No Lifeguard on Duty: The Accidental Life of the World's First Supermodel

JANICE DICKINSON

For my children, Nathan and Savvy,

whose unflagging zest for life and humor

are a wonder and inspiration to me.

With love forever, your mom.

And

to my glorious sisters, Alexis and Debbie,

for showing me the way.

b

CONTENTS

(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

Acknowledgments

v

Prologue

1

Meet the Parents

6

Crosstown Traffic

25

Freedom

44

Woke Up This Mornin’

66

The Girls in the Attic

81

Milano
108

The Good Daughter
134

Model Wars
149

Love’s a Bitch
172

Party Girl
180

Making It?
193

The Music Man
221

Rehabbing at the Rehab
248

The Good Nun
258

City of Angels
274

Return of the Rat Bastard
287

Better Living Through Chemistry
294

Divorce Wars
302

Bam Ham Slam
311

Hide Your Head in the Sand, Little Girl
323

On My Own
341

Clean and Sober
361

Family
367

Index
378

About the Author

Praise

Cover

Copyright

About the Publisher

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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To:

Mr. Simon Fields and his devoted wife, the talented Melanie Apple. Thank you, Simon, for the greatest boy that ever lived.

Mr. Michael Birnbaum and family. Michael, thank
you
for the most precious jewel in the entire universe.

Christian Straub, for inspiration, whimsical genius, and all the love in this and the next life.

Mr. Thomas O’Sullivan, the Rock of Gibraltar.

Mr. Liam for structuring my words on computer.

Mr. John Pearson for continuously bailing me out of trouble.

For:

Cal Morgan, my undying gratitude forever for polish and sparkle and keeping it real. Thank you. Yo! P.Lo, the artist of artists, the real writer, that goes without saying.

You’re the Lord. Thank you. The entire staff at Regan-Books, especially Paul Olsewski, Cassie, Carl, Kurt, Joyce, Conor, Liz, Dan, Tom, and Evan. Last and first, to Judith Regan, the one and only. This book happened a long time ago and without your insight and vision it wouldn’t have been possible. You were there all along. Thank you.

Thanks to (in complete random order):

Mike Cestari, the greatest screenwriter. Period. Odet Bahat for just being cool. Page Jenkins for his guidance V I AC K N OW L E D G M E N T S

and knowledge throughout the years. Michael and Randolyn Foster. The Thacker family, especially Susan for her guidance. Ted Field. My longest and dearest friend, Eric Salter. Lionel George, The Great. Barbara Malone and Reed. Djody Situan. Aida Thiabant. Suzanne Hughes. Ron Galotti. Tony Peck, for always being there. The Naudet family, especially Jean Jacques. Peter Knapp and Odile at
Elle
. Kodgi Toyoda for the most amazing hair in the world.

Period. Leslie Kawamura. Yuki, Goro, and Chin. My friend Chad, who also does the raddest hair in the universe.

Dr. Jon Perlman. Dr. Steven Hoeflin. Dr. John Joseph for incredible Botox. Dr. Frank Ryan, surgeon to the stars and the Bony Pony Ranch. Dr. Uzzi Reiss and his lovely wife, Yael, for the delivery of both my children. Without you I would have been nothing, except a dead racehorse.

My gynecologist’s son, Jacob Reiss. Dr. Ed Kantor and Joe and Odette Sugarman. Dr. Mark Saginor; Dr. James Grot-stein; Dr. Josh Trabulous; Dr. Cohen.

Howard Stern and Robin for keeping me going every

morning since you’ve been on the air.

The Beverly Glen Pharmacy, especially Sue and Mark.

The Beverly Glen Cleaners. The Beverly Glen Deli, especially George and Karen. Thanks for not spitting in the food. In loving memory of Rita from the Smile Skin Care Salon. Thanks for your warmth and kindness. Mr. Chris Smith at Sierra Leasing, thank you. Book Soup, especially Glen and Andrea. Robert at Solarium. L.A. Cellular phone; Alex and his spirited brother.

Azzedine Alaia. Donatella Versace. Paul Beck. Angelo.

Valentino. Calvin Klein. Carlos deSouza. Diane Von

Furstenerg. Michael Kors. Thierry Mugler. Jean Paul Gaulthier. Kenzo. Issey Miyake. Karl Lagerfeld. Chanel Chanel Chanel. Manolo Blahnik for my entire life’s shoe fetish.

AC K N OW L E D G M E N T S VII

Richard Avedon and Justin White. Stan Schaefer. Stan Malinowski. Phillip Dixon. Veronique Vial. Albert Watson.

Norma Stevens. Arthur Elgort and Marianne. Paul at Flesh-tone Labs and his lovely Isabel Snyder. The Great Davis Factor. Mr. Gille Ben-Simon. Peter Beard and Najma. Bill King and Janet McClelland. Francesco Scavullo and Sean Byrnes. Hiro and Pieta at Hiro Studio. Patrick DeMarchelier. Michael Reinhardt for all your photography guidance and help with this book.

Lauren Hutton. Christine Peters. Jon Peters. Brooke Shields. Warren Beatty. Mick Jagger. Matthew Modine.

Michael Fuchs. Steve Bing. He put the “R” in RICH. Mark Abell of Critical Mass. David Giler. Iman. Patti Hansen.

Rosie Vela. Esme. Beverly Johnson. Cheryl Tiegs. Kevin Barry. Rene Russo. Jack Osbourne for his advice and the only Ozzfest tickets for Nathan.

Rod Stewart, thank you for Maggie May.

Muddy Waters. Way Bandy, the most incredible makeup guru ever. Suga, may you be wedging in heaven forever.

Gia Carangi—a true light angel, not a dark angel as she has been depicted. John Belushi. Frank Zappa. Perry Ellis.

Barry McKinley. Billy Tsutsos. Joe MacDonald. Paul

Gobel. Gianni Versace, may you forever rule. Ariella. May you all rest in peace.

Harry King. Sandy Linter. George Pipisick and Santa Monica Bodybuilding. Thank you for keeping my ass off the back of my kneecaps. The Pain Management Clinic, especially Dr. Tom Marinaro. Judy Townsend. Wendy

Gralnick. Monique Pillard, for her years of service. Patrice Casanova. Jacques Malignon. Guy. Dominique and

Jacques Silverstein. Lorraine Bracco. Ron Levy. Jeanne Damon-Levy. Al Gersten. Jon Sahag.

Russ, Cynthia, and Shannon Berri. The Haskell Family.

Grace and Matthew Morton. Linda Wells. Suzanne

VIII AC K N OW L E D G M E N T S

Schwartz at
Glamour
. Diana Vreeland. Grace Coddington.

Anna Wintour. Andre Leon Talley. Myrna Blyth and

Alanna. Phillipe from Ford Models. Lois Joy Johnson and Thea. The Elite Agency, N.Y. and L.A. Katie Herrera for not stealing my underwear. Mr. Ish Moran at Maha Yoga.

Rita of Rita Flora. Pepe and Clarissa Moreno and family.

Freddy Leiba. Maury Hopson. Ben Dickinson. Alec

Sorkin. Adam Glassman.

Jimmy Rip, who got me sober, thank you with all my

heart and life. Rick O’Shea (aka Mark Abramson) for being the most fabulous PR guru in the universe. Mr.

Edward Tricomi. Steve and Michel Kerner. Mr. Harry

Sloan. Miss Morgan Brown and Will. My entire Polish family. Daniella and Fabio Belotti. Dr. Francesco

Colombo. Edwardo and Hilde Poli. Bill Bloch. Francesco Gamero and Eli Rivera at You-Wash Doggy. Lydia Umano.

Marie Scoedeller. Chris Royer. Jon Fawcett and the guys at 76th Station. Anne Kelly for skin. Kevin Barry. Chad, for taking over where Way Bandy and Kevin Aucoin left off.

Suzy Weiss. Tracy Tweed. Bruno and Winston. Dave and Raphael. David Giler. Deborah Wachine.

Thank you to Vicky Felmar, Liza Sperling, and the

Warner Star Program for keeping my daughter truly balanced. Thank you to all of the aftercare at the school, the Warner Avenue teachers, and the Warner Avenue School.

The Curtis School. Mont Clare Prep School. Mrs. Terada.

Lori Saunders. And Mrs. Kirshner. The Ungers, Mulberry Street Pizza, and Mr. Richie Palmer for the best slice this side of the Mississippi River. Broadway gym for lending expertise and gymnastics knowledge and support to Savvy and all the kids on Saturday mornings.

Thanks to AA and everyone who ever walks through the door for allowing me the true support (notwithstanding the
Wonderbra
), solution, encouragement, and hope.

AC K N OW L E D G M E N T S I X

I want to salute every gay man that I tried to seduce.

Thank you for letting me down easy. I want to thank lesbians everywhere. May the LAP LAP 500 club continue to reign.

Last but not least, to Lina Perl, the sexiest bitch of all.

Due to the loss of brain cells left somewhere in a jar, if I’ve forgotten anyone, thank you to you.

P.S. I can’t wait for book #2! Read on . . .

PROLOGUE

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Tried to run, Tried to hide

Break on through to the other side

Hollywood, Florida. February 28, 1969. I am going out of my head. It is ten o’clock at night and I am lying in bed and I hear my father’s footfalls on the stairs. They are getting louder, more distinct. He reaches the landing and approaches and pauses outside my door. I hold my breath.

He opens the door. I pretend to be asleep. I can picture him standing there, silhouetted against

the dim light in the hallway. He

hates me. The hatred comes off

him in waves.

He closes the door. Moves

down the hallway, to Debbie’s

room. He opens her door. I can

hear the squeaky hinges. I hold

my breath, praying he won’t go

inside.
Please God, please

please please.
A moment later,

he closes her door. He comes

WALKING MY FIRST RUNWAY.

HOLLYWOOD, FLORIDA, 1957.

((((((((((((((((((

2 J A N I C E D I C K I N S O N

back down the corridor and moves past my door again, toward his own room. I am so relieved I begin to shake.

Then I hear him slow down. Stop. I break into a sweat and clench my fists to try to bring the shaking under control.