Chapter 7
Even though I didn't know what Mr. Baljoni wanted to see me about, I was really excited all day at work. Even though I'd been out 'sick,' on the previous day, I told them that I had another appointment with Mr. Baljoni . . . actually my first, but why let them know? They all laughed and kidded me, telling me it was O.K. if I took off early, just as long as it resulted in another centerfold. Those dirty old men!
But, I always have to tell myself, if it wasn't for dirty old men, I'd never be where I am today.
The office in those days was in a rather seedy section of West Los Angeles, a factory district actually. This was before Donna Morris . . . and I'm not bragging when I say that. A guy who worked for Pussy up until a few years ago, told me that after the success associated with my layout, the office workers often referred to the company as B.D.M. (before Donna Morris) and A.D.M. (After). At least I was the girl associated with the first real success of the magazine, and it was a fact that Ralph Baljoni never forgot. His treatment of others was harsh, but I got off easy, even though I don't usually take that kind of crap off most people. If he'd have given me the ration of shit he gave others, however, I'd have never lasted there as long as I did. But somehow he treated me better, always remembering my contribution to that May, 1965 issue.
Of course, I knew nothing about all this when I pulled into the parking lot of Pussy. I was sort of disappointed at the surroundings, having fantasized it up to larger proportions, but then again. I had to remember that they had only started their attempt at class with the last issue. It was a couple of years before they really had caught on for good, taking over a large building on Sunset and opening the nightclubs that were never to be as successful as the houses that Hef built, but successes all the same.
I had made up my mind to be firm when it came to dealing with Ralph Baljoni. Even though I was a nothing, I knew that I could become someone if I played my cards right. I wasn't about to come on too strong, but at the same time, I didn't want to blow it by allowing myself to be pushed around.
At least they'd converted part of the inside of the building to look like an office, I thought as she marched down the cheap carpeting towards the big man's office. The rest of the building was given over to printing facilities, warehouse storage and so on, but this one portion was devoted to magazine layout, photo rooms, offices and the like.
The receptionist that greeted me looked like a hooker, I thought, as I was told to be seated in the lobby. She had big tits, but looked like a girl who'd been a pinup in the fifties and had gone downhill ever since. I made a pledge that this would never happen to me even if I went on to do more nude layouts or not.
After waiting for about five minutes, the receptionist told me that Mr. Baljoni would see her now. Mustering my courage, I walked past the receptionist and into the door of the inner sanctum, putting just a slight sway into my walk. I had worn my tightest miniskirt for the occasion, wanting to look as good as my centerfold had indicated.
"It's my Miss May," Ralph Baljoni greeted me in the overdone Hollywood style, bending down to kiss my hand, then offering me a seat next to his cluttered desk.
I had to draw in her breath to take the whole scene in. The office looked like it was lived in twenty-four hours a day. There were manuscripts, proposed covers, brown lines, nude photos, memos scattered everywhere. Over his desk, which faced a wall that was paneled in an inexpensive wood, there was a bulletin board that was covered with more of the same items that were strewn around the office and overflowing his desk. The bulletin board was so crammed that many of the pictures and memos were tacked to the paneled wall next to it, continuing it in an odd sort of way.
But it was Ralph Baljoni that struck me the hardest. He was dressed in mod clothing, which I felt unbefitting of a man well into his thirties as Ralph obviously was. This was before the time of the great youth explosion that found men in their sixties trying to dress and act like teenagers.
He wore a sort of mod hat of blue felt, not unlike the ones I'd seen English rock stars like John Lennon wear. The hat, I was later to find, was somewhat a trademark of Ralph's, and he usually never took it off, even when indoors. The real reason behind this was due to the fact that Ralph's hair was beginning to thin on the top, a fact he tried to hide.
But it wasn't merely his looks that struck me. It was mainly his manner, the clothing being merely the outer giveaway to his inner character. This was a man, I surmised, who really wanted to be a success in his own way, but didn't quite have the originality to pull it off. No matter how hard he tried, I could see, he would never really have class, could never be the number one man in his field. He'd have to settle with being number two, and that was what made him go to such outlandish extents to try and be different, although he was a failure at even this.
I was to constantly congratulate myself over the years at my perception at this first meeting. For no matter how Ralph Baljoni fleshed out before my eyes, his constant striving to be a number one man, hampered by a number two mind, was constantly to frustrate him in his efforts to take on Hefner's empire.
He was being quite friendly to me on this our first meeting, giving me a quick tour of the plant, telling me at least five times that this was nothing compared with what would happen in the future. Once back in his office, he made a couple of calls, calls I sensed he made because I was there . . . he didn't really need to make them, but he wanted to impress me. I was later to find out that he had flipped out over me when he'd seen my layouts, deciding that I was the girl to build his new magazine image upon. And yet, wanting to portray the swinging bachelor image that he'd set up for himself, he never could bring himself up to the human response level of wanting to take it any further than that. He would have been unable to deal with it if I had turned him down.
So began a strange relationship between myself and Ralph Baljoni. I can't really knock him since he gave me a start-who knows what I'd be doing today otherwise? But I couldn't really handle the way he dealt with people, always using them as objects that filled his magazines. Of course, I didn't know all that at the time, even with my hunches, and I was eager to do something very different with my life. This meeting with Ralph Baljoni gave me that chance.
He finally concluded whatever business it was on the phone, picked up his intercom and told his receptionist that she could go home. I could see it coming. What better test for a centerfold than to see if she'll ball in the flesh, once the staple comes out of her navel ?
"I guess you realize why I have you here today," he began, flipping a pencil nervously on top of his desk, not bothering to let me reply to his question. "Perhaps Herb told you . . . wasn't that his name, Herb? I guess he told you that we're going all out to be the best damned magazine in this field."
He really was intent about it, thumping up his points with his pencil.
"Anyway, we've had success beyond our wild-: est predictions with our new look. The month isn't even up and it looks like a sellout. A sellout! And we'd upped the print run by several hundred-thousand issues. That's, really something. Of course, our advanced planning had a lot to do with it, the new distribution setup, new advertisers. But I can't help but associate you with the success, Miss Mitchell. Our Miss May."
He leaned back in his chair with a big grin on his face.
"My name is Milsap."
"Not any more it isn't. Not if you're smart. The name Donna Morris is already etched in the hearts of our readers-we've even had mail on it, lots of it. Baby, if you stick with me, you'll be where you're going in a flash."
"That all depends on what you've got to offer," I told him as coolly as possible.
"What do you want to be, Doll? Don't tell me . . . a movie star, right?"
"Wrong."
He tapped his pencil faster and chewed on the mustache he wore at the time. I've seen him go through more changes during these many years -full beard, goatee, clean-shaven, long hair. At any rate, he was going through changes now in front of my eyes. I don't think he'd expected a girl to counter him so freely. Finally, he decided to try listening for a change, asking me what I was interested in. I told him about my interest in photography, exaggerating my qualifications slightly.
"Hmmmm, that's interesting," he answered.
I could see his mind clicking off quickly just like a computer. One thing I'll have to give him credit for-he knows the exploitation value of things, even if he puts it back into his one-dimensional framework.
"Well, I'll tell you what I had in mind," he went on. "That response to our first issue has been so tremendous that we'll be doubling our circulation in no time. Now a lot of people will associate you with our new image. At the same time, there will be a lot of new readers that we'll be picking up in the months to come. So to satisfy the old customers who want to see more of you, and at the same time to introduce you to the new audience, I want to run another feature of you to break in our December issue. We're really laying out a big issue for then."
I nodded, not wanting him to know how little I knew of the publishing industry, but I was surprised how far in advance they did things.
"We want to do this spread on you . . . not another centerfold, but one that shows you more as a person. They'll be nudes of course, but I want it to be more fleshed-out."
"Not for the kind of money I got the last time," I said firmly, my chance unfolding.
"Forget Herb. I'm not interested in what a freelancer pays you. We have a staff photographer, a really classy guy, who handles our special stuff. He even does about half of our centerfolds. The only reason we go to a freelancer is if he has a good reputation, one, or if he comes up with a girl who's really sensational. Like you, for instance. The minute your picture came across my desk, I knew that you had to be our Miss May."
And so Herb got lost in the shuffle. I've always heard that you have to step on at least one person on the way up, but it wasn't really my decision, but Ralph's. Still, I feel a bit guilty that I never even called him.
"Well, it all depends on what kind of deal you can offer me," I told him.
"Two-thousand O.K. with you?"
Two-thou ? I had to grip the chair to keep from falling over. This was better than I'd ever dreamed of. But if that was his first offer, I steeled myself and tried to hold out for a little more than that.
"But besides that," he continued when he didn't get a definite response from me, "I've got another offer for you to boot. Know the reason I can pay you that? Because I dig what you've done for us. I don't have to blow a fee on a photographer, so that goes to you. But I can see that you've got a head on your shoulders, that you don't want to be just another pretty body. Since we're expanding around here, I know that Jim, he's our photographer-great guy-can use an assistant. And when you started telling me about how you want to get into photography, I say to myself, Ralph, how about a girl?' Yeah, it would really look great, like in our feature of you. Maybe we can even work out another angle later on. Anyway, how about it? The two-grand for the shooting, and then say . . . a hundred and a half a week to work as our assistant photo editor. What do you say?"
Fuck, I couldn't believe it. This was more bread than I'd ever dreamed of. But the big thing would be that I'd actually get a chance to work in the field that I liked best.
"I'll have to give notice . . . " I began, barely able to contain the smile on my face.
"Fine-the sooner the better."
I was ecstatic. Even though this guy was weird, he'd given me a chance to learn the trade. He'd only done it as an angle to help sales, but still and all he did it.
"How about some dinner," he told me, getting up.
"I'd be delighted."
And so off we went in his zippy little sports car, my head still floating in the clouds. I was really surprised when he turned the car into a McDonald's though, thinking it was just a joke at first. But it was then that I began to see what a weird dude he really was, and what a tightwad. I didn't know that he would have had to pay a comparable male photo assistance more than he'd be paying me, but I'd find out all that later. Besides, I was new and this was a chance for experience. Yet Ralph could blow a few thousand dollars in a completely worthless direction, then turn around and skimp on pennies. My Big Mac was the first introduction to his strange economic system.
Still, I was ecstatic about it. I was sort of surprised when he headed back to the office after we'd eaten, figuring he'd want to take me to his place. But he didn't say a word, just drove right up to the parking lot next to my car and shut the engine off. As I opened the door, not sure if I was supposed to go or stay, he grabbed my arm.
"Don't you think you owe your new boss something?" he demanded casually.
"What?" I answered, confused by his abrupt manner.
"This," he said, whipping out his cock. "I need a blowjob. It's sort of a way of firming up our deal."
I was really shocked at the way he went about it. Right out here in a parking lot like this. He hadn't even wined me, although I guess the Big Mac was the dining part. That's the way he was though, never having outgrown the adolescent thing about cars and sex.
I'm never one to turn down a cock that's offered to me, though. I bent down and took it in my mouth, marveling at how long and slender it was. If this is the way it was to be, then I'd best adjust to it.
He pumped at the base of his cock as I took it into my mouth and started sucking. It stiffened quickly, and I ran my puckered lips farther down the shaft, pumping my head up and down. I moved my hand down to the base of the cock, brushing his aside, and got to pumping it in a masturbatory motion, my head still jerking up and down on his prick.
Man, this guy must live in the fantasy world of the books he puts out, I thought, while blowing him. He didn't know any of the social graces. It had all been so sudden, that I hadn't really had a chance to get worked-up myself when he tightened up and blew his rocks off inside my mouth.
After a quick cleanup, he was away into the night, making me wonder what kind of man I'd agreed to work for. Still and all, I decided as I flew through the streets to my apartment, it couldn't be all that bad. Somehow I'd make it good.