Long Legs and Tall Tales: A Showgirl's Wacky, Sexy Journey to the Playboy Mansion and the Radio City Rockettes (35 page)

After several weeks’ worth of playing clubs in our home base of Tokyo, we ventured out by bus to perform in other cities: Nagoya, Kofu, Osaka—Japan’s third largest city—and Yokohama—Japan’s second largest city. Since the Japanese planned opening-night and closing-night parties for each place we performed, we became well acquainted with sake and often ended up toasting everyone and everything in the restaurant.

Other than dancing the night away at Prince’s funky live music club, Glam Slam, in Yokohama and getting bedbugs from the sheets in my Osaka hotel, particularly memorable were our stops in Nagoya and Kofu. Nagoya is approximately 220 miles west and a little bit south of Tokyo. We visited the beautiful Nagoya Castle, built between 1610 and 1619, destroyed by the United States in World War II, and reconstructed in the 1950s. I felt guilty knowing that my country demolished one of their national treasures but was glad we were no longer enemies. Another attraction of the castle compound was the Ninomaru Tea House. Here we observed ritualistic tea ceremonies, rooted in transformative Zen Buddhist spiritual practices, in which green tea powder called “matcha” was specially prepared and formally presented. The tea house brochure tantalized:

If you would like to taste Japanese green tea in the house, you may buy a tea coupon, and beautiful women clad in kimono serve you tea. It is interesting to sit on the tatami mat, take green tea and admire the castle and beautiful garden. Furthermore, it is said that visitors may strengthen their leases on life five years by taking a bowl of Japanese tea at the house.

For a modest fee, who wouldn’t want to extend their time on earth by simply drinking the bewitching beverage? We all sat down for a cup.

The bonus of our day sightseeing in Nagoya was a fortuitous star spotting. Three Sumo-wrestling champions! They weren’t particularly difficult to spot, as they were multiple times larger than a normal-sized Japanese man. Of course, in their traditional training and tournament togs—naked except for a thong loincloth—they’d be especially obvious. This particular day, they were off duty and, consequently, in kimonos with their rotund rumps well concealed. Naturally, we asked permission to have our pictures taken with these revered, cultural icons. These bottom-bearing behemoths seemed like kindred spirits, given that we all earned our dough donning G-strings and turning loose too much of our respective cabooses.

Another highlight of our time in Nagoya was the night we had to be the Budweiser beer girls, which required us to wear short, skin-tight, sleeveless dresses that looked like giant Budweiser beer cans. Our job was to be photographed as these jumbo brewskis, eating and partying at an outdoor festival, for a magazine spread. I didn’t particularly like being squeezed into that sack of suds. The bizarre dinner menu kept me well under my calorie count, however. Now, I generally love me some sushi, and the fresher the fish the better. This joint took fresh to a new level when we watched them slaughter a live lobster, kicking and screaming, then serve us the extracted meat, muscles still a-twitching. The sidekick side dish was an entire baby crab, fried extra crispy so we could munch and crunch the shell, knobby-kneed legs and all. At least I was sure this little guy was dead as a doornail (and just about as pleasant to eat as a doornail). “Bring me another Bud, please!”

Having left Tokyo and our fast-food friends The Colonel and Denny behind, we started eating more Japanese fare, most of it much more palatable than zombie lobster and crunchy crab shells. I adored the sweet potato-filled pastries and the magnificent sushi platters with spicy, green wasabi and pickled ginger. In fact, the many varieties of colorful, little pickle accompaniments were unusually tasty. I also found it fascinating that beans were often treated as a dessert item, sweet beans and cornflakes sprinkled atop ice cream sundaes. The staple foods by far, however, were rice and noodles served in a broth with meat and/or vegetables. I gobbled up so much rice and slurped so many noodles that I nearly collapsed into a carb coma. Like the Indonesians, the young Japanese had terribly rotten teeth, perhaps from too much sugary, sticky starch?

While I thoroughly enjoyed sampling the native cuisine, after a while I began craving fruits and vegetables, which had been noticeably absent from our meals. Starving for nutrition, I stumbled over to the local outdoor market in search of a hit of fruit. The precious cargo was prohibitively expensive—all carefully, individually wrapped, packaged, and nestled in cushy boxes as if to be mailed as an exotic Christmas present. I left, empty handed, as visions of non-sugary plums danced in my head.

*******

The show had been running fairly smoothly, but little by little, day by day, an insidious infection crept into the cast. It began as an affliction of a few individuals, but the rest of us were not immune to its toxic effects. First of all, Marina determined that showbiz was not, in fact, the life she desired. (It ain’t always glamorous, that’s for darn sure.) She no longer wanted to be in her sister’s trendy, wedged shoes and was ready to have the whole ordeal over with so she could get back to her normal life. She was one unhappy—though, fortunately, still sociable—camper.

Worst of all, Tina and Tasha had gone off the deep end, through no real fault of their own. The real culprit was the topless factor. Let me explain. Some topless showgirls are quite classy, like the “nudes” in the Vegas show
Jubilee
!, bedazzling and beguiling in their exquisite Bob Mackie and Pete Menefee gowns, slinking down the grand staircase. They were so stunningly gorgeous that I almost wanted to be up on stage with them. These women were like Venus de Milo—-their bodies a magnificent work of art. Their elegant, elaborate costumes highlighted and accentuated their natural beauty. Also, a large number of women were contracted as nudes, so they all were able to benefit from a community of support.

Our show, on the other hand, was motorcycle mama minus material. And there were only two topless out of eight. Neither of the girls had gone topless before, and it was messing with their minds. The two grew bitter at being the only ones to have to bare their bosoms. Tasha eventually solved her psychological dilemma by developing a completely different mindset; she seemed to consider herself a special star of the show. In any case, both Tina and Tasha mentally separated themselves from the rest of the cast, and a rift ensued: the topless girls versus everyone else. Although the animosity was unspoken, we all felt their isolation from us, and they were uncomfortable to be around.

Tina was professional enough not to let her attitude obviously affect her performance. She dutifully went through the motions with a fake smile. The audience probably couldn’t detect a problem, but I sensed she hated every moment. Tasha performed with pseudo pride; after all, she was a featured performer. Backstage, Tina and Tasha remained aloof and silent. Awkward.

*******

Our tour continued on to Kofu about 80 miles west of Tokyo. On a clear day, you could see the famous, holy Mt. Fuji, Japan’s largest mountain, often seen in photographs with its peak covered in snow.
If only we had time to hike it!
Our accommodations at the sizable, sophisticated, Royal Garden Hotel were particularly enjoyable. First of all, because we performed in a big banquet hall in the very hotel in which we were staying, our commute to work was a breeze. Secondly, ours was a dinner show this time, complete with loads of red wine bottles already set on the tables so guests could quickly refill their glasses whenever they were thirsty. After the show, we’d scour the place for full bottles and sneak them back to our rooms to enjoy. Hated to waste good grape juice.

Our gig included a lot of schmoozing with the big wigs, namely, the chairman and president, who brought us in to perform, and their cohorts. Consequently, our entourage expanded greatly. These lovely people treated us like gold, fed us feasts, and made us feel like family. The Kofu contingency were so generous they spent an entire day shuffling us through their local pride and joy—an ivory museum, which showcased stunning artifacts made of the creamy-white tusks. (Yeah, I know. We all hoped the animals weren’t poached for their parts, too.) A professional photographer followed our every step and documented the day. Our new friends also took us to another beautiful shrine with lovely gardens and a tea room. We sat in traditional Japanese fashion—shoeless on tatami mat floors—and ate from trays with little compartments that housed various, unusual Japanese delicacies. When we inquired what one of the substances was, we received the astonishing reply, “Moss, scraped off rocks.” Their culture was clearly more creative in determining what constituted food. On the way back to our hotel, we stopped at a lush vineyard to pick grapes.

An especially delightful surprise was the kimono seamstress who showed up at our hotel rooms to take our measurements. Days later she returned with unique, colorful, custom-made kimonos for all of us, including Janice. Mine was blue-green with big white, pink, and turquoise flowers and a baby blue and pink belt. With help, we were wrapped in the ravishing robes and sash, tied at the waist with a big bow in the back. Beautiful! We all put up our hair, and I added a Japanese flowered hair accessory I’d bought to really look the part. Many photos later, our benefactors took us, still in costume, to a tiny, casual local restaurant for Japanese fast food. It was one of my favorite experiences of the entire summer.

Unfortunately, in the midst of all this merrymaking, tensions were at an all-time high with Tina and Tasha, who by this time couldn’t even stand each other. The dressing room was no longer the jovial place it had been. There was an icky, silent, negative-energy cloud floating about. Everybody felt it and wanted to avoid it. As dance captain, having to ask either of them to do anything was terrifying. I half expected to have my eyes scratched out. Tasha, who had previously maintained a mild-mannered librarian exterior and was mostly quiet as a mouse (or a librarian), was a powder keg ready to explode on the interior. One wrong word could set her off. The safest bet was to avoid conversations except when absolutely necessary. Other than a few minor battles between Playmates, everything had been fine until we added topless dancers.
Why couldn’t we all just get along?
I can only speculate on what Tina and Tasha were going through that made them so volatile, but I highly suspect this intense drama wouldn’t have happened had they been fully clothed like the rest of the cast.

On a nicer note, my birthday arrived while we were in Kofu; when I retired to my room that evening, I found a beautiful blue glass vase filled with enormous red roses from the local chairman of the hotel. He arranged for a special cast dinner to be held in one of the banquet rooms. I was presented with another bouquet of flowers and a card signed by the gang. Everyone sang “Happy Birthday,” and I blew out my strawberry-bedecked cake a-sizzle with sparklers. What a nice surprise!

It never ceased to amaze me how respectfully we were treated. At the end of our run there, the chairman presented us each with a beautiful, typed letter. It ended with this lovely paragraph:

We all meet the wonderful people in our lives. Through the Playboy’s show, we could get to know one of the greatest people and became friends which we could never forget. We believe that you will continue performing the wonderful show in many cities all of the world. We would like to give all of you as one of our family a heartful cheering no matter where you will be. I felt as if they had been my lovely daughters (sisters?). We hope that we will see you again someday, and may you be happy and successful in your lives. Thank you very much.

*******

Our time in Japan had come to a close. Not wanting the excitement to end, Callie, Tasha, and I opted to stay on an extra few days to be tourists with Donald, Bernie, Namiko, and Yuki Zuki after the rest of the group returned to L.A. I stayed, in part, because I wanted to prolong my time with Yuki Zuki. Tasha stayed, because a few weeks earlier, she had replaced Satin in the role of Donald’s love interest. Certainly, the tension was far less extreme with the show over and Tina gone, but Tasha remained reticent and close to Donald most of the time. In spite of the strange dynamics, I managed to enjoy my extended visit.

A highlight was our candlelight cave tour by the ocean, where the waves crashed along the rugged cliffs. Callie and I also took a little side trip to visit Rhonda, our former lead singer, who happened to be in Japan at a nearby seaside town doing another show. There was a real tiger in the show; we had our picture taken next to Rhonda who was holding the large, fanged cat by a leash. Standing in such close proximity to a ferocious animal I usually see only at the zoo behind bars or thick safety glass got my adrenaline pumping big time.

Callie and I flew home together but Tasha remained in Japan with Donald for who knows how long. It was the last I ever saw of her. She may still be there. I wish her (and Tina) well, whatever the case. Yuki Zuki and I had a tearful goodbye. It simply wasn’t a relationship I could see thriving long distance or otherwise, even though he was cute as a wide-eyed Japanese cartoon kitty and sweet as a sweet bean ice cream sundae. I returned from Japan with the feeling that the world was a very small place.

*******

There was no time to be melancholy, because the night we returned from Japan was the infamous annual Playboy “Pajama Party” at The Mansion. You’d better believe I was jumping for joy at seeing that invitation in the mail, although Val had told us ahead of time to save the date. On the front of the card was a drawing of a sexy, 1940s female movie star looking at herself in a hand-held mirror. Wearing only a sheer black sheath, the back of her sleek, naked body peeked through. The inside of the invitation read: