One of her selling points to me was that we could possibly be hired as ring girls at the Holmes Cooney Fights, which were scheduled at Caesar’s Palace for June 11, 1982.
Or that we could get modeling jobs at Caesar’s Palace during the promotional events for the fight. I did picture this in my mind for a minute—both of us dressed in cute little get ups, carrying cards with big numbers on them indicating the next round for the prizefight.
I did not, for one minute, actually believe we would be able to get jobs as ring girls!
It was a dreaming moment in time that was implanted in my mind by Chris, and we both languished on these thoughts for days….
The other glamorous thoughts were of dealers at a casino. I did think that might interest me, but again, I knew in my heart I wasn’t leaving Pittsburgh.
I believe Chris was developing a secret interest in learning how to enhance her looks with makeup. She started selling May Kay cosmetics, and I proceeded to instruct her on the fine artist’s tricks of glamorizing yourself! I started right after graduating high school with a career in sales by selling Merle Normal Cosmetics, which was located in downtown Pittsburgh in the Jenkins Arcade building—the first indoor shopping mall in the world. My favorite store in the Jenkins Arcade was a store that sold nothing but buttons—yes, nothing but buttons!
Chris was gifted at birth with big brown eyes and thick black lashes—I always envied women with those lashes. Not much mascara needed on thick lashes, and if you applied it at all, it made you look like you were wearing fake ones.
I couldn’t imagine Chris as being glamorous. She never put on a dress and never wore make up. She was in sports mode always, and ready for the next run in the park or workout at the gym. I looked forward to her transformation and wondered what she’d look like all dolled up….
We both purchased our vacation packages to Vegas and planned on staying for five days at the Holiday Inn on the Vegas strip; we were psyched. I made arrangements for my parents to watch my son, and they were happy to do it.
Chris still resided at the Riverview apartment building where I had previously lived, and was making arrange-ments for Marty to feed her cat while she was out of town. This mention of Marty made me realize that she was still seeing him in some capacity.
On Monday, June 1 of 1982, I drove myself to the Pittsburgh Airport and boarded my flight to Las Vegas, Nevada. Chris missed the flight because she hadn’t been able to solidify plans that Marty would take care of her cat while she was gone.
When I arrived in Vegas I headed for the first pay phone and that was the story she told me. She would come as soon as she could, she said. I was a little pissed off, but decided to just ignore her for now, and go about having fun in Vegas.
My style of fun was to do my hair and makeup, don a cute little sundress and mosey on over to the pool at Caesar’s Palace and pretend I was a movie star. Armed with the latest romance novel paperback book, my beach bag, sunglasses, lotion and my favorite peach lipstick, I did just that.
Caesar’s was bustling in preparation for the Holmes Cooney fights, and there were real movie stars everywhere—I couldn’t believe my eyes when I spotted Jack Nicholson leaning against a wall in Caesar’s lobby, wearing sunglasses, a sport jacket and tennis shoes. He just stood there nodding at people and looking cool as all hell. I knew this was going to be the most fun I’d had in quite a while—Hollywood dreaming and more sunshine than any normal Pittsburgher could handle.
My ears were popping almost immediately with the change in sea level. I had never experienced anything like this before, and it was driving me crazy. I felt like they were filling up with water or something, and I also felt bloated, like I was starting to retain water. In chatting with a local, someone told me this was common until you got used to the change in pressure. The other horrible thing about Vegas was the hundred degree temperatures during the day, then the plummet to fifty degrees at night. I hadn’t brought any sort of jacket or coat, assuming it was June and extremely hot all the time.
Chris arrived the next day, and she was aggravated and bitchy. She smacked the door to my room as she passed by on the way to hers, slammed into her room next door and threw her bags on the bed in a fit. She said that Marty had known about the trip, but then disappeared and avoided her so as to possibly get out of feeding her cat. She did finally corner him and gave him the key to her apartment and instructions for the cat, so in other words, she had to force him to commit to doing something for her. I thought that was awful, and wondered why she even bothered with this creepy self-centered guy.
I truly didn’t want to think about Marty right now, the thought made me nauseous….
So I quickly changed the subject on her and asked if she wanted to go get something to eat. Buffets were included in the package, so we got in line for the dining area at the Holiday Inn.
The hotel staff was handing out gifts to all the guests, and someone handed Chris a small toy wind up dog that barked and jumped around the floor; it was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. I was handed a cosmetic bag and thought I’d ask Chris to exchange gifts with me since she had no children, and I didn’t think she’d have any use for the little dog.
She was winding up the dog quickly and playing with it on the floor when I asked her, “Why don’t you trade me for the cosmetic bag Chris, my son would just go nuts over that little dog.”
She yelled back at me right away in a louder than normal voice, “Why would I want to give you this dog? I think he’s cute and I’m keeping him.” I thought she was joking with me. But her face morphed into anger a minute later, and I knew she was serious.
“But Chris,” I started begging, “please think about how you will never use that little dog again, and my son would enjoy it so much.” I simply could not fathom why she would want this dog, except that she just didn’t want me to have it, and I was having a difficult time believing that she was being so mean about it. The pure selfishness of this was getting to me. I wasn’t in any way a selfish person. I didn’t under-stand selfishness on any level.
She opened her purse and yanked out a half-eaten candy bar, cocked her hip, looked at me and said, “So should I give you my candy bar, too? I don’t know why you think I should share anything with you—get your own.”
The embarrassment I felt while standing in the lobby of the hotel was too much for me, and even though I was starving and hadn’t eaten all day, I wanted to walk away. She was loud and obnoxious, and she wasn’t going to quit.
My mouth hung open and I left the dinner line and walked back to my room where I sat on the bed and cried. I simply couldn’t believe her cockiness, her arrogance and her outright horrible attitude. I had not seen this behavior before in Chris, but then again, I didn’t know her well. I wanted to go home. She was acting like she had suddenly become possessed by demons, and I didn’t get it; I didn’t understand it.
I had never seen this side of Chris, because if I had, I wouldn’t be sitting here in Vegas with her by my side—no way. I didn’t hang with people like this; it wasn’t in my book of rules for friendships. She was not herself, not the person I knew, and it was slowly sinking in that I didn’t know her, and hadn’t known her, and that I should just make the best out of my vacation here in Vegas with or without her. I didn’t have a problem with that; I was independent enough to not allow that to matter to me. I could chalk it up to not knowing enough about someone’s real personality—that’s all it was—and I could avoid her for the rest of the vacation. She gave me the feeling now that she was running wild in a strange city, and I was uncomfortable with that feeling. I knew that when you were unfamiliar with your surroundings you should proceed with caution on every level.
The next morning Chris banged on my door. She was all dressed and ready to go to the pool at Caesar’s, and I could see she had forgotten yesterday’s incident. “Hey, let’s just hang out and see who we can see over there, and I’m going to try and get some tickets to the fights.”
I was caut
ious of her now, more reserved and more defensive, anticipating more bizarre behavior from her. I said, “Look Chris, it’s obvious to me that we are not here together on a vacation; we are here separately, and I’m not sure I am enjoying that so much, also I think that it’s dangerous. I used to live in New York City, and I can tell you that you shouldn’t be making friends with people around here; too many transients come through this town. Just be careful please.”
Chris looked puzzled, “You can do what you want, and I’m doing what I want, OKAY?”….
She turned abruptly and walked away towards the elevator.
I wasn’t one to argue with anyone about their impulsive behavior. I didn’t care.
I got ready quickly and met her in the lobby of the hotel. We hailed a taxi and headed to Caesar’s Palace for an afternoon of sunshine and stargazing.
I walked directly towards the pool at Caesar’s while Chris said she’d meet back in the lobby in two hours. When I returned to the lobby I saw her sitting at the bar with several men who appeared to be with the Holmes Cooney fights. She introduced me and one of the men bought me a drink.
Shortly after I sat down, the men left and Chris was smiling and happy.
She showed me two tickets to the fights, and I didn’t say a word, waiting for her to offer the explanation if she wanted to give one….
Chris sat there and finished her soda—she didn’t drink alcohol. I wanted to ask how she maneuvered those tickets, but before I could verbalize it, she turned to me and said, “I have agreed to give this promoter guy a deep tissue massage, and it’s going to be my first professional gig as a masseuse. I am going to buy the white shirt and pants, and he has informed me that the hotel will send up a table to his penthouse suite. I’m really excited.”
I didn’t say anything. Honestly, I didn’t care how she got the tickets; I wasn’t planning on being in Vegas for the fights. She could go her own way. I didn’t care anymore what she did. I was tagging along half interested in her escapades.
In the taxi on our way back to the hotel, I casually asked Chris how she was planning to stay longer than the five-day vacation package, and she told me she was already looking around for a weekly rate at a place that rents studio apartments. I didn’t know if she had included me in this scenario, and it didn’t matter. I wasn’t interested in boxing, and I was thinking about getting back home to Pittsburgh. We only had one day left at the Holiday Inn on the Strip, and the rooms were too expensive to purchase for an extended stay.
I realized at this point that Chris had not planned on including me for the Holmes Cooney fights at Caesar’s Palace on June 11. I knew that she had planned on being in Vegas for the fights all along. It didn’t sink in until I tallied up the calendar days in my mind and figured out that our package would run out long before the June 11 fight date. It didn’t matter; I never paid attention to her when she was blabbing about the fights because it just didn’t interest me. However, I believe that the fights were something she was thinking about for a long while, and they were important to her.
I was perfectly content with my own little world of pretend glamour, and she could stay in her own little world of rough and tough pursuits—no problem.
The next day Chris was nowhere to be found. I got dressed and went to Caesar’s to the pool, and while there met a couple from Los Angeles who were vacationing for a month. Kathy and Larry Roberts said they had rented a house in the suburbs about thirty minutes from the Strip, and told me I was invited for sunbathing and lunch anytime if I wanted to escape the busy atmosphere of the city. They were friendly and courteous, most likely around the same age as me, in their early to mid-thirties, but I had no expectations of anything with these people other than casual chitchat. I needed to take my mind off the situation with Chris, and this was the perfect distraction. I had no intention of giving these two people any personal information, nor was I going anywhere with them other than hanging out in the casino. I imagined this particular scenario was common in Vegas—people chatting and touring together, and I felt comfortable with the very casual nature of the relationship.
Kathy was a small, petite woman with light brown shoulder length hair, who wore colorful shorts and tops with different designs on them. Not something I would wear but she always looked neat and manicured. Her friendly smile stood out for me, she had nice teeth and wore peach lipstick like I did. Larry was common looking, a bit taller than me at under six foot, with darker brown hair, dark-colored, thick-rimmed glasses and a boney looking face. Neither one was glamorous, both seemed like normal people, and they mentioned they had been to Vegas before, which to me was a big plus for informational purposes….
The three of us spent the day playing the slots and then they invited me to try my hand at Baccarat, which I’d never even heard of. I sat there and called out guesses when they told me to. I had spent about fifty bucks enjoying myself, and within an hour I had won eleven hundred dollars at a game that I never heard of. I was overjoyed and took the money to Western Union the next day and wired it home to my mother. I did not want to have that kind of cash on my person in Vegas, and I had enough of my own money left that I didn’t need it.
When I arrived back at the hotel, Chris was in the buffet line and I asked her what she was planning to do. She said, “I found a cheap place called Woodbridge Inn Apartments that’s within walking distance of the Strip for a hundred bucks a week; don’t you want to stay longer? Aren’t you having fun?”
I guess I was having fun, getting tan and enjoying myself, but I felt guilty as hell about staying longer and spending more money. Money I shouldn’t have been spending in the first place. But hell, half of one hundred was only fifty bucks, and I assumed she wanted a roommate to share the studio apartment, so I told her I’d stay a little longer—I had just won eleven hundred dollars and I felt good.
I confess I had secret thoughts of winning more money playing the slots because I could not have sat in on a game of Baccarat and known what to do by myself. I did enjoy the slots and had been accumulating the silver dollars that I won. I had planned on taking home as many as possible for my son; I knew he’d enjoy them, and he’d think they were a valuable exotic treasure that mom had brought him.
Kathy Roberts had given me her phone number if I wanted to meet at the casino, and I was fantasizing about winning more money.
I phoned my mom to see if she would mind watching my son for another week. She told me to enjoy myself, but then added, “I had a very strange dream the other night, and I just want you to be careful out there.”
“What kind of dream Mom, what was it about?” I was curious, but half-interested.
My mom was a lapsed Catholic who didn’t go to church anymore, and it wasn’t like her to tell me about religious dreams, so I felt it odd when she told me she woke up in the middle of the night for no reason, glanced at the floor next to her bed and saw the illuminated face of Jesus. She said she lay awake and prayed for my safety after this experience. I knew that she was just worried about me being away from home, and put the entire conversation out of my mind. The only thing I wanted to hear was that she was fine with watching my son. I felt secure with him being with my mom.
I had nothing to worry about. My son was safe with Mom and I was having fun.
We both packed up our suitcases and headed for Woodbridge Inn Apartments at 700 E. Flamingo Road via a short taxi ride. The Woodbridge Inn was within walking distance of Caesar’s Palace.
FOUR: PANIC AT THE POOL
“There is a sub personality within each person that has a self-destruct theme.”
–Annie B. Bond
After moving our luggage to the new location, we hurriedly yanked our bikinis out of our bags and onto our bodies and headed to the pool. Each section of the apartment complex had a pool area with hot tub, laundry room and rambling pathways leading to the next section of units. Our small studio apartment was on the second level, up a flight of stairs, similar to a motel setting. The entire complex looked lik
e a glorified motel.
Upon entering the apartment there was a living room area with a sofa, chair and coffee table. It had a cute little breakfast bar with two stools and the usual galley kitchen set up, but it was more comfortable than a hotel room, so I was thrilled that Chris had found this reasonably priced gem.
The bedroom was small with two single beds and a tiny bathroom off to the side, and if you stood on the balcony of the long front porch you could peer right into the apartment from the oversized picture window and see straight through the entire apartment. The only rooms not visible while looking in the front window were the bedroom and small attached bath. You could, however, see the bottom halves of the two single beds and the part of the bedroom where the door entrance to the bath was. Stepping outside the apartment door you could walk directly to your left, down the front steps and arrive at the hot tub and pool area. This was just peachy….
I’d never had this much sunshine in all my life, never actually had a vacation in a sunny spot like this before. It was paradise to me, but it was June in Las Vegas and getting hotter with every day that passed. The days were scorching and the nights were freezing cold, and neither one of us brought coats, so we endured this strange weather. We jumped hastily in taxis in the evening hours, only to arrive at a casino and realize that their air conditioning wasn’t turned off or even turned down at night. The hotels and casinos were refrigerators that never turned off.
Passing thoughts were of living in such a wonderful, sunny climate that was unlike Pittsburgh, where you never knew what the summer months had in store for you. Sometimes you were roasting hot with a horrible humid season and other times you were rained out for the entire summer. I loved the thought of having sunshine all the time.
We were laid out on our beach towels, and I had started to relax in the burning sun. I tried to resist napping so as not to fall asleep—this sun could burn you up in a short period of time, I sensed that. After closing my eyes for what seemed like five minutes, I propped myself up on my elbow and looked around. Chris was gone. I thought I had heard her talking with someone, a man’s voice, but it was so vague that I assumed she’d gone back to the apartment or went to the vending area. I didn’t pay much attention until I saw a security guard dashing past me to an apartment on the other side of the pool. I couldn’t really see what was going on from my view at poolside, so I lay back down on my towel.
Who Killed Chrissy?: The True Crime Memoir of a Pittsburgh girl's Unsolved Murder in Las Vegas Page 5
