The Impossibility Of Being Christie Hefner
Haresh Shah
‘What do these conferences mean to us?’
It’s a legitimate question. I have gotten to the meeting room earlier as usual to make sure things are set before everyone else begins to stumble-in in another half an hour. Only other person fussing around is Mary (Nastos), and then there is Christie Hefner. The two of us standing in the middle of the conference room on the lower floor of The Pontchartrain Hotel, New Orleans’ old European charm. I have been organizing Playboy International Publishing’s conferences now for years and no one has ever asked me the question. It was something that was handed down to me when I was re-hired by Lee Hall ten years earlier in 1978. I hadn’t given any serious thought to the question Christie posed – now the president of Playboy Enterprises.
‘Well, it’s mainly for all our editions to come together with their counterparts from around the world and discuss the year since they met last and establish some understanding of what lay in the future. From these meetings some international projects of common interest have been born and accomplished. The Soccer World Cup pictorial in 1986, which we produced in the host country Mexico and the Miss Playboy International Beauty Pageant, broadcast live in Hong Kong.
‘More important is they offer a venue for everyone to come together and bond. Even though we do have a formal agenda, what is more important in my mind are the informal dinners and other social activities. For four nights and three days, they are all together 24/7, and the relationships formed and enthusiasm generated are priceless. They go home with a feeling of belonging to a close-knit global family with us at head of the table. But most of all, for me, this is our Thanksgiving, having them all under the same roof gives them a feeling of belonging. Something only parents can provide.’
Not exactly in the same words, but that was the gist of what I felt and said in answer to her question. It seemed to me that she was skeptical about reasons other than the ones I mentioned, but I could sense a trace of agreement and understanding about us being parents and the concept of Thanksgiving. My answer must have satisfied her, because I never heard anything more about the conferences as I continued doing them year after year I was with the company, and as I write this in 2014, twenty one years since I left, another conference was concluded in London last summer. And soon they would begin planning one for this year. Now completely organized by Mary.
But this simple question did put me on guard. She as the president of the company must have been thinking in terms of the cost-benefit ratio of +/- $60,000.- an average cost to us to host the event every year.
●●●
I first met Christie in February of 1977. She was then twenty four years old. Fresh out of school and in the process of learning the ropes of the business her father had built. Lee had set up luncheon for us during my short stop-over in Chicago, en-route to Mexico City.
Strange, I don’t remember where we had lunch, but must not have been that close by. Because what I remember is a spark of static cracking when she touched the back of my hand in a gesture of parting before getting off the cab. I don’t remember what we talked about or what we ate. What I remember is: I was quite taken by her. I saw her as a charming young woman. Attractive, still in process of shedding her baby fat. I perceived her to be simple, friendly, unpretentious and congenial. Warm and a likeable.
Five years later, at the age of 29, she was named president of PEI. In the meanwhile, I had re-joined the international publishing division as its Production Director. Depending on how the company was organized and re-organized over the next years, I was at least two, if not three rungs below Christie – leaving me not having to interact directly with her. Playboy was still headquartered at 919 N. Michigan Avenue in Playboy Building with its bold white PLAYBOY letters lighting up the Chicago sky up above the Drake Hotel’s outlined in red neon sign. Our offices there were spread out over several floors, our paths hardly ever crossed. Except at some company functions and at the international conferences, at which she would be our star attraction.
By then I had become the department head with the corporate title of Vice President. Even so, I never reported directly to her, it became inevitable that I attend many of the management meetings and be the voice of the International Publishing. Something I didn’t cherish, but it came with the territory. Up until then, I successfully operated under the radar, did my job happily and never had to worry about the politics of the corporate life. But no longer.
But that’s not why I am writing this. The thing is: how could anyone ever begin to write Playboy Stories sans Christie Hefner?
●●●
I got to know Christie bit-by-bit. Her corporate side was always on guard. Always watching her P’s and Q’s and jumping over every hurdle of tricky questions asked of her. Having graduated summa cum laude from the prestigious Brandeis University, she was equally as bright in her day-to-day dealings. Her answers were brilliant. Her spellbinding ability of public speaking would have even the most averse listener in the audience in awe, or like Bill (Stokkan) used to say, he would get goose bumps whenever he heard her speak. How can you not marvel at her saying something like my asset goes home in the elevator every night at five?
She would do it without notes and without any prompting. How else would you claim to be a feminist and get away with running Hugh M. Hefner’s empire with Playboy magazine as its flagship? How do you even begin to stand up and defend your father frolicking with women so young as to be his grand daughters? But she did, and did it with aplomb. Her well articulated answers un-armed the person asking those questions – if not to their satisfaction, to realize that to stay on the same track was futile. They saw something intimidating in her friendly but firm demeanor. So they would let it be for she commanded enough respect to have earned that.
I am not easily intimidated. But I must admit that I often felt uncomfortable in Christie’s presence for no apparent reason and whenever possible avoided any un-necessary encounter with her. So much so that it never even crossed my mind to invite her to the opening night dinner for the mini-conference of the selected editions I held at my home in Evanston. Soon as Gary (Cole) mentioned that Christie was quite miffed at not being invited, did I immediately realize what a faux pas I had committed, remembering that one of her most favorite Indian dishes was chickpeas curry? Not much I could do about it. Something I have always lamented.
Christie was an asset so invaluable to be ignored. It’s been said that if there were no Christie Hefner, Playboy Enterprises would have to invent her. For she was the public face of the PEI. Easily accessible and unpretentious. For what she signified, Christie lived just like anyone of us. She traveled by herself like the rest of us would, hail a cab off the street, dined in the neighborhood restaurants where you could run into her or have informal meeting over a lunch. She drove her own car in stark contrast to once being picked up by a limo from her school to bring her to the rendezvous with her dad. Every summer she would throw a party at her rooftop apartment in the heart of Chicago’s Gold Coast and invite her top managers and their companions. Let her hair down and be the most gracious hostess.
She was our secret weapon, the flesh and blood persona. To Hugh M. Hefner’s illusion, she was our reality. Often perceived of as an all business and no fun, she would let her hair down during my international conferences, be it at Playboy Club in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, or Corfu, Greece to New Orleans and Rio de Janeiro. She would get up early and not unlikely to be found in the meeting room while I’m testing the sound system in Lake Geneva and everyone still remembers fondly how she blended-in in New Orleans and swung to the crazy Laissez Faire Cajun Band – lifted up in the air by our German advertising director, late Wolfgang Robert and charm the skeptic Dutch during the sight-seeing boat ride in Amsterdam. The Dutch hosted a wonderful meal in her honor at… you guessed it: de Hoefslag.
When we launched the Chinese language edition in the spring of 1986 to come out of Hong Kong, our local publisher Albert Cheng, came up with the idea of beaming Christie Hefner live from Chicago to his press conference in Hong Kong. What’s today a child’s play, back in 1986 was an elaborate and expensive undertaking. Just the technicality of the multiple satellite uplinking and downlinking between downtown Chicago and the center of Hong Kong in itself was awe inspiring. And because of thirteen hours time difference she would have to be in the studio a little after three in the morning and be ready to greet the citizens of Hong Kong at seven in the evening their time. Fully aware of the possibility of hundreds of things going wrong. Fortunately, the transmission at both ends and in-between went well without a hitch. And the Chinese loved it. Probably even more so than had she been there personally. And Christie must have felt a pioneer of the sort for being able to demonstrate the dawn of the new technology. The first time I ever heard of the concept of pay per view, was from her. I must admit, I was quite skeptical about it. But she was our new generation.
I got to know her really up close when she so gracefully agreed to take a long trip to Taiwan to help us boost Playboy’s image. Even though I personally wasn’t totally convinced of the merits of dragging her along on a day long journey, each way; when I hesitatingly asked her, she said yes with I know how difficult it must have been for you to ask. And it was. But my Taiwanese partners felt strongly that her sheer presence would make all the difference.
At the personal level this gave us an opportunity to be together practically 24/7 for six days. During which she graced several meetings, held a press conference, partook in the celebration of the first anniversary of the edition, sat through twelve course Chinese meals, played tourist visiting Chaing Kai-shek Memorial, Taipei Concert Hall, National Palace Museum and even Taipei’s Huaxi Street Night Market popularly known as the Snake Alley. And one night after dinner, joined a group of us hit a Karaoke and let our talents shine. We posed together in the front of Madame Chaing Kai-shek Soong May-ling’s shiny black Cadillac. And she even photographed me in front of a Taiwanese Barber Shop.
The day we were to return to Chicago, the city of Taipei was a big mess. It’s the beginning of Qingming Festival – a long holiday weekend and the traffic arteries of the city are clogged to its limit and beyond. We’re on our way to the airport for our flight back home. Inbound, she had to travel by herself because I was flying in from Brazil. This is our first trip together and with the change of planes in San Francisco it would take us almost a whole day and a night.
With all the traffic to the airport moving at snail’s pace or not moving at all, it wasn’t starting out too well. While I’m not that easy to succumb to anxiety, especially over something that I have no control over, I could sense Christie getting a bit anxious as we were getting closer to the checking-in time. But with intermittent moving forward we make it to the airport and have checked in more or less on time. We’re standing in the very slow moving immigration line. Irritated, she is visibly nervous.
‘Don’t worry. They won’t leave without us.’ I tell her, but it’s not enough for her to stop looking at the ticking clock. As much as I have traveled, I know that once checked in, they just won’t leave without everyone on board – certainly not leaving behind two of their first class passengers. Even though flight is not yet listed as being delayed, with the mob scene as the Taipei International Airport is that afternoon, not many planes are likely to leave on time. Delayed by an hour or so wouldn’t make much difference, if any to our long haul flight.
To make matters worst, now that we’re in front of the line, I realize that missing from my passport is the departure slip that immigration had handed me upon my arrival. No departure slip, no departing. This makes her even more nervous watching me fumbling into all of my pockets and inside my briefcase and not finding it. I watch her waiting impatiently and irritatingly.
‘Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll catch up with you.’ I tell her. It’s already a few minutes past the departure time.
‘Are you sure?’ She doesn’t want to leave me stranded.
‘Positive. Please go ahead. I promise, the flight wouldn’t leave without me.’ Suddenly I am relaxed and in a playful mood. After all, an international airport is my ultimate stomping ground.
‘Well, okay. I’ll just do that.’ And she is gone.
Now with no one making me nervous, I dig into my pockets some more and out comes the departure slip. I know there are still many passengers booked on our flight waiting for the immigration clearance. I even pop into the duty free shop and take a leisurely walk to the departure gate. When I walk into the cabin, I see Christie well settled at the window seat. I arrange my carry on in the overhead bin and as I am about to sit down, the captain has picked up the microphone.
Ladies and gentlemen, captain speaking. We’re still waiting for many of our passengers in process of clearing the immigration. It may be another half an hour before we push back from the gate. But we should still arrive in San Francisco on time.
Now settled, I give Christie a sideway look. Didn’t I tell you? She is not amazed at my smugness. Soon the stewardess brings us flutes of champagne.
‘No thanks. I’ll have some sparkling water.’ She tries to hide her frown. But still!
‘Come on Christie. Please have champagne. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.’ I must have looked pitiful as I plead. It pleases me that she picks up a glass of champagne from the tray.
We have a very pleasant journey together and some very good talks. Our different visions for the future of my division, disagreements and all.
© Haresh Shah 2014
Illustration: Celia Rose Marks
SISTER SITE
OTHER PROFILES
FACE TO FACE WITH GABRIEL GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ
FACE TO FACE WITH HUGH M. HEFNER
Next Friday, May 2, 2014
YET TO BE DETERMINED
Because I am not sure which one of the two posts I am working on right now will be ready to go next week. Or as it often happens, something else will strike my fancy and a sudden inspiration would make it jump the line. Just wait and see.
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