Or, in the blue room, the blue couch, whose back turns into an arm that turns into a tentacle. Next to the waterfall there’s a red velvet sofa, designed around a coffee table in the shape of a bass guitar. But you cannot just plop down somewhere, adjust yourself, and be comfortable. Ike is asleep upstairs, and Tina is out with a son at football practice. Two trim young housekeepers stir around the kitchen dinner is cooking at 4p.m. The smell is eucalyptus leaves and wet rocks the sound is water, bubbling in one of several fish tanks and, over in the family room, splashing, programmed, is a waterfall. Next to him, the Bible, opened to Isaiah 42 – A New Song to the Lord. A thriller? The killer, honey…Īlso in the foyer, under the portrait, a small white bust of John F. Walk into what, from the outside, looks to be another well-paid, well-kept home in suburban Inglewood, California, and you’re hit: a huge, imperial oil painting of Ike and Tina Turner, dressed as if for a simple, private wedding, circa 1960, modest pompadour and formal mink.
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