apartment to be on the market recently belongs to former WorldCom director Francesco Galesi who spent a couple of unsuccessful years trying to unload his 16 room, 8 bedroom and 7.5 pooper penthouse with a blistering asking price of $35,000,000 and monthly maintenance charges coming in at a heart stopping $12,600. The doo-plex digs are no longer on the open market but that don't mean it isn't being quietly shopped around by one of the city's better connected real estate brokers. Mister Galesi, some of the children may recall, is the very same guy who sold Calvin Klein a grotesquely towered and turreted $29,000,000 tear down in Southampton that the fashion diva is in the process of replacing with a sensationally sleek Michael Haverland designed compound.

Philanthropist and theater maven Laura Pels has her sprawling spread on the market at $24,500,000 (reduced from $29,000,000) making it the highest priced place currently on the open market at River House. Miz Pels' pad, according to listing information, includes 4 family bedrooms, 4 fireplaces, 3 poopers (plus a staff suite with servant's hall, laundry facilities, double sized bedroom and private pooper), 2 balconies hanging over the river and a large set back terrace accessible only through bedrooms and the library.

No run-down of apartments for sale at River House, no matter how brief, would be complete without mentioning Broadway producer Marty Richards epic struggle to off-load his queenly 14-room maisonette unit since about the time dinosaurs roamed the earth. The doo-plex digs, first listed 10 or so years ago, have been priced as high as $29,000,000 and as low as $11,500,000. Miss Richards has reportedly had several buyers enter into contract for the colossal penthouse but none of the deals were fully consummated. Miss Richards remains, as far as Your Mama knows, in residence and his penthouse now carries an asking price of $13,900,000.

Some of River House's earliest residents included illustrious, old-money New York names like Cornelius Vanderbilt Whitney, retail tycoon Marshall Field III, William Rhinelander Stewart, Jr., James A. Burden, Jr. and Huntington Hartford, the entrepreneurial heir to the A&P supermarket fortune and the man who once owned the land that is now the dog walking paradise of Runyon Canyon in Los Angeles. More recent former residents have included actress/heiress Dina Merrill (her mother was Mrs. E.F. Hutton dontcha know) who moved out in the late 1990s, former head of Tiffany & Co. Walter Hoving, Susan and John Gutfruend who decamped for a beast of a doo-plex at 834 Fifth Avenue and who recently put their pied a terre in Paris on the market.

Current residents of River House, according to city records and previous reports, include the always controversial political powerhouse Henry Kissinger who has lived up in River House forevuh, and a lot of bankers and financiers such as Alexander Navab, Leslie Bains, and Jeffrey Leeds who paid $10,000,000 for the apartment of Blackstone Group's Pete Peterson. The younger set at River House includes old New York money scion Kiliaen Van Rensselaer and young socials Brook and Ferebee Taube.

Where Mister and Missus Bradford will hole up next is any one's guess-or at least it's not known to Your Mama. Perhaps they'll head across the pond to the Missus' homeland, maybe they've decided they don't really need such a grand home and are looking to downsize or perhaps they'll move on down to Palm Beach and live out their remaining days surrounded by the same sort of old money blue bloods, big bizness barons and Wall Street tycoons who have typically inhabited both River House and Palm Beach.

Judd Apatow Lists Unfunny House

SELLER: Judd Apatow and Leslie Mann
LOCATION: Pacific Palisades, CA
PRICE: $6,495,000
SIZE: 6,018 square feet, 5 bedrooms, 5.5 bathrooms

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Your Mama spent the morning fielding an influx of covert communiques from a number well placed real estate people on the West Side of Los Angeles who kindly and thoughtfully let us know that low-brow comedy king Judd Apatow and his wife Leslie Mann have listed their Pacific Palisades property with an asking price of $6,495,000.

In the 1990s Judd Apatow wrote and produced a myriad boob-toob programs like The Ben Stiller Show, The Larry Sanders Show and Freaks and Geeks. In the 2000s Mister Apatow moved over to making movies scoring huge hits with The 40 Year Old Virgin, Knocked Up, and Pineapple Express. A few nimble flicks of the beads on Your Mama's bejeweled abacus and we discover that just those three movies alone did a combined and colossal $498,080,006 in world wide box office. That kind of bizness in less than 5 years times means Mister Apatow and can write his own ticket in Tinseltown, hunnies.

In addition to making the already rich Mister Apatow filthy stinking rich, his raging success making movies about dimwitted dweebs and torpid tokers also meant that he and the Missus–an actress who, not surprisingly, makes appearances in many of her huzband's motion picture projects–needed a new house to match their new super wealth and his new-found status as one of Hollywood's hardcore power players.

Property records reveal Mister and Missus Apatow bought their Pacific Palisades starter estate in February of 2003, forking over $4,474,000 for the perfectly private property located at the tail end of a gated cul-de-sac. Listing information indicates the gated mini-estate encompasses nearly an acre of land and a manse that measures 6,018 square feet with 4 family bedrooms, each with en suite bathing and terliting facilities, a powder pooper, and a separate staff suite with its own private pooper.

The double height entrance hall with its gently curving Scarlett O'Hara style staircase and glossy parquet flooring sets the mood and decorative language of the house and, children, the style is decidedly grown up and not even remotely comical. It's not that Your Mama thought the Apatows would cotton to a type of day-core that has Jack-in-the-Boxes popping up out of the shrubbery when the doorbell gets rung, but seriously people, there ain't a hookah or a bong to be seen anywhere.

In addition to a paneled library that, according to listing information, has a fireplace and built in bookshelves, the Apatow's soon to be former home has a formal dining room, a narrow, state of the art movie theater with raked seating and what looks like a gold-leafed ceiling treatment, and a secret room. Of course, Your Mama don't know an I-talian from an iPhone, but we have to assume the secret room is a panic room of some sort since panic rooms have become both trendy and de rigueur in the fancy (and not so fancy) homes owned by the rich, the famous and the paranoid.

The open plan eat-in kitchen has a high flat ceiling criss-crossed by rough hewn wood beams, a built in breakfast booth wrapped in a row tall eight-pane windows, high-grade stainless steel appliances including a multi-burner mac-daddy Wolf brand range, a butler's pantry with a temperature controlled wine cellar and, hanging above the hulking work island with its delicate feet, an sparkly crystal chandelier. We could–it should not surprise the children to know–do without the sparkly chandelier and the dainty feet on the work island. Oh, let's be honest buttons. As well equipped and expensive as this kitchen clearly is, there's really nothing in there that's Your Mama's personal taste. But that's really no matter because we're not in the market for this house or any other six and a half million clam casa. Anyhoo, the kitchen is open to the adjacent family room that, according to listing information, features some vaulted and and beamed ceilings, a fireplace and French doors that open to a stone patio that in turns gives way to the backyard.

In addition to a fully done up and did over playroom with a pink and white checkerboard flooring, a puny built-in stage complete with a fringed velvet curtain, and a child-sized play kitchen, the second floor includes the master suite, painted the palest shade of blush Your Mama has ever seen, that features a fireplace with a flat screen tee-vee mounted above it, a private ocean view balcony, a "lavish" pooper, and 2 large custom fitted closets.

There are several patios and terraces off the back of the house that lead to the flat backyard where the Apatows have a flat grassy pad with a jungle gym that probably cost more than Your Mama and the Dr. Cooter's monthly mortgage and a stone terrace that surrounds a simple rectangular shaped swimming pool and spa. Beyond the gardener maintained grounds, the land falls off into the rough and tumble of a canyon that funnels the eye to an ocean view that, while not panoramic, offers a charming whitewater and Queen's Necklace view of the beach as it curves around and turns from Pacific Palisades into Santa Monica. On a clear day, it's probably possible to see the Santa Monica Pier.
Your Mama does not know if the Apatow clan has decamped for new digs or not, but we do know that they purchased a new family nest nearly a year ago. In early July of 2009, some of the children who haven't fried their brain on the dope may recall, Your Mama passed along a juicy morsel of real estate rumor and gossip that we got from a frightfully well connected source who snitched that Mister and Missus Apatow were fixin' to spend around $20,000,000 to purchase the home (and every stick of furniture in the home) of tee-vee producer Marty Adelstein (Prison Break, Point Pleasant, Tru Calling). Records and previous reports reveal they paid $18,250,000 for the estate. While we don't know if that number includes the purchase of the furniture, we have it on good authority–and from previous reports–that property was never on the open market. The Apatow's new homestead, located in a very desirable section of lower Brentwood and built in 2006 in the style of Los Angeles' legendary architect Paul Williams, weighs in at a Hollywood honcho sized 10,341 square feet and includes 5 bedrooms and 8 poopers mansion (above)

Property records show that Mister and Missus Apatow also own a swank condo at the Hualalai Resort just outside Kailua-Kona on the big island of Hawaii that they purchased in January of 2009 for $4,900,000. This is the same development where Cher recently sold a newly built and never occupied compound for $8,720,000.

source: David Offer, Prudential CA Brentwood / photos Lee Manning Photography

Another Beverly Park Beast Goes Up for Sale

SELLER: A Bit of a Mystery Maybe (But See Below)
LOCATION: Beverly Hills, CA
PRICE: $21,995,000
SIZE: 29,069 square feet (approx.), 18 bedrooms, 28 bathrooms

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: It's not unusual for a big ol' beast of a residence in the 24-hour guard gated Beverly Park community to come up for sale. In just the last couple of years alone there have been a multitude of multi-millionaires looking to unload their boo-teek hotel sized homes. This group of sellers includes (but is not limited to): Hollywood honcho Mike Medavoy, who first listed his East Coast style mansion in 2007 at $23,500,000 and sold it in the fall of 2009 for about half that amount; Property developer George Santopietro–that would be Vanna White's ex-man mate–who spec-built a 9 bedroom and 15 pooper pile, listed it at $50,000,000, leased it to Prince for a rumored $200,000 per month and has it currently listed at $29,500,000; Rockstar Energy drink founder Russ Weiner currently has his Beverly Park bachelor pad listed at $28,000,000; The mansion of country music superstars Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, whose manse was last listed at $10,800,000, is currently in escrow; Porn purveyor Norm Zada, whose Beverly Park spread recently fell out of escrow after being tied up for months, recently put his very contemporary compound back on the market with a price tag of $19,500,000, five million clams less its original asking price of $24,500,000; And let's not forget property developer Robert Bisno, who made enemies of his Beverly Park neighbors when he installed a sculpture in the center of his motor court that looked an awful lot like a woman with her legs up in the air in a not very dignified manner and who lost his house last year in an ugly and protracted foreclosure brouhaha.

The newest estate to be put up for sale in the eye poppingly opulent Beverly Hills community of colossal cribs–where real estate size queens go to manifest their mega-mansion dreams–is a 3.03 acre spread with a coral colored Italianate mansion that recently landed on the open market with an asking price of $21,995,000. Your Mama knows we are a little late to the rodeo on this one children, the property having already been discussed here, there and just about everywhere that cares about obscenely sized and insanely expensive mansions. However, we hope to shed a little light on some of the darker corners of this property as regards to its ownership.

But before we get to that, let's cover some of the numbers. At 29,069 square feet, the mansion is large even by Beverly Park standards. This isn't, however and in actuality, a 29,069 square foot single family residence but rather a two-family affair with two (approximately) 15,000 square foot side-by-side and attached mansions. Altogether, according to listing information, the two mansions contain 18 bedrooms and a staggering 28 poopers. The children will note that the Los Angeles tax man shows the manse measures 26,116 square feet and includes 18 bedrooms and 28 poopers. Either way it's ginormous and has a staggering number of bedrooms and bathrooms

This morning, chit-chatting with our imperious and sometimes theatrical house gurl Svetlana while she attached our morning I.V. drip of liberally sugared coffee, we mentioned that there were at least 25 and perhaps as many as 28 terlits between these two houses. All of the sudden ol' Svetlana let out a gutteral and inhuman screech, dropped to the floor in convulsive fits and started speaking in tongues. Your Mama had never seen Svetlana speak in tongues–shmalla holla da lalla shocka muhlocka heeny hiney ho–so we were, to say the least, freaked out. After about four minutes of her unrestrained hysteria, Sveta leaped up and ran from the house howling and hollering that she would rather be a charwoman than scrub 25 terlits every damn day. She's yet to come back and we'd be a wee bit worried except every now and then we can hear an all too familiar screech from up in the scrubby hills behind our house that assures us that our dear Svetlana hasn't gone far and will come home when the shock and awe subsides.

Anyhoo, a single electronically controlled drive gate gives way to two motor courts where each mansion has its own private garages and entrances. Listing information states that each mansion claims its own 2-story story foyer, generously sized living spaces, arched hallways, kitchen quarters and a slew of bedroom suites with private poopers. The meticulously groomed grounds have not been divided and contain just one swimming pool with an adjacent cabana and changing area that is shared by both mansions. There is not a tennis court, which is a real shame because for twenty million bucks Your Mama wants to be able to have Ivan the tennis pro come to the house for our private lessons on swatting balls with big rackets.

Although preposterously long and a little squat looking, the exterior articulation isn't entirely unpleasant. There are, we find, a number attractive architectural moments. Plus, we rather like the muted but still bold coral exterior. We feel, however, less charitable about the interior day-core. The interiors are, as expected, grand in scale and heavy on not always necessary architectural details, at least in some rooms, but the day-core is surprisingly spare and unexpectedly contemporary in style. While Your Mama is positively beside our self with glee not to find the sort of faux Tuscan decorative tragedy we're used to finding over-sized suburban mega-mansions, we're also utterly shocked to find a vermilion colored sitting room with a series of gilded frames on the walls, a Fortuny chandelier and an aggressively minimalist fireplace surround painted a slightly lighter shade of vermilion. Your Mama does loves us a minimalist fireplace surround and we are nuts about the color vermilion, a shade of orange that's full of chutzpah and that in the right hands works in the right circumstances. However, as glorious as the color may be, it's simply not working on any level with those beige overstuffed arm chairs and, horror of all furniture horrors, that cheap looking and profoundly problematic floral davenport.

No less shocking or unnerving is the woven grass wall covering in one of the mansions' dining rooms and even more upsetting still is the painting of the red urn. Who buys a perfectly pedestrian painting like that and thinks it's appropriate to hang it in a twenty million dollar two family house? The damn thing looks like something anyone can find at their local Salvation Army, which is, quite frankly, were it belongs.

There are "concept plans," according to listing information, for converting the two mansions into one gigantic single family house. Honestly chickens, in this day and age of less is more, who'd really want to do that? Then again, there are and probably always will be wildly wealthy real estate size queens who find it a punishment to live in less than 15,000 square feet and who care not a whit about the high cost or environmental ramifications of heating, cooling and maintaining a private house the size of an international damn airport.

As far as Your Mama can tell, the first folks to blab about the newly listed Beverly Park behemoth were the peeps at Guest of a Guest who called the property a "stunner" and who did not–or perhaps were unable to–identify the seller. Your Mama would certainly not be surprised if the peeps at G of a G were unable to identify the seller because–lo-ward have mercy–the property records are nothing if not complicating and discombobulating even for an old school property record reader like Your Mama.

Your Mama wishes we could speak with 100% authority regarding the ownership of this two-family mega mansion in Beverly Park, but we can't. Not really anyway. None the less, based on a thorough study of the public property records available to us and–more importantly–a couple of secret confabs with a few folks with detailed knowledge of the denizens of Beverly Park, we think we've been able to pinpoint the owner. It's certainly no secret among real estate watchers and property gossips in Los Angeles (and beyond) that several of the estates in Beverly Park are owned by Saudi royals and our best guess as to the owner's identity is (Saudi Crown) Prince Abdul Aziz Bin Abdullah whose father is King Abdullah Bin Abdulaziz Bin Abdulrahman Bin Faisal Bin Turki Bin Abdullah Bin Mohammed Bin Saud, otherwise known as the current King of Saudi Arabia.

We come to that conclusion because we actually found the name "A, Abdullah Prince Abdul" on some public tax records. That said, it's mind boggling and nearly impossible for us to say with 100% authority that the two-family mansion is owned (Saudi Crown) Prince Abdul Aziz Bin Abdullah whose father is King Abdullah Bin Abdulaziz Bin Abdulrahman Bin Faisal Bin Turki Bin Abdullah Bin Mohammed Bin Saud, otherwise known as the current King of Saudi Arabia because so many of these members of the Saudi royal family have nearly identical names or full names that incorporate a jumbled series of the same names. For example, we might find the name Prince Turki al Saud bin Faisal bin Abdullah and we might find the name Prince Abdullah bin Faisal bin Turki al Saud. And since we're not privvy to or knowledgeable of the nuances of Saudi royal family naming practices we would not for the life of us know if those would be the same person or two different people. Are y'all as upsettingly perplexed as Your Mama? Yes, well, it doesn't get any clearer so do your best to keep up.

Based on our research, in addition to the two-family spread currently on the market, Saudi royals own two other residential beasts in Beverly Park, one a 16,520 square foot pile with 8 bedrooms and 17 poopers and another with 26,072 square feet of interior space and an unknown number of bedrooms and poopers. The two estates owned by Saudi royals that are not currently for sale appear to be owned by either (Saudi) Prince Turki Bin Faisal Al Saud, a nephew of King Abdullah Bin Abdulaziz Bin Abdulrahman Bin Faisal Bin Turki Bin Abdullah Bin Mohammed Bin Saud, otherwise known as the current King of Saudi Arabia or, possibly, by the King himself. There again we run into the problem of close relatives having nearly identical names.

Listen butter beans, if it wasn't clear before then it should be now that Your Mama really don't know a cookie jar from a Fendi clutch and we are just grasping at straws based on the the unclear information we obtained from the property records and information provided to us by usually very reliable sources. At some point we imagine someone will be able to sort out just which Saudi royal owns which estate, but until then we're going to keep on keepin' on and head on over to the bar to make us a big and stiff gin & tonic to soother our oh so addled brains.

source: David Kramer / Hilton & Hyland

Going, Going, Gone...Sort of

Last week Your Mama, once again and for the 407th time, discussed the real estate melodrama swirling around financially embattled actor Nic Cage. At that time we reported Mister Cage's primary residence–a storied Gerard Colcord designed mansion in Bel Air previously owned by booze sippin' singer Dean Martin and later by Sex Bomb singer Tom Jones–was scheduled to be auctioned at the courthouse in Pomona, CA. There were, according to the L.A. Times, 6 loans secured by the Bel Air estate totaling $18,000,000 and records show a minimum bid for the auction was set at $11,004,089.

Late last night word began slipping down the real estate gossip grapevine that not only did no one with big bucks or a sense of real estate altruism show up willing to cough up eleven and some million clams for the big house in Bel Air, but also that a couple of contiguous parcels* owned by Mister Cage and located high in the hills of Malee-boo were also up on the auction block.

We knew, of course, that Mister Cage owned a large swathe of mostly undeveloped land in the mountains of Malibu, but Your Mama was totally ignorant about them being in foreclosure. A quick poke around the public records this morning reveals that Mister Cage's Malee-boo acreage was indeed in foreclosure and scheduled to be auctioned with the minimum bid set at $12,722,408. But alas, no one with any big bucks or a sense of real estate altruism showed up to buy the land in Malee-boo either.

It's pretty safe to assume that the new owner–that would be the bank–will re-list the properties and try to sell them tout de suite in order to recoup their failed investment and maybe–if they're lucky and only if they're very lucky–some of the other many folks who lent Mister Cage money with his Bel Air and Malee-boo properties as collateral may get a few of their pennies back. Presumably the bank already has a style guru over at the Bel Air mansion organizing an industrial strength clear out of all Mister Cage's crazy knick knacks and paddy whacks that altogether added up to a decorative style that was cattily but accurately called, "frat house bordello" by real estate agent and author Bret Parsons in an interview with the gal at the L.A. Times.

The bad news in all this nonsense is that, of course, Mister Cage and his family now need a new home in which to live. Unfortunately he can't move in with mommy because Your Mama heard from a sharp tongued real estate diva in Beverly Hills that he sold his mother's house in Beachwood Canyon and moved her into the Bel Air manse. Uh oh. The good side of all this property shenanigans and auction madness–and why not try to see a good side in all this real estate ugliness children?–is that Mister Cage is finally relieved of his financial responsibilities for these properties that were clearly draining his beleaguered bank accounts.

*The property records are, unfortunately, unclear and have Your Mama all twisted up, confounded and confused. Depending on where you look we find that Mister Cage's Malibu holdings consisted of either 2 parcels totaling 160 acres or possibly three parcels totaling 320 acres. It don't really matter which is correct anymore because poor Mister Cage has been relieved of his financial obligations to the properties, however many and whatever size they may be.

Miley's Moving Out (or Soon Will Be Anyway)

BUYER: Miley Cyrus
LOCATION: Toluca Lake, CA
PRICE: $3,400,000
SIZE: 4,045 square feet, 4 bedrooms, 4.5 bathrooms

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Over the last few weeks Your Mama has been getting all kinds of queries and questions from the children about Disney diva Miley Cyrus. Apparently everyone but Your Mama already knew that little Miss Hannah Montana went and bought herself a new damn house even though the wee lassie ain't even 18 years old.

So, in an effort to do our duty as a celebrity real estate gossip in good standing who wants to give our teener and tweener readers something to pee their pants about, Your Mama put out some real estate feelers. Admittedly we didn't try all that hard because, well, Your Mama finds Little Miss Miley about as inneresting as a pair of pleated khaki pants. None the less and sure enough, a little digging, a bit of poking and a couple of quick calls to a few of our better informed snitches revealed that Little Miss Miley did indeed buy her first house.

According to records we accessed, Little Miss 17 year old Miley Cyrus didn't just buy a starter home, she forked over a very grown up $3,400,000 for a Spanish hacienda style house in Toluca Lake, CA. Property records also reveal that Little Miss Miley actually bought the property, which happens to be shouting distance from her parents' Toluca Lake home, way back in April of 2009, so it's sort of strange and surprising this is all just coming out now, a full year later.

According to listing information Your Mama managed to wring out of Babbling Babette, the walled, gated and soo-premely private mini-manse sits down a long driveway on a nearly 1 acre parcel that includes a large motor court with garage parking for four automobiles, expansive lawns shaded by mature trees, a tennis court in the front yard, and a swimming pool and spa in the backyard.

The single story main house measures 4,045 square feet according to listing information and includes a spacious living room with a fireplace–1 of 2 in the main house–and a wall of glass looking out on the grounds. Other rooms include a formal dining room with French doors that open to the yard, a wood-paneled study, and a cooks kitchen with a center island, granite counter tops, several sky lights, and a menu planning area with French doors that open to a covered dining terrace. An adjacent breakfast room is wrapped in glass that looks out over the backyard.

At the time Little Miss Miley purchased her new pad, there was a detached guest house with a coffered ceiling and fireplace in the living room, a wet bar, 2 bedrooms and a custom tiled pooper. Your Mama heard yesterday from two separate and unrelated sources that Little Miss Miley has already had a recording studio installed on the property and it would seem this guest house would be the most logical place to put it. But then again, what does Your Mama know? We don't know a zipper from a bag of kitty kibble so for all we know she put the damn recording studio in the kitchen.

Anyhoo, listing information indicates there are 4 bedrooms and 4.5 poopers in the main house including an over-sized and celebrity style master suite that, according to listing information, has a wood beamed and vaulted ceiling, a wardrobe room, French doors that open out to a private patio and dual poopers, one for the teen queen and one, perhaps, for her slightly older and well formed boy-beau from Down Under Liam Hemsworth who, it has been rumored and speculated just might be moving in with Little Miss Miley. Your Mama highly doubts that bit o' scuttlebutt. However, the baby beehawtcha will be 18 years old in November and at that point she can make whatever choices she wants in regards to living in sin with young Mister Hemsworth or not.

In the early 2000s, the Little Miss Miley's new crib was owned by Freddie Prince Jr. But children, it's a bit tough for Your Mama to imagine such a young looker like Mister Prince actually lived in this house. Your Mama has seen the inside of this house–don't ask–and at the time Little Miss Cyrus purchased the property it was in need of a serious updating and upgrading because the interiors were dog tired. Actually, they were more than tired, they were plum worn out and working on their last breath of dignity and good taste. We're talking about a wall of mirrors in one of the two master poopers that infinitely reflected the terlit and a massive blue onyx (or marble or whatever) soaking tub with gold fixtures. How's that for a frightening?

It's with all sincerity that Your Mama hopes and imagines that Little Miss Cyrus is or will be having some cosmetic work done on her new house that includes tearing up the old carpet in the master bedroom, ripping down the brass chandelier in the breakfast room and adding a youthful quality to a house that feels–or felt–very much like the home of old people. We know that Little Miss Miley's mother Tish (or Tisch or whatever) has a bit of the decorator in her, but we'd also recommend that L.M.M. hire a nice, gay decorator of her own to help her whip the house into shape.

Now then, Miley, hunny, listen to Your Mama here because we only have the best intentions with our offering of this valuable tidbit of sage decorative advice: We know you did an inappropriately adult pole dance at the Teen Choice Awards last year, but do not go the route of some of the other too rich too young starlets in Tinseltown who made the grievous mistake of having a stripper pole installed in their homes. (Are you listening Paris Hilton?).

A stripper pole installed in a private home is not cute. It's trashy. In fact, it's the very definition of trashy. Look up trashy in the dictionary and if it doesn't it ought to have a picture of a stripper pole installed some one's bedroom or, even worse, in some one's living room. So take note Little Miss Miley, Rule #17 of Your Mama's big book of decorative dos and don'ts states that no home shall be punished with a stripper pole installed in any room of the house or anywhere on the property unless the owner of the home is, in fact, a stripper who earns a living working the pole or the homeowner wants her (or his) friends to think she (or he) is a slut. Okaaay?

The children can bet everything they own that Little Miss Miley and her proud parents–not to mention Disney executives who want to protect their cash cow–have spared no expense installing the finest and meanest damn security system known to (wo)man so any of you morons who get a wild hair to hop in your hoopdies and head over to Toluca Lake to have a look-see at Miss Miley's front gates best beware that not only will your "visit" not be appreciated it will most likely be filmed, documented and cataloged.

In addition to the family's big house in Toluca Lake and now Little Miss Miley's new digs around the corner, the Cyrus family also own a 200 and some acre spread about 30 miles south of Nashville in tiny Thompson's Station, Tennessee where, according to property records, they occupy a 7,850 square foot plantation style mansion with 5 bedrooms and 5 poopers.

Little Miss Miley's new nest is not only just around the corner from her family's west coast homestead, it's surrounded by a slew of famous folks like Steve Carrell, fellow teen queens Ashley Tisdale and Demi Lovato, the Jonas Brothers (or at least the house the were leasing last year), Hilary and Haylie Duff, the inestimable Swoosie Kurtz, Jennie Garth and Peter Facinelli, Andy Garcia, that poor Jennifer Love Hewitt ladeee, Dweezil Zappa and celebrity hairdresser Jonathan Antin whose ranch style house was recently but no longer appears to be listed at $1,999,000.

photo: Pacific Coast News

Colorful Cojo's Neutral Colored Crib Goes on the Block

SELLER: Steven Cojocaru
LOCATION: Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $3,395,000
SIZE: 3,850 square feet, 3 bedrooms, 3.5 bathrooms

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Everyone who has ever laid eyes on flamboyant fashion critic Steven Cojocaru surely knows that the gender bending man-gurl loves nothing more than his hard working flat iron, over-stuffed make up case and closet full of shiny suits. So when Your Mama came across this preening peacock's home in the Hollywood Hills that was recently listed with an asking price of $3,395,000, we were laid out flat by its seriously strict adherence to a neutral colored day-core. Steven, hunny gurl, where's all the glitz, the glamour, the tinsel and the sequins? Where's the purple satin duvets, leopord print carpeting and gold lamé terlit seat covers?

The fluttering and florid Misss Cojocaru, who bears a striking resemblance to Chaz Bono and whose stock in professional trade seems to be screeching and squealing through celebrity interviews like he's doing gurl talk at the nail salon, was just a queer kid in Canada before he hightailed it to Hollywood to pursue a life of fashion and glamour. He ended up as the West Coast fashion editor for People Magazine before moving on to the big time at the Today Show where for five long years he flirted shamelessly with Matt Lauer and worked his campy stuff as a style correspondent.

The toothy tornado of red carpet sartorialism was let go from the Today Show in 2005 just weeks after he underwent kidney transplant surgery. Miss Cojo, in case y'all did not know, has had two kidney transplants, one he got from his bff and another he got from his mommy dearest. That's why She-ra went from being slim like a stalk of malnourished celery to puffed up like sweet potato. Anyhoo, like a gleaming and glossy Phoenix with giant veneers and ladee hair, Steven Cojocaru rose from the ashes of two transplants and the wicked indignity of the Today Show and went on to spread his particular and peculiar brand of fashion advice and criticism on celebrity love-festing programs such as Entertainment Tonight, E! and Access Hollywood. Along the way he wrote a couple of books (Red Carpet Diaries: Confessions of a Glamour Boy and Glamour, Interrupted), started up his own high-sterical and snarky blog–he geniusly compared Real Housewives of New York City's Kelly Bensimon to a charred skirt steak–and, of course, kept that industrial strength flat iron working overtime.

Your Mama actually wrote about Miss Cojocaru's crib above the Sunset Strip back in August of 2007, This was actually several months after he purchased the property for, according to property records, $3,800,000. Of course, until Little Stevie gives us a ringy-dingy to fill us in on the deets we don't know why he'd want to sell this house–or lease it out for $20,000 per month–after only about 2.5 years of owning the home. It's even more puzzling given that he bought at the tippy top of what was then a scorching real estate market that has since cooled considerably and, according to our bejewled abacus, he's lined up to lose at least $405,000 not counting the fat real estate fees that will need to be paid.

Whatever the reasons, listing information calls the "mid-century modern" a "former celebrity retreat" and the property was indeed owned by actor Brock Peters (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Batman, The Pirates of Dark Water, and To Kill a Mockingbird) until his death in August of 2005. The house was then purchased by an investor who worked it over and flipped it to Miss Cojocaru. The 3,850 square foot butterfly-roofed house, which was built in 1955 according to listing information, sits down a gated driveway on a perfectly private .28 acre flag lot and includes 3 bedrooms and 3.5 dee-luxe poopers.

The open plan and tasteful if boringly beige interior spaces include a living room with a monolithic stacked stone fireplace, a pitched and beamed wood ceiling, hardwood floors, a tan area rug, and one of the biggest damn sectional sofas Your Mama has ever seen. A wall of glass sliders wraps around the living room, runs past the dining area with its cardboard box shaped chandelier and gigantic Parson's style table and around to the well-equipped kitchen which has chestnut colored flat panel cabinetry, sand colored counter tops, ecru colored tile back splash and a full complement of high grade stainless steel appliances including a dee-lishus blue knobbed, six burner Thermador range.

Miss Cojocaru's nest also features, according to listing information, an office and a sizable screening room with wall to wall deep shag carpeting–in pale beige, natch–a lot of low and clean lined milk chocolate colored leather sofas and chairs and, we are sorry to say, one of those stoopid old-fashioned popcorn makers shoved up in the corner that makes the whole thing look utterly cheap and ridiculous. We're sorry Cojo dear, Your Mama lurvs you like a kitten that faux-antique popcorn making piece of crap makes us want to puke from the insulting decorative cliché of putting a popcorn maker in a screening room. Pleeze.

Anyhoo, each of the three bedrooms has a private pooper and the large master bedroom also has a very moe-derne and organic stainless steel fireplace that hangs from the beamed wood ceiling, a sky light or two, more light beige shag wall to wall carpeting, sliding glass doors that open to a gravel patio and wall of privacy creating bamboo. The master pooper, a long linear affair, has double sinks, a small wall mounted boob-toob, dark stained built in cabinetry and a free-standing egg-shaped soaking tub that's, stylistically, having a conversation with the fireplace in the bedroom area.

The small but adequately sized back yard is, as fer as Your Mama is concerned, lovely except for the traffic noise that probably wafts up from curvy swervy Sunset Plaza Drive below. A terrace just off the living room, furnished with a contemporary wicker dining room table, chairs and chaise lounges, leads to a gravel pad surrounded on two sides by a big built in bench. A raised spa with midnight blue tile spills down into the infinity edged swimming pool. The clever siting gives the illusion that Miss Cojocaru's house is way up in the hills with nary a neighbor to be seen.

Miss Cojocaru's nearby neighbors–as the crow flies–include Johnny Mathis, Penelope Cruz, Rachel Lee Cook, Megan Mullally and Jason Statham and sister screaming queen Richard Simmons.

source: Val Riolo for Judy Feder, Nourmand & Associates Beverly Hills

Susan and John Gutfreund Seek to Sell Parisian Apartment

SELLER: Susan and John Gutfreund
LOCATION: Left Bank, Paris, France,
SIZE: 5,446 square feet
PRICE: Unknown but no doubt an amount that would melt Your Mama's mind

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: There really is no place Your Mama loves more than Paris on the early side of spring when the skies sometimes stay gray all day, the streets glisten with damp and dew, the still bare trees bristle and snap against the stiff wind, and the heaps and hordes of summertime tourists have yet to arrive en masse to clutter up the cafés of the Marais and all the art loving hipsters make it nearly impossible to navigate through the uh-may-zing Palais de Tokyo.

So let's go there butter beans–at least in our little booze addled brains–to Paris, where thanks to mon frère Fabian Francophile we've learned that scandalized American financier John Gutfreund and his happy hostess and homemaker wife Susan recently heaved their palatial and posh pad in Paris's wealthy and elegant 7th arrondissement onto the open market with an undisclosed asking price.

The 7th arrondisement, on Paris's ritzy Rive Gauche, is home to numerous French treasures and tourist traps such as the Eiffel Tower, the Hôtel des Invalides where Napoléon Bonaparte's body is interred, and the Musée d'Orsay, housed in a monolithic and bee-yooteeful Beaux-Arts building that was once a train station but is now filled to the brim with impressionist and post-impressionists works by name-brand artists such as Manet, Monet, Seurat, Cézanne, Gauguin and Van Gogh.

The nabobish neighborhood positively drips with history of all types: The 18th-century Hôtel Biron at 79 Rue de Varenne once housed the studio of artist Auguste Rodin–he of The Thinker–and is now a museum dedicated to the sculptor; World renown psychiatrist Jacques Lacan practiced his Freudian informed and later distinctly Lacanian psychic voodoo at 5 Rue de Lille; Beloved and iconic singer-songwriter Serge Gainsbourg–that would be Charlotte's daddy–lived and died at the graffiti covered 5 Rue de Verneuil; And le Bon Marché, one of the world's first and most famous department stores, is located in the seventh at 38 Rue de Sèvres.

The 7th arrondissement is also home to the Carré Rive Gauche, an exclusive collection of art and antiques dealers who adhere to a strict standard of quality and sell high priced settees, commodes and Louis the whatever this and thats to ridiculously rich folks who prefer and can afford an opulent, costly and distinctly French style of day-core. One of these lovers of fine French antiques who has surely spent hundreds upon hundreds of thousand of bucks buying frou-frou French antiques in the 7th arrondissement is, getting back to our real estate story, Missus Susan Gutfreund.

John Gutfreund, Susan's much older huzband, was once a major mover and shaker on Wall Street where he served as CEO of the once venerable investment bank Salomon Brothers, now part of Citigroup. Mister Gutfreund, at one time one of the most powerful men in the cliquish and clackash world of Wall Street, was ousted from Salomon Brothers in 1991 after a scandal involving Treasury bonds rocked the brokerage firm. The details of the icky bizness don't really matter, puppies, but if you're interested y'all can read all about Mister G. and the ugly controversy in the books Liar's Poker and Nightmare on Wall Street. Suffice to say, the Treasury bond brouhaha resulted in an unprecedented $290,000,000 fine to Salomon Brothers itself and a $100,000 fine levied on Mister Gutfreund who was subsequently pushed from his position of Herculean hegemony and forbidden from running another brokerage firm for the rest of his life.

Before the hubub and hullabaloo that brought both Salomon Brothers and John Gutfreund down to their bespoke suit covered knees, the Gutfreunds were legendary for exemplifying and worshiping at the altar of the vulgar financial exhibitionism that defined the new money set in the 1980s. Missus Gutfreund, a former blond bombshell and trolley dolly for Pan Am Airlines, married Mister Gutfreund in 1981 and took to her new life of leisure and excess just like she was to the manor born. Her profligate 1980s ways are the still stuff of legend among a certain crowd of gawkers, squawkers, and cocktail party flibbertigibbets in New York City and beyond.

Upon marrying her gift horse, Missus Gutfreund set a new standard for lavish living and over the top entertaining. The newly cultured hostess with the mostess, who once was quoted as saying, "It's just so expensive to be rich," or something equally pompous and unnerving like that, customarily had invitations to her teas, lunches, dinner parties and charity events hand delivered by her chauffeur. Apparently, standard mail or courier service was simply not impressive enough.

Buckle your seat belts bunnies because Your Mama is only getting started cataloging the Gutfruends eye poppin' and jaw droppin' lifestyle.

Missus Gutfreund, a ladee who clearly knows how to spend hundred dollar bills like they were dimes, once rented a crane in order to hoist a towering, 22-foot tall Christmas tree into the couple's double height living room at the supremely snobby–but no longer fashionable–River House, home of power players like Henry Kissinger and actress/socialite Dina Merrill, daughter of Post cereal heiress Marjorie Merriweather Post and Edward Francis Hutton, better known as E.F. Hutton. The Gutfruends decamped from the River House to one of the best building on Fifth Avenue, but we'll get to that in a bit.

Other fun and insanity inducing extravagances of Missus Gutfreund have been reported to include a refrigeration system installed in the bathroom of her New York City apartment to keep her preposterously pricey eau de toilettes properly chilled. She also, according to rumor and report, spent a million dollars or more to renovate the garage of her Paris apartment, a renovation that allegedly included installing a private car wash. It has also been widely snickered and guffawed about that the big livin' ladee once purchased a seat on the Concorde for a birthday cake that she was flying over from New York to Paris. In all fairness, Miz Gutfreund was once asked about this alleged international cake carrying event by a couple of gals from the always entertaining and informative New York Social Diary back in May of 2008 and she answered, "Yes, I was flying a cake covered in tiny [sugar] violets and I was flying it to Paris for a girlfriend for her birthday. The second seat was for my son but because I had two tickets, they wrote that it was for the cake. It [the cake] sat on my lap for four hours..." There you have it, children, right from the horse's mouth. Make of the cake story what you will.

In more recent years Missus Gutfreund has shifted gears from her storied role as a deep pocketed consumer of, well, everything, and has reinvented herself as a ladee decorator, one that no doubt specializes in an elaborate style of day-core that revolves around buying an ocean liner full of French antiques.

Your Mama has no idea way of verifying through property records how long Mister and Missus Gutfreund have owned their plush Parisian apartment, but according to the New York Social Diary it's about 25 years and we certainly have to reason to doubt that particular chronicler of the international jet set since he has himself been inside the Gutfruend's Parisian pied a terre. Although the exact asking price for the apartment is not disclosed on the listing it does indicate the very proper apartment is priced at more than €5,000,000. Based on the high prices of Parisian real estate, particularly in the uppity 7th arrondissement, Your Mama would bet our long bodied bitches Linda and Beverly and our mean ol' pussy Sugar that the price is much, much, much higher than five-million measly Euros because, let's be real here pork chops, Missus Gutfreund doesn't do the lower end of the high end.

(UPDATE: A Parisian informant whispered in Your Mama's ear that the asking price is approximately €15,000,000, but we have not verified that figure, we're simply passing it along as rumor and gossip at this point.)

Listing information indicates the apartment, which occupies a portion of an hôtel particular called the Hôtel d'Orrouer located just off the swank Boulevard Saint-Germain, measures 506 square meters spread over 4 levels. A quick consult with our measurement muh-sheen tells Your Mama that's a large but not exactly huge 5,446 square feet. The apartment features a ballroom sized entrance hall with a black and white marble floor and a swooping staircase that looks about as wide as a damn Cadillac Escalade is long. Fortunately the apartment is blessed with a private elevator because no doyenne of high society–and that includes the couture clad ladee of the house–wants to be caught dead having sweated up the armpits of a $100,000 haute couture Chanel suit from climbing up the Gutfreund's Mount Everest of a staircase.

Listing information also indicates the Gutfreunds classy crib contains a 60 square meter basement–that's 645 square feet according to our measurement muh-sheen–where the apartment's cellar, laundry facilities and "technical premises" are located. The basement may be where Missus Gutfreunds alleged multi-million dollar garage and car wash is located, but since Your Mama don't know a dog bone from a shovel we don't recommend any of the children go around telling anyone that the Gutfreund's car wash is in the basement.

Anyhoo, it's a bit tough for Your Mama to make heads or tales of the listing information's broken English–contrary to popular thought Your Mama don't parlez the Français–but as best as we can surmise from the text and photographs the apartment includes a vast salon with a fireplace and Parquet de Versailles floors, a dining room, an oddly shaped all stainless steel eat in kitchen, a library, an office, and at least a couple other smaller sitting rooms all studiously stuffed with antique French chairs, mirrors, armoires, consoles, ormolu urns and other freakishly expensive Francophilian tchotchkes.

It's unclear how many bedrooms and poopers are present in Mister and Missus Gutfreund's Parisan pied a terre but we were able to sort out that the master suite encompasses a bedroom, a boo-dwar, a dressing room or two, and 2 poopers. That would be one for him and one for her because people this rich do not even want to know that their spouse flosses or poops let alone tolerate the indignity of having to endure the hair raising aroma of a bodily function of any kind.

We confess that we really know little and understand less about the intricacies and delicacies of French antiques and the sort of classical, old-school day-core these things are usually fitted into. So we can't really speak to the quality of the Gutfruend's day-core until we get us some edumuhcation on that subject. However, we have no doubt it's all of serious quality and what we can see of the public rooms with our own beady little eyes they are beautifully proportioned with enviably high ceilings and the are exquisitely detailed with delicate antique boiserie.

According to the fluffy and campy book The Fortune Hunters, Mister and Missus Gutreund share–or shared–their hôtel particular in Paris with none other than French high fashion genius Hubert de Givenchy. It's unclear to Your Mama if Monsieur Givenchy still occupies an apartment at the Hôtel d'Orrouer.

Since we do not currently know–or expect to know–Missus Gutfreund or her aged hubby, we can't confirm or fathom why they would choose to liquidate their prime piece of Parisian real estate. Perhaps it's that the Mister is getting up there in years and it's high time the bi-continent couple settle down into one place? Or, although doubtful, maybe they've decided that this big ol' apartment is more than they require for a Parisian pied a terre? Possibly they're moving on to something even more grand, say a boo-teek hotel sized hôtel particular all their own? Whatever the reason, just the thought of the massive undertaking to pack up all this frippery, finery and fah-fah-fah French stuff that is undoubtedly and collectively worth more money than Your Mama will ever see in a lifetime has us breaking out in a case of The Hives.

At one point Mister and Missus Gutfruend had a country place in Pennsylvania–we're not sure if they still own that spread or not–and, natch, they also maintain a scrupulously refined New York City residence in a top Fifth Avenue building that was expensively and very thoroughly did up and done over by the now dead but still immortalized French master decorator Henri Samuel. The Gutfreund's gargantuan 16 room doo-plex digs, which some real estate nuts say measures upwards of 10,000 square feet, includes an exquisitely detailed–if far too fussy for our taste–winter garden with views of Central Park, a ladees' sitting room (whatever that is), a first floor guest room drowning in chintz, hand painted door panels, a kitchen pantry full of high quality porcelain dish sets organized by someone who clearly suffers from the OCD, and curtains in the dining room created in part from fabric gifted to Missus Gutfreund by Her Fashioneesta Eminence, queen Karl Lagerfeld herself.

A little too much time spent cruising around the interweb and Your Mama came up with an interesting if not complete list of the other well-heeled residents of Mister and Missus Gutfreund's über exclusive and customarily clubby Rosario Candela designed building include:

• Damon Mezzacappa–a financier and ex-Lazard Frere vice-chairman–and his social wife Liz who also own a compound on Halsey Neck Lane in Southampton as well as a Palm Beach pile with a total square footage, according to the tax man, of 22,164 and an annual tax bill of nearly $300,000. Their Palm Beach neighbors include the likes of Rod Stewart, Netscape founder James Clarke, and hair care tycoon Sydell Miller.

• Bing's son Harry "Bill" Crosby, an erstwhile ack-tor (Friday the 13th) turned investment banker, occupies one of the building's three maisonette units. The other two maisonettes are owned by art dealer Jan Abrams and big time art collectors Dave and Reba Williams.

• Stephen Swid, CEO of SESAC, a major performing rights company, and his wife Nan

• Judith and Alfred Taubman, the mall magnate and former owner of British auction house Sotheby's who spent some 9 and some months in the pokey back in 2002 and 2003 over a conviction of price fixing, a charge he flatly denies. As the story goes, Mister Taubman's drug dealer cell mate would repeatedly wake the white collar convict up in middle of the night and urge the billionaire to adopt him. As far as Your Mama knows, that did not happen.

• Leslie "Les" Wexner, owner of the Limited Brands (Victoria's Secret, Henri Bendel, C.O. Bigelow, Bath & Body Works, and etc.) whose 16-room Thierry Despont designed doo-plex was reported in early 2009 to be quietly available for around $60,000,000. The Ohio based billionaire and his wife recently bought a much more modest pied a terre at 15 Central Park West.

• Octogenarian philanthropist, socialite and haute couture queen Carroll McDaniel Portago Carey-Hughes Pistell Petrie who derives much of her money from a significant stake that her last and now dead huzband Milton made in Toys 'R Us. She, reportedly, lives in a spread designed by banking heiress Pauline Pitt who is, for all the children not up on the intricacies of the the New York social scene, the mother of high flying New York City real estate agent Serena Boardman. Miss Boardman, who hangs her license at Sotheby's, natch, is whispered and reported to be the gal to call if you're interested in LesWexner's $60,000,000 doo-plex.

• Rupert Murdoch and Wendi Deng who paid a staggering $44,000,000 for the 20-room triplex penthouse formerly owned by Laurence Rockefeller.

• Greek shipping billionaire George Livanos and his wife Lita who moved from one of the building's three maisonette's to their current doo-plex digs on a couple of the lower floors.

• Broadway honcho Harold "Hal" Prince, who is giving up his spread at 834 Fifth Avenue for an East 754th Street townhouse he purchased in late 2009 for $12,500,000. Mister Prince's doo-plex, which has 3 bedrooms, 2 staff rooms, a total of 5.5 poopers and 4 terraces, is currently listed for sale with an asking price of $29,500,000

• Robert "Woody" Johnson, father of recently deceased and deeply troubled socialite Casey Johnson, and his brother Christopher Johnson own adjacent units.

• Financier Mark Rachesky and his wife Jill paid a fever inducing $33,444,500 for a 9th and 10th floor doo-plex in late 2007 sold by Loida Lewis, the widow of billionaire Reginald Lewis. The Lewis's bought their apartment in 1992 from disgraced car creator John De Lorean. Mister Lewis, and African-American, and Miz Lewis, a Filipino born ladee, are widely believed to be the first people of color to own an apartment in a top building on Fifth Avenue. And good for them. It's just shocking and upsetting it took until 1990 damn 2 for that to happen. Coincidentally–or not–Mister and Missus Rachesky own an ocean front spread on Southampton's swanky Gin Lane that's right up next door to a 7 bedroom and 10 pooper property owned by Al and Judy Taubman.

• Philanthropist Laurie Tisch who dumped $29,000,000 in March of 2009 for a 13-room apartment with 2 bedrooms, 4 fireplaces, and an 18th-century George II pine paneled library. The 13th floor co-operative unit was sold by the estate of Araxia M. Buckhantz, the cuzzin of eccentric oil tycoon Nubar Gulbenkian.

• (UPDATE: April 8, 2010) San Francisco based Charles and Helen Schwab who owned two pieces of 834 Fifth Avenue. The Schwabs paid $27,700,000 for a big ass spread on the 9th floor in 2007 that was–are y'all sitting down–listed at just $16,500,000. Mister Schwab also owned an itty bitty penthouse on the 15th floor–which sits adjacent to a portion of Rupert Murdoch's triplex penthouse. He and the wife quietly floated the penthouse the market in the fall of 2009 with an asking price around $14,000,000 and in April of 2010 they off-loaded the aerie for $12,500,000 to Miriam Haas, the San Francisco based heiress to the Levi-Strauss denim empire.

Now that we've wondered almost completely off topic, let's wrap this up so Your Mama can mix up our first pitcher of early afternoon gin & tonics. We suggest you do the same.

source: Emile Garcin Properties