Rat Pack Party Girl: From Prostitute to Women’s Advocate

by McCormick, Jane

  When we reached Frank’s room I knocked once and Frank opened the door to invite us in. I could tell he was in a party mood. I introduced Holly and after a few drinks, I took her into the bathroom and told her to freshen up and to come out with a towel on while I stripped down to my sexy bra and panties in the bedroom.

  We had our little sex party, then Frank sent Holly home with a nice gift.

  After she left, Frank crawled back into bed and said, “Janie, get your butt over here and cuddle up with me.”

  I got into bed with him and we drifted off to sleep, spoon fashion again, just like Vegas in the old days.

  The next morning I woke up before Frank and went out to the living room to have a cigarette. I could hear Frank yelling at me.

  “God damn it, Jane! You know I don’t want anyone smoking in here before I have breakfast!” he yelled.

  “Oh, excuse me,” I said. I went into the hallway to finish my Viceroy. I was a little offended and surprised. I didn’t remember him having such a fit about somebody smoking years ago. He smoked himself, and he hadn’t made a big deal about it before.

  I showered and got dressed while Frank drank tea in the other room.

  When I walked into the room, he said, “Are you going to come to the show tonight?”

  “Of course, you know I love to hear you sing,” I replied.

  “When you get back to the hotel, give me a ring and I’ll meet you and take you to the showroom,” he said.

  I picked up a very generous gift and returned to my room at a motel. I had my hair done and shopped for another evening gown.

  That night I went back to the Fontainebleau and called Frank. He came right down and took me into the showroom and sat me down with one of his old friends. His name was Swifty Morgan.

  “You know why we call him Swifty, don’t you?” Frank whispered in my ear. “He’s one of the most notorious pickpockets in the world. He’s from the old school.”

  I thought Swifty was the cutest little old man. He looked like he was in his eighties.

  We watched the show together. After it was over, Swifty handed me the gold bracelet I had been wearing. “Honey, are you looking for this?” he asked me. I hadn’t even noticed that it wasn’t still on my wrist.

  He just roared with laughter. I didn’t even know he took it off my arm.

  I told Frank that Swifty was the craziest man I had ever met. I really had a ball with him.

  Swifty, Frank and I went out to the lounge for cocktails. After a drink or two, Swifty left and Frank and I went back up to his suite and spent the night together.

  The two of us crawled into the bathtub and massaged each other with soap. After drying off, I had him lay down on his back in the bed. I began my “around the world” routine as I started licking Frank’s ears and kissing his neck, down to his chest, between his legs and down to his toes. I turned him over, starting again with his legs, kissing and licking them to his butt and up across his back. I turned him over again, kissing is nipples and massaging his chest. That gave him a rise, and when I put my mouth on it, he exploded like a cannon ball.

  That’s how I had become Frank’s main squeeze and why I’d also become known as the best BJ in Las Vegas.

  The next morning we talked about Las Vegas.

  “You know, I don’t go in the Sands anymore,” he told me.

  “Yeah, I heard what happened,” I said.

  “That’s life,” Frank laughed.

  I picked up my gift, kissed Frank on the cheek and left. Little did I know that would be the last time I saw Frank Sinatra.

  However, I called Frank in 1992 and told him I was going to write my life story, and he was going to be in it. He replied, “Go for it broad, I hope you make a million.”

  I stayed in Miami after Frank left and I started hustling for money.

  About a month later, I was in the Fontainebleau Hotel lounge and a gentleman came over to my table and asked if he could buy me a drink. I accepted his offer and invited him to sit down. Nick Devine was an elderly man in his sixties who owned New York Meats. We talked for quite some time and he asked if I would meet him the next afternoon at his yacht, which was docked at the marina.

  “Yes”! I said.

  The next afternoon I drove to the marina and I walked up to the slip number Nick had given me, and after checking the address twice, I realized that his yacht was half the size of an ocean liner.

  It took my breath away. Looking up, I heard Nick’s voice, “Hi Janie! Come aboard!”

  I walked up the ramp in awe, looking up at the two huge speedboats secured above the deck by two mammoth winches. Nick met me at the top of the ramp and took me into the sunken living room. A magnificent white couch covered every side of the room. It was unbelievable. I could see a long table in the dining room that had a gorgeous chandelier, which encompassed the whole top of the table. Everywhere I looked was pure luxury.

  “I thought you said meet you at your yacht,” I gasped looking at him in disbelief.

  Smiling from ear to ear, he gave me a hug. “I figured this would surprise you. This is my baby, and I worked many years to get this 165-foot ocean cruiser so I could travel around the world when I retired. But then I had a heart attack and my doctors told me it was too dangerous for me to take a trip around the world, but that I could go on a shorter trip instead.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that Nick,” I said.

  “Thanks Janie,” he said as we walked along the deck.

  “I bet that broke your heart,” I said.

  “Yes it did. I’d like to take her out and have one last fling before I put her up for sale. I’d like to take you and a couple of your beautiful friends on a fishing trip with me for a few days.”

  “That would be wonderful. I can get a hold of a couple of fun gals. I know you’ll like them,” I said.

  “You can have all the booze and food you want. I’ll teach you to fish and my crew will wait on you hand and foot,” he said.

  “Where will we be going?” I asked.

  He got out a map and pointed to a small island near the Bahamas. “This is Bimini Island. Juan Ponce de Leon, a Spanish explorer, founded this island in 1409 while searching for the Fountain of Youth, and it was once a famous vacation spot for Ernest Hemingway, the American novelist who stayed there in the mid-1930s.”

  He poured us a cocktail and continued to tell me, “Mr. Brown is a friend of mine and he runs The Compleat Angler Hotel. They’re really nice people.”

  “I’m sure I’ll like them,” I replied.

  “I’ll have the three of you flown out to Bimini Island on a seaplane from Miami. You’ll stay overnight at the Complete Angler and I’ll pick you up the next day when my cruiser gets to Bimini.”

  “Why don’t we just go with you on the ship instead of flying?” I asked.

  “We can’t do that! We’ll be crossing international waters and the Coast Guard will stop us and inspect the ship and I don’t want to have to explain to them who you girls are. You see, legally I can’t transport girls like you across the border because it’s against the law,” he explained.

  “I see what you mean,” remembering how Johnny had been thrown in jail for taking one of his whores to Mexico and how he did time for it.

  I gave him what he wanted in the bedroom and that afternoon I went back to my apartment and called Debbie. She was a twenty-some-old hot Italian chick with a robust personality and hot sexy body that all the men loved. She was the top hustler from the “Biscayne Bay Boulevard,” a ritzy vacationer’s paradise. After speaking with Debbie I called Holly and invited her to join us on the luxurious journey.

  The next afternoon the seaplane picked us up in Miami and we were in the air for half an hour. On the approach to Bimini we could see that the island was a skinny U-shaped piece of land, very primitive, very remote and very quiet compared to what I was used to. At first I wondered what I had gotten us into. Maybe this wasn’t a safe place to be.

  After the plane landed and d
ocked, Mr. Brown opened the door and held out his hand to help us off of the plane. At first sight I was shocked to see that he was a French-speaking black man of my age, dressed in a bright flowered shirt and shorts. I had expected an older man, but this warm and friendly man was my age. He and his brother loaded our bags into a van and drove us down a dirt road to a three story, twelve-room hotel that faced the ocean.

  “Welcome to the Complete Angler Hotel,” Mr. Brown said.

  His brothers carried our bags to a room on the top floor. Debbie, Holly and I sat in the chairs on the balcony and smoked hooters and drank cold beer that was provided for us in our room. The view reminded me of Hawaii, with the waves and beautiful array of blue colors in the ocean.

  Later that afternoon one of the Brown’s took the three of us for a walk down a dirt road to see Alice town, which was made up of small shacks and very friendly black folks dressed in bright colorful clothing. At sunset Julian Brown took us for a ride around the seven-mile island and told us that he was a famous track star from the 1960s Olympics in Rome and medalist in the 1962 Commonwealth Games held in Jamaica.

  Early the next morning, we heard a knock and a voice behind the door told me that Nick’s ship had anchored out in the bay area. I called the other two girls and we all got dressed and walked down to the pier off the beach. A speedboat from the cruiser picked us up and at the top of the stairs stood Nick with open arms.

  “Come on you girls! Let’s party!” He yelled.

  So we partied on! We played records, danced, drank, ate and had sex. Sometimes we did it all together with Nick and sometimes individually. He definitely loved his young women and I worried that he’d have a heart attack or stroke from all the attention we were giving him. He said he might as well die happy!

  We spent five days with Nick. One morning we were fishing and Nick strapped me up to a chair at the back of the boat with heavy duty gear. We trolled for some time before I hooked a magnificent marlin. After struggling an hour to reel it in, I had to hand off my pole to one of the crew members, who did pull in the blue beauty. It was an incredible rush to see and experience.

  The three of us girls entertained Nick and fulfilled his ultimate fantasies while we were treated like queens by the crew on board. That trip was something I’ll never forget.

  We returned to Bimini Island with five thousand dollars in our pockets, and the seaplane flew us back to Miami.

  I was happy to see my Jean when I returned. I talked for hours, telling her about what happened and she was happy to see all the money I’d made.

  Finally making good money again, I asked Bob to let the girls fly out to Miami to visit me. I sent him the money to cover it and a few days later they arrived on a plane. When Cindy and Roberta walked up to me at the Miami Airport, they looked like raggedy Anne dolls, dressed in second hand clothing and their hair was long, straight and greasy. I had stopped sending Bob money. He said he got a raise and I did not need to send any more money. After all these years of sending thousands now I was broke and trying to find my way in my new world.

  Cindy was ten and Roberta eight. They loved the beaches and we spent the next few days together enjoying the ocean.

  I took them shopping for new clothes and had permanents put in their hair at Headhunters Beauty Shop. I bought Cindy her first bra because she needed support.

  I enjoyed being a mother because they were a part of me. I tried my best to help them experience the innocent part of their lives that I wished I could have had as a child. I missed being able to share every day of their sweet lives with them.

  After three weeks I had to put them back on the plane again with tears in my eyes, new clothes on their backs, and money in their purses.

  It was hard to let them go. They were the love of my life and we always had fun together!

  Frustration continued to set in with Jean and myself. She was getting too comfortable with me making all the money and she started drinking every day. Miami was beautiful but it didn’t have high rollers like Vegas. So I decided to go back to a twenty-four-seven town, where I had key connections to make big money.

  Chapter 26

  Cocke County

  On our way to Las Vegas we decided to drive along the Atlantic Coast and then through Cocke County towards Newport, Tennessee where the transmission in my Thunderbird broke down.

  I pulled into a truck stop about ten at night and parked the car. The lot was full of eighteen-wheelers and the bar was packed. Jean and I walked over to the motel and took in the fresh air from the Cherokee National Forest.

  We’d been driving for nearly twelve hours and we were lucky the motel had a vacancy. Upset and tired, we ordered a couple of burgers, bought a bottle of vodka and spent the night in our room laughing about the name “Cock(e)” County.

  Yeah, I’ve got stories about cocks that never ended. The whole thing just struck us as funny. We thought it was a weird place for a girl like me to get stuck! We had been married and neither of us enjoyed any cocks. Many times I wish I could have twirled a guy around by his cock because he thought it was so special. We thought they were ugly and had no purpose except for getting pregnant.

  The roadside restaurant stirred up my childhood memories of the roadside restaurant my mom and Woody had run in Indiana back when Dick and I were kids. Of course, it was a mix of good and bad memories. Mostly, I found myself missing my brother.

  Dick, like me, fell in love, got married and had children, except he was sent to the proper schools and finished as a top student and got a successful job as an Executive Salesman for IBM. Whereas I dropped out of school at fifteen and eventually ended up on the street with my babies. We both made a lot of money, and I made mine for all the right reasons but I did it the wrong way. I became the top high-class hustler in Vegas.

  We never talked about me being a prostitute but he enjoyed all the gifts I’d given him until they stopped. Dick really cried when he learned how I’d gotten the money and why I’d become poor after leaving prostitution and falling in love with the woman who helped me escape. Funny as it seemed, he accepted us as a couple and he loved me no matter what.

  Jean and I had a lot of fun that night as I reminisced about my childhood. I rarely ever had a chance to talk to anyone about the bad things that happened to me. As I thought about this fact, it reminded me of an intense night with Frank I’d had many years previously.

  I woke up screaming in Frank’s arms. He was startled and asked me what was wrong. I told him that I always had nightmares about my stepdad crawling into my bedroom on his hands and knees after they’d been out partying and after mom had passed out. I told Frank how Woody hovered over the top of me and would put his hands all over me and that I never got over it.

  He got tears in his eyes, held me and we cried together about my child molestation. He said, “If I can ever help abused children, Janie, I promise I will!”

  As I look on the Web today, I see that Frank followed through on his promise. In 1986 Frank and Barbara Sinatra opened the Barbara Sinatra Center for Abused Children. You see, Frank always said what he was going to do and he did it with Barbara! What a wonderful thing.

  The Mission of the Barbara Sinatra Children’s Center is to counsel sexually, physically and emotionally abused children, and to focus on prevention, community education and breaking the cycle of generational abuse. No child is ever turned away due to a family’s inability to pay. I respect them for helping. God bless them.

  Stuck in Newport, Tennessee with our broken transmission, the next day we took the Thunderbird to a mechanic, who told me he couldn’t get a new or rebuilt transmission for a week. We walked back over to the motel and told the clerk about our problem and she suggested we rent a furnished trailer down the road that was cheaper and would feel more comfortable.

  Later that evening we went to the bar and when we ordered a drink we couldn’t help but notice how sexy the waitress was dressed. Roxy was a full-breasted brunette who wore a knit shirt so tight that we could see her ni
pples standing at attention, and when she bent over to wipe tables we could see her flowered underpants under her short skirt. After having a couple of drinks we began to understand why all the men liked this place. They could get a good meal, a stiff drink and a broad. I thought about how Johnny had told me about chicks in truck stops, but this was the first time I’d ever been in one.

  Then I introduced myself to the couple who owned the joint, telling them I had been in the business back in Vegas and jokingly asked what was going on with these girls. Their eyes opened wide with interest when I told them how I’d noticed my waitress leaving with a guy and after half an hour or so she’d return to continue on with her job like nothing had happened. I joked that my drink was well-dry and that would never happen in Vegas.

  They bought us a round of drinks then introduced us to a couple of truckers. We mingled and went along with their macho talk until one of them offered me ten bucks to go to bed with him.

  I boldly laughed at the money he offered and he sarcastically laughed back and said, “What do you want, a hundred bucks?”

  I said, “I’d want way more than you could ever afford! Besides I’m not a working girl anymore.”

  Later that night after Roxy and another waitresses learned who I was, they asked me if I could drive them to the truck stop on I-81. They said they needed someone to drive the owner’s Winnebago that was parked in the back of the lot. They wanted me to take four of them to the truck stop that had seventy parking spots, which made it a gold mine for the girls. I wanted to see what it was all about, so I agreed to drive them.

  Roxy and the girls were dressed in shorts and really tight tops. We got there and they jumped out of the Winnebago, knocked on the truckers’ doors and asked if they wanted to party. I could see that truckers knew what that meant because they opened the cab door and let them in.

  After they turned a trick, they returned to the Winnebago and gave me the money to put in their box and headed to the bathroom to give themselves a quick whore’s bath. They’d get inside the shower stall, turn on the facet, squat down and wash their hoochy-cooch inside and out.