Archives for : MISTRESS

Marilyn Monroe (June 1, 1926 – August 5, 1962)

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On this date in 1962, Hollywood star Marilyn Monroe was found dead at the age of 36yrs old.

New York, August 5

Marilyn Monroe was found dead in bed this morning in her home in Hollywood, only a physical mile or two, but a social universe, away from the place where she was born 36 years ago as Norma Jean Baker. She died with a row of medicines and an empty bottle of barbiturates at her elbow.

These stony sentences, which read like the epitaph of a Raymond Chandler victim, will confirm for too many millions of movie fans the usual melodrama of a humble girl, cursed by physical beauty, to be dazed and doomed by the fame that was too much for her. For Americans, the last chapter was written on the weekend that a respectable national picture magazine printed for the delectation of her troubled fans a confessional piece called “Marilyn Monroe pours out her soul.”

The plot of her early life is as seedy as anything in the pulp magazines, and to go into the details now would be as tasteless as prying into the clinical file of any other pretty woman whose beauty has crumbled overnight. It is enough, for summoning the necessary compassion, to recall her miserable parents, her being shuttled like a nuisance from foster home to orphanage, the subsequent knockabout years in a war factory, her short independence as a sailor’s wife, the unsuspected first rung of the ladder provided by a posing job for a nude calendar.

She talked easily about all this, when people had the gall to ask her, not as someone reconciled to a wretched childhood but as a wide-eyed outsider, an innocent as foreign to the subject under discussion as Chaplin is when he stands off and analyses the appeal of ” The Little Man.”

Then she wiggled briefly past the lecherous gaze of Louis Calhern in John Huston’s ” Asphalt Jungle,” and his appraising whinny echoed round the globe. Within two years she was the enthroned sexpot of the Western world. She completed the first phase of the American dream by marrying the immortal Joe Di Maggio, the loping hero of the New York Yankees; and the second phase by marrying Arthur Miller and so redeeming his suspect Americanism at the moment it was in question before a House committee.

To say that Marilyn Monroe was a charming, shrewd, and pathetic woman of a tragic integrity will sound as preposterous to the outsider as William Empson’s Freudian analysis of Alice in Wonderland. It is nevertheless true. We restrict the word “integrity” to people, either simple or complex, who have a strong sense of righteousness or, if they are public men, of self-righteousness. Yet it surely means no more than what it says: wholeness, being free to be spontaneous, without reck of consistency or moral appearances. It can be true of forlorn and bewildered people as of the disciplined and the solemn.

In this sense, Marilyn Monroe was all of a piece. She was confused, pathologically shy, a straw on the ocean of her compulsions (to pout, to crackwise, to love a stranger, to be six hours late or lock herself in a room). She was a sweet and humorous person increasingly terrified by the huge stereotype of herself she saw plastered all around her. The exploitation of this pneumatic, mocking, liquid-lipped goddess gave the world a simple picture of the Lorelei. She was about as much of a Lorelei as Bridget, the housemaid.

This orphan of the rootless City of the Angels at last could feel no other identity than the one she saw in the mirror: a baffled, honest girl forever haunted by the nightmare of herself, 60 feet tall and naked before a howling mob. She could never learn to acquire the lacquered shell of the prima donna or the armour of sophistication. So in the end she sought the ultimate oblivion, of which her chronic latecomings and desperate retreats to her room were token suicides.

Vstiviano:Secret Love Child?

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Donald Sterling vs. V Stiviano: Part I

untitledThe confessions of racist LA Clippers boss Donald Sterling can today be revealed in explosive NEW secret recordings obtained by MailOnline.

During a phone call with a close friend in the wake of the racism scandal that has rocked American basketball, Sterling speaks candidly about his true feelings towards his former girlfriend V. Stiviano.

The secret recordings were made by Sterling’s long time friend, a black hip hop artist called Maserati, who says he leaked the phone conversation, because, in his view, the Clippers boss crossed the line.

The tapes, recorded just four or five days after the scandal broke, paint a very different picture to that presented to CNN host Anderson Cooper in an interview on Monday night.

 

That was one of Donald Sterling, billionaire, the powerful and defiant owner of one of the most famous basketball teams in America.

Instead, the tapes present him as an old man, confused, shocked and ’embarrassed’ that his life’s work has brought so low by his weakness for a young woman who taped his private conversations as he was desperately trying to bed her.

He feels foolish that he fell for it, but still doesn’t accept that his views may be considered racist. Instead, he insists that he is the victim and that the wannabe model, 31, is the ‘most discriminatory person I have ever met’.

 

In the recording, which runs to more than an hour, he claims Stiviano confided in him that she wakes every morning ‘wishing I was white’.Sterling claims that such is her insecurity about her African-American roots that Stiviano bleaches her skin to appear pale and has vowed never to date a black man.He goes on to claim that the ‘vast majority’ of white people don’t think about color – but black people do.

Sterling, 81, reveals how Stiviano – a stunning brunette 50 years his junior – lured him into her trap and says he lavished her with millions of dollars as he tried to bed her.

 

Sterling also claims that Stiviano’s family call her ‘The Monster’ because she mistreats them and starves her younger sisters if they disobey her.

Sterling tells how his former lover tried to blackmail him by asking for money just weeks before the original damning recordings exposing the billionaire’s deep-rooted racism were leaked.

‘V IS THE RACIST NOT ME’

Sterling claims Stiviano is the true racist, not him, and she has deep-rooted issues with the black community. ‘She is the most discriminatory person I have ever met,’ Sterling told his friend.

Stiviano allegedly told him: ‘God made me black. I didn’t want to be black. All my brothers and sisters are Mexican. Do you know what it is like to wake up every morning and want to be white?’

He says Stiviano, who has a Mexican mother and an African-American father, hates her dark coloring so much that she bleaches her skin in a bid to appear more ‘white’.

‘She tried so hard to make her skin white,’ said Sterling. ‘She did it every night – her feet and her hands. She asked me “did I like black skin?” I really didn’t think about the color of her skin.’

Sterling clearly had other things on his mind during this exchange with his much younger girlfriend, ‘I’m just waiting to play with her,’ he told his friend.

She then told him: ‘I will never go with a black guy.’ Sterling added: ‘Then I said don’t bring any to the games. I’m so stupid…I was just jealous.’

Sterling also claimed mix-race Stiviano would often bemoan her upbringing as a ‘black’ child. Stiviano was raised in a rundown Latino area of San Antonio, Texas before moving to LA as a teenager.  

Sterling said: ‘She was really a fighter and it was always about race – about you know – that’s what she liked to talk about and how she had such a hard time as a black girl growing up in LA downtown.’

‘V LURED ME INTO A TRAP’

Sterling reveals how Stiviano snared him after leading him in to a private room in his LA Clippers office.

The pair were introduced at a Superbowl bash by former LA politician Nate Holden, an old acquaintance of Sterling’s who is aged 84. Former Oakland Raiders owner Al Davies was also in the group.

‘She came up to me and said “I couldn’t stop thinking about you for two months”…That will make anyone feel good. She said: “You need me”. When a girl says something like that you’re going to follow her for a long way’
 

Sterling says he remembers a pretty girl approaching him and showering him with flattery before saying: ‘I wanna be your friend’.

Two months later the excited billionaire welcomed Stiviano into his office at the LA Clippers.

Sterling told his friend: ‘She came up to me and said “I couldn’t stop thinking about you for two months”…That will make anyone feel good. She said: “You need me”. When a girl says something like that you’re going to follow her for a long way.

‘She says is there any privacy here in this building. Well I own the whole building so I said yeah. “Well can we go talk,” she said. “I wanna be your friend”. I said I don’t need any friends. And she said “yeah you need me”.

So she takes me into a room and she does her thing and then she says you wanna go for a walk I said OK and so I walk with her to her car and she says, “well what do you think, do you think you need a friend?”’  

‘V IS A MONSTER WHO IS MEAN TO HER FAMILY’

Sterling accuses Stiviano of treating her family with a ‘whip’.

He said the demanding woman orders her younger siblings around and ‘puts them in a room’.

He said: ‘If you talk to them people you’ll get all this information she’s just mean. She won’t feed the girls – her sisters – they go to bed without dinner. Unbelievable. She’s a monster, they call her “The Monster”. She’s just 30-years-old and she’s the only one that’s got money that she got from me – she never had it before.

‘And she was gonna wheel barrow over everybody – everybody – she told people where to sleep, where to go what to do and to drive her.’

Sterling says Stiviano’s family, who are from San Antonio, Texas, but originate from Mexico, are ‘fabulous’.

Here’s a poor girl a Mexican girl never had anything in her life never had food never had clothes and I mean she has a fabulous body and she loves to have sex and she’s just fun and I think what if I give her some money and what if I helped her. And what if I helped her family. I changed the whole family’s life.

V WAS ‘AN ANIMAL’ IN THE BEDROOM

Sterling claims stunning V. Stiviano ‘loves sex’ and was an ‘animal’ between the sheets and admits he paid a ‘high-price’ to sleep with her.

And he told his friend that he fears the stunning wannabe model may have saucy photos of them in bed together, which he worries may be leaked to the media.

‘I am an 80-year-old man and tried to make it with a girl. I did it before. It wasn’t easy. I’d say anything to her. She was an animal’

Sterling said: ‘I’m paying a very high price for trying to get a girl hot and make it with her. Everybody in the world wants to f*** her. Listen, I’m telling you she was hot. It took me maybe an hour to get there but it was hot. So why did I do it? Because I’m 80-years-old.’

Earlier in the conversation he admitted that he was ‘embarrassed’ that a man of his age was trying to bed a girl 50 years younger than him.

‘I am an 80-year-old man and tried to make it with a girl. I did it before. It wasn’t easy. I’d say anything to her. She was an animal.’

He added: ‘I wanted to help her as she never had food, never had clothes. She has a fabulous body and loves to have sex. What if I helped her and her family? I hate to admit it in front of my wife’.

Stormey Ramdhan: Death Row Tell-ALL

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Intro:

The book begins after a chance meeting during the summer of 1993, when Suge and I quickly began a courtship that would last for the next 20 years. In this book I will discuss the beginnings of our relationship as well as the sudden wealth, success, and the super stardom that came with knowing Suge and the artists who were putting out every hit from the Death Row Records catalogue of the early nineties.

As a naïve young woman who had lived an ordinary life until Suge became a part of it, there was more money and luxury around me than I had ever been accustomed to  during the first six months of knowing him. Our bond was instant, and Suge provided for me in every way possible.  I was young and wth us there was no real endgame– my entire  life plan until that fateful meeting had been to complete a degree in nursing  in North Carolina where I had a full scholarship. However,  absolutely nothing could prepare me for how much my life was going to change.

My main goal in finally telling my story is to inspire any young women who may currently find themselves in similar situations or were once in the same position as I was. In essence, Stormey: The Woman Behind The Most Feared Man In Hip Hop is a survivor story,  I believe this book will be an eye-opener for  young girls who may think they never have to worry because everything will be provided for them, I hope that upon learning about my story they will be able to realize the dangers in placing their entire livelihood in the hands of one person.

I also believe my story will resonate with the men and women who were involved in the West coast  rap scene at the same time I was, and had always wondered what occurred within the inner circle of  Death Row Records.

Finally I believe this book is my chance to humanize an image. Many people will relate to our story of unconditional love, innocence, lies, betrayal, jail, and ultimately abandonment, and I believe it’s a chance to display what the pressures of Hollywood can do to a family; how losing focus and bad decisions can end it all. This story will let everyone know how the downfall of a sole provider can affect the whole family, and show what people have to go through in putting the pieces of a family back together when it all falls down.

High Priced Escort: $20,000 a night!

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They have supermodel looks, an athlete’s stamina, the social skills of a diplomat — and sleep with the world’s wealthiest men. In the current Tatler Charlotte Edwardes meets London’s ‘top girls’

Dark red, you know the one, like blood. I forget the name. Anyway, he wants that on your toes. Light-pink manicure — fresh, innocent. So what’s next? Underwear, yes. He wants you in La Perla, off-white. Corsetry. Nothing whorish.”

Lauren [not her real name], 31, is mimicking her madam, putting on a breathy Parisian accent. “He’s a nice guy, veeery discreet. Remember: act like you know him. Packing, let’s see: a cocktail dress — black — whips, lube…”

She laughs, returning to her own voice, which has a faint Scandinavian lilt. “And that was my life for 10 years. I was  a high-class hooker. Call me a courtesan, call girl, escort, whatever. Basically I was a hooker. Just very well paid.” She looks at her ring, an enormous pear-shaped diamond. “Very well paid.”

There is an enduring fascination with illicit sex in high places. Perhaps it’s the access to some of the world’s richest, most powerful men, the secrets, the scandal, and, of course, the sexual prowess of these girls, which is riveting to us all.

Hollywood sirens like Marilyn Monroe (who made ****ographic films in her early career) and Joan Crawford (who worked in a strip club) reportedly sold sex too. And there was a media scramble to unmask the blogging call girl Belle de Jour (eventually revealed as Dr Brooke Magnanti), who was trading sex while studying for a PhD. She took her alluring nom de plume from the French novel of 1928, made into a film with Catherine Deneuve in 1967.

On condition of anonymity (“I don’t want my legs broken”), Lauren has agreed to talk about her life as a high-class prostitute. She earned £20,000 a night at her peak and £40,000 for a weekend.

“No one earns that money now,” she says. “Prices have gone down in the last five years. Changing times. My clients were on the Forbes list. Men who owned private islands, who were huge in property, international industry and oil. I’ve had dinner with royalty and major politicians. If you knew who! These clients were powerful, powerful men.’

Aristocrats? “No. They don’t pay. It’s new money. Having a hooker for them is nothing — like having butter on their bread. Sometimes their wives knew and turned a blind eye, sometimes they didn’t know.”

We are drinking tea in Lauren’s house in Chelsea. She lives with her husband, who was not a client — “I got lucky” — and who disapproves of her talking about her past.

She says her look — extraordinary pale hair, gas-blue eyes, peachy skin — was “the look everyone wanted. They don’t want skinny models, they want a little bit of …” she plumps her neat cleavage … “but nothing fake. No fake boobs, nails or eyelashes.”

Like others girls in her earnings bracket, Lauren is clever. She speaks Swedish, French and English. She used to read the Financial Times and The Economist to stay abreast of world events, as well as fashion magazines.

‘These clients want someone who can hold a conversation at a cocktail party or dinner — as well as everything else.”

Lauren says there are two major madams in London now, and they supply girls all over Europe and to the US. One is English — “big woman. Looks like a frog”. Lauren’s was French — “in her fifties, very elegant”.

She lives in north-west London and has dominated the industry for 20 years. She has “the best girls. They are seriously beautiful”.

How does her madam recruit? “She has people who work like model scouts, trawling clubs and bars and parties. And girls find her. Mostly they are models, strippers or dancers. Or students. They are smart and pretty. There are young actresses too. Sometimes recognisable faces.”

Lauren’s madam worked with a man who was “friendly with all the top model agencies. He’d pretend to be a Saudi prince and sleep with models. Then he’d tell them they could earn £10,000 a night and they’d say, ‘Oh really? Here’s my number’.”

At other times, he might proposition a pretty girl by offering large amounts of money for sex. “Ninety-nine per cent of the time she’ll tell him where to go. But the seed is planted. Next time she sees him, she might say, ‘Okay, tell me more’.”

Her madam would ask this same male friend to “test out” new girls. “He would report back and say, ‘She did this, she did that, she was good. I’d put her in the top bracket’. Or he’d say, ‘She’s a bit mediocre, so she might be a £1,000-a-night job as opposed to a £10,000’. There’s also a place in Paris she sends top girls to learn about sex — all the tricks. Paris is unbelievable for that stuff.”

Are the girls nervous? She laughs. “You can’t have nerves! These girls are tough. And there’s a numbness — it’s work. We don’t care about clients.”

Today, many of the girls are from Russia or Eastern Europe, she says, but others are from “all over — America, Brazil, South Africa, the Far East”.

The madam has around 100 girls on her books. “The very least you’ll be paying is £1,000 a night — those are the get-’em-in, get-’em-out service girls.” They’re booked for events like weekend shoots, or to sit in a nightclub making some sleazy guy look good. The mid-range are the majority — £5,000 a night upwards. Most of the mid-range guys aren’t mega-mega — they’re wealthy-banker league.”

Girls are sent “to etiquette classes, to learn how to sit, eat, which knife, fork, which glass for the white, for the red. It can’t be obvious to the other dinner guests that she’s a prostitute”.

She tells of a girl from a fabulous background who fell in love with a client. “He left his wife and three children for her.” Do many girls marry out of the game? “Not as many as you’d think,” she says. “It’s not Pretty Woman. But then again, a lot of society women started out this way.”

So what makes a £10,000–£20,000 girl? “Looks and training. We were professionals. We’d need to be funny, a laugh, party all night. Or cool and clever, discreet and well-mannered. You could never be fazed by power or money — or what you were asked to do.”

She says the top girls are “healthy”. “They go to the gym. They don’t do drugs, smoke or drink. Sometimes you’re up all night, so you need to look after yourself.”

The top 10 are “champion racehorses”. Others are “more hard-wearing”. “An absolutely stunning girl might not be so bright, or her English isn’t good. She’ll go to Arab clients. They want a beautiful girl they can lock in a room and bang, bang, bang.” She pauses. “But they pay well.”

Does that mean other clients treat girls well? “Yes, but…” She takes a deep breath. “A lot of these guys are seriously f***ed up. Their wives don’t do what they want. No woman in her sane mind would do half of it.”

She remembers being put in “an exceptionally expensive outfit so that the client could urinate on it”. One European royal “who has hookers all the time” is so rough that Lauren’s madam refuses to send her best girls. A famous film director offered to make Lauren famous “if I didn’t use a condom”. She refused.

“One guy — you definitely know his name — wanted to be a baby girl dressed as a ballerina. We had to smack him and put things up his bum.”

In addition to her fees (which were paid to the madam — “no money changes hands with the girl”), clients would take her shopping. “Getting jewellery is key. That’s an investment. The girls are big savers — they don’t spend their own money. If they start young — 18 is a good age — and do 10 to 12 years of hard work, they’re made.”

Retirement age is usually 28, “latest 30. They need to earn enough to put away for their future”. Lauren invested in property.

She says there’s an upper echelon of exclusive prostitutes who charge a premium for their celebrity. Lauren cites six, including a former Victoria’s Secret model who charged £25,000 an hour.

Through Lauren I meet Anna [not her real name], 24, who is still working as a prostitute. She wears Isabel Marant and Chanel. She’s braless under her white T-shirt but it doesn’t look tarty. She’s the kind of girl you might see hoicking her modelling portfolio around Paris.

She remembers the “cheap fake-fur coat” she was wearing when she stepped off the plane five years ago from Russia. Her modelling career failed because “there were a million girls like me at the agency. I couldn’t earn proper money”.

Anna refuses to discuss her madam but says she was introduced by another model. She’s been taken to Wimbledon, the Serpentine Party, Ibiza, Monaco and the Frieze Art Fair. Most of her clients are financiers — “hedge funders, CEOs, rich businessmen. I can make £5,000 a night. Sometimes £10,000 or £15,000 for a weekend.”

Clients want “everyone to think they’re going out with a model”.

“They don’t want you to dress like a hooker. You need to look natural. Don’t dress like their wives,” she smiles. “Although most of their wives try to dress like us.”

I ask Anna how she sees her future. “Maybe I’ll marry a rich man,” she says. “If not, I’ll start my own business.” Does she think she’ll ever fall in love? Have children? Have a normal life? “Maybe. I hope.” She shrugs. “It’s hard to think about it. Right now, I just want to make money.”

http://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/…r-9041116.html

Jackson Family Secres Part I By: Stacey Brown

After a chance meeting as a young fan, Stacy Brown became friends with Jermaine Jackson — and later the rest of the Jackson family, including Michael. He helped write some of their memoirs, traveled on their tours, and even gave them loans (never to be repaid). Here, for the first time, Stacy explain what it’s like to be friends with the strangest family in America.

Randy Jackson, the second-youngest of the storied musical dynasty, likes to call his family “the black Kennedys.”

Maybe. But they certainly weren’t as smart with their ­finances as the Kennedys.

Even before this month, when the family lost a $40 billion lawsuit against AEG over the death of Michael Jackson, they’ve struggled with debts. Especially when the family’s richest members, Michael and Janet, decided to cut off their seven other siblings and parents out of whim or spite.

particularly low point came in 2003. No money was coming in, few of them had actual jobs and ­Janet gave but one gift to her siblings: free meal cards to Baja Fresh, a fast-food chain with which she had an endorsement deal.

I visited Rebbie, the oldest of the Jackson kids, in Vegas, to work on a book. It was Baja Fresh for breakfast, lunch and dinner. From there I drove to Hayvenhurst, the family’s estate in Encino, Calif., to meet Katherine, the matriarch, and Jermaine.

And for 2¹/₂ weeks it was . . . Baja Fresh.

Finally, for the sake of my stomach, I offered to take Katherine to Trader Joe’s. She loaded the cart with groceries, and I ended up with the bill — $700.

There was no “thank you.” The money was never repaid. Whatever courtesies are shown to them are met with the air of “You did what you ought to. We are the Jacksons!”

‘Why No Black Boys?’

As a friend, ghostwriter and confidant of the Jackson family for nearly 25 years, people ask how I could put up with such behavior.

It wasn’t easy — but there’s something seductive about the ­craziness

I first met patriarch Joseph and his sons Jermaine, Jackie and Tito in 1984. The brothers had just played the Victory Tour at Giants Stadium. I was 16 and went to the show with my girlfriend, Ameena, who was in love with Michael.

After the show, we traveled to the Helmsley Palace Hotel, and amazingly we got to speak to the Jacksons in the lobby. Ameena gushed and handed them a letter for her idol.

A couple of years later, I was visiting a friend in a hospital in Canoga Park, Calif. Randomly, I ran into Jermaine. “I know you,” he said. To my shock, he remembered that night in New York in detail.

We spoke for a long time and ­exchanged numbers. Two weeks later, he called me and invited me to Hayvenhurst, the seven-bedroom mansion Michael paid for. It’s full of family memorabilia, and a guesthouse is filled with dolls and stuffed animals.

I later became a journalist and, because of the friendship, I was enlisted as writer on two books — “Rebbie Jackson: The First Jackson” and “Legacy: Surviving the Best and the Worse,” the latter with Jermaine.

But for every little kindness, like Jermaine remembering me as a fan in the crowd, there was plenty of selfishness and bizarre behavior.

The Jacksons have been described as dysfunctional, but that’s an understatement. They loathe each other, particularly Michael — for whom they felt varying degrees of jealousy and disgust. The King of Pop rarely wanted anything to do with them, which only ­increased the psychosis.

They’re not the Kennedys, Katherine’s longtime assistant, Janice Smith, said to me once. “They are more like the Corleone family. And Michael is Michael Corleone.”

To his parents, Joseph and Katherine, however, Michael could do no wrong.

One day, after the brothers were complaining about Michael not including them in his plans, Joseph exploded: “Y’all are lazy. He did all the work, and he figured out that if he were going to do all the work, why bother with your lazy asses?”

Katherine would defend Michael constantly — to a point.

Watching a news report that showed Michael boarding an airplane with a young boy, Katherine murmured: “Why is it that he’s always got to have those little white boys around? Why doesn’t he ever have little black boys with him?”

I said, “Well, there was a time that he had little Emmanuel Lewis, who played Webster.”

“That was just for show, for the cameras,” Katherine said. “Those boys he flies around with ain’t nothing but little Jews.”

The question I desperately wanted to ask but did not was, “Well, would you rather him ­molest little black boys?”

Secret Therapy

The dysfunction culminated in 2002. Michael had played a 30th-anniversary celebration the year before. He paid Marlon Brando $1  million to appear. He paid his brothers $1,100 each. Then he canceled a promised tour with the ­entire Jackson family.

Randy figured the family needed therapy. Janet paid for it, and once a week the whole clan would pile into SUVs for secret trips to Malibu.

Rebbie began by talking about the abuse she allegedly suffered as a child in Gary, Ind., at the hands of Joseph, and which her mother witnessed. “Mother would simply say, ‘Joe, leave her alone tonight,’ ” Rebbie said.

Jackie, the second oldest, yelled at her for “bringing up things in the past that just pull us apart.”

“We’re in therapy!” Rebbie cried.

They all complained about Michael until finally the therapist said it was best if they didn’t even think about him.

“Michael is not your family, in his mind,” the therapist told them during those clandestine sessions. “Elizabeth Taylor is his mom, and you guys should move on.”

That sent Katherine over the edge. She already hated Taylor — on visits to Neverland Ranch, Katherine would decide where she’d have her lunch or dinner depending upon whether or not Liz had ever used the spot.

“I’m not sitting where she sat,” Katherine would say. “She’s ­stolen my son away.”

Joseph felt the same way about Motown boss Berry Gordy, who signed the singing children to the label in the 1960s.

“Michael better realize, it’s my blood running through his veins,” the family patriarch said. “Mine and nobody else’s. I’m his father, Katie is his mother.”

The therapy sessions ended. No one really felt better.

During this period, Jermaine was trying desperately to get on Michael’s good side. The brothers tried to trick Michael into attending therapy by saying there was going to be a “family day.” Jermaine tipped him off that it was a ruse.

Every single time a scandal ­involving Jacko broke, there we were, Jermaine and I, hotfooting it to “The View” or some other talk show.

When Michael dangled his newly acquired 9-month-old son, Blanket, off a hotel-room balcony in November 2002, Jermaine and I went to “old reliable,” Larry King, to defend Michael’s actions.

“Nobody complains about [crocodile hunter] Steve Irwin, who has his small kids around those dangerous animals,” Jermaine said.

Following that appearance, Michael’s assistant called.

Michael wanted to speak with Jermaine. “Don’t do any more television, Jermaine. Tell the family no more. I have this huge, huge television special coming out in February that is going to shock the world and change ­everything,” Michael said.

Ironically, the “huge television special” turned out to be the horrifying Martin Bashir documentary “Living with Michael Jackson,” which ultimately led to the molestation charges.

I remember watching it with great anticipation with Jermaine, Joseph and Katherine, and the looks on their faces were priceless.

When Michael pointed out that he’d rather climb a tree than have sex, Joseph let out a very disapproving groan. When the young accuser leaned against Michael, the warm feelings in the room quickly turned to ice. They knew what was coming.

Katherine’s Letters

And they certainly weren’t surprised by it.

Way back in 1993, when the first public allegations of child molestation surfaced against Michael, sister La Toya accused the rest of her family of being “silent collaborators.”

She said Katherine had written letters to Michael in which she called him a “damn f – – – – t” and knew about payoffs, for as much as $1 million, made out to the parents of one of Michael’s victims.

Katherine and several of her children held a press conference outside Hayvenhurst to denounce La Toya. “She’s trying to sell her brother down the river,” Kath­erine said.

A decade later, Jermaine and I were hanging out at Hayvenhurst in the courtyard near the swimming pool. Katherine emerged from inside the house.

“Jermaine, they got all of our things,” she said. The family had lost a civil judgment over a failed concert tour, and creditors took a storage locker full of memorabilia, including gold records.

“They got the letters, too, and those canceled checks,” Kath­erine said.

Normally I didn’t ask questions, but I had to ask what she was talking about. “The letters,” she said, as if I were supposed to know.

Jermaine completed the sentence for her, “Those letters in which mother called Michael a ­f – – – – t.”

I was stunned. Ten years later, I realized that La Toya really did tell the truth.

“You tell a lie long enough, people will believe it’s true,” Michael once said.

It could be the Jackson motto.

Sheneka Adams: Tell All Book?

Whatever happened to Video Vixen Sheneka Adams tell-all book deal?

 

Groupie/jumpoff/video vixen Sheneka Adams is writing about her EXPLOITS with a bunch of famous men – including married NBA BALLER Carmelo Anthony. Yeah, LaLa’s husband.

Here’s is an excerpt (note – its not clear whether he was actually MARRIED to LaLa when this happened. But they were DEF together)
I wasn’t gonna come out that night for several reasons. For one I had just got my hair done and that ish was sooooo tight, but I sucked it up and went out anyway. I normally don’t go to clubs by myself, but tonight I was going to support my homies Furious ENT…they do this sexy ass party at Opera night club on Thursdays. Well anyway I got there and I was by myself so I stuck by the homies side all night because I wasn’t about to walk around all my lonsome looking crazy lol. I think there was a casting going on that night for this reality show but I wasn’t in no mood to be auditioning for anything so I threw back a couple of sex on the beache’s which is my favorite drink, and played the mood real close.

I was getting tired of following him so I told him that I was about to leave, but he insited that I come upstairs to where the real party was at…Mind you I was there alone but me being the fiesty VIRGO that I am I made party buddies quick. As I was dancing I saw him looking at me. I’m not gonna disclose his name for the sake of what I do with a certain person is not for the world to know WHO that person is but what was done lol. Well he kept eyeing me and at first I’m like what the fuck this lame ass ***** looking at? After looking at me for about 10 mins he asked me to walk over and talk to him. I did because I didn’t want to be a bitch. When I got over there he bent down and said, “Your name is Sheneka Adams right?” I was shocked as to how he knew that, considering the fact I didn’t even know who he was, until he told me that he played basketball and insisted that I guess who he was.

Me being me I don’t like to play games so I asked this chick who was standing around who this person was and when she told me, I almost spit my drink out. This guy is one of the top players in the NBA, well respected, and he knows my name. I was impressed then, but I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure. So we danced and drank and took a few pictures and all around me I could feel the envious eyes and hatred stares of the women wising they was in my place at the moment. “You wanna go hang out at my room?” he asked….”It’s to crazy in here.”

Carol Landis: Affair Of The Heart

The 60th anniversary of Carole Landis’ suicide is coming up, so I thought it would be interesting to post a Times photo of the crime scene. I noticed several unusual things right away, but just to make this a bit more interesting, take a look at this photo and tell me what you see. There is at least one detail that I find extremely odd. At right, Landis in a 1940 studio photo.

 

Landis was reportedly crushed when Harrison refused to divorce his wife for her; unable to cope any longer, she committed suicide in her Pacific Palisades home at 1465 Capri Drive by taking an overdose of Seconal.She had spent her final night alive with Harrison.

 

In June 1939, director-choreographer Busby Berkeley proposed to Landis, but later broke it off. In 1940 she married yacht broker Willis Hunt Jr., a man she called “sarcastic” and left after two months. Two years later, she met an Army Air Corps captain named Thomas Wallace in London, and married him in a church ceremony; they divorced a couple of years later. Landis wanted to have children but was unable to conceive due to endometriosis.

 

In 1945, Landis married Broadway producer W. Horace Schmidlapp. By 1948, her career was in decline and her marriage with Schmidlapp was collapsing. She entered into a romance with actor Rex Harrison, who was then married to actress Lilli Palmer

 

The next afternoon, Harrison and the maid discovered her on the bathroom floor. Harrison waited several hours before he called a doctor and the police. According to some sources, Landis left two suicide notes, one for her mother and the second for Harrison who instructed his lawyers to destroy it

 

.During a coroner’s inquest, Harrison denied knowing any motive for her suicide and told the coroner he did not know of the existence of a second suicide note.Landis’ official web site, which is owned by her family, has questioned the events of Landis’ death and the coroner’s ruling of suicide.

Carole Landis was interred in Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery in Glendale, California in plot 814 of the “Everlasting Love” section. Among the celebrities at her funeral were Cesar Romero, Van Johnson, and Pat O’Brien.Harrison attended with his wife.

Landis has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame,at 1765 Vine Street.

Photograph by the Los Angeles Times Detectives John M. Laymen, top and Emmett Jones examine the body of actress Carol Landis in a bathroom (one of four) at her home at 1465 Capri Drive, July 5, 1948

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Lil Kim: Happy Birthday!

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The Gambino Family: Generations Of Criminals

 

Gambino Crime Family

 

  • Boss: Domenico “Italian Dom/Greaseball/Dom from 18th Avenue” Cefalu
  • Underboss: Arnold “Zeke” Squitieri (Jailed)
  • Consigliere: Bartolomeo “Bobby/Bobby Glasses” Vernace (Jailed, Under Indictment)
  • New Jersey Faction Boss: Alphonse “Funzi” Sisca
  • Estimated Membership: About 260 Made Members.
  • Operates out of:

    • Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan, Long Island
    • Crews within the family:
      • Ozone Park Boys
        • Mainly in Queens and Long Island
      • DeMeo Crew
        • Mainly in Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan
        • Activities:
          • Narcotics trafficking, loan-sharking, gambling, extortion, car theft, union corruption, construction, internet fraud

Gambino

Oj Simpson: Happy Birthday!

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Jerry Hall: Happy Birthday!

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Florence Ballard: Happy 70th Birthday!

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Fantasy Barrino: Happy Birthday!

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Jody ” BabyDol” Gibson: Super Madam!

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When Hollywood madam Jody “Babydol” Gibson was busted eight years ago, word that police had seized her list of celebrity clients stirred intense curiosity in Hollywood — and not a little worry.

The much-anticipated disclosure of famous names never occurred, however. The evidence presented to the jury that convicted Gibson in 2000 of operating an international prostitution ring included phone books and other records in which, prosecutors said, she listed her customers. But authorities blacked out the names in publicly available court records.

Now, their identities are entering the public domain.

In “Secrets of a Hollywood Super Madam,” an autobiography due in bookstores Thursday, Gibson names two dozen celebrities she says patronized her call-girl service.

Many of the names also appear in her phone books, a payment log and other records from the case that have been unsealed by Los Angeles Superior Court and can now be viewed in unredacted form.

A review of the court file shows that Gibson listed actor Bruce Willis; former Dodgers Manager Tom Lasorda; Steve Jones, the Sex Pistols guitarist and KDLE-FM (103.1) radio jock; and the late film producer Don Simpson, among others.

Willis and Lasorda said through their lawyers that they never used Gibson’s service and had no idea why their names appeared in her records. They accused Gibson of exploiting their fame to boost her book sales.

“I have never heard of this woman and don’t know why she would accuse me of something like this,” Lasorda said in a statement issued by his attorney, Tony Capozzola. “But if she prints these lies, I intend to sue.”

Willis’ attorney, Marty Singer, said: “The story is a complete fabrication. [Willis] doesn’t know this woman. He’s never even spoken to her.”

A former lawyer for Simpson said the producer, who died in 1996, never patronized Gibson’s business.

Jones said he might have used Gibson’s escort service. “It’s possible,” he said. “I crossed paths with her back then. She was a madam, but if I remember right, she wanted to be a singer in a band.”

Authorities never prosecuted any of Gibson’s clients, and there is no independent evidence that the men she listed actually patronized her service.

A political figure whose name appears is Ben Barnes, a former lieutenant governor of Texas, who drew attention during the 2004 presidential campaign by saying that he helped a young George W. Bush enter the Air National Guard to avoid the Vietnam-era draft.

 

The Times reached Barnes by calling a cellphone number listed beside his name in Gibson’s records.

“I have never met or talked to this broad in my entire life,” Barnes said. He said he could not explain why his cellphone number was in her files.

Gibson’s “California Dreamin’ ” prostitution ring operated in 16 states and in Europe, employed porn stars and Playboy models, and charged customers as much as $3,000, according to trial testimony.

During her trial, prosecutors introduced her phone books and other records as evidence and called a vice officer to testify about their importance to the case. Police referred to the materials as Gibson’s “trick book.”

At the time, the district attorney’s office successfully fought efforts by The Times and other news organizations to obtain an unredacted version.

Checking court files last week, a reporter found that court officials had unsealed the records once Gibson’s legal appeals were exhausted.

The secrecy that surrounded the “trick book” during the trial prompted accusations that then-Dist. Atty. Gil Garcetti was shielding influential Angelenos from embarrassment.

Gibson’s files include two men who were major contributors to Garcetti’s 2000 reelection effort: Maurice Marciano, founder of Guess Inc.; and Steven Roth, producer of “Last Action Hero.”

“This is beyond belief,” Marciano said when asked for comment. “I can’t imagine how my name got mixed up in this. Who is she? That’s a very gutsy lie for someone to tell, don’t you think?”

A reporter reached Roth by calling a cellphone number in the trick book. Told that Gibson had listed him among her clients, Roth said, “Is that right?” and hung up.

Garcetti, now president of the Los Angeles Ethics Commission, said he had “absolutely zero recall of this case.”

Gibson, an aspiring singer who used the nicknames Babydol and Sasha, was convicted of three felony counts of pimping and sentenced to three years in prison. She served 22 months in the Central California Women’s Facility at Chowchilla, a maximum-security prison where she was battered by another inmate. She was released in 2002.

Her autobiography, published by Corona Books, will be available Thursday for downloading, chapter by chapter, at www.supermadamsecrets.com.

chuck.philips@latimes.com

The Game vs. Draya: Are They Still Sleeping Together?…….

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Diana Ross & Tracee Ellis Ross:Portafino Italy

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Sam Barbara & Bobby:You, Me, and She

sam and barbaraHere’s more about what Sam’s brothers did to Bobby after he married Barbara Cooke:

Bobby Womack admits in his autobiography “Midnight Mover,” that Sam Cooke’s family had a real problem with him marrying Sam’s widow (Barbara).  Especially, Sam’s brother, Charlie.  He told Womack, shortly after the marriage, “Man, anybody else could have married Sam’s wife, but you.  Sam loved you, man.” If you ever come to Chicago…The threat was left hanging in the air but I knew what it meant.

I figured if Charlie was going to do something, I wanted to get it over and done with. Barbara and I flew to Chicago.  We checked into the ‘Roberts Motel,’ and I called Charlie.  I told him, ‘I’m here.  We’re in 2112.’ In the motel room, Barbara busied herself loading bullets into a pistol.  Barbara had a mean streak in her.

Charlie showed up with his two brothers David and L.C.  I opened the door and Charlie punched me.  He beat me so bad-my whole head swelled up like a melon. My teeth came through my lip.  He beat me unconscious.  He even broke my jaw.  Barbara came out of the bathroom screaming.

She made a grab for the gun, she pointed it and pulled the trigger.  It just clicked (I had removed the bullets while she was in the bathroom, before our guests arrived).  Charlie and his brothers left.  The cops were called, when they arrived and saw my condition, they said Charlie would do time.  They arrested him later that evening but I declined to press charges.  He was released and Barbara and I went on with our lives.

The Heat: Girls Night Out!

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It’s hot up in here. Hit the like button if you can feel the #HEAT #HEAT #HEAT

Lionel Ritchie: Happy Birthday!

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