Long Legs and Tall Tales: A Showgirl's Wacky, Sexy Journey to the Playboy Mansion and the Radio City Rockettes (34 page)

Another must-do on the sightseeing list was a stop at the emperor’s primary residence, the Imperial Palace. I photographed the famous stone double bridges leading to the main gate over the moats. It didn’t have quite the pomp and circumstance of Buckingham Palace in London; there was a much more peaceful, Zen feeling about the palace and its lovely gardens.

Perhaps to make sure we didn’t get too homesick, some of the tourist attractions we were taken to were very American. For instance, Donald and Company accompanied us to the ice-skating extravaganza produced by Disney on Ice. We also celebrated Donald’s birthday lunch at Hard Rock Cafe Tokyo. A good, old fashioned hamburger and fries did hit the spot. And every chance we got, we stuffed our faces with soft-serve ice cream cones. I don’t know how we managed to fit into our costumes.

*******

Donald ruled the roost, but Valerie was our mother hen, herding her precious little chicks safely around Japan. Sometimes, she tried to act tough and lay down the law, but at heart she was a softie and pretty much let us do whatever we wanted, however bird-brained. Back in L.A. she acted as her own animal rescue mission taking in homeless chicks or, more accurately, Bunnies. She loved her Bunnies that much, even though some of the girls could have attitudes and be hard to control. Occasionally a Bunny would have a diva tantrum; all Val could do was roll her eyes and laugh nervously. Satin seemed to be a special concern of hers, almost like a second daughter. Val would look after her temporarily until Satin once again flew the coop.

Val was kind and generous with a big heart. She lived in Reseda and had us over for a pool party once when we were on hiatus. Quite the modeling agent in her day, Val was always well put together and professional. She sincerely cared for her Girls, especially the ones she’d spent a considerable amount of time working with previously, namely Satin, Callie, and Jasmine.

These three amigos had sung and danced and traveled together so much, they were almost like sisters, close-knit and chummy some days and bickering at other times. Being a relative newbie, I felt more like an outsider, but they were welcoming and nearly always hilarious. They had worlds of show business experience between them, and I loved learning their tricks of the trade. “It’s best to keep your hair a little greasy for photo shoots, because it stays in place better when styled,” Callie taught me. “Also, it’s good conditioner for your hair,” Jasmine chimed in. They got a little too into it on this trip and tried not to wash their hair for days, thinking it was healthier for their long manes. We may have been Playboy’s Girls of Rock & Roll by night, but during the day we were just normal gals in need of a shampoo.

There were other alliances: the Playmates, Satin and Athena, played fairly nicely together at times until some squabble set off a smack down. They usually made up quickly. Jasmine, her sister Marina, and their mother formed a family trio. Tasha and Tina became unlikely companions; their personalities didn’t jive at all, but they bonded based on being the only topless dancers. I clicked most with Callie, who had an outgoing, positive personality and adventurous spirit. Thank goodness everyone was tolerable if not amicable. Otherwise, it would have been a long, lonely, and miserable summer.

Callie and I were the only two Girls always in the mood to go out on the town and explore our surroundings. Several of the others preferred to sleep late, lazily lounge about, and have time alone. Not the two of us. We wanted to squeeze as much juice out of this trip as possible. One day we, along with one of our Junior Japanese chaperones, took an excursion to see Mickey Mouse at Tokyo Disney. Another day, we bravely ventured off all by ourselves to visit an American guy friend of hers who was teaching English in Japan for a living. Negotiating the subway system without knowing the language was nerve wracking. Trying to figure out which stop to get off when the signs were only in Japanese calligraphy symbols proved nearly impossible. We couldn’t tell those blasted scribbles apart. Finding someone who spoke English was difficult. And my little Japanese phrase book didn’t do diddly squat to help. Even if it had the translation for the phrase, “What the heck does that flippin’ sign say?” I wouldn’t have been able to understand the person’s answer in Japanese. Somehow, by the grace of Buddha, we eventually made it. Callie’s friend’s one-room apartment was even smaller than our diminutive Tokyo digs. It was an exercise in compact living. He had to put away his bed roll every morning so he could stand at the minuscule kitchen counter to make tea. It had virtually no storage space either. One simply couldn’t be weighed down by material possessions in this environment.

After a few weeks in Tokyo, I caught a nasty intestinal bug. Concerned about missing a show, I immediately flagged down one of our gofer guys—Haruyuki Mochizuki. (We called him “Yuki Zuki” for short.) I did charades, pointing to and holding my stomach and making painful faces, hoping my exaggerated motions and expressions were clear enough for him to guess correctly. It was like a scene from one of those old silent films with the melodramatic acting. He shook his head “Yes,” made a “Wait there! I’ll be right back!” gesture, and immediately went out on a mission to solve my stomach issues. A short while later he returned with a bottle of prescription pills. All I could do was trust that they would make me better, not worse. Don’t know what was in those magic capsules or where he got them, but they worked like a charm. What a sweetheart.

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Our performance schedule for the entire summer left only one long weekend off, and the Dynamic Duo (Callie and I) wanted to make the best of it. “Let’s go to Kyoto!” we concurred. After our harrowing day trip taking the subway to see her friend in Tokyo, we decided it would be best to get assistance in planning this much more daring adventure. We went straight to the top—Donald, the man with the deep pockets. In our sugary sweetest voices, wide-eyed and batting our long lashes, we innocently inquired, “Dearest Donald, what’s the best way to get to Kyoto? Can you help us?” No sooner had our plea left our pouty lips than Donald had organized and funded a trip for the entire cast, plus himself and his posse, of course.

Woo hoo! We shot off to the historical metropolis of Kyoto—former home of the Japanese Imperial Palace—on none other than the bullet train, a streamlined, high-speed railway resembling, you guessed it, a bullet. Lunch aboard was a bento box with sticky rice and teriyaki eel, eaten with my favorite utensils—chopsticks. Time flew by, and a few hours later we arrived at our beautiful destination, approximately 288 miles from Tokyo. Our accommodations in the fashionable, multistory Hotel New Kyoto were quite acceptable. What I loved most about Japanese hotel rooms were the electric teapots and complimentary green tea, much like American rooms often have a coffee maker. I had little experience drinking green tea before this trip but now I was beginning to acquire a taste for it.

Kyoto boasts 1,600 Buddhist temples and 400 Shinto shrines. That’s one enlightened city. We didn’t have time to honor all 2,000 holy hot spots, but we hit a few elaborate biggies. Kiyomizu Temple—meaning “clear water” or “pure water” due to the waterfall on the property—was a magnificent wooden structure built in 1633 into the side of a mountain. We climbed oodles of stairs to reach it. It was famous for its pillar-supported stage that jutted from the veranda, where, over time, more than 200 kooks took the proverbial plunge, literally jumping off the stage and falling 13 meters. These cliff divers, so to speak, weren’t doing it for the thrill (or suicide attempt). Ancient tradition said survivors of the dangerous plummet would reap a remarkable reward: their wishes would come true. I spent all these years finding ways to get on stage. I wasn’t about to leap off.

A second (and much less risky) way to have your wish granted, it was believed, was to drink from the Otowa waterfall, which had been channeled into three streams of water pouring down from the roof for easier access. Tin cups with long handles were provided, so guests could catch a sip of the magic liquid. I took a chance and drank from the cup touched by millions of strange lips before me.
Maybe this wasn’t the safest way to have my wishes granted
. Other parts of the complex worth mentioning were the three-tiered red pagoda with the green roof; a shrine of numerous tiny cement statuettes of the beloved Japanese deity Ksitigarbha (I can’t pronounce it either), which had all been lovingly dressed in hand-knitted caps and aprons; and the Jishu “matchmaking” Shrine, dedicated to the god who helps one find true love.
That’s for me!
There was a magic aura to the place, and I couldn’t help but get caught up in the wishful thinking and assistance from the gods.

Kinkaku-ji Temple—the “Temple of the Golden Pavillion”—was the temple to outshine all other temples, literally. A magnificent three-story building, its crowning glory was the top two stories, which were overlaid with gold leaf. An entire two-thirds of the building was completely covered in gold! The gilding lent an opulence and radiance befitting of its spiritual significance. The structure’s visual impact was made all the more stunning due to its reflection off the pond on which it rested. This temple was so famous that I actually recognized it, having seen it previously in pictures. 

Only 26 miles up the road from Kyoto lay the city of Nara and the Nara Daibutsu, the world’s largest bronze statue of the Buddha Vairocana, measuring in at 48.91 feet high sitting down. The ear alone was over eight feet long, the face a whopping 17.49 feet. At the time, Buddhism was about as meaningful to me as a slice of bologna and just as mysterious.
What on earth is it made of?
But even I felt reverence and awe greeting this mighty being perched in his ornate house of worship. In order to reach the Big Buddha, we had to successfully make it past hordes of aggressive, free-range spotted deer. These weren’t just any deer; the Shinto religion knows them to be “messengers of the gods.” The message I was getting was, “Feed me, tourist, or I’ll nip your behind!” We bought them snacks sold right there on the property and doled them out as we worked our way up to safe, stag-free refuge in the Great Buddha Hall.

As if the supersized Buddha weren’t breathtaking enough, we were taken to see yet another Buddhist temple: Sanjūsangen-dō, the name translating as “Hall with thirty-three spaces between columns.” Designed and built exactly as the name implies, this long, wooden expanse was home to not only the main deity, the Thousand Armed Kannon, but also 1,000 people-sized replicas plated in gold leaf. These “mini-me” Kannons flanked their larger leader in ten rows and 50 columns, forming an impressive army of divine beings. Incredible!

Many of the temples we visited sold small wooden plaques upon which people wrote their wishes. The plaques were then hung on a board outside the temple. It was heartwarming to see how many people wished for world peace. There is still hope!

To balance out all this spiritual stuff, Donald’s sightseeing tour tossed in a little Japanese Hollywood. Toei Kyoto Studio Park was a theme park as well as a working movie and TV studio/set. It reminded me of a much smaller, cheesier Universal Studios. We had a ball roaming the streets, each representing a different time period in Japan, watching actors dressed as Edo-era Samurais battling each other with melodramatic flair and harsh Japanese fighting words and grunts. Four of us Girls even got to ride a giant, battery-powered panda.

A real local treat was lunch at a small fast-food joint that served savory Japanese pancakes called
okonomiyaki
, essentially translating as “what you like, grilled.” There were griddles in the middle of every table. You chose which ingredients you wanted added to the eggy, floury, cabbage-filled batter (like vegetables, seafood, kimchi, cheese) and then cooked your own pancake. The food could be further embellished with toppings such as bonito flakes, seaweed flakes, sauces, mayo, or pickled ginger. It was like a combination of pancake, omelette, and pizza. Fun and delicious!

That matchmaking shrine back at Kiyomizu Temple must have worked its magic, as, by the end of our trip to Kyoto, it was obvious that Yuki Zuki and I were developing a crush on each other. He had grown up in a tiny fishing village, but had a cool city vibe about him. He wore jeans, nice dress shoes, Hawaiian shirt, blazer, and sunglasses, smoked cigarettes, and rode a motorcycle. I was at least half a head taller than my little Japanese Romeo. Conversation was kept to a minimum, given the language barrier. But in spite of having nothing to say to each other, somehow we found each other adorable and funny. Mostly we toyed with nonverbal flirting—love by pantomime. Satin and Donald had also become an item, but as least he could speak a reasonable amount of English.

Remember when I said I dreamed about transforming like Sandy in
Grease
? One night when we were all back in Tokyo at a Japanese restaurant, some of the Girls were acting extra goofy (after one too many sips of sake) and smoking cigarettes, something they didn’t usually do. Seizing this perfect opportunity to further fulfill my fantasy, I tried to smoke one, too. Having only had experience “smoking” fake bubble gum cigarettes that puffed out powered sugar “smoke,” I didn’t know how to inhale or exhale the real deal. “How do I even hold this thing?” I asked the Girls who were laughing at my ineptness. I finally gave up (my lungs jumped for joy). Then Yuki Zuki took me on my first motorcycle ride, but I was only brave enough to travel less than two blocks. My dream of being the bad girl was quickly going up in smoke.

*******

Most of the time, our days were unscheduled and, therefore, free for snoozing or sightseeing. Lord knows, with the late-night shows and post-performance bar hopping (bunnies do a lot of hopping), we needed our beauty rest. Thankfully, we weren’t required to do much in the way of daytime publicity. On three occasions, however, we performed on Tokyo-based television shows. The TV studios would hang a giant Playboy logo in the background, and we’d do a number or two from the show.