The head of the Japanese mob came to one of our performances and afterwards he sent every member of the cast a box of cookies – a soy tasting concoction of rum-flavored cream, raisins and a dry pastry. No one actually ate any of them with the exception of Bill but Bill liked everything. Good or not, Pamela and I felt the generous gesture deserved a thank-you, so we fired off a couple of thank-notes. A week later and during a performance, Mr. O. and two of his Italian goons (standing close to 7 feet tall) arrived backstage. He was ushered into the backstage office by the crew and was presented with the customary tea. He asked to see both Pamela and me. When we arrived, he explained that he had always sent gifts to the foreign performers of the shows that he attended and that we were the first people in twenty years who had ever written him a not of thanks. With that he presented both of us with beautiful and large lighters. We thanked him profusely for his generosity and later after he left – Pamela again composed a letter of thanks. That was her mistake. The following week, Mr. O. arrived backstage yet again and again during a performance. This time his goons were making trips back and forth from the elevator, carrying bolts of silk. I watched their progress as I was running back and forth between the dressing room and the stage. Pamela’s desk was soon covered in a growing stack of fabric bolts. It appeared that Mr. O. had taken a shine to Pamela and he wanted to have a kimono made for her. Pamela tried to decline but he wouldn’t allow it. She finally chose a fabric and the kimono was delivered a few weeks later, complete with obi, slitted socks, shoes and all the other necessary accouterment. We figured that we had pretty much seen the last of Mr. O. but again we were wrong.
Soon after the company started its two-week tour, two new Japanese goons showed up. Mr. O. felt that we needed chaperones. Pamela and I didn’t want these guys to travel with us but we were outmaneuvered and soon I found myself traveling around the country with a new best friend. This man stuck to me like glue; sitting next to me on the bus, following me into the theatre, shadowing my every move. He spoke no English so our communication consisted of a lot of pointing and smiling. We arrived in Kyushu after an overnight train trip, got a few hours of sleep and headed to the theatre for the evening’s performance. After the show, we were taken to a small reception at the hotel that was hosted by a couple of Mr. O’s friends. Pamela was talking to a group of men and when she saw me, she hurried over. “We have a problem. They want us to go with them to a party in a geisha house. I explained that the dancers are simply too exhausted but the host is taking it like a slap in the face. He says that we have to go or he will loose face. He’s even offered a thousand dollars to be split among those of us who will go. I don’t know what to do.” After some discussion, it was decided that a small group would attend and that they would decline the money which would make everyone happy. It did.
Hayley was the tiniest and the cutest woman in the company – blond, angelic face. She also had the foulest mouth of anyone I have ever met. While none of the cast were prudes and the language backstage can get a bit colorful, Hayley’s language made all of us cringe. After six weeks of putting up with Hayley’s non-ending monologues of vulgarity, the women couldn’t take it any longer. We threw her out of our dressing room. Hayley joined the men in their dressing room who threw her back to us before the week was out. Stephanie and I were sitting in a restaurant having lunch when Hayley walked through with her usual verbal assault. Stephanie and I sighed and were soon in a deep discussion about the constant aggravation. “Discussing Hayley?” I looked over to see Buzz and John smiling at us. “Mind if we join you?” they asked. It was then that the four of us hatched a plot to pay Hayley back for our weeks of misery. All we had to do was to wait for the right moment to arise – which was our last show in Japan.
Now before I continue with this story, I need to explain that our Tokyo theatre was situated on the ninth floor of a building that also housed a department store and a flamenco nightclub. The elevator that we used was situated in the back of the building and it would take us to open-air fire escape on the eighth floor (where our dressing rooms were situated). Once on the fire escape, the door to the dressing rooms was on the left. The women’s dressing room was the next left-hand door. After the last number of the show and bows, everyone drifted back to the dressing rooms and to change into their street clothes and pack up. The moment that Hayley had stripped down, Mary opened our dressing room door and nodded to Buzz who was waiting outside. John, Phil and Buzz marched into the room, picked up the naked Hayley and carried her screaming into the hall and out onto the fire escape. The men dumped Hayley into the elevator and pressed “one”. We didn’t see Hayley for about half an hour. By the time she finally showed up (draped in a blanket), all of us were feeling a bit remorseful about going too far. Hayley was laughing (and swearing). She had managed to get herself out of the elevator on the seventh floor but what she didn’t know (and neither did we) was that the elevator did not open up onto the fire escape as it did on our floor. It opened directly into the backstage area of the flamenco club below and when the doors had opened, Hayley came face to face with the flamenco musicians who were on their break. Hayley told us that it was the best joke that anyone had played on her in years which made me wonder what those other casts had done to her.