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NOVEMBER 1985 * $3.50 
ES 


MODERN GIRLS 
“MIAMI VICE” 


GUIDE TO SKIING 
SEX IN CINEMA 


DEWAR’S PROFILE: 


THOMAS B. STEVENS 
HOME: Lakewood, Colorado. + 97 

AGE: 39 y 
PROFESSION: BT A and clavichord 


HOBBY: Skiing. “I didnt move out here from 
New Hampshire fora. f climate” 


LISHMENT: Completed his 
of 1985. “For inmy 
igh-speed production! 


UDO, ‘Ilove ко Ба. N ў 
o 


UOTE: “Louder may get you heard first, but 
it doesn't guarantee you'll play something 
worth hearing.” 
PROFILE: Individualistic, but very 
respectful of tradition. “Low-tech 
is alot more sophisticated 
than people think” 
HIS SCOTCH: Dewar's 
“White Label” On the 
rocks. What could be 
more ‘well-tempered’ 
than that?” 


a 


DEWAR'S* “WHITE LABEL” - BLENDED SCOTCH WHISKY - 86.8 PROOF o 1985 SCHENLEY IMPORTS CO,, 888 SEVENTH AVE, NY, NY. 10106 


From here, said the 
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ow well the entire А 
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© Phil Morris Inc. 1985. 


Most video 
systems treat 


you as if you 
were deaf. 


by Ray Charles 


“Did you ever close your 
eyes and listen to most video 
systems? I’ve got to tell you: it’s 
sad. What they do for your 
eyes they undo for your ears. 

Then the Pioneer folks ask 
| me to listen to their videodisc 
system called LaserDisc. 

Imalittle skeptical, but I 
put my ear to it. And, I’ve got 

a. to tell you, Pm amazed. The 
sound is as good as anything I ever heard on my stereo. Maybe better. 

I say, Thats heaven for me, but what's the picture look like for the rest of 
the folks? 

And the experts tell me the picture blows every other video system away. 
And that since the discs are played back by a laser beam, they cant wear out 
the way records and tapes do. 

Now I bet you're thinking, ‘But I already own a 
stereo, or ‘I already own a VCR? Well, whether you're 
watching music or movies, you still need a Pioneer 
LaserDisc. Because LaserDisc does what 
no other system can do. It brings the 
best picture and best sound together. 

And that, my friend, sounds pretty 
good to me” 


Dm 


() PIONEER’ 
300 Lise brard videt рун: Video for those 
CU iS e who really care about audio. 


The model shown here is the Pionec 
LascrDisc" brand videodisc player is: 
© 1885 Pioneer Video, Inc. All righis. 


SO WHAT DO YOU DO if you're a guy of average intelli y 
wind up on a blind date with a girl whose Т.О. is 200? Hope she 
loves you for your body, of course. But, seriously, our seven 
Women of Mensa, the national organization for people with 
extremely high LQ.s, were, according to Senior Photography 
Editor Jeff Cohen and Contributing Photographer Arny Freytag, a 
bit unusual. “Of all the women we've photographed for Girls of . . . 
pictorials,” says Cohen, “these were by far the most enthusiastic 
and curious about HO, Three of them brought cameras to 
make their own photographic records of the trip to our Chicago 
studios. It’s amazing, but not a single model for any of our other 
pictorials has done that, as I recall.” There’s a bonus for those of 
you who've always wanted to own a prop from one ofour pictori- 
als. “For the shot of Sheri Blair, we ordered 7000 rubber balls,” 
says Cohen, “and now I'm stuck with them. The first 7000 read- 
ers who send me a nice letter will get one of them.” 

Intelligence of a more volatile nature characterizes film actor 
Klaus Kinski, the subject of Marcelle Clements’ Klaus Kinski & the 
Thing (illustrated by Greg Spalenka), excerpted from her forth- 
coming Viking Penguin book. Kinski confirms for those who 
have secn his uncanny performances (Nosferatu the Vampyre, 
Aguirre, the Wrath of God) the fact that he’s probably the most 
eccentric genius the world has seen since Salvador Dali. How- 
ever, actor-singer-musician Sting, the subject of this month’s 
Playboy Interview, takes a close second to Kinski when it comes to 
being intensely intense. As he said to interlocutors David and Мїс- 
toria Sheff, “What I am interested in doing is seducing people 
witha pleasant melody and then kicking them in the teeth. | like 
doing that.” Still, Victoria admits that she found him sexy. 
Speaking of sexy, Miami Vice's two stars, Don Johnson (Crockett) 
and Philip Michael Thomas (Tubbs), obviously are. You may think, 
after you read Contributing Editor Dovid Rensin's 20 Questions 
with them, that they possess not a shred of humility. Don't be so 
quick to judge. Do women from across the country send you their 
pubic hairs? In Modern Girls (illustrated by David Croland), David 
Seeley attempts to fathom the deep psyches of those “sleek, heav- 
ily moussed” girls of the Eighties we like to look at but don’t 
know how to talk to, partly because they always seem distracted. 
They are distracted. They re thinking about making it with peo- 
ple like Don Johnson. They’re thinking about making it with gay 
guys. They're even thinking—abstractly, of course—about hav- 
ing a husband and kids. And that’s when you have to be very 
careful about getting their attention, because if you do, you may 
wind up married. And divorced. And paying child support. Let 
Carl H. Stone, a professional child-support collector, describe the 
short hairs of the legal system for you in Pay Me Now or Pay Me 
Later. M you're looking for the money to keep up those payments, 
beware of too-trendy investments. As David Owen explains in 
Riding the Trend Trend, almost anything can be a wend if you 
can sell others on it. 

Also in this issue, we have sultry Playmate Pamela Saunders and 
our annual hot pictorial review of Sex in Cinema, by Arthur Knight. 
If you'd like to sec some of those pictures move, you should know 
that Sex in Cinema, currently celebrating its 20th anniversary in 
the magazine, is now a bimonthly feature on The Playboy Chan- 
nel. To round out the issue, Reg Potterton predicts what your fin- 
gers might soon be walking through in The Deregulated Yellow 
Pages; our new Fast Forward feature takes a quick look at people 
who are making their own breaks; Peter Nelson tells the story of 
what happens to one guy who tries to pick up an Eighties girl in 
Getting the Message (illustrated by Bill Rieser); and Ray Russell 
gives us a good old-fashioned ghost story with a modern twist in 
The Black Wench, his 50th contribution to F. Oh, yes, don't 
forget to fill out your ballots for the Playboy Music Poll, then 
check out the Playboy Guide: Skiing and our winter-fashion fea- 
ture so you can look as hip as you are. Tip number onc: Don't 
wear T-shirts with pink sports coats unle: 


s you live in Miami. 


PLAYBILL 


i 
CLEMENTS SPALENKA 


Д 


STONE CROLAND 


f 


DA 
KNIGHT 


RUSSELL NELSON RIESER 


MYERS'S RUM. 80 PROOF. IMPORTED AND BDTTLED BY THE FRED L. MYERS & SDN CO. BALTIMDRE, MD. © 1985. 


THE RICHER TASTE OF MYERS'S 
ALWAYS COMES THROUGH. 


==» 


| I 
NL | | 
If your Daiquiris taste like you forgot the rum; 


you're not mixing with Myers Original Dark. Its deep, A 
delicious Jamaican taste always comes through. 


MYERS'S: THE TASTE WON'T MIX AWAY. 
a> 


FLALBOT 


vol. 32, no. 11—november, 1985 CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 
PLAYBILL 3 3t 395 zu Ed omn 5 
DEAR РІАҮВОҮ. ............ Г . oda 11 
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS: а are 15 
SPORIS ES 3 E E R a a DAN JENKINS 31 
MEN S VIMUS ASA BABER 35 
WOMEN. CYNTHIA HEIMEL 37 


AGAINST THE WIND... . . CRAIG VETTER 39 


Beautiful Brains 
THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 


DEAR РІДҮМАТЕЅ. ......... er à аз 
THE PLAYBOY FORUM. ... И 29 45 
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: STING—candid conversation I Pro H 51 
MODERN GIRLS orticle. .. . . ae pd SEELEY 68 — 


THE WOMEN OF MENSA- picioi ili. LE ха 72 
KLAUS KINSKI & THE THING— personality. MARCELLE CLEMENTS 84 

THE BLACK WENCH—fiction............... ее RAY RUSSELL 88 — 

HOW SWEDE IT ISI— modern li Ss COLLE .,. JAY KOBLENZ 90 

RIDING THE TREND ТВЕМО—агіісіе. ........................... DAVID OWEN 92 

DEALING WITH DALLAS— playmate of the month T et Rec o Up 

PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES— humor ......... Я б uno 

GETTING THE MESSAGE—fiction.......................-...... PETER NELSON 112 

PLAYBOY BY DESIGN— modern ling. А SETA N 
PAY ME NOW OR PAY МЕ LATER— article. . Е САКОН БОКЕ ТӘ Sweet Saunders 

20 QUESTIONS: DON JOHNSON AND PHILIP MICHAEL THOMAS 118 

THE DEREGULATED YELLOW PAGES—humor ........... .... REG POTTERTON 121 


SEX IN CINEMA—1985—orticle .. . . ARTHUR KNIGHT 126 


1986 PLAYBOY MUSIC POLL . 136 
PLAYBOY GUIDE: SKIING 142 
FAST FORWARD ................. ә 154 
PLAYBOY ON THE SCENE................ DO TP aee no : .. 207 


Plotter Poll 


COVER STORY Meet cover girl—soon to be gatefald girl—Teri Weigel. Her 
caver, designed by Senior Art Director Len Willis and shot by Contributing 
Photographer Stephen Wayda, boasts make-up by Pat Tomlinsan, hair by 
John Victor, styling by Perry/Hollister, Chicago and further fashion from 
Makins Hats, Lid., Sungsport of Taranta and My Fashion of Chicago. 


GENERAL OFFICES: PLAYBOY BUILDING 919 NORTH MICHIGAN AVE. CHICAGO HUMOS 60611. METUNN POSTAGE MUST ACCOMPANY ALL MANUSCRIPTS, DIAWNOS AND PHOTOGRAPHS SUBMITTED IF MEY ARE TO BE 


PLAYBOY 


PLAYBOY 


HUGH M. HEFNER 
editor and publisher 


ARTHUR KRETCHMER editorial director 
and associate publisher 
ТОМ STAEBLER art director 
GARY COLE photography director 
G. BARRY GOLSON executive editor 


EDITORIAL 


NONFICTION: JAMES MORGAN articles editor; ROB 
FLEDER senior editor; FICTION: ALICE K TURNER 
editor; TERESA GROSCH associate editor; PLAYBOY 
GUIDES: MAURY Z. Levy editor; WEST COAST: 
STEPHEN RANDALL editor; STAI GRETCHEN 
EDGREN, WILLIAM J. HELMER, PATRICIA. PAPANGELIS 
(administration), DAVID STEVENS senior editors; 
ROBERT E. CARR, WALTER LOWE, JR. JAMES R. PETER- 
SEN, JOHN REZEK senior staff writers: KEVIN COOK, 
BARBARA NELLIS, KATE NOLAN, SUSAN MARGOLIS- 
WINTER (new york) associate edilors; MONA PLUMER 
assistant editor; MODERN LIVING: ED WALKER 
associate editor; JIM BARKER assistant editor; FASH- 
ION: HOLLIS WAYNE editor; HOLLY BINDERUP assist- 
ant editor; CARTOONS: MICHELLE URRY editor, 
COPY: ARLENE BOURAS editor; JOYCE RUBIN assist- 
ant editor; CAROLYN BROWNE, PHILLIP COOPER, 
JACKIE JOHNSON, MARCY MARCHI, BARI NASH, MARY 
ich researchers; CONTRIBUTING EDITORS: 
ASA BABER, JOHN BLUMENTHAL, E. JEAN CARROLL, LAU- 
RENCE GONZALES, LAWRENCE GROBEL, D. KEITH MANO, 
ANSON MOUNT, DAVID RENSIN, RICHARD RHODES, JOHN 
SACK, TONY SCHWARTZ, DAVID SHEFF, DAVID STANDISH, 
BRUCE WILLIAMSON (movies), GARY WITZENBURG 


ART 
KERIG POPE managing director; CHET SUSKI, LEN 
WILLIS senior directors; BRUCE HANSEN, THEO KOU- 
VATSOS associate directors; KAREN GAEDE, KAREN 


GUTOWSKY junior directors; JOSEPH PACZEK assist- 
ant director; FRANK LINDNER, DANIEL REED, ANN 
SEIDL art assistants; SUSAN HOL 

dinator; BARBARA HOFFMANadminis 


PHOTOGRAPHY 

MARILYN GRABOWSKI west Coast edilor; JEFF COHEN 
senior editor; LINDA KENNEY, JAMES LARSON, JANICE, 
MOSES, MICHAEL ANN SULLIVAN associate editors; 
PATTY BEAUDET assistant editor; POMPEO POSAR Sen- 
lor staff photographer; DAVID MECEY, KERRY MORRIS 
staff photographers; DAVID CHAN, RICHARD FEGLEY 

ARNY FREYTAG, RICHARD IZUI, LARRY L. LOGAN, KEN 
MARCUS, STEPHEN WAYDA contributing photogra- 
Pliers, TRIA HERMSEN, ELYGE KAPOLAS, PATRICIA 
TOMLINSON stylists; JAMES WARD color lab supervi- 
Sor; ROBERT CHELIUS business manager 


PRODUCTION 
JOHN MASTRO director; MARIA MANDIS manager; 
ELEANORE WAGNER, JODY JURGETO, RICHARD 
QUARTAROLI, RITA JOHNSON assistants 


READER SERVICE 
CYNTHIA LAGEY-SIKICH manager 


CIRCULATION 
RICHARD SMITH director; ALVIN WIEMOLD subscrip- 
tion manager 


ADMINISTRATIVE 
J P TIM DOLMAN assistant publisher; MARCIA 
TERRONES rights & permissions manager; EILEEN 
KENT contracts administrator 


PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES, INC. 
CHRISTIE HEFNER president 


~ er " 
= em = 
ЕХ mm =. 
"ow ow "2. 
= = OP nor 
„„ 
“=F or W 
= з 

^d eo 0 
» - 


The incline press. 
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against cast iron 
eights. Press the lifting 
arm away, and feel your 
chest expand. 

This is the em/1. Thirteen 
separate stations. Moving from 
station to station is effortless, 
quick, efficient. You spend your 
time building your body not re- 
building a machine. 

The em/1 is designed to pre- 
cisely strengthen and tone your 
entire body in as little as 30 
minutes. Completely. Thoroughly. 

1 (800) 62MARCY, ext. 13. 


ЛААНСУ` 


WHEN YOU FINALLY GET SERIOUS. 


TELL HIM WHERE TO GO. 


And what to do 
when he gets there. 
And what to say. 
Omnibot 2000 is the 
state-oFthe-fun robot 
with a mind all your own. 

Exercise remote control 
and hell deliver cocktails or 
breakfast in bed. Helll even walk the dog. 
Program his 7-day, 24-hour memory and 
the alter ego-driven Omnibot 2000 will wake 
you up, pour your coffee and recite the days 

ES Miera on 
& his built-in 
f cpm tape system. 
| 


E S Of course, 
hes always 
open to self- 
improvement. 
Add his 
optional 


photo sensor 

and hell react to 

movement. Or 

the infra-red 

sensor. And hell 
react to 
obstacles. 
Then theres the 
computer interface. It 
allows you limitless program- 
ming potential off your own 
home computer. 

In Omnibot 2000, high 
technology serves its high- 
est purpose: You. 

For the nearest retailer, call 1-800-822-OMNI. 
Well tell you where to go. 


OMNBOT 2000 


THE STATE-OF-THE-FUN-ROBOT FROM TOMY.” 


DEAR PLAYBOY 


ADDRESS DEAR PLAYBOY 
PLAYBDY BUILDING 
919 N. MICHIGAN AVE. 
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 60611 


FIDEL PRESIDENTE 

Its fascinating—captivating—to hear 
Fidel Castro speak in person, but reading 
his words in the Playboy Interview (Au- 
gust) shows how intelligent he really is. 
We should never underestimate him. The 
greatest question remaining is, How much 
of what he says does he truly believe, and 
how much does he say simply to keep his 
Soviet paymasters happy? We need to 
know whether or not Cuba is prepared to 
take the step from Soviet satellite to true 
independence. 


Wendell J. Sherk 
St. Louis, Missouri 


I am currently completing clinical train- 
ing at UCLA School of Medicine, after 
transferring from St. George’s University 
in Grenada. Having spent two years in 
Grenada, from 1982 to 1984, having de- 
veloped close tics to several Grenadians 
and, hence, having had the opportunity to 
learn much about the state of affairs there, 
I must take issue with Fidel Castro's 
remarks regarding that tiny nation. Let's 
start with the airport that was being built 
at that time, primarily by Cuba. First, the 
runway had a big dip about mid-length 
that precluded safe landing by the large 
commercial carriers; second, there were no 
taxiways— no means for large 
commercial carriers to turn around; and 
third, the only hangars being built were 
about the size of a Cessna twin—or a late- 
model MIG. But, then, maybe Prime Min- 
ister Maurice Bishop’s tourism experts 
were expecting a lot of tourists with a pref- 
erence for little two-seaters. In regard to 
Bishop’s popularity, it is currently much 
higher than it ever was from August 1982, 
when I arrived in Grenada, until his exe- 
cution on October 19, 1983. Prior to his 
assassination, I heard only criticisms of his 
programs and of his associations with the 
Soviet Union and Cuba. Finally, regard- 
ing the medical students’ alleged safety, 
consider the fact that the man who guar- 
anteed it was General Hudson Austin. He 
was the man who, a week earlier, had 


directed the troops that opened fire—with 
automatic weapons and without warn- 
ing—on a crowd of several thousand civil- 
ians who had freed Bishop from house 
arrest. Immediately following the massa- 
cre, Bishop and several of his ministers 
were executed. For me, Austin’s guaran- 
tees for our safety weren't reassuring, It 
was all the more ridiculous when, after 
nearly a week of 24-hour shoot-on-sight 
curfew, Austin approved our departure by 
commercial airline only—two days after 
the only commercial carrier serving Gre- 
nada had suspended all flights. Given our 
somewhat trapped perspective—after all, 
how were we to know if anyone was com- 
ing in to get us?—and a deteriorating for- 
cign political situation, the arrival of U.S. 
forces was a relief. While armchair pol 
cians and amateur philosophers back 
home intellectualized about whether the 
October 25 action was “invasion,” “lib- 
eration” or “piracy,” Grenadians termed 
it a “rescue connection.” Ironically, their 
opinions on the matter have thus far 
received little media attention. 

Jonathan J. Beck 

Los Angeles, California 


If, as Señor Castro says, Cuba is such a 
wonderful place, how come so many 
Cubans moved here? 
Manny Diez 
Miami, Florida 


So Castro finds ambition, competition 
and struggle among men undesirable 
waits. Quite understandable, for an 
individualistic spirit—the desire of a man 
to distinguish himself from the rest of the 
herd—is incompatible with the philoso- 
phy of socialism. Castro would obviously 
prefer a docile man: one who would obey 
his ruler's slightest whim and sacrifice 
himself to his ruler's cause. The thousands 
who left Cuba once Castro’s revolution 
was established did so because we did not 
want our minds and the fruits of our tal- 
ents controlled by the state. We wanted to 
depend on ourselves, not on others, and we 


THE 


ORIGINAL 
BLOODY MARY 


Fernand Petiot, a bartender 
in Paris, France, invented the 
Bloody Mary in 1922. And, 
when he came to New York 
several years later, his drink be- 
came the rage of the fun-loving 
people of that era. Happily for 
us, TABASCO” sauce was a part 
of this exciting recipe. 

Now we, the TABASCO sauce 
people, offer you ^The Rebirth" 
of the true Bloody Mary in its 
finest form. TABASCO Blood: 
Mary Mix. Taste for yourself. It 
would have made Petiot proud. 


All Fresh : i 


All Natural: 9 
“heen 


* 


PLAYBOY 


never wanted the state to depend on us. 
inking, breathing individuals, 
not sheep, and we must remain so. Never- 
theless, the sickle of socialism continues to 
cut a swath through history, because there 
are so many unfortunates who think that 
the individualistic spirit is wrong and must 
be defeated. Those of us who have suffered 
under socialism know better. 
Roberto Santiago 
New York, New York 


STATE OF SHOCK 

I started reading your August issue and 
got only as far as Asa Baber’s Men column 
(“Custody Is a State of Mind”). I have 
never written to a magazine before, but I 

ish to congratulate Baber on a sterling 
iece of writing. Having gone through a 
divorce without ren, I have often 
wondered how I might have fared with the 
trauma of separation from them. Ladies 
and gentlemen out there, the next time you 
call humans intelligent, think of what we 
do to our kids in our moments of anger and 
pain. Then read Baber’s column on rules 
for the divorced father. His words contain 
a strong message: Regardless of how you 
mess up your own lives, raise your chil- 
dren so that they carry as few of your scars 
as possible. 


Paul R. Reed 
Newark, Delaware 


EASY WRITER 
The answer to Craig Vetter's question 
Why in hell would anybody want to learn 
to write? is To be able to write something 
nearly as brilliant as “Bonchead Writing” 
(Against the Wind, vv, August). Vet- 
ter knows that quality is its own reward. 
He can complain about how rough it is to 
be a writer, but I'll bet he felt pretty good 
when he finished that “dopey little 900- 
word column.” It’s superb. 
Robert Borden 
Boulder, Colorado 


Craig Vetter, Against the Wind, column, 
about freelance writing, has a hell of a 
grain of truth, in it. I am tired of being put 
down, because I am a freelance writer. 
Damn it, writing, is the toughest job there 
is. Playing God, is on thing trying to sale 
your creations, is another. I don’t think, 
people realize, just how, hard it is to make 
it in the high-fashion world, of freelance 
writing. Like a street corner’s hooker, if 
your don’t know how to put out your writ- 
ing, then you might as well remain a vir- 
gin. Freelance writer, have the highest 
divorce, sucuide, and acoholic rates of any 
field. I am piss off when people ask me, 
what do you do for living? I say freelance 
writer, they say that nice, but where do 
you work, or they, say well why don't 
you work for the newspaper. Newspaper 
reporters, are nothing more then glorify 
stenographer. Most newspaper people 
don’t know how to write, they not trained 
how to think, but just to take dictions. My 
advice for anyone who wanted to make it 
as a free-lance writer: One, you don’t give 


your writing away (by the way PLAYBOY, my 
fee for this letter is $10,000,000. Give me a 
break, I am trying to start, my own maga- 
zine. Two. Find the daughter, of a Men 
magazine publisher, and marry her (will 
you Chiristie). Three. Forget it, and take 
up a easier, endeaver, such as running for 
president, of United States. 
(Name withheld 
to protect the innocent) 
Mansfield, Ohio 


DANGEROUS DAN 

I thoroughly enjoyed Dan Jenkins’ 
Sports column “Running Commentary” 
(PLAYBOY, August). I was covering the 1983 
U.S. Open at Oakmont Country Club, 
and because of rain, the final round had to. 
be completed on Monday. Early that 
morning, the hotel housing the media was 
filled with sportswriters like myself, trying 


to check out and then head for the golf 


course, While waiting in line, I spotted a 
jogger prancing into the lobby after com- 
pleting his morning run. One of the other 
sportswriters yelled, “Look, a jogger! Let's 
kill him!” The response from the other 
writers was laughter, but they also nod- 
ded. I always wondered who had come up 
with that line, and now I think I know. 
Jenkins covered the 1983 U.S. Open for 
Sports Illustrated. Im glad he took that line 
from 1983 and expanded on it in 1985. 
Jim Riggs, Sports Editor 
The Post-Journal 
Jamestown, New York 


YOU SHOULD SEE OUR DORM PARTIES 
Dan Jenkins toasts slovenliness as a 
manly virtue and boasts of the size of his 
belly. Asa Baber poses as a fighter but 
whines. Craig Vetter plays the chain- 
smoking, liquor-swilling, oh-so-sensitive 
would-be росі. Except for Cynthia Hei- 
mel, whose honesty is as startling as it is 
refreshing, your op-ed pages read as if they 
are produced by the denizens of a dorm. 
Dan Lewandowski 
Pittsboro, North Carolina 


INNOCENT UNDIES 
In the otherwise satisfactory Hol Secrets, 

by David Black (erario, August), I am 
misquoted as dismissing “dressing up in 
lingerie” as “silly.” I actually told Black 
the following: “A couple may share fanta- 
sies with each other and discover that 
what one of them thought was a wild-and- 
crazy thing, the other thinks is intri 
It could vary from a specific experience 
like oral sex to something as simple as 
wearing interesting lingerie. . . ." To boil 
this down to "silly" puts an unnecessari 
negative connotation on an otherwise 
innocent mechanism by which people 
experiment sexually. 

Michael A. Perelman, Ph.D. 

Cornell University Medical Center 

New York, New York 


VINO AND SPICE 
While George Brett looks pretty good in 
his tuxedo and baseball cap (K.C. at the 


Bat, ptayeoy, August), I have to question 
his and Rich Davis’ selection of red wine 
with barbecued ribs. Say it ain't so, 
George! For true B.B.Q. lovers, it’s got to 
be a cool one from a returnable glass bot- 
tle. Wine upsets the combo of spices, don't 
you know. Besides, it's not nice to get 
B.B.Q. sauce on wineglasses. 

Lew Wilson 

Mesa, Arizona 


PUNCHY OVER JUDY 
I never dreamed that sweet little moun- 
tain girl would grow into such a beauty. 
With The Punch in Judy (yt, August), 
Judy Norton-Taylor has stolen my heart— 
again! 
Jim Staschiak 
Columbus, Ohio 


The Punch in Judy reminded me of a 
scene in the original Waltons show, “The 
Homecoming,” that showed a depressed 
Mary Ellen (Judy Norton-Taylor) dis- 
cussing her puberty with brother John Boy 
as he milked a cow. His response to her 
worries about her breasts was, "They'll 
grow." Well, it’s apparent that little Mary 
Ellen grew up more than even John Boy 
could have envisioned. 

Robert B. Rhodes 
Dearborn, Michigan 


TRES CHER 

I have always been astounded by 
PLaYBOY's Playmates, but August’s Cher 
Butler blew my mind! What a classy, 
attractive lady. I would give anything to 
meet her. Hell, Га give my left . . never 
mind. 


Brad Whitescarver 


Nacogdoches, Texas 
Too discreet, Brad. Your left arm? Left 
cerebral hemisphere? Cher appreciates the 


thought, but she’s pretty well set on the left 
side already. 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Smoking NS ae 
Causes Lung Cancer, Heart Disease, 
Emphysema, And May Complicate Pregnancy. 


Kent Ill: 3 mg. “tar, 0.3 mg. nicotine; Kent: 

12 mg. “tar 0.9 mg. nicotine; Kent Golden Lights: 
9 mg. “tar, 0.8 mg. nicotine av. per cigarette, 
FTC Report Feb. 1985. 


€ Its the taste 
that counts. 


To send a gilt of Mumm VS. O P Cognac. dial 1-800-243-3787 Void where prohibited. 


VS OP COGNAC 
By Mumm 


THE Finest NAME IN FRENCH CHAMPAGNE Is Now THE FINEST NAME IN COGNAC 


PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 


IT'S A SOW'S LIFE 


The state of Lower Saxony in West Ger- 
many is very proud of the police force's 
newest drug agent, a 400-pound pig. Luise 
is reported to be “an ace at sniffing out 
cocaine.” The corpulent narc recently 
ferreted out a stash located in the depths 
of a pile of steaming manure, something 
that your run-of-the-mill hound could 
never do. 
. 

“Now women have the chance to protect 
themselves,” said a proud Harry Bouw- 
huis, an Oshawa, Ontario, butcher/ 
inventor, as he unveiled his stainless-steel 
chain-link underpants. The pierceproof 
panties weigh in at about one and a half 
pounds, fasten with a padlock and cost $180. 

. 
Our favorite ad this month reads: 
Health Foods Business for Sale! In 
Wray, Colorado. Must sell because of ill 
health.” 
. 

The Ohio Film Bureau wants all of us to 
know that its “charmingly picturesque, 
190-year-old prison is now vacant and 
available for rent. At very reasonable 
rates. Ideally suited for exotic location 
shooting. Over 900 empty cells, each with 
a breath-taking view (especially the 
death-row wing). A modest 22-acre com- 
plex with over 15 buildings, surrounded by 
sturdy stone walls 24 feet high and one to 
three feet thick, making for a safe, secure 
neighborhood. Quaint, on-premise ameni- 
ties include a psychiatric ward, infirmary, 
therapy room, gymnasium, dormitories 
and a slightly used electric chair.” And 
if you have to ask the price, you can't 
afford i 


• 

He did it his way: Frank Sinatra’s Come 
Fly with Me was heard over Cuba's Radio 
Rebelde (Rebel) for the first time in dec- 
ades. It was apparently Havana’s first 
salvo against the challenge of U.S.-based 
Radio Marti. The singer and his songs 
were unofficially banned in the early Six- 
ties because of his alleged friendship with 
the gangsters who had run much of 


Havana before Castro’s Revolution. Many 
Cubans over 40, though, are Sinatra fans 
and his discs on Radio Marti have caught 
their ear. Ole Blue Eyes apparently no 
longer makes the Revolution see red. 

. 

Make mine an insult: Danish police are 
confident they can differentiate between a 
classic derogatory gesture (a raised middle 
finger) and the Scandinavian sign lan- 
guage for a specific brand of beer. After a 
dozen gesticulators 
offending an officer, the minister of justice 
was compelled to assure the public that 
police would handle cases on an individual 
basis. No word yet on whether or not that 
beer is available in the U.S. 

. 

Feel bad when you and your girlfriend 
go out for an evening of fun and leave your 
dog at the apartment with nothing to do 
but chew on your shoes? Get him Ara 
30-minute Kartes 
Video Communications. He'll see a quiz 
show featuring a dog host and dog panel- 
ists, cooking and exercise shows with dog 


were arrested for 


video cassette from 


hosts and a dog newscast. The sound track 
is almost entirely barking, but there are 
subtitles in English for when you want to 
peek in. The fun costs ten dollars—or the 
price of about 25 pounds of bones. 

. 

An Arlington, Virginia, woman was de- 
tained at a store for an hour, made to take 
off her jacket and sweater and lift up her 
blouse to prove that she had not shoplifted 
a basketball. What she did prove was that 
she was pregnant. She’s suing the store for 
$600,000 

. 

The story’s boring, but the headline 
suggests why they falk so much about 
women over there: “SMALLEST ORGAN DIS 
PLAYED IN FRANCE." 

. 

“I started out as a screamer with no 
vocal technique,” explains 30-year-old 
diva Diamanda Galas. “Га put on a long 
black dress and go into art spaces and 
mental institutions, where I would stand 
with my back to the audience and make 
whatever sounds came to me—usually 


shrieking and screaming." Considered by 


some the Maria Callas of avant-garde 


music, Galas has performed recently in 
Europe and New York. “Although my 
work is very emotional and concerned 
with things that are larger than life, it is 
also very disciplined,” she claims. “I pre- 
fer to call it ‘intravenal electroacoustic 
voice work." The four pieces she per- 
formed in New York dealt with psychic 


states, such as extreme claustrophobia and 
schizophrenia. Eyes Without Blood, for 
example, is a reflection on love and mur- 
der. Even though music is her life now, 
Galas concedes, “The one thing I don’t 
think I could live without would be the 
sound tracks to horror films. I love to play 
them in my car as I drive down the free- 


way." 
. 
He must have blocked too many kicks 
with his head: A high school football 


15 


16 


FOR MEMBERS ONLY 


Giving pet names to penises is a male tradition going back to Alley Oop and his 


bonus erectus. E 


yone knows about Chuck Berry's Ding-a-Ling, Robin Williams” 


Mr. Happy and even the President's Gipper, but do you remember Walt Disney and 
Thumper? Do you really know your appendage appellations? You know about Melville 


and Moby, Roy Rogers and 


rigger, Gumby and Pokey, Nixon and Agnew, Galileo and 


the Big Dipper, but how about the Duke of Wellington and Beef Wellington? Bone up 
on this secret list and youll never have to worry about holding your own al a party. 


PRINCE 
Vanity Six 
BEAVER CLEAVER 
Lumpy 
BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN 
The Employce 
MR.T 
Mr. P or sometimes simply Fool 
BRANDON TARTIKOFF 
The Peacock 


TOM SELLECK 
Magnum Pec Eye 

PINOCCHIO. 
Woody 


GEORGE BURNS 
Sleepy 

BERNHARD GOETZ 
Grumpy 

JOHN DE LOREAN 
Sneezy 

MICHAEL JACKSON 
Bashful 

JOHN BELUSHI 
Dopey 

JULIUS ERVING 
Doc 


WIL 
The Brobdingna 


ЛАМ F. BUCKLEY, JR. 
n Protuberance 


DUSTIN HOFFMAN 
Таше Big Man 
TESSEBIOT. 
"The Hollow Man 
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENS 
Long John Silver. 
RICARDO MONTALBAN 


` Rich Corind 


n Leather 


HARRISON FORD 


WAYNE G 
Puck 
RONALD MC DONALD 
The Quarter-Pounder 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 
The Monument 
JESSE JACKSON 
Somebody. 
DAVE KINGMA; 
Donkey Kong 
FRED FLINTSTONE 
Bamm Ватт (Thank You, Ma'am) 
SMOKEY THE BEAR 
Only You 


coach in Van Nuys, California, has been 
removed alter several teachers complained 
that “he drew female genitalia on tackling 
dummies used in spring practice." In his 
defense, the coach said that the drawn 
lines "were to be ‘attack points’ for 
blockers." One can only wonder about 
their previous season's record, 
. 

Washington, D.C.’s, tenth annual Judi- 
cial Conference included this morning pro- 
gram: “Ten am: Alcoholism and drug 
abuse among lawyers. 10:45 ant: Coffee 
break. 11 am: Alcohol and drug abuse 
among lawyers (continued). 12-12:30 PM: 
Cash bar." 


. 

The San Jose Mercury News, in its 
vegetarian-cookery column, noted that 
Planned Parenthood of Santa Cruz 
County has put out a cookbook that 
devotes 40 pages to telling readers how “to 
use zucchini in a variety of ways.” 


ROCK ‘N’ ROLL IS THERE TO STAY 


On Hollywood Boulevard, right across 
from Mann's Chinese Theater, is the 
Museum of Rock Art. Along with tons of 
“original art” and photos, films, a video 
jukebox and a Fifties Scopetone machine, 
assorted gold records, tour jackets and 
“rare memorabilia,” its display windows 
feature “one-of-a-kind” wax figures of 
Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly and Boy 
George. (Its also probably the only 
museum in the world that’s open until two 
AM on weekends.) 

Still, we can’t help feeling that it missed 
a few of rock’s seminal artifacts, and 
so we brazenly submit our list of Things 
We'd Like to See in the Rock Museum. 

+ The glasses Buddy Holly was weari 
on the Day the Music Died (recently dis- 
covered in a sheriff's office near the crash 
site). 

Sine commercial Bill Graham once 
made for the milk industry. 

+A print of the suppressed Rolling 
Stones documentary Cocksucker Blues, in 
which assorted groupies go down on 
assorted Stones during a memorable planc 
ride and Keith nods out a lot. 

+The Cadillac Coupe DeVille that 
Wendy O. Williams of the Plasmatics 
dynamited on the stage of Ron Delsener's 
Palladium—causing the electrician's tape 
to melt right off her nipples. (We know 
where the hubcaps are!) 

= Two tickets (unused) to the Powder 
Ridge Festival of 1970 and a complete set 
of hand-tooled rawhide whips belonging to 
Ike Turner. 

* And just for good measure: a rare, 
limited-edition disc of The Rotters’ 1979 
punk classic, Sit on My Face Stevie Nicks; a 
Plaster Caster tribute to Wayne County— 
before he became Jayne County; several 
never-before-seen nude photographs of 
Karen Carpenter that Bob Guccione once 
refused to publish; a complete listing of 
Paul McCartney's financial holdings; a 
pillow filled entirely with clippings from 
Lionel Richie’s mustache; and a matchbox 
containing Debbie Harry's entire ward- 


robe, 


Sorels. A legend 
from Tüktoyaktuc а toToledo. 


Soe have changed the footprint natural rubber bottom is specially stand the worst of man and nature. 
of winter around the world. From bonded to genuine, high-oil-content, While they may cost a little more, 
the remote village of Tuktoyaktukin top grain leather uppers for maxi- they're one of the world’s great values. 


the Canadian Arctic, to the snow-belt mum water-repellency. For the name of your nearest store, 
cities of the Great Lakes — from the Even the laces and D-rings are write Kaufman Footwear, Dept. R, 
Atlantic seaboard, through the made to never rot or rust. Inside, 410 King Street West, Kitchener, 
Rockies and twenty-three countries theres another warm story – Sorel’ Ontario, Canada, N2G 4J8. 
around the globe - Sorels are the thick, boot-within-a-boot felt liner Why po 
boots that prove winter belongs to that's made with the same rich wool justa 
those who dress for it. as a fisherman's sweater - it wicks boot 
There are Sorels for work or play, away perspiration to keep you dry when 
for men, women and children. We and warm. It cushions your foot for you can 


know they’ ге warm because this is the day-long trekking as well. buya 
boot that stood on the North Pole at Design details are endless — like legend! 
-63°F We know they're tough the welt that prevents brush from 

because this is the - 6 - ing where the 


trappers in Alaska 
and lumberjacks in 


a er joins the 
rubber. 


Canada work in. Independentrows 4 
Only Sorels $ of stitching that Р 

are built like Sorels. preclude a chain- 

Because wet isn’t reaction unravelling. 


warm — Sorels’ Sorels will with- 


KAUFMAN QUALITY. 
MADE IN CANADA 


NOT JUST A PAIR OF JEANS 


Jeans achieve the status of an 
old friend. And when your favor- 
ites weer aut, it's hord to just 
tass them. Edlund Studios in 
Kentwood, Michigon, will help 
you preserve your jeons—and 
what you looked like in them—by 
meons af a sculpture. For a ane- 
af-a-kind, personal, signed and 
doted freestanding piece, send 
Edlund your jeans, o pair of 
sneakers ond a photo af yourself 
wearing the some. What you get, 
then, isa true-to-life look ot yaur- 
self fram the waist down that you 
con ploce strategically in your li 
ing room, your den or your girl- 
friend's trophy room. The cost of 
this nutty narcissism is $2500. If, 
however, you'd like a sculpture of 
someone else's jeans, that'll set 
you back only $1200. We'd 
rother pap for the personalized 
ones ond we have a sensatianal 


young woman's 501s in mind. 


S C R B B LES 


TERMINALS OF ENDEARMENT 


At their best, love letters work better than a Moor-length 
coat once owned by an endangered species. But who has 
the time? Fairfield Softwares Babble123 randomly selects 
preprogrammed sentence fragments, phrases and words 
and puts them together in some pleasantly plausible ac- 
similes of real emotion, Started as a programmer's gag. it 
gives you a choice of Flaming Passion, Friendly or Fading 
Fast modes, asks your squecze's sex. then fires up your 
disk’s sex drive. Letters start with such salutations as “Dear- 
est Snoogie” and “Love Slave” and generate such cogent 
queries as “How can you question my intentions when I 


SANDRA . 
BERNHARD'S 
SECRET LIFE 
OF WOMEN'S 
HUMOR 


WHY CAN'T WOMEN TELL JOKES? 
just heard one that I thought was preity funny, but | can't 
remember it. I can't remember a joke for five minutes, 


YOUR FATHER IS A PROCTOLOGIST. COULD HE HAVE MADE IT AS A 
COMEDIAN IF HE'D HAD A BREAK? 

My dad is outrageous and adorable, but don't let him near 
a stage. He doesn't have the best timing. 


IS IT POSSIBLE TO DEVELOP A FRIENDSHIP WITH ANOTHER COMIC. 
OR IS THE COMPETITION TOO GREAT? 

‘Two or three of my best friends are comics, but people 
steal things in this business. 1 don't even want to talk 
about characters that Га love to do, because the stuff is 
too easily stolen, And people steal more than lines, They 
steal an idea and then ruin it so you can't use it. 


HOW DOES A FUNNY, YOUNG, INDEPENDENT WOMAN—A ROLE MODEL 
FOR OTHER YOUNG WOMEN—FEEL ABOUT PLAYBOY? 

If I'm going to be in pLavsow. I don't want to look 
goddamn dog. I want to look sexy, like everybody el 
loved the Girls of the Southeastern Conference pictorials. 
Some of those Crimson Tide girls are really into showi 
off their titties. They know exactly what they're doing. 
They're real smart-looking, actually. They're just a little 
too smart for their own good. 


let you use my VIS. Babble123 lets your love light shine. 


MAJOR-LEAGUE 
BETTING 


What do ballplayers do during 
rain delays? The trendiest 
clubhouse games this year are 
tonk, which is similar to gin, 
and pluck, a cousin to bridge 
But tonk and pluck, both too 
complicated to explain here, 
are still rookies next to an 
older, simpler game called 
liar's poker. 

"Garry Maddox is the best 


Lever saw,” 


ys veteran Cubs 
shortstop Larry Bowa of the 
Phillies’ center fielder. “He 
never lost at liar’s poker. He's 
got one of those faces that 
make you believe everything 
he says.” 

Like blackjack, liar's poker 


is easy to learn but difficult to 
master. All it requires is two 
or more ballplayers and their 
constant companion, money. 
Bets are made on the eight- 
digit serial numbers of dollar 
bills. The object is to construct 
a winning poker hand using 


the digits on your bill and 
those on the unseen bills of 
your opponents. Say you're in 
a three-man game. If your 
serial number contains three 
fives, you might bid four 
fives—guessing that Bowa and 
Maddox have at Icast onc five 
between them. The other play- 
ers have the option of accept- 
ing your bid and raising—to 
five fives, for instance, or four 
sixes—or challenging you. If 
you're challenged and your 
bid proves successful, the oth- 
ers fork over their dollars. If 
not, you pay Larry and Garry 
a dollar each 
According to 
adept rookie can sometimes 
beat a veteran ballplayer. 
“There are some guys, like 
Ron Cey,” he acknowledges, 


Bowa, an 


“who seem to lose all the time. 
When we get a game with Cey 
on an airplane, we ask the 
pilot to circle the airport so we 
can get in a few more hands." 
Ce 
the fans, but around the club- 
house he's known as Fish. 


y may be called Penguin by 


MAG MAX 


Finally, there's o magazine os big 
оз уси are. ¡Aqui! (Here! in Span- 
ish) is a 4' x 6' poster magazine 
devoted ta а single image by а 
single artist. You con see it pasted 
up on the sides af buildings and 
hung on the walls af lafts all aver 


Toronto and even Basel, Switzer- 
land. Artists whose wark hos been 
featured include the magazine's 
founders, Julie Bradrick, Davi Det 
Hompson and Cliff Baldwin, as 
well as Barbara Kruger, Les 
Levine, Steve Gianakos and Gen- 
eral Idea. While mast other mag- 
zines just huddle in unneat piles, 


ACA] 


gathering dust, this ane will hide 
cracks and will save you the trou- 
ble af pointing your living raam. 


ll 


DR. JOHN'S NIGHT SCHOOL 


art-consciaus New York. Same af 
each issue's 500 silk-screened 
copies make it all the way ta 


aboring some of 
And there's no 


Many of us sullered through piano lessons be 
the si 
surer way to stop a cocktail party cold than to sit down at the ivo- 
ries and plunk out one of a lesser composer's tarantellas. Dr 

John, the Night Tripper (known to his mother as Mac 
Rebennack), now teaches you New Orleans Piano and the Roots of 
Rock—five hours of instructional cassettes with score, plus his 
socko album Dr. John Plays Mac Rebenuack (Homespun Tapes. 
Woodstock, New York). Even the most timid of the keyboardists 
around this office are now trading Professor Longhair licks dur- 
ing valuable working hours. Get the package, for about S74. 
and you'll never hear anyone shout. “Shoot the piano player! 


liest keyboard melodies ever contrived. 


BAG YOUR FACE 


Here's something not to 
sneeze at that will help 
hay-fever sufferers. Ham- 
macher Schlemmer offers 
this stylish Winkworth Hay 
Fever Helmet. Made out of 
nylon, it protects against 
dust, mold and other ir- 
ritating 

can negotiate the outdoors 
in comfort. The battery- 
powered fan/filter, which 
attaches to your belt, pipes 
clean, unpolluted air to 
your head. Now, if they 
would also include a per- 
sonal stereo and a supply of 
tapes as you wait for frost. 


particles so vou 


TM) 


HOW TO NEGOTIATE 
LIKE A RUSSIAN 


American and Soviet diplo- 
mats spent the summer in 
Geneva, butting heads ov 
issues ranging from offensive 
weapons to defensive postures 
As usual, the only immediate 
benefactors of the daily téte-à- 
tête were Swiss restaurateurs 
We don't want to go so far as 
to say that Boris and Natasha 
do it better than moose and 
squirrel, but let's face it: Rus- 
sian negotiating techniques 
redefine the word hardball. 
Patience. The Russians are 
great sitters, They love to cre 
ate a deadlock. Their nego- 
tiators routinely sit, silent and 
motionless, for long periods of 
time. You have to admit it 
worked for Chernenko. 
Initiative. Don't fail to 
express new views. One Rus- 


cto 


sian officer, reluctant to make 
it appear that an adversary 
had taken the initiative, 
replied to an American pro- 
posal, "We will 
response. But soon we will be 
presenting a new position.” 

Decor. Feel at home with 
your surroundings. During the 
rule of Peter the Great, Rus- 
sian delegates destroyed their 
host's furniture to show their 
independence 

Decorum. Be quick with the 
comeback or the put-down 
Stalini: 


have no 


included 


outright 
personal insults in their nego- 
tiating repertory 

Give and take. The Russian 
version of now you see it, 
now you don't. Not that the 


H ain't over till it's over! The 
Soviets capitalize on the inten- 
sity of the final stages of nego- 
tiations and will pounce at 
the first signs of weakness 
or fatigue. The bargaining 
doesn't end until the final 
signing. Adversaries are left 
waiting for hours with one or 
two points of an agreement left 
unresolved. Only at the last 
minute, sometimes at the 
airport, does a courier show 
up with the accord, ready 10 
be signed, take it or leave it, 
with the outstanding 
resolved—in Moscow's favor. 

When Putsch comes to shove 
The Russians once held up 
a treaty for years over the 
inclusion—and then the ex- 


ues 


U.S.S.R. is fickle, but it has — clusion—of a mention of dried 
bcen known to pursue a posi- — peas. Their motto: "What is 
tion fiercely for days, only 10 ours. remains ours. What is 


abandon it completely. when 
it is not accepted. Never mind. 


yours remains negotiable 
PHIL COOPER 


19 


By BRUCE WILLIAMSON 


WELL, SUMMERS gone and the silly season 
may give way to some autumnal movies 
about the honest-to-God problems of 
grownups. A real standout in the 1985 
fall collection is producer-director Bud 
Yorkin’s Twice in a Lifetime (The Yorkin 
Company), the kind of wholehearted 
human drama that makes people line up 
to sec it, as they did for such pictures as 
Ordinary People and Terms of Endearment. 
Written by Colin Welland (author of the 
Oscar-winning Chariots of Fire), Twice 
deals with the tumult in the family of a 
Seattle steelworker (Gene Hackman) who 
falls in love with a barmaid while he’s out 
with the guys celebrating his 50th birth- 
day. “It’s been a long time since I haven't 
known for certain what a day had in store 
for me,” he declares as the embers of 
romantic longing start to glow again. Ann- 
Margret, as the barmaid, delivers another 
vibrant acting job in very solid company— 
with Ellen Burstyn brilliant as the emo- 
tionally devastated homebody wife and 
Amy Madigan occasionally bustling on to 
steal the show as the couple's oldest, mar- 
ried daughter, who wants Dad to suffer for 
his sins. Ally Sheedy and Darrell Larson 
flesh out the ruptured family circle, with 
Brian Dennehy registering potent dis- 
approval as the hero's former buddy. 

Better known as Norman Lear’s pro- 
ducing partner in several TV-sitcom clas- 
sics, Yorkin manages to juggle all the 
domestic upheavals without glibness and 
with delicate appreciation of the fact that 
there are no villains in the piece. At times, 
Burstyn's spurned wife may seem too 
ploddingly simple or the working-suff 
husband a mite more articulate than 
your average moon-struck mill hand, yet 
Twice in a Lifetime finally conquers with a 
pivotal performance by Hackman—i 
tense but seemingly effortless, as 
always—that is likely to mark the zenith of 
his impressive career. And the movie 
ends on a note of subtle, painful, honest 
poignancy that'll make you glad to for- 
give an occasional kernel of early corn. 
This corn is golden. ¥¥¥¥ 

. 

Flaws and all, a checky contemporary 
whodunit is more than welcome, and 
Compromising Positions (Paramount) 
squeezes some good giggles from Susan 
Isaacs’ adaptation of her wry comic novel 
about a Long Island periodontist whose 
murder triggers scandal in suburbia. 
Seems that Doc Fleckstein (Joe Man- 
tegna) has dabbled in pornography and 
has dallicd, both carnally and photo- 
graphically, with innumerable female 
patients. Susan Sarandon, charmingly 
flaky in a breezy mode that’s a cross 
between Agatha Christie's Miss Marple 


Lifetime's family, coming untied. 


Line up for Lifetime, 
1985's successor to 
Terms of Endearment. 


and Myrna Loy in the old Thin Man mov- 
ies, plays a bored young matron—retired 
from journalism by motherhood—whose 
busy husband (Edward Herrmann) does 
not want her tracking down clues. Neither 
does the handsome police lieutenant (Raul 
Julia) whom she has to convince of her 
‘own innocence: “Actually, I was trying to 
find a way out of my next appointment 
But I wouldn't have gone that far.” Judith 
Ivey, Mary Beth Hurt, Deborah Rush, 
Josh Mostel and Anne De Salvo are among 
the knowing screwballs at hand, all sea- 
soned pros who can turn a sharp line of 
dialog into a deadly While 
they're sometimes left short of ammo, a 
worse problem is director Frank Perry's 
aimless and uninspired guidance. Compro- 
mising Positions cries for a touch of 
Hitchcockian high style and winds up 
being about half the sassy, fine-fettled 
comedy it set out to be. A 
. 


weapon 


Together again in the wake of Splash, 
“Tom Hanks and John Candy perform nim- 
bly as Volunteers (Tri-Star), a couple of 
Peace Corps cutups carrying New Frontier 
idealism to Southeast Asia circa 1962. Sort 
of. Actually, Candy plays a creep from 
Tacoma who appears to be inadvertently 
aiding Chinese Communists ("How's this 
going to look on my résumé?" he howls) 
and may be rebuilding the bridge on the 
River Kwai. Hanks does his Peace Corps 
duties by default, generally wearing a 
white dinner jacket; he's fresh out of Yale, 


having connived his way into the program 
to escape a $28,000 gambling debt and the 
wrath of his father. The sincere Jewish- 
American girl who tidics up after them is 
played by Rita Wilson, not really a 
Sigourney Weaver clone but close enough 
to make her nice company. Here, with 
Nicholas Meyer smoothly directing, 
Hanks, luckless in The Man with One Red 
Shoe, once more proves he's a guy who. 
could restore screen comedy to the high, 
dry and stylish level where Cary Grant left 
it. УУУ 
. 

The prickly questions posed by Agnes of 
God (Columbia) concern faith vs. Freud. 
Do we look for a miracle of immaculate 
conception or ferret out the mystery male 
in the case of a devout, half-crazed young 
nun (Meg Tilly) who's accused of murder- 
ing the baby she bore in her convent cell? 
Like John Pielmeier’s Broadway pl 
director Norman Jewison’s movie version 
(adapted by the playwright) is part sus- 
pense drama and part religious debate— 
enhanced by terrific roles for three major 
actresses. Jewison gets everything he could 
want from Jane Fonda, in her element as a 
skeptical do-gooder court psychiatrist 
assigned 10 interview the girl; from Anne 
Bancroft, as the crusty, worldly mother 
superior who enters a tug of war for Agnes’ 
soul, telling far less than she knows; and 
from Tilly, making quite a show of her 
flashy title role as a poor creature who is 
cither a demisaint or the victim of a psy- 
chosis created by sexual abuse in 
childhood—or perhaps both. Such con- 
frontations require endless, carnest talk. 
But it’s always provocative talk, delivered 
by top-rank players in an austere and 
handsome drama that sends you home 
with points to argue rather than casy 
answers. ¥¥¥ 


. 

Two attractive, normal locking teen- 
aged misfits on a homicidal rampage in 
L.A. are The Boys Next Door (New World) 
Working off the rage of rejection, the scar- 
ier of the duo is Roy (Maxwell Caulfield, 
British by birth but credibly California- 
suburban here), who says, "I got stuff 
inside me.” His comrade Bo (Charlie 
Sheen, youngest son of Martin) seems less 
dangerous but supplies the proper lethal 
chemistry when he notes—as they roar off 
to the city after ripping up a small-town 
graduation party—that they're doomed to 
trade high school for dead-end factory 
jobs: “Walk in there Monday and run a 
drill press for the rest of our lives.” Before 
Monday comes, they have left four peo- 
ple dead and several sorely wounded. 
These Boys are clearly antisocial beings 
bred on the fringes of a consumer society 
in which young studs usually play video 


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Break away to refreshing taste. 


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PLAYBOY 


games to satisfy their lust for destruction. 
Roy and Bo are aesthetic cousins to the 
killers from In Cold Blood (1967) and from 
Terrence Malick’s remarkable Badlands 
(1973), both based on real-life murder 
sprees (it was Malick’s movie, ironically, 
that made Martin Sheen a star). Director 
Penelope Spheeris, whose 1983 Suburbia 
was a striking portrait of alienated punk 
youth, orchestrates the spontaneous com- 
bustion of violence with great skill. Her 
two young predators, increasingly fren- 
zied, are like characters in a pop tragedy 
as they finally snuff out a wistful barfly 
(Patti D'Arbanville) whose sexplay with 
one of them seals her fate. I’m not sure 
that The Boys Next Door holds up as seri- 
ous sociology, but it is taut, hypnotic 
and chilling—chock-full of evidence that 
Sphecris is a film maker who's here to 
КА 


. 

Here's a 16th Century extravaganza in 
which lusty knights charge around besieg- 
ing castles, raping and looting at the drop 
of a drawbridge. Whether ardent feminists 
like it or loathe it, Flesh & Blood (Orion) is a 
vibrant, bawdy, wildly theatrical period 
piece about a damsel in distress who can 
hardly wait to be ravished, who joins her 
captors as they plunder the countryside 
and who generally manipulates to her 
advantage any male who comes her way 
hankering for carnal pleasure. Jennifer 
Jason Leigh (daughter of the late Vic Mor- 
row) is the wily vixen Agnes, who'd proba- 
bly walk away with the picture if she were 
cast Opposite anyone less commanding 
than Rutger Hauer, the virile Dutch treat 
making his mark in movie after movie 
(most recently, Ladyhawke) as the likeliest 
cinematic swordsman since Errol Flynn. 
Australia’s Tom Burlinson plays the young 
squire to whom Agnes is betrothed when 
Martin (Hauer) carries her off to claim her 
virginity, decidedly in the nick of time. 

Dutch director Paul Verhoeven 
intended to depict 16th Century Europe as 
a plague-ridden epoch characterized by 
cruelty, avarice, disease, lechery and sud- 
den death. Flesh & Blood dclivers it all. So 
far, the sexiest movie of 1985, which has 
not been a vintage year for venery. ¥¥¥ 

. 


It’s a sure bet that Meryl Streep's scin- 
tillating performance in Plenty (Fox) will 
make all the honors lists this year. David 
Hare’s play was a hit in London and New 
York with Kate Nelligan in the central 
role, and Streep, far more vulnerable, 
brings a new dimension to the film version. 
She is almost constantly astonishing as 
Susan, an angry, complex modern woman 
whose idealism is shaped by her experi- 
ence as a courier with the French Resist- 
ance during World War Two. After that, 
nothing about the years of peace and 
plenty that follow can measure up to her 
expectations—including the men and the 


Streep has a proposition for Sting. 


A sure-fire Oscar bid 
by Streep and meaty role 
for Playboy Interviewee Sting. 


careers she masters. Plenty looks at one 
woman's world through a prism that also 
reflects the decline of the British Empire 
from the immediate postwar years to the 
Suez debacle and beyond into the 
Such psychological depth and political 
intelligence are rare in movies today. 

Given an episodic work that spans 
nearly two decades, moving from England 
and France to Tunisia, Australian director 
Fred Schepisi does a fine job of minimizing 
the blatant theatricality of some scenes. 
Yet even staginess becomes an asset when 
the showstopping bits are played by a gal- 
axy of Britain’s brightest: John Gielgud, 
hilarious as a sardonic chief in the foreign 
service; Charles Dance (memorable from 
The Jewel in the Crown) as Susan's loyal, 
long-suffering diplomat husband; Tracey 
Ullman, earthy and vital as her eccentric 
man-hungry roommate; lan McKellen as 
a wry spokesperson explaining modern 
English diplomacy; Sam Neill as the hero- 
inc's wartime hit-and-run amour; and 
Sting (see this month’s Playboy Interview), 
by no means least as the blue-collar Brit 
selected by Susan to father a bastard child. 
A pioneer feminist, Susan is scornful of all 
man-spawned enterprises; even as she 
solicits a sperm donor, she tells him, 
“Deep down, Га do the whole damn thing 
myself.” This is not an easy character to 
like, and Plenty might be depressing were 
it not for the slyly vitriolic humor and 
superlative quality of everyone's work. 
Ready or not, any adult moviegoer should 
rush to sec Streep on her way to becoming 
a certified screen legend. ¥¥¥ 


MOVIE SCORE CARD 


capsule close-ups of current films 
by bruce williamson 


Agnes of God (Sec review) Did she or 


didn’t she? A nun’s story. E 
Always Sentimental ode to marriage on 
the rocks. vv 


Back to the Future Family ties delight- 
fully untied by a time machine. VV 
The Black Cauldron Disney's animated 
adventure is heavy kid stuff. ** 
The Boys Next Door (See review) On the 
town in L.A., in cold blood. EA 
The Bride Stinging Frankenstein. VA 
Compromising Positions (Sec review) The 
case of the horny periodontist ¥¥¥ 


Dance with а Stranger Watch for 
Miranda Richardson, a blonde to 
remember. Wy, 


Dangerous Moves Power chess in Paris. 
Oscar's best foreign film of 1984. ¥¥¥% 
The Emerald Forest John Boorman's epic 
about a modern jungle bo 4 
Flesh & Blood (Set review) So far, 1985's 
lustiest. viv 
Fright Night None-too-serious fun and 
games with the vampires next door. ¥¥ 
The Heavenly Kid Another time warp but 
foiled by Back to the Future. 
The Home and the World Sexual politics 
in Satyajit Ray's modern India. ¥¥¥ 
insignificance Nicolas Roeg spins a tall 
tale of Manhattan with four super- 
celebrities from the Fifties. WIA 
Kiss of the Spider Woman Hurt, Julia and 
Sonia Braga in a vivid drama about 
survival behind bars in Brazil ¥¥¥ 
Mad Мох Beyond Thunderdome Going 
for broke in the postatomic age. ¥¥¥¥% 
Mishima Director Paul Schrader's 
salute to a Japanese literary icon. ¥¥¥ 
Pee-wee's Big Adventure Mishmash of 
small potatoes—junk food for addicts 


only y 
Peril Sex and violence à la mode. But 
only in Paris. EN] 


Plenty (Scc review) And there's Meryl 
where that came from. vvv 
Prizzi's Honor Love among the Mafia, 
with Jack Nicholson, Kathleen 
"Turner. WY 
Real Genius Computer whiz kids us. the 
defense establishment. Winning. ¥¥% 
Return of the Living Dead Presumably a 
spoof of Romero, but no funnicr. — YY 
Silverado How the West was won, 
according to Kasdan. Middling. ¥¥¥% 
Twice in o Lifetime (See review) Gene as 
a feeling philanderer Wy 
Volunteers (See review) Hanks and 
Candy undo the Peace Corps. uV 
Weird Science Despite Kelly LeBrock as 
a computer-conjured woman, this teen 
trivia is rock-bottom rubbish. ¥ 
Year of the Dragon Final cutin Chinatown, 
courtesy of Michael Cimino. WA 


VV Don't miss 
¥¥¥ Good show 


YY Worth a look 
Y Forget it 


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The Gamemaster Series. 
Great games that pit your 
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24 


BOOKS 


"WOMEN CRIMEBUSTERS: According to Ray- 
mond Chandler, the detective story came 
of age when Dashiell Hammett took mur- 
der out of the parlor and dropped it into 
the streets. What neither Chandler nor 
Hammett could have foreseen was that 
tough guys would have to make room on 
those streets for sleuths wearing mascara 
on their private eyes. Agatha Christie's 
extremely popular Miss Marple (whom 
Dodd, Mead celebrates this month with a 
profile by Anne Hart, The Life and Times of 
Miss Jane Marple, and Miss Marple: The Col- 
lected Short Stories) set the pace for hun- 
dreds of other spinsters and widows and 
prissy snoops. But just as the dilettantes 
gave way to the Hammett-Chandler men 
of action, so the fussy old ladies are mov- 
ing aside for a new breed of female detec- 

ve. Today’s sleuthing sisterhood tries to 
exhibit rugged independence without 
sacrificing femininity or making too big a 
deal of it. 

Who are the best on the beat? 
"  Warshawski, Sara Paretsl 
Chicago-based detective, is arguably the 
top of the line—attractive, intelligent, 
tough and vulnerable. In her third and lat- 
est caper, Killing Orders (Morrow), she 
bucks the Mafia, the Vatican and an inter- 
national conglomerate, Marcia Muller's 
Sharon McCone, who has been at the 
game a bit longer than most of her contem- 
poraries, has spent seven books on San 
Francisco’s mean streets. Her newest one, 
There's Nothing to Be Afraid Of (St. Mar- 
tin’s), brings her into contact with the 
porno kings, fevered street preachers and 
Vietnamese refugees of that city's Tender- 
loin. The twice-divorced, 30ish Kinsey 
Millhone, Sue Grafton’s contribution to 
the genre, lives in Southern California, has 
no kids and no pets and likes it that way. 
Her cases are alphabetical, the current one 
being "B" Is for Burglar (Holt, Rinehart), a 
tale of arson, theft and murder. Ellie Gor- 
don, who because of her smart mouth and 
fact-ferreting ways is billed as “a female 
Fletch,” tries to clear a friend’s name in 
Shock Valve (Popular Library), the second 
novel by Karin Berne (the pseudonym of 
two Albuquerque-based women writers) 
The paperback original concerns murky 
doings in a nuclear power plant. 

Two newcomers, both named Jane, are 
premiering this year, J, D. Mulroy, a Bir- 
mingham, Michigan, private eye, arrives 
this month in Casket fora Lying Lady (Dodd, 
Mead), by Richard R. Werry, one of the 
rare male authors writing about a hard- 
boiled female. J.D. classifies men as suck- 
ers (“unobtrusive, generally harmless”), 


mackerel ("socially integrated”) and 
barracuda (“ambitious, demanding, im- 
pulsive”). The heroine of Abby Rob 


son's The Dick end Jane (Delacorte) is a 
photographer who moonlights in a gum- 
shoe's agency. Part parody, part screwball 
comedy, her genuincly funny caper 


Galápagos: The world according to Vonnegut. 


A celebration of female 
supersleuths; Vonnegut's 
ion of evolution. 


reminds us that for all their smart talk and 

cynical asides, the emerging women pri- 

vate eyes could and should use a good 

laugh every now and then. ie LOCHTE 
. 

The narrator of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.'s, 
Galápagos (Delacorte Press/Seymour Law- 
rence) is rum character Kilgore 
Trout’s son, Leon; and he's speaking to us 
1,000,000 years from now. His story is 
about how the human race survived on 
Santa Rosalia—one of the more remote of 
the Galapagos Islands. It did so through 
the oddest, most irenic, most fortuitous set 
of coincidences imaginable—that is, 
except in Vonnegut’s head. The story cen- 
ters on what's billed as the Nature Cruise 
of the Century and the lives of the peculiar 
assortment of people who make the trip. 
They include a schoolteacher, the last 
members of the Kankabono tribe, the 
pregnant wife of a Japanese computer gen- 
ius, a neutered dog and a German admiral 
of the Ecuadorian navy. The forces that 
shape their destiny include world-wide 
economic collapse and the most expend- 
able of evolutionary frailties—the over- 
sized, overactive human brain. Vonnegut, 
of course, keeps the tenuous threads of his 
story entertaining—and not without sev- 
eral shades of humor. Like his other work, 
this is an exercise with a “what if” per- 
spective, one that is disturbing and 
moving—and beautifully rendered 

б 

Robert Thorne, a retired foreign corre- 
spondent once posted in Moscow, is asked 
by a former lover to unravel a mystery: the 


disappearance of her wealthy American 
father, a man with mysterious roots in 
Ru: That’s the premise of Anthony 
Hyde's espionage thriller, The Red Fox 
(Knopf), which takes Thorne from Detroit 
to New Hampshire to Paris and finally to a 
tiny Russian village where all the sinister 
pieces of this beautifully crafted jigsaw 
puzzle fall into place. The Red Fox is 
Hyde’s first novel, and it’s the perfect book 
with which to seule down on a wet, nasty 
November night 


. 

If there is a better world than this, 
maybe it’s the one that Bob Elliott and 
Ray Goulding created way back when in 
the age of steam radio. If we're lucky, we'll 
all go there when they pull the plug on the 
current model; but meanwhile, we can 
read about it in The New! Improved! Bob and 
Roy Book (Putnam's), which presents all 
the evidence we need to realize that the 
boys are still crazy after all these years. 
Among the 50 or so subjects in this latest 
collection are the Winnebago Indian who. 
runs for President as nominee of both par- 
ties, the man who invented the vent in the 
back of jackets, a commercial for a bank 
that’s lost all its records, the tax expert 
who has two identities so that he can file a 
joint return, a manufacturer of artificial 
police dogs, the hobbyist who collects 
numbers (тот the stores where you take a 
number, the self-employed subway con- 
ductor and Tippy, the useless wonder dog. 
Great stuff, every blessed line. Who else 
would tell us what happens to voting 
machines between elections? And which 
other consumer advisors would suggest 
cutting family clothing bills by buying 
products that stunt children’s growth? Ah, 
Bob; ah, Ray. If there were a Nobel Prize 
for making us laugh, you’d have been 
called to Stockholm a long time ago. 

. 

The Nuclear Age (Knopf), by Tim 
O'Brien, is one of the better efforts at the 
difficult task of describing our dance with 
universal death. Set in the year 1995, this 
novel tells the story of one William Cowl- 
ing, a sort of Everyman, a husband and 
father who has lived with the madness of 
the nuclear nightmare all his life. “One 
day it will happen,” he acknowledges; but 
unlike most of us, Cowling tries to do 
something about it. He begins to dig a hole 
in his back yard. As he constructs his 
primitive fallout shelter, he talks with his 
young daughter, reviews his life, yearns for 
his wife and thinks about death. O'Brien 
(winner of the 1979 National Book Award 
for his novel Going After Cacciato) presents 
a modest, believable, human picture of 
where we all may be ten years from now. 

. 

Stanley and the Women (Summit) is no 
fun at all for its hapless characters; but for 
the reader, it’s an instructive and savage 
comedy of the blackest kind and the 


strongest and most beautifully written 
novel yet from Kingsley Amis. This is the 
kind of work that in a just world would 
persuade lesser lights in the typing busi- 
to go back to their regular jobs 
Amis, chewing over one of his fa 
vorite themes: Women were like the Ru: 
sians. If you did exactly what they wanted 
all the time you were being realistic and 
constructive and promoting the cause of 
peace, and if you ever stood up to them, 
you were resorting to Cold War tactics and 
pursuing imperialistic designs and inter- 
fering in their internal affairs.” 
. 
Chris Mead's Champion: Joe Louis, Black 
White America (Scribner's) not only 
blow-by-blow descriptions of 
Louis’ fights, it’s a sobering and often star- 
ting documentation of how much the 
news media contributed, both intention- 
ally and unintentionally, to the perpetua- 
tion of racism not too long And we 
don’t mean just the Southern press: An 
article in The New York Times Magazine 
included a description of the grea 
weight boxer as “a primordial c 
in temperament like a one 
Among nicknames the press gave Louis 
that called attention to his race (the best 
known, Brown Bomber) were the Dusky 
Downer, the Shufflin’ ad Mike 
Jacobs’ Pet Pickaninny, The Chocolate 
Chopper and The Tan Tarzan of Thump. 
Just before his fight with the gargantuan 
Primo Carnera, Louis held a press confer- 
enceand members of the media showed up. 
with watermelon for him to eat while they 
took pictures. He told them he didn’t like 
watermelon. 


BOOK BAG 


In Country (Harper & Row), by Bobbi 
Ann Mason: Samantha Hughes is 17, lives 
in Kentucky and lost her father in the 
Vietnam war before she ever got to know 
him. This is the modest, beautiful, touch- 
ing story of how she discovers, through the 
dead man’s letters and diary—and with 
the help of her uncle, also a Vietnam vet— 
who her father was and what that war was 
about. A number-one novel. 

Cheeseburgers: The Best of Bob Greene 
(Atheneum): It’s tempting to say this is a 
rare collection. Or that it’s well done. But 
instead, let's just say it’s a tasty assort- 
ment of newspaper and magazine stories 
from one of the hottest writers in print 

The Price of the Ticket (St. Martin's), by 
James Baldwin: An outstanding collection 
of Baldwin's best essays, from The Fire 
Next Time to Nobody Knows My Name. 
These pieces still ring with the urgency 
a five-alarm fire. If you missed them along 
the way, read them now. 

Love Life (Knopf), by James D. Houston: 
At 32, Holly Doyle’s world is shredding 
before her eyes. A common enough theme, 
but what makes this novel special is Hous- 
ton’s understanding of his female charac- 
ter and his ear for marital conversations. 


© 1985 The Seagram Classics Wine Co., N ҮС. 


GREAT NAMES IN FRENCH WINES 
BEGIN WITH THESE LETTERS. 


Ourinitials stand for a lot more than Barton and Guestier. 
They stand foraselection of wines representative of every 
famous wine region in France-wines known for consistent 
taste and superior quality, like Chardonnay Saint-Louis. 
Which is probably why wine lovers the world over have 
enjoyed the fruits of our labor for over 260 years. 


REVIEWS 


DAVE MARSH 


over THE rast 30 years, while urban pop, 
black and white, has continually redefined 
If, country music has held tenaciously 
to its old self-definitions. One result is that 
contemporary country has access to its 
own history in ways that other kinds of 
American pop don't—not that most 
Americans ever get to hear traditional 
country. For instance, Lefty Frizzell: His 
Life—His Music, a 14-disc boxed set, and 
Hank Williams’ Just Me and My Guitar, a 
collection of recently discovered demos of 
some of his biggest hits, will be hard to 
find in almost any record store. The 
Frizzell set ($135 plus shipping) is a defin- 
itive compilation of honky-tonk singing in 
the Forties by the man who defined it, in 
addition to giving Merle Haggard and 
George Jones their vocal styles; it's 
released on the West German label Bear 
Family. The Williams collection, which 
gives a fresh look at the genre's greatest 
composer, is available for $10.98 by mail 
only from Nashville’s Country Music 
Foundation, 4 Music Square East, Nash- 
ville, Tennessee 37203. (Your record shop 
can order these—if it will. Or try Down 
Home Music, 10341 San Pablo Avenue, El 
Cerrito, California 94530.) 

The recent country-chart success of 
such artists as Ricky Skaggs, the Judds 
and the Whites, all performing in modern- 
ized versions of traditional country styles, 
has inspired many others to make the 
same effort. con Run Away from Your Heart 
(Columbia) provides Lacy J. Dalton with 
stripped-down arrangements that show off 
her neo-honky-tonk style to perfect advan- 
tage, culminating in Perfectly Crazy, a 
whiskey-voiced tour de force. John Ander- 
son’s Tokyo, Oklahoma (Warner) means to 
remind us that rock "n' roll also counts 
among country's roots: His version of It's 
All Over Now is equal parts Frizzell and 
Rolling Stones, and the rest of the album 
docs its best to follow suit. 

But country's Nashville production ma- 
chine is as likely to seck convenient for- 
mulas as are the pop producers of 
Hollywood and New York. One result is 
ersatz country tradition, epitomized by The 
Forester Sisters (Warner), a debut album by 
performers who would like to sound like 
the Judds but more closely resemble the 
Lennon Sisters. 


CHARLES M. YOUNG 


X and Black Flag are the most promi- 
nent bands still around from the original 
L.A. punk scene—X signing with a major 
label in hopes of major acceptance, Black 


What's X got to do with it? 


Country tradition, 
California punk 
and, er, bebop funk? 


Flag starting its own label in hopes of 
maintaining independence. Will X finally 
achieve that acceptance with Ain't Love 
Grand (Elektra)? I dunno. A compelling 
figure on stage, in gossip columns and on 
1 sheets, Exene has not stretched her 
voice range or inflection much over the 
years. Bassist John Doe has a much more 
evocative voice, here displayed to good— 
but limited—effect around Billy Zoom’s 
eclectic electric guitar (the guy should be 
nominated for the Most Generous 
Number of Riffs and Effects Per Song 
award). If you aren’t an X fan, listen for 
Burning House of Love on the radio. If you 
catch fire, try the album. 

Consistent with all its other albums, 
Black Flag’s Loose Nut (SST) scares the 
hell out of me without conjuring up any 
jive occultism. These guys just look at how 
dismal your life is and promise to kill you 
for it. And then bum down your house. 
And waste anyone who looks at them side- 
ways. The trick in listening is just to go 
with it, and pretty soon you'll be angry 
about your dismal life instead of merely 
depressed. Vocalist Henry Rollins has 
much to teach the world about rage (Now 
She's Black registers a ten on my 
howlograph), and Greg Ginn is the guitar 
equivalent to Vlad the Impaler. It is advis- 
able to listen on headphones if you have à 
family, as Black Flag has been known to 
induce autism in small children. 

Also from Southern California, Mojo 
Nixon and Skid Roper (RBI/Enigma) have 
developed a sound halfway between those 


of Jonathan Richman and Wild Man 
Fisher, with a little country blues tossed in 
for extra sass, on their self-titled LP. 
They've got lots of blasphemous nonsense 
(Jesus at McDonald's) and incisive social 
commentary (Ari Fag Shuffle). But what 
makes Mojo's guitar and singing along 
with Skid’s washboard so distinguished is 
the groove. They've got more good beat 
and dance to em than any ten drum 
machines. Just the thing to cheer you up 
after Black Flag. 


ROBERT CHRISTGAU 


Fishbone (Columbia): Sometimes you 
can judge a record by its cover, which is 
why I played Fishbone's 26-minute debut. 
EP the moment I got it. Six black teen- 
agers from L.A. whose jacket-photo dress 
and deportment suggest postmodern 
vaudevillians who've just admitted them- 
selves to a mental hospital, they sound 
like... a a polka band that doesn’t yearn for 
the old country? I don’t know, and neither 
do they yet, probably—the basic approach 
is akin to Specials-style ska. But, like most 
black teenagers, the Fishbone teens dig 
heavy guitar and know their Devo and 
George Clinton; and, like some other black 
teenagers, they think bebop was a great 
attitude. The EP is full of life, ifa little all 
over the place. Worth the chance, Га say. 

Ready for the World (MCA): In the world 
of Prince clones, a tawdry place dominated 
by disaffected allies and guys who think 
it's commercial to wear purple, Ready for 
the World’s Melvin Riley, Jr., has his own 
line. Harking back to such classic falsetto 
love men as the Chi-Lites’ Eugene Record, 
Riley is above all sincere; but, like Prince, 
he’s sincerely lubricious: The glorious “I 
even want your tongue, love” (from the 
first LP, Tonight) ranks with the master’s 
“I want to come inside you,” a real score 
from back when nobody knew who Prince 
was except for a few hundred thousand 
homy black girls. After breaking Tonight 
in its home town of Detroit, an early hot- 
bed of Princemania, Ready for the World 
did this album for MCA. It includes sev- 
eral dance tracks that indicate that Gor- 
don Strozier also studies up, and two more 
slow sizzlers that sound very much 
like—how about that? Tonight. I like 
them anyvay and only hope that next year 
we get a Madonna clone who's sexier than 
the original. 


NELSON GEORGE 


Go Go Crankin’ (T.T.E.D./Island): Go- 
go, yes! Go-go, no? The jury is still 
deliberating on whether to declare this 
Washington, D.C.-born polyrhythmic 


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another. The choice is yours. 
Especially this year. With the 
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NSALOMON 
\ 


FAST TRACKS 


GOT TO BE THERE DEPARTMENT: Motown is putting together a series of hourlong video cas- 
settes of some of its legends, such as Diana Ross, Marvin Gaye and Michael Jackson. 
Also in the works are compilations featuring all-star Motown girl groups, the first of 
which will surface around Christmastime. If that's not enough excitement, look for a mini- 
series based on The Supremes in 1986. Remember, you “heard it through the grapevine.” 


REELING AND ROCKING: Jimmy Cliff returns 
to film for the first time in 15 years. 
He'll be appearing with Robin Williams 
and Peter O'Toole in Club Paradise. . . - 
David Lee Roth has finished co-writing a 
film comedy and will now try to get 
it produced. He also plans to duet 
with Belinda Carlisle on her al- 
bum. . . . CBS's planned remake of the 
classic 1939 film Stagecoach will star 
Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nel- 
son and Waylon Jennings. . . . Stevie 
Roy Vaughan has recorded a James 
Brown song for the upcoming Rocky IV. 

NEWSBREAKS: Prince has given one of 
his unreleased songs to The Bangles to 
record. . . . You should have the Duran 
Duren trio album any minute now. 
That's one of the three Teylers, plus 
Rhodes and Le Bon, though Devid Gilmour 
joins them on guitar, Grace Jones raps 
and Sting sings backup on one cut. It 
will be different Keep your ears 
open for the hot New Wave folk band, 
the Washington Squores, in its debut 
album. . - . Air Supply's lead singer, 
Russell Hitchcock, says about touring, 
“Гуе dined at every Taco Bell in Amer- 
ica." . . . Says Rita Coolidge about 
playing friends’ videos in her new gig as 
a TV video jock, “I’m not there to 
favor my friends . . but if I play a 
video by one of my friends and it 
becomes a hit, well, that's great!” . . . 
In the you-can't-always-get-what-you- 
want school of life, the Catholic Foun- 
dation for Human Life was pretty 
miffed when only 3500 tix were sold for 
an appearance by Mother Teresa in New 
Brunswick, Canada, Why, you ask? 
Because 10,000 people bought ticket 
to see Tina Turner instead. . . . Just 
when you think you know everything: 
A recent Gallup Poll of teens shows 
that Pet Вепоїог is the most popular 
female vocalist and Lionel Richie the 
most popular male. That’s ahead of 


Madonna, Prince, the Boss and every- 
one. . . . An executive of Kool and 
he Gang’s label was quoted as say- 
ing the group is so “squeaky clean, 
they're boring.” To which James 
“3.1.” Taylor replies, “We're good, пісе 
people and I can't see changing that 
for anything.” Oh, come on, fellas, 
how about a beer? . . . Do 
you remember Bettina Koster from our 
January 1985 feature The Girls of Rock 
' Roll? Go back and check her out. 
Aside from being a treat to look at, 
she’s had one of the hot dance tunes this 
past summer: Her version of Cole 
Porters Love for Sale has been called 
definitive. That's up to you to decide, 
but we especially like the whistler who 
accompanies her. . Look for a 
Stewart Copeland / Her Hancock / John 
Mclaughlin tour any time now. If Sting 
can go jazzy, so can everyone else, 
right? ... Just in case you were won- 
dering: Amy Grant says she's not try 
to convert her concertgoing audiences, 
but she is trying to be uplifting. . . In 
an attempt to raise money for yet 
another cause, 16 groups are contribut- 
ig tracks for an album being released 
in England to benefit Greenpeace. Peter 
Gabriel, Queen, Tears for Fears, Heaven 17 
and Madness are among the bands 
included on the LP, which is expected 
to raise at least $600,000. Can an 
American release be far behind? 

Finally, we hear that Tina Turner and 
Mr. Jagger would like to do an album 
together if they can find the time. 
About their famous moment at Live 
Aid, Turner says that Jagger knew free- 
ing one button would undo her skirt 
and that it was “sort of planned,” but 
she was still surprised when he did it. 
As for the rest of us, it was one of 
the best five minutes in rock. Who else 
would have the guts to get on the stage 
with cither one? — BARBARA NELLIS 


music “the next big thang" or merely a 
curious regional infection. The basic go-go 
band consists of vast numbers of horn and 
percussion players whose raw attack is 
backed up by layers of rhythm that fly 
over, under and around a basic funk 
groove on bass. Chuck Brown and the 
Soul Searchers are gritty, grand and funny 
on this compilation album's best effort, We 
Need Some Money. Ycars on the D.C. scene 
have made Brown's band razor-sharp and 
have given his raspy voice a wonderful 
authority. Trouble Funk’s kinetic Drop the 
Bomb is just as intense. But on record— 
in a way it doesn’t in live per- 
formance—go-go sounds repetitive. 
Rhythmic ideas recur on each song. The 
same thing is true of reggae, but when reg- 
gae came to town, we Americans had 
never heard anything like it. Go-go is a 
close personal friend of good old P-Funk. 
So, what's new? 

Sly and Robbie / Language Barrier 
(Island): Sly's last name is Dunbar and 
Robbie’s is Shakespeare, and together 
thcy have been one of pop's hippest bass- 
drum teams for several years. Although 
their chops were developed on an endless 
stream of reggae records in the Seventies, 
Sly and Robbie have since laid tracks for 
performers of every description, including 
Bob Dylan and Mick Jagger. Today, Sly 
and Robbie spcak the international lan- 
guage of hit records, but on parts of Lan- 
guage Barrier, the translations are a touch 
incomplete. Partly to blame is producer 
Bill Laswell, who stufls every sonic gadget 
he can find into Sly and Robbie’s grooves. 
Adding to the aural overkill are contribu- 
tions by noted keyboard modernists 
Herbie Hancock, Afrika Bambaataa and 
Bernie Worrell. Bass and Trouble is the 
only cut that truly fuses Sly and Robbie's 
reggae roots with contemporary sounds, 
and it’s the best cut here. 


SHORT CUTS 


VIC GARBARINI 


Billy Joel / Greatest Hits Volumes One & Two 
(Columbia): In recent years, Joel has sup- 
planted McCartney as our best white pop 
balladeer, and he’s developed a heart-felt 
social conscience to match the Boss's. He's 
a singles rather than an album artist, so 
here’s your chance to be smart. 

Pointer Sisters / Contact (RCA): Last 
year’s Break Out was the best pop-soul 
crossover since the Supremes. Here the 
Pointers try too hard to repeat the formula 
rather than the spirit, ending up shrill, 
overproduced and a bit hollow. 

Sister Sledge / When the Boys Meet the Girls 
(Atlantic): This year's Break Out. Same 
synth-pop-soul formula, but the sisters 
never lose the feel amid the high tech. 
Sexy, inspired and eminently danceable. 


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© 1985 ANHEUSER-BUSCH. INC.. BREWERS OF МІСНЕ ОВ" BEER * ST LOUIS, MO.. U.S.A. 


SPORTS 


( San me cranky, Ishmael. Call me 
bewildered, Call me any time alter 


lunch and explain to me why some people 


think college football is in trouble and 
why, since it’s not, a lot of pious educators 
went to that special N.C.A.A. convention 
in New Orleans this past summer and 
nodded approvingly while Wartburg, Illi- 
nois Benedictine, Rensselaer Poly or what 
have you told Alabama, Oklahoma, 
USC—anybody else who matters—what 
to do with their football programs. That's 
what the convention was all about; don’t 
gloss it over with high-minded fervor. 
Somehow, I get this feeling that the 
N.C.A.A. won't be content until the Ohio 
State Buckeyes and the Michigan Wolver- 
ines romp into a stadium and flog one 
another with copies of Proust on the same 
Saturday that Muskingum College plays 
Otterbein on national TV. OK, call me 
pissed. Ever since the pious educators 
announced that they were going to “take 
charge” of their athletic departments to 
prevent future “scandals,” Гуе been won- 
dering why the N.C.A.A. should be 
allowed to exist. I can come up with only 
one reason: to make me smite my forehead 
and blow spit bubbles through my lips 

The N. C. A. A. can’t seem to learn that if 
it weren't for college football, endowments 
would end up like fossils. Em still 
astounded by the fact that there were dele- 
gates from 840 institutions at the N.C.A.A. 
convention. The figure lodged in my 
throat. (I once lodged in a throat during a 
trip to the Balkans, and it’s no fun.) Eight 
hundred and fucking forty? Christ, there 
are only 120 schools in this nation that 
play grown-up football—and even that fig- 
ure has stretch marks on it! 

Who is this Gang of 120? Well, it’s your 
basic Pac 10s, your Big Eights, your 
Southwests, your Big Tens, your South- 
easterns, your A C. Cs, your major in- 
dependents—the same universities that 
happen to know the most about Nobel lau- 
reates, paleontology, Aristotle, Jolin Stu- 
art Mill and all of that other blucbook 
So what were the big guys even doing 
in the same room with those 720 other 
social climbers? Maybe they thought that 
Walter Byers, the Genghis Khan of the 
N.C.A.A., didn't have enough paperwork 
to keep all his stoolies busy 

Things are finally clear to me. The 
Gang of 120 needs its own organization 
and a new set of rules that don’t scream 
with naiveté. They also need to get over 
the guilt of having once been called “foot 


By DAN JENKINS 


REMEMBRANCE 
OF THINGS PASSED 


ball factories” by a bunch of pipe-smoking 
twits who think John Barth is witty 

It may interest many of the delegates 
who attended the N.C. 5 "tent reviv- 
al" to know that the major universitics 
have been educating their students quite 
nicely for several decades now. They've 
policed themselves pretty well, too, often 
calling attention to their own infractions. 
The fact is, no president of a major univer- 
sity will stand by and let an overzealous 
alumnus ease a snappy roadster into the 
garage of a prospective running back. If 
the president catches an alumnus in this 
act, he won't invite him to the good par- 
ties. That's how you punish your overzeal- 
ous alumnus. You waste his blazer. 

Nevertheless, the presidents were conned 
by the N.C.A.A/s dupes into imposing a 
“death penalty a ban on competi 
on any school that’s deemed to have 
sively violated recruiting rules that are anti- 
quated at best and silly at worst. “Excess,” 
1 gather, will be defined by some chemistry 
professor who once saw a game between 
Amherst and Bowdoin, 

What? You gave that boy a box of 
T-shirts? You bought that kid four cheese- 
burgers? Coach, you actually had that 
youngster in your home? Death penalty 

Understand what this means. A Texas, a 
Nebraska, a UCLA, whoever, may well be 
ordered to give up football for a period of 
time if some N. - snooper finds too 


many Juicy Fruit wrappers on the floor of 
a halfback's dormitory room. Happily, 1 
suspect that the death penalty will never 
hold up in court, but that’s where the 
N.C.A.A. seems determined to lead col- 
lege football: from the playing fields to the 
courtrooms. And they call it progress. 

Let me set something straight. I'm not 
in favor of cheating, but I am in favor of 
being realistic. With thatin mind, I have a 
question for the educators. While they're 
so deeply concerned about the “dangers” 
of college football, about the “cult of win- 
ning” and the “call of professionalism,” 
how do they feel about all the term papers, 
test questions, fake 1.0.5 and grams of 
cocaine that are sold daily to thousands of 
nonathletes on America’s campuses by 
everybody from fraternity brats to resident 
advisors? Any penalties in mind for those 
entrepreneurs? Guess not. 

I see the future the N.C.A.A. has 
planned: Notre Dame and USC meet 
in the Los Angeles Coliseum. The Irish 
have armed themselves with copies of 
Finnegans Wake. The Trojans each carry a 
volume of Kristin Lavransdatter. The play- 
ers take turus reading aloud. Last team 
awake wins. It ties in with the past. We all 
remember how Red Grange evaded tack- 
lers by reciting passages from Turgenev. 
We all remember Knute Rockne’s famous 
pep talk: “Aww right, men, let's win one 
for Hans Castorp." 

Didn't the college presidents learn any- 
thing from the Ivy League's de-cmphasi: 
Before the Ivies cleansed themselves, th 
had given us Walter Camp, Amos Alonzo 
Stagg, Pudge Hellelfinger and Fritz Pol- 
lard. Princeton’s Team of Destiny. Sid 
Luckman. Legends, pageantry, loyalties, 
purpose. They'd given us college football 
And what have they given us since de- 
emphasis? Timothy Leary. 

Tell you what. I'm forming a new 
N. C. A. A., the N al Collegiate Alumni 
Association. There'll be delegates from 
only 120 universities. Mostly, they'll be 
insufferably rich and powerful, guy: 
terested in building new libraries, finc-arts 
and science complexes—but only if a 
school has a competitive football team: 

My new organization will be dedicated 
to the humiliation, torture and ultimate 
dismissal of any university president, 
chancellor or trustee who doesn't want to 
see his football team go to a bowl game. 

I have a battle cry for us: “Eighty thou- 
sand people never filled a stadium 
to watch a fucking math quiz! Ej 


31 


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MEN 


I t's been a grcat evening. You've taken 
the woman of vour choice out on the 
town. You've been a good companion, if 
you do say so, listening carefully to her, 
talking about vourself, joking and laugh- 
ing, being a friend. 

You've also been a considerate lover this 
evening. You take your timc, luxuriating in 
the ballet you two are choreographing. 
And when it’s over, you lie back, thinking 
that you've given everything you could 
possibly give. You've been tender, vulner- 
able, strong, passionate, mindful of her 
needs, imaginative, humorous, loving. In 
your mind, it’s a ten out of ten, and you 
drift into a happy sleep. 

For about two minutes. 

“Are you asleep?” she asks incredu- 
lously. 

Huh? Me? No," you say, sitting up 
suddenly. You clear your throat. 

“How can you sleep? I want to make 
plans. Let's talk," she says. 

“Talk?” you ask 

“Yes, talk, About us.” 

“Us?” you ask. “We're fine, aren't we?" 

“Oh, you know what | mean," she 
says. 

"No, I don't," vou say. You are truly 
baffled. “We had a great time. didn't we?” 

“That was just scx.” 

Just sex’? Oh, excuse me. I thought 
we had an evening together. 

“We did,” she says, nodding. “But for 
you, the best time was the sex.” 

She may have you there, but you don’t 
want to give it to her. Sex is one of life’s 
high points for you, yet you're a little 
ashamed of that. Sex is a major release, a 
creative expression of warmth and beauty, 
a place of refuge. But when challenged 
about your love of it, you do tend to 
cover up. 

“I want some communication,” she 
says. "I want some intimacy. You don't 
know how to be intimate.” 

“I don't?” you ask, shaking your head. 

“Sex isn’t intimacy. Why do men think 
they've been intimate when they get 
laid?" 

"Because. 


“Sure,” she says casually, “but it's not 
everything. God, with men, it’s everything. 
Men don’t know how to love. They really 
don't." 

You sit there in bed, puzzled and tired 
You've heard it before and you know you'll 
hear it again: Men don't know how to be 
intimate; men don't know how to love. You 


By ASA BABER 


INTIMATE 
ICE 


ike pulling the sheet over your head 
g from the world. You've done 
best, but it hasn't been good enough. 
the message you're getting. 

ions about men and intimacy fill 
the air these days. Take a look at a book 
called The McGill Report on Male Intimacy. 
It promotes the idea that women are cre- 
ators of intimacy and men are ice cubes. 

“Why aren’t men more loving?” it asks. 
“Are men constitutionally incapable of 
intimacy, or do they consciously choose 
not to be close? . . . А woman's behavior 
isan open window to her feelings. . Love 
means many more things to women. Love 
has many more roots and covers a richer, 
fuller emotional range for women than it 
does for men.” 

Sooner or later, we're going to have to 
come up from under the bedclothes when 
such statements are made. As males, we've 
been too quick to feel guilty, too silent 
under attack. 

Here are some of the things you can say 
in your own defense—right in your own 
bed. But be careful: Feminists have had 
total control of this subject for 20 years. 
Who knows what they'll do if you suggest 
some of the following? 

* Intimacy is not the gift of either sex. The 
sad fact is that most of us hide from one 
another most of the time. Intimacy 
involves revelation, unpredict- 


risk, 


able rewards. Few of us know how to 
handle that. 

* The idea that “a woman's behavior is an 
open window to her feelings” flies in the face 
of most male experience of women. Those 
supposedly open windows into the femi- 
nine heart are usually covered with 
drapes, , fans, shades, gauze, 
screens, fog from fog machines and scrims 

s. Most men do not see 
women as open souls, easily deciphered 
Just the opposite, as a matter of fact. 

* Talk is cheap. Some women operate on 
the theory that the person who does most 
of the talking is, by definition, being loving 
and intimate. Men know better. Men 
know that talk is often chatter, and aggre: 
sive chatter at that, on the attack and 
unrevcaling. The silent partner can be the 
more loving partner. 

= For too long, women have defined 
warmth and love in their own terms—and 
then expected us to live by them. Male trust, 
warmth, friendship, love may be expressed 
in different ways from what most women 
would wish. But communication between 
the sexes is a 50-50 proposition, and 
women should not assume that unless 
things are done their way, they remain 
undonc. 

= Sex is central to our lives, and for us, 
anyway, it is intimate. The current clichés 
about male sexuality arc absurd. Making 
love is an intense and focused activity for 
men, never casual. We are vulnerable, 
open to mockery, needful, highly 
sensitized—and at the moment of orgasm, 
we know we're giving and dying, reacting 
and exposing, paralyzed and expendable. 
In that time, there is nothing we can do to 
defend ourselves, and we assume that 
we're giving a gift to be that helpless in 
that time. We don’t sce ourselves as plun- 
dering or exploiting or using. Sex and love 
are tightly interwoven for us. If they are 
totally compartmentalized бг 
women, who has the problem? 

* Intimate ice is the human condition. We 
float somewhere between love and self- 
absorption, all of us, male and female. We 
play our cards close to our chests, then 
share, then become frightened and with- 
draw, then try to share again. It ain't easy 
We can go from cryogenic to tropical in the 
wink of an eye, the blush of a smile, the 
curl of a 
But isn't it fun? 

And aren't we all supposed to be in 
is together? 


most 


35 


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— Т Fk REK 


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WOMEN 


/ I here's seven of us,” said Jake. “So 
how do we divide the teams?” 

“Well,” I said, “we'll just take the three 
cleverest and most erudite. They can play 
against the four more thickheaded. Cleo, 
Rita and I will take on you four guys. 

“You guys are dead meat,” said Rita. 

That's sexist,” said Fred. “You women 
can’t be left for a second without perpe- 
trating some kind of sexist remark. Men 
are nol stupider than women.” 

“Now, Fred, we were just joking; you 
know that,” wheedled Cleo. 

“I do not know that,” said Fred. He 
stood up and his left hand swept the Triv- 
ial Pursuit cards onto the floor. 1 lit a ciga- 
rette and waited. When Fred gets clumsy, 
it means he’s preparing a major speech. 
mean," Fred sputtered, “1 mean 
we've got to watch everything we say, or 
else we're male-chauvinist pigs. We can't 
joke, we can’t tease you. Every bloody 
thing we say is minutely examined for 
sexist slurs; every bloody thing we do 
comes before the women’s liberation re- 
view board. But women! Women can say 
anything they goddamn like. And we're 
just supposed to grin sheepishly and bring 
you a cup of tea when you insult us. I'm 
fed up!” 

“T love Englishmen. They haye such a 
way with words,” said Rita 

“Don't bloody patronize me!” shricked 
Fred. 

“Hey, Fred, my man,” said Lenny, “let 
"em talk. Then they'll sce who's boss.” 

“I already know who's boss,” said lan, 
rolling his eyes toward Cleo. 

“Do you, darling?” Cleo cooed. “Well 
see later, in bed. Roll the die.” 

The game commenced after a skirmish 
involving who got which disk. We wanted 
the fellows to have pink, just to prove how 
liberated they were. But they howled and 
Fred threw the pink disk out the window. 

“Who was the only boxer to defeat Jack 
Dempsey twice in title fights?” Jake asked 
as we landed on orange. 

“How are we supposed to know that?” 
asked Cleo. “What a ridiculous question. 
Who's Jack Dempsey?” 

“1 know,” said Ian. 
said Jake. 
“1 don't bloody know 
“Come on, girls, answer,” said Lenny. 


“It’s gotta be Gene Tunney.” 
Jake looked at the back of the card and 
blanched. “Rita,” he said sternly, “admit 


By CYNTHIA HEIMEL 


EXTREMELY 
TRIVIAL PURSUITS 


that you were cheating.” 

“Iwill admit nothing of thesort,” snapped 
Rita, “and you better shut up or I'll tell 
your sweetheart where you were last Fri- 
day night.” 

“Ah, roll the die,” said Jake. 

“Where were you last Friday night, 
Jake?" I asked casually. 

“Nowhere, honey. She's just playin’. 
Roll that die.” 

Lrolled the di beige question." 

“Beige? Beige?" said Ian. “Why would 
call that beige? That's brown.” 


color," Cleo said. 

“Men know better than to use wimpy 
decorator terms for everything," Lenny 
said. 

"Where were you last Friday night, 
Jake?" I asked. 

“I can't tell the orange from the brown 
from the pink,” said Fred woefully. 

“J didn't know you were color-blind, 
Fred,” said Rita. 

“Not only am I color-blind, I am going 
bald. My hair is coming out in handfuls. 
And why? Because of my blasted mother. 
Male traits passed down through the 
female. Do women go bald? Hah!” 

“But I think baldness is very attractive 
in a man,” said Cleo. 

“Do vou, my sweet?" asked Ian. 

“It’s not our fault, Fred," I said. 

“Course it is," said Fred. “Women 


fen don't understand the nuances of 


have all the power. They call the shots. 
Even genetically." 

“Ahem,” said Jake, reading a card. 
What Judith Rossner novel was made 
into a film starring Diane Keaton?” 

“Looking for Mr. Goodbar!" Cleo, Rita 
and I chorused 

"Roll again,” said Tan glumly. 

“That girl in Mr. Goodbar certainly 
didn’t have all the power. Do you think 
she wanted to be raped and murdered?” 

“Well, she was a slut,” said Lenny. 
“Just kidding, ha-ha.” 

“Why is it," said Cleo, “that if a man 
fucks a different woman every night, he’s 
some big-deal cocksman, but if a woman 
does it, she’s a whore, a tramp? I heard 
this Madonna joke yesterday: ‘Is that a 
picture of the Grand Canyon, Madonna?” 
“No, that's me at the gynecologist.” 

“The double standard is still alive and 
well in 1985,” Rita mused. 

Hey, were on green here. Ask us a 
question,” Lenny growled. 

I looked at the next card. “Where was 
Jake last Friday night?” [ asked. 

“That's not a real question, is it?” asked 
Fred. “No, it couldn't be.” 

"Answer me, Jake," 1 said, “or ГЇЇ 
shoot you.” 

“Men,” said Rita. “Can't live with em, 
can't shoot em. Tell her, Jake, before 
someone else does.“ 

“Aw, shit, I ran into Lurene at the 
Lion’s Head last Friday, had a couple of 
drinks with her. No big deal." 

“Lurene,” said Fred thoughtfully. 
“Isn't that the one with the giant knockers 
who you used to live with?” 

“Could we get back to the game here?” 
asked Lenny 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” 1 shouted. 
“Who invented the mercury thermome- 
ter? Did you sleep with her? Oh, God, you 
didn’t sleep with her, É 

“Thomas Edison!" 

“Course I didn't," sai 
even want to. Just som 

"Gabriel Fahrenhi 
win! Way to go, guy: 

“АП right!" 


Lenny, beating his 
chest and emitting a Tarzan yodel. 
"Excuse me," said Cleo. "You don't 


ou haven't made it to the center.” 

“Who has?” said Jake. “And who cares? 
Oh, damn, | feel a wave of existential 
angst coming on.“ 

"Hey, Jake, my man, it's just a gam 
said Lenny. 

"How I wish it were," said Jake 
soulfully. 


37 


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just slightly ahead of our time? 


AGAINST THE WIND 


I think it's important to bust your brain 
now and then, to give it something it 
can't chew, the way you might slip a ball 
bearing into an old man’s bowl of peas, 
then sit there and listen for the grisly 
music that is the shattering of his last nat- 
ural molar. For me, it’s therapy like no 
other to make the intellect a hopeless idiot, 
a handful of meat thats final measure is 
best taken on a butcher's scale. 

‘There are several ways to do it. You can 
take the body onto steep rocks or steep 
waves and just plain scare your brain out 
of business with the real proximity of quick 
death. It's a good method and I rec- 
ommend it, but it's useless on those deep- 
blue midnights when you're a thousand 
miles from beach or mountains and there 
is no sleep because your nervous little 
mind insists on wrestling with one of that 
day’s greasier questions, like, “How, in the 
name of hell, could she have taken what I 
said that way?” On those nights, you need 
a technique to undo the intellect that you 
can use while you stare into a glass of milk 
or whiskey. For that work I like a good 
cosmic paradox or other profound riddle 
as the steely among the roughage. 

The first of those that I remember hear- 
ing was "Which came first, the chicken or 
the egg?” and I liked it. Took me a couple 
of months to solve it, too. This was in the 
period that led up to those brief but glo- 
rious moments in which I thought I knew 
everything, so there’s no surprise or shame 
in the fact that my little mind stepped up 
and reasoned that it had to be the chicken, 
because, on this hungry planet, if it had 
been the egg, something would have eaten 
it before it was 20 minutes old. 

Several years later, a Jesuit took me 
aside and asked, “Can God make a rock 
bigger than He can lift?” And I thought, 
hot damn; this ought to take a year or so. I 
still don’t have an answer to that one, 
because I like the question too much, but 
I'm tempted to believe that if the God of 
the Jesuits had any sense of humor, He 
could make a rock that would give Him a 
hernia. 

Then I discovered Zen and it became 
clear that if you really wanted to humiliate 
your brain, you had to talk to an Oriental. 
The most famous of the koans is, of course, 
“What is the sound of one hand clap- 
ping?” I loved it, and the breakthrough 
here wasn’t so much the question as it was 
the teacher’s response when the student 
tried to answer. The kid would barely get 


By CRAIG VETTER 


A LITTLE TASTE 
OF BAMBOO 


his mouth open and the old roshi would 
beat the juice out of him with a bamboo 
pole by way of saying, “Listen, hopeless 
punk: Questions and answers are not two 
diflerent things, and if you would start 
paying the right kind of attention, you 
would realize that every answer contains 
the next question; every question, the next 
answer.” One of my favorite ancient 
Zenmasters was so famous for his bamboo 
batsmanship that Гуе often thought you 
could probably make yourself several mil- 
lion yen going from temple to temple sell- 
ing 60-inch Unmon autograph-modcl 
bamboo sluggers. 

I'm still a sucker for Zen, and at a cer- 
tain point it began to occur to me that the 
only people in our culture who are paying 
the particular kind of attention that gets 
you into the hard-won golden zone of utter 
nonsense are the scientists. Гуе suspected 
them of a sort of felony mysticism ever 

ince my high school physics teacher asked 
if a tree falling in the wilderness with no 
one to hear it made any sound. Then I 
read a book called The Tao of Physics, and 
another, The Dancing Wu Li Masters, and 
all my suspicions were confirmed. As far as 
I can tell, physicists get a little taste of the 
bamboo every time they go to work, and 
the brain breakers that come from them 
are all the more stupefying and lovely 
because we send these people out there 


after fact, not paradox. 

Consider this crack from Niels Bohr, 
one of physics’ Babe Ruths: “A physicist,” 
he said, “is just an atom’s way of looking 
at itself.” 

OK. Sure. Why not? If you accept the 
fact that our brains, like everything else in 
the universe, are made of atoms, maybe all 
we think we know about subatomic phys- 
ics is simply the product of a bunch of 
atoms’ getting together to make a mathe- 
matician’s brain that finally yelled “Look 
at us.” A little spooky, but I can handle 
that. Except that when you start to take an 
turns out to be made of stuff. 
in ways that things here in 
our elephantine world do not: Particles 
and waves become the same thing at the 
same time, and when you go looking for 
them, they are there sometimes and not 
there others, until all you can finally say 
about the pieces of an atom is that they 
have “a tendency to exist.” 

"That's about the place I lose these peo- 
ple, because although I tend to cut in and 
out on some levels, I exist full time, yet I'm 
made of these things that secm to come 
and go. Add to that nonsense the idea that 
to observe any of this subatomic business, 
you have to bombard the parts of the atom 
with rays that change what's going on, the 
way a flashlight beam changes the behay- 
ior of a roach work gang, so that you can't 
ever know what they were doing before 
you started looking. 

1 usually skulk back to Zen pretty early 
in these explanations. There’s no math to 
it, for one thing, and there arc at least a 
few Zen characters who put these things in 
à perspective that makes it seem OK that 
my brain is so casily busted. The poet and 
Zen slugger R. H. Blyth is one of them, 
and there are two particular lines of his 
that make me proud to be the fool I am. 

“If we cannot solve these problems,” he 
said, “it must be because the universe is a 
warm thing which the stone-cold intellect 
can only partly understand.” 

And the kicker, the notion of his that 
drifts my broken brain off to slecp more 
perfectly than any other, is that “the prob- 
lem, insoluble intellectually, is solved 
every day by life itself.” 
ists sometimes say as they 
iggle to point their devotees toward the 
light —K WATZ!— which 1 have always 

to be the sound of bamboo 
ng a nearly empty skull. 


take 


By 1900, Stroh had become the largest 
of Detroit's 23 breweries. 


IT TOOK GENERATIONS OF 
UNBUSINESSLIKE DECISIONS TO 
GET US WHERE WE ARE TODAY. 


America once had hundreds of family- 
owned breweries. The Stroh Brewery Company 
is one of a surviving few. 

We're also the third-largest brewer in the 
country. The reason is simple. We've always 
been brewers first and businessmen second. 

When most American brewers had begun 
to brew with steam heat, Julius Stroh visited 
Europe's most famous brewers. He found the 
best beers were still brewed over direct fire. 

So he decided that was the way his family’s 
beer would be made—even though fire-brewing 
costs more. 

During World War II, beer demand sky- 
rocketed. But ingredient supplies plummeted. 
Gari Stroh put his foot down: Quality first, 
no matter what. 

After the war, people remembered who'd 
made good beer, Stroh prospered. 

In the 70's, giant breweries got more 
gigantic as smaller ones disappeared. 
Conventional wisdom said sell. 

So Peter Stroh bought out two other 
brewers. And America’s premier family brew- 
ery became America’s third-largest brewing 
company. 

Today, we brew Stroh’s, Old Milwaukee, 
Schlitz, Schlitz Malt Liquor, Schaefer and 
other fine beers. 

Don't compromise the product, and you 
wort have lo wory ae a 
guided the Strohs since 1850. 

And look where it’s gotten us. 


E 


` We haven't lost 
the family touch. 


This year, over 350 million cases. 
of beer will roll out of seven Stroh 
breweries into all 50 states. 


(© 1984, Тм Stroh Brewery Company, Detroit MI. 


THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 


Si pias me EE 
T'm in good health, tall and lean, and I get 
my share of women. My problem is that it 
seems to be all I think about x and 
more sex. Let me describe my typical day. 
I wake up sometimes as early as 5:30 AM 
to watch Bodies in Motion on ESPN. It's an 
exercise show with sexily dressed women. 
At six o'clock, I watch Morning Stretch, 
with Joanie Greggains; at 6:30, it's 
20-Minute Workout. Y then get dressed for 
classes, and for the next couple of hours, I 
constantly be on the lookout for girls 
revealing shorts, low or, rather, high 
miniskirts, anything that will give me a 
cheap thrill. I go down to the gym hoping 
to see some pretty girl in shorts stretch 
out. If Pm walking to class and a girl 
passes me in a short pair of cutoffs, with 
her ass hanging out, or if she’s in a mini, 
ГЇЇ follow her up a flight of stairs just to 
get a glimpse. Sometimes it helps when I 
have a girlfriend, because then I say, 
“What the hell; Pm gonna get laid 
tonight. I don't have to follow her.” 1 
once read somewhere that an obsession 
becomes harmful only when you let it 
interfere with your normal life. If that’s 
true, I’m in big trouble, because Ull do 
almost anything to sneak a look at a 
woman's thighs. Then I'll feel bad about 
it, because I know that I could be doing 
something more constructive. I love sex 
itself, and many of my girlfriends have 
accused me of having only sex on my 
mind. Im not into anything kinky, 
though; it's just that I think I may be too 
voyeuristic. Have you ever heard of a 
problem like this?—D. A., Clarion, Penn- 
sylvania. 

We've never heard of anyone's dying of ter- 
minal horniness, but there's always a first 
time. Studies have shown that men think 
about sex every ten minutes or so throughout 
the day; that and the raging hormones of ado- 
lescence can make for a lethal combination. 
Our prescription: Force yourself to concen- 
trate on the tasks at hand, such as your stud- 
ies, and be sure to allow time for cultivating 
intimate relationships with the opposite sex 
rather than lusting from afar. 


Ibm shopping for a new car and plan to 
trade in my old one. Is that a good idea, 
or is it worth the time and trouble to 
sell the old boat myself?—; , Boulder, 
Colorado. 

Would you rather sell at wholesale or at 
retail? Depending on the car in question, the 
difference can be substantial: several hundred 
dollars, even $1000 or more. That extra cash 
is definitely important to us at new-car lime, 
so we've never traded. There are pros and 
cons, though. If your old sled is rough and 
would take a lot of work to put into decent 
shape, you may be better off just unloading it 


for whatever the dealer (or the junkyard) will 
pay. But if it looks and runs OK, by all means 
invest a little time and earn the extra bucks. 

Here's the way the game is played: Wash 
and wax the car, clean and vacuum the inte- 
rior and make any minor, inexpensive repairs 
that will help it make a beiter impression 
Also, clean up under the hood (with steam or 
a commercial engine cleaner) and in the 
trunk, if necessary. Now take it to a couple of 
dealers to see what they would pay. (Remem- 
ber that a dealer trying to sell you a car may 
offer more for your trade than it’s really 
worth, but he's planning to make up the dif- 
ference on the price of the car he’s selling.) 

With two or more serious dealer offers in 
hand, you know about how much your car 
is worth on the wholesale market. Now 
check the local classifieds to see what 
others are asking at retail for cars of the 
same model and year. Somewhere between 
wholesale and advertised retail, depending 
on the car’s condition, is what you can rea- 
sonably expect to get. Dealers and lending 
institutions also have “blue” books and other 
guides to the wholesale and retail values of 
used cars. If one won't let you see them, 
another probably will. 1f you're in a hurry to 
sell, price your car well under the competi- 
tion, place your ad and get ready for the 
phone to ring. If not, price it a little higher 
and leave more room to negotiate, In any 
case, a fair price for any car is what the buy- 
er's willing to pay and the seller's willing to 
take. 


М, boyfriend and I had an exciting 
experience while I was giving him head, 
and I'd like to tell you about it so you can 
explain why it happened. On the evening 
in question, I had decided to eat my boy- 
friend and take my time doing so, as he 
was slightly hornier than usual. While 1 


was enjoying myself eating him, 1 would 
pull and suck gently on the head of his 
penis on the upstroke. Often I would rub 
my tongue in tiny twirling circles on the tip. 
I could feel him readying for orgasm. As 
he got beyond the point of resisting, 1 
ceased the oral stimulation so I could feel 
him squirt his cum into my mouth. 1 
noticed that his orgasm was not as power- 
ful as usual. I had just enough time to 
swallow once, then suck slightly to en- 
sure Pd swallowed every drop, when he 
grabbed my head. It was obvious that he 
nceded more oral stimulation, so I quickly 
resumed it. I could {eel him growing 
harder; 1 knew he was going to have 
another orgasm; and when he did, 1 got 
quite a mouthful—I had to swallow while 
he was still coming. He was exhausted. 1 
was surprised and excited, as I had always 
wanted to return the favor of multiple 
orgasm to him. I didn't think it was possi- 
ble, so I had never bothered to try. Now 
that I did it, I don't know how to do it 
again. We do have a theory: that it may 
have happened because I ceased stimula- 
tion just before he came. We will try out 
our theory, but we would greatly appreci- 
atc any information or suggestions you 
might have on the matter. I love making 
him feel good, and this is almost as good 
as what he does to me.—Miss J. M. D., 
Detroit, Michigan. 

Ejaculation and orgasm are not necessar- 
ily stmultaneous in men, and what may have 
happened in the situation you describe was 
your partner's ejaculating before he actually 
climaxed. Then, shortly thereafter, he had a 
full orgasm and ejaculated again, This is one 
of those delightful experiences that happen 
under ideal circumstances—with the right 
partner, perhaps after extended foreplay and 
maybe (but not necessarily) following a fairly 
lengthy period since the previous orgasm. 
There is no way to guarantee that this will 
occur on a regular basis, or even to know 
whether or not it will happen again, but the 
two of you should have a lot of fun trying. 


Hara are dao baka сс 
This seems like a good idea, except that I 
find I can get the base perfectly level with 
the rotating platier itself off level, or the 
other way around. So level with me: How 
important is the leveling, and which part 
of the turntable should be made perfectly 
level2—L. D., St. Paul, Minnesota. 
Essentially, the rotating platter (on which 
the record rests) should be level so that the 
various forces impinging on the tracking sty- 
lus and the record groove will be satisfactorily 
balanced for optimum tracking and, thus, the 
best possible sound, If getting that part bal- 
anced causes the turntable base or the top 
surface of the chassis to become unbalanced, 
there may be something amiss with the entire 


41 


PLAYBOY 


units inner suspension, or—more likely— 
the support on which it is resting may be 
severely uneven. We would advise that before 
you attempt to level the ensemble by using 
those leveling feet under it, you first get the 
shelf or cabinet top or whatever the entire 
‘unit sits on as level as possible. One approach 
is to turn all four leveling feet to their mini- 
mum positions. Place the turntable on the 
support and then level the base by inserting 
snips of folded cardboard under the feet as 
required. When you have achieved reason- 
able leveling, use the rotating feet to get the 
leveling perfect with respect to the platter. 
Chances are, you then will find little or no 
discrepancy between a level platter and a 
level turntable base. 


Las: summer, I met a very sexy woman 
at the beach and we've been together, 
mostly in bed, ever since. The only thing 
that turns me on as much as seeing her 
nude is the sight of her in onc of the bare- 
minimum bathing suits she loves to parade 
around in. Since it’s too cold now for the 
beaches of Cape Cod, where we live, I fig- 
ure the best idea would be to take her away 
to some tropical isle where we can swim 
all day and screw all night. One small 
problem, though: The cost of a week in the 
sun for two will probably give me a stroke. 
If the Caribbean is beyond my budget, 
where can we go for a hot time?—T. P., 
Hyannis, Massachusetts. 

First of all, are you sure you need the sun? 
It sounds like the two of you generate plenty 
of heat just by friction. Even so, you really 
don’t have to rule out the Caribbean if you 
are a bit clever. That's because there are two 
travel periods in the islands: high season, 
which runs from mid-December to mid-April, 
and low season, which stretches across the 
eight other months of the year, including 
November and early December. During that 
entire off-peak interlude, prices of hotels, pri- 
vate villas and charter yachts plummet, gen- 
erally from two thirds down to just half of 
prime-time rates. What doesn’t decrease is the 
pleasure of being in the Caribbean— 
especially if you head south after the rainy 
season ends but before the tourist crush. and 
sky-high prices kick into gear. As far as the 
weather is concerned, the hurricane season 
in the Caribbean officially runs from June 
through November, though there is a sig- 
nificant drop in storms by the last ten days of 
November. Not only are things generally all 
clear by December but if you're really worried 
about having your tropical idyl turned into 
outtakes from “Key Largo,” remember that 
some islands in the very southernmost Carib- 
bean virtually never get in the way of storms 
(why do you think Aruba looks like a 
deserl?).- 

As for gelting there and saving money, 
some of the best deals are the air-fare-and- 
lodging packages offered by the major U.S. 
airlines that serve the islands—especially 
American, Pan Am and Eastern. National 
carriers such as Air Jamaica often come 
through with real bargains, too. In Novem- 
ber, TWA will start flying lo several of the 


most popular Caribbean destinations, and all 
that extra capacity could easily spark a fare 
war. Our advice is lo keep your eyes open and 
your suntan lotion packed, and don't forget to 
wash all the sand off before you go inside. 


WI, situation is as follows: 1 атп 33 years 
old, married for seven years and divorced 
for three. Гат a white-collar worker earn- 
ing $27,000 annually. Approximately two 
anda half years ago, I asked my girlfriend, 
who was then 22 and carning about the 
same salary, to move into my apartment. 
We had dated for only a few months and 
had never slept together, but she needed a 
place to live and I wanted the companion- 
ship and we hoped the relationship would 
grow. Immediately, 1 found out that she 
had little need for a sexual relationship. I 
was permitted to have sex with her once a 
week and then only in them 
tion. Oral sex—either giving it or receiv- 
ing it—was taboo to her unless she was 
very drunk, As time went by, the fre- 
quency of our sexual activity went from 
once a week to once a month. She never 
desired foreplay, and I was not allowed to 
touch or fondle her at any time. Occasion- 
ally, we took showers together, but even 
that grew to be distasteful to her. At pres- 
ent, I am able to receive manual stimula- 
tion from her about twice a month, if she is 
in the mood to give it. I argue with her 
constantly and our arguments always cen- 
ter on the topic of sex or lack of it. Her con- 
tention is that she does not require it. I 
became used to having sex on a frequent 
basis while I was married and do not wish 
to change that facet of my life. I had hoped 
to marry this girl, but I cannot plan on a 
life of abstinence. She has stated that if I 
desire a sexual relationship so badly, I 
should seek it from another person. She 
also says that that would not bother her. 

My apartment is relatively close to her 
place of employment. She is given a ride to 
work almost every day by friends. If she 
were to move out, she would have no place 
to live except her family home, which is 25 
minutes from her work, and she would 
have to drive herself every day. Sometimes 
I wonder if she isn't staying with me 
merely as a convenience. At this point, I 
need some constructive advi Many 
times I have thought of asking her to leave, 
but the thought of being without her seems 
worse than the terrible way things are 
now, and I think she senses this weakness 
in me.—D. K., Prospect Heights, Illinois 

It sounds to us as if you've got a roommate, 
not a lover. Sex is important to a relationship. 
Ask her to leave and then get on with your 
life. (No sex—for a while—is better than bad 
sex every now and then.) 


M have noticed that itis the style for a man 
wearing a three-piece suit to leave the bot- 
tom button of the vest undone. It has an 
amusing « fect on me, as 1 think the man 
either was careless in dressing or has a 


paunch that makes buttoning it uncom- 
fortable. However, I note that all the 


advertisements for designers’ clothing 
picture the vest that way. What is the rea- 
son?—C. F., Grants, New Mexico. 


We believe this is one of the few innova- 
tions in fashion that evolved for the sake of 
comfort. Leaving the bottom button undone 
on a vest is certainly more comfortable for the 
wearer when he is seated. Not only does it 
prevent the material from being crumpled 
but it prevents the vest from binding at 
the waistline, as it would if it were buttoned. 


IM, husband and I wanted to share our 
solution to a sexual problem that must be 
plaguing every pregnant couple in Amer- 
ica (perhaps the world) —namely, how to 
find a comfortable position for having sex 
during the last five months of pregnancy. 
While I was pregnant with our second 
child, we discovered a position so fantastic 
that we continuc to use it now, years later. 
It eliminates the problem of placing 
weight on the woman's sensitive tummy 
and allows close contact between the cou- 
ple despite the baby who's literally grow- 
ing between them. Here's what we do: 
After foreplay, when I'm turned on and 
moistly ready, my husband and I both lie 
on our backs. He scoops one arm under 
my back and pulls me partially on top of 
him, my back next to his chest, while I 
cuddle him close with my arm around his 
shoulders. Turning my body at a slight 
angle to his, 1 reach down and help him. 
slip inside me from beneath. He's able to 
fondle my breasts with his free hand, and 
our mouths can meet in a deep, exciting 
kiss. (He can also bury his face in the 
breast closer to him, which he finds very 
stimulating.) My favorite part in all this is 
that, by being face up with him inside me, 
I have easy access to my most sensitive 
region and can manually bring myself to a 
satisfying climax. My husband sometimes 
pulls me directly on top of him and says he 
loves running his hands up and down my 
breasts and stomach as he rcaches his own 
orgasm. This may sound like a gymnastics 
exercise, but it's really fun and com- 
fortable once you've tried it a few times. 
We highly recommend it and hope this 
suggestion will help other pregnant cou- 
ples enjoy lovemaking at a time when it 
otherwise might be very uncomfortable.— 
Mrs. J. S., Los Angeles, California 
Thanks for the tip. 


All reasonable questions—from fashion, 
food and drink, sterco and sports cars to dating 
problems, taste and etiquette—unll be person- 
ally answered if the writer includes a stamped, 
self-addressed envelope. Send all letters to The 
Playboy Advisor, Playboy Building, 919 М. 
Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611 
The most provocative, pertinent queries 
will be presented on these pages each month. 


DEAR PLAYMATES 


ено орсон. 


Is sexy underwear an enhancement 
to a sexy life? 


I think sexy underwear reflects your atti- 
tude about yourself and your feelings 
toward sex. One night, I went out to din- 
ner in a red, clingy dress. I wore red 
underwear, as the man I was with later 
found out. I had on a bright-red G string 
It matched my dress. He was wowed. I 
also think cam- 
isoles are sexy. 
I do try to co- 
ordinate my 
outfits and my 
underwear. If 
Pm wearing 
something that 
I don't 
wear garters. 
They'd show. 
But if I'm wear- 
ing a full skirt 
with a real tight 
waist that shows a bit of knee, I'll wear 
garters and the whole bit. When you wear 
a full skirt and move around, like when 
you're dancing, it shows them off a little 
bit. I like this question. It's a neat one. 


Senat 


LIZ STEWART 
JULY 1984 


Sexy underwear makes me feel sexier. If 
Pm wearing a lace G string, I feel a lot 
more erotic than I do in my old workout 
underwear. | don't like anything that 
makes my 
clothes lumpy 
or bulges out. I 
like matching 
sets of little silk 
outfits with a 
bit of lace, like 
G-string bot- 
toms and a bra. 
Something 
that’s sexy and 
small but not 
just a couple of 
strings. There 
has to be something to see. Some under- 
wear isn't functional at all. I have things 
that only go under a robe at bedtime; I 
could never wear those things under 
clothes. But if my underthings make me 
feel sexy, I project that. 


Kot Vans) 


ROBERTA VASQUEZ 
NOVEMBER 1984 


FFC 
clothes. I prefer it in the boudoir. I think it 
makes women feel feminine, I like garter 
belts, because I have good legs. I like to be 
in stockings and shoes, without a bra. 1 
think high heels make a woman feel very 
feminine. 1 like 
to keep it sim- 
ple. I like black 
ог skin-colored 
stockings. 
Nightgowns are 
meaningless. 
They re uncom- 
fortable, and 1 
can’t sleep in 
them. But pant- 
les are won- 
derful. 1 don't 
have to take 
them off to make love. It’s always fun to 
have a little something on and in the way. 
At least socks. Something to break up the 
nudity. One should be completely natural 
only out in nature, you know 


же”? 


TRACY VACCARO 
OCTOBER 1983 


Lito meet er 
it under my jeans when I go to work. I feel 
that it’s a little luxury, and just knowing 
it's there gives me a thrill. It puts a 
tle pep in my step. Then if I'm meeting 
my lover in the 
afternoon or in 
the evening, it’s 
a nice surprise 
for him, too. 
ОТ come the 
day clothes, 
and under- 
neath, Гус got 
on this really 
cute, sexy out- 
fit. I like leath- 
er and lace. 
Since 1 work in 
the fashion industry, I know how to mix 
and match. I know what will make me 
look long and thin or a little bustier. I also 
think of the man Im wearing it for and the 
situation I’m going to be in. If I'm going 
out dancing or for a hot night on the town, 
1 think leather. If I'm going to be home, I 
go for something lacier. 


Ann Gi 


LESA ANN PEDRIANA 
APRIL 1984 


„„ 
very ferninine. Just having silk against my 
body feels good. Plus, it looks cute. I'm a 
wine di 

person, so I 
don't go for any- 
thing too wild. 
I love little lacy 
camisoles with 
panties. You 
don't need sexy 
underwear fora 
sexy life, but 
you do need a 
sexy body or a 
ea, ame, 
or at least 
someone else who thinks you have a sexy 
body. Otherwise, it doesn’t matter what 
kind of underwear you've got! 


plain 


Omer 
VENICE KONG 
SEPTEMBER 1985 


И wear sexy underwear all the time. I'm a 
saleswoman. I have to wear business suits 
all day. Under wool and cotton, 1 wear 
satin and lace and peckaboos. It makes me 
feel feminine. I 
need that feel- 
ing, and it’s a 
turn-on to men, 
too. You know, 
at the end of 
the day, when I 
strip off the 
outer layer, it’s 
for my lover's 
eyes only. He 
likes that. He 
also likes satin 
sheets, music, 
candles, incense, anything that adds stim- 
ulation to our personal life. My favorite 
underthings are garter belts and stockings. 
I haven't had any complaints from him 
about those things, either. 


DEBI NICOLLE JOHNSON 
OCTOBER 1984 


Send your questions to Dear Playmates, 
Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Ave- 
nue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. We won't be 
able to answer every question, but we'll try. 


43 


Hennessy 


the civilized way 
to melt the ісе, 


qd 


¿ANS 


; >~ 
j {йе world's rost civilized spirit 


Д 


THE PLAYBOY FORUM 


a continuing dialog on contemporary issues between playboy and its readers 


MISSING SOLDIERS 
Michael Delp's “The Black Wall” (The 
Playboy Forum, August) compels me to 
make an observation concerning the Viet- 
nam War Memorial. More than 2400 
names on that Black Wall belong to men 
who are not known to be dead—they are 
missing. Considering the past behavior of 
the government of North Vietnam and its 
policy of holding prisoners, it is extremely 
likely that there are still thousands of cap- 
tive Americans who are not receiving the 
attention that the American Government 
and people owe the 
My father is one of those missing men, 
and it would not disappoint me to see that 
wall open up and even one man walk out 
of its V. President Reagan has called ac- 
counting for these missing men a national 
priority, but I and the families of the 2477 
others missing wait, 12 years later, to learn 
what has happened to our loved ones. 
Harry K. Amesbury 
Apopka, Florida 


EASY RIDER? 

Never, in 12 years of professional go-go 
dancing, have I seen anything like this: A 
police sweep called Operation Easy Rider 
temporarily closed most of the go-go 
bars in town after a six-month narcotics 
investigation 

What did the go-go-entertainment busi- 
ness have to do w narcotics distribu- 
tion? Very little, it turns out, until the 
Washington, D.C., undercover narcot 
detectives, dressed as bikers, took their 
own cocaine into the clubs and distributed 
themselves. Months later, after securing 
the confidence of dancers, waitresses, bar- 
tenders, doormen and customers, the cops 
spent $85,000 of the taxpayers! money to 
buy back the very drugs that they had 
taken in to begin with! Most of this money 
was spent $25 at a time, buying quarter 
grams of cocaine from the now- 
defendants, and the largest purchase was 
for only $525— pretty strong indication 
that there is simply no large-scale narcot- 
ics operation out of any one of the bars. 

"This was not a narcotics roundup at all. 
Operation Easy Rider was begun by the 
police and the D.C. Alcoholic Beverage 
Control Board in response to complaints 
by neighborhood organizations that wished 
to restrict a form of entertainment that’s 
been in this city for many years. 


s 


‘Two of my friends were taken from the 
stage while dancing by officers who had. 


warrants in hand but waited to serve them 
at the moment of maximum vulnerability 
and embarrassment, while they video- 
taped customers, who were not allowed to. 
leave. Because of the potential embarrass- 
ment to their familics, several business- 
men who were subjected to this 


harassment considered lawsuits against 
the authorities but changed their minds. 
One bar does not admit anyone in a 
biker jacket, because of trouble with bikers 
years ago. Since that policy frustrated the 
undercover officers dressed as bikers, 
the police harassed all persons leaving the 
establishment at closing time. How would 
you have liked to have been a customer in 


“Operation Easy Rider . . . 
closed most of the 
go-go bars in town.” 


the place, minding your own business, 
when that happened? 

Clearly, the adult-entertainment busi- 
ness itself is under fire. I know the Moral 
Majority intends to prevent consenting 
adults from enjoying healthy, normal, spir- 
ited sex. For that matter, these same peo- 
ple who object to others’ exercising their 
right to the pursuit of happiness have the 
right not to patronize go-go bars, just as 
they have the right not to buy your maga- 
zine. 1 wish they would exercise it and 
leave the rest of us alone. 

Perhaps your D.C-area readers will be 
enlightened as to what really happened. 
After all, we've left 1984, haven't we? 

Susan Marsh 
Washington, D.C. 

Contemporary news accounts confirm most 
of the above. The D.C. police official with 
whom we talked said he'd never heard of the 
operation but declined to give his name. 


LOW BLOW 

In her article Who's in Charge Here? 
(eaveox, July), Susan Squire deals the 
usual low blow (pardon the pun) when she 
implies that Judaco-Christianity stamps 
oral and all other nonprocreative sex as 
deviant. Squire is apparently mistaking 
the Victorian distaste for everything s 
ual for part of the Judaco-Christian tradi 
tion, a misunderstanding picked up by the 
general culture 

Actually, the teaching that the body in 
general and sex in particular is evil was a 
form of Docetic Gnosticism, one of the ear- 
liest heresies condemned by the Church. 
Catholicism’s proscription of all non- 
procreative sex is a very recent product of 
the later Vatican Councils, based on a 
faulty interpretation of Genesis 1:28. 

As a minister and an amateur Hebrew 
scholar, 1 would like to set the matter 
straight. If the reader is interested in the 
attitude of the Bible itself toward oral sex, 
rather than a popular misunderstanding 
about the Judaco-Christian tradition to- 
ward it, I direct him or her to the Song of 
Solomon, chapter seven. In his description 
ol his beloved (verse two), the lover says 


Your navel is a rounded goblet 
That never lacks blended wine. 


Connoisseurs of cunnilingus can appre- 
ciate the Biblical metaphor of mixed wine 
and know the lover wasn't talking about 
his lady’s navel, Unfortunately, most Bib- 
lical-translation committees prefer to read 
the Hebrew word srrk as sarrak, “navel,” 
rather than sirraÁ, “vagina,” though most 
know better. I suspect they lack nerve. 

1 advise Squire to read the Bible before 
ing the usual cheap shots at it. A joyous 
celebration of human sexuality is the true 
Judaco-Christian tradition. 
ame withheld by request) 

Lexington, Kentucky 

Sometimes when the “Dear Playboy” editor 
is feeling particularly generous or has run 
out of space—whichever comes first—he for- 
wards to this department a letter he thinks 
raises an issue relevant to “The Playboy 
Forum.” Hence the above. To show our 
appreciation, “The Playboy Forum” will now 
publish a pair of letters picking on two of our 
regular columnists that would ordinarily go 
to “Dear Playboy.” 


tal 


SUFFERING SEXISM 

nthia Heimel usually shows sensitiv- 
ity and awareness in her Women column. 
Her July column, however, runs rampant 
with prejudice and insensitivity. 

Instead of demolishing John Gordon's 
facts in his article What Else Do Women 
Want?, as Heimel claims, she merely pre- 
sents us with her own “petulant mélange 


PLAYBOY 


of demifacts and high-pitched fears.” She 
fails to acknowledge the fact that men 
are yictims of sexual discrimination, 
because she's afraid the spotlight might be 
taken away from women if people started 
to realize just how terribly men are 
trcated. 

Take a walk through Arlington National 
Cemetery and try to imagine that all those 
graves belong to women. Horrifying? ГЇЇ 
bet that for every woman who didn't get a 
job or a promotion because of sexism, 
there is a man buried at Arlington who lost 
life prematurely for the same reason. 
If he doesn’t lose his life prematurely, may 
be he'll lose his kids through divorce, along 
with a house he still must pay for. in addi- 
tion to paying alimony and child support. 

The kind of sexism men endure pro- 
foundly alfects their lives. But for some 
reason. women's issues still take preced- 
ence, and just mentioning that not all men 
get a fair deal is considered sexist and 
antiwomen. 

Cynthia, you say an attack against sex- 
ism is an attack against inequality. Why 
must you consider equality for men as 
an attack against women? | think your 
double-standard slip is showing. 

Paul Sollar 
Royal Oak, Michigan 


MACHO MOZART 

Howdy! Well, I shore as hell enjoyed 
Mr. Asa (I guess Asa is a man’s name) 
Baber's article on that there Amadeus flick. 
(Men, vi nox, July). Е ne down here 

n Texas knows that оГ Wuflgang Mozart 
was a real man, not some giggly wimp. My 
great-great-granddaddy Johann Joe 
Bob" Johnson knew оГ Mozart. and he 
id оГ Wuff (Mozart liked to be called 
Wulf, not Wuflgang) never giggled, an' if 
you ever said he did, he'd kick yer ass! 
No, sirree. Jus’ ‘cause ol Wuff wore 
them funny wigs and played a vialin аг 
wore all them ruffles, don't you try an’ 
*masculate him. He was a real rednecked, 
double-barreled, shit-kickin’, goat-ropin’, 
mean, ass-kickin’ country hombre. An' he 
didn't giggle like some sissy-ass wimp 
foreigner. 

"Sides, what's a bunch of wimp fruits at 
a Yuppie magazine know about real men, 
anyway? Come on down to Dallas an’ 
we'll show ya how ta do it! 

Billy Bob Johnson, Jr. 
Dallas, Texas 

PS. Don't get no ideas "bout me jus” 
cause this letter is word-processed; my 
sccartary done that. 

P.P.S. By the way, jus’ what kinda 
wimp name is Asa, anyway? 

P.P.P.S. An’ another thang: If Asa's a 
girl, you tell her to go find hersef a hus- 
band an’ have some babies 'steada writin’ 
articles for a wimp nudie magazine. 

In the movie we saw, Mozart mostly played 
the pianer. 


LONG MAY SHE WAVE 
Touché, ri Your 
sponses to two letters (“Up the Fi 


editorial re- 


in 


July's Playboy Forum are outstanding. 
Edward McLeary’s comment that 
LAYBOY never “waves the flag" is un- 
founded—one look at July’s cover should 
erasc that notion. 

Га also like to say that I could be con- 
sidered a right-winger, yet I hold the free- 
doms of speech and press near and dear to. 
my heart. 


Dennis Cushman 
San Diego, California 


In response to criticism by The Ameri- 
can Sentinel, which you call a “goofy right- 
wing newsletter” (The Playboy Forum, 
July), you ask, “Isn't it odd that we never 
seem to find any staunch right-wingers 
who defend [the First] Amendment 


UNBRIDLED PASSION 


As our regular readers are aware, "The 
Playboy Forum” is always pleased to have 
a little sport with any region of the coun- 
try that calls attention to itself by way of its 
citizens’ bizarre behavior. Texas and 
California, for instance. Texas goes into 
the lead for this month—maybe for this 
year, maybe for all time—with the follow- 
ing news slory, reprinted in its entirety 
Jrom the Houston Chronicle. It was sent 
to us by Pete Szilagyi, ace reporter for 
Austin’s American-Statesman, who says 
his own town is quite civilized and that 
only around Houston do people carry 
guns and fuck horses. 

A man caught having sex with a 
horse has been sentenced to ten years’ 
probation and fined $10.000 for tr 
to kill its owner during a gun baule in 
which the female horse was killed. 

Clemmie Jackson, 41, was sentenced 
Thursday by a jury in State District 
Judge Ted Poe's court that had con- 


ted him of attempted murder. 
Jackson was also sentenced to 120 
days in prison, 20 hours’ per month com- 


munity service and to pay restitutio: 
of about $9000. He also will be re- 
quired to attend a Baylor College of Med- 
icine program for sexual offenders. 

Prosecutor Joan Campbell said John 
Richardson went to a small horse barn at 
King and Sayer on January 26 to feed his 
horses and saw Jackson standing on 
bucket behind the horse. 

Jackson, nude from the waist down, 
was having sex with the horse, Campbell 

id. When he saw Richardson, she said, 
Jackson grabbed his gun from a horse 
trough and fired at Richardson. 

‘The prosecutor said Richardson, who 
had a gun with only two bullets, fired at 
Jackson, then tried to run away but was 
shot in the buttock: 

Richardson, 42, underwent surgery for 
his wounds and more is scheduled. It 
was not determined who killed the 
horse. 


Permit us to draw your attention to the 
fact that Phillips Publishing, publisher 
of The American Sentinel, was the second 
largest contributor to our legal fund for 
Lowe ws. SEC [challenging the SEC's 
authority to ban publication of a finan 
newsletter], which was the leading First 
Amendment case for the current Supreme 
Court term. Numerous newsletters, in- 
cluding others that you might character- 
ize as right wing, contributed to Lowe's 
legal expenses. 

Lowe's brief was supported by virtually 
every organization traditionally associated 
with freedom-of-the-press causes, from 
the American Civil Liberties Union and 
the A.F.L.-C.LO. to professional groups 
representing editors, reporters and 
publishers including the Newsletter 
Association, 

In fact, only one organization that likes 
to be thought of as a crusader for freedom 
of the press was conspicuous by its failure 
to support Lowe. That organization, of 
course, was the Playboy Foundation. 

Glen King Parker, Chairman 
Freedom of the Press Committee 
Newsletter Association 
Washington, D.C. 

We supported Lowe; we just didn't give 
money. It’s the Playboy Foundation’s long- 
standing policy to limit financial aid to those 
cases of merit that are not able to obtain fund- 
ing from the many sources you mention. 


PORN WAR 
T have gotten quite w 


ary of all the 


hoopla about the supposed effects of por- 
nography. I trust that reason and sanity 
will prevail and that | can continue to 


receive my subscription to rt, as I 
have over the past seven ycars, Yellow cau- 
tion flags always go up in my head when I 
hear such fanatics as Falwell and 
Swaggart tell us how we should be living 
Less dangerous, but nevertheless still 
askew, are Dear Abby and other charlatans 
who attempt to provide some righteous 
path for us to follow. I pay these people lit 
tle heed, other than to listen in order to 
know my enemy. 


Michael Fiorito, M.S. 

Anaconda, Montana 
If the enemies of pornography made a few 
distinctions, it would be one thing; we could 
share their disgust with much of the material 
sold and circulated today and concern our- 
selves with only the First Amendment issues 
raised by censorship, which has always proved 
to be a greater threat to society than the mate- 
rial it was intended to suppress. But the 
would-be censors have cast their net so wide 
that it includes anything with erotic content, 
and they're getting away with it, as indicated 
by the fact that you used their terminology in 
reference to PLAYBOY. Erotic we are; at least 
we hope so. But the sexuality we celebrate is 
the opposite of porn. And the fact that the 
antiporn crusaders don't know the difference 


FORUM NEWSFRONT 


what's happening in the sexual and social arenas 


CAUGHT IN THE ACT 
Los ANGELES— California's 1982 pros- 
titution law has been used to convict a 
producer of sexually explicit films. Specifi- 
cally, the defendant was found guilty on 
five counts of pandering under a law that 
defines a panderer as “any person who 


procures another person for the purposes 
of prostitution” or for providing sex in 
return for money. The five women 
involved in the filming had had no previ- 
ous prostitution arrests, considered them- 
selves actresses and testified that the 
purpose of the on-camera sex was to make 
a movie, not to provide pleasure. The 
prosecution argued that the law contained 
no exemption for performers and that they 
were guilty of prostitution because they 
had been paid. 


SKIN DEEP 

Studies conducted by a New York Uni- 
versity psychologist confirm that personal 
attractiveness and success lend lo go 
together because of social biases, but there 
seems to be an exception for professional 
women who are particularly pretty. Writ- 
ing in The Journal of Applied Psychol- 
ogy, Dr. Madeline Heilman reports that 
in managerial jobs or jobs thought lo 
require male characteristics, good looks 
are an asset to men but can be a handicap 
to women. In tests with pictures, respond- 
ents were inclined to believe that a less 
attractive woman in an executive position 
was there on the basis of skill and talent. 


HAZARDS IN THE HOME 
MINNEAPOLIS—A woman who con- 
tracted herpes from her boyfriend has 
received a $25,000 out-of-court settle- 
ment under the man’s homeowner's msur- 
ance policy. The insurer agreed to pay the 


maximum amount under the liability 
clause after the plaintiff's attorney 
argued that herpes constituted “bodily 
injury” just as much as would an in- 
jury incurred in a fall. He made the point 
that while the relationship was consen- 
sual, the woman's catching the disease was 
not, and going to trial might result m an 
even larger settlement for her. 


ZIP 

Los anceLes—Researchers at the City 
of Hope medical facility have found evi- 
dence that some compulsive exhibitionists 
may be suffering from a genetic disorder 
called Tourette syndrome and may 
respond to treatment with haloperidol, a 
drug presently used to control such other 
manifestations of the syndrome as tics, 
constant blinking and involuntary gri- 
macing. Higher dosages of the drug 
apparently inhibit the exhibitionism 
impulse by decreasing cerebrospinal-fluid 
levels of homovalinic acid—a breakdown 
product of the brain chemical dopamine. 


PRENATAL PERSONHOOD 

PHOENIX—The Arizona Supreme Court 
has ruled unanimously that a viable fetus, 
even though stillborn, is a person under 
the law for purposes of making a wrong- 
ful death claim in a malpractice suit. In a 
decision that the plaintiffs’ attorney said 
would set an important precedent, the 
court held that “there is no logic in the 
premise that if a viable infant dies imme- 
diately before birth il is not a ‘person’ but 
that if it dies immediately after birth itis a 
person. The court rejected the idea that 
the law would permit recovery of damages 
only if an injured fetus survived or died 
after birth. 


SEX AND VIOLENCE 

Ongoing research tends to confirm that 
movie depictions of violence seem to have 
a desensilizing effect on viewers but that 
this is a problem encountered far more 
often with R-rated movies, television 
soaps and prime-time shows than with 
even the most explicit porno films. 
Addressing the American Association for 
the Advancement of Science, Professor 
Edward Donnerstein of the University of 
Wisconsin indicated that film entertain- 
ment in general often perpetuates old rape 
myths but added, “We've found no effects 
for sexual content alone.” Professor 
Joseph Scott of Ohio State University 
reported that a three-month study found 
X-rated pictures to have “the least vio- 
lence of any type of movie” and said that 
another study had found “no relation- 
ship” between the states that ranked high- 


est on the availability of sexual movies or 
magazines and the rates of reported rape. 
Professor Murray Straus of the University 
of New Hampshire cited studies that have 
found that the Ladies Home Journal and 
similar mass-circulation magazines have 
“more violence than PLAYBOY." However, 
visiting UCLA law professor Catharine 
MacKinnon, who wrote the antipornog- 
raphy statute pending in Los Augeles, 
countered that the “distinction between 
sex and violence is a false one.” 


LOSS OF LOVE 

san rrancısco— The California Su- 
preme Court has agreed to decide on 
whether or not a man whose live-in girl- 
friend was killed in a car accident can sue 
for “loss of consortium” as though the cou- 
ple had been man and wife. The case is on 
appeal from a lower-court decision that 
“marriage is that fine, bright line by which 
the strength of a relationship may be 
tested,” but this decision is in conflict with 
the ruling of an appellate court in another 
district that such a suit is possible if 
the plaintiff can prove that his table 
and significant’ relationship with another 
person possessed the characteristics of 
а marriage." 


THE DOCTOR IS OUT 
NEW YORK CITV—As of last May first, 
psychiatrists who treat their patients with 
sexual therapy are no longer covered for 
malpractice under the insurance plan 
offered by the American Psychiatrie Asso- 
ciation. A 1977 study revealed that 5.5 


percent of the doctors had engaged in sex- 
ual relations with their patients, a practice 
that the A.P.A. deplored but had not 
directly addressed in the insurance policy 
available to its members. 


47 


PLAYBOY 


48 


tells us they are part of the problem instead of 
the solution. We guess they are desperately in 
need of sexual fulfillment. 


A MATTER OF MURDER 

In a recent ruling, the Supreme Court 
made it casier to dismiss from juries those 
who oppose the death penalty, I believe 
this is a grave disservice to all Americans. 
As one commentator said, itis now easier for 
prosecutors and juries to commit murder. 

Many Americans support a concept of 
justice with mercy that deplores putting 
people to death. Some hold that position 
with religious conviction, recognizing that 


the fifth chapter of Matthew expli 
rejects eye-for-eye and tooth-for-tooth jus- 
tice. Others oppose the death penalty for 
humanitarian reasons, believing that jus- 
tice built on violence and revenge is no jus- 
tice at all 

Most people assume that the recent 
surge in executions and incarcerations rep- 
resents progress toward a judicial system 
that “means business." I fear that we are 
increasingly looking for scapegoats on 
whom to cast our angers, our fears and our 
need to do violence. Such scapegoats can 
be found among the outcasts in our soc 
ety, which is ever more divided between 


ity 


affluent and poor, powerful and powerless 
and comfortable and broken. Possibly fuel- 
ing the need for revenge is the fear engen- 
dered by a rapidly escalating arms race. 

The Supreme Court ruling will give 
added legitimacy to a practice that reflects 
the darkest side of the human character. I 
believe that the Court has acquiesced to 
the howling mob rather than stand on 
moral courage. We will become more bru- 
talized and divided. and with each suc- 
cessive execution, human life will be 
cheapened even more 

I address onc urgent plea to the Supreme 
Court, to get-tough judges and death- 


HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE PLAYBOY FOUNDATION 


twenty years of putting our money where it counts 


One score and three years ago, our 
founder brought forth in these pages 
The Playboy Philosophy, conceived in 
liberty and dedicated to the proposition 
that sex is OK, Hugh Hefner’s philoso- 
phy was not, curmudgcons pointed out, 
as fully developed as, say, Jeflerson’s. 
But Hefner was a man known for going 
all the way. He realized that the free- 
dom to enjoy healthy, happy sex can’t 
exist in a repressed society, and he 
soon began tackling forms of repres- 
sion—and oppression—outside the 
bedroom. In 1965—20 years ago—the 
Playboy Foundation was created to put 
the muscle of money behind his evolv- 

g philosophy 

ince then, the Foundation—the 
activist arm of pLaysoy—has itself 
evolved, but it has never lost sight of its 
original principles. 

The Foundation’s first victory was 
getting a West Virginia disc jockey— 
jailed for receiving a blow job— 
released from a ten-year prison term 
Later in 1965, when PLAYBOY became 
the first major national magazine to 
advocate abortion rights, the Founda- 
tion participated in the work of several 
organizations whose efforts led ulti- 
mately to the landmark Roe vs. Wade 
case. The Supreme Court's 1973 ruling 

that case guaranteed the right of 
women to obtain legal abortions—a 
ight that is now being attacked by 
Messrs. Reagan and Meese. In 1966, 
the Foundation funded the nation’s first 
anti-Vietnam-war referendum, which 
won voter support by a wide margin. 
In 1969, it provided initial financing for 
the Reverend Jesse Jackson’s Opera- 
tion Breadbasket (now Operation 
PUSH) and, in 1971, was instrumental 
in the founding and the funding 
of the National Organization for the 
Reform of Marijuana Laws (NORML). 


In 1975, it established the Playboy 
Defense Team, the nemesis of prosecu- 
tors who (in some states still) would 
jail people for such crimes as consen- 
sual oral sex. 

Over the years, the Foundation has 
awarded $300,000 to the revolutionary 
Masters and Johnson Reproductive 


Biology Research Foundation; pro- 
vided the Mansion West for a fund 
raiser for the National Organization for 
Women's E.R.A. campaign; set up Chi 
cago's first 24-hour cri. ntervention 
hotline for young people, which later 
became the nation’s official coordinat- 
ing center for runaway youths; sup- 
ported the Genter for Constitutional 
Rights during the cpochal Chicago 
Seven trial; helped strike down a Dra- 
conian "crimes against chastity” law in 
Massachusetts; made support grants to 
the NAACP’s Legal Defense and Edu- 
cation Fund to oppose capital 
punishment; awarded a legal research 
grant to the National Gay Task Force; 
funded the American Civil Liberti 

Union's Women's Rights Project; 
assisted 25 states in the passage of leg- 
islation allowing the use of marijuana 
for medicinal purposes; supported the 
American Library Association's Free- 
dom to Read Foundation in a successful 


suit against censorship; funded AIDS 
research at the New York University 
Medical Center; helped the Citizens 
Leadership Foundation's drive to regis 
ter poor and minority voters; backed 
the production ol The Times of Harvey 
Milk, winner of last years Academy 
Award for best feature documentary; 
and (as we say on magazine covers) 
much, much more. 

Actually, a single anecdote may suf- 
fice to show what the Playboy Founda- 
tion stands for. In 1969, some students 
from Iowa's Grinnell College were 
arrested for indecent exposure: they 
had dropped their drawers as part of a 
vociferous anti- protest. The 
students then asked the Foundation for 
assistance in their defense—and got it. 

For the past two decades, in fact, the 
Foundation has been one of the 
nation’s most committed voices, most 
consistently raised in the defense of 
people's rights. Everyone's rights 
Huge mainstream philanthropic organ- 
izations such as the Ford Foundation 
disburse more millions—and much 
more red tape. The Playboy Founda- 
tion exists as an alternative, defending 
the rights of the unrich, the unconyen- 
tional, the unpopular; some 
demands no paperwork at all. Lik 
Voltaire, it may not agree with what 

‘ou say, but it will defend up one 
side and down the other your right to 
say ii 

“The 

wrote, 


Playboy Hef 


Philosophy, 
is predicated on our belief in 
the importance of the individual 


his rights as a member of 
society 

The Playboy Foundation, after 20 
years, stands as powerful evidence that 
the man meant what he said. We at the 
magazine are proud of the muscle in 


our activist arm — KEVIN COOK 


dealing juries, to prosecutors and legisla- 

tors who find political gain in promoting 

the death penalty and to my fellow Arneri- 

cans: In God’s name, stop the killing! 
Thomas E. Sagendorf 
United Mcthodist Clergy 
Marietta, Ohio 


As far as I am concerned, execution is 
far too easy a punishment for most crimes, 
at least for felonies. It is just another case 
of the mollycoddling of criminals by lily- 
livered wimps. Our wholly owned subsidi- 
ary has developed equipment and 
techniques that will revolutionize our 
court system (as well as our schools), will 
help bring discipline back to our society 
and provide methods for properly dealing 
with criminals. 

Like all true-blue Americans, I have no 
use for those quiche-eating faggots who 
call themselves civil libertarians. Along 
with all other true patriots, I am a civic 
libertarian. In other words, I believe we 
should give the state a free hand in the 
matter of justice. After all, it knows best. 
Any reasonable person would agree that 
our judicial system could be sped up and 
uncloggcd rapidly by the simple expedient 
of combining indictment and conviction. 
Let's face it—where there's smoke, there's 
fire. And in the unlikely event that a de- 
fendant is innocent of the particular crime 
of which he is accused, no big deal. He is 
almost certainly guilty of some other crime 
for which he has never been punished. 
Further, combining indictment and con- 
viction will free us from the inefficient and 
time-consuming jury system. This will 
have the added bencfit of aiding the cause 
of women’s liberation, by liberating them 
from this onerous duty. Ladies shouldn't 
have to worry their pretty heads over such 
matters as this. 


Allan S. Hjerpe 
‘Topanga, California 
Probably, we should mention that the 
above letter reached us festooned with witty 
stickers and on the fairly gaudy letterhead of 
the “Pacoima Moat & Drawbridge Service 
Specialists in Crocodiles, Piranha and Green 
Scum,” which promises “Yesterday's Answers 
to the Problems of Tomorrow.” 


GAMBLER OF THE MONTH 

I have a bet with two girls who live in 
my apartment building that I can get their 
names in PLAYBOY just by writing a clever 
enough letter to The Playboy Forum. What 
kind of deal can we make? 


Jen 
Edi: 
What kind of deal have you got? 


SEXSATIONAL 

First, Time magazine branded herpes 
“THE NEW SCARLET LETTER.” Then Time 
claimed that the sexual revolution was over 
(ironically, with a cover illustration by for- 
mer PLAYBOY contributor Arnold Roth). 
Life is peddling paranoia, with its cover. 
declaring, “NOW NO ONE Is SAFE FROM 

When people ask me if I read mag; 


like Time, I say, “Naw, I read pLavsov. It's 
more objective." Naturally, they think I’m 
kidding. I'm not. 
Wilfred D. DeVoe 
Boston, Massachusetts 


MENTAL FLOSS AND MORE 

I was tickled by Susan Riesman’s letter 
‘on mental floss in the June Playboy Forum. 

lam an artist, and in 1983 I designed a 
piece of art titled 
Mental Floss: For 
Morning Fuzziness 
and Afternoon Cob- 
webs. This was one 
of six pieces in a 
performing-art ex- 
hibition titled The 
Rest Room, which 
was performed at 
the Phoenix Art 
Museum and was 
cosponsored by 
the Arizona State 
Art Commission 
and the Arizona 
Women's Partner- 
ship. In the video 
film, the actresscs 
actually did appear to put floss through 
one ear and out the other. 

Enclosed is a photo of another of my cre- 
ations that appeared in the same exhi- 
bition. It's Whampax!: For Rape of the Soul 
and Other Aggravating Assaults, 

Nancy Robb Dunst 


Phoenix, Arizona 


According to Susan Riesman, “confu- 
sion, anxicty and a hest of negative mental 
reactions to everyday life” corrupt minds 
with “mental-plaque build-up.” 

I can't imagine why a sensible person 
such as Riesman, backed up by her scien- 
tific research team, would waste any time 
reading published letters written by a 
bunch of fuzzy-headed idiots unless, per- 
haps, there were some fascination with 
either the letters or the idiots. 

A long while back, there was a series of 
so-called dirty stories going around. In 
one, a door-to-door salesman asked a 
young boy where his mom was and the 
boy answered that she was working in a 
whorehouse up the street, The salesman 
said, “Oh, she's a prostitute,” and the kid 
said, “No, a substitute; she only works 
weekends.” The salesman scratched his 
head and said, “Why, Pm a son of a 
bitch.” The kid said, "So am I, but I don’t 
go around ringing doorbells and telling 
everyone.” 

I guess the companion to the old quota- 
tion “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” 
is “Mental-plaque build-up is in the mind 
of the beholder.” 

Al Albert 
Canton, Ohio 

Alberi, we assume, has been sitting in Can- 
ton for months, maybe years, reading “The 
Playboy Forum” in the hope of finding some 
excuse—any excuse—to send us that joke. 
And we have Riesman to thank for it. 


MILK AWARD 
I understand that the Playboy Founda- 
tion gave a grant to the makers of the 
documentary The Times of Harvey Milk. 
This wonderful film has been a great inspi- 
ration to me; being gay is no crime, and 
Milk has passed that message along. 
The film certainly deserved its Oscar. 
Thank you for being a part of this chort. 
Jeffery Brehm 
Chicago, Illinois 


FETAL FALLOUT 
Let’s examine the practical side of the 
proposed constitutional amendment pro- 
hibiting abortion on demand. If we ignore 
what we have learned about when intelli- 
gent life begins and pretend that it begins 
at conception, are we prepared to jail for 
child abuse all expectant mothers who 
smoke or ingest medicines, excess sugar, 
alcoholic beverages, certain soft drinks, 
tea and coffee? Are we prepared to investi- 
gate every case of miscarriage? If at six 
weeks a woman discovers that she is preg- 
nant, can she be arrested for having gone 
to a party the week before? If the Constitu- 
tion is changed, we had better be prepared 
for all of this; it is the only possible inter- 
pretation the courts can render. 
Edward A. Hite 
Bowie, Maryland 


ORGAN MEMORY 

All organs of our bodies are equipped 
with organ memory, we have discovered, 
which enables them to perform their 
assigned functions when needed. Each 
organ has a memory span of varying 
length. The penis has a very long memory, 
rivaling that of the heart. The slightest 
contact or erotic thought Immediately 
cause it to rise and say, “I am ready for 
duty. I know exactly what to do." 

On the other band, the clitoris has an 
organ memory only slightly longer than 
that of the appendix. After careful coaxing 
and massaging, the clitoris will awaken to. 
say, “1 seem to recall something like this 
before . . but I’m not quite sure." After a 
concentrated effort, it can be brought out 
of its amnesia to become fully active, 
exclaiming, "Yes, yes! I'm ready, I’m 
ready!” 

Of course, the actual memory span of 
cach organ is directly related to its owner. 
These descriptions are based on the aver- 
age person. An above-average woman 
would have a much shorter clitoral- 
memory-response time. An above-average 
man would have a perpetual hard-on. 

Michael McCary 
Centralia, Missouri 


“The Playboy Forum" offers the opportu- 
nity for an extended dialog between readers 
and editors on contemporary issues. Address 
all correspondence to The Playboy Forum, 
Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Ave- 
nue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. 


49 


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PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: S T I N G 


a candid conversation with the 


red-hot british pop star and actor 


about rock ’n’ roll, politics, sex, love, old partners and fresh starts 


When you're a shinny English kid with a 
name like Gordon Sumner, living near the 
docks in Newcastle, a poor coal and ship- 
building town, it’s only natural to yearn for a 
little glamor, a little excitement. So, lugging 
your first guitar, your young wife and your 
new baby, you head off to London with a new 
name—they call you Sting, because you wear 
yellow-and-black pullovers—and form а 
rock-'n'-roll band. It's been written before. 

Not many years later, your band, The 
Police, is one of the hottest in the world. A 
song you write and sing—you call it “Every 
Breath You Take"—is the number-one song 
of 1983 after selling more than 1,000,000 
copies. You try acting, too, and you land roles 
opposite the hottest (Jennifer Beals) and the 
best (Meryl Streep) actresses in the world. 
Enough glamor? Enough excitement? 

Cut to: Paris’ Mogador Theater, where the 
last of the opening-night S.R.O. crowd has 
‘finally filtered ош, more than an hour after 
Slings last encore, a sparse guitar-and-voice 
version of his hit “Message in a Bottle.” No 
one could have predicted the audience's reac- 
tion lo his solo Paris debut; he intentionally 
stacked the cards against himself. Not only 
would the crowd be hearing new songs by 
Sting, significantly sans Police, for the first 
time (performers usually rely on tried-and- 
true hits for successful live performances) but 


“With the Live Aid concert, we saw how the 
media can be used for good. And we learned 
to bypass the political process. In fact, we 
learned to hold it in some contempt, since govern- 
ment has been unable to confront starvation.” 


he would play to a predominantly French- 
speaking audience. To prepare, Sting had 
rehearsed some French phrases—“Merci 
beaucoup! Merci beaucoup!“ , those 
new songs, lyrically complex, were, of course, 
all in English. 

After three songs, the verdict was already 
unanimous. As Sting led his band of all-black 
musicians, schooled in jazz, not roch, into a 
new song called “If You Love Somebody Set 
Them Free,” the lyrics might as well have 
been in Swahili for all the audience cared; 
they went berserk, rose from the plush theater 
seats and rocked. 

After the opening-night performance, 
Sting finally emerges into the theater lobby to 
the celebratory party. All eyes and a dozen- 
odd lenses turn toward him. His smile is still 
cautious, though triumphant, and his stance 
is characteristically confident. He works the 
crowd like a politician—an incumbent politi- 
cian. He shakes the hands of record-company 
execs, embraces his musicians, winks toward 
the interviewers who have been following him 
for weeks. Besides PLAYBOY, whose reporters 
have tracked him from New York to Montreal 
to the rehearsal cháteau outside Chartres and 
now to Paris, Newsweek is considering a 
cover. The French press has demanded ac- 
cess. And the British. And Rolling Stone. 
The photographers need exclusive shots. One, 


“1 can't say Гос sinned because I failed to be 
monogamous. As the chemicals in a relation- 
ship become acclimated to one another, the 
chemical reaction between people lessens, 
and you have lo shake it up to get it again.” 


known as Mad Max, had Sting prancing 
about in the fountain outside the Pompidou 
Center. Another needs time in his hotel suite. 

This massive atlempt to cover Sting is only 
one layer of the pressure 10 capture every 
moment of his life. Michael Apted, the British 
film director (“Coal Miner's Daughter”), has 
been commissioned to document Sting's latest 
project, his solo musical foray, for a feature 
film. The film could be called "Who's Cover- 
ing Whom,” for the film maker's half-dozen 
cameras are focused on the press, while the 
press is writing about the filming and every- 
one (press, French and English film crews, 
record-company personnel and execs, musi- 
cians, band crew, photographers, friends, 
family, fans) is focused on Sting. Although 
the first concert is over, it’s no time to relax 
the cameras are rolling. 

Oh, and by the way, it looks as if Trudie 
Styler, Sting's pretty blonde girlfriend, wants 
some time with him, too. She makes her way to 
him through the crowd, holding her large 
belly with one hand, clutching her midwife's 
arm with the other. 

“The contractions are beginning,” she tells 
Sting. Her due date a week away, Trudie has 
gone into labor with Sting's fourth child. 
Sting hugs her and smiles. There is a hint of 
glee. Or madness. As if he planned it all. 

For most of the night, Apted's huge crew is 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY BENNO FRIECMAN 


“In rock ‘n’ roll, the blueprint for disaster is 
clear. That book has already been written— 
Elvis Presley, Sid Vicious, Jimi Hendrix, The 
blueprint for survival hasnt yet leen 
written. That's the one I really want to write.” 


51 


PLAYBOY 


52 


standing by. If Trudie’s contractions speed 
up, they are to head to the hospital, where 
cameras are already poised to film the birth. 

The baby—a son, named Jake—is not 
born until two days later. Although Jake 
missed opening night, the timing is still 
good—he is born at 12:30 in the afternoon, 
several hours before the second show at the 
Mogador. Apted's crew is on hand. Glamor. 
Excitement. Gordon Sumner finally has it. 

Tn the town of Wallsend, where Sting was 
born in 1951, his father was a milkman, his 
mother a nurse. He was playing guitar at 
nine and m his first band at 17: a Dixieland 
jazz band in which he played double bass. 
While working as a teacher and moonlight- 
ing in clubs, he met Stewart Copeland, the 
drummer in a band called Curved Air and a 
son of Miles Copeland, the ex-CIA agent 
who wrote “The Game of Nations” and “The 
Real Spy World.” 

When Sting left his home town for Lon- 
don, he, Copeland and, later, guitarist Andy 
Summers formed a band they called The Po- 
lice. Sting's song "Roxanne," banned by the 
BBC (it's about а prostitute), got them a man- 
ager, Miles Copeland (Stewart's brother), 
and, with Miles's help, a record deal. Four 
platinum albums and one gold single later, 
The Police, with their distinctive, reggae- 
influenced rock, have sold more than 
40,000,000 records and were called by at 
least one enthusiastic critic “the most impor- 
tant music group to appear since The 
Beatles.” Hyperbole aside, since their first 
album was released in 1979, The Police have 
been one of the most consistently innovative 
and exciting bands to emerge from Eng- 
land—or anywhere—in the past decade. 

Al the peak of their success (“Synchroni- 
city,” their most recent album, won three 
Grammys and remained on the charis for 
almost a year), Sting announced that he was 
leaving the band, at least temporarily, to 
make a solo album. He recruited top jazz 
musicians and recorded “The Dream of the 
Blue Turiles," which shot up to number two 
three weeks after it was released. Sting also 
appeared in the British segment of last July's 
world-wide Live Aid concert, performing 
his old hits before being joined by Phil Collins 
and Branford Marsalis for one of the event's 
highlights: a Collins-Sting duct of “Every 
Breath You Take.” And the 24-city tour he 
began last August has been a sellout. 

Meanwhile, his two latest movies were 
released. When Sting was struggling in Lon- 
don, his wife, actress Frances Tomelty, helped 
him get his first movie role, a minor part in 
The Who's “Quadrophenia.” It was the start 
of an acting career that included the lead in 
“Brimstone and Treacle” and smaller parts 
in "Dune" and several minor films. Today, he 
earns $1,000,000 a film and has made his 
oun documentary of “The Dream of the Blue 
Turtles” Paris performances. 

PLAYBOY sent Victoria and David Sheff lo 
speak with the busy man. Their report: 

“Since Sting was booked in New York with 
costume fillings, newspaper inlerviews and 
meetings, we asked him where he wanted to 
begin our sessions. ‘Do you jog?” he asked. 


The idea of trying to discuss his answers io 
our many questions while holding a tape 


recorder and jogging through Central 
Park—well, no thanks. 

“So we hung around while he conducted 
his New York business, such as a meeting with 
his manager to decide on the new album- 
cover photo. ‘I want something interesting,’ 
Sting reported afterward. ‘Miles wants some- 
thing that will, as he puts it, “make the girls 
go wet.” ^ 

“Which brings up the issue most women 
mentioned when we said we were interview- 
ing Sting: sex. At a filling in New York, 
Sting emerged from a dressing room in a gor- 
geous Giorgio Armani suil—gray silk with 
flashes of black—without a shirt. There was 
his famous chest. To set the record straight, 
the female half of this ‘Interview’ team was 
not unimpressed. The male half said, ‘What's 
the big deal?” 

"Over the weeks, Sting's playful side 
emerged, counterbalancing the over-all im- 
pression we had of him: that he is arrogant 
and always serious. He teased his assistant, 
Danny Quatrochi, about his resemblance to 


“I hate most of 
what constitutes 
rock music—which 
is basically 
middle-aged crap.” 


Julio Iglesias and quoted from ‘This Is Spinal 

Tap’ as well as from Arthur Koestler. And he 
told us a story about his trouble with New 
Zealand customs. As a joke, a friend had 
given each of the Police members foil- 
wrapped Preparation H suppositories, and 
the customs agent was eying one he had found 
in Sting’s suitcase, ‘What do you do with 
this?" he asked. Now, Sting has a thing about 
customs—he despises the concept of immigra- 
tion controls, he says—so it was nol without 
relishing the moment that he said, noncha- 
lantly, “You stick й up your ass. 

"He was nearly thrown into prison on the 
spot but managed to talk his way out of that 
one, though fast talking is not the only way 
out for him. There were times when we were 
frustrated—make that furious—at being 
postponed and juggled along with the million 
other things in Sting’s outrageous schedule. 
But as we listened to the man’s music during 
rehearsal or performances, the frustration 
would recede. 

“So what's next for Sting after the fall tour 
and editing work on the film? He is going to 
take a break and go scuba diving iu the Red 
Sea. He jokes, I'm wondering if it's going to 
part for me.’ We wouldn't be surprised.” 


PLAYBOY: We've been sent to clear up a few 
important things. Is it true that you've had 


a sex-change operation? 

STING: Yes, it is. I can see this will be the 
sort of interview where the truth comes 
out. So, yes, Гуе become a man. I was 
once Miss October in PLAYBOY. 

PLAYBOY: On a more recent note, you were 
also part of the biggest rock concert in 
history—Live Aid. How did it feel? 
STING: Extraordinary. It sounds like a 
cliché, but it really was a wonderful day 
for rock "n' roll. Even if no money got 
through, I think the symbol of good will 
and cooperation and togetherness was so 
important, it was useful in itself. Beyond 
that, however, we also raised so much 
money that I’m confident it will get 
through, which makes it that much more 
important. Everyone said it was our gener- 
ation’s Woodstock, and it was, but I think 
it was more important than Woodstock. 
PLAYBOY: Why? 

STING: Because it dealt with a wider range 
of things: We saw how the media can be 
used for good. We learned how much we 
can accomplish if we bypass the political 
process. In fact, we learned to hold the 
political process in some contempt, since 
governments have not been able to con- 
front the issue of starvation. Yet here were 
people who got together, galvanized by 
[organizer] Bob Geldof, and did some- 
thing. We've always heard that rock 'n' 
roll could change the world. That's start- 
ing to mean sometl 
PLAYBOY: Are you concerned about the 
money's not getting to the African people? 
STING: Not really. This is the most publicly 
accountable charity in history because of 
the high profile of everyone involved. 
Everyone is watching what will happen. 
Any of us can ask where the money has 
gone and will be answered in detail. Ifone 
penny is missing, we know whom to hang. 
PLAYBOY: Do any special moments at Live 
Aid stand out for you? 

STING: Before this experience, when British 
musicians got together, there was a lot of 
prejudice and fear of one another—all of 
that dissolved. The English rock scene has 
always been pretty gladiatorial: You all 
hate one another. Unlike the U.S. part of 
the Live Aid concert, all of us in England 
shared the same backstage area, so I was 
standing there with David Bowie and 
Freddie Mercury and, of course, Phil 
Collins, with whom I did a set, and all of 
us were sharing the same piece of shect 
music—so this was very special. 

PLAYBOY: Let's get some quick impressions 
of your peers in the music business, since 
the experience is fresh in your mind. What 
do you think of Bowie? 

STING; An original. Most modern bands 
are facsimiles of David Bowie. A lot of 
singers are imitators of David Bowie. 1 
have great respect for him. 

PLAYBOY: Mick Jagger? 

STING: l like Mick. But knowing him, 1 
find it hard to judge his work. My preju- 
dices evaporate. And rock 'n' roll is too 


Y SOMERSET IMPORTERS, LTD.. N.Y.. N.Y. 01985 


' 


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— 


Kings: 8 mg “tar!” 0.5 mg nicotine—100's Rag: 10 mg “‘tar!'0.7 mg nicotine— 
100's Men: 9 mg ter. 0.7 mg nicotine av. per cigarette, FTC Report Feb/85. 


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Emphysema, And May Complicate Pregnancy. 


S Philip Morris Ик. 1985 


Filter 


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‘Enriched Flavor’ 
Kings « 100%. 


PLAYBOY 


hard a life for me to come down hard on 
people. 

PLAYBOY: Peter Townshend of The Who? 
STING: Peter Townshend shows us it’s all 
right to grow up. There is dignity after 
rock n' roll. 

PLAYBOY: Prince? 

STING: Prince is a great musician, but I 
worry about his losing his sense of humor, 
about the deification syndrome in rock n 
roll. I hate to sec people trapping them- 
selves in their own ivory towers. He's said 
he'll never tour again; to me, that's death. 
PLAYBOY: Michael Jackson? 

STING: One of the rewards of success is 
freedom, the ability to do whatever you 
like. To lose your freedom instead —which 
is what seems to have happened to Mi- 
chael—is tragic. I don't know the guy, but 
to lead such a rarefied life seems tragic. 
PLAYBOY: How about 

STING: Perry Como? 

PLAYBOY: We were going to mention one 
more name—Paul McCartney. 

STING: I worry about McCartney, too. I 
think he isn’t sure what to do anymore. 
‘There is fear of growing up in rock n roll, 
of progressing, of experimenting, of incor- 
porating what one has learned. McCart- 
ney is a genius in many ways, but I think 
he should push himself to do work that’s 
more serious. His Beatles work was as im- 
portant as Lennon’s was—more impor- 
tant, in some cases—and he is one of the 
people in the world who could take more 
risks. If you have already accomplished a 
certain amount, you want to move ahead 
and break new ground. Another thing 
about McCartney: I thought his choice of 
song for the Live Aid concert was a bit 
odd. He did Let It Be—but the whole point 
of the concert was to do something, to 
change things, to not let it be. 

PLAYBOY: You criticize McCartney for not 
doing more serious music, but you've been 
criticized for being doo serious—even 
pretentious—in your latest album, 

STING: Yeah, there has been some of “How 
dare he write songs that mean anything? 
Who does he think he is?” That worries 
me. We've become too conditioned to 
think of pop music as standing for nothing. 
But the greater response in England has 
been that people are affected by the politi 
cal messages in the songs. So far, the big- 
gest response has been to Russians, where 
I sing, “I hope the Russians love their 
children, too.” The record company 
wanted it to be the second single from the 
album, but I didn’t want to bum people 
out during the summer. 1 thought I’d wait 
for fall for that. [Laughs] 

PLAYBOY: And yet, your image is also a 
good deal less serious than that. You 
haven't missed many opportunitics to sell 
your sex appeal, for instance. 

STING: I’m not that conscious of my 
image—1 don't think I am really responsi- 
ble for it. I cannot control what is written 
about me or every picture of me that 
appears. To a certain extent, one tries to 
manipulate one’s image in the press, but 


things happen that you have no control 
over. 

PLAYBOY: Maybe, maybe not. Boy George 
says you claim you don’t want to be a sex 
symbol, yet you parade around without a 
shirt all the time. How do you plead? 
‘STING: I don’t like wearing shirts. 
PLAYBOY: And there’s that shot of you in 
Dune wearing a space diaper 
STING: Yeah, the flying underpants. At 
first, I refused. “I’m not fucking wearing 
that. It's ridiculous.” “Come on, Sting, it 
will be phenomenal." I finally said, “All 
right, I’m going to go for it. I’m going to 
come out in that thing and be as gay as 
you can possibly imagine.” So I did. 1 
think I got away with it, actually. But I 
never chose that costume. 

PLAYBOY: You say you can't control your 
image, but, again, you've used sexuality 
for all it’s worth, haven’t-you? 

STING: We're here 10 please. [Laughs] Jt 
has yery little to do with my work, but if 
your image is not sexy enough, then peo- 
ple won't listen, It’s part of the game. 
PLAYBOY: Gciting back to your political 
lyrics—do you think people realize what 
they're hearing with your stuff? 

STING: It's something I do really well. I 
can disguise an idea inside a curtain that is 
innocuous. I like being number one on the 
charts, but I also like surprising people. 
For instance, Every Breath You Take—that 
is a truly insidious lyric dressed ina lovely 
song. Everybody was going around singing 
it like it was love. But it’s a song about con- 
trol and ownership and surveillance. I’ve 
had people write to me, “You’ve written 
our song, Sting. You've really written a 
song for our relationship.” Fuck, no! That 
kind of double-edged thing is really what I 
am interested in doing—seducing people 
with a pleasant melody and then kicking 
them in the teeth. I like doing that. 
PLAYBOY: Does it work if they don’t know 
they are being kicked in the teeth? 

STING: For me, yeah. The irony is too 
much to bear, almost. If someone just 
wants to get high to the music or listen to it 
while they are jogging, well, fine. 

PLAYBOY: Yet you've written jogging music, 
too—De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da. Fairly 
dumb lyrics, wouldn't you say? 

STING: Some of my favorite rock-'n’-roll 
records are complete garbage. Little Rich- 
ard songs; Do Wah Diddy Diddy; Da Doo 
Ron Ron. . . There's a whole genre of 
things that don’t make any sense, really, 
but I love them. What De Do Do Do, De Da 
Da Da tries to do is intellectualize them. I 
think the reason they work is that these 
songs are basic innocence. If you write a 
song with a political message, then you're 
guilty of politics. You are guilty of trying 
to sway people and, therefore, you are 
guilty of propaganda, of trying to influ- 
ence, pervert, subvert. That song was 
basically saying, “I have nothing to say to 
you, and the most innocent thing I can say 
to you is nonsense.” It was just a plea for 
innocence. Yet I went on to do songs that 
aren’t innocent at all and are meant to 


influence people. 
PLAYBOY: Such as Russians 
STING: I feel strongly that it’s not the time 
for De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da. Things are 
too serious. 
PLAYBOY: Is it a pop star's place to sing 
about nuclear politics? 
STING: My justification is that I can be the 
victim of nuclear politics, so Гус got as 
much right as anybody to say what I feel. 
People can disagree with me. Of course, I 
hope they become concerned about issues, 
but if they don’t, they don’t. 
PLAYBOY: On the other hand, you can also 
sound preachy. One reviewer of your cur- 
rent album asked, “Didn’t the Sixties end 
a few years back?” 
‘STING: Isn’t that attitude a little terrifying? 
Time is running out. I look at my little girl 
and think, What am 1 going to tell her in 
ten years’ time? That I did nothing—I just 
sort of sat back and let it happen? None of 
us can do that. We are going to have to 
have answers when kids ask, “What the 
fuck have you done? What did you do in 
the war?” Pd be bored doing anything 
else. 1 hate most of what constitutes rock 
music—which is basically middle-aged 
crap. So if this doesn’t sell because it’s 
political, it doesn’t sell. I think I’ve done a 
good piece of work. I think it will bea big 
hit, frankly. I'm not worried. My instinct 
tells me it’s going to be big, despite the 
political climate. Maybe because of it. 
PLAYBOY: Do you think you have to meet 
the expectations of that huge audience out 
there? Your group’s previous album, Syn- 
chronicity, was one of the top-selling 
albums in both 1983 and 1984. 
STING: Your accountants tell you, “Look, 
Sting, you've got this big captive audience; 
at least right now you have. You should 
really capitalize on the formula that got 
you that audience in the first place and 
make us all a lot of money so we can pay 
our mortgages off.” And I say, “Right. 
T've got this captive audience, so now is 
the time to do something that is going to 
test people and test me at the same time.” 
PLAYBOY: Except that your recent songs 
aren't disguised. People aren't going to 
go around humming, “I hope the Russians 
love their children, too" without hearing 
your message. 
STING: That's OK with me. . . . Do the 
Russians love their children? I actually 
started making inquiries about it after 1 
thought of the song. Most people think of 
Russians as these robotic, ugly creatures 
who live under the boot and wear gray all 
the time. Do they love their children? 1 
didn't know. So I wanted to find out. I met 
the head of Soviet studies at Columbia. A 
friend of mine designed a system that 
receives signals from Molniya, the Russian 
satellite, and he can get live Russian tele- 
vision. So we sat at Columbia University 
watching Russian television on a Sunday 
morning. 

Pm no fan of the Soviet model. But you 
know what I saw? I actually saw people— 
real people. Children, women who weren't 


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ugly. Attractive people who had souls. I 
consider myself a liberal and well in- 
formed, but I was shocked. If I could be 
shocked by what I had seen on Russian 
television, I realized most people would 
be. It’s absurd, really. It's like asking, 
black people have souls? Do China 
have only one leg?” 

I'm nota fan of governments of any sort. 
1 think, Why give yourself a name just 
because it’s water that surrounds a piece 
of land? I am very unpatriotic. I hate bor- 
ders; I hate customs. I hate the whole idea 
of immigration. It doesn’t seem right. We 
belong in the world. The idea of dying for 
your country is anathema to me, and Га 
rather shoot my own children than have 
them do that. It all makes me very angry 
I know a big part of my taxes last year 
went to buy missiles. Kids bought my 
records and I had to give a large portion of 
the money away to put missiles in the 
ground in England. That makes me feel 
really angi 
PLAYBOY: Besides the poli 
this album, the big media issue has been 
whether or not this solo project means the 
спа of The Police. Why is it such a big 
issue? 
STING: I don't know. It’s sentimentality, as 
far as I am concerned. People don’t like to 
see change. They have this idea that a 
band should always stay together, almost 
live together, and always be seen 
together. 


content of 


PLAYBOY: Didn’t you once compare The 
Police to The Who as a group that would 
continue to be vital by experimenting, by 
branching out into other projects—films 
and such—and by disc 
moting others? 
STING: I don’t remember saying that, but it 
sounds like a reasonable thing to have 
said. I think I was also quoted as having 
said that a band could last for five albums, 
and then it wouldn't be valid anymore 
PLAYBOY: The Police have had five album: 
he Police stopped being valid? 
STING: I don’t know. I have to say that the 
album I've just done is my best work as a 
writer and as a singer. That it didn’t coin- 
ide with being a Police album is beside 
the point. 
PLAYBOY: A critic called The Police the 
most important band to come along since 
The Beatles. Do you buy that? 
STING: I don’t have to buy it; someone else 
said it. I don’t know. What does it mean? 
It sounds great, doesn’t it? [Mockingly] 
Yes, fine, I agree! 1 think it’s wonderful 
Yes, we are the most important band to 
come along since The Beatles. More 
important. 
PLAYBOY: What did The Police have going 
for them? 
STING: The songs, of course, are the most 
important. But the band was unique in the 
way we worked together. We had a sort of 
sparse, easily identifiable sound. Stewart 
[Copeland] is one of the greatest drum- 


ring and pro- 


mers in the world. We had a lot going for 
us, an awful lot. 

me people feel that the sum of 
the parts of a group like The Beatles or the 
Stones is greater than the individual parts 
Do you think that applics to The Polic 
STING: Certainly it was an important 
chemistry. Friction can be creative. I think 
the reason The Beatles were such a 
wonderful group is that they had two song- 
writers of almost equal stature sparking 
each other off —amazing competition, and 
that is why they were such a phenomenon. 
PLAYBOY: And The Police: 
STING: We'll see, won't we? It's not as if 
bands are made in heaven. I mean, it's 
bullshit. We playcd somc grcat stuff with 
that band, but we're playing some great 
stuff with a completely different set of 
musicians, a 'ent sound. 
PLAYBOY: Why did you decide to move on? 
STING: The Police played Shea Stadium. 
Where do you go next? You fall into the rut 
of doing the same things or you shake 
things up and try something new and start 
all over—and play a little theater in Paris. 
You go back to start again. You take new 
risks—sort of like Sisyphus. 
PLAYBOY: Why did you use jazz musicians 
for your new material? 
STING: Basically, 1 had never been in a 
rock band until 1975. I played in these jazz 
bands, and I love the spontaneous, fluid 
energy in jazz. Actually, it’s not so much 
the musicians’ jazz background as it is the 


fact that they are black and they have a 
black way of playing. The old cliché about 
black people's being looser and fluid and 
graceful is true in music. 

PLAYBOY: How are the dynamics of this 
band different from those of The Police? 
STING: In many ways it’s easier, because 
everybody's position in the group is well 
defined. There are no gray arcas. I write 
the music, produce it and the band plays 
within the parameters that I set. That's a 
more direct way of working than having a 
sort of carte blanche where everybody gets 
a chance to throw material in, which is fine 
if the material is good, but. 
PLAYBOY: But with The Polic 
most of the songs, апуу; 
STING: I just turned up with all these great 
songs, and they tended to sweep every- 
thing clsc aside. Still, it was a band and we 
all had input and we all made decisions. 
PLAYBOY: Were your partners open and 
objective enough to allow you to become 
the chief songwrite 
STING: They couldn't stop it from happen- 
ing. The songs were so good. There were 
struggles between me and the rest of 
the band in regard to material. The Police 
are three people contributing material. Al- 
though it was mainly my material used on 
the records, all of us wrote songs. The first 
part of doing a Police album involved 
deciding what songs we were going to use, 
which was always a painful, nerve-racking 
process, because 30 songs are brought to a 


you wrote 


session and only ten can be used on an 
album. It took a certain amount of di- 
plomacy and cruelty, plus objectivity, to 
decide w the numbers would be. 
PLAYBOY: Didn't everyone believe his songs 
were the best? 

STING: You have to ask the other members 
of the group. "That's what I thought about 
my own work. I mean, when everyone 
heard Message in a Bottle, there was no 
contest, really. You don't argue with Mes- 
sage in a Bottle; you don't argue with Walk- 
ing on the Moon, Don't Stand So Close to 
Me—they are hit songs, and they are hit 
songs as soon as you hear them, no matter 
who wrote them. But with a solo album, 
there is none of the emotional clutter. It's 
mine, which also means I am the only one 
who can take flak for it if it is a failure. 
"That's part of the increased risk, With The 
Police, there were three of us. In a film, the 
actor can blame the director. 

PLAYBOY: Let's talk about your film career. 
You'll have three movies released this. 
year. 

STING: Yes. The Bride came out in August, 
Plenty came out in September and the film 
of this album will be out in November 
PLAYBOY: Not that we'd descend to gossip, 
but inquiring minds want to know—just 
how hot are things between you and your 
co-star in The Bride, Jennifer Beals? 
STING: I'm like her older brother 

PLAYBOY: Yeah, sure. A newspaper column 
described “the incredible electricity be- 


tween Sung and Beals 
STING: Hey. [Shrugs] She gives me a lot of 
shit about being her older brother—and 
she's such a brat. I love her dearly. She's a 
great girl. We got on very well 

PLAYBOY: Have you scen Flashdance? 

STING: It was OK. 

PLAYBOY: Are you pleased with The Bride? 
STING: It was a great script—a very clever 
idea. 1 get killed again, as usual, and don't 
get the girl. 

PLAYBOY: There are few actresses of the 
stature of Meryl Streep, with whom you 
acted in Plenty. Were you intimidated at 
the prospect? 

STING: Well, I think she's the best. I partic- 
ularly liked Silkwood and Sophie's Choice. 
She is great fun to be around, not heavy or 
ponderous. She’s very easy to get along 
with, Very lighthearted. She’s too good an 
actress to let you know what she is, really 
She’s not one of the Method actresses 
different off camera from what she is on 
camera. She’s very easygoing, and when 
the cameras roll, she’s right on the ball. 
You really have to pull your socks up to 
stay in the same game with her. 

PLAYBOY: Do you think you've gotten such 
parts because you are a pop star? 

STING: My first parts had nothing to do 
with it. I can walk into a room and con- 
vince people I can do it. I think I have a 
certain presence or something. I got seven 
jobs in a row. I didn't fail once. I just 
walked into the room and was given the 


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PLAYBOY 


job, and there were rooms full of male 
models and actors waiting outside who 
had already been seen and hadn't gotten 
the job. This was before The Police, before 
I was famous. | had made two movies 
before The Police had a hit record: I did 
Quadrophenia and a film called Radio On. 
PLAYBOY: But since then, you have gotten 
major roles that actors with a great deal of 
experience haven't gotten—an offer of a 
lead role on Broadway, a film opposite 
Streep. Are you saying your pop-star sta- 
tus wasn't responsible? 

STING: I just think you have to be intelli- 
gent about it. There are certain things you 
need to be highly qualified to do and it 
would be foolish to try—T'm not sure m 
ready for a lead role on. Broadway. It's 
flattering to be asked to do these things, 
but you have to keep a perspective, and 
I'm not stupid 

PLAYBOY: Do you fecl any suspicion that 
these parts are coming to you because of 
your marquee value, and that you may not 
be up to them? 

STING: I’m sure it crosses the minds of the 
people who offer me the roles, but it’s up to 
me to prove to them and to the general 
public that I can do my job. I choose parts 
I feel I can handle but also ones that are a 
challenge. I can only read scripts and 
choose the right people to work with. 
PLAYBOY: Was Dune a good script? 

STING: [Laughs] 

PLAYBOY: Then why did you do it? 

STING: I really wanted to work with David 
Lynch. I was a big fan of The Elephant 
Man and Eraserhead. 1 had great doubts 
about Dune from the first time I read the 
script, though. But I thought that if any- 
one could pull it off, Lynch was the one. 
Visually, he did a great job. It was won- 
derful. As a narrative, though, I found it 
confusing. But that’s the problem with try- 
ing to translate a massive, complicated 
book into one or two hours. 

PLAYBOY: What was it like on the set? 
STING: It was like being on Dune, like 
being on another fucking planet. It was in 
Mexico, for starters, which is another 
planet. Some of it was pleasant, some of it 
was very unpleasant—hard physical work. 
I didn't feel I was creatively involved. I felt 
I was a coat hanger for a nice costume. 
PLAYBOY: What moral did you draw from 
that? 

STING: That I should trust my instincts. 
However, it was very good for me in some 
ways. I certainly got a higher profile than I 
would ever have expected. I don't think 
it's done me any harm, ultimately. 
PLAYBOY: How did you get into films? 
STING: It was when we had no money and 
my wife was an actress and had an agent 
for whom she occasionally worked 
the odd play or odd television appearance 
At the time, I looked fairly extraordinary 
I had this shock of blond hair that stucl 
upand had green bits on the side of it. The 
agent sent me for an ad and I got the job. 
And I did about seven of these things— 
doughnut ads, loads of ads—and they 


paid quite well, couple of hundred quid for 
a day’s work. Then she sent me for a 
movie, which was Quadrophenia. 

PLAYBOY: What were you doing at the time? 
STING: It was after college: I was hanging 
around for a while until I got a phone call 
from this nun who had taught my sister. 
She was looking for a qualified teacher 
who was unemployed—and I was both. I 
was recruited to teach nine-year-olds. I 
taught for two years. 

PLAYBOY: How about your own education? 
STING: I had a strange education, really. I 
never felt like I belonged in my school. I 
was always a bit of an outcast, except that 
I was a champion athlete—a 100- and 
200-meters champion—and that gave me 
a certain amount of cachet in school. I was 
on scholarship and was educated with kids 
from rich, middle-class backgrounds. That 
really gave me a taste for upward mobil- 
ity—toward money. I mean, I was with 
kids who had no holes in their trousers! 
The other big lesson was that I learned to 
change my accent; in England, your accent 
identifies you very strongly with a class, 
and I did not want to be held back. 
PLAYBOY: You were born in Wallsend, near 
Newcastle. What was it like? 

STING: I lived very close to the shipyard. 
Ships used to loom over my house—great, 
massive supertankers three stories high 
that would blot out the sun completely by 
the time they were built. Every time a ship 
was launched, I would go to the dock and 
watch the ritual—the bottle of champagne 
and ribbons, It’s a very moving ritual, 
going away. It was a symbol for my life, 
really —goi 


away, leaving. 
hat did your parents do? Were 


you close? 
STING: My father is a milkman; my mother 
is a nurse. It wasn't really a close family. 


but I'm not ungrateful for anything that 
happened to me, really, because I like who 
Tam. 

PLAYBOY: Loneliness is a theme in your 
songs, from So Lonely to Message in a Bottle 
to O My God. 

STING: Yeah, though a song like Message in 
a Bottle is more than just a plea for atten- 
tion. Its a metaphor, The guy on an 
island sends a message out to say that he's 
alone, and he gets all these messages back 
saying, “Well, we're alone!” So we're all in 
the same boat or on the same sort of 
island. But as for me, yes, sometimes I feel 
lonely—completely and utterly alone—and 
sometimes I feel very happy and close to 
the people around me. I don’t think it’s a 
unique situation. I think if anyone has two 
or three really good friends, he's really 
lucky. It's a normal number of good 
friends. I have just about that many. 
PLAYBOY: But apparently you remember 
your childhood without fondness. 

STING: I was unhappy—very much aware 
that I didn’t belong at home or in my town 
or in the school. I wouldn't be a kid again. 
It was a pretty aggressive environment to 
be brought up in. It gave me an edge, 
learning how to fight and handle myself. 


PLAYBOY: What musical influences were 
there? 

STING: There was jazz. I listened to Count 
Basie; Miles Davis, whom I’ve since met; 
Weather Report; Thelonious Monk; Char- 
lie Mingus. By the time I got out of college 
and was teaching, I knew I could play and 
write songs. I knew 1 was talented. I just 
had to wait for the opportunity. Teaching 
was great in that it allowed me my free 
time. I finished early during the day and I 
had a lot of holidays, so 1 would play 
around town in various bands, 

Then | got married and decided Pd 
gone as far as I could in my town. The 
only thing to do was really to go to Lon- 
don, seek my fortune there. It was a cliché 
and I did it. I was married, with a kid, no 
money, no prospects, nowhere to live, and 
just went to London and hoped for the 
best. I seemed to be right about my 
dreams. 

PLAYBOY: What was happening in Lon- 
don's music scene? 

STING: That was the year of punk, which 
was a kind of galvanizing phenomenon for 
everybody. The rock industry had been 
dominated previously by dinosaur groups, 
faceless corporate rock, You couldn't get 
in. Then The Sex Pistols kicked the doors 
down. They paved the way for The Police. 
PLAYBOY: How did The Police get 
together? 

STING: I had met Stewart Copeland earlier 
in 1976. He had turned up at a club in 
Newcastle. He was with a band called 
Curved Air, and he spotted me and got my 
number from someone and phoned me up. 
We had vague plans about forming a 
group, a New Wave group, but that was 
pretty much a sort of fairy tale—it wasn't 
the reason I w to London at all. I 
thought, If nothing happens, Ull find this 
Stewart guy and see what happens. So in 
London, I was signing on the dole every 
Wednesday and looking for somewhere to 
live a lot of the time. We were staying in a 
friend's living room, with a dog and a 
baby. We tried a few squats. Stewart was 
in a squat at the time. [Laughs] Pretty 
seedy. So Stewart and I were just messing 
around in this flat with guitars. We formed 
The Police with another guitar player and 
later switched to Andy [Summers]. 
PLAYBOY: So you formed The Police and 
began acting in commercials on the side? 
STING: [Yauns] 

PLAYBOY: We don't mean to bore you. 
STING: 105 all this history. I'm interested 
in what I’m doing now, I feel the music is 
the power that's happening. Everything 
else feels like. . .. Do I have to? 

PLAYBOY: Yes. 

STING: [Sighs] OK. So with my wife's occa- 
sional actress jobs, we managed to keep 
our heads above water in the 18 months of 
obscurity I spent in London. Miles 
Copeland, Stewart’s brother, was manag- 
ing some bands. We played some other 
songs for him and he wasn’t that 
impressed, but when he heard Roxanne, he 


decided to act as our manager. He imme- 
diately went to the record company and 
said, “Release this single. You don’t have 
to give us any money; just promote it and 
see what happens.” So we started off on 
the right footing, really—not owing any- 
body anything. That gave us complete cre- 
ative control over whatever we did. It gave 
us a good royalty rate. We had a hit 
record, which was perfect 

PLAYBOY: Your signature song, a staple of 
your concerts, is Roxanne. Do you tire of it? 
STING: ГЇЇ always play Roxanne. 

PLAYBOY: Because you have to—your audi- 
ence expects it? 

STING: No, because I love it. It was our 
first hit record and it is a song that doesn’t 
seem to wear thin, It is right out of left 
field, and it was then. It didn’t belong to 
any sort of fashionable period. I think it is 
a song that is almost a standard a stand- 
ard,” he modestly said. Some songs will 
come and go with the vagaries of fashion. 
But Roxanne, I think, will stay. 

PLAYBOY: How you come to write it? 
STING: Roxane is the lady Cyrano de Ber- 
gerac falls in love with. Cyrano is a play 
I'vc always loved, and I’ve always loved 
the name Roxanne. I wrote that song in 
Paris. It was the first time I had been 
there, and we were staying in a very 
shabby hotel and there were hookers on 
the street. I had never seen that before— 
in England, they don’t have hookers on the 
street. So I was deeply moved and affected 
by these women who looked so beautiful— 
at a distance. When you get close up, 
they're not quite as beautiful—some of 
them are men, in fact. But 1 was inspired 
to write a song about a prostitute, wonder- 
ing how I would feel if one of those girls 
were my girlfriend. 

PLAYBOY: What about the music? Roxanne 
was hailed as the first reggae-influenced 
Pop song. 

STING: It was certainly influenced by reg- 
gae, but what made it unique was the very 
minimal construction. Very stark, which 
allowed my voice to sing out—to stick out 
on radio like a sore thumb. It was a time of 
high-gloss, dense production. . You 
know, it’s hard talking about this old stuff. 
There's been so much written about it, 1 
find it hard to go over it again. I’m bored 
with telling it. Talking about The Police is 
bizarre for me, now that I’m doing some- 
thing else. 

PLAYBOY: Bear with us; this one’s for the 
record, and there are a few people out 
there who don’t know the story. The rise of 
The Police was relatively quick, wasn't it? 
STING: This idea of a quick rise is wrong. It 
wasn’t quick. We made our moves care- 
fully and quietly, then we made the next 
one and the next one, and eventually we 
got there. When we got there, it was 
like we had always been a big group, 
because we had always behaved as if we 
were special. We'd never support another 
act. We'd always headline, no matter what 
the venue was. We were offered lots of 
tours of America with bigger bands, as 


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their support act, but we would never 
accept them. That gave us a reputation for 
arrogance but also for being a serious, big 
group in our own right. Eventually, we 
played bigger gigs than any of thos 
groups could ever hope to play. It boi 
down to careful pacing. We believed in 
ourselves, but it was a nightmare. There 
was no security, no knowing, no pension at 
the end of it. We worked our balls of. 
There’s no other band on earth that’s 
toured as much as us. 

PLAYBOY: When did it dawn on you how 
big you had gotten? 

STING: It just seemed to happen with a 
kind of logic and progression; if you look 
at it from the outside, yes, our rise was 
meteoric and phenomenal. But I remem- 
ber every day and every night. It was 
bloody hard work. It wasn't for money 
much as for something in the back of our 
heads that promised some vague, inexpli- 
cable glory. 1 don't know whether Га go 
through with it again. I don't know 
whether I'd put myself through those 
times even if I knew success would come of 
it—or maybe I would. I mean, we played 
for three people at first 

PLAYBOY: Literally? 

STING: Literally three people. There were a 
couple of instances where the audience 
was embarrassingly small, and to sort of 
take away the pomp and ceremony, I actu- 
ally got off stage and introduced myself to 
the members of the audience and them to 


one another: “This is Charlie, Brenda. 
Why don’t you all sit at one table?” So 
they'd all sitat one table and we'd perform 
for them. We were just billed as this band 
from England. We had no record out in 
America or anything. We couldn’t get gigs 
in England, so we'd just come over to see 
America and see what happened. We puta 
show on every night. And we were great 
We killed the three people in the audience. 
PLAYBOY: How did you end up after your 
first U.S. tour? 

STING: After 12 weeks of touring, 1 brought 
my wife back ten American dollars. I said, 
“That's it.” 

PLAYBOY: What happened next? 

STING: During the U.S. tour, The Police 
had a hit, so we went back to England 
as conquering heroes. Weird. Also, 
Quadrophenia came out the same time in 
England. It was suddenly like this explo- 
sion. I was famous overnight. I went from 
nowhere to being really big. 

PLAYBOY: Big or not, rapid change seems 
crucial in your life. For instance, either 
your feelings about love have changed or 
you're schizophrenic: Last year it was 
"Every breath you take, every move you 
make. . I'll be watching you." Now it’s 
“If you love somebody set them free." 
STING: That's actually the reason I wrote 
If You Love Somebody Set Them Free, as an 
antidote to that. It virtually contradicts 
everything in Every Breath You Take. 1 
think love has something to do with allow- 


ing a person you claim to love to enter a 
larger arena than the one you create for 
them. We fall into the trap of finding some- 
one we think we love and then locking it 
up, or being locked up ourselves by that. 
And I think we have to be bigger than 
that. I think our souls have to be larger. Of 
course, I’m as jealous and small-minded 
as anybody clsc. [Laughs] On the other 
hand, I can’t really change my life to 
accommodate people who are jealous. I 
don't see why I should. 

PLAYBOY: Unless you found a person for 
whom you wanted to change. 

STING: I am what I am. 

PLAYBOY: Do you believe in monogamy? 
STING: It's becoming fashionable again 
that you have only one person to relate to. 
Pm not sure it's terribly good for you. It's 
just so rare to find someone who can be all 
things to you; that’s a lot of pressure. I 
think this stoicism about one man, one 
woman may be heroic to some people, but 
I have no regrets about any of the women 
Pve had relationships with. Whether or 
not the relationships failed miserably, I 
learned a lot from the situations and gave a 
lot and can’t regret it. 1 can’t say Гуе 
sinned because I failed to be monoga- 
mous. It's a matter of chemicals in a 
relationship—as the chemicals become 
acclimated to one another, the chemical 
reaction between people lessens. There’s a 
less-violent coming together. It’s as if you 
become addicted to orgasm, addicted to a 


If you 


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violent, strong sensation, and when it 
ceases to be powerful, you must shake 
your situation up to get it again. 

PLAYBOY: It sounds as if you're advocating 
intense short-term relationships. When 
things pass the new, exciting stage, do you 
move on? 

STING: No, I just don’t think you should 
have any hard-and-fast rules about it. I 
think you should know what you're getting 
into. 1 can't fly a flag for monogamy or 
whatever the opposite is; it depends on the 
person and on the situation. 

PLAYBOY: You don't accept marriage as a 
symbol of commitment or as providing a 
family for children? 

STING: Well, I have four children who are 
being well looked after—they have their 
shoes on and a nanny and food. I’m not 
much of a family man, really. Pm just not 
that into it, I love kids, I adore them, but I 
don’t want to live my life for them. 
PLAYBOY: Don't you feel responsible to 
them beyond their care and feeding? 
STING: I don’t want to say to them, “I gave 
the best years of my life for you.” Oh, 
God. I think they'll respect me more if I 
do what I want to do and do it as best I 
can and make sure they are looked after 
and have enough attention. 

PLAYBOY: Is it hard for you to maintain a 
relationship with a woman because of the 
pop-star lifestyle? 

STING: You have to choose your ladyfriends 
very carefully—women who do not care 


about your being a pop star, for starters, 
or your being rich. 

PLAYBOY: Are there times when all the pop- 
star stuff gets to be too much? 

STING: There are times when you don’t 
want to do it, yeah. But generally, it is 
quite a pleasant, confirming experience. 
We spend much of our childhood and ado- 
lescence craving attention. I have attention 
now. Гуе had my nightmare time, too, but 
it’s part of the game, I suppose. I survived 
it—barcly. 

PLAYBOY: Arc you talking about the break- 
up of your marriage? 

STING: It was a nightmare, a horrific, end- 
less nightmare, and I couldn't see any way 
out but to get out—1 went to Jamaica. I 
wasn't talking to the press, but thcy made 
interviews up. They harassed me at home 
and they harassed my wife and my mis- 
tress and they harassed my children. They 
had photographers out behind the house 
one day—fuck knows what for. They were 
just idiots. 

At least the golden-boy image got well 
tarnished, which is freedom for me. I 
didn’t ask for it in the first place. That was 
a creation and invention of the press, 
too—suddenly this blond kid from New- 
castle who’s a schoolteacher becomes suc- 
cessful. He never smokes, he’s very 
athletic, he’s married, with a kid, and he 
and his wife seem to be in love. Golden 
boy. And I'm up there saying, “1 didn’t 
ask for this.” But when the whole bubble 


burst—my affair with Trudie [Styler] —it 
was an excuse for the press to hang me 
from the neck. So I became the Devil for a 
few months—always a philandering, 
drug-taking Devil, totally evil. I just had 
to sit through all that bullshit. But now 
I'm glad of i, glad I've been through that 
mill, frankly. Luckily, my son was just a 
little too young to be bothered with it. PI 
never forgive the press, and I know the 
people directly responsible for it. Anyway, 
anyone who reads that stuff and believes it 
is a moron, None of my friends who read it 
believe it. It’s written by morons. 
PLAYBOY: What brought you out of that 
period? 

STING: Well, I had placed a lot of faith in 
my marriage. Once that went, there was a 
vacuum; and if I hadn't filled it with some- 
thing, I think I would have gone the way of 
all flesh. 

PLAYBOY: What did you fill it with? 

STING: A morc spiritual way of dealing 
with the world. I went into Jungian analy- 
sis and I read books. It is an awareness of 
something larger than the sort of mechani- 
cal universe we live in. It took crisis to 
open me up to the possibility. 

PLAYBOY: Jung and that branch of psychol- 
ogy have obviously affected you a great 
deal. You named a Police album after 
Jungian authority Arthur Koestler's The 
Ghost in the Machine, which is headier stuff 
than you find in most rock m roll. 

STING: Koestler was a great popularizer of 


Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined 
That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health. 


smoke 


please try Carlton. 


65 


PLAYBOY 


very difficult scientific ideas. He intro- 
duced me to Jung’s ideas. I would never 
have read Jung if 1 hadn't read Koestler. 
He has been criticized for being a Jack-of- 
all-trades and a master of none, but, God, 
we need people like that, because the sci 
entific community and the lay community 
have never been so far apart. We have pco- 
ple making executive decisions at a 
government level who don’t even know the 
second law of thermodynamics. Who does? 
So, anyway, those explorations were per- 
sonal revelations to me, and they also have 
given me so much more to draw on. 
PLAYBOY: How have these revelations 
affected your life? 

STING: The most significant effect was the 
realization that I can use the demons in- 
side me to create. I don’t have to suffer and 
be miserable to create. I thought I did. I 
thought the only way to operate was by 
creating conflict, tension, putting pressure 
on myself and other people. But now I 
think differently. I think there is a way of 
inspiring yourself from inside in a positive 
way. It's a very negative thing to have to 
live through crisis in order to write and 
perform. It’s self-destructive and a bit of a 
cliché. Once you get inside it, there’s no 
way out except madness, and I really don’t 
want to become mad. I'm very much 
afraid of being mad—that's my one fear. 
PLAYBOY: Are you a candidate? 

‘STING: For madness? Um, I have been. As 
an artist, you are sort of forced to look into 
that side of yourself by the nature of what 
you do, and if you look too closely, you 
tend to be drawn into it—the dark side of 
yourself, really, the shadow, in Jungian 
terms. You have to be able to control the 
shadow and get to know it and not be 
overwhelmed by it. Your shadow is very 
creative. It's when you are most in touch 
with your feelings and emotions, your 
essence. 

PLAYBOY: Would you go so far as to sabo- 
tage a relationship to stir things up? 
STING: I think I've been in great danger of 
doing that, both in my personal relation- 
ships and in my relationships with the peo- 
ple I make music with. I seem to thrive on 
friction, or I have in the past, and I have 
deliberately set out to cause friction. 1 am 
sure there are other more gentle and, I 
hope, more profound ways of doing it. 
PLAYBOY: Such as? 

STING: There's no one thing. Pve grown. I 
consider myself an adult now. I write and 
perform as an adult—not as a petulant 
schoolboy, though I can still lapse into 
that sort of mind-set. I've also started to 
use my dream life much more than I ever 
did. I thought 1 never dreamed. People 
would say, “What did you dream last 
night?" I'd tell them I never had a dream 
in my life. It was only when 1 went 
through a serious crisis that I ended up in 
Jungian analysis, that I was aware of this 
other creative world that was inside. Now 
I can usc that for inspiration. And it's just 
as horrific and just as shocking as any- 
thing you can imagine. 


PLAYBOY: For example? 
STING: I was in my back garden. It’s a 
small, narrow garden, with walls and ivy 
all around it, and there are flower beds, 
beautifully cut lawns and little zigzag 
pathways and plants, roses—really rather 
nice. In the dream, in one of the walls, this 
big hole appeared, and out of it crawled 
these four enormous, prehistoric blue tur- 
tles with these wonderful scaly necks and 
fantastic heads. They were kind of drunk 
on their own virility, very athletic and 
macho, and they were showing off in my 
back garden, doing back flips, jumping on 
tables and smashing glasses. And in the 
process of this athletic, drunken display, 
they completely destroyed my beautiful 
garden. In the dream, I wasn’t pissed at 
this. I was even enjoying the fact that the 
garden was being wrecked, I was sort of 
into it. It was such a wonderful spectacle. 
Well, it was this dream that made me 
realize that I had to do this record I had 
to stir things up. The garden was my safe 
life in The Police. The turtles were Kenny, 
Omar, Branford and Darryl, the musi- 
cians 1 am working with now. That’s why 
the album is The Dream of the Blue Turtles 
The fact that the turtles destroyed the gar- 
den was to me a confirmation that ] was 
on the right track—what I was doing 
was the right thing for me. And I wrote 
this wacky piece of music to go with it, this 
sort of ersatz jazz. It makes sense after 
you've heard the dream. 
PLAYBOY: How has this self-discovery af- 
fected your personal life? 
STING: I am far more secure. I don’t have 
to torture the people around me. I don't 
have a close-knit coterie of friends, I have 
about three very close friends who know 
me very well; but apart from that, there is 
a huge variety of people I know and I have 
friendly relations with. I think it is wrong 
and very unwise to limit your sociability to 
what you feel safe with, or people you pay. 
I have friends who are as esteemed and 
powerful in their own worlds as | am in 
mine, and I enjoy their company more 
than anything else. 
PLAYBOY: Arc you always this serious? 
STING: Mc? Serious? I’m a complete 
maniac. I really do have my moments of 
madness, though few people are privy to 
them. It takes one of the people close to 
me to bring me out of myself. Гус been 
known to roll on the floor for half an 
hour—it comes out in the studio some- 
times, like in the song The Dream of the 
Blue Turtles, which started with me rolling 
around for 20 minutes—completely and 
utterly mad, cackling, for no apparent rea- 
son. It's a side I show to only а few 
friends. 
PLAYBOY: We ask not just because of this 
Interview but because a lot of your songs 
are very serious and melancholy. 
STING: I think I have a voice that lends 
itself better to melancholy than it does to 
“Let's have a party” songs, though I can 
do those. Still, I think you can get the 
wrong impression about me from my work 


and think Lm always a bit down. I'm not 
that way at all. Im fun-loving. I like mess- 
ing around, but it has never stopped me 
from switching over. I really don't know 
whether I would choose the Van Gogh or 
the Paul McCartney school of art. Is there 
anything in between? [Laughs] 

AM in all, Гус emerged, I think, in 
pretty good shape. I didn't take the other 
ways out—drugs, which are always there 
as a crutch, always around you, especially 
in rock 'n roll. The rock-'n’roll cliché: 
“Hope I die before I get old. Live now, die 
young, have a beautiful corpse.” I've been 
through all that. I almost did leave a beau- 
tiful corpse. 

PLAYBOY: Was that period—the breakup of 
your marriage, your drug usc—tied up 
with success? 

STING: Yeah, you have all that worldly 
power and those riches, and your inner self 
just collapses under the weight of it all. 
What's the point of this?" you ask your- 
self, “Why in the hell am I using all this 
energy and ultimately achieving unhappi- 
ness?” Very serious crisis. Why should I be 
rewarded with all this money and atten- 
tion and everything that goes with it? It's 
weird for me, though I work bloody hard 
for my money. The attention is hard to 
take. Suddenly, you have a hit record and 
a huge following, and if you area respon: 
ble person and you are asked responsible 
questions, you have to attempt to be 
coherent about them. If you ask me about 
nuclear power, I’m supposed to have a 
reasonable answer. I don't know if Pm 
qualified to have a reasonable answer on 
every issue, yet I can’t just say, “No, no, I 
don't know anything about it.” I have to 
say what I believe. 

Before | was famous, I could vanish; 
was quite casy. Now it is much more diffi- 
cult. It can be a nightmare. I can vanish, 
because I have money. Even so, I some- 
times wake up at night in a cold sweat. Dm 
objective about who I am, what I am, 
what Гус done, but sometimes you look at 
yourself and say, “I’m this; Гус done this 
and people know me as this.” Fame means 
the image is virtually forever. “Didn't you 
used to be so-and-so? Didn't you used to 
be that?” People will never treat me as 
someone with no past. I think that in rock 
in' roll, the blueprint for disaster is a 
clear one. That book has already been 
written—Elvis Presley, Sid Vicious, Jimi 
Hendrix. The blueprint for survival hasn’t 
yet been written, in my opinion, and that's 
a much morc original route. Га like to 
write it. That’s the one I really want to 
write. 

PLAYBOY: Will you write it? 

STING: Yes, and it will be just like my 
songs. The issues may be very scrious and 
ponderous, it may sometimes seem desper- 
ate and pointless, but they’re about the 
glimmer of hope—the light at the end of 
the tunnel. Which we hope isn't a train. 


[Laughs] 
Ej 


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modern д 


i 


article By DAVID SEELEY 


MY GIRLFRIEND was very mod- 
ern. She wore plastic jump suits 
and red Fiorucci boots, she 
went dancing every night till 
two AM, she read i-. D Magazine 
and listened to Orchestral 
Manoeuvres in the Dark, and 
she had no idea what she 
wanted to do with her life. 
When she began, through no 
fault of her own, to systemati- 
cally smash my heart to bits 
last spring, 1 began hanging 
out every night at a place called 
On the Air. It was a little New 
Wave bar we used to go to 
together, full of sleck, heavily 
moussed modem girls who 


US 


along about dawn, he began to suspect there was such a thing as too cool 


PLAYBOY 


were becoming more and more of a mys- 
tery to me. They were all very Eighties, 
cooler than Madonna, hipper than hip. Га 
lean against a wooden rail and watch com- 
forting U2 videos splash against the 
screen, drinking screwdrivers and t 
figure things out. Like, what do 
want? How can we understand them? Is 
this my fourth or fifth screwdriver? 

Luckily, I could always count on Justine 
and Suzi. They were roommates and wait- 
resses at On the Air, and they took carc of 
me, bringing me drinks and waving off my 
money and being careful not to ask me 
how things were going with my girlfriend. 
Justine and Suzi were 19 and 24 and 
ultrahip as girls can get. They were mini- 
New Wave celebrities in the Dallas scene, 
and sometimes they tried to explain to me 
what modern girls were all about. One 
evening, I asked them if they'd let me fol- 
low them around on a long Saturday night 
and write about what they said and did 
and danced to. I told them it might be 
helpful to many people and would place a 
grave responsibility on them, and they 
were both eager to do what they could. 

“We'll take you to the Twilite Room and 
the Starck Club,” Justine said. “We'll buy 
some ecstasy and go shopping for toys at 
four am. We'll even tell you about 
orgasms!” 

I said I couldn't wait. 


. 

Our Saturday night was balmy. Late 
April breezes were rustling up from the 
Gulf and swirling around in the curve of 
the U-shaped apartment building where 
Justine and Suzi lived. I knocked on their 
door. Loud music was coming from inside. 
1 knocked harder. 

The door flew open and Justine stood 
there, panting, in a camisole and a pair of 
French designer jeans. “Come on up!” she 
said, already running back up the stairs. 
“Pm on the phone, and Suzi's in the 
shower." I had to pause a minute, though, 
from the sheer spectacle of their apart- 
ment. Apparently, a burglary had taken 
place. There was almost no furniture, and 
the carpet was covered an amazing 
layer of tossed-aside things: clothes, news- 
papers, records, glasses with drops of wine 
in them, candy wrappers, Sweet 'N Low 
packets, icks and a plastic armadillo 
with a bikini bottom draped on its face. 
The kitchen appliances were covered with 
fabric-paint graffiti, and there were Magic 
Marker messages on the walls (FOR JENNI- 
FER'S SHOWER MARCH LINGERIE). 

“Up here,” Justine called. I bolted up 
the steps to her room, where the theme 
from downstairs continued on a grander 
scale. She had transformed her boudoir 
into a walk-in closet, with all her clothes 
scattered in mounds on the floor. She was 
sitting on a sort of precipice in the north- 
east corner, twisting a camouflage-colored 
bra in her finger tips, talking dramatically 
to some guy on the phone. (Well, honey, 


Justine said, She was vi 


I swear ah just don't лош") 

Justine and Suzi were in a transition 
period. Just a few days before, On the Air 
had been closed by its landlord for non- 
payment of six months’ rent. Accusations 
were fiying—people were blaming the 
club's demise on everything from cocaine 
to comped drinks. But the saddest thing 
was that Justine and Suzi had lost their 
forum, their stage. In the dark, skintight 
recesses of On the Air, they had maneu- 
vered nightly through cool crowds, with 
trays of drinks perched on their finger tips 
and sleek new dresses hugging their hips. 
On the Air had been their element, and it 
was gone. 

“Pm trying not to think about it," Jus- 
tine said as she hung up and lit one of her 
trademark English cigarettes. “I'm frying 
to decide what to wear.” She kicked at a 
pile of blouses and opened a door to reveal 
a stuffed closet. “I don’t know if I should 
be innocent in white or deadly in black,” 
she said. She picked up something from 
the floor of the closet, and as she did so, 
her breasts swelled against her camisole. 
“Hmmm . . . what do men like women to 
wear?" 

As nonchalantly as possible, I suggested 
that what she had on looked just fine. 

‘Justine just put her hands on her hips 
and laughed. “You child,” she said. “You 
poor, sweet child!” 

Suzi called out hello from her bedroom. 
She and Justine are nearly inseparable, 
but they're very different. Justine is wild 
suggestive, nearly six feet tall, and she has 
the careless, outrageous aggressiveness 
that comes with being both cool and 19. 
Suzi is soft-spoken, fragile; strikingly 
beautiful but in a calm, gentle way. It's as 
if her face were sculpted and the artist had 
put something sad into her blue eyes. 
Suzi just got back from Oklahoma, 
iting her parent: 
Don't I look like a queen in my room 
She sank back down onto the thronelike 
mound of clothes, running her hand 
through skirts and lingerie as if she were 
testing the waters of a pool. “Dirty under- 
wear. It’s my life.” 

“Justine?” called from her room. 
“Could you open my door a second, 
please?” Justine went out into the hall, 
and I heard Suzi say, “Is this too sleazy 
without a slip?” 

“No, you look beaut 
sick.“ 

“It’s not too sleazy?” 

“No. You look like an angel.” 

Justine came back in, dialed the phone. 
She had directed me to a safe spot on her 
bed where I could sit without messing up 
anything. “Hi, Mom, how are you?" she 
id. “Remember how I told you I was 
going out with David and Suzi tonight? 
Well, what do you think I should wear?” 
She took a drag of her cigarette, listened 
and waved her hand impatiently. “Well, 
that’s you. You went to Smith. You're sensi- 


l. You make me 


ble. What color should I wear, white or 
black? Yes, Mother, I'll wear something 
flattering.” 

She hung up, decided to wear something 
deadly in black and fished a bottle of 
Soave Bolla out of a corner. It had been 
propped against the wall, and a cork was 
bobbing around inside it. Justine had 
taken a few swigs when she noticed me 
watching the cork. "You want some? Suzi! 
Do you want some wine?” 

She found three plastic cups on the edge 
of the bathtub and rinsed them out in the 
bathroom sink, but by the time she meas- 
ured the wine into the bottoms of the cups, 
it hardly seemed worth the effort. “I 
know,” she said, brightening. “Go buy us 
some champagne. We'll be all ready to go 
when you get back.” 

When I returned with two cold bottles, 
the girls were putting on make-up. Justine, 
in a scooped-out black dress, was painting 
her nails with pink Wet & Wild, her stereo 
blasting out Seventeen Seconds, by the 
Cure. Ten feet away, in Suzi's room, a 
stereo was playing, less loudly, Love Song, 
by Simple Minds. Suzi was in a lotus posi- 
п оп the floor, facing a big round mirror 
ing against the wall. She closed her 
eyes, brushed make-up across her face in 
delicate strokes, surveyed the results. 

“It's so weird to be back from my par- 

she said. “It was so quiet there, in a 
o e DO 
turned out to be a long white-cotton Twen- 
ties dress. Suzi’s room was neater than 
ine’s but not by much. Fashion maga- 
zines were spread out all over, imported 
British monthlies that, when you opened 
them and turned a few pages, had photo- 
graphs of girls who looked just like Suzi- 
‘The only orderly thing in the entire apart- 
ment was Suzi's suitcase, which lay open 
on her bed. Inside it, her clothes were 
neatly folded, her socks carefully rolled 
into identically sized balls. 

“I hate that mushy song,” Justine said, 
walking in and scowling at the Simple 
Minds album. “It’s so stupid, like, ‘I want 
to trust you, / I want to be close to you." 

"It's nice,” Suzi protested. “It’s ro 
tic. You don’t like it because it’s not sleazy 
enough for you.” 

“Dm sorry, but romance is dead in the 
Eighties,” Justine said, gulping some 
champagne. "That's why men suck now, 
because they forgot what roses mean. It's 
just Hey, baby, wanna fuck?” 

“You'll like this song by Depeche 
Mode,” Suzi said to me. “I's called 
Somebody, and a cute guy with blond hair 
Sings it. It’s pretty.” 

Justine made a face. “105 sappy, it's 
mushy, it sounds like shit! It's too des- 
perate, too gross. It’s like Norman Rock- 
well.” Then she ran into her room and 
turned her Cure tape full blast. 

While Suzi painted her eyelids with a 
tiny brush, Justine showed me a list of 

(continued on page 156) 


“My wife thinks I'm home cooking.” 


they're beautiful, they're sexy and 
they have the bright stuff 


THE WOMEN OF MENSA 


rfs BEER SAID that the brain is the most erotic organ. But how do you photograph intelligence? We found seven 
ways. The women at left and on the next ten pages are card-carrying members of Mensa, the exclusive organi- 
zation for people with enormous I. QS. These women have great figures. How about an upper measurement of 
174, which is Donna Howell’s 1.Q.? Two years ago, Donna, then a candidate in The Great 30th Anniversary 
Playmate Search, conferred with Senior Photo Editor Jeff Cohen about a problem bright women share: People 
can't see their beauty for their brains. Let's do something about it, replied Jeff; sec if we can find some more out 
there like you. With Donna’s aid—she helped recruit through a letter in the Mensa Bulletin —we assembled a 
cast of whiz persons who are out to prove that intelligent women sometimes take off their horn-rims. And more. 


MENSA BRAIN TEASERS 


Just how smort are these women? Here's a quiz thot Menso prepared for us thot our vorocious thinkers would con- 
sider o light snock. If you suspect thot you, too, moy be Menso material, toke the quiz. Then score yourself accord- 
ing to the guidelines on page 148. Be sure to use o timer bonus points ore awarded for o quick finish. Want to try 
to join Mensa? Send nine dollars to Menso, Deportment 7, 2626 Eost 14th Street, Brooklyn, New York 11235. 
They'll send you their take-home exom. 


1. Which of the lower boxes best completes the 
series on the top? 


GG) DO KK 
SO DO KX 
XX] [ODO Dx 
A OD [xx 
(A) (в) (С) (D) 


2. Which two shopes below represent mirror 
imoges of the some shope? 


3. Complete the following onalogy: as + — 0 are to: | 


(a) +-0 (00—4 
(p y (&9 9 ore to (8) 0+= (e) ++0 
(0-40 


4. 1 om a man. If Joe's son is my son's father, 
whot relationship om | to Joe? 
(A) His grondfother (0) His grondson 
(B) His fother (E) Lom Joe 
(C) His son (F) His uncle 


5. Which word does not belong in the following 
group? 
(A) Knife (C)Smie (E) Lovely 
(B) Swan (0) Feother (Р) Thought 


6. Find the number thot logically completes the 
series: 2,3, 5, 9, 17, ... 


7. What number comes next in this series? 
IS2 SOE 


8. Complete this onalogy with o five-letter 
word ending with the letter H. 
High is to low os sky is to - - - - H. 


9. In the grid below, two of the numbers in o 
line (across ond down) produce the third. What is 
the missing number? 


10. Complete this onalogy with o seven-letter 
word ending with the letter T. 
Potentiol is to octual as future is to 


For quiz conclusion and onswers, turn to page 14B. 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY ARNY FREYTAG 


73 


74 


ELIZABETH ROGERS 
HOME: Atlanta, Georgia 
AGE: 23 


OCCUPATION: Graduate student in 
psychology, North Carolina State 


BEST QUALITY: “I don't play games 
with people. I don’t have to; I'm confi- 
dent.” 


AMBITION: I plan to get my Ph.D. 
and study human cognition—how peo- 
ple learn. Also, I plan to get more soft- 
ware for my Macintosh.” 


BEST TRIVIAL PURSUIT CATEGORY: 


Green (science and nature) 


RECENT ACCOMPLISHMENT: 
"Eighth-degree orange belt in Tac 
Kwon Do. That's a low belt, but I’ve 
been studying for less than a year. It 
means a lot.” 


FANTASY: “People view sexuality so 
intensely, almost painfully. People 
should discover sensuality. The beau- 
ty of sensuality is that it doesn’t nec- 
essarily involve physical sex. Half of 
the fun in life is innuendo. I like the 
idea that intelligent men will be look- 
ing at me here, but that doesn’t mean I 
want to sleep with them.” 


PERSONAL FAILURE: “I tried to get 
my boyfriend into this pictorial. He's a 
Mensan, too.” 


LQ.: 135 


AV 


VO. ыл CIN хеле) 


JANEL KILLHEFFER 


HOME: La Selva Beach, California 


AGE: 34 


OCCUPATION: Co-owner of Pasa- 
tiempo Inn in Santa Cruz 


HOBBY: “I race Porsches. It’s a fabu- 
lous physical thrill. When you're going 
that fast, you're really in contact with 
the car. When your car skitters side- 
ways, you want to brake, but that’s the 
worst thing you can do. You have to be 
tough enough to hold the wheel and 
resist braking. After a race, my shoul- 
ders are sore and sometimes even 
bruised from the safety straps.” 


ON BRAINS AND BEAUTY: “A lot of 
people expect Mensans to be nerds. It’s 
intimidating to people that I have both 
brains and a body; nobody likes a 
superperson. I have never felt that 
beauty isa drawback. I'm going to miss 
it when it goes away. When I’m old, DI] 
get out my PLAYBOY shots and show 
them to my grandchildren.” 


FANTASY: “I told e I wanted to 
pose in an Egyptian setting, because 
I've always loved Egyptology. I just got 
back from a study cruise on the Nile. 
Egypt is a very spiritual country. Egyp- 
tians believe in ma'at, the quality of 
everything's being in order. I wish my 
life were morc in тачи. I don't have an 
inherent sense of order.” 


75 


JOY JOHNSON 


HOME: Orlando, Florida 

AGE: 25 

OCCUPATION: Real-estate investor 
and sports-car dealer 

FAVORITE MENSA JOKE: “Define the 
universe. Give three example: 

ON BRAINS AND BEAUTY: “I get 
stereotyped because of how 1 100) 
People scc blonde and th 
Bubblchead.” 

CURRENT ACTIVITIES: "I'm putting 
together a book of brain teasers and 
Pm about to earn my black belt in Tae 
Kwon Do.” 

FANTASY: “My husband has always 
said that if I were an animal, Га be a 
cat. So here I am.” 


LQ.: 152 


DONNA HOWELL 


HOME: Orlando, Florida 

AGE: 20 

OCCUPATION: Anchor уотап/ 
reporter for WDBO radio, Orlando; 
host of cable-TV show On Cue 
HOBBIES: “I like mindless activities: 
aerobics, bicycling, working out on 
Nautilus equipment. 

FAVORITE ROCKER: “Billy Idol. He’s 
easier to exercise to than Neil Dia- 
mond.” 

FANTASY: I like the abstract. My fan- 
тазу setting is mystical, ethereal and 
otherworldly. It ain’t on planet earth. 
It reminds me of the set from Billy 
Idol’s Eyes Without a Face video.” 


.Q.: 174 


SHERI BLAIR 


HOME: Atlanta, Georgia 


LEAST FAVORITE PASTIME: “Just sit- 
ting down and watching TV m 
crazy. I prefer high-pressure learning.” 


ON BRAINS AND BEAUTY: 2 
have a real high 1.Q. You may be beau- 
tiful. But if you aren't spiritually devel- 


oped, you really don't have anything. 
God is the source of higher intelligence. 
1 think of God as infinite intelligence.” 


GOALS: “To become a professional 
entertainer. I sing, dance and act. To 
become financially independent. Oth- 
erwise, to put my life in God's hands 
and leave it ther 


BEST THING ABOUT JOINING 
MENSA: “My grades immediately 
improved. I had always been a B stu- 
dent. After I joined Mensa, I started 
pulling straight A’s.” 


FANTASY: “I have a special thing for 
red balloons. I have dreamed of walk- 
ing into a room that was filled, wall to 
wall, with balloons. For the shoot, we 
discovered that the balloons broke 
when I lay down on them, so we com- 
promised with little red plastic balls. 1 
loved it.” 


i 

v 
< 
EC 


` 


"s 
D 
П 


AAA! 


МНИ 
| n 


VALERIE COEL 


HOME: Lexington, Massachusetts 
AGE: 29 


EDUCATION: B.S. in physics from Vas- 
sar, M.S. from MIT 


OCCUPATION: Applications engineer 
at a major CAD/CAM firm 


TRANSLATION: D/CAM is a com- 
puter-aided d nd-manufactur- 
ing system. I have to talk customers 
through problems in using the system.” 


HOBBY: “I perform in a rock-"n'-roll 
band.” 


ON BRAINS AND BEAUTY: “In high 
school, I went to my prom with the 
number-one academic achiever in the 
school. He was a real nerd. He had 
picked me for my brains, and I was in- 
sulted. 1 thought there should be more 
to me than just my intelligence. But a: 
it turned out, I discovered a soul mate. 
He wound up asking me, ‘Why does 
everybody think I’m just an encyclo- 


pedia?” 


ON MENSA: “Mensans don't necessar- 
ily do intellectual things. Sometimes 
the gatherings turn out to be orgies at 
somebody's house. Sometimes we p 
cutthroat Trivial Pursuit.” 


FANTASY: “Normally, I sing in front of 
an audience. In my fantasy, I get to do 
what I usually would not do in real life: 
The audience turns me on, 

cited, and the pictures ind 

turns out.” 


1.Q.: 163 


JOANN HARJES 
HOME: Roseville, Minnesota 
AGI 7 


OCCUPATION: Student at the Univer- 
sity of Minnesota, majoring in ma: 
communications 


ON BRAINS AND BEAUTY: “A high 
LO. is a pretty big advantage. My 
appearance can work for me, but when 
it comes down to taking care of the 
actual business at hand, it doesn’t 
amount to a hill of beans. Beauty is a 
es tool. It’s just the packagi 
not the real stuff.” 


BEST TRAIT: “I’m a hard work: 


WORST TRAIT: “I cringe at the thought, 
but here it is. When things aren't going 
my way, ГЇЇ rationalize that people who 
don’t agree with me aren’t very bright.” 


ON BEING IN PLAYBOY: “When I 
first heard about the project, I laughed. 
I couldn't think of a better group to 
pose with than my fellow eggheads! 
Who says you can’t be both and 
smart? The older I get, the better these 
pictures will look. At a certain point, 
they'll come out of the book and go up 
on the walls. By the time I'm 1 
they'll bea shrine.” 


FANTASY: “Most of the time, I’m kind 
of off the wall, so I wanted this to be 
rather elegant. This is a once-in-a- 

ime opportunity to be something 
that I’m usually not—serious.” 


LQ.: 150 


KLAUS 


KINSKI 


MINS 


is this man of strange and explosive power really the world's greatest actor? 


personality 


By MARCELLE CLEMENTS 


1 GUESS I'll have to call it the “thing.” I 
can't think of a name for it. During one of 
our conversations, I tried to pin Klaus 
Kinski down for a name, and he reminded 
me of the fairy tales in which people die 
when they find out a forbidden name. 
“But anyway,” he said, “there can be no 
word to express this thing, this secret. 
Because this secret, which is not actually a 
secret, it is very simple, but it includes, 
includes, endless, endless, almost every- 
thing, you know. The thinking about it 
and being conscious of all this means at 
the same moment changing everything, 
like in nature, changing and changing and 
changing, endless, always, never-ending 
movement, you see.” 

I don't know whether or not ГЇЇ be able 
to explain the “thing” to you, though I 
believe that I understand it perfectly after 
spending some time with Kinski. It is not 
so much any specific thing he said, any onc 
word he uttered; it is the accumulation of 
many words, images, metaphors, exam- 
ples that he used, but also gestures, facial 
expressions, tone, the settings in which we 
talked and, above all, the moods he can 
generate when all those are combined. 

Kinski speaks elliptically; he calls it 


“telegraph style." Sometimes his meaning 
is clear only by inference. But in talking 
with him, I soon understood how skillful 
he is, by instinct, at leading one to leap 
from an image to an idea. I realize now 
that Kinski could have talked to me in this 
seemingly inexact manner about the quan- 
tum theory and I would have learned a 
great deal of physics. In fact, in a way, that 
is exactly what he talked to me about: the 
emission and absorption of energy in na- 
ture. This was my first important lesson 
about what it is the “actor” does. 

So most of the time when we talked to- 
gether, we referred to it as “this thing.” 

I know, though, that other people would 
have names for the thing. Some might call 
it talent, because it is the energy out of 
which artists create. But some might dis- 
miss this "thing" of Kinski's as nonsense 
or would simply call it insanity. I believe it 
is the pain of the exposed, hypersensitive 
psvche. In trying to convey its essence to 
me, Kinski sometimes also called it the. 
force, or the power, or nakedness, or re- 
ceptivity, or the incarnation of all that is 
alive. Sometimes he used the phrase “par- 
ticipation in the universe.” In the East, 
there is a tradition of seeking such a merg- 
ing. Indeed, Kinski admits that certain of 


PORTRAIT BY GREG SPALENKA 


THE MANY FACES OF KLAUS KINSKI (clockwise from upper left): Fitzcarraldo (1982); with doughter Nostassia and her mother; For a Few Dol- 
lars More (1967); Venus in Furs (1969); Operation Thunderbolt (1977); Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972); Nosferatu (1979); Woyzeck (center, 1978). 


the states he sometimes enters resemble 
meditation and embody some of the tenets 
of yoga. “But,” as he puts it, “I don't need 
anybody to tell me how to be alive.” 
The next thing he said was “Fas 
Or, rather, he yelled, “FASTER!”—which 
made my heart leap for the 100th time that 


afternoon, since I had only just learned 
how to drive. I also have a terrible fear of 
heights, and we were, at that moment, 
heading toward the ocean on what seemed 
to me to be a precipitous mountain road 
“Can’t you see there is someone behind 
us? Why do you go so SLOW? Just GO!” 


“But I'm going to drive over the cliff,” 

I protested 
“No, no. Look, you have much room 
Let him pass. I can’t bear this, to have 
people stick on other cars’ ass. Why won't 
they pass? It is unbearable. Stop. STOP!” 
(continued on page 178) 


“I feel like a woman, Emile—fetch me a long blonde wig!” 


113119, 


BLACK 
W 


“MAINWARING,” said Bud Kallen from the 
back seat of the humming car. “So that's 
the way you spell it over here.” He folded 
up the deed he'd been studying. 

“Yes,” replied Nigel Sloane, a slim, 
silver-haired man as smooth as the Bent- 
ley he was driving. “But not pronounced 
Maine wearing, as you did. We pronounce 
it Mannering...." He turned to the 
young woman in the passenger seat to his 
left. “Which, I take it, is the way your late 
mother spelled her maiden name, Mrs. 
Kallen?” 

That's right,” Elena Kallen answered. 
She was a beautiful young woman with 
large brown eyes and sable hair. “Ameri- 
cans said it wrong so often that my great- 
grandfather Humphrey changed the 
spelling when he settled in the States right 
after the First World War.” 

“Sensible of him.” 

“Settling in the States?” asked Bud 
Kallen. 

“Simplifying the name,” said Nigel 
Sloane. 

The Warwickshire countryside, as green 
as broccoli in the midday sun, rolled 
majestically past the window as Sloane 
guided the car around a subtle bend in the 
road. 

Elena was saying, “The name died out 
when my mother married. She didn’t have 
any brothers. And her unmarried sister 
died a long time ago. That must have 
made it hard for you to find me.” 

“A bit,” Sloane admitted. “But we are a 
diligent firm, Mrs. Kallen. We kept on the 
scent until we discovered that Helen 
Mannering, the granddaughter of Hum- 
phrey, had married a gentleman attached 


to one of the Central American consulates 
in your country, a Mr. Enrique Castillo, 
and that their union had produced two off. 
spring: Henry and Elena. If your brother 
had not been killed in Vietnam, he, being 
the elder, would have been my passenger 
today. As fate decreed, however, you are 
the closest surviving blood relation of Sir 
Giles Mainwaring. Therefore, according 
to the terms of his will, you are the legatee 
of his entire estate, including Mainwaring 
Hall.” 

Bud said, “I guess it'll be Kallen Hall 
from now on, right, honey?” 

Before Elena could respond, Nigel 
Sloane said frostily over his shoulder, “It 
has been called Mainwaring Hall since 
Jacobean times, Mr. Kallen.” 

Sloane addressed Elena: “There will, of 
course, be a heavy toll in death duties— 
what I believe you call inheritance 
taxes—but even after the Inland Revenue 
has taken its ton of flesh, there will be a 
substantial cash settlement. And then we 
must not forget Mainwaring Hall itself, 
which we could arrange to sell for you, 
should you decide not to live there.” 

“Why would we decide that?” asked 
Elena. 

“Well, for one thing, it’s so very large for 
two people, and for another . . . but there, 
see for yourself.” The car slowed down. To 
their left in the middle distance, looming 
in the center of spacious grounds, stood an 
enormous old house, an uneasy mixture of 
late Perpendicular Gothic motifs and 
crudely misused classic details. It seemed 
to grow out of the earth from roots almost 
four centuries old, as if it had been not so 
much built as (continued on page 167) 


they'd inherited a wonderful old english manor—they’d 
also inherited its ghost 


fiction 


By RAY RUSSELL 


ILLUSTRATION BY ANITA KUNZ 


ROAD WARRIORS 


anew playboy feature 


HOW SWEDE IT IS! 


the 9000 turbo, a saab story with a happy ending 


modern living By JAY KOBLENZ 


YOU MIGHT REMEMBER back in the Sixties having 
seen that first upside-down bathtub going down 
the road and having an engineer friend who wore 
a miniature slide rule for a tie clip tell you, “Oh, 
that’s a Saab. They still make two-strokes in 
Sweden.” Then there would have been more tech 
talk about how this company used V4 engines 
that had the high-pitched whine of a dirt bike 
and how you had to tell the station attendant to 
put oil in the gas tank. Well, this Saab story has a 
much happier ending, because Saab has a new 
beginning. 

Saab’s first all-new car since 1968 hits the 
automotive showrooms this month, and in get- 
ting it there, the company has pulled off the ulti- 
mate Yuppie slick trick of the year—it's gone 
mainstream. Saab! Mainstream! Since produc- 
tion began in December 1949, conventional has 
not been a word that has ever formed on a Saab 
body designer's lips. Previous Saabs do have 
character, though the term isn’t always used pos- 
itively. But while the 9000 Turbo is right in step 
with contemporary automotive looks, it retains 
the three qualities that all Saabs share: effi- 
ciency, comfort and logic. 

We had the opportunity to test-drive the Euro- 
pean version of the 9000 in its natural habitat, 
Scandinavia, some months ago. That version 
didn't have U.S. emission-control equipment, so 
its horsepower was 175, as opposed to the 160 hp 
we'll see when it hits the States. While Saabs 
have always had front-wheel drive, the 9000 is 
the first since 1956 with the motor mounted 
transversely (sideways). This allows for a more 
direct power transition to the front wheels and 
makes the 9000 seem more potent than the 900, 
which has equal engine output. And while the 
9000 is big (it’s the first Saab rated 
“large car” by EPA specifications), it’s a very 
easy car to drive. Our test route through Finland 


and Norway provided hundreds of miles of nar- 
row roads that would have shaken the screws out 
of lesser machines. Since most of the driving was 
done north of the Arctic Circle, we didn’t have 
the opportunity to test the air conditioning, 
though the 9000's heater was flawless. 

We also had no opportunity to learn about the 
9000's interior lighting. The sun never sets above 
the Arctic Circle in early summer, and only occa- 
sional snowfall reduced visibility, while snow on 
the road reduced traction. Front-wheel drive 
made the most of what grip was available. At one 
point, however, slush from snow blown across 
the road sent us upside down into a ditch. Since 
we were doing about 60 mph at the time, it’s defi- 
nitely a testament to Saab's stubborn Swedish 
upbringing that not a single pane of glass was 
broken. Furthermore, after the upended vehicle 
was righted, the windows still rolled up and 
down electrically, and the only repair called for 
was a single tire change 

When not upside down, the 9000, with all its 
Swedish smarts, is a wonderfully comfortable 
machine. The interior is available in cloth or 
leather, a sun roof is standard with leather, the 
five-speed gearbox is a major improvement over 
the 900's and the rear seats fold fat, giving you 
access to the rear hatch. The 9000's top end is 
about 140 mph—as if you'd ever see it. Audi, 
BMW, Mercedes, Peugeot and Volvo have a sexy 
sister to contend with that’s priced in the $22,000- 
to-$25,000 range. (For a profile view and techni- 
cal specifications, see page 150.) Sure, the 900 
series of Saabs continues, but how are you going 
to keep all those upwardly mobile movers and 
shakers down on the farm after they've seen the 
9000? You know the answer—and so do all those 
other guys, still wearing slide-rule tie clips, who 
are lined up at the dealership, waiting to get their 
hands on a new-generation 9000 Turbo. 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY RICHARD Ш\Л 


RIDING THE TREND TREND 


JUST POINT THE WAY—ANY WA' ID MILLIONS ARE SURE TO FOLLOW 


HERE їз another way to look at present economic events,” Paul Hawken, a 

professional trend spotter, wrote in 1983 in a book called The Next Econ- 

omy. “We have entered a period between economies, or, to be more pre- 
cise, between economic structures, and the troubled economy reflects the 
passage from one structure to the next." 

Like most great writing about trends, this pronouncement is devoid of 
meaning—or, to be more precise, devoid of meaning structures. Although 
weare currently not in an economy, we are beset by economic events, but we 
are also in an economy, and a troubled one at that, though another economy 
is coming. What could be worse? Or better? 

Hawken continues, "Current economic problems are no more a sign of 
failure than adolescence is the failure of childhood. While coming of age 
may not be the most apt metaphor for our crisis, it at least expresses the. 
trauma that can accompany rapid change when proper understanding is 
lacking." Which is to say, our situation is like adolescence; also, it is not. 
Fortunately, though, help is at hand. With “proper understanding" (the 


article By DAVID OWEN 


ILLUSTRATION BY DAVE CALVER 


PLAYBOY 


trend spotter’s euphemism for “copies of 
my book”), the traumatic failings of the 
current intereconomic (non-) economy, 
which are nonetheless not failings at all, 
though they are problems, can be properly 
understood. 

The ability to spot trends quickly 
and accurately is becoming increasingly 
important. Like virtually all sweeping 
statements about trends, this one is both 
obviously true and demonstrably false. 
Although the ability to spot trends has 
never been more (or, in many ways, less) 
critical than it is now, the urge to publish 
books about trends is stronger than ever 
before (though it has always been just as 
strong). We are on the doorstep, if not in 
the final throes, of a cataclysmic informa- 
tion explosion. 

And yet, this is completely untrue. 

. 


There are two kinds of executives: those 
who make decisions and those who make 
speeches. Trends are the bread and butter 
of the latter variety, and John Naisbitt is 
their patron saint. Now a trend in his own 
right, Naisbitt is the author of Megatrends, 
the best-selling 1982 book that, according 
to its publisher, is still “а must for every- 
one who cares about tomorrow.” With a 
few sad exceptions, of course, that includes 
everyone. Last year, Naisbitt took time out 
from prognosticating to provide a mega- 
blurb for the paperback edition of The 
Next Economy: “Paul Hawken's brilliant 
analysis will make all who read it see the 
world differently.” 

All, that is, except John Naisbitt, who 
already saw the world in pretty much ex- 
actly the same brilliant way Paul Hawken 
sees it. "We are living in the time of the 
parenthesis, the time between eras,” Nais- 
bitt wrote, supplying his own emphasis, 
in Megatrends. Big-league trend spotters 
almost always describe the world as being 
in a sort of vague intermediate state 
between the past and the future, the better 
to keep their books in print. Since the 
future never gets any closer, the day of 
reckoning can be postponed indefinitely. 

Although writers such as Naisbitt and 
Hawken are fond of claiming that the 
world is now changing faster than it has 
ever changed before, that change is never 
so rapid as to make their predictions obso- 
lete until many years later, after every con- 
ceivable spin-off has been sold. Naisbitt 
has translated Megatrends into a mini- 
industry. He holds seminars for cor- 
porations, gives speeches at $15,000 a 
whack, consults, has lunch with the Presi- 
dent and publishes the quarterly Trend 
Report, the monthly Bellwether Report, the 
fortnightly Trend Letter and the bi-weekly 
Trend Notes. (Not bad for a fellow con- 
victed of bankruptcy fraud in 1978.) 

Naisbitt says that he has formed his 
opinions about “the America we are be- 
coming" by spending a dozen years clip- 
ping 2,000,000 articles from 200 or so local 


newspapers and distilling them into 
trends. Out of such highly localized data 
bases," he has written, “1 have watched 
the general outlines of a new society slowly 
emerge." Naisbitt calls his method content 
analysis. According to him, his staff care- 
fully sifts through its daily mountain of 
newsprint and separates it into piles of 
articles representing individual themes. It 
is the size of those piles that constitutes 
evidence of trends. “If all the local news 
space devoted to drug use and abuse dur- 
ing the year 1970 were equated to 100,” 
Naisbitt explains, “the amount of space 
devoted to that subject during the year 
1979 dropped to cight, although it has 
risen since.” Naisbitt's faith in his system 
derives from his professed belief that the 
people who put out newspapers have 
essentially no control over “which stories 
will appear in the paper” and that the 
pages of, say, The Fresno Bee therefore pro- 
vide a sort of unsmudged window on the 
trend-spewing soul of America. 

That, to be polite, is utter bullshit. As 
Emily Yoffe pointed out in Harper's in 
1983, he hires another company to do most 
of his clipping for him. That company— 
NewsBank, of New Canaan, Connect- 
icut—is mainly in the business of supply- 
ing clippings to libraries. “Our typical 
user is a high school student doing a paper 
on something,” NewsBank’s president, 
Daniel Jones, told Yoffe. High school stu- 
dents aren't interested in plowing through 
the collective unconscious of American 
journalism, so NewsBank is highly selec- 
tive in what it clips. “We take only a few 
articles from each newspaper,” Jones said. 
“The articles have to have substance and 
not be so local in nature that they 
wouldn’t be interesting.” What this 
means, in effect, is that Naisbitt can't 
christen a trend unless NewsBank has 
identified it first as the sort of thing that 
might turn up in a teenagers homework 
assignment. (Naisbitt is apparently an old 
hand at embroidering the facts. In Who's 
Who, he claims to have served as a special 
assistant to President Johnson. But 
according to a recent issue of The Washing- 
tonian, he did no such thing.) 

Once Jones has spotted a trend for him, 
Naisbitt reduces it to a teasingly vague 
aphorism and prints it in boldface type: 

* We must put down our old indus- 
trial tasks and pick up the tasks of the 
future. 

Money is information in motion. 

* Biology is replacing physics as the 
dominant metaphor of society. 

* Strategic planning is worthless— 
unless there is first a strategic vision. 

«If you don't know what business 
you are in, conceptualize what business 
it would be useful for you to think you 
are in. 

* Trends, like horses, are easier to 
ride in the direction they are already 


ing. 
All of these are either self-evident or 


absurd. (“Pick up kids, groceries, tasks of 
the future,” scrawls the busy executive on 
the cover ofhis copy of Megatrends.) Many 
could be rearranged without discernible 
effect: Information is money in motion; a 
strategic vision is worthless—unless there 
is first strategic planning; physics is 
replacing biology as the dominant meta- 
phor of society; if you don't know what 
business you are in, call your doctor. 

The advice in Megatrends is so fuzzy 
that it can magically be used to explain or 
justify almost any business decision. That 
is why the book is so popular among exec- 
utives who spend a lot of time on the 
rubber-chicken circuit. A vice-president 
who used to have to write separate 
speeches for meetings of his company’s 
production, sales and marketing staffs can 
now get by with a single all-purpose ora- 
tion pinched from Megatrends. For three 
years now, it has been nearly impossible to 
attend a convention or a corporate meet- 
ing anywhere in the United States without 
hearing at least one presentation based on 
Naisbitt’s book. In the fall of 1982, I 
attended the annual conference of the Col- 
lege Entrance Examination Board. Henry 
G. Cisneros, the incomparably trendy, 
Harvard-educated chicano mayor of San 
Antonio, was scheduled to give a talk 
called “Access to Higher Education in an 
Urban Environment.” Instead, he sum- 
marized the contents of Megatrends. 

Although billed as forward-looking, 
Megatrends, like all such books, is drip- 
pingly nostalgic. The values it celebrates 
arc the cozy, old-fashioned ones that 
underemployed executives have always 
embraced. Naisbitt flatters businessmen 
by telling them what they already believe 
and claiming that it’s a vision of the future. 
They like him because he forms his opin- 
ions about the world the same way they 
do: on the basis of half-true, half-grasped 
anecdotes and tidbits of information. 

Naisbitt is now gearing up for a new 
media onslaught. He offered a preview not 
long ago in The New York Times: “Nineteen 
eighty-five will be the year in which Amer- 
ican business discovers what a handful of 
companies already know—to survive in 
the new information-electronics economy, 
they must reinvent themselves. . . While 
this fundamental change transforms our 
economy, we will go through the process of 
reinventing the world we live in. . . . The 
message for the business world is that it 
is time to reinvent the competition for 
economic development. . . . Companies 
everywhere are being reinvented around 
people. . . Top-down, hierarchical, au- 
thoritarian management styles give way to 
a networking style of management in the 
reinvented corporation.” 

I have a hunch we're going to be hearing 
more about reinventing things in the next 
few years. Could I be on to something? 
Maybe so. One of Naisbitt’s favorite new 

(continued on page 163) 


“Y” know, it’s funny how certain sounds can take you back over the 


years. I had this big ol’ Chevy, and your mother and I. 


ха , 


moe You probably won't find much on them in the 

medical books, growing pains are a very real and proba- 
bly unavoidable affliction—and not just of the very young. Pam- 
ela Saunders could tell you about a few she has experienced 
recently. Right out of high school, for instance, she found herself 
hip-deep in Dallas night life, serving drinks in a bar-restaurant. 
When she talks about that period, there is fatigue in her voice. 
“I think 1 grew up fast when I (text continued on page 100) 


DEALING 
WITH 


DALLAS 


miss saunders is 
hardly a plain ol’ girl from plano 


“I never could get guys interested in me. Now we'll see what 
happens. Now Im in PLAYBOY, they'll probably flock around.” 


PHOTOGRAPHY RY KERRY MORRIS 


worked in the bar, because I was around older peo- 
ple. I got involved with them; they were my best 
friends, you know. I knew their drinks and what 
they wanted to eat.” Pam had come in from Plano. 
“It’s next to Richardson,” she explains and, when 
pressed, offers, “That’s about 15 minutes away 
from Dallas. That's where I grew up from the eighth 
grade on.” Girls in Texas who aren’t married five 
minutes after high school graduation are called 
spinsters. Pam somchow couldn’t round up a hubby 
but did manage a tentative arrangement. Luckily, 
that's really all she wants right now. “I love men to 
death,” she declares. “But, you know, they aggra- 
vate me. I let men get to me, and I've got a nervous 
stomach. 1 don't think I want to get married. 1 
guess working in a bar ruined me—you know, 
watching the way some of these married men act.” 
Pam medicates her nervous stomach with a steady 
diet of beer and junk food. She knows it’s wrong and 
she pays for it, but, as she says, “You do it because 
you crave it. You wake up going, ‘Ummmmm, 
burrito and hot (text concluded on page 104) 


On a Florida fishing trip with her father (top), 
Pam just may be the biggest catch of the day. At 
the tables in Dallas (above), she deals blackjack 
in a make-believe casino for a local charity. 


104 


“I think I'm learning to cope. Now, when I break up with 
someone, I think, Just give it some time and it will all be over. 
And that's true. But when you're young, you don't see it that 
way. You get depressed. Now I go out and do something.” 


«Ё 


sauce!” And I'll go off to Taco Bueno and pig out. And then I'll 
than 


go home moaning, ‘Ohhhhhhhhh.’” Pam’s more outgoin 
she used to be. At school in Plano, she recalls, “I’d rathe 
zero than give an oral report. Now I think that is so stupid, but 
then I was so clammed up that I couldn't do it.” Meeting people 
and having them like her changed Pam’s outlook on life. Now she 
dreams of having her own bar-restaurant. She has quit serving 
drinks and worl -kends, 
she deals blackjack at charity functions. Pam says she's good at 
it. “I like to challenge guys. Pm a better backgammon player 
than most of them. I suppose they think girls, especially blondes, 
are stupid. Well, you know,” she says, laughing, “I’m not a true 
blonde.” Since she'd drifted into a soul-baring mood, Pam decid- 
ed to confess all. “Yeah, well, Lam а klutz. 1 fall down stairs, spill 
things. I have to watch myself out on a date.” Might not klutzi- 
ness, like her shyness, go away? Pam offered her own theory, then 
rejected it, “I think it's nerves, too. When I’m nervous, I start 
knocking things over. No, I’m a klutz; а slob, too, probably.” 


з occasionally as a pizza maker; on w 


PLAYMATE DATA SHEET 


о есе NS 
ниси: 5/5 dEr. WO 


BIRTH DATE: 11% ES BIRTHPLACE: (YY: 


WHAT REALLY EXCITES YOU?_\ 


ooo, Tomansac nen, lovee loons. 


WHAT WOMAN WOULD YOU LIKE TO MEET AND WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO HER? Vox lsa 


AL E 
ZU N RC Monor XO 

meer ge 

WHAT MAN WOI YOU LIKE TO MEET AND WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO HIM? alo 

a loodo 

JOS «SN EET 

WHAT WO YOU LIKE TO DO THAT YOU'VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE? N © NYSE ie e 
| NE DEN: OAL. 


WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO BE IN TEN YEARS? 
We WN О. 
VE WAMOAS- 
WHAT DISH WOULD YOU MAKE FOR YOUR BOYFRIEND AFTER A FIGHT?<co sn Pr. 
WHAT PERFORMERS DO YOU ADMIRE? IK WC e N an 
NES SS NE 
WHAT IS YOUR MOST ROMANTIC PLACE? 


L 
Im Mee = Frey 
or AA ones A yy 


CATEEOI N DUNTOCRADUY RY ARNY FREVTAG 


PLAYBOY’S PARTY JOKES 


Because of the distance between them, the chief 
of the surveying crew was using hand signals to 
communicate with his newly hired female crew 
member. He pointed to his eye, then to his knee 
and finally pumped his fist up and down in front 
of him. 

Seeing that, the woman signaled back by 
touching her eye, grabbing her left breast and 
pointing to her crotch. 

Thoroughly confused, the chief approached 
and said, "Didn't you understand? Eye kneed 
the hammer.” 

“I understood," the pretty survey tech replied. 
“Eye left tit in the box.” 


The Komputa Sutra defines INTERF ACING as 
a French kiss. 


Ass Lester drove through the boonies, he hap- 
pened onto a hovel he had seen two years before. 


came by here in 1983, asking for directions. 

“Ah remember," the father replied. “Yuh told 
us how skinny we was. Yuh said our shack 
weren't fit to live in and yuh started cryin’. Then 
yuh give us a hunnerd-dollar bill.” 

"After so long, you remember!” Lester 
beamed. 

“We named our last baby after yuh,” the 
father said. 

"No kidding?" said Lester, overwhelmed. 
“Could I see him?” 

"Shore," the father agreed, turning to his wife. 
“Honey, go inside and bring out li'l Citified 
Dipshit.” 


The Komputa Sutra defines FORMAT as the rea- 
son Miss Kitty undressed. 


Q.: Why don't sharks attack divorce lawyers? 
A.: Professional courtesy 


The Komputa Sutra defines DATA PROCESS- 
ING as the old in-and-out. 


‚Älter living in a lumber camp for two weeks, the 
young logger became restless. “What do you do 
around here for fun?” he asked his foreman. 

The foreman took him into a woodshed. “You 
fuck the hole in that barrel,” he said. 

The young man tried that and liked it, so the 
next day, he asked if he could exercise the privi- 
lege every day. 

“Every day but Friday,” his boss told him. 

“Why not Friday?” 

“Because, my boy, Friday's your day in the 
barrel.” 


The Komputa Sutra defines FLOW CHART as a 
schedule for the rhythm method. 


Have you served on a jury before?” the court 
clerk asked the groupie. 

“No,” she purred, “but I've tried plenty of 
men.” 


The Komputa Sutra Literary Supplement defines 
OKIDATA as what Steinbeck needed to write 
The Grapes of Wrath. 


HL hittan 
In a Madrid restaurant, the American tourist 
asked the waiter to bring him the same dinner 
being enjoyed by a man at the next table—a 
large helping of rice smothered in gravy, topped 
with two hefty meatballs. The waiter explained 
that this delicacy was served only between five 
and six o'clock, immediately after the daily bull- 
fights. The tourist, eager to taste the house spe- 
cial, agreed to return at the appropriate hour. 

Arriving at five the next day, he was quickly 
seated and served; but to his disappointment, his 
rice was topped with two tiny meatballs. Call- 
ing the waiter over, the American complained, 
“The meatballs you served yesterday were much 
bigger.” 

“Si, señor,” the waiter said. “But el toro, he 
does not always lose.” 


Heard a funny one lately? Send it on a post- 
card, please, lo Party Jokes Editor, PLAYBOY, 
Playboy Bldg., 919 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, 
Ill. 60611. 850 will be paid to the contributor 
whose card is selected. Jokes cannot be returned. 


"Walters, there's no room in the air-traffic-control room for practical jokes.” 


n 


112 


I was scoring points with this 
beautiful blonde—like Dr. J 
one on one with Mickey Rooney 


fiction 


By Peter Nelson 


VE ALWAYS BELIEVED in waiting at least 
five minutes before falling in love with a 
woman, but in her case, I knew I'd have to 
make an exception. Who can explain these 
things? I wanted to marry her. I wanted to 
give her world-famous children, build her 
a home in the meadow, donate my kidneys 
to her parents, carve her visage in the 
Rock of Gibraltar with my teeth, climb 
into a clothes dryer full of razor blades just 
to be near her dirty laundry. She had 
northern lakes for eyes, full Cupid's-bow 
lips, a smile that could turn ball bearings 
to butter, palomino hair, an elegant neck, 
outstanding breasts, a real darling little 
pooter, so tight you could mill wheat with 
it, gams that made a ballerina's legs look 
like turkey wattles, and there was some- 
thing in the way she carried herself that 
suggested royalty, the confidence of a prin- 
cess, the power of a gypsy dancer—in 
short, I thought she was real cute. I had to 
meet her. 

There was a problem. She had an 
escort, a date. He was a nothing, a manne- 
quin, a monodimensional cartoon of a 
man, a contrived zombie, hollow, proba- 
bly a doctor or a lawyer with a Jaguar 
parked outside and a nice house some- 
where and, OK, somewhat handsome, I 
suppose. But when she looked my way and 
our eyes met, briefly, I swear that for the 
first and only time in my life, I had a psy- 
chic experience, an ESP message as clear 
as a bell. I (continued on page 151) 


ILLUSTRATION BY BILL RIESER. 


JTOGRAPHY BY RICHARD IZUI 


PLATISC' 
[ЗҮ IDIZSICN 


when you're hot, you're hot; 
and right now, the gallic 
high-tech decor at 
manhattan’s morgans hotel 
is the hottest act in town 


ORLD-CLASS HOTELS are never in 
WwW short supply—especially in cities 

like Manhattan. So when disco 
denizen Steve Rubell and his partners pur- 
chased the Executive Hotel at 237 Madi- 
son Avenue, in the untrendy Murray Hill 
section, and renamed it Morgans, after the 
Morgan Library, which is a block away, 
skeptics snickered that it would take a mir- 
acle between 37th and 38th streets for it to 
succeed. Succeed it has—and what a suc- 
cess! A stay at Morgans is considered the 
hottest night in town, thanks in part to the 
eye-popping decor of French designer 
Andrée Putman, Working with her signa- 
ture palette of gray, black and white, 
Putman redefined Morgans” guest rooms 
and public spaces, placing them along the 
cutting edge of opulence and austerity. 
Best of all, there are ideas there that you 
can take home. Morgans is a nice place to 
visit, and we wouldn’t mind living with the 
sexy design ideas we found there, cither. 


PRODUCED BY PHILLIP MAZZURCO 


Above: The Cathedral Room in Morgans cleverly 
weds the bath with the bedroom. (The john is in 
a separate room just oround the corner.) Left: 
Morgans’ penthouse bath features dual stoin- 
less-steel sinks of the type airlines use and 
checkerboord walls that are anything but square. 


115 


article 


By CARL H. STONE 


PAY ME NOW 
OR 
PAY MELATER 


THINK OF ME as a hired gun, a hit man with a Government salary. I don't break 
kneecaps, though, or litter the landscape with bodies. I don't take the lives of 
my victims, just their pay checks and bank accounts. I collect past-due child 
support—in round figures, $250,000 in the past three years. I work cheap. too. 
For $25, your ex-wife can have your name added to my list. 

I deal in results, not rhetoric. I don't give notice and there are no hearings. 
Most men don't know I exist until payday and 65 percent of their check is gone. 
If a man is laid off, I snatch his unemployment check at the same rate. Then I 
take his bank account, all of it—even a joint account with a new wife. 

My official title is investigator. I work for the Child Support Enforcement 
Unit (CSEU) of the Larimer County Department of Social Services, in Fort Col- 
lins, Colorado. The Internal Revenue Service may have a reputation as the 
gang of Government goons, but the CSEU is gaining on them. 

My conduct is not governed by a code of ethics (continued on page 124) 


it doesn't matter to the child-support collector — he 
knows he's going to get your money in the end 


20 QUESTIONS: DON JOHNSON AND PHILIP MICHAEL THOMAS 


lieutenant castillo said, “get them.” so we did 


О f ай the coplspy superhero duos to 
charge off the screen and into America’s 
living rooms, Don Johnson and Philip 
Michael Thomas (a.k.a. Detectives Sonny 
Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs) have certainly 
done it with the most style. Their Eighties ver- 
sion of fraternity under fire has helped boost 
“Miami Vice's” fortunes as much as the 
show's heralded visual and musical panache. 
They are post-macho guys’ guys. Our guy, 
Contributing Editor David Rensin, nabbed 
Thomas and Johnson for their first off-the- 
cuff interrogation. Said Rensin, “I wore vin- 
tage faded jeans, an unironed mauve cotton 
shirt, a thin black-satin tie, Air Jordans and a 
sharkskin sports coat 1 had picked up for five 
dollars at a Beverly Hills garage sale. Don 
and Phil looked OK, I guess.” 


1 


рглүвоү: How would you explain the suc- 
cess of Miami Vice to an NBC affiliates’ 
meeting ten years from now? 

THOMAS: Our sense of style. We had the 
technology, the talent and the timing. Our 
show dealt with the Eighties. Our music 
was on time. Even our stories, though they 
had been done for years, came in a new 
package: Versace suits and pastel colors. 
Our characters didn’t fit the norm, either. 
For instance, in one episode, I stood on my 
head doing yoga during a stake-out. You 
don’t usually see that. 

JOHNSON: It's like an idea I came up with 
eight years ago: a rock-"n'-roll J Spy. Then, 
I wanted to put a rock star on the road as 
an undercover agent who was against 
drugs. He would travel the world and do 
concerts that would be simulcast, in real- 
ity, on FM stations the night the show 
aired. People thought I was crazy. I don't 
want to break my arm patting myself on 
the back, but I think it was just too grand 
for most to see. As a matter of fact, I told 
our executive producer, Michael Mann, 
about it, and he liked my idea of FM 
simulcasts. He talked to NBC and they 
didn’t object. We were even going to air 
the pilot in stereo via FM stations, but it 
became too much of a hassle for the 
bureaucracy to handle. 


27 


PLAYBOY: What do you remember most 
about your first meeting? 

JOHNSON: 1 will always remember watching 
this very, very handsome black man with 
the most incredible skin and green eyes 
and enormous energy and thinking, God, 
someone slip this guy a mickey! [Laughs] 
THOMAS: I was already going down in the 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY JOHN GOODMAN 


elevator when I was asked to read with 
Don. They asked if we wanted time to 
study our lines, but we decided to go cold. 
We looked at each other and it was like an 
explosive, compulsive new affection. It 
just hit. Kajung! Afterward, there was no 
question in my mind that we were the ones 
who would be chosen. We tore up the 
motherfucker. He is a Sagittarian and I'm 
a Gemini. Exact opposites—fire and air. 
We had instant chemistry. 


3. 


pLaYBOY: What changes has Miami Vice 
made in your life that will last forever? 
THOMAS: Гуе just climbed Mount Olym- 
pus. Steven Spielberg calls and wants to 
talk to me about being in his next movie. I 
get calls from Nancy Reagan. The queen 
of England wants me to go over. I’ve 
become greened, like money. I respect the 
position. I’m enthusiastic, as opposed to 
excited. Enthusiasm comes from the Greek 
entheos, which means “God-inspired.” I 
don't think I'm a big shit, though, because 
the higher I climb on the ladder of success, 
the humbler I get. I know you're only as 
good as your last two minutes and 45 sec- 
onds. I don’t run from people who want 
autographs. I stay and sign and take that 
energy back with me and am creative. I’m 
smart enough to know the power of all 
this, They say that as long as people have 
something to believe in, the gods will exist. 
And as a major star, you become a little 
G-O-D. I recommend fame, but with for- 
tune. Otherwise, it’s a bitch. 

JOHNSON: Philip is better at this than Tam. 
If you don't like your marriage, you can 
get divorced, but there’s no antidote for 
what's happened to us. However, I do rec- 
ommend fame highly. It’s the best drug 
Tve ever had—and with no hangover. But 
I'm trying to get used to the fact that I will 
now go through life with those charming 
little cheap Japanese instant cameras 
stuck in my face all the time. There are 
times when I want to take all the money I 
make and buy all those cameras and throw 
them into the East River. This thing has 
obviously grown faster than I have, and it 
seems like I'm playing catch-up much of 
the time. And I think I’m handling it 
pretty well. But I’ve already gone through 
the crazy stuff that happens to people who 
become successful early. I've already par- 


tied, thank you. Major partied. 
4. 


PLAYBOY: Tell us about your fan mail. 
JOHNSON: Once, I got a letter from an 


English teacher in Kentucky. I was very 
moved, because she had picked up every 
nuance of my Sonny Crockett character, 
and she described what his life must have 
been like. It was really eloquent. I wrote 
back and ended the letter, “Please don’t 
grade this paper.” And then there are 
those letters from women who include 
phone numbers and pictures and say that 
they've saved their money and are taking a 
vacation in Miami and would it be possi- 
ble to spend a couple of hours with me, 
doing whatever I'd like. 

THOMAS: I get thousands of letters. They 
come from all over—London, Australia. 
Most are very intelligent. I also get beaver 
shots and requests from chicks in the 
Army for posters of me with my chest 
showing. Fat girls write, “Гуе lost 30 
pounds and I’m preparing for you. You're 
the handsomest man I've seen on earth. 
During your love scenes, Tm having sex 
with my husband but thinking of you.” I 
take it all with a grain ofsalt, because even 
if I were the most sexual man in the world, 
there's no way I could fuck all the women 
who want to be fucked by me. The wildest 
stuff, though, is pubic hairs, Actual hairs. 
It's phenomenal. 


5. 


piavBov: Miami Vice may be the only cop 
show that a guy can watch with his girl- 
friend. Do you two consciously play to 
women? 

JOHNSON: On the set or off? On the set, yes. 
T'm aware that a large part of our audience 
is sex-starved females—and to hear 
females tell it, they’re all sex-starved, any- 
way; glance at the cover of any female- 
oriented magazine. I, for one, am trying to 
solve the problem. 

THOMAS: Do I play to the chicks? All the 
time. I flirt a lot. And I know that by 
touching those nerves and doing certain 
things, I make chicks respond. 


6. 


PLAYBOY: Then you ought to be expert 
enough to tell us whether women ought to 
be interesting or pure. 

THOMAs: Both. I don't like uninteresting 
anything. I like someone to give me a run 
for my money. And pure? I like someone 
who looks good, smells good, tastes good. 
You wouldn't want to be involved with 
someone with B.O. 

JOHNSON: [Laughs] Yes. [Laughs] Wow, 
that’s a good one. Hold that thought. 
[Laughs] Women who are interesting are 
most definitely not pure. But I like all 


19 


PLAYBOY 


120 


kinds— period. I don'teven know if what I 
want is sex in the classic way—it's sort of a 
desire to melt into women and then out of 
them. I can be satisfied just to be near a 
woman and smell and touch her, to hold 
her hand, to watch her. But this is very 
hard in a world that by and large sanctions 
monogamy. It's murder on relationships. 


TE 


PLAYBOY: What do you think about when 
you pull the trigger? 

JOHNSON: There was one scene we did that 
caused more uproar and got more mail— 
pro and con because we pulled the trig- 
ger. It was in an episode where we shot 
from the hip. We were up against the wall, 
making up scenes as we went along. 
Michael Mann wrote the scene and gave it 
to me over the phone. I was trying to res- 
cue a little girl being held hostage by this 
guy. Michael told me, “This is what hap- 
pens. The guy says, ‘If I twitch, she's 
gone.’ Your line is, ‘Maybe you won't even 
twitch? Then you blow him away.” I 
wanted to suspend time, and the way 1 
read the line was what made it sell. I went, 
Maybe. you won't even . . . twitch.” 
Boom! The cadence threw him—and the 
audience—off. It was devastating. But, 
then, the violence in our show is not car- 
toon violence; it's real—which I think is a 
deterrent and not an encouragement. 
When someone goes down, he bleeds and 
stays down. And because we use a process 
called step printing, in which you print the 
same frame twice, it appears as staccato 
slow motion, which heightens the reality 
and the violent tone. I'm immersed in 
character and weighing the rights and 
wrongs—legally and morally—of what 
I'm about to do when I pull the trigger. 
Well, morality is not a question that 
Crockett answers. It’s what he does. 


8. 


PLAYBOY: What's atop your TV-cop-show 
hit parade? 

JOHNSON: M Squad, with Lee Marvin. 
THOMAS: The Adventures of Superman. He 
was able to leap tall buildings at a single 
bound, faster than a speeding bullet. 
Mighty Mouse, too. They were both under- 
cover. [Laughs] 


9. 


PLAYBOY: Who are the most unforgettable 
real-life undercover cops you've known? 

јонмѕох: One is one of the DEA agents 
who busted John De Lorean. We became 
very good friends. He told me fascinating 
stories about working the Texas/Mexico 
border on a drug bust, about how the 
Mexican authorities were completely ruth- 
less, corrupt animals, and I would eat that 
stuff up. He described the adrenaline rush 
before a bust and what it was like to live 
undercover for weeks and to party with a 
guy and get close to him and know the 


whole time that you were going to nail him 
to the wall, The undercover cop is also 
acting—only it’s the big acting in the sky. 
If you fuck up, you don't get a bad review; 
you get shot. 

THOMAS: Гуе talked to some who are in- 
sane. They do some wild shit. They're like 
a surgeon who enjoys cutting up people 
because he likes the flow of blood. Гуе 
heard stories about some cats who took a 
house in a shoot-out and blew some guy's 
arm off. They went in, picked it up and 
laughed, saying, “Isn't this funny? The 
fucker’s arm. Get his ass out of here!” 
They treat criminals like animals. They 
have a license not only to kill but to cut 
your nuts off and mutilate your face—and 
all because you broke the law. 


10. 


PLAYBOY: As undercover cops, your charac- 
ters are trained to be suspicious. In reality, 
do you trust people easily? 

JOHNSON: No. I have to practice giving peo- 
ple the benefit of the doubt. It’s my busi- 
ness to read people. I’m pretty good at 
telling when someone is feeding me a line 
ofshit. But I've made mistakes in judgment. 
THOMAS: Гуе been called a sucker for trust- 
ing people easily, but I love people. Jesus 
said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto 
one of the least of these my brethren, ve 
have done it unto me.” If I love you, I will 
do anything, within reason. I'm not one to 
put chains on and ask questions. I love a 
woman who feels that way, too. 


п. 


PLAYBOY: Although Crockett and Tubbs are 
tight friends, with all the trappings of TV 
cop partners’ camaraderie, Johnson and 
Thomas had never met before Miami Vice. 
Is there pressure to be buddies? Describe 
the stages through which an off-camera 
friendship grows. 

JOHNSON: We had a long conversation while 
doing the pilot. We were sitting in my 
Miami hotel suite for a couple of hours. It 
was twilight. We had a view of the bay, 
and we were talking about how beautiful 
the city was and about spiritual things. We 
both knew what was at hand and what 
kinds of pressure we were going to deal 
with. We knew that people would be jeal- 
ous of our relationship—on and off 
screen be threatened by it and want to 
tear it apart. So we agreed that the 
moment either one of us felt slighted— 
which is never going to happen—we 
would discuss it. From then on, we knew 
that we had to be not only friends but each 
other's protectors. And part of that protec- 
tion is to allow ourselves the space we need. 
after spending 18 hours on the set. We 
don't pressure each other to have dinner 
together or to meet each other's families. 
We could ask, but we wouldn't demand it. 
THOMas: We also trained with each other. I 
told Don about my goal, EGOT, which 


stands for Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, 
"Tony—1 want to win or be nominated for 
each award in the next five years. And he 
told me about dreams he wanted to 
develop. So we made an effort to work out 
together, to jog together before the sun 
rose, to learn our lines together. We 
trained with policemen in undercover 
work. Don knows a lot more about guns 
than I do, so he taught me about weapons. 
During the making of the pilot, we practi- 
cally lived together. We worked on Satur- 
days and Sundays—and you don't get paid 
for those days. And we always gave each 
other space, because we didn’t want to 
force a relationship. We just wanted to be 
together so we could find out how we func- 
tioned. We didn’t have to, but we knew 
this was our shot. 


12. 


PLAYBOY: If the two of you could change 
places for just one show, what would each 
of you do to improve, expand, modify the 
other's character? 

THOMAS: I would play Sonny a little more 
insane. I would like to see him go over the 
edge. I say this because the real under- 
cover cops we've met are nuts. Other than 
that, Га have more chicks. [Laughs] 
JOHNSON: I'd like to see me get more chicks, 
too. [Pauses] That's a dangerous question. 
Philip’s character is a very bright, highly 
sophisticated, urban black man. He is 
knowledgeable about the art world, archi- 
tecture, film, culture in general. It’s prob- 
ably one of the most attractive role models 
a black man has been able to portray in 
years. I'd like to see more of that. But the 
one thing Tubbs does not do as much as 
Crockett is make mistakes and deal with 
them in a human way. I think we need to 
see more vulnerability in Tubbs. 


13. 


PLAYBOY: What's the latest book you've 
read all the way through? What reading 
material is on your night stand? 
THOMAS: The last book was 2150 A.D., by 
Thea Alexander. I also read the Bible a lot 
and books on computer programming, 
since I do that for my music. And I study 
books on philosophy, religion, higher 
learning, law and spaceships. 
JOHNSON: Mine would be either Interview 
with the Vampire or The Hamlet, by Faulk- 
ner. On my night stand is Decistons, which 
is appropriate for my current situation, 
don't you think? And I keep a copy of 
Shakespeare by my bed at all times, be- 
cause it's the best sleeping pill I know. 
When I started getting sober, I read ev- 
erything Jack London wrote, even his let- 
ters about his letters. Then 1 got really 
crazy and started reading the books of 
some of the films I'd made, such as From 
Here to Eternity. Yt was like cleaning up 
unfinished business. And Im a major 
(concluded on page 150) 


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PLAYBOY 


124 


PAY ME NOW 


(continued from page 116) 


“In one day, we took this guy's check, his car, his 


boat and his house. Then . 


. . we threw him in jail." 


or even by the concepts of justice or fair- 
ness, only by the statutes of law. More 
than once, I have collected child support 
in the name ofa dead woman from a father 
who had custody of their child and was 
providing for him. Logic fails, law pre- 
vails; unlike love, child support is forever. 

CSEUs exist for every county in the 
country, operating under Title IV-D of the 
Social Security Act. Between 1976 and 
1983, CSEUs brought in more than 10.8 
billion dollars in support payments, In 
some jurisdictions, they are branches of 
the district attorney's office or are part of a 
family or domestic court. Some states 
bypass the court system entirely, handling 
child-support issues through an adminis- 
trative process. Most often, as in Colo- 
rado, the CSEU is attached to the 
Department of Social Services. No matter 
how the CSEU emerges at the local level, 
its roots are in the U.S. Department of 
Health and Human Seryices, at the Fed- 
eral Office of Child Support Enforcement. 

Ostensibly, the CSEU is concerned with 
the welfare of the child. Its real concern is 
money. The Government estimates that it 
spends 20 to 30 billion dollars per year to 
support single-parent families. From 1970 
to 1981, the number of single-parent fami- 
lies increased 97 percent, and Uncle Sam 
estimates that by the Nineties, only half of 
the children in America will grow to adult- 
hood living with both of their natural par- 
ents. The Census Bureau further reports 
that in 1983, 7.1 billion dollars of the 10.1 
billion dollars owed in child-support pay- 
ments was paid. The Child Support En- 
forcement Unit has been given the job of 
closing this gap. 

б 

Collecting child support isn’t a hard 
job. The office where I work is typical of 
any Government office you might stumble 
into. The heat works in the summer, the 
air conditioning in the winter. The walls 
are an institutional tan; my desk is a Gov- 
ernment green that’s 20 years out of style. 
A filing cabinet and a telephone complete 
my equipment. 

On the far wall hangs a large, round 
clock. Like the clocks in grade school or 
the one just outside the principal’s office in 
high school, it functions not so much to tell 
you the time as to remind you that you 
have obligations, that much of your life, as 
measured by the movement of its hands, 
belongs to someone else. 

It is Monday morning, five to eight, and 
the telephone is already ringing. I swallow 
a mouthful of doughnut, take a quick sip of 
coffee and pick up the receiver. 


“Child Support; can I help you?" 

The fellow on the other end of the phone 
isn't happy. 

"You goddamn sonsabitches can't do 
this to me! It ain't right and it ain't fair!” 

“Do what, sir?" I reply evenly. 

“The boss just called me in and says 
you got a garnishment on my pay check! I 
ain't gonna let you get away with this!" 

“Well, sir, you don't actually have a lot 
to say about it at this point; the garnish- 
ment is an order of the district court. If 
you'll calm down, ГЇЇ explain how we can 
set you up on a payment plan. 

The line goes dead as he slams down the 
phone. I don't have the slightest idea 
whom I've been talking to. 

It doesn't matter. From the sound of his 
voice, payday can't be too far off: and 
when he sees what's left of his check, he'll 
call back. My job is to enforce an existing 
order for support, and the procedure is 
simple and straightforward. I obtain a 
judgment. I garnish. I use the garnish- 
ment as leverage to set up a wage assign- 
ment—a payroll deduction. 

І don't have to give notice that I'm 
getting a judgment—a past-due child- 
support amount is automatically consid- 
ered a judgment. The father received 
notice at the time of the divorce hearing, 
and no further notice is necessary. When I 
ask the court for an order of judgment, all 
I'm doing is identifying time periods and 
amounts and receiving an official go-ahead 
to collect the money. 

“Garnish everybody at least once. It 
makes a believer out of them!” Those were 
my instructions at the very first training 
seminar I attended. Bob Nanto, an ex- 
tremely successful child-support-enforce- 
ment specialist from the state of Utah, had 
been borrowed by the Feds and sent to 
Colorado to train our enforcement units. It 
didn't take me long to figure out how mean 
I was expected to be. Bob chuckled as he 
related the details of one collection: “I 
think we got his attention. . . In one day, 
we took this guy’s pay check, his car, his 
boat and his house. Then, so he'd think we 
meant business. we threw him in jail.” 

My child-support garnishment is differ- 
ent from a garnishment for a consumer 
debt. A regular garnishment can take no 
more than 25 percent of a man's income. A 
child-support garnishment takes at least 
50 percent and can take as much as 65 per- 
cent. The usual garnishment must be 
served on the employer at regular inter- 
vals, because it is good for only a fixed pe- 
riod of time. A child-support garnishment 


is good until it is released or until all the 
money is paid. 

The phone rings again. 

“This is Sally; I'm Vern's new wife. You 
got a garnishment on his pay check and 
now we can't pay the rent, and we've got a 
kid of our own to feed, and I can't work, 
"cause I’m pregnant, and I'm due in three 
months, and the doctor needs money. . . .” 

I can tell by the edge in her voice that 
she's trying hard not to lose control. I let 
her talk. When she's done, I take a deep 
breath and begin my explanation as gently 
as possible. 

"Sally, I have to talk with Vern. It's his 
pay check; it's his debt. Before I can 
release the garnishment, ГЇЇ have to have 
his signature on a wage assignment. When 
can he come in?” 

"Can't I take care of it?” she asks. If he 
takes off work, he'll lose a day's pay. . . ." 

"I know, but if Vern comes in and we 
can reach an agreement, I can have the 
garnishment lifted before he gets paid on 
Friday. Ifhe can’t make it in, he’s going to 
lose half his check again, and that’s going 
to cost more than a day’s pay. See if his 
boss won't kick him loose at noon so it 
only costs him half a day.” 

She is crying now, very quictly, but she 
says she'll try. I hang up and reach for 
another case folder. I’m halfway through a 
Judgment when Mr. Smith arrives in the 
lobby and begins to cause a scene. 

Interviewing techniques are another 
subject Bob Nanto covered at the training 
seminar, right down to the furniture in the 
room. I show Mr. Smith into an interview 
cubicle, close the door and ask him to be 
seated at the far side of a table that occu- 
pies half of the tiny room. He stands his 
ground and starts to yell again, but I cut 
him off. 

“Sit. Or leave.” 

He hesitates, then folds himself into the 
chair I’ve pointed to. He's seated behind 
the table, in a corner, with his back to the 
wall. I'm leaning back in my chair, with 
the door at my shoulder. I have the high- 
ground advantage, and he knows it. Istare 
him down for a second or two. 

“Now, then, what can I do for you?” 

I already have a good idea. The piece of 
paper he’s holding is a notice sent out by 
the IRS as part of its Project Intercept. He 
has just learned that the $700 refund he 
thought he had coming is coming to me 
instead. 

“What is this shit? My kid turned 18 
three years ago.” 

“Well, sir, sometime in the past ten 
years or so, you failed to pay a chunk of 
your child support. .” 

“T got hurt on the job and couldn’t work 
for a year and a half.” 

And the county has a judgment against 
you for that amount. That judgment is 
good for 20 years, and then it can be 

(continued on page 192) 


RR 
Lb ty jt 


“This coffee seems a little staler every morning, Edwina!” 


125 


MATING GAMES: Screen sex is extramari 
tal, interracial—even interspecial—but sel- 
dom explicit. In Cocoon (above), human Steve 
Guttenberg and alien Tahnee Welch unite in a 
light show. Also mixing it up: Grace Jones and 
Roger Moore in A View to a Kill (top right), 
and Dira Paes and Charley Boorman in The 
Emerald Forest (center right). In Desperately 
Seeking Susan, Madonna gets high with 
Mark Blum (bottom right), whose wife (Ro- 
sanna Arquette) is making it with Aidan Quinn, 


X-TASIES: Keeping it in the families are the Mitchell 
Brothers, whose The Gráfenberg Spot (above) teaches 
Harry Reems about female ejaculation (with help from 
Rita Erotica and Nina Hartley), and newcomers the Dark 
Brothers, whose New Wave Hookers (below) features 
Ginger Lynn, here with Steve Powers and Tom Byron. 


BODIES BEAUTIFUL: Staying in shape is a must for 
ecdysiasts, either in real (that's exotic dancer Sara Costa in 
the pseudo-documentary film Stripper, upper left) or in reel 
(actress Margot Kidder in Little Treasure, above) life. Pump- 
ing Iron 11: The Women (below) profiles female bodybuilders, 
including Rachel McLish, in the black bikini, and Carla 
Dunlap, in white. Jake Steinfeld, known as body sculptor to 
the stars, is one of many Hollywood notables show- 
cased in Into the Night (at near left, he's with Sue Bowser). 
And Hollywood's best-built male body is exposed by owner 
Sylvester Stallone in Rambo: First Blood Part II (far left). 


EXOTIC EROTICA: Sizzling imports include (clockwise 
from top left) Harem, an English-language French production, 
with Nastassja Kinski abducted into sheik Ben Kingsley's 
seraglio; Mata Hari, filmed in Hungary, with Sylvia Kristel as 
the titular spy; The Bay Boy, a Canadian coming-of-age story 
starring Kiefer Sutherland (here about to lose his virginity to 


Isabelle Mejias); The Protector, with top Asian star Jackie 
Chan in a thriller from Hong Kong (here Irene Britto and Cindy 
Yeung pose as masseuses); L'Amour Braque, with Sophie 
Marceau and Francis Huster as lovers in France; and Kiss of 
the Spider Woman, teaming Brazil's Sonia Braga with 
Raul Julia (here in a scene omitted from the finished film). 


YOU BRING OUT THE BEAST IN ME: Savage passions are unleashed in a variety of genres, including the horror-film spoof 

The Return of the Living Dead is writer-director Dan O'Bannon's homage to George Romero (the graveyard ghouls above left 
are Linnea Quigley and Mark Venturini). Tina Turner, as Aunty Entity, exudes raw star power in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome 
(above right). Leo McKern sheds his Rumpole of the Bailey image to help Michelle Pfeiffer escape an evil spell in the medieval 
romance Ladyhawke (below left), while in Barbarian Queen (below right), Arman Chapman manhandles captured villager Lana 
Clarkson. Just now reaching local screens is arguably the year’s most vivid release, Flesh & Blood (opposite page), in which 
Rutger Hauer kidnaps a virgin bride-to-be (Jennifer Jason Leigh) who clearly tums out to be a take-charge sort of damsel. 


1986 
PLAYBOY 


the heat 
is on | 


AFTER AN EXOTIC YEAR of material girls, 
smooth operators and Caribbean 
queens, it’s now time to pick the winners 
in the annual Playboy Music Poll. It may 
not be as exotic as the music, but it's fun, 
so take a few minutes to sharpen your 
pencils and register your votes. You'll 
find our suggestions at right; if we've 
missed your favorite, a write-in is fine. 
But if you're voting for someone whose 
name appears on the list, please help our 
ballot counters and use the number 
given beside the name. When you've fin- 
ished side one, flip the ballot over and 
make your choices for Hall of Fame and 
Best LP categories. Only official ballots 
count, and they must be postmarked 
before midnight, November 1, 1985. For 
results, see our April 1986 issue. 


pr 


шочо 


10. 
11 
12 


LIST YOUR CHOICES IN THE 1986 PLAYBOY MUSIC POLL 
BY NUMBER ON THE ACCOMPANYING BALLOT 


VIDEO 13. Stevie Ray Vaughan 11. Bob Seger 8 the Silver 
14. Joe Walsh Bullet Band 
Bast Munie Nidaa ed esa 12. Bruce Springsteen & 
lico the E Street Band 
Heaven Keyboards 13. Talking Heads 
Phil Collins / Sussudio 1. Roy Bittan iE 9255 Halen 
Duran Duran / 2 Phil Collins 
a A ed to n Ki 3. Thomas Dolby RHYTHM-AND-BLUES 
urythmics. 4. Judy Dozier 
Mould! Lieto Yu? 5. Brian Eno paste Vocalist, 
Howard Jones / 6. Billy Joel 1. Philip Bailey 
Things Can Only 7. Howard Jones 2. George Benson 
Get Better 8. Jerry Lee Lewis 3. James Brown 
Madonna / 9. Prince 4. PeaboBryson 
Into the Groove 10. Todd Rundgren 5. James Ingram 
Tom Petty & the 11. Paul Shatter 6. Jermaine Jackson 
y 
Heartbreakers / 12 Benmont Tench 7. Michael Jackson 
Don't Come ‘Round 13 Allen Toussaint 8. Rick James 
Here No More 14. Dave "Hawk" 9. George Michael 
Power Station / Wolinsky 10. Billy Ocean 
Some Like It Hot 15. Stevie Wonder 11. Teddy Pendergrass 
David Lee Roth / 12. Prince 
California Girls Drums 13. Smokey Robinson 
Bruce Springsteen / 14. Luther Vandross 
25 9225 Ü бате um 15. Stevie Wonder 
Sting / If You 
een leere Female Vocalist 
Set Them Free а 1. Bunny DeBar 
TinaTumer/WeDont 5 Chris Franz 2 Arena Franki. 
Need Another Hero © Omar Hakim 2 Nona Herko 
U2 / Pride in the BEE 4. Whitney Houston 
Name of Love e ede 5 Chaka Khan 
wham! / Everythun E <r 
She Warts 9 10. David Teegarden 0 eee 
Paul Young / Every 11 tony Thompson. 8 Madonna 
Time You Go Away 12. Joe Vitale 9. Teena Marie 
13. Charlie Watts 10. Alison Moyet 
POP/ROCK 14. Max Weinberg 11. Pointer Sisters 
Male Vocalist 15. Pick Withers D Dara Foss. 
ice Rushen 
David Bowie Bass 14, Sade 
Pii Colins 1. Stanley Clarke 15, Deniece Williams 
Billy Idol > ÓN Compose soon te: 
3. John Entwistle DC 
Mick Jagger 4, Bob Glaub 
1. Nickolas Ashford— 
Billy Joel 5. Darryl Jones en pelin 
Julian Lennon 6. John Paul Jones 2. Frankie Beverly 
Huey Lewis 7. Greg Lake n 
John Cougar 8. Phil Lesh à селе Ci 
il Lest 4. Grandmaster Flash 
Mellencamp 3 555 үт Кр 5, Herbie Hancock 
TomPetty 10. John McVie 6. Michael Jackson 
Prince 11. Lee Sklar 7. Rick James 
David Lee Roth 12. Jamaaladeen Tacuma 8. George Michael 
Bob Seger 13. Garry Tallent 9. Ray Parker, Jr. 
Bruce Springsteen 34. Tna Weymouth 10 Prince 
©: 
Sting 15. Bill Wyman 11. Lionel Richie 
12. Smokey Robinson 
Female Vocalist Composer/Songwriter 13 Nile 7 
14 Womack & Womack 
5 1. David Bowie 
en 2. Jimmy Buffett 15. Stevie Wonder 
Chrissie Hynde SET, Cum 
amd tuper 5. Daryl Hall & 1. Ashford & Simpson 
John Oates 2 Black Uhuru 
Katrina Leskanich lly Idol 
Wetec E Ely ed 3. Commodores 
у Joel 4. DeBarge 
Maria McKee 8. Mark Knopfler 5 Earth. Wind & Fire 
Olivia Newton-John 9. Cyndi Lauper © Gap Band 
Stevie Nicks 10. Annie Lennox 8 ih 
Linga Ronstadt Баша Stewart & Jacksons оо 
Sade 9 N ee. 9. Gladys Knight & 
Carly Simon 1215555 the Pips 
Grace Slick 3. Bob Seger 10. Kool & the Gang 
Tina Turner 14. Bruce Springsteen 11. Parliament/Funkadelic 
15. Stevie Wonder 12 Prince 8 
Guitar the Revolution 
^ Group 13 Rene & Angela 
555 1 1: Cars 14. Sister Sledge 
85 2. Dire Straits 15, Womack & Womack 
2 3. Duran Duran 
1555 Knopller 4. Eurythmics JAZZ 
5. Daryl Hall & 
Jimmy Page John Oates Leh ad 
Keith Richards 6. Billy Idol 1. Mose Allison 
Carlos Santana 7. Kinks 2. Tony Bennett 
Steve Stevens 8 Huey Lewis & George Benson 
Andy Summers the News RAE Chait 
PT 9. Tom Petty & the 5 Bob Dorough 
eter Townshend Heartbreakers 6 Billy Eckstine 
Edward Van Halen 10. Rolling Stones 7 Michael Franks. 


BALLOT 


Put down the NUMBERS of listed candidates you 
choose. To vote for a person not appearing on our list, 
write in full name; only one in each category. 


VIDEO 


(E BEST MUSIC VIDEO. 


POP/ROCK 


MALE VOCALIST. 
FEMALE VOCALIST. 
GUITAR. 
KEYBOARDS. 
DRUMS. 
BASS. 
COMPOSER/SONGWRITER. 
GROUP. 


RHYTHM-AND-BLUES 


= MALE VOCALIST. 
U FEMALE VOCALIST. 
[E] COMPOSER/SONGWRITER. 


L овоше 
JAZZ 


[m] MALE VOCALIST. 
FEMALE VOCALIST. 
BRASS. 
WOODWINDS. 
KEYBOARDS. 
VIBES. 
GUITAR. 
BASS. 
PERCUSSION 
COMPOSER/SONGWRITER 
GROUP. 


COUNTRY 


= MALE VOCALIST. 

[El FEMALE VOCALIST. 

O STRING INSTRUMENTALIST. 
[ШЕ] COMPOSER/SONGWRITER 


[ЕЛ GROUP. 


00000000 


0000000000 


THE LIST OF NAMES ACCOMPANYING THIS BALLOT 
IS INTENDED ONLY AS A GUIDE TO HELP YOU WITH 
YOUR CHOICES. 


137 


8. Al Jarreau Guitar 
9. В МЕРЕ 3. Larry Gatlin 
10 Millon Nasernento e on 
ATi Lon tenis 2 George Benson Bec 
12. Gil Scott-Heron NEC EUGEN Reino 
13. Frank Sinatra 4. Chanie Byra E Ronnie Misap 
14. Mel Tormê 5. Larry Coryell 9. Gary Moms 
Bee 6 AlDiMeoa 10. Willis Nelson 
7. Herb Ellis 11. Kenny Rogers 
Female Vocalist 9 Ead 12. Ricky Skaggs 
у Pati Austin 10 Бакуа 14. Sew Warner 
Nn O 
4. Betty Carter 13. Joe Pass ы Famale Vocalist 
5. Ella Fitzgerald 14. Lee Riterour 
6. Lena Horne 15. Ralph Towner En 
7. Sheila Jordan 2 тыс 
8 Cleo Laine pes З Lacy J. Dalton 
10 Senet Lawson DET 55 
faria Mari i 
are 2. Mike Bruce 6 саара 
12. Della Reese 5 7. Terri Gibbs 
13. Jane Siberry 4: Ron Carter 8. Emmylou Harn 
14. Sarah Vaughan 3 piney cite DTE | 
15. Nancy Wilson esas 10. Loretta Lynn 
res & Eddie Gomez 11 Barbara Mandrell 
9 See Fader 12. Kathy Mattea 
J Herb Alpert 10 Percy Heath 13. Reba McEntire 
2 Terence Blanchard 11 Fred Hopkins 14. Dolly Parton 
888 12. Cecil McBee 15. Tammy Wynetie 
5. Dan Chee 13. Monk Montgomery А 
E Cae 14. Jaco Pastorius String Instrumentalist 
7. Jon Faddis 15. Miroslav Vitous b E 
8. Maynard Ferguson 5 7 
9. Dizzy Gillespie Percussion БА ere 
10. Freddie Hubbard QE) «Хато Gars 
a 1 ohnson 2 Willie Bobo 5, Johnny Gimble. 
< 12. Chuck Mangione 3. Billy Cobham 6. David Grisman 
ui 13. Wynton Marsalis 4. Norman Connors 7. John Hextlord 
> 14, Doc Severinsen 5. Jack DeJohnette 8. Sonny James 
2 15. Clark Terry 6. Steve Сайа 9. Charie McCoy 
= 7. Ronald Shannon 10. John McEuen. 
Е 05 Woodwinds Jackson 11. Bill Monroe 
ш 1. Chico Freeman 8 deem need 
8 2 m = ACE 9. Ralph MacDonald 13. Earl Scruggs 
3 5 E 5 тя 10. Steve McCall 14. Ricky Skaggs 
a E E 3 4. Dexter Gordon Apoge Mouzon a 
B lo | a = 5. Johnny Griffin 12. Buddy Rich 
9 Ja [2 a N © 6 Branford Marsalis Te) eem ST 
9 t E le 7. Gerry Mulligan IB eae 1. Bobby Braddock 
E 8 = lo © o = 8. Sonny Rollins Tony Williams 2 Rosanne Cash 
> Jl E 9. David Sanborn Rodrey Crowell 
t (5 In 5 8 8 10. Wayne Shorter da Dee Гоп 
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X = = | E JE S 13. Sadao Watanabe 3. Dave Brubeck 7. Waylon Jennings 
& jo Б lo la 7 8 14: Paul Winter 4 Stanley Clarke 8 Wille Nelson 
а gw uu rs 5. Phil Woods 5. Chick Corea 9. Dolly Parton 
гре к 6. Miles Davis 10. Billy Joe Shaver 
35 yboards 7 Бейле Hancock 11. Shel Siverstein 
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aah ees ca 525 2. Dave Brubeck 9 Keith Jarrett 13. Mel Tillis 
SIISE SSES 252 шо 10. Quincy Jones 14. Don Williams 
Sed 28:50 52 3eorge Duke 11. Michel Legrand. 15. Hank Williams, Jr. 
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88 8 88 8 8 8 8 8 8 7. Keith Jarrett 14. Grover Washington, Jı 
SET 29 8 Kenny Kirkland 15 Joe Z: glon. Jr. 1. Alabama 
3.892 3935 КЕ 9. Lyle Mays ا‎ 2. The Bellamy Brothers 
8 88 88 8 888 8 5 $3 10. Oscar Peterson GEH 3. Johnny Cash & 
SSS 8888 8 aa 11. Michel Petrucciani the Tennessee Thre 
85 e Bost o 12. Cecil Taylor 1. Aki labackin Es 
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82 ESAS ха 34 George Westen 2. Ray Charles area 
22 88888 8 8 aa 15. Joe Zawinul 3. Crusaders апу Gatin Athe, 
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1 5 2 8 88 SETS О So j 6. Herbie Hancock 7. Merle Haggard & 
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5 8 SJ SSS ЕЕ o — 2. Gary Burton 8. Јен Lorber Fi zd 
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SUCH eS SSE te Ed 3, Walt Dickerson 9. Chuck Mangione = E 
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8858 8858 8 fe & ра 7. Lionel Hampton 13. Spyro буга . 
2 > &E eae es qm E 8. Jay Hoggard 14. Weather Report 11, Restless Heart 
pes Pops me [s] Bx n nnd Hutcherson 15. World Sax Quartel 12. Southem Pacilic 
3588 88888888 Y me x 1 Mike Mairie E 
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ESS SS SSA T б Br Male Vocalist 15. Hank Williams, Jr., & 
14. Keith Underwood 1. John Anderson tai 
15. Tommy Vig 2. Johnny Cash E 


“While they were at it, the guys fine-tuned the 
vibrator in the glove compartment.” 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Quitting Smoking 
Now Greatly Reduces Serious Risks to Your Health. 


Newport's 
Superticket 


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PLAYBOY GUIDE 


SKIING 
THE SKY 


helicopter skiing used to be for 


daredevils. now it’s your turn 


Ame 


SINCE HANS GMOSER started dropping people 
off on the tops of mountains 21 years ago, 
an estimated 10,000 skiers have sampled 
the delight of helicopter skiing in Canada 
and the U.S. That makes heliskiing one of 
the most elite sports in the world. The peo- 
ple who returned from the trip wanted to 
keep the experience to themselves, so they 
embroidered their stories at night the way 
their tracks had embroidered mountains 
during the day. Helicopter skiing devel- 
oped a reputation of being for macho 
experts only. The people at Canadian 
Mountain Holidays faced the problem of. 
how to qualify skiers. A guide explained, 
“We tried fitness tests, self-evaluation. 
motor-vehicle-type tests and mountain 


ratings. Finally, we found that we could 
take skiers who had come by accident, 
who had won raffle tickets to go helicopter. 
skiing, and get them down the mountain,” 
The philosophy shifted—an intermediate 
wouldn't hold up a group of savage ego 
skiers if everyone was an intermediate. 
Now C.M.H. is offering 20 heliski weeks 
for intermediates (prices range from $1219 
to $2397). You have to be strong. regularly 
engaging in some form of physical-fitness 
regimen (hell, half the country runs mara- 
thons). and you have to have the right atti- 
tude. If you fall and view it asa failure, a 
day in the mountains can be a nightmare. 
Ifyou learn, you'll be making turns by the 
end of the day. By the second day. you'll 


We call this picture Five Easy One-Pieces, or 
maybe Powderbirds in Paradise. High-tech fab- 
rics give maneuverability and warmth without 
bulk. Fram left ta right, Jennifer Wilson is 
wearing a Kitex Topaz. Lisa Gibbs is wearing a 
Head Luminary made of Entrant. Kay Kucera is 
resplendent in a Skimer Dolly. Mike Pauldine 


and Brent Willingham, lacking late for a court 
appearance, ore dressed, respectively, in a 
Skimer Tonic ($380), with Gates 204 gloves 
($70), and а white-and-granite Bogner 
Ablestar ($568), with Bogner Profi gloves ($78) 
ond Ballé IREX 100 glasses ($54). Are you 
sure the guide said this was the easy way down? 


143 


PLAYBOY GUIDE 


FAST-TRACK 
FASHION 


hot colors come into the cold 


Winter used to be the season for navy blue and basic black, to go with the bruises. Now 
you find bright sail colors. The Winterstick is a surfboard for snow or for zero-gravity 
aerobatics. Above, Scott Jacobson gets a little air; the high-visibility Katmandu suit 
($370) and gloves ($70) are from Anzi Besson. The signal-red racing goggles are from 
Carrera ($32). At right, he tries his hand on a Windskier 380CS mounted on a pair 
of Head Super Gs, dressed in bib pants ($190) and knitted sweater with windproof lin- 
ing ($150), both from SOS, Sportswear of Sweden; 4028 mountaineering glass- 
es, by Vuarnet-France ($74); and snow sneakers, Roffe's Great Little Shoes ($47). 


Gentlemen, choose your weapons. Charles Hazzard, above left, likes to do Telemark turns on a pair of skinny skis. He skis the 
old-fashioned way, but that doesn't mean he dresses that way. The Sarajevo suit is a one-piece nylon/lycra outfit from Odlo 
($175). When you ski like Mike Pauldine (above, middle and right), you tend to go through several suits in a day. (Just kidding, 
folks.) The middle suit is a Narco one-piece made of Tactel, from Ellesse ($390). The gloves are Gates Outer Limits ($70). At 
right, he's casual and just pretending to be out of control in a TF-8000 Fila one-piece ($490). Below, we have the charge of the 


light brigade. Mike Chew is wearing a one-piece Gore-Tex suit, from Nils ($310), with Serus' 562000 Entrant/leather gloves 
($55). Kay Kucera is wearing a pair of Silver Gore-Tex pants, from CB Sports ($95), with Maser's Jet-Anja turtleneck ($49); and 
Gore-Tex gloves, from Gor ($44). Brent Willingham is wearing a men's Foster with Thinsulate, from Roffe ($210); 
and GCS #1 (glove-component system) gloves, from Grandoe ($100). Da Kind! The principle behind these suits is sim- 
ple: By layering thin polypropylene underwear under turtlenecks and sweaters, you stay dry and warm, The outer layer is 
waterproof, windproof and breathable. The result: high-tech fashion that can save your life on a winters day. 


STYLING BY SUZY KAY 
PHOTOGRAPHY BY JAMES KAY 


PLAYBOY GUIDE 


How TO SKI POWDER o 


the experts reveal their secrets 


Some skiers believe that powder skiing 
is for experts only, that it is extremely 
demanding. If you believe that, fine. It 
will keep the slopes empty. We'll have 
the powder to ourselves while you're 
negotiating icy moguls back East or 
avoiding the crowds on a catwalk. Pow- 
der is resilient. You have to slow down 
to ski powder. The moves are unhur- 
ried, as they are in a space walk. The 
analogy holds. This is weightless ski- 
ing. You keep your hands forward, 
using the poles as batons to set your 
rhythm and to keep your body facing 
downhill. You relax. The more you 
relax, the more you fly. Powder skiing 
is as easy and as natural as breathing. 


Smith double-lens goggles, at left, 
with a built-in fan resist foggi 
Until recently, Hans бтозег skied 
on leather boots. Now he wears a 
pair of Salomon SX-91s, illustrated 
here, that feature adjustable flex 
and forward lean. In powder, you 
ski your boot, not your ski. You do 
not sit back to keep your ski tips up. 
Instead, you try for a three-point 
pressure against your shins, heels 

and toes. To bring the tips up, LI 
increase the pressure on the heels, 
but carefully. Put pressure on the 
big toe of your outside foot and 
the little toe of your inside foot 
and drive your knees in the turn. 


LL в 


Are you ready for the powder and the glory? Here's how to tell. If you skid your turns 
(above left), scraping your edge to slow down, you will die in powder. If you carve а, 
turn, putting weight on the edge and letting the ski make the turn, you are ready. In 
powder, you bank the ski (above right) to create a turning surface with the bottom of 
the ski. Generate a rhythmic up-and-down motion (below), which helps keep you loose 
and balanced. Some skiers raise their outside arms to bring their skis to the surface. 
Pretend your skis are a single ski and distribute your weight evenly between the two. 


PLAYBOY 


148 


WOMEN OF MENSA 


(continued from page 73) 
11. If it were two hours later, it wauld be half 
as lang until midnight as it wauld b: were 
en hour later. What time is it now? 


12. Two af the shapes below represent mirror 
images of the same shape. Which are they? 


42 Аа 
(A) (8) (С) (D) 


13. Statistics indicate that men drivers ore 
involved in mare accidents than wamen drivers. 
The anly conclusion that can certainly be drown 
is that: 
(A) Male chawinists are wrong, as usual, 
about women's abilities. 
(B) Men are actually better drivers but 
drive more frequently. 
(C) Men and wamen drive equally well, 
but men lag more total mileage. 
(D) Most truck drivers are men. 
(E) There is nat enough information to jus- 
tify a conclusion. 


14. In the fallawing set af numbers, a rule af 
arithmetic applies across and down sa that two of 


(a) oz 

"suoyisod Бицошәңа езу SBD əy} 

pua [од eq] "ezis owns ayy Ас әүбисы aui 
puo xoq upoe u 6640] s496 под eut (0) 61 
“alo из! әлә upaui j,usaop uon eor 

es D 395 J,useop wif esnp»eq isnf (v) "BL 
(0) pur (v) zt 

seu 

"C£ X pz Қащош T рио о "8 "у jo sen 
тал әң әшшләәр о әлаҹ ор под (d) "SL 


the numbers in a line produce the third. What is. 


the missing number? 
G6 2 d 
4 5 20 
TO 


15. ЕА xB = 24, Cx D = 32, BxD = 48 
and Bx C = 24, what does A x Bx C x D 
equal? 
(A) 480 
(B) 576 


(С) 744 
(D) 768 


(E) B24 


16. What word do the fallowing letters make 
when they are unscrambled? 
LELEINSOVS 


17. Find the twa wards nearest in meaning to 
each other. 


(A) beam (D) ray 
(8) lump (E) collectian 
(C) giggle 


18. If Jim turns right or left at the stop sign, he 
will run out of gas before he reaches a service 
station. He hos already gane tao for past a 
service station ta return before he runs aut af 
gas. He does not see a service station ahead. 
Only one af the fallowing statements can be 
positively deduced: 

(A) He may run out of gas. 

(B) He will run out of gas. 


“OpZ |onbe 

чоч oz x ZL pua OL х pz (Oz) pl 
(3) 81 

(а) pus (8) "21 

(wa oun) “LL 

queseag “OL 

asa 

ayı шолу pappJiqns sı зәдшпо pues eui 
“кол [PIUOTHOY рио [o»raes uae џ (Z) *6 
o3 °8 

“vo as pua "og = 11 +62 ‘GE =6 +91 

‘91 =L +6 es ‘ua os puo ‘pauonbs c si 


ei. ZIND озиәуү 


“Oh . . . by the way, so is my period.” 


(C) He should nat have taken this route. 
(D) He is last. 

(E) He shauld turn right at the stop sign. 
(F) He should turn left at the stop sign. 


19. Which af the four lower selectians best 
campletes the series on the top? 


$ 
@ 


. Ф 
А А А 


9 20 
e [^ © 2 
(A) (B) (C) (D 


20. If an cirplane travels at an average rate of 
500 miles per haur, haw lang will it toke ta 
complete 20 trips, of which five are far 1000 
miles, five for 1500 miles, five for 2000 miles 
and five for 3000 miles? 

(A) Two days, 1B hours 

(B) Twa days, 21 haurs 

(C) Three days 

(D) Three days, three hours 


A A 


sz 'pasanbs y si 91 “pasambs £ s! 6 (6p) 2 

“saquinu 1xeu ayy 

сц рәрра pua z Aq paydujnu ese 50d st 
зәәңшпи ay) Ueemyeq әэшәләрир eut (EE) ‘9 
*sunou jp әлә spon зәща әчү (3) `6 
Ov 

-exojd 

eus әң ur $шошәз jauynsu əpym 'suau 
-sod eBump әлцобән puo eauisag (2) f 
(9) pw (a) © 

тәрлэ ayı ш рәјәјәр som и so эзара 
eu ш әш ¡ajuoztiay eu әјәјәд (5) ‘1 


Scoring 
Give yourself one paint far each correct 
answer. Yau receive an additianal five paints 
far finishing the test in less than 15 minutes, 
three paints for finishing in less than 20 min- 
utes and twa points far less than 25 minutes. 
H you scared: 
20-25 points—yau are a perfect can- 
didate for Mensa. 
15-19 points—you are in the higher 
Percentiles of the papulation and defi- 
nitely a Mensa candidate. 
10-14 paints—nathing to be ashamed 
af. ls a respectable score and you 
should try the standard Mensa test. 
Fewer than 10 paints—forget abaut 
jaining Mensa, but dan't stew about it. 
Same af the most successful people 
don't have exceptionally high 1.Q.s, 


either. 
E 


"SNIIP ayjesseo Apeal-[eysIp ur uoryeAouut 182930] SICMIY :9SI9A9H-ADM?) 


15298 Z'0 uf 


ONIGHOJAH 
MOV8AV'Id SNO! 


PLAYBOY 


150 


JOHNSON AND THOMAS 


(continued from page 120) 


“People say, Yowre guys, not cops. People have 
named their goldfish after us. It’s a good image.” 


Mark Twain fan. And Faulkner. And 
Tennessee Williams, God rest his wicked 
soul. 


14. 


PLAYBOY: Imagine for us, if you will, Licu- 
tenant Castillo's private life. 
Jonson: [Big laugh] We've discussed this 
at great length and make jokes about it all 
the time. We say he's into little boys or 
that hc hangs out on school grounds and 
picks up teenaged girls. My favorite thing 
is to do a Castillo. [Does this] You walk up 
to a wall, face two inches away, put your 
hands in your pockets, don't blink, don’t 
smile and say, very directly, “Find them.” 
Eddie Olmos has the character down so 
well that he docsn't even have to talk any- 
more. All he has to do is look. 
тномлз: People arc amazed that he’s so 
friendly off screen. At home, Castillo prob- 
ably sits in the Zen position, puts on a 
kamikaze headband, lights candles and 
chants. I've never met a cop remotely like 
him. 

15. 
PLAYBOY: Yow're television’s newest clothes- 
horses, and viewers are very familiar with 
your choices in outerwear. Do you have 
any input on your wardrobe? Do you get 
to keep it? 
THOMAS: I get no input on the wardrobe, 
but I'm extremely happy with it. I get to 
keep it only i£ I buy it. [Laughs] You don't 
get anything from Miami Vice that you 
don’t earn. 
JOHNSON: I can keep all of the wardrobe I 
want. But although the audience sees it for 


(continued from page 90) 


only five or ten minutes at a time, I some- 
times have to wear it for days or weeks. So 
by the time the show is over, the outfit is 
dead to me, even though the actual fashion 
hasn't hit the streets. In fact, I wore a vari- 
ation of my Miami Vice clothing long 
before I did the show. I figured a T-shirt, 
jeans and a sports coat were right for any- 
thing short of meeting the queen. 


16. 


PLAYBOY: The groundwork for Miami Vic's 
success was probably laid, to some extent, 
by the popularity of Brian De Palma’s film 
Scarface. What's your favorite scene from 
that movie? 

Thomas: 1 liked the one where Angel got 
his arm and leg cut off by Hector, the guy 
with the chain saw. That was one of the 
most violent scenes in memory. Also, at 
the end, when my man Pacino had that 
pile of cocaine on the desk and he was fro- 
zen from head to toe, and then he got shot. 
In real life, you do not die like that. After 
the first couple of hits, life is gone. 

JOHNSON: My favorite moment is also the 
rip-off scene in the tiny South Beach hotel 
on Ocean Avenue, with the chain saw. 
Hector was Al Israel, who has been on our 
show. With my checkered past, I could 
relate to the rip-off—very well. So I 
thought it was done nicely. In fact, a good 
friend of mine, Steve Bauer, was in the 
scene as Manolo. We met when we were 
both in the TV series From Here to Eter- 
nity, which was his first gig in Hollywood. 
I kind of took him under my wing and 
said, “Hey, pal.” How was I to know that 


SAAB 9000 
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TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS 


Under the 9000's hood is а tronsversely mounted, two-liter, four-cylinder turbocharged 
engine with 16 volves thot develops 160 hp. The gearbox is a five-speed monuol. There ore 
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Weight: about 2950 pounds. Zero 10 60 in obout eight seconds. Top speed: about 140 
mph. Price: $22,000 to $25,000 (estimated). Worronty: three yeors or 36,000 miles. 


he would end up marrying my ex-wife? 
[Laughs] Y think I trained him too well. 


17. 


PLAYBOY: Who is your best friend? 

JOHNSON: Probably Patti [D'Arbanville]. I 
trust her implicitly. She unconditionally 
cares about me and I about her. We have 
the obvious problems that come from any 
kind of relationship, only ours are a little 
more public. But one reason we're able to 
maintain our relationship is that we're not 
married. A lot of times, in a marriage, you 
end up living someone else's idea of what 
it's supposed to be like, some storybook 
thing. As I said about partying, I’ve par- 
tied. Гуе also been married. 

THOMAS: God. I spend a lot of time in medi- 
tation on the Creator. 


18. 


PLAYBOY: What do you do in your spare 
time? 

THOMAS: Pm a workaholic. I write and pro- 
duce music all the time, even on the set 
between shots. I’ve spent more than 
$100,000 of my own money on my album, 
which came out last June. I took that 
chance because I believe in myself and 
because you can expect the unexpected 
from me. 

JOHNSON: I take Ken dolls and the like, and 
after making cutouts of various items, I 
sculpt miniatures of memorable Miami 
Vice busts! [Laughs—then shows us he's not 
kidding] 


19. 


гілувоу: Do you feel that the on-screen 
relationship between Crockett and Tubbs 
is a model for adult male bonding in the 
Eighties? 

JOHNS: It’s something I didn’t plan on 
having happen. I also didn’t plan on ev- 
cryone's picking up on it, but people did. I 
have gotten very bored with traditional 
male relationships—no touching, no hold- 
ing, no genuine closeness, none of that stuff 
that might be misconstrucd, you know. 
And that’s the way most actors have por- 
trayed them—out of fear. I have no fear of 
that, so I can allow myself to be as close, 
open, vulnerable, weak or gentle as poss 
ble toward my partner or friends. And I'm 
gratified that people have begun to pick up 
that it’s OK for men to be close without 
thinking they're light in their loafers. 
THOMAS: It could be true. People come up 
to me and say, “You're guys, not cops.” 
Feople have named their goldfish after us, 
and dogs. It’s a good image. 


20. 


PLAYBOY: What's the toughest job in the 
United States? 

THOMAS: Being poor. 

JOHNSON: Nancy Reagan's. [Laughs] ГЇЇ 
probably get in trouble, but I think it must 
be very tiring to keep saying, “Dutch, 
wake up. Wake up. The Joint Chiefs are 
waiting for an answer.” 


Getting the Message 


(continued from page 112) 


“In affairs of the heart, a good bartender is a liaison, 
an advisor; and this was a good bartender.” 


heard her say simply, “Help me.” 

Help me. 

Гус never been one of those people who 
refuse to get involved. I asked the bar- 
tenderif he knew who she was. He gave me 
the once-over, determining if I was an all- 
right kind of guy, which I am, and then he 
nodded. In affairs of the heart, chance 
encounters such as this, a good bartender 
is a liaison, an advisor; and this was a 
good bartender. He said he thought her 
name was Whitney. Was she a model, I 
had to know, a movie star, a goddess— 
was she real? He smiled and said she was 
real—he believed she worked in an office. 

“There has to be a way,” I said to 
myself. 1 make my living writing persua- 
sive copy, persuading people to buy 
things, using words. And there had to be a 
means of getting the words to her, if fate 
were all it was cracked up tobe, and it had 
to be destiny that brought us together. I 
never do anything unless it’s inevitable, 
and this was. 

T took a pen and wrote a note on a cock- 
tail napkin. I got the barmaid to take it to 
her, explaining that she shouldn’t let the 
blonde’s companion sce the note or it 
would ruin the surprise. The note said: 


You may be unaware of this, but 
the man you're with is a clone. DO 
NOTHING SUSPICIOUS. I’m from the 
future, and I know these things. Meet 
me out the rest rooms in ten min- 
utes. Trust me. I work for the Xyglin 
League of Planets, the FBI, the CLA, 
the Harvard Alumni Association and 
the Love Boat show. 


A Friend 


The barmaid believed in love and was a 
willing messenger. She slipped my note 
under a blank second napkin, with just a 
corner of my handwriting exposed. My 
heart raced. Would the blonde laugh? 
Would she tell the goon she was with? 
Would he come over and beat the crap out 
of me? He was built like a Percheron, 
though he didn't look nearly as bright. Pm 
small and have a bum knee—I could п 
ther flee nor fight. I was putting my life 
in her hands. That's how much I belicved 
in her, 

She discreetly read the note. She chuckled 
to herself when she was done. The lummox 
asked her what was so funny, and I read 
her lips, telling him, “Never mind.” It 
could hardly have gone better. 

“If you don’t mind my nosing in,” the 
bartender said, “what'd your note say?” I 
told him. 

“Wri notes on cocktail napkins is an 
art form,” I said. “I've been doing it since 
1 was five. 1 should write a how-to book. 


I'd make a fortune.” 

I boast to bartenders. So what? They 
expect it They're disappointed if you 
don't. 

"Watch this," I said. I took another 
napkin from the stack and wrote: 


Actually, I am a medical student 
from a prestigious nearby university 
1 couldn't help noticing that your 
boyfriend is a carrier of bubonic 
plague. I would be happy to give you 
an examination. This is not a come- 
on my main concern is for human- 
ity. Mcet me outside in five minutes. 
A Friend 


“Not bad,” the bartender said. “Try it. 
He called the barmaid over and told her to 
deliver my billet-doux, as covertly as 
before, to the blonde. Whitney read the 


second note, holding it under the table, out 
of view from the clodhopper, smiled, 
crushed the note in her hand and stuffed it 
behind her in the booth. She looked 
around the room, while her date rambled 
on, analyzing the commodities market, 
reciting the phone book— whatever it was. 
was boring her to tears. 
aid. "She's dying to meet 
me—she can't stand not knowing who it 
is. 


“Who what is?” the man on the bar- 
stool next to me asked. 

“The blonde over there,” I told him. 
“She's been giving me the eye ever since 
she walked in.” 

“She's gorgeous,“ he said. 1 grabbed 
another napkin. 

“Now I let her know which of us hunks 
is me,” I said. 


Actually, do you see the well- 
dressed, handsome, wealthy-looking 
man at the bar? He’s my bodyguard. 
Im the guy on his left, I have to dress 
this way to throw off suspicion. What- 
ever he might have told you, the man 
you're with is a hit man for the Mafia, 
and he’s after me. He always takes a 


“He's been thai way ever since he picked up that 
female impersonator by mistake.” 


151 


PLAYBOY 


woman with him when he makes his 
contracts. DO NOTHING 
In 30 seconds, I'm going to walk 
out the door, Follow me—your life 
could depend on it. My bodyguard 
will detain your date long enough for 
us to get away. I'll explain every- 
thing. 
A Friend 


This time, Whitney laughed out loud. 
Again, the doofus with her asked what was 
so funny, and again, she told him it was 
nothing. She looked straight at me. I 
smiled my top-of-the-line designer smile, 
the one 1 save for special occasions. I was 
scoring points like Dr. J one on one with 
Mickey Rooncy. 

“That got her attention,” the guy next 
to me said. 

“Give me a break," I said. “She wants 
me and she wants me bad.” 

“So go over there,” the bartender said. 

“The trick is to get them to meet you 
somewhere,” I said. “If the guy she's 
should happen to bc some rich husband, 
then we're going to need his money to fly 
off to St. рег. Trust me; I know what 
Y The bartender handed me 
another napkin. 

“Make your next move, Ace,” he said. I 
love it when bartenders call me Ace. 

I considered. I could tell her that two 
policemen had just asked me if I knew who 
her companion was, that she didn’t look 
to me like the type to get involved with 
drugs, though her date did, and that if she 
wanted to avoid going to jail, she could 
meet me by the pay phone and we could 


duck out back. Nothing is more romantic 
to a woman than the idea of being a fugi- 
tive on the lam with someone. Even so, I 
sensed it was time Io get serious. 


АЙ kidding aside, there's no time to 
explain, but the wife of the ma 
you're with just went into the ladies 
room, honest. If you want to avoid an 
ugly scene, pretend you left some- 
thing in the car, and ГЇЇ meet you in 
the parking lot. I can give you a lift 
home if you need one 


A Friend 


“What do you think?” I said, showing it 
to the bartender first. 

“Definitely a winner,” he sai 

“Go for it,” the man beside me said. 

This time, my beautiful blonde read my 
missive, closed her eyes, shook her head, 
perhaps blushing—it was too dark to 
tell then looked at me as if to say I should 
be ashamed of myself. I looked at her as if 
to say, “1 should be, I know, but I’m not.” 

“1 believe she’s definitely warming to 
you,” the guy next to me opined 

“Why shouldn't she?” I said. “Now I 
bring out the big gun. 

“Whats that?” the bartender asked. 

“Sincerity,” I said. "Somcone asked 
Laurence Olivier what the secret to great 
acting was, and he said, ‘Sincerity—once 
you can fake that, the rest is easy." 

I wrote my last note carefully, meas- 
uring my words. I was taking my best 
shot, shooting the moon, betting my wad, 
all my eggs, in for a penny, and the fate of 
the nations hung in the balance. 


“You're right, Mac—it is a bowl of roaches.” 


Dear Whitney, 

All kidding truly aside, I have to 
meet you. I don't know why, but I felt 
sincerely, profoundly moved the mi 
ute you walked in, Beneath this 
obnoxious-joker mask is a nice guy 
who would like a little time with you 
to express himself. I never believed in 
magic before, but then, I don't 
believe how attracted to you I feel, 
either. How can I sce you? What 
should I do? I have no choice but to 
put it in your hands. 


Tom at the bar 


that’s not the only place 
in,” I told my new bud- 
dies, my allies in this endeavor. My fricnds 
wanted to know what my final note said. 
“1 hate to disappoint you, boys,” I said, 
“but this one is personal.” 

Again, my heart raced. To add to the 
drama, just as the barmaid delivered my 
note, the palooka, the only obstacle be- 
tween me and the girl of my dreams, rose 
and went to the cigarette machine. Whit- 
ney read my message and looked at me 
appraisingly. Clearly, she knew she was 
making an important decision. Then she 
took a pen from her purse and wrote some- 
thing on her own cocktail napkin. Just 
when I thought my heart could pound no 
harder, it jumped into double time. Whit- 
ney gestured to our go-between and 
handed her the reply, pointing at me. The 
barmaid laid the napkin, words down, on 
the mahogany before me. Both the bar- 
tender and the guy next to me leaned 
toward me. 

“Do you mind?" I said. “This could be 
extremely private.” 

I lifted the napkin as though it were my 
last hole card and I'd just bet the farm, 
slowly, letter by letter, word by word, until 
its contents were revealed to me. It said: 


AII kidding aside, really, Tom at the 
bar: 
L The man I’m with is my brother. 
2. The man next to you is the bar- 
tender's brother. 
3. The bartender is my husband. 
4. You should probably leave. 
Whitney 


“See ya later, boys," I said, slapping a 
ten-dollar bill onto the bar. “Keep the 
change.” 

“Going somewhere?” the bartender 
asked. 

“Yeah, she’s meeting me,” I said, “back 
at my karate studio, where I teach. Plus, I 
left my pit bull in the car, and he's proba- 
bly dying to get out.” I left in a hurry. I 
didn't stop for a block and a half. I had to 
ask myself, had it been the truth? Or had 1 
simply been bested, beaten at my own 
game? Ifit wasn’t one kind of truth, it was 
definitely another. I've always believed life 
is too short and too precious to worry 
about the difference. Cut your losses and 
go home. That's what I’ve always said. 


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sKENNETH DAVIS 


horned-frog hero 


Tt took Mark Twain to get jumping frogs some ink 
Now running back Kenneth Davis is doing the same for 
another species of Ranidae. The Horned Frogs of Texas 
Christian University, riding Davis’ broad shoulders, 
have jumped off football's endangered list for the first 
time since the days of Sammy Baugh. 

“I don’t have any trouble with the nickname,” says 
the most famous Horned Frog. “As far as teasing from 
other teams—they haven t tried it with me. I like horned 
frogs. They’re not the kind of mascot you run across 
every day.” Unless you're driving in Texas. 

One of 12 Davis kids from Temple, Texas, Kenneth 
does his driving through defensive backfields—he aver- 
aged eight yards a carry last year. Beyond a Mack-truck 
chassis that gocs from zero to 60 in no time at all, his 
secret is the power of positive dreaming 

“Before a game—honest—I’ll try to have visions,” he 
says. “T'I get the ball, say, and go to the side line. Then 
T'I look out the corner of my eye and sce the fans start to 
rise. Before our game against Baylor, 1 had a vision of 
myself breaking a long one. Then 1 took a pitchout and 
went 75 yards—just the way Га seen it in my dream. It's 
wild.” 

Which is how N.F.L. scouts go about picking 5'11", 
215-pound Heisman Trophy candidates. Next year, 
they'll be dangling megabucks under Davis’ nose 
The first thing ГЇЇ buy will be a whole lot of con- 
crete,” he says, smiling. “My mother wants a concrete 
driveway and walkway and everything." — —KEVIN COOK 


RON MESAROS 


SETH GODIN? 


micro lit 


According to the message on the computer screen, you are trapped 
in an underground cave. You have only one match. After considerable 
thought, you slowly type in, STRIKE THE Maten. The disk drives whir 
for a moment, then a new message pops up: A SMALL BREEZE HAS COME 
UP. BLOWING OUT YOUR MATCH. TOUGH LUCK! WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO NOW? 
This is the new world of computerized interactive fiction, a form of 
digital entertainment that is touted to change the way we respond to 
literature. It actually makes the reader a character in a fictional story 
He moves the action along by giving the computer instructions and, 
through a cannily crafted program of answers, the computer responds 
as if it actually knew what was being said 

Leading the way in bringing these tall tales to high tech is Spinna- 
ker Software, Inc., of Cambridge, Massachusetts, with its Telarium 
line of interactive-fiction programs. In a little more than a year, Seth 
Godin, 24, Spinnaker's product-development manager, has managed 
to assemble a stable of writers that would be envied by any conven- 
tional publisher. Works by Michael Crichton, Arthur C. Clarke, Rob- 
ert A. Heinlein and Ray Bradbury have already been digitized, along 
with a series of Perry Mason mysteries by Erle Stanley Gardner 
Some are written specifically for the computer, such as Crichton's 
Amazon, others are adaptations, such as Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 
Godin says his products are not merely elaborate video games but 
“go for the emotions, allowing you to pretend you are the lead charac- 
ter and forcing you to think as he does.” 

Although Telarium racked up more than $2,000,000 in sales during 
its first three months on the market, the kick for Godin isn’t the com- 
mercial success—it's rubbing elbows with his boyhood idols. “1 was 
always a science-fiction buff, and just talking with these men is a 
dream come true.” — ROBERT E CARR 


“PETER COYOTE 


à 
Н 


edging toward stardom 


“I'm 44 years old and I've lived about 17 lifetime: 
maintains Peter Coyote, with only slight exaggeration 
He has been a mime, a radical, a psychedelic gypsy and a 
politician, but his latest incarnation—as an actor—is 
undoubtedly his most successful. In a slew of films, from 
E.T., Cross Creek and Heartbreakers to the current Jagged- 
Edge, he has garnered a quiet reputation as an actor of 
surprising versatility. Insiders often refer to him as a 
latter-day Robert Duvall, which excites even the unflap- 
pable Coyote: “That's the single most thrilling thing Гус 
heard as an actor." 

The road to such accolades has not been without a few 
detours. “The Grateful Dead paid for me, Ken Kesey 
and two Hell's Angels to go to London to see what the 
Beatles were really about, he recalls. He spent the next 
few years living in his truck or in communes and eventu- 
ally took a job teaching acting to ghetto kids. He made a 
slow segue into politics after then-governor Jerry Brown 
appointed him to the California Arts Council. “And I 
had a kind of epiphany. I realized I didn’t have to stay on 
the fringes. I wanted to measure myself on the big 
board.” 

He continues to measure up handsomely. Still, he keeps 
his home in Northern California, avoiding even a hint of 
Hollywood. “As a friend once told me,” he says, *“Peter, 
don't buy your own poster. — BRUCE WILLIAMSON 


PLAYBOY 


156 


modes? rr Hs 


(continued from page 70) 


“I don't care if it’s in the shower or on a rug with cat 
fur, we do what we wanna do.” 


contenders for her “royal throne.” On a 
wall between the bathroom and the bed- 
rooms, in purple and red Magic Marker, 
were lists of dozens of names of men Jus- 
tine and Suzi wanted to sleep with and/or 
marry. Most were celebrities, such as 
Mike Peters of The Alarm and Mick 
MacNeil of Simple Minds. Others were 
famous only around Lower Greenville, the 
funky Dallas neighborhood the girls lived 
in. All the names had little boxes beside 
them, and some of the boxes were notched 
with check marks. A scoreboard by 
Justine’s door awarded 50 points for celeb- 
tities, five points for “gay boys.” 

“TH tell you about modern girls,” 
Justine said, twirling her empty cup 
around so Га pour more champagne into 
it. “The only thing they want to have in 
life is fun. They live in dives, work yucky 
jobs, nothing glamorous, but it pays hills, 
and they have money for drugs, money for 
clothes, money to buy the pill cach month, 
"cause naturally fun equals sex, sex, sex. 
Modern girls are liberated; that’s the key. 
I mean, we shave our armpits, but that's 
about it. No more of this tradition, And 
modern girls are good in bed; right, Suzi? 


And they’re not hung up about anything. 
They get bummed with men occasionally, 
but their over-all attitude is ‘Fuck em if 
they can't take a joke. 

“I think they're more open during sex,” 
Suzi said, sitting on the carpet in her door- 
way, taking little sips of champagne. “It’s 
more mutual fulfillment. Before, the guys 
were like, err she jerked her hands 
up in the air and scrunched up her face. 
“They were just all out for what they 
wanted, and you could lie there like a dead 
dog and they probably wouldn’t care.” 

“But now we gotta get something out of 
it, too,” said Justine. “Like, we'll get on 
top, we'll do positions we , well find 
out ways—I don't care if it's in the shower 
or on a rug with cat fur, we do what we 
wanna do. Also, girls will buy guys flow- 
ers, too." 

“What about modern guys?” I asked. 
“What are they like?” 

“Usually, they're artistically inclined,” 
said Suzi. “They run a wild art shop or a 
wild dothing store or a video bar, or 
they're video jocks or they work for the 
arts, and their hair is like . . it's never 
parted in the middle or to the side, it’s 


COCHRAN! 


“The films indicate that 
we can take advantage of their left inside 
linebacker, their right cornerback and several of 
their cheerleaders.” 


kind of disheveled. And I love baggy boxer 
shorts on guys. I like baggy pants and sus- 
penders and rolled-up T-shirts, or else the 
James Dean kind of rebel look.” She 
slipped a single black O ring onto her right 
wrist, then twisted a string of tiny fake 
pearls around it. 

So what if you met this perfect guy . . . 
what would you do?" 

“For me, the ideal date would be sitting 
outside at a French restaurant,” said Jus- 
tine, “wearing my Korean Ray-Bans, 
drinking wine and having a cigarette in my 
left hand, talking to an ideal guy. He's got 
a suntan and disheveled hair and a ciga- 
rette and a goofy leather jacket, with nice 
Italian shoes with nice white socks. He'll 
talk about Camus or some great artist and 
talk about silly things, like what your 
roommate did to you when you were 
asleep. Then he'll take the half-wilted car- 
nation out of the vase and give it to you.” 

“In a way, I'm so traditional,” Suzi 
said. “To me, an ideal date would be to go 
on a picnic and have a basket with fruit 
and cheese and a bottle of wine. Just sit 
around and talk and relax and enjoy each 
others company. Just to be with 
somebody.” 

The champagne was all gone. “Do you 
think we should go out somewhere?” 
Justine said. “It’s only 11.” 

е 

Га borrowed my best friend's 1966 tur- 
quoise Tempest. It moves around corners 
like the Love Boat and roars like a Grey- 
hound bus, but it has nice lines and a tape 
deck. We drove it to the Inwood Lounge, a 
sleek, high-tech bar with soundproof win- 
dows through which you can sce foreign 
films playing at the movichouse next 
door. There was running water along the 
walls, a revolving hologram of Marcello 
Mastroianni smoking a cigarette and a 
center table where Justine and Suzi sat 
drinking Bailey's on the rocks. They had 
said their hellos to half a dozen people on 
the way in, including a razor-thin bar- 
tender with a curly spit of black hair dan- 
gling down his forehead 

“That's Tony,” Justine said. “He pro- 
grams all the music they play here.” 
Above the hum of the crowd and the rush 
of nearby water, a song by Bronski Beat 
was playing. Modern music. 

‘Justine was running our table, switching 
topics of conversation every 90 seconds. 
(“David, did you know I've had three 
Greek guys in а row? It’s incredible. . . . 
Suzi’s been a vegetarian for six years. Me, 
six months. . . . I'm moving to England 
and getting married this year. Just wait.”) 
Then she froze, looked sideways and made 
a face. 

“A guy just walked by who always both- 
ered me,” she said. “He always came into 
On the Air and tried some line on me. He's 
the kind of guy who wears skinny ties and 
goes, I'm New Wave!’ All I could do was 
laugh at him.” She took a drag of her 
cigarette and glanced at her roommate. 
“You're talking a lot, Suzi.“ 


m sorry." Suzi sipped at her Bailey” 
looking over toward Justine’s inept suitor. 
She'd been staring for a long time in the 
direction of Mastroianni’s holographic 
image, seemingly in another world. 

When she got up to go to the bathroom, 
Justine leaned and whispered, 
“Suzi's depressed.” 

“What about?" 

“I don't know. Probably this guy Bud 
You know, that blond-haired guy who 
looks sorta like a British rock star? She's 
been going out with him for a few months, 
and he's a real jerk. I don't like him. You 
can't joke with him, and Suzi and I joke so 
much. And besides, he's fucking around." 

We decided that just wouldn't do. We 
were getting drunk, and we wanted to be 
happily drunk. We wanted Suzi to be hap- 
pily drunk. Justine stabbed her straw into 
her drink. "Our mission: Cheer up Suzi." 

The lounge was fully stocked with 
upscale New Wavers. Models with electri- 
ficd hair stood under neon lights and 
posed like friezes, clutching napkin- 
wrapped drinks. As Suzi maneuyered her 
way back to our table, the neon seemed to 
spotlight her face and her long white dress, 
which swayed gently with each step. 

“Doesn't Suzi lock pretty tonight?” Jus- 
tine asked. 

“Yes,” I said. 

Hey, Suzi, tell David which one of us is 
sexier 

Suzi sat down and smiled, rolling her 
eyes. “Justine will tell you she’s ten points 
sexier and Im four points bitchier.” 

“Irs true! The Cosmo quiz told us! Pd 
used every position, so I’m 10 points over 
you.” 

“But you're five years younger than 
Suzi. How could you be so far ahead?” 

“Гуе learned enough between 18 and 19 
to last a lifetime,” Justine said. “At 14, I 
learned that men sucked; at 15, men 
sucked; at 16, men sucked dicks; at 17, 1 
found out all men were gay; at 18, men 
sucked; and at 19, men are all getting mar 
ried.” 

“I'm going to n 
“This is too depressing. 

"Depressing? Everybody falls in love 
with you! 105 always "Where's Suzi? | 
can’t even have a boyfriend without him 
falling in love with Suzi!” 

We watched Suzi walk off toward the 
phone. "She's probably going to call 
Bud,” Justine said, shrugging her shoul- 
ders. Then she pouted and looked provoc- 
atively the bar, so our waiter 
would come ask what she wanted. 

. 

By 12:30, we'd gravitated downtown to 
the Twilite Room, the only hard-core- 
punk club in Dallas. It shared a block with 
a bail-bond place and a porno movie- 
house, and it was crowded with a mix ol 
scuzzed-out young punks with violent 
haircuts and crucifix jewelry, drunken. 
aging punks left over from 1978 and SMU 
frat rats shooting pool. Justine introduced 
me to a blonde in her late 20s. “This 


over 


€ a call," Suzi said. 


toward 


There may be 
Walkerschnappers 


right in your 
EROR 


To order by mail 
Send check or money 
order lor 5050 per 
copy includes post 
age) made payable to 
Playboy Products PO. 
Box 1554, Elk Grove 
Village. Ilinois 60007 
Canadian residents 
add 5300. full amount 
payable in US curer 
© on a US bank only 
Sorry, no other foreign 
orders can be accepted. 


roe AT NEWSSTANDS NOW! 


157 


PLAYBOY 


158 


is Terri,” she said. “She used to run that 
vintage clothing store Shady Lady. Now 
she's teaching me to be one.” 

We decided we were getting too buzzed; 
we needed something refreshing, like a few 
bottles of cold Mexican beer. A sexy bar- 
tender in a black prom dress pulled the 
tops off a few Coronas, and I took them 
back to where the girls stood lounging by 
the jukebox. Justine asked for a quarter to 
play The Day the World Turned Day-Glo, by 
X-Ray-Specs, and we leaned against the 
wall, sipping our beers. Our attempt to 
cheer up Suzi had backfired. and now all 
three of us were feeling pretty bummed. 
Maybe it was from drinking wine and 
champagne so carly. It was stuffy and 
loud, so we retreated to a quiet spot, a fire 
escape that looked down on the grimy 
eastern edge of downtown. We sat down, 
clinking our bottles on the wrought iron, 
and Justine and Suzi talked about men. It 
wasn't like earlier in the night, though, 
when they had seemed like Eighties ver- 
sions of Ann-Margret in Kitten with a 
Whip. Now they weren't joking around. 

“It's weird how I met Bud,” Suzi said. 
“We were giving away albums at On the 
Air, and I was throwing them down from 
the v.j.’s window, and I hit Bud on the 
head.” She looked tired. She pulled her 
knees up to her chin and looked down at 
some Mexicans pulling up to the bail- 
bond place. “I told myself when I started 
dating him, “Don’t fall in love with him, 


because that's the only way you can havea 
happy relationship with him.’ I mean, he’s 
a nice guy, but he has a lot of problems, 
and until he works them out, he won't be 
a good boyfriend—you know, someone 
who's able to give in a relationship. But 
поооо, what do I do?” 

“Does he know you love him?” 

o, Гус never told him that. Sec, 
what's so stupid is I have a hard time 
admitting my feelings, because I don't 
trust men. Because I ve been hurtso much.” 

"Why do we get stuck with all these 
bum guys?” Justine yelled. “We deserve so 
much better. 1 think that Suzi and I are 
two of the nicest, most ideal people to go 
out with, cause we're honest when we 
want to be. And we respect guys more 
than anyone I know.” 

“Like, with Bud,” Suzi said, "s how 
he treats me . . . a lot of the time, it isn't 
the way you'd treat somebody you really 
cared about. It’s like I have a really bad 
self-image at times, or else why would 1 
put up with that?” 

I was astonished, “But there must be 
millions of guys asking you out all the 
time! Nice guys, great guys.” 

“It scems like nobody ever asks me 
out,” she said. “Гус been stood up more 
than any girl I know.” 

* don’t understand why you'd go out 
with someone who makes you feel that 
wa 


It's because,” Justine said, “there's no 


one else special to go out with who makes 
her feel important, and she's too good a 
person to feel lonely all the time,” 

The problem, the girls agreed, was just 
what Justine had figured out at 14: Men 
suck. They chanted it together, like a man- 
tra, so loud that a couple of punks looked 
up at us from the sidewalk below. 

“That says it right there,” Suzi said. “1 
really respect men who are intelligent, 
who aren’t into themselves or how they 
look. But every guy I've gone out with who 
was smart has been dry and boring, and 
then the ones I'm attracted to who are 
rebellious and fun, like Bud, are always 
promiscuous and not willing to have a 
relationship. It's, like, I give up, I really 
do. If somebody were to come along who 
was really caring, it would be ‘Bye, Bud." 
But right now, I'm just kind of waiting in 
there,” 

We talked a long time, about how $ 
didn’t meet her first boyfriend until she 
was a shy sorority girl at Oklahoma State, 
and then, after two years, when they'd 
made plans to get married, she found out 
he was gay. And how none of the guys took 
Justine seriously, since she was only 19. 
And how they both loved to buy Brides 
magazine so they could look at the bridal 
gowns, and how they sometimes stayed up 
late at night talking about what they 
wanted to name their kids. 

“I want to get married within a year,” 
‘Justine said. “Preferably to Mick MacNeil 


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of Simple Minds.” 

“I don't think I'm ever going to get 
married," Suzi said, touching her Corona 
bottle with her finger tips. “I’ve always 
wanted to, but I don't think I ever will.” 

. 

It was approaching two when we 
climbed into the Tempest and drove across 
downtown to the Starck Club, the chicest, 
coolest club in Dallas. Created by the 
French designer Philippe Starck, it’s the 
kind of place where Grace Jones gets flown 
in to perform for the city’s slumming café 
elite and the top crop of New Wavers who 
used to go to On the Air. A line of BMWs 
and Porsches ringed the place; we had to 
wait awhile before a valet took the keys to 
the Tempest, and then the girls strode 
quickly up the Starck steps, slipped past 
three dozen people teeming against a vcl- 
vet rope and swept inside with me in their 
wake, never slowing down as an alert 
doorman recognized them and whipped 
up the last rope between us and Starck’s 
pulsing interior. 

It was all smooth gray cement and 
cloudlike couches and curtains, packed 
with a writhing ant farm of night people. 

"You know what we need?” Justine 
said. 

“Ecstasy.” 

We'd discussed this on the drive over 
from the Twilite Room. Since it was too 
late to get a drink, taking ecstasy was our 
only hope of slipping out of our gloomy 
moods into something more, um, comfort- 
able. This was April, back in the good 
old days, when 3,4-methylenedioxymeth- 
amphetamine wasn't yet illegal. We knew 
it was supposed to mess up your blood 
pressure and destroy brain cells, but this 
was Saturday and that was a price we were 
willing to pay 

Justine went off into the crowd, looking 
for some, while Suzi and T made our way 
to the bar. Amazingly, there were still a 
few seconds left to get a drink. We got four 
kamikazes for the girls, a double screw- 
driver for me. 

Justine reappeared with two tanned, 
smiling guys who could have walked out of 
an episode of Miami Vice. “These guys will 
go get us some X, but they want to see 
your money,” she whispered to me. 

I slipped some 20s out of my jacket 
pocket and one of them said, “A-OK!” 

Justine's trip through Starck 
seemed to have revitalized her. She shot 
down her kamikazes and waved at people 
and kissed an enormous but infmitcly 
graceful black guy who was wearing a tux 
and waiting tables. His name was Mi- 
chael. He bussed Suzi, too, and gripped 
my elbow with his free hand as we were 
introduced, then went back into the 
breach to pick up glasses. It was nice 
meeting someone friendly there—some- 
times, places like Starck can be just too 
cool to take. The Miami Vice guys came 
back with the X, three flat white tab- 
lets wrapped in a single piece of toilet 
tissue. I gave them three 20s and we took 


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the X as casually as if it were aspirin. 
Justine had barely swallowed hers when 
she yelled, *Yoo-hoo! Bart!” and ra 
to retrieve Bart Weiss, the former video- 
program director at On the Air. She 
gripped the arm of his black-leather jacket 
and said, “You've got to dance with me. 
But wait here a minute.” Suzi and Bart 
and I stood around talking for a while. A 
song by the Thompson Twins pumped 
from the dance floor, which was in a big 
pit in the middle of the place, and I found 
[thinking about my girlfriend. 

It’s really great being around people in 
such very good moods," Bart said. Hc had 
his own reasons to be bummed—On the 
Air was closed, and he was going through 
some rocky times with a woman he'd been 
dating for years. He was at Starck to have 
fun, to drink and dance with someone like 
Justine, but the sight of him made Suzi 
and me mope even more. 

Justine came back, stripped off Bart's 
jacket, draped it on Suzi's narrow shoul- 
ders and turned him out toward the dance 
pit. “Well,” she said, turning back to me, 
“Гус conquered one man tonight.” 

Suzi and I leaned over a rail and 
watched them dance in the throbbing 
recesses beneath us. Justine swirled 
around so her black skirt would revolve, 
and her cigarette orbited around her, like a 
tracer bullet in the dark. After a while, we 
wandered back to the spotlighted stage 
and sat down on the steps, our chinsin our 
hands. Every now and then, someone 
would come up and say to Suzi, “Excuse 
me, but I just wanted to tell you you look 
absolutely beautiful,” and she'd smile 
politely and say, “Thank you.” 

I found a napkin and wrote Suzi a note: 
“So... is your life going the way you want 
it to?” 

She read it, gestured for my pen above 
the noise of a New Order song and wrote 
back, “No—not at all.” When 1 wrote 
back asking her to tell me her troubles, she 
wrote, I can wish that I could, but I'm 
sworn lo secrecy.” 

Time passed. The X was kicking in big 
time. But instead of brightening our nights 
to the 120th power, it just seemed to make 
things more bleak. “I don’t think we're in 
party mode,” | wrote to Suzi, “and we're 
certainly not in Depeche Mode.” 

“I think,” she wrote back, “were in 
bummed mode.” 

Suddenly, with a calm, romantic 
detachment, I wondered whether or not I 
was in love with Suzi. I knew the X was 
part of it—you can fall in love with bright, 
shiny objects when you’re on X—but I'd 
wondered about this before, without it, 
during those long, late nights at On the 
Air. Pd always dismissed it in the bright, 
sober light of the mornings after—1 knew 
I was too straight, and maybe too plain, 
for her. The guys I always saw her with 
wore complicated leather jackets, tied ban- 
dannas around the calves of their boots 
and never seemed to smile. Their jaws 
were always dusted by a three-day growth 


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of beard, and they regarded the world 
around them—or at least On the Air— 
with boredom and purposelessness. They 
made me feel too grounded, too true to life, 
almost like Ward Cleaver. 

And yet... Га always sensed in Suzi 
something deeper, more yearning, than 
the cool posings of the people she hung out 
with. She sometimes scemed bored by the 
whole scene, or at least resigned to it. Sit- 
ting on those steps, I remembered another 
explanation Justine had offered one night. 
“Sometimes,” she'd said, “Suzi just 
doesn't like herself very much. It's some- 
thing that happens with people who are 
perfect. They're real hard on themselves, 
and then they can't be happy. And that 
makes them not be perfect anymore." 

I was in the middle of writing Suzi a 
long, important note when she suddenly 
stood up, dropped Bart's leather jacket to 
the floor beside me and walked away with- 
out a word. 1 watched as she stepped 
through clouds of cigarette smoke lit by 
bright spots of light, between people who 
had already paid tribute to her and up toa 


guy with disheveled blond hair, a guy who 
looked like a British rock star. Oh, yeah, 
Bud. I looked down at my napkin—the 
ink from my long, complicated note had 
seeped through it. She couldn’t have read 
it, anyway. 

. 

When I caught up with Justine, it was 
after four and she was still dancing, this 
time with three gay guys. One of her part- 
ners was wearing an ascot and a black- 
linen suit; he held out his white hands 
like fans in the air while he danced. Justine 
was a little drunk. She fell down once 
while I watched them slink around to 
Tears for Fears, and later she knocked over 
a chair on her way to the bar. “That guy's 
name is Travis," she said, dabbing her 
forehead with ice water and pointing to a 
guy who'd said hello to her. “I met him at 
some frat party at SMU. I had a whole 
bottle of champagne to myself, and he 
wanted some.” 

Justine waved to someone else, showing 
all her teeth as she smiled. She seemed to 
have limitless energy, but I was fading 


“We're taking up a little collection to have my 
daughter's boyfriend's balls cut off... .” 


fast. Га been foraging through Starck, 
looking for Suzi, for what seemed like for- 
ever, and I'd promised myself once again 
that this was the last time I'd ever do X. 

“Have you seen Suzi?” I said. 

“She went off to have breakfast with 
Bud,” Justine said, making a face. 

CS 

She led me back to the bathroom 
marked FEMMES, a needless distinction, 
since half the people inside were hommes. 
It was a huge room, all mirrors and stain- 
less steel, with a cloudlike couch in the 
middle and stalls behind swinging doors. 
A refugee from El Salvador handed cotton 
towels to people who barely acknowledged 
her—they were too busy gaping at their 
frightful four-a.m. reflections in the fluores- 
cent light. 

"Pm so bored,” Justine said, pursing 
her lips before the mirror, “and my hair 
looks like rat fuck.” Then she straightened 
and put her long gold necklace between 
her teeth, like a bit. 

I had dreamed of walking out of Starck 
and having the Tempest brought up so I 
could stroll outside with these two incred- 
ible modern girls on either arm, climbing 
into that turquoise cavern to the oohs and 
aahs of an adoring crowd. But when 
Justine and I got outside and stood 
together on the steps, waiting in line for a 
valet, I just felt like Га been in a war or 
something. I saw someone I knew, and he 
asked me how things were going. Instead 
of saying, “I may feel worse than I've ever 
felt in my life," I shook his hand and said, 
“Oh, I can't complain." 

Justine decided she wanted to go to 
Denny's for an egg and some hot tea. 
When we got there, the hostess and waiter 
did a Hello, Dolly! routine with her and 
gave her her usual corner table. On a 
whim, I ordered a Grand Slam Break- 
fast—I thought it might be what I 
needed. While we picked at our food, 
Justine talked about how Heroes, by David 
Bowie, was the most important song in the 
world. She talked about her plans to write 
a book called Justalonia's Guide to Sex. 
She talked about how she wanted to be 
"Andy Warhol famous" and how she 
thought men should wear skirts to night 
clubs. It's the newest thing,” she said. “It’s 
the androgynous look of the Eighties.” 

By the time I drove her home and saw 
her to the door, it was getting close to 
dawn. A train was going by a long way 
away, a pickup loaded with Sunday papers 
pulled up to the curb and Justine kissed 
me good night on the check. 1 went back to 
the Tempest and steered it west. I was in 
something my grandmother used to call a 
state. As far as I knew, I hadn't learned 
anything that could help me understand 
my girlfriend, that could help me under- 
stand women or anything at all. All I knew 
for sure was that I wanted to get home, fall 
onto my bed and go to sleep for a long, 


long time. 
E 


THE TREND TREND 


(continued from page 94) 
themes is that executives in the near future 
“will give more and more credence to 
intuition and hunch.” In other words, 
increasingly accurate, computer-gener- 
ated, electronically transmitted information, 
which Naisbitt says will be supremely 
important in the coming New Economy, 
also won't be important at all 

. 

Late last year, Newsweek tracked down 
the 13 dumbest people in America and as- 
signed the 14th to write about them. The 
result was the epochal “Year of the Yup- 
pie” cover story, perhaps the greatest 
trend story ever told. “It is on the move 
again,” the first of half a dozen separate 
articles began, “that restless vanguard of 
the baby-boom generation, continually re- 
inventing [!] itself as it conquers the unde- 
fended decades of the 20th Century.” 
ntinually reinventing excuses to write 
cheery articles about wealthy white peo- 
ple, Newsweek steadied its reportorial gaze 
on a handful of overpaid young assholes 
and found that their hearts were made 
of cheese: “How many lives have been 
shaped by that first taste of brie: brie rip- 
ened to the color ofa week-old newspaper 
left on the radiator, brought just to the 
point at which the lasciviously bulging 
dle can be greedily scraped onto a 
er without getting any of the chalky 
white rind . . . a generation once notori- 
ous for discovering new ways to make itsclf 
feel good has, not surprisingly, found the 
habit hard to break." Only the magazine 
that gave us the Hitler diaries could assert 
that thousands of young Americans are 
addicted to a kind of cheese and then 
declare that this is “not surprising.” 

The indisputable star of the Yuppie 
story was Carrie Cook, a 25-ycar-old as- 
sociate producer in an ad agency in Bos- 
ton. Cook said things to Newsweek that she 
will surely spend the rest of her life 
regretting (assuming she actually exists): 
“Pm totally infatuated with the world of 
real estate, It makes me feel smart and it 
gives me more control over my life. . . . If 
I thought it was a close election, I might 
not have voted for Mondale. I had the best 
of both worlds. 1 could vote my conscience 
and still come out ahead financially. . . . I 
don’t think earlier generations of young 
people were as consumed by time as we 
are. We seem to be moving every minute. 
If we lose our appointment books, we're 
through. Too often, we are so preoccupied 
with the destination, we forget the jour- 
ney.” Cook also revealed that she had sub- 
mitted a script to Saturday Night Live and 
had devoted scarce leisure hours to invent- 
ing a device for spreading suntan lotion. 

On the strength of those and other fatui- 
ties (“Our marriages seem like mergers, 
our divorces like divestitures,” mused Rob 
Lewis, a 28-year-old Denver attorney), 
Newsweek posited the existence of a class of 
venal ex-hippies and cobbled together the 


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stupidest news-magazine cover story since 
Time's penetrating investigation into 
"s love affair 
Writing in The New Republic a short 
while later, Alex Heard pointed out that 
the Yuppie story obeyed his 
Law of Trend Inversibility 

ial conditions in the United States, 
if so assigned, the same reporters, writers 
and editors, in the same time period, could 
have written an equal and opposite cover 
story: ‘Still Caring After All These 
Years—The Sixties Generation Keeps 
Goin’ and Growin’.’” 

One of America’s most important 
sources of silly trend stories is the "Liv- 
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“Living” writers can hardly write about 
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suddenly hurrying through their meals, 
even sometimes eating them “on the run.” 

“The phenomenon, which seems to be 
spreading throughout the United States, 
has excited the food-service industry and 
caused Chinese take-out restaurants and 
streetside vendors alike to flourish,” 
observed the nation’s newspaper of record. 
“Some call it eating, as opposed to dining. 
Sidney W. Mintz, an anthropologist at 
Johns Hopkins University, describes it as 
‘brief meallike interventions throughout 
the day,“ (Poor Professor Mintz, sitting 
in Baltimore, eagerly awaiting his big 
interview with The New York Times. At last 
the phone rings, and . . . it’s the “Living” 
section asking him to define snack.) 

“Whatever the reasons,” continued the 
Times, “the evidence is clear that more 
people, especially those under 35, are eat- 
ing smaller meals more and more fre- 
quently throughout the day—mostly on 
the run, more often than not alone.” Like 
most “Living” trend stories, this one easily 
satisfies Heard's inversibility requirement: 
“Under the Gun at Work, Ambitious 
Young Professionals Declare Mealtime a 
Cease-Fire Zone.” It is also completely 
ridiculous. Busy people have always eaten 
badly and in a hurry. Frozen dinners were 
invented not for overachievers in the 
Eighties but for housewives in the Fifties. 
“Chinese take-out restaurants and 
streetside food vendors alike" have been 
urban fixtures for years. 

The snack article exemplifies one of 
the distinguishing characteristics of most 
trend stories: the tendency of trend spot- 
ters to mistake the changing circumstances 
of their own lives for full-scale national 
epidemics. It’s as if some young editor on 
the “Living” section of the Times noticed 
that she and her friends don’t have as 
much time to eat as they did when (A) 
they lived at home and their mothers did 
all the cooking or (B) they were in college 
and had only to present their identification 
cards in order to be fed. Rather than 
realize that the haste with which she 
now eats her meals is merely the 


result of the fact that she is now a busy 
grownup fending for herself, she makes a 
bold deductive leap and assigns a story 
concluding that America’s social fabric 
has been rent. 

Toward the end of its Yuppie story, 
Newsweek buffed up its crystal ball and 
imagined an Ozzie and Harriet future for 
its herd of high-rolling baby boomers: 
“They'll make a fetish of restoring the as- 
bestos shingles on their tract houses, sur- 
render weekends to scraping the rust from 
authentic back-yard swing sets. They'll 
build brick barbecues as big as houses 
and sizale steaks as big as hubcaps. Every 
so often they will sit on their patios with 
a nice highball, and think back to those 
crazy Eighties, and wonder: What really 
was the big deal about brie, anyway?” 

Newsweek said that this vision had been 
inspired by someone named Carol Col- 
man, of “ап influential trend-spotting 
group” called Inferential Focus. The 
Yuppies-in-the-yard formulation struck 
me as having precisely the proper mix of 
evident truth and palpable absurdity, so I 
called Colman and asked about her firm. 

“We do a lot of work on creativity,” she 
told me. “Ме put on seminars for creativ- 
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having hunches about what may happen 
in the future. 

Am | imagining things, or is there a 
growing trend toward reading 200 or so 
publications a month? Colman assured 
me, though, that B.S. is a very different 
bird from whatever itis that Naisbitt does 
Rather than merely count a les, the staff 
of Inferential Focus—which consists of 
Colman and three partners— "searches for 
the unusual, for departures from the 
‘norm,” according to one of the firm's 
publicity releases. “The staff explores 
anomalies, or events that fall outside of 
expected patterns. It pieces together its 
findings, based upon facts that don't fit 
or that are missing when they should be 
present. Finally, when the intelligence 
gatherers have assembled an informa- 
tional mosaic, they communicate their 
findings.” 

Findings are communicated in the form 
of quarterly oral presentations and more 
frequent newsletters. The entire package 
costs about $24,000 a year. Colman told 
me that the firm's 150 or so clients are 
mostly money managers and Fortune 500 
companies, though she wouldn’t name 
names, The firm’s guiding premise is that 
professional investors are blinkered by 
their reliance on hard data, financial anal- 
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PLAYBOY 


166 


story in The Wall Street Journal that said 
the Saudis were changing their inspection 
process for all incoming cargo,” Colman 
told me. “They cut the size of the cargo 
boxes in half and they doubled the size 
of the doors and they said they were go- 
ing to inspect them 100 percent, up from 
80. We look for anomalies, and that 
looked strange to us. We were saying, 
‘Hmmmm, they already inspect 80 per- 
cent; why are they going to 100? It sug- 
gested to us that they were really fearful of 
an insurrection, and we called our clients 
and said, "What you might do is invest in 
gold, because if the Saudis are that para- 
noid, they're going to be taking their 
money and putting it into gold.” And a few 
months later, the price of gold doubled.“ 

I may be hopelessly mired in the left 
side of my brain, but this strikes me as 
kooky for at least five reasons: (1) The 
Saudis don’t control the price of gold; (2) if 
“Saudi paranoia” had become so virulent 
as to be reflected in the country’s official 
cargo-inspection policy and noticed by 
The Wall Street Journal, wouldn't Saudi 
businessmen probably have noticed this as 
well and already made the switch to gold 
(assuming that gold buying was their inev- 
itable response to political uncertainty)?; 
(3) you can correctly predict trends in the 
price of gold 50 percent of the time by flip- 
ping a coin; (4) if you put no time limit on 
your prediction, you can be right 100 per- 
cent of the time; (5) if the Inferential Focus 
method is really so great, why is the firm. 
in the business of selling advice rather 
than of buying and selling gold? 

Colman and her partners have a point. 
when they say that most money managers 
and other business people rely so heavily 
on quantifiable facts and figures that they 
often forget to use their brains (either 
half). To repeat a traditional metaphor, 


they spend so much time looking at the 
trees—or just the leaves—that they miss. 
the forest. But Inferential Focus and simi- 
lar firms offer little more than a slightly 
different version of the same fallacy. A 
four-line story in The Wall Street Journal is 
a twig, not a glimpse of the woods. 

On September 14, 1983, Inferential 
Focus sent its clients a report called 
“Focus: Baby-Boom Changes.” Its prem- 
ise was that Yuppies were moving away 
from the self-absorption of the Seventies 
(represented by “jogging, health, self- 
fulfillment and self-enrichment”) and re- 
turning to “traditional” values. “Poker 
games with regular members have re- 
turned as a social event,” the report 
asserted, citing a New York Times article 
from several months before. “These small- 
stakes games offer ‘the basic thrill of 
unwinding after a hectic day." Notice that 
the rationale for these games is the same as 
that used in the Seventies to justify jog- 
ging; but that this more gregarious and 
less individualistic activity points back 
toward more traditional social values.” 

Now, I happen to remember that Times 
article, It was a standard phony-trend 
story based on interviews with a handful of 
the reporter's friends. One of those friends 
also happened to be a friend of mine; and, 
as a matter of fact, our weekly poker group 
six mentioned specifically in 
ince I am, thus, part of the data 
on which Inferential Focus based its con- 
clusions about changes in American soci- 
ety, I feel entitled to comment. 

t of all, our poker game was nothing 
new; it had been going on for several years. 
The same was apparently truc of other 
groups mentioned in the article, one of 
which was said to be nine years old. Sec- 
ond, our group was made up of people 
who, generally speaking, had not found it 


“Surely you don’t want to go through the rest of your 
life as a lefty.” 


possible to “justify jogging” in the Sev- 
enties or any other decade. Third, far from 
being busy fast trackers looking for a 
chance to unvind, the members of our 
group were almost exclusively lazy, semi- 
employed free-lance writers looking for an 
excuse to stay up all night smoking ciga- 
rettes and drinking beer in the middle of 
the week. Fourth, the Times's poker story 
was published not on April 15, as the In- 
ferential Focus report stated, but two 
weeks earlier, on April Fools’ Day. 

Of course, none of that necessarily 
means that Inferential Focus was wrong 
in asserting that American societv was 
changing. (When has American society 
ever not been changing?) But it does mean 
that the firm’s hunch was just that, a 
hunch, and not a “conclusion” based on 
business inferential scanning or any other 
hokey “method” of extracting secrets from 
the nation's newspapers. 

Y wouldn't go so far as to call it a trend, 
but it does seem to me that American busi- 
nessmen arc increasingly susceptible to 
this sort of witch doctoring. The trend 
sleuths at Inferential Focus properly look 
askance at most of what passes for finan- 
cial analysis in the business world, but all 
they can offer in its place is a third-hand 
reworking of other pcople's misconcep- 
tions. Carol Colman and her partners may 
live in cerebral harmony, but the pub- 
lished sources on which their business 
depends are put together by left-brained 
drudges. 

Content analysis of the Megatrends vari- 
ety is similarly contaminated. As John 
Naisbitt would know if he actually read 200 
newspapers a month, much of American 
daily journalism could just as easily be 
known by its older title: plag . The 
New York Times publishes a story about 
snacking Yuppies, the story is reprinted 
widely by newspapers belonging to the 
Times's syndicate, a nonsubscribing news- 
paper swipes the idea and publishes its 
own snack story, one of the wire services 
picks it up and flashes it out to a few hun- 
dred more newspapers, a local television 
station steals it from there and, finally, a 
couple of weeks later, you see it on the 
front pages of USA Today. It never ceases 
to amaze me that executives who think the 
press is a left-wing conspiracy, and who 
complain bitterly about the quality of the 
skimpy local paper they are forced to read, 
and who say that they have never been 
quoted accurately by a reporter, will none- 
theless fork over good money to read a 
book that claims to bc nothing less than a 
distilled and concentrated rendering of all 
that they despise. 

Incidentally—about that poker game 1 
mentioned earlier. Several months after 
the Times story but well before Inferential 
Focus published its report, my buddies 
and I stopped playing. If you know what's 
good for you, you'll do what we did and 
put your money in gold. 


BLACK WENCK 


(continued from page 88) 
planted. It sucked its strength from the soil 
and the air, squatted on the landscape like 
an exotic bloated organism, surveying its 
dominion with the unblinking eyes of its 
many windows. 

“Must be an expensive place to keep 
up,” said Bud. 

“Precisely,” said Sloane, agreeing with 
Kallen for the first time all day. 

“But we have money now,” Elena 
reminded her husband. “You heard Mr. 
Sloane.” 

Sloane drove slowly through the open 
gates, up a curving path past trees and 
hedges, formal gardens and weathered 
stone statuary of indeterminate age. 
“Warwickshire is Shakespeare country, 
you know,” he said. “Stratford, if you care 
for that sort of thing, is a pleasant motor- 
ing journey from here.” At length, the car 
drew up to the main entrance of the mas- 
sive house. 

“It's in pretty good shape for its ag 
Bud commented. 

“Restoration and renovation through 
the years,” Sloane explained, “not to men- 
tion added wings and what not. Very few 
of the modern conveniences, though, I 
fear. No central heating, air conditioning, 
television antennas, . . .” 

“No phone?” asked Elena 

“Oh, yes, Mainwaring Hall is on the 
telephone. And electricity has been laid 
on. It also has one other contemporary 
feature that should interest a Californian 
couple like you: a swimming pool.” 

“Really?” 

Sloane nodded. “Sir Giles had it 
installed some twenty years ago, when the 
doctors prescribed swimming as healthful 
exercise for his heart. He tried it once, said 
he loathed the chlorinated water and never 
got into it again.” 

“Well, PII give the pool plenty of use,” 
said Elena. “I love to swim.” 

“Yeah,” said Bud. “Im more of a 
scuba-diving nut myself.” 

“Not much opportunity for scuba diving 
around here,” said Sloane. “Shall we look 
at the interior?” They climbed out of the 
car and walked up to the formidable oaken 
portal As he lifted the heavy brass 
knocker and struck it sharply several times 
against the thick door, the solicitor said, 
“There’s been only a skeleton staff here 
since Sir Giles died.” 

“And here's one of the skeletons now,” 
murmured Bud as the door was opened by 
a cadaverous and very old butler. 

“Ah, there you are, Coles,” said Sloane 
as the aged manservant blinked first at the 
solicitor, then at Bud, then at Elena and, 
with a long, lung-emptying sigh, toppled 
forward, as if bludgeoned, into the arms of 
a startled Nigel Sloane. 

. 

“Help me get him inside,” Sloane said 
to Bud, and the two men clumsily carried 
the inert butler into the house to the first 


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available chair, an ornate relic of wood at 
the foot of the no less ornate staircase. Into 
this chair they deposited their load as gen- 
tly as possible, while Elena hovered 
behind them, uttering helpless moans of 
sympathy 

The butler’s eyelids fluttered several 
times. He lifted his head from his chest. 

‘Now then, Coles,” said the solicitor, 
“do you know me?” 

“Mr. .. Sloane. 

“Well done. These two young people are 
your new master and mistress. . . .” 

He seemed reluctant to look at his new 
employers, so Elena said, “I think intro- 
ductions can wait. He should go and lie 
down until he’s feeling better.” 

Sloane endorsed that idea, and in 
moments the housekeeper, Mrs. Thayer, 
who was temporarily doubling as cook, 
was summoned to convoy the butler to his 
quarters. While she was thus occupied, 
Sloane conducted the Kallens on a quick, 
informal tour of the first floor: main 
hall, galleries, staircases, dining room, 
library, drawing room, billiard room. 
Richly carved walnut paneling covered 
every inch of every wall: Representations 
of spaniels, squirrels, woodcocks, par- 
tridges, pheasants all stood out in vivid 
relief. The library was spacious enough to 
accommodate, in addition to endless 
shelves of books, no fewer than six commo- 
dious sofas for browsing and lounging 
Sloane, as he led them through the rooms, 
kept up a running commentary: “As you 
see, the doorways, fireplaces and the like 
are all framed with classic forms, and both 
inside and outside there is a wide use of 
gaines, pilasters and S scrolls. 3 

“Can we see the pool?“ Elena asked. 

“To be sure. And then we can stroll out 
to the stables.” 

“There are horses here?” she marveled. 

“Not for some time,” Sloane said. “Just 
motorcars. A Mercedes, a Jaguar, a 
brightred Ferrari that will probably suit 
you, Mr. Kallen, and a very, very old 
Rolls-Royce." 

“Who drove the Ferrari?" Bud asked. 

“Why, Sir Giles. He was quite the dash- 
ing old gentleman." 

He led them out a back entrance of the 
house to the pool—which was empty and 
dry, its floor carpeted with dead leaves. 
Elena groaned with disappointment, but 
Sloane said, “Not to worry. ГЇЇ arrange to 
have it cleaned and filled for you. Leave 
everything to me.” 

Mrs. Thayer appeared from the house 
at that moment. “Excuse me, sir,” she said 
to the solicitor, “but Mr. Coles would like 
to speak to you. Can you come upstairs?” 

“Now?” 

“Please.” 

“Oh, very well.” He told the Kallens 
how to find their way to the stables and 
followed Mrs. Thayer into the house. 

The stables were larger than they had 
expected, and their walls were covered by 
the biggest magnolias Elena had ever seen 
All the cars were there, conforming to 


Nigel Sloane’s spoken catalog, and sure 
enough, Bud was drawn to the red Ferrari 
As they were leaving the stables, Elena 
said, “Hey, look at this. 

She pointed to a group of four words cut 
into the wood of a dark and cobwebbed 
corner of the stables. The letters were 
crude but worn smooth at the edges, their 
depths engrained with dirt, bespeaking the 
passage of unnumbered years since they 
had been carved there. The words were: 


BEWARE THE BLACKE-WENCH 


"Probably a horse," said Bud. “An 
ornery black mare that threw her riders.” 

In the house again, Nigel Sloane told 
them that the ancient butler, Coles, had 
announced his intention to retire from 
service. He wished to leave immediately. 

“It’s difficult for the old boy to adjust to 
new young masters,” said Sloane. “He 
served Sir Giles for almost fifty years! And, 
to speak frankly, I think you will be better 
off with a younger man in the post. Tl put 
you in touch with one or two good employ- 
ment agencies. You'll be wanting a cook, 
as well, and gardeners, of course . . 
other servants, too . . . leave all that to me 
and Mrs. Thayer.” 

. 

Tea was prepared and served by Mrs 
Thayer in the drawing room after the 
Kallens had seen the rest of the house 
Finishing his tea, Sloane said, should 
be getting back now. Ifyou have any ques- 
tions, if there is anything I can do, any- 
thing at all, please have no hesitation in 
telephoning. You have my number.” He 
addressed these remarks to Elena. “And if 
you should reconsider and wish to dispose 
of this valuable property at an attractive 
price. 

“I wouldn't dream of it,” she declared. 
“I love the place, I belong here, Im a 
Mainwaring. Why should I get rid of it? Is 
it haunted or something?” 

Bud said, “Sure it is. All these old 
English houses have ghosts, don’t they?” 

Nigel Sloane chuckled. “Your husband 
is right. All old English houses are reputed 
to harbor ghosts, and Mainwaring Hall is 
no exception.” 

“Really?” squeaked Elena. “Ghosts?” 

“Just one. So the old wives’ tales would 
have it, at any rate.” 

“But what's it supposed to be like?” 

“The ghost of Mainwaring Hall?” 

“Yes! Tell us! Pm dying to know!” 

The solicitor sighed. “Oh, dear. Well, 
then. It’s purported to take the form of a 
naked woman, a black woman, which is 
why it’s known as the Black Wench. y 
Elena and Bud exchanged quick glances 
“Some versions say that its presence is felt 
rather than seen, felt as a cold wet hand or 
an expanse of clammy bare flesh but 
I'm upsetting you, Mrs. Kallen.” 

“No, no! Please go on.” 

“The Mainwarings of old, some say, 
were heavily invested in the African slave 
traffic as early as 1620 and made the bulk 
of their wealth by financing the capture, 


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PLAYBOY 


172 


transport and sale of the poor wretches to 
the American colonies. This conveniently 
accounts for the apparition's color, you 
see ... a female slave who died in some 
cruel manner, perhaps, flogged or what 
you will, and who blamed the Main- 
warings for her harsh fate. . . .” 

“How long has she been haunting 
Mainwaring Hall?” Elena asked. 

“The first recorded sighting was by Sir 
Edred Mainwaring in 1624. She allegedly 
came to him in the library late one night 
while he was reading his Bible, this naked 
black woman, glistening as if covered with 
perspiration from head to foot and, in Sir 
Edred’s words, ‘reeking with the stench of 
hell? He was a religious man, and he 
believed that she was “asweat from the 
fires of perdition,’ whither she'd been sent 
as a demon, or succubus, to tempt him to 
damnation with her naked body.” 

“Wow,” said Bud. “If a guy has got to 
see a ghost, that’s the kind of ghost to see, 
hub?" 

Sloane said, “1 take your meaning. Sir 
Giles, after Lady Mainwaring had passed 
away, once told me that he wouldn’t have 
minded an occasional visit from a naked 
wench. But I don’t think he was ever 
favored by the black lady's attentions. As 
far as Sir Edred is concerned, a modern 
psychiatrist would no doubt say that he 
was having a sexual fantasy but that his 
religious convictions wouldn’t allow him 
to enjoy it without pious distortions. I do 
hope I haven't offended you, Mrs. Kallen, 
or frightened you.” 


“No, of course not. Goodness, I don’t 
believe in ghosts.” 

“Very sensible,” said the solicitor as he 
rose to leave. 

“Do you?” 

Nigel Sloane smiled. “I’ve always 
admired what Sir Osbert Sitwell said 
when he was asked that same question,” 
he told her. “*Only at night?” 

б 


That evening after dinner, Bud killed 
some time at the billiard table, but he soon 
grew bored without an opponent. He 
roamed restlessly through the library and 
several other rooms, finally joining Elena 
in the drawing room, where she was writ- 
ing postcards to friends in the States. 

“Tt isn't exactly L.A., is it?” he said. 
“Or London. I liked London, what we saw 
of it on the way in. Theaters, movies, res- 
taurants, gambling casinos. It’s alive. Not 
so dead quiet, like this place. We'll have to 
get a TV." 

“Ifyou want to.” 

He rested on the arm of her chair and, 
with an excruciating attempt at an English 
accent, whispered in her ear, “I say, my 
deah, what about initiating the mahster 
bedroom?” 

She giggled. “It’s early.” 

“Almost ten. And this country air"— 
he yawned theatrically “ makes me 
sleepy... .” 

“We have had a busy day.” She, too, 
was overcome by a yawn. “Give me ten 
minutes to get ready, then come up.” 


“Mom, Dad, this is Howard. I got him out of 
a box of cereal.” 


He bowed deeply from the waist. “As 
you wish, milady.” She left the room. 

The master bedroom boasted two 
adjoining sitting rooms where husband 
and wife might dress and undress in pri- 
vacy, visible to no eyes other than their 
own and those of their valet and maid. To 
the sitting room with the more feminine 
decor, where her bags had been unpacked 
by Mrs. Thayer, Elena now retreated and 
took off her clothes. When she was without 
a stitch, she admired herself in a tall old 
looking glass, smiling with a total absence 
of false modesty. Her body was sumptuous 
and full-bosomed, satin to the touch, with 
the olive skin of her father and a curly nest 
at her center like a swatch of soft fur. Her 
brushes had been set out on the dressing 
table. She selected one, but instead of sit- 
ting down to brush her dark hair, she did it 
standing up, nude, in front of the full- 
length mirror, watching her breasts bob 
and quiver as she brushed the gleaming 
thick mass in long strokes. Once, she 
winked at herself. 

Downstairs, Bud impatiently waited 
only six minutes, not ten, before climbing 
the staircase to the master bedroom. The 
lights were already off, but he had no diffi- 
culty discerning the curved shape under 
the coverlet, thrown into relief by a cool 
wash of moonlight from the windows. 

“My little eager beaver,” he muttered 
playfully as he began to undress, letting 
the clothes fall to the foor. Nude in the 
moonlight, he was a well-proportioned, 
muscular young man and, at the moment, 
spectacularly virile. “Here I come, ready 
or not,” he crooned and climbed under the 
coverlet. 

She was lying on one side, her naked 
back to him. He pressed the length of his 
body to hers, then immediately recoiled. 

“Damn, you're cold!” he complained. 
“And you're all wet—soaking. What did 
you do, take a cold shower and come to 
bed without toweling off?” 

“What did you say, dear?” Elena asked 
as she walked through the door from her 
sitting room, clad in a filmy nightgown. 

“Christ!” 

Bud sprang from the bed as if kissed by 
a scorpion. 

“What's the matter?” 

He crouched naked in the dark, on 
the carpet next to the bed, gasping. 
“Who . . г” he said in choked fragments, 
"who's that . . in the bed?” 

“Nobody” 

He stretched out a trembling arm and 
pointed toward the bed. “I felt her... 
she's tiere. 

Elena snapped a switch, flooding the 
room with light, “Where?” The bed was 
empty. 

“She was there!” 

"Who?" 

“How the hell should I know? I thought 
it was you. And then . . . you walked 


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through the door. 
chalky. 

She handed him his robe. “Come on, 
dear, get up off the floor. Put this on. You 
had a dream; that's all.” 

He got to his feet and wrapped himself 
in the robe. "A dream no 
couldn't be. . . . 

“Sure, don’t you see? You got into bed 
to wait for me, and you dozed off just for a 
few seconds and dreamed I was already in 
bed beside you.” 

“Cold,” he said. “She was cold. Naked 
and wet.” He yanked the coverlet all the 
way off the bed. “If it was a dream,” he 
said, “how do you explain thal?” 

On one side, the sheet was wrinkled 
from top to bottom by the long, sodden 
stain of a drenched and recent occupant. 

. 

Bud Kallen refused ever to sleep in that 
bed. He claimed it was “clammy,” even 
after the sheets had been changed, even 
after the mattress had been replaced. The 
young couple slept in one of the other bed- 
rooms, he clinging to his wife all night, 
every night, like a child clinging to his 
mother. 

It was not a conjugal embrace. His vi 
ity had been shattered that night. Elena 
began to feel it was her fault. 

“No, honey, it’s not you,” he insisted 
one morning at breakfast. “It's this damn 
house. Why don't we sell it? Sloane said he 
could get us a good price for it.” 

“Sell the house?” she wailed. Just 
when we've got the pool ready again, 
and a TV, and a new butler and a cook, 
and. me 

“What's that got to do with it? The pool 
and the TV antenna are good selling 
points——" 

“I don't want to sell it. Don't you under- 
stand?” 

“But why not? The cars alone are worth 
a mint, even if we keep one or two of them. 
That classic Rolls? It's a collector's item. 
And those priceless paintings! Gainsbor- 
oughs and Constables and 

“You're not a Mainwaring; that's why 
you don't understand. But I am." 

He laughed metallically. “You're a 
Kallen; that's what you are. And before 
that, you were a Castillo—a spick, for 
Christ’s sake! Don’t pull that lady-of-the- 
manor stuff with me.” 

Her dark eyes had brimmed with hurt 
and fury. Now she tore away from the 
table, knocking over her coflee cup, and 
ran weeping from the room. 

He found her huddled on a stone bench 
in the garden, her tear-streaked face held 
in her hands. He talked to her gently and 
contritely, apologizing, asking to be for- 
given. He could be persuasively charming 
when it suited him. By the time they had 
returned to the house, she had agreed 
Nigel Sloane to dinner at 
ing Hall sometime that week. 

. 

Two evenings later, the solicitor was 

enjoying an excellent meal prepared by 


-" His face was 


their new cook: turtle soup, halibut 
mousse, beef Wellington, fresh asparagus 
vinaigrette, with appropriate wines from 
Sir Giles's well-stocked cellar. 

Coffee and cognac followed in the draw- 
ing room, and as Sloane touched a flame to 
a Havana cigar, he said, “Am I to under- 
stand that you have had second thoughts 
about selling?” 

Bud thought it politic tolet Elena speak. 
She said, “That's the word, Mr. Sloane. 
Thoughts, Just thoughts for now. Could 
we talk about ii 

“Of course. Any particular reason?” 

She shrugged. “No.” 

Bud rubbed his arms and said, “Chilly 
in here. We ought to have a fire. PU ring 
for the butler.” 

“Dear, you'll broil us alive. / feel fine.” 
Her smooth arms and back were bare in 
her dinner gown. “The cognac will warm 
you up.” 

Sloane returned to the subject of selling. 
“Yes, we can certainly investigate one or 
two interesting avenues of possi y.” He 
smiled. “But you two seemed to have been 
settling in so nicely. Haven't seen the 
Black Wench, by any chance?” 

“No,” Bud said, too quickly. 

Elena asked, “Have you ever known 
anyone who has seen her?” 

“Ah,” replied Sloane, “one can never 
say that one has known somebody who's 
seen a ghost. The most one can say is that 
one knows somebody who says he’s scen a 
ghost.” 

“And did you ever know anybody who 
said he saw the Black Wench?” 

“In point of fact, yes.” 

“Who?” asked Bud. 

“Coles. 

“What? That old guy who quit the day 
we gat here?” 

Sloane nodded. “A few years ago, Sir 
Giles told me—laughing as he did so —'I 
believe old Coles has gone dotty. Claims to 
have seen the Wench. In the billiard room, 
of all places. Called him by name, he says. 
Gave him quite a turn. I told him to stop 
knocking back the cooking sherry or Га 
sack him?” 

Bud leaned forward. 
describe her? 
black?” 

“I don't know. I didn’t cross-examine 
him.” His cigar had gone out. As he rekin- 
dled it, he said, “I wouldn't place too 
much importance on that word black, you 
know." A long plume of smoke unfurled 
from his mouth. “Or naked, for the matter 
of that.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Elena. 

“Well, black hasn't always meant the 
same thing, when applied to the color of 
people. Samuel Pepys, in his diary, refers 
to the wife ofa Mr. Hater as ‘a very pretty, 
modest, black woman,’ but she was cer- 
tainly no Negress, simply a woman of 
dark complexion. Shakespeare, in Love's 
Labour“ Lost and The Two Gentlemen of 
Verona, for example, calls ‘black’ charac- 
ters who are obviously what we would call 


“How did Coles 
Was she naked? And 


white. And in four or five sonnets about 
his beloved Dark Lady, he calls her black, 
though it's now believed that she was of 
Italian descent. The same is true of the 
word naked, which in older parlance 
sometimes meant clad only in undercloth- 
ing. So," he concluded with a twinkle, “Sir 
Edred’s ‘naked black woman’ may have 
been no more than a late-night ladylove 
of his steward’s, a scullery maid, more 
than like, thoroughly English if a touch 
swarthy, and caught in her skivvies on the 
way back to her own bed. Wandered into 
the master’s library by mistake, no 
doubt.” 

Elena smiled. 
Sloane?" 

“Just a drop, perhaps. Thank you 
Now, then: A sale of this property could 
begin with an auction of the paintings, 
motorcars and other valuables; or, on the 
other hand 

“Pve changed my mind,” she said. 
“Talking to you has helped me think more 
clearly. I don't want to sell, after all.” 

When Nigel Sloane had left. Bud held 
his temper until he was certain all the serv- 
ants had gone to bed. Then he exploded, 
“What the hell's the matter with you?” 

“He was so sensible,” said Elena. “So 
levelheaded. He let me see that so-called 
ghost for what it really is: nothing at all. A 
servant girl in her underwear. A senile 
butler who'd been hitting the bottle. I'm 
not going to give up all this for some fairy 
tale.” 

“All this? This white elephant? This 
drafty old museum?” 

“I have a right to change my mind.” 

“What mind? You dumb spick!” 

“That's the second time in less than a 
week you've used that word. I know you're 
sexually frustrated, and Im sorry for you, 
bur 

“Just shut up about that! Getting out of 
this damn house is all the cure I need!” 

She turned and walked away. 

“Where are you going?" he shouted. 

“For a swim,” she said and ran swiftly 
upstairs, where she stripped, pulled on a 
skimpy black bathing suit and tripped 
quickly downstairs again on bare tocs, out 
to the moonlit pool. The night silence was 
cloven by a splash when, as sleek as a dol- 
phin, she dove cleanly into the water. 

She swam the length of the pool, her 
arms slicing the water in strong, graceful 
strokes; then she reversed, swimming back 
toward the other end again. The exercise 
and the bracing effect of the chill water 
calmed her, draining the anger and ten- 
sion from her body and mind. 

But then her heart was jolted by some- 
thing she saw in the moonlight, moving 
toward the pool. It was luminous in the 
lunar glow, with the opalescence of bare 
flesh, vaguely human in outline and yet 
not human. 

Not human, because—although it had 
two arms that hung at its sides, two legs 
that were bringing it nearer and nearer the 


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PLAYBOY 


176 


pool—it had no face. 

She tried to scream but could only 
whimper. 

Where a face should have been, there 
was an oval void, eyeless, soulless. . . . 

It drew even closer. 

Suddenly, she laughed with relief and 
recognition. It was her husband, in his 
swim trunks and scuba mask. The oxygen 
tank was strapped to his back. 

“Bud, you idiot!" she said affection- 
ately. “Scuba diving in a swimming 
pool?” 

Without a word, he dove under the sur- 
face of the water. She giggled at his eccen- 
tric foolery, grateful that he'd chosen this 
bit of clowning as a way of making up. 

She felt her ankles seized by his power- 
ful hands. She laughed again. They had 
often played like this back home, when 
they were young surfers on the beach at 
Santa Monica. She kicked coquettishly, 
not really wanting to free her legs from his 
grasp. 


She was pulled down, under the sur- 
face. 

He continued to hold on to her ankles 
with hands that gripped like steel clamps. 
She kicked frantically now, coquetry for- 
gotten, roiling the water, struggling to 
escape. Fear rushed into her very bone 
marrow as water filled her nostrils, her 
mouth, She beat upon him with her fists, 
but he eluded her. She tried to rip off his 
oxygen tank, his breathing tube, but he 
was too quick and too strong for her. 

Freezing thoughts stabbed her. Why 
was he doing it? Because she wouldn’t sell? 
Even ifshe had sold, would he have done it 
later anyway, to get all the money for him- 
self? If only the servants hadn’t gone to 
bed. If only their quarters overlooked the 
pool. But there was no one, no help. . . - 

The awful pressure of water was in her 
lungs, and it hurt. It hurt to drown, she 
realized through her panic; there was 
pain—hideous, nauseating fear and pain. 


(C 
ONE 


= 


“What really irritates me about women is the way they 
always leave the toilet seat down.” 


But soon the pain ebbed, and a numbness 
set in, and a softness, and a darkness. 
e. 

When she emerged from the pool, she 
staggered away aimlessly, unsure of her 
own intentions. She felt giddy, everything 
looked distorted, she didn’t walk nor- 
mally, she felt as if she were floating. Well, 
that wasn't surprising, she told herself, 
after what she’d just been through, She 
was lucky to be alive. 

Had she lost consciousness at some 
point? She couldn’t be sure. How long had 
she been held under water? 

She found herself nearing the stables, 
and the horses whinnied and reared. 

Horses? She peered at the animals. Yes, 
there were horses in the stables, all right 
No cars. Although that puzzled her, she 
knew there had to be a logical схріапа! 
and she made her way toward the house. 

She still couldn’t see clearly. The house 
looked different, somehow. It wavered 
before her eyes, throbbing and pulsating. 
She wandered without purpose into the 
strangely mist-softened billiard room, 
startling old Coles, the butler. . . . 

“Coles?” she said aloud. But he 
shouldn't have been there. He'd left 
Mainwaring Hall the day they'd arrived. 
In that moment, Elena knew she was 
dreaming. And that explained the horses 
in the stable. She hoped it explained 
Bud’s attempt to kill her, too. Please, God, 
let that be part of the nightmare. 

The house twirled and gyrated—or was 
it the world, the universe?—and a wave of 
dizziness swept over her; a vast roaring 
filled her ears; she felt as if she were in the 
center of a tornado's raging dark funnel. 
The feeling passed. 

She entered the library. A gray-bearded 
man sat at a desk, reading an immense 
book by the light ofa guttering candle. He 
looked up at her. His eyes bulged. His 
mouth fell open. 

“Who art thou?” he croaked. “Dost seek 
to tempt me? Avaunt, thou black devil! In 
the name of Jesu, 1 charge thee, take thy 
nakedness hence!" He fell back in his 
chair, trembling, 

Elena backed out of the dimly lit 
library, shattered by the vivid reality of 
this dream, and moved toward the undu- 
lating staircase. She felt she was not climb- 
ing it so much as riding it, as she might 
ride a smooth, silent escalator. Her bare 
feet could not even feel the stairs; but that 
was the way of dreams. 

When she entered her husband’s sitting 
room, she saw his wet swim trunks and 
scuba gear in a heap on the floor. 

(And lightning flashes of knowledge 
seared her.) 

His back turned to her, Bud was now 
dressed in crisp pajamas and robe, fluffing 
his hair with her blow drier, 

(She came to know that time is not a 
river flowing in one direction but a whirl- 
pool spinning round and round; that a 
spirit released from the prison of flesh can 
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PLAYBOY 


distant past, years, centuries before its 
own death, its own birth.) 

Bud stuffed the damp scuba gear into a 
duffel bag, threw it into a cupboard, 
picked up the phone and dialed. “Is this 
the police?” 

(She knew why Coles had fainted at the 
door upon seeing her the day they arrived: 
He had recognized her from the earlier 
sighting in the billiard room some years 
before.) 

“This is Mr. Kallen at Maine Wearing 
Hall. Something terrible has happened out 
here. 

(She knew how naked her scantily clad 
body must have looked to Sir Edred in 
his 17th Century study; how black her 
olive skin and dark hair were by his 
standards.) 

“An accident in the swimming pool . . . 
my wife . . . I'm afraid she’s. . . .” 

(And finally, she knew that none of this 
was a dream; that she had been murdered; 
that the legendary ghost of Mainwaring 
Hall was no scullery maid or African slave 
girl; that she herself, Elena Kallen, was, 


“But you're home, son. 


always had been, forever would be the 
Black Wench.) 

A split second before he felt her, he 
smelled the pungent chlorinc of the 
pool—Sir Edred's “stench of hell"—and 
then she reached out and laid a hand ofice 
upon his shoulder. 

With a cry, he spun around and saw his 
wife, glistening with the water that had 
killed her. Water trickled from her cars, 
her nostrils, her gaping mouth, ran in a 
rivulet between her breasts, snaked down 
her tapered legs into a puddle at her feet. 
Howling, Bud Kallen leaped backward, 
pressed his spine to the wall and slid 
slowly down the flocked wallpaper until he 
was huddled on the floor, eyes distended, 
moaning, vomiting, fouling his clothes, a 
mass of quivering, whining terror. 

When the police arrived and woke the 
sleeping servants, they found two bodies: 
those of Elena Kallen, drowned in the 
pool, and her husband, on the floor of his 
sitting room, dead from a massive coro- 
nary. The telephone was still in his hand. 


That's all that matters!” 


KLAUS KINSKI 


(continued from page 86) 

“OK,” I said, lurching a few feet closer 
to what I thought was certain death. 

“Just let him pass,” he said. "It's true, for 
you it would be easy to go over the cliff” 

“I knew you'd be irritated by my driv- 
ing,” I muttered. 

“Irritated!” he said. “I HATE 

But he was being good-natured in his 
own way. By then, I'd become accustomed 
to his yelling. Tricks of the print medium 
cannot—capital letters cannot—convey 
the intensity of Kinski’s voice when it 
rises, as it often does. And in the several 
long telephone conversations we'd had 
before I went to see him in Northern 
California, I'd been frightened by it. 
“Why should I do any interviews? It is all 
shit,” Kinski would crescendo. “Why me? 
Because I am what they call an actor? It is 
me or someone else, a murderer or a con- 
ductor, anybody, anybody, anything, 
that can be consumed. They consume 
everything—art, executions, hamburgers, 
Jesus Christ. It is all supermarket talk. It 
is consumer SHIT to fill up their pages.” 

“Well, that’s true," I said, but I has- 
tened to point out that this case would be 
different, that our talks would not have to 
be structured like routine interviews, that 
he would have freedom: 

"Freedom!" he interrupted, as he 
almost always does. "Freedom! That's 
what every shitty ruler promises you 
before he takes over!” 

“Well, it might be fun for you to 

“Fun?” repeated Kinski in a suddenly 
weary voice, faintly, as though he'd turned 
away from the phone. “There is no fun.” 

Later, when I knew him better, I would 
come to realize how litile fun there was to 
be had in the fulfillment of his professional 
obligations. 

“I am like a wild animal who is behind 
bars," he said. “I need air! I nced space!” 
It sounded almost like a plea. 

“Im sorry,” I said. “I don't mean 


to: 


“Don't be sorry,” he said impatiently 
but not unkindly. “Don't be sorry, OK?” 

You can witness Klaus Kinski having a 
mood swing within a minute, within a sen- 
tence, as his mind conveys him from an 
infuriating image to a soothing one to a 
humorous one. If you watch his face while 
he speaks, you will see it become a mask of 
ire, his glance menacing as he spits out 
words of contempt and outrage. Then, 
suddenly, there'll be a smile so gentle that 
something will constrict in your chest. It is 
impossible not to respond. 

He's so close to the surface, 1 had 
thought during one of our first long tele- 
phone conversations. But after I'd spent 
some time with him, I sometimes felt there 
was no surface at all. I think of him now as 
exposed consciousness, as fragile as a 
human organ taken from the protective 
case of the body. 1 think that’s why, 
between films, he lives alone, in a cabin in 


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the middle of his 40 acres of forest in 
Northern California. Only his nine-year- 
óld son, Nanhoi, comes for the weekend, 
twice a month. “T love him,” says Kinski, 
“more than anything in the whole uni- 
verse.” 

Kinski often goes for weeks without 
speaking to another human being. He 
reads no newspaper. He watches no televi- 
sion: “I climbed up to the roof and 
smashed down the antenna,” he ex- 
plained. He keeps few possessions. When 
he has finished reading a book, he uses 
it to start a fire in the hearth that is 
his sole source of heat. He cuts his own 
hair; he grows his own vegetables so that 
he will not have to drive into town. The 
animals in the forest do not threaten him 
as do people and their societies, nor do the 
storms, the wind, the trees. In the cabin, 
surrounded by vegetation through which 
there is no path save that made by the pas- 
sage of his own body, and in his forest, he 
is safe. Except from the thing. 

. 

Kinski was about five years old when he 
first felt this thing. He says he can recall 
looking at a dog or a tree or a whore on the 
streets of Berlin and hurling his own con- 
sciousness into the creatures or even the 
inanimate objects, not pretending to 
be but becoming the dog or the tree or the 
whore. “Incarnating” is what he came to 
call it later, not playing a role. Being, not 
acting. He detests the word entertainer: 
“What does that mean, this word enter- 
tainer? Entertain what? Who?” 

He also hates the word actor and mocks 
the European critics who have called him 
“the greatest actor of the 20th Century” or 
“the only genius among us, the only prince 
of the grace of God.” 

Not surprisingly, he loathes all critics 
and refers to them as “the masturbators.” 

He loathes most directors, too. 

“Do you think other people—directors, 
for example—understand this thing we 
have been talking about?” I asked him. 

“Directors in general understand shit,” 
he answered 

It is now part of his legend that he has 
turned down offers of roles from Fellini, 
Pasolini, Ken Russell, Steven Spielberg 
and others, the given reason usually being 
that he wasn’t offered enough money. “E 
make movies for money,” Kinski asserts, 
“exclusively for money.” And so, most of 
the several hundred films in which he has 
appeared would be described, by any stand- 
ards, as trash; others as some of the 
greatest of any time. Kinski says it is his 
terrible destiny to be an “actor” and, 
therefore, to appear in movies, and that 
there is not much difference between the 
trash and the so-called art films. Almost 
always, he says, the latter are merely pre- 
tentious and, what's worse, pay less. “So 1 
sell myself for the highest price. Exactly 
like a prostitute. There is no difference.” 

Kinski hates pretentious trash much 
more than the many so-called spaghetti 
Westerns he has made, which have 


brought him a large audience and, as 
he puts it bluntly, the most money. Of 
course he turned down Russell and all the 
others, Why, he asks, should he work with 
someone like Fellini, who will pay him less 
and who treats actors like marionettes? 

He is somewhat less harsh when he 
speaks of the German film maker Werner 
Herzog. Although Kinski was already 
widely known in Europe for his stage and 
film work, it is his roles in the Herzog films 
that are now, in Europe and in this coun- 
try, invariably joined with his name: 
Aguirre, the Wrath of God, Nosferatu the 
Vampyre, Woyzeck and Fitzcarraldo. 

Both men have been quoted as saying 
that they work together by a kind of telep- 
athy. Herzog, says Kinski, gives him no 
instructions. “In all of my scenes,” says 
Kinski, “I am the one who does it.” But 
their fights are notorious, and they are said 
to have come to blows on the set. There is 
an anecdote about an altercation Kinski 
and Herzog had during the filming of 
Aguirre, when they had already spent sev- 
eral months in the Peruvian jungle. In the 
course of an argument, Kinski is said to 
have announced that he was leaving. Her- 
zog has been quoted many times in the 
ensuing 15 years as claiming to have then 
pulled out a gun and said, “Before you 
reach the bend in the river, there will be 
eight bullets in your head, and the last 
bullct will be for me.” 

Kinski comments, “This story is so 
shitty, because he didn’t even have a gun 
to pull! Besides, there is no gun with nine 
bullets! And / was the only one with a 
rifle,” 

In the decade and a half since they first 
worked together, the two men have some- 
times gone years without speaking. But 
then Herzog will telephone Kinski in the 
middle of the night and ask to meet him in 
yet another strange part of the world, for 
yet another strange cinematic enterprise, 
and Kinski will agree. “He is a less big 
asshole than the others,” says Kinski. 

And Herzog, though he once d 
Kinski as a paranoid schizophren 
more recently suggested that it is all the 
others who are crazy: “He has an exacer- 
bated sensibility inconceivable for the rest 
of us.” There, Herzog is also talking about 
the “thing.” And, in fact, Herzog has a 
name for it. He calls it an “inst e for- 
mulation,” and he says that what Kinski 
has is genius. 

It is in Herzog’s films that Kinski is 
most tormented by this thing that, in 
devouring him, allows him to convey 
an extraordinarily complete identification 
with his character. 

The torment is not conjured on the set, 
as in Method acting (“Completely worth- 
less shit,” Kinski says), but is lived 
through as soon as he reads the script and 
lasts long after the film is completed. 
Kinski appropriates another's feelings as 
he dons his costume, When he first read 
the script of Aguirre, he said, “I didn’t 
think anything. I just was Aguirre. It was 


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as if you say, ‘Oh, yeah.’ Like you remem- 
ber, you remember the 16th Century, you 
remember yourself in the 16th Century.” 

His film roles imprison him. “Some- 
times,” he says, “my heart hurts so much, 
I beat it with my fists. I try to run. But you 
cannot run away from this. You cannot run 
from it. Wherever you run, it waits for you. 
Even when you think you have escaped it, 
it is there, where you have run to. It waits 
for you, to ambush you. It is like those 
vines called lianas, those tropical creepers 
that grow around you and strangle you. 
You cut off one branch, but there is 
another that grows. You leap over the wall 
of one ghetto and find yourself in another 
ghetto." That's why, he says, the good 
films imprison him as much as the bad 
ones. “It is only a different kind of cage.” 

In articles about him, there is a much- 
repeated quote: “I am like a wild animal 
born in captivity, in a zoo. But where a 
beast would have claws, I was born with 
talent.” In recent years, such articles have 
seldom omitted the word legend. Kinski's 
legend is that of the masterful but embat- 
tled anarchist artist who does not seek 
prestige and shuns respectability. He 
rejects awards “if they're not changeable 
into cash money. It is the Nobel Prize I 
want,” he says, laughing. Its worth 
$400,000. 

“You can call it my consciousness of 
using my talent like a whore uses her body: 
to pay the price.” 

. 

His autobiography, not yet published in 
this country, was a best seller in Germany 
and France. It was variously described as 
“ordurous” and “pornographic,” deemed 
“the work of a magician,” “atrociously 
lucid” and was compared to Rimbaud, 
Céline and Henry Miller. 

The account of his childhood in Berlin 
between the wars vividly re-creates a life of 
hunger, cold and filth, of six people sleep- 
ing on a maggot-filled mattress in an 
unheated room, of incestuous sexuality, of. 
stealing to eat. The sensuality of the ado- 
lescent and adult Kinski is not for thc 
queasy. Explosive, compulsive, combining 
brutality and tenderness, his erotic sensi- 
bility is articulated in defiant detail. 
“Don't you dare to judge me!” its author 
seems to be saying. 

He recounts his desertion from the Ger- 
man army and his subsequent incarcera- 
tion in a British prisoner-of-war camp, 
where homosexual favors were traded for 
cigarettes and wherc he first went on stage, 
aptly enough, as a prisoner performing for 
prisoners. Then he spent years slecping in 
the parks and on the pavements of the cap- 
itals of Europe; in winter, he shared the 
hobos’ street stoves, hands and feet pro- 
tected by rags, sleeping on subway grates 
for their intermittent wafts of warmth. But 
during the day, the young actor worked on 
his diction and began to perform in Shake- 
speare, Ibsen, Cocteau and his own 
adaptations of Dostoievsky. 

Spectators went to the cabarets of Berlin 


where Kinski, barefoot, recited Villon's 
poetry and collected money afterward in 
his hat. From there, it seemed like a natu- 
ral trajectory to the one-man “recitals,” 
which lasted as long as four hours and for 
which Kinski filled the biggest sports are- 
nas of Europe. By then, movie offers were 
proliferating. Kinski turned down some 40 
of them, because he felt the roles did not 
have enough scope. Then there was an 
about-face. Headed for a distinguished 
image as a celebrated artiste, he began to 
accept any offer that was made, solely on 
the basis of salary. “I realized it didn't 
matter,” he says. “I could not do what I 
wanted, anyway, in this fucking ghetto, 
and I wanted money, because I had never 
had any. And I learned that people do 
almost everything for it.” 

Then came years of sumptuous profli- 
gacy: palazzi in Rome, caviar diets and 
huge domestic staffs, Ferraris and Rolls- 
Royces given away when Kinski decided 
he no longer liked their colors or the way a 
door closed. In Italy, he was a top box- 
office draw and began doing “guest 
appearances,” working on a film for a few 
days, onc day, a few hours—which cna- 
bled producers to feature his name on the 
marquees and brought him the cash he 
needed to support his extravagances. 

But by then, his pattern of deserting 
what he had been able to conquer was 
established: Adored in Italy, where he had 
lived for a decade, he left everything 
behind and moved to France. He stayed 
there for only a few years, long enough to 
become a star of the French cinema 
(though with Aguirre he had already con- 
quered the French public). 

Then, he moved—incongruously, it 
seemed to me, but perhaps not—to 
California. And that is where, with some 
difficulty, 1 made contact with him. 

. 

“You have to protect yourself, your 
body, your being,” he told me. “You can- 
not treat it badly; you have to keep it, not 
only to keep it but to make it sensitive, as 
sensitive as possible. Since I was born I 
have been like this, till today. Nothing 
changed. Even more, even worse. Once, 
about 25 years ago, I was in an apartment 
or somebody gave me a room to live in, I 
don’t know what, and next door, they put 
on the radio, so I struck the wall with my 
fist, but they did not put the radio down, 
so I took a tool and banged and banged 
until I made a hole through the wall.” 
Kinski suddenly laughs. “It was like a 
comedy movie,” he says. Then, as sud- 
denly, he becomes stern again. “I didn’t 
laugh then,” he says. “And then 1 left, of 
course, the apartment, because they didn’t 
let me live there anymore. When I come 
back here from the airport most of 
the time, when I travel, I leave my car at 
the airport, even some wecks it costs me 
some hundreds of dollars; 1 don’t care. But 
once, I took a taxi. I hate those, what do 
you call them, limousines. They stink and 


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their drivers have been driving dead peo- 
ple to the cemeteries. I hate those. OK, I 
took a taxi, and now this guy had a ra- 
dio on. First of all, he had this thing 
EE-AAAH-UGGHH-ACHHHHHHGGG— 
these machines, how can somebody all 
day long hear this? He must be already 
deaf. I don't know what. And then I say, 
‘Do you need this?’ I say, ‘this machine?" 
And he looked at me, like maybe I am 
crazy or whatever. I say, ‘I just come 
from Tokyo, Hong Kong, long flight, 1 
am exhausted.’ I said, ‘Look, just half 
an hour. Do I have to listen to that crap? 
Can you turn the radio off” And he was 
even willing. He turned around, and he 
said, ‘But the news.’ I say, ‘I don’t 
need this.’ I say, ‘I don't want to, I have 
never listened to it, never in my life.’ I 
said, ‘OK? I am almost on the border. 1 
need to stop. I have to get out of your car.” 
And he switched it off, but saying, as 
though really surprised and almost sorry 
for me, ‘How can you know what's going 
on? There, you see: THIS IS EXACTLY 
WHAT I DON’T WANT TO KNOW!” 

I came to appreciate Kinski's explosions 
of anger at the media, at the entertain- 
ment industry, at the girl behind the 
McDonald’s counter who says, “Next!” 
and expects you to respond in the same 
rhythm (“I will NEVER be ‘next’!”), at 
sluggish telephone operators, at govern- 
ments, at lines in the bank, at traffic signs 
(“There is a sign that says, RIGHT LANE 
must Extr. Right lane MUST exit! MUST! 
And 1 say to myself, ‘MUST? Fuck 
YOU!”), at all the words and structures 
of our society that limit and regiment the 
individual. In fact, I found that no matter 
what mood I'd been in when I began talk- 
ing with him, I always felt much better 
afterward. It wasn’t just the words or the 
examples he used, though these were often 
colorful; it was his conviction, his tone and 
his delivery, his projection. And it hap- 
pened every time, whether I expected it or 
not, whether I was prepared to analyze it 
or not. It was a visceral reaction to the pre- 
ternatural expression of his power and his 
rage. This, too, was for me an important 
lesson about what it is the “actor” does. 

Of course, 1 had no control over these 
conversations, which Kinski conducted 
entirely according to his fancy. It is out 
of the question for him to be controlled 
by anyone, let alone a journalist. One of 
the conditions of our meeting had been 
my promise that our talks would be un- 
structured and could ramble freely, 
but I had underestimated Klaus 
Kinski's disregard—indeed, unaware- 
ness —of structures and conventions, jour- 
nalistic or otherwise. He followed none of 
the rules of the interview situation—not 
one, not even the most basic. “I don't 
want to talk too much about myself,” he 
would suddenly declare—notwithstanding 
the fact that Га come several thousand 
miles to hear him talk about himself—and 
would launch into an anecdote about 
Eleonora Duse or Van Gogh or Paganini, a 


synopsis of a Dostoievsky short story or a 
long disquisition about a Holbein painting 
or about Jesus Christ in his grave, which 
he had for his own reasons decided was 
germane to our discussion. He refused to 
sit in a quiet room with a tape recorder; all 
of our conversations took place in cars, at 
the beach, in noisy restaurants. But, to be 
precise, he didn’t refuse anything: I never 
had a chance to ask him. He would simply 
announce our schedule for the day. On 
some days, he would call me at my motel 
room to tell me that he couldn't talk at all, 
that it was impossible for him to see me. 
He'd been tortured through the night by 
insomnia or by one of his terrible night- 
mares. “I am completely destroyed,” he 
would tell me. And I soon realized that it 
was almost always hopeless to ask him any 
direct questions; if he didn’t interrupt 
them, he argued with their wording or 
with their relevance, or would simply 
digress to another topic. Then, suddenly, 
he would pause, perhaps because he had 
come to a natural lull in his own discourse: 
“You,” he would say, “you don't talk,” 
and he would request a question. But usu- 
ally, before I'd gotten a sentence out, he'd 
be offagain, because a single word in some 
dependent clause had reminded him of an 
idea he wanted to explore or dispute. 

“What? What is it you want to say?” 
Kinski queried when he saw me open my 
mouth several times. 

“There was something you mentioned 
the other day,” I began, “about how 
money is freedom —” 

“I never said that," he assured me. 

“You did,” I replied. “You said 

“No, no. I never said money is freedom! 
1 said money: buys freedom. BUYS! What 
does that mean, money is freedom? This is 
ridiculous: Money is freedom. It means 
nothing. What do you think, that a dollar 
in a savings account is freedom? Maybe 
you have understood nothing I have said 
You are trying to make me sound like an 
American average citizen.” 

His arguments in response to my ques- 
tions were often semantic. Kinski hates 
words; he resents having to use them to 
express himself; he finds them untrustwor- 
thy, confining, reductive. 

“Experiencing the ocean is an experi- 
ence of liberty,” he told me, for example. 
“When you talk about the ocean, is it lib- 
erty? Even looking at the ocean is not lib- 
erty. It is like a wounded bird looking at 
the sky and saying, ‘Why are my wings 
broken? Or even worse: putting a bird 
cage near the window so that the bird can 
see the sky. But, of course, it’s much better 
to look than not to, even if it hurts. But 
words—words are not enough!” 

“But sometimes,” I said, “you can put 
them together to evoke a certain feeling.” 

“But this is a consolation for cripples,” 
said Kinski. “Yes, sometimes, spontane- 
ously bringing words out can be out- 
screams—outscreams of joy or pain or 
whatever you want. Or sometimes you can 
describe. But you aren't there. When you 


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are there, you are. With words, you aren't. 
It is true what Rimbaud said once; it’s 
absolutely true; 1 proved it. He said, ‘If 
you think a book is strong enough, try it at 
the ocean, in the wind, at the waves. Ifthe 
book can resist the ocean, the elements, 
then it exists. Otherwise, throw it away.” 
. 

The night | arrived, we'd had a 
conyersation while driving in from the air- 
port and at a Vietnamese restaurant, 
though it had been, in my view, somewhat 
desultory and without a tape recorder. 
That was before I understood that all of 
our conversations would be desultory and 
most would be without a tape recorder. 
But overnight, Kinski thought of some of 
the subjects we had discussed, and it came 
to his mind, he told me the next day, that 
this “thing” should be the subject of my 
article about him. We were speaking on 
the phone. It was one of those days when 
he had called to say he couldn't see me. 
However, he then proceeded to talk with 
me on the phone for about four hours. 1 


know it was four hours, because I was 
turning over my third 90-minute tape 
when I realized my tape recorder wasn’t 
working. 

Afterward, I tried to write what he had 
told me when he'd started explaining this 
thing to me. He had given me exam- 
ples. images that he thought I would 
grasp. The "thing" was comparable, by 
analogy, to the power of kung fu, he had 
told me. He had mentioned Bruce Lee, for 
example, and how it is possible to observe 
that the concentration, the energy that 
the kung-fu artist taps into begins long 
before the point of impact and continues 
afterward. He talked with me also about 
how this thing that enables you to create is 
the thing that makes you suffer, suffer so 
much that you hate your fate, which has 
driven you to it, because it is not a choice. 
You start doing it and then you cannot 
stop, and the more you do it, the more it 
makes you suffer. And you cannot get rid 
of it once you have felt it. You cannot kill 
it, no matter how much you hate it for 


“Well, that depends—who did your first marriage?" 


making you suffer. You try to kill it, but it 
is like the snake with 100 heads; there is 
always another head. 

It was the best single explanation he 
ever gave me. I knew this, even then, after 
we hung up and I played the tape back 
and listened to the droning buzz of the 
faulty connection that had drowned out 
most of his words. I knew I would never 
get this from him again and that I couldn't 
even ask him. He had already told me how 
he felt when a director asked him for 
another take when he had already, ac- 
cording to his judgment or his instinct, 
done the take. “Those assholes!” he had 
expostulated. “ASSHOLES! Do you ask 
a car crash for another take? Do you 
ask a volcano for another take? Do 
you ask the storm for another take?” 

But none of this was much consolation 
to me the day I sat in my uncannily ugly 
California motel room, staring at the tape 
that had only the buzz on it. Well, 1 
thought, I can’t ask him to do another 
take, but maybe I can get him to repeat 
some of those things. You see, I still hadn’t 
completely gotten it: There would never 
be any repetition. 

The next day, however, I was in high 
spirits, despite a harrowing ride on the 
highway, when I finally reached the little 
town where he'd given me an appoint- 
ment. "From there, we will go to the 
ocean,” he had announced on the phone 
that morning. He had seemed in a better 
mood, too. 

Fortunately, I had allotted two hours for 
what Pd been told was a half-hour ride, so 
I was a few minutes early despite all the 
time taken by my seemingly endless 
wandering through the incomprehensible 
maze of California roads, not the least 
part of which had been spent going around 
in circles because of those infuriating RIGHT 
LANE MUST TURN RIGHT / LEFT LANE MUST TURN 
tert signs. I had sometimes attempted to 
tell myself, Must? Fuck you!” like 
Kinski; but whenever I tried it, other driv- 
ers would honk at me, even when it had 
nothing to do with them, from across an 
intersection. That taught me a thing or 
two about how people will react when you 
don’t follow the rules by which they them- 
selves are willing to be bound. This has 
nothing to do with traffic safety, you 
understand. But it led me to some 
thoughts about the price Klaus Kinski 
pays for his defiance of as many rules as he 
can manage to disobey, because of his 
preference for this thing. 

I was mulling this over when he arrived 
at our meeting place. There was some- 
thing wrong with his car, he told me; we 
would use mine. I started to get out on my 
side, expecting him to drive. “No, no,” he 
said. "You will drive.” I had already 
warned him that my driving was still 
somewhat uncertain, that I had just gotten 
my license. But he wouldn't drive a piece 
of shit like this, he told me, casting an 
indescribably scornful glance at my rented 
subcompact car. And in any event, he told 


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PLAYBOY 


me, he won't drive a car other people 
have driven. The latter fact did not sur- 
prise me much, as he had already told me 
that he won't read a copy of a book any- 
one else has read and that, in fact, one of 
the reasons he hates old houses and hotel 
rooms is that he can sense the lingering 
presence of their former occupants. Still, it 
was with dread that I got back into the 
driver's seat, turned on the ignition and 
inched from my parking space toward the 
road, and then stopped to see if any cars 
were coming. 

“Further! Further!” complained Kinski, 
who had obviously made a quick assess- 
ment of my driving skills and had con- 
cluded that I could use some coaching. 
“How can you see anything? You must go 
on the road. Now, just go! GO!” 

I floored the accelerator and drove off in 
a flurry of gravel. If this made me even 
more nervous, it seemed to affect Kinski 
not a bit. In fact, he simply sat back, 
though it did seem to me that he main- 
tained a high degree of, shall we say, alert- 
ness throughout our ride. 1 suddenly 
remembered a passage from his book in 
which he describes driving his Ferrari on 
the Italian highway at more than 100 
miles an hour, closing his eyes and count- 
ing to ten. If he could take that, I figured 
he could take this, too. 

At the first red light, I got out my tape 
recorder, set it against the windshield and 
turned it on. But I soon abandoned any 
hope of getting him to repeat anything he 
had said the day before. He began right 
where he'd left off. 

“What I was telling you yesterday,” he 
said, "this is why the vltimate acting is to 
destroy yourself.” 

“I wanted to ask you——" I said. 

“The more I think about it,” he told 
me, “the more it makes sense to me. You 
are too far on the left. Look how much 
space you have on my side. An article 
including everything that we said, so it’s 
not just talking about somebody that is 
what you call an actor. You cannot sepa- 

n 
I wanted to ask you a question,” I 
said. 

“What” he said, for once. 

“About anger," I said. “I wanted to ask 
ya" 

“Why are you cluttering up your arti- 
cle?” he said. “This has nothing to do with 
what we have been talking about.” 

“You know,” I said, casting a quick 
glance toward my tape recorder to see if 
the meter needle was moving and, of 
course, drifting into the next lane. “You 
know,” I said, “I have been thinking 
about this, and you are taking over my 
article, exactly the way you take over your 
scenes in Werner Herzog's movies.” 

“Where are you going?” said Kinski. 

“Sorry,” I said and careened back into 
my own lane. 

“Of course,” he said, “it’s obvious that 
you should write about this. You cannot 
write in a story everything about me.” 


“Well,” I said, because I know very well 
that I have a tendency to clutter up my 
articles, “you may be right.” 

“Of course,” he said 

We headed toward the mountains. The 
road became sinuous as we climbed. 

“Why are you so worried?” he asked. 

I'm not worried,” I said. 

“You looked worried," he said. “Why? 
This is what you need. This is what is 
important to know. This is the essence, 
this thing. This is what journalists were 
trying to get out of me for 20 years. And I 
never thought of it in this way before, but 
last night, because of our conversation, I 
thought, This is what is essential; this is 
the fundament. It is obvious that this is 
what you must write. Don't keep mixing in 
these other things." 

„But I started to say. 

“It only confuses,” he said. “What are 
you doing? You are too far on the left 
again.” 

“But you need a framework,” I said. 
“You need: ” 

“A framework. What is this, a frame- 
work? You don’t need a framework. They 
told you you need this. You don’t need 
this, You need a painting, not a frame. You 
are going too slow. Just go.” 

“Well” I started to say; but then I 
gasped as I was suddenly jolted backward, 
because Kinski, having decided the car 
was too sluggish on the steep road, had 
without warning shifted down. 

“That's better,” he said as we picked up 
speed. By the time I recovered, I had lost 
my train of thought. 

“At first, I felt this thing coming up in 
myself,” he continued, “just really physi- 
cally growing in myself and happening, 
but it was a jungle, so I couldn't distin- 
guish things so much. I knew there were, 
in myself, the souls of millions of people 
who lived centuries ago—not just people 
but animals, plants, the elements, things, 
even, matter—that all of these exist in me, 
and I felt this. OK, this pushed and 
pushed and pushed. OK, that was the 
beginning. .. . And through the years, it 
became clearer and clearer, this thing; 
it started to separate itself, I could make it 
come when I had to concentrate on, let's 
say, a person I had to become—this thing 
became stronger. And took more of me. In 
this moment, I let it do it, because 1 
wanted, I had to be this person. And as 1 
was led to doing it, there was then no way 
back. And the more I tried to do it, the 
more I hated it. But there was no way back 
anymore; it was always going farther and 
farther and farther. Until one day, when I 
was walking through the streets of Paris, I 
started crying, because I could look at a 
man, a woman, a dog, anything, and 
receive it, anything, everything; there was 
no difference between physical and psy- 
chological. 1 felt like 1 was breaking out, 
breaking up, receiving everything, every 
moment, even things I did not see. There 
is no turning back from this. But this dan- 
ger is the power you have. It is this same 


power that lets you hold an audience when 
you are on a stage. Then it is a concentra- 
tion, the same concentration that in kung 
fu is used for the kick that kills or to break 
a table with your hand. It means that you 
are sure of the power and that you relin- 
quish yourself to it.” 

Kinski hesitated for a moment. 

“It should not be necessary to explain 
things," he said. "I don't know . . . 
maybe it comes from this fucking occupa- 
tion that they call art. I don't know what 
the meaning of that is. And they call me 
‘actor, and I know this is shit, OK, 
because it just means that some idiot, 
absolutely imbecilic, cretin, illiterate 
director can say what he wants to me, can 
even harm me. So I say to him, “FUCK 
OFF" Or I go home or whatever. And 
then they say, ‘He is mad; he just happens 
to be an artist.’ These people who do not 
see the terrible things and therefore do not 
sec the beautiful things, either. But I can- 
not dump, dump this thing. They think 
you can dump all this and be an actor. 
Then they say, ‘Good job.’ Do you say 
‘Good job’ to an earthquake?” 

Kinski paused. “I am dying of hunger,” 
he said. 

We stopped at a little fast-food place at 
the beach, an absurd gray structure 
that had been weathered to look quaint 
against the background of the ocean. I 
watched him stand at a counter and eat a 
chili dog, using a plastic knife and fork. 
“These beans are disgusting,” he said. 
“They are hard. Look at this sign, HOME- 
MADE. What does this mean, ‘home’? Does 
it mean that the beans are even more dis- 
gusting than others? [ don't understand 
their signs. I don’t WANT to under- 
stand their signs. This HOMEMADE, it’s sup- 
posed to tell you these disgusting beans 
are good. These fucking signs! Signs 
everywhere that lie.” 

Kinski paced back and forth along the 
beach while I traipsed along behind him 
with my useless tape recorder: There was а 
howling wind that whipped our hair and 
our clothes and that I knew would make 
this tape inaudible, too. 

It was cold this day, already autumn. 
We couldn’t sce the horizon; the gray of 
the ocean merged into the sky. Even the 
sand seemed gray in that light. Behind us 
were more grays, those of the cliffs, and 
then the brown of the mountains. It was 
the only time I saw Kinski not dressed in 
white; he had on a brightred wind- 
brcaker, the only splash of passionate color 
in the mist. 

Kinski talked and I listened until I 
started shivering in the relentless wind. 

“Let's go back,” he said. 

We sat for a while in the parked car. It 
seemed almost silent now, away from the 
beach. 

“Why do 1 continue making movies?” 
he said in reply to a question I'd asked 
hours earlier. “Making movies is better 
than cleaning toilets.” 

“Do some roles leave you cold?” 


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“In a way, everything concerning a 
movie leaves me cold, and everything 
involves me. For a smaller one, you just 
give a smaller kick.” 

I remained silent. 

“I don't know. Why have I had this life? 
If 1 knew, I wouldn't have done it. Do you 
know what I mean? You cannot even say, 1 
cannot even tell myself, ‘Why did I do it? I 
shouldn’t have done it.’ It’s ridiculous.” 

"It wasn’t a choice?” 

“It wasn't my choice.” 

He sighed. 

“So it means,” he continued, “the only 
thing I can say is ‘OK, shit" Just like say- 
ing ‘Shit!’ to yourself. You say SHIT" ten 
times when you hurt yourself. You say 
“SHIT? Nobody is there. You just say 
‘SHIT.’ So I could tell myself, ‘Oh, shit, 
why, WHY, why did all that happen to 
me? Why was I not a bird on the ocean? 
You know? Instead of this, you know? 
This I could say, but just to myself. SHIT! 
It doesn’t even make sense after a while 
when you say ‘Shit’ from morning to eve- 


“Six months at sea, and sudden 


a time n I could 
e a tic. I said ‘Shit’ all 


ning, but therc w 
not stop. It was 
the time. SHIT!” 

For the first time in his presence, 1 felt 
afraid. Not of him but of the furor of that 
younger sclf he was reincarnating in the 
small, cramped space where we sat, yet 
another cage to be filled with that power 
and rage that I finally understood to be his 
furor at his own fate. And I saw that same 
vein stand out on his forchead that 1 had 
seen on Aguirre’s, and the same intensity 
in the set of his jaw: It was not the rage of 
helplessness, it was the rage of defiance. 

Kinski opened his eyes, which had been 
damped shut, and then looked away at the 
ocean. In the car, the silence seemed new. 
Well, it wasn't a silence. There was still 
the wind, the sound of a sea gull’s wings 
flapping, It only seemed like a new silence 
to me, because I had watched a man say 
“Fuck you” to his own pain. 

Kinski stared steadfastly at the ocean. 

“T don’t know,” he said. 

“Why do vou live alone?" I asked. 


he decides that 


what's important isn't exploring for new lands but 
finding what he calls his inner space’!” 


“T didn’t choose solitude,” he answered. 
It was unusually brief for him. 

“Because in your book,” 1 said, “you 
emed capable of such love.” 

"X he said. “Love is the salvation.” 
He sighed again. "I didn't choose to be 
alonc. But I cannot explain this. I could be 
with a woman in a bed, for weeks even, 
and it would seem to me like three sec- 
onds. Or 300 years. There is no time sense 
because of things that are going on in you. 
I don't know, there is no explanation of 
this. But every time, even with someone 
I... But whenever I was with a woman, 
I always sort of want another one. So there 
was always another one. 1 can't explain 
this, but it means that these women, they 
were not sharing my solitude. I wanted to 
stay with somebody, but I couldn't, it 
wasn't possible, because of this thing mov- 
ing in myself. I had to learn this. I didn't 
want to be alone, but I had to learn that 
the dimensions of my feelings are too vio- 
lent. I had to learn thi: 
just telling you before. Why? Why 
like this? It is the same as ‘Why wasn’t I 
bern a fisherman?’ This is not a choice. 
There is not a why. Look at this bird there. 
Why does he fly to the left? Why? 

We watched as the gull flew out of our 
sight, toward the mountains. A few hun- 
dred feet away, on the road leading to the 
beach, a truck pulled up and some men 
got out, carrying pneumatic drills and 
jackhammers. They set to work, and it was 
the sounds of the drills and the hammers 
that now reached the car. 

“Look at them!” cxclaimed Kinski. 
“They are not happy if they don’t ham- 
mer. They hammer, they hammer; it is 
unbearable. That is why you have to go 
away. It is not a solution, but you have to 
go away, to protect your feeling of life, 
where people won't shock you and hurt 
you. They hammer everywhere! Every- 
where they can possibly hammer! They 
hammer in your brain! Hell, these idiots, 
they come with their hammer, where peo- 
ple are sitting, to hammer, to hammer, to 
hammer! Let's go. 

I started the car without stalling it, mer- 
cifully, and drove away. We headed back 
toward town and I got more driving tips 
from Kinski and we talked some more 
about the thing. We've had other 
conversations since, but it is at the ocean 
that I remember him best. Even though 
many of his words were torn from his 
mouth by the sea breezes and were hurled 
toward the ocean or the mountains or bur- 
ied in the sand, Klaus Kinski led me to 
grasp, with what I felt was perfect clarity, 
the definition of an ineflable force of 
nature, because he seemed to be both a 
part and an expression of it, even though 
now, when I listen to my tape, there are 
only fragments of speech, meaningless by 
themselves, and what I can hear, mostly, 
is only the screaming of the wind and the 
detonation of the waves. This is the most 
important lesson I learned about what it 
is, ultimately, the “actor” does 


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(continued from page 124) 
renewed for another 20. The county would 
rather not wait that long, so I've been 
assigned to collect on the judgment. You 
arc working now?" 

“Yeah, I got on at Kodak last year. How 
much more do you say I owe, anyway?” 

I glance at his file and give him the good 
news. 
^A little over $300. Do you want to go 
ahead and pay that off?" 

“Nah, you can get it out of my next 
year’s tax return.” 

I shrug my shoulders and show him to 
the door. 1 haven't told him the bad news. 
Since he was kind enough to tell me where 
he's working, I will immediately garnish 
his check to collect the other $300. By the 
end of the month, it will all be over but 
the shouting. His child-support debt will 
be paid and 1 will have closed another 
case. I walk back to my desk, file the gar- 
nishment and go to lunch. 

. 

Interstate enforcement of child-support 
orders is a shambles. An unfortunately 
large number of men now live in different 
states from their ex-wives and therefore 
consider themselves immune from the bur- 
den of child support. Sometimes yes, 
sometimes no. When I get back from 
lunch, there’s a message from a Mr. Jones 
in New York, He would like to talk with 
me because I’ve taken half of his check. 
Court systems are slow and frustrating, 
especially when courts in two states are 
involved. I try to bypass them whenever 
possible. One is through Project 
Intercept, which is usually good for a year 
or two; then the man ups his deductions 
until there is no refund to take. 

For Mr, Jones, the situation is called a 
double whammy. Divorced in Colorado, 
he left the state with a $400-a-month 
child-support order, looking for a new life 
and a new job. When he got to New York 
and didn't pay his support, a reciprocal 
action was filed with the court system 
there. The judge in New York lowered the 
amount of child support to $100 a month. 
Mr. Jones has made his $100 payment 
thfully for the past three years. 
Unfortunately for him, the New York 
order applies only to collection efforts in 
that state. The Colorado order hasn't been 
affected. Under the Colorado order, I’ve 
established a judgment on the arrearage of 
$3600 cach year. Whether or not I have 
jurisdiction over Jones is no longer impor- 
tant, because he has taken a new job with 
a company that also docs business in Colo- 
rado. Гус served my garnishment on the 
company's registered agent in the state of. 
Colorado, and I have Mr. Jones by the 
short hairs to the tune of $10,000. Long 
distance—sometimes it's better than 
being there. 

Child-support payment is never a guar- 


anteed thing, however. The stack of mail 
on my desk is mostly from other states, 
inquiring about cases that have been re- 
ferred to me for enforcement. There’s also 
a letter from John’s father. John was a 
tougher case to convince than most. I gar- 
nished him until he was broke before he 
finally agreed to a wage assignment. I 
thought the situation was taken care of, 
but John worked only two weeks before he 
was injured on the job. He spent a week in 
the hospital, a month recovering and was 
due to return to work in a couple of wecks. 
The envelope contains a note and a copy 
of a death certificate. At two o'clock one 
morning, John rode his motorcyde off 
the edge of a winding mountain road. He 
won't be paying any more child support. 
. 

Wednesday afternoo: 
waiting room and Vern is with her, hold- 
ing a darling, blue-eyed little boy. I lead 
them to the interview cubicle and they sit. 
No power plays are necessary this time. 
Even the child is quiet, sucking a thumb, 
gazing around with wide and innocent 
eyes. Vern’s eyes are downcast and he 
doesn’t have much to say. He is wearing 
painter's coveralls. The paint spatters are 
barely dry. Vern is a workingman, not a 
dead beat. He is in trouble with his sup- 
port payments because he never under- 
stood them in the first place. I give him 
my handout shcet, which lists general 
child-support guidelines. 


Sally is in the 


ni 


ESS ORDERED OTHERWISE: 

1. Payment of support is to be in 
money. . . The giving of gi 
purchasing of food, clou 
like will not fulfill the obligation. 

2. Payment of support must be 
madc as it becomes due. Failure to 
secure or denial of rights of vi 
is not an excuse for nonpayment. The 
aggrieved party must seck relief 
through a proper motion filed with 
the court. 

3. The payment of support takes 
priority over payment of debts and 
other obligations. 

4. A party who remarries after dis- 
solution and accepts additional obli- 
gations of support does so with the 
full knowledge of his or her prior obli- 
gations and will be given no consider- 
ation for those obligations when 
accused of “contempt of court” for 
failure to make the payments as 
ordered. 

5. Child support is based on annual 
income, and it is the responsibility of 
a person with seasonal employment 
to budget his income so that pay- 
ments are made regularly throughout 
the year. 


Vern has made some of his payments. 
But he has paid his ex- rectly, in 
cash, even though the order stated spe- 
cifically that payments were to be made 


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194 


through the registry of the court. I point 
out the important words as ORDERED. He 
shows me half a dozen receipts. He 
thought he had more, but he couldn’t find 
them. I give him credit where 1 can and 
explain that he'll have to pay the balance, 
even if that means paying some months 
over again. 

I can't change his current amount of 
support, but I do have some control over 
the monthly payment on the amount past 
due. Normal procedure is to double the 
man’s payment and collect one month's 
past-due in addition. Vern can barely 
afford the current payment. When he 
offers $50 on the arrears, I nod my head. 

“Sold!” I say. “I'll have the papers 
ready to sign Friday. 

. 

Alter two years of contested divorce and 
a bitter custody battle, Charlie's decree 
became final last month. He can't make 
this month's support payment because 
I've already garnished his check. Charlic 
was $7000 in arrears before his first pay- 
ment was ever due. Colorado law is 
specific—any money paid by the state for 
the benefit of his children becomes a debt 
in Charlie’s name. When his wile left him, 
she went on welfare. 

She didn't tell him. 1 couldn't. That 
information is a Government secret, pro- 
tected under the Privacy Act. When Char- 
lie got to court for his final hearing, the 
county attorney was present to obtain 
judgment for all Aid to Families with 
Dependent Children (AFDC) amounts 
paid out. Charlie should have gotten an 
order for child support. even a temporary 
one, as soon as his wife left. That would 
have limited his liability to the amount of 
the order instead of the AFDC amounts, 
which in Charlie’s case were more than 
twice as much. 

AFDC isn’t the only trap for the unsus- 
pecting. If you are even thinking about 
splitting the blankets with the mother of 
your child, watch out. I operate under the 
Colorado statutes, but the cases I handle 
come from all over the country, referred 
here when Dad moved to Larimer County. 
Each state has its own twist, but certain 
points are nearly universal. 

You get only one day in court—be there. 
It docsn’t matter if you have to work that 
day; it doesn’t matter if you have to travel 
from another stale. If you don't show up, 
you may be found in default. A default 
order was issued in Phil's case for $500 per 
month. Had he been in court, he probably 
would have been ordered (on the basis of. 
other orders from the same court) to pay 
$200 per month. Get out your calculator 
and decide how much Phil could do for his 
kid with the $300 difference each month— 
if he didn't have to pay it to his ex-wife. 
nd while you have your calculator out, 
tell me you can't afford a lawyer. If your 
lawyer saves you $100 a month, he'll pay 


for himself in a year or two. Ifhe helps you 
avoid escalator clauses or alimony pay- 
ments (which now can be collected along 
with your child support), he may pay his 
way before the ink is dry on your decree. 

I'm not a lawyer. I'm not offering legal 
advice. Lam an investigator. My investiga- 
tor's advice is this: Get a lawyer. If you 
really do live in another state and can’t 
make it back to court, get one lawyer to 
appear on your behalf and a second lawyer 
to make sure the first one docsn't forget. 
Look for an attorney who normally han- 
dles domestic cases—and is familiar with 
the judges who will hear your case and the 
court in which it will be heard. 

Once you've been ordered to pay child 
support, cover your ass. Pay it. Pay it 
through the registry of the court. If your 
support isn’t ordered through the registry, 
see your lawyer about modifying your 
order. It’s cheap insurance. You may also 
find it casier to write a check each month 
to the Clerk of the Court than to write her 
name again 12 times a year. 

If you lose your job, look for another 
one. If you can’t find one that will cover 
your payments, get a second job. Try a day 
job, a night job, a Saturday job and a Sun- 
day job. If you pay the support, there is 
nothing else your ex-wife can do to you. If 
you don't, vou may have to deal with 
me—or someone worse. There are tougher 
kids on the block: Colorado's cost effec- 
tiveness was ranked 30th in the last Gov- 
ernment survey, taken in 1983. 

Get your lawyer to work immediately if 
there's a valid reason, such as long-term 
illness or injury, that vou can't make the 
payments. Future payments may be abat- 
ed or excused. If you have insurance, 
workmen's compensation, unemployment 
benefits or any other source of income 
sufficient to pay the child support, your 
payments will probably remain the same. 

If you're already in the hole, stop dig- 
ging. Don't wait for me to find you. 105 
true that enforcement efforts in some juris- 
dictions are so ineffective that you may 
never have to pay. But since you probably 
won't know that your case is being investi- 
gated until it catches up to you with one 
hell of a bang, maybe you should ask your- 
self the Dirty Harry question: How lucky do 
you feel today? 

If you start now, you may be able to 
finance a lawyer to help you make a deal. 
If you offer your ex-wife a lump-sum pay- 
ment for a large part of the past-due 
amount, along with a payroll-deduction 
plan to kecp you current, she may go for 
the bird in the hand. I won't. If you can't 
come up with a lump sum, try a wage 
assignment for current support and a sec- 
ond one for a payment on the arrears. 

What are your chances of going to jail? 
If you're dealing with me, you won't have 
that privilege. Some states have appar- 
ently decided to try high-visibility en- 
forcement tactics, arresting fathers with 


past-due amounts. I think such tactics are 
stupid. I don’t want you in jail. In jail, you 
can't pay your support. In jail, you're 
warm and dry. In jail, you eat three times 
a day. In jail, you're a burden to the tax- 
тз. In most places, you won't go to jail 
unless you do something stupid, such as 
getting frosty with the judge. 1 want you 
on the outside, sleeping in your car, living 
on the street, if necessary, until you decide 
to see things my way. 

That may be sooner than you think. 
New Federal laws are scheduled to take 
effect in October. These laws make auto- 
matic what Гуе been doing all along. All 
new orders requiring payment of child 
support will contain provisions for making 
your employer deduct those payments 
from your check. I won't have to obtain 
judgment. I won’t need to garnish. Next to 
the other deduction boxes on your pay 
stub will be a box for your “fatherhood 
tax,” the automatic withholding of your 
child-support payment. 

. 

Friday moming, Vern and Sally are in 
to sign the wage assignments. 

“What about the visitation?” Sally asks. 
“Vern hasn't seen his little girl in a year.” 

Vern’s order for visitation is specif- 
ic—every other weekend from Friday 
night at five to Sunday night at six. 1 sug- 
gest to him that he obtain a certified copy 
of his court order, notify his ex-wife, as 
required by the decree, then call the police 
to request that an officer be present when 
he goes to pick up his daughter. If he has 
the certified copy of the order signed by the 
judge to show to the officer, most police 
departments will provide this “civil stand- 
by.” АП the cops I know would rather 
keep the peace than pick up the pieces. If 
that doesn’t work, Vern will have to go 
back to court. 

If you aren't getting your visitation, 
you'll have todo the same. Your visitation 
has nothing to do with your child-support 
payments. You have an agreement with 
the judge to make the payments; your ex- 
wife has an agreement with the court to 
allow visitation. Don't try to take things 
into your own hands and enforce your vis- 
itation rights by refusing to pay the sup- 
port. You'll somehow have to find the 
money to take your ex back to court. Ifyou 
think it less than fair that a woman is enti- 
tled to my services to collect support while 
you have to hire your own lawyer to go 
after visitation, so do 1, and you have my 
sympathy. I don’t have any better answers 
for you, though. 

Child support is a problem that can be 
reduced to dollars and cents. Any money 
not paid can be collected with interest. 
Visitation, on the other hand, is a nebu- 
lous situation at best. Unless your ex flat- 
out refuses to let you see your kid, denial of 
your rights is very difficult to prove. If she 
remarries and moves to another state, she 
isn't “preventing” you from secing your 


oflspring. Even if you live just down the 
street, you're still in a secondary position 
If you've planned a special weekend, com- 
plete with dinner at an expensive restau- 
rant, nothing can stop her from delivering 
the child half an hour late, in dirty clothes 
and stuffed full of peanut-butter sand- 
wiches. In the words of the philosopher E. 
Sagncr, “Life is a bitch—then you dic." 
. 

Life does have its moments, however. 
Sharon is my last appointment of the day 
She's 19 and in her second year of chemi- 
cal engineering at Colorado State Univer- 
sity. Last week, she asked for my help in 
finding her father. Her parents were di- 
vorced when she was seven, she moved 
with her mother to Colorado, and she 
hasn't seen or spoken with him since 

“The bum never paid my mom any sup- 
port,” she says, "and Mom won't go after 
him. She says she suffered too much the 
first time in court. I need money for 
school, though. Now that I'm in college, 
maybe he'll pay it to me, instead.” 

Technically, I can locate a father only at 
the request of the mother, But on a hunch, 
I bent the rules. I took down what infor- 
mation she had—she thought he was 
somewhere in California—and I told her I 
would contact her. It took me 45 minutes 
to find him, but I didn’t call Sharon until 
today. 1 also accessed his court records, 
and I’ve been waiting for the hard copies 
to arrive in the mail. 

The first shect of paper I hand her has 
the information she wanted—her father’s 
address and phone number. The second 
shect is a long computer print-out, and it 
brings a puzzled look to Sharon's face. 

“What is this?” 

“A payment history from the court in 
California. It shows that each month, for 
11 years, your father sent a check to the 
court. The court, in turn, sent a check to 
this address in Denver.” 

“That's Mom's address. 

Her voice trails off, and for a long 
moment, she stares blankly at the print- 
out 


"I'm still going to call him, 
with a half-smile. “But I guess I'll 
say hi. Maybe he'll let me sce him. 

It is after quitting time when I get back 
to my desk. The telephone is ringing any- 
way. Vern's ex-wife is on the phone, and 
she is furious. Yes, she wanted the money, 
but somehow ver occurred to her that 
when I forced Vern to pay his support, he 
might insist she keep her part of the bar- 
gain, too. He is on his way over to her 
house to pick up his little girl. 

Oh, well. Im оп my way downtown for 
a cool one. If I meet you in the bar, don't 
take a swing at me. Pull upa stool. Buy me 
a beer. Ask me about my ex-wife. I do this 
job for one reason and one reason only. It 
pays my child support. 


she says 


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CLARENCE MOREHEAD takes pride in what 
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Mr. Morehead (and all our employees) know 
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Lynchburg Tennessee 
(P3) 31382 
— 


_CHARCOAL MELLOWED DROP BY DROP 


PLAYBOY 


Sea in Cinema (continued from page 126) 


“How much spice do today’s audiences want? It’s a 


question that has held up the release of ‘92 Wee 


22 


Rolling Stone: “There's one thing I have to 
say straightaway: There just isn’t cnough 
sex.” 

Even the tcenage sex comedies, long the 
repository of pubescent nudity and single- 
entendre jokes, seem to have lost much of 
their appeal. Symptomatically, Martha 
Coolidge, director of 1983's acdaimed Val- 
ley Girl and of 1984's flop The Joy of Sex, 
reported that she decided to climinate a 
major sex scene from her 1985 picture Real 
Genius, with Val Kilmer and Gabe Jarret. 
“It wasn’t essential to the story,” she 
declared, “апа, besides, it’s not what the 
public is buying.” 

‘Just what the public is buying remains 
as enigmatic to studio executives as ever. 
No one would have dared predict the run- 
away momentum of Sylvester Stallone’s 
Rambo: First Blood Part 1I—particularly 
after the lackluster returns on his pairing 
last year with Dolly Parton in Rhinestone. 
Yet, backed by an ad campaign that prom- 
ised little more than Stallone’s well-oiled 
musculature, Rambo immediately soared 
to the top of the box-office charts. 

On the other hand, there were probably 
high hopes for Perfect, with John Trayolta 
as an inyestigatiye reporter researching a 
story on Los Angeles health clubs and 
Jamie Lee Curtis as an aerobics instructor 
who resents being researched. The studio 
was obviously pinning its faith on its 
stars. 

The fact is, of course, that stars do sell 
tickets, but only when they are backed by 
a story—or are cast as characters—that 
can interest a wide audience. Clint East- 
wood, for example, has an almost in- 
fallible sense of wi iat is mene for ШУ as 


"rant a 
who is also pretty handy with a six- 
shooter, Eastwood wins the open adora- 
tion of married Carrie Snodgress and her 


SEX IS A DRAG! 
ALL I WORRY 


nubile, impressionable daughter, Sydney 
Penny. In view of the fact that Eastwood 
has seldom been a shrinking violet about 
sex scenes on the screcn, it may be sig- 
nificant that in Pale Rider he fends off the 
daughter; and when he does indulge in a 
quick grapple with Snodgress in the 
bushes, the scene is so dark that one can 
barely make out the bushes, much less the 
activity beyond them. 

Veteran director John Huston is only 
slightly less discreet in his handling of the 
love scene between Jack Nicholson and a 
gorgeous, dangerous Kathleen Turner in 
Prizzi’s Honor, onc of thc surprise suc- 
cesses of 1985. It's a mad, passionate 
thrashing of naked limbs that begins on 
the bed, then crashes to the floor—but 
photographed so darkly that one is never. 
quite sure who is doing what to whom. 
What really keeps the home fires burning 
in this torrid, action-packed but frequently 
outrageously funny film is the tension 
between love and money, and the growing 
realization that both can kill. 

Witness, another of the ycar's surprises, 
also made it to the top without any of the 
supposedly obligatory love scenes. Harri- 
son Ford plays a tough Philadelphia cop 
given refuge by an Amish widow (Kelly 
McGillis). Their mutual attraction is 
almost immediate, but Ford is sensitive to 
the clash of cultures that separates them. 
Even though—in a scene that pulses with 
sensuality—the woman knowingly per- 
mits Ford to eye her nude in her bath, he 
rises above temptation, leaving her to the 
Amish farmer who loves her (dancer 
Alexander Godunov, making his Ameri- 
can film debut). 

Quite a different clash of cultures is the 
subject of John Boorman's sprawling, 
exotic The Emerald Forest, an adventure. 
tale played out against the lush imagery of 
the Amazon rain forests, its scenery con- 


sidcrably enhanced by scads of dusky 
maidens skittering about in their native 
undress: It’s the old National Geographic 
approach to nudity. Essentially, Forest is 
the story of an American engineer, work- 
ing in Brazil, whose son (ingratiatingly 
played by Boorman's own son, Charley) 
disappears into the wilderness. By the 
time the distraught father finally locates 
him, the boy has gone thoroughly native. 

Paul Verhocven's vivid, violent Flesh ES 
Blood is also an adventure movie, this one 
set in the 16th Century, when life was 
cheap and morality scemingly nonexistent. 
Rugged Rutger Hauer plays a warrior 
leader who, cheated of his promised share 
in the taking ofa castle, gets his revenge by 
murdering his double-crossing lord, then 
making off with the beauty (Jennifer Jason 
Leigh) who was intended for the lord's 
son. The odd thing is that when Hauer 
inevitably rapes her, she gives every sign 
of enjoying it and soon is ruling the castle 
with him, until the son sacks it, at which 
point she is just as ready to run off with 
him. Like all of Verhocven's movies, going 
back to Turkish Delight, Flesh & Blood is 
spiced with sex, 

But how much spice do today’s audi- 
ences want? It’s a question that has held 
up the release of 91% Weeks, by British 
director Adrian Lyne, for more than a 
year. The script is based on Elizabeth 
MeNcilP's semi-autobiographical novel 
about a divorcee (Kim Basinger) who ulti- 
mately discovers that she can’t handle her 
tempestuous affair with a kinky, sadistic 
Soho art dealer (Mickey Rourke); the 
problem for the producers was how much 
of this story, which appeared in PLAYBOY 
back in April 1978, they could show today, 
when films are becoming so circumspect. 
Their picture has been in and out of the 
cutting rooms half a dozen times since the 
completion of principal photography in 


August of 1984. 


No such difficulties beset Susan Seidel- 
man's Desperately Seeking Susan, which 
quickly established itself as one of the 
more successful summer entertainments, 
thanks largely to its two leading ladies, 
Rosanna Arquette and Madonna. Ro- 
sanna is a bored housewife who derives 


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NYO 


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“Gee, I don't think I'll ever get all the leaves out of my panties.” 


199 


PLAYBOY 


a vicarious delight from reading the per- 
sonal ads in the papers, particularly those 
headed “DESPERATELY SEEKING SUSAN.” 
Susan is a freewheeling lady, a gangster’s 
moll on the lam with some priceless jew- 
elry that she doesn’t know is hot. 
Arquette, after a blow to the head, regains 
consciousness thinking she’s Susan; while 
she’s making time with a good Samaritan 
(Aidan Quinn), the real Susan moves in 
with Arquette’s husband. Its synthetic 
and only moderately spiced—which is 
what 1985's audiences seem to go for. 

The success of a modest little feature 
such as Susan may portend that the youth- 
oriented, spectacular special-eflects mov- 
ies are losing a bit of their grip. Not that 
Steven Spielberg, George Lucas & Co. are 
being forced out of business—not with 
such movies as The Goonies and Back to the 
Future, all of them tales that might have 
been spun at the Disney studio a few years 
back, still playing to hefty crowds. The 
aforementioned Cocoon, directed by Ron 
Howard, has been neatly calculated to 
span the generation gap. Its quartet of 
amiable aliens, headed by beefy Brian 
Dennehy, includes Raquel Welch’s beauti- 
ful daughter, Таһпее, and personable 
‘Tyrone Power, Jr., but the show is virtu- 
ally stolen by a gaggle of oldsters, among 
them Don Ameche, who by accidental 
contact with the aliens are so rejuvenated 
(sexually and otherwise) that they’re soon 
bounding about like a bunch of horny 
teenagers. 

On the other hand, literally dozens of 
science-fiction adventure films headed 
straight for the tubes. Most prominent 
among them—and, at $22,500,000, the 
most costly Mas Lifeforce, in which astro- 
nauts return to earth unwittingly carrying 
a deadly cargo: vampires whose elec- 


tromagnetic force reduces ordinary people 
to hideous zombies. The fact that one of 
them, statuesque Mathilda May, strolls 
through the entire picture without a stitch 
of clothing proves ultimately more ludi- 
crous than lubricious. Creature is an obvi- 
ously lower-budgeted attempt to cash in 
on the same premise (including the naked 
lady), with Klaus Kinski as a mad scien- 
tist. In Re-Animator, yet another deranged 
scholar, Jeffrey Combs, brings the dead 
back to life. But once they're alive again, 
they turn mean. The grisly climax finds 
beautiful Barbara Crampton stripped and 
strapped to a table, awaiting the lustful 
onslaughts ofa decapitated doctor. 

At such points, it becomes a bit difficult 
to differentiate science fiction from the 
straight horror movies; but, again, the law 
of diminishing returns seems to be taking 
effect. As well it might: Who needs a fifth 
version of Friday the 13th? Or even a Howl- 
ing 11? Certainly not enough hardy souls to 
push either picture onto Variety's weekly 
chart of the 50 top-grossing films. Writer- 
director George Romero, however, has 
built such an avid cult following for his 
grisly zombie movies, independently pro- 
duced on a low, low budget, that all he has 
to do is announce a new one and the faith- 
ful will arrive. The new one for 1985 is Day 
of the Dead—and, if anything, it's more 
gruesome than its two predecessors, Night 
of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead. 
Fans of this sort of thing will probably be 
even more amused by Dan O'Bannon's 
spirited send-up of the genre, The Return 
of the Living Dead, which pays full homage 
to Romero but also plays around with the 
notion of pitting a bunch of today’s hard- 
core punkers against the ghouls. It's fun— 
especially when the zombies, having had 
their fill of punks, call in the cops because 


“Gosh, and I was so nervous about 
coming to your apartment.” 


they're still hungry. Perhaps O'Bannon 
will one day have his own cult following. 

Teen sex comedies, though numerous, 
are showing signs of aging. Neither Porky's 
Revenge (the third outing for the series) 
nor Police Academy 2: Their First Assign- 
ment created the slightest stir at the box 
office, Nevertheless, a dozen or more light- 
weight, lightheaded, low-budget entries 
followed in their well-traveled footsteps. 
Oddly, and sadly, this genre seems to be 
the final refuge for sexual high-jinks on 
today’s screens, even though the sex gener- 
ally takes the form of adolescent paving 
and chasing after naked girls. Hot Resort, 
for example, sets up a contrived rivalry be- 
tween the horny kids who staf a St. Kitts 
hotel and its preppie guests, all vying for 
the favors of the lovely ladies languishing 
poolside. In Paradise Motel, local Lothario: 
Robert Krantz befriends young Gary 
Hershberger because his father owns the 
resort and Krantz wants free access to its 
deluxe honeymoon suite, the better to 
seduce a parade of high school cuties. 

The distressing thing about these mov- 
ies isn't merely their slipshod indifference 
to plot, their dim-witted jokes or their 
sophomoric attitude toward sex; it’s their 
attitude toward the women themselves. 
Never before, with the possible exception 
of some hard-core pornos, have the girls 
been so blatantly manipulated. They exist 
to be ogled by the boys, undressed by the 
boys, bedded by the boys—and dismissed 
by the boys. The guys may be total wimps, 
the girls sexy and delectable, but they 
cheerfully subject themselves to any indig- 
nity that the boyfriend (or his helpful 
scriptwriter) may dream up. In some of 
these pictures, the girls don't even have 
names. The boys may be called Mike or 
Tony or Joe, but the girls are identified — 
even in the credits—as The Blonde, Cock- 
tail Waitress, or simply The Girl. 

In contrast, relationships provide the 
very core of the ever-increasing number of 
coming-of-age pictures of the past few 
years. Although many of them deal with 
initiation into sex, they are not essentially 
sex films; nor, even though they often have 
their amusing moments, are they essen- 
tially comedies. In Rob Reiner’s The Sure 
Thing, for example, college freshman John 
Cusack sets out for California to spend 
Christmas vacation with a “sure thing” 
{Nicollette Sheridan), sharing a ride with 
prim, proper Daphne Zuniga, who has 
already rebuffed his advances on campus. 
But as the trip goes on, the two come to 
care for cach other, and Cusack learns the 
difference between a sure thing and the 
real thing. 

The real thing is the central concern of 
Daniel Petrie’s largely autobiographical 
The Bay Boy, the story of his own coming 
of age in Nova Scotia during the mid- 
‘Thirties. In one crowded year, young 
Donald Campbell buries his handicapped 
brother, fends off the advances of a homo- 
sexual priest, witnesses a particularly 


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201 


PLAYBOY 


shocking murder and loses his virgi 
Kiefer Sutherland (son of Donald) is first- 
rate as the boy, Liv Ullmann even better 
as his work-worn mother. 

Somewhat less solemn is St. Elmo's Fire, 
starring today’s teenage heartthrob Rob 
Lowe. It looks at the problems of a group 
of recent college grads, all close friends, 
who begin to wonder what went wrong 
with their lives. The reasons include drugs 
for lovely Demi Moore and a lot of casual 
sleeping around, mostly with the wrong 
parties, for everyone else. If there's no 
sleeping around in The Breakfast Club, it's 
only because the five principals have been 
ordered to spend a whole Saturday con- 
fined to their high school library for some 
minor infraction of the rules. They start 
out by disliking one another intensely but 
are finally drawn together by the discovery 
that they all have one thing in common— 
they hate their parents. In Vision Quest, 
young Matthew Modine is understanda- 
bly distracted from his high school wres- 
tling by sexy Linda Fiorentino: By the end 
ofthe picture, the boy has made out nicely 
on both the mat and the mattress. 

Despite a shrinking theatrical market, 
the production of outright sexploitation 
movies shows no sign of slackening— 
partially because they can be made on the 
cheap, partially because of the producers’ 
growing confidence that their downside is 
protected by the booming video-cassette 
and cable markets. One doesn’t look to 
these pictures for production values or 
major stars. What they offer is action— 
often quite violent action—and plenty of 
T and A, generally introduced with a 
hilarious lack of motivation. In Certain 
Fury, for example, willowy Irene Cara 
stands naked in a shower for minutes on 
end, just waiting for a doped-up Nicholas 
Campbell to burst in and rape her. A 
shower scene also serves as the pretext to 


undress pretty Betsy Russell in Tomboy, in 
which she plays an auto mechanic with 
racing aspirations. Co-star Kristi Somers, 
as a would-be actress, doesn't even need a 
pretext; she disrobes whenever anyone 
suggests that there might be a part for her 
in a movie. One expects plenty of nudit: 

a Sylvia Kristel movie, and, indeed, 
Mata Hari she appears topless under the 
credits and at least once per recl after 
that—notably in a saber duel with a 
buxom rival. But it’s all so routine, so 
measured, as to recall the line from Sun- 
day, Bloody Sunday: “Here come those 
tired old tits again.” The same may be 
said of Harlee McBride and Sybil Danning 
in Young Lady Chatterley IT, a follow-up to 
the 1978 movie that also starred McBride. 
The notion of McBride’s doing a Lady 
Godiva act to prevent her property from 
becoming the site of a nuclear power plant 
would surely boggle the fecblest mind, and 
the remaining horseplay isn't any more 
enlightened. 

Somewhere toward the bottom of the 
barrel are Bad Girls Dormitory and Hell- 
hole, both capitalizing on the promise of 
sex and sadism in a women’s prison. One 
trouble with sexploitation is that it hovers 
uneasily on the fringe between main-line 
movies and outright pornos. Hellhole, for 
example, offers for marquee bait such 
familiar names as Ray Sharkey, Marjoe 
Gortner and Terry Moore, all of whom 
have known finer hours. Presumably, none 
of them would consider going hard-core, 
so these attractions are booked for the 
lower half of double bills in second-rate 
houses, then sold for late-night cable view- 
ing. But the porno producers are also 
invading this market—and, more impor- 
tant, the cassette market as well. The can- 
nier producers are beefing up plots and 
production values along with their sex 
scenes, knowing that the latter can be cut 
(or re-edited) for R-rated theatrical release 


and for cable but can be sold intact on cas- 
settes, which now account for at least 40 
percent of their business. (At this point, 
most of the lower-budgeted pornos are 
being shot in two or three days on video 
tape for cassette sales only, skipping the 
theaters entirely.) 

Which makes a movie like Dixie Ray— 
Hollywood Star, winner of this year's Adult 
Film Association best-picture award, all 
the more interesting. It could stand on its 
own in terms of story, performance and 
direction, even if its numerous sexual 
encounters were made less explicit or some 
of them were eliminated. (Producer Billy 
Thornberg and director Anthony Spinelli, 
in fact, originally aimed the film for gen- 
eral release under the title It’s Called Mur- 
der, Baby, shooting the hard-core footage 
to cover their bet.) With luscious Lisa De 
Leeuw, a sizzling redhead, in the title role 
and the ubiquitous John Leslie, his hair 
slicked down, as a Forties private eye 
whose services are required—in more 
ways than one—to solve a blackmail case, 
the film generates an excitement that 
makes its amorous interludes seem posi- 
tively intrusive. Perhaps the year’s most 
ambitious—and outrageous—porn entry, 
however, is The Gráfenberg Spot, produced 
by the San Francisco-based Mitchell 
Brothers. The spot, at least in the film, is 
that part of the vagina that, when properly 
stimulated, emits an ejaculation more 
impressive than that of the male. Veteran 
porno star Harry Reems discovers this 
vulnerable area in blonde Ginger Lynn, 
onc of the newest, hottest and shapeliest of 
the current crop of sex kittens—and the 
discovery makes her wild. (Reems has pri- 
vately stated that Ginger is the hottest girl 
he has ever played opposite—and it shows 
on the screen, distinctly.) He appears 
opposite her again in L’Amour, this time 
teamed with sultry Angel, another of the 
newer crop of porn stars. In fact, one is 
struck by how often the same faces (not to 
mention tits and penises) tum up in these 
movies: Reems, Leslie, Jamie Gillis and 
Eric Edwards among the nonstop males, 
Ginger Lynn, Amber Lynn (no relation), 
De Leeuw, Tracy Lords and voluptuous 
Candy Samples (bra size 48EE) among 
the women. But the hottest woman in the 
field remains Chicago-based Seka, a slim, 
blonde beauty who apparently will do 
anything for a price—and that price runs 
into six figures per film, plus a percentage 
of the profits. “And she’s worth every 
penny,” comments adult-film distributor 
Dave Friedman. “Theater owners are 
always calling us to ask when they can get 
the next Seka movie. She really sells tickets. 

For sex in mainstream film making, 
however, one was obliged in 1985 to look 
increasingly abroad—a curious reversal, 
since not long ago it was the American 
product that was considered too strong for 
the foreign markets. Outstanding is the 
Australian The Coca-Cola Kid, directed by 
Yugoslavia’s renegade Dusan Makavejev 
and co-starring our own Eric Roberts with 
Italy's volatile Greta Scacchi. In one 


РЕТ 


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PLAYBOY 


scene, Roberts, seduced by Scacchi’s sul- 
try charms, strips her of her Santa Claus 
costume and makes love to her amid a ver- 
itable explosion of feathers. (Reported 
Scacchi rather tartly after the film’s pre- 
micre in Cannes last spring, “I would 
rather have spent three days in bed with 
anyone but Eric Roberts.”) Also from 
Australia comes An Indecent Obsession, 
based on a novel by Colleen (The Thorn 
Birds) McCullough, which includes a 
steamy homosexual interlude, along with 
several more conventional encounters; and 
Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, with Tina 
‘Turner in a wild wig and chain mail play- 
ing opposite Mel Gibson as mistress of an 
underground Bartertown where every- 
thing, including human life, is up for grabs. 
Kiss of the Spider Woman is one of the 
year’s more unusual attractions, partly 
because it's a U.S.-Brazilian сорго- 
duction, partly because it introduces Wil- 
liam Hurt as a homosexual who, jailed for 
molesting a young boy, gradually worms 
his way into the affections of cellmate Raul 
Julia, a political activist. Hurt beguiles 
Julia by inventing facsimiles of old-time 
movies with lively Sonia Braga (who is 
also Julia’s girlfriend) starring as the 
recurrent sex symbol in these fantasies. 
First unveiled at Cannes, the mo s 
every bit as offbeat as its title indicates. 
Brazil, despite its title, hails from 
England; it’s an Orwellian black comedy 
presided over by Monty Python's Terry 
Gilliam. The title derives from the once- 
popular samba, cuing the flights of fancy 
of our hero ( Jonathan Pryce), a civil serv- 
ant in some grim, 1984-style bureaucracy 
of the not-too-distant future. He comes to 


grief when he falls in love with a beautiful 
young girl suspected of terrorist activities. 
Newcomer Kim Greist is the girl of his 
dreams, while Robert De Niro and 
Python’s Michael Palin contribute to his 
nightmares. Two closely related English 
films are Joseph Losey's Steaming, based 
on Nell Dunn’s stage success, and She'll Be 
Wearing Pink Pajamas, lighter in tone but 
also concerned with a group of women of 
mixed backgrounds who come together for 
mutual help and sympathy. In Steaming, 
the setting is ladies’ day in a steam bath 
that local authorities are threatening to 
close; in Pink Pajamas, it’s an outdoor 
survival course for women in England’s 
beautiful Lake District. Both contain con- 
siderable nudity and extraordinarily frank 
discussions of sexual problems; but in nci- 
ther is there any sense of voyeurism or ex- 
ploitation. Quite the contrary, both films 
seem designed to give audiences greater 
insights into women’s problems and, for 
women, especially, a greater respect for 
their own sex. Vanessa Redgrave and 
Sarah Miles head the cast of Steaming: 
Julie (Educating Rita) Walters stars in 
Pink Pajamas. 

France’s perennial bad boy, Jean-Luc 
Godard, was represented by two films this 
ycar—onc of which, Hail, Mary, promptly 
landed him in hot water with the Catholic 
Church, the other, Detective, with French 
critics. Hail, Mary, unseen here at press- 
time, is reportedly an updating of the 
Christ story, with Mary the virginal 
daughter of a gas-station proprietor and 
Joseph a lowly cabdriver. No sooner had 
the picture opened in Paris than there 
were street demonstrations against it, and 


“I was surprised myself, but 
living apart, seeing other people and 
having virtually nothing to do with each other actually 
has made our marriage stronger.” 


stink bombs were tossed into the Champs 
Elysées theater where it was showing. 
Feelings escalated on both sides in April, 
when, without having viewed the film, 
Pope John Paul II condemned it, asserting 
that it “deeply wounds the religious fcel- 
ings of believers." The following day, Il 
Popolo, the official newspaper of Italy's 
Christian Democrat party, countered with 
a review praising the film for “the constant 
sense of mystery Godard conveys and the 
gentleness with which he recounts the 
extraordinary love story involving Mary, 
Joseph and God.” Characteristically, 
Godard's response was simple: Being а 
Protestant, Pm not at all disturbed by the 
Pope’s intervention.” Detect on the 
other hand, was roundly criti d for its 
old-fashioned plot (and its unsatisfactory 
resolution), for the lack of clarity in its 
characters and for its extreme loquacity, 
with Godard holding forth on everything 
from the commercialization of sex to the 
reasons France is a second-class nation. In 
other words, a typical Godard movie. 
Such films, of course, rarely play outside 
the art-house circuits in this country. 
There they have been joined this year 
by several domestically produced docu- 
mentaries of more than routine inter- 
est. Best of the lot is Pumping Iron II: 
The Women, an eye-boggling report on 
female bodybuilding that poses the crucial 
question: Which is more appealing, fem- 
inine curves or bulging biceps, pectorals 
and thighs? Adroitly filmed by director 
George Butler and an enormous camera 
crew, it reveals the arduous preparations 
of an international female contingent in 
competition for the 1983 Caesars Palace 
World Cup, with attention focused pri- 
marily on Lori Bowen, Carla Dunlap, 
Rachel McLish and Australia’s awesome 
Bev Francis. Just who deserves to win is a 
matter of taste that even the Las Vegas 
judges had difficulty with, but the picture 
has already stimulated a realization that 
beauty doesn’t have to be traditional. 
Challenging in quite another, more 
searching way is Streetwise, a gritty, dis- 
passionate documentary on the way of life 
of a dozen or so Seattle street urchins, kids 
from 13 to 17 who are already pimps, pros- 
titutes and pushers. The film, directed by 
Martin Bell, unfolds their separate stories 
without editorial comment; but what 
emerges, apart from any bitterness that 
our society would permit such degradation 
to exist, is a sense of wonder at these kids” 
resilience, their ability to survive, their 
will to do so when everything seems hope- 
less. They share a remarkable camarade- 
rie, offering their meager possessions—a 
scrap of food, a cigarette, а joint io one 
another with true generosity, forming 
friendships that are based on trust in a 
world that has rejected them. Streetwise 
preaches no moral, nor does it pull any 
punches; it’s more powerful and more 
moving than any fiction film of the year. 


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PLAYBOY 


О N Ml e 


E GE S NIMES 


what's happening, where it's happening and who's making it happen 


he event happens only every 76 years, and you'll not 
want to miss it this time around. Halley's comet, that 
famous sky burner, is due to be visible in this 
hemisphere from about November to April; and to 
facilitate comet chasing, we've assembled a sampling of 
scopes. The heavens, to be sure, move at a slightly slower 


pace than an episode of Miami Vice, but that doesn't mean 
the pyrotechnics are any less grand. And what happens 
when Halley's comet passes out of view? Well, you can 
always train the optics on that high-rise across the way where 
another heavenly body— perhaps that yoga instructor you've 
been dying to date— contorts to the music of the spheres. 


Below: The compact yellow telescope is a five-inch Schmidt Cassegrain model that sets up quickly on its own sturdy tripod and comes with 
such goodies as a Porro Prism and an adapter that accepts standard, still and video cameras, from Norm Thompson, Portland, Oregon, $1200. 
Below it is a Discoverer Astronomical telescope with 454X of power, plus a large selection of accessories, from Jason Empire, Overland Park, 
Kansas, $374. Bottom: А Lunagrosso Reflector 450X scope with a four-and-one-half-inch mirror and a cosmos of components, by Tasco, $500. 


RICHARD IZUI 


FASHION 


ere's a formula to take the work out of building a 
business wardrobe. We've dressed our model in a 
single-breasted herringbone suit, by Dimitri Cou- 
ture, $825, and combined it with a cotton shirt, by 
Valentino Uomo, $47.50, and a silk tie, by Dimitri Couture, 
$40. To back up this basic look, we then chose four alterna- 
tive shirts in colors, patterns and collar styles that go equally 
well with the suit, plus a sampling of ties. (You should have at 


DOUGLAS KEEVE 


least two ties per shirt.) This season’s ties to bind are paisleys 
and foulards. A sampling of pocket squares that pick up 
colors from your ties, plus belts in black, Burgundy and gray, 
also offers flexibility. Oxfords and tasseled loafers are shoe- 
ins, while patterned socks are knee to knee with solids as a 
solid business choice. If you do wear a patterned sock, the 
accent color should be as dark as (or a bit darker than) the 
color of your shoe. Happy shopping. —HOLLIS WAYNE 


Ties from top to bottom: Silk rep tie, by Resilio, $22.50; silk foulard, by Hathaway, $17.50; plus 14-kt.-gold tie tack, by Avedon, $57; silk crepe 
de Chine, by Furnagalli, $35, shown with 14-kt.-gold tie bar, by Louis Tamis & Sons, about $250; wool rep, by Valentino Cravatte, $35; and silk 
paisley tie, from Don Loper by Superba, $20. Shirts, clockwise from 12: Cotton striped buttondown, by Addison on Madison, $52; striped shirt, 
by Nino Cerruti, $28; cotton-broadcloth shirt, by Ike Behar, $76; cotton pin-dot shirt, by Hathaway, $44, with 14-kt.-gold-and-onyx cuff links, 
by ABL Jewelers, $795. Pocket squares, top to bottom: Silk foulard, $11, white cotton, $5, and silk club print, $11, all by Imperial. Leather 
tasseled loafer, by Timberland, about $90, holds a paisley-patterned sock, by Interwoven, $7.50; a Burgundy sock, $6.25, and a black/gray 
sock, also $6.25, both from Christian Dior by Camp Hosiery. Belts, top to bottom: Black alligator, about $135, and embossed calfskin, about 
$28, both by Henry Grethe}; plus gray crocodile, by Gubelin, $150. Other accessories: Lizard card case, by Polo/ Ralph Lauren Leathergoods, 
$145; 14-kt-gold-crest ring, by Krementz, about $950; gold-plated watch, by Mark Cross, $600; and amber glasses, by Tura Eyewear, $70. 


DENES PETOE 


210 


SCRUPLE PUPIL 


Your lover has appeared in a nude centerfold. Do 
you leave him/her? It's all A Question of Scru- 
ples, the new adult challenge game that poses 247 
moral predicaments about which players must 
answer “Yes, 7 or “Depends” and then be 
challenged by fellow hypocrites. Scruples is 
available at J. C. Penney and game stores for $18. 
By the way, if you answered “Yes” to the ques- 
tion above, maybe you ought to cancel PLAYBOY 
and subscribe to Reader's Digest 


OH, DIANA! 

If you're a victim of terminal weirdness, Diana’s 
Cards are the perfect way to reach out and touch 
someone with your affliction. These postcards are 
strange; and if you want to see what we've seen, 
you're going to have to lay out $20 for about 70 
cards. (Diana's Cards is a tad free-spirited when 
it comes to exact counts.) The address; 23 

North Fair Street, Warwick, Rhode Island 02888. 
Don't say we didn't warn you 


POTPOURRI 


SEXUAL STAMPING 
GROUND 


Quacky Stamps have balls 
also penises, pussies and 
other X-rated appendages 
and orifices reproduced in 
rubber. The stamp pictured 
here, appropriately named 
Sunset Strip, is one of the 
tamer offerings—and. at only 
$10.50 sent to Quacky 
Stamps, P.O. Box 90775, Los 
Angeles 90009, is a frivolous 
way to begin a collection 
Other ladies in the S2 catalog 
include A Touch of Trash, 
Afternoon Delight, Tight 
End and Reclining Babe; 
when teamed with such 
erotic exclamations as “ 
So BEEig!" “ 
“Ooooh! I Think He 
Did!" “Censored” and 
„they make 
sting combina- 
tions. Quacky will even 
reproduce your own 
dirty little design at 
prices ranging from 
$6.50 to $11, depend- 
ing on size. Back to the draw- 
ing board, Casanova 


EEK! THE GEEK! 
Yes, all you procrastinating ghouls out there, you can still get your 
hairy claws on a truly bizarre mask for Halloween; but to do so, 
you'll have to call (219-362-4321) or write to (613% Michigan, 
La Porte, Indiana 46350) a company called Death Studio in one 
blazing hell of a hurry, as netherworlders are rapidly surfacing to 
snatch them up. The Geek (that's the one with the features all 
scrambled) originally appeared in the Jacksons’ Torture video, $60, 
postpaid. Others include a Gargoyle (from the TV movie Gi 
goyles), $57; the Jinn (purple, ponytailed fellow), $55; Bite (no 
nose or mouth—ycech), $43; and the punk rocker, Dr. Skank, $30. 
C.O.D. orders will up the cost a bit. Better order quick, creeps 


LAYING TILE 


Some artists who paint on ceramic tile 
give great flowers or fish. Meredith Gor- 
don gives great nudes—and if they 

don’t get vour heart started in the 
morning, nothing will. Prices are about 
$10 per tile, but her company, Tile Art, 
941 26th Street, Santa Monica, California 
90403, will fill you in on all the slippery 
details. Yet another reason to linger, soak- 
ing slowly, in your shower or tub. 


CALL TO ARMS 
You've got your BMW and your personal- 
ized license plate. Now where do you 
take your upwardly mobile ambitions? 
How about putting your family crest 
where your money is—namely, on a 3%” 
polished-steel badge that you affix to the 
grille of your status whcels. Beverly Hills 
Motoring Accessories (where else?) at 200 
South Robertson, Beverly Hills 90211, is 
where to buy it. A badge is $63, postpaid 


THE WILL TO SURVIVE 


“Outward Bound on a com- 
puter” is how a chillingly reali 
tic new game, Wilderness: A 
Survival Adventure, has been 
described. It pits anyone who 
owns an Apple II with 48K of 
main memory against the ele- 
ments in a life-and-death strug- 
gle to walk away from a plane 
crash in the rugged Sierra 
Nevada mountain range. Elec- 
tronic Arts is the distributor, 
and it freely credits the input of 
the U. r Force Survival 
School manual. Or you can play 
the Lost City scenario and 
search for a priceless statue of 
gold. All this outdoor fun is only 
552.95, postpaid, from Elec- 
tronic Arts, 2755 Campus Drive, 
San Mateo, Califor 


PLAYING BALL 
OLYMPIC STYLE 


Now that the shadows are 
Jong on the 1985 baseball 
season, we thought we'd give 
all you diamond addicts a 
little something to carry you 
through until next spring. 
It's the official 1984 summer 
Olympics baseball poster, 
which was originally created 
as a giveaway to select celeb- 
rities and is now available to 
bleacher bums as well as 
box-seaters for only $10 sent 
to Why Not Posters, Ltd., 
P.O. Box 1316, New York 
10028. About 86 legendary 
items of baseball lore are 
shown. A smash bit! 


LET THERE BE 
LIGHTHOUSES 


The United States Lighthouse 
Socicty, a nonprofit historical 
and educational organization 
dedicated “to the preservation 
of one of the most important 
symbols of our maritime herit- 
age,” has turned on closet 

beam buffs from Sausalito's 
Point Bonita lighthouse to the 
one on Lake Cobbosseecontee, 
Maine. Membership in the soci- 
ety is $15 a year and includes a 
quarterly magazine, the Keeper's 
Log, plus membership card and 
certificate. Wayne Wheeler, the 
keeper of the flame, is the per- 
son you write to at 130 St, Elmo 
Way, San Francisco 94127 

More good news, old salt: Your 
membership is tax-deductible. 


Ask Not for 
Whom LaBelle Tolls 
PATTI LABELLE is a piece of work. If cats have nine lives, Patti's 


Heidi Has No 
Reservations 


Actress HEIDI BO- 
HAY is in her third 
season behind Hotel's 
reservations desk, and 
she got there the hard 
way, by appearing in 
more than 30 com- 
mercials and lots of 
guest shots on other 
TV shows. She de- 
serves a few relaxing 
bubbles. 


got ten. Just to refresh your memory, her first incarnation was in Patti 
LaBelle and the Bluebells. Remember / Sold My Heart to the Junkman? 
Then she formed LaBelle, with Sarah Dash and Nona Hendryx. Lately, 


you've watched her tear up the TV on Motown's Apollo show and at Live Aid. 
212 She can make you feel good all over. P.S. Let's hear it for her hairdresser. 


(©1005 DIANA LYN 


Just for the Halibut 


How hip are you? This is ANGELO 
CHRISTOPHER MOORE, one sixth of 
FISHBONE, a hot LA. band. He sings, 
plays sax and has been described as 
Buckwheat on acid. The music hits all 
the spots from ska to reggae to New 
Wave and even to jazz. Fishbone says 
its ultimate goal is not to be stereo- 
typed. No chance! 


PAUL NATKIN / PHOTO RESERVE INC: 


BRADFORD BRANSON: VISAGES WOODFIN CAMP 


m 


Two Scoops 
of Das Hagen 


We. hear that NINA 
HAGEN is getting a 
grip on herself. We 
are such great report- 
ers that we wanted 
you to be the first to 
see what she came up. 
with—in color, noless. 
Nina has had a very 
busy fall, taking this 
act to South America 
and Europé. Paris is 
still reeling. 


He’s Got the Whole World Near His Hand 


NICK ASHFORD and VALERIE SIMPSON have been writing and per- 
forming together for 20 years. They've enjoyed each other so much that 
ten years ago, they got married. We hear they're writing a Broadway 
musical after a full summer concert tour, including the obligatory stop at 
Live Aid. Since the rock life isn’t known for its longevity, when we caught 
them in a fast squeeze, we wanted to say, “Bra 


PAULNATKIN / PHOTO RESERVE INC. 


MERVELLEC / GAMMA LIAISON 


Thighs and Whispers 


You can see what's under BRIGITTE LAHAIE's garters if you 
catch her movie, Joy and Joan, which has been described as a 
mixture of Emmanuelle and The Story of O. Are you ready for 
the plot? The story opens in Bangkok, where Brigitte's charac- 
ter, Joy, is fleeing an Asian prince. She meets Joan and they fall 
in love. They are joined by Joy’s boyfriend and life gets more 
complex. You get the drift. 


EXT: THE GALA CHRISTMAS AND 


m 32ND ANNIVERSARY ISSUES 


'80 PROOF BLENDED CANADIAN WHISKY IMPORTED IN BOTTLE BY HIRAM WALKER IMPORTERS INC, DETROIT, MI 


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To send Canadian Club anywhere in the U.S., call 1-800-238-4373. Void where prohibited. 1 


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