Then Johnny decided to take flying lessons because George had a new Cessna 300. Johnny started working on me to buy him a plane too. Then he wanted me to marry him. Again and again he promised to get a job and support me for the rest of my life. I was still into the drugs, and he knew how to say the things I wanted to hear. “You’ll never have to turn another trick and your girls could come and live with us.”
On December 19, 1965, I married Johnny at the Little Chapel in Las Vegas. I was twenty-four years old and he was forty-five. We took a trip to Arizona for our honeymoon, and when we returned he said he’d try to get a job, but he never did. He asked me to help out a little more and turn a few tricks until he found work. I knew he’d lied again. He was conning me the whole time.
I was in a bad spot and couldn’t get out. I’d been making so much money and there’d been so much spending that if I didn’t work, everything would go to the dogs. Bills were due and I had to go back out on the Strip. I was hooked on the money, and I was a fool to give it to Johnny.
During this time I saw Frank Sinatra after he had married Mia Farrow in July of 1966. Their romance was quite an “item.” I certainly was surprised to hear of his marriage on the news. When I ran into him in the cocktail lounge at the Sands, he motioned me over for a drink. Sitting at the table with him was a twig of a woman, very young. Frank introduced us and she seemed to look right through me.
“I heard you got married. Congratulations!” I said. Then I sat and talked with Dean and Sammy, staying away from Frank, not wanting to intrude.
While I was sitting there I overheard Mia talking to Frank. “Fuck you. I want to go down the street to that disco, you fucking old man.” She had little respect. I couldn’t believe Frank let her talk to him that way. Mia stormed out of the lounge, apparently headed for the disco.
Frank walked out to the pit to talk to someone and when he came back, I walked up to him, put both hands on his shoulders, and pushed him against the wall. “Frank, what possessed you to marry that girl? Were you that damn lonely? I thought you liked a woman with a body?”
Frank just stood there. “I don’t know why. I just feel like I love her. I don’t know what happened. But she’s usually pretty sweet,” he replied.
“She talks to you like you’re dirt under her feet.”
“Well I’m in it now. I don’t know how long it’s going to last.”
I told Frank I was leaving for Los Angeles to see my daughters the next day. I was concerned for him and hoped he would be happy. I gave him a peck on the cheek and said I’d see him the next time he was in town.
The next time Frank was in Vegas was about a year later. Mia had gone off to shoot a movie and Frank didn’t want her to go. Apparently this had caused a big fight. They were having serious problems, and it was not long before they divorced.
During this time I heard he was in a party mood, gambling heavily, and into the casino for ten to twenty thousand, which was not that unusual for him. Frank asked Carl Cohen in the Garden Room for another marker, and Carl said he wanted him to take care of what he owed first. Frank was enraged and pushed the table over onto Carl. Then he got a golf cart and drove it through a window. Supposedly, Carl slugged him, knocking out two of Frank’s teeth. He told Frank he would have to leave the hotel immediately.
I’m glad I wasn’t there for that scene. I loved both men and hated even hearing that they got into it that way. I didn’t see Frank there again.
Caesars Palace opened in August of 1966 and a bunch of us, including the bartenders and waiters from one of the bars on the Strip, decided to turn the fountains in front of the hotel into the largest bubble bath in Vegas. We parked our cars off Las Vegas Boulevard and one at a time we walked nonchalantly to the fountains with a box of Mr. Bubble and dumped it in. We were careful to keep our backs to the entrance so no one could see.
Afterwards we sat in the bar across the street and watched the bubbles overflow. It was one of the funniest things I’d seen. The police came into the bar and asked whether we’d seen anyone near the fountain. No one said a peep. After the police left the bar, we partied ’til the sun came up.
On one of my rounds I met a singer in the lounge at Caesars Palace. Betty, a waitress, introduced her to me after she had finished her act. Anne was a brilliant singer in her early twenties. After we had a drink, Anne asked me to drive her to her motel so she could change her clothes.
I took Anne to the motel and waited for her while she showered. When she came out she was wearing blue jeans, a tucked-in checkered shirt, and a leather belt with a large silver buckle. It was the type of outfit I had become accustomed to seeing at the bar in Greenwich Village, so I sat there in my evening gown and wondered, “Is she gay?”
Anne wanted to drink at a bar down the street from the motel. When we got there she found a place where there were seats for only two people. I tried to be nonchalant as we made small talk. She, on the other hand, stared at me, making me uncomfortable. She seemed to be flirting with me, but I thought it might be just in my mind.
We spent three hours there, talking about life in general. I thought she was intriguing; I enjoyed her company just as I had enjoyed the girls in New York. Afterwards I dropped her at her place and went home.
The whole next day I kept thinking about Anne and alternately talking to myself, saying, “Janie, stop it! Straighten up!” But I kept thinking about the way she looked at me and how talented and nice she was.
That evening I went to the Sands, turned a few tricks, and then went to Caesars Palace to catch Anne’s act in the lounge. She asked me to drive her to her motel again so she could change and get something to eat. This time, when she came out in her jeans and shirt, her hair was slicked back like a guy. Sexy!
She must have caught the vibe because she walked over, took my hand, pulled me up, and kissed me on the lips. I was a bowl of jelly. I felt butterflies in my stomach. This went on for a few weeks. Every time we were together she kissed me and looked into my eyes, but never anything else. She was making me crazy for her.
One night while we were having drinks at the Red Barn, one of the three gay bars in Vegas then, I confessed to Anne that I had an old man. I told her I didn’t know how to get away from him and asked her what I should do.
She said, “You know, I do have very strong feelings for you, but I’ve known all this time that you’re with a man. I don’t want to disrupt your life.”
“You’re not going to mess up my life. I’m the unhappiest woman you’ve ever met.” I told her about Johnny and how he beat me, used me, and managed to get all my money.
I drove Anne back to the motel. We sat on the side of the bed and kissed and caressed one another. She undressed me and we made love. It was heavenly. I was in the arms of a woman, feeling like a whole woman again. We talked for hours and I was so happy to be with her. She said she was glad she had held back all those weeks.
“I think you should get away from Johnny,” Anne said.
“I’m going to. I want to pack my things and get away, but I have to be careful because he might kill me before I get out the door.”
Anne rented an apartment the next week and I sneaked over to see her every chance I could.
As time passed, Johnny noticed there was less money. He got suspicious and asked, “What’s happening on the Strip? How come you’re not bringing home as much as you used to?”
“Things are real slow.”
“Janie, tell me the truth. What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. Nothing’s changed. I just haven’t been lucky lately.”
I realized I was living two lives. I wanted to end that, to stop turning tricks. Every day I did battle inside myself, keeping up the front of my “straight” life while I spent as much time as I could with the woman I loved.
Anne was with me one day when I was shopping in a hotel dress shop. I wanted her to tell me which of three dresses I had tried on was the most attractive. When I walked out in the third dress, there was
Johnny, standing next to Anne.
“It looks like you’re having yourself a fun afternoon,” Johnny snarled. “Who’s this? Your friend, I suppose?”
“Yes, she’s a friend of mine. She’s a singer at Caesars Palace lounge. Her name is Anne.”
“Jane, get your shit and get your ass home.” He looked ready to kill me.
“I’m not coming home.”
“Get home now if you know what’s good for you.” He turned and walked out the door.
I had parked the Cadillac right outside the dress shop. Johnny probably spotted it as he was driving by. Anne and I got in and drove to her apartment. She told me everything would be okay, but I was really worried.
That evening I called Johnny and told him I would pick up my clothes the next day. I said I wouldn’t be with him again, that he could have everything. All I wanted was my freedom.
“You stupid bitch. You’re going to end up with nothing. You’re going to end up like all the queers: on the streets. You’ll be sorry!” he yelled through the phone.
“I’m getting my clothes, I’m leaving you, and I’m never going to turn another trick. It’s over.”
Afterwards, Anne suggested we have a few drinks to settle me down. We drove to the Red Barn and were playing the slots when a girl came running in.
“Somebody has set fire to a big pile of clothes in the parking lot!”
Anne and I ran out to see. There in the parking lot was a pile of ripped-up dresses, evening gowns, and mink stoles—about $40,000 worth of hard work. It crushed me to see him destroying all that made me who I was in Vegas. Johnny had also torn up all the pictures of me with Frank Sinatra and other celebrities, thrown them on top of the clothes, and set the pile on fire. I tried to run over and put it out, but it was too late to save anything.
I heard a car peel out from the boulevard and I looked up to see Johnny in the Jaguar. He was parked across the street watching to see what I’d do.
I stood in the parking lot and screamed, “No . . . No . . . No!”
Five guys came running from the bar to protect me, pulling me back into the bar. Anne held me and tried to get me to stop crying.
“They’re only material things. At least you have your life. You can buy new clothes again. It’s a good thing that you’re getting away from him Janie.”
I didn’t think I’d ever get over it—burning my clothes, which I had depended on to make a living, seemed like the worst thing he could do. The people in the bar bought me drinks to cheer me up, and after a while I started to feel a little better. But I was scared so I never went back to my mobile home. I began to hope it was over for good.
Some of Anne’s friends had invited us to meet them at Maxine’s out on Tonopah Highway (now Rancho Drive). I drove into the pitch-black desert with the top of the Caddie down. We were alone on the two-lane highway. Cruising at fifty-five miles per hour, I saw a pair of headlights coming toward us. When the car got closer, I could see it was George in his convertible. Johnny was sitting on the back of the passenger seat, waving something.
Suddenly, I could hear pop . . . pop . . . pop. As George approached, I saw Johnny waving a handgun and shooting at me as they sped by. I ducked when I saw the barrel pointed at my face and floored it.
“Get down, damn it. Hide your head and get down on the floor. That son of a bitch is shooting at us. He’s crazy!”
The bullets whizzed by as I pushed the speed to 120, trying to avoid the fire. When I looked into my rear-view mirror I saw they’d made a U-turn and were after me.
I skidded into Maxine’s graveled parking lot, the car doing a spin before landing snug at the front door. We jumped from the car (I didn’t even turn it off), and as I opened the door I heard gunshots as George and Johnny flew by. I screamed at the bartender, “Call the police! My old man is trying to kill me!”
I had never been so scared. We ran to the restroom to hide, huddling in the small stall, shaking until the police arrived.
The officers took a report, listening to my story but not seeming to care. In their eyes I was a queer, and from their remarks I could tell they hated queers.
The cops examined my car and said there were no bullet holes to prove a shooting. They said the popping sounds had probably come from car backfire. With that they left, and Johnny and George got away with what they had done. After that Johnny stalked and harassed me daily. My confidence dwindled and I began to feel paranoid again.
The next week Anne and I and some friends were at the Red Barn —the only place in town we could be ourselves. We were sitting at the bar when we heard a crash at the front. Everybody ran outside to see what had happened. The awning and its wooden posts had fallen onto the hood of my car.
We all saw Johnny drive away in the Jaguar. He had used the set of keys he had for the Cadillac and driven it into the bar. The car was only scratched, but I offered to pay for the awning, and I did.
After this incident, I called Johnny to say that if he didn’t stop harassing me I would have him arrested. He told me he was sorry, that he was crazy over losing me. He said I was killing him slowly and begged me to come back.
“I hope you do die for all the things you’ve done. Now, you’ve tried to kill me three times. You’ll never have another chance. You’re out of my life forever.”
That was the last time I talked to him. I called a cab for the airport and bought a ticket for California. Crossing the tarmac to board the plane, I thought I saw him coming after me.
I ran for my life.
Chapter 20
Leaving Vegas for Los Angeles
It was October of 1966 when I got off the plane in Los Angeles. My heart thumped as Mom’s phone rang. She answered it and I told her that I needed a place to stay and that I needed to find a legitimate job so I could work at getting my self-esteem back. After listening to my jittery voice she said, “Honey, I’m glad you finally woke up and got the hell away from that son-of-a-bitch!”
“I know Mom, but this time he tried to kill me!”
“Oh my God Jane,” she said, “Get a cab and come here. Johnny won’t dare to follow you here because he knows that I’ll call the police and have him put in jail!”
After hanging up, I kept thinking about the past eight years and how I’d let Mom and Roger stay with me at my two-bedroom apartment near the Desert Inn. When they married, I paid for their elaborate sixteen-hundred-dollar wedding and week stay at the Sands. After that, I treated them to many expensive nights on the Strip, and introduced them to many pit bosses, celebrities and hotel owners. And before they left I’d filled their suitcases with new clothes and a car-load of gifts for my brother Dick and his family. I wanted her to love me.
The interesting thing is, she never asked me how I’d gotten the money, and until recently I didn’t realize that she had known how all along. She knew her daughter was selling herself to strangers, but never reached out about it because it suited her just fine. They all knew and didn’t care!
Mom was a beautiful, fifty-year-old brunette, slimly trimmed and bursting with personality, who lived in a half-million dollar rambler with her husband Roger, who owned a major saw company in Los Angeles. Roger was a handsome mid-fifties “man’s man” businessman who never really talked to me until I introduced him to Vic Damone at my apartment. I’ll never forget hearing Mom’s surprising cry and seeing the stunning look on their faces when I opened my apartment door that night. Mom melted instantly and Roger stood up at attention to extend his hand for a handshake. I invited him in and served them a cocktail before I returned to my bedroom to finish powdering my nose.
I remember I had on my custom made Mr. Blackwell black, low-cut evening gown and the scent of my Chanel Number 5 perfume filled the room. When we left my apartment half an hour later, I knew my mom wished she was going out with him. But it was just me, and Vic was a very nice gentleman who opened my car door.
The cab arrived at my mother’s house and when she opened the front door she could see that I had lost
weight and was shaky. She reached out and hugged me tightly and said, “What in the hell did that damn asshole do to you Janie?” With tears falling to the ground she tenderly walked me out to the backyard and sat me down in their soft patio furniture near the luminous pool that was surrounded by bamboo tikki torches. After grabbing a tissue box she went over to the Hawaiian hut bar, turned on some Hawaiian music and made us both a scotch on the rocks. As we sipped on the scotch mom said, “Now tell me what happened honey.”
I told her everything.
We continued to talk about Johnny until the sun came up. Then both of us went to bed. I was so glad to be at Mom’s house but before I could go to sleep I wanted to talk to Anne. So I tiptoed back into the kitchen, picked up the phone and called Caesar’s Casino to see if she was still performing there, but the operator told me her show was over and that she had left town. When I hung up I felt sad because I knew I’d never see her again. After our fiasco in the desert, it was just too hard for us to remain friends.
A couple days later we were having coffee by the pool and I asked Mom, “What ever happened to Woody?”
“Oh, that son-of-a-bitch is living down in Orange I think,” she said.
“Did I ever tell you that I met up with Woody a few years ago?”
“No you didn’t,” she said as her eyes perked up.
So I told her about driving up there to see the girls one day and after I dropped them off stopping by to see her. But no one was home, so for some reason I started thinking about Woody. I dialed the operator and found out that he lived in the City of Orange. I called the number and when a little girl answered the phone I instantly felt my heart fall to my feet, thinking that he’d been molesting her like he’d molested me.
I asked her if Woody was there and the little girl said, “Just a minute,” and then Woody said, “Hello?” with his harsh master sergeant voice.
With a grand smile I said. “Hi Woody, this is Janie!”
“Janie?” After a few seconds, he said, “Janie? Janie…. McCormick!”
Rat Pack Party Girl: From Prostitute to Women’s Advocate Page 20