Long Legs and Tall Tales: A Showgirl's Wacky, Sexy Journey to the Playboy Mansion and the Radio City Rockettes (62 page)

Playboy’s Girls of Rock & Roll helped prepare me for life in this town rife with strippers and hookers; I was not as prone to being shocked into a stupor from all the sordidness of Sin City. If Playboy were a lesson in “Smut 101,” life in Las Vegas could have practically earned me a Ph.D. in Obscenity. After the silver and turquoise mines of the 1800s were depleted, the state of Nevada turned to gambling and prostitution to keep the place alive. Oddly enough, prostitution was illegal in Vegas, but you could still legally sow your oats at the Chicken Ranch just outside nearby Pahrump. I’d see prostitutes now and then at various casinos. They were all dressed up and classier than the NYC 42nd Street streetwalkers, but I could tell they weren’t just ladies out looking for a good time.

It didn’t take me long to discover that if I called myself a “dancer” in Las Vegas, everyone assumed I was a stripper. As a legitimate dancer, I didn’t want to be associated with strippers, but I wished I made as much money as they did. My neighbor at the apartment complex was a “dancer,” and she raked in a fortune. Something shady was going down with her, however, because in the middle of the night once, she and her kids and boyfriend cleared out of the apartment with their belongings and never came back.

Most of the real dancers in Vegas were underpaid and generally not on a union contract. It was a “right to work” state. Word on the street was that other dancers were jealous of the Rockettes because we made considerably more money than they did. But those who got into a long-running show like
Jubilee!
at Bally’s could practically keep dancing forever. (Perhaps the most fantastic showbiz name I’ve ever heard is that of
Jubilee!’s
well-loved and respected director/choreographer Fluff LeCoque. Hers was a household name among Vegas entertainers, who referred to “Fluff” without batting an eye. And she’s not even a drag queen.) Some people had double careers like one guy who was a police officer by day and dancer by night. Some of the women stayed home and raised their families during the day. Others went to law school. With University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV) and two campuses of the Community College of Southern Nevada right in our backyard, dancers enjoyed plenty of educational opportunities. I myself ended up taking college watercolor classes two mornings a week. Many dancers also worked the busy convention seasons during the day to really cash in. Plenty of performers stayed in Vegas indefinitely and hopped from show to show.

I made it through my first six-month contract and, despite the tiring schedule, decided that the gig was too good to give up. So I settled in and made Vegas my home. After living there a year or so, however, I contracted island fever. Unlike Michigan where you could travel a few miles in any direction and be in a new town, the closest places we could go to really get away were a couple hours’ drive. Having only Fridays off, we didn’t have time to journey far. Plus, while mini-mini-vacations provided a much-needed change of scenery and a short respite from the daily grind, they also often left me more fatigued than if I had stayed home and rested. With so little free time and such long drives to escape the craziness of this tourist town, it was easy to feel like I was trapped in the desert.

Nevertheless, sometimes I simply couldn’t stand being cooped up any longer and had to hit the open road. Ron and I made several 2 ½ hour drives northeast to the breathtaking Mt. Zion National Park in Utah and stayed at a bed and breakfast or camped in a tent and hiked among the towering rock formations and trickling streams. On one occasion we joined Squally, Gyne, and Gyne’s hubby for a trip to Laughlin, Nevada (about 90 minutes away), for a hot air balloon festival. Laughlin was like a miniature, trashier version of Vegas, full of people traveling by RV. The casinos were so smoky I thought I was going to keel over with lung cancer on the spot. We dragged our tired tuckuses out of bed at 6:30 a.m. for the balloon launch, but it was so windy that only one balloon attempted the takeoff. The crazy old captain wearing a motorcycle helmet crashed almost immediately into the nearest lump of dirt, barely high enough to classify as a hill. That grounded hot air balloon festival was not worth losing my beauty sleep over.

Occasionally, we escaped all the way to the Grand Canyon or Los Angeles, but both trips were about five-hour drives, depending on traffic. One Thursday in October, Ron and I decided to go camping at the Grand Canyon the following day. We rushed over to the sporting goods store and bought a tent and some sleeping bags before I went off to work. The next morning, we arose early and drove the five hours to the North Rim, which was about a week shy of being shut down for the winter season. We pitched our tents in the sunshine, took a little hike in our shorts and T-shirts, and grilled gourmet sausages for dinner. It was lovely. That night, I tried to sleep, but the hard ground was compressing my muscles into a dull soreness. Just as I was about to conk out from sheer exhaustion, the sky opened up and the thunderstorms rolled in; they continued one after another all night long. I’ve never heard anything like the sound of that ear-splitting thunder reverberating off the canyon walls. Only after the rain water crept into our tent and approached our sleeping bags did we give up and take refuge in the car. When we awoke, the sun was back out, the birds were chirping, snow was covering the ground, and after a near-sleepless night, we had to drive straight back to Vegas in time for me to do two shows. I was so very, very tired. Taking a trip on our day off was a risk, as it probably meant returning to work unrested. That was a difficult way to start the week.

For times when we weren’t willing to take on a big outing but knew we would go insane if we stayed in the city, we could take advantage of the old local standbys. Within a thirty-minute drive of the Strip, we could snow ski at Lee Canyon, hike or horseback ride at the Alpine-esque village of Mt. Charleston, mountain bike or hike at Red Rock Canyon, and search for petroglyphs at Fire Canyon. For those so inclined, myself not included, there was golf available and also boating, windsurfing, sailing, water skiing, and jet skiing at Lake Mead. People usually only think of the Strip when they think of Vegas, but the greater Las Vegas area offers a lot also in the way of nature and outdoor activities.

Thanks to all the casinos, we were absolutely spoiled for entertainment. There were a gazillion fine restaurants and shows galore. Not only could we always count on seeing the long-running mainstays like
Jubilee!
at Bally’s or
Les Folies Bergere
at The Tropicana any time we wanted, but many of the big-name headliners came into town, either to MGM Grand or Caesars Palace. Some shows were quite affordable; it only cost me $35 to see the bawdy Bette Midler at the MGM Grand. Mind you, I was in the nosebleed section. (A Rockette friend of mine was one of Bette’s back-up dancers.) The Strip also offered plenty of free entertainment: lounge acts, the Bellagio fountains, strolling minstrels at the Venetian, the
Parade in the Sky
show at the Rio, the Pirate Show at Treasure Island, the laser light show on Fremont Street. Simply wandering through and marveling at the various themed hotel-casinos made for a fun-filled outing.

Of course, we could gamble all we wanted, if that’s what tickled our fancy, including at Fremont Street casino’s 25-cent tables if we wanted the thrill without the risk. Thankfully, it didn’t tickle our fancy; neither Ron nor I took up gambling as a hobby, passion, or obsession. Some smaller casinos were built away from the Strip to cater to us locals and to take our hard-earned cash. Living in the midst of so many temptations can cause tremendous problems for people with addictive personalities. If you’re the type to have trouble controlling your gambling habit, I’d suggest moving to Branson where “casino” is a dirty word.

When we tired of fighting the crowds and the clink-clank of the slot machines, we found amusing diversions off the main drag. Within a short driving distance from downtown was an art museum, an outdoor amphitheater offering family concerts and picnicking on the lawn, and several noteworthy restaurants and wine bars. Within an hour, we could be at the Pahrump Winery sipping sherry and enjoying a steak lunch.

Vegas was a transient town with a massive influx of people hoping to score jobs or beat the house at gambling so they could claim their fortune. Unfortunately, the promise of easy money brought criminals. When Skinny Chick first got into the show and didn’t have a car, she rented an apartment a couple blocks off the Strip so she could walk to work. Seemed like a smart idea, right? Wrong. You never wanted to live within walking distance of the Strip unless you were comfortable cohabiting with drug dealers, strippers, hookers, and crooks. Skinny Chick found out the hard way when she was robbed during the night while home sleeping. That story scared the bejeezus out of me.

Another Rockette had such trouble with a Peeping Tom spying on her from one of the other apartments at her complex in Northwest Las Vegas that the police had to intervene. To top that off, once during a show, she made eye contact with a young, handsome, exotic man in the audience. He sent her a note backstage and they met. His sexy accent, worldliness, and good looks got the best of her, and she agreed to go out with him only to discover he was Romanian mafia. He made it known that he wielded physical power and had an entourage of cohorts with him to either protect her or make sure she did what he wanted. The man visited Vegas on a regular basis, and she was always having to make herself scarce so he wouldn’t find her. Vegas attracted some creepy, sordid, scary scoundrels.

There were also shootings now and then on the Strip, especially on New Year’s Eve. Occasionally, a dead body would be found in a casino, but those types of events were hushed up quickly. Wouldn’t want to hurt tourism with the news of violence. New Year’s Eve was a survival game and a challenge all its own. After a couple Vegas New Year’s Eves, I just wanted to hole up in my apartment with a bottle of champagne and a good movie, and avoid the crazy crowds altogether. Unfortunately, this wasn’t an option, as the Rockettes had a 10 p.m. show that finished soon after the midnight countdown to the New Year. To complicate matters, the city closed off many of the streets surrounding the Strip in order to accommodate the rowdy, drunken swarm of pedestrian partiers. Hence, our escape route had to be planned well in advance if we wanted to be able to drive home.

One year the cast walked to a nearby cheap and cheesy hotel lounge where we stayed up until dawn singing karaoke and nursing our beers. By the time the sun came up, the creatures of the dark had slunk back into their holes, the streets had reopened, and we could drive home in relative safety. Another year, the cast had a party at the theatre until the wee hours of the morning when most of the intoxicated wackos had dispersed. One year, we heard a rumor that the Crips and Bloods (infamous, violent, rival Los Angeles gangs) might attend the festivities. Yikes! While Vegas was one of the prime places to celebrate New Year’s Eve in excess, the mobs of dangerously wild celebrants made me uneasy.

Everyone we knew seemed to want a weekend in Vegas at least once a year, and not just on New Year’s Eve, so Ron and I found ourselves getting visitors galore. Family, college friends, sorority sisters, show biz friends, childhood friends—we housed and entertained them all. There was never a dull moment living in this prime vacation spot.

During the three years we were there, Vegas changed faster than a chameleon. The cheap hotel rooms and all-you-can-eat, ridiculously cheap buffets still existed, but they took a backseat to the new five-star restaurants like Le Cirque and exclusive suites at places like the lavish Bellagio. Old, has-been casinos were imploded and magnificent, new structures took their place, including The Venetian, Mandalay Bay, Paris, and more. It seemed as if this boom town would never quit booming.

My first trip to Vegas years earlier with my mother had left a poor impression on me. However, once I got over the initial shock of the place and spent some quality time there, I kind of liked it. Like the first time you open a can of Spam, because someone dared you to try it. At first you almost pass out from the smell, but then you decide it sort of tastes like ham if you fry it and slather it with mustard. We cooked up plenty of activities and outings to keep Vegas palatable.

*******

Life went on, and I, along with a good chunk of the cast, settled into our steady jobs. The show ran a glorious year after year after year with no visible end to the run in sight. We ensconced ourselves in the comfort (and discomfort) of our theatre home at the Flamingo and all the activities, backstage shenanigans, and traditions that had developed. Working in one place for so long garnering a regular and substantial paycheck allowed and encouraged many of us to start putting down roots. Cast members bought homes. Some took college classes. Rockettes got married. A few gals even tied the knot with our stagehands, thereby knitting the cast and crew together even more so. Rockettes got pregnant and, eventually, birthed babies. The Rockettes, our dressers, castmates, and stage crew became our extended family. Unlike many entertainers whose lives resembled those of gypsies, we were able to have close to normal-ish, stay-in-one-place lives.

One night in spring, in the Big Dressing Room, we had a mysterious, charades-like showing in which we had to guess the scenario: Leslie stood, legs apart with a hula hoop in front of them while Kitty Cat (her real name was Katrina), beginning crouched in a little ball, wriggled her way through Leslie’s legs and out the circular hole. Did you guess? This pantomime was Leslie’s announcement that she was pregnant! Shortly after Leslie’s dramatic enactment and just shy of two years after joining the show, I, too, discovered I was pregnant! Both of our babies were due in mid to late December.