George always whispered when he talked and he looked like any other businessman with dark brown hair and a medium build. Margo was short and slender with quite a personality. The two of them had been together for at least five years and he had her working three weeks out of the month in whore houses with one week off. During that time, George would drive her to another state, get her high on drugs, wine and dine her like a queen, and then drop her off at another whore house to have her do it all over again.
I felt sorry for her, though I was turning about six tricks a day myself. However, I was making a lot more money than those poor girls made because I was with celebrities and was introduced to all the high rollers from the pit bosses and hotel owners. I felt so special, but if you do that business George’s way it doesn’t matter if you make hundreds of dollars, you still feel ashamed of yourself. It is abuse by the buyer. He is the predator and you are the victim. The difference between the two of us was how I was treated on the Strip. I was like a celebrity and all the hotels treated me with respect. At least that’s what it looked like to me then.
Johnny and George wanted to have a ménage party among the four of us. The idea made me almost sick. The only reason I did an orgy with my tricks was for the money. I never wanted to do it for my old man. I didn’t like the idea of it but I went along.
After we had few drinks Margo got down on the floor, took a vibrator out of her purse, and proceeded to enjoy herself in front of us.
“Get it Margo, get it!” George yelled, encouraging her.
Then Margo crawled over to me and started playing with my legs. She ran the vibrator over her body, then mine. She pulled me to the floor and started to remove my underwear. Johnny was going along with it, turned on, but the whole thing sickened me.
“I just want to party,” she said.
I went into the bathroom and cried. Johnny came in and I asked him what was going on. I didn’t understand what he wanted. He begged me to go out and be part of the orgy.
“You really want to see me making love with this woman?”
“You did it for Frank Sinatra. I want you to do it for me.”
“I thought we had something more sacred than that,” I told him. “It’s a job on the Strip, not something you do with someone you love or with people you know.”
“You did it for that art director! Why not do it with us?”
“But Johnny, that was different. That was all about peace and love! Women with women, men with men, and men with women! You’d never be with George, would you?”
But Johnny wasn’t changing his mind. And I didn’t want Johnny to blow up and hit me so I thought, “Oh, what the hell, I’ll let Margo do it.”
I let Margo do her thing while Johnny and George sat on the couch with an erection.
As the nightmare went on, I thought about how he didn’t care about what I wanted, and that meant he was just like the johns.
When Margo finished, Johnny got on top of me while George and Margo went at it on the floor next to us.
After the orgy and a few more drinks, George and Margo left. I hated what Johnny had made me do, and I told him how I felt.
“Oh you liked it. You know you did,” Johnny scoffed.
“Yeah as a matter of fact, she was better than you,” I said. But he was too drunk to respond.
Through our remaining time together, Johnny brought women home for sex parties with me. He liked to see two women making love and I didn’t know what to do but go along. I tried to meet his needs, no matter the cost to my self-respect. But I hated it, especially when I’d already tricked several men that day then had to come home and entertain him.
About a month after that first “party,” I was having a drink at the Dunes with Sid Wyman. He wondered whether I was available to accompany a friend from New York to a dinner show.
“I always have time for your friends, Sid.”
He told me to be in the lounge that evening so he could introduce me to Irving H. He didn’t tell me anything else. That’s how it went with high rollers. I often knew them only as Mr. L., Mr. P. or just Irving or Sam—no need to know more. Usually, they were married or involved in business and wanted anonymity. I respected their wishes.
Irving turned out to be a Jewish man in his fifties, of medium height and build, a fun-loving guy who seemed to have tons of money. He wanted to see Folies Bergère at the Tropicana, so we took a cab to the hotel. On the way through the casino to the dinner show we ran into my friend Ben Jaffe, one of the bosses in town. I hadn’t seen him for a while, and he invited us to have dinner on the house. All I had to do was sign my name. That’s how Vegas treated me and my guests, because they knew I was with a big spender.
After dinner and the show, we hit the craps tables on the way out. I thought it would be fun to see the Mary Kay Trio at the Last Frontier (later the Frontier). Irving was willing so we grabbed another cab.
We enjoyed the lounge show, one of the best in town, and all in all we had a wonderful time despite our business relationship. Irving was a gentleman and he said I was just what he needed in his life. We went back to the Dunes and I took care of his sexual fantasies and he asked whether I’d ever been to New York. I hadn’t, so he told me about the award-winning restaurants and fabulous plays. I was intrigued and said it would be fun to visit him there.
“I’ll call you next week and set something up.”
“You be sure to do that.” I could see he was attracted to me and that he might be a good catch. His gift to me was very generous!
When I got home, I told Johnny about Irving and that he might want me to come to New York for a price.
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
“For a price, I’ll do anything.” Maybe this was my chance to leave Johnny behind.
The next afternoon Annette phoned and asked me to meet her and a friend of one of her johns for a trick. “Do you know Howard Hughes is staying here at the Desert Inn?” she asked after we met in the lounge.
“You’ve got to be kidding. That old duffer?” I said.
“Let’s go to his room. I bet we could make a ton of money.”
We’d both had enough liquor to try anything so we took the elevator to the floor where he was staying. Two guards stopped us before we exited the elevator. Howard had taken up the whole floor—I thought that was weird.
“You girls get back downstairs,” a guard said. “You don’t belong here.”
“You tell Howard that Janie and Annette are here.”
“Does he know you?”
“No, but he will when we get through,” I giggled.
Little did we know Howard Hughes was there buying up all of the hotel casinos! He was the cause of subsequent changes in Vegas—in with the cold calculating corporations, out with mobsters’ personal welcome and warmth.
Two weeks later I received two-dozen long-stemmed red roses with a card signed, “Love, from your Secret Admirer.” I had no idea who had sent them but later that day I got a call from Irving.
“Did you get your flowers?”
“I sure did. Thanks for telling me who they’re from.”
“I picked up a little piece of jewelry I thought you would just love. It should be there tomorrow,” Irving said. “Can you come to New York?”
“Well yes, I can. I’d love to come. But there are so many things I should take care of before I leave.”
“How much money do you need to take care of them?”
I named a rather large sum, and he sent it the next week. Along with the money came an airline ticket to New York City and a 14-karat-gold watch bracelet with a cluster of diamonds that flips up to show the time.
A few days later, Johnny drove me to the airport and off I went to New York, away from Johnny’s abuse and headed for more generous attention.
Chapter 18
A Kept Woman in New York
Irving was at the gate to greet me. We walked through the LaGuardia Airport terminal in New York and into a white limousine which to
ok us to the Warwick Hotel in the heart of Midtown Manhattan. My 1,200 square foot suite was elegant. Two French Provencal powder-blue loveseats faced each other in the large immaculate living room complete with gold-leafed mirrors and inlayed antique coffee tables. There was another seating area by the balcony window affording a view of Central Park. The king-sized bed in the other room was dressed in a pink and blue satin comforter. The drapes and accessories were perfectly coordinated. The bathroom was complete with a marble floor and a sunken whirlpool. If Irving was trying to impress me, he was doing a good job of it.
He had said he would give me time to unpack and freshen up before he picked me up for dinner. That evening before we left, Irving gave me a $12,000 marquise and baguettes eternity band, and he told me he wanted to see me wear it every time we went out. Then he handed me a checkbook with $10,000 in the account. I was so overwhelmed with his generosity.
One afternoon on February 7, 1964, I heard a loud crowd of people screaming from the streets below. I rushed over to the window and saw The Beatles running down the street with thousands of people following behind. It was an incredible event and the streets of New York were booming.
On the way to dinner I couldn’t help looking up at the skyscrapers. New York was so big and exciting compared to the small city of Vegas.
“You know I’m a married man,” Irving told me later at the hotel. “But my home is quite a ways out in the New Jersey Gold Coast area, so there’s really nothing to worry about. My wife and I don’t get along that well, we haven’t for years.”
Irving said he would take me shopping the next day and that I would love the shops in New York City because they had everything—the city was the center of high fashion. When he left that night to go back to his wife, I stood at the window and wondered what all the other people in New York were doing. Here I was in the middle of Manhattan with a man, probably worth millions, who seemed to care about me.
When Irving invited me to New York, I thought it was for a week, but one turned into two, and two into three. Finally he said he didn’t want me to leave. With his lavish gifts and pocketfuls of money, I had no reason to go back to Johnny and his weird sexual needs and his violence. I still sent Johnny a weekly money order to cover our expenses in Vegas but he had no control of me here.
One evening Irving and I met another couple in a cocktail lounge for drinks before dinner. The gentleman was in his fifties with a beautiful young woman. As the two men sipped on their brandy manhattans, the two of us girls went to the restroom to freshen up. She told me that her parents had promised her to him as soon as she turned eighteen. It was a tradition in their Jewish families—they would soon be married.
I couldn’t believe it. How could they arrange something like this from birth? It was the 1960s! And I could tell she thought it was her obligation to fulfill his demands. I wondered how many other girls in America were going through this. It was a whole new world.
Another evening, as Irving and I were having dinner I told him about my daughters. When I became somewhat emotional he said, “Well honey, if that’s all that’s bothering you, I’ll have them sent out here.”
That was such a nice thing for him to do, I started to cry. I grabbed him, kissed him, thanked him, and asked him when.
“As soon as you can make arrangements I’ll get your tickets.”
I phoned Bob the next morning and asked him to send the girls to New York for three weeks. He thought it was a great idea and agreed to take them to the airport. The girls were old enough to fly alone, and school had just ended.
Irving took me to the airport in his Cadillac to pick up the girls. The stewardess brought them off the plane and checked my I.D. We hugged and kissed and cried before I introduced them to Irving. He said they were beautiful.
Cindy and Roberta were excited when they saw the hotel suite, but Irving had something else in mind. “I have a surprise for you girls. I’m going to take you up to the Catskill Mountains where it’s cool.” He told us how beautiful it was there and how much we would enjoy it. There were all kinds of activities for children. He would check us into a hotel and we could be together, alone, for the whole time.
Realizing I would be the only adult there with the kids, I asked Irving whether he might bring my friend Carol and her son to join us.
“No problem Janie, if that will make you happy.”
Carol and her son Charlie flew out three days later. We picked them up in the limousine. Carol was impressed.
“Janie! Where did you meet this one?”
“I have myself a real nice one this time, don’t I?”
“You could get really spoiled this way, couldn’t you?”
“Honey, I’m already spoiled.”
We were off to the Catskills with Irving. We rode in the white leather seats in the back, sipping cocktails, while Cindy (nine), Roberta (seven), and Charlie (eight) sipped on sodas, ate chips, and looked at the landscape. We drove into the grand entry of Green Acres late in the afternoon. Irving had made arrangements for us to stay in a private cabin.
We spent three glorious weeks in the Catskills basking in the sun and being waited on hand and foot. The girls and Charlie took part in the children’s activities, and I loved being with my best friend. We returned for another day together in New York. Then Irving sent our four guests back to California. That night I told him how much I appreciated what he had done and that I would always love him for that.
He told me he loved me too, but I knew we had no future. Irving was a married man, and forty years older to-boot.
As the months went by, I started to catch Irving in little lies. For instance, he called me from the car phone saying he’d be at the suite in a couple of hours, and the next minute, he’d open the door. He didn’t want me to go out with anyone. He expected me to sit around and wait for his ass all day and night until he wanted me.
Another time he said he was having two bicycles sent to my daughters. I told Cindy and Roberta that the bikes were coming, then found out he never sent them.
This kind of stuff went on all the time. When I asked him why he lied, he brushed me off. I soon saw he wanted to control everything I did. My world was very small. I certainly had no friends. I was learning what it meant to be a “kept” woman, and I wanted out.
One day when I was tired of Irving and his games, I pretended I had a headache so he would go home. After he left I slipped out and took a taxi to Jilly’s on Broadway, a nightclub owned by Jilly Rizzo, Sinatra’s best friend. I hoped to see Jilly and his wife Honey since I knew them from Vegas, but unfortunately they weren’t in town.
While I was at the club, Johnny Carson walked in. He was more handsome than he appeared on television. He was hosting The Tonight Show from New York. A crowd of people quickly surrounded him and they moved to the open table at the end of the bar.
Sitting next to me at the bar was a young woman in her early twenties. We got to talking and she told me her name was Sheri. About an hour later she asked whether I’d like to go to a place that was young and fun. I said I needed some fun, so we headed in a cab to Greenwich Village. Sheri lit up a joint on the way. She said I had probably never been to a place like the one where we were going but that I would enjoy it.
I thought, “My god—here I am in my diamonds and furs, smoking pot, driving down crazy New York streets with a strange woman, going to some bar I’ve never been to before. Have I lost my mind, or am I just in need of a good time?”
I got a little nervous when I saw how seedy the neighborhood was, but then the cab dropped us off and we went into the night club. There was a long bar along the front, with booths and a dance floor in the back. It was packed. We went to the bar and ordered drinks and I started to look around. It took me about ten minutes to realize where I was.
“Are these all girls in here? Some of them look like guys.”
“They sure do, and they’re a hell of a lot of fun,” Sheri said.
“Is this a queer bar?”
“Yes it is.”
“God, Irving would kill me if he found out.”
“Nobody’s going to bother you. They can tell by looking at you that you’re straight.”
Well, I was here, so I decided to settle in and have fun. I was high, but I could see that no one was going to tear my clothes off and have their way with me.
Sheri introduced me to a few of her friends then took me into the back room. We found a booth and watched the girls dance. Some of the women who looked like men were really cute. My curiosity was aroused.
Soon we had seven girls sitting at our table. Then Sunny, a butch looking gal, asked me to dance. She was a cute little thing with a man’s haircut, a few years younger and a few inches shorter than me. She extended her hand and pulled me from my chair, guiding me to the dance floor where she held me like a man, steering us around the floor. When the song finished she looked right into my eyes and said, “I’m going to have you.”
“Sure you are honey!” I thought it was a big joke. The rest of the night she kept looking at me, every once in a while coming over to chat.
I was having a great time, enjoying my night out, and I couldn’t believe it when the time came for closing. One girl invited a bunch of us to her house. She said we’d smoke some pot and drink a little. Here was my chance to party. These women were my age and I was having fun. I didn’t care about their lifestyle. What went on behind closed doors was their business.
Ten of us went to the apartment nearby. I couldn’t believe how relaxed I felt there. It was nice not to have a man looking at me or wanting to touch me. Early in the next morning Sheri dropped me back at the hotel. She gave me her number and I told her that when I got rid of the old man, I’d call.
Soon after that Irving asked me to accompany him on a business trip to Philadelphia. Just before the plane landed on our return flight, he said that if I saw a short woman walk up to him, I should walk ahead of him so that she wouldn’t see me. Sure enough, just as we got off the plane, a short, gray-haired woman walked out of the crowd and slapped him across the face.
“You son of a bitch, I know you’re seeing another woman. Is she on this plane with you?”
Rat Pack Party Girl: From Prostitute to Women’s Advocate Page 18
