Then the phone rang. It was Dean, ready to go to dinner at Luigi’s where we had reservations that night.
“We’ve been waiting for you. What the hell is taking you so long? Did it take that long to get your joint copped? Come on palsy, we have a show to do tonight,” Frank yelled into the phone.
We joined Dean and my friend Annette on the walkway leading to the pool area. It was still at least 100 degrees at night outside. The heat took our breath away. We were walking side by side until Frank, Annette, and I veered to the left as we came to the shallow side of the pool. Dean walked straight into the pool, swam across it in his expensive black suit, tie, and shoes, then climbed up the ladder and out the other side of the pool.
“What ya looking at?” he said.
Frank bent over laughing and Annette and I roared. The two of them always tried to crack each other up. Dean had pulled another good one.
Dean walked ahead of us toward Luigi’s. He never broke his stride, though he left a puddle with every step. Frank, Annette, and I walked arm in arm, laughing all the way. Dean was almost dry by the time we arrived.
When we walked into the restaurant Dean removed his tie and jacket and threw them onto the bar. He must have known the owner, who stood there watching and cracking up. Dean asked him to dry his jacket and then he wrung out a sleeve on the floor, which someone promptly came to mop up. By this time everybody was watching the show. Dean asked for an iron too. Everyone in the bar was laughing.
The owner approached our table and Frank explained how Dean got wet. Dean said it was a good way to sober up for dinner. The owner took his jacket back to the kitchen and draped it over an oven door to dry. Dean took the wet money from his pocket and began to iron hundred-dollar bills on the bar.
After Dean dried out a little, we ordered dinner. Frank and Dean had to hurry back to the Sands to do their show with Sammy.
Back at the Sands, Frank told Annette and me to have Nick Kelly seat us at the table in front of the stage. As Nick walked us to our table, I thought about how nervous Frank was before performing. He’d said his stomach was in his throat before each show. I pictured him looking into the mirror every two seconds to make sure each hair was in place. But I knew the butterflies would be gone after his first song.
When Annette and I got to the table, Jilly Rizzo and his wife, Honey, were already there. Both were quite a bit older, but they looked like a million bucks in their diamonds and evening attire. I shook Jilly’s hand, then Honey’s.
“How did you get that beautiful mink stole?” I asked her.
“I fucked for it, the same way minks do!”
Annette and I almost died laughing—I didn’t realize then what I’d asked, how silly it must have sounded to Honey.
Soon the showroom lights went down, and the Rat Pack came out and started clowning around. My attention was mostly on Mr. Blue Eyes, and again he sang to me. When I met Frank backstage afterwards, he asked how it went and I said it was great. While he refreshed himself I looked at the telegrams covering two of the three sides of his dressing room mirror. I was impressed that so many people wished him good luck for his opening show, especially after he’d done so many.
We met everyone back in the lounge. The men were clowning around and after a time, Frank went into the casino to deal some cards. Peter Lawford disappeared too and I asked Dean what had happened to him. He whispered that Peter needed some attention upstairs and said, “Why don’t you run up there and give him some of your lovely specialties?”
Dean gave me Peter’s room number. I went to his suite and knocked on the door. He was nervous, I think because he thought someone would find out he had a girl in his room. He was a very soft-spoken guy. We talked and drank. Then I had Peter lie on the bed and I rubbed his legs and back and danced around the room to help him relax.
I lay beside him, pulled his skivvies down, and took him around the world. He said no one had ever done it that way before, that he’d had a lot to drink, that Frank had talked about how great I was. I cleaned up and went back downstairs with Peter right behind me, grinning ear to ear. I made a fistful of bucks on that deal—fast and easy.
As we walked into the lounge to join Jilly, Honey, Sammy and Annette, Dean said, “She’s something else, isn’t she?”
“Yes indeed,” Peter said. “One of a kind.”
“Holy shit, you got that right!”
No one ever seemed to care about whether I enjoyed it—I really never did.
At about 4 A.M. the group started to break. Peter finished his drink, called it a night, and Dean also returned to his room. Jilly and Honey retired too.
Frank, Sammy, Annette and I went to Frank’s suite to drink some more, though we were pretty well smashed already. About an hour later I noticed Sammy and Annette had disappeared.
“Where did those two go?” I asked Frank.
“I’ll bet if you look in that bedroom over there you’ll find out.”
I waltzed over to the half-open bedroom door and looked in. Annette was naked, crouched over Sammy’s face, holding onto the headboard with both hands. I ran back to the bar where Frank was sitting.
“You’re not going to believe what I just saw over there.”
“Oh I can believe it, but I don’t want to see it,” Frank laughed.
I had never seen a white woman having sex with a black man, and I was tempted to look some more. But then Frank said, pulling me toward his bedroom, “Come on Janie, I need you to rock me to sleep.”
“Yeah, I’ll rock you,” I said. I gave him what he wanted and when it was over, I collapsed.
The next day I told Frank I had to go home. I dressed and he handed me five big ones, kissed me on the cheek and said he’d call soon.
Back in my domestic life, we began to look for property on Sunrise Mountain, and I paid cash for all the dinners and drinks. My mind was going crazy and Johnny went along with my every wish.
About three weeks after I last saw Frank, I got a call from Bucky Harris. He said he had a friend in town who would like to meet me. I got ready and went down to the Sands. I found Bucky in the pit and he took me to the Regency Lounge. There he introduced me to a man named Harry Karl. I learned later that he was the husband of Debbie Reynolds and that he owned Karl’s Shoe Stores, a nationwide chain. We went through the usual routine. Harry took me gambling at the Sands, and then we hit a couple of other casinos. I was on a winning streak and so was Harry. He was happy I brought him such good luck.
Harry had three friends along who were hot to meet some girls, so I called Audrey, Annette, and Laurie. The eight of us went to see Judy Garland at the Sahara. Judy was having a hard time then and she didn’t have her usual pizzazz. She slurred her words and forgot lyrics. Someone in the audience heckled her, which really upset me. I loved Judy Garland and I thought their behavior was rude. She didn’t even seem aware that anything was going on.
After the show we went back to the craps tables and gambled some more. I introduced Jonesy to the guys and they hit it off immediately. When we were all gambled out, Harry took me to his room and I took him on a fantasy ride. He asked me to meet him the next day for lunch.
Getting out of the shower the next morning, I heard a TV newsman say that President Kennedy had been shot. It was November 22, 1963. I watched for about an hour until there was a newsflash that the president had died from a gunshot wound to the head. This seemed to me the saddest thing that had ever happened in America.
After a while, I called Harry Karl at the Sands. He said he had to leave immediately, that some of his friends were acquainted with the president and wanted to return to Los Angeles. He said he would call the next time he was in town, and for me to call him when I came to Hollywood. Six months or so later, I did see Harry again.
After talking with Harry, I went to the Thunderbird Hotel for the seafood bar. The waiters said the hotel was draping all its gambling tables and slot machines in black to mourn the president. The city was going to turn off all the lights,
including those on the Strip, for a long moment that night. That evening the lights did go off, and for a few seconds there was total darkness in Las Vegas. It was eerie. Nothing moved. All the people bowed their heads in prayer. I was so sad about our President’s death that I didn’t work for the next week.
After my divorce was final, I had made arrangements with Mae to see my girls in Santa Ana. Eventually she trusted that I wouldn’t steal them away and allowed me to take them out without her. The thousand I gave her every other month for the girls probably softened her.
I drove to Santa Ana to see Cindy and Roberta. They ran out to meet me. I jumped out of the car and they threw themselves into my arms. I broke into tears and they started crying too. I held them tight, smelling their soft skin and hair. We went shopping and found beautiful clothes. Then I picked up some burgers and took them to a park to eat. I pushed them on the swings and they laughed. They made me feel so complete. But I knew that in a couple of hours we’d have to say good-bye again.
Before we did, I gave them money to put in their banks and I gave Mae some cash. At the end of the day, we were sad and cried again. It was always that way.
Instead of returning to Vegas immediately, I usually took a one-nighter at the Beverly Hills Hotel. I’d call Ken Hansen, owner of Scandia Restaurant, to say I was in town before driving down for dinner. Scandia had been a Hollywood hotspot since 1954. I hoped to meet a movie star or high roller there. I wanted the big money. Apart from my daughters, that’s all I thought about.
Alone and dressed to kill, I sat at a table, ordered a drink, scanned the crowded bar, and recognized one face. At first I couldn’t place him, so I asked the waiter who he was.
“That’s Johnny Weissmuller. You know—Tarzan.”
I could hardly believe it. Johnny was a movie star and a world-class athlete. He’d won many Olympic gold medals in swimming. I walked right over and introduced myself.
“Hi,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder, “My name is Jane.”
He held out his hand and said, “Hi, Jane. My name is Tarzan.” Drunk and barely able to talk, he looked to be in his early sixties. I felt sorry for the hero—his face was flushed and his eyes looked yellow.
The bartender brought my drink and Johnny entertained us. “When I’m swinging through the jungle, and when I swing over to you, Jane, you grab the vine, and we’ll swing through the jungle together. So when I saw Jane, I swung over to her, and when she grabbed my Pecker I screamed ‘the vine, damn it, the vine!’”
Everyone cracked up. Johnny continued, but after a while a man came into the room, announced that the bus to Las Vegas was leaving, and Johnny left with a group.
I continued to sip my drink. The bartender brought me another, saying it was from the older bald man sitting with three other men on the other side of the restaurant. I looked over, raised my glass, smiled, and nodded. He smiled back.
At almost the same time, Ken Hansen walked in from the main dining room. Ken was not one of my johns, just a kind man I had met and talked with a few times.
“Who’s that old man over there? He just sent me a drink,” I said.
“That’s Bill Frawley.”
I must have given him a blank look because he laughed and said, “Don’t you recognize him Jane? That’s Fred Mertz from I Love Lucy.”
I stopped and stared. “Oh my god, I recognize him now!”
“Would you like to meet him Janie?”
“Oh yes! That would be fun.”
I followed Ken to Bill Frawley’s table. Bill invited me to sit and asked whether I’d like another drink. I was there for only a minute before he asked, “By the way, do you play around?”
“Sure, doesn’t everyone?”
We sat and talked for almost three hours, drinking and watching the people in the restaurant, and every once in a while, Bill pointed out some movie or television personality. Finally he asked whether I wanted to see his etchings. He was certainly direct.
I wondered, “Am I going to have to give this old fart a blow job or mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?” I liked Bill, and he was a lot of fun, but men sixty-five years old turned me off. Still, I had come here to make money, and he had some. So I went for it.
The valet brought Bill’s car to the front, and Bill drove us to his apartment near Hollywood and Vine. It was a one-bedroom place, decorated simply but comfortably.
In his living room Bill had a custom-made wooden coffee table with a glass top. We sat on the couch and looked through the glass to see photographs dear to him from I Love Lucy. He explained who was in each one and when it was taken. The walls of the room were lined with other pictures of Bill with other celebrities he had known. I just loved looking at them and hearing about the times of his life.
After I turned a quick trick I was amazed that this old guy could still get it up. Bill drove me back to the restaurant so I could get my car. Before we parted he said he would take me to the I Love Lucy set the next day. I had never been to a television studio before, so I was excited about seeing it.
The next morning we met at the Scandia for a Bloody Mary and soon he asked if I was ready to go. The guard greeted Bill at the entrance and opened the gate, then Bill drove into Warner Bros. Studios. He pulled into his personal parking space in front of one of the sound stages and we got out and went in the back door. It was huge inside. The black ceiling was filled with lights, and the sets were surrounded by scaffolds and wiring. It wasn’t as glamorous as I’d imagined. It was a day off for cast and crew, so Bill showed me around the studio as well as some other buildings where shows were filmed. Then we went to the studio commissary, where everyone ate lunch.
On our way there, I saw a redheaded woman driving a golf cart. Bill yelled, “Hey, Lucy!”
Lucille Ball drove over to us and stopped the cart.
“Hey Bill, what are you doing here? We’re not shooting today,” Lucy said, laughing. Then she looked at me and said, “And who’s this little gal you have with you?”
“This is Jane Harvey,” Bill said, “She’s from Las Vegas.” He turned to me and said, “This is Lucy.”
I told her I was thrilled to meet her, and before she sped off she said it was nice to meet me too. I watched her red hair bouncing as she drove over the rough back lot street.
Bill took me to see some additional sets, and two hours later we headed back to Scandia for a drink. Finally I said I had to head back to Vegas. I promised to call him when I came back to Hollywood, and I did see him about five times between 1962 and before he died in 1966. He liked me for me and I felt the same way about him.
Back home after months of planning, I bought a half-acre lot on Sunrise Mountain. I ordered a double-wide trailer to put on the land. Johnny sold his trailer and moved in with me. The trailer was set up a few weeks later and it was beautiful! There were three bedrooms, a bath and a half, a sunken living room and a big dining room.
I hired a contractor to construct a circle drive in front, and gardeners landscaped the rest of the property with shrubs and flowers. I bought a swing set for the girls and furnished the house with French provincial couches, tables, and lamps. I bought double beds for the girls’ bedroom and a new bedroom set for Johnny and me. I figured I was set. I finally had the perfect home for my girls, for which I paid cash.
Johnny had kept his promise and been so loving to me that I decided to sell my Thunderbird and buy him that XKE Jaguar he wanted so much. Then I sent money to my ex, Bob, who had remarried. He put the girls on a plane to Las Vegas, and I picked them up at the airport. My dream was finally coming true. I had my girls and things were going smoothly with Johnny. I hustled just three days a week so I could be home most of the time and be a real mother.
But that lasted only three weeks because Johnny became jealous of all the attention I was giving to the girls. He hated that I spent a lot of money on them too! He turned out to be a real prick after all, destroying my family dream. So with a heavy heart, I had to send them back their father because
I was afraid Johnny might hurt us.
Chapter 16
Johnny’s Abuse, a Flashback to Woody and Damone Gets Heckled
One afternoon I didn’t work so Johnny and I took a drive. We stopped at a bar just outside Palm Springs. He ordered drinks and I made a stop in the restroom. When I came out, an intoxicated middle-aged man stumbled over to me and said, “You are so beautiful. Can I buy you a drink?” Then, without hesitation he put his arms around me and tried to kiss me.
I immediately pushed him away and said, “Don’t be kissing me, I’m with my husband!”
He stepped back, smiled, and left the bar.
As a lady of the night, I was used to dealing with drunken men. I knew how to handle myself but what I didn’t realize was that Johnny was watching and he followed the guy outside and punched him.
When he returned I said, “I took care of that guy. Why did you have to do that?”
“Well you didn’t take care of it well enough!” he grouched.
After a few hours of drinking, Johnny decided we better get a motel room and I grabbed my purse and followed. After I got in the Cadillac convertible, I mentioned the incident again and Johnny slapped me.
“I saw you flirting with that guy. You liked it,” he yelled.
“But Johnny, I don’t like guys grabbing me like that!” I pleaded.
He kept slapping me harder and harder as I covered my head with my arms.
“You better stop that, you son-of-a-bitch.” I jumped on top of the front seat to get away from him and he stepped on the gas, sending me flying into the back seat.
After catching my balance, he stopped the car and I jumped onto the back of the trunk to get out of the car and he gunned it again and I fell onto the pavement, breaking my right elbow. In pain, I watched him tear down the street, spinning the car around and heading straight for me. The headlights blinded me as he stopped the car just inches from my face.
Rat Pack Party Girl: From Prostitute to Women’s Advocate Page 16