Long Legs and Tall Tales: A Showgirl's Wacky, Sexy Journey to the Playboy Mansion and the Radio City Rockettes (41 page)

For instance, one night Candy and her new boyfriend Harvey (the adorable spa manager from London) and I went dancing at a fairly empty disco. Dancers move with more passion and abandon than the normal eighty-year-old, and one such conservative senior citizen reported to the cruise staff officer, “Those young people were having a virtual
ménage à trios
on the dance floor!” We got called in to explain ourselves. I was shocked at the accusation, but we had been a pretty frisky threesome. Luckily, I had a good rapport with that particular officer, and we were let off with a warning. There’s something to be said for remaining invisible and anonymous.

Certainly, I met some interesting and affable folks, but after a few months, I got tired of making small talk and answering the same questions over and over and over. “Where are you from? What have you done? How long have you been dancing on cruise ships? Where is the poop deck?” I was constantly giving directions, because learning one’s way around a big ocean liner was confusing for many at first. Sometimes I preferred to hide in my room and avoid the whole shebang, but if I wanted to eat, I had to brave the crowds and go up on deck. Most of the time, hunger got the best of me and I ventured out.

In addition to the lack of privacy, I sometimes felt imprisoned (certainly, it was a five-star, luxury, gourmet prison) with a lack of freedom and control. We were given pages of rules to follow: “You can’t go here. You
can
go here, but only at theses times. You can’t wear that. You
have
to wear a floor-length evening gown if you want to leave your room on formal nights. You can’t do this. You can’t do that. You have be back by this time. You have to let the passengers go first. You have to get a pass to leave the ship.” When the ship was out to sea, I was trapped on board. Even when docked in port there were times when I couldn’t leave, because I couldn’t get a pass to take the tender to shore. If I had library duty, I occasionally missed my window of opportunity by the time it was my turn to disembark because passengers got first priority. When I did manage to escape and go on shore excursions, I had to constantly keep track of time or face the consequences of the ship sailing without me.

The compact sleeping accommodations also took their toll. My cast stayed in crew cabins, which were much more cramped than passenger rooms but, admittedly, far less awful than the underworld where the poor Indonesians and Filipinos had to bunk. Most of the tiny space I shared with Candy was filled by our bunk bed. Thankfully, there wasn’t a soul on earth who didn’t like Candy. She was an absolute angel, a godsend since we literally lived on top of each other. Sharing such close quarters could have killed even the best of relationships, but we became close friends. The room also included an itty-bitty bathroom complete with toilet and shower. It was a tight squeeze even for two skinny chicks.

Without the benefit of a porthole to peek at the outside world, I felt claustrophobic at times. The rocking of the ship, the stale air, the dark, windowless room, and the rainy weather made me feel lethargic. I’d have to go to the upper promenade and get some fresh air and take a look at the little pine tree-covered islands and mountains in the distance for a healthy change of scenery.

The puny rooms, lack of privacy, and restricted freedom of choice certainly took some getting used to for us newbies still securing our sea legs. However, with the right mindset, a good set of hiking boots, a camera, a journal, and a large supply of condoms, cruising life could be a rewarding adventure for many. The young, handsome drummer in the ship’s resident band had been cruising for about three years (his way of sowing his oats before getting married and going to med school) and had brought along his bicycle and plenty of paperbacks. When ashore, he cycled around exotic ports of call; on sea days, he kicked back and read novels, all while making (and saving) money playing music. What a life! I wished I would have climbed aboard years earlier and taken some world cruises. My best friend from high school took many ship contracts as a singer and saw a good portion of the world, including remote islands that I’ve never heard of. She’ll have to build an addition on her house just to hold her photo albums.

A tremendous bonus of working on a cruise liner was that we were fully taken care of: free accommodations, free maid service, free food, free entertainment, virtually free booze, and free gym. With no living expenses, we could save beaucoup bucks. But the absolute best part of ship life was that we journeyed to some of the most famous and far-flung places in the world
for free
. I fell in love with the romance of traveling the world by sea, sailing the ocean blue, riding the waves of adventure. Water voyages were magical and mystical, full of wonder and excitement. Unfortunately, we were never in port long enough to explore every place it had to offer. Our stops were more like a sampler platter from which I got a tiny taste of a lot of towns but never got my fill. The truncated itinerary left me hungering for more, but because we spent five months in Alaska repeating the same journey every week, I actually got to see and do quite a lot, a little bit at a time. When it was too stormy to take a whale watching tour one week, it was sunny the next.

Alaska was one of the most spectacular places I had ever been. In the heart of summer the sun would still be setting at 1:00 a.m. The wildlife included spawning salmon, killer whales, bald eagles, puffins, sea otters, sea lions, seals, and mountain goats. Once we counted thirty dolphins with white bellies jumping and swimming alongside the ship! We also saw a humpback whale breaching; it would jump out of the water and flop smack on its back playfully. Alaska was a land of majestic blue glaciers, northern lights, snow-capped mountains, waterfalls, colorful wildflowers, fields of magenta fireweed, totem poles, goldmine ruins, float planes, helicopters, fishing boats, quaint towns, art stores, bears, bars, and comforting coffee shops. I adored perusing the ports and combing the countryside.

Sadly, we didn’t stop at a new port every day, because some days were “sea days.” Sea days meant we were confined on board with limited recreational options, while the ship cruised on to the next town. I had to create my own fun so I didn’t go insane. A good portion of my time was spent exercising in the gym, sweating in the sauna and Jacuzzi, walking laps around the deck, reading, painting, writing music with my tiny electronic portable keyboard, watching movies, writing letters, and journaling. (The days and weeks blended together, so journaling helped me remember what happened from one week to the next for when I called home to update my parents.) These were all worthwhile pursuits, certainly, but I much preferred the option of wandering free-range throughout the Alaskan wilderness (and coffee shops).

Some days I would peruse the gift store, but most items were tacky, generously sequined shirts and hats (I never knew I could overdose on sparkle). Then one day I discovered the delightful, chocolatey, sweet crunch of the English Cadbury Crunchie candy bars they sold. After that, I frequented the gift store more regularly and even splurged on a nice, Gucci watch. Some days I attended “high tea” in a lovely lounge where I sipped a hot beverage from a delicate porcelain teacup, nibbled on finger sandwiches and cookies, and learned how to fold cloth napkins into impressive sculptures.

Doing laundry was another way to pass the time. It was a royal pain, however, because we used the same machines as the passengers, and they were always occupied. Why all these people spent their vacation time cleaning clothes (especially the day before they were leaving), I’ll never know. My freshly washed wet socks and underwear would have to sit in a laundry basket until a dryer became available. I’d wait and wait and wait and then finally give up after finding out the dryers had already been promised to other passengers.

Since we were sailing for nearly half a year, after a few months I found it necessary to visit the salon to have my hair cut and highlighted. Unfortunately, it was common knowledge among staff that the hairdressers (all young, British women) couldn’t cut or color to save their lives and were always hung over from the night before. One of the hairdressers got so drunk so often, the restaurant manager would regularly find her passed out on the galley floor—the ship’s kitchen, which was strictly off limits, mind you—with a half-eaten dinner roll in her mouth. She’d be three sheets to the wind, get the munchies, go scavenging for food, and fall unconscious before leaving the scene of the crime. The next day, some poor lady would show up for her hair appointment only to be told her hairdresser was missing in action. Fortunately, by the time my roots were showing and my ends were splitting, Candy had started dating the charming, blond, British spa manager (Harvey) who
did
have a flair for hair. He always took good care of me and my mop.

The primary pursuit on cruise ships was, of course, eating. Mealtimes and snack times set the structure for the day. Each day, our cast queued up with all two thousand passengers for delicious, buffet-style breakfast and lunch in the informal dining room. The masterful process of purchasing, storing, preparing, and serving so many people so much excellent cuisine boggled my mind. Menus repeated like those from the elementary school lunchroom, and it didn’t take long before I had them memorized: taco bar on Monday, ice cream sundae bar on Tuesdays, pizza by the pool on Wednesdays, Indonesian chicken satay on Saturdays. The spreads were all-you-can-eat, so I had to be careful not to gorge myself to death like a goldfish. The food was so delicious and plentiful that I could hardly bear to pass it up, knowing I’d be surviving on ramen noodles when I returned home. While oh so tempting, stuffing one’s face was not the wisest way to pass time for a dancer who was supposed to appear fit. The pigging out needed to be balanced out with trips to the gym, laps on deck, and enthusiastic club dancing. Nibbling and noshing were enticing ways to amuse ourselves, and it took a lot of will power to not munch my way straight to the fat farm.

Dinner was another story. The crew dined together in the informal dining room, while the passengers were served a sit-down dinner in the fancy, formal dining room. While the passengers enjoyed scrumptious, gourmet meals, we snubbed our noses at “crew food,” which we suspected was the excess passenger food that was borderline spoiling, like souring honeydew melon or old hamburger and veggies that had been transformed into an expiration date Shepherd’s pie. The young British lushes who worked in the hair salon usually skipped the questionable grub and instead made “chip butties”—french fries stuffed into rolls—a safer, albeit nutritionally devoid, choice. The crew food often turned my stomach, but it was hard to find a healthy, edible alternative. The entrees were saucy and floating in grease. I learned to munch a good lunch and sneak cereal boxes, graham crackers, bananas, and other contraband from the earlier meals to keep a stash in my room for days when dinner was especially unappetizing. Food was not allowed to be taken back to our rooms, so I did so on the down low. After about a month, I got tired of eating even the same
good
food and annoyed with having to wait in a long line to be fed. (I’m ashamed to admit I had those thoughts when there are people starving in the world, but I did.)

In the evenings, when we weren’t working, the cast often enjoyed watching whichever visiting headliners were performing on the main stage. They’d come aboard for a few weeks at a time, stay in passenger cabins, and get paid a hefty fee. Our entertainers included singers, magicians, jugglers, impressionists (including Danny Gans, who later made it big in Vegas), fiddlers, banjo players, comedians (including a guy from Juneau who joked about cruise ships), and ventriloquists. Their songs and acts were generally geared toward the senior citizens, but even youngsters like myself got a kick out of them. Afterward, we had the choice of frequenting one or more of the following hot spots:

• The disco, where it was impossible to fast dance without causing elderly passengers to hyperventilate and/or report us to the cruise director (as I noted above);

• The piano bar, where a kind but depressed, married alcoholic had been tickling the ivories for years. (You meet a lot of interesting characters on ships, because everyone seems to have a reason they wanted to escape from their real lives. They are from all over the world, with their own cultural idiosyncrasies, like the Welsh guy who never brushed his teeth, or the Irish radio officer who was terribly afraid to return home in poor drinking condition.);

• The midnight buffet, for which we had to dress in black tie or floor-length evening gown–what a pain in the patootie when all we wanted was a couple of stuffed mushrooms;

• The fancy lounge that served cognac and fine chocolates while a string quartet played classical music; or

• The more relaxed
Officer’s Bar
(a.k.a. the “O.B.”), where only select staff were allowed, we could dance like floozies, and alcoholic beverages were cheaper than soda pop. It wasn’t uncommon for a staff member to develop a drinking problem, because boozing was one of the few choices available at night, and the ship offered us liquor at ridiculously discounted prices—
pennies
, not even dollars. One night they had a Tacky Party, where we all dressed in our tackiest outfits and drank from a toilet that flushed punch. Tacky!

There was also a small casino on board, which we were
never
allowed to enter—a good thing for many and fine by me.

Sea days could be rough, because we were stuck on the ship with these same old activities. Naturally, they were exciting and new at first, but even the finest amenities became tiresome and old hat after a few months. That’s why sex was such a popular pastime; a lot of people hooked up simply due to extreme boredom. New staff members coming aboard were always a big deal, as perhaps some babe would prove to be the source of a hot romance.