Long Legs and Tall Tales: A Showgirl's Wacky, Sexy Journey to the Playboy Mansion and the Radio City Rockettes (30 page)

The experience was crazy and intense, particularly because I was doing not only her numbers but mine as well. Simply figuring out the costume changes proved perplexing, as I usually changed clothes while the singers were singing their songs. Val was holding her breath the entire show hoping I would successfully fake it through and not completely crash and burn.

Praise be to God, I did triumph without incident or accident. Val was thrilled and utterly impressed at what a quick study I was. My dream had come true, even though I was only lip syncing. Still, I was relieved when Rhonda got better, for her sake and mine. 

*******

During our free time, other than the short stint Playboy’s Girls of Rock & Roll did on a television game show called
It’s Your Move
and a performance on the TV show
Rollin’ Good Times
, we snuck in a bit of sightseeing. Callie, Jasmine, Porsche, and I rode a cable car from the Southern precinct of Singapore over the water to Sentosa Island—an amusement-park type attraction. Porsche’s fear of flying pertained to riding cable cars as well as airplanes and, frankly, I was a bit nervous being suspended in a little box hanging from a measly cord. We were, after all, traversing a large body of water with nowhere to go but down. The 360-degree view, however, was spectacular: over the water and freight docks, and with views of the city skyline, harbor, and lush green vegetation and sandy beaches of Sentosa Island. Once safely back on the ground, we walked the trails through the forest to the Imbiah waterfalls, where we stopped for a swim at one of the lovely beaches and visited a small aquarium complete with touch tank where you could handle starfish and other sea creatures.

Our exotic, one-week stay in Singapore was short and sweet. Before we knew it, we were back in smoggy L.A., noshing on bagels and fighting traffic.

*******

Showbiz can be a flaky business, one in which you might not want to count your chickens until they are hatched. Val had promised an entire coop full of poultry and only two birthed from their eggs. In other words, you may think you have work for the next six months only to find yourself unemployed three weeks later. Such was the case for the Playboy’s Girls of Rock & Roll. We were in Indonesia for two weeks and Singapore for one week and then we flew back home, as all the rest of the potential bookings fell through. In addition to being a huge disappointment, it was also embarrassing, as my friends had thrown me a big, emotional farewell party, and here I was back home shortly after I’d left.
Should I give back all the going-away gifts?

These unpredictable work circumstances can be a financial and emotional nightmare.
Should I try to get other work right away or hold out with the hope that more Playboy gigs will come through soon?
I didn’t want to commit to a dull day job or to a less desirable showbiz job to pay the bills and then be unavailable if and when the show got up and running again. But I couldn’t afford to wait around too long not making money. It takes real fortitude to handle this kind of uncertainty. It’s especially hard for the people who have given up their apartments, put their stuff in storage, stopped their mail indefinitely, and otherwise closed down shop on their previous lives.
Do I start my old life back up again or remain in limbo, and for how long?
Luckily, I was living with my boyfriend at the time and didn’t have to worry about finding new housing at the last minute.

I decided I would stay hopeful and ride it out for a little while to see if more Playboy work came through. Soon I received this lovely letter from Val assuring me that we’d be performing again in no time:

Dear Kristi,

Enclosed are some photos of some of my favorite people in the whole world. I couldn’t have asked for a better cast. You certainly had some challenges. We went from “Huge” to “Tiny” stages…had quick substitutions for Rhonda, etc. Was I ever impressed by your amazing quick study in the “Free Your Mind” number in Singapore. You know I couldn’t even tell that you were lip synching…but someday, I hope you’ll be in the show with a live mic? The girls were really the best group with whom I have ever worked…and it wasn’t always easy… (Will YOU EVER FORGET the stench of that street in Jakarta or the size of those rats?) but none of you complained or got bitchy with each other. And the quality of the show was enhanced by your terrific relationship with each other. I always hope for and expect the best from my cast; but I don’t ever take things for granted. Thank you so much for everything you did to make the show wonderful and the trip memorable. We’ll be taking off to God only knows where in about two weeks. PLEASE GO TO THE DOCTOR to get your shots; AND you might ask your doctor about the pills (think it’s quinine derivative) that they advise you take a week before traveling and during travel. I certainly don’t want you to ever get sick. Right now, the plans are for us to go to Hiroshima, Bangkok, --then possibly over to Germany and back to Puerto Rico…then to Australia. There are so many “maybes” that I’m going nuts! The Tokyo show has not been cancelled…but it has been delayed. But promise that you’ll know the same day that I know. Think we’ll take the '50s number out (because it really belongs to Anita) and put back our Motown number. So there will be a minimal amount of rehearsal before we leave. I’m also hoping that we can replace the “Hot Legs” number with something that better suits Mallory. If the final plans turn out that the time away becomes too much for any of the girls, we will replace those girls…one by one. But it’s nice to be working again. And I really hope you’ll be able to stay with the show as long as possible.

Anyway, it’s not a bad way to see the world!

Much love and a big hug…

Valerie

Although Val certainly gave the impression that there were all kinds of possibilities in the works and that our World Tour would be continuing shortly, after this last debacle, I never fully believed we would be performing in a country until we were actually standing in that country. Even then I had my doubts until we were actually on stage and approved by the government censors. But I loved Val, and she loved us, and I also loved doing the show, so I was going to hold out for as long as I could with the hopes that some gigs would come through.

I didn’t have to wait long because, sure enough, so popular was our first show that we soon got invited back to the Heartthrob in Singapore for a two-week repeat engagement. It wasn’t the whirlwind, multi-country, six-month tour we had expected, but at least it got us back on the road again for another mini-adventure. Besides, what happened in our downtime was worth coming back home early for.

*******

If someone had told me that someday I would visit the Playboy Mansion—Hugh Hefner’s most infamous party palace—I would have thought they were as loony as a loony bird. But one day Valerie announced, “Ladies, we will be having another photo shoot for new publicity pictures. This time we will be shooting at
The
Mansion.” The Mansion? I nearly swallowed my tongue. “Everyone knows where it is, right?” she continued. “I don’t,” I said, raising my hand. “10236 Charing Cross Road. It’s in the Holmby Hills area not far from UCLA.” Val explained.

Grabbing a pen, I hurriedly wrote down what felt like one of the world’s greatest secrets. I now knew the address of the Playboy Mansion. Never mind that so did anyone who went on one of those stars’ homes bus tours for which Hollywood is famous. Those poor tourists could only stare out the bus window and imagine what lasciviousness went on behind that blockade of walls and shrubbery. I was actually invited in!

The first time I visited the Mansion felt like a dream. I kept double checking my piece of paper with the address scribbled on it, making certain I had found the correct location. Hefner’s extravagant soirees of the 1970s put this place on the map and earned it its notorious reputation. My heart pounded in anticipation as I approached this haven of horniness. Would there be fornicating on the front lawn? Copulating on the kitchen counters? Massive orgies in the master bedroom? Debasement in the basement? Who knew what titillating experiences lay ahead?

Naturally, I arrived in my sparkling white Mercedes convertible, sporting a low-cut, high-slit designer dress, strappy stilettos, and stylish sunglasses, the warm breeze gently blowing my bleach-blond hair extensions off my sunkissed face. I was Malibu Barbie with hot lips, hot legs, and hot wheels. Well, in my fantasy, anyway.

In reality, I drove up to the impressive iron-gate entrance in my well-worn little blue Ford Escort, wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and cowboy boots. I rolled down my window and announced my name and purpose for being there into a fake rock that housed a microphone and speaker. Magically, the gate slowly opened, like a chastity belt unlocked, and I was free to enter and explore the previously forbidden territory.   

While there were certainly bigger and grander estates in the world, Hef had no need to possess Mansion envy. The approximately 22,000 square-foot Gothic-Tudor style home, built in 1927, sat on about six acres of prime Los Angeles real estate. It reminded me of a mini medieval castle. I half expected a knight in shining armor to come jousting out of one of the heavy wooden doors. 

The gorgeous grounds housed not only a waterfall pool and an incredible indoor/outdoor hot tub inside the “grotto” (a man-made, stone cave), but, more surprisingly, peacocks and other exotic birds, rabbits, and monkeys, as well as a pond full of exquisitely striped ducks and koi fish. It was a zoo. Literally. If you heard someone in the heat of love making on the lawn shouting, “You animal!” it may have merely been a response to one of the freely roaming menagerie. 

There was also a Game Room separate from the main home, and this was where Satin, Athena, Porsche, and I were to have our first pictures taken. Athena—a tall, fleshy, long-haired brunette Greek Bunny-to-be—was the replacement Playmate for Mallory, who bailed out of the show. The room housed a juke box, pinball machine, and pool table. The entire place, floor and walls included, was cushioned, assuredly so you could comfortably fall to the floor in a fit of passion (and the more the merrier). One could sense the ghosts of psychedelic shagfests past. The room, reminiscent of the 1960s, was clearly in need of an update. Austin Powers would have felt right at home.

For the photo, we wore one of our hip-hop dance costumes from the show: red crushed-velvet shorts with a thick black vinyl belt, a long-sleeved black spandex top with the shoulders cut out, tan fishnets, black combat boots, and a black, floppy beret with an oversized daisy on the front. 

I still felt like a complete imbecile next to the professional models, Satin and Athena, who knew just how to stand, arch their bodies, lift their breasts, twist at the waist, crane their necks, and flip back their hair to get the perfect sexy shot. I tried to imitate them and learn from what they were doing, but the poses felt so unnatural and ridiculous on me. One of their special tricks was lowering the bottom lip to show a little bit of teeth. While steamy on them, I looked like a snarling dog. 

Next we took individual headshots outside in front of the veranda of the Mansion, which offered a nice backdrop of stone pillars. I was given a black fur stole to wear over, well, nothing. They wanted me to appear naked underneath, so I wore the stole below my bare shoulders. But being modest, I kept my bra on, pulling down the straps so they wouldn’t show. My shoulder-length blond hair hung down, softly and naturally, and I accessorized with long, dangly rhinestone earrings. This glamour shot really made me feel like a movie star—very Marilyn Monroe. Now this was something to tell the grandkids about.

When the official photo shoot was completed, we all got out our own cameras and took pictures of ourselves in front of the Mansion’s main entrance as proof that we were actually there. I probably wouldn’t believe it myself if I didn’t have the photos. And even with the picture to prove it, I’m still not sure I believe it.

This wasn’t my only visit to the Mansion; later we also held rehearsals in the guest house. Sometimes the out-of-town performers—like Rhonda, who was from Vegas—were allowed to stay in the guesthouse. I was so envious. The guesthouse had a room with a wall covered in mirrors. While I’m sure the mirrors were really intended to heighten one’s arousal during a carnal liaison, they made a perfect setting for our dance rehearsals.

Although jealous that I didn’t get to stay in the guesthouse, I did get to eat dinner at the Mansion one night. We were seated at a table in a small, bare nook just off the kitchen—probably the staff dining area. It felt stone cold and stark, like the interior of a real castle. But the kitchen was always stocked with a tray of generously cut crispy rice and marshmallow treats from which we were allowed to help ourselves.  

Perhaps the biggest treat, however, was our surprise visit by the Queen of the castle—Hef’s wife, Kimberley. Whether she was protecting her palace or simply being friendly, she was certainly pleasant and kindly chatted with us as we ate. I can hardly imagine how she felt having a husband who was constantly surrounded by nude models, many of whom could offer her stiff competition. Did she feel tremendous pressure to be a dynamo in bed? I didn’t envy her as matriarch of this empire of lust. I can make my own marshmallow munchies, thank you very much.  

*******

A month after we had returned home, we found ourselves once again on the airplane flying the thirteen hours back to Singapore. What were we, crazy? Yes. Not as crazy, however, as the fifty-two-year-old Dutch man who thought he could get away with smuggling in drugs. They hung him immediately. They are serious. Rules are rules.