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

by McCormick, Jane

  “You crazy old woman! No!” Irving walked right by her and she ran after him. She got into the limousine with him, still screaming.

  I continued to walk away, then I realized I had no money. I stopped a complete stranger and asked him for a dime to call the hotel and leave a message at the desk. Suddenly, I heard my name paged in the lobby, so I went to pick up the house phone. It was Irving. He told me to get in a cab and come straight to the hotel. I did what he said and he was there when I pulled up.

  “Jesus Christ Irving, what are you trying to pull on me?”

  “My wife is checking on me and we’re going to have to move you. Pack your things and I’ll have the driver pick up your bags.”

  I packed my things in a hurry and the driver picked them up. Off to another hotel we went, Irving and I in his Cadillac. Soon I was in my new suite, more gorgeous than the last. I felt sure Irving’s wife was at the suite I’d just abandoned. What wealth this man must have!

  Irving showed up later that night saying everything would be okay. He had spent the afternoon with his wife at the other suite having lunch and calming her down to get her off his trail. He said she had gotten a hold of his expense report because she wanted to know where he was spending his money. He was trying to convince her he had been alone in the suite for a year entertaining business guests. I really couldn’t blame his wife for being upset about her husband fooling around behind her back.

  Then Irving called and said he’d be gone for a couple of days and he’d send one of his boys with an envelope of money for me. Each day a buff, well-dressed man personally delivered an envelope filled with cash. After I opened it and removed the money, the man took the envelope, tore it up, burned it in the bathroom sink, and flushed the ashes down the toilet.

  “Boy, that’s really cops and robbers stuff,” I said.

  “That’s right. You don’t know who you’re dealing with, kid.” I had no idea what he meant.

  My next instruction was to take a cab to meet Irving for dinner at a restaurant downtown. He told me to watch my back. I didn’t know who I was looking for, but I guessed it was his wife.

  When I met Irving at the restaurant, we went into the bar and had a drink. I asked him what was going on. He told me that his wife had, in the past, hired a private detective to keep him from being with other women.

  “Maybe I should go back to Vegas.”

  “Oh no baby, I want you to stay here with me. You make me happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

  “Well if you say it’s going to be okay, I’ll stay. I don’t want to get into any trouble over this.” I had confidence he knew what he was doing so I sat back and relaxed.

  Minutes later some of Irving’s friends arrived to join us for dinner. He introduced me to a Mr. Wurlitzer, “the jukebox king,” and his girlfriend, a real knockout. We ate together and afterwards Irving gestured to an Italian-looking older man, who joined us for a drink. He sat down right next to me and when he reached across the table for his drink, I saw a gun in a holster under his suit coat. Irving had a lot of mobster-looking characters around him all the time. I never asked questions.

  After a few hours, Irving had gotten drunk at the restaurant and hit his head on a mirror while bending over to pick up his hat. He went home to nurse his headache.

  The night was still young and I had taken a diet pill so I was ready to have some fun. I called Sheri and she agreed to meet me at that gay bar in Greenwich Village.

  I grabbed a cab and headed out. Sheri and I had a drink then went out to have a joint in the alley. Sunny, who had flirted with me the other night, went out with us. When we returned, Sunny asked me to dance again. We had a lot of fun together and I found myself beginning to fall for her.

  After the bar closed, Sunny asked me to her house to party. I told her about my predicament with Irving and she told me to just tell her everything that was on my mind and she just held me in her arms and just very softly caressed my body. She said, “Just relax and talk to me sweetheart. I can tell you are a very mixed up gal. Relax and let your mind unwind.” I ended up sleeping with Sunny, who satisfied my every need for a change, and I could now confirm that I was falling in love with her. We saw each other for several weeks. She was wonderful. I just felt relaxed around her.

  One night out at the gay bar, I was so stressed out from Irving and his wife that I took a Toanal, a strong upper, with coffee. I got really high and passed out face down in a Greenwich Village bar. My friends poured milk down my throat to revive me. I was really glad to have them as my friends.

  Irving’s wife, I found out, had called my mother in California. How she knew where Mom lived or where she got her phone number I do not know. Mrs. H. asked her if she knew what I was doing in New York. Mom said she had no idea why I was there or whom I was with, but that I was old enough to know what I was doing. Mrs. H. said I’d better watch myself because “Mr. Cosa Nostra’s wife” was watching me and was going to have a talk with me. Just the words I didn’t ever want to hear.

  Mom immediately called to ask what was going on. She said it sounded like mobsters were after me and I’d better get the hell out of there. The call worried me. I had never heard reference to the “Cosa Nostra.” Even then I thought it was just a nickname for Irving, who hadn’t revealed anything about his life or his business to me.

  Then Irving told me he was going to have to move me again, that he thought my suite was tapped and someone was listening to our conversations. He moved me to another hotel the next day, this one with a swimming pool. I used it once in a while to get some exercise. Otherwise, I was a nervous wreck.

  I liked gay people because they were soft and gentle and told it like it was. None of them ever tried to get in my pants. I realized that many people saw my lesbian friends as degenerates and lowlifes, but my perception was that they had broken from the run-of-the-mill, stereotypical, heterosexual lifestyle. It didn’t seem to me that men and women got along that well anyway. Every man I knew seemed to want a little chick on the side while his wife stayed home and took care of the house. That seemed a lot sleazier than the life these people led. At least they were honest with themselves and up-front with each other.

  Being caught between two worlds—hiding from investigators in one and keeping my new friends secret from Irving in the other—made me feel I was beginning to crack. I become paranoid, thinking that everyone who looked at me might know that I was “kept.” I was used to people looking at me in Vegas, but this made me feel clammy and nauseated. I thought Irving’s wife had the mob after me. I worried about whether my daughters would be okay if something happened to me. Finally I went off the deep end.

  One day while Irving and I were having lunch in a restaurant, I cried uncontrollably. “Get me out of here. Get me out of here. I can’t stand all these people staring at me.”

  He grabbed my arm, put his arm around me, and hustled me to the door. Now they really were staring. Irving took me to an emergency room and I told the doctor I couldn’t stop crying, that all I could think about were all the tragic things that had happened in my life. I said I just wanted to be locked up in a room where I didn’t have to think or worry about anyone.

  I was admitted to the hospital and the doctor told Irving I was having a nervous breakdown. He said I needed to get off the drinking and the drugs and that I needed some time to think things out. Irving got me a private hospital room that was more like a suite. I spent five days there without any phone calls or visitors. The doctor medicated me to withdraw me from the other drugs. A psychiatrist helped me understand my problems and advised me to get help after I left the hospital.

  The stay in the hospital was a welcome break. I got a chance to think about my life with Irving and his wife, about Johnny and my daughters. I decided I was sick of being told what to do and of being used. I wanted to start a new life. I wanted to get out of prostitution and off drugs. I wanted to meet new friends, have a real job, and be free.

  I didn’t want to be a toy fo
r men any longer. I was tired of Irving’s games and of his wife. I was sick of having to answer to Johnny. Finally, I was tired of being without my girls.

  For the next three months, every time I was rid of Irving, I went to the Greenwich Village bar. I made all kinds of friends my age and I continued on the sleeping and diet pills. I was either high as hell or docile as a rag doll. One night at a friend’s house, after sleeping pills and coffee, a warm feeling came over me. Then I felt faint and collapsed. My friends led me to the bedroom to sleep it off.

  When I woke the next afternoon, I went back to Irving. He had left a message for me at the desk. He wanted me to go out to dinner and then to the suite for a roll in the hay. I played the part and went to dinner, but halfway through the meal I told him I had a splitting headache. He took me back to the hotel and as soon as he drove away I grabbed a cab for Greenwich Village.

  Soon after that, I worked up the courage to call my mom on the phone from the Hotel room in New York—I wanted to tell her that I was hanging around some new friends, gay friends, and I had never had a better time in my life. That in fact, I had never felt more like myself around anyone else.

  To my surprise, she said, “Oh thank God! Maybe now you won’t be getting the shit beat out of you by that son of a bitch Johnny. Maybe you won’t have to cater to all those old men anymore.” Even though I rarely spoke to her, she had known what was going on in my life for years, but she hadn’t seemed to care until now. This was one of the most caring conversations I’d ever had with my mother.

  I told her how I was going to get a place of my own and get a job in New York. She was happy for me. After we talked I hurried to get dressed. Irving was due to pick me up and I wanted to be ready. I had to keep him happy until I found a new career.

  When Irving arrived he said we had to sit down and talk.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Jane, I’ve been having my men follow you, and they reported that you went to a queer bar in Greenwich Village after I dropped you off the other night. They told me that you’ve been partying with a bunch of dykes and that after the bar closes, you go with them to an apartment. You know you could be called a queer by associating with that kind of people. I think its best you take your ass back to Vegas.” Irving said. “You’re a sick little bitch!” And he slapped me across the face.

  I stood up. “You’re not going to slap me around, you old fart.” Then I slapped him.

  Irving was silent. He just sat there, glaring.

  “Why have you been having somebody follow me?”

  “I’ve been doing it for a long time. I have connections. I can find out anything about anybody at any time.”

  “Jesus Christ! Are you some kind of mobster?” I was getting scared. I didn’t know what to expect. I was beginning to realize he was a powerful man. I was afraid he might have me killed.

  “Don’t worry about it, bitch.”

  “Just because I want to have some fun and be around people my own age doesn’t mean I’m queer. I’m sick of you old men telling me what to do. Nine months I’ve spent waiting for you and servicing your every need. I’ve been good to you. And I’ve had to put up with your wife having me followed too!”

  Irving turned and walked out the door into the hallway. I heard him knock on the door of the suite next to mine. In a minute he and a man in a black suit came back in. Irving was carrying a briefcase and he put it down on the table. It was a tape recorder. He pushed a button and I heard my conversations with my girlfriends and my mother.

  I thought, “My God, this guy really is in the Mafia. I’m going to end up in the river. ”

  “Now explain that, you stupid bitch.”

  “If you’ll just listen, I will explain it,” I said. I knew I had to convince him that I cared for him and would never hurt him. “Just let me tell you my side of it.”

  “All right, I’m listening.” Irving’s face was dark and mean. He stood looking at me, his arms crossed. The man in the black suit stood by the door.

  “I got conned into this hustling life because I wanted to get my children back. I’m really a good person. Maybe I take too many pills, but you coerced me into coming to New York. Your wife called my mother and threatened to get me one way or another. You lie to me all the time. I’ve had a nervous breakdown over all the shit you’ve put me through. I had no friends here in New York and I just happen to have become friends with some gay people who listen to me and understand. They accept me for who I am and I feel comfortable around them because they don’t try to take me to bed.”

  Irving didn’t say a word as I paced the room so I continued. “Your problem is that you hate queers, and I see them as my new friends. I thought you’d understand that I was lonely and wanted to have some friends. I do like you and hope we can end this by being friends. You knew I was a hustler when you met me and you knew our relationship couldn’t last forever. You’re still married and it’s not fair that you’re cheating on your wife. And I can’t live like a pet in a cage anymore.”

  Irving grabbed his hat and overcoat and walked out the door without a word.

  As soon as I could, I grabbed a cab to Greenwich Village. Irving hadn’t killed me yet and I didn’t care if anyone followed me. When I got there the bartender bought me a drink and listened to my story. A friend came over and said I could move in with her and her girlfriend. I spent the night with them and went back to the suite the next morning to pack.

  At about noon there was a knock on the door. I opened it and there was a man standing in the hallway. He had on a black suit and his eyes sent chills up my spine.

  “Jane, Irving sent me with a message. The message is ‘Jane, it was nice knowing you. My advice is to go back to Las Vegas.’”

  Then he opened his jacket, revealing a shoulder holster with a huge black gun. He said, “My advice is to get out of town and not pursue Irving any longer.” As if I ever did. “Never call him, never see him, never talk to him, and don’t ever cause him any trouble or you’ll have to answer to me.”

  “Yes sir, I understand. I’m leaving today.” I couldn’t pack fast enough. I was happy to be alive. Boy that was a close one.

  But I still moved in with my friends, not wanting to return to Vegas or Johnny. I had saved some money and I knew I’d find a job somewhere soon.

  Chapter 19

  Greenwich Village

  The next day I called Johnny and told him that my dealings with Irving were over. Johnny was sweet on the phone. I told him I was going to stay with Sunny in Greenwich Village until I found my own apartment. He sounded understanding, asking for the address so he could send flowers. He would wait for me to call.

  Three days later Johnny showed up on the doorstep. He had driven the Jaguar across country without stopping to sleep. He said, “I couldn’t wait to see you, so I’m here to take you back home.”

  “But Johnny you don’t understand. I don’t want to come back to Vegas with you. I’ve met some really nice friends and I like being around them. I want you to sell my stuff and give me all of my money.”

  “Oh honey, you’re just going through a phase. You’ve been through a lot of shit since you’ve been with Irving and you think these gay girls are your good friends, but they’re not. You’re just overwhelmed with everything, and now you’re infatuated with a girl. Hell, I know you’re not gay. You don’t just turn gay overnight.”

  “Johnny I’m sick and tired of you taking all my money, of being beaten up, and I don’t want anything to do with you and your crazy sex parties. I hate it, and I hate you for letting me turn tricks.”

  Johnny didn’t say another word and he left. For the next two days he showed up at the doorstep and he sweet-talked me, letting me think he was going to give back my money and if I wanted him to, sell everything and buy something in New York. He said whatever I wanted was fine with him, that he didn’t care where he lived as long as he was with me.

  But when he saw I was not going to change my mind, his real-self surface
d. “You know Jane, you’re going to have to get your shit together. You don’t belong here with these queers. You belong with me in your home in Vegas. You like your fucking diamonds, clothes, fancy cars and money. You’ll never have that with these damn queers!”

  “Johnny, I don’t want to be with you.”

  “Well I guess I just have to throw the acid I brought in your girlfriend’s face! That should change your mind about being with your damn lesbian bitch. Hell, I might as well just take your ass down to the river right now and dump you in. You know I’ll do it if that’s what it comes to. If you don’t come back with me, I will tell your kids you’re here with a bunch of queers!”

  I was sure he would carry out his threats as he had before. “Okay, okay Johnny. Don’t say more. I’m packing my clothes and coming home with you.” I cried while writing a note to Sunny. I told her how important she was to me and promised to stay in touch with her and my friends, hoping they’d understand. Then Johnny grabbed my bags and we left.

  I weighed 110 pounds and fit into a size seven dress. My cheeks were sunken and I looked like a walking skeleton. As we drove back to Vegas, Johnny kept telling me that he needed to get me off the downers and get me strong again, that I needed to get back with the high rollers so I could make a lot of money again. He promised he wouldn’t hit me again or have any more orgy parties, and that he’d take care of me and that I belonged with him.

  I returned to the Strip seven days a week. During the several weeks after I returned he just bided his time, trying to keep me happy until he came up with his next surprise.

  One morning when I came home after working all night, he showed me a new Harley Davidson that he’d bought with my money. It was all tricked out in chrome and leather and he’d gotten side bags, black leather pants, and jacket to match. I think he wanted to show his friends that his woman had a lot of money to buy him toys, just like theirs did; George was sporting a new Mercedes-Benz sportster, paid for by Margo, of course.