James Bond can't be stopped, and neither can the resurgence of interest in the most famous secret agent. This month, we offer a sneak peek at the newest Bond novel, by Raymond Benson. In the first of two installments from Zero Minus Ten (Putnam), 007 confronts a deadly Hong Kong triad and is given an order he can't refuse. To celebrate the tradition of pairing Bond with a beautiful woman, we put a stunner, Joey Heatherton, on our cover. For years she's been famous for being fabulous. This month, the saucy stage performer bares all in a grand pictorial. Guess all we had to do was ask.
Playboy (ISSN 0032-1478), April 1997, Volume 44, Number 4, Published monthly by Playboy, 680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscriptions: U.S. $29.97 for 12 issues Canada, $43.97 for 12 issues. All other foreign, $45 U.S. Currency only for new and renewal orders and change of address, send to Playboy subscriptions, P.O. Box 2007, Haplan, Iowa 51537-4007. Please allow 6-8 weeks for processing. For change of address, send new and old addresses and allow 45 days for change, Postmaster: send form 3579 to Playboy, P.O. Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 51537-4007. Advertising: New York; 730 Fifth Avenue, New York 10019 (212-261-5000); Chicago; 680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago 60611 (312-751-8000); West Coast SD Media, 2001 Wilshire Boulevard, Suite 200, Santa Monica, CA 90403 (310-264-7575); Southeast; Coleman & Bentz, Inc., 4651 Roswell Road NE, Atlanta GA 30342 (404-256-3800); Boston; Northeast Media sales, 8 Faneuil Hall Marketplace, Boston 02109 (617-973-5050). For subscription inquiries Call 800-999-4438.
For a Number of years now, girls have been playing punk rock better than boys. One of the foremost reasons is L7, which hasn't had much commercial success--despite disgusting behavior, bad attitude and vital rock and roll. Now that grunge has been officially declared kaput, L7 probably won't have commercial success with The Beauty Process: Triple Platinum (Slash/Reprise), either. But the band sure sounds good. With its crunchy riffs and raspy vocals, L7 hits a few of the right notes and all of the right emotions. And it has a fine drummer in Dee Plakas, who knows how to give this music the relentless drive it needs. Nobody is allowed to argue ever again that babes lack upper-body strength.
For the past decade Madonna has been shrewd, vulgar, outrageous, sensual, shrewd, vulnerable, imperious and shrewd. But with Evita (Warner Bros.) she's something new: stupid. And not because she made the portrayal of a fascist dictator's concubine the most precious ambition of her career. Rather, because as part of the bargain, she agreed to record a two-disc soundtrack by the world's worst composer, Andrew Lloyd Webber.
To my ear, the Boxing Gandhis already stand out as the best of funk's eclectic bands, even though Howard (Atlantic) is only the group's second album. They seamlessly use poetry, rock, R&B harmony, hip-hop beats and a variety of Latin accents. Funky Little Princess starts off like Alanis Morissette, but quickly adds the stronger groove necessary to convey the story of a teenage prostitute. Far From Over fuses Santana, P-Funk and Living Colour into a statement of American-immigrant facts of life.
The Ballad of the Skeleton (Mouth Music/Mercury) is the best record Allen Ginsberg, the Beat generation's most well-known poet, has made. The music is somewhere between Dylan's Blonde on Blonde and Patti Smith's Horses, thanks to superb backing by Lenny Kaye, Paul McCartney and David Mansfield. It demands to be played loud. That judgment applies to both of the song poems here, but the main event is the title track. Skeleton also is the closest Ginsberg has ever come to writing an actual song.
In Jerusalem, the opening track on his self-titled debut Dan Bern (Sony/Work), Bern comes up with a hook as unforgettable as it is cutting ("Maybe I don't love you all that much"). And he tells a story in which he turns out to be the Messiah, though in a peculiarly self-deprecating incarnation. At this point in his career, Bern is still digesting his influences (Dylan, Guthrie, Springsteen, Costello, Wainwright). What is unusual is his ability to sustain his audacity. His best songs (Estelle, Queen, King of the World, Too Late to Die Young) refuse to lie still; they're as funny as they are serious. If you can separate the tragic romances from the shaggy-dog stories, you're doing better than I am, but you're not having nearly as much fun as Bern.
With the Byrds, Roger McGuinn's chiming, 12-string guitar proved you could make Appalachian folk music rock. The band influenced Dylan and the Beatles. Later, artists such as Patti Smith, Tom Petty, R.E.M. and Live carried on the Byrds' folk-rock tradition. McGuinn's latest solo release, Live From Mars (Hollywood) is a brilliant one-man retrospective and musical autobiography. With songs gathered from live performances over a two-year period, this album takes the audience on an engaging journey from McGuinn's folkie days with Judy Collins through the Byrds. He plays Mr. Tambourine Man first in the pure folk style he learned from Dylan. Then he adds the "Beatle beat" that transformed the tune, and finishes with the final version that became the Byrds' first folk-rock hit. Turn! Turn! Turn!, Eight Miles High and other Byrds' classics get similar treatments. And the spoken bits and musical demos are tracked separately from the songs, so you can go directly to the music.
Erykah Badu, a resident of the black boho scene in Brooklyn's Fort Greene, is the latest and the most unusual entry in the growing stable of alternative R&B acts. At times, she sounds like Billie Holiday. That's a neat trick that many wannabe jazz divas have attempted. But Badu isn't covering Strange Fruit; she's singing over jazzy, hip-hop tracks that emphasize the sultry contours of her voice. On Baduism (Kedar/Universal), this young singer performs original material that taps jazz. The opening and closing track, Rimshot, uses the metaphor of a drummer hitting his snare rim to build a sassy groove. Next Lifetime, about a woman falling in love with a friend while still seeing her boyfriend, has an emotional hook that should make it Badu's standard. A laid-back cover of the Atlantic Starr evergreen Four Leaf Clover is surprisingly effective. Badu's debut puts a nice spin on softly sexy vocals. Hey, isn't this how Sade started?
Is Michael Franti's music really Food for tha Masses, as the song title from Spearhead's Chocolate Supa Highway (Capitol) puts it? This has been a problem for Franti since 1992, when his excellent and well-reviewed rap duo, Disposable Heroes of the Hipoprisy, failed to gain a large enough audience. But it's not a problem for funk fans, especially those who prefer their grooves with brains. Musically, Spearhead's second album is an impressive improvement on the band's debut. Its sound is thick and intoxicating, especially the remake of Bob Marley's Rebel Music that features the Jamaican's son Stephen. Franti's deep grunt gives off both resonance and rhythmic savvy. And there's no denying the man's gift for laying out the travails of those he's trying to talk to, especially on a painful song with the innocent title Gas Gauge.
For the 25 years he's recorded on Milestone, tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins has frustrated many who consider him our premiere living jazz musician. He's been accused of settling for inconsistent albums. Personally, I have enjoyed many of them. But I'm grateful for Milestone's two-CD retrospective Silver City, in which Rollins--with some advice from a frustrated admirer (Gary Giddins)--picks two-and-a-half hours of great performances to celebrate his silver anniversary at the label. Rollins is obviously a treasure.
Maybe it's just that the rhythms are more familiar than his usual Latin balladry, but Tango (Columbia) strikes these Yanqui ears as the most graceful Julio Iglesias album. It probably helps that Iglesias sings in Spanish, and that the music takes sex as both text and subtext. Or maybe I'm just a sucker for great accordion riffs.
The deluge of holiday releases is long over, but there is a Christmas album you can listen to 365 days a year. Ethan James is a master of the hurdy-gurdy, an ancient folk instrument that's part keyboard, part guitar and part bagpipe. On The Ancient Music of Christmas (Hannibal/ Rykodisc), he adds guitars, dulcimers and other exotic instruments to perform songs that are moody and modal yet have a celebratory feel. Think of it as trance music from the Middle Ages--or Enya unplugged. And unless you walk around the house humming Quem Pastores Laudavere, there's nary a Christmas chestnut in sight.
If you're curious about why Tibetan Buddhism has made such inroads in the West, check out Tibet: The Heart of Dharma (Ellipsis Arts), a combination CD and booklet that is considerably cheaper than going to Tibet. The CD records chants ranging in time from six to 17 minutes and is guaranteed to alter your brain waves more profoundly than anything in the current vogue for ambient or trance music.
Conductors nowadays rarely stay with one orchestra for long. With his 16 years as musical director of England's City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, Sir Simon Rattle is a remarkable exception. He has made the CBSO one of Europe's best orchestras. Two new releases show Rattle at his finest. His first recording with period instruments, Mozart's Così fan tutte (EMI), is supple and spontaneous. Rattle also demonstrates an affinity for Benjamin Britten's Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra (EMI). Start here if you want to learn about classical music.
Aside from looking seriously cool, Altec Lansing's ACS55 multimedia speakers enhance the realism of computer gaming with Dolby Surround Sound audio technology. The ACS55 system (shown here) combines two 12-watts-per-channel front speakers and a 40-watt subwoofer, all priced under $200. • The Perfect Connection, a unique product designed to improve the performance of audio and video components and computers, also extends battery life, according to its creator, XLO Electric Co. TPC is a chemically treated wipe (slightly larger than the kind you use to clean your hands after eating ribs) that reportedly penetrates base metal, removing and preventing corrosion-inducing oxidation. Wipe both mating contact surfaces--say, a cellular phone battery and its connectors--and your gear will be protected for several months. The price: about $1 per wipe. • Thanks to Pitney Bowes' Personal Post Office, home office professionals will never run out of postage again. Smaller than a typical ink-jet printer, this electronic postage metering system weighs your mail and holds up to $ 1000 in postage. When the meter runs out, you use the system's modem to call for refills, which are transferred online 24 hours a day. The price: $ 19.95 per month for the hardware plus a $50 startup fee that's credited toward your first round of postage. Postage is billed immediately following phone orders.
Crash (Fine Line) is the movie that either wowed or worried audiences at last year's Cannes Film Festival. Director David Cronenberg, a filmmaker wired for weirdness (Dead Ringer, Naked Lunch), strikes again with this startling adaptation of J.G. Ballard's 1973 novel about people sexually excited by car accidents, prosthetic devices and scar tissue. The erotic power of pain and violence is not something every viewer will respond to, despite some provocative performances. Deborah Unger and James Spader coolly portray Catherine and James, a married pair whom Cronenberg describes as "the archetypal postnuclear, post-technology couple." James gets it on with a widowed doctor (Holly Hunter) after a head-on collision that kills her husband. A badly bruised scientist named Vaughan (Elias Koteas) is the high priest of a cult that flocks to re-creations of famous car crashes--such as those that killed James Dean and Jayne Mansfield. Among his followers is Gabrielle (Rosanna Arrquette), a badly damaged fetishist in leg braces and a full-body support suit. All the characters in this eerily stylized psychodrama seem to speak in a whisper, while their obsessive sexual acts speak louder than words. [rating]2-1/2 bunnies[/rating]
Some years Academy Award voters have it tough. Consider 1939: Among the nominees for best picture were Stagecoach; Wuthering Heights. Goodbye, Mr. Chips; Mr, Smith The to Washington; Ninotchka and The Wizard of Oz. But the winner was Gone With the Wind. Other Oscar horse races:
"When my career's over," says Tom Arnold, "I'll sit down and watch all the videos in my collection." That may take some time--the actor claims to have more than 1000 tapes in his personal stash. His favorite? "I've always loved Houseboat  with Sophia Loren. She was such a great mom in that movie; I wanted her to be my mother so badly because mine wasn't with us." Arnold also likes anything by Peter Sellers--especially Being There--and a drinker's double feature: "One is Withnail & I, an English comedy about drunks; the other is Arthur, the American comedy about an English drunk. People criticize the subject matter, but I'm an alcoholic--seven years sober--and I think they put an honest spin on it." Cheers.
Home Vision has finally released Walkabout, Nicolas Roeg's 1971 solo directorial debut about two lost British children rescued in the Australian desert by an aboriginal boy. The special director's cut has been digitally remastered and letter boxed and includes footage omitted from the movie house release ($79.95). . . . It may not have the rare tintypes of The Civil War, or Baseball's cool grainy clips of the Babe, but Ken Burns' Thomas Jefferson (T.H.E.; $29.98) is another compelling history lesson from the master of the pan-scan-and-zoom documentary. The two-tape chronicle of the nation's third president tracks Jefferson's political career and the impact he had on 18th century America--and beyond.
If your hoops team isn't in the finals, check out NBA at 50 ($19.98), CBS/Fox' golden anniversary scrapbook of basketball. Included in the fast-breaking flashback: the building of Red Auerbach's Celtics dynasty; the Sixties face-off between Bill Russell and Wilt the Stilt; the arrival of Magic, Bird and Michael; and Spike Lee's spin on the playground choose-up game. Denzel Washington hosts.
Heaven's Gate (1980) came to stand for everything that was wrong with the movie industry. Over budget, overlong and overdone, the film sent director Michael Cimino (The Deer Hunter) spiraling off the A-list. But laser's another matter. The new disc version (MGM/UA/Image, $50) of the sprawling tale of Wyoming's Johnson County Wars restores the picture to its original 220-minute length, and it's a beaut. The transfer shows off Vilmos Zsigmond's breathtaking Panavision photography, and the cast--especially Jeff Bridges, Christopher Walken and Isabelle Huppert--holds up just fine.
Robert stone is a heavyweight champion of contemporary American fiction. Squarely in the Hemingway tradition, he embraces big themes and commands an array of prose styles that modulate from elegiac to electrifying. His new book of stories. Bear and His Daughter (Houghton Mifflin), reads more like a collection of fragments from novels-in-progress. But what marvelous fragments.
As a shrewd observer of this culture, you have probably noticed that American men have an extra bounce in their step as the month of April arrives. And why not? After all, April 15 is every man's favorite day because during that magical 24 hours, he gets to send approximately 40 percent of his yearly income to the Internal Revenue Service.
I produce copious amounts of precome, which used to be a source of great embarrassment. If I get the least bit aroused, the fluid gets all over my wife, all over me and all over whatever we're making love on. One evening we were having sex and my wife was begging me to touch her, but she wasn't very wet. To make matters worse, we had run out of lube. There, dripping down my leg, was the answer. I gathered some of my precome with my fingers and rubbed it on her clitoris. She loved it, and I have since tried several variations. For instance, I kneel high above her so she can get a good view of my cock, and with deliberate motions massage it until enough fluid has fallen on her breasts for me to massage her. By the time I reach for her clitoris she is arching her hips to meet me. She has even started masturbating after "milking" my erection. She also likes to lick the fluid off my fingers and penis. It is difficult to describe how exciting this all is, and the more excited I get the more fluid I produce. I have read a lot of sex books but have never seen anything about using precome in this manner. I pass this on to you and your readers with the hope that it will enhance someone else's sex life as well.--A.J., Columbus, Ohio
"I have had more than a few clients turn to me and say, 'I think no less of you,' or 'You are just as good a person as me.' Whoopee! It never occurred to them that they might be 'just as good a person' as I am. I was automatically the designated sinner, seductress, object of less value, woman of ill repute, ad nauseam, and they saw themselves as being in a position to grant me their seal of approval or forgiveness. What incredible gall."
"I like to make a differentiation between what I call pornographic sex and intimate sex. Porno sex is highly visual, picturesque: beautiful blow jobs, him coming over my face, me squatting over him, doing it on a fire escape. Part of the thrill is the scene you are projecting. Flexing your muscles or stretching your neck, or getting squirted on, creates incredible images that make you feel wonderful.
God bless the war on drugs. It has given us rhetorical overkill: politicians calling for drug users to be taken out and shot. Who can forget when former drug czar William Bennett endorsed the beheading of drug dealers?
Vincent Bugliosi's phone doesn't slop ringing. "Hard Copy," "Geraldo" and "Dateline" want him to speak about the O.J. Simpson civil trial. A national magazine wants him to write about it. Dozens of talkradio hosts from around the country want his comments. His publisher needs updates for the paperback edition of "Outrage," his best-selling book about the Simpson criminal trial, in which he details how a guilty man walked free. The president of Fox Television, as well as executives from CBS and Showtime, want to discuss show ideas with him. There are invitations from law firms and bar associations all over the country asking him to speak. His editor for the book he's writing about the assassination of President John F. Kennedy needs to know if he's still on schedule. His doctor and his dentist call, wondering if he's going to keep his appointments. His wife checks in to see if they're still on for dinner and a movie.
The Rolls-Royce drove south to Boundary Street and then east across the peninsula. The road soon merged with Prince Edward Road West and the Rolls turned off into the area known as Kowloon, not far from Kai Tak Airport. It pulled into a narrow, dingy alley and stopped. James Bond told the taxi driver to let him off at the corner, and he managed to get out without being seen.
The dentist's office takes some pretty bad knocks. After all, it is that creepy, antiseptic cell where, facing a gleaming array of pointy appliances, you're forced to endure procedures that may be better suited to the extraction of national security information. Ah, but that daunting recliner next to the small, bubbling sink also puts you front row-center for one of life's great underrated pleasures--the species known as the dental assistant.
For 13 years you've listened to Howard Stern. You've heard him mock, gripe, ridicule and sneer. You've found him gross, you've found him boring, you've even found him juvenile. But mostly he's made you laugh. You've heard him obsess about his penis and who he'd like to fuck. You've heard him rate the size of his colleague's breasts, and the general level of mendacity of everyone from the coffee boy to Kathie Lee Gifford. You've heard him spar with his wife, haggle with his father and throw himself into a Butt Bongo Fiesta. All this makes you think you know him, or at least know him well enough to be on edge. You're about to meet him.
The buzzword in consumer electronics these days is "convergence"--a marriage of television, computer and communication devices. While the ambitions are lofty, the action in the trenches is starting to look ugly. Computer and television interests are in a "war for the eyeballs" of the American consumer, suggests Andy Grove, chief executive officer of Intel. And studies back him up: Increased time spent in front of the computer means less time watching TV. Television makers have responded with new products that deliver some of the most appealing attributes of PCs. And computer makers have built in more of the entertainment value and ease of use that traditionally made television value and ease of use that traditionally made television the couch potato's best spud. Playing to both sides is the digital versatile disc, a new entertainment and information format that looks like a compact disc but does much more. Boasting a least seven (to 26) times the storage capacity of a CD or CD-ROM, the DVD uses its resources wisely. Movie discs have twice the clarity of VHS tape. Dolby Digital sound attacks you from all directions, improving analog Dolby Pro Logic Surround sound. (DVDs contain both Dobly Digital and Dolby Pro Logic tracks for those who have yet to upgrade.) With a DVD, you can switch picture formats with the push of a button, from pan-and-scan to wide-screen to letterbox. You can also change the language spoken (or subtitled), or rig the machine so your visiting grandmother will see only the PG chine so your visiting grandmother will see only the PG parts of an R-rated disc. All DVD players (priced $500 and up from Panasonic, Philips, RCA, Sony, Toshiba and others) spin conventional audio CDs too. And pioneer's DVL-700 and DVL-90 combination units ($100 and $1800, respectively) play both DVDs and audio discs plus the 12-inch laser video discs that have been the connoisseur's viewing choice for the past decade. Only a few dozen movie titles will be available this spring for the DVD's launch, while there are more than 8000 laser dicss to choose from. So Pioneer's new bridge products will se you through until DVD becomes the dominant disc format. A second version of this high-density format, DVD-ROM for computers, should penetrate homes much faster. This spring, Diamond Multimedia Systems and Creative Labs will introduce DVD-ROM upgrade kits priced between $500 and $1000. Built-in DVD-ROM drives (which also read current CD-ROMs at quad speeds) will be a $500 option in most computer lines by fall. To take advantage of DVD-ROM's upgraded audio and video, software developers Activision, Multicom and Tsunami have already reprogrammed such hits as Spycraft: The Great Game, Warren Miller's Shi World '97 and the submarine thriller Silent Steel. You'll also be able to play DVD movies and music software through your PC monitor, or feed the audio-video signal to your home-theater system.
Pennsylvania's Pocono Mountains, with their resort hotels, have the reputation of being a honeymoon paradise. Growing up there, Kelly Monaco knew another part of paradise--the great outdoors. With a home on the boundary of a state game preserve, Kelly and her four sisters put in plenty of time hiking, climbing trees, fishing, camping and swimming. They were taught to skate by their mother, a former Olympic hopeful and figure-skating instructor. They even helped their father, an avid hunter, build tree stands. As a result, Miss April developed into tip-top shape. And when Kelly did resort to working at a resort, she obtained a job as a lifeguard.
Acountry girl moved to the city and soon fell in love with a man she met at a party. After one late night out, they checked into a hotel. As she was about to climb into bed, she spotted a used condom on the floor. "Oh, yuck," she said.
Simply put, history not only repeats itself but also seems to do so at exactly the right moment. Here we are, rushing toward the millennium, and--just in time--a new age of sophisticated nightclubs, swank lounges and fine cocktails is in full swing. The drinking scene hasn't been this much fun since the Roaring Twenties. And now it's legal! In the Nineties, drinking establishments have opened faster than you can say "shaken, not stirred." There are more and more connoisseurs of single-malt scotches, small-batch bourbons, pure vodkas, well-aged rums, handcrafted cognacs and fine tequilas. If you prefer something tall and frosty, there are exceptional full-bodied brews to try. Or sample the latest campus craze--hard cider. At night, everybody's stepping out to funky lounges where the decor is decadent and the drinking is fun. Or if you would rather belly up to your own home bar, start with some of the must-have accoutrements pictured at right and the great new liquors pictured on the overleaf. We've sampled all six of the liquors and give them a big thumbs-up. Stocking the cheapest liquors in your home bar is tantamount to offering your guests a lukewarm manhattan in a jelly jar. In other words, go first-class in what you sip and serve. Furthermore, half the fun of playing host is displaying your mixological expertise. (For example, don't store your martini gin or vodka in the freezer. A martini tastes best when it has about 25 percent melted ice in it.) So grab a jigger and perfect your pour--the good times are back in style.
When a Playboy photographer asked Dolly Read if she'd like to pose for the May 1966 issue, she thought it was "a smashing good idea." A Bunny-in-training who was living at the Chicago Mansion, Dolly had been one of six British beauties flown to the U.S. in preparation for the opening of the London Playboy Club. The Bristol native was at the door when the first English keyholders arrived, but something about the States had caught her spirit and she jetted back across the Atlantic at the first opportunity. She's lived in Los Angeles ever since, where she has acted in movies (Beyond the Valley of the Dolls) and on TV. She also married comedian Dick Martin. Now it's mostly golf and looking after her poodle and three cats. "I'm happy," she says. "I'd love to go on exactly like this."
Grooming used to be simpler. You just shaved, slapped on some Old Spice or Aqua Velva, ran a comb through your hair and that was it. Ten minutes at the most. But things have changed. Now there are hundreds of men's grooming products to consider, and the whole process can be confusing. Is it necessary to dry your hair before adding gel? What's centella asiatica? Is Michael Jordan's new line of men's cosmetics a three-pointer or an air ball? To make your time in front of the mirror and under the shower count, we've combed through everything from extrabody hair goo to a mustache trimmer with one-handed speed shifting. And, of course, we've included advice on how to use the products you buy.
Casting for the tragic tale of 1980 Playmate of the Year Dorothy Stratten, director Bob Fosse picked Mariel Hemingway, who had campaigned vigorously for the part. The resultant Star 80 proved another testament to Stratten's unique sensuality--and to Hemingway's acting. In critiquing the film we noted, the killer's "evil does not seem as interesting to us as Dorothy's light." This shot, by Playboy veteran Mario Casilli, is from our January 1984 pictorial.
There are new rules to this game," she said, sauntering into the studio. "Show me what you got." We reached for this year's model, one with wide shoulders, a tapered waist and smooth lines. "You like?" we asked in our strongest editorial voice. "I suppose he'll do," she said. "He looks pretty enough in those Calvins. But what else can he wear besides boxers?" She was a long tall glass of Evian, this one. A bit chilly, too--as if she had jumped out of Vogue and onto our pages. So we brought out some clothes that count: lightweight suits that move well on the street, on the job and on the man. And the kind of jacket that makes a fashionable girl sit up and say, "Excuse me, Jean-Paul, there's a guy over there I'd like to meet." We had military support, too--a field jacket with a classic feel. As they say, all's fair in love and fashion, and nothing's as seriously casual as this year's khaki. "Hey, Brad Pitt," we shouted. "Try this on for size." Done. He glanced in the mirror. "Thanks, guys," he said. "I can take it from here." He turned to the fox on the runway. "You were wondering what I got? How about this?" he asked her. "It speaks for itself," she replied. "I think I'm falling in love," he said. "Really? Me too. Your change of clothes has given me a change of heart," she confessed. "No!" he said, a bit dense. "I meant my outfit. How did I ever get along without this jacket?" The camera's shutter was clicking, the film drive whirring. OK, we thought, this one's a wrap.
By the time TWA flight 800 exploded off the coast of Long Island this past summer, the travel office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation headquarters in Washington, D.C. had begun to look like a ticket counter at La Guardia Airport. A two-year wave of bombings and terrorist attacks had kept the FBI's explosives experts circling the globe, hopping from one pile of smoking rubble to the next. One day they were rummaging through the charred garage of Manhattan's World Trade Center, the next they were flying off to the Philippines to pick through clues left by a terrorist who plotted t blow up U.S.-owned airlines.
Sixties sex kitten, television tigress, Las Vegas headliner--when you're Joey Heatherton, the music never stops. Davenie Johanna Heatherton grew up with her name in lights. As a teen she was a sassy, gumchewing star on Broadway and in Hollywood, and she hasn't slowed down since. Stop having fun? As Joey herself would say, fahgeddaboutit. Flash back a few moons to Vegas in its heyday: sexy, a little sinful, with no flume rides. Frank's at the Sands, Dino's at the Riviera, Joey's headlining at Caesars. "The place was jumping. Electric. We'd do our shows, give our all knock out an audience, then get together after," she says. Dinner was at midnight. Joey was the brassiest dame at Sinatra's table, the one crooning and clowning as Frank, Dino and Sammy cheered. "I never laughed harder. Every night was new. I met great artists, great writers and great thieves." In a "dangerously exciting" life she worked and played with Richard Burton, Perry Como, Bob Fosse and other masters. As a favorite guest on Dean Martin's TV show she often sang in bed. "It worked so well they wanted me to do it every time. I'd be out there singing when a bed would roll up behind me. I don't mind being a sexpot, but please!" When Joey laughs she sounds like the Long Island girl she was not long ago. Today, still high-kicking, she splits her time between New York and Los Angeles. "This is my legacy," says Joey of her first Playboy appearance. "I wanted to look pretty--for the men in my life and for me." She was as bold as usual the day she auditioned for this starring role. "I was nervous, of course, going to see a playboy photographer. But I walked up to Steve Wayda and pulled up my shirt: Ta-daa!" The rest is this story: Joey in "a new kind of performance." That very day she went with Wayda into what Joey calls "the magic room," a private space at Playboy Studio West. She insisted on bringing her own music. Sinatra, of course. The tune was For Once in My Life. And Joey gave her all, as she does for every performance--this time for fans, friends and "my men," a select grup of swains who keep her datebook full. Who are they? She's not naming names, only occupations. "Writers, actors and dangerous men," says Joey with a sly smile. "I hope they like seeing this, because I want to make my men proud of me." After half a lifetime in the spotlight, what's a girl to do for an encore? Joey is finishing an autobiography. There may soon be a movie. She has a CD in the works. The best news of all may be plans for a new stage show, for if you want the Joey Heatherton experience, her full Joey de vivre, you have to see her in person. "I aways try to knock 'em out, every time out," Joey says. Hers is the old-fashioned kick-out-all-the-stops-and-leave-them-gasping-for-more sort of talent. See for yourself.
When Vanessa Williams won the Miss America title in 1983, the nation expected her to glide through the following year on parade floats, Bob Hope specials and her best behavior. But she was forced to resign ten months later amid a scandal involving nude photos that had been taken when she worked as a photographer's assistant.
Below is a list of retailers and manufacturers you can contact for information on where to find this month's merchandise. To buy the apparel and equipment shown on pages 20, 88-92, 108-111, 122-127 and 183, check the listings below to find the stores nearest you.
When silver designer John Hardy set out 20 years ago on a trip around the world, he never got past Bali. The island's beauty and traditions inspired him to settle and to begin training local artisans to craft raw silver into masculine jewelry and accessories. Today, the John Hardy Collection numbers more than 1000 different objects, ranging from a money clip and a gentleman's flask to a cigar ashtray and a corkscrew (all shown below). (You may remember Hardy's cigar tube and lighter from last December's Christmas Gift Guide.) Created almost entirely by one talented artist, each piece in the collection is masculine yet delicate, with its burnished silver patina and a variety of intricate details. The result? A powerful look and feel.
007--Our man James Bond is thrust into southern china under a false identity to steal a document from the formidable general wong. Will he get out alive? will Hong Kong survive? the conclusion of our bond doubleheader by Raymond Benson