Plug in the lie detector, boys. The infidelity inquisition could become the urinalysis of next year's Presidential campaign. Not only the candidates but their staffers would have to testify that they had never fooled around. People in sensitive positions--spies and the like--would be quizzed next, then airline pilots, bus drivers and, yes, even professional athletes. You think we're kidding? As noted in The Playboy Forum, the Government recently issued guidelines that would revoke security clearances for anyone who had practiced adultery, sodomy, group sex or wife swapping. Of course, this could be a brilliant tactic to cut military spending, eliminating the pay check of every soldier or sailor who had ever gotten lucky on a weekend pass.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), September 1987, Volume 34, Number 9. Published Monthly by Playboy, Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscriptions: In the United States and its possessions, $56 for 36 issues, $38 for 24 issues, $24 for 12 issues. Canada, $35 for 12 issues. Elsewhere, $35 (U.S. Currency) for 12 issues. Allow 45 days for new subscriptions and renewals. Change of address: Send both old and new addresses to Playboy. Postmaster: Send Form 3579 to Playboy, P.O. Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 51593-0222, and allow 45 days for change. Circulation: Jack Bernstein, Circulation Promotion Director. Advertising: New York: 747 Third Avenue, New York 10017; Chicago: 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago 60611; West Coast: Perkins, Fox & Perkins, 3205 Ocean Park Boulevard, Suite 100, Santa Monica, California 90405.
Empire (Random House), the latest addition to Gore Vidal's fictional history of patrician America, is a solid, hefty roast beef of a book, with just enough imaginative fat larding the historical meat to make it thoroughly succulent. Vidal has advanced his time frame to the gilded era beginning in 1898, when America has just won the Spanish-American War and President McKinley is deciding what to do with the spoils of victory, which include not only Cuba and Puerto Rico but the Philippines as well. This has been one of the least mythologized and least examined eras of American history, and Vidal has had the good fortune to arrive here just as it becomes unmistakably relevant to the turn of our own century. The events of 1898--1906 are as timely as the latest headlines from Manila.
One Smart-Aleck in The Lost Boys (Warner) describes the seaside town of Santa Carla, California, as "a pretty cool place ... if you're a vampire." Well, if you're young at heart, hip and into vampire movies, Boys is a pretty cool, splashy summertime spoof. Director Joel Schumacher appears to be slyly mocking Steven Spielberg's special-effects spectaculars, with expert assistance from cinematographer Michael (Taxi Driver, Raging Bull) Chapman, whose work here is even more dazzling than usual. Corey Haim and Jason Patric play two brothers who resettle in town after their mother's divorce (Oscar winner Dianne Wiest makes Mom a delightfully ditzy straight woman). The lads soon find life complicated by a motorcycle gang of bloodthirsty thugs led by Kiefer Sutherland. Jami Gertz is the batmen's bait to lure Patric into their high-flying brotherhood. "You're a creature of the night, Michael ... wait'll Mom hears about this!" cries Haim when he notes that his brother's mirror reflection is turning hazy. He's even more disturbed when his sibling starts to levitate. Such horror send-ups have been tried many times before, but Lost Boys--with a screenplay devilishly contrived to suggest The Brady Bunch vs. The Living Dead--leads the pack. [rating]3 bunnies[/rating]
Country-Rock veteran Chris Hillman, formerly of the Byrds, the Flying Burrito Brothers and Manassas, now leads the Desert Rose Band, which recently completed a fine new LP, "The Desert Rose Band." We asked him to assess "Hillbilly Deluxe," album number two from latter-day country rocker Dwight Yoakam.
Marla is definitely a big momma. More than six feet tall, she has the build of a wrestling queen. Even her breasts are muscular. I should know: We met in a martial-arts class and traded hip throws and body slams for a year.
I'm 24 and a female. About five years ago, my present boyfriend and I had a one-time sexual encounter with a woman. She was an I.V.-drug user at the time. I believe she also did some sexual favors on the side for extra money. What I need to find out is, what do you think are the chances of our having contracted AIDS from that one encounter? Although we haven't had any symptoms, I'm terrified, but my boyfriend is not worried about it. Do you recommend that we simply get a blood test?--Miss D. P., Virginia Beach, Virginia.
The Gary Hart affair has made America focus on extramarital sex. We have been bombarded with stories about Phi Beta Kappa bimbos, yacht trips to Bimini, rock-'n'-roll bandstand jams. The stories appeal to our guilt (half of all spouses have fooled around), to our prurient interest (half of all spouses would like to fool around) and to a deep-seated holier-than-thou delight in other people's misfortune (thank God we've never been caught).
Is your partner pro-choice? You'd better ask, for according to the results of an Institute of Humanistic Science questionnaire, your lover's views on abortion may offer greater insights into his or her values than you may have thought.
Imagine a psychiatrist giving someone a word-association test: Sex? Violation. Sex? Rape. Sex? An act of invasion and ownership undertaken in a mode of predation. Sex? Torture. What do you think the diagnosis would be? Not your idea of a good date?
Remember Ronald Reagan's promise that he was going to bring us less government? Well, we've got to hand it to the old man, because he's come through. Look at the Iran /Contra business. Reagan obviously made a good-faith effort there to bring us less government--as he turned foreign policy over to interested private parties.
A Federally funded study by the Chicago Comprehensive and Education AIDS Prevention Program has found a dramatic drop in the incidence of new infections among high-risk homosexuals. Dr. David Ostrow, scientific director of the program, attributes the drop to education about safe sex. He feels that "the message on condoms is getting across." If education continues and if this study "can be generalized around the country, it could stop the virus in its tracks." The study, conducted in 1984--1985, examined about 600 homosexual and bisexual men over a six-month period. Nearly five percent of those studied were infected with the AIDS virus. In a subsequent six-month study of 1000 men, the figure dropped to 0.3 percent.
Grim headlines on the nation's front pages bore bad news for Western spooks. In the ongoing duel of spies, the Soviet Union seemed to be dealing the United States an embarrassing, if not lethal, series of blows.
The eavesdropping war is a military-industrial complex all by itself. World-wide, hundreds of thousands of U.S. and Soviet agents man embassy listening posts, run naval vessels bristling with antennas or pilot aircraft and launch satellites. Their mission: to make sense of the voluminous amount of data that ricochets around the world, particularly within the city limits of Washington, D.C., and Moscow.
Dressed-up sweat shirts, oversized navy blazers under which to layer sweaters, antiqued-denim dusters--these are some of the timeless, tailored looks that will be the backbone of this year's collegiate wardrobe. Slacks in prewashed corduroy, khaki or wool plaids will be pleated; penny loafers in crocodile-textured leather will be teamed with heavyweight socks; there will be plenty of patches, insignias and coat-of-arms emblems emblazoned on denim-shirt fronts, varsity-jacket backs and patterned-sweater chests. Add Top Gun--type aviator and James Dean retro shades and you have a campus fashion scene that's witty as well as traditional. Have fun.
Photographer Helmut Newton is frequently credited with having introduced sex to fashion photography. Among other feats, he demonstrated the more playful aspects of leather for the unconventional crowd. His book White Women features a photo of a semiclad blonde straddling the prostrate man whom she's energetically suffocating with a pillow. Over the years, Newton has shot a number of subjects for Playboy--among them Nastassja Kinski--but never a Playmate. We were curious about how Newton would view a Playmate, but the question remained, which one? Finally, we settled upon the astounding crew of volunteer Playmates whom you'll see in a new light on the next few pages. And we do mean a new light. In most cases, the Playmates wore almost no make-up and their hairdos have a decidedly unstyled look. Says Newton, "I supervise pretty closely on everything I do; whether I work for Playboy or for Vogue, it makes no difference--I don't like much make-up. I want them to look like real women. Actually, I looked at the last Playmate Review, which showed some of my Playmates--I didn't recognize them." What did the German-born Newton, now based in Monte Carlo, think of the shooting? "I loved doing it. I've been a contributor to Playboy for a very long time and I've enjoyed every minute of it," says Newton, "but I'm not really a Playboy-type photographer. My pictures are often too, er, raunchy for Playboy." He had something different in mind for the Playmates: "What interested me was that most of them came from small provincial towns. They're not like big-city girls, and that's what I like about them. One was even a schoolteacher. I tried to make the shootings look all-American, very Californian. I placed the girls in all-American settings--back yards, a house trailer, Hef's screening room, all the things that attract me. It's like a B movie. I'm a B-movie freak, and some American life is like a B movie." But wait a minute--Hef's screening room? All-American? What about the shot of Christine Richters with Erich von Stroheim in uniform? "It was taken at Playboy Mansion West against a projection of the classic film La Grande Illusion. It's very Hollywood--everybody shows movies at home there," explains Newton. He claims that his Playmates are as varied in personality as are all small-town Americans, but he noticed one key similarity: "They all drive big, smashing cars. I like that very much." Like all great photographers, Newton shoots what he sees--which explains our opening shots, celebrating Barbara Edwards and a big, smashing American car.
<p>Little boys, as we all remember from our childhoods, do their best to be the bane of little girls' lives. One such mischievous young prankster will, however, go down in history as the prime reason Gwendolyn Hajek refused to wear dresses until she was nearly 15. In kindergarten, this ingenious lad glued mirrors onto the toes of his shoes, the better to see up Gwen's dress. "I was so embarrassed, I went home and told my mother, 'Don't ever make me wear a dress so boys can look up my skirt again!' and I didn't wear one again until high school." Even now, Gwen admits, she's a bit self-conscious about her body. But, fortunately, her last three jobs--as door-to-door insurance salesperson, wallpaper hanger and, currently, fire-risk surveyor for an insurance company--haven't required that she dress up. (As you can see in the photos above, we couldn't resist asking this lovely Louisianian to demonstrate how she might decorate our lives if she were still in the wallpapering business.)</p>
As President and Mrs. Reagan walked by a crowd of photographers toward the helicopter waiting on the White House grounds, a gust of wind blew Nancy's skirt above her waist. The President reached over to try to bring the billowing skirt under control. "Don't bother, honey," Nancy said. "It's your ass they want, not mine."
Pro Football is a team sport, not like those other games in which one ambidextrous seven-footer or a 20-year-old with a 95-mph fast ball can launch a mediocre team into greatness. No, in football, everybody--all 22 players (or is it 35 after you add in kickers and punters, special teams and situation players?)--makes the difference. Right? Wrong. This season, the skill of a surgeon and the recuperative powers of a certain "one of a kind" individual may well determine which N.F.C. team goes on to win the Big One.
Impact Ownership, Or It's My Ball, My Team and My Money
Not all of the National Football League's games are played on the field. In fact, the games that N.F.L. owners play off the field can make the gridiron action seem almost tame. Here is a team-by-team look at what the men--and woman--in charge have been up to lately.
Untangling a Washout from a crowning achievement in hair care is getting tougher. Capitalizing on men's growing interest in health, fashion and finishing touches, the industry is pumping an avalanche of new gels, thickeners, mousses and conditioners onto the market, coupled with unprecedented scientific discoveries regarding hair regrowth. There's never been such a need for sorting out the facts and fallacies about follicles. Here's a quick primer.
Race Drivers are acknowledged experts at high speeds on a track. But how do they drive on the street? Do they use their extraordinary talents to blast past unsuspecting motorists or do they mosey along like sheep, obeying the speed limit? To find out, we asked a panel of past and present hot shoes, including Danny Sullivan, Dan Gurney, Bobby Rahal and Kevin Cogan (see page 173 for a complete list of drivers and their credentials), to tell us how they drive to survive off the track.
They call themselves magicians for people who hate the genre. Vogue described their act as "a very clever mélange of performance art, rock irony, confrontational comedy and genuine magic," while The New York Times found a hint of "Pinteresque sadomasochism" in their work. We sent New York free-lancer Laura Fissinger to meet Penn Jillette, 32, the duo's larger half, who does most of the talking on stage, and the smaller, single-named Teller, 39. "They offered me tea, which is all they drink," she reports, "and as I was leaving, Teller said, 'Hey, this wasn't so bad. You actually had some good questions and apologized for the bad ones.' "
By now, everybody in the Western world is aware that James Bond is celebrating his silver anniversary in the movies with the release of The Living Daylights, starring a brand-new Bond, Timothy Dalton, and a brand-new Bond Beauty, Maryam d'Abo. If you're a newcomer to Playboy's readership, you may not realize that this magazine's relationship with the world's most famous secret agent dates back even further--to 27 years ago, when we published our first 007 thriller. Bond Beauties, too, have long been identified with Playboy; several, among them Kim Basinger and Lana Wood, came to producers' attention via our pages. All in all, there have been 17 James Bond movies, 15 of them made by Albert R. "Cubby" Broccoli, who, with Harry Saltzman, acquired film rights to the Ian Fleming novels in 1961. The rest, as they say, is history.
When Britain's best and brightest were feted at this year's Cannes Film Festival, blonde and bright Maryam d'Abo was seated at a gala banquet between Prince Charles and the evening's distinguished guest of honor, Sir Alec Guinness. Why Maryam? Well, not simply because she was born in England, raised in France. More to the point, the prince introduced her with appreciative accuracy as the lovely new star of The Living Daylights, latest in a quarter-century string of James Bond extravaganzas that have grossed well over a billion. Most were filmed in England. That's how the British Empire strikes back and brings a celestial body named D'Abo to dine with royalty on the Riviera. The journey from relative obscurity to woman-of-the-year celebrity has not been such a long one for 26-year-old Maryam. During a fast lunch at a swank London restaurant just prior to her departure for Cannes, she touched upon the highlights of a career that started around the age of five. "I was always rather shy but went to school in France, where my mother was a representative for UNICEF greeting cards. Somehow or other, I'd wind up in the spotlight as part of various promotions, on live TV with Danny Kaye or sitting on Peter Ustinov's knee." In person, she's alert, soft-spoken, with a mere trace of Continental accent, brown-eyed, usually wearing little or no make-up and the kind of casually chic army clothes that probably go for the price of a light armored tank. On stage, she has played Cyrano's Roxane in French and considers herself a serious actress. Thus, it follows that the former Bond leading lady she most admires is Diana (On Her Majesty's Secret Service) Rigg, who has remained a top star of movies, TV and theater since her performance as 007's only genuine bride. D'Abo sees herself in Living Daylights as a Bond belle with a difference. "Despite some notable exceptions, most of the previous Bond girls were like puppets. But it's 1987, and the girl I play is no longer just a sex object, one of those tits-and-bum characters. She's a real person, a musician. Also, she's actually the only woman in the picture Bond sleeps with. That's new, fidelity. These are different times."
"I guess you could say I was destined to be a show-off," confesses Jody Watley, 26, whose eponymous pop-and-soul album has moved up the charts in a brazen, show-offy style. Her destiny first surfaced when her father, a Gospel-singing evangelist with many show-business friends, took her to see his pal Jackie Wilson in concert. "I was standing in the wings, and Jackie brought me out to introduce me. Most kids would have stood there, but I started kicking and dancing and everything." But even though singing was a large part of her home life, Watley refused to join in--"I thought singing in public was silly," she says--and, instead, she chose to dance her way onto Soul Train, becoming a regular. Later, she became the dancing third of a band called Shalamar. When Shalamar split up in 1984, she moved to England to model and then returned to L.A. to do something silly, like sing in public. "When I joined Shalamar, it was just because of my dancing--nobody cared if I could sing, and I didn't care, either. I was just a dancer who could sing," says Watley. "Now I'm a singer who can dance."
Not every 26-year-old can boast that three major airlines combined their corporate muscle to drive him out of business--and failed. Eric Fuller can. A soft-spoken, smooth-talking San Diego entrepreneur, Fuller is the owner of The Coupon Bank, a three-year-old company that buys the free flight coupons that airlines award to their frequent fliers and then sells them to other travelers as discounted first-class tickets. While Fuller didn't invent the idea of coupon brokering (which airlines resent, to say the least, since anyone who buys from a broker isn't paying them full fare), he has lifted it to new heights with some good, old-fashioned, aggressive savvy. "People in the business, though they're bright, really didn't come from a business background. What we did was put in some classic marketing techniques that, for one reason or another, no one else was using: toll-free lines, heavy advertising, direct mail." Fuller succeeded so well that the airlines felt that they could no longer ignore the burgeoning gray market. They voided customers' tickets bought from brokers or made them transferable only to relatives with the same surname. When that didn't work, TWA, United and American sued The Coupon Bank--out of more than three dozen such firms--to prevent it from selling coupons. A year of legal wrangling resulted in an out-of-court settlement, which apparently hasn't stopped Fuller. "It's business as usual," he says. "They picked the wrong guy for that kind of bullying."
"It's like walking down the street and being hit on the head by a falling brick," says Chicago Lawyer Scott Turow of his recent success. Make that a solid-gold brick, since Turow's first novel, Presumed Innocent, is one of the summer's big books and director Sydney Pollack has bought the movie rights for $1,000,000. Add the hardcover, paperback and foreign-rights deals, and Turow, 38, easily stands to pocket a cool $2,000,000. All this for a 431 -page thriller about a deputy public prosecutor who is charged with the brutal murder of a beautiful female colleague with whom he once had an affair. The action does take place in a large Midwestern city, and Turow did write much of it during the eight years he was an Assistant U.S. Attorney in Chicago; but, he protests, "virtually none of it is autobiographical." Even though he has signed on as a partner at a Chicago law firm, he's still writing. "My first ambition was to be a writer," he admits.
Back in 1982, Steve DeVorelooked at his VCR and saw a machine that could do more than tape Dynasty or show rented Hitchcock. He had a vision--of weekend athletes turned into near pros. "It's revolution in learning," gushes DeVore, 36, of his, SyberVision tapes, based on the assumption that viewers can duplicate the examples of role models. DeVore hired the best role models he could--Al Geiberger and Patti Sheehan for golf, Jean-Claude Killy for skiing, Rod Carew for baseball, Stan Smith for tennis and Dave Peck for racquetball. Then he created video programs with the athletes hitting perfect shots or carving perfect turns, a process repeated in slow motion and computer graphics until the ideal mechanics of the sport blend into a music-accompanied hypnotic whole. The tapes have plenty of adherents--sales are estimated at $30,000,000 this year. Although DeVore consulted with scientists at Stanford University, the basis for SyberVision had percolated in his own mind for nearly 25 years. When he was two years old, DeVore was stricken with polio, and doctors predicted he'd be crippled for life. Within three years, he was walking normally, an achievement he credits to watching others perform the act of walking. "That was a catalytic event in my life," he says. "And it's been the foundation for everything that's followed."
When most of the characters in your series are big-time lawyers--with all the personality shortcomings known to the profession--how do you honor a sense of compassion? For the producers of L.A. Law, one answer is Susan Ruttan, who plays Roxanne, the loyal and slightly dowdy secretary who works for Arnie Becker, the womanizing divorce attorney. "Roxanne is there for the viewers as the eye, the observer in the office," says Ruttan. "She looks at these people and makes it apparent who they really are." Ruttan, 35, grew up in Oregon, and the closest she got to show business there was singing along to Lawrence Welk on TV. She married and moved to San Francisco; but when her husband was killed in a motorcycle accident, she found herself adrift, managing a bar for a while and taking a few acting classes. Her talent for acting was obvious, and after a short time in L.A., she landed her role as Roxanne, one of the most likable characters on the highly rated show. It wasn't until mild-mannered Roxanne put her job on the line for more money that Ruttan realized how popular she had become. "People would come up to me on the street and say they had asked for a raise, using the same words I did," she says, surprised. "Thank God they didn't get fired; I'd have felt terrible."
It wasn't too long ago that high tops were seen only on center court and running shoes were laced to only the fleet of foot. Then athletic shoes went uptown and became fashion statements, and now they're the favored footwear in singles bars across the land. So guess what? Cotton fleece is going the way of old canvas, and everybody's favorite knockabout wear, the sweat shirt, has become the hottest thing to hit the streets since long-necked beer bottles. However, the current fashion-oriented sweat shirts bear little resemblance to their baggy forefathers--as the photos on this page attest. And who's making these great fashion strides? Sport-shoe companies, such as Reebok and Adidas, of course. Hop to it.
Colorful and comfortable Biosoft Polymer hand and aerobic-fitness weights add punch to your workout in various pound-ages, from one half to one and one half. Both types are covered in washable terry available in a variety of hot colors, from Spenco Medical Corporation, Waco, Texas, $14 to $18 a pair, depending on the weight.