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

by McCormick, Jane

  But I was used to being abused and my personality has always been very joyful and fun to be around. That was how I got through all the pain. I was the best actress you ever met and I’d learned to put on a smile and get through it, and as all women know, we always want to make our man happy. When I think back on it, Johnny was beginning to shape me into his prostitute, but I was fooled into thinking he was my knight in shining armor who was going to save me from that life.

  So I stripped down to my black lacy bra and panties with my negligee cover up. He had me stand next to the door and he casually photographed me with my right arm up on the door, slightly exposing my breasts. Then he wanted to take a picture of me with my bra off, keeping the negligee and panties on. After sipping more champagne and smoking pot, he asked me to take my negligee off and he posed me on the chair, telling me how cute I was. He took a few more pictures of me topless and finally he posed me on the couch with my negligee cover up, without panties. He asked me to put my arm back and he had me put my right leg up on top of the back of the couch. He said he wanted something special to keep in his wallet.

  By now he was standing at attention and after shooting my picture he stripped his boxer shorts off and made me happy. I loved pleasing Johnny and I wanted us to be together.

  The next day I went to the Sands and Bucky Harris introduced me to Mr. P, a seventy-year-old millionaire from Chicago. He was a big gambler and he wanted to have a pretty woman on his arm. Bucky told him that I was a lucky charm and we headed to the craps tables. I got the table real hot and jumping, rolling numbers, making points for nearly five minutes. He won back his ten thousand that he was in for and he slipped me five hundred in chips. I gambled with his money and ended up winning nearly three-thousand-dollars before I seven’ed out.

  We collected our chips and he asked me to come to his room where I turned a trick with him and he rewarded me with a couple thousand dollars more. I left him sleeping in his suite and returned to the lounge.

  I thought, “These guys fly into Vegas, see a pretty girl dressed to kill, take her to a room, get their jollies, go back downstairs and gamble, and probably don’t remember her first name. I have to say the most disgusting thing in my life was going to bed with guys that I just knew by their first names or initials, then usually never seeing them again.

  They have sex with a complete stranger and never feel guilty about it because men who use women and girls in prostitution have long been invisible—they have escaped examination, analysis, responsibility and penalty for their actions.

  Vegas was a money town and the men who came here wanted to gamble, drink and get laid. It was called the Devil’s Island. Once you went there, the Devil always pulled you back. Where else can you go to get food, drinks, gambling and a girl twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week? I watched many come and quickly return for more.

  I knew what these men wanted and I was in high demand for my services. When a man came here expecting to party, I made sure that everyone knew me so that I’d get the highest paying high roller in town and that high roller was guaranteed a safe, fun ride with me for the money he paid.

  When I did well, I’d go around the casino and tip all the people I knew who supported me, from security guards to blackjack and craps dealers, parking attendants to waitresses. I slipped twenty five dollar chips into their palms and told them I had had a good night, and I asked them about theirs. I was noted for good tipping and everyone knew it. We all took care of each other. It was a very small town in that way.

  When I finished my tipping I couldn’t wait to go back to show Johnny how much a real hustler could make. I wanted to brag because I knew I could make more money than any of his whorehouse tricks.

  When I walked into the trailer I pulled the cash from my purse and threw it onto the kitchen table. Johnny said, “Jesus Christ Janie, I’ve never seen any chick make this kind of money ever! What are you doing out there?”

  “I guess I got lucky at the craps table and when the millionaire won back his money, I topped his joy off with my bedroom grand finale.”

  “That’s the way to use a guy. Way to go honey,” he said grinning from ear to ear.

  Johnny rushed to make me a cocktail then afterwards poured a hot bath. I loved being with Johnny and I needed his approval. That’s how sick I was and I didn’t know why it was important to me that I needed him.

  The next day Bucky Harris called me from the Sands and he said, “I have a really great friend who’s staying here. His name is Sammy Cahn. He’s the guy who wrote “High Hopes,” the song President Kennedy used in his campaign. Later I found out Sammy was responsible for much of Frank’s material—songs like “Come Fly with Me,” “All the Way,” and “Love and Marriage.”

  Bucky said Sammy wanted a real fine lady to come up and see him. He gave me the room number and when I walked into the room an elderly gentleman was sitting nude on the bed with a sheet draped over his lap.

  “Come on in,” Sammy said. “What’s your name?”

  I told him and he invited me to have a drink. I poured myself a scotch on the rocks then sat on the bed and talked with him. He was a nice, funny man, and I laughed with him at his jokes.

  Then he said, “Get yourself comfortable,” so I undressed in front of him. I left my black garter belt, skimpy bra, panties and high-heels on and I could see the rise between his thighs under the sheet. I turned a quick trick and in no time was out the door with a generous gift.

  The first step of understanding the sex industry is to understand the johns, the pimps and the prostitutes. Without demand there would be no supply. No business can afford to create a product for which there are no buyers.

  Real sexual relationships are not hard to find. There are plenty of adults of both sexes who are willing to have sex if someone treats them well and simply asks. But therein is the problem: that some people do not want a real relationship. Most of my johns were already married and they were cheating—the low-down suckers. I always wondered what their wives would say and how their children would feel about their dads if they ever found out.

  After a month being with Johnny, I decided to move in with him. He kept begging me to and I wanted to be with him. I didn’t own any furniture but I did have a lot of clothing, jewels and a car. Besides, I was going over there every night now and thought it was better for the both of us to be together. A blindfold had been steadily pulled over my eyes and I had really fallen in love with him. Looking back now, I can’t seem to explain why.

  One day Johnny and I were looking at cars. We liked the 1963 Corvette Stingray Fastback. It had a split back window, duel exhaust, a V-8 engine that could go from zero to ninety-five in seconds. In Nevada you could run those bitches full boar and never worry about a cop in the desert. We loved speed and we had to have that car.

  I said, “If that’s what you want Daddy, I’ll get it for you.” That’s how brain washed I was. Then I spotted a marquee at the Sands and knew that Dean Martin was coming to town.

  I told Johnny, “You take the cash down and get that hot car and I’ll go see Dean.”

  I dressed and went to the Sands lounge and soon Dean walked in and he came over and whispered in my ear, “Why don’t you come up to my room baby? I’ve been wondering what Frank’s been getting that I haven’t.” I waited for a few minutes then went to his room. He was a hot, sexy man. I gave him my rotor-rooter tongue, and minutes later he was smiling ear to ear. Afterwards we shared a drink together and he told me how hard it was to be on the road all the time. He had a young mind and was extremely pleasant to look at. We got dressed and the two of us went back to the lounge separately where I wondered how, after spending thousands of dollars on a dame, could guys go back to their wives and kids, hold up their heads, look at themselves in the mirror and act like they never did anything wrong?

  After having another drink I drove back home and saw the new car in the driveway. Oh wow, was it hot or what! Johnny and I took it for a drive and we enjoyed the rest of the ev
ening together. With all the money I was bringing home I bought him all new clothes, shoes and even monogrammed underwear. I wanted him to look good and I wanted everyone to know he was my man.

  I thought I was living my dream of loving someone who loved me but in reality he was milking me for all he could get. As days went by he didn’t like it when I stayed home and he began to lay out my clothes, encouraging me to go out and make more money. I’d put on my smile, do what he wanted and loyally bring him back all the money I’d made. I wasn’t really his girl. I had become his prostitute who was making nearly a half-a-million dollars a year.

  One night I was at the Stardust Hotel Casino and whom did I run into but Lindsay Crosby! Lindsay leaned over and asked whether I smoked pot. I said I loved it, so he invited me to his room for a joint. There we had a drink and smoked a couple of joints. Lindsay loved my low-cut dress and commented on it several times. Then, “Are you one of Frank’s gals?”

  “Yes I am.”

  “Tell me something. Would you charge me the same thing you charge Frank?”

  “For you?” I smiled. “If I didn’t have to make some money, I wouldn’t charge anything.” I meant it—he was that cute.

  “What would I get if I gave you a C note?” Lindsay asked.

  “Honey, what would you want?” I laughed.

  “Let’s get naked,” Lindsay said with a gleam in his eye. So we did. We chased each other naked around the room, stoned and drunk, acting like two teenagers. He was a lot of fun. After about two hours of romping we had sex, and afterwards we both dressed and went back downstairs. We gambled more and the two of us had a blast. It was so fun to be with a younger guy and when I went home to Johnny that morning I didn’t dare tell him how much fun I had. I knew he’d be jealous and he didn’t want to hear my fun stories. All he cared about was the money.

  After resting for a day I went to the Dunes, where I ran into Sid Wyman in the lounge. He wanted to introduce me to one of his friends, a millionaire from Scottsdale, Arizona. His name was Marnell Lindsay Cougal. He was a tall elderly man with a big nose and receding hairline, who was homely as a mud fence but had a beautiful personality. That and his money made me love him. I soon forgot his appearance and just enjoyed him as a person.

  Marnell loved to play baccarat. At that time, the casinos had a closing time with minimum and maximum limits on what a player could bet at baccarat. On certain occasions the pit boss “forgot” the rules for special gamblers like Marnell.

  After cocktails we headed for the table and Marnell called to a friend walking through the casino. It was Abe Schiller, a Vegas boss and hustler. I remembered seeing him riding a beautiful horse in the Rose Bowl Parade in Pasadena. He and I hit it off right away and the three of us went back for more drinks, joking and laughing the whole time. Finally Abe had to leave, and Marnell and I went to the baccarat table.

  As we sat down at the table, Marnell snapped his fingers. The pit boss came over and asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “Bring me thirty,” Marnell said.

  Thirty thousand dollars! The boss then brought him three stacks of hundred-dollar bills, ten grand in each, and Marnell slipped me a short stack. He always played with cash. My eyes popped at all the money on the table. Marnell threw out five or six thousand dollars in a hand. He won, then won, and then lost, lost, lost. He was up and down all night, trying to get as close to a natural nine or eight as possible when playing against the house.

  Spectators peered at us from behind the half-wall separating the main casino from the high-roller baccarat room. Heavily armed guards dressed in business suits overlooked the crowd from tall chairs, protecting the money on the table. The wait staff brought us whatever we wanted. No wonder—Marnell was throwing away hundreds of thousands of dollars. Every time he blew thirty thousand, he just snapped his fingers and said, “Bring me another marker.”

  I was winning thousands with the stake he provided, and we continued to play for two days and two nights. For twenty-four hours, I left only to go to the rest room. On the second night, however, I told Marnell I just had to lie down for an hour. Even with the diet pills I was getting tired. Besides, I thought if I got him in the room I could turn a trick and be over with it. He gave me the room key and said he’d be up in a while. After a half hour or so he came up and I took care of him. When I said I had to go home, he answered, “You’re my lucky charm. You can’t go home. You’re staying with me.”

  High-rollers liked to have a beautiful woman on their arm, and Mr. Marnell was no exception. He insisted I continue to play baccarat.

  I decided to stay and make as much money as I could. I took another diet pill and we went back to the table. I ordered some food so that I could stay up and party. We gambled the rest of that night, into the morning, through the rest of the day, and into the early evening. I kept a smile on my face and kept up with his high energy. Finally, after three days of continuous gambling, he gave up. He lost a million dollars and didn’t seem to mind.

  We went to the lounge to have a drink. Sid Wyman was there and when Marnell went to the restroom, I told Sid I felt sorry for Marnell but that his loss was good for the hotel. He told me not to feel sorry, that he’d seen Marnell gambling huge money for years. Sometimes he got lucky and won millions.

  After Sid told me that I decided to up my price and ask Marnell for more of the green stuff. Come on! I had spent three whole days with him. He gave me a ton of money for being at his side.

  When Marnell returned, I gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him I had to go. This time he thanked me for staying with him and without my asking, slipped me another wad of cash. I casually accepted his gift and happily walked from the casino knowing I’d made thousands with what he’d fronted me, a handsome amount for the trick, and a three-day bonus to-boot. After that, Marnell always called me when he came to Las Vegas, and I was always ready to be his lucky charm.

  When I reached the trailer I told Johnny I was spent and I took a sleeping pill and crawled into bed. He lay down with me and held me in his arms.

  Later that week I went to the Sahara, and Jonesy, the pit boss, introduced me to Edward Platt. He played the part of the chief on Get Smart, a 1960s television show. Ed was staying at the Sahara, and when I met him later in the Casbah Lounge he asked if I’d like to go gambling.

  “I’d love to—and I’m very lucky!”

  “Well I need some luck. Let’s see if some of it rubs off on me.”

  Ed was a personable, quiet man—warm and generous. I did bring him luck, especially at craps. We won thousands of dollars and all night he handed me hundred-dollar chips to play with and keep. Later we went to his room, had a little sex party, and exchanged phone numbers.

  “Call me at the studio if you’re in Hollywood.” Ed was now part of the growing collection in my little black book. I was with him a couple more times in Vegas, and I did see him in Hollywood when I was in California seeing my daughters.

  What happened in Vegas didn’t stay in Vegas and now you know what men expected to get when they came to visit. You see, I was in high demand, but if there wasn’t a demand then prostitution wouldn’t exist.

  Chapter 15

  The Rat Pack: Harry Karl and William Frawley

  Johnny and I had been living in his one-bedroom trailer for nearly a year now and I wanted to find a bigger place to live so we might have my children for the summer. I mentioned the idea to Mae and she thought it would be a good idea. So I started making plans for my girls to come and live with us.

  As I started talking about my girls and all the things I was going to buy for their bedroom, Johnny started acting a little jealous. He didn’t like me talking about my girls all the time and that I had planned to stay home more.

  I ignored his uneasiness and felt he would be a good dad once he got to know them. Only after I bought Johnny a new Harley Davidson bike, he began to accept the idea that my daughters would come and live with us.

  I wanted my daughters more than anythi
ng in my life. No money, no man or no one would ever replace my love for my daughters. I was so happy I began thinking about buying a double-wide trailer setup on Sunrise Mountain. I would get a fence and a swing-set for my girls and I thought Johnny would just love and help me raise them. Johnny’s mother, who lived in Long Beach, California could come and visit. She was a god-loving woman and seemed to like me when we went to visit her. She was happy for us and excited that we were going to get my girls and be a family.

  In the meantime, one morning Frank Sinatra and I were having coffee in his suite at the Sands. He said he was tired of traveling all the time, and he felt lonely. He seemed happy to see me. He always liked to talk, saying anything that was on his mind because he knew that I’d never mention any of it to anyone else.

  Frank ranted that he was done with Peter Lawford. Peter had lied about President Kennedy staying at Frank’s house in Palm Springs. He also lied about the President never going after the mob bosses. After he settled down he said, “I care for you a lot, Janie. I think you have a lot of class. You know, class is born in you, and not many people have that. And some people who you think have it don’t have it at all.”

  I didn’t say a word but I could see his disappointment as he paced the floor. He was upset about Marilyn Monroe’s death on August 5, 1962, but he kept it inside. Frank never talked business with me, but sometimes he just seemed to need someone to listen to him. “Janie, you always make me feel better, and you make me laugh when you do your splits, cartwheels and sexy dancing.”