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PLAYBILL

iF YOURE home alone watching the Olympics on TV, not to
worry. We have the best of Atlanta right here—namely, The
Women of Atlanta, a hot and humid pictorial full of Southern
comfort and sweet Georgia peaches. For those who excel at
physical activities that are not exactly sports, we deliver Hard
Bodies. Never mind gold medals, these iron maidens deserve
their own special awards. Shaquille O'Neal has a softer touch
than he did when he began smashing backboards, but his im-
pact on the NBA is greater than ever. He just finished his best
pro season and led the Orlando Magic on a title run. Now, as
part of Dream Team 111, he's looking for a gold medal to
match his platinum rap records. Kevin Cook climbed onto a
step stool and conducted a lively Interview with the premiere
center, who describes the midnight escapades of groupies, the
thrill of leaping from tall buildings and a rumored $140 mil-
lion deal—not in Florida.

John du Pont, the balmy benefactor of U.S. Olympic wres-
tlers, is a dark footnote to the Games. When the U.S. team
the mat, there will be one champion missing: gold medalist
Dave Schultz. Du Pontis charged with his murder, Mark Bowden,
staff writer at The Philadelphia Inquirer, exposes the bizarre sto-
ry in Deathlock. “The wrestlers humored him,” says Bowden,
“and they bear some responsibility for his actions.” Then we
pass the torch to Charles Plueddeman. He put together the most
exciting gear available for your own backyard Olympi
cluding boxing gloves, a bow and arrow and even a javelin
Another star thrilling Atlanta is Greg Maddux, the Braves
hurler with a perfect pitch—or three. He is not a power pitch-
ег, as sportswriter Tom Boswell of The Washington Post reveals in
Controlling Force. Rather, it's Maddux’ accuracy and ability to
alter speeds that baffle hitters. Boswell's profile brings Mad-
dux’ management of physics and psyches into sharp focus. In
this month's fiction, Physical by Joyce Carol Oates, the harmony
between mind and body is out of kilter. Oates’ hero, Temple
(as in “his body is a"). has a bad back. As his body and ego
weaken, he reaches for his pretty female therapist. Brad Hol-
land did the scoliotic artwork

Anxiety and uncertainty are at the heart of modern tall
tales. Social historian Neal Gabler followed these stories to
their source in The Lure of Urban Myths and found а wellspring
of sexual ambivalence: fear of AIDS, of bestiality and—as with
the guy who provided carnal pictures of his new wife and best
man to his wedding guests—of infidelity. A... Garces did the
panel of illustrations. You can forget the stories you've heard
about sex in Los Angeles, however. Our 20 Questions with Hei-
di Fleiss, conducted by contributing chatmaster David Rensin, is
all about putting the oak in Hollywood. She describes a
$40,000 night and her criminally heavy sentence, then cuts
Charlie Sheen down to size and gives Billy Idol his standard
reaming. If that’s not real enough for you, consider “Tm Ready
for My Come Shot Now, Dear,” a humorous look at amateur porn
videos by the courageous Contributing Editor D. Keith Mano.
(Mark Ulriksen illustrated the piece.) Mano explains what's
down and what's dirty—and what's poorly lit. Actually, the
amateur market is the fastest-growing category of erotic
video; knowing how your neighbors churn butter is a real
kick. If you like variety—long, tall and golden or maybe even
a heavy, stout treat—you can slake your thirst with Small Beers
Step Ош by the preeminent authority on malts and lagers,
Michael Jackson. He reviews a selection of microbrews—flowery
and malty, dark and red. Read it after you peruse the layout
of Playmate Jessica Lee, a sunflower from Florida. The beer
will cool down your overheated synapses.

BOWDEN.

HOLLAND

GABLER

MANO ULRIKSEN

JACKSON

Playb

у (ISSN 0032-1478), August 1996, volume 43, number 8. Published monthly by Playboy in national and regional editions, Playboy,

680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Second-class postage paid at Chicago, Illinois and at additional mailing offices
Canada Post Canadian Publications Mail Sales Product Agreement No. 56162. Subscriptions; in the U.S., $29.97 for 12 issues. Postmas-
ter: Send address change to Playboy, PO. Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 31537-4007. E-mail: edit@playboy.comy

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PLAYBOY

Atlanta's Best

Urban Myths

Sunny Jessica

Upscale Brews

vol. 43, no. 8—august 1996 CONTENTS FOR THE MEN’S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE
PLAYBILL 3
DEAR PLAYEOY. 9
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS. 13
WIRED Б 2 18
MOVIES .... Оооо -...BRUCE WILLIAMSON 20
VIDEO ... Bade Tent Е 23
MUSIC A 24
STYLE s E AGES 28
BOOKS....... олсе зз 3 З DIGBY DIEHL 30
MEN садде ee MIOS
THE PLAYBOY ADVISORS. 2.2 ЫА р IR E 35
THE PLAYROY FORUM 37
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: SHAQUILLE O'NEAL—candid conversation ....... 47
DEATHLOCK—orticle . MARK BOWDEN 56
HARD BODIES—pictorial ...... TA! OESE 60
THE LURE OF URBAN MYTHS—article . Severe da NEALGABLER 70
OLYMPIC PRIDE—fashion.......... ESS EE HoswWAYNEREA
“ҮМ READY FOR MY COME SHOT NOW, DEAR”—article D. KEITH MANO во
PLAYBOY GALLERY: JANET JONES m E 083
CONTROLLING FORCE— playboy profile....................... TOM BOSWELL 84
JESSICA, SUNNY-SIDE UP—playboy's playmate of the month . 86
PARTY JOKES—humor 98
PHYSICAL—fiction...... 100
THE REAL STUFF—olympic gear ..................... CHARLES PLUEDDEMAN 102
PLAYMATE REVISITED: KATHY SHOWER . . Seco eet h 109
SMALL BEERS STEP OUT—drink .... eee e MICHAEL JACKSON 112
20 QUESTIONS: HEIDI FLEISS .................... 114
THE WOMEN OF ATLANTA—pictorial 118
WHERE & HOW TO BUY... sss 141
PLAYBOY ON THE 5СЕМЕ........................ 157
COVER STORY

With our Hard Bodies pictorial we've just made this summer hotter. Personify-
ing this month's theme of sports and sex is buff beauty Leeann Tweeden on
ESPN's Fitness Beach (if you need o quick fix on the small screen). Her ultimate
goal is the movies. Our cover was shot by Contributing Photographer Amy
Freytag ond styled by Traci Marmon. Thonks to Alan Bosshordt for styling
Leeann’s hair and makeup. Our exercised Robbit appreciotes this body of ort

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PLAYBOY

D IN AMERICA

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PLAYBOY

HUGH M. HEFNER
editor-in-chief

ARTHUR KRETCHMER editorial director
JONATHAN BLACK manoging editor
TOM STAEBLER art director
GARY COLE photography director
KEVIN BUCKLEY executive editor
JOHN REZEK assistant managing editor

EDITORIAL

ARTICLES: STEPHEN RANDALL edilor; FICTION:
ALICE к. TURNER editor; FORUM: JAMES R. PE-
TERSEN senior staff writer; CHIP ROWE assistant
editor; MODERN LIVING: DAVID STEVENS edi-
tor; BETH TOMKIW associate editor; STAFF: BRUCE
KLUGER senior editor; CHRISTOPHER NAPOLITANO,
BARBARA NELLIS associate editors; FASHION:
HOLLIS WAYNE director; JENNIFER RYAN JONES
assistant editor: CARTOONS: MICHELLE URRY
editor; COPY: LEOPOLD FROEHLICH editor; ARLAN
BUSHMAN assistant edilor; ANNE SHERMAN Сору
associate; CAROLYN BROWNE, REMA SMITH senior
researchers; LEE BRAUER, SARI WILSON researchers;
CONTRIBUTING EDITORS: ASA BABER. KEVIN
(COOK, GRETCHEN EDGREN, LAWRENCE GROBEL, KEN
GROSS automotive), CYNTHIA HEIMEL. WARREN
KALBACKER, D. KEITH MANO, JOE MORGENSTERN.
REG POTTERTON, DAVID RENSIN, DAVID SHEFF.
DAVID STANDISH. BRUCE WILLIAMSON (novies)

ART
KERIG POPE managing director; BRUCE HANSEN.
CHET SUSKI, LEN WILLIS senior directors; KRISTIN
KORJENEK associate director; ANN экил. supervi-
зот, keyline/pasteup; RAUL CHAN, MAIRE KENNEDY
art assistants

PHOTOGRAPHY
MARILYN GRABOWSKI west coast editor; JIM LAR-
SON, MICHAEL ANN SULLIVAN senior editors; PATTY
BEAUDET associate editor; STEPHANIE BARNETT.
BETH MULLINS assistant editors; DAVID CHAN,
RICHARD FEGLEY, ARNY FREYTAG, RICHARD 1ZUL,
DAVID MECEY, BYRON NEWMAN, POMPEO POSAR,
STEPHEN WAYDA contributing photographers;
SHELLEE WELLS stylist; TIM HAWKINS manager,
photo services; ELIZABETH GEORGIOU photo
archivist

RICHARD KINSLER publisher

PRODUCTION
MARIA MANDIS direclor; RITA JOHNSON manager;
KATHERINE CAMPION, JODY JURGETO, RICHARD
QUARTAROLI, TOM SIMONEK associate managers

CIRCULATION
Lanny A. руй newsstand sales director; PHYLLIS
ROTUNKO subscription circulation director; CINDY
RAKOWITZ communications director

ADVERTISING
ERNIE RENZULLI advertising director; JUDY BERK-
owrtz national projects director; кїм L PINTO
sales director, caslern region; jor torrer midwest
ad sales manager; IRV KORNBLAU marketing di-
‘rector; LISA NATALE research director

READER SERVICE
LINDA STROM, MIKE OSTROWSKI correspondents

ADMINISTRATIVE
EILEEN KENT new media director; MARCIA TER-
RONES rights & permissions administrator

PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES, INC.
CHRISTIE HEFNER chairman, chief executive officer

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DEAR PLAYBOY

680 NORTH LAKE SHORE DRIVE.
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 60611
FAX 312-649-0534

E-MAIL DEARPI

YBOY.COM.

PLEASE INCLUDE YOUR DAYTIME PHONE NUMBER

EYE OF NEWT
I can't begin to convey my disappoint-
ment in рглувоу for providing a plat-
form to Molly Ivins. Her profile of Newt
Gingrich (Newt, May) was a disrespectful
and misguided portrayal of an American
public official. I've always enjoyed your
magazine for its balanced exchange of
ideas, but this article was pure hate-
speak. Ivins is a spiteful person who has
resorted to discrediting someone who
earned his own way.
Dave Jag
Manchester, New Hampshire

I'm a longtime fan of Ivins’, and I can
think of no person better qualified to
give Newt his comeuppance.

B.E Worden

Fort Worth, Texas

‘The art accompanying Ivins’ profile of

Speaker of the House Gingrich was ob-
jectionable and entirely inappropriate.
Whatever your views about Gingrich
or his party, he deserves more respect
than that.
Chuck Stricklin
cws4@ra.msstate.edu
Starkville, Mississippi

Ivins’ hatchet job on Speaker Gingrich
was that rare combination of innuendo,
half-truth and left-wing rant. Her exis-
tence is proof positive that God created
more horses’ asses than horses.

Paul Lonsdorf
Medford Lakes, New Jersey

Molly Ivins is articulate and intelli-
gent, witty and insightful, attractive and
humorous, and one of the sexiest wom-
еп ever to grace your pages.
Donald Sieber
dsieber258@gnn.com
St. Michael, Minnesota

PLAYMATE REVISITED
Asa submarine sailor in 1968, I saw all
the latest Playmates several times a day

as I headed aft to my watch station. Cyn-
thia Myers (Playmate Revisited, May)
wasn't just my favorite, she was the fa-
of the rest of the crew as well. I
can't tell you how many dreams I had
about her as I went about my duties as a
defender of the free world.

Lawrence T. Burdeno

<burdeno@digital.net>

Tampa, Florida

I'm one of the thousands of Vietnam
veterans who drooled over Cynthia My-
ers’ centerfold so many ycars ago.
Thanks for bringing her back.

John Truesdale
olhippe49@aol.com
Slanesville, West Virginia

1 can't tell which pictures were taken
in 1968 and which are new. Cynthia My-
ers still combines sweet, girl-next-door
innocence with nuclear-meltdown sex
appeal.

R.D. English
Pine Bluff, Arkansas

A RAY OF LIGHT
What sort of man reads PLAYBOY? He's
the same man who reads Ray Bradbury.
I was delighted to enjoy the wit and wis-
dom in your May Interview of a living
legend.
Dorman Nelson
Granada Hills, California

When I was in the sixth grade, 1
bought a science-fiction paperback titled
The Martian Chronicles with my own mon-
ey. For weeks, I saw golden-eyed Mar-
tians prowling in the dark. In 1990 1
wrote to Ray Bradbury to thank him.
Now I’m writing to thank you

David Hoflee
Olney, Illinois

If, as Bradbury states, man's only pur-
pose is to procreate, what should we
make of Mahatma Gandhi? After father-
ing sons, he took a vow of celibacy and

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PLAYBOY

dedicated his life to peace and public
service. Surely, man’s potential is greater
than his testosterone.
George Péquignot
Raleigh, North Carolina

As a brown American and a big fan of
Bradbury's, I don't know what to think
now. It’s not just that he's hostile to
affirmative action. It’s wrong to assume
that any group of people thinks the same
way based on skin color. I'm smarter
than that. Why isn’t he?

Victor Sinclair
Winston-Salem, North Carolina

Bradbury is able to see the world
through the eyes of a child because he is
unafraid to make observations restricted
by conventional constraints. In an era of
plastic clones, he is а breath of fresh air.

Hank Gac
Utica, Michigan

RENEGADE BRIDE
‘Thanks for making this college stu-
dent very happy. Shauna Sand (May) is
the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.
Robert Buczek
rab95005Guconnvm.uconn.edu
Storrs, Connecticut

I love playboy and its centerfolds.
When I think about Miss May, all I can
say is that Lorenzo Lamas lives every
man's fantasy.

Mike Moyer
Wheat Ridge, Colorado

SUPERMODELS
A super tribute (Supermodels, May) to
supermodels in a super magazine.
Jim Pignataro
<jpignataro@jerseyshore.com>
Tinton Falls, New Jersey

I lull myselfto sleep with images of the
gorgeous Stephanie Seymour and Carla
Bruni. But I would have done anything
to see Gabrielle Reece in your super-
models pictorial.

John Laurier
Calgary, Alberta.

20 QUESTIONS WITH LOU DOBBS

Surely rıaysoy, which has featured
the incomparable Louis Rukeyser in two
memorable interviews, should have
known better than to suggest erroneous-
ly in 20 Questions (May) that television
business coverage could be dated from
1971 on NBC. By then, Rukeyser had al-
ready been ABC's award-winning com-
mentator for three years (including serv-
ing as host of four acclaimed network
economics specials) and, by 1970, had
launched Wall Street Week With Louis
Rukeyser on PBS. More to the point,
while we welcome the many who have
tried to follow in Rukeyser's footsteps
over the years, the unique combination

10 of wit and wisdom on Wall Street Week

continues to attract by far the largest au-
dience in the history of financial journal-
ism—more, indeed, than the total com-
bined audiences of every other money
show on TV. This pioneer is still the
undisputed champ.

Rich Dubroff

Executive Producer

Vall Street Week With Louis Rukeyser

Owings Mills, Maryland

PMS ANYONE?
Thanks to Asa Baber (“Diagnosis:
Pussy-Whipped," Men, May) for PMS en-
lightenment. Now when I hear a female
say, “Гуе got PMS,” I can look her in the
eye and say, “Don't we all.”
Matthew LeMieux
Owings Mills, Maryland

ELECTRIC CARMEN
Keep your supermodels and your
movie stars. There is a bright new star

and her name is Carmen Electra (Elec-
tra!, May). Prince knows how to pick а
queen. I'm under her spell.
Peter J. Neri
Oxnard, California

You've done it this time. The Carmen
Electra pictorial reminded me of the
Beavis and Butt-head episode in which
they checked out her video. All I've got
to say is, “It's high noon on my sundial.”

Jerry Kibbee
Manhattan, Kansas

Carmen Electra looks absolutely yum-
my in her pictorial.

Mike Laughlin

Blue Springs, Missouri

If 1 ever need shock therapy, I'll just
have the doctor prescribe a great big jolt
of Carmen Electra.

Scott A. Henderson
St, Joseph, Missouri

PLAYBOY’S HALL OF FAME
It's sad that Jerry Garcia had to die be-
fore he could receive a place in your Hall
of Fame. Listening to Jerry play was
magic.
David Kveragas
Clarks Summit, Pennsylvania

САМ FRIENDS DO IT?

It was disturbing to read Sari Locker
(May) say the only two choices for an un-
wanted pregnancy are keeping the baby
or an abortion. Shouldn't this sex educa-
tor have mentioned adoption?

Arch Davis
Morrill, Maine

"This Sari, queen of the new genera-
tion, is nothing but a man hater. All her
answers put responsibility or blame on
men. What message is PLAYBOY sending?

Jeffrey Chern

Frisco, Texas

1 applaud Locker for her responses to
questions about HIV testing. Young peo-
ple should know that when low-risk
groups are tested, they can receive a
high number of false positives. Individu-
als with positive HIV tests and minimal
HIV-exposure histories should also get a
Western Blot to rule out the possibility
that the positive was true. Continue to
provide sex education. It's important.

Richard Story

Santa Barbara, California

MEDIA
Stephen Randall's May Media column
was fantastic. I read Youll Never Make
Love in This Town Again and wondered
who could shed a tear for those women.
To write this book and disguise it as a
warning or as a manifesto for abused
women is an insult to women.
Ralph Greco
Clifton, New Jersey

COLLEGE RADIO
The Rise of Radio U. (May) made it
clear that alternative music heard on
mainstream stations is the reason for
competition between college and com-
mercial radio. If you tune in a commer-
cial station and hear the same song four
times every couple ofhours, you get sick
of it, no matter how alternative the art-
ist is.
Roland Hilgarth
Lexington, Kentucky

GRAPEVINE
"Thanks for your photo of Patcharce in
the May Grapevine section, I had the
good fortune to travel to Thailand twice
and hadn't seen such beauty in quite
some time. You brought back some won-
derful memories.
Mike Gieseler
Waukegan, Illinois

МАКЕ LEMONADE |
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NEVER MADE.
Бао. Sopin"
JACK DANIEĽS

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PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS

SUNSET AND DIVINE

Divine Brown is off the street and on
the road promoting her singing career,
but she found time to make her stage de-
bur at the Mitchell Brothers’ O'Farrell
Theater in San Francisco. Greeting her
fans was the marquee's off-meter mes-
sage HUGH COT IT IN THE CAR, AND NOW
SHESASTAR—Aand things went down from
there. The show takes us back to a
steamy night last summer on Sunset
Boulevard, and the sex play climax-
es with Divine going down on a wom-
an portraying Hugh Grant. She takes
“Grants” strap-on— which is wrapped in
a Union Jack rubber—and proceeds to,
well, work it. There's more (think all-girl
orgy), but trust us, Divine Brown's 1401
minute of fame starts now.

JET STREAM

Southwest Airlines chairman Herb
Kelleher is a competitive businessman.
But we were unaware of how competi-
tive until we noticed this quote in Fre-
quent Flyer: “All my life 1 have set contests
for myself. Even little ones. If I went to
the bathroom, I would simultaneously
start peeing and flush the toilet to see if
1 could combine both actions so they
would finish at the same time.”

SUPER-DUPER POOPERS

Gilbert and George are British artists
who recently hung a show that featured
16 oversize photos of themselves in busi-
ness suits alongside various arrange-
ments of human waste. The exhibit,
called Naked Shit Pictures, depicted
piles of poop, rows of poop and various
poop sculptures, One critic was moved
to pronounce the show “deeply human-
istic.” Another wrote, “I feel compelled
to remain in the presence of a dis-
turbingly weighty vision of the world.”

SCRUB REPORTERS

A posting on the Internet offered the
results of a test given by journalism pro-
fessor Larry Martel at Arizona State Uni-
versity. Martel asked his undergraduate
students to identify “names every aspir-

ing journalist should be able 10 recog-
nize.” The worst answers: Alzheimer's—
imported beer; Apartheid—building in
Athens; Louis Armstrong—first man on
the moon; Fidel Castro—Palestinian
leader (wife buys a lot of shoes); ICBM:
Inter Continental Business Machines;
Vladimir Lenin—concert pianist; Sandra
Day O'Connor—actress on L.A. Law;
OSHA—Killer whale at Sea World.

DOWN THE KOHL CHUTE

One of the dishes in German Chancel-
lor Helmut Kohl's new cookbook, Cudi-
nary Travels Through Germany, is called
Palatine Sow's Stomach. The ingredients
include a pound of pork, three pounds
of ground meat, the aforementioned
sow’s stomach and clarified butter. No
wonder they invaded France.

MAYBE IT WASN'T BABE'S YEAR

Oink-Oink Inc., a Detroit company
with a name that makes us wonder how
its employees answer the phone, buys
pig penises from packing houses and
markets them as pet treats. Oink-Oink is
irked at the Department of Agriculture,

ILLUSTRATION EY GARY KELLEY

which recently insisted that the porcine
peckers be dyed green to identify them
as being unfit for human consumption.
U.S. Representative Joe Knollenberg
(R.-Mich.) wrote in protest to the USDA
on the company’s behalf: “Oink-Oink is
unable to use them because of this dis-
coloration.” Frankly, it's hard to believe
that a dog with a taste for pig dick would
be troubled by appearances.

DOING THE DOG
Maybe it’s only symbolic, but it’s still
a positive sign: According to the data-
laden American Averages, American wom.
en eat more hot dogs than American
men do. Why eat when we can watch?

MISLEADING CRACK

When Terry Casey, chairman of the
board of elections in Franklin County,
Ohio, called Federal Elections Commis-
sion staffer Gary Greenhalgh a “lying
asshole,” Greenhalgh sued for slander.
However, the U.S. Circuit Court of Ap-
peals agreed with a lower court's deci-
sion to dismiss the case, noting the com-
ment was rhetorical. The court reasoned
that Casey did not mean that Green-
halgh's “anus was making an untruthful
statement.” Whew! All that without
Johnnie Cochran—who should know.

DARWIN KNOWS BEST

Sounds like us in our youth. Danish
scientists writing in Nature magazine re-
ported the discovery of a minuscule or-
ganism that lives on the lips of Norwe-
gian lobsters. The previously unknown
Symbion pandora can reproduce either
sexually or asexually—its digestive sys-
tem “collapses and is reconstituted into а
1агуа”—ап its brain completely disap-
pears during adolescence but comes
back at the onset of adulthood.

MORTAL BELOVED

When Susan McLary, author of Femi-
nine Endings: Music, Gender and Sexuali-
ty and recipient of a MacArthur Foun-
dation “genius” grant, listens to the
first movement of Beethoven's Ninth

RAW DATA

SIGNIFICA, INSIGNIFICA, STATS AND FACTS |

QUOTE

“It's so flat, it’s the
only town where you
can watch your dog
run away for three
days.”—ToRonTo
MAPLE LEAFS COACH
PAT BURNS ON THE
CHARM OF WINNIPEG

BARBOPOLY
According to Play-
things magazine, the
number of the ten
best-selling toys of
1995 not related to
Barbie dolls: 5.

IT'S A GUY THING

The number of
теп executed in the
U.S. since 1976: 313;
number of women:
1. Ihe number ot
women on death
row: 47; number of
men: 3357. The per-
centage of women
sentenced to death who have had
their sentences reversed or commut-
ed to life: 98.

billion).

FEELING MUTUAL
Percentage of 401(k) retirement
plan assets currently invested in mu-
tual funds: 37; percentage in 1993:
26. Percentage of the $225 billion
401(k) funds that is invested in Fideli-
ty or Vanguard funds: 50.

THE SKINNY ON FAT
According to a Harris poll, per-
centage of Americans aged 25 and
older who were overweight ten years
ago: 59; percentage of overweight
adults today: 74; percentage of adults
considered obese: 24.

CRACK HYPE
According to federal laws on illegal
drugs, minimum number of grams of
crack cocaine in possession of a user
required for a mandatory sentence of
five years and no parole: 5 (worth
about $400). Minimum number of
grams of powder cocaine punishable
by the same sentence: 500 (worth

about $10,000 wholesale).

FACT OF THE MONTH

According to a new report
published by the National
Restaurant Association, 1994
was the first year that sales at
fast-food restaurants ($87 bil-
lion) were higher than sales at
full-service restaurants ($83.5

BOOMER BUCKS
Number of baby
boomers (Americans
born between 1946
and 1964); 76 mil-
lion. Percentage of
boomers who owe
more than they own:
40. Percentage whose
personal net worth is
more than $1 mil-
lion: 2; more than
$100,000: 19.

READING, WRITING
AND ROBBING
According toa three-
year survey by the
Josephson Institute
of Ethics, percentage
of high school stu-
dents who said they
stole something from
a store in the past
year: 37. Percentage
of college students
who admitted steal-
ing: 17. Percentage
of the 11,000 high schoolers, college
students and adults surveyed who
said they gave al least one dishonest

answer in the survey: 34.

BLONDE AMBITION

Percentage of American women
born blonde: 16. Percentage of wom-
en who have blonde hair today: 33.
Percentage of TV newscasters who
are blonde: 64. Percentage of Miss
Americas who are blonde: 65. Per-
centage of pLavBoy Playmates who are
blonde: 73.

GREASING THE WHEELS
Number of pages of scientific data
on the fat substitute olestra submitted
by Procter & Gamble to the Food and
Drug Administration: 150,000. Cost
of the study: $200 million.

CARFARE STATE

The number of weeks of median
family income that were required to
purchase a new car in 1971: 19; in
1995: 97. Percentage increase of me-
dian family income since 1971: 277.
Percentage increase in average car
cost; 445. — PAUL ENGLEMAN

Symphony, she hears a concentration of
energy “that finally explodes into the
throttling, murderous rage of a rapist in-
capable of attaining release.” Her attacks
on the classical music legacy are es-
poused by a new wave of postmodern
musicology. Edward Rothstein, a music
critic who writes for The New York Times,
has kept an eye on such interpretations.
Among them are the outlandish charges
that lovers of traditional music wallow in
“homoeroticism,” “phallocentric arche-
types” and “projections of complex rela-
tionships of domination and desire.” Yes,
yes, yes—but what about that guy who
always coughs during the piano solo?

ANOTHER MANUAL TRANSMISSION

Market analysts have discovered that
lesbians are resoundingly drawn to pur-
chase Subarus. Accordingly, new Subaru
ads in gay magazines feature two woodsy
women and the tag line: “It loves camp-
ing, dogs and long-term commitment
Too bad it's only a car.” Too bad it can’t
make cappuccino.

COPIED TO A TEE

Golfers with an appreciation of the
surreal will enjoy Tour 18, two courses in
Texas that are made up entirely of repli-
cas of famous holes. The: an ersatz
eleventh at Augusta National, a faux
fifteenth at Crooked Stick and a pseudo
sixth at Riviera, Several of the copied
cats have sued, citing such issues as
trademark infringement. Tour 18 points
out that you can’t copyright land—espe-
cially, we might add, in Texas, birthplace
of the silicone breast implant.

READING LAS VEGAS

At the 26th annual conference of the
Popular Culture Association in Las Уе-
gas, the paper that really made a splash
was titled A Review of Californication and
Cultural Imperialism: “Baywatch” and the
Creation of World Culture. Dude!

YE OF LITTLE FAITH

The Door, a magazine that has cast a
gimlet eye on religious activity for 25
years, has announced “the Ten Worst
Losers of the Year.” Heading the list is
Robert Citron, for bankrupting Orange
County by consulting a psychic and a
mail-order astrologer on financial deci
sions. There’s also Dolly Parton, for
telling McCall's: "1 believe in my cosme
ics line. There are plenty of charities for
the homeless. Isn't it time somebody
helped the homely?" Ihe ex-general
manager of the Expos, Kevin Malone,
made the roster by telling Christianweek
that baseball is "controlled by Satan.
And screenwriter [oe Eszterhas defend-
ed his movie Shougirls as a moral, femi-
nist film. "Forgive me," he said, "but I
think it's almost a deeply religious mes-
sage on a very personal level."

7
иы.

|J
d

WHAT COULD THESE GUYS
POSSIBLY HAVE SHOWN TO CONVINCE
MILLER TO GIVE THEM A BREWERY?

WOULD YOU BELIEVE THEIR BEER CUTS?

Not long ago, a small group of
employees at the Miller Brewing
Company showed the head
brewmaster something that
impressed the heck out of him.

Their beer guts.

No, not the jig-
gily kind. But rather,
an intriguingly different ч
vision for brewing beer.

The brewmaster admired
their courage. But even more

so their ideas.

And so, he decided to show
them the door — to their very own
| brewery that is.

] | The Plank Road Brewery.

Plank Rand Brewery Biers Enjoy them responsibly.
"©1916 Pink Rand Brewery. Milwaukee WI.

A little brewery on the edge (kinda
like the guys) of the Miller property.
For their first beer, ICEHOUSE,
the guys hit upon the notion
of brewing their beer at below
freezing temperatures to
eliminate any watered-
down taste.
© Next, came Red Dog. A bold,
yet uncommonly smooth creation
which recently carned them the
Gold Medal at the 1995 Great

American Beer Festival” in Denver.

AGAINST THE 6

And now, two new beers:
Southpaw, a premium light
beer double hopped for a Ta |
one of a kind taste. di:
And Northstone, / /

an amber

/ \ df
ale with a flavor /and smooth- |

ness derived / from 100%
Pacific North /west hops.

Looking [| back, you may

wonder why fa brewing giant
like Miller. [even cared about
four rebels ¡with a different
vision of | beer.

Suffice jit to say, as brewers
themselves, | Miller holds
guys with beer guts in

thehighest [esteem.
f

"Rel Doy Bet Amencan Lge

Come to where the flavor is. gf) Come to Marlboro Country.

16 mg "tar; 1.1 mg nicotine av. percigarette by FTC method.

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Smoking
By Pregnant Women May Result in Fetal
Injury, Premature Birth, And Low Birth Weight.

WIRED

SUPERSONIC SURFING

Waiting for a graphies-heavy home page
to weave its layers onto your PC monitor
is a snooze—even with the fastest mo-
dem. But high-speed access to the Net is
happening in several ways. Local phone
companies are beginning to make Inte-
grated Services Digital Network connec-
tions more readily available. Running
four times faster uds a 28.8 modem, ап
ISDN line requires a $400 to $850 in-
vestment in gear and installation, and
fees are about $20 per month. DirecPC
uses a 24-inch satellite delivery system to
get you online faster (400 kilobits per
second), but you still have to send e-mail
and other info back over
standard telephone
lines. Equipment for
this pipeline costs
about $700, with
monthlies starting at
$15. Similar speeds
are expected with
the DSS online
delivery system
that is due later
this year from Di-
recTV and Mi-
crosoft. And if
you arc pa-
tient, the
fastest access
yet will be
provided by cable
modems, which
promise two-way sig-
naling speeds as
swift as 30 million
bits per second. (That means you will
be able to download those sexy GIFs
of Pamela Anderson in seconds versus
hours.) Hardware companies such as
Hewlett-Packard, Motorola, Intel and
Toshiba are already gearing up produc-
tion of the modem equipment. But first,
cable operators will have to make billion-
dollar upgrades to their systems. The in-
centive? Rebuilt fiber-optic cable lines
will have the muscle to move more than
200 digital video channels along with the
existing 80 channels of analog TV.

TELENETTING

Computers still intimidate some people,
so manufacturers are disguising them as
home entertainment systems—complete
with big-screen TVs. The Destination
(recently introduced by Gateway 2000)
combines a 31-inch Mitsubishi VGA
monitor-television and a multimedia
Pentium computer that resembles a
rack-style VCR. With this $4000 setup,
an entire basketball team could play a
video game, surf sports sights on the Net
or catch Scottie Pippen on ER, all from

WHERE & HOW TO BUYON PAGE 141

across the room. Mitsubishi plans to of-
fer PC Light, a TV with PC functions,
next усаг. Zenith is introducing а system
called Netvision, featuring a built-
in 28.8 modem as well as a ca-
ble modem port (about $1200).
‘Thomson is readying a PCTV hy-
brid called Genius Theatre, which
is built around a 36-inch monitor,
igital Video Disc changer and a
menu system that integrates Star-
sight Telecast and Netscape. This
smart set may even reduce vegeta-
tive viewing, as its guides will
prompt you to investigate Web
sites, chat rooms and TV shows re-
lated to the one you're watching.

ANSWER THE TV!

Casio Phonemate has put an in-
triguing spin on the videophone.
Its LT-70P lets you receive calls—
and see callers—on your TV. The unit is
about the size of a cable converter box
and has a camera at the center and a
camcorder jack that allows transmission
of two feeds simultaneously. Although it
doesn't offer true video (the first-genera-
tion machine sends fresh still images
every 3% seconds), the LT-70P reduces
the jerky movement of current video-
phonc technology. What's morc, the sys

tem is flexible. You can split the trans-
mission into quadrants, each displaying
a different image; connect the hardware

to your PC (think tax deduction) or use
itas a surveillance device. To keep an eye
on your business, place an LT-70P in a
concealed spot, dial into its phone line
from your laptop and (through another
unit) you can see what's happening.
You'll need two units, priced about
$1900 each, to play cop. But as with
videophones, TV conversations require
that cach party has his or her own gear.

eee WILD THINGS — —

Don't confuse Pilot with one of those annoying personal digital assistants. Yes, the
pocket-size electronic organizer (pictured here) from U.S. Robotics cambines standard
PDA features, including a touch-screen display for viewing your daily schedule, a cal-
culator and more. But it also comes with a docking cradle that connects to your PC or
Mac for simple data synchronization at the push of
a button. Priced around $300, Pilot stays juiced
for several months on two AAA batteries and fea-
tures a memory module and add-on ports for
future modem and pager connections. ®
There will be plenty of beep-beep-beeping in
Atlanta this month, as Motorola is providing
1200 members of Team USA with pagers so
they con keep in touch with family and
friends. Not surprisingly, Motorola is selling
a limited-edition version af this alphanu-
meric pager, called the Olympager, for
$339. It comes in patriotic blue and has
a 30,000-character memory. • Looking
for a fun place to stash your 3.5-inch
floppy disks? Stuart Karten Design of
Marina Del Rey, California won an In-
novation '96 award from the Con-
sumer Electronics Industry Associo-
tion for its wacky Diskits Desktop
Diskeepers. Made of colorful die-
cut foam, Diskits come in several
amusing forms, including an alli-
gator, a shark, a mailbox and,
our favorite, a hunk of Swiss
cheese. The price: about $14
each—no discount for the holes

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MOVIES

By BRUCE WILLIAMSON

ON FILM, the title character in Moll Flan-
ders (MGM) is played with spunk and
spirit by Robin Wright, the gorgeous em-
bodiment of Daniel Defoe's 18th centu-
гу heroine. In fact, writer-director Pen
Densham doesn't limit himself to Defoe's
novel. He borrows freely from Fielding
and Voltaire to limn this lively vintage
portrait of a woman born in poverty but
destined for a life of vice and infinite va-
riety. Moll is an orphaned runaway who
becomes a well-to-do benefactor's ward,
а chambermaid, a prostitute and a de-
voted wife and mother before her check-
ered past pays off. While the story plays
likea period soap opera, the atmosphere
is lush and the actors know their stuff.
Among them: Stockard Channing as
Mrs. Allworthy, а conniving brothel-
keeper; Morgan Freeman as the jaded
madam's aide, who finds Moll’s long-lost
child and recounts her picaresque ad-
ventures in flashbacks; and John Lynch,
memorable as Moll’s true love, the starv-
ing artist who turns out to be a wealthy,
renegade aristocrat. Such rags-to-riches
costumed epics have become a cinematic
staple, from Forever Amber to Tom Jones,
and director Densham's colorful, enter-
taining Moll Flanders belongs in that
lusty club. УУУ
°

To create absorbing, intelligent, adult
drama from the simple plight of a virgin
оп the verge is no mean feat. That’s pre-
cisely the achievement of director Ber-
nardo Bertolucci in Stealing Beauty (Fox
Searchlight). Liv Tyler, in her star-mak-
ing role, is Lucy, a 19-year-old American
spending an idyllic summer with friends
at a hilltop Tuscan villa. Most of the
friends are mature sophisticates who
knew her late mother, a flamboyant po-
et, and seem concerned about Lucy's
confessed virginity. Aside from that mi-
nor embarrassment—confided to an ail-
ing playwright (Jeremy Irons) who has
come to Tuscany to die—Lucy also sus-
pects that one of the males around her
may be her biological father. Meanwhile,
she eyes the younger men on the scene,
in particular her hostess’ handsome son,
who gave her her first kiss when she vis-
ited the villa four years earlier. Tyler
is natural and luminous and eloquent-
ly expresses youthful angst as well as
optimism. Novelist Susan Minot's first
screenplay burgeons with opportunities
for a highly literate cast: Sinéad Cusack
as the resident hostess, Donal McCann
as her sculptor husband, Rachel Weisz as
their willful daughter and D.W. Moffett
as the daughter's crass New York lov-
er. Stefania Sandrelli, Joseph Fiennes

20 (Ralph's brother) and veteran French

Channing and Wright: Vintage vice.

A prostitute’s progress,
a virgin's rite of passage and
a pop star's untimely end.

star Jean Marais flesh out the guest list.
A behavioral study that builds with the
easy rhythm of a sunlit Italian summer,
Stealing Beauty is ultimately about cyni-
cism, innocence, aging, growing up and
ideal love. No thoughtful romantic will
want to miss it. ¥¥¥¥

It is not giving away too much to di-
vulge that Homage (Arrow Releasing)
concerns the murder of a sitcom star by
a deranged admirer. That's where the
movie begins, and the story's dark un-
dercurrents unfold in flashbacks. Sheryl
Lee (Laura Palmer on TV's fivin Peaks)
has her best role ever as a screwed-up
television star, Lucy Samuel, unsure of
her self-worth when she goes home to
visit her widowed mother at the family
ranch in rural New Mexico. Opening
old emotional wounds appears to be the
sole purpose of the subsequent mother-
daughter encounter. As the wry mom, a
former teacher who seems to scoff at her
daughter's popularity, Blythe Danner
finds her resident handyman (Frank
Whaley) equally troublesome—he's ап
eccentric math genius with no desire to
excel in academe. Whaley is superb as
the psychotic Archie, whose delusions
lead him to believe that he is destined to
possess Lucy. Before and after Archie
kills Lucy, the local prosecutor (Bruce
Davison) and a young Hispanic cop
(Danny Nucci) show up in significant
supporting roles. Tightly directed by

Ross Marks from a stage-to-screen play
by Mark Medoff (who wrote Children of
а Lesser God), Homage sizzles with ten-
sion as a stylish minor work full of major
surprises. ¥¥¥/2

Writer-director Nicole Holofcener's
diverting Walking and Talking (Miramax)
is a colloquy between two New York
women, Amelia (Catherine Keener) and
Laura (Anne Heche). Amelia is con-
cerned about her rejection by a video
dlerk she considers ugly, a friendly ex-
lover who borrows money and tells her
about his experiences with phone sex,
and a seriously sick cat. She's also wor-
ried and a little jealous about best friend
Laura, a therapist engaged to marry her
live-in, Frank (Todd Field), but having
erotic fantasies about her clients. An au-
dience favorite at Sundance, Walking and
Talking has sympathetic male charac-
ters—all subject to the wit, bitchery and
honest emotion that make this feature
worth a second thought. Ұз):

The Spanish-subtitled Mouth to Mouth
(Miramax) features an unemployed ac-
tor (Javier Bardem) who delivers pizza
for a living until he discovers phone sex
as an outlet for his particular talcnts.
Wired up at an agency called the Hot
Line, where his co-workers groan and
suck lollipops to simulate oral sex, the
ambitious Victor provides thrills to his
customers, male or female. When he
agrees to meet a closeted gay who calls
himself Bill and a ripe-and-ready caller
named Amanda (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón),
things begin to get complicated. In the
pivotal role, Bardem is a handsome hus-
tler caught up in nefarious schemes
about sex, blackmail and attempted
murder. But all he really wants is to be
cast in a Hollywood movie. Mouth to
Mouth expends too much energy on
broad humor and homoeroticism. It's a
saucy Iberian burlesque with an extra
screw loose. УУУ

Writer-director Lisa Krueger's dis-
arming Menny & Lo (Sony Classics) is
a small gem polished at the Sundance
Institute workshop, where films about
women seem to thrive. Two motherless
sisters on the lam from separate foster
homes are portrayed persuasively by
Scarlett Johansson as 1 I-year-old Manny
and Aleksa Palladino as her tough-talk-
ing 16-year-old sister Lo. While flceing
in their mother's car, they sleep in mod-
el homes or camp out, steal gas and
shoplift in convenience stores. Because
Lo is pregnant they also decide to kid-
nap a maternity shop clerk named

“Good conversation. ü
Better friends. B
with the boar's flavors, |
ie never ends!” : ү

A 4

OFF

CAMERA

Long before she
launched a heat
wave up north,
drop-dead-
beautiful Salma
Hayek, 27, was
a television star
in Mexico. She
moved to Los An-
geles in 1990,
speaking little
English. Start-
ing over as
an extra, she
worked her
way up to
memorable
cameos in
Fair Game and
From Dusk Till
Dawn, finally co-
starring with An-
tonio Banderas in Desperado and
with Laurence Fishburne and
Stephen Baldwin in the action
comedy Fled. Still to come are top
romantic roles in Breaking Up and
Fools Rush In.

“I was a bitch,” Salma recalls of
her role in the Mexican TV series
Teresa that made her name, won
her a best actress award and
turned out to be a stepping-stone
to Hollywood. “When I left for the
U.S., everyone thought 1 was
crazy. They said, ‘Who does she
think she is, Meryl Streep?”

As a child, Salma's role model was
Olympic gymnast Nadia Coman-
eci. “I was obsessed and began to
train myself. Later, a trainer said 1
might make it to the Olympics if I
moved away from home and prac-
ticed six hours every day. That’s
how I gor it into my head about
leaving my small town—going
places, doing things.”

Salma pinpoints her break-
through as a TV guest spot on
Dream On with Brian Benben. “I
wasa funny, sexy maid, and I must
have done something right. I owe
a lot to Brian. He gave me a tape
of the dailies and told me to take it
to an agent.” The next day, she
signed with William Morris.

“Tve been lucky,” notes Salma,
who usually escapes ethnic stereo-
typing. Her latest triumph? "I was
nominated by MTV for the best
kissing scene, for Desperado. I
thank Antonio's tongue for that." |
Salma won't discuss her offscreen |
liaisons. "I want to be known for |
my work. If I were in love, you'd
need the FBI to find out about it."

Hayek: Babe

import.

Elaine (Mary Kay Place). The rest and
best of the movie produces unexpected
hilarity as the fugitive threesome hides
ош їп an empty vacation home. Place,
well remembered for her role on TV's
Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, is a marvel
as the ditzy hostage. Elaine, who iden-
tifies with her captors’ problems, hobbles
around the house cooking, tidying up
and reproaching Lo for smoking and
swearing. What emerges between the
laughs is a tenderhearted fable about
three emotionally needy people who are
forging connections. Krueger ends it
all abruptly, leaving her audience want-
ing more. ¥¥/2

As a Yale graduate named John, а
would-be writer working temp jobs in
Los Angeles, Rory Cochrane is the key
character in co-author and director
George Hickenlooper's The Low Life (CFP
Distribution). Cochrane plays it super-
cool in this edgy and knowing look at a
segment of society that’s cynical, young,
smart and waiting to catch a wave into
the mainstream. Meanwhile, they may
earn their rent money by sorting credit-
card slips. John connects with a couple
of college pals at work and a dorky but
friendly roommate from Modesto (Sean
Astin). An alcoholic sexpot named Bevan
(Kyra Sedgwick) is the free spirit he
meets after he quits the credit-card rou-
tine to troubleshoot for a sleazy shum-
lord. John suggests she must be on
Prozac. "Isn't everyone?" she retorts
Which pretty well sets the tone for Hick-
enlooper's gallery of up-to-the-minute
eccentrics who fit somewhere between
slackers and the hordes of frustrated, ed-
ucated job applicants. ¥¥J/2

Leave it to offbeat British director
Nicolas Roeg and screenwriter Allan
Scott (his frequent collaborator since the
1973 erotic thriller Don't Look Now) to
come up with something as sexy, strange
and provocative as Two Deaths (Castle
Hill). Set in an eastern European coun-
try a lot like Romania circa 1989 —with
revolution in the air and bullets
whistling outside—the bizarre psy-
chodrama unfolds during a dinner party
hosted by a Dr. Pavenic (Michael Gam-
bon, superbly authoritative as usual). It's
truth time for all. One guest is exposed
as an impotent wimp who abandoned his
wife after he caught the good doctor
mounting her; another confesses his odd
sexual preferences. Pavenic himself em-
barrasses the guests by stripping his
sullen, passive housekeeper Ana (Sonia
Braga) in their presence and revealing
every detail of the dark obsession that
has made her his love slave. Or is
Pavenic the slave and Ana the victor?
This is a dinner of the damned, serving
up dark revelations for dessert. YYY

MOVIE SCORE CARD

capsule close-ups of current films
by bruce williamson

Butterfly Kiss (Reviewed 6/96) Imagine
Thelma and Louise in the post-
Prozac age. PA
Captives (7/96) Cheap drills for prison
dentist Ormond and inmate Roth. ¥¥
Cold Comfort Farm (6/96) City mouse
warms up her country cousins. ¥¥¥/2
A Family Thing (6/96) Two aces—
Robert Duvall and James
Jones—play the race card.

Heavy (7/96) Liv Tyler debuts. ¥¥
Homage (See review) TV star and an
admirer stir a fatal attraction. ¥¥¥/2
The Horseman on the Roof (7/96) Vintage
epic about love on the run from
cholera. Wr
1 Shot Andy Warhol (6/96) Lili Taylor
plays the triggerwoman. wi
Lone Star (7/96) A complex, com-
pelling Western murder mystery by
John Sayles. ww
The Low Life (See review) Young, single
and at loose ends in LA. Wh
Madame Butterfly (7/96) He done her
wrong in Puccini's opera, done quite
right. wy
Manny & Lo (See review) Teenage run-
aways and their hostage on a droll
trip. Wh
Moll Flanders (See review) Rags-to-
riches saga—with Robin Wright and
Stockard Channing as improper
ladies. wy
Mouth to Mouth (See review) Unem-
ployed Spanish actor dallies with
phone sex. yyy
The Pallbeorer (7/96) Schwimmer car-
ries this comedy with ease. yyy
A Perfect Con te (7/96) How Oliver
North blew his Senate race. ууз
Rude (6/96) Black, blue, overdone
look at inner-city angst.
Somebody to Love (7/96) Doing the
town with taxi dancer Rosie Perez. YY
Someone Else's America (6/96) Desper-
ate to assimilate, immigrants try and
try again. wy
Stealing Beauty (See review) Bertolucci
with a vibrant cast and a memorable
virgin. vu
Stonewell (Listed only) Village people
battle for gay-and-lesbian rights. УУУ»
Twister (Listed only) Brilliantly scary
special effects linked to a fairly fool-
ish plot. wy
Two Deaths (See review) Dark dishing
at the dinner table. УУУ
Walking and Talking (See review) Girl
talk, but it moves along smartly. YY/z
Welcome to the Dollhouse (7/96) An 11-
year-old outcast survives suburbia
and tells us all about it. wy

¥¥¥¥ Don't miss
YYY Good show

YY Worth a look
Y Forget it

VIDEO

РАН

Not surprisingly, Ken-
ny Rogers’ video li-
brary includes all of
his popular Gambler
movies. "I don't make
people watch them,
though," says the
bearded country-and-
western giant. In-
stead, Rogers recently persuaded his girl-
friend to rent Hitchcock's The Birds after
telling her how much it terrified him when
it was first released. “But we laughed all
the way through it,” he says. Rogers also
enjoys the work of Goldie Hawn (“espe-
cially Рош Play”) and early Eddie Murphy
(48HRS.). But what strikes the perfect
chord, says the Grammy-winning record-
ing artist, is the “great filmmaking” of
Spike Lee. “People say he's antiwhite,”
Rogers explains, “but I say he tells it like it
is. He offends everyone who deserves to
be offended.” — DONNA COE

VIDBITS

All this hype about the upcoming Atlanta
Olympiad and you still want more?
Turner Home Entertainment offers a
Summer Games double feature from ac-
claimed sports filmmaker Bud Green-
span. 100 Years of Olympic Glory ($30) is a
three-hour scrapbook of the Games”
greatest stories—from Bob Beamon's
record long jump in Mexico City to gym-
nast Olga Korbut's overnight superstar-
dom in Munich; America’s Greatest Olym-
pians ($20) is a comprehensive who's
who of Olympic athletes—and their
finest moments. . . . This month, Rhino
brings two cult TV hits to video: Kids in
the Hall (two volumes, $9.95 each) com-
piles two hours of sketch-style irrever-
ence from the funniest troupe to hit the
tube since the Python boys. And hot on
the heels of its big-screen bow, Mystery
Science Theater 3000 debuts on tape with
three 97-minute episodes ($19.95 each),
featuring Mike Nelson and his smart-
aleck robot buddies as they're forced to
stomach history's worst films.

VIDEO VEGAS

The recent tape releases of Casino and
Leaving Las Vegas reveal that life is ulti-
mately 2 gamble. They also tell us that,
for filmmakers, Vegas is hot. But it al-
ways has been, hasn't it?

Bugsy (1991): Warren Beatty is Holly-
wood-obsessed gangster Bugsy Siegel in
a tale of how the town was built. Leading
lady Annette Bening became Beatty's re-
al-life co-star shortly thereafter.

Lost in America (1985): Albert Brooks (who

directed) and Julie Hagerty drop yup-
piedom and hit the road, à la Easy Rider.
Then they roll into Vegas, where Hager-
ty meets the roulette wheel. Oops.

Rain Mon (1988): Cruise cruises into Ve-
gas with idiot savant sib Hoffman, who
obsesses on Judge Wapner and plane
crashes while counting cards at black-
jack. A hands-down winner,

Ocean's Eleven (1960): Sinatra and Rat
Pack pals Lawford, Martin and Davis
pull the big heist: five Vegas casinos at
once. Angie Dickinson adds glamour to
the gambit.

The Electric Horseman (1979): Redford is a
washed-up rodeo star who gallops out of
a Vegas hotel on the back of a $12 mil-
lion Thoroughbred. Jane Fonda is the
reporter who wants his story.

Honeymoon in Vegas (1992): Bettor be-
ware; Before Cage can tie the knot with
S.]. Parker, he loses her in a poker game
to tough guy Caan. Great Vegas Strip
scenes—though Parker stays clothed.
The Night Stalker (1971): Vampires on the
strip? Darren McGavin is winning as a
smartass journalist investigating a series
of dicey, bloodletting murders in Las Ve-
gas. Talk about high stakes.

Viva Las Vegas (1964): Showgir! Ann-Mar-
gret (Rusty) bets on romance with race-
car driver Elvis (Lucky)—but their hip-
swinging relationship was even hotter
off the set. Great tunes.

The Only Game in Town (1970): Liz Taylor
plays a Vegas chorus girl to Beatty's gam-
bler in George Stevens’ limp love story.
Should have been called Viva la France—
it was filmed in Paris. —DAVID STINE

HOT VIDEO DATE
OF THE MONTH

Can't get enough of
1994 Playmate of the The rne ttr
Year Jenny Mc- Aen -
Carthy on MTV's red- we

hot matchmaking ff 3
game show Singled

Out? Now there's

Singled Out: The Dirt

on the Dates! (SMV/MTV), a roving-cam-
ега travelog that follows the contestants
оп their actual outings. Can Kathleen deal
with Mike's pierced tongue? Will Lisa
dump Mark for the chef? Stay tuned.

1 DL e
Siyay

ош у-

LASER FARE

Breathtaking cinematography, anyone?
Nestor Almendros’ Oscar-winning cam-
era work in Days of Heaven gets the letter-
box treatment it deserves in Para-
mount’s reissued disc ($40). Richard
Gere's battle with Sam Shepard for
Brooke Adams’ affections—set against a
turn-of-the-century wheat harvest—
hasn't looked this good since its big
screen bow in 1978. Also sparkling: Lu-
mivision's Widescreen Special Edition of
Australian director Simon Wincer's The
Lighthorsemen ($60), beautifully photo-
graphed by Dean Semler. The director's
cut replaces 15 minutes lopped off the
tape release, adding flash to the tale of
the Light Horse Brigade’s battles in
World War One Palestine. Wincer adds
commentary on the secondary audio
track. —GREGORY Р FAGAN

boy sailo

; soggy drama, but the storm scene is a killer),

From Dusk Till Dawn (thugs Clooney and Tarantino kidnap
Keitel and kin—vicious vampire stuff ensues).

Georgia (stoned wannabe rocker Jennifer Jason Leigh stag-

gers in footsteps of folksinging phenom sis Mare
he

ing-

lense), The Crossing Guard (Nicholson vows vengeonce

on hit-and-runner who kil

d his kid; directed by Sean Pet

ROCK

HARD-TOURING singer-songwriter Ani Di
Franco, at 25, is her own cottage indus-
try, with eight sel produced albums on a
profitable self-owned label. But the at-
traction to DiFranco's rapidly expand-
ing, mostly female cult isn't her entre-
preneurship—it's her music. Put off at
first by the torrent of words and emo-
tions, I was attracted by her departures
from acoustic guitar accompaniment on
1995's Not a Preity Girl. The new Dilate
(Righteous Babe, PO. Box 95, Ellicott
Station, Buffalo, New York 14205) is
even funkier. I don't know how she finds
time to fall for all her gender-unspec-
ified objects of romantic obsession. But
she sure does find words for them: “I’m
gonna stop on a dime and give you five
cents change.” This monster talent is in
it for life. Catch up with her while you
can still brag about it.

England's all-female quarter the
Raincoats invented folk-punk in 1979,
broke up in 1984 and were called back to
the musicwars by Kurt Cobain, who con-
vinced his label to reissue their three stu-
dio albums. They have just released
their fourth, Looking in the Shadows
(ОСС), for which Gina Birch wrote and
sang half the songs, including Pretty, a
wondrous and sly meditation on sex ob-
jects. Ana Da Silva's half is worthy, but
the wondrous half wins.

My vote for best Nirvana imitation is
Local Н. On Local H's second album, As
Good as Dead (Island), singer-guitarist-
bassist Scott Lucas and drummer Joc
Daniels have power, hooks and a fuck-
you attitude. They have everything but
the tortured genius. —ROBERT CHRISTGAU

Ifyou know Peter Wolf only as the Jag-
gerish motormouth who fronted J. Geils,
Long Line (Reprise), his first solo album of
the Nineties, may confound you. When
he sounds like Jagger here, on tracks
such as Seventh Heaven, it's the Jagger of
Moonlight Mile. More than an R&B wan-
nabe, Wolf has struck out in search of his
own blues. The result bears more than
passing resemblance to Van Morrison
(especially Rosie and Riverside Drive). The
biggest differences are the tempos. You
can’t motormouth at Van's meditative
pace. Wolf rejects mysticism with jive
vengeance on the title track, and in
Romeo Is Dead, he uses grunged-up blues
riffs to curse his own romanticism. Nev-
ertheless, Long Line is an adult-rock tri-
umph that presents Wolfas a man who's
as sensitive and insightful as a 50-year-
old should be. — DAVE MARSH

What would Jimi Hendrix sound like
if he were alive today? Pretty much like
guitarist Vernon Reid on his first solo al-

24 bum, Mistaken Identity (Sony). Reid's fren-

DiFranco's funky new Dilate.

DiFranco breaks out, Reid
and Richie make comebacks
and Dick Dale hangs ten.

zied, punk-fusion riffs on Cult of Personal-
ity helped his black rock band, Living
Colour, crack the mainstream in the late
Eighties. Living Colour never quite lived
up to its promise, but Reid's effort is an
invigorating blend of rock, jazz and
street beats. Somewhere, Jimi is smiling.

In Third Stone From the Sun Hendrix
sang about never wanting to hear surf
music again. But Pulp Fiction awoke a
new generation to how hip surf instru-
mental classics (such as Dick Dale's Misir-
lou) can sound. Dale is back with Calling
Up the Spirits (Beggars Banquet), a vital
collection of skittering, reverb-drenched
guitar gems. The secret behind Dale's
sound is his liberal use of Middle Eastern
scales, a by-product of his Lebanese an-
cestry. Every note has you imagining a
bevy of belly dancers hanging ten in the
Waikiki surf. —VIC GARBARINT

On Big as Life (Mercury), Hamell on
Trial invents a new way to play guitar—
thrash folk. It is orchestrated with such
melodic sense and pounding rhythm.
that you don't miss the band (Ed Hamell
is the sole member of Hamell on Trial).
Reminiscent of Dylan's Subterranean Home-
sick Blues, Hamell's music rollicks with
surreal and real subject matters. In one
song, a friend robs a Kentucky
Chicken with a fork. For the next several
decades, I plan to grovel at Hamell's feet
for the song Z-Roxx, which could have
been titled Rock Critic’s Lament: “Band
band band/I don’t give a fuck about

your/Band band band/1 don't think you
really understand /You're bland and oh
so secondhand/Man oh man oh man.”
Гуе got it laminated for my wallet.
Birthplace of Los Angeles punk, the
Masque was a small, dirty, dangerous
club that provided a forum for lots of
bands to create wonderfully raucous,
brutally irreverent music. Live at the
Masque: Vols. 1-3 (Year One Records) cap-
tures the spirit of that first generation of
punk in all its absurd and funny glory.
Rock and roll hasn't had many moments
cooler than Black Randy and the Metro
Squad's Loner With a Boner. You want
Seventies nostalgia? Try Take That Quaa-
lude Now by the Eyes. How about teen-
age nihilism? No God by the Germs is as
silly as it gets. Surprisingly well recorded
when you consider that everyone was
drunk, Live at the Masque should inspire
antisocial behavior in a new generation
of misfits. —CHARLES M. YOUNG

R&B

Starting with the Commodores and
then as a multiplatinum solo artist, Li-
onel Richie helped define Eighties pop
music. He crafted hit after hit, primarily
ballads, for himself as well as for Diana
Ross and Kenny Rogers. But Richie
drifted into repetition and self-parody
and his personal life became tabloid fod-
der, which obscured his many excellent
compositions.

Richie's Louder Than Words (Mercury),
his first album in years, is a worthy
comeback. Most of the tracks on the 12-
song CD are solid R&B excursions that
reflect his Motown roots. Three songs,
Piece of Love, Change and Wanna Take You
Down, wed Richie's skills with musical
motifs from Marvin Gaye. Perhaps the
album’s best song and performance is
Say I Do, a classy, unhurried ballad about
commitment that suggests the Isley
Brothers, while Don't Wanna Lose You re-
visits the sound of the Commodores.

—NELSON GEORGE

COUNTRY

Merle Haggard’s sound is hard to pin
down. His music has ranged from coun-
try to Tin Pan Alley. The many sides of
Haggard are present in the four-CD,
100-song boxed set Down Every Road
(Capitol/Nashville), He learned from
masters such as Lefty Frizzell and Bob
Wills and obscurists such as minstrel yo-
deler Emmett Miller. The previously un-
released studio version of White Line
Fever is just one standout track on this es-
sential country music collection.

Country-folk singer Bob Neuwirth's
Look Up (Watermelon Records, PO. Box

TASTES

COSTS

GOOD

LESS

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Cigarette
Smoke Contains Carbon Monoxide.

ItTastes Good.
It Costs Less.

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Ultra Lights: 6 mg “tar” 0.5 mg nicotine—Lights: 11 mg “tar” 0.8
mg nicotine-Full Flavor: 16 mg “tar” 1.0 mg nicotine—Non Filter:
24 ma “tar” 1.5 mg nicotine av. per cigarette by FTC method.

FAST TRACKS

OC K

Christgau

Garbarini

METER

Ani DiFranco
Dilate

Hamell on Trial
Big os Life

Vernan Reid
Mistaken Identity

Lionel Richie
Louder Than Words

Peter Wolf
Long Line

Zi
if
7
5

с |O [о |o
ola |У [о

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS DEPARTMENT: A
group of cellists at Finland's Sibelius
Academy plans to record an album of
Metallica songs. Says a spokesman,
“Heavy metal has the sort of gutsiness
that suits the cello.”

REELING AND ROCKING: It appears that
the Hughes brothers (Menace II Society,
Dead Presidents) have the blessing of
the Hendrix estate to do a film bio of
Jimi. . . . Burt Bacharach and Elvis Costello
wrote a song together for the Alison
Anders film about the Brill Building,
Grace of My Heart. . . . Glen Ballard, Ala-
nis Morissette’s co-writer and producer,
has formed a production company.
The first order of business is Clubland,
a musical drama based on Ballard’s
screenplay. . . . Tom Petty will do the
score and write songs for She's the One,
a new movie from Ed (Brothers Mc-
Mullen) Burns. . . . Studio 54 may open
again- at the movies. Surviving co-
owner lan Schrager has given permis-
sion for a film to be made about the
legendary New York club. A German
company is working on a documen-
tary about the discotheque as well

NEWSBREAKS: If you don't need visu-
als, consider getting the audio boxed
set The Beatles: In Their Own Words,
which contains interviews with the
Fab Four and their families, friends
and colleagues. For info, call Collec-
tors’ Choice Music at 800-923-1122. _
u2 plans to hook up with the Canad
an promoter of the last two Stones
tours for its own arena extravaganza
in 1997. . . _ John Mellencamp's next al-
bum, Mr Happy Go Lucky, is due in
stores this month. . . . Sting's 45-city
tour will wind up in Houston in Sep-
tember. Other summer tours to
catch: “Black” Lollapalooza (with the
Fugees, D'Angelo, Tony Rich, Cypress Hi
and Ziggy Marley) will play amph:
theaters. The Warped tour is the
summer's strongest alternative pack-

age, with 311, NOFX, Pennywise, Fish-
bone and the Mighty Mighty Bosstones
among the 14 rotating acts slated.

En Vogue goes into the studio again in
September. We hear that Trent
Reznor plans to do the next Nine Inch
Nails record with producer Rick Ru-
bin. . . . The Lollapalooza Internet
ticket sale is the first ever online and
the first step in Ticketmaster's ulti-
mate plan to sell tickets online for all
of its events. Elijah Allman, son of
Gregg and Cher, is recording his debut
CD. .. . T-Bone Burnett is writing a new
score for the Sam Shepard play The
Tooth of Crime, which will open in New
York next month. . . . The next Black
Crowes CD, Three Snakes and One
Charm, is set for release sometime this
summer. . . . Organizers of the biggest
annual AIDS fund-raising concert,
The Beat Goes On, have moved the
show to Washington in October to
keep AIDS on the national agenda at
election time. . . . We took a ride over
to Cleveland this past spring to check
out the Rock and Roll Museum.
This LM. Pei-designed building is a
wonder, filled with light and air. The
exhibits run the gamut from fascinat-
ing (artifacts from Jim Morrison's child-
hood) to amusing (John Lennon's re-
port cards) to predictable (costumes 4
la the Hard Rock Cafes). We hope to
see curated exhibits in the future that
will trace specific periods or places
(e.g.. protest music, punks, Mem-
phis). But the place was packed with
visitors and well worth a road trip.
Allen Toussaint has launched his own la-
bel with his own CD, Connected. .
Last, former Doobie Brother and Steely
Dan member Jeff “Skunk” Baxter has
been testing a new guitar device at the
Lawrence Livermore Lab in Califor-
nia. Livermore, known for weapons,
lasers and biotech, will now add music
to its résumé. —BARBARA NELLIS

49056, Austin, Texas 78765) contains 16
songs recorded during a three-month
trip to Vegas, Berlin and London. On
the hard-driving What's Our Love Comin’
To, Neuwirth sings a duet with rockabilly
filly Rosie Flores. Patti Smith joins Neu-
wirth on the wrenching Just Like You. The
most revealing track is Nashville, a bal-
lad of musical alienation sung by a true
hillbilly. — DAVE HOEKSTRA

Influenced by Springsteen, Jackson
Browne and Peter Gabriel, Nashville
songwriter Gretchen Peters embodies
her characters. Roseanne Cash could
learn a lot about literary-country synthe-
sis right here. On The Secret of Life (Im-
print), Peters delivers intricate intima-
cies. The Uncivil War is a classic about a
divorce. This is at least as much rock as it
is country, but mainly it's smart and
emotionally compelling. —pave MARSH

JAZZ

Оп а recent radio program, the Pana-
ma-born pianist Danillo Perez spoke of
an inherent Latin feel to the music of be-
bop composer Thelonious Monk. Perez
puts his words into action on Panamonk
(Impulse), applying Afro-Caribbean
rhythms to seven Monk tunes. He mam-
bos in the footsteps of trumpeter Jerry
Gonzalez, who has also salsafied Monk's
music. Perez’ appreciation for Monk's
piano voicings and :hythms makes the
Latin connection dearer and the hybrid
seamless. — NEIL TESSER

Inviolate is опе of the many funk-jazz
ensembles to surface in the mid-Nine-
ties. This New York-based quartet has
created a self titled four-song EP (Invio-
late Recordings, 290 Riverside Drive,
Suite 2D, New York, New York 10025)
that’s more song-oriented than most of
its contemporaries. Theresa Lies in Ecstasy,
an original composition, has a tight focus
and smart flute playing provided by Vic-
tor E. Also worth a listen is a cover of Ste-
vie Wonder’s Jesus Children of America.
—NELSON GEORGE

The Complete Prestige Recordings (Pres-
tige) is a nine-disc showcase for multi-
horn improviser Eric Dolphy, one of the
greatest talents of the Sixties. Dolphy is
as lyrical and searching as John Coltrane
and as funky and witty as Ornette Cole-
man. And his range is as diverse as Miles
Davis’. Whats more remarkable is that
these sides represent two years of re-
cording—that's nearly one third of Dol-
phy's brief career. — DAVE MARSH

Pianist Ahmad Jamal's percussive dy-
namics were an inspiration to Miles.
Now in his 60s, Jamal has released The
Essence, Part 1 (Birdology). It’s powerful
and endearing, an example of his best
rhythmic melodicism. — —vic GARBARINI

E m appreciate quality enjoy it AA

STYLE

NEW COLORS ON THE BLOCK

Each season, menswear designers introduce one new must-
have item. This fall it's the simple knit pullover with bold, col-
or-blocked stripes or panels. Designer Matthew Batanian of-
fers a ribbed wool-and-angora zip-front polo model in three
color variations—black with a chocolate-brown or charcoal
chest panel, and forest green with an olive panel (each
$150)—as well as а wool zippered cardigan with panels in
black, red and olive ($150), Wilke-Rodriguez takes
a casual approach with its cotton-and-
nylon knit crewneck in orange
Ee with a slate-blue chest stripe
À (shown here) and vice
versa ($145). The de-
sign duo of Richard
Edwards offers a
unique take on the
look. Its merino wool
crewneck has con-
trast-color raglan
sleeves in combina-
tions of navy, cam-
el, gray, charcoal,
black and cream
($150). Made of wool
jersey, Austyn Zung's knits
are supersleek in mixes of black,
orange and cream ($220, also pic-
tured). And when the weather gets cooler,
there's Nicole Farhi's England-born turtleneck made of cozy
cotton chenille with an off-white chest panel (about $200).

IN THE DUST

British soldiers arrived in colonial India wearing
crisp white uniforms that turned light brown after
being exposed to the dry earth and muddy waters.
The Indians dubbed the color khaki—Urdu for
“dust”—and the name has become synony-
mous with practical, comfortable pants. Dick-
ies 874 work pants are the quintessential
khakis. They haven't changed in 75 years
and are still affordable at $20 to $30.
Double-pleated chinos, such as Columbia
Sportswear's cotton Portland pants ($38),
look good enough for the office—espe-
cially casual Fridays. Nautica's cotton
twill Storm Pants ($78) have flapped car-
go pockets on the legs and slanted front
pockets. There are also the Aat-front utili-
ty pants from Polo Jeans by Ralph Lauren,
made of a washed cotton ($48). Calvin Klein's
two new takes on khakis include flat-front chinos
and five-pocket jeans-style pants (both $85).

HOT SHOPPING: ATLANTA

Atlanta has been whipped into shape for the Centennial
Olympic Games July 19 to August 4, which will feature about

10,000 athletes from
CLOTHES LINE

197 nations. To go
for shopping gold,

Asch oa de LA The self-important announcer Phil

55 ne TA Hartman plays on the hit sitcom

FAN San Newsradio wouldn't be caught dead

in the navy “Joe's Rent-

a-Boat” T-shirt and

Ave.): Funky club-

culture fashions and

recycled Seventies

clothing. ® The e

{буки Beeri around the house. As
Hartman, an ex-graph-

ic designer says, “1

ter (464 Moreland

Ave.): Unusual jack-

дез сүл) Mer PG know instantly what I

ite pite ern like.” That includes

and a tattoo parlor. “the slight retro feel
and crepe wool” of his
blue three-button

* Stratosphere
Skateboards (1141

Donna Karan suit. But
for a guy who's “con-

Euclid Ave.): Check
stantly fighting those

out the cool run-

ning suits and hats
ош н МАШ 20 pounds,” Hartman must beware
E I i Ip breasteds. "They make
E 5 gift-wrapped refriger-
шш a Hag Euclid ator.” He does go for Armani ties,
ve.): Alternative especially a wine-colored one with
small green trapezoids, and prefers
police shoes or Doc Martens.

streetwear in vinyl,

latex and leather.

Criminal Rec-
ords (466 More-
land Ave.): Stocks a great selection of indie rock CDs,
comic books and pop-culture zines.

THE POSTGAME SHOW

You push papers all week, then try to make up
for itin a Sunday softball marathon. On Mon-
day, you're sore and tired. To revive for an-
other go-around, try a muscle soak or rub.
Olbas Sport Massage Oil with eucalyptus,
peppermint and clove essential oils helps
loosen muscles to prevent injuries. "Tonic
Body Gel from Decleor is a greaseless mas-
sage cream with ingredients such as witch
hazel that cool the skin. Klaus Heidegger's
All-Sport Muscle Rub is spiked with cedar,
pine and other fresh scents. Calvin Klein's
Escape for Men Muscle Soak contains
soothing Epsom salts, while Philosophy's i
Physical Therapy Bath Soak is formulated |
with eucalyptus oil, sage oil and pine.

S Т ¥ L E

БЕ рай

LEATHER JACKETS IN

| our |

Urban blazers; peacoats;

SAE Dean-style jackets; sh

FABRICS

combini

COLORS AND DETAILS

Soft deerskin and calfskin; reversible leathers;
ns of leather, nylon end shecrling

Black and rich chocolate brown; streamlined
pockets; epaulets

Country car coats; rhinestone-cowboy buck-
skins; studded motorcyde looks

Overly textured pebble grains; processed
nubuck; distressed or antique leather

Earthy colors such as rust end forest green;
whipstitching; bulky bellows pockets

Where & Howto Buy on роде 141

MAN'S GUIDE zo 5 ag DIAMONDS

ARE YOU one of the TWO MILLION
victims of ENGAGEMENT RING anxiety?

1, Relax. Guys simply are not supposed to know
this stuff. Dads rarely say, “Son, lets talk diamonds?
2. But it’s still your call. So read on.

3. Spend wisely. It's tricky because no two diamonds
are alike. Formed in the earth millions of years ago,
diamonds are found in the most remote comers of
the world. De Beers, the world’s largest diamond
company, has over 100 years’ experience in mining
and valuing. They sort rough diamonds into over
5,000 grades before they go on to be cut and pol-
ished. So be sure you know what you're buying.
‘Two diamonds of the same size may vary widely
in quality. And if a price looks too good to be true,

it probably is.

4. Learn the jargon. Your guide to quality and value
is a combination of four characteristics called The 4
C5. They аге: Сиг, not the same as shape, but refers
to the way the facets, or flat surfaces, are angled.

A better cut offers more brilliance; Co/o;; actually,
close to no color is rarest; Clarity, the fewer natural
marks, or “inclusions,” the better; Ca/a/ weight, the
larger the diamond, usually the more rare.

5. Determine your price range. What do you spend
on the one woman in the world who is smart enough
to marry you? Many people use the го months’ salary
guideline. Spend less and the relatives will talk. Spend more and they'll rav
6. Watch her as you browse. Go by how she reacts, not by what she says. She may be reluctant to tell you what she
really wants. Then once you have an idea of her taste, don’t involve her in the actual purchase. You both will cherish
the memory of your surprise.

7. Find a reputable jeweler, someone you can trust, to ensure you're getting a diamond you can be proud of. Ask
questions. Ask friends who've gone through it. Ask the jeweler you choose why two diamonds that look the same are
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By DIGBY DIEHL

WALTER MOSLEY returns to the adventures
of detective Easy Rawlins in A Little Yellow
Dog (W.W. Norton). This time, we find
Rawlins off the streets, working as a cus-
todian at a junior high school, with two
adopted kids (and no wife). He's keeping
his nose clean, not drinking, not hang-
ing out and not doing detective work

Rawlins quickly becomes involved
with a beautiful teacher. When she asks a
love-struck Rawlins to take care of her
little yellow dog, the trouble begins. The
following day, a dead body is found їп
the schoolyard, the sexy teacher is on the
lam and Rawlins is back on the streets
trying to clear himself of murder.

Mosley's mysteries take us to places in
black culture where few white readers
have ever been. The streets of Watts and
South Central during the uneasily inte-
grated mid-Sixties are meaner than any-
thing Raymond Chandler wrote about.

The outlandish story of Maurice Giro-
dias' erotic publishing house, Olympia
Press, is told in entertaining detail by
John de St. Jorre in Venus Bound (Ran-
dom House). Girodias' publishing career
began with art books during the Nazi oc-
cupation of Paris and flourished with the
postwar “DBs” (dirty books) of his Trav-
eler's Companion series. A group of
tinguished expatriate British and Amer-
ican writers —Cregory Corso, William
S. Burroughs and Chester Himes—
cranked out erotica for Girodias while
enjoying the bohemian life of Paris in
the Fifties.

Olympia Press also published litera-
ture such as Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita
and Burroughs' Naked Lunch-—books
that provoked history-making censor-
ship cases. St. Jorre describes the deal-
making shenanigans that were behind
The Story of O and Terry Southern and
Mason Hoffenberg's novel Candy. He
credits Girodias as an avant-garde pub-
lisher, but also reveals the unscrupulous
business tactics that engendered the law-
suits which resulted in Girodias' eventu-
al loss of the publishing company.

There is a bittersweet quality to Tom
De Haven's novel Derby Dugan's Depres-
sion Funnies (Metropolitan), which cap-
tures the zaniness of comic strip cartoon-
ists’ lives along with the bleakness of the
Thirties. The story is narrated by Al
Bready, a cynical scriptwriter who
churns out story lines about a lovable or-
phan and his talking dog for cartoonist
Walter Geebus. De Haven's affable style
of storytelling illuminates this peculiar
world of artists, inkers and writers. The
ideal added touch comes from Art
(Maus) Spiegelman’s clever creation of a
Derby Dugan strip

Enthusiastic scholarship is brought to

Mosley's Little Yellow Dog.

Mosley's new Easy Rawlins adven-
ture, plus sports books that ride big
waves and explore great caves.

two books about oflbeat sports: Daniel
Duane's Caught Inside: A Surfer's Year on
the California Coast (North Point/Farrar,
Straus & Giroux) and Michael Ray Tay-
lor's Cave Passages: Roaming the Under-
ground Wilderness (Scribner). Grabbing
for his youth, 28-year-old Duane quits
his job and heads for the water with his
uncle's old wet-suit. Like Henry David
Thoreau on a surfboard, he embraces
the poetry of Monterey Bay and re-
searches surfing lore. This book is filled
with anecdotes about big waves, great
whites and nasty wipeouts, as well as the
history of Spanish explorers along the
California coast,

Taylor isa law school dropout who de-
cides to pursue his passion for caving.
He takes us deep into the mysterious
world beneath the surface of the earth.
He climbs down into caverns in Mexico,
Jamaica, China and all over the U.S. (in-
duding the Old Croton Aqueduct in
New York) with many great cavers. (The
word spelunker is shunned by practi-
tioners of the sport.) His description of a
cave dive in which Sheck Exley died 900
feet underwater is a chillingly candid
warning about the dangers of the sport
But most of Taylor's geologically in-
formed reports are imbued with the
wonder and exhilaration of the vast un-
derground spaces

Some of the younger siblings of the
Sisters in Crime have sinister summer
offerings. Karen Kijewski's savvy detec-
tive, Kat Colorado, returns in her sev-

enth mystery, Honky Tonk Kat (Putnam).
When one of Colorado’s friends, country
music star Dakota Jones, begins receiv-
ing hate mail, it is chalked up as a badge
of celebrity. When someone sends her a
bouquet of dead roses, the game be-
comes much more personal. To protect
her friend from a stalker, Colorado joins
her tour, She makes it her job to find the
potential killer and keep Jones from
falling apart.

Going Local (Hyperion) is Jamie Harri-
son's sequel to her first mystery, The Edge
of the Crazies. In this book she reintro-
duces her engaging hero, archaeologist-
turned-sheriff Jules Clement. One
Fourth of July, Clement is back on the
job in Blue Deer after a month’s hiatus
when he gets a call about a tent floating
in the reservoir, The trouble begins
when Clement discovers two bodies
zipped inside.

One of the most exciting literary re-
vival series since the rediscovery of Jim
Thompson's novels is Old School Books
from W.W. Norton, a group of novels
about the black experience in America
from the Fifties through the Seve
Jobn A. Williams’ The Angry Ones is a
tough story about interracial sex and
racism. Charles Perry's Portrait of a Young
Man Drowning details life inside Brooklyn
street gangs. Cerner Bey is a portrait of
a drug dealer by Herbert Simmons.
According to the series’ editors, they
will continue next season with books
by Chester Himes, Henry Van Dyke,
Robert Deane Pharr and Clarence Coo-

per Jr.

BOOK BAG
Music Festivals From Bach to Blues (

ible

Ink Press), by Tom Clynes: This guide to
the best fests in North America takes you

York to the B.B. King Homecoming fes-
tival in Indianola.

Stud: Architectures of Masculinity (Prince-
ton Architectural Press), edited by Joel
Sanders: Do buildings express sexuality?
This collection of illustrated essays about
the decorations in men's bedrooms (in-
cluding a PLAYBOY apartment) argues
that concrete can exude testosterone.

Does Anyone Have a Problem With That?
“Politically Incorrect's” Greatest Hits (Vil-
la by Bill Maher: A funny collection
of jibes, jokes and tidbits from his hilari-
ous late-night show.

The American Barbershop: A Closer Look at
a Disappearing Place (Face to Face Books),
by Mic Hunter: This exhaustive and in-
sightful study of the small-town barber is
illustrated with 100 photographs. Who
knew there was so much history in a
shave and a haircut?

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MEN

he American family is in trouble

for one reason only: kids. If there
were no children to care for, it would be
doing finc. You could have two hard-
working, ambitious, well-dressed pco-
ple, a husband and wife who follow the
advice of Martha Stewart and take good
care of themselves and their house and
espresso machine and Stair Master. But
add kids to that mix, and what do you
get? Disaster: diapers, insolence, sleep
deprivation, attention deficit disorder,
sugar blues, the terrible twos and educa-
tional crises.

It is time for adults to admit that kids
are nothing but a costly pain in the butt
Helpless in their earliest years, irritating
as preteens, rebellious from then on,
they are also expensive beyond belief.
And unfortunately, you can't extermi-
nate them as you would a nest of vipers.
Not these human termites. Even if they
go off to college, most kids move back
home eventually.

1 he tact is that children are our gross-
est national product. They do not fit in a
corporate economy. They add nothing
of value and cost a fortune. Sure, the
American family is falling apart, but it's
getting exactly what it deserves.

Consider the hopelessness of your typ-
ical subhuman 18-year-old male. Of
what use is he in our glorious economy?
He rides a skateboard or a bike, shaves
his scalp completely or never cuts
hair, carries a boom box and plays music
by Rancid, Green Day, Offspring, Wu-
Tang Clan, Pennywise and Coolio. He
wears a baseball cap backward (but note
that he rarely goes to a game). He can
usually be found hanging around 7-
Eleven parking lots while he consumes
зой drinks, beer, cigarettes, potato chips
and other substances parents don't need
to know about. He is the proud owner of
several tattoos, one or more earrings for
one or more picrced cars and ragged
clothes that are neither glamorous nor
color-coordinated.

Look at the faces of that boy's parents
as they rcad my description. See them
clutch their copics of Hillary Clinton's It
Takes a Village ever closcr to their senti-
mental hearts. Watch them send a check
to public TV in hopes that Sesame Street
will babysit yet another generation of dc-
viants. Hear them bemoan the agonics
of America's young people. Isn't it
touching?

I have news for you, Mr. and Ms.

By ASA BABER

IT TAKES
A VOUCHER

America: It doesn't take a village to raise
a child. It takes a voucher.

Folks, it is time to turn the act of par-
enüng into a moneymaking business so
the American family can thrive again. It
is time to bill our children for the ser-
vices we render them. Within the con-
text of cvery child's life, we should prac-
tice hard-nosed capitalism.

To help us, I have prepared a Univer-
sal Parenting Contract. It is a simple but
effective document that I plan to copy-
right and submit for publication. Here is
a preview ofsome ofits basic points:

(1) Every parent will receive a mini-
mum wage of $100 an hour. Why? Be-
cause we say so. Do you think a newborn
baby in a delivery room will argue with
you as you smear ink on his or her little
palms and place them on the Universal
Parenting Contract? Sign that infant up
before he or she can sass you, I say.

(2) Remember the principle that
guides the UPC: If you drive your kids
into debt when they are young, their
hearts and minds will follow. Believe me,
there is nothing more invigorating than
glaring at a recalcitrant four-year-old
while pointing at the parenting contract
on the wall and saying, “A few ycars from
now, when you can actually read that sa-
cred covenant, you will find that you
signed your life away at birth, buster.”

(3) Check out the numbers; With a le-

gitimate contract, you and your spouse
will get at least $200 an hour, 24 hours a
day, for 18 years or more. That means
you will make $4800 a day, $1.7 million
a year. Where else can you make that
Kind of money?

(4) The parenting contract authorizes
additional charges for services that are
above and beyond the call of duty. Extra-
dirty diapers run $7.50 cach. If a child is
ill and requires more attention, that's
another $500 a day per parent. Conta-
gious diseases are billed at a flat $3000
per day per disease. If the kid relapses,
double your fee.

(5) Given the various charges that can
be tacked on to the bill, kids will owe
their parents $2 million a year on aver-
age. If your slacker hangs out at home
on his skateboard until he's 20, your bill
to him will be a cool $40 million. That's
not counting supplemental charges that
can add millions of dollars of indebted-
ness to a young life—things such as an
excessive-noise tax on the boom box
($14 per decibel) and fees for wake-up
calls ($6 each), false permissions for
school absences ($750 each) and bailing
a youngster out of jail in the middle of
the night ($4000 plus bail).

(6) Some young people will probably
whine a lot and claim they signed an un-
enforceable contract—long before they
could understand what they were sign-
ing—that put them in financial servi-
tude. That's OK. If they sue you, bill
them. The courts are run by adults,
many of whom are parents, so the kids
don't stand a chance. If they go to the
national media with their story, relax.
Who's going to promote them and their
cause? We adults stick together, and а
few rug rats and porch monkeys can't
break through cur solid censorship.

But all is not lost, because I have a
dream: I see a typical American family —
a father, a mother, a son and a daugh-
ter=sitting around the dinner table with
a beautifully cooked turkey at its center.
The parents are beaming and the chil-
dren are smiling, and on the wall behind
Mom and Dad, by the old cuckoo clock,
hang two framed copies of the Universal
Parenting Contract. I know those k
are going to have the bestest dinner in
the whole wide world, and it's going to
cost them only $672.39 apiccc—unless
they want dressing and gravy, too.

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THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR

My girifriend claims that an old
boyfriend once gave her poison ivy while
they were having sex, before he had any
symptoms. Can this really happen?—
D.B., Dallas, Texas

Why not? Many men who get poison ivy
inadvertently spread it to their genitals when
they urinate, and from there it can spread
just about anywhere. One physician who
misdiagnosed a patient's burning, swelling
lips as herpes or an allergic reaction later
discovered that she'd gotten poison izy when
she gave her boyfriend a blow job afier he'd
been hunting. She spent the next few weeks
battling a rash and blisters on her lips. His
case was more severe.

‘The first time 1 fooled around with my
new girlfriend, she gave me a hand job
that nearly rubbed my penis raw. She
was trying so hard to please me that I
couldn't bring myself to say anything. Is
there a good way to escape in this situa-
tion?—LJ., Detroit, Michigan

A good way lo escape a hand job? That's a
new one. A few minor adjustments and you'll
be a lifer. If your girlfriend wants to please
you, she'll appreciate knowing that, like her,
you need lubrication for maximum enjoy-
ment. Produce that tube of hand lotion or oil
you keep by the bedside for when she isn’t
around and masturbate Jor her. that’s the
quickest way to teach someone what turns
you on. If your girlfriend is a fast learner,
she'll soon be caressing the length of your
erection, fondling your balls and fingering
that sweet spot underneath the head of your
cock. When she feels daring, ask for а switch-
hitter: After slowly bringing one of her hands
down from the top of your cock to its base, she
starts at the top again with the other hand
just as she releases with the first. In the
meantime, encourage her to dance around
the pole. A lover who kisses you gently on the
neck or chest or inside your ‘thighs while say
ing “Your cock feels so good” and "1 love to
stroke you” may be surprised at how easily
she can turn you to putty (most of you, any
way). If you can manage to lift your head,
use some of the excess lotion to massage
her breasts.

During the Seventies, when the con-
version to solid-state electronics was well
under way, a neighbor held fast to his
tube-type amplifier, believing the sound
was superior, Where do you stand in
the tube-versus-transistor debate?—
D.E., Minneapolis, Minnesota

Aren't you the guy who asked whether we
preferred Mac or Windows? Every ampli-
fier—tube or trausistor—distorts sound by
piling unwanted tones onto the notes passing
through it. The nature of these harmonics is
what distinguishes tubes from transistors:
Tubes tend to add “even-order” harmonics,
which are musically innocuous (some say

pleasing), while transistors emphasize "odd-
order” harmonics, creating an edgier sound.
Tube circuits are also much simpler than sol-
id state; some believe that translates into a
purer sound. Of course, transistors have
their mass-market advantages—they are
smaller, more durable and less expensive.
Which produces better sound? The debate
rages on, but it’s interesting to note that some
high-end solid-state designers admit they
strive to duplicate the warmer tube sound
(and a few do a decent job of it). Many
artists and sound engineers won't record or
mix with anything but tubes; most casual lis-
teners seem content with solid state, perhaps
because they haven't heard better.

What are the odds you'll get a woman
pregnant if you have unprotected sex
with her every day for а month?—T R,
Fort Worth, Texas

Researchers calculate that fertile women
who have unprotected sex once a week over
the course of their menstrual cycle have
about a 15 percent chance of pregnancy,
those who have sex every other day a 33 per-
cent chance and those who have sex daily a
37 percent chance. Those are good odds only
if you're trying to have a kid.

A fcr a few years of celibacy, I'm with a
great guy who is very enthusiastic dur-
ing our lovemaking. But now that I’m
having sex regularly, Гус noticed that
my orgasms aren't so intense as when I
masturbate. Is there a reason for this?—
R.T., Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Several. Foremost is that when you mas-
turbate, you know exactly what turns you on.
You maintain control over the pressure,
rhythm and speed to get the job done most
pleasurably. Also, intercourse often doesn't

ILLUSTRATION EY ISTVAN BANYAL

involve direct stimulation of the clitoris (ask
your boyfriend to lend a hand, or add your
own). To some extent, however, the power of
your orgasm may have something to do with
your partner's technique. Many men seem to
think that female orgasm is a signal for them
to begin thrusting as fast as possible. Al-
though that sort of intensity can be a turn-on
in some situations, more often a woman
would prefer a slow, gentle, rhythmic thrust
as her climax approaches—much like what
she does with her fingers when masturbat-
ing. Years ago, one sex expert offered this
analogy: “А man who starts to pound his
pariner unmercifully as soon as she begins
coming is, in a way, doing to her vagina
what we do to our noses when we siop a
sneeze by pressing hard with a finger on the
upper lip.” Slowing down allows your boy-
friend to feel your excitement through his
erection (a very erotic experience in itself),
and it allows you to feel your own climax
more intensely.

What are you supposed to do when a
waiter hands you the cork from a bottle
of wine? Гуе seen people sniff it, but
what do they smell that prompts them to
send the wine back? Until I figure this
out, ГЇЇ just keep nodding and smiling as
if I know what I'm doing.—K.A., Oma-
ha, Nebraska

The smell of the cork is a good early warn-
ing if something is dramatically wrong.
ils best, the cork can yield an attractive pn
view of condition and quality. If the cork is
dry and cracked, air may have oxidized the
wine. A damaged cork may also indicate bi-
otic problems. Before you reject a bottle by its
cork, check the bouquet of the wine. If there
seems to be a problem and it doesn't disap-
pear quickly, send the bottle back.

П am 35 years old and my erect penis
measures about five and a half inches.
I've always been insecure about my size,
and lately have seen a lot of ads for pe-
nis-enlargement surgery. Do you recom-
mend it?—G.S., New York, New York
This is one of the most common questions
asked of the Advisor, and we're always
amazed at what some men are willing to risk
to add a measly inch to their normal-sized,
functioning penises. Thousands of men have
had globs of fat injected into their dicks or
ligaments sliced to create the illusion of
greater length, and certainly some have been
Satisfied with the results. But when things go
wrong during cosmetic penis enlargements,
they really go wrong, which makes us wonder
about anyone who would recommend or per-
form the procedure. In 1994 a surgeon in
Miami was convicted of manslaughter after
a patient bled to death following cosmetic
surgery that included a penis enlargement.
More recently, Dr. Melvyn Rosenstein, who
claims to be “the world’s leading authority

P'L A Y BOY

оп penile surgery,” had his license suspend-
ed after a judge ruled he was negligent and
incompetent. More than 40 of his former pa-
tients claim that he botched their surgeries so
badly that they sufjer from symptoms includ-
ing intense pain, scarring, deformities, loss
of feeling, decreased sexual function and a
decrease in size. If Dr. Rosenstein was the
world's leading authority, how confident
does that make you about the other guys?

WI, girlfriend and I enjoy watching
adult films together. The other night she
asked me why so many of them have les-
bian scenes, and I wasn’t sure. Do you
know?—A.A., New Orleans, Louisiana

The simple reason is that men enjoy
watching sensual scenes involving women
because they're sensual and involve women.
There's also the common male fantasy that
the women are waiting for Godot—and
you're Godot, and you'll arrive only slightly
late, and yowll have a hard-on. Lesbianism
is often viewed as the hinder, gentler side of
homosexuality: Women have sex with each
other because they're horny; men have sex
with each other because they're unbalanced.
That's hogwash, of course, but it’s one of the
cultural misconceptions that allows female
homosexuality to be a staple in straight porn.
Not every guy enjoys girl-girl scenes, per-
haps because the women oflen seem to have a
beiter time together than they do with the
leading man. But since these are fantasy les-
bians (real lesbians aren't waiting for any
heroes. and they sure as hell aren't having
sex to turn you on), we've always viewed the
interludes as a great chance to pick up some
tips. Maybe girl-girl scenes are just a quiet
campaign by porn actresses to get better sex
for all women.

Remember “Deep Thoughts,” those
offbeat observations by Jack Handey fea-
tured on Saturday Night Live? One of
them was, “A question that’s never been
answered to my satisfaction by the
Playboy Advisor What kind of stereo
system works best in hell?'" As a fan of
both “Deep Thoughts” and your advice,
I thought I'd ask for him. What kind of
stereo system does work best in hell?—
B.L., Jersey City, New Jersey

You don't need a stereo system in hell. It
has Muzak.

Hn July a reader asked why more air-
lines don't have digital kiosks so shuttle
travelers can check their e-mail or send
faxes. I wonder the same thing about ho-
tels. More than once when traveling I've
found that the hotel has removed the
plastic release clip from the phone jack
so that I can't plug in my laptop. If there
is an extra jack, it’s usually behind the
bed or a dresser across the room from
the desk. Is there any way to find out if
a hotel is computer-friendly before I
check in?—TR., Los Angeles, California

If a hotel has broken the plastic release

36 clip so you can’t remove the phone cord, it's

trying to tell you something. Many hotels use
a digital phone system, and plugging an
analog modem into il could damage their
system or your modem. When you check in,
ask the front-desk clerks how you can con-
nect. Often they will have an open jack be-
hind the counter that you can use for emer-
gency downloading. That doesn't solve the
problem of how to connect from your room,
but as more travelers carry their work in
hard drives rather than briefcases, you
should see more holels making changes. In
ils most recent guide to U.S. hotels, Zagat
Survey lists nearly 660 establishments (of
2000 surveyed) that offer in-room jacks or
computer centers for guests. On the Internet,
software developer Oito Krauth is polling
laptop users to compile a similar list. Point
your Web browser to hitp://www.sfu.cal~
okrauth/survey.himl.

You missed the point in May when a
reader complained that his girlfriend
would consent to anal sex only if she
could slide a dildo into his anus. What
his girlfriend is really saying 15 that she
doesn't want to have anal sex. 1f she
wants to broaden her boyfriend's sexual
horizons by introducing him to anal
penetration, that should be considered
on its own merits.—E.C., Fort Leaven-
worth, Kansas

You're right. We read the situation as an
exchange of pleasure, but his girlfriend's
quid pro quo may have indeed been a quid
bro whoa.

“Two days after my 54th birthday 1 had
surgery to correct an enlarged prostate,
and now I have something called retro-
grade ejaculations. Instead of the semen
squirting out of my penis, it is dis-
charged into my bladder. My girlfriend
at the time was delighted when I cli-
maxed during fellatio and there was no
longer any semen for her to spit out. But
now I wonder if the fact that I can't ejac-
ulate contributed to the demise of the re-
lationship. My new lover can't figure out
why I'm reluctant to let her give me a
blow job. I also wear a condom for fear
she will discover my secret. Should I tell
her?—G.M., Phoenix, Arizona

Yes. While ejaculation has its charms, you
have а nice calling card of your own: You're
a self-cleaning lover. Our guess is your girl-
friend will be curious but not condemning.

Hov can you tell if you're drinking a
good blended Scotch whiskey?—B.L.,
Oakland, California

A fine blended whishey should taste slight-
ly different each time you sip it. One sip
could be slightly peaty, another slightly dry,
another slightly peppery. In theory, blended
whiskeys combine the best qualities of vari-
ous malis.

V have a problem meeting women. My
friends says it's the way I dress. I almost
always wear black clothes and sunglasses

because they reflect my mood. I know
this may work against me, but I’m not
interested in dressing preppy. What do
you think?—R.L., Atlanta, Georgia
Black works for some guys—look at what
it did for Johnny Cash—but you have to lose
the glasses (and the angst). Women have to
be able to see your eyes; the perceptive ones
will realize that you're sincere and ap-
proachable. You shouldn't change your style
to fit anybody's mold, but first impressions
count for something, no matter how unfair
that may seem, We can understand why most
women don’t jump at the chance to meet
some gloomy sumbitch. So lighten up. Anoth
er problem with black is that when she turns
off the lights, she may not be able to find you.

Wat's the best way to break in a new
softball glove?—].S., Grand Rapids,
Michigan

Pour a small amount of leather condition-
eror glove oil on a dry, clean cloth and work
it into the pocket and back of the mitt. Allow
the leather to dry for at least 24 hours. Wipe
off any excess oil, then play catch for ten to
15 minutes to stretch the pocket and allow
the glove to conform to your hand. Finally,
position a ball in the pocket and tie or rub-
ber-band it closed for a few days. Store your
glove with a ball in the pocket, and don't oil
it more than once or twice a season.

Ё often share my sexual fantasies with
my wife. But when I ask about hers, she
says she doesn’t have any. I thought
everyone had Fantasies. Is she telling the
truth?—D.R., Cleveland, Ohio

Not everyone finds it a snap to share their
fantasies, in part because their desires may
not jibe with their partner's. Your wife's day-
dreaming, for instance, may not involve an
empty hot tub, Madonna and a wheelbarrow
of fruit cocktail. Instead, she could fear
you'll be disappointed to hear her fantasies
may involve “boring” stuff like wine, dinner;
song, massages, caresses and no obligation to
do anything but enjoy herself as you please
her. (Only she knows for sure, of course.) If
your wife insists she has no fantasies, try to
create one for her. You may be surprised at
what she asks for next.

All reasonable questions—from fashion,
food and drink, stereo aud sports cars to dat-
ing problems, taste and. etiquette—will be
personally answered if the writer includes a
self-addressed, stamped envelope. The most
provocative, pertinent questions will be pre-
sented in these pages each month. Send all
letters to the Playboy Advisor, PLAYBOY, 650
North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois
60611, or by e-mail to advisor@playboy.
com. Look for responses to our most fre-
quently asked questions on the World Wide
Web at http://www. playboy.com/faq, or check
out the Advisor's new book, “365 Ways lo
Improve Your Sex Life” (Plume), available
in bookstores or by phoning 800-423-9494.

Hugh Grants tryst with Divine
Brown in a white BMW may have
been the most publicized sex act of
1995, but it did little to affect our
freedom. John Bennis’ quest for
front-seat fellatio, on the other hand,
made legal history.

On October 3, 1988 Detroit police
swooped down on an 11-year-old
Pontiac sedan parked on a street fre-
quented by hookers. Inside, Bennis
and a prostitute were engaged in a
consensual sex act. The police inter-
rupted before the prostitute finished
and before she was able to collect her
fec. Bennis was arrested for gross in-
decency. Then, adding insult to
sodomy, the Wayne County prosecu-
tors, enforcing a 1925 Michigan law,
declared the Pontiac to be a public
nuisance and confiscated it.

It was business as usual in Detroit,
where nearly 3000 cars were con-
fiscated in 1995 in an effort to crack
down on men who patronize hookers.
The state kecps the profits from the
car grabbing, which may explain the
popularity of the practice.

Unfortunately for the state, the co-
owner of the Pontiac was Tina Ben-
nis, John’s wife. Outraged that the
state confiscated the car even though
she had no guilt or complicity in her
husband's illicit cscapade, she filed
suit. The case ended up in the lap of
the U.S. Supreme Court.

On March 4 of this year the Court
shocked almost everyone by endors-
ing the scizurc. Chicf
Justice William Rehn-
quist, who wrote the
majority opinion in
the 5-4 split, based
his decision on an
1827 case involving
the seizure of a Span-
ish pirate ship that
had attacked U.S. ves-
sels. Regrettably,

Chief Justice Rehn-
quist did not explain
the legal equivalence
of piracy in the 1820s
with freelance fellatio
in the 1980s. The car
did not attempt to
perform oral sex on

By JAMES BOVARD

Bennis (i.e., it was not the tool of a
crime), nor was it the fruit of a crimi-
nal enterprise. The vehicle was not
used to transport contraband (unless
the Court views the product ofan or-
gasm as a controlled substance). The
Pontiac was simply the location of
the crime.

Rehnquist ruled that since the
property had been involved in break-
ing the law, there was no violation of
due process in its seizure. The issue of
takings (uncompensated government
seizure of private property under
public domain) was therefore irrele-
vant. “The government,” Rehnquist
decreed, “may not be required to
compensate an owner for property
which it has already lawfully acquired
under the exercise of governmental
authority other than the power of
eminent domai

During prel lary arguments the
Justice Department attempted to im-
ply that Tina Bennis had known or
should have known of her husband's
intent. (Did he say, “Honey, I'm going
down to the corner for a blow job.
Can I get you anything?” Did he
stock up on Scotchgard?) The feds
never bothered to supply evidence
for this claim.

Justice John Paul Stevens issued a
dissent that shows how much arbi-
trary power the Supreme Court
grants government agents:

“For centuries prostitutes have

EPLAYBOY FORUM

been plying their trade on other peo-
ple's property. Assignations have oc-
curred in palaces, luxury hotels,
cruise ships, college dormitories,
truck stops, back alleys and backseats.
A profession of this vintage has pro-
vided governments with countless
opportunities to use novel weapons
to curtail its abuses. As far as I am
aware, however, it was not until 1988
that any state decided to experiment
with the punishment of innocent
third parties by confiscating property
in which, or on which, a single trans-
action with a prostitute has been
consummated.”

Where does the government's right
to seize property from innocent third
parties end? One law professor saw
the possibilities immediately: “Most
major hotels in this country have seen
an act of prostitution or two. Get the
pulice tu шаке a prostitutivn bust at
each of these hotels. We then seize the
hotels and sell them at auction. There
are about 6000 such hotels with an
average value of $30 million cach.
That produces about $180 billion in
revenue, about the size of the annual
deficit.”

The Supreme Court's ruling is pro-
ducing copycat forfeiture legislation
in other cities and states. A few weeks
after the decision, a headline in the
Chicago Sun-Times declared: TOO Lou,
TOO LATE, YOU LOSE YOUR CAR.

“Crank up your car stereo obnox-
iously loud—lose your car. Proposi-

Чоп a prostitute—lose
your car. Hang out af-
ter curfew—lose your
car, or your parents’
саг”

The chief justice
should have issued a
warning to be attached
to all car titles:

Purchaser hereby
recognizes and accepts
that if the owner or any
other person using this
auto engages in sexual
relations in the vehicle,
the title to the property
automatically transfers
to the nearest law en-
forcement agency.

Washington was once a sexy place, a
place where the lust for power was, in
fact, lusty. There was a president who
shared a mistress with a mafioso, acon-
gressman who chased a stripper into
the Tidal Basin, a senator who kept
a sex diary with more entries than
Leonard Maltin's Movie and Video Guide.
We expected movers and shakers to
move it and shake it now and then.
“This made perfect Freudian sense: big
ego, big id, big deeds, big needs. “Pow-
er is the ultimate aphrodisiac,” Henry
Kissinger said 25 years ago. He wasn't
complaining.

It's a different Washington now.
Gone are the sex-positive policy wonks
of the recent past. Gone is Surgeon
General Joycelyn Elders—not so much
a martyr to masturbation as to candor.
Welcome to the antierotic politics of the
Nineties. as practiced by the Senate sex
cops and members of the House anti-
hedonism committee who made El-
ders’ fall inevitable. These puritans аге
in the Capitol blanching at Bill Clin-
ton's lust for lounge singers and writ-
ing legislation that threatens the most
personal liberty of all—the freedom to
define, practice and make educated de-
cisions about your own sex life.

If passed, the bills presented by this
antierotic faction will ensure that the
next generation of American youth is
as ill-informed about sex as its grand-
Parents were. Senate Republicans
made this a priority in their welfare-re-
form proposal, which cuts assistance to
undernourished children but provides
a tenfold increase in spending for absti-
пепсе courses for teenagers. “We can't
help you,” these senators are telling
the poor, “but you can help us. Stop
breeding!”

The sex-ed courses supported by
this bill will, if past performance is any
guide, be abstinence-based antisex
courses. Many have been written by
“educators” from the religious right.
Most have distorted medical science to
teach that premarital sex leads to sick-
ness or death. They have offered little
instruction about birth control other
than to exaggerate the failure rate of
condoms. Many have asserted that
AIDS and herpes are nature's ways of

, Washington hates sex.

correcting immoral sexual behavior.
"They have portrayed adolescent girls
as manipulative sluts or helpless vic-
tims and teenage boys as sperm-crazed
zombies—all the while claiming the
moral high ground.

The abstinence course known as
“Choosing the Best,” for example,
teaches that AIDS can be easily con-
tracted through kissing, that latex con-
doms are ineffective against sexually
transmitted diseases and that anyone

ASL |

TNR ү:
SMALL,
N f

МІНЕУ

MICE MENS

KGONGRESS

foolish enough to trust a condom
should wash his genitals immediately
afterward with—and I swear I'm not
making this up—Lysol.

Our elected officials say they're fight-
ing a war against AIDS, wasteful
spending and the deterioration of fam-
ily values. But here they are setting
aside funds for courses that are ideo-
logically driven and scientifically bank-
rupt, that use fear and shame to put
children at increased risk of HIV infec-
tion and that will probably result in
more teen pregnancies—and we al-
ready lead the industrialized world in
those categories. Maybe Congress is re-

By DAVID FRIEDMAN 0

wis

ally at war with kids.

"There are other bills that would lead
you to think so. Senator Dan Coats
(R-Ind.) has introduced the Responsi-
ble Parenthood Act, which would ban
federal spending on birth-control clin-
ics for students and increase funding to
"enhance the role of religious organi-
zations in solving problems relating to
adolescent pregnancies." 'The Elemen-
tary and Secondary Education Act,
now law, bans federal funds for “pro-
grams designed to encourage sexual
activity, for condom-availability pro-
grams and for sexuality- and HIV-edu-
cation programs that do not present
the health benefits of abstinence."

And in what may be the broadest at-
tack yet on sex education, Representa-
tive Steve Stockman (R-Tex.) has intro-
duced the so-called Child Protection
and Ethics in Education Act. The bill
calls for a congressional investigation
into charges that Alfred Kinsey, author
of Sexual Behavior in the Human Male,
"employed systematic sexual abuse of
children" to obtain some of his da-
ta. According to the Family Research
Council, a conservative think tank, this
alleged abuse involved multiple-or-
gasm experiments on children ranging
in age from five months to ten years. If
this charge is proved, the bill bans the
use of federal funds to support any
teaching based on Kinsey—which, ac-
cording to Stockman, means virtually
every comprehensive human-sexuality
course, AIDS-education program and
Family Life course taught in the U.S.
The logic is that if Kinsey's methodolo-
Ey was tainted, so is sex education.

"But the Kinsey Institute has never
carried out sexual experiments on chil-
dren,” says John Bancroft, its current
director, "either during Alfred Kinsey's
time or since." Bancroft concedes,
however, that the sole source for much
of the childhood-orgasm data in Sexual
Behavior was the diary of a pedophile.
“Kinsey believed that the evaluation of
human behavior could not be based
on scientific inquiry alone," Bancroft
explains, "and that evidence of how.
people actually behave should also be
taken into account. Kinsey strove for
objectivity by ensuring his informants’

anonymity—and by avoiding any value
judgments of their behavior.”

The charge against Kinsey in partic-
ular, and sex education in general, has
been around for 15 years and has yet to
be proved by anyonc—Icast of all its
champion, Judith Reisman, the long-
time antiporn crusader who was a wit-
ness for the prosecution at the Robert
Mapplethorpe obscenity trial in Cin-
cinnati. Not surprisingly, she is now ad-
vising Stockman.

That Reisman has the ear of Con-
gress is only one bit of evidence that
homophobia is alive and well on Capi-
tol Hill. Representative Peter Hoekstra
(R-Mich.) chaired a hearing last winter
titled “Parents, Schools and Values.”
Hoekstra said his intent was to stress
the role parents play as moral exem-
plars to their children. Instead, the
committee heard from one
Claire Connelly, a lesbian
and self-appointed anti-
gay-hedonism activist from
Ventura, California, who
testified—without provid-
ing documentation—that
$3 billion in federal funds
earmarked for AIDS educa-
tion and support services
was, in tact, being spent to
“establish meeting places
for gay and bisexual men to
have trysts.”

It wasn't long ago, you'll
recall, that a parent and
lawyer named Dan Quayle
said, in two different
speeches, that there are too
many single moms and too
many lawsuits in America.
One can only marvel, then,
at the chutzpah of the
Parental Rights and Re-
sponsibilities Act, intro-
duced by Senator Chuck
Grassley (R-Iowa) and
loudly supported by Quayle
and Senator Bob Dole (R-
Kansas), which would enable—eyen
encourage—parents to sue school
boards if a teacher says anything in
class the parents don't like.

Recently, parental rights groups
such as the Eagle Forum, headed by
terminal do-gooder Phyllis Schlafly,
have virtually inundated school boards
with lists of subjects that should not
be taught without written permission
from parents. Sex and homosexuality,
of course, are high on the lists. So are
divorce, witchcraft, suicide and some-
thing called creative problem solving.
Witchcraft and suicide alone should
eliminate half of Shakespeare.

So far, most boards have ignored the
lists. But in a troubling incident that
took place recently in California, a
kindergarten teacher agreed to pre-
view episodes of Sesame Street to make
sure Bert and Ernie, who live together,
did not promote homosexuality. And
in Merrimack, New Hampshire the
school board voted to ban instruction
ог counseling that offers homosexuali-
ty аз a “positive lifestyle alternative.”

The Parental Rights Act would not
only legitimize such absurditics, it
would also allow federal judges to
require school boards to create a de-
signer curriculum for anyone who
asked—fundamentalist Christians,
Afrocentrists, people who hate alge-
bra. This bill represents an unprece-
dented imposition of federal control
over local school affairs and would be-

come one of the largest unfunded
mandates of all time—two things
conservatives are supposed to be
against. “Why must school boards kow-
tow to parents who belong to fringe
groups?” asks Michael Simpson, an at-
torney for the National Education As-
sociation, which is fighting the bill.
“That isn’t democracy. That's chaos.”
Well-organized chaos, actually.
These attacks are happening on
many fronts, and they're all connect-
ed. From the school-board official fight-
ing to stop sex education to parents
screaming for school vouchers so they
can send their kids to private schools at

public expense to state legislators pass-
ing bills that require women to see a
counselor before getting an abortion—
no matter who's launching the attack,
says Roger Evans, litigation director
for the Planned Parenthood Federa-
tion of America, “You can trace a direct
line back to organized extremists of the
religious right. There's a monster out
there, and its head is the Christian
Coalition.”

This monster maintains a beastly dis-
regard for the truth. In Council Rock,
Pennsylvania the Coalition took aim at
a sex-ed program that had been in the
public schools for years. According to
Leslie Kantor of the U.S. Sexuality In-
formation and Education Council, an
organization that monitors such dis-
putes, the Coalition sent a letter and
questionnaire to parents asking if they
would want their children

exposed to something
called the “Orgasm Game.”
The questionnaire claimed
that the Orgasm Game
was part of Council Rock's
sex-ed curriculum and that
in it students described
their orgasms and then
solicited tips from class-
mates on how to make those
orgasms better. There was
one problem with all this:
There was no Orgasm
Game. It was a total fabrica-
tion. In the end, students
(many of whom had taken
the sex-ed course) and par-
ents joined forces to thwart
the Coalition.

If only our politicians
were as strong-minded. In-
stead, the monster has in-
timidated far too many of
our elected officials—peo-
ple who now think they are
doing the public's business
(and God's work) by snoop-

ing into our private lives and
leaving our children ignorant about
sex in the midst of an AIDS epidemic.

Few in Washington have the guts to
stand up to the religious right, despite
Pat Buchanan's failed candidacy. And
Pat Robertson's. And Oliver North's.
And Michael Huffington’s. Despite all
these defeats, the antisexual spirit lives
on in the small minds of a small group
of men walking the halls of Congress,
thinking about sex in the worst way.

So far, the moral mafia has advanced
its puritanical agenda without much
press scrutiny. It is time to shine a light
on the mob and its activities. Maybe,
like cockroaches, the mob will scatter.

DICKHEADS
The one-sided, narrow-

minded “Dickheads, Inc.” (The
Playboy Forum, April) fails to
mention the millions of dollars
the so-called environmental
groups (Sierra Club, Nature
Conservancy, et al.) receive
from corporations, grants and
the federal government. These
groups are out to destroy pri-
vate-property rights and to stop
vehicular recreation on public
land in order to further their
personal goals. 1 ат a member
of People for the West, and 1
enjoy exploring off-road areas
in that part of the country. I
have been locked out of mil-
lions of acres because of the ex-
ploitation of the Endangered
Species Act by powerful green
groups. Yes, PFW does accept
corporate donations, and they
account for more than 50 per-
cent of its $1 million annual
budget. Compare this with the
Sierra Club's yearly budget of
$40 million, or the Nature Con-
servancy’s $250 million projec-
tion. These days, green means
the almighty dollar, power and
greed.

Derek Cooper

Ridgecrest, California

Of the Sierra Club's $40 million

budget, less than 0.12 percent
comes from federal grants. Less
than ten percent of the Nature Con-
servancy’s $250 million budget
comes from taxpayer funds. Our
point wasn't who gives or takes—it
was to expose the name game played
by flack.

It's the greenies who have
cornered the market on lies,
distortions and bad science, not People
for the West. PFW is supported by its
members, who work in ranching, min-
ing, logging and other vitally impor-
tant fields that greenies want to elimi-
nate. As for the wolf-in-sheep's-clothing
analogy: My understanding is that re-
searcher Barry Clausen found no rec-
ord of terrorist activities by wise-use
groups in the past 12 years but turned
up $11 million in losses from 120 doc-
umented incidents of terrorism and vi-
olence by environmental and animal
rights groups in the U.S. and Canada.
"The war on the West is not about spot-

FOR THE RECORD

“When gunfire broke out on Ruby Ridge that
summer day, every member of the team came
under fire at some point. They all responded in
a courageous and professional manner, defend-
ing themselves and protecting their fallen com-
rade. For their exceptional courage, their sound
judgment in the face of attack and their high de-
gree of professional competence during this in-
cident, I hereby present the Robert Forsyth Act
of Valor Award."

—UNITEDSTATES MARSHALS SERVICE DIRECTOR ED-

'UARDO GONZALEZ DURING AN AWARDS CEREMONY
ON MARCH 1. HONORS WERE GIVEN TO FIVE MAR-
SEALS INVOLVED IN THE 1992 RUBY RIDGE SHOOT-
OUT WITH RANDY WEAVER AMONG THEIR HEROIC

mining, oil and gas production,
recreation, timber harvesting
and water development inter-
esis. And we are damned proud
of it, for these interests are the
economic backbone of many
‘Western communities. PFW ad-
vocates a balanced, multiple-
use public lands policy. I agree
with Robert Wieder's assertion
that many environmental orga-
nizations are merely fronts for
massive real estate schemes,
aimed at taking title to and ex-
ploiting as much public land as
they can dupe their idealistic
members into paying for. PFW
is on their enemy lists.
Gary Shaw
Chapter President
People for the West
Mancos, Colorado

Wieder must have caused a
few uncomfortable moments
for the fat cats crouched behind
their cardboard grassroots
causes. Since I read that article,
they seem to be popping up
everywhere. Here’s another
corporate scam to add to his
list: The Competitive Long Dis-
tance Coalition and NTS Mar-
keting launched a “grassroots”
lobbying effort to influence
Congress on behalf of those
who make long-distance phone
calls. But the grass roots turned
out to be weeds—the campaign
was a thinly veiled corporate-
backed drive.

Nikki Woods
Naples, Florida

FEATS: FATALLY SHOOTING 14-YEAR-OLD SAMMY

WEAVER IN THE BACK AND ALSO KILLING HIS DOG

ted owls or salmon or protecting the
environment. It is a plan to force peo-
ple off their land so greenies can play
with their wilderness areas, bioreserves
and other biotoys. Green radicals are
working hard to eliminate the Consti-
tution and plunge our nation into feu-
dal government.

William Jud

Fredericktown, Missouri

People for the West is exactly what it
claims to be. We are not attempting to
deceive anyone. We represent a coali-
tion of agriculture, livestock grazing,

Wieder is right. But “astro-
turf lobbying” is too mild a
term for this type of activity. For
several years, I have been trying to coin
the following word to denote astroturf
lobbying: pornoganda, defined as the
obscene misuse/abuse of language in
order to deceive, mislead, defraud or
otherwise conceal the truth. I consid-
er pornoganda more obscene than

pornography.

Clyde Wilkes
Bisbee, Arizona

‘SPECIAL DELIVERY
James Bovard's “Stand and Deliver”
(The Playboy Forum, April) is interesting,
but it seems to leave the reader with a

sense of helplessness. 1 am a
member of Citizens for an
Alternative Tax System, a
volunteer, grassroots, non-
profit organization that
seeks to eliminate the IRS
and replace federal income
taxes—including estate, gift
and excise taxes—with a retail
national sales tax. A bill proposing
this change has been sponsored by
members and supporters of the Con-
gressional National Sales Tax Caucus.
Its primary authors are Represents
Dan Schaefer (R-Col.) and Represen-
tative Billy Tauzin (R-La.). House
Ways and Means Committee Chairman
Bill Archer (R-Tex.) also supports the
bill and says his goal before he leaves
Congress is to tear the income tax out
by its roots and throw it on the side of
the road. Bovard's tales are only a few
examples of why income tax and the
IRS should be trashed. Only then can
we implement a fair and simple tax.
Every U.S. taxpayer should learn
about and support the effort to pass
this historic new 1 lation. CATS can
be reached at 800-767-7577.

Ashley Lewis

Austin, Texas

OK, I admit it. I subscribe to PLAYBOY
for the same reason every other college
kid does: to decorate the dorm room
walls. However, after reading “Stand
and Deliver,” I was sure I had discov-
ered the true gem of your publication,
namely, James Bovard. Bovard ex-
hibits a convincing, well-researched
style rarely achieved by other journal-
ists. His topics possess flavor, validity
and tangibility. At a time when our na-
tion's policy makers are drastically out
of touch with the public, Bovard serves
as a conduit between government and
citizen, I now look forward to the Fo-
rum as eagerly as I do the centerfold.

Douglas Lund
Manhattan, Kansas

Thanks for “Stand and Deliver.” Гуе
often been tempted to write “Infernal
Revenue Service” on my tax check but
have always chickened out. I'm glad
someone had the guts to print some of
the rotten stuff the agency gets away
with. One thing is for sure: It has creat-
ed an avalanche of misery. Kudos and a
double martini to you, Mr. Bovard.

K. Geesey
Atglen, Pennsylvania

DINNER IS SERVED
In response to your
“Whips and Gravy" item
(Newsfront, The Playboy Fo-
rum, April), I am pleased
to inform you that the
restaurant called School
Dinners (which combines
food with good old-fashioned
discipline) has opened in Belfast.
It’s a relief to know that, on occasion,
small minds, politics and overzealous

zoning can be overcome for the com-
mon good.

Mark Walton

Holywood, Northern Ireland

Send questions, opinions and quirky stuff

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Chicago, Illinois 60611. Please include a
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Hla. Watch

In April, Esquire magazine ran an item that warned readers: “'
Your Mouth.” The Healthwatch reporter had “newly urgent E
for all men: Oral sex with women posed a possible means of HIV
transmission. According to the reporter, several clinicians had report-
ed treating "increasing numbers of infected men whose only risky be-

havior was cunnilinj

Ме treated this news with some skepticism. After all, how many men.
in New York perform only cunnilingus? And how likely was it that.
such a person would come into contact with one of the 16,000 women

with AIDS in NYC?

The Centers for Disease Control won't dismiss the possibility of con-
tracting HIV through cunnilingus. But certain factors—such as stud-
ies that show HIV inhibitors in saliva—may explain the low incidence
of orally transmitted HIV among gays.

The New York City Office of AIDS Surveillance wouldn't rule out
the possibility. but they sent us numbers that spoke volumes. New.
York had a total of 64,475 male diagnosed AIDS cases by December
1995. Approximately 97 percent of the cases could be traced to known:
routes of transmission: through unprotected sex with gay or bisexual

men or with intravenous drug users, through sharing needles during
IV drug use or through blood transfusions. Only 756 of those cases

resulte

from heterosexual activity. The heterosexual figures didn't

separate noncoital sex as a route for transmission.

If cunnilingus represented a high risk, we wondered, how many
lesbians had reported HIV infections? The Lesbian AIDS Project sent
us some interesting materials. One article in the December 1986 An-
nals of Internal Medicine featured a case of a woman who apparently
caught the virus from her lesbian lover (an IV drug user). The two
had oral and digital contact during menses, and both women had suf-
fered vaginal bleeding from traumatic sexual activities.

In 1991 the CDC had found 164 women with AIDS who reported
having sex exclusively with females. Of the 164 women, 152 were in-
travenous drug users. The remaining 12 had apparently received

tainted blood during transfusions.
In 1992 The Journal of Acquired Immune

lromes studied

511 women who have sex with women. Of the 470 bisexual women,
only 13 were HIV-positive. These 13 reported a number of high-risk
activities—including unprotected vaginal and anal sex with men and
IV drug use. None of the 41 lesbians —who claimed no high-risk be-

havior—were infected.
That's it. You do the math.

—TERRY GLOVER

SEX AND DANGER

a new wave of erotic fiction by women pushes the limits

Good writing changes the way we
view the world and makes the familiar
seem new. A few sentences of good sex-
ual writing can grab your libido by the
throat, producing an erection so star-
tling it feels as if you've switched hands.

We have always dog-eared the good
parts, and even the so-so parts, to see if
a writer had stumbled on a new ap-
proach to the oldest pastime. Over the
past few years there has been a renais-
sance of sexual writing—mostly from
female short-story authors. Now, two
such women have graduated to the
big leagues, tackling novels that are
drenched in sex.

In the first chapter of Susanna
Moore's In the Cut (the title
refers to slang for “being in
a woman"), Frannic, a lan-
guage teacher, witness-
es a backroom blow
job in a dubious New
York City club. A
redheaded woman
kneels in front of a
man. He watches
Frannie while she
watches him:

“He did not turn
away. And he did not
stop her. She made
another little moan, just
to let him know that she
was getting tired, and he put
his hands on top of her bobbing
head, bunching up the red hair,
gripping her, letting her know, letting
me know that he was about to come
and he didn’t want her to fuck it up by
suddenly deciding to lick his balls.”

Frannie watches the resulting or-
gasm: “She began to slow down as he
came, and I thought, This girl knows
what she's doing.”

So, we might add, does the guy. Such
is life. You find a guy you can identify
with and the next thing you know, he's
a suspect in a murder. The redheaded
fellatrix is found “disarticulated” the
next morning. Frannie's involvement
with the detective investigating the
murder offers an analysis—not of a se-
rial killer's style, but of sexual styles in
general.

Watching the detective cruise the
streets of New York, the heroine of In

By JAMES R. PETERSEN

the Cut wonders: “He was slow, deliber-
ate, confident. One foot on the gas, one
foot on the brake. He didn't honk his
horn or call anyone an asshole. I won-
dered if he fucked that way.”

She finds out soon enough:

“He turned me around and bent me
over the desk, yanking my skirt around
my waist, and pulled aside my under-
pants and pushed his finger, fingers, all
of his fingers inside me.

“You're soaking wet,’ he said. He

pulled my arms behind my back, hold-
ing my wrists together.

“There was the sound of a belt buck-
le banging against the side of the desk,
and then the sound of a zipper. The
handcuffs were on the desk, near
my face.

“The telephone rang in the room
outside.

“With one hand, he pushed against
the small of my back and with the oth-
er hand he took his penis and slid it up
and down between my buttocks, wet-
ting me, rubbing his penis with his
hand, wetting it too. And then he be-
gan to open me, first one finger, and
then two, preparing me, teasing me,
patiently expert, until I could feel it

softening, expanding. "That's right,’ he
said, feeling it too. ‘Give it up."

“What are you doing? I whispered.
Even though I knew. It was as if I had
to pretend that I did not know what he
was about to do to me.

"Give it up,’ he said again and
pushed himself into me with a sudden
low moan, the force of it, the quick
pain, causing me to call out. He held
me tightly by the hips, moving me
slowly then faster, moving deeper, tak-
ing one hand away for a moment to
wipe the base of my spine, wet with
perspiration, taking my hips again, his
fingers pressing into my bones, keep-
ing me close to him. There was the
sound of his breathing and
another deeper, harsher
sound I had not heard
before as he rose slow-
ly to orgasm, heed-
less of mc, hccdlcss

of the men in the
room outside.”
She then mas-
turbates as he
tells her what he
did to her and
how much she
liked it, and she
comes
The heroine of this
novel is annoyingly pas-
sive; she is fascinated by
the deliberateness of sex. A
chameleon, she adapts to her part-
ner's lead. In a phone call, he tells her
exactly what he likes about her cunt,
how when he cups her, the clitoris leaps
into his hand, the sign of a good lov-
er. She pushes her hand into her un-
derwear and discovers exactly what
he means.

The narrator has a friend, Pauline,
who shares her obsession with sexual
styles. Pauline, having chased away one
lover too many, wonders if she is too
sexually aggressive. The two have a
wonderful and arch conversation over
drinks:

“What exactly was it that you want-
ed Mr. Kaplan to do?’ I ask.

"'[ think it was to fuck me from
behind.’

“What an unreasonable request.”

“You know,’ she said dreamily, ‘I can

ту man 1 ever fucked by
to do it, not the way 1

The price for such behavior: Pauline
becomes the serial ici

The detective investigating the
crimes has his own views about sexual
style: "Some women are terrible blow
jobs. No rhythm. No sense of cock."
What a wonderful phrase. Praise your
lover using this phrase and see if it
changes the way she performs oral sex.

Critics people who get paid to find
the good parts—have tried to put la-
bels on these novels. Those who
like the new genre call it “trans-
gressive fiction” (deliberately
crossing perceived boundaries
ОЁ taste, custom or sanity) or
“moral pornography” (sexual
writing that makes the reader
question his or her own behav-
ior, or the relation between the
sexes).

That was the sort of language
used to justify this past sum-
тегә hot new read by the newest
member of the cliterati, А.М. Homes.
Initially her new book, The End of Alice,
had been rejected by its publisher; that
buzz alone was enough to launch
the book.

Tomes’ book also studics onc man's
aggressive sexual style, Unfortunately,
this character is a sexual predator, a pe-
dophile convicted of murdering a
neighbor's child. What was merely
forceful male sexuality in Jn the Cut be-
comes something else in The End of Al-
ice. Homes takes us into the aberrant
male sexuality of prison, describing an
act of rape:

“He takes a tube of (bartered) jelly
from his pocket and spreads my legs;
his hands on the insides of my thighs,
prying, pulling until my legs unlock—
this is something still difficult to do vol-
untarily, without help, encouragement.
He squirts jelly onto his fingers, rubs it
for a moment to warm it, then slides
one or two digits into my ass, greasing
the path; sometimes his other hand is
оп my belly when he does this, some-
times he is pulling on my cock, but to-
day he jiggles my balls and laughs. I see
him getting harder. This is not exactly
punishment; it is not torture. It is an
experience I deserve (need). I am the
woman. 1 lie here and he fits himself
into me. In order to survive I must re-
lax. I feel him inside. I feel him against
my entrails and am, as always, most im-
pressed. I breathe, 1 feel Clayton's
weight and understand both the com-
fort and fear of suffocation. I feel my
cavity fill with his fluid and know that
for hours it will slowly run out of me. I

will feel him in me longer than he vill
feel me around him."

Is that transgressive enough for you?
Homes does allow her narrator re-
venge. Later in the book he impales
Clayton while singing The Star-Spangled
Banner.

For Homes. a sense of cock, or rather
a sense of the masculine, is simple: He
who penetrates is male.

We are somewhat amused by all the
attention paid the male organ in erotic
books written by women. In literary
circles it matches the passing of the
Olympic torch. But we aren't
sure what to make of this obses-
sion with anal sex. It seems clear
that a great description of anal
sex almost guarantees a spot on
the best-seller list. But maybe
something else is going on. The
books recall a certain literary
one-upmanship that used to be
the domain of male authors.
Norman Mailer, who was born
with a sense of cock, once had a
character grandly fuck a maid, moving
from vagina to rectum and back. Harry
Crews, no doubt aware of Mailer's
precedent, had a redneck character in
А Feast of Snakes offer this commentary
on a sex act: “Love is taking it out of
your mouth and sticking it in your ass.
But true love, goddamn true love, is
taking it out of your ass and sticking it
in your mouth.”

Obviously, literature loves to shock,
to take the reader for a stroll along the

sexual frontier. Earlier this year even
the once-staid New Yorker pub-
lished a story with a graphic у
anal sex scene. Homes pushes
sexual imagination over the 9
borders of age and bodily fluids.

It's not the specific act (anal sex)

but the desire to be graphic that

drives the novel. S

In Homes' book, the pedo-
phile character corresponds p
with a teenage predator. She is
not articulate. In one sentence
she describes an afternoon with her
younger friend: "And then we did it.”

“Did what?" rages the pedophile.
"What did you do? Did it. Done it.
What does that mean? Why does no
one tell me anything anymore?"

The End of Alice gives us fevered ex-
pansions of a deranged mind. The pe-
dophile imagines his correspondent
taking a young boy into her backyard.
He imagines what happens next:

“Her brassiere gives way, comes un-
done, firing him backward, sliding him
out and off and into the dirt. For a sec-
опа his pillar, his pole, lights up the
night, red, hot, glowing like molten

steel, like the rumored reindeer's nose.
But as quickly as it's flashed, she's upon
it, bouncing up and down. Shimmy,
shimmy, shake. How quickly it is done.
She leaves him laid out in the grass and
moves over to the sprinkler, spreading
herself over it, working the water whip
back and forth beneath her. With the
tiny teeth, the tickle of a tongue, she
water picks her pussy, sighing under its
spray. Both breasts in hand, she tilts
her hips back and forth, rocking, com-
ing not just once but in a set, a small se-
ries of cataclysmic constrictions. It is
something to see, to watch, the work of
an artisan. Beneath her, as her hips
continue to sway, the water automati-
cally turns itself off”

A woman writing about a man writ-
ing about a girl having sex with a boy.
Such moral pornography has less to do.
with our questioning of the relations
between the sexes than it does with
simply trying to figure out where we
are. In this quest for style, what is
male? What is female? What is adult?

For all the controversy, these books
by women are grounded in one clichéd
assumption about male sexuality —that
arousal inevitably leads to violence.
And they reinforce the old warning
that a sexually adventurous woman
will pay for her indiscrction. The nar-
rator of In the Cut ends up sliced and
diced in a fishing shed. Two of the
women in The End of Alice attempt sui-
cide (one succeeds). And seductive little
Alice is herself beheaded. Is that what
is meant by deconstruction?

When Bret Easton Ellis disar-
ticulated a character in American
Psycho, the National Organiza-

Е tion for Women called for his

head. To NOW's dismay, the
controversy simply helped boost
the sales of what was otherwise a

E forgettable novel. And we recall

that feminists objected loudly

» to Nicholson Baker's superb Fer-

+» — mata, a novel in which no one

dies at all. The lead character
simply stops time now and then to ex-
amine women's underwear and other
private parts. (He actually falls in love
with one woman because of the similar-
ity between her French braid and her
pubic hair.)

There is a double standard here:
When a male author commits fictional
violence against female characters, it
leads to claims of misogyny. But when a
female author posing as a male charac-
ter commits fictional violence against
a female character, it leads to claims
ofart.

Sex equals danger, sex equals death?
Hey, girls, lighten up.

N E W

STE R

ОРЕМ

what's happening in the sexual and social arenas

MONKEY BUSINESS

nasııvıe—Politicians in the state
that gave us the Scopes Monkey Trial de-
bated but finally defeated (for now) a bill
that would allow public schools to fire

teachers if they taught evolution as fact.
Earlier the State Senate had passed a reso-
lution that encouraged businesses and
schools to post and obey the Ten Command-
ments, In the neighboring state of Alaba-
ma, officials were busy affixing a dis-
claimer to biology textbooks that warns
against “the unproven belief that random,
undirected forces produced a world of liv-
ing things.”

NO ADULTS ALLOWED

COLUMBUS, OH10—After a lone patron
complained, the Metropolitan Library re-
moved 29 books and five audiotapes of
Anne Rice's erotic “Sleeping Beauty" trilo-
gy. The books and tapes had been available
Sor three years, but the library recently те-
vised its policies to exclude “pornography”
from its collection, To justify the removal,
the library director pointed to reviews (in-
cluding one in PLAYBOY) that describe the
trilogy as pornographic.

INDEPENDENCE, MISSOURI—The town
library turned down an offer to host a
traveling exhibit to celebrate Banned
Books Week. “USA Today” ran a headline
that read BANNED BOOK EXHIBIT BANNED,
but the library director insisted there simply
wasn't room for the 12-book display.

DATE-RAPE DRUG

TALLAHASSEE— Florida and Texas are
considering tougher regulation of the
sedative Rohypnol, also known as “roofies”
or “the date-rape drug.” Especially when
combined with alcohol, the drug can make
a person punch-drunk or can knock him or
her out cold for hours. (Shortly before his
suicide, Kurt Cobain overdosed on roofies
and champagne.) Although Rohypnol is
legal by prescription in 60 nations (in-
cluding Mexico), U.S. Customs has
banned its import. The Drug Enforcement
Administration also plans to champion
harsher penalties for possession.

GROUND ZERO

BALTIMORE—Last year, Robert Pate
was sent to prison for smuggling marijua-
na between Baltimore, Philadelphia,
Newark and Toronto. As often happens in
drug cases, prosecutors seized Pate's home
and bank accounts. Now they also want his
117.705 frequent-flier miles. A judge
agreed to consider the request, and Pate
doesn’t plan to fight it. “He's in prison,”
explained his attorney, “He's not going
anywhere.”

FLOWER POWER

SEATTLE— Police arrested the author of
a book on the history and use of opium and
charged kim with the distribution of "ille-
gal” narcotics—for two dried poppies he
purchased at a flower shop. “This stuff
grows everywhere,” argued author Jim
Hogshire's lawyer. “If they're not bust-
ing Martha Stewart for this, why him?”
Hogshire, who was also charged with pos-
sessing a weapon (an unloaded rifle found
in a closet), spent three days in jail before
being released on bond. He said one cop
asked him during the raid, “With what you
write, weren't you expecting this?”

COURTING TROUBLE

PITTSBURCH—There's more than one
way to gel rid of a romantic rival. A con-
victed robber was granted a new trial after
a judge ruled that the prosecutor in his
1988 case had a conflict of interest: He
was having an affair with the defendant's
girlfriend. Testimony revealed that the cou-
ple had had sex in a parked car the same
day the prosecutor and the accused negoti-
ated a plea bargain and sentence. Said the

spurned convict,
and he’s a dog.”

JUDGMENT DAY

TALLAHASSEE—In the latest episode of
Christian Coalition disorder, an en-
trenched “family values” politician in
Florida was arrested while receiving a $22
blow job outside a busy shopping center.
The Christian Coalition of Florida had
anointed State Representative Marvin
Couch with a perfect rating during his two
terms, a record now besmirched by four so-
licitation charges. Announcing his resig-
nation, Couch said he needed to spend
more time with his wife and six children.

SMILE! YOU'RE BUSTED

LONDON—Believing tha! surveillance
fights crime, officials in England have in-
stalled some 400,000 security cameras
throughout the country. And an enterpris-
ing video producer has released a 45-
minule tape of juicy fuvtuge culled from
the spying technology. “Caught in the Act”
includes trysts in a parking garage, an el-
evator and a supply closet, armed rob-
beries, car accidents and shoplifters. While
British lawmakers expressed outrage, the
producer says the tape “makes the point

“She's on evil temptress,

that Big Brother is getting out of hand.”
The money has been nice too: “Caught”
sold 60,000 copies in its first few weeks of
release. The producer's previous video
compilations include “Police Stop!" and
“Executions.”

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TH OTE é

mi SHAQUILLE O° NEAL

a candid conversation with the future of basketball about his lust for action, the
miracles of wealth, his fears about the olympics and why he still can't sink a free throw

Shaquille O'Neal was ascending into
heaven. That's how it seemed to the fans
reaching for him as he climbed the steps to
the VIP lounge at the Embassy, an Orlando
nightclub. It was supposed to be а small, pri-
vate party, but a radio station had passed the
word and half the town showed up. The line
stretched nearly half a mile as thousands of
people waited three hours for a glimpse.
When he arrived, dressed like a titanic lep-
rechaun in a bright green suit and matching
derby, the crowd surged forward and tore off
the club’s glass doors.

The occasion: O'Neal's 24th birthday.

The phenomenon: Shaqmania, which he
can't escape even on “quiet” nights on the
town. Never one to shun the spotlight,
O'Neal sports a tattoo of the Superman logo.
He says the S is for Shag. Another tattoo
reads The World Is Mine, and this summer,
at least, it’s no idle boast: The recent NBA
season was O'Neal's most impressive in four
All-Star years as the Orlando Magic’s center
of attention. With $17 million a year in en-
dorsements and with a megamillion-dollar
contract pending, he trails only Michael Jor-
dan and Mike Tyson on the jock-wealth list.
This month O'Neal will share the spotlight at
the Olympics in Atlanta, where he is the piv-
ot of Dream Team IIL. His fame is such that
the Magic pays a security expert to deal with

“Dream Teams I and II set such high stan-
dards, people almost expect us to slip up.
That's why I don't want to start. I want to be
the sixth man. That way you get big ap-
plause when you go in."

Shagmania on road trips. O'Neal has been
mobbed in Athens, Tokyo, Hong Kong and
London. The hoopster-rap star (“Shag
Diesel” went platinum and his second CD,
"Shag-Fu," went gold)-pitchman (Pepsi,
Reebok, Taco Bell) is also an actor (“Blue
Chips” with Nick Nolte) who has a new mov-
ie. He stars in “Kazaam” as а joking, rap-
ping genie. In short, he’s typecast.

The film exemplifies O'Neal's style. It is a
blend of seeming opposites, a joint effort by
Disney and the rap conglomerate Interscope.
But just as O'Neal makes his backboard-
shattering dunks seem fun rather than fierce,
he thinks he can make happy rap without
losing the hip in hip-hop. It wouldn't be the
first unlikely mix for the man who has been
called “a cross between Bambi and the Ter-
minator,” just the latest installment in a
goofy, all-American melodrama—his life.

In the 1991-1992 season, the year before
O'Neal hit the NBA, Otis Thorpe led the
league with 162 dunks. Rookie Shag nearly
doubled the record. In 1993-1994 he set a
new mark with an absurd 387 dunks. Hall
of Famer Bul Wallon called tum “a combi-
nation of Wilt Chamberlain and Magic
Johnson,” an irresistible force with unstop-
pable charm. O'Neal seemed to have leaped
oul of nowhere direct to center stage, In fact,
he had spent a troubled youth half a world

“I used to jump off roofs and try to fly. Га
land on stacks of cardboard. Even on
swings—you know how you swing real high
and jump off at the top, and for a second
you're flying? I could do that all day."

away before making his mark.

Shaquille Rashuan O'Neal, whose first
and middle names are Islamic for “little
warrior," was born in Newark, New Jersey
on March 6, 1972. His father soon disap-
peared. His stepdad was an Army sergeant
who moved the family to a U.S. Army base in
West Germany when O'Neal was a sixth
grader. That's where college coach Dale
Brown taught a clinic, spotted young Shaq
and asked, “How tall are you, soldier?”

“Pm not a soldier, sir. Pm only 13.”

After his stepdad was transferred to Texas,
O'Neal led San Antonio's Cole High to the
state title. He signed on with coach Brown at
Louisiana State University and averaged
13.9 points per game as a freshman. By his
junior year he was averaging 24.1 points,
but opposing teams had adopted a strategy
still seen in the pros: In the hack-a-Shag de-
fense, two or three or four defenders swarm
O'Neal whenever he touches the ball. He
shipped his senior year at LSU to join the
NBA, where such tactics are technically ille-
gal—which simply means more sophisticat-
ed. Ihe number one pack in the 1992 pro
draft was supposed to be the salvation of the
pitiful Orlando Magic. Pepsi and Reebok
committed $30 million in endorsement fees
before O'Neal played his first NBA minute.

As a Magic rookie he tore down the rim on

PHOTOGRAPHY BY C.J. WALKER.

“Sometimes I dunk so hard it hurts. Espe-
cially if a guy tries to block it. PU think, Let's
see if I can break his fingers on the rim. It
can really hurt my hands, but I don't feel it
till after the game.”

PLAYBOY

a ferocious dunk. And not just the rim. In a
long, loud, nearly slow-motion process, the
rim crumpled, followed by the backboard and
finally by the sieel-reinforced goal support.
The NBA hired engineers to fortify goals
around the league. More important, the woe-
ful Magic improved from 21-61 to 41-41.
That off-season the Rookie of the Year had a
small part in the hoops film “Blue Chips,”
starring Nick Nolte. O'Neal didn't make
the first five in the credits, but his fame
was jumping fast. Posters for the film read
NOLTE-SHAQ.

In 1993-1994, his second pro year,
O'Neal averaged 29.3 points, second in the
league to San Antonio's David Robinson.
Orlando made the playoffs for the first time.
A year later O'Neal again averaged 29.3,
this time winning the scoring title. His 11.4
rebounds per game were the league's third
best. He led Orlando to the NBA finals,
where the Magic lost to Hakeem Olajuwon
and the Houston Rockets. After that series
Olajuwon called Shaq "ihe future of this
league.”

As his basketball skills improve, O'Neal's
fame grows. He's a natural force who never
appears to work hard, yet last summer he
sweated with fitness trainer Billy Blanks and
got stronger than ever. His seemingly listless,
earihbound playing style can shift instanily
into mad spells of dunking, driving, shot-
blocking genius. He is the sports world’s top
colossus, but like Wilt Chamberlain before
him he can't master his game's simplest task:
The guy can't hit a free throw.

We sent Contributing Editor Kevin Cook to
meet him at his home outside Orlando, just
down the road from Disney World. Cook
reports:

“Casa Shaq is a 22,000-square-foot man-
sion jammed with fan mail, pinball ma-
chines, computer games and life-size figures
of movie monsters. It’s as if Tom Hanks’
character in ‘Big’ became an NBA All-Star.
O'Neal's music studio and putting green are
under construction. When Shaq is there,
everything seems in perspective. After all,
this is a man who wears a 22EEE shoe and
a size 52 shirt (or XXXL). His four dogs”
names are all pop references: Thor, Shazam,
Prince and Die-Hard.

“Since O'Neal is a starstruck superstar,
one wall of his TV room is covered with the
framed jerseys of dozens of other famous
jocks, his heroes. Two of these mementos bear
the number 32, which is also Shaq's number.
One is Magic Johnson's Laker jersey, in-
scribed, To the most versatile big man ever.
Keep rappin’. Another 32 is a USC jersey,
signed ‘Peace,’ from O.J. Simpson.

“Our most exciting moments took place
about 3200 miles west of the Shaq Shack.
One day in Long Beach, California, where
he was working on a Taco Bell commercial, I
wailed three hours for the interview session
he'd promised. But filming ran late, and
Quincy Jones, Shag's dinner date, was wait-
ing for him in Beverly Hills, 45 minutes
north. There was only one way we could talk:
1 would drive Shag to Beverly Hills. Unfor-

48 tunately I had a midsize rental car. Fortu-

nately Shaquille was game: He squashed his
seven-foot frame into the car, his knees al-
most touching his forehead, and held my
lape recorder to his lips so the car's noise
wouldn't cover our talk. Then his agent
Leonard Armato, whom we were to follow to
Beverly Hills, took off like a comet in his
black Mercedes Benz, forcing me to hop
curbs and run red lights to keep up. There
was no time for seat belts, The car chase con-
tinued as Armato hit the freeway and zipped
between speeding cars. A few limes we were
inches from a crack-up. I saw the next day's
headline: SHAQ BRUISES THUMB—UNKNOWN
MAN DIES. But we squeaked through, and
Shaquille, who can be monosyllabic on an
ordinary day but responds well to danger.
talked openly about the unlikely transforma-
tion of a once clumsy boy into an athletic
conglomerate.”

PLAYBOY: We almost crashed on the free-
way, but you never blinked.

O'NEAL: Nothing scares me. I'm an action
guy. Scuba diving, bungee jumping, mo-
torcycles—I'm there. I bungeed off a
crane in Orlando and loved it. I'm get-
ting a new motorcycle, too, a specially

Iwas clumsy. Always
flunked gym, right up
to high school. Even now
I can do only about
ten push-ups.

made, really big Harley.

PLAYBOY: Doesn't your contract forbid
dangerous hobbies?

O'NEAL: Yes. I'm not allowed to skydive,
ride motorcycles, stuff like that. But 1
ike going fast. I wiped out on a moped
in Hawaii, rubbed a bunch of skin off my
leg. My Harley vill be a lot faster than
any moped, but I won't get hurt. And 1
am going to skyd

PLAYBOY: So you've violated your $41
million contract with the Magic? What if
you get hurt and they quit paying you?
O'NEAL: They could. 1 would still go
skydiving.

PLAYBOY. What other stunts have you
tried?

O'NEAL: Parasailing in Mexico. A boat
pulls you almost 100 miles an hour and
you go hundreds of feet up in the air.
"Then you come down and hit hard. You
could break your leg. But 1 always ap-
proach things thinking, What's the worst
thing that could happen here? With
parasailing the worst thing is landing
wrong, so I concentrate on turning at
the last second, hitting the water with
the side of my leg. One thing about me,
whether I'm sailing or cycling or jump-

ing my Sea-Doo like a crazy man: I know
how to land.

PLAYBOY: And you'll bet $41 million on it.
O'NEAL: I'm not a worrier.

PLAYBOY: Now you've landed a starring
role in the Olympics. Can you cover the
50-point spread against Lithuania?
O'NEAL: Dream Teams 1 and I set such
high standards, people almost expect us
to slip up. That's why I'm telling Lenny
Wilkens I don't want to start. I want to
be the sixth man. That way at least you
get big applause when you go in.
PLAYBOY: Will you get emotional at the
medals ceremony?

O'NEAL: Nah. The Olympics is a job. It's
my job to kick some butt and bring back
the gold. Maybe have some fun with
the guys.

PLAYBOY: You outplayed Michael Jordan
in this year's All-Star game, but he got
the MVP award. Were you pissed?
O'NEAL: A little. With the game in San
Antonio I figured David [Robinson]
would play unbelievably and be the
MVP. But he got off to a slow start
and nobody took over the game, so 1
thought, Let me. I hit three fadeaways,
got a big dunk late, thought I was a
shoo-in. Then politics took over. But it's
cool, it's over now. Me and Jordan, man,
we're friends. He came to me after the
game with the trophy under his arm. He
said, "Here, take it. You deserved it." But
I said no. I don't want to win MVP like
that. I want the system to give it to me.
PLAYBOY: Why would the writers voting
on the award want to slight you?
O'NEAL: Maybe it’s my size. People think
big guys have it easy, that we don't even
have to try. But I just congratulated Jor-
dan that day. The guy still amazes me.
A few guys can surprise you—Magic,
Charles—but Jordan, with his quickness,
does stuff you can’t practice, things you
can't even dream of. My rookie year, the
first time we played Chicago, the first
play I ever faced him, he blocked my
shot. I think he was actually flying.
PLAYBOY: You had another embarrassing
moment last season when your pants
came off. Nobody caught it on film and
you wouldn't tell reporters who pantsed
you.

O'NEAL: It was Jordan. I was going up,
but he grabbed my shorts. I had to go
change in a huddle. That stuff happens a
lot. I get held, pushed. Guys like to lean
оп my arm, pin it to my side so I can't
rebound. If you watch close you'll see it
almost every play. I just don't usually
lose my pants.

PLAYBOY: One NBA coach says you get
hacked and smacked—"tormented"—
more than any player in history.

O'NEAL: I won't take it forever. I'm
stronger than ever now, and it's on my
clock to stop the abuse. I won't give any
warning, either. One night ГЇ just go
crazy and start breaking up people.
PLAYBOY: This year?

O'NEAL: (Grins) If I tell you it won't be a

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PLAYBOY

surprise, will it?
PLAYBOY: We'll come back to hoops. Tell
us about your new job in movies.
O'NEAL: Kazaam. 1 play a hip-hop rap-
ping genic with an attitude. He's half
human, half magic, so you never know
what he'll do. I wanted to make a chil-
dren's movie because my target audience
is four to 14, and I'm still a child myself.
І always say that deep down inside I’m
ten years younger than my actual age. So
I really just turned 14.

PLAYBOY: Shaq hits puberty—could that
cause earthquakes?

O'NEAL: I can feel it coming on.

PLAYBOY: Will you fret about reviews, or
are you worry-free as an actor too?
O'NEAL: It's my first starring role, so I
told everybody on the set, "If it's not
right, tell me." I don't want Siskel and
Ebert blasting me.

PLAYBOY: How did they like you as a col-
lege dunkster in Blue Chips?

O'NEAL: Thumbs up.

PLAYBOY: How many times have you seen
Blue Chips?

O'NEAL: A million. I sat in my house and
watched it over and over till I wore the
tape out. Because it was cool, but also to
study the movie and what I did in it. It's
а basketball role, so I didn't have to act
much, but I thought, The kid's OK.
PLAYBOY: What's your method? Do you
try to feel your character's emotions?
O'NEAL: Nick Nolte, who played my
coach in the movie, amazed me with how
he could turn his emotions on and off.
In one second he'd go from tears on-
screen to joking around when the cam-
era was off. Now I try to do that. 1 think
about simple feelings: mad, sad, happy.
To get pissed off I'll think about losing all
my money. To be happy I'll think, I just
won $800 million! To be sad I'll think my
girlfriend dumped me.

PLAYBOY: Has that happened?

O'NEAL: Of course not.

юїлүвоү: Do you talk acting with your
neighbor Wesley Snipes?

O'NEAL: I'm not a versatile actor like Wes-
ley or Denzel Washington. Wesley could
play a gangster, a cop, a lover, anything.
ТЇЇ probably always be a basketball play-
eror a silly comedian.

PLAYBOY: You sound wistful.

O'NEAL: Т get a lot of scripts. There was a
good one I turned down—they wanted
to make mea gangster, a killer. But I'm a
role model. Too many of my fans are I
tle kids. Action films, though. they re dif-
ferent. My all-time favorite movies are
New Jack City and the Godfather films.
Seen 'em a hundred times. I want to
make Terminator 3. I've told Arnold we'd
be great beating each other ир, tearing
up the city.

PLAYBOY: Schwarzenegger looks huge to
most of us. Does he seem puny to you?
O'NEAL: Just normal. But his muscles
are big.

PLAYBOY: Do you ad-lib or stick to the

50 script?

O'NEAL: It depends on the director. On
Blue Chips Billy Friedken was lenient. He
said, "Have fun with it." 1 didn't do any-
thing great. One line was, "Somebody
owes me a hundred dollars," and I said,
"Somebody owes my ass a hundred
dollars."

PLAYBOY: You put your ass on the line.
O'NEAL: It added a little. My best ad-libs
are in commercials, though. In my first.
one for Reebok, where I need a pass-
word to go in with the legends—Wilt,
Walton, Kareem, Bill Russell—the line
was no good: "Speak softly and carry а
big stick." I made it, "Don't fake the funk
on a nasty dunk." Now I tell all the com-
panies I deal with to make the ads funny.
I'm a comedian. For the Pepsi commer-
cial where I want a drink but the little
boy won't give me one, I remembered a
Coke ad from when I was little, the one
where Mean Joe Greene gave a kid his
jersey. We kind of played off that but
made it funny—the kid tells me, “Don't
even think about it.”

PLAYBOY: Unlike most jocks, you have eq-
uity in the companies you flack. That
gives you more creative control. Whatad
ideas have you vetoed?

O'NEAL: Shagzilla. I turned down a King
Kong ad, too. I said no, I'm more versa-
tile than King Kong. Ad agencies get
paid a lot to create commercials, but 1
turn most of them down. The ad guys
get mad, but they don't like to challenge
me. They goto the Reebok or Pepsi peo
ple and complain.

PLAYBOY: Didn't you veto an NBA ad?
O'NEAL: When I was a rookie they want-
ed me to tell kids to stay in school
How could I do that when I left LSU a
year early? So we compromised. They
changed the line to, “Stay in high
school.”

PLAYBOY: What is it that makes a good
commercial?

O'NEAL: Don't talk much. Make a funny
face, then say a good one-liner. I'm al-
ways trying to think of great ones, like
“Make my day” My Pepsi ad had a pret-
ty good one-liner. I run through all the
old-time TV shows and then say, “Who
says there's nothing good on TV?”
PLAYBOY: You develop spin moves in
workouts with Hakeem Olajuwon. Do
you practice funny faces too?

O'NEAL: Sure. | work at everything. As
a kid I thought I would be on TV
someday, so I mocked commercials and
watched myself in a mirror. I still try dif-
ferent faces and deliveries in the mirror.
PLAYBOY: Anything you won't endorse?
O'NEAL: I was offered a couple hot dog
commercials, but then Jordan came out
with his hot dog ad, so 1 said no. Didn’t
want to be a follower. I turned down the
Shaqdanna, a head rag. One company
wanted to bottle my sweat and sell it as
cologne. They were going to call it EOS,
Essence of Shaq. I’m no marketing ge-
nius, but 1 don't think millions of people
want that.

PLAYBOY: Your candy bar, Mr. Big, keeps
selling despite its close resemblance to
aturd.

O'NEAL: Mr. Big is a cross between my fa-
vorite candy bars, Whatchamacallit and
Milky Way. I must have taste-tested hun-
dreds of them.

PLAYBOY: How many did you reject?
O'NEAL: None.

PLAYBOY: What do you think of the NBA's
marketing?

O'NEAL: It works. If I were a kid I'd have
the top guys up on my wall—Jordan,
me, Charles. Telecommunications are so
powerful now, we're known all over the
world. I did a clinic in Greece one sum-
mer; there were supposed to be about
1500 people there but 34,000 showed.
up. I dunked and the crowd went crazy.
I had to run and hide in the locker
room. With me, some of it's the comedy.
People like funny faces. Some of it’s my
size and even my name. Shaq is so easy a
two-year-old can say it. As far as the NBA
goes, I think Jason Kidd might be the
next big name.

PLAYBOY: What about an older name? We
take it you never had Bill Laimbeer's
poster on your wall

O'NEAL: He was a flopper. That's a guy
who sees me coming 800 miles an hour
and falls down, trying to get a foul. Guys
who can't play, flop. Laimbeer was the
worst.

PLAYBOY: He liked shooting free throws.
That's not exactly your etyle this year
you're hitting fewer than half your free
throws. Why?

O'NEAL: I don't concentrate. I practice
them a lot and always hit them in prac-
tice, but in games I keep missing. 1 have
to concentrate harder.

PLAYBOY: Rick Barry, one of the best foul
shooters ever, shot them underhanded.
He thinks you should too.

O'NEAL: That's a horrible suggestion. І
would never shoot them underhand.
PLAYBOY: It looks girlish, but aerodynam-
ically it's the best way.

O'NEAL: Never.

PLAYBOY: How about the theory and
practice of dunking?

O'NEAL: 105 the best way to score. Some-
times I dunk so hard it hurts. Especially
if a guy tries to block it. I'll think, Let's
see if 1 can break his fingers on the rim.
It can really hurt my hands, but with all
the adrenaline I don't feel it till after the
game, and by then it’s OK. The points
are on the scoreboard.

PLAYBOY: This year you hit your first
three-pointer.

O'NEAL: That was great. I have an NBA
video game at home where you can be
Shaq or Scott Skiles, the guard who
shoots the threes. I'm always Skiles. This
time, real life, time was running out, 1
threw it up and I knew it was in. Knew it,
felt it—it's mine.

PLAYBOY: Come on. It banked in.

O'NEAL: Yeah, but 1 called glass.
PLAYBOY: Do you have any friends on

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O'NEAL: I started a group of us, the
Knuckleheads. Kind of the NBA bad
guys. Not just Orlando players like me
and Dennis Scott, but Litterial Green,
Rod Strickland, the unusual guys. We let
Rodman in. He gets away with a lot—
pushing and grabbing—that I'd get
called for, He's cool, though. We'll see
each other and say, “Get over here,
knucklehead!” But I had to retire from
the Knuckleheads because I’m a role
model. So they have no leader now. 1
guess Rodman will have to take over.
PLAYBOY: What did you think when Mag-
ic Johnson rejoined the Lakers? Were
you concerned about getting AIDS?
O'NEAL: I was. But when Magic came
back the league sent a doctor around to
all the teams. He told us the ways you
can get AIDS. He told us to be careful.
But you can't get it from sweat, and if
you're bleeding and the other guy has a
cut too, the odds are still that you won't
get it. There were people with HIV who
came with the doctor and told their sto-
ries. It’s helpful, it makes you think. I
mean, who can you trust? AIDS has
definitely changed the way of life around
the league. Guys are more careful. The
thinking is, If you don't know someone,
then maybe you shouldn't, you know? I
always practice safe sex.

PLAYBOY: Every single time?

O'NEAL: Well, almost.

PLAYBOY. Is sex different for a man who's
71^, 320 pounds?

O'NEAL: No. Women like big men. We can
protect them.

PLAYBOY. Were you always so confident
with women?

O'NEAL: Nope. I lost my virginity late. 1
was 17, in college already. 1 wasn't too
awkward about it, but I wasn't a big sex
man. One night I was out with the boys
and I met a girl. She was older. She had
an apartment in Baton Rouge. That's
where it happened and it was OK, but
just OK.

PLAYBOY: You've said that you sometimes
intimidate women.

O'NEAL: Some are scared of my size. I can
see it in their eyes. But they don't have to
be. I won't bite.

PLAYBOY: Do you have any advice about
women?

O'NEAL: Be пісе to them. Don't b.s. them,
because they're smart. Give them what
they want

PLAYBOY: Tell us about the two nude
women who knocked on your hotel
room door.

O'NEAL: That's a good rumor, but it nev-
er happened. Women do ask me to sign
their panties, though. And one woman
broke into my house when I was sleep-
ing, came into the bedroom and started
dimbing me. I'm trying to wake up,
spinning around, but she's hanging on
my neck, saying. “Oh, you're so great!”
Finally the police came.

PLAYBOY: Other than being climbed at

dawn, what turns you off?

O'NEAL: Fast-talking women. Heavy make-
up. And I don't like women approaching
me. I like to do the choosing. A woman
needs a sense of humor too. One girl I
dated was beautiful, but she had no hu-
mor at all. I had to get out of there
PLAYBOY: At your birthday party a
woman looked at you and said, “A horny
Shag, that would be a force of nature.”
Reaction?

O'NEAL: It's reasonable. But I'm not
looking around. I've had the same girl-
friend for five years.

PLAYBOY: You're very secretive about
her—the woman you call *my wife."
O'NEAL: Well, maybe we're secretly mar-
ried. She was going to college in Texas,
but she just graduated. Now she's chill-
ing out with me at home.

PLAYBOY: Are you monogamous?

O'NEAL: I’m faithful. 1 can look at a
roomful of women and it doesn't turn
me on. But faithful depends on your sit-
uation. Ours is, “You be honest and so
will 1.”

PLAYBOY: Ever break anyone's heart?
O'NEAL: I couldn't bring myself to hurt a
girl's feelings. I'd do crazy things in
stead. Act silly, burp at the table, any
thing to irritate her so she'd break up
with me.

PLAYBOY: You were more direct as an
NBA matchmaker. Didn't you tell the
Magic to trade for your brilliant tcam-
mate Penny Hardaway?

O'NEAL: He'd worked on Blue Chips, too.
That's when I saw how good we could be
together. I went to the front office and
told them I had analyzed everything,
that I wanted to win and this was how to
do it. They listened. Certain guys have
always had that kind of influence. Magic,
Larry Bird. That was when I went up to
that level,

PLAYBOY: Orlando traded the rights to
Chris Webber, who has had a troubled
career, for Hardaway, who's now an All
Star, and got three draft picks to boot.
O'NEAL: I look like a genius, don't I?
PLAYBOY: But you've made noises about
leaving Orlando. You may be a free
agent by the time this interview appears.
Don't you feel any obligation to the Mag:
icafter helping shape the club's roster?
O'NEAL: Not really. I did the right thing
at the time. If I go to another club, ГЇЇ
feel I helped this one get better. And if I
go, it won't be to another team that
needs rebuilding. It'll be one like Orlan.
do is now, one that's doing things right.
Because I want to win. Soon

PLAYBOY: Everyone suspects you're head-
ed for the Lakers.

O'NEAL: [Winks] Los Angeles isa very nice
town. I really like the climate. Га never
go where it's cold and snowy

PLAYBOY: Bad news for Minnesota
O'NEAL: Sorry, Timberwolves

PLAYBOY: Is it true that your asking price
is $140 million?

O'NEAL: I can't say. There's going to be a

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PLAYBOY

negotiation and I need to maximize my
value. My agent may start out saying 1
want $600 million. The other side might
say, “Oh, maybe $300 million,” and we
would come down.

PLAYBOY: It’s an economic conundrum—
finding the market value of a unique
commodity.

O'NEAL: Right. See, I collect things—
weird, one-of-a-kind things. I have a
pair of mink-lined alligator boots and I
don't even know what they cost. I didn't
ask. Because a guy making mink-lined
alligator boots in my size, 22EEE, can
charge whatever he wants. He's the only
one doing what he does. It’s like the oth-
er night when I got to the hotel after the
game and I was thirsty, but the stores
were closed. is Charlotte in the mid-
dle of the night, the middle of nowhere,
but they're smart and they know they've
got you. So the hotel charges $1.75 fora
Pepsi. I mean, please! If there's a store
open that night, another Pepsi any-
where, they'd bring the price down. But
it's late and you're thirsty, so you pay it.
That's economics.

PLAYBOY: If you got a $140 million con-
tract, would you have enough money?
O'NEAL: Not really, because I wouldn't
get it up front. It’s paid over years and
years, so it doesn't get me all that much
closer to my goal.

PLAYBOY: Which is?

O'NEAL: To have $100 million clear by the
age of 28.
PLAYBOY: That sounds realistic.

O'NEAL: If I can get to $500 million I
plan to give each of my relatives half
a mil.

PLAYBOY: Do they know that?

O'NEAL: They didn’t until now. But I'm
fairly generous with them. I'm always
giving my sister money, so one time I
made her work for it instead. I paid her
$300 to make me a peanut butter and
jelly sandwich.

PLAYBOY: What's a lot of money to you?
O'NEAL: Five hundred million. I may
have to win the lottery.

PLAYBOY: You play the lottery?

O'NEAL: I play scratchers. I get five of my
friends, | tell each one to buy 20 tickets,
and if we win we'll split it up. So far our
biggest win is one dollar We don't even
cash those їп. 1 won't cash one in for less
than $100.

PLAYBOY: How do you bet the financial
markets?

O'NEAL: I don’t gamble. That's how
greedy people lose their money, by try-
ing to make $2 million into $100 million.
I don't need to make $100 million that
fast. I earn it. Mostly with the govern-
ment. The Treasury has most of my
money.

PLAYBOY: So, do you read The Wall Street
Journal?

O'NEAL: No, ] get a monthly statement
from my people. What | got, what I
spent, what I saved. I'm doing well fora

54 young millionaire in my age group, bet-

ter than most of them. I don't like to
speculate. The stock market is so up and
down it scares me. I keep more than half
my money in Treasury bills. That way 1
don't have to worry about interest rates;
I just stay with my four, six percent. I
don't get much back percentagewise, but
it adds up.

PLAYBOY: As in four percent of $10 mil-
lion is $400,000.

O'NEAL: So I got my money in the gov-
ernment with President Clinton, got my
T-bills with Bill.

PLAYBOY: Who advises you on financial
matters?

O'NEAL: The business side of my crew is
six people. There's Leonard Armato, my
agent, who handles the big stuff. Dennis
Tracey, my personal assistant, takes care
of the day-to-day. Lester Knispel, my tax
genius, does most of my money. My
mother does the fan mail. My cousins
Joc and Ken, two guys I took out of the
ghetto to teach them responsibility, they
work in my businesses too. My crew is
named Twism. It stands for the world
is mine. We all have matching tattoos.
PLAYBOY: Even Mom?

O'NEAL: Well, not Mom.

PLAYBOY: Your investments include
Reebok, which provided a sheaf of stock
options as a signing bonus, plus excu-
sive deals on candy, souvenirs and other
Shagabilia. What else?

O'NEAL: My Pepsi deal made me part
owner of Pepsi South Africa. 1 have a
third ofit. Whitney Houston has anoth-
er third. Im not sure exactly what it's
worth, but it’s a Jot and it could get huge.
PLAYBOY: Do you keep a lot of cash
around? How do you pay the pizza man?
O'NEAL: I pay my own bills, sign the
checks myself. I keep my checking ac-
count filled to $100,000. That way I can
keep up with the bills, maybe buy a car.
PLAYBOY: What's your current net worth?
O'NEAL: Don't know, don't want to look.
It seems petty to look, to count your
money all the time. Still, I don't think
I'm overpaid. Firemen, cops, teachers,
those people are underpaid. But I didn’t
make the salary structure. I just gave it
a ride.

PLAYBOY: What's the last thing you didn't.
buy because of the price?

O'NEAL: А Rolls-Royce. They wanted
$275,000, and I don't think you should
pay more than about $60,000 for a car.
Got six of them now. Опе has a plate that
says SHAQ-FU, One says DUNKON-U and
one, the Van of Def, says sHAQ АТТАО. All
with good stereo systems, which 1 will
spend money on. The system in my Sub-
urban cost $60,000. The one in the Van
of Def cost $150,000—a lot more than
the van cost. That's my pri
PLAYBOY: Is wealth what you expected it
to be?

O'NEAL: Pretty much. It means you don't
have to wait to get your toys.

PLAYBOY: As a kid, what did you want to

be when you grew up?
O'NEAL: A stuntman. I studied stunts on
ТУ. I actually used to tape plastic bags
over my hands, jump off roofs and try to
fly. I'd land on stacks of cardboard box-
es. I was always thinking about flying.
Even on swings—you know how you
swing real high and jump off at the top,
and for a second you're flying? 1 could
do that all day.
PLAYBOY: Were you always a jock?
O'NEAL: No, I was clumsy. Always flunked
gym, right up to high school. Even now I
can do only about ten push-ups. I had
size but couldn't climb a rope or wrestle.
Actually, I wasn't allowed to wrestle after
the time I got mad, threw a boy down
and broke his wrist.
PLAYBOY: How did he make you mad?
є was winning.

PLAYBOY: You were clumsy and strong.
O'NEAL: [t turned out I had Osgood-
Schlatter's disease. That's a bone disor-
der where your body grows too fast. The
joints in your legs can't catch up. My
knees hurt all the time. And because I
was different the other kids called me
names. Bigfoot. Shaqueer. That made
me a bully. 1 had to show how tough I
was, knock people out. In sixth grade a
boy told on me, so I waited for him after
school. He tried to sneak out, but I
caught him. Punched him in the face,
almost killed him. He swallowed his
tongue, went into convulsions. And I
didn't try to help him. I just ran.
PLAYBOY: You were scared.
O'NEAL: I don't get scared. But things got
worse—it turned out his father was an
Army officer.
PLAYBOY: And you were an Army brat,
weren't you?
O'NEAL: My dad was a drill sergeant,
Sergeant Philip Harrison. I grew up in
Newark, then we went to a base in Ger-
many. I hated it there. I was clumsy, 1
stuttered. I stayed home and watched a
lot of TV. Tom and Jerry, Spider-Man,
Good Times, Bugs Bunny. One guy I liked
was the Hulk, the guy who just got mad
and went wild.
PLAYBOY: How wild were you?
O'NEAL: Not very. Mostly dumb shit. One
time I pulled a fire alarm and got
caught. My father had to come get meat
the MP station and he gave mea beating
right there. It hurt. After the boy swal-
lowed his tongue, I lied to the Sergeant
I got beat for that. Sometimes
for leaving my shirttail out, because he
said you had to be neat. There were
whuppings all the time.
PLAYBOY: Yet you kept acting up.
O'NEAL: J found out about a law on the
base. If parents couldn't handle their
kids they had to send them back to the
States. I didn't want to grow up in Ger-
many, so I did crazy stuff. But I never
got sent back, and finally I thought I was
letting my parents down, They both
worked hard. My mom was a secretary.

(continued on page 145)

WHAT SORT ОЕ MAN READS PLAYBOY?

He's a man who turns his leisure time into an adventure. He knows that, whether it's kayaking
class-four whitewater or climbing a rock cliff high in Colorado, summer is the season for braving
new challenges and savoring the view. PLAYBOY readers excel at recreation. More than 5.6 mil-
lion readers are outdoor-sports enthusiasts. And more than 2.3 million bought sports equip-
ment last year. PLAYBOY—it towers above the competition. (Source: Fall 1995 MRI.)

the story of millionaire
john du pont, the

u.s. wrestling team
and the murder of
dave schultz is as

bizarre as it gets

WE SEE THE killing as Nancy Schultz saw it.

A gunshot and her husband's scream. He
is outside, Dave Schultz, father of her two
children, Olympic champion wrestler. He is
fixing the car radio. She steps to the front
door, He is in the snow, facedown. Over him,
leaning out of his car with a pistol, is John du
Pont, nutso lord of the 800-acre estate where
they live. She starts out, but du Pont looks up
and raises the gun.

She jumps back. He lowers the gun at
Schultz and . . . another shot. Dave's body
jerks, John’s hand recoils. She runs to the
phone, pounds 911, shouts into it what,
where. As John drives off, she goes to Dave.
There is so much blood. She kneels in the
snow beside him, beside the body she knows
so well, the warm, firm torso, the balding,
bearded head. He is still. In his back is a
hole. So much blood. "It's OK,” she says,
needing it to be. She presses her hand
against the hole. Hold the blood in. He is try-
ing to breathe. His eyes are open. He says
nothing. There is only the death rattle, a
long, gurgling expiration. His eyes fix.

Now nothing is the same. The long mo-
ment replays without pause.

Nancy will tell friends and repeat it to po-
lice and in court, her voice going from aghast
to angry. Who can explain? What good will
explaining do? John, it seems, bas killed her
sweet husband, Alexander and Danielle's
daddy, the boisterous, brilliant wrestler,
the man who was, simply, everything John

ILLUSTRATION BY MARSHALL ARISMAN

Make-believe champion: Du Pont (top)
was o generous benefocior of the Santo
Clora Swim Club in 1967, and the
club’s slowest swimmer. In Morch 1995
he stood between Bulgorion wrestler
Valentin Jordonov and Dove Schultz
(bold, with beord) in Sofio, Bulgorio.
Schultz observed that du Font hod the
"emotionol maturity of о 12-yeor-old.”
In April 1995 Schultz was wrestling in
a notionol tournoment held in Los
Vegos. Nine months loter he wos dead.

Losing it; Du Port (below) puts his info-
mous “eagle lock” on о cooperotive
snowy-hoired opponent at a 1995
“masters tournoment” in Bulgario thot
he bonkrolled. The heir lived most of his
life in a mansion in o Philadelphio sub-
urb, where he built а nest of twigs ond
bronches ond perched in it like а bird in
а room marked EYRIE. Du Pont was
nobbed by a police SWAT teom two
doys ofter Dove Schultz wos murdered.

Eleuthére du Pont always wanted to be.

And couldn't.

This is the green nub that will re-
main after witnesses and experts and
shrinks have portioned out fact, motive
and culpability. Green, first, for envy.
Because John du Pont, an heir to one
of America’s oldest fortunes and
proudest names, spent his life coveting
a genetic inheritance he could not
have. Green, second, for money, be-
cause what John could not achieve, he
bought. For decades Olympic officials
accepted his millions and nurtured his
fantasies.

Especially wrestling. Over eight
years, USA Wrestling—the sport's gov-
erning body in America and a member
of the U.S. Olympic Committee—and
its global counterpart, Federation In-
ternationale de Lutte Amateur, carried
offa charade so elaborate that du Pont,
already given to illusions of grandeur,
assumed the prerogatives of God. In
return, du Pont's millions gave Ameri-
ca’s premiere wrestlers, men such as
Dave Schultz, an opportunity to make
the sport their career. As the multimil-
lionaire faces trial for murder this sum-
mer in Pennsylvania, the product of his
generosity prepares to dominate the
Olympic mats, boasting not only the
most talented wrestlers anywhere but
also the most experienced.

Wrestling is an ancient and needy
sport, a world of grunts and sweat on
squeaking mats, where powerful men
toil in humid rooms off the back corri-
dors of athletic centers built to show-
case basketball, swimming, gymnastics
and track. When du Pont wandered in
with deep pockets and a desire to play,
the sport rolled out its mats. The game
went well beyond just naming him to
Olympic teams and stitching JOHN E DU
FONT on uniforms and bannering it at
tournaments. He was appointed assis-
tant coach of the 1992 Olympic team
and was awarded bogus medals at mas-
ters tournaments contrived to ensure
his victory. (“Du Pont,” said a top U.S.
wrestling official, “couldn't whip his
way out of a wet paper bag.”) Du Pont
was cynically proclaimed “world cham-
pion,” “super champion,” “head coach,”
“U.S. Olympic Freestyle Wrestling team
leader” and “the Golden Eagle of Amer-
ica.” It seemed a small price to pay.

Until Dave Schultz paid with his life.

What du Pont was in fantasy, Schultz
was in fact. His hairy shoulders and
chest, balding head and thick beard
were famous on wrestling mats world-
wide. Schultz had won a gold medal in
the 1984 Olympics when he was just
25, and now, more than a decade later,
was likely to make the national team
again, Ifearly (continued on page 126)

“Tarzan and Jane gel no privacy in the jungle . . . !

ж brace yourselves, girlie-men,
these women
want to pump you up

Bs OF IRON. Buns of steel. Thighs mastered. From the health club to the home, Nineties women are exercising
like, well, men. And агза good thing. With this new female athleticism, today's working-out girl has struck

right balance between grace and power. That means no pain, big gain for—you got it—girl watchers. So we hit
iron piles across the country, searching for Nautilus nymphs and barbell babes. With Contributing Photograph-

er Arny Freytag spotting for us, it was no sweat. We assembled a powerful set of aerobics instructors, bodybuilders, person-

al trainers, actresses and fitness models—each with a body of art. Their pictures are a painless way to enjoy the fitness craze

Fit and buff: "Work hord and you will be rewarded,” says Jennifer Goodwin (apposite), a personal trainer who is the glistening epitame
of her own workout ethic. Jennifer is one reason Venice Beach is o sight-seeing must: She works aut there at Gold's Gym. Above, she's
curling iron with Amy Fadhli (right), a native Texon, kick boxer and fitness model. We da more reps with Amy on the next spread.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY ARNY FREYTAG

Our cover girl, 23-year-
old Leeann Tweeden, grad-
uated from high school in
three years but gove up
Harvard for the steady
workout of ESPN's Fitness
Beach. "My family has
supported me all the way,”
she says. Our second ses-
sion with Amy Fadhli be-
gins on the opposite роде
(above). Amy's heritage is
c potent combo: She's
рог! Arab and part Czech.
Liso Carr (opposite, be-
low) is wired for sound os
оп cerobics instructor. She
wants to take a cue from
her step closses ond move
up fo ESPN's Body Shaping.

Say hello to Debee Halo (above and inset right), a baxing fan who has just taken the heavy
bag to the mat. This iran angel models for fitness mags (see her April 1995 Iranman issue,

lefi), and she's been on 15 covers. She believes in mens sana in corpore sano: Her dad is a
psychiatrist and Mom is a psychologist. Dana Dodsan (above right) recently snared first place
in the National Physique Committee New Jersey State Championship. Ҥ she wins the nation-
als in August, she'll be Ms. Fitness, Below her is Elizabeth Stary, a fast climber who is leaming
the ropes as an actress. She's appeared on The Taday Shaw as a hip-hop dance instructor.

Е | |
Continuing our power pack
are Julie in be (95 page)

and Christine kydan (right).
Julie, who traing | women,
hates TV [calls it “detid-brain
| time”) P soys there are

“lots of spunky redheads in
my family.” | Christine has

quite a résumé: She majored
in neurabiology ahd French
literature] at Brownl University
and received a medical de-
gree from Yale. Then she
turned her beautiful back on
orthopedic surgery to climb
the Stair Master ti ШЕКЕН
(her first film [is Death-
gamerz). This is one doctor
who is good for what ails you.

Talk about the shortest distance between two points, Stella Azocar (
no eye tions. She loves dancing, but she makes her living as a personal
trainer. She hails from California, where she hopes to open a fitness center.

Urba

ые

Y NOW you may have
heard the story of Gun-
ther Burpus, a hapless
41-year-old man in Bre-
men, Germany who
couldn't find his house
keys and decided to
crawl through the cat-flap in his front
door. Unfortunately, Burpus got stuck.
When he called for help, he managed
to attract the attention only of some
passing students who decided to play a
prank. Instead of freeing Burpus, they
pulled off his trousers, painted his bot-
tom bright blue, stuck a daffodil be-
tween his cheeks and then placed a
sign nearby: GERMANY RESURGENT, AN ES-
SAY IN STREET АКТ. PLEASE GIVE GENEROUS-
ty. There poor Burpus remained for
two days, his pleas for help disregard-
ed by passersby who ae them part
of the “exhibition.” “People just said,
“Very good! Very clever!’ and then
threw coins at me,” Burpus remarked
afterward, It was only when a dog
started licking his genitals that an old
woman complained to the police and
Burpus was finally freed.

Or maybe a friend of yours who hap-
pens to be a friend of a friend of one of
the guests told you the one about the
shocking wedding party. It seems that
during a big reception at the Pierre
Hotel in New York, the groom stood
and called for silence. The guests natu-
rally assumed he was about to propose

article by Neal Gabler

a toast. Instead. he announced that the
marriage was going to be annulled. If
the guests wished to know the reason,
they had only to turn over their din-
ner plates. When the stunned guests
flipped their plates, they discovered
photographs taped there of the bride
flagrante delicto with the best man.

At least that’s the way it was told to
me. But a similar story circulating at
the same time set the reception at a
banquet hall in New Hampshire. An-
other version set it in Medford, Massa-
chusetts. Another placed the incident
near Schenectady, New York. A version
set outside St. Paul, Minnesota had two
significant differences: At the altar, be-
fore the vows were taken, the bride an-
nounced the ceremony would not con-
tinue because the prospective groom
had slept with the maid of honor.

Each version of this story comes
branded as truth right down to places,
dates and sources. Each was told by
someone who knew someone who
knew someone at the ceremony or re-
ception. The trouble is, the wedding,
which was supposed to have occurred
sometime last year, has been the subject
of newspaper columns and radio call-in
shows since at least 1985. Despite the
story's decade-long existence, no one
has provided one scintilla of evidence
that it ever really happened. Indeed,
an intrepid Washington Post reporter
who investigated the tale last fall found

ILLUSTRATION BY Ad, GARCES

ii Myths

heard the one about the dog that was arate’ fall tales reveal more than you think

that none of the facts jibed—not New
Hampshire nor Schenectady, not a re-
ception nor a ceremony.

As for the story of Gunther Burpus,
which has been printed as fact in The
Vancouver Sun, The Palm Beach Post, The
Providence Journal-Bulletin and in the
January issue of this magazine (The Year
in Sex), a debunker named Barbara
Hamel has found it to be a complete
fabrication. Hamel says that the Ger-
man magazine Der Spiegel, which has
been cited as a source for the story, had
never heard of Gunther Burpus. Nei-
ther had the police in Bremen. As for
Burpus' quotes, someone obviously in-
vented them to give the story more
texture.

In short, the story of Gunther Bur-
pus, like that of the wedding revenge,
is what is known as an urban legend—
a tall tale that is purportedly absolutely
true butisn't, By one estimate there are
now more than 400 of these legends.
University of Utah folklorist Jan Har-
old Brunvand, perhaps the preemi-
nent urban folklorist, has published
five volumes’ worth of them with titles
such as The Choking Doberman and The
Baby Train. No one seems to know ex-
actly where these yarns originated.
They just seem to erupt spontaneously
in Europe and across America. They
then get retailed in newspapers and
magazines (Reader's Digest is a frequent
source), on the radio (Paul Harvey

PLAYBOY

trades in these tales), on the Internet
(there is a rabid urban folklore news-
group) and, most of all, by word of
mouth—from what urban legend pro-
fessionals call an FOAF (“friend of a
friend” to whom the incident is alleged
to have happened).

Although they have grabbed the at-
tention of academics only recently —
some trace the first scholarly interest to
Richard Dorson's American Folklore in
1959—contemporary legends are an
old phenomenon. A few, such as the
story of the butcher who sticks a sau-
sage in his pants fly and shocks his cus-
tomers by hacking off the end of the
sausage with a cleaver, can be traced to
before the turn of the century.

Many of the hoarier ones sound as if
they had been perfected around the
campfire.

There's the favorite about the man
driving alone one night when he stops
to pick up a beautiful young hitchhiker.
She gives him her destination, then
falls silent during the rest of the trip.
When the driver arrives at the girl's
house, he turns to find that his pas-
senger has vanished. Ва ей, he gets
out, knocks on the door and tells his
strange tale to the woman who an-
swers. She isn't shocked. Her daughter
had died some years before in a car ac-
cident, but every so often the girl's spir-
it tries to make its way back home
by hitching a ride with an unsuspect-
ing driver.

And there's the one Brunvand calls
the Hook that dates from the late
Fifties. Two high school kids drive to
lovers’ lane one dark evening and are
just about to begin their amour when
they hear on the radio that a madman
has escaped from the local asylum, The
catch is that the madman has a hook
for a hand. Frightened, the boy peels
out and speeds his date home. When
he gets out to open his girlfriend’s
door, he sees a bloody hook dangling
from the handle.

Then there's the classic about the
babysitter who has tucked the children
into bed upstairs and settled down in
front of the television when she gets a
prank call from a man laughing hyster-
ically. She hangs up, but the phone
rings again. Again she hears the hyster-
ical laugh. She slams down the receiver,
but the phone rings a third time and
again there is the laugh. Unnerved, she
calls the phone company. The operator
tells her that the next time the crank
phones, the girl should keep him on
the line so they can trace him. Of
course, the fiend calls and laughs, then
hangs up. The next time the phone
rings, however, it is the operator. “Get
out of the house!” she screams. “The
call is coming from upstairs!”

‘These classics may sound preposter-

ous today, but there are other contem-
porary legends that are plausible
enough to pass muster as fact. Nearly
everyone has heard about the alligators
that prowl the New York sewers. Sup-
posedly they are descendants of baby
gators that children brought back from
Florida vacations. When the children
returned to New York, their parents
realized they couldn't exactly have a
pet alligator, so they flushed the critters
down the toilet and into the sewer sys-
tem where, feasting on rats, they soon
formed a colony of predators. In some
versions, the gators in the subterra-
nean darkness have turned into blind
albinos.

There is another “true” story about
the high school coed with the beehive
hairdo that she proudly sprays until it
is as lacquered as a Chinese cabinet.
Unfortunately, the girl begins to have
fainting spells during class. One day
she can’t be revived. At the hospital a
nurse notices a small spider crawling
from the hairdo of the comatose young
woman. Cracking open the beehive,
the nurse finds a black widow and hun-
dreds of her young nesting there. The
girl, who hadn't washed her hair in
months, later dies of the spider bites.

Still another legend that has the lin-
eaments of truth is the one about the
California couple eating at an outdoor
café in Tijuana. They see a flea-bitten
Chihuahua begging under the table.
Taking pity on the animal, the woman
feeds ita few scraps. When she and her
husband Jeave the restaurant, the Chi-
huahua tags along. By the end of the
day, the woman is so smitten with the
dog that she decides to take it home as
her pet and smuggles it across the bor-
der, either under her blouse or in a
bundle in the backseat.

Back home in suburban California,
the woman washes and grooms her
new pet and retires for the night. In
the morning, however, she finds it list-
less—in some versions oozing mucus—
and rushes it off to her veterinarian.
Later that day she gets the vet's call.
“Where did you get that dog?” he
wants to know. The woman, realizing it
is illegal to transport an animal across
the border, at first lies and says she
found it wandering the streets nearby,
but the ver calls her bluff. “You didn't
find this animal here,” he says. “This is
a long-haired Mexican sewer rat.”

Those of us who have heard and
then retold these legends know that
they provide entertainment at the wa-
ter cooler, at the tavern after work or
during dormitory bull sessions. But
where they once were dismissed as
nothing more than amusing balder-
dash, they are now perceived by folk-

lorists as expressions of the national
Psyche. “We project our fears into the
stories," says University of Georgia so-
ciology professor Gary Alan Finc, a
leading interpreter of folklore. He
specifically cites as a propelling theme
“the mistrust we have of contemporary
society, the fact that so much in our cul-
ture is beyond our control.”

One story that sprouted around the
county in the summer of 1994 tells of
a lonely, friendless woman working in
an office. Taking pity, her co-workers
plan a surprise birthday party for her.
‘They manage to get her apartment key
and hide before she arrives home.
When she does, they hear her go into
the kitchen and call her dog. It sounds
as if she is feeding him so they prepare
to emerge, but when they burst into the
Kitchen to yell “Surprise,” they find her
sitting naked on the floor, with peanut
butter spread on her vagina and her
dog lapping away. As the story goes,
the young woman, mortally embar-
rassed, never returns to work.

Or there is the story making the
rounds just this year about the Samari-
tan in the supermarket parking lot who
sees a woman in а car slumped over the
steering wheel one sweltering after-
noon. (In fact, Brett Butler has been
telling it as having happened to her sis-
ter.) Asked if she needs help, the poor
woman moans that she hasbeen shotin
the head and reaches up to show gray
matter, oozing from the wound. The
Samaritan immediately summons po-
lice and paramedics, but when they ar-
rive they find that the woman has not
been shot after all. She has actually
been hit in the head by the tin at the
end of a tube of oven-ready Pillsbury
biscuits that had exploded in the heat,
and she mistook the dough that had
splattered on her hair for her brains.

There are scores of such legends
dealing with miscalculation and embar-
rassment. Consider the story about the
man who goes home with his secre-
tary and, expecting romance, disrobes
when she leaves the room, only to dis-
cover that the secretary and his wife
have arranged a surprise birthday par-
ty for him. Or the one about the couple
trysting in a small car when the man
gets stuck inside the woman (penis cap-
tivus, Brunvand calls it) and rescuers
have to remove the car’s top to free
them. Or the one about the young man
meeting his girlfriend's parents for the
first time. He accidentally sits on their
pet Chihuahua, crushing it. He then
hides the deed by stuffing the carcass
under the cushions.

The preponderance of contempo-
rary legends, however, seem to tap a
much darker reservoir of terror. Ac-
cording to Patricia Turner, a folklore

(continued on page 78)

“I don't date athletes. They're only interested in
beating their best time.”

Packing some serious fashion

punch, our guy at the right
sports this winning look—a
ribbed cotton tank top ($33)

| and satin boxing pants with
a drawstring waistband
($125), both from Polo Sport
by Ralph Lauren. His oppo-
nents knockout combination
below includes an acetate
mesh tank top by Nautilus
($24) and polyester Olympic a
Replica Award Pants with a S ES a
fogo and side stripes, by - SE
Champion (about $40). (Box- =

ing gloves by Everlast.)

This fellow flipped for the
patriotic look—a comfort-
Ыс zip front warm-up
jacket with stars down the
sleeves, by Guess Ac-
tivewear (about $70), and a
cotton tank top by Discus
Athletic ($8.50). His synthet-
ic leather-and-mesh Air
Worp cross trainers ($110)
and polyester-and-spandex
running pants with racing
stripes down the sides, an
elastic drawstring waist and
zippers ot the ankles ($50)
are both by Nike.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JON MOE

The Polaris, a revolving
restaurant atop the Hyatt
Regency in downtown At-
lanta, doubles os a pom-

mel horse for our gym-
nast. His outfit includes a
body-hugging nylon-and-
Lycra crewneck with blue,
white and black color-
blocking; a logo and out-
stitching, by DKNY (about
$90), and Tactel nylon-
and-spandex leggings
from Nautica Competition
by David Chu (about $70).

“йи ЇЙЇ
ШИШ ,

кер T
лаг Amin

USE SES lu

Т
m lip lg

li
LIN

ПШ
o prb IN
MUT. "

Hanging ош! їп Atlanta,
the ringmaster wears а
cotion tank top by Nike
($15) and cotton-and- a €
spandex leggings with red Г] B
side stripes and putstitch- cép
ing, by Tommy Hilfiger
($52). Far right: Feeling
patriotic? Give this star=
spangled outfit a tumble.
It includes an official U.S.
Cycling Team jersey made
of Ultrasensor (a fabric
that wicks away moisture
from the skin) ($70) and
matching nylon-and-
spandex shorts ($75),
both by Pearl Izumi; plus
synthetic leather-and-
mesh Air Max Light
, sneakers by Nike ($135).
(The female gymnast's
outfit is from Polo Sport by
Ralph Lauren.)

2 i
МЕ,

HAIR AND MAKEUP BY JAMES TAKOS FORO: m dr A

WHERE & HOW TO BUY ON PAGE 141

VUNG EÝ ALEGRA COLETTI ЛА

PLAYBOY

Urban Myths (continued from page 72)

The vet finds three fingers in her dog’s throat. Cops
find a burglar in the closet—sans three fingers.

scholar at the University of California
at Davis: “They are definitely about the
ambivalence and anxiety and uncer-
tainty that people have about one an-
other.” These sorts of legends portray
a dangerous world in which anything
can happen, a world of unrelenting
horror.

Seen this way, contemporary legends
can practically be cataloged by the ter-
rors they exploit. To those who regard
the city as ominous there is the story,
usually told of New York City (though
it has lately been making the rounds in
California with either Reno or Las Ve-
gas as.the setting), of the group of fra-
ternity boys who spend a wild weekend
in the Big Apple. One of them meets a
woman ata club and leaves with her for
the night. The next morning his bud-
dies get a distress call from their co-
hort. He is in a hotel room and begs
them to come and get him. They arrive
at a seedy hotel to find their friend in
bed, the sheets soaked with blood, and
a fresh surgical scar on his back. They
rush him to the hospital. where they
are informed that the man had appar-
ently been drugged and had one of his
kidneys removed. A ring of thieves has
been harvesting organs to sell on the
black market for transplants. Anyone is
fair game.

To those who live in dread of crime,
there 15 the story Brunvand calls the
Choking Doberman. In this one a
woman finds her pet Doberman
breathing heavily and takes the dog to
the vet for observation. The woman
soon gets an urgent call from the ver:
She must leave the house immediately
and call the police. Why? Because he
found three fingers lodged in her
Doberman's throat. Rushing to the
scene, the police discover a burglar
hiding in the woman's closet—sans
three of his fingers.

Another story suggests that crime
follows you, even into paradise. In this
one, a couple honeymooning in Ja-
maica find that their room has been
burgled and that all their possessions—
except for their camera and their
toothbrushes—have been stolen. Vow-
ing to make the best of their vacation,
the couple decide to stick її out. But
when they return home and develop
the pictures, they find a photo of the
thieves mooning the camera. Stuck up
their rectums are the toothbrushes.

One tale—again, usually told by a
friend of a friend of one of the partici

pants—has three women getting on an
elevator in a New York hotel when they
see a black hand prying open the clos-
ing elevator doors. The doors part and
a towering black man enters the eleva-
tor with a large dog. “Sit,” the man
commands, and the three woman im-
mediately hit the ground. The man
apologizes. He had been talking to his
dog. It turns out that the man is Reggie
Jackson. (In one version, he's O].
Simpson.) And in most tellings, Jack-
son winds up paying for the women's
dinners.

The elevator legend—of course it
never happened—may actually serve
to defuse racial tension. But these days
more contemporary legends exploit is-
sues of race, largely because they en-
able us to express racial fears safely. “It
is illegitimate to make a blanket state-
ment like, ‘Blacks are criminals,” ex-
plains Fine. “One would be tarred in
such a case for being a racist. What one
can do, however, is talk specifically
about, say, gang initiations: ‘Did you
hear that in order to get into this gang.
they rape white women?’ There is no
evidence for it, but it seems plausible
because gang members may do some-
thing like that.”

One legend making the rounds, in
fact, has a black gang in Chicago cruis-
ing the streets at night with their head-
lights out, waiting for a driver to flash
his lights at them. Any driver who does,
however, is executed. Another legend
that has been taken quite seriously in
some suburban communities tells of a
black clown dressed like Homey of the
old In Living Color TV series who at-
tacks or abducts children. (In several
versions there is a whole vanload of sin-
ister black clowns.) Some more tradi-
tional urban legends have even been
revised to reflect racist fears. The chok-
ing Doberman, for example, is often
said to have three black fingers in
its gullet.

Drugs have also fueled contempo-
rary legends, specifically legends about
drug-crazed loons who do harm to
themselves or others. Almost everyone
has heard about the people who went
blind by staring at the sun during LSD
trips or those who wind up gouging
out their own eyes. (There is no proof
that either happened.) More heinous
are the stories of the drugged-out
babysitters—sometimes the boyfriend
of a sister tending her siblings—who
assure the parents checking in that

everything is under control. The
babysitter tells them she has even put a
turkey in the oven, When the parents
return home, however, they discover
that the turkey is actually their baby.

While these legends address our per-
sonal sense of vulnerability at the
hands of psychos and criminals, other
legends express a dread of the vast im-
personal forces of corporate America.
“The rumors,” Fine observes, “spring
from uneasiness about what is per-
ceived to be the complete amorality of
American corporate life.” Sometime in
the early Eighties, a rumor began cir-
culating that Procter & Gamble, one
of the world’s largest manufacturers of
household products, was in league with
the devil. One variation of this rumor
has the company contributing to a sa-
tanic cult, allegedly because its found-
er back in the 19th century made a
pact with the devil to ensure the com-
pany’s success. The proof was sup-
posedly right there in Procter & Gam-
ble's trademark, which features stars
around a crescent moon bearing a face.
(The association between the moon
and Moonies is thought to have been a
trigger for this story.)

Back in the Seventies, Church’s
Fried Chicken, a popular fast-food
franchise (particularly in the South),
was identified, falsely, as being owned
by Kn Klux Klan supporters who
added a secret ingredient to sterilize
black males. The Adolph Coors Co. has
also been identified in legend as being
connected to the Klan. A more recent
legend has Snapple donating a share of
its profits to white supremacist groups—
а story that Patricia Turner, author of 7
Heard It Through the Grapevine: Rumor in
African American Culture, believes may
have sprung from Snapple's associa-
tion with radio commentators Rush
Limbaugh and Howard Stern.

A more elaborate but equally ficti-
tious story told in the black community
is one about how Oprah Winfrey or-
dered designer Liz Claiborne off her
show when Claiborne admitted to the
studio audience that she purposely cut
her clothes narrowly so that black wom-
en couldn’t wear them. And a bigger
legend still is the widespread belief
among African Americans and some
whites that AIDS is either the result of
a government biological experiment
gone awry in Africa and Haiti or that
the virus was released intentionally by
our government to destroy the gay and
black communities.

Understandably, technology is an-
other growth area for contemporary
legends, clearly reflecting anxieties
about the brave new world we face.
One urban legend staple is the story of
the woman who washes her pet poodle

(continued on page 152)

“Т don't usually ask this on first dates, but, well —like to come in for coffee?”

"Im Ready
For My
ome Shot

OW,

Dear’

amateur porn puts
the sin back into sincere

article By D. KEITH MANO

HEY Have lost an orgasm
someplace. Damn. It was
here 2 minute ago. John,
the young stud, sits up-
right, flogging his nude eel

But he can't quite get off. There are
some bricks missing from his erec-
tion, and male panic has set їп.
Rachel, John's wife and co-per-
former, is spread beneath him like
a fireman's net opened to catch
some falling child. And offspring
it will be—an oyster baby made
from spit and sperm. Precious little
thing: On it depends their sexual
self-image.

“Come for me, baby,” says Rachel.
“Do it for me now.” Her voice is ser-
rated: Love there, but also irritation
and shame. “Come on my tits, baby.
Come on my face.” The video cam-
era strip-searches Rachel. Indeed,
what more can she do? Each breast
is bigger than a moussaka. The sen-
sual blonde's face could put gamy
back into monogamy. Still, John
can’t yank that darn rip cord. He
groans with passion he doesn't feel,
hoping he will be aroused by the
sound of his own fake arousal. “Yes,
yes, yes,” he says. But it is really,
“Not quite, maybe, try again.” It
looks Ше Rachel and John are go-

ing to flunk their screen test.

What went wrong? Porn perfor-

mance art is as formal as Olympic
ice dancing: points added for tech-
nical skill, passion, presentation and
degree of difficulty. In the oral pre-
lim action, Rachel had given John’s
john а great uvula bath. He recip-
rocated by eating her sushi. Then
came the compulsories—doggy,
missionary, catbird seat, spoon—all
done with panache and love. No
judge could award less than a 5.9
score. But now this. “You can do it,
baby. You can.” Rachel and John
lean over his marrowbone like Cro-
Magnon folk keeping a tiny fire
alive in high wind.
* Finally, John, with more relief
than pleasure, gets his nondairy
creamer going. “Oh, baby. Oh, ba-
by.” Rachel takes it splat-on, as if she
were in a miniature pie-throwing
contest. They are validated. Their
sexuality, now on record, will play
back again and again for however
long VCRs are sold. They are im-
mortal. This 15-minute encounter is
their progeny. And they don't have
to put it through college.

“Not so easy, doing it in public,”
says the camerawoman.

“I was a little nervous,” John

ILLUSTRATION BY MARK ULRIKSEN

PLAYBOY

agrees. “Boy, 1 need a drink.”

"Yes, you do need a stiff one,” Rachel
says, unaware of her cruel double
entendre.

Get your weird visa out—we have
entered the Dukedom of Amateur
Porn, where things inguinal rule,
where men and women risk sexual fail-
ure and embarrassment to breast-feed
their narcissism. This hidden land is
much larger than you thought. Tim
Lake of Homegrown Video—a Califor-
nia video factory with its own retail and
mailorder systems—says that ama-
teur-style tape has captured about 60
percent of the adult VCR trade. Dwell
on it. The porn-video gross take is
known only to John Gotti and three
other men, but according to Adult Video
News magazine, there were more than
600 million adult rentals in 1995. At,
say, $3 per transaction, that would be
about $2 billion, enough to jeopardize
anyone's amateur standing.

Professional porn, featuring the likes
of Amber Lynn or Seka, plus some pro-
duction value, is expensive to bump
and grind out. With the market flood-
ed, no one can get $49.50 per video
anymore. But for an amateur produc-
tion, just borrow a neighbor's cam-
corder and start filing jointly in bed
with your wife. Homemade porn is
low-overhead head: A retailer can sell
amateur for the same price as pro and
rake in $10 more per cassette. Further-
more, market A and market P seldom
overlap. “Меп who buy amateur always
buy amateur," a porn purveyor told
me. There is a strange fascination and
even a touch of sentiment and inno-
cence in all of this.

Well, be honest. Would you really
want to make groin cheese with a pro
porn star like Amber Lynn? Bull. You'd
be scared stiffless. A woman that
has call-waiting in her twat. She's used
to men who are hung bigger than the
Saturn I booster stage—by comparison
you have this prawn. She's all acrylic
and collagen and epoxy-resin hair
spray—she hasn't felt emotion since
her mirror broke—and she'd reduce
your maleness to a lily’s stamen. Amber
Lynn may be fun to watch, like pro
wrestling, but she's about as real as Jes-
sica Rabbit.

Add some cellulite and a few stretch
marks to her fuselage. Draw him pat-
tern bald or paunchy. Suddenly we rec-
ognize these people: They area kind of
us. Amateur porn is set in real time, re-
al space and real incompetence. It has,
oh, charm. And, though laughter is the
worst enemy of successful coition, it has
humor as well. He, for instance,
fitutzed by lust, will jerk off his shirt
without first undoing the cuff but-
tons—and end up in a windmilling
straitjacket. I’ve done that. Or a cold-

nosed schnauzer may jump up and
sniff a scrotum, the sensation of which
is enough to cure manhood forever.

And throughout, the real threat of
sexual humiliation snakes around,
adding tension and urgency and, yes,
humanness to this cooperative enter-
prise. For—don't underestimate the
possibility—relationships can unravel
here. Whatever the reason (lust, exhi-
bitionism, thrill-hunting, cussedness),
amateur porn people challenge their
manhood or womanhood. This subtext
of bravado and uncertainty invigorates
amateur porn. The viewer can em-
pathize. In pro porn men are spigots of
some kind. In amateur porn a husband
may be broken by failure, There are as-
pects of blood sport in it, like bullfight-
ing or falconry.

This past spring 1 screened five
dozen hours of amateur porn in one
week. Never before have I known such
intense monotony. But it illuminated
the human sexual transaction for me,
and that's understandable: Whenever
spontaneity and chance invade a pow-
erful ritual, the concealing fabric of
ceremony may be torn open. Here are
11 important things I learned while
watching amateur porn.

(1) Beware: Just because it's stupid and
inept doesn't mean it’s amateur. Under ће
category Amateur, the professional
porn consortium markets а hybrid
genre that 1 call rookie sex. Jim and
Lulu, say, want a career in raunch.
They approach Homegrown Video
and offer to exchange fluids on camera
for the first time ever. Are they ama-
teurs? Yes, in one sense—their initial
shoot will probably have the tension
and awkwardness of a true greenhorn
screw. No, in another sense—they
qualify as rookies because their intent
is professional and they will be taped in
an alien environment. Pure amateur,
like charity, must begin at home (orina
private swingers’ commune). And last
you have the bogus and sick-making
pro-am category produced by profes-
sionals, starring amateurs, perhaps
looking to become pros—most often a
video virgin sacrificed to some grizzly
veteran hung like a .50-caliber brat-
wurst. The rookie, overcome by peer
pressure and camera angst, will in-
evitably do something (anal sex or
deep throat) that she isn't ready to do
and that hurts like a frozen tampon.
Never buy or rent any video made by
pro-am maven Max Steiner: His cruel,
neurotic face is right out of Wehrmacht
Central Casting, and he has a trun-
cheon soul.

(2) The fast-forward bution is king.
Technology has turned us all into
Speedy Gonzalezes. The slow, sensual
striptease and my childhood are gone.
When your VCR remote says, “Take it

off,” she has to take it off—and as fast as
Charlie Chaplin motorcycling through
a wash line. Amateur porn—no plot,
no dialogue, no foreplay—has profited
from this. “People want action, and
there is more action in amateur porn
than in professional porn,” one smut
seller told me. Cut to the unchaste.
Video viewers want speed and control.
Pretty soon all porn sex will be like
making love to Evelyn Wood.

(3) No one, but almost по one, uses a con-
dom. Draw your own politically incor-
rect conclusions from this—I don't
have the moral fiber to do it for you.
HIV testing is standard at most pro-am
and rookie production houses, but just
how accurate can that be? I don't speak
here for swingers’ sanitation: Maybe
they drop health certificates in the
fishbowl these days. But wherever peo-
ple cherish hardness, rubber is like
trolling your pestle through a sensory
deprivation tank.

(4) The 69 position looks athletic and
efficient—though actually, no one has ever
golten off in it. There's just too damn
much to do. Like playing a clarinet
while chewing gum.

(5) Aural sex is as important as oral sex.
I don't care how many fine, high-
crotched women you've had in your
sexual career. Probably not one of
them gave you the vocal response an
average amateur porn female puts out.
“Oh, yes, yes-yes, oh-ohhh-yeah, yeah
oh yeah!” And so forth. The greatest
sexual gift a woman can proffer is the
pleasure of her pleasure. But most
women are shy. And they figure, If I
show enthusiasm and come real loud
then he'll think I'll want it tomorrow,
too. Which he will. And which she, be-
cause her sexual metabolism is differ-
ent, may not. For all the faked orgasms
we hear about, there are at least
as many acts of phony indifference.
Women withhold, and often wisely. But
a female's pain-joy cry on your porn
soundtrack, even when acted, is full of
fantastic complicity and exuberance.
Remember, most men are somewhat
guilty about imposing on their loved
one. They want an accomplice in this
event—which can seem brutal and re-
morseless—not some supine martyr.

(6) The secret significance of “Oh, yes-yes,
oh-ohhh-yeah, eur oh yeah!" While I was
watching tape number 30 or so, my
wife screamed from our bedroom, “I
can't stand it, I can't stand it, aaaargh,
they all say the same thing, ‘Oh, yes,
oh, yes, oh, уез, aaaargh.”

She's right. And, after some thought,
what at first seemed mere histrionic
fectation took new form as a rude si
naling system—though much debased
by exaggeration in amateur porn. The
“oh” can have several values when

(continued on page 143)

PLAYBOY GALLERY

trained ballerina and former St. Louis tomboy, Jones starred
ky, spouse to the best hockey player ever. Others remember in a memorable March 1987 pictorial and on the cover. These
her film roles, barely attired in The Flamingo Kid, gy days she is the photographer, videotaping her little Gretz-
in American Anthem, hoofing up a twister in A Chorus Line. A Куз on ice. At PLAYBOY, we think of Janet as the Great One. 83

Some people know actress Janet Jones as Mrs. Wayne Gretz-

PLAYBOY PROFILE

CONTROLLING FORCE

there's no pop on his fastball, no drop in his curve, but greg maddux has
used his smarts to become the best pitcher in major league baseball

By TOM BOSWELL

GREG MADDUX, the best pitcher since Sandy Koufax, is warm-
ing up in the Atlanta Braves’ bullpen. Danny Bowden, 11,
and Matt Korpi, 10, think they've gone to someplace better
than heaven. They haven't died. But they do have front-row
seats just ten feet behind the Braves’ bullpen catcher. From
behind a screen the boys can watch Maddux froma perch al-
most as good as the view an umpire gets.

"The two children, decked out in baseball regalia from
team caps to logo-laden shirts, are quiet as Maddux throws
dozens of pitches.

“Looks like Greg Maddux, right?” says Matt finally,
perplexed.

“Yeah,” says Danny, pointing to the number 31 on the
pitcher's back,

"I thought it was,” says Matt.

“He's not even warming up yet,” says Danny.

Maddux’ motion is so compact and controlled it’s hard to
tell if he is making an effort. All his gestures—stretch, stride,
leg kick—are so abbreviated they seem to be a preparation
to make some real baseball motion. He's finished his delivery
while you're still waiting for him to get up a head of steam.
His pitches smack the catcher's glove with a small crack.
Some arrive silently.

Maddux’ pitches don't move much, either. A few feet in
front of home plate, justas Danny and Matt are about to lose
sight of the ball in front of the catcher, Maddux' pitches
make quick but undramatic swerves. Some go down, some
break in or out, others move a bit down and in ora tad down
and away. It’s hard to call these throws—which deviate only
three to six inches off plumb—pitches at all. Playing catch,
you can make a ball move as much.

Every Maddux pitch seems to travel about the same
speed—but not exactly so. Each throw covers the last few
feet a bit faster or a bit slower than the previous one. Occa-
sionally, Maddux throws curveballs. They roll sharply. Good
college quality. But to say they break would be generous.

On an adjacent mound, Steve Avery starts to throw. The
sound is like cherry bombs blowing up soda cans. Danny
and Matt arch their necks to see Avery. But those seats are
taken. They are stuck with watching the 30-year-old who's
won the past four National League Cy Young Awards.

"IE Greg was throwing as fast as he could,” says Danny,
“we'd be ducking.”

Later, Maddux is told about the two boys. He puts a pinch
of snuff under his upper lip and adjusts his wire-rimmed
glasses. He's not six feet tall, as the roster says, though he
might live up to the 170 pounds. His eyebrows and forehead
sometimes twitch involuntarily, like those of a tense nerd in
school. His smile is shy, his voice so soft it’s a strain to hear.
“I hate to disappoint those kids, but I was throwing as hard
as T can.

“That's all I've got.”

If you want a series of interviews with a star athlete and
you don't already have a personal history with him, this is
what usually happens: You have to perform the goddamn 12
labors of Hercules.

You talk to his agent, his lawyer, his general manager, his
team's public relations director. Your people talk to his peo-
ple. You block out time. You do a courtship dance. The
process can take weeks. Perhaps he blows you off. Finally,
you go to a steakhouse or play golf or visit him in his home.
But, underneath it all, here's the basic ground rule and the
subtext: He's a star.

This is how it works with Greg Maddux. You walk up to
him in the clubhouse and introduce yourself. He says,
“PLAYBOY, huh? Do I get to pose?”

You start chatting. John Smoltz walks past with a bagful
of McDonald's cheeseburgers. Maddux mooches one. “Need
grease,” he says to appalled pitching coach Leo Mazzone,
who hates antihealth food. “Gotta make that sinker drop.”

Sitting hunched at his locker, Maddux munches his im-
promptu fast-food meal. He signs balls. He opens fan mail.
And he talks—for an hour and a half, about any subject un-
der the sun. He's shy, his voice quiet. It's obvious he loves to
talk pitching theory. It’s his passion. But he doesn’t mind
talking about himself either, though he finds the subject in-
herently less interesting. Finally, he says, “Gotta go do my
running. Come back any time.”

Greg Maddux has nothing to sell and little to hide. He
has no image to cultivate or protect because he hasn't both-
ered to create one. He has no major commercial endorse-
ments. He has no public persona whatsoever. He may be
the most widely known athlete in American history who
can walk down any street and go (continued on page 133)

ILLUSTRATION BY DAVID LEVINE

it doesn t take long to learn

miss august Is entirely zala powered

ESSICA, Sunny-Side Up

OAM THE historic streets of Tampa, Florida with 21-

year-old Playmate Jessica Lee, and you'll come away

thinking she'd be the funniest, sweetest kid sister a
brother could have. One moment she’s talking sports, telling
you why she’s a baseball fan (“I love men in uniform”), the
next she’s trading jokes with a couple of local cops. Then
she's grabbing your hand and pulling you into a favorite
burger joint, where she makes certain you meet everybody
and everybody meets you. “I was born in New York, but I've
lived in Tampa since I was six,” explains this high-energy,
low-maintenance woman. “I've got a lot of buddies around
town.” Miss August, like Florida, is solar powered. When the
sun disappears, kid sister vanishes with it. Place Jessica

across a candlelit table, look into those private, gold-bur-
nished eyes and there is enough residual heat to suck the
breath out of you. “My birthday's in February," she says,
"but I've always been a summer girl. I love to oil up, lie on
the beach and just soak it in—the sun, the air, the sounds.
My favorite time to swim is when the Gulf of Mexico gets
hot, almost body temperature. I'd love to visit Alaska and see
whales, but I'd have to wear about ten layers of clothes.”
Jessica has always been too busy to be a full-time beach
girl. In elementary school and high school she studied ballet.
“I liked the discipline,” she says, “but what 1 really enjoyed
was creative dance, making up the moves on my own.”
These days, Jessica moves faster than ever. In the space of

PHOTOGRAPHY BY ARNY FREYTAG

"| wasn't born in Florido, but | consider myself
o Florida girl. Get me on the beoch or in the
Glades ond | turn native.” The next hot spot on
her life's itinerary is Hollywood, where Jessico
will set her sights on TV ond acting. "I've done
some television and | love it. But | want to
study the croft, do the work, so | can do chor-
octer ports. | think I'm more than just another
pretty face.” No argument from us, Jessica.

опе afternoon, we followed her to Ybor City, where she did
a business lunch at Cherry's, then to Bennigan's for a becr-
tasting session, then off to her old elementary school to
watch friends play softball. Later, at the team’s victc

she told us, “My schedule has been wild ever since I was
named Miss August. The only time 1 get home is to sleep
Even so, home and family are priorities. She lives with her
mother, who's a registered nurse, her bass-guitar-playing
brother and a basset hound named Sabrina. She is also close
with her father, a Tampa land appraiser. “1 have the most
awesome family,” Jessica says, producing photos from her
wallet. “Isn't my mom gorgeous? When we got the call from
PLAYBOY, I think she was more excited than 1 was. It's going
to be hard to move to Los Angeles—I've never been away
from here. But I'm determined to study acting. Besides,”
Miss August adds, flashing her smile, "there's lots of sun
there. I'll feel right at home.” —RANDY w

"Florida gets lots of foreign tourists. That's how I know | prefer American men. My boyfriend is a former high school wrestler. He's
funny, sweet, smart and ripped! Typical American guy.” For Jessica, humor is a key homegrown ingredient. “Great sex begins with laugh-
ter. And I'd rather have a burger at a local club than eat dinner at an exclusive restaurant. You cart jake cround at those places.”

PLAYMATE DATA SHEET

ann. WESSICA. Lee

BUST: 34 6 WAIST: КОШЕ RS
mercat: D S ^ سے‎ i
BIRTH DATE: 92/18/46 BIRTHPLACE: paham HO

а | „learn Lye Val.

Take great Cave of my fami 7 © Ж ЖЕЛ
TURN-ONS: VM се. hu ghis 0 beac hunar
/] A

GREAT SEX BEGINS WITH: B Jo FS "T 3t 0
т ы шипасын -

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE:

"EE
Uday, And a hot, hor lover All in

THE BEST MEN ARE: | Made in America because
еа Hey re FUN and

/ La!
WHAT DRIVES ME wo. ong- (4 kis = Y Summer!

Toy Soldier. — Jixtien b shy! Nutcvacher Sweet!

“

PLAYBOY’S PARTY JOKES

While stationed overseas, a Marine wrote to
his wife asking her to send him something to
keep him occupied so that he wouldn't be
tempted by the beautiful native women. A few
weeks later, the GI received a harmonica with
some sheet music and instructions.

When his tour of duty was finally over and
he was shipped home, the Marine kissed his
wife and whispered urgently, "Come on, baby.
Let's go upstairs."

"Right," she whispered back. "But first, how
about playing something on that harmonica?"

When the golfer arrived without a tee time,
he was teamed up with three nuns. Sister Mar-
garet introduced herselfand insisted that he
hit first. He carefully addressed the ball, took
an enormous swing and hooked the ball in-
to a bunker. “Goddamn son of a bitch!” he
hollered.

‘The nuns gasped. "Sir," Sister Margaret ad-
monished, “we don’t spcak that way in the
sight of the Lord.”

“Forgive me, Sister,” the embarrassed man
replied. “It won't happen again. Please take
your turn.”

The nun's drive sliced into the rough, hit a
tree and bounced straight back 50 yards.
“Goddamn son of a bitch!” she exploded,
throwing her club to the ground.

“But, Sister,” the shocked man said. “You
said ——"

“Yeah, well, you didn't hita fucking tree!"

Definition of stupid: Thinking your wife's
been to church when she comes home with a
Gideon Bible.

On the fourth day of their honeymoon, the
21-year-old bride was begging for mercy from
her 75-year-old husband. Rather than endure
yet another lovemaking session, she slipped
out of the room while he was showering and
went to the hotel coffee shop. The waitress,
who had served the couple breakfast each day,
was shocked at the woman's appearance.
“Honey, you're just a young thing," she re-
marked, “but you look like hell. What's up?”
“I've been double-crossed," the miserable
bride moaned. “When he said he'd been sav-
ing up for 50 years, I thought he meant cash!”

Р\лүвоу ciassic: An American, an English-
man and an Australian were walking along a
country road when they came upon a ewe,
caught in midleap, entangled in a fence.

“Oh man,” the Yank said, “I wish that were
Cindy Crawford.”

“1 say,” the Brit remarked, “I wish it were
Elizabeth Hurley.”

“Bloody hell,” the Aussie said, “I wish it were
dark.”

The company had been out on maneuvers all
day. “How far to the bivouac, Sarge?” one of
the men asked.

“About three miles,” was the reply.

An hour later another soldier piped up.
“How far to the bivouac?”

“About three miles.”

Another hour passed. A third soldier asked
the same question and got the same reply.
“At least,” mumbled a fourth, “we’re holding
our own.”

Tits MONTI'S MOST FREQUENT SUBMISSION:
Two sperm were swimming through a wom-
ar's body. The first said, “Whew. I'm getting
tired. Just how far is it to the uterus?”

“The uterus?” the second laughed. “We're
not even past the esophagus yet!”

1: may be just a rumor, but someone told us
that Rush Limbaugh was spotted mowing his
lawn in a T-shirt that said I USED TO BE ANOREX-
IC, BUT I BEAT IT.

А man in a suede jacket was stopped on the
street by an angry woman. “Do you know a
cow was murdered to make that jacket?” she
shouted.

“Yeah, but I didn't know there were any wit-
nesses,” he replied. “Now I’m gonna have to
kill you too.”

Heard a funny one lately? Send it on а post-
card, please, to Party Jokes Editor, PLAYBOY,
680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois
60611. $100 will be paid to the contributor
whose card is selected. Jokes cannot be returned.

“Gee—I reckon that was my personal best.”

100

IN A WORLD OF EXCRUCIATING PAIN, THE
HEALING TOUCH OF AN ATTRACTIVE WOMAN
1S LIKE A VISITATION FROM AN ANGEL

fiction By Jo се (al Ontes

cod news!"

Temple's doctor was smiling, glancing through
a sheath of X rays as he entered the waiting
room where Temple sat shivering. Temple

thought, Not lymphatic cancer, then.
What he was suffering from was—severe mus-
cle spasm in his upper neck? Overstretched lig-
aments? Possible disc injury? Temple listened
with a dutiful show of interest. It was mildly surreal that Dr. Fred-
die Dunbar, whom he knew from the Saddle Hills Tennis Club,
should be delivering the news—Dr. Dunbar, whose tennis game
was dogged, mediocre. Temple’s heartbeat had quickened when
Dunbar entered the room bearing what Temple had assumed was
his death warrant ("Hmm. The lymphoid glands appear to be
swollen. That’s not good,” Dunbar had murmured during the
physical examination preceding the X rays), but now it was good
news, not bad. His heart was returning to normal, or what passed
for normal. Temple would live after all—it was only a physical

problem.

Temple had become one of those men who in middle age
plunge into physical activities—in Temple's case, jogging, cycling,
tennis, downhill skiing—with the avidity of youth, when a man be-
lieves he’s not only immortal but that his body is also protected by
a sacred aura. Not me! Not me! I can’t be stopped, not me! Now that
Temple was 45—no, 46, his birthday, unheralded, had been the
previous Saturday—he hadn't any less energy or enthusiasm, nor
any less skill—he would swear to this!—but things seemed to be
happening to him. A skiing accident in Vail, ankle in a cast for
weeks last winter; a fall on the tennis court, bruises and lacerations
оп his right forearm. And a (minor but annoying) heart problem.
(Which he hadn't indicated on the medical form he'd filled out at
the front desk. Dunbar was a neck man, (continued on page 106)

ILLUSTRATION BY BRAC HOLLAND

102

ELOVE competition, but face it:

Most spectacles are priced out

of our league. Sure, we could

win the Indy 500 if someone
gave us $40 million to develop a car
and paid for a pit crew. We could prob-
ably make Waterworld if someone
raised $175 million, The Gulf war?
Hey, with the Pentagon's budget, any-
one can kick ass.

That's why we are drawn to the sum-
mer Olympics. The tools of competi-
tion are pure and relatively simple.
Historians say that the first recorded
Olympic victory was that of Coroebus,
a cook who in 776 в.с. won the 200-
yard sprint while practically naked.
While TV ratings could surpass the al-
ready astronomical if the IOC were to
reinstate that Greek policy, when it
comes down to it the Olympics are still
mano a mano. Can I run faster, jump
higher, throw farther? Can I take the
tools of war and show expertise with-
out bloodshed? The Olympic dream—
or at least the toys we've pictured on
these four pages—
is well within your
reach. Now, if you
only had the time.

— f , THE REAL

| STUFF

BY CHARLES PLUEDDEMAN

TOYS OF THE
"Ab SUMMER
OLYMPICS:
THE DRERM
BELINS
HERE

In the early days of Olympic boxing, cam-
petitors wore cestus—leather thongs that
were intended to cut opponents’ skin. Mod-
епп gloves protect fighters: Four loyers of
foam padding stand between you and с
bore-knuckle browl. The white area of
Olympic boxing gloves (such as this cowhide
pair by Ringside, $65) is used in scoring—it
helps track point-scoring punches.

PHOTOGRAPHY E JAMES IMBROGNO

Cycling is a high-tech Olympic sport: Sub-
Не impravements in materials con mean
the difference between gold and silver. Re-
finements debuted at the Olympics almast
immediately wark their way ta street bikes.
This rev-X-roks mauntain bike wheel by
Spinergy has four sets af corbon-fiber
spakes that cut drag ond imprave shock
absorption. A set of twa wheels casts $800.

Nothing epitomizes the
classical purity of the
Olympics more thon
the javelin. Made af
aluminum or steel, with
о cord grip, o men's
regulation model
weighs 800 grams
(1.75 pounds) and
measures 270 centime-
ters lang. The Nemeth
shawn here is used in
the 90-meter event and
costs $600. White-wa-
ter tumult requires
nerves af steel ond an
exact sense of where
you ore on a raging riv-
er. Do you recall watch-
ing white-water koyak-
ers caming within an
inch af a slalom gate
and avaiding contact
with о slight roll af boat
and body? Warld
champian David Hearn
created this bact with
engineer David Knight.
It is a blend of carban
fiber, Spheretex, Kevlar
опа fiberglass ond gaes
far about $2000.

A firm wrist. A true point. En
garde. I's a long way from wood-
en swords in the backyard. Leon
Poul makes this steel and olu-
minum saber ($90) оз well as this
stainless steel mask ($180), which
will protect you from your oppo-
nent's blade, if not his gaze. In
the Olympics, the weapons

are wired to а computer thet
records touches electronically. In
the old days hits were determined
by the chalk marks thot were left
оп competitors’ uniforms.

The Anschútz 2013 is а weapon in
the some way о Ferrori is an outo-
mobile. The .22-coliber target rifle
is highly odjustable—from the
length of the stock to the cheek
piece. Think gravity. Think colm.
Or don't think. Fire. The rifle costs
$3300. The 250 rounds of ommo
thot you will use to win the gold
cost an additionol $50.

Агсһегу is the sport of poets,
mystics ond kings. Zen and the art
of archery, meet Robin Hood. The
sport requires concentration, the
ability to quiet the body and mind.
Following on arrow into a bull's-
eye is one of the great rides. The
$1200 Hoyt Avalon comes in
draw weights from 22 pounds to
50 pounds. The ACE arrows by
Easton go for $200 per dozen.

The modern Olympics celebrate
amateur athletics. Interestingly,
the original definition of amateur
described a gentleman—o person
зо rich he did not have to work,
and thus hod the leisure to pursue
such noble sports as horseback
riding. This commemorative Cros-
by Centennial jumping scddle
from Miller's Hamess of Manhat-
tan costs about $1700, including
leather straps and stirrups. The
horse that goes with it will set you
back o quarter of a million bucks.

WHERE & HOWTO BUY ON PAGE 101.

PLAYBOY

106

P hysical (continued from page 100)

“Who?”
“Isn't that your wife's—your former
wife's—name? Isabel?"

He shut his eyes, terribly embarrassed. Flat like this,
on his back, he felt—unmanned.

nota cardiologist.) And this latest prob-
lem, he guessed, must be from tennis,
тоо, recurrent pain in the upper right
side of his neck.

Why was pain in the neck, like pain in
the ass, some sort of dumb joke? Temple
had had his for 11 weeks now, and it
was no joke.

Dunbar held the X rays to the light
for Temple to examine if he wished,
discussing Temple's physical problem
ina thoughtful, measured voice. It was
a voice Temple knew, for he employed
it frequently himself: one professional
to another. One man to another. Above
all it was the kindly yet magisterial
voice doctors employ in such settings—
these breathtaking new quarters of the
Saddle Hills Neck & Back Institute—to
forestall patients’ panic that they would
have a hand in paying for such luxury.
Temple, a moderately successful Sad-
dle Hills developer, knew the price of
such high-quality custom-designed
construction: enormous landscaped
lot, octagonal two-floor building with
an atrium foyer, lots of solarium fea-
tures, Spanish-looking tiles. The wait-
ing room, to accommodate the patients
of the institute’s eight physician-part-
ners, was as spacious and plush as the
lobby of a luxury hotel. Temple noted
with interest that the therapists ap-
peared to be exclusively female. And
young. White-clad in slacks and cotton-
knit tunic tops with names stitched in
pink above their left breasts. One
curly-haired young woman walking
briskly past with an armload of towels
glanced in Temple's direction with a
quick smile—did she know him? An-
other, tenderly overseeing a damaged-
looking man of Temple's age who was
trying, face contorted with pain, to do a
single push-up, had china-doll features
and hair the color of apricot sherbet.
But it was a petite, dark-haired girl
who caught Temple's eye as, her own
posture ramrod straight, she massaged
the neck of a woman lying limp on her
stomach on a table. She was a pret-
ty girl, not beautiful, with filmy-dark
Mediterranean hair and olive-pale,
slightly blemished skin. Temple's heart
went out to her. You just didn't see girls
with pimply complexions anymore in
America. Where had they all gone?

“It isn't common," Dunbar was say-
ing. “You say you've been flying a lot
recently? Here's what I’m guessing:
You picked up a viral infection from
stale air circulating and recirculating in

the plane. It settled in a neck muscle al-
ready strained from exertion and poor
posture. Once the muscle goes into
spasm, as yours has, it can take quite a
while to heal."

“Poor posture?" Temple said, hurt.
He immediately straightened his
shoulders, elevated his head. “How can
you assume that, Freddi

“Assume it? I can see it.

Dunbar wasa short, peppy-wiry тап
who may have been a few years
younger than Temple. He had ghost-
gray eyes, a congenial but guarded
smile; Temple would have to reassess
him, in light of this multimillion-dollar
medical investment. The doctor sat on
the edge of the examining table to
demonstrate. “This is proper posture,
see? At Һе back of the neck, a small in-
ward curve, the cervical lordosis it’s
called,” Dunbar said, touching the
nape of his neck, head uplifted and
chin slightly retracted. “And here, at
the lower back, a similar hollow. When
you slouch as you've been doing,
everything sags, your head protrudes
and a considerable strain is placed on
your neck muscles. And if these mus-
cles have been infected or injured in
any way, the injury can be exacerbated,
and quite painful. Your muscle has
gone into spasm. The X ray shows a
kind of knot.”

Temple's awkwardly corrected pos-
ture made his neck ache more. He
kneaded the sore muscle at the back of
his head. “A knot,” he said, bemused.
“How do you untie it?”

Dunbar said, not ungraciously,
“That's what we're here for.”

The consultation was over. It had not
seemed hurried, yet only eight minutes
had passed. Temple had spent most of
the hour shivering in the X-ray unit.
Dunbar quickly wrote out a prescrip-
tion for a muscle relaxant—" Be sure
not to drink while taking these, Larry,
and be careful driving,” as if Temple
had to be cautioned about such an ele-
mentary measure—and a prescription
for Temple to take to the physical ther-
apy clinic downstairs. Somehow, Tem-
ple was in for three therapy sessions
weekly unul his pain subsided.

‘The men shook hands, as after a ten-
nis match. Dunbar, the weaker player,
had unaccountably won. It was only.
then that Dunbar asked, his expression
subtly shifting, an actual light coming
up in his eyes, "And, Larry, how is
Isabel?”

“Oh, you mean Isabelle.” Temple
gave the name the French intonation
Isabelle preferred. Coolly he said, “I'm
afraid 1 don't know, Freddie. Isabelle
moved to Santa Monica after the di-
vorce and remarried.” Temple was
breathless, angry. He was still smarting
over that crack about poor posture,
and he couldn't have said whether he
resented Dunbar asking about Isabelle
or only that he had asked belatedly,
about to walk away. And Temple knew,
even before he presented his Visa card
at the front desk, that he'd be criminal-
ly overcharged: $338 for the visit!

The glamorous young woman who
processed his bill smiled at him апх-
iously. “Mr. Temple, are you all right?

"Thanks, I'm fine. I'm in agony,”
‘Temple said, smiling in his affable,
charming way. "Im in spasm, actually.
It sounds sexual but it isn't. I always
walk with my head under my arm.”

Thinking on his way downstairs that
he'd simply walk out, get into his car
and drive away—what the hell. Quit
while he was out only $338. Physical
problems embarrassed him. He was
sweating, wincing with pain in his neck
and head. It wasn’t that smug hustler
Dunbar he was furious with; it was his
former wife Isabelle. Damn you: Whai a
way to treat a man who loved you. Crazy for
you, and what did I get out of it? Kick in the
teeth, in the neck. In the balls.

Despite the codeine in the muscle re-
laxant, washed down with beer, Temple
had a wretched night. Alone with his
physical self.

Defeatedly, the next morning he
checked into the physical therapy clin-
ic of the Saddle Hills Neck & Back In-
stitute and after a restless wait of 40
minutes was assigned a therapist. “Hel-
lo, Mr. Temple? I'm Gina. Will you
come this way?” Dazed with pain, Tem-
ple squinted at whomever it was with
the somber equanimity of a con-
demned man greeting his executioner.
He saw the petite young woman with
the dark hair, olive skin and very dark,
thickly lashed eyes. Gina in pink script
above her left breast. His heartbeat
quickened. Oh, ridiculous!

The young woman led Temple more
briskly than he could comfortably fol-
low, a steel rod of pain driven through
his neck, Through the large, airy,
L-shaped space, past ingenious torture
machines of pulleys, rings, bars, ped-
als, into which shaky men and women
were being helped, victims of what
physical mishaps, what unspeakable
muscular or neurological deterioration
one could only imagine. Temple did

EN
O
Bi
U
=
ES
pS

e»
d 9

“Why, Professor Kelly —you have a boner!”

FEC AS BROY

108

not want to stare. He feared seeing
someone he knew, and being seen and
known in turn. A well-built young man
stood poised atop a curious disk, grip-
ping a bar and trying desperately to
balance himself; terror shone in his
eyes as his legs failed, he began to fall
and two attendants deftly caught him
beneath the arms. Another man, Tem-
ple's age, with thick, bushy, receding
hair very much like Temple's, lay
stretched out groaning on a mat, hav-
ing collapsed in the midst of an exer-
cise. Back trouble, Temple guessed.
Quickly, he looked away.

“In here, Mr. Temple. Would you
like me to help you lie down, or can
you manage yourself?” Gina shut the
door: Thank God, they were in a pri-
vate room. Unassisted, Temple climbed
up on and stretched out on an eight-
foot-long padded table, a warm rolled
towel exactly fitted to the aching hol-
low of his neck. He shut his eyes, terri-
bly embarrassed. Flat like this, on his
back, he felt—unmanned. An over-
turned beetle. What was this girl see-
ing? What was she thinking? Luckily
the crises of the past several months
had burned off most of Temple’s ex-
cess weight at the waist and gut: 180
pounds packed into a five-foot-ten
frame, upper-body muscles still fairly
solid, Temple didn't look—did he?—
like a loser. He was wearing a fresh-
laundered T-shirt, chino trousers, jog-
ging shoes. He'd showered and hastily
shaved within the hour and his jaws
stung pleasantly He knew that, up-
right, he was a reasonably attractive
man; looked years younger than his
age on good days. But this was not a
good day. He hadn't slept more than
two or three hours the previous night.
His eyes were ringed with fatigue and
finely threaded with blood. It touched
him to the quick that a young woman,
a stranger, should see him in so weak-
ened and debased a state.

“Мт. Temple, please try to relax."

Gina's voice was intense, throaty.
Kindly. Temple did not open his eyes
as she began to "stretch" his neck, as
she explained—standing behind him,
gripping the base of his skull and
pulling gently at first, then with more
strength. А woman's touch like ivory
against his burning skin. Christ! He
thought of masseuses, prostitutes. But
this was therapy prescribed by Freddie
Dunbar the neck specialist. This was le-
gitimate, the real thing. Temple tensed,
expecting excruciating pain, and could
not quite believe that none came. He
forced himself to breathe deeply, and.
by degrees he began to relax. "Now re-
tract your head, please. No, like this.
Farther. Hold for a count of three. Re-
lease, relax and repeat, ten times.” Un-
questioning, Temple followed instruc-

tions. Gina then began to knead the
knotted muscles at the base of his skull,
slowly on both sides of his neck, down
to his shoulders and back up again. At
the injured muscle, the fingers probed
pure white-hot pain and Temple cried
out like a stricken animal. “Sorry, Mr.
Temple,” Gina murmured, fingers eas-
ing away quickly as if repentant

An exhausting drill of exercises. Sets
of ten. Again, again. Retracting the
head, side-bending the neck. On his
stomach, sitting up, on his back again.
When he gasped aloud, Gina said gent-
ly, as if reproving, "Initial pain increase
is common. Just go slowly.” Temple re-
alized he was floating on an island of
pain like sparkling white sand. One of
the numerous tropical-resort white-
sand beaches of his late marriage. And
Isabelle close beside him. So long as he
did not look at her, she would remain.
Warm oiled supple woman's body, the
sunlit smell. When he opened his eyes,
blinking, Isabelle was gone. But the
dazzling sand remained. Blinding
sand. An island of pain from which he
kicked off, swam away in cool caress-
ing turquoise waters and returned;
returned to the sparkling, dazzling
pain and kicked off again, swam away
again and again returned. Always, he
returned.

A woman's deft fingers were fitting
a thick, snug collar around his neck
through which (Temple gradually
gathered) hot water coursed. Fifteen
minutes. Temple sweated, panted, ob-
served his pain draining away, the ten-
sion dissolving like melting ice. His
eyes filled with moisture. He was not
crying, but his vision swam. Panting
with happiness, hope. The young fe-
male therapist in white stood beside
the table making notations on a clip-
board. Only now did Temple cast a
sidelong glance at her—she was proba-
bly in her mid-20s, slender, small-
boned, with dark, thick-lashed eyes
and a narrow, thin-tipped nose. Her
complexion wasn't perfect, yet it wasn't.
exactly blemished—tiny pimples at her
hairline, like a rash. She had sensitive
skin, so what? Not the smooth, poreless
cosmetic mask of glamorous Isabelle
and her glamorous female friends.

“Are you feeling better, Mr. Temple?”

"Lam."

"You were terribly tense when you
but you did relax finally."

“I did.

Temple spoke heartily. He wanted to
cry, to burst into laughter. Wanted to
seize Gina about her slender hips, and
bury his heated face against her. Life
seemed suddenly so simple, so good.

He went away with a set of instruc-
tions for exercises to do at home and

an appointment with Gina for the
morning after next. Secretly, he
planned not to return—the sessions
were $95 for 55 minutes! And he cer-
tainly wasn't going to see Dunbar again
in a week, as Freddie wanted. You
don't get to be a millionaire several
times over by wasting good money.
.

“Why? To help people, I guess. To
play a role in a person's recovery.”

At this second therapy session Gina
spoke more readily. Gently but forcibly
she stretched Temple’s neck, massaged
the “soft tissue” at the base of his skull,
secured him into the remarkable hor-
pack collar through which steaming
water coursed nourishing as blood. (“Is
it tight enough? Is it too tight?” There
was something disturbingly intimate,
even erotic, about being trussed up in
the thing. Justa little more pressure on
his neck arteries and Temple's entire
head would be tumescent.) Partly Tem-
ple was quizzing Gina to distract him-
self from his misery, and partly it was
Temple's habit to quiz strangers who
intrigued him—How do you live? What is
our life? Is there some secret to your life that
might help me? But also he was fascinat-
ed by the girl. Waking the previons
night from restless dreams, a dream
riddled with pain like pelting rain-
drops, he saw someone standing silent-
ly beside his bed. She reached out to
touch him, calm him with her ivory-
cool fingers. They were such strong
fingers.

Gina was saying earnestly, “I have
wanted to be a physical therapist
since—oh, sixth grade, maybe. Our
teacher went around the room asking
us what we wanted to do when we grew
up, and I said, ‘Help sick people get
better.’ There was a cousin of mine, a
boy, who had cystic fibrosis. I've always
wished I could have helped him walk.
For awhile I wanted to be anurse, then
a doctor—but they don't really play a
role in a person's recovery, over a peri-
od of time, like a physical therapist
does.” How proudly she spoke, in her
shy way.

Play a role. A curious expression. It
evoked a world in which people played
roles in one another's lives and had no
lives of their own except for these roles.
Maybe it made sense, Temple thought.
Whatisan actor apart froma play? You
can't just be—brute raw existence 24
hours a day.

“I never knew that I wanted to be
anything, I guess," Temple said, be-
mused. Except a winner. “It's like, well,
falling in love. A life can just happen."
Cut the crap! Who was angling, negotiat-
ing, push-push-pushing to make it happen?
“Uh, how many patients do you see

(continued on page 154)

Revsneo: MATHY SHOWER

hollywood fell hard for this actress mom

HEN KATHY SHOWER appeared as our May 1985 Playmate, we beamed with pride.
The talented actress had already appeared on Broadway and prime-time TV,
and Hollywood beckoned. "I have a great career, thanks in large part to
PLAYBOY," says Kathy, our 1986 Playmate of the Year. She recently left Los Angeles for the
villas of Europe, where she's well known for her work in miniseries and on the American
soap Santa Barbara. “1 am so blessed,” Kathy says from her Barcelona apartment. “Гуе
been everywhere in the past ten years and have gotten paid to ро. It’s been wonderful.”

PHOTOGRAPHY BY STEPHEN WAYDA

Above right, Kathy's centerfold
from Moy 1985, and below it, a tip
of the hat on her PMOY cover in
1986. Her doughters, who cheered
mom on during the PMOY ceremo-
ny ot the Playboy Mansion, hove
grown: Mindy, 21, will study low;
Melorie, 17, plays piono and guitar.

109

ss = AN

Though Kathy spends much of her time overseos, she doesn't forget friends back home. When Hef celebrated his birthdoy in April, Kothy
hod 70 white roses sent from her hometown of Brookville, Ohio. "A birthdoy is o special gift,” Kothy says. "I'm so hoppy thot I've hod 43
of them, that I'm healthy ond strong and thot I'm living in a beoutiful city like Barcelona. When I’m 70 I want thot party hat on.”

кы er "

112

they have taste and cachet. now the major
breweries are spending big so you'll get the news

drink by MICHAEL JACKSON

HE віссеѕт breweries in America are thinking small.

Anheuser-Busch, Miller and other famous produc

ers of golden lager have turned their hands to red
and black brews, wheat beers and spicy and fruity beers.
These beers are not intended for everyone. They aren't
meant to sweep the nation, just to meet the needs of a de-
manding minority. European brewers have even toured
America to sample this new generation of brews. If you
want a dark, malty, Munich-type lager, or a yeasty, Belgian-
style wheat beer, or a dry India pale ale, America is a good
place to be. The world’s biggest brewer, Anheuser-Busch,
has a malty new brew, Centennial, and a wheaty Hefeweizen.
It has also introduced a new line named American Origi-
nals, based on old recipes found in company archives. An-
heuser has also introduced a new Texas brew, Ziegenbock,
and invested in the Seattle microbrewery Redhook. Miller
owns Leinenkugel's (a specialty brewer in the Midwest) and
has taken a financial interest in Shipyard (an East Coast
brewery known for its ales) and Celis (a Texas brewery fa-
mous for its wheat beer). All told, there are about 60 mighty
microbrews available today, and many more are being de-
veloped. These new small beers are meant to be savored—
the color, aroma and texture are part of the pleasure. A
bronze or amber-red color

means the barley grains have
been toasted during the malt- $ M ALL
ing process. Darker colors in-
dicate stewing or roasting, BEERS
with flavors to match. Wheat
beers, being traditional, can be
offered unfiltered and hazy,
their natural tartness given a

sharp edge by yeast sediment.

Lager yeasts make for smooth,
rounded flavors; ale yeasts for
more fruitiness and complexi-

ty. The more hops used, the

drier and more aromatic the beer. Which is best? Gold or
bronze? Amber red or mahogany? Dark brown or black?
Flowery, hoppy dryness or malty sweetness? Here's a guide
to the boutique brews.

GOLDEN LAGERS

Once every town had its own beer, using different grains,
local hops, spices, herbs and wild yeasts. Then came the in-
dustrial age. Ever since the world’s first bright, golden brew
was made in Pilsen, Bohemia 150 years ago, beers have be-
come more pale in color and lighter in body and flavor.
Now the big brews are as pale and light, crisp and clean as a
beer can be. American Originals’ assertive Faust is crisp,
with the floweriness of the famous Saaz hop variety from
Bohemia. This beer, by the way, is (continued on page 150)

ILLUSTRATION BY MIKE BENNY

[ЕКЕ

$ he was among the most powerful wom-
enn town. From 1990 to 1993 she had
а direct line to A-list stars and studio execs,
running Ihe most exclusive call-girl service
in Los Angeles. Al one time, Heidi Fleiss
employed more than 100 women. She did
well. So well, in fact, that she soon moved
from a two-bedroom West Hollywood apart-
‘ment to a $1.6 million Beverly Hills home.
Among her neighbors were Bruce Spring-
steen and Jay Leno.

Then in June 1993, the dark-haired
daughter of a prominent pediatrician was
busted for pandering and drug trafficking.
In December 1994 Fleiss was convicted on
three of five counts of pandering but was
found not guilty of the drug changes. The
penalty: а possible eight years in jail. Feder-
al charges of income lax evasion, conspiracy
and money laundering followed, of which
she was also found guilty. We sent Con-
tributing Editor David Rensin to meet with
Fleiss and see what the former Hollywood
madam had io say for herself as her sentenc-
ing date loomed.

PLAYBOY: By the time this interview
appears, your sentence will have been
determined. Care to predict the
outcome?
FLEISS: I read the report. I know my
probation officer recommended seven
years and three months in a federal in-
stitution, and that ГЇЇ serve six com-
plete years. It's terrible, it's awful.
Somehow I seem to piss off an awful lot
of people. I know I was power-tripping
and that I made the wrong kind of en-
emies. But I've been good. I was ar-
rested three years ago. I've been a
model citizen. I pay my taxes, I employ
15 people at

V 1
the former Босс:
1 f =
hollywood Pal gti
madam talks nal, and I think

that the system
could actually
use me. I'd be
better used in
some kind of

about hook-
ing, hubris

and what community
service than to
you can get be stuck in a
cage some-
Tor $40,000 where. I had
hoped that

anight
e

PHOTOGRAPHY BY GREG GORMAN

there would be
some bigger
minds out
there. Being

imprisoned for consensual sex is archa-
ic. Child molesters and murderers get
probation. It’s not fair. 1 was arrested, 1
stopped what I was doing. 1 live a total-
ly different life now. The police accom-
plished their goal.

PLAYBOY: When guys go to prison they
are afraid of being raped. What do
women think about?

FLEISS: I wish that I knew. I have all
these attorneys and no one knows of a
good women's facility to recommend
because they have had little experience
with women's federal crimes. 1 don't
know where they sent Leona Helms-
ley, but if she could handle it I can
handle it.

PLAYBOY: In Nick Broomfield’s docu-
mentary Heidi Fleiss: Hollywood Madam,
there was talk of a $40,000 fantasy
night ordered by one customer. What
does a guy get for that kind of money?
FLEISS: He gets me in attendance, talk-
ing. That's the bonus. We had a lot of
fun during the fantasy nights. We did
them once a week. One of my cus-
tomers liked this certain girl, and 1
would go there with her and two other
beautiful girls. She would start strip-
ping by the fireplace. We'd each take a
quaalude. Everyone would get loose.
Then she would give the guy head
while 1 made up stories—some were
true and some weren't—about things
that went on while she did tricks. She
would make him come, then the other
girls would make him come. I guess for
$40,000 you get a sex orgy. Everyone
had a good time. There was nothing
humiliating or degrading. How could
you not be satisfied with the evening?
Ifa guy comes ten times a night, he's a
happy guy.
4

PLAYBOY: When did you realize, grow-
ing up, that you were different from
other girls?

FLEISS: I was 16 when I “strayed.” I was
at the racetrack instead of deciding
what sorority to join. 1 was always
hanging out with boys. 1 liked sex. Al-
though 1 didn't have sex until later. 1
liked gambling. I was attracted to risk.
It was something that got my heart
pumping. Being at the racetrack
thrilled me more than whatever other
girls were doing. But I didn’t have
trouble relating to women. I had tons

D | = | E | 59

of girlfriends, and 1 was always the
group leader. That's probably why it
was so easy for me to make the transi-
tion to what I call being a go-between. I
don't view what 1 did as running a
prostitution ring. It was more like a
dating service.

PLAYBOY: Should prostitution be legal?
FLEISS: Yes. It could be regulated. It
should be a womar's choice so long as
it's not used to feed a drug habit, and
no one should be forced into it. Beauti-
ful girls come here from everywhere
and want to be actresses and movie
stars. To me, prostitution is a stepping-
stone, not a career. I can't mention
names, but maybe somebody worked
for me once or twice, and that was
enough to get her the money she need-
ed to jump ahead. But you never hear
the success story of the girl who
fulfilled her fantasy of sleeping with a
famous guy, traveling through the
Caribbean for $2000 a day, having a
great time that one time, then going on
and being successful at whatever she
does in life. All you hear are the loser
stories.

PLAYBOY: Rate the best-seller You'll Nev-
er Make Love in This Town Again. Given
the book's success, are you sorry you
passed up the offer of a million dollars
to write your own book?

FLEISS: I read some of the book and it
cracked me up. Some of it’s funny,
much of it is old news. Who really
cares? I believe that when you get
home and close your door, whatever
you do behind itis your business. Plus,
the four authors are so stupid. I saw
Liza Greer on Geraldo talking about
how many times she tried to kill her-
self. It's not Hollywood's fault she tried
to kill herself. That's her fault. No one
made her take a razor blade to her
arm. You can come to this town and be
whoever you want. She chose to be a
freebase head, a crackhead. I saw the
contracts before the book was pub-
lished. Samantha Burdette was living
with me at the time, and Michael Viner,
the publisher, faxed over her contract.
I told her, “You know, if you do this
book you can't live with me anymore.”
“Oh, but Heidi . . . ,” she said. They're
very stupid girls. I was offered a $5 mil-
lion package for a book and a movie,
and I have the faxes to prove it. But I
didn't write a book. I never named one

115

PLAYBOY

116

name. When I was arrested, everyone
said my clients were so scared. No one
was scared. They all knew I wasn't go-
ing to say anything. There are some
scumbags 1 truly would like to hurt,
but I just don't have it in me. I believe
there's a future in making money with-
out hurting people.

PLAYBOY: After you were arrested, what
fabulous offers did you getto keep qui-
et? What would you like to say to all the
guys you didn't name?

FLEISS; No one ever helped me out with
a dime toward my legal fees. No one
has done anything. Don Simpson
spread a rumor that he paid my legal
fees. When 1 met with private investi-
gator Anthony Pellicano, who needed
some information from me, 1 said, “By
the way, tell Don to either quit telling
people he's paying my legal fees or to
really pay them, because maybe there's
someone out there who will pay them
and he's hindering it” So here's what
T'd like to say: Please pay my legal bills.
I'm with Gibson, Dunn and Crutcher.
Just call them. You can wire money
right into the account. I think the out-
standing bill is up to 200 grand. Please,
Just wire the money right over.

rLavbov: Most men imagine that Ьсаи-
tiful women are incredible in bed.
Some contend that beauty is no indica-
tion of prowess. Give us your expert
opinion.

rLEISS: One guy will go, “Oh my God,
you've got to sleep with Amy. She's the
best fuck on earth.” You sleep with
Amy and she’s a dead fish. It’s all
chemistry. It’s between your ears. Ill
tell you what a guy docs not like. Say
he's paying $2500 for a girl, and he
gets one who looks like Elle Macpher-
son. She walks in with the attitude of,
“You are lucky to be paying for me.
You're lucky.” A guy would rather be
witha B-level or C-level girl who comes
in and says, “Hey, come on! Let's what-
ever—watch a porno film or drink
some wine.” He wants someone who
has energy and starts doing а 69. Who
wants to be with someone who wants
you to think that you're lucky? Take a
fucking hike. Who said you have a
golden pussy?

PLAYBOY: Which actress who has played
a hooker might make a good one in
real life?

FLEISS: Elizabeth Shue. She looks like a
few hookers who worked for me. It was
tough to see Leaving Las Vegas because
I wanted Nicolas Cage to go into rehab
saying to Shue, “I love you and I'll get

better and marry you, and we will be
happy.” Instead they did the story
realistically.

Julia Roberts, too. In my attorney’s
closing arguments he said to the jury:
“Preity Woman was one of Hollywood's
biggest blockbusters. Did you hate Ju-
lia Roberts? Were you mad at her and
Richard Gere for playing those parts?”
"Ihe jury giggled, as if thinking, Why
should we be mad at Julia Roberts for
playing a hooker? I loved Pretty Woman.
It's weird how our society is so hypo-
critical. Maybe the message is that the
laws have to change.

I'd also say Michelle Pfeiffer because
she's beautiful—not that she played a
hooker. But she was practically one in
Scarface, which is one of my all-time-
favorite movies. When I was arrested
I thought I was Scarface. I said, “Set
my bail, any bail. ГЇЇ make bail in
two hours. I don’t care; make it any
price.” I'm tripping on like I'm Tony
Montana.

10.

PLAYBOY: What are your rules for sur-
viving in Los Angeles?

FLEISS: Pretend. The town is too small
to have enemies, especially if you're in
show business. Even if you don’t like
someone, make believe you do. It
doesn't mean you have to do business
with them. Also, you don’t want to
make enemies with the police. If I had
it to do again I wouldn't make those
enemies. A bizarre example is the
death of Don Simpson. I read what
some people said about him after he
died, and the hypocrisy kills me. Some
of the people who eulogized Don hated
him. To me, Don Simpson was an in-
spiration. Here’s a guy who was from a
shoe box in Alaska, poverty stricken,
weirdest parents on earth, told him
every day he was going to hell. Then
he came to Hollywood and made his
dreams come true. It shows that people
can do anything they want if they apply
themselves. Some said, “Oh, well, Don
was into weird sex.” Yeah, well, these
people sat and watched with him.
Simpson just wrote the checks. So he
liked to do kinky things. I didn’t sup-
ply him with the kinky girls. Don was
Madam Alex’ client. Actually, her
bread and butter.

п.

PLAYBOY: Where are your little black
books? Does the law enforcement com-
munity know something the rest of us
would like to know?

FLEISS: [Smiles] The FBI has them. They
took four. They can’t understand any-
thing in them. I wrote everything in
code—I was probably high out of my

mind, writing the best gibberish on
earth—and they can't break it. They've
called their top people. I don’t think
I'll ever get them back. I would like
them back. They are decent Gucci
books. They probably cost $400 or
$500 apicce. Come to think of it, I
could probably sell little black books in
my store. Day Runners. Hmmm.

12.

PLAYBOY: Say the first things that pop
into your head. Charlie Sheen. Bil-
ly Idol.

FLEISS: Sheen: hate him. He did his de-
position on video. He didn’t even have
to go into a courtroom because he's Mr.
Hotshot. When they asked him sexual
questions, he got all excited. I bet he
had a hard-on during the interview.
He said, “Oh yeah, | saw a different
girl every day for two months straight,
and gave them two grand at a time in
cash.” That’s a complete lie. He never,
ever paid cash. He always wrote checks.
Good thing they never bounced. I
think his career is over. That guy is the
biggest loser.

Billy Idol would get so fucked up
and high, he'd want girls to shove
everything in sight up his butt. I don’t
think a girl gets too much pleasure out
of that, to be honest. Plus, he wouldn't.
even pay. Billy Idol was my groupic.
Ile would hang out where I was. I
found him repulsive.

13.

PLAYBOY: What are the ideal features
for one of Heidi's gir
Feiss: A hard body is ideal. It doesn’t
matter what kind of hair, what size tits.
Just a beautiful face and a hard body.
Every man has something that turns
him on. Some guys say, “I must have a
girl in red high heels and those finger
nails, and a garter belt.” Some guys say,
“Tell her to come in jeans and tennis
shoes.” I like older men; everyone
knows that’s my preference.

14.

PLAYBOY: You used то live with interna-
tional financier Bernie Cornfeld.
Whar's the most romantic thing some-
one with millions of dollarscan do for a
woman like you?
FLEISS: Some of the cháteaus in weird
parts of France and Switzerland have
been converted into restaurants. We'd
have dinners there: a 12-course meal
with wines so old they're from before
George Washington's time. I've experi-
enced things that some people will nev-
er get to do. I remember waking up in
Bernie's castle and looking out a win-
dow that some king once looked out of.
Those are things you never forget. 1
(continued on page 149)

“Maybe it's none of my business, cowboy, but for another dollar and a half, you could take

a real girl up to your room.”

НЕ GIVEN or

ATLANTA

the olympic heats just got hotter

TS No SURPRISE that the seal of the city of Atlanta features a phoenix under the motto RESURGENS. More than any other
American town, the Big Peach is forever rising and revising. Atlanta has given us cotton and peanuts, Martin Luther
King Jr. and Gladys Knight, CNN and Coca-Cola, It has brought us Georgia Tech football and the world champion

Braves. It has given us Rhett and Scarlett, Ted and Jane and Designing Women. And, of course, this summer, Atlanta hosts the

100th Olympiad, a first not only for the city but also for the American South. Naturally, we couldn't let the occasion pass

Welcome to Atlonta, home of the 1996 summer Olympics and volleyboll goddess Lisa Dresio (opposite), who represents the 12th gen-
erotion of her family to be born ond roised in the Atlonto suburb of Marietto. Liso is a model, but she'd love to be a comedion. (We must
say we odmire her stand-up.) Lying down on the job (above) is octress-model Liso Ann Brown, who intends to be the next Shoron Stone.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY STEPHEN WAYDA

120

without doing what we do
best: celebrating the city’s glo
tious women. Athletes toss
javelins—we shoot rolls of
film. Let the games begin.
This past March, PLAYBOY
sent Contributing Photogra-
pher Stephen Wayda to At-
lanta—a city that was founded
159 years ago as a railroad
terminus. We had to beg him
to come home. Over sev-
eral days, Wayda met and
photographed nearly 100
women, all of them bona fide
belles. Featured on these
pagesare the 13 who best cap-
ture the excitement, charm
and sensuality of Atlanta.
Ladies, you get the gold.

Violet Haze (above) majored in
biology and modeled for olbum
covers. Now she wants to be
а sex therapist. Florida-born
Cheryl Axley (right) is bent on be-
ing o wife and mom. "I grew up o
preacher's kid,” she confesses,
“ond look at me now.” What irks
Georgia peach Erika Snyder (far
right)? “People with no values,
and the nationol debt." Erika is
a philosophy buff who wants
to “inspire the masses.” Done.

Tammy Brown (opposite) knows thot the reol way
1o a mon's heort is through his head: She wants to
be a psychiatrist. Say hey to Tiffany Schoder (be-
low), о cot fanatic whose list of life's essentiols in-
cludes "sensitive boyhiends.” Stopping Atlonta
troffic is Tomi Lynn West (above), who insists on
“unconditional hoppiness in life.” Mississippi na-
tive Robyn LaRocca (right) is into red wine ond
bubble boths. Her shot here: a true belle ringer.

Cothrine Nolan (left) cames from a
large Southern fomily—"the kind where
everyone knaws everyone else's busi-
ness." Behind closed doors she likes
curling up with "a goad science fiction
novel.” And, haly cow, check aut Tammy
Bristow and Christi Nicole Taylor (be-
low). Tammy (lefi) says she enjoys "do-
ing boy things,” such a i
ond karcte, while Chris!

for thase warm, romantic summer
nights. Finally, meet horsewamen and
Texas model Natalie Albarado (appa-
site), who informs us that she spends
half the year in Atlanta. And where is
she the ather six months of the year,
yau ask? Unfartunately, she wan't scy—
but we’re certain that you'll be laoking.

PLAYBOY

126

deathlock (continued fom page 58)

He told Team Foxcatcher: “I am the Buddha of the
East and the Dalai Lama of the West!”

success was a tribute to natural ability,
more-recent triumphs spoke to effort
and technique. Veteran wrestling
coach Stan Abel called Dave Schultz
and his brother Mark, also an Olympic
gold medalist, “the Michelangelos of
wrestling.” But Dave was more. He was
a cheerful, clever, unassuming man
with a theatrical sense of fun.

Yet, in the end, du Pont shot Schultz
because of his insolence. No matter
how bizarre and menacing the heir be-
came, Schultz and his family continued
to live on the lush du Pont estate,
which John du Pont called Foxcatcher,
in Newtown Square, a suburb of Phil-
adelphia. Du Pont had bankrolled a
state-of-the-art wrestling facility on the
grounds, where the wrestlers of Team
Foxcatcher depended on John's lar-
gesse, Dave as much asany of them. So
Schultz persevered. He ignored du
Ponts threats. He even toyed with
John's delusions. Schultz insisted he
could handle the 57-year-old. He told a
friend, wrestling coach Greg Strobel,
that John “has the emotional maturity
ota 12-year-old.”

Schultz wasn't alone in this game.
USA Wrestling was just as determined
to keep du Pont's money coming. His
millions had elevated American wres-
tling from the perennial second пег to
world dominance. So his outrages were
called eccentricities. In March 1995 du
Pont expelled three black wrestlers—
Kanamu Solomon, John Fisher and
Olympic gold medalist and national
champion Kevin Jackson—from his
‘Team Foxcatcher because of the color
of their skin. Three months later, USA
Wrestling accepted du Pont's annual
$400,000 contribution without a peep.
Du Pont was an embarrassment, but a
rich one.

“Everybody played the game,” says
Solomon. “You had to treat John du
Pont like he was the greatest wres-
Чет on earth. You didn't question it. It
was hilarious and pathetic. We had to
watch this stuff, watch him wrestle, lis-
ten to his speeches. The man didn't
know the first thing about wrestling."

Enamored with his ridiculous nic]
name, "the Golden Eagle of America,
he became it. Behind a locked door in
the Foxcatcher training center, du Pont
would climb a ladder into a thicket of
twigs and branches and perch, like a
bird. “Не locked the door and climbed
into it, squatted down, tucked his
hands up to his chest and flapped his

elbows, looked down at me and said,
‘I'm the Golden Eagle of America,”
says a business associate who saw the
sanctum last year. "And, you know, vith
how gaunt he had become, and with
that beaklike nose of his, he actually
looked the part. It was so weird I just
wanted to get out."

From early childhood, du Pont was
lord of his estate. Now, in his mind, he
ruled larger realms. He announced to
Team Foxcatcher in a pep talk before а
1995 meet, “1 am the Buddha of the
East and the Dalai Lama of the West!”
Nobody contradicted him.

Two days after Schultz was shot
dead, when du Pont was seized by a
SWAT team, he shouted, “You can'tar-
rest me!” He was a confused, wasted
man, as lost in fantasy as he was in his
oversize Bulgarian team sweat suit.
Draped around his neck, incongruous-
ly, was his laminated VIP pass for At-
Janta Sports "95, last year's world free-
style wrestling championships (where
Schultz, the national champion, fin-
ished fifth out of dozens of internation-
al competitors). Du Pont was unwashed
and unshaven. His crewcut was gray.
His long teeth were yellow from ne-
glect. He looked ravaged and ancient,
as if rescued from a prolonged night-
mare. His pale skin was drawn thin
over a bony frame, accentuating that
nose, the projecting patrician beak like
something from a savage cartoon of
French aristocracy, where John had at
one time proudly placed his roots.

їп a way he'd always looked out of
place. He was an alien presence ar the
Santa Clara Swim Club in the Sixties,
whose elite included Lynn Burke, Don-
na de Varona and Don Schollander.
The three had been or would be Olym-
pic gold medalists.

"He wasn't really such an elite swim-
mer,” says George Haines, who coached
the club. “Kids at that level are so fo-
cused, they don't like sharing lanes
with swimmers who can't keep up.
John had a good stroke and had the
work ethic. But he was missing the X
factor, whatever it is that makes a
Schollander or a Mark Spitz.”

John had grown up lonely and aloof,
a skinny oddball lording over servants
and groundskeepers on the vast estate,
with his mother, Jean Liseter Austin du
Pont. She was obsessed with breeding
champions—Welsh ponies, beagles and

flowers. John’s father, William Jr., di-
vorced Jean when their son was a ba-
by and had little to do with the boy.
William bred championship racehors-
ез. John’s childhood interests were lav-
ishly indulged, but he was socially and
emotionally isolated, obsessed with
winning trophies, championships and
titles. He seemed determined to turn
himself into the object of his mother’s
pride and attention.

Haines felt sorry for du Pont. He saw
a desperately lonesome, overgrown
boy who lacked social skills. His accep-
tance of John was part kindness, part
calculation. John, after all, stood to in-
herit millions. Within three years of
joining the team, he was writing checks
for $20,000 and covering one third
of the club's travel budget—its biggest
expense.

The swimmers learned to like John.

“It took a long time, but eventually
we included him,” recalls de Varona.
“He rode in our car pools and came to
our parties. We bought him ice cream
because he never seemed to have a
penny in his pockets. We teased him
about being so slow. 1 felt a little sorry
for him. Here was a man who could
buy just about anything, but what he
wanted was to be a great swimmer. He
wanted what he could not have.”

“They all knew that John's Olympic
dreams in the pool were hopeless. In
1964 Lynn Burke's father and Haines
steered the heir toward the pentathlon,
a five-sport event featuring swimming,
riding, shooting, fencing and running.
Anybody can run, Haines figured, and
du Pont had become a better-than-av-
erage swimmer, He had grown up rid-
ing and shooting. If he could learn to
fence, he'd have a chance. It was a
small field. There were only about 25
athletes in America who competed.
Few outside of military school had the
means and time to train.

John charged into the pentathlon.
Back at Foxcatcher he built a six-lane,
50-meter indoor pool with an elegant
tile mosaic depicting the pentathlon
events. He installed a shooting gallery
and hired Lajos Csiszar, a Hungarian
fencer, to teach him the foil. He as-
sumed a punishing training regimen.

“He swam with us twice daily,” re-
calls Frank Keefe, coach ofa new swim-
ming team at the du Pont estate.

“He ran four or five miles a day. He
also spent a lot of time at the shooting
range. He tended to push himself too
hard. He would overtrain to the point
where he would injure himself.”

Impatient for a championship, he
bought one. In 1965 he bankrolled a
pentathlon championship in Australia,
flew down and took first prize. It was a
setup, says Keefe. “John sponsored the
event so he could win it. It bothered

OLYMPIC |
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“1 spent the night with а Swedish
A He didnt make the finish line until
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P LTA Y BOY

128

me that a guy with only modest ability
could buy something like that.”

Du Pont trumpeted his championship.
He announced his plan to represent
America in the pentathlon at the 1968
Games. The press swooned. Du Pont was
the multimillionaire obsessed with
Olympic gold. Life and Look did photo
stories showing the spartan young heir
in training. He looked like a star. He had
a lean, well-muscled frame and a fash-
ionably severe crewcut. For his cartoon
strip Steve Canyon, cartoonist Milton Ca-
niff created a square-jawed hero called
Jay Newtown, based on John.

John was a good swimmer, a fair shot
and he could ride. His running and
fencing were poor. Yank Albers, a
spokesman for the Modern Pentathlon
Association, describes him as “a talented
dilettante.” In 1967, when du Pont un-
derwrote the national championship
and held it at his Pennsylvania estate, he
finished near the bottom after eight con-
testants dropped out with riding in-
juries. The following year at the Olympic
trials, he finished 21st in a field of 22.
Only the top three made the Olympics.

Du Pont was 30. He would never be an
Olympian on merit. But there was an-
other way.

“Ours has always been a very poor
sport,” says John Russell, founder of the
MPA. “But that changed when John got

involved. He bought uniforms and flew
me and the team to competitions in his
private helicopters.” Du Pont was elect-
ed vice president of the association and
in 1976 was appointed to the Olympic
pentathlon team as team manager,
which meant he got the warm-up suit
and gear and could pose for the team
picture. He flew to the Montreal Games
in his private jet.

“He must have been the loneliest guy
in Montreal,” said Bob Paul, longtime
press spokesman and historian for the
US. Olympic Committee. “He was there,
basically, because he had the pentathlon
program on his payroll. He didn't fit in,
and he had nothing to do.”

That was as far as the MPA would go.
After two years of playing along with the
heir, electing him to two terms as token
vice president of the organization, du
Pont was voted out. He promptly sev-
ered all ties to the sport.

His Olympic hopes dashed, du Pont
began to drift and decline. When he
lured George Haines away from Santa
Clara, doubling his salary to coach the
Foxcatcher swim team, Haines arrived to
find his rich young friend was drinking
heavily. John's mother was both worried
about and frightened by her son. She
pleaded with Haines to talk to him.

Du Pont wasn't a threat to just himself.
Haines was fishing one afternoon on the

“Tt took ten of us to give him a hand job last night.”

estate pond with his 12-year-old son,
Kyle, when John joined them.

“He was a terrible fisherman,” says
Haines. “He couldn't catch a thing. He
didn't know what he was doing. Kyle was
having success, so John got angry.”

Du Pont blamed the flock of Canada
geese that lived year-round on the ропа.
He pulled a .45-caliber pistol from his
pants and opened fire.

“My son was standing between the
geese and John,” recalls Haines. "John
was aiming right past him.”

Haines gave du Pont a strong shove-

“Put that thing away,” he said, “or I'm
going to stuff it up your nose.”

Du Pont put the gun avay.

Haines went back to California with
his family not long afterward.

Frank Keefe visited Foxcatcher in
1984 and found du Pont scrawny, inebri-
ated and disheveled. He and members
of du Pont's family, along with a doctor,
confronted him.

“It was grueling,” Keefe recalls. “It
went on for six or seven hours. When I
left that night he had agreed to go to the
hospital the following morning. The
next day I phoned to see if he had fol-
lowed through. John picked up the
phone. He hadn't gone. He lashed out at
me viciously. He accused me of mishan-
dling our friendship and betraying him.
That was the last time we talked.”

It was a turning point. Du Pont had
worn out his welcome with Olympic
swimming and the pentathlon. And he
was losing touch with reality.

In recent years, those who knew John
du Pont wondered about one thing: Did
he know? When he came out with one
of his outrageous pronouncements, or
pointed to a ghost on the wall or a Nazi
in the trees, was he crazy or was it a
game? He often punctuated his craziest
behavior with a mischievous smile. One
way of drowning shame is to embrace il-
lusion, and on good days, maybe with
the help of booze and prescription
drugs, the fantasy feels real. Wasn't liv-
ing for those moments, however false
and fleeting, better than being a sick,
rich old wreck everyone humored for
his money?

In time, anything that punctured the
fantasy provoked rage. Veteran wres-
uing coach Paul Kendall found that out.
Working as an assistant coach at Fox-
catcher, Kendall penned a short tribute
to John, a paragraph of unqualified
praise for a team press release. In it he
called John "one of the greatest philan-
thropists of all time.” John crashed into
Kendall's office, balled up the release
and threw it in the coach's face.

He launched a profane tirade, which
reduced itself to one complaint: Kendall
had called John a philanthropist.

“Pm not that,” du Pont railed. “I
am a sports psychologist! I am the head

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wrestling coach!”

Those he paid were expected to sup-
port the illusion. Dave Schultz and the
wrestlers knew that, as did the small
circle of employees and advisors who
helped du Pont deal with an unend-
ing parade of supplicants—charities,
schools, sporting groups, etc. Du Pont
hid on his estate, and his use of alcohol
and drugs worsened. He had accidents,
such as falling down a flight of stairs and
breaking his wrist, and a car crash that
left him with injured knees and shoul-
ders. A brief marriage to a physical ther-
apist ended badly in 1984, when his wife
accused him of beating her and threat-
ening her with a gun.

Soon after his mother’s death in 1988
he dismissed much of the longtime staff,
and the estate's decline mirrored his
own. The mansion, a replica of James
Madison's Montpelier, became a sort of
dormitory.

“The house was beautiful until Mrs.
du Pont died. After that, everything
went,” said Marii Mak, a friend. Mak
says du Pont was incapacitated by pre-
scription drugs and alcohol for days at a
time, unable to stand or speak coherent-
ly. The wrestlers humored him, and
laughed behind his back. John spouted
racist philosophy and talked about the
presidency. He commissioned a likeness
of himself, in a presidential pose, from
Ronald Reagan's portraitist.

PLAYBOY

His fear of being kidnapped shaped
his dealings with the world. The estate
that had been open in his youth was now
ringed by a 12-foot fence topped with ra-
zor wire. John rarely ventured off of it.
He was usually armed. He befriended
local police, offering the use of his shoot-
ing range and loaning them his heli-
copter. In return, they gave him a badge,
uniform and gun and let him drive
around Newtown Square pretending he
was a сор.

To those who had known him for
years, du Pont was becoming paranoid
and pathetic. But to the castes world,
he was the messiah. “John turned the
U.S. into the world’s strongest wrestling
power,” says Wade Schalles, a former
world champion who today writes about
amateur wrestling in the Wrestling Insti-
tute Newsmagazine. “Years ago the U.S. al-
ways finished second or third behind the
Eastern Bloc countries. It wasn't because
they had better athletes; their state-
sponsored programs allowed wrestlers
to stay with the sport and develop their
talent. The average age of the American
team was 24. You wrestled through high
school and then at the collegiate level.
Then after graduating you might putin
two or three years. After that you would
retire, Also, Olympic freestyle is a differ-
ent kind of wrestling. Guys who mas-
tered the collegiate style would need

130 years to reach that level in freestyle. But

because there was no way to train and
make a living, it was rare to see someone
older than 24 or 25 with more than two
or three years’ experience in freestyle.”

John changed that. His money made
it possible for wrestlers such as Schultz,
Bruce Baumgartner, Zeke Jones, Terry
and Tom Brands, Tim Vanni, Kevin
Jackson and others to make a long-term
commitment. In the past decade the av-
erage age of the U.S. team has crept
steadily higher—it is now close to 30.
Schultz was 36 when he died.

Du Pont's first move into wrestling was
a gift to Villanova University for an ath-
leüc center to be named after him. In re-
turn, Villanova started a wrestling pro-
gram and appointed John head coach.
He had no credentials. The experiment
lasted only two years. Villanova killed
wrestling in 1986, when embarrassment
began to outweigh its benefits. One of du
Pont's assistants accused him of making
sexual advances. There were allegations
of underage drinking among team mem-
bers and violations of NCAA rules. And
there were numerous sightings of the
head coach soused on campus. Du Pont
denied it all.

It didn’t faze USA Wrestling or FILA.
They welcomed John and his new Team
Foxcatcher. John moved his wrestling
program to his estate and recruited
Schultz and other top athletes. He of-
fered a generous monthly stipend, su-
perb training facilities, travel expenses
to tournaments, a home on the grounds
and top-level coaching. Foxcatcher was
named the first FILA international
training center at its opening cere-
monies in 1989. The sport honored him
in all the usual ways, and then some.
FILA presented John with its “gold star”
in 1989. The next year he got the “diplo-
ma of honor,” traditionally bestowed on
Olympic gold medalists. He was the
“team leader” for the 1992 U.S. Olympic
freestyle wrestling team, so he got to
pose once more as an Olympian. FILA
minted a “super champion belt” and
strapped it around his waist in 1994. But
it wasn't enough. John, on the down-
slope of middle age, wanted to be a
champion.

With world-class wrestlers humoring
him daily, letting themselves get pinned,
John believed he had what it takes.

“Tt was ridiculous,” says Kanamti Sol-
omon. “He would thrash around like a
kid. He had this headlock—we called it
the eagle lock—and whoever he did it to
would holler, 'Oh no, not the eagle lock!"
He would let go and pat the guy on the
butt and say something like, 'Don't wor-
ry about it. If you work hard you can be-
come a world champion like me.'”

Greg Strobel, a wrestling coach at Fox-
catcher, found du Pont's capacity for de-
luding himself hard to believe: "He
would bring me tapes of his practice ses-
sions and Га analyze them for him.
When we watched other people's tapes

John knew good stuff from bad. How
could a guy this bright and knowledge-
able watch himself on videotape and
conclude that he vas any good?"

Most of the wrestlers found du Pont
repulsive, but they encouraged his ex-
cesses. Some of the acts cited as evidence
cf du Pont's insanity were actually stunts
intended to impress. When, for instance,
du Pont drove his car into a pond on the
estate, he was applauded by the team as
a “wild man," much to his delight. Like-
wise, when he performed the stunt a sec-
ond time weeks later, with FILA official
Mario Saletnig in the backseat, it was а
way to both impress the boys and scare
Saletnig.

The wrestlers dubbed him “Junkyard
Dog” to salute his wildness—and be-
cause he smelled so bad. Du Pont's heavy
drinking and poor hygiene made him
particularly rank on the mats.

Du Pont took offense. As an alterna-
tive, “the Golden Eagle of America” was
proposed and promptly adopted—with
snickers all around.

To test his wings, du Pont paid for a
new international event, a masters world
wrestling tournament. The idea was to
lure old wrestlers back to the sport. The
first of these FILA events was held in
1992 in Cali, Colombia. John waited in
the wings until his karma was right, then
the meet was halted and it was an-
nounced that the Golden Eagle of Amer-
ка was to wrestle. Du Pont emerged to a
standing ovation, looking knock-kneed
and ridiculous in a singlet, and assumed
his place on the mat as his event was
called. Interestingly enough, no one
stepped up. And voilà! Du Pont was
world champ by default. The name John
E. du Pont was duly inscribed in interna-
tional wrestling record books, and the
“achievement” was noted in USA Wres-
tling's official team guide.

‘Trouble was, the masters event was
popular. There were many capable old
wrestlers longing to compete again. It
was clear du Pont would actually have to
wrestle to sustain this fraud. When du
Pont was challenged at the world cham-
pionships in Toronto in 1993, he quickly
backed down, claiming injury.

“He was outraged,” said one associate.
“How dare someone show up to fight
him at his tournament.”

Things got worse in Rome the follow-
ing year. Acontestant showed up and du
Pont wrestled and lost. Quickly. His per-
sonal photographer was chagrined. His
assignment was to compile an album of
the Eagle's triumphs. For most of this ti-
ue match, the old man's spindly legs
were in the air.

“John complained bitterly,” the associ-
ate says. “He wasn’t paying for a tourna-
ment so he could lose.”

“The next year, in Sofia, Bulgaria, du
Pont won handily. Fans were coached to

cheer for du Pont, to throw flowers onto
the mat. His white-haired opponent put
оп a good show. When du Pont was de-
clared the winner, his teammates carried
him around the arena.

“He actually thought he won,” says
Kurt Angle, a current world champion
who attended the event. “He got very in-
tense. We thought it was fun.”

So did John. He insisted on schedul-
ing the same event in Sofia again. He
grew closer to Valentin Jordanov, a Bul-
garian national champion who had
moved to Foxcatcher.

Jordanov had helped arrange the
tournament in Sofia and was gradually
supplanting Schultz as the favorite son
in Foxcatcher's stable. Du Pont even
adopted Bulgaria as his ancestral home,
finding bizarre reasons to relocate his
well-known French ancestry to eastern
Europe.

His mind made strange connections.
Clocks in computers, microwaves, faxes
and exercise machines were running
fast, stealing seconds from his life, so
electronic gadgets were disassembled, or
burned. At the Cali masters world tour-
nament, he was so worried about a ter-
rorist attack that he wore a Bulgarian
team uniform and demanded to be in-
troduced with a Bulgarian name (even
though everyone in the arena knew who
he was). His real name was used only
when the bogus gold was draped around
his neck—to ensure it went into the
record books correctly.

Du Pont went beyond foolishness
when he abruptly dismissed three black
wrestlers from Team Foxcatcher. Ka-
namti Solomon, the team's exciting 22-
year-old 105-pound wrestler, showed up
one afternoon for his workout, and
coach Strobel sent him packing. Sol-
omon was shocked. Being cast out of
Foxcatcher meant starting over from
scratch. He managed to attend the
NCAA tournament a month later be-
cause his mother withheld car and mort-
gage payments. At that event he learned
he wasn't alone. Kevin Jackson, Fox-
catcher's 180-pound wrestler, gold
medalist in the 1992 Olympic Games
and one of the mainstays of the U.S.
team, was out too. Strobel had just given
Jackson the news.

“Greg told me he was sorry, and that
he didn't really have a choice,” says Jack-
son. “He told me it had to do with this
black thing, with du Ponts paranoia
about death. He associated the color
black with death. He had ordered the
wrestlers to stop wearing black clothing.
Greg had to get rid of his black Jeep.
Du Pont didn’t want anything black
around him.”

Also out was John Fisher, the country's
number-two-ranked 136-pound wres-
Чет. Du Pont did not accept calls from
the three wrestlers. Solomon learned he

had been replaced by Joe Ramsey, who
was older, white and had a less impres-
sive record. At the end of April, at the
U.S. Nationals in Las Vegas, Solomon
confronted du Pont as he was leaving the
arena with Jordanov and Ramsey.

“He wouldn't stop to talk to me, so I
followed them, shouting at them in Eng-
lish and Spanish, demanding answers,”
Solomon recalls. "I was shouting, ‘Why
did you kick me off? You promised you
would get me through school! You
promised you would help me get to the
Olympics! What did I do?”

Dv Font offered an enigmatic expla-
nation: "Solomon, you can spell catsup
with a C or with m

Then he pointed to the X in the name
FOXCATCHER printed on his T-shirt and
said, "The X is three letters from the
end. KKK. Foxcatcher is run by the
КЕК now.”

Du Pont laughed. Ramsey and Jor-
danov smiled, rolled their eyes and
walked away. Solomon, Fisher and Jack-
son complained to Mitch Hull, USA
Wrestling's national teams director.
Surely the sport's top governing body
wouldn't countenance this discrimina-
tion. Because Solomon was still on the
way up (he made the national team on
his own this year), it would be harder to
prove the racial argument in his case,
but nobody weighing merit would dis-
miss Jackson and Fisher. Both were at.
the top of the sport.

Hull advised them to take it up vith
the organization's Athletes’ Advisory

Ся

Committee. Nothing happened. USA
Wrestling made no comment and took
no action against John du Pont. In June,
three months after the wrestlers were
cut, the organization accepted du Ponts
annual $400,000 donation as if nothing
had happened.

USA Wrestling handled the matter
with a swift bureaucratic two-step.

“We referred it to the Athletes’ Adviso-
ry Committee for investigation,” ex-
plains Larry Sciacchetano, the organiza
tion's president. “They looked into
and decided to recommend no action.
If they had determined it was a ra-
cial thing, USA Wrestling’s only option
would have been to say, ‘If we get anoth-
er check from du Pont, we will have to
decide what to do with it” It's hypotheti-
cal, because they didn’t decide it was
racial.”

“We heard that the steering commit-
tee was going to reassess the organiza-
tion's relationship with John, so when
the issue of the dismissed wrestlers came
up at our November 16 meeting we de-
cided to leave the matter to them,” says
Chris Campbell, who heads the advisory
committee.

The steering committee was still “re-
assessing” when Schultz was killed.

“I don't think kicking out Kevin Jack-
son and the others had anything to do
with ethnic considerations,” says Sciac-
chetano. “It had to do with du Pont's as-
sociating the color black with death,
which is weird, but not racist.”

“Oh yeah?” responds Jackson. “The

P jo

PIL Aste BOY

132

idea that we were kicked off the team
because of our skin color has some eth-
nic and racial overtones to me. The rea-
sons for racism have always been pretty
screwy.”

Du Pont's move caused some soul-
searching on Team Foxcatcher, but none
of the black wrestlers’ former teammates
stuck their necks out.

“1 really regret it now,” says Kurt An-
gle. “What I did was, well, maybe not
cowardly, but I acted like a puppet. If I
could do it over again 1 would take a
stand against what he did to Kevin, John
and Kanamti.”

There was no such soul-searching by
USA Wrestling or FILA. They accepted
every cent du Pont cast their way. Still,
the heir worried about his standing with
wrestling officialdom. Wade Schalles vis-
ited du Pont in the summer of 1995, re-
searching a column for the Wrestling Im-
stitute Newsmagazine.

“1 don’t want you to say anything,
Wade,” du Pont told him, “but I have
been chosen to be the Dalai Lama of
North America.”

“Really, John?”

“Tm planning a trip to Tibet to get the
appointment, 1 don't want you telling
anyone yet.”

"Your secret's safe with me.”

That afternoon du Pont was odd but
charming. After the interview he walked
the writer to his car and wished him well.
But when Schalles got home just hours
later, there was a profane message on his
answering machine. Du Pont accused
Schalles of setting him up, of planning to
trash him in print.

Schalles dropped the story.

Du Pont's demons were circling. He
saw ghosts in the mansion. One acquain-
tance encountered him in his library
with blood running down his legs. He
had been gouging “bugs” off his skin.

Du Pont continued to dismiss wres-
tlers. Former U.S. champion Dan Chaid,
an eight-ycar resident, was ordered off
the estate abruptly one afternoon, he
says, with no explanation other than the
machine gun du Pont pointed at him.
Others left on their own.

Strobel took a job at Lehigh Universi-
ty in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. In the
weeks before Schultz’ murder, only a
handful of wrestlers remained at Fox-
catcher. Among them was John’s newest
favorite, Valentin Jordanov.

“John was developing this weird fa-

“You see what I mean about the wine.”

ther-son thing with Val and seemed to be
adopting Bulgaria as his national iden-
tity,” says a business associate. "At the
same time, America and Dave were on
the outs."

Schultz was still the only person who
dared challenge du Pont and who still
tried to keep things real. Jordanov
worked to please the heir, humoring du
Ponts newfound Bulgarian pride so suc-
cessfully that American wrestling officials
anticipated that du Font, despite lifelong
superpatriotism, would soon shift his
financial backing to that nation's team.
Du Pont had spent the last world cham-
pionships seated squarely in the Bulgar-
lan camp.

Just days before the shooting, du Pont
picked Jordanov as the team's new
coach. telling one associate, "We can't
give it to Dave.”

Schultz was becoming the enemy. He
chided John about his drinking and en-
couraged him to seek medical help.
Schultz would cut short du Pont's
tantrums, telling him, "John, you're act-
ing like a spoiled child." No one had
ever spoken to du Pont that way. Not as
a child or as an adult. Schultz told
friends that the heir had angrily ordered
him off the estate five times over the
course of the winter.

Late last year, du Pont went to the
Schultzes’ house in a stew, accusing Dave
and Nancy of sheltering Dan Chaid. As
he looked around, he fell and gashed his
head. In an account local police found
fanciful, du Pont claimed Chaid had as-
saulted him with a baseball bat.

Dave saw such things as annoyances.

“He still thought du Pont was harm-
less,” says Chris Horpel, a wrestling
coach and longtime friend. “He told me,
"He's unstable, he's eccentric, yes, but he
wouldn't shoot anybody.”

Horpel and others warned Schultz to
leave. Friends offered to let the family
move in with them temporarily.

Dave didn't think it was necessary.

The winter day Schultz was shot was
Jordanov's birthday. A little party was
held for him at the Foxcatcher training
center. Du Pont didn't show, which was
odd. It was the kind of event he ordinar-
ily wouldn't miss.

Perhaps he was steeling himself for а
desperate task. Afer all, something had
to give. Foxcatcher was the center of du
Pont's universe, and he was in charge.
But here was Schultz, thumbing his
nose, casting a shadow on the bright vi-
sion. In fact, his very stature belied the
whole elaborate fraud. And if the
supreme champion, the Golden Eagle of
America, the Buddha and Dalai Lama,
banished Dave Schultz from the garden
and he wouldn't go?

What then?

GREG MADDUX nina om aee

Everybody senses his uniqueness. The realization that
he's different starts as soon as you see him.

unrecognized. “Around the ballpark,
they know who you are,” he says, “but
you go a couple of miles up the road,
dude, they got no clue.”

Once, when asked why he doesn't do
commercials or promote himself, Mad-
dux explained why a wife (Kathy), a two-
year-old daughter (Amanda), two dogs,
one set of golf clubs with Mickey Mouse
head covers and a lot of movie rentals
constitute his idea of a perfectly orga-
nized life. “I like my time off. I like golf.
I like to be with my family. I just like to
get up and do nothing.”

To say that Maddux’ candor is disarm-
ing would be an understatement. For ex-
ample, his teammates insist the one as-
pect of his character that's unknown is
his humor. “He's very funny,” says At-
lanta manager Bobby Cox. "But it's hard
to think of anything in particular."
Teammates can't produce illustrations
either. “They're just covering for me,"
says Maddux, not bothering to cover
himself. "They won't give examples be-
cause you can't print any of it. With my

sense of humor, the more disgusting
something is, the funnier it is to m

“Му brother probably started
adds, meaning 34-year-old Mike, now a
Red Sox pitcher. "You know how you
look up to your big brother. If you see
him doing something vulgar and enjoy-
ing it, you learn to enjoy it and appreci-
ate it, too. We had a lot of fun seeing how
vulgar we could be in front of our sister."

There's something truly special about.
Maddux. No, not his mooning. Every-
body in baseball senses his uniqueness.
The realization that he's radically differ-
ent starts as soon as you see him. His
shoulders slope. He has no muscles
to speak of. When he jogs, his stomach
sticks out in front of him. An average-
size man who can't run fast or jump high
and who does not possess a single knee-
buckling pitch should not have the best
back-to-back earned run averages for
the past two seasons since Walter John-
son in 1918 and 1919.

“1 can't believe a regular-size guy with
the stuff he has can do what he's done,”

says teammate David Justice. “It
shouldn't be possible.” Or as another
teammate says, “1 just saw Greg in the
training room. He's working out with his
four-ounce weights.”

Even beyond his poise on the mound
and his spooky control, there's more to
Maddux. His very core—his temper-
ament, his approach to everything—
mystifies and attracts those around him.
He has a secret, though he may not
know itor lay claim to it. Without trying,
he's a guru. In something as simple as
wind sprints, the whole team takes its
cue from Maddux. With two dozen play-
ers spread across the outfield, Maddux
lines up out by the warning track. Grad-
ually, you realize his teammates cut their
eyes toward Maddux to see when he'll
begin his next 50-yard run. When he
breaks, they all follow a millisecond later.
Maddux doesn't look at anybody.

“It's not his job to lead the sprints. But
it wouldn't surprise me if they pick up
his rhythm. They watch everything he
does,” says Braves general manager
John Schuerholz. "Wouldn't you?”

The baseball subculture delightedly
testifies to this “something” about Mad-
dux and loves to speculate about it.
“They say you have to have a big ego to
bea great athlete. He must be the excep-
tion that proves the rule. He sure
doesn’t need much from a manager,”
says Cox. “He just loves to watch the

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game, learn the game and then play the
game.”

“These days, athletes have the reputa-
tion of being rich, spoiled babies,” says
the Braves Тот Glavine, who's the only
pitcher in the past five seasons with
more wins (91) than Maddux (90). “Greg
is so far on the other end of the spec-
trum. If you found the most arrogant
ballplayer there is, then his opposite
would be Greg.

“He's the best pitcher ofour era. But if
people could see how he acts around из,
they'd be mind-boggled. He never gives
the impression he thinks he's anywhere
near as good as he is. That's what's so re-
freshing about him,” says Glavine.

Last season, two of the Braves' front-
office personnel were leaving the park.
“Where you headed?” asked Maddux.
“Burger King.” they said. “Come with
you?” asked Maddux. “He’s got a
$28 million contract, but it felt perfectly
natural for him to come to Burger King
with us,” said the Braves employee.

“Off the field, he's like a kid in a man's
body,” says Rafael Palmeiro, a former
Cubs teammate.

Maddux’ pitching is simply the mani-
festation of something rare and probably
enviable within him. Let's not push this
too hard. It’s a mean old world with lots
buried deep. But he might be happy.

He actually says, without provisos,
"I'm very happy with myself.” He's not
bragging. He simply applics the Golden
Rule to himself. He treats himself as he
would treat others. Since he's unfailingly
generous to others, he's also kind to
himself. He allows himself to be happy.
Who would suspect that modernity's chi-
mera—the unified sensibility—might be
found inside a baseball pitcher?

If you try to make Maddux complex,
you won't do justice to his simplicity.
He's a sort of accidental wise man. When
you listen to him talk, you'd swear he is
doing a slacker's paraphrase of Ralph
Waldo Emerson, Michel de Montaigne
or Warren Buffett. Think of all those
sensible passages you've underlined and
thought, If only I could live like that.
But, of course, I can't. I'm too screwed
up. Maddux hasn't read the books. He
might not understand them if he did.
But, in some sense, he lives them.

Maddux has the guileless gifts of mod-
eration and common sense that some-
times lead an innocent through the
world’s maze as if he were blessed. You
want to grab him and say, “You've got
something the world craves. And you
don't even know you have it. That's real-
ly annoying.” But you can't stay miffed
at Greg Maddux. You just hope some of
it rubs off.

PLAYBOY

Maddux likes to watch. He's the ulti-
mate baseball fan. Nothing is more rivet-
ing to him than a three-hour ball game

134 on a hot summer night. Baseball's most

addictive charm is the illusion that, if
you study the game and its people close-
ly enough and long enough, you can al-
most live a split second in the future.
Love of detail gives birth to a sixth sense.

Part of Maddux lore holds that, a cou-
ple of years ago, he warned teammates
that a foul ball would be hit into the
dugout on the next pitch. Four times
that season he made his offhand predic-
tion. Three times, the foul ball arrived.
Anybody can, occasionally, call a home
run one pitch in advance. What Maddux
did is like calling the row and seat num-
ber in the bleachers.

A knack for observation runs in the
Maddux family. After retiring from the
military, Maddux’ father became a part-
time poker dealer at the MGM Grand in
Las Vegas. Life in the casinos is all about
one thing: keeping your eyes open. If
you don't, your wallet will be gone or
you'll be dealt to off the bottom. If you
don't, you won't know what cards are
out or who blinks when he bluffs.

“ГЇЇ go and watch him deal or join the
game and give him a hard time,” says
Greg. “I'll say, “He's not a good dad. He
never deals me a winning hand." Then,
Maddux watches to see how people take
his remark. What's the spin? What's the
count? What's the tendency? What does
every gesture mean?

Since childhood, Greg has been ac-
cused of having an obscene amount of
luck. His family nickname: Nate Luck.
Yet maybe it’s not all mere good fortune.
By the third grade, Greg was the Mad-
dux who won at Concentration, the
memory card game. As an adult, he's a
successful system blackjack player in the
casinos and a dangerously observant
poker player. His agent, despite his ad-
vanced degree, is hopeless against Mad-
dux at Jeopardy! “Shallow men believe in
luck,” said Emerson.

Maddux won't talk about current
players. But ask him about anybody
who's retired. Then you'll see the level of
observation that makes him great.

“Ifyou could get Dale Murphy to miss
one fastball,” says Maddux, “then you
could throw him change-ups.”

Translated from the baseballese, this
means Murphy was vain about his ability
to hit the fastball. If he couldn't time the
fastball, his confidence was under attack.
If you snuck a fastball by him, he'd ob-
sess on that one pitch until he proved to
himself that he was back in sync.

“The only danger with Murphy was
that one fastball. If you could get away
with it—maybe up and in for a foul
ball—then you could even throw a mis-
take change-up.”

A mistake change-up is а mush ball
that floats right down the center of the
plate. Your grandmother could cream it.
But if Maddux set up Murphy correctly,
then he honestly felt he could throw the
worst pitch on earth with impunity, with
total confidence, and know that a man

with 399 career home runs, two MVP
awards and a shot at the Hall of Fame
would strike out.

“Mike Schmidt was the same way, but
with the slider,” says Maddux. “If you
could make him swing and miss at the
slider just off the outside corner, then he
would give up on the fastball away.”

So, here's the ideal Maddux sequence
to Schmidt: Start with a fastball on the
low outside corner for strike one.
Schmidt would probably take it because
few sluggers chase the first pitch, espe-
cially if it's on the edge of the plate. That
first pitch would logically set up the
next: a hard slider. However, Maddux
would aim it a few inches over the plate
so it would resemble the previous fast-
ball, but more tempting. Please swing:
That would be Maddux’ thought. Be-
cause if Schmidt did, then Maddux had
him dead—not only on that pitch, buton
the next one, too.

If Schmidt swung at that second-pitch
slider, he couldn't hit it, because the
pitch would end up out of the strike
zone. And that would prey on Schmidt's
i Early in Schmidt's career, he set
humiliating strikeout records because he
chased breaking balls low and away.
That's why Schmidt would give up on
the fastball after missing the slider. He
wouldn't want to look bad twice in a row.

For the third strike, Maddux would
throw a fastball that started out as
though it would be an inch or two out-
side. But Maddux can make his fastball
tail in or out a couple of inches in either
direction. So, he would bend it back over
the outside corner. And Schmidt, who
hit 548 home runs, would take it for
strike three.

“But I faced them only at the end of
their careers, when their bats had slowed
down,” adds Maddux, not wanting to
slight an opponent.

Last year in the playoffs, Maddux
struck out Reggie Sanders, the Reds’
best hitter, on a change-up with the bases
loaded. However, it wasn't actually a
change-up that fanned him. It wasn't
even a pitch Sanders saw in that at bat.

“Early in the game,” says Maddux, “I
had thrown him a very good down-and-
in fastball that he fouled off. He wouldn’t
have hit it that hard unless he had been
looking for it. He cheated to get to it.
That meant he was really aware of the
fastball running in on him.” In other
words, the pitch Sanders coldcocked
early in the game was really the pitch he
feared.

What do you do next time you face
him? You throw the pitch that, both in
location and speed, is opposite to a fast-
ball that runs into a righty’s hands: a
change-up On the outside corner. Mad-
dux did. Sanders missed it by a foot.

Sometimes Maddux seems to be the
only pitcher who's completely convinced
of the difficulty—the near impossibil-
ity—of hitting a baseball consistently

“I think the patient needs more anesthetic, Doctor.”

PLAYBOY

136

hard if it is thrown accurately and never
twice in a row at the same speed.

“The hardest thing in the world, real-
ly, is to hit a baseball,” says Maddux.
“Even good hitters have to cut off half
the plate. They look for the ball inside or
outside. But they can't protect the whole
plate. They can look for hard stuff or off-
speed stuff. But they can’t look for one
and hit the other.”

Perhaps Maddux’ greatest insight into
the suffering of hitters is that, for all
practical baseball purposes, they're
blind. The human eye is simply not good
enough—either at judging speed or
picking up spin—for a batter to hit a
baseball consistently hard, unless it is
thrown near the heart of the plate.

“You don't have to throw hard, be-
cause people can't judge speed, anyway,”
says Maddux. “We can go out on the
freeway right now and we can’t tell 80
miles per hour from 70 mph unless one
car is passing the other. And if we stay
there long enough, 70 mph starts to look
like 40 mph. Your eye adjusts if it sees
the same speed over and over. It's the
same to a hitter. If he sees 95-95-95, it
starts to look like 50 to him. Eventually,
he can time it. You can be more effective
throwing 90 to 80, and changing speeds
with good location. In fact, you can be al-
most as effective working between 80
and 70.”

Now Maddux is rolling. Nothing
makes him happier than convincing
himself of the most central truth in his
job: He's the dealer, he’s the house, he
has the percentages on his side. All he
has to do is use the cruel odds at the core

of the game to torment the hitters into
submission. He may be a little guy with
glasses and no flashy pitches. But he
knows something batters don't. He's
found a method that renders them help-
less. And he can doit over and over, year
after year, just like his dad dealing stud.
"They'll never beat the casino. That Las
Vegas confidence, his knowledge of the
tricks of the game, gives him a chilly calm.

“You can pitch in and out, but you can
also pitch back and forth,” he says. By
varying the speed on his fastball, he can
make it arrive at the same spot a couple
of feet sooner or a couple of feet later.
“The hitter has only a three-inch sweet
spot on the bat. If you can make the ball
break just three inches, he can't see it if
the break comes late. Nobody sees the
ball hit the bat. They lose sight of it be-
fore that. It’s late break, not amount of
break, that matters. The closer you are
to a moving object, the harder it is
to see.”

It's not just speed that stumps hitters.
Few can pick up the rotation on the ball,
either, Ted Williams said he could.
Sometimes. “If hitters could recognize
spin, everybody would hit .500,” says
Maddux.

But they can't. So they don't.

Maddux assumes, apparently correct-
ly, that so long as his pitches break late,
when they're less than ten feet from the
plate, no living hier has good enough
eyesight to know what kind of pitch he's
swinging at.

“Unless you help them, they don't
know,” Maddux says. “Don Sutton said
to make sure all your pitches look the

“She can't have gone far—her vibrator's still warm.”

same when they're five feet out of your
hand. Make everything come out of the
same circle [Le., the same release point]
with the same arm speed. Make every-
thing look the same. Then find ways to
make the ball end up in different places
and at different speeds. The more ways
you can put it in more places at more
speeds, the better. That's pitching.”

No wonder those kids were bored
watching Maddux. They were looking
for big, breaking pitches—curves or
split-finger fastballs that tumble. Mad-
dux just wants chat late, quick break. “If
you want the pitch to break later, throw
it harder. If you want it to break more,
throw it easier,” says Maddux. “It’s just
like bowling. If you want the ball to hook
more, throw it easier. If you want а
tighter line, throw it harder."

Maddux has the hallmark of the origi-
nal thinker: He can simplify what others
find complex. He sees the idea that runs
through the welter of data.

For example, Maddux uses every part
of the plate except the top of the strike
zone. Even with his legendary control,
he rarely tries to get a hitter to chase a
high fastball, even if that's the batter's
known weakness.

“Think about it," he says. “The only
people who can pitch up successfully are
the ones who, like Don Sutton or Nolan
Ryan, have the big overhand curveball.”
The hitter fears that the curve will drop
in for a strike, even though it starts well
above the zone. So, watching for the das-
tardly curve, he mistakes the fastball for
the hook and chases it.

“To get a hitter to chase bad pitches,
you have to have two pitches that look
the same, but one of them ends up a
strike and the other one doesn't,” says
Maddux. “That's why Nolan Ryan could
pitch higher than high. When I pitch up,
I don't get swings, But guys such as Tom
Glavine, Billy Swift and me, who have
good sinkers and change-ups, can do the
same thing at the bottom of the strike
zone. We can pitch lower than low.”

If Maddux starts you off with a four-
seam fastball at the knees for a strike,
what do you do when the next pitch is
apparently identical? Will it be another
fastball for a strike? Will it be the two-
seam sinker that ends up at your shins,
seducing you into a weak, lunging
ground ball? Or will it be the change-up
that never seems to arrive, then finishes
at your ankles as you strike out foolishly?

Of all the many theories concocted by
veteran pitchers in the past 20 years,
Maddux seems to have culled from the
best, or else discovered on his own. For
example, at the end of his career, 288-
game winner Tommy John explained
that he had always “subtracted one ball"
from the count posted on the score-
board. He trusted his control so much
that he didn't fear walks. Far more im-
portant, he wanted a mental edge over

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138

the hitter. They never knew the real count.
The count in John's head was the count
that would inform the pitch selection.
Even with the bases loaded and three
balls on the hitter, John still pretended
that he had only two balls on the batter.
“But there's no base open,” John was
told. “Sure there is,” he answered.
“Home plate's open. It's only one run. A
home run gives’em four.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if Greg does
that, too. It feels that way,” says Сох
“But sometimes it seems like he adds a
ball to the count. On 0 and 2, he never
wastes a pitch. He throws what other
pitchers might throw on 1 and 2.”

For decades, the Orioles have taught
that the key to pitching is studying the
һїцег'в reaction to the previous pitch. “If
a hitter is late on a fastball on the outside
corner and fouls it over the dugout,
what do you throw on the next pitch?
There's only one correct answer,” says
Baltimore pitching coach and Cy Young
winner Mike Flanagan. “He's waiting,
looking for a curve or change-up. That's
why he’s swinging so late. Well, if he
can't get around in time on an outside
fastball, then he sure can't get around on
one on the inside corner. It takes longer
to get the bat over the plate on the inside
pitch. You have to clear your hips and
get your hands in front of the plate. If
they're late on your outside fastball, then
always pound ‘em inside.”

Many teams construct elaborate game

plans for pitching to the opposing line-
up; the football mentality takes control.
Big thinking is nice. Maddux is for it.
But its the little stuff that’s crucial.
“What you remember from facing hit-
ters in the past, or from scouting re-
ports, is a starting point,” he says. “But
the last pitch is 90 percent of it. You react
to what you just saw. What's he trying
to do? If his back foot gets pigeon-toed,
is he trying to pull the ball? If his back
foot is open, is he looking to go the
other way?

“If he’s up on the plate, it usually
means he likes the ball in. If he stands off
the plate, he likes it away. Seems like it
would be the other way around, but it's
not. That's getting way too smart,” says
Maddux, shaking his head disgustedly at
getting carried away with analysis
“There's such a fine line between doing
what you do best and going after a hit-
ter's weakness.”

Yes, that's an eternal baseball dilem-
ma. Pitch from strength or to weakness?
There's no answer. Except Maddux has
an answer. “It’s an easy decision,” he
says. “You pitch to weakness—even if it's
not your strength—when it can't hurt
you. Like if you have a lead or nobody is
on base. And you pitch from weakness
where it can't hurt you. I’m not a break-
ing-ball pitcher. If use my curve in a big
spot, I'll throw it in the dirt to sce if he'll
chase it."

On any subject except pitching, you

“I did warn you this was to be a working vacation, dearest.”

couldn't drag a pithy phrase out of Mad-
dux with pliers. But as soon as he talks
s all brand-new stuff and
boiled to the nub.

To look at him, you'd hardly spot
Maddux for a contrarian. But he is, to
the bone. When the Braves travel, the
other players use expensive, identical,
team-issued suitcases. Maddux uses a
battered bag covered with stickers.
Hence, no aggravation. Nobody takes
his bag by mistake. In baseball, where
century-old orthodoxy coats every con-
cept, Maddux sees a world where every-
body else has lots of big stuff backward.

In a jam a pitcher is supposed to
"reach back"—throw harder and call up.
that extra adrenaline. It's a test of man-
hood, right? Maddux calls it a crock.

“I lost enough games trying to put
more on. Finally, I said, 'Maybe I ought
to try to take more oft!" That was Mad-
dux’ first career breakthrough. His first
two seasons, he was battered (8-18), sent
back to the minors and considered a
marginal prospect. “You get beat
enough, eventually you change. I was
pretty much forced to change,” he says.

“Guys who are capable of putting
more on, you can count on onc hand—
Dwight Gooden, Steve Avery. That's a
special gift. I'm not physically capable of
it, But everybody is capable of learning
to take more off. Some do it better than
others.”

Maddux simply views his approach as
an obvious response to raw necessity.
Does the “take more off” philosophy re-
quire any special рій? "It takes a litle
more trust in yourself,” says Maddux.

A little more trust? Yes, you could say
that. Imagine you are Maddux. Let’s
see, the game and maybe the season are
on the line. What should you do? You're
tired. The bas e loaded. Barry
Bonds is at bat. You've lost something off
your fastball. Eureka, you've got it!
You'll throw a fastball, but not a very fast
one. Instead, you'll tail it away maybe
another inch. And throw it in a great
spot. Then come back with a change-up.
But, remember, throw it even slower
than normal to offer cnough contrast to
the fastball.

Maddux is sublimely indifferent to
conventional wisdom. He rethinks every
pitching proposition from scratch. “One
man that has a mind and knows it can al-
ways beat ten men who haven't and
don't," said George Bernard Shaw. Mad-
dux certainly knows his mind, and he
beats nine men at a time regularly. No
pitcher throws as many fastball strikes on
the inside corner as Maddux. It may be
his greatest point of pride.

Maddux could always tail his fastball
into righties, jamming them. But left-
handed hitters drove him crazy. He
could not attack the inside corner be-
cause he couldn't throw hard enough
He needed a pitch that would bear in to
lefties, breaking their bat handles. The

pitch is called а cutter, and when Mad-
dux developed one four years ago, it
transformed him.

"The biggest jump was when I learned
to throw the cut fastball,” he says. Since
then, nobody else has won the National
League Cy Young Award,

Pitching orthodoxy says that the out-
side corner belongs to the pitcher and
the inside corner to the hitter. You
should visit the inside corner, the saying
goes, but nobody can live there. Well, the
orthodoxy is wrong. Maddux knows it
"The game has changed," he says.
“These days, you get more strikes on the
inside and you get ‘em out inside. Hi
ters used to concede the outside corner.
But it was a different era back then.
Pitchers still fec] like they should stay
away from the inside half.”

They're wrong. The hitting theories of
Charlie Lau and his disciples, such as
Walt Hriniak, have permeated batting
cages for 15 years. Big, strong hitters
now stand off the plate, charge toward
the dish as they stride, then pummel the
ball on the outside half of the plate just
as though they were extending their
arms to drive a golf ball off a tee. The
day of the dead-pull hitter is long gone.
But pitching coaches don't seem to know
it. Now, home run champions are alley
hitters who get their candy from one
power alley to the other. To get them
out, you have to tie them up inside.

Many pitchers don't have the guts for
the work. Modern hitters know that the
fastball on the fists is their weakness, so,
if you come in their kitchen, they threat-
en to visit the mound and beat you to a
pulp with those fists.

In last year's Series, Maddux threw
underneath Eddie Murray’s hat, clear-
ing both benches. That's Maddux.
Charge the plate on him and you take
your life in your hands. Even as a rookie
he challenged hitters, even the biggest.
Once, he stood on the mound and
screamed at 6'5”, 250-pound Dave Par-
ker. In a Cubs meeting, he interrupted
to ask the sign for the knockdown pitch.

Lots of pitchers study film of hitters
Maddux, however, even watches ESPN
highlights to test his pet inside-outside
theory. “Watch when they show all the
home runs hit that day,” he says. “The
majority are from the middle away, not
the middle in. The little guys still hit
home runs on the inside pitches, but the
big sluggers hit the outside pitch.”

So, virtually every other pitcher has it
backward. The inside half is the safer
half. As they say on Wall Street, you can't
make the real big money unless you have
a different opinion—and it turns out to

be right.

Celebrity has replaced wealth as the
great American aphrodisiac. That's why
Maddux stumps us. If he despised fame,
like a grouch, then we might dismiss him

as a crank. He can't handle it, we'd say,
or he fears it. He doesn't want to admit
how high he has climbed because he'd
be twice as scared about the eventual fall.
But that's not Maddux, When it comes
to the modern religion of fame, he’s nei-
ther a believer nor an atheist, nor even
an agnostic. He's as peculiar as a man to
whom the existence of God has never
seemed to be an interesting question.

“I've never liked arrogant people,”
says Maddux. “When I got to the majors
with the Cubs in 1986, I saw enough of
it. I thought, I don’t want to be like that.
You watch people. You see who you want
to be like. In that clubhouse, I wanted to
be like Ryne Sandberg, Scott Sanderson
and Rick Sutcliffe.”

Not exactly three of a kind. Sandberg
was classy but morosely silent, Sander-
son a studious type and Sutcliffe a 67”,
red-bearded, hot-tempered, fiercely loy-
al good old boy. What they had in com-
mon was а realistic sense of themselves
as normal people who happened to work
an abnormal job.

“I grew up ina military culture where
nobody is better than anybody else.
Everybody lived in the same kind of
house, just with a different number on
the door,” says Maddux. “We had disci-
pline and all that. But we didn't go over-
board about it. We were Air Force, not
Marines or Army.”

The incidents of his upbringing al-
ways seemed to help Maddux keep him-
self in perspective. He had a classic stage
father. Dave Maddux was a fine fast-
pitch softball pitcher for 22 years and
vowed that if he ever had sons, he'd do
what Mickey Mantle’s father did: teach
them baseball from the cradle. Every af-
ternoon at 3:30, Dave would take Mike
and Greg into the backyard for two or
three hours of baseball before dinner.

Because Mike is nearly five years old-
er, Greg had the dual advantages of
adult instruction and a big brother who
beat the hell out of him and forced him
to develop fast just to survive. Mike was
bigger. Mike was the extrovert. Mike was
а star at every level, headed to the ma-
jors in the game their father adored.

Greg had a choice; He could become a
fierce competitor. Or he could be an ex-
ile from the male side of the Maddux
family. Greg insists that “my parents
were real good about letting us make our
own decisions. One year I didn’t play
bascball at all.” Believe that if you want.
Or you can look at the evidence. Mad-
dux competes at everything. All the
time. From golf to Game Gear. When he
goes to minor-league hockey games with
Kathy, they even keep score of who wins
the Name That Tune contest. Or, rather,
Greg keeps a running score for the
whole season.

“Greg is a playful perfectionist,” says
Braves coach Jimy Williams. That's a
rare combination. Somehow, Maddux
maintains a sense of relaxed fun while,

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simultaneously, being more focused
and driven to succeed than almost any-
body else.

“Sometimes he frustrates pitchers,”
says Glavine. “He'll throw a nine-inning,
two-run game and talk about how bad
he was and how lucky he was. We'll just
look at him and say, ‘We don't want to
hear it"

The Dodgers once called Orel Her-
shiser “Bulldog” because the nickname
matched his soul even though it contra-
dicted his choirboy face. Maddux’ nick-
name is Mad Dog. It seems incongruous
to those who don't really know him, Yet
it's completely appropriate го those who
watch him compete every fifth day.

Even other successful obsessives—
such as John Schuerholz—hold Maddux
in awe. “He’s so reliant on information
that he’s almost paranoid. He keeps the
data on opposing hitters going into his
memory bank constantly.

“This season he’s working on how to
hold men on base better. So few of them
get on, of course. But Greg doesn't like
to have vulneral s. If he decided to
make that something he does better than
anybody else, he would do it.”

Maddux’ effectiveness can’t be sepa-
rated from his playfulness. He doesn't
grind himself to dust. “My dad never
makes a bad thing into the worst thing
that's ever happened in his life. I'm like

that,” says Maddux. “Some people dwell
on everything and drag it out. Blow it
off. Same with the good stuff.”

What does Maddux do during the off-
season, when some players are in winter
ball ог doing head-to-toe makeovers of
their physiques? “I stay in Vegas and
have fun,” says Maddux. “I work out
four times a week for about an hour and
a quarter. That's it. I'd say I'm a hard
worker, but not a real hard worker. Not
nearly as hard as people make it out.”

If you're a huge success in America,
then you must be a workaholic. It's a
rule. But Maddux isn't. So there. Cope
with it. The next time the boss says the
competition is rising before dawn, tell
him you and Maddux are sleeping in.

In everything, Maddux travels light.
са of fashion is a new pair of sweat-
socks. Lord knows what kind of clunker
he'd drive ifit weren't for Kathy, “That's
why you get married,” he says. “So
there's somebody to say, ‘Honey, let's go
for a test-drive.”

Like Brooks Robinson, and perhaps
no other Hall of Famer of the preceding
generation, Maddux has such a clea
sharp perception of himself as a digr
fied common man that his self-image
is accepted as reality by everybody
around him.

If you want to see his hackles rise just
a bit, ask him why, if he’s really what he

“Remember how executions used to be before we all started
taking Prozac, Warden?”

seems to be, he lives in Las Vegas, the
phoniest city on earth.

“It's my home. I grew up there. I have
family and friends there. It’s the people
I know in the city that make the city for
me,” he says, as close as he gets to
defiant. “People think Las Vegas is the
Strip—a bunch of lights, a lot of gam-
bling, drinking and prostitutes. It’s not
like that. We got parks, Little League,
churches, theaters, Denny's—all the
things other cities have. The Strip is an
extra bonus. We have the best entertain-
ment in the world. If you want to go to
the park and feed the ducks with your
kids, you can do that. Butif you have in-
somnia and want to knock out the gro-
cery list at three AM., they'll have a slot
machine in the store.”

No matter how much he accomplish-
es—and a pitcher with a 151-94 record
оп his 30th birthday has about a 50-50
shot at 300 wins—it's doubtful that Mad-
dux’ profile will grow appreciably with
the years. Virtue bores even those who
have it.

“That's just the way it is,” says Mad-
dux of the human preference for choco-
late ripple with walnuts over plain vanil-
la. “When I'm watching Sports Center and
see linebacker Bryan Cox, I enjoy his in-
terviews. They're different, controver-
sial, emotional. Sometimes negative
things are entertaining. If I were a pro-
ducer and had an interview like that or a
guy saying nice things about everybody,
Га run the one that was more entertam-
ing, more of a story.”

As the greatest players age or set
records, they become central symbols of
their sport, even if their performance
has slipped a notch. They often pay the
game back by becoming public icons at
the expense of their personal privacy.
Gal Ripken Jr. is already a public statue.

Would Maddux ever play the role
that, in recent years, has been handled
with such forbearance by Nolan Ryan
and now by Ripken?

“Cal's in a different league. This guy
was baseball for the last two or three
months of last season. The only good
coming out of the game was Cal. I know,
as a player, I appreciated it,” says Mad-
dux. “If I had my choice, no, I really
would not want that kind of fame. I'm
not saying it would be that bad. But if I
had a choice I would probably prefer
that it not happen."

He's reached the point where the only
way to avoid it is to stop going 19-2, the
best season percentage in history, and
winning the Cy Young every year.

Maddux probably isn’t in the Hall of
Fame yet. Four years of perfection is in-
credible. Make no mistake, in baseball
terms a 75-29 record with an ERA of
a working definition of perfec-
tion. But fans forget quickly. Jim Rice
had three years in the Seventies when he

was to hitting what Maddux is now to
pitching. His eyes went bad; he'll never
ger a sniff of Cooperstown. For six
straight years in the Eighties, Don Mat-
tingly was as good as Stan Musial. But he
got old fast. He's beloved. But he'll nev-
er merit a bronze plaque.

The distinction that Maddux can
claim already is that, in his prime, he was
the most effective right-handed pitch-
er—relative to his league and his era—
since Walter Johnson. Maddux is the on-
ly pitcher since the Big Train (in 1912 to
1915) whose ERA (1.93) has been less
than half of the league’s ERA (3.96). In
other words, Maddux has been twice as
efficient as the league during the past
four years.

Decency demands that Maddux not be
compared to Koufax at his peak. From
1962 to 1966, Koufax went 111-34,
compared with Maddux’ strike-abbrevi-
ated 75-29 record. Also, Koufax won
every ERA title and averaged 289 strike-
‘outs a season.

Still, Maddux has reached a point
where he wins most comparisons to any
Tom Seaver, Jim Palmer, Bob Gibson,
Bob Feller or Steve Garlton you can
name. True, Maddux strikes out only
about 198 men per 162-game season.
But no dominant starter since Christy
Mathewson (pre-World War One) has
matched Maddux’ control. In 1994 and
1995 Maddux went 35-8 with just 54
walks in 53 starts.

We should appreciate Maddux now
because, with the right injury, he could
lose his almost mythical control within
the strike zone. And that's the core of his
craft. Game after game, he can pinpoint
two different fastballs on both halves of
the plate, and also throw change-ups for
knee-high strikes. Sometimes, he can
even work his will over his curve and
slider, too. Without that command, as it's
now termed, he'd be Nolan Ryan with-
out a fastball.

You can't find anybody in baseball
who's ever seen a pitcher who had better
control of more pitches in different parts
of the strike zone than Maddux. Even as
great a pitcher as Jim Palmer will tell you
that the only pitch he was fairly sure he
could locate within a couple of inches
was a fastball on the outside half of the
plate. He was never completely comfort-
able pitching in tight or throwing curves
for strikes or putting a change-up in
a specific quadrant of the plate. He
approximated,

“I considered it an honor to face him.
It was really a pleasure,” says Bobby
Bonilla, who, as а Pirate and a Met, faced
Maddux for many years. “He has this
ability to think like you're thinking. It's
almost like he's playing a game with him-
self. You might not get one good pitch to
hit in a whole game.

“He claims he pitches off the last
pitch? There’s something to that,” says
Bonilla. "But don't forget that first pitch:

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strike one. That's the one that makes
him so good. Seems like he's always
ahead of you. His first pitch could also
be the last decent pitch you see. So don't
wait too long up there.”

For four seasons, Maddux has painted
the black, lived on the long end of the
count and expanded the plate so merci-
lessly that hitters feel as if they're de-
fending a manhole cover, not a 16-inch-
wide dish. Six-time batting champion
“Tony Gwynn says Maddux has improved
so radically that the terms of their con-
frontation have reversed. Once, Gwynn
owned Maddux. Now, if a time at bat
were played for life-and-death stakes,
Gwynn admits he'd probably be dead.

Because Maddux has never missed a
start, even in high school, and because
he fields his position with such Gold
Glove quickness that he seems an unlike-
ly candidate to be maimed by a line
drive, it's easy to assume that Maddux
can stay in his blessed zone indefinitely.

However, when other major leaguers

watch a man on such a fantasy run, they
tend to see a beautiful ice sculpture melt-
ing in the sun. They assume such a
blend of youth, health, confidence and
luck can't last. Usually, it doesn't.

Maddux knows that the record book
says that, pretty soon, he'll regress to the
historic mean of own career. From
1988 to 1991 he was 67-46 with a 3.24
ERA. Even if he stays healthy, Mad-
dux will return to that form. But will it
happen soon? Or in 2000? He says he
doesn't care

“I've gotten more out of this game
than I ever dreamed. I'm on extra cred-
it already,” says Maddux. “1 don't feel
like I have the right to ask for more.

“I feel like I owe the game. It doesn’t
owe me. And I know I enjoy it more now
than five years ago. ГЇ probably appreci-
ate it more every season.”

See, he pulls you in, this apotheosis of
the average man, this decent, modest
crafisman as athlete. He is all of us. Sort
of. Yet he generates from his own expe-

"The modern dress was fine, but at times the gangsta
rap was hard to follow."

rience, and lives out, the underlined pas-
sages that we just read. "There is always
a best way of doing everything, if it be to
boil an egg." "Not being able to rule
events, I rule myself” Emerson, Mon-
taigne, Maddux? You can't be sure.
Maybe he's more than a pitcher.

“Sooner or later he's not going to win
the Cy Young Award and people will say,
"What's wrong with Greg Maddux?’
That's not fair,” says Glavine. However,
even Glavine senses that Maddux may
be granted an uncommon kind of clem-
ency in a culture that loves to raise up its
celebrities and then dash them.

“His type of personality goes a long
way,” says Glavine. “Here's a guy who's
so humble and so in tune with what he's.
doing that it’s hard to find people who
are waiting for him to fail. He's such an
ordinary guy that everybody enjoys his
success.”

Greg Maddux, the ordinary guy, base-
ball's patron saint of moderation, is
throwing between starts. His workoutin-
cludes almost as many full-speed pitches
as a complete game. He never changes
expression, never says a word. Pitch af-
ter pitch nips a corner or dances just off
the edge. Everything breaks late. Every-
thing looks like everything else until the
last split second. Lay the philosophy and
the encomiums aside. Think of him as
the dealer, the house, the sharp-eyed Ve-
gas lifer who knows the trick of three-
card monte. His confidence is absolute.
The odds are with him. You need luck
to beat him. He needs nothing. “Nate
Luck” is a con. If he executes correctly,
sooner or later you will go home in a
barrel. Last year. Next year. Maybe for a
long time.

In his entire workout, Maddux throws
only two truly bad pitches in 100. Once,
he holds on to a fastball too long. It
bounces in the left-hand batter's box.
Maddux breaks his silence. “Shit,” he
screams. Much later, he bounces a
change-up in front of the plate. “Fuck,”
he bellows like a rifle shot.

Afterward he is asked if, perhaps, the
playful perfectionist is a bit too hard on
himself. Two bad pitches, two explosive
curses? What hidden fires are these? Af
ter all, in hours of interviews he has
barely said a swearword.

“There are a lot of shots in golf I can't
hit, but I try to hit them anyway. The
frustration is not there, because I'm still
learning. But I really know how to do
this. I'm not just hoping to get it where I
Maddux says, the playfulness
receding, the commonsense, common-
man philosopher completely absent and
the Mad Dog poker-dealing competitor
surfacing fast.

“Let the other guys do it half-assed.”

Amateur Porn

(continued from page 82)
spoken to a rutting male. It can mean,
“Oh, that rhythm is different.” Or “Oh,
you've reached some new place in me.”
Or, more fundamentally, “Oh. I'm feel-
ing pain, give me time to evaluate ii
Hold on. Is this bad pain or good рай
Her “yes” signals, “OK, continue to the
next ‘oh’ spot.” "Yeah!" means “continue
at cruising speed.” It wouldn't surprise
me to learn that our English word yes
came down from some archetypal fe-
male's exhalation of pleasured breath.
Which would explain a lot about the
French.

(7) Women in amateur рот can't catch a
break. They fight the gag refiex for 15
minutes, trying to turn his Juncheon
meat into hard Nerf—then, as a reward,
they get ramrodded by it. Though they
may grease up beforehand or during a
break, never is lubrication of any sort
made available on camera. Vaginal wet-
ness for porn women has the same sym-
bolic weight as erections have for porn
men: Without either, he or she cannot be
authentic. So delicate pink tissue frays
and the female orgasm is as rare as an
arctic fox, Worse yet, no woman can look
sexy (or even just coordinated) climbing
out of pantyhose.

(8) Women in amateur porn don’t know
how to give head. 1 take that back: Women
in general don't know how to give head.
Accept this axiom: The more imagina-
tive and resourceful a woman is with
hand or mouth, the less likely it is her
man will achieve climax. No points for
creativity. The male choad is wired to ac-
cept in and out strokes, period. A vagina
doesn't kiss or lick or nibble. Such devia-
tions are pleasant enough, but they have
nothing to do with sump-pumping
sperm up. They distract and annoy
eventually. Which is why—out of more
than 100 blow jobs I saw—most ended
with simple male masturbation. In the
rest, well, Mr. Organ held his poor part-
ner by her hair and ground out secret
rhythms in her constricted throat. I
know it isn’t pretty to say, but in fellatio,
the female mouth is a receptacle, not
much else. For men blow jobs derive
their emblematic power either from
domination or love (or both), depending
on the state of your relationship.

(9) Homen don't really want an orgasm be-
tween the eyes. I mean, can you blame
them? And yet, ke-rist, almost every
groin-locking sequence in porn ends
with a come facial. Believe me, no matter
how eager they may claim to be, all
women register some reflexive frisson of
disgust when reproductive jism has clot-
ted up their lip gloss: God, those are his
motile cells, his brine shrimp, on my
face. Why then, I thought, was this pecu-
liar and inorganic sexual act chosen as
the signature event for all porn? Well,
yes, a male has to dig up some sperm,

otherwise the tryst is not consecrated.
But on the face? Maybe that globbed,
thick clam sauce is meant to mask the fe-
male partner, depersonalize her and re-
move further consequence: Afier all, she
wasn't worth propagating with. The
whole arrangement just isn’t civil. And 1
disapprove of it.

(10) Most women have no idea what male
sexuality is about, and vice versa. Why
should they? God, in his infinite peevish-
ness, created two absolutely opposite sets
of sexual expectations.

(a) The female, who can have multiple
orgasms in onc encounter and be sat-
isfied until next Boxing Day.

(b) The male, who can have one dang
orgasm per dang encounter and who
won't be satisfied until every day is Box-
ing Day.

Imagine these thought balloons rising
above your standard act of copulation.

нек: He says he's horny, but then he
makes me suck him off right through
Jeopardy! before he’s hard and then he
withholds until I'm sore and I've got
to make believe I'm Nympho Nanette
down here, otherwise he'll pout tonight

and won't walk the dog

Him: Look at her, that's three times
she's come already while I'm doing all
the work up here and by the time she's
through my sensitivity will be past its
peak and ГЇЇ have an orgasm that's like а
moth's death.

It's a wonder that any children at all
are born.

(11) When а loving couple does get in
зупс—аз will now and then occur in amateur
porn—nothing outside of maybe Chartres
Cathedral at dawn is more wholly transcen-
dent: Gender has been overcome and they are
опе animal complete. Amen.

All right then, let's say Esmerelda and
you qualify as one of those transcendent
couples. Sex at home is so supercharged
that Standard Power and Light had to
install an antisurge device. You want
recognition for your hard work and
maybe some lucre for your filth. What to
do? One or more of three things:

(a) Know what you're getting into. An in-
dustry insider points out the obvious:
“First of all, remember that public tape is
public information, and consider that
your co-workers, your mother and your

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“Call us as many times as
En

neighbors may see you. Be comfortable
with that or don't do it.”

(b) Get into the swing of things. Amateur
porn, as we now know it, was invented
about a decade ago. Video cameras be-
came affordable (18 percent of us own
one today), and members of the swing
set, particularly in San Diego, had begun.
to make contact with one another through
tape. One swinger, Greg Swaim, started
duplicating and trading cassettes. On
that modest premise he founded Home-
grown Video in 1983—the first amateur-
porn mail-order house. Now under Tim
Lake's management, Homegrown (800-
544-8144) will accept any legal sexual
material. A'Mature Video (800-397-
4780) offers its own compendious swing
magazine wherein you can search for
your co-star. One better than that is Am-
ateurs in Action by Metro (800-394-
7298), which is essentially a swap maga-
zine on tape connected to some sort of
voice-mail service. And then there's A&B
Video (800-526-8618), whose owner
wrote, “Our actors are swingers or cou-
ples who range in age from 19 to 72.
Our lady in AB #30 is 72 years old and
once was Al Capone's favorite stripper,
working under the stage name ‘the
Body.” Americana like that would go
well with your Ethan Allen barstool.

(с) Try the sexual equivalent of a vanity
press. According to Homegrown, Es-

144 merelda and you can pull down as much

as $20 per minute and not leave your
bedroom. Here are some cinematic
pointers. Stay natural, don't play to the
lens; For us it may be porn, but for you
it’s love. One stationary vidcam is still ac-
ceptable, but competition has, uh, stiff-
ened, so try getting a neighbor to film
your wife’s Amateur Open in tight focus.
Bondage, golden spray and animal par-
ticipation are un-American or some-
thing, but well-lit, well-miked gynecolo-
gy is patriotic and essential. Most firms
pay up front, though some also offer a
15 percent royalty option on gross box
office. But cash aside, why are so many
otherwise “normal” men and women
displaying their intimate software? Zita,
age 26, secretary, said in Adam Presents
Amateur Porn magazine, “Sex tapes are a
place where I'm free to express myself. 1
like to suck cock, and I enjoy how I look
doing it.”

Zita has hit on a revealing line of
thought. Remember this: Professional
porn is made for an audience, amateur
porn is made for the performers. “I like
to suck cock, and I enjoy how I look do-
ing it.” Zita has learned how she can be a
voyeur during her own sexual experi-
ences, and that is quite a titillating point
of view—as the first madam to install
mirrors on her brothel ceiling knew well
enough. Buta reflection is stuck in pres-
ent time. Your VCR image, by contrast,
can be recollected and reviewed at some

later moment of tranquility. (Sex is a
confining exercise: In the commonplace
missionary position, for example, nei-
ther participant sees much beyond face
and chest.) Moreover, there is no climax
in amateur porn—or, rather, there can
be an infinite number of climaxes. Men
aren't restricted to one orgasm per act.
And women can no longer withhold.
Just press rewind and play, rewind and
play. For once, at least in a symbolic way,
you control both yourself and that other
aspect of you, the partner.

‘The truth inheres; No matter how
rich or handsome or libertine we may
be, there remains one provocative and
atayistic sexual act that no Kama Sutra
has ever described. Men and women
cannot make love to themselves, and
cannot close the circuit on their sexuali-
ty. I dont judge whether this is good or
bad. Yet, through amateur porn and
through the control we have overit, men
and women have learned to objectify
their own bodies, and this seductive self-
exploitation will no doubt continue well
into the future. We are, after all, in the
virtual reality era. How long before we
can computer-generate a female me, a
male her—and pursue both through ar-
tificial space and the heated psyche. In
time some woman-man will sue herself-
himself for sexual harassment.

SHAQUILLE O’ NEAL (puso

In eighth grade, while everybody else was getting in
trouble I started sleeping with my basketball.

My dad drove a truck when he was off
duty, and he even shined shoes. I didn't.
want them to think I was a disgrace, and
1 felt like they did think that. And I want-
ed them to love me. So I thought, How
can I make them smile at me? And how
can I get the stuff other kids have? I
started studying, brought home Bs and
Cs and my dad started being nice to me.
PLAYBOY: Аз you grew up, did you hate
jm father? Did you rebel?

NEAL: Never. Kids rebel because they
des respect their parents. I didn't like
getting beat, but I respected him. And
there was something else: He was never.
going to give up. Even when I was row-
dy, doing everything wrong, 1 knew one
of us eventually had to give up, and I
knew my dad would never, ever give up.
PLAYBOY: Do you have any particularly
warm memories?

O’NEAL: Yes. After I got a whupping, I
had to goto my room for an hour. When
I came out there would be cookies and
ice cream on the table. He was telling me
it was over. I caused the situation and de-
served what I got, but it was OK now. It

was over. That's how the Sarge taught
me cause and effect.

PLAYBOY: Did you ever have a birds-and-
the-bees talk with him?

O'NEAL: Sure did. I was about 11. He
used to fall asleep on the couch watching
Benny Hill, and Га sneak out and look at
the titties. One night he woke up and
caught me. So pretty soon he gets out
our Encyclopaedia Britannica and shows
me the parts of the anatomy. I didn't
know the words, only the bad ones. I'd
never heard “penis” and “vagina.” He
came out with them sounding just like a
drill sergeant. That's my dad.

PLAYBOY: Of course, he's really your step-
dad. You paid him a tribute in a rap song
on Shaq-Fu, Biological Didn't Bother, say-
ing you consider him your true father.
How did you find out the truth?

O'NEAL: My mother told me about my bi-
ological father when I was five. I said,
“Where is he?” She said, “He was по
good. So I left, and I met the Sarge.” I
thought about that for a while, then I
said, “That's cool.” I've never met my bi-
ological father. He tried to meet me. The

team was in Chicago when a guy told me
he saw my father on TV. I asked Mom
why the Sarge was on TV and she said,
“No, it was your biological father.” He
wanted to contact me. 1 think he wants
money. I mean, he could have called
from the time I was zero to 20. He lives
in New Jersey where all my relatives are;
he could have met me if he'd wanted to.
PLAYBOY: Ever fecl a genetic debt to him?
"The Sergeant's a big man, but he's no
giant.

O'NEAL: My size is from my mother's
side. My great-grandfather Johnny was a
farmer in Dublin, Georgia, and he was
610". I have a grandma who's 64". My
mother's brother is 6/7”. Tall people.
PLAYBOY. Is your biological father a
big man?

O'NEAL: Don’t know, I've never seen him.
PLAYBOY: Not even during his media
blitz? You see everything else on TV.
O'NEAL: I didn't see it!

PLAYBOY: All right, we'll get back to the
game. When did you find basketball?
O'NEAL: Eighth grade. My knees got bet-
ter. I started watching games on TV,
wanting to be Dr. J. While everybody
else was getting in trouble I started
sleeping with my basketball, dribbling
the sidewalks doing my Dr. J. moves. In
the winter Га walk to the gym in the
snow. This gym was only ten minutes
away, but when it snowed hard you
could barely get there. I'd get up, put on

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146

my dad's gloves and his Army boots and
walk an hour to get there.

PLAYBOY: And you were an instant star.
orneat: I was lousy. The soldiers I played
with were a lot older and they'd be
yelling, “You're 6/7" and you're horrible!
You'll never play. You might as well join
the Army.” But I kept playing. Finally 1
stopped being clumsy when I was 15.
That's the first time I got my name in the
paper. We won the U.S. Army European
tournament, and people said, “He might
be pretty good.”

PLAYBOY: The base was an American is-
land in Germany. Did you get used to
that?

O'NEAL: It was strange. Some of the peo-
ple didn’t want us there. They would
sneak on the base and paint all the vehi-
cles blue as а protest. Once I took an
Army bus to a base in Czechoslovakia,
and they were waiting, throwing cggs
and bottles and s. It wasn't racial bc-
cause I saw blacks in the crowd—half-
blacks, anyway, from the times black sol-
diers would sneak off the base and party.
I didn’t get it—they didn't want us, but
we were protecting them.

PLAYBOY: After your stepfather was trans-
ferred to San Antonio, you led Cole
High School to a 68-1 record over two
years. We hate to quibble, but what hap-
pened on your bad night?

O'NEAL: 1 got four fouls in the first two
minutes. When I came back in at the
end, we were down by one. I shot two
free throws with five seconds left in the
game. Missed them both. That's the only
time I ever cried.

PLAYBOY: During the game the white
players from Liberty Hills High School

yelled racist taunts at you.

O'NEAL: No. Who says?

PLAYBOY: It’s true, isn’t it?

O'NEAL: Well, yes, a lot of racist com-
ments. “Go back to Africa." The N word.
But losing hurt more.

PLAYBOY: You seem cautious about your
choice of words. Why would you avoid
talking about racism?

O'NEAL: It doesn't do any good.

PLAYBOY: How about corruption? What
offers did you get from college basketball
recruiters?

O'NEAL: None. They had heard about the
Sarge. They knew I would tell him and
they would be in trouble. And anyway,
that's like selling a piece of your soul. I
worked in the summer for eight dollars
an hour and had a Pell grant for about.
$1400 а year, so I was OK. I went to col-
lege all by myself, you know. June 16,
1989, my first day at LSU—that was the
day I grew up.

PLAYBOY: There was a tornado in Baton
Rouge that day.

O'NEAL: I was riding my bicycle when it
hit. At first I thought it was just high
winds. Then I saw the tornado coming,
down, right for me. I wasn't scared. It
seemed like fun. I ran and ducked for
cover and actually saw the tube of it go-
ing by—whoosh. That was the day 1 took
a job at an industrial construction com-
pany. There wasn't anything going on,
so I went up on the boss’ roof—about 25
feet high—and jumped off.

PLAYBOY: You leaped off a two-story
building? What did you land on?
O'NEAL; My feet.

PLAYBOY: Twenty-five feet is an exaggera-
tion, isn't it?

“Look, when I put it on fast-forward, it looks like
you were actually moving.”

O'NEAL: No, it's a house

PLAYBOY: You could have died.

O'NEAL: You get hurt only if you think
you'll get hurt. I landed right. It's easy—
you just hit soft, drop and roll.

PLAYBOY: You said that you grew up at
ISU——

O'NEAL: I lost my virginity there. I had
my last fight. A football player and a bas-
ketball player were fighting over a girl,
and I went to break it up. The football
guy thought he was bad so he hit me. I
hit him and then we had 100 football
players against us 12, the basketball
team, and we did all right. 1 came out
markless. I’m no martial artist yet, but
I'm so big and powerful—let's just say I
can punch a hole in a wall. With case.
PLAYBOY: Any other college highlights?
O'NEAL: One day I wake up, I’m rubbing
sleep out of my eyes, and there's Dr. ].
standing over my bed. He was at LSU to
give a talk. He took me to breakfast. He
didn't have a lot of advice or anything,
and I wasn't asking a bunch of questions.
It was just that he was there, he wanted
to see me. I'll never forget that.

PLAYBOY: Last winter you met some other
heroes. Weren't you snowed in ata hotel
with the cast of Sesame Street Live?
O'NEAL: Chillin’ and singing in the hotel
bar with Grover, Big Bird and Oscar.
They were stuck there, too. I started

singing "Sun-ny day . . . " and they
Joined in. Pretty soon we had the whole
bar singing.

PLAYBOY: Grover was probably looped,
but you don't drink, do you?

O'NEAL: Nah. Гуе seen what it does to
people. Slobbering, falling down. I don't
want to do that to my body. And you can
party longer without it. Jordan’s the
same way—if you're out till two A.M. but
you're not getting drunk, you won't be
messed up the next day. On Christmas,
New Year's and my birthday I'll have a
glass of wine, but that's it. You want to
know what my habit is? Miniature golf.
We put in a real grass course in front of
my house, but the grass died, so we're
doing it over in Astroturf. My crew and I
play for dinner or movie tickets. 1 gener-
ally win. You can tell Chi Chi Rodriguez
or any of them to come to my house for
goofy golf. I’m ready.

PLAYBOY: The president is a golfer.
Maybe you two could bet Treasury bills.
O'NEAL: I met Bill. He has a good, firm
handshake. 1 met Bush, too. Those guys
have it hard because nobody’s on their
side. It's all criticism.

PLAYBOY: You met another heavyweight
while he was in prison.

O'NEAL: I went to see Mike Tyson. Not to
be political. 1 admire him as a fighter. 1
got into the prison and the guys looked
so young. Some of them were younger.
than me. Tyson was bigger from doing
push-ups. They wouldnt let him lift
weights, so he was doing a whole lot
of push-ups. He looked strong. We sat
at a table and had a couple minutes of

privacy. All he really told me was not to
getin a place like that. “Stay out of trou-
ble,” he said.

PLAYBOY: You're uncasy talking about
race. How has it affected you since the
Liberty Hills game?

O'NEAL: It hasn't, not personally. But I
saw what happened to Rodney King. 1
saw the policemen who bear him get
acquitted and I couldn't figure it. I
thought about a basketball saying: “The
tape don't lie.”

PLAYBOY: You had an encounter of your
own with the LAPD.

O'NEAL: 1 was just driving in downtown
L.A. about midnight. My stereo's loud
but not that loud, and nobody's out
there anyway. But ] got pulled over. I
guess they thought I was a hoodlum
type—hat on backward, driving a nice
Benz. So the cop starts yelling at me.
"Where'd you get the car? Is it stolen?" I
said, "No, I bought it in Beverly Hills. I
paid $80,000 cash." He checked and
since it was my car, all he could do was
give me a ticket for my loud sterco.
PLAYBOY: LAPD racism again?

O'NEAL: The cop was black. I was sur-
prised because 1 always expect people to
be nice if I'm nice and respectful to
them, but at the same time I knew where
he was coming from. My uncle's a police
officer. I know what he goes through on
the job. There's a typical thing that hap-
pens: If you pull over ten guys today and
eight of them are bad guys. acting crazy
and maybe planning to shoot you, you
expect the next guy to be crazy too. If I
had that job I'd probably be yelling at
everybody.

PLAYBOY: What ifit had been a white cop?
Would you be so understanding?
O'NEAL: I hope. I always try to think
about all the consequences in anything
that happens. You can't always do it. For
instance, I slipped the other day. I did a
Taco Bell ad—"I'm on fire"—with fire
coming off me as I dunk. And I didn't
think about burn victims. Now I’m hear-
ing from them. This guy who represents
burn victims says, "How could you?"
guess I screwed up. The special effects
were so good I forgot everything else.
Another time I messed up was when I
bought a fur coat. I didn’t think about
animal rights groups. “Animal killer!”
they called me.

PLAYBOY: Did they throw any red paint
on you?

O'NEAL: They wouldn't do that. We'd be
fighting all da
PLAYBOY: Speaking of fighting, would
you go to war for your country? Would
you fight in Bosnia?

O'NEAL: No. And the reason is the same
one Muhammad Ali had. Those people
never called me Negro. And I also think
i'sa bad idea to fight on somebody else's
turf. I've seen those Vietnam shows on
TV, and that stuff is deadly. You're walk-
ing in the jungle, they got people in un-
derground tunnels just waiting to reach

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148

out and pow!, you're dead. No thanks,
it's not for me. Somebody wants to go to
war, he can come to my house. I'll pop
up from behind a couch and knock him
right out.

PLAYBOY: Ali was more outspoken than
you—he actually used the word nigger.
He also went to jail to avoid military ser-
vice. Would you?

O'NEAL; I won't go to war.

PLAYBOY: What would the Sarge think
of that?

O'NEAL: Not much. The Sarge, oh yeah,
he's war, war, war. He'd probably want
me to fight, but I’m nota war man. I'ma
lover, not a fighter.

PLAYBOY: Has he mellowed as he's gotten
older and you've gotten famous?
O'NEAL: He has. But he knows what 1
know—good things came to me when I
started listening to him. We don't talk
about it, but he knows.

PLAYBOY: Do you say “I love you” to each
other?

O'NEAL: Yeah. That's something we had
to develop. He was the first to say it. It
wasn't planned, it just happened one
day. He came out with it. Now we can
both say it.

PLAYBOY: What about kids of your own?
Will you spank them?

O'NEAL: I'm definitely going to have kids.
And they'll get a good old-fashioned

butt-whupping when they deserve it. 1
might be even harder than the Sarge.
But not on a litde girl if 1 have one, be-
cause they can do that thing to you.
They cry and you just fall over and give
them whatever they want.
PLAYBOY: What's your proudest moment?
O'NEAL: When my mother and father call
me and tell me they love me.
PLAYBOY: You're both simpler and more
complex than you appear. You're a re-
formed JD turned faithful son turned
worldwide celeb, a Disney genie who
won't be 25 till next spring. What's your
secret?
O'NEAL: Playing possum. I like people to
think I cant do something. That's when
I'll sit back and chill. And observe. You
shouldn't give away all your secrets, not
all at once, but I think I could be almost
anything. 1 could play pro baseball, no
juestion. I can hit and I throw real hard.
Td be like Randy Johnson, the Big Unit.
Maybe I'd be the Bigger Unit. As far as
basketball goes I may sign the next con-
tract, play it out and that could be it for
the NBA. Га still have acting. I'd have
the business world. 1 might want to just
chill with my children when I have them.
I'm just trying to be intelligent. In a few
years it'll be somebody else everybody
wants to see and talk with, not me. Even
the sun don't stay hot forever, you know?

"I hope you won't mind . . . I just had an orgasm.”

That's why Im doing all I can while Urn
hot, so later I can sit back and watch
somebody else do it.

PLAYBOY: You're nobody's shrinking violet.
O'NEAL: You know what it is? ] don't like
waking up on an off day and having
nothing to do. It makes me uncomfort-
able. That's why I tell my agent, “Keep it
coming. ГЇЇ tell you when I'm tired.”
PLAYBOY: Ever want to be alone?

O'NEAL: Someday I'll take a vacation. But
it won't be alone. I'll take my boys with
me, because it’s not safe if you don't.
You've got to be careful. There are peo-
ple out there who aren't right in the
head. There are stalkers. 1 don't want to
get shot by somebody who hates me be-
cause he's crazy.

PLAYBOY: When you're roaming around
in your mansion late at night, when
everyone else is asleep, what are you
thinking?

O'NEAL: I thank God for blessing me. For
helping me to not give up when people
said I should just join the Army. Because
I knew. I knew my hard work would pay.
off. And Im still working. 1 raise my
game every year. Last summer I worked
on a hook shot and a turnaround. I took
karate lessons, lifted weights to build my
strength, because you need strength
when guys are hanging on you, pinning
down your arms. You have to be strong.
And not scared.

PLAYBOY: You're still trying to fly.
O'NFAI: Remember that three-story
building we passed? No way would I
jump off it, because there was a concrete
sidewalk below. But I thought about it. IF
there were water down there, a swim-
ming pool, I'd go do it right now. Yeah,
easily. No joke. I promise you I'd do it.
PLAYBOY: Why?

O'NEAL: For fun.

PLAYBOY: What does scare you? Death?
Referees?

O'NEAL: Nothing.

PLAYBOY: Fess up.

O'NEAL: I told you I don't get scared.
PLAYBOY: Never?

O'NEAL: OK. When I was little I thought
our house was haunted. I'd go to bed
with the closet door open, and the
clothes looked like they were making
faces at me. But to beat fear you gotta
face fear. I knew that even then. So one
night I jumped out of bed, ran over and.
punched them. Then I slammed the
door.

PLAYBOY: You weren't fearless after all.
O'NEAL: I was scared of frogs, too. I
would watch this really big frog outside
our house, and he scared me. The son of
a bitch was just too slimy. Till one day I
grabbed him, picked him up, squeezed
him, just grossed myself out. Then I
threw him back down.

PLAYBOY: A rough day for the frog. Did
he survive?

O'NEAL: Yeah, he did. We both did.

HEIDI FLEISS

(continued from page 116)
remember the first time 1 saw Bernie's
house, the Greyhall mansion in Beverly
Hills. I said to another girl in the car,
“Just show me who owns this house.”
Then I saw Bernie, this little man who
looked like Santa Claus. I was like, “Ah!
My life, easy street.” Little did 1 know it
was the roughest street I was ever going
10 travel. I was so young when 1 fell in
love with him. 1 didn't quite understand
sex. I was exposed to this world of pri-
yate jets and helicopters and money.
We're buying a hotel here, we're doing
something else there. 1 went to homes
that had staircases made of 24-karat
gold. And soon it became normal. 1
guess 1 got into it so young that I got
caught up and expected things to be like
that forever. But after a while I got tired
of Bernie's whole show. When I met
Ivan Nagy and Madam Alex, they were
the two creepiest, weirdest people I had
ever met in my life. But in a real sick way
I was fascinated by something other than
Bernic’s helicopters and jets and сһа-
teaus. The fascination with the bizarre
made the transition easier. 1 had no idea
that the consequences would be so se-
vere or that I would become infamous.
And still, kids come into my shop all the
time and say, “You're my idol, Heidi.
You're the coolest.” When that happens
L say, “No, I'm not. You be good. Don't
do drugs. Stay in school. Listen to your
parents.” I don't know if I'm telling
them the right stuff, but I try. I wouldn't
want anyone to go to sleep at night and
think of what I think of: prison. It's no
way to live.

15.

PLAYBOY: Your relationship with the leg-
endary Madam Alex—before you, she
was the queen of Hollywood madams
and you worked for her and learned the
trade—was clearly volatile. Did she have
any final words for you before she died?
FLEISS: “I love you, you're my baby.” She
kept crying, “Mommy, Heidi, Mommy,”
and when she did the hospital called me.
Td go and also sign T-shirts for everyone
on the floor—the doctors, the intensive-
care staff. They called me so much—I
was about to start my federal trial and be
put in jail for maybe up to ten years—
that I finally told the hospital, “Look,
I'm not even family.” 1 did what I could.
It was a weird love-hate relationship, but
I guess I loved her more than I hated
her. We had a bond that only she and I
could share. She was wise. She was nega-
tive. Ina sick way, I was the daughter she
never got to abuse. Or she did abuse,
maybe. I was there to the end.

16.

PLAYBOY: Your dad, who is a pediatrician,
lectures against circumcision. Do you

have a position on that issue?

Feiss: When you think of it as a part of
the body being cut off, it’s strange and
frightening. He's probably right. A man
is probably born with a foreskin for a
reason. I couldn't care less if a guy is cir-
cumcised. Гуе had sex with plenty of
guys who weren't circumcised, and itwas
good sex.

17.

PLAYBOY: Аз a service to the American
business community, tell us which man-
agement skills were most important in
your former occupation: recruiting? ac-
counting? matchmaking? How did you
choose among job applicants? Who were
the best clients: rock stars, movie stars,
studio execs, athletes, retired athletes?
FLEISS: I didn’t recruit. Girls came in
droves, wanting to work for me. Some-
times I didn't know what to do, there
were so many of them. Looks are an ob-
vious head start. Also, you get vibes from
the women who can do the work. Some-
times women thought they were tens
and they weren't. Breaking the news was
the hardest part. 1 never just came out
and told them the truth. 1 would say,
“I'm sorry, but I don't get requests for
the sort of exotic beauty you have.”

The men never gave me money, they
gave the women money, so I was proba-
bly ripped off all the time on my per-
centage. A typical client was a wealthy
guy who didn't have the time to go out
and meet a “decent” girl. I was able to
come up with decent girls and wealthy
guys, and introduce them. What they
did from then on was strictly up to them.
Maybe they had wild sex, maybe they
had no sex. Maybe they got married,
maybe they didn't. One out of 40 times
my matchmaking was off. 1 was just able
to get it right.

Towned a nightclub with Victoria Sell-
ers called On the Rox. We had parties.
I'd meet a girl who, say, worked for a
modeling agency. She'd take a trip for
me, and afterward she'd tell a friend,
“Guess what 1 did?” Instead of going,
"Ooh, why'd you do that?” the friend
would say, "Could 1 meet Heidi?" So all
of a sudden—this is hypothetical, of
course—I have 14 girls from a big mod-
eling agency working for me. But it
doesn't only go on there. It goes on at
Beverly High and in Westlake.

1 personally slept with everyone in the
occupations you mentioned [smiles], but
as a group the girls preferred men from
Fortune 500 companies. The real mon-
eymakers, the people who could change
the economy. Old money. The money.
that's not going to go away. That's also
the type of man the women would fall in
love with. Someone like Charlie Sheen,
of course, the women would have fun
fucking the hell out of bim and bis
friends, all those other little actors, but
they knew that's all it was. In terms of

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sexual prowess, I would have to say that
Jack Nicholson is a goddamn great
lover.

18.

PLAYBOY: What's the worst time of the
year in your former profession to take a
vacation?

One year 1 thought, OK, Ram-
adan is coming up, I think ГЇЇ go to
Hawaii. Ramadan is when Arabs don't
eat, don't sleep, don't drink, don't
breathe for 30 days or something. So 1
expected things to be slow. But for some
reason, it was so damn busy 1 couldn't
leave. If it wasn't the Arabs, it was the
studio execs. Someone was going ab-
solutely crazy.

19.

PLAYBOY: What's the fastest way to get a
guy off?
FLEISS: Since it’s all mental, it’s probably

a combination of giving him head and
talking dirty. But it has to be the right
kind of dirty. You have to know what
turns on a particular guy to hit those
fantasies. Maybe a guy fantasizes about
having another guy watch him have sex.
Maybe he likes to hear about how many
men his woman has fucked, so she tells
him about a prince and his entourage.
But he has to remember that it's all
made up, so afterward he shouldn't dis-
respect her for it.

20.

PLAYBOY: Tell us how to intensify the
male orgasm.

rLeiss: You need another participant no
matter what. [Smiles] That's why phone
sex isn’t bigger than just phone sex. You
absolutely still need that warm body next
to you.

“You knew I was a hopeless romantic when you married me."

SMALL BEERS

(continued from page 112)
named for Tony Faust, who owned the
St. Louis Oyster House in the 1880s, not
the guy who dealt with the devil. Augs-
burger Golden Beer is firm, with a dry,
hoppy finish. Pabst's Andeker, a fuller
gold in color, is smooth and well bal-
anced. Henry Weinhard’s Private Re-
serve is light, aromatic, flowery and
crisp, with a touch of Oregon Cascade
hops. Try these beers before a meal or
with fish. Leinenkugel's Northwoods
Lager is smooth and firm with a dry
maltiness. Michelob Centennial is full-
bodied, with a little more sweetness.
Centennial was launched this year to
mark the centennial of Michelob beer.
Drink it with food, especially chicken or
turkey.

DARK LAGERS

While golden lagers have been the
most popular style of brew, dark lagers
are rapidly gaining in popularity. These
beers have a malty sweetness that mar-
ries well with chicken, pork or noodle
dishes. Augsburger Dark, for example,
has a malty and fruity flavor with a bit
of roastedness. Leinenkugel’s Winter La-
ger isa perfect fireside beer that hints of
coffee flavors. Michelob Classic Dark is
delicately balanced but on the light side.
American Originals’ Muenchener is
slightly less dark but maltier. drier and
full of complex flavors, It is made from
no fewer than five types of malt and sev-
en varieties of hops.

BOCKS

Bock is traditionally a richer and
stronger dark lager. Celis Pale Bock out
of Austin is produced by a brewery that’s
better known for its Belgian-style wheat
beers. Pale Bock has a pinkish-amber
color and an almost woody maltiness.
‘Try it with chili. Leinenkugel's Genuine
Bock from Wisconsin is darker, rich and
malty with an aftertaste that hints of tof-
fee. Augsburger Bock is mahogany in
color, smooth and well balanced. The
same label's Doppelbock is darker and
smokier. Try it with a book at bedtime.

RED LAGERS

Most “red” lagers are made with a
style of malt that creates almost bour-
bon-like flavors and a ruddy hue.
Among them are Anheuser-Busch's
sweet and malty Red Wolf and Elk
Mountain Red Lager, which is aromati-
cally more malty and hints of chocolate.
(fry it with chicken mole.) Elk Mountain
is named after the company's 1800-acre
hop farm at Bonners Ferry, Idaho.

Leimenkugel's Red is smooth and
sweet. Augsburger Red has both sweet-
ness and acidity. Red River Valley Red
Lager isa little drier and firmer. It takes
its name from the Red River region of
North Dakota, where America’s brewers

look for the finest malting barlcy In
Texas, Salado Creck Amber Beer is
a reddish Vienna lager packaged at
Pabst's Pearl brewery.

ALES

Some state laws say ale must be at least
four percent alcohol by weight, five per-
cent by volume, but strength is not the
real issue. The true defining characteris-
tics are the fruity aroma and taste that
come from a warmer fermentation.
They make for a sipping beer, interest-
ing and flavorful. Weinhard’s golden
Blue Boar Pale Ale is one of the lightest,
belying its claims to being Irish in style.

Ballantine Ale is flowery and dry, and
the same label's India Pale Ale is flavor-
ful, hoppier and darker. Pabst also has a
malty ale called Red Bone. Yes, there are
reddish ales, too.

‘There is a sweet malt flavor to George
Killian's Irish Red. This long-standing
product from Coors was modeled on the
Ruby Ale produced by the Killian family
in County Wexford in the Fifties. Coors
has another delicious entrant, creamy
Nut Brown ale, in its Blue Moon line.

Elk Mountain Amber Ale is malty, with
hints of chocolate and a fruitiness. Red-
hook has its hoppy Ballard Bitter India
Pale Ale, named after a Seattle neighbor-
hood, and its smooth, fruity Redhook
ESB (Extra Special Bitter). Miller's fi-
nancial interest in Portland, Maine's
Shipyard brewery introduces a range of
English flavors. Shipyard uses a York-
shire yeast with distinctly citrusy notes.
Look for Shipyard's spicy, coffecish
Longfellow Winter Ale or its stronger
Prelude Christmas Ale.

PORTERS AND STOUTS

Porter was originally the more muscu-
lar style and stout was somewhat fuller-
bodied (as the name suggests). These
days, the terms overlap. The dark-
brown, almost black, color does not indi-
cate strength. It comes from highly
roasted malts—hence those tangy fla-
vors. ‘Two startlingly assertive beers from
the national brewers are good examples.
Anheuser-Busch's American Originals
has its licoricelike, smoky Black & Tan. It
uses English ale yeast, as does Shipyard's
peppery and dry Blue Fin Stout. Drink
the stout with oysters. Coors' Sand Lot
brewery at Coors Field (home of the Colo-
rado Rockies), offers two stouts: the roasty
Slugger's and the more rummy Strike
Out. Redhook's Blackhook Porter hints
of espresso. The brewery has also begun
marketing a creamy, textured Double-
black Stout, containing Starbucks coffee.

WHEAT BEERS

Wheat beer is tarter and more
quenching than beer brewed from bar-
ley. Perhaps because wheat beer is a
very old style, it is often served unfil-
tered, yeasty and cloudy and labeled
with the German word Hefeweizen. Mich-

clob Hefeweizen has a peach color and a
flavor reminiscent of apples. Weinhard's
Hefeweizen is paler and tarter. Redhook
Hefeweizen is tart and orangy in flavor.
(It also has a spicier brother brew made
with rye.) Sand Lot's Wild Pitch Hefe-
weizen is orange in color and very
cloudy, with lemon and clove notes like
those commonly found in Bavarian
wheat beers. Sand Lot also has a spicy-
tasting Belgian “white” wheat beer, Most
famous of the Belgian-style beers that
are made in America is coriander-tinged
Celis White.

FRUIT BEERS

They sound gimmicky, but they're
not. Fruits have been used in beer since
the Sumerians added dates to their
brews. Berliners add a dash of raspberry
syrup to their wheat beer. Belgian brew-
ers use whole cherries. In recent years,
Americans have used everything from
cranberries to pumpkins. Some of these
new brews, such as Leinenkugel's sea-
sonal Berry Weiss, use a blend of fruits.

Bluc Moon has a cinnamon-tasting, sca-
sonal Harvest Pumpkin Ale; and, усаг-
round, a fresh-tasting Raspberry Cream
Ale. The fragrance and tartness of rasp-
berries work particularly well in beer.
"These are the pink champagnes of the
brew world. Serve them with appetizers
or fruit.

HONEY BEERS

Make an alcoholic drink from honey
and you have mead. Use barley or wheat
with added honcy and you have a beer.
Leinenkugel's flowery, creamy Honey
Weiss is based on a light-tasting wheat
beer. George Killian's Wildé Honey
claims both Irish and French origins,
hence that accent mark. The beer is cop-
per colored, with the bouquet and flavor
of light malt and clover honey. Blue
Moon Honey Blonde Ale is deep gold,
slightly sweeter and more fruity. Isn't
honey supposed to be an aphrodisiac?

Save this one for Valentine's Day.

puck Brown

"Of course I'm hurt and disappointed, dear. It's just like the short
putt I missed on number 13.”

151

PLAYBOY

U n Moths (continued from page 78)

The doctor gives her the bad news: She has broiled her
insides and now will certainly die.

and decides to hasten the drying by
putting the dog in her new microwave.
‘The poodle explodes. There is a similar
story about a woman who wants a fast
tan and begins visiting a tanning salon—
more frequently than the salon advises—
to get one. In one version, the woman
begins feeling woozy and goes to her
doctor to find out why. In another, her
husband tells her that she has a peculiar
odor. In both the doctor gives her the
bad news: She has broiled her insides
and now will certainly die.

Based on sheer numbers, however, the
most terrifying of all our fears are sexu-
al. From the story of the man who slips
his date some Spanish fly and later finds
her impaled on the gearshift to the one
about the honeymoon hotel that secretly
videotapes couples for pornography,
there are more legends involving sexual
embarrassment, sexual compromise and
sexual danger than any other subject.
Now homophobia seems to have in-
spired a whole new cluster of tales.

The most nakedly homophobic is the
one, first appearing in the late Eighties,
about the college student who goes to
the doctor after feeling some rectal pain.
At the end of the examination, the doc-

IM LATE.

you MEAN
PAY Boss PULLED U W

tor tells the young man that he has obvi-
ously engaged in anal sex, but the man
protests that he has not and is absolutely
straight, though his roommate is gay.
Concerned by the diagnosis, the student
roots around his dorm room. He finds a
bottle of ether among his roommate's ef-
fects and comes to the conclusion that
his roommate has been drugging him
while he sleeps and then having inter-
course with him.

Another homophobic legend, this one
dating from 1990, is the story of the gay
man rushed to the emergency room. It
seems that, using a plasuc tube, he had
inserted a live gerbil up his rectum to
stimulate his prostate but couldn’t extri-
cate the animal once it was inside. The
doctor must then perform a gerbilecto-
my. One variation of this tale that adds to
its veracity actually puts a name on the
hospital, Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles,
and on the victim, Richard Gere. Al-
though she refers to Gere as “Jerry” to
conceal his identity, California State Uni-
versity professor Norine Dresser discov-
ered that Gere’s name began to be
linked to the legend about the time he
resurfaced with an “unexpected hit”
(Pretty Woman) and at a ime when the ac-

WELL,
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tor had joked to a magazine writer about
having performed some youthful indis-
cretion with a chicken.

Of all the contemporary sex legends,
however, the ones that draw most pow-
erfully on modern hysteria are those in-
corporating AIDS. In the most widely
told AIDS legend, a recently divorced
man meets a woman at a bar and winds
up spending the night with her, making
love repeatedly. In another version, the
man and the woman continue seeing
each other over the course of a month or
so, though the woman insists that the
man not drive her home. Either the next
morning or one morning after a night of
lovemaking, depending on the story, the
man wakes up alone. He stumbles into
the bathroom. There scrawled on the
mirror in red lipstick he finds a message:
WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF AIDS! It seems
that the woman had contracted AIDS
from a boyfriend and had vowed to
avenge herself on every man she could.

Опе could, of course, go оп to tell the
legends about medical catastrophes, ter-
rible accidents, police escapades, college
anxieties—each adding to the miasma of
dysfunction and paranoia. But while the
themes of these stories are generally
transparent and familiar, it is far less
clear why people feel the need to relate
them in the first place. Fairy tales at least
help us conquer our amorphous child-
hood fears by projecting them onto tan-
gible villains vanquished by heroes and

BY BILL JOHNSON

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heroines. Traditional folktales usually of-
fer some moral instruction. But contem-
porary legends do neither. At best they
are cautionary—wash your hair, watch
what you bring back from Mexico, don't
sleep around—but seem a rather weak
foundation to sustain what is obviously
so strong an institution.

It is more probable that contempo-
rary legends aren't intended to provide
us with a way to surmount the anxieties
of modern life. They are intended to
demonstrate to us that these terrors are
so ubiquitous and inexplicable that we
do not have any way to deal with them.
"Thus, we shouldn't bear any responsibil-
ity for them.

What intensifies the power of this aw-
ful, amoral vision of modern life is that,
as the critic Digby Diehl once wrote, “at
the time of the telling we believe the sto-
ry to be true.” Hypothetically, we can
trace it to an eyewitness who told it to a
friend who told it to a friend. Newspa-
pers report these legends as if they were
true. Radio talk shows discuss them as if
they were truc. Soon these stories enter
the realm where their truth needn't be
proved even in the face of logic.

Perhaps, though, our insistence on the
truth of these legends is itself a form of
revenge against the helplessness and
lack of control the stories purvey. What-
ever else contemporary legends are,
they may be the last vestige of an oral
folk culture that operates from the grass
roots up. They are expressions of a cul-
ture generated by us rather than for из.
As Roger Angell recently lamented in a
New Yorker piece attacking debunkers:

In atime when almost every fresh
plot, exaggerated demise or weirdly
victimized citizen seems to come to
us from Buttafuocoland or from an-
other TV cops serial or the latest
sound blasting, overweaponed mov-
ie release, let me hold on to whatev-
er scraps come my way by word of
mouth, from across the dinner table
or while I'm waiting by the Xerox
machine.

Angell expresses here not only the joy
of authentic folktales but also the pride
of authorship. These stories are ours.
And if in telling them, embellishing
them and reconfiguring them, we insist
on their truth, that is only an author's
prerogative in casting his spell. We want
them to be believed as we half-believe in
them ourselves. We do so not because we
are manipulators or fools, but because in
allowing us to transform our collective
anxieties these contemporary legends
grant us one of the few powers left to us
in the anomic society they describe: the
power to tell stories about our world.

In narrating our terrors, we console

ourselves.

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153

PLAYBOY

Ж A ys Bel (continued from page 108)

Gina led Temple into stretching a length of oddly fire-
engine-red rubber diagonally across his body.

here, Gina, every day?” Temple tried, in
the exigency of the hot-pack collar, to
keep his voice level, casual.

“Oh, eight, maybe ten a day. It varies.”

“Eight! Ten!” Temple felt a stab of jeal-
ousy. He didn't want to think it was sex-
ual jealousy. When he had arrived that
morning he'd caught a glimpse of Gina's
nine o'clock patient—at least he thought
the guy was Gina’s patient—a bearish
young man of about 30 with sullen,
handsome features, wearing a neck
brace, walking unsteadily with a cane.
Football player’s physique, but the look
in the poor bastard's eyes was not one
you associated with the sport of football.
Temple had looked quickly away, shud-
dering. “And do you work every day?”

Gina hesitated, as if the questioning
was becoming too personal.

“Well—most weeks, yes. I don't like
holidays. People need their therapy.”
She spoke almost primly.

“And what are your hours?”

Again she hesitated. Flat on his back,
‘Temple could see the girl only obliquely:
the dark hair, the set of her jaw. Was she
frowning? Quickly she answered, “Mon-
day-Wednesday-Friday, eight to one;
Tuesday Thursday-Saturday, one to six.”

Temple said with forced exuberance,
"That's symmetry!”

“What?”

Cina had removed the hot-pack col-
lar—too bad!—and now Temple was sit-
ting up, steeling himself against pain
Next came the dreaded neck side-bends:
Retract chin, lower head slowly to the
right shoulder, hold for a count of three,
raise head, now the left shoulder, re-
peat, repeat. Gina's deft fingers were
there to help, exerting pressure so that
Temple could maintain the tremulous
position. She hadn't really heard Tem-
ple's remark, and he didn't repeat it.

Just like Isabelle. Like any woman. If
you get abstract with them too quickly
they turn vague, uneasy. Even the most
harmless, playful abstraction.

Temple had tried to stay away. Неа
tried. Endured two wretched nights be-
fore giving in. The unpredictability of
the pain, as well as its severity, had
frightened him. And he'd discovered
from examining the institute bill that
where he'd been thinking neck, he ought
to have been thinking spine. His official
classification was cervical spine strain.
That was sobering.

Next, on his stomach, sweating fore-
head pressed against a rolled towel.
‘Temple felt chastened anew. One thing
about the therapy unit—you were all

154 body here. Attempting “push-ups” from

the head: God, how clumsy! A rod of
molten-white pain in his neck. He was
dizzily aware of Gina’s slender hips and
thighs in the white slacks close by his el-
bow. She murmured words of encour-
agement such as one might murmur toa
child being potty-trained.

Next on his back, panting. Winded
like a horse. But not wanting to lose
control entirely, Temple remarked he
thought he'd seen Gina a few nights be-
fore—‘out at the mall, at my theater?”

“Theater?” This attracted her atten-
tion. Like a lovely silvery fish rising
to the bait.

“The Cinemapolis, out at the mall.
J own it.”

Gina was making detailed notations
on her clipboard. Temple waited for her
to respond, glance at him impressed.
Hey, you're somebody of importance after all.
Most people did, even those who should
know better Certainly, most women. As
if, being a vendor of movies, Temple was
associated with Hollywood glamour:

Gina said with a flicker of interest, un-
less it was merely a young person's po-
liteness to an elder, “You own the Cin-
emapolis, Mr. Temple?”

“You could call me Larry, actually.”

Gina led Temple into the next exer-
cise, stretching a length of oddly fire-en-
gine-red rubber diagonally across his
body, shoulder to hip. It should have
been easy, except each time Temple
moved a jolt of pain illuminated his neck
and upper spine like an X ray. He said,
panting, “I—I’ve been doing а lot of
flying lately. To L.A. and back. Some-
times business, sometimes personal. My
former wife remarried and moved to
Santa Monica.” He heard those words
with a kind of horror, as if they were is-
suing from a voice box. “Dr. Dunbar
thought I might've picked up an air-
borne virus in a plane. А neck muscle
was infected.”

“That can occur.” Gina spoke solemn-
ly. Occur seemed purposefully chosen, a
clinician's word, out of a textbook. She
said, “Once the muscle spasms, if the tis-
sue has been overstretched, it can take a
while to heal.”

Casually Temple asked, “How much of
a while?”

“Oh, I wouldn't want to say.”

“Weeks?” Silence, “Months?”

“Dr. Dunbar might have an estimate.”

‘Temple had a quick sense of the posi-
tion of a young therapist, an hourly-
wage earner, in the hierarchy of the Sad-
dle Hills Neck & Back Institute. Not for
Gina to overstep her authority.

“It wouldn't be—years. Would it?”

Gina said in a lowered voice, though
she and Temple were alone together,
“Sometimes you see a person who can't
hold or move his head normally? The
pain is so severe?"

SEE

“It might be someone who let the pain
go for so long, not wanting to see a doc-
tor—it can be too late.”

“Too late?”

“To do much about the pain. You have
to catch it in time.”

Catch pain in time. Now there was a
thought!

“This poor man who's my patient
now,” Gina said, “he let his back go for
20 years! Imagine. He thought it would
go away by itself. Now it never will.” Gi-
na sighed. “I feel bad, there's so little I
can do for him.”

Absentmindedly she dabbed at Tem-
ple's flushed face where sweat ran in oily
rivulets like tears.

There was Temple floating on his island of
pain. Dazzling white sand. And him flat upon
il, fearful of moving, in the arm-flung leg-
flung posture of a child making a snow angel.
The turquoise water lapped close by, but Tem-
ple couldn't get to it. There was a shape beside
him, warm and nudging. One of those teases:
They can touch you, but you don't dare touch
in turn. Don't dare look.

Suddenly he was walking somewhere, ap-
proaching a door marked PAIN MANACEMENT
CENTER. Asleep yet sufficiently awake to regis-
ter skepticism. What did they take him for, a
credulous asshole?

It wasn’t true that Gina had no last
name. Right there on the bill her name
was provided in full: GINA LAPORTA.

There were several listings for LaPor-
ta in the telephone directory. G. LaPor-
ta in Saddle Hills Junction. Sleepless,
damned neck aching, Temple drove by
night in his ghostly glimmering-white
BMW past the address—a stucco-facade
apartment building on Eldwood Avenue.
He didn't park but slow-cruised around
the block. Deserted night streets of a
part of town he'd known only as a one-
time potential investor in some condo-
minium properties. (He hadn't invested,
fortunately.) It wasn't like Temple to be-
have this way, like a lovesick kid, weird
behavior. But he was curious about Gina.
Just curious. Wondered if she was living
with someone. The telephone directory
didn't provide much help. He'd noticed
a ring on her left hand, not a wed-
ding band nor a conventional engage-
ment ring, turquoise and silver. But
these days you couldn't tell—she might
be married. Might even have a kid. Phys-
ical life—what a mystery! More mysteri-
ous than money, even, Temple had dis-
covered.

First birds singing already?—only
4:40 a.m. There were cars parked at the

curb on both sides of Eldwood Avenue,
and Temple saw, or believed he saw, Gi-
na's little canary-yellow Ford Escort
among them. He'd found out from her,
in a casual exchange, what kind of car
she drove, and he'd checked it out in the
institute parking lot, at the rear. Econo-
my car, compact and cute. And Temple's
regal white BMW easing past, the motor
near soundless. Temple finished the
lukewarm Molson he'd been gripping
between his knees as he drove. Some-
thing melancholy about night ending be-
fore you were ready. Always a melan-
choly tinge to the eastern sky when
you've been awake with your solitary
thoughts all night. Cruising the block,
ng just опе more time.

“Have you been doing your exercises,
Mr. Temple?”

More or less, yes."

Has the pain lessened?”

"Definitely."

It wasn't exactly a lie. If Temple didn't
move abruptly, or crane his neck for-
ward, as he had а natural tendency to
do, in conversation with shorter peo-
ple—especially attractive women—he
scarcely knew the pain was there. Al-
though, like a dial tone radiating up into
his head, it was perpetually there. Too е
uberantly he said, “I'm 1000
proved. Gina, thanks to you

She blinked at him, startled, her face
colored in faint, uneven patches, like
sunburn.

Well—maybe just 800 percent,” Tem-
ple said wryly, ru

Before h nrment, Temple had
wandered about the institute building.
On the mezzanine floor he'd discovered
a door marked SPORTS MEDICINE CENTER
and, at the end of a corridor, another
door marked PAIN MANAGEMENT CENTER.
So it was real! He'd invented what was
merely real.

Each time Temple stepped into the
physical therapy clinic its dimensions be-
came smaller, friendlier. On his first visit,
he'd been confused by the mirrors that
lined most of the walls and suggested an
infinity of gleaming nightmare machines
and hapless, anonymous people. But
there were nes, sleek
stainle: . There were six
large mats on the polished tile floor, kept
spotlessly clean. There were nine tabl
in the open dinic—more precisely, as Gi
na called them, plinths. There were
acks of dumbbells, yellow and blue plas-
tic balls of varying sizes. There was the
shimmering aqua pool beyond the glass
partition Temple looked through with
longing, But Dunbar hadn't prescribed
for him any swimming therapy, yet.

Of course, Temple was beginning to
recognize certain of his fellow patients
and guessed they were beginning to rec-
ognize him. No names here at the clinic,
just faces, And symptoms, It seemed to

Temple he'd been in therapy for weeks,
months! In fact, it was only Monday
morning of his second week.

At the reception desk he'd glanced
anxiously about, not seeing Gina at first,
Then he saw her doing paperwork at
desk. She looked up and smiled,
heart lifted. This morning a ceramic bar-
rette in her thick mahogany-dark hair
and the turquoise ring prominent on
her finger

Temple's therapy began with the usu-
al stretching and massage. Temple lay
flat on the padded table—plinth—which
he found almost comfortable now. He
said, “The secret of happiness I think is
to simplify your life, you know? My life
has become simplified in recent years
When you're married and things are off-
kilter, life can be, well, complex." A
pause. It was as if Temple's voice issued
from his throat of its own capricious vo-
lition. “You're engaged, Gina?"

It isn't an engagement r Just a
g^ Gina laughed sharply as il Temple
had pushed too far. She retreated to the
other side of the plinth. “Now sit up, Mr.
Temple, please. We'll do neck rotation,
three sets of ten." Neck rotation! When
Temple flinched at the pain, Gina said
reprovingly, “This time rotate in the di-
rection of the pain. Into the pain. It
should centralize, or decrease. Ty.” He
tried. He didn't want to disappoint her.
His face was flushed like a tomato about
to burst. He said suddenly, “You've
helped me so much, Gina. You've given
me hop

Gina murmured, quite embarrassed,
“Well.

Again, on his back. Then on his stom-
ach, forehead pressed against a rolled

towel. Through a haze of pain he heard
himself say, unexpectedly, “My ex-v
is ex. I mean literally. She has died."
nge that sounded, like an awk-

: She has died. Temple

amended, “I mean—she's dead. Isabelle

dead now
There was a blank, systolic moment
ту, said.

Temple said, “Thank you.” He was go-
ing to say J miss her but instead said, as if

t were a subtle, comic refutation of Gi-

па? solicitude, “The alimony payments
ended years ago"—an awkward joke, if it
was a joke. It fell upon Gina's somber
silence.

The therapy continued. Again, Tem-
ple was sitting up. It was crucial for him
to maintain perfect posture, yet, oddly,
the pain scemed to be pushing him out
nment. He repeated, tasting the
+ "My wife is dead. I could have
but I wouldn't have
In fact,

word:
gone to the fu

felt welcome. Ex-wife, I mean

s a double-ex, Gone first, and then
ic cancer It's hard to be-
i— you'd have had
bel

dead. Pancrea
lieve a woman like that
to know her. / couldn't believe when 1
first heard. Next, she was in the hospital.
I mean, by the time I heard, she was al-
ready in. I flew out to see her, but
What the hell was he saying? Why
manner was affable, sane, matter-of-fact,
as if he were discu business deal,
crucial for the other party to know that
things were under control. It was the
t time he'd uttered the remarkable
words My wife is dead.

He was saying, with an air not ofcom-
plaint but wonder, “My 20-year-old son
is a dropout from Stanford and he's in a
drug rehabilitation center in La Jolla—1

His

P ЕТА Y BONN

think. He hasn't spoken to me in five
years except to ask for money.” Temple
laughed to show he wasn't at all hurt,
пог even much surprised.

Again Gina murmured, "I'm sorry,"
not knowing what else to say, frowning
and looking away from Temple, picking
at a reddened bump on the underside of
her chin.

“I'm sorry,” Temple said. “But I don't
let it affect my outlook on life.”

Next was the hot-pack collar, tight
around his neck as he could bear. The
eerie sensation of floating: feeling pain
drain from his neck and skull like nee-
dles being extracted from flesh. Temple
began to speak expansively, like a levitat-
ing man. A crisis had been met, and
overcome. “Gina, suppose a man were to
come into the clinic here, as your pa-
tient. He came three times a week as his
doctor prescribed, and he was desperate
то get well, and you got to like him—not
just feel sorry for him, I mean, but like
him—and he liked you; and he asked
was it possible you might see him some-
time, outside the clinic, where he wasn't
a patient and you weren't his therapist?
What then?”

Gina didn't reply at first. She'd moved
ош of Temple's line of vision, and he had
only a vague, blurry sense of her. “Is this
a made-up story, or what?” She laughed
sharply.

‘Temple said, "I'll continue. This man,
your hypothetical patient—actually, he'd
seen you, without knowing your name,
of course, before he became your pa-
tient. Once at the mall, possibly, or
downtown—and at a property in the
Junction, on Eldwood Avenue, that he'd.
been looking into as an investment. Iso-

lated, accidental times. He wasn't look-
ing for you, just happened to see you.
And a few weeks or months later he de-
velops a mysterious neck pain, and his
doctor prescribes physical therapy, and
he walks into the clinic and sees you—
just by chance. And he’s eacited, and
anxious. He wonders, Is a patient al-
lowed to request a therapist, not know-
ing her name, or is that against regu-
lations, would it be perceived as
unprofessional? So he doesn’t say any-
thing, but he’s assigned to you anyway!
And he thinks—oh God, he thinks—if, if
only—” Temple paused, breathing
quickly. He was concerned too much
adrenaline might be flooding his veins.

Gina, out of sight, remained silent.
Temple believed he could hear her
quick, shallow breathing.

Hey, it's only a story,” he said. “You're
i—it's made up."
Gina said quietly, "Excuse me, Mr.

Temple."

She left the room, shut the door. In a
paroxysm of embarrassment, unless it
was mortal shame, Temple lay as mo-
tionless as a man fallen from a great
height, in terror of testing whether he
can move. Gina had gone to get the cli
ic manager! She had gone to inform
Dunbar!

Steaming water coursed through the
choking-tight collar. The hydrocollator,
as it was called, $35 per session, was
timed to run for 15 minutes. Temple
shut his eyes. He was doing the dead
man’s float. Close about him was the daz-
zling blinding- nd island and the
shimmering turquoise water, and he
seemed, in his misery, to be enveloped
by each simultaneously. What a way to

"You have a tremendous amount of anger, but nobody

really gives a shi

treat a man who loves you. Crazy for you, and
what did I ever get out of it?

He must have slept. Didn't hear the
door open behind him, or close. There
came Gina's deft cool fingers against his
neck, undoing the collar. She had re-
turned, as if nothing had happened?
Therapy would continue, as if nothing
had happened? “Forgive me— gota lit-
tle carried away,” Temple said. Gina was
helping him sit upright. He was dazed,
dizzy. The heat of the collar had spread
through his body. Now came neck side-
bends, and more pain: Retract the chin,
lower head toward right shoulder slowly,
hold one-two-three; relax, return, re-
peat with left shoulder. Three times, sets
of ten. There came Gina's steady hand
on the side of his head, pressing gently
downward, when Temple faltered. Zig-
zag bolts of pain shot upward into his
skull, downward into his chest. You'd al-
most expect jeering, blipping sounds to
accompany them, as in a з video
game. Gina cautioned, “Retract your
chin farther, Mr. Temple. You can hurt
yourself in this exerci:

g: She had gone
away, and she'd considered his story. She
was an intelligent young woman who
could make the distinction between fic-
tion and life, fable and fact. She could
sce that Temple was a worthy man. Ob-
viously well intentioned, decent. Possibly
a troubled man, but it was nothing he
couldn't handle. (Was it?) If she had
been a normally curious young woman,
she might have noted her patients ad-
dress on the paperwork, might even
have noticed his BMW, made certain cal-
culations. You wouldn't blame a wom-
an—investments have to be worth the
risk. Gina could foresee, surely, Temple's
kindness? His affection and desperation
in about equal measure? She could fore-
see—but Temple's vision began to blur,
as in a dream rising abruptly to daylight,
about to go out.

‘Temple lay another time on his back,
winded. Gina resumed her position be-
hind him, massaging the neck and up-
per shoulder muscles that were knotty
and gnarled as aged tree roots. He shiv-
ered with pain and hoped she wouldn't
notice, He didn’t want to disappoint her.
Hesitantly he opened his eyes, and there
was Gina's flushed face above him, up-
side down. Strain lines at her eyes, her
mouth pursed. Skin heated with emo-
tion, and she'd picked the tiny bump on
the underside of her chin to bleeding.
Maybe she wasn't as young as he'd
thought. Thirty? Or more? He smiled
happily, and it seemed to him that Gina
smiled—anyway, almost. “Be serious,
Mr. Temple,” she said severely, fingers
digging into his flesh. "You're in pain."

LAYBOY

(A T Ee {

GOLF, ANYONE?

3 matter of record that golfers get more tips than a stockbro-
ker's barber. But there used to be a sane shyness that kept them
from exposing themselves to gadgets and gawkers. Not any-

These day ing-speed deficiency or an unstraight left
arm are such threats to a golfer's social standing thal many are will-
ing to part with shag bags of gold in the search for self-improve-

м JSR

The Coach, a David
Leadbetter product (at
center) is a training aid
designed to develop a
proper swing, It works
this way: You stand on
the platform and grasp
a handle attached toa
movable steel arm. The
arm rotates in an arc
like a real club does
and is linked to a pulley
that creates tension and
resistance as you swing.
The result: Your hands
are forced through the
impact area at just the
right plane needed for
a correct pass at the
ball. Price: about $350
from Golf Training Sys-
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top of the swing (about
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элия & HOW TO BUY ON PAGE 141.

ment. Accommodating this frenzy is an industry of quick fixes. If
you're the sort of golfer who can't sleep for memories of a yanked
five-iron, you may find deliverance in one of the training aids pic-
tured here, from a $25 gizmo designed to keep your head straight
to a $350 coach for your swing. We just wish we could stop play-
ing around with this stuff long enough to go out and play a round

golfer's cap (it lets you
see parallel reference
lines), and the Cast
Away ($110), a hinged
club that helps stop
casting, are (гот Golf
Around the World. In
our man’s left pants
pocket is the Missing
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\ that perfects a putter’s
pendulum swing. In his

right pocket is the

Swing Thing ($80),

which helps develop a

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swing, Also from Swing

Thing is the Back to

Back ($40), a ball-head-

ed club that helps you

maintain the right

plane in your swing.

Last, the Mirror from

Golf Training Systems,

at rear left (about $30),

| features a vertical
crosshair that enables

you to see subtle swing

characteristics.

Hot Spots

BRITTNIE FOUNTAINE has modeled for Muscle maga-
zine, Mary Kay cosmetics and Toyota and has appeared
on TV on Renegade and Silk Stalkings. She knows a
leopard can't change her spots. That's

just jungle fever.

Don’t Fix This Rust

From the hot San Diego scene, RUST rides the melody train, and Bar
Chord Ritual shows off the results. They are proud to call their sound “re-
gional rock.” We prefer to call it coast to coast.

Famous
Amos

TORI AMOS’ Rays
for Pele has gone
gold. She sold out
her North American
tour and added
MIV Unplugged

to her résumé in
June. She's making
history.

Twain’s

Mark

Grammy winner SHANIA
TWAIN's CD, The Woman
їп Me, has already sold
6 million copies. Shania
wants 10 be known as a
lyricist. Write on.

158

Catrina's
h, Undercover
Ó Do you recognize
CATRINA FALBO? Е
She appeared in |
Playboy's Girls of
College video 7
and was fea-
tured on ca-
ble's Silk Stalk-
ings. Let's hear
it for basic
black.

Your
Mother j

Should

Know

It’s not every day a
musician gets to gig
with his mom, but
SEAN ONO
LENNON and his
band, tma, hit the
road with YOKO to
do a short club tour
in support of
Rising. Critics and
fans both gave a
thumbs-up.

POTPOURRI

LOVE GLOVES
FOR SALE

Faithful readers of
PLAYBOY will recognize
the beautiful hazel-eyed
blonde in the inset photo
at left as Carol Vitale,
one of our most popular
Playmates. Carol has
found time, while hosting
her own cable television
show, to design Daring
Dainties, “the first lin-
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hands to speak the pow-
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Colors include burgundy,
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if you're calling from
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HEADS FOR BOBBING

Who wouldn't want to see Marilyn Monroe's head bob up and down?
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160 Babe Ruth and Santa Claus. Call 800-483-2643 to order.

THE LAST STRAW IN HATS

“The only hat for all seasons and all rea-
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IT’S ALL ROCK AND ROLL
Artand rock and roll have been dancing

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‘Twelve lithos of Beatles albums cost
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POUR US SOME BLUES

Ifyou like the blues, then
you're going to love Longoria
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and winemaker Rick Longo-
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Buddy Guy is wailing on his
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Check the stores or ask for it
at your favorite blues club.

TWO FOR THE ROAD

Before the automobile, bicycles were the chosen means of per-
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Now that bikes are back you can take a ride through the history
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THE BODY TEASE
BEAUTIFUL

The Body Tease is a funky
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price: $34; call 888-nopv-
TEASE. Yes, a sexy man's ver
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THE LATEST BEEF

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And for an additional $28, surf can be added

to your turf in the form of lobster tails. Call
BO0-roop-ro-co for the details.

\\\ Р” алт р

СОТ YOU COVERED

“The magazine cover is to the 20th century
United States what cave paintings were to pre-
historic man,” say Steven Heller and Louise
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can Magazine Covers 1900-1950. And the friend-
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AL SHOW NUMBER.
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THE FUTURISTIC STUFF THAT'S HERE TODAY. THE NEW ЕЦЕ. HANGING OUT WITH ANOTHER GROUP—JUDICIAL VIGI-

GANCE IN FASHION THAT FEATURES LUSCIOUS SHIRTS, TES LANTES. AN INSIDE REPORT ON COMMON-LAW COURTS

AND MOD SWEATERS, DIGITAL VIDEO DISCS THAT WILL py T.C. BROWN

CHANGE YOUR VIEW OF ENTERTAINMENT FOREVER AND THE

LATEST RAGE, CIGARS THE WORD ON ETIQUETTE, HUMI- THE BABES OF "FRIENDS". IT'S TV'S HOTTEST NIGHT, BUT,

DORS AND PLAYBOY'S OWN NEW SMOKE Он, THE DECISIONS. PHOEBE? RACHEL? MONICA? NEW
YORK GOSSIP COLUMNIST A.J. BENZA PLAYS THE ULTIMATE.

NICOLAS CAGE—IS THE OSCAR WINNER AS CRAZY AS HE DATING GAME

ACTS? DAVID SHEFF GETS THE DOPE ON COPPOLA FAMILY
VALUES, CAGE'S GOOD FRIEND JIM CARREY AND, WELL, ЈАМЕАМЕ GAROFALO—THE DRY AND SLY QUEEN OF COME-
THAT COCKROACH THING IN THE SEPTEMBER INTERVIEW DY REVEALS A FEW TRUTHS ABOUT CATS, DOGS AND UMA

SMALL-TOWN GIRLS—A PICTORIAL SALUTE TO THE GREAT THURMAN—AND WHY SHE BOUGHT PUSSY SCENTED UN-
BOUNTY TUCKED AWAY IN THIS NATION'S HAMLETS. REMEM- DERPANTS. A TRULY OUTRAGEOUS 20 QUESTIONS WITH
BER, GOOD THINGS COME IN SMALL PACKAGES DAVID RENDIN,

PIZZA MAN--HOLD THE PEPPERONI, THIS SUPERHERO's PLAYBOY'S PRO FOOTBALL FORECAST OUR GRIDIRON
NOT TAKING ANY SAUCE FROM THE MOB—CRIME FICTION BY SAGE. DANNY SHERIDAN, NAMES THE YEAR'S BEST AND
LUCIUS SHEPARD WORST OWNERS AND REVEALS WHO'S GOING TO DOMINATE

THE NFL THIS SEASON
SURPRISE PICTORIAL—AS A TREAT TO GET THE SEASON

OFF RIGHT, WE PRESENT ONE OF HOLLYWOOD'S MOST PLUS: THE GREAT DANES BEHIND BANG & OLUFSEN, A MISS
BEAUTIFUL WOMEN IN A CANDID LAYOUT. DON'T EVEN ASK. SEPTEMBER FOR INDIAN SUMMER, SURPRISE NEWS FROM
OUR LIPS ARE SEALED THE ADVISOR, AND PLAYMATE LEGEND PATTI MCGUIRE

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Cigarette
Smoke Contains Carbon Monoxide.

NEWBACASRDI SPICE

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AS GOOD ASIT GETS.

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