Long Legs and Tall Tales: A Showgirl's Wacky, Sexy Journey to the Playboy Mansion and the Radio City Rockettes (61 page)

The production was constantly in flux, a perpetual work in progress, and Radio City was always searching for ways to improve it, whether by cleaning up and fine-tuning our numbers, revamping them, or going back to the drawing board and creating entirely new numbers. So while it may have appeared to some that our job was easy (after seeing the show, my brother-in-law said, “You’re only actually on stage working for about a half an hour!”), I can assure you it was not. The behind-the-scenes rehearsing was substantial. Couple that with twice-nightly performances, and we spent an insane amount of time at the theatre, on our feet, in heels, kicking.

Being a Vegas Rockette was both mentally and physically demanding. Great stamina and emotional tenacity were required to survive intense and frequent rehearsals and the rigors of a twelve-show work week for years on end. The strain and pressure gave me so many headaches that I kept a stash of bright red, Excedrin headache tablets in my makeup case that I fondly entitled “Rockette Reds.” This was a spoof on the specific shade of lipstick we were required to wear, nicknamed “Rockette Red,” that fire engine red, not brown, not pink, but flaming, bright red like the babes of the 1950s wore. If they haven’t created a real lipstick of the same name, they should. Several friends of mine relied heavily on Advil to get them through the show, masking their injuries, aches, and pains. The job was so stressful, we joked about how Radio City should give us a free week of rehab at the Betty Ford Clinic when we left the show. It was not a gig for the weak.

Part of the reason the job was so taxing was that we were playing in the Big Leagues where the bar was set much higher. Falling under the jurisdiction of MSG Entertainment (Madison Square Garden) and Radio City, this was
big business
. This was no rinky-dink operation. The Rockettes are a
national institution
, and they earned that distinction because they are masterful at what they do. A dance troupe that has the capacity to bring in over a million audience members a year since 1933 and wants to continue to expand that tradition has to constantly maintain and improve its standard of excellence. Consequently, expectations were high and the talent had to be extremely high caliber at all times.

I was not accustomed to working for a big corporation. The environment was much more formal, and we had to deal with strata of superiors. Being stationed in the Wild, Wild West, far, far from the Motherland—our beloved Radio City Music Hall—most of the time we were governed by our two stage managers and our dance captain. But periodically, some Radio City bigwigs would fly out from New York City to check up on us, and we’d jump through hoops, have meetings, and pay our respects. We’d get visits from all manner of higher-ranking authorities including several Radio City execs, our producer, the head of Rockette Operations, the creative director, artistic director, choreographers, and the human relations lawyer. This army of Higher Ups marched in and out with pomp and circumstance but never stayed too long. Their different personalities, various perspectives, and corresponding policies were a lot to contend with. But we put our best foot forward and tried to please everyone.

Our organizational structure included rankings not only within the off-stage talent mentioned above, but also within the Rockettes themselves. Barely one month after I joined the show, the Rockettes were strongly encouraged to participate in a Roster Placement Audition. As you may recall, the “Roster” was the group of 38 golden gals who were permanent Rockettes, guaranteed work as long as they wanted it (without ever auditioning), and got first dibs on all gigs. Getting a spot on the Roster meant prestige, job security, uninterrupted health insurance, a 401(k), and cashola. Spots had always been filled according to seniority, so, as a newcomer, I knew I didn’t stand a chance. No one ever left the Roster if they were still alive and kicking. A deadly plague would have had to wipe out the entire Roster and more before I had an inkling of a hope of getting a spot. Far too many people stood in line ahead of me because they had danced with the Rockettes longer than I had, so I never gave it a thought, never worried about it, never cared a whit.

This particular year, however, Radio City sent shock waves through the Rockettes when it decided to abandon the old seniority system in favor of
auditioning
for the positions. I can only imagine how upsetting that must have been for the girls who were next in line, who had been kicking until they were blue in the face, biding their time for years and years until someone older retired. The newer girls, however, knew that this opening could be their big break. Still so stressed out and exhausted from adjusting to a brand new show and a new city, I was simply grumpy that I had to go through the motions of an all-day audition when we had two shows to perform that same night. Even with the new audition process, I didn’t think I had a hope of getting on the Roster, so I almost didn’t go. But Radio City put the pressure on all of us to attend. They flew out a panel of six non-Radio City professionals to judge us in tap, ballet, jazz, singing, and on-camera media interviews. It was so intense that, by the end of it, I had a wicked migraine headache. Straight afterwards, we all had to rush to the theatre for showtime. I was so glad when it was all over.

A few days later, I got a phone call from the head of Rockette Operations congratulating me on making the “Temp Roster.” I didn’t know what she was talking about and had to ask my friend Jan. “The Temp Roster is made up of the next three people in line to move up to the real Roster when spots open up!” she explained, incredulous at my ignorance. I was dumbfounded. Of all the Rockettes in the country who auditioned, four of us from Vegas had been chosen for a promotion. Now I was thankful that Radio City had insisted we all audition. I didn’t feel so much like a black sheep after that.

*******

Being in a long-running show, working six nights a week plus oodles of afternoon rehearsals (sometimes we had twelve-hour days or longer), the Rockettes spent a lot of time together in close quarters (backstage, on stage, and shoulder-to-shoulder in the kickline). We had to learn to get along and live peacefully, day in and day out, year after year, arm in arm and side by side. As is often true of those who have survived a lot together and shared the same experiences (both groovy and rotten), who have faced common adversaries and accomplished a common goal, our bonds ran deeper and deeper with passing time. In spite of little spats, in spite of (or maybe because of) the challenges of dancing in the line and practically living at the theatre together, we grew to be like sisters. This Rockette Sisterhood turned into the world’s most amazing support system. We saw each other through thick and thin, through boyfriends and break-ups, marriages and divorces, failed pregnancies, successful pregnancies, and birthing of babies, through injuries and illnesses, college graduations, home buying and foreclosures.

In fact, we became such a large “family” that we were constantly planning and throwing birthday parties, baby showers, wedding showers, holiday parties, party parties, and going-away parties. The extracurricular activities got to be overwhelming, especially since we only had Fridays off. That’s what happens when you get twenty-five high-achieving, creative, intelligent, kind-hearted women working together six days a week. We could have ruled the world (in three-inch heels) and still found time to bake cookies.

The Christmas season was when our extracurricular activities got most out of control (including baking cookies). It was an exceptionally busy time at the theatre, especially because we put up a slightly different show for the holidays. The fabulous Maurice Hines choreographed a festive and merry new Christmas-y opening number in which we, in sumptuous, red velvet costumes trimmed in fine, white feathers (like a mega-sexy, skinny, young Mrs. Claus), exploded onstage out of a giant present. The special number required many additional rehearsals, but when it was all said and done, it put us in the holiday spirit and rejuvenated our pride in the show. After all, Christmas and the Rockettes are synonymous. What a gift to be working with the legendary Mr. Hines, whose enthusiasm for us rivaled Santa’s love of Christmas.

Extensive rehearsals didn’t stop us from enjoying our annual holiday festivities. The cast always decorated a Christmas tree in the Green Room. For ten days, we also played “Secret Santas,” and our men’s dance captain dressed up as Santa and passed out the final presents. Since we worked on Christmas Eve, every year on that evening, as our gift to the rest of the cast and crew, the Rockettes cooked and served a full Christmas dinner (turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, corn, rolls, drinks, and pies) for about seventy people. I made all the mashed potatoes, and that was a crazy amount of spuds. In between the first and second show, we set up long tables in the hallway backstage, and everyone would gather for the feast. I couldn’t believe the amount of stage and tech crew who came out of the woodwork. I didn’t even recognize most of the guys who showed up to chow down. It felt good to spread Christmas cheer and support the people who supported us night after night.

The Rockettes also organized an annual Christmas Cookie Exchange amongst ourselves and even printed out a cook-booklet of all the recipes. They included Trisha’s Peanut Butter Blossoms, Leslie’s Grandma’s Sugar Cookies, Mona’s Chocolate Oatmeal Bars and Health Carrot Cake, Ginny’s Chewy Butterscotch Brownies, Anna’s Lemon Bars, Heidi’s Peanut Butter Balls, Sandi’s Chocolate Chip Toffee Bars, Barbara’s Chocolate Pretzels, Alexis’s Chocolate Chip Oatmeal Cookies, and my Cappuccino Shortbread Cookies. Yum!

As if our schedules weren’t already packed enough, our dance captain even organized a Christmas caroling group of Rockettes and guys from our show to sing for her grandmother and her fellow residents at her Las Vegas nursing home. We got together ahead of time to practice our harmonies, then went out and sang classic Christmas carols for the homebound seniors. Not too many people got house calls from the Rockettes, but Christmas was a time for miracles.

*******

After about a year, as I moved up in the ranks, I was invited to become a swing for “Bolero.” Although it seemed a scary proposition, I decided to accept the challenge. Preparation was key. I created detailed charts showing the various formations (like football plays with X’s and O’s), as well as each girl’s marks, choreography, and traffic patterns. With enough practice, I enjoyed being a swing, as I never knew what was going to happen or when I’d be called for duty. It offered an element of fear, surprise, and the unknown that the routine of having my own track did not. When performing, I didn’t get terribly nervous but I was always thinking hard about where to go, on what counts to dance, whom to follow in which direction, and which marks to hit.

For the benefit of the entire production, it behooved the swings to keep the show running smoothly for the rest of the cast on stage, and it behooved the rest of the cast to assist the swings. For instance, a swing might rush up right before a number and beg the girl they knew they were supposed to dance behind, “Will you please glance my way, so I remember to follow you in the circle formation?” If a swing had time, she’d usually warn the people she was going to dance alongside, “Watch out for me!” Who knew if she would accidentally head in the wrong direction and mess up your show? It was helpful to be alert and aware of a swing in your vicinity (like knowing there’s a student driver on the road). In turn, if a swing were on stage going the wrong way, a cast member would help out by whispering, “Over here!”

I worked with some fantastic swings who never missed a beat. You knew they were excellent because you never noticed them bothering you in the number. They blended right in as if nothing were different at all. When other swings messed up, their blunders had the potential to throw you off your game as well. One of our Vegas swings, LeAnn Bramble, did a blooper that earned her the nickname “Scramble.” In “Bolero” there was a formation in which a big circle of dancers ran in a clockwise direction while a smaller, inner circle of dancers ran counterclockwise. Scramble got confused about where to go and frantically scrambled to find her place. Unfortunately, she ended up forming her own circle
outside
the big circle and sprinted around it all by her lonesome. We laughed so hard. Yes, she most certainly deserved and received The Dork Award.

The cast and crew always got excited when a new swing was on. They made it a point to gather in the wings and watch, so as not to miss out if the swing did something horrendously funny or stupid. Hence, the pressure was on when I started swinging, because I knew everyone would be watching and waiting for me to flub. Fortunately for me, but disappointing for the backstage crowd, I never did goof enough to be entertaining.

*******

Not only was backstage at the Flamingo Hilton a world all its own, topsy-turvy Las Vegas was a world all its own, and each took some getting used to. Everything in Vegas was open twenty-four hours a day, even the grocery stores. Night was day and day was night. On my mother’s first trip here, she marveled at how the multitude of lights on the Strip made it appear to be daylight outside when it was really the middle of the night. Inside the casinos, you couldn’t tell the difference between day and night either, an illusion casino designers created on purpose so you wouldn’t leave the gaming tables to go to bed. It could be a confusing world out there, and many people didn’t know which way was up.

Vegas was sometimes referred to as “Adult Disney Land,” and in a way it was true. Every adult vice, fantasy, and pleasure ride was available for the taking, and it was all acceptable. One could almost become numb to the sleaze. The lewdness could get tiring and depressing, but during the time I lived there, it became cloaked in more and more of a theme-park atmosphere in order to lure the whole family’s money. Vegas dressed itself up like a place that would make all your dreams come true, but it held an underlying sadness from all the desperate people who had come to win but lost everything and all the women who had bared their bodies for the moola of seamy men.