Centerfold

By Sharon Rose Anderson

When her father, who is her accompanist, collapses on a Paris stage, Spanish cellist, Angelica de Larra flees the music world for Montreal, where, during the course of four days, over two thousand girls will be interviewed at the new Playboy Club to be trained by Keith Hefner as Bunny Girls.
Despite her doubts, Angelica becomes a Playboy Bunny , beating out young women from the office, factory and farm, along with sophisticated starlets of fashion and cinema. She throws herself whole-heartedly into the world of The Club, while trying to keep her music past secret, but her rebellious thoughts often wander back to her beloved cello and her music career. Thrust from the exciting world of the concert stage, Angelica must remake her new image at the expense of destroying her real self.
Soon she falls in love with a celebrity patron of The Club, friend of Hugh Hefner, and one of the most powerful men in Montreal. Jealous , unwilling to share and rigidly moralistic, her lover, with a mysterious agenda, plots to get Angelica fired and end her career as a Playboy Bunny. While sharing the hopes, dreams and fears of her Bunny sisters, Angelica discovers the deep, dark side of this competitive world where jealousy and anger threaten her career and her life.

Despite her doubts, Angelica becomes a Playboy Bunny , beating out young women from the office, factory and farm, along with sophisticated starlets of fashion and cinema. She throws herself whole-heartedly into the world of The Club, while trying to keep her music past secret, but her rebellious thoughts often wander back to her beloved cello and her music career. Thrust from the exciting world of the concert stage, Angelica must remake her new image at the expense of destroying her real self. Soon she falls in love with a celebrity patron of The Club, friend of Hugh Hefner, and one of the most powerful men in Montreal. Jealous , unwilling to share and rigidly moralistic, her lover, with a mysterious agenda, plots to get Angelica fired and end her career as a Playboy Bunny. While sharing the hopes, dreams and fears of her Bunny sisters, Angelica discovers the deep, dark side of this competitive world where jealousy and anger threaten her career and her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jan 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781480867819

Sharon Rose Anderson

Sharon Rose Anderson plunged into the exotic life of a 1960s Bunny Girl in the glorious heyday of the first Canadian Playboy Club in Montreal. Chosen from among 2000 girls, Sharon bonded with glamorous women who dazzled both male and female patrons of The Club. Sharon Rose Anderson is the author of a pioneering work on heart disease, Mitral Valve Prolapse: Benign Syndrome?and two other novels: Jangala: A Wild Place In The Heart and Love In The Gardens Of Manhattan.

Book preview

Chapter 1

2000 Hopeful Girls and Keith Hefner

A ngelica de Larra waited nervously in one of the most prestigious clubs in downtown Montreal. She had come to be interviewed for a job. A very unusual job. Nearly an hour had passed by during which time she had secretly examined the faces, figures and costumes of the dozens of other girls who had been directed to wait in a long elegant room with a stage at one end. As time passed, Angelica found the more she studied the girls the more she began losing her initial high spirits and confidence.

It was the clothing she had chosen to wear. A dark brown dress with with white polka dots. The skirt was short and flared and revealed her long, slender legs she thought were her best feature, after her hands. The shiny, silvery-white stockings, which she had bought especially for the interview, now seemed totally out of place with all the bare, bronzed legs. But she had made this purchase thinking her legs would look even more attractive.

Regretfully, she looked down at the stockings and thought of their cost, more than any other stocking she had ever purchased. Then she caught a glimpse of the puffed, long sleeves of the dress, the white polka dots adorning it, and, worst of all, the round, scooped neck that showed no cleavage and seemed almost idiotic in its childishness. Not that she had any cleavage to show. Clearly, nothing was right about her appearance.

She was the only girl all covered up. Every girl’s breasts were proudly displayed, and they were all generous, some oversized, that is, in relationship to her own, though she had never considered her own small. That made her cringe a little and think that was why why she had encased them in drab brown decorated with an infantile bow.

All the girls were clad in bikinis, ranging from modest to skimpy to downright indecent. One girl wore a bottom with pencil-thin straps and a crotch covering, Angelica determined, was the size of a Grade A extra large egg. Like my breasts, she reminded herself, which means I’ll never get this job. As she formed that image in her mind, she had to suppress a giggle. The girls had bare, tanned limbs from happy summer beach days. With a sudden pang, Angelica realized she had never gone to a beach in her life, but she had skin as dark as these sunned bodies. The world she had lived in, since she was four years old, had been a rarified one and, even now, to go to a beach, seemed exotic, where she had once thought it dull and boring.

She bit her lip as she looked down at her white Mary Jane shoes with round toes, strap over the instep and buckle. They were worse than childish. They were comical, moronic, and, like the dress, dated back to her high-school years. Nothing about her dress or even her long straight hair, though lustrous and a beautiful reddish-brown color, was glamorous amidst the predominance of curls and wild, bouffant hair-dos. In short, she just looked like a little girl or a teenager applying for her first job or out on her first date. Maybe, she said to herself, deep down, maybe she didn’t really want the job.

All the girls glowed with youth and some of the faces were extraordinarily beautiful. Others, Angelica noted, were just ordinary, some even downright unattractive. She knew these girls, who had the same hopes as everyone else, would be bitterly disappointed. Angelica, who was kind-hearted, felt sorry for them. A few of the girls were grotesquely made up with black lines extending from heavily penciled lids, shaded in blue, green or white that gave their faces the appearance of cats.

Angelica sighed with relief. At least her make-up couldn’t be wrong because she hadn’t applied any. But that would be another strike against her she was sure. She had never worn make-up in her life, not even lipstick. Though she searched the faces she couldn’t find one like her own with no cosmetics and shiny-clean with a soap and water wash. Albeit a special kind of soap called Like Music. But Angelica quickly determined that both heavy make-up and no make-up would likely be considered too extreme.

What was worse was that her mind kept wandering, returning to times she thought she had buried. There was something about waiting with anticipation that brought a vision to her mind. Of a tall, dark-haired girl in a long silvery dress, her strong arms bared, her dark hair piled up with a large red camellia. A young girl seated on a great stage, a cello between her legs. She embraces it as if it were her lover. She glances at her accompanist with shiny, lustrous black hair like herself. Her father. Looks of love and sparks of passion fly between them as she dives into the opening bars of the Brahms E Minor Cello and Piano Sonata.

Mercilessly Angelica repressed the image, always at this same point. But the feeling of great loving joy remained unruly and rebellious. She saw it as wrestling with a dark, unidentifiable adversary, like a dragon in a Wagnerian opera and she took to calling this memory the dragon. But, sometimes, it had diaphanous, silvery wings like a magnificent butterfly and made her long to escape by flying away with it. The image dissolved as Angelica forced her mind to concentrate on the panorama of events unfolding.

Over two thousand girls were being interviewed, during a period of four days, for the fifty-seven Bunny Girl positions in the new Playboy Club at 2081 rue d’Aylmer, between Sherbrooke and Bleurie Streets, in the heart of downtown Montreal. It was, in fact, in this year of Expo ‘67, the first Club of its kind in Canada.

The Bunny Girl’s position was described in the half-page recruitment ad in The Montreal Star, Come Be A Playboy Bunny, as exciting, exotic, glamorous, equivalent to show business, with the real possibility of breaking into such a world through a modeling, television or film contract that could happen through the Playboy network. The pay was fabulous and the tips, the advertisement ran, even more fabulous.

Angelica realized just then, as she waited, that, deep down, she really desperately wanted to be a Bunny Girl. In the beginning she had found the whole idea silly, a joke, inferior to anything she had ever done. Cheap she whispered to herself. Degrading and inferior. That’s what Marcel, her old boyfriend from home, would call it, but only because he wanted her back.

She had left Marcel, her brother, Luis, her only sibling, and her parents back home in Toronto. How would they react? Or Mitch, her present boyfriend. He had replaced Marcel, who had originally come from Montreal, and, so, helped her to move to that city. In fact, it was Marcel who had introduced Angelica to Mitch, saying, Now, you won’t be alone. You’ll have a friend right from the beginning. Someone I know very well.

She had told none of them she was trying out to be a Bunny Girl at The Playboy Club. But, then, she didn’t think she would get the job anyway and, so, wouldn’t have to tell them. When it was over, she would think of it as a highly amusing escapade. Not serious. Preposterous. Just an act of folly because she would be rejected anyway and wouldn’t have to worry about what anyone thought.

When her co-worker, Lisette Cardinal, showed her the clipping from The Montreal Star, Angelica had scoffed at it. But Lisette, amidst lots of giggling, dared her to try out for the position. You have de look, non, Lisette said. De figure, de boob, non? Amidst peals of laughter Angelica had begun convincing herself that she should try out for this wildly exotic job, not really having a clear idea of why she wanted to.

With The Playboy Club, Angelica realized, in her sober moments, she would have two full-time jobs to handle. But she desperately needed the money. The fate of her father, she believed, hung upon her need to send money home. She wondered if she could do these two demanding jobs. This second job would more than supplement the salary she currently received as an executive in training at a prestigious Montreal public relations firm, Paradis-Dumond, a position that was obtained, she could only guess, with much pulling of strings by some invisible puppet, though the whole thing was an impenetrable mystery to her.

Hired to learn the public relations industry from the bottom to the top, she had found herself, after only a year, rising from the small office on the ground floor, where she began, to the 9th floor of executive suites, where nine CEOs of the Company had huge offices. She would spend time with all nine who were to be her mentors.

A beautiful blond girl sat beside Angelica and began smiling at her in a familiar way. Angelica smiled back at the girl who was clad in a pink bikini with white checks. It was a very skimpy bikini but more tasteful than those of some of the other girls and showed off a dazzling tan, long slender legs and large, full breasts that seemed to Angelica too generous for such a slender body. This girl was the epitomy of glamor with platinum-blond hair that swung joyously as she moved.

Angelica was certain she had seen the pink bikini girl somewhere before but she could not place her. The naturally pale hair, Angelica knew, was not from a bottle, and the, huge, violet-blue eyes dominating the delicate bone structure of her face were the features of a Scandinavian, a Dane or a Swede. All the girls wore name tags. This girl’s name was Birgit. Neither girl was Canadian, let alone French, and this plus the obvious contrast in their coloring made Angelica, feel, somehow, closer to this particular girl.

Angelica looked down at her own hands, tanned without the aid of the sun, resting on her unexciting brown dress. Though there was nothing in the advertisement to indicate what a girl should wear, it had not occurred to her to wear a bikini. My life has been long, beautiful dresses she reminded herself with a pang. In fact, she had never worn a bikini in her life. And she wouldn’t have had enough courage to wear one, especially at a job interview, even if it were The Playboy Club. In fact, she had not even taken this interview seriously at all and, so, had given little thought to her presentation. Nor did she think she posessed the right anatomy. Her well shaped breasts seemed not quite large enough when she looked at the other girls. So she was glad she had hidden them. This part of the female anatomy, she assumed, would be the most important for the job and she would not get it if she exposed the size of her breasts. Besides, when they were hidden inside the childish dress, she could put stuffing in her bra.

Believing this, she did not take into consideration her own assets. She was tall and willowy with a beautifully proportioned body and a fine, erect carriage. Her hair, a deep chesnut, almost black, with reddish streaks, was thick and lustrously healthy. Her whole physiognomy was one of splendid health. The dark eyebrows and long, silky eyelashes set off her large, clear eyes of an astonishing alertness and coloration. They were dark Spanish eyes of an amazing depth and liquidity, with a bluish tinge that mirrored everything, like mysterious deep pools of aquafir water. They were the kind of eyes, full of sorrow, that stared out of a canvas of Goya.

Indeed, intense sorrow did mark her past, but Angelica had determined to be happy and joyful. Nor was she envious of the assets of the other girls. She knew she had been born gifted. A child prodigy, she could play the cello by the age of five, plus the harpsichord and piano equally well at the age of eight. But, her great love was for the cello. She had gained recognition at the age of fifteen, performing Brahm’s cello concerto in F major with her father, an international concert pianist, at Carnegie Hall. She had gone on to play solo cello, including the Bach Suites, which sealed her fame. But, when she played works that required an accompanist, her youthful father always fulfilled that role. She had never played with anyone else and didn’t want to.

Now, she had made a choice not to pursue her gift. Her youthful sense of independence made her come to believe that this was a rational, personal choice, though it was more of a defiance in the face of the great clamor of many voices, especially those of her parents, that she continue with her brilliant career. Her choice, she claimed proudly to herself, marked her maturity, her rationality, her common sense. Her, as she put it sadly, self-preservation. She was proud of her ability to disassociate herself from something that would only cause pain and move on. And, so, her decision, reaffirmed in her mind as always, made her flash a warm smile at the girl in pink. Angelica got up and moved to a chair beside this girl, who seemed to want to talk.

Hi, the girl announced brightly. Everything about her had the delicacy and sweetness of pink candy floss. I’ve been noticing you. You stand out. I just love that red flower. It’s real unique.

Angelica flushed. She had worn the red camellia for good luck. Maybe it’s too much. My costume isn’t right either, is it? I know I won’t be chosen because of it.

Oh, I didn’t mean that, the girl responded breathlessly. I don’t think it matters what you wear. I mean you ARE beautiful. I’ve seen faces like yours in paintings. In the art gallery. You know those pictures of beautiful women. The magnificent frilly, pleated dresses. The snobby aristocrats. The impoverished 19thC artists painted them to put bread in the bellies of their nagging wife and kids. I just went to the museum and saw some guy’s stuff, James T. Snot or something. One of the richest men in MO took me to show off his learning about art, Birgit said with haughty giggles, but, after that, I dropped him. Galleries, museums, concert halls - all boring. I like fun.

That’s the Parisian artist James Jacques Tissot, Angelica supplied quickly. Immediately, she regretted showing off her learning. But she had responded that way unthinkingly because she was shocked and a little impressed that this girl had actually seen the exhibit. Angelica had really wanted to go to it but had never found the time.

Now she wished she hadn’t said something that might offend because she wanted to be friends with the girl in the pink checked bikini. With a pang, she realized she had never, given her lifestyle since she was a child, had a girlfriend. And she wanted one desperately. She wanted to lead a normal life.

Birgit gave a little laugh. You know about something other than your face. And with a lot of giggling, she added, You don’t show what you know around here. You show tit.

Angelica giggled. And I’m not showing it! I’ve seen you somewhere before, she stated shyly, wishing to make up for parading her knowledge.

Probably, the girl in pink responded emphatically. I’m a top fashion model in MO. Actually I’m an international model. She flicked her hair back vivaciously from her face. I’m in a lot of magazines. Vanity Fair, Vogue, Paris Match, Flair. My face is on the buses and subways. Spanish aren’t you or Italian?"

Spanish.

I’m Swedish. I’m sure I’ve seen you before too. I think it was in some high class, snooty place. Like a concert hall or something. Maybe you were sitting beside me…no, I don’t think so…she said, I would have remembered you.

Angelica’s heart almost stopped as her fear rose that Birgit might know who she was.

But Birgit changed the topic in her flighty manner to Angelica’s relief. My name is Birgit Fredericia Soderstrom. I don’t expect you to remember it. I was named after the city where I was born.

Mine’s Angelica de Larra y Jiménez, Angelica answered laughingly.

Wow what a name! It sounds aristocratic.

It’s not. I come from a poor village in Catalonia. We moved to Canada when I was six. My name was anglicized to Angelica Larra.

Angelica began to relax because she knew that Birgit, from all she had said, would not recognize her as the young international artist whom the media had made their darling. No one even at the office linked her to the young cellist who stormed the music scene a few years ago.

Thank God. they don’t call us alphabetically, Birgit said. I’d be at the end. I like things done in a wicked, disorderly manner. I used to suffer so much in school waiting for my turn to recite something. By the time they got round to me I’d forgotten everything out of sheer boredom. Perhaps, you’ve seen me in the Sun Tour Ad on the Buses or in travel bureau windows, Birgit said looking at Angelica in a coquettish manner.

That’s it! That’s where I’ve seen your face! Angelica exclaimed, always excited at a discovery. And, now, I know where else I’ve seen you. Someone I know…she hesitated a little for fear of annoying this girl…a man I dated a few times, Roger Clarke, has a professional photo of you, several photos I should say, some in his wallet and many pinned to the walls of his apartment. All of them are polished, sophisticated, of professional quality unlike the more amateur things he might take himself, though I know he’s very good with a camera.

The nude ones, Birgit gasped laughingly. Not the girl with the diamond watch, the big hat, the bouffant dress. Then she rhymed off, the Cartier, Van Cleef & Tiffany ads, the Givenchy, Cardin and Saint Laurent, the… she paused, I can’t believe you know Roger too. He does get around. I dated him before you I guess ‘cause he never mentioned your name. He has a habit of parading the names of girls he’s dated. He saw me at a fashion show once and pursued me until I stupidly gave in. He just wouldn’t let me alone. Then I zapped him. Got a court order for harassment.

Angelica was shocked at the frankness of Birgit but very happy she had gotten over her initial attraction to Roger. It had been a brief, unsatisfying relationship once she had got to know him on the occasions he had taken her out for dinner and drinks. She was about to explain how she knew Roger when Bunny Heidi from Chicago sailed into the room. A tall good looking man followed her. The beautiful blond in a red satin Bunny costume was assisting Keith Hefner, Hugh’s brother, in the selection of the new Bunny Girls. Bunny Heidi stood in the statuesque Bunny stance with her legs together, one just behind the other and her back slightly arched, while the hips were tucked well under. In one hand she held a round tray with a thick Playboy Manual and, on top, a list of names. She carried the tray as if it were loaded with drinks from the bar.

They must be on their best behaviour all the time as though they’re on the floor. Perfect Bunny posture. Even off duty there are rules. You have to stand like that all the time. Look at that fat book, Angelica, Birgit whispered. So much to learn. All those drinks! Their names, what goes in them, the proportions, what fruit they take etc. You wouldn’t wanna put an olive in a Singapore Sling or a cherry in a martini. You really have to be a bartender too. And I don’t know if I can tuck my bum in like that. It looks hard to do.

The two girls laughed merrily and, when their names were called, they pinched each other instinctively for good luck.

You’ll get it, Birgit said enthusiastically. You have that passionate Latin look. Exotic combined with the well-bred look of the snooty American college girl. Vassar or Smith’s. What a hybrid! I’m very ordinary. No college in my background. Nothing intellectual. Just a blond. Every girl wants to be blond. Hence all the bottle treatments. But I’m real.

Angelica, who was beginning to like the idea of being a Bunny Girl, laughed freely, in spite of her nervousness, and hoped Birgit was right. The blond girl’s professional make-up made Angelica doubt her own success. The top and bottom very thick lashes, emphasizing Birgit’s huge violet eyes, did not seem real. Angelica assumed her new friend must put on a lot of mascara. If she should be chosen, Angelica knew she would have to wear mascara but she dreaded the thought of using the obviously fake lashes like some of the girls were wearing.

The handsome man, with a big smile, moved to the centre of the room. He looked happy, even joyous. "Hi, I’m Keith Hefner, Hugh’s kid brother. I’m pleased to meet all you beautiful girls. You’re my first group from which we’ll choose for the Fabulous 57. Like Heintz 57 sauce. And you will be saucy! But nice, of course. He gave a big laugh then. That’s what we’re already calling you. You will be 57 chosen out of 2000. My! Isn’t that going to be fun! Just think if you’re picked out of 2000 girls. What it can do for your ego! It’s going to be real hard choosing from all you magnificent girls. I’d like to keep all of you.

Come, stand in the circle and I’ll get right here in the centre with Bunny Heidi who is going to help me with my selection. She’s been all through this routine herself many years ago. So she knows what you’re going through. That’s right, just walk slowly now, he said turning to the girls, crossing his arms and making funny faces to provoke them into laughter. Some delicate titters floated out of the nervous girls. Come on, you can do better than that. Laugh, be happy. You’re young and beautiful. Don’t be like the little engine puffing up the hill saying I think I can. Say I know I can. If you don’t win this time, come back again. Then he instructed the girls to stop and stand in the most elegant fashion they knew how. Just like Bunny Heidi. Let’s see that precious modeling training come out."

Angelica sighed inwardly. She certainly hadn’t any modeling training but she knew she had good posture as she had won many a posture contest in high school. And, certainly, she reminded herself, she had stage poise. She recalled that with a pang. Each girl was asked to step alone into the circle. When it was Angelica’s turn, her shyness fell away instinctively, and she walked out as if she were about to perform on her cello.

The instinct to win, bolstered by her courage and determination, as well as her musical gift, were inherited from her famous father. Angelica had a vision of her father’s beautiful, serene face when he accompanied her on the piano. That serenity flowed into her, and, she believed, made her play at her most beautiful. She let it flow into her now, and, immediately, a calmness came over her. Joy flashed vivaciously from her face to hide her pain. Though she was not aware of it, her smile had an enigmatic quality of both sadness and joy. It was this spontaneous change of emotion, so naked, so unartificial, that stunned everyone who met her. Lost in memories of her father playing, teaching her piano and cello, her mother working in a convenience store to keep the family going and her brother working long hours at the hospital, Angelica barely heard what Keith said.

Okay thanks, Angelica. Just great. I bet you’re a college grad. Where did you pick up all that stage presence? You’re a real Julie Christie or Catherine Deneuve. Angelica only smiled gracefully. She didn’t know who these people were. Bunny Heidi was a former teacher. Lots of studious girls come our way. They turn out to be lots of fun.

In this warm tone of voice, Keith had something nice to say for every girl. This was the reason the interviewing took so long. He didn’t want any wounded egos.

Angelica and Birgit returned to the waiting area. While Birgit chattered away in a friendly manner, Angelica was giving herself a silent pep talk. She had an excellent opportunity to become the first female CEO at Paradis-Dumond where she began working when she graduated from business school a year ago. She had been promised her own office in the new branch of PD in the Place Ville Marie complex. Then she would make twice as much money, and, therefore, she had no right to be unhappy if she were not chosen as a Bunny Girl. Besides, she had met Birgit. The interview was hardly wasted if it led to a friendship with this girl. Angelica felt certain she would have a lot of fun times in future with Birgit.

The two girls did not have to wait long as the few remaining candidates were quickly interviewed. Bunny Heidi came in, arranged herself in the beautiful Bunny posture, and looked smiling around the room. Angelica and Birgit held their breath as their names were called. Then they fell into each other’s arms, hugging, laughing and crying.

When all the new Bunnies were assembled in what was called the Penthouse, Keith said, as he sipped his coke, I want you to meet the most important person in The Club and the most important in your life. With a great flourish he introduced a petite, dark-haired woman of about forty-five of Spanish descent Angelica knew with a thrill. This is your Bunny Mother, Yolanda, your mother away from mommy. She’ll give you all the love you need and more. Don’t think Yolanda comes barefoot from the kitchen and knows only washing pots and ironing. She’s from the big time, a cabaret dancer and singer in the posh Broadway clubs. Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Chicago. She’s a woman with great ideas on everything from make-up and poise to blemishes and corns. Even on boyfriends. The girls giggled at this. She’s everything rolled into one, a beautician, hair stylist, podiatrist. Bunnies get sore feet from hopping about. She might even, he winked at the girls, sing and dance for us in the Penthouse."

All the girls stared at Yolanda who was extremely beautiful and much younger looking than her age.

Yolanda has drunk from the fountain of youth.

Keith, I’ll never be able to live up to that description, Yolanda said, laughing. "But I’m not through yet. I have occasional engagements, when time permits, New York, Chicago and Vegas, my home town. In fact, in about six months time, I’m going to do Cabaret there. Come here, Bunny Heidi, Yolanda called merrily, and model that eye-catching costume for the girls so they can learn all the parts. And Maria, come here too. Maria’s our very own seamstress. She is a brilliant artist. She can make you look like a movie star. Maria looked shy and a little embarrassed but she smiled as Yolanda said, Maria’s your second mommy. She’ll help you choose two flattering colors for your costumes. Then she’ll measure you all up, cut and hand sew your costumes. You can have those legs cut as high as you like. But be careful! We don’t want any little, brown, furry Bunnies peaking out, Yolanda said with a wink and a giggle. Maria knows how to transform all legs, no matter the size or the length, into lovely, long sleek gams."

All the better to run with my dear, Keith said winking naughtily, "like Little Red Riding Hood."

Here we have our matching shoes and bunny ears, fitted on your head with a tight band, Yolanda said pointing to Bunny Heidi’s head and her feet. Next, pert white collar, stiff like a man’s starched shirt collar, and black bow tie. With a beautiful, tapered red nail, Yolanda lightly touched Bunny Heidi’s tanned neck. You must realize how unique this costume is. It’s a symbol of The Playboy Clubs all around the world. She held up Bunny Heidi’s obedient arm, White cuffs, white as snow, with black onyx cufflinks with our famous emblem, the white rabbit ears. Collars and cuffs must be pristine all the time. We supply the cufflinks but, if you lose them, you have to replace them yourself. At cost. If you get a mark on your collar or cuffs, you go straight to Maria. She’ll get you another pair. You get your special rosette with your name on it, color co-ordinated with your costume. Men put the Bunny emblem sticker on their cars to show they are sophisticated, successful, cultured, on top of everything. Yolanda, Bunny Heidi and Maria giggled together then.

Yolanda has forgotten to tell you what she’s best at. She’s an expert in the art of love. She’s better than Ann Landers. Our motto: happiness and the best life can offer. We don’t want any sad or scowling Bunnies hopping listlessly about looking for a cabbage patch to hide under. We’ve got a big club, a big name, a big morale, and you’ve got brains and beauty and you can have anything you want in life.

The girls’ faces shone as they laughed and whispered, nudging each other at Keith’s amusing remarks.

Though it was all a very different atmosphere for Angelica than her glamorous, single-minded and studious past, she found herself, in spite of her astonishment at being chosen, confidently looking forward to handling two jobs. She felt happy, as though she were in the right place.

Throughout her life, many people had stared curiously at her but, with the exception of the music critics, few had ever made her beauty the centre of attention. It came to her with a little shock, one critic’s words that began his review in The New York Times. She could no longer remember his name but she remembered every word he had written, and she knew her father and mother had kept all her clippings in a file at home. She never wanted to look at them or ever read them again. That was over.

Still, the memorized words lingered stubbornly in her mind. "She stepped on to the stage in a ruffled, silver dress, her hair piled high with a red camellia, like a great Spanish lady of Goya, seated herself on the stiff-backed chair and placed that stunning Amati between her legs. She was in love. She embraced her cello as if it were a lover. That face, with large, dark Spanish eyes, which every concert goer will remember, looked out briefly at us with an illusive smile, the innocent, reticent smile of a Botticelli virgin. Then she dove with mesmerizing vigour into the Bach F major suite. No one had ever, at the age of seventeen, played the Bach solo cello suites at Carnegie Hall in New York City.

Angelica had never thought of herself as anything but a musician but, now, ruthlessly, she repressed that idyllic memory. At this critical time in her young life, she needed to be attractive to the opposite sex. It somehow filled a void. And here at The Club, she knew she would be. She wanted joy not sorrow, love of a man other than her father, sexual freedom not rigorous discipline.

A few last words, Keith said, before I turn you all over to your Bunny Mother who’s going to take you on a tour of The Club and then tell you all about the tricks of the trade.

Yolanda laughed merrily and held up a black costume. This! she said. You’ll be astonished.

Most of you have jobs at this moment, as secretaries, tellers in banks, waitresses, maybe teachers or nurses, Keith said. We realize that but know that you won’t want to keep these jobs once you see the advantages of working for The Playboy Club. You’ll make enough money here, as much as $500.00 clear a week, Keith emphasized with big, round eyes. "The tips are nothing short of fantastic. They can be as high as $1000 a night. If you get the right party. a big one with lots of happy people. All cash you keep. And you don’t have to declare it to anyone, not even to us.

You can keep your own apartment, buy top fashions and have glamorous vacations, winter and summer. There are opportunities here to meet fascinating personalities. Some girls wind up with movie contracts. And a lot of girls here want to become movie stars or models. Eventually, we hope and expect you will terminate all other employment and become full-time Bunnies. At first, the girls with day jobs will work the night shifts and vice versa. In about three months time at the very most, you should have terminated all other obligations, except for modeling contracts, which are good media for The Club, and have become part of The Club family. Remember, we’re new to Canada and we’ve gotta show those Canadians a Playboy Club can work."

At that last statement, Angelica experienced a great deal of anxiety. She had not planned to spend her future at The Playboy Club. She wanted to become a top-notch business woman. When she had first seen the ad, she had never regarded the Bunny Girl job as anything but part time work. At least for a year when she would have enough money for Luis’s last year of medical school and his internship at the hospital. But, now that she had actually been accepted and since everyone was so friendly at The Club, she could imagine herself a full time Bunny.

But a thorny issue remained. At Paradis-Dumond, one of the most prestigious, global public relations and communications firms in Montreal, Angelica was certain the news of her second job would not be accepted with cheer. And she didn’t intend to quit it in three months. It, she hoped, would outlive The Playboy Club. Therefore, she knew she would have to redouble her efforts to keep her secret until such time as she had saved enough money and could end being a Bunny.

In particular, the news must never reach Yves Paradis-Dumond, the man who was both owner and President. It was doubly traumatic for her because sometimes she returned to her old suspicion that it was her father’s intervention in some obscure way that made this man hire her. She could not bear to disappoint her father a second time. And, therefore, she did not question the mysterious circumstances under which she appeared to have gained employment. She wanted to believe it was her own merits that had secured her the position.

In her efforts to understand how she had landed what could be called a plum position for a young woman just graduating from business school, she had asked her co-worker, Lisette, who was Yves Paradis-Dumond’s secretary, to casually mention her father to him to see if he might acknowledge that he knew him.

This inquiry was not successful and only increased the intrigue about which her father insisted he knew nothing further. The aloof CEO, Yves Paradis-Dumond, told Lisette, in no uncertain terms, and rather huffily Lisette said, that he did not know Angelica’s father and, if he had met him long ago, the encounter was so brief it was unmemorable. Angelica was left in the dark as to how she managed to land this job.

For Angelica, that information hurt personally because her father had been a pianist with an international reputation. Anyone in public relations would surely have heard of him, but, then, she reasoned, perhaps Yves Paradis-Dumond knew nothing about music and had never had music clients. Therefore, it was logical he did not follow the music world or musicians’ doings.

Then there was that mysterious friend of her father, Boris Soloviev, from many years ago. Once a music critic in Montreal, he had written a review for The Montreal Star of Angelica’s father’s performance of the Beethoven Piano Concerto in E Flat Major, the Emperor, with The Montreal Symphony Orchestra. He will remember me, her father said, and I will speak to him. He has a lot of friends in the publicity business. Surely he will be able to help you find a job if that is what you wish my dear daughter, though I want, with all my heart, for you to continue playing your cello. But I know a musician cannot be forced.

Thus, when this man walked into the offices of Paradis-Dumond long after Angelica had been hired, she was astonished. On several occasions he returned. When she asked Lisette about him, she had just said simply, He is old, old friend of M. Paradis-Dumond. Dat is all I know. So Angelica considered herself very fortunate that her father had been able to arrange an interview, through Boris Soloviev, with a man of Yves Paradis-Dumond’s stature, even if he didn’t remember her father.

The little she could discover through Lisette and Roger was that her boss, Yves Paradis-Dumond, though an intriguing man, had a baffling past. His personal life was shrouded in mystery, including the startling death of his young wife a few years ago. Some of Angelica’s co-workers said that notable Montrealers, as well as many lesser-known individuals, referred to Yves Dumond as a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, both a devil and a priest. The latter was one of the favorite epithets the French liked to apply to him. Some people were harsher and called him nefarious, suggesting he might even be linked to the Montreal mafia.

But the Press denied it and never failed to paint him in anything but flattering terms as a man of great public conscience who contributed handsomely to charitable organizations at which he was often the speaker. Despite the whispers, Yves Paradis-Dumond was looked upon as someone who could command the admiration of men and the slavish adulation of women.

Angelica was suddenly brought back sharply to reality with Keith’s last directive. Remember, training starts tomorrow night at 6:30 p. m sharp. Get into the habit of eating little and early or you won’t be able to zip up those beautiful figures when you get your dazzling costumes. See you then. Now I turn you over to your Bunny Mother, he finished as he slipped out the door, leaving all the girls whispering.

Immediately, Angelica began having doubts that she had done the right thing. In her head, her own little dialogue was carrying on all the time. She would have to tell Luis. She couldn’t keep anything from her beloved brother, almost like a twin. But what would he think? Morally wrong? Beneath her? No. She was certain he would be understanding. But would he feel he had to tell their parents and upset them when they had prepared her for an entirely different life? And, once they knew, what would they do? Call The Club, intervene with some powerful, rational argument that would make The Club terminate her employment. Whatever they would do, it would be clever, and very hard to challenge. She scolded herself that she should still feel her parents’ views had any weight. But she knew them. Especially her mother. They might even enlist the aid of some other individual, one she wouldn’t suspect, to bring her to her senses. That is, bring her back to music. And then there was Mitch, always Mitch. He’d probably break off with her. Then she’d be alone in Montreal without any friends. A state she did not want to be in.

Angelica silenced her mind as she followed the Bunny Mother.

Chapter 2

Bunny Mother, Heintz 57 and Tits ‘n’Ass

B irgit, Angelica and the other girls trailed after the Bunny Mother who took them on a tour of The Club, showing them the four rooms which would later be expanded to five.

The bottom floor was the Playmate Bar with a superb stereophonic sound system and succulent London Broil. A quiet and intimate setting, it was actually the basement of Playboy’s old historic house, the walls decorated with sleek posters of beautiful Centrefold girls. On the second level was the Living Room, comfortably and beautifully appointed with the rustic simplicity of exposed, original pine beams and brick walls of a once grand old pre-Confederation French house. There were intimate booths with soft leather seats and the flattering warmth of candlelight. It boasted a bounteous buffet, a swinging bar built around the grand piano and a jazz trio that played into the wee small hours of the morning.

The showrooms on the second and third floors, were the Playroom and the Penthouse, the glamorous venues of the stars. As well as the special attentive service from the Bunnies, there was special food, including filet mignon and sirloin steak, all for a dollar sixty-five. Here was the top entertainment of The Club. Three shows nightly and eight on Saturdays with famous comedy stars, singers, variety shows and vocal acts with a roster of celebrities. Here also were the private catered parties.

The top floor, the Penthouse, where the famous stars performed, was rich in Victorian splendor with red velvet curtains and rugs, pale blue walls hung with original water colors and oils, black leather chairs, marble topped tables and a small, intimate stage, just big enough, Angelica realized sadly, for a nine foot Steinway

When the girls had settled into this huge room, Yolanda said, The Penthouse is the zenith of The Club. Every girl wants to make it up here. Tips of $250 a night have been recorded regularly and, more times than you can imagine, even $500 and $1000, like Keith said. In our Clubs in the States we’ve had entertainers like Al Martino, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Roy Orbison, Humperdinck, Lisa Darcy, Dolly Parton, Andy Williams, Barbara Streisand, Liza Minelli, Jerry Lewis and Ann-Margaret. Yolanda rhymed this off with great flair and pride. And we are expecting all those stars and more in Canada plus our own Shirley Harmer, Ann Murray and Bob Goulet. The list of the famous stars who will be favoring our establishment is endless. Bottom line: big stars mean big tips.

How long before we can get up there? a girl called Céline ventured cautiously.

That depends entirely on the girl, Yolanda answered sweetly. It’s fair game, strictly rotational. But you have to be fast and accurate. It’s the busiest of the three rooms and the darkest so it’s difficult to make change even though you carry a small flashlight. And there are plenty of distractions because of the performance taking place. I would say, on the average, in a new club such as ours, about six months. A girl should have learned the ropes by then. Now I want to show you how we put that glamorous costume together.

Maria handed Yolanda the black costume. Black for wickedness, Yolanda continued. She turned the costume inside out. You see this unique design. A bone-rimmed bra, stiff as steel, with pocket cups inside. For those not so generously endowed, there’s stuffing! The oldest trick in the book. There are lots of substitutes, from foam, to cotton batten to nylon stockings. Stuff the cup like this, she said, inserting a balled up nylon stocking. Maria fits your costume so tightly, it won’t fall out. You never need worry.

But I don’t think nylon stockings will work for a really flat chest, a girl called Twiggy protested ruefully. I mean when there’s nothing to prop up. That’s why I’m called Twiggy. Right? It’s just a nickname. Like the movie star. My real name’s Sylvie.

The Bunny Mother and all the girls broke cut laughing. We reserve the best stuffing for the last. And I assure you it will work and feels nice. She held up a huge, fluffy ball. The famous Playboy Bunny Tail, which is pinned to the derrière of your costume. Lots of uses for this. With these in your cups, you can go to a size 40 plus. Stuffing is a trick your grandmothers knew. No turkey stuffing mind you! You can’t dig it out and gobble it when you’re feeling hungry. We once had a girl who kept balled-up bread in her pockets. She whistled then. Of course she didn’t tell us or we would have hauled her off the floor and fed her. Yolanda took two bunny tails and asked the girl to come forward. Open your blouse, she said laughing joyously, and stuff these into your bra and lift your boobs on top. Twiggy looked embarrassed. Oh, all right," she said sheepishly. She turned aside and went into a corner so no one could see while she stuffed the bunny tails into the pockets of her bra. Giggling so much she couldn’t control herself, she walked around parading her cotton tail surgery.

Now you won’t be Bunny Twiggy anymore. You’ll be Bunny Sylvie. You’re reborn. Here, here. We’re all going to call you Bunny Sylvie from now on.

All the girls clapped. When everyone had settled down, Yolanda added, Bunny Tails are for the girl who wants the 38-40 cup size and has a 32. We call them Bunny Tales and she spelled it out. because a tale can be true or false, exaggerated or underplayed. Think of this as a little bit of magic. Your breasts, no matter what the size, will sit on top of the stuffing that acts like a platform. That’s the difference between our costume and Wonder Bra which has no ledge. With our costume, your boobs teeter wickedly on the edge, but they never fall off. The top’s just too tight."

Yolanda and all the girls went into fits of laughter again. You’ve all seen those old movies of the girls in long dresses, the Scarlet O’Haras, even in Shakespeare plays, with the women in tight costumes from the hips up, their breasts spilling out to attract the male. Way back then they knew about ledges and tits teetering on the edges. Again the girls dissolved into laughter. These pockets raise the breasts up and give the illusion of size and fullness like a silicone injection only not as false nor as drastic. I don’t want any of my Bunnies running out and getting that kind of treatment. I’m warning you. We care too much about you here. A silicone injection can get positively messy, having to be done repeatedly, and you may end up liquidating, literally, all your assets and ruining your health. Stick with what nature and God gave you.

But people will be able to tell it’s a big fat tale, Carmel said, spelling out the word as Yolanda had done, and, then there might be jokes. Maybe someone will try to pull them out. I just don’t think it’ll work either.

Yolanda looked serious then. That will never happen, she said. "That’s why we have Room Directors. Make friends with them. The girls always have their favorites. And, believe me, they come to your rescue any time. They love being the Knight in Shining Armor. Men who come here are respectful. In surveys done, 98 per cent of men, when asked how they thought of the Bunny Girls, responded that they were in awe of them, respected them, thought they were goddesses.

So stop worrying all you flat-chested cuties. Every girl seems to be obsessed with that part of her anatomy. And she shouldn’t be. Let me stress once and for all the unimportance of that feature. If you are generously endowed, fine, but a generous, happy smile is more an asset. Men, I assure you, are drawn to the smile first."

Oh, many of the girls protested in a good-natured way. We don’t have any proof of that.

You will, Yolanda answered. A long face turns clients away. Many of our keyholders ask where a particular Bunny is stationed and they return to her section all the time. An’ it ain’t the boobs, honey, that’s makin’ him come back. Big boobs with a scowl drive men away. And maybe earn you some names you don’t want Like slut or the big C word. The girls started laughing and couldn’t stop until Bunny Yolanda finally said, "Sh! There’s still more. If a client returns to your station or asks where you are, I can assure you that means bigger tips. Also, that person could own a modeling agency or a film studio in Hollywood. Young, fresh, happy - that’s what Playboy wants. Not a sagging mouth and big, floppy, sagging boobs to match.

We can all look more glamorous than we’ve ever looked in our lives. There isn’t a girl around who can’t look her best in this unique design. The idea alone is worth millions of dollars. The costume is cut, like an ordinary one piece bathing suit. It’s made out of shiny, heavy satin. You can have it cut as high as you like in the leg - within reason of course. And there are laces to tie it together. Some go right up to the waist, she said with a naughty wink. Little cuts at the top of each leg add even more length to your gam. In the front, you have to be careful in your cut. We don’t want any little furry bunnies, like I said, sticking out of their nests that the big bad rabbit can pounce on. The girls were beside themselves with giggling. Some girls shave and I recommend it to give that wonderful upside-down V that, again, makes those gams look longer. Your costume is all lined with whalebone to cinch in those waistlines, like the Scarlett O’Haras, the Southern belles of the deep South. And to prop up the property, Yolanda said with peals of laughter. It can almost stand up on its own," she added, giving