Authors: Kathryn Leigh Scott
The Bunny Years (46 page)
I
think I've based my whole outlook on life on a comment I first heard in Bunny Training: You can look at the world two waysâup at the blue sky or down in the gutter. Attitude guides your behavior.
“I had been working in the garment center as a model, a terrible job. In March 1965, three days before my 19th birthday, my boyfriend saw an ad in The New York Times for Playboy Bunnies. He dared me to go for an interview.
“I still remember standing in front of the mirror looking at myself in the Bunny costume and thinking, that's me? I was shocked I looked as good as I did. Tall and skinnyâbut with a shape! But when I was told I was hired, I turned the job down. I was still living at home with my German immigrant parents, farm people who went to bed at 9 o'clock. I knew they wouldn't go for it. The Bunny Mother and the general manager persuaded me to bring my parents in for a free lunch and a VIP tour. I went home and begged, pleaded and promised. Over lunch in the VIP Room the following day, every Club rule and policy was explained to my parents. Before we left, I had a job as a Bunny and my father had bought a Playboy Key.
“Two years later, I celebrated my 21st birthday by working in the Penthouse, finally old enough to work nights in the Showrooms. Nancy Phillips, Judy Bruno and Marcia Donen
gave me the Royal Test. They did everything to reduce me to tears: dropping one of my glasses in the ice so that the entire bin had to be changed, pushing me to the end of the line because I didn't call my order in correctly or fast enough. In the end, I came through with flying colors and the girls invited me to Tobo's after work to celebrate. You always had to be invited to Tobo's. I tripped and fell as I walked in, and got a standing ovation.
“You weren't allowed to âhustle' at the Club, but somehow you were expected to sell a three-drink average. The competition among the Showrooms every Friday and Saturday night was really fun. The room directors posted the drink averages on the following Monday and there was always this terrific rivalry between the Playroom and the Penthouse. The amazing thing about Playboy is that with all those beautiful, ambitious girls competing, I don't recall a fight. We had such camaraderie.
“I remember the night Pat Collins, the Hip Hypnotist, was doing a show in the Playroom and hypnotized Bunny Joi Kisslingâwho stayed under. We thought she was clowning as she kind of floated around. Toward the end of the night, we realized Joi hadn't collected any of her checks. They were all still open and nobody had paid. By that time, Pat Collins was back at the Plaza Hotel. She had to return to the Club, her hair in rollers, to snap Joi out of it.
Karen Barnes in the Piano Bar in the Living Room of the New York Club.
“On the night of the blackout, New York City's major power failure, November 5, 1965, Tony Roma, the general manager, had scheduled a Bunny meeting in the Penthouse. Tony was angry because of a rash of walkouts: girls not showing up for work and quitting without notice. The meeting was over and everyone was slipping out,
heading for the elevators. Tony's last words had been, âThere'll be no more walkouts or else!' Moments later, the whole city shut down. A complete blackout. I was stuck in an elevator packed with Bunnies and a gay busboy, who kept saying, âWhy me? Oh, God, every other man's dream and it has to be me!'
“During my five years at Playboy, I had done the Jerry Lewis Muscular Dystrophy telethon and appeared on both What's My Line and I've Got a Secret. My God, I've never felt more like a celebrity in my life. Bunnies were a novelty: All over town, doors were open to us. It never failed that when a group of us went to a discotheque after work, we were ushered past a long line of people waiting to get in. It was a fantasy.
“We weren't allowed to date Keyholders. But let's face it, the rule that we all broke was not to fraternize with other employees. Well, who the hell among your friends are you going to hang out with around 4 a.m. when you get off work? The people you work with. In June 1969, when I was 23 years old, I left the Club to marry Joe Bartolotto, one of the room directors. Together, we opened a restaurant.”
G
LORIA
H
ENDRY
W
orking at night almost ruined me. I would get off work at 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning and go out to eat. You're tired and your feet are killing you, but you don't want to go to sleep. You're so high with energy that it's like your day is really just beginning. You sit in a club drinking whatever you drink. At the time, wine was not the âin' thing. I drank Chivas Regal. On the rocks. Or a mixed drink like a grasshopper or a brandy Alexander. Oh, the headaches!
“When people phoned me at 11 a.m.âor laterâI'd still be in bed. I'd get up at 2 or 3 o'clock in the afternoon, with just enough time to do some errands and run back to work. You're around alcohol and food all night and, after a while, you find yourself joining the party. You start eating french fries. You find yourself mixing an extra drink on that tray of yours just for yourself. That was a merry-go-round I had to get off!
“In high school I studied to be a secretary. I wanted to become an attorney, but my counselor told me to âbe realistic, be a secretary.' I went to work for the NAACP in New York, then became an executive assistant in an advertising firm. One day, my boss took me to lunch at the Playboy Club just around the corner. The moment I walked in, I was in awe of the place. I was raised in a run-down area of Newark, New Jersey, and the New York Playboy Club really did represent glamour to me. That's what I wanted in my life: beauty, glamour and neon lights. I didn't want to deal with the real world.
Gloria Hendry in a Los Angeles production of Lady Day at Emerson's Bar & Grill, a one-woman musical drama about the life and times of Billie Holiday. Gloria and her husband, jazz pianist Phil Wright, are also collaborating on a number of musical projects.
“After the boss turned down my request for a raise, I told him, âYou know, I'm going to be a Bunny.' He laughed at me. He thought it was funny. But I did it.
“I was breaking out in cold sweats on my way to the interview at Playboy. I was sent in to see Betty, the wardrobe woman, who told me to take off my clothes and try on a costume. I come from a conservative, religious background and I had never undressed in front of anyone. Betty just pushed one of my breasts aside and said, âThis is how you stuff your costumeâtake these old stockings and . . . believe me, after you work here a while, honey, you'll rock and roll with everyone else standing around the dressing room getting ready.'
“The Club was hot and the music was jazz. Live musiciansânot piped-in stuffâplayed jazz on all five floors. Hefner loves jazz, bless him. The place was so alive! Those shoes we wore as Bunnies were cruel, but even today I will only wear high heels when I go out. My feet may look like hell, but I love those shoes.
“As a legal secretary at the NAACP, I had dealt with the reality of prejudice and racial slurs every day. It was such a different experience working at the Club as far as color was concerned. My skin color was glorified, and I felt good about myself. When Easter came around and I was called a chocolate Bunny, I thought of it as positive and fun. I experienced prejudice at the Club on only one memorable occasion. Unfortunately, it had to happen when my father came to celebrate his birthday one Labor Day weekend. My father was sitting at one of my tables in the Penthouse and, just before the show started, a man was seated at a table next to his. As I began to say âGood evening, I'm your Bunny Gloria,' the man interrupted. âI don't want you waiting on me.' My father knew instantly that the man was objecting to my color and I was mortified. I had been telling my family that things like that didn't happen at the Club. I went straight over to the room director and reported the incident. The man was asked to leave and his member's key was confiscated. The Club really stood behind all of us, but I was so sorry my father had to witness that one sorry episode.
