Birthday wishes in the Land of the Rising Sun

special to viewTop, Betty Bunch backstage at The Latin Quarter club in the Akasaki District in Japan, circa 1965. Right, Bunch before the show "May I Tempt You" begins. special to viewTop, Betty Bunch backstage at The Latin Quarter club in the Akasaki District in Japan, circa 1965. Right, Bunch before the show "May I Tempt You" begins.

In 1965, I lived at the glamorous PlayPen Apartments on Sierra Vista, famous for all built-in furniture, very high rent and a nude pool for the showgirls who couldn't get tan lines. I never set foot in that pool. I moved there to be close to my best friends Teresa and Len Howard, Len being "The Voice of Las Vegas" on radio and everybody's favorite DJ. I stood up at their wedding.

When I got the job going to Japan, I packed up my belongings for storage before going to L.A. for rehearsal. We left from Los Angeles on May 21, my birthday.

The flight to Japan was horrendously long. Eighteen hours with one brief hour stop in Honolulu, then back in the air. The darling stews celebrated my birthday with petit fours in a big pyramid circle on a round tray, with candles. The entire company, 30 strong, sang "Happy Birthday, Betty." It was fun and sweet, but I brooded for the rest of the trip. Except for the company manager, I was at 31, the oldest in the company. The girl on my left was 17 and had to get parental permission papers to make the trip. The girl across the aisle was 18. I think this was the start of my baby panic that became full blown that fall. I had been, like Scarlett, going to "think about that tomorrow" for years. I felt old and tired and I already knew everything there was to know about chorus dancing. The young girls always asked me about counts, placement, makeup, how to do your hair, etc. Not much challenge left for me.

The owners and bookers from our big, elegant nightclub, The Latin Quarter in the Akasaki District, met us with a two-dozen bouquet of American Beauty roses each and took us via charter bus directly to an afternoon cocktail party at the club. They served up champagne, heavy canapes and a jazz trio. Unfortunately, the food included raw chunks of bloody tuna, a delicacy that I found nauseating after an 18-hour flight, or any time for that matter! I still can't do sushi to this day. You had to see the blood dripping off the chins to understand. And the air of Tokyo smelled funny to me. I was told the cooking gas was different from ours, a propane or something, and it made the entire atmosphere, along with all that fish, smell not so good to me. It took about a week to get used to it.

My dear friend from a year at the Riviera, Gayle Ravese, and I taxied after the party to the New Otani Hotel, where Barry Ashton Productions, our employer, had made reservations. (By the way, Gayle is still a good friend, some 42 years later. She's still in Las Vegas, and owns an antiques shop). Our room in the hotel was miniature everything -- a condition we found ever-present the entire summer. Later, we moved to the Nikatsu Hotel in the Ginza, an older hotel with huge rooms, very homey and close to shopping. In fact, the Nikatsu basement had a great shopping area -- china, linens, clocks, chachkis. I bought a glass-domed clock to send home to mother and watched the man nail together a wooden box on the spot to ship it in.

But I learned to love the clever Japanese early that first morning. We woke up to discover it was raining, hard and steady, and we had to get to rehearsal. We ordered coffee and pineapple juice (having been clued that it was cheap and orange juice was canned and expensive). Shortly after it arrived, there was a gentle tap tap tap at the door. There stood a nice Japanese lady holding up six raincoats for us to choose from for $7 each, black, tan or gray. I wore that beautifully made, shiny black cotton coat for years and it doubled as an evening coat. Gayle bought one, too, as did nearly all the girls. Later on, we bought fabric and had suits made to measure. Tokyo has great tailors.

The second week we were there, who should show up ringside but Steve Parker, Parker San, himself (san is Japanese for Mr.). One of the boy dancers and three girls, besides myself, were in the Parker-Lee Productions show that never opened at the Aladdin. We knew Steve, Shirley MacLaine's husband, lived in Tokyo, but didn't realize that he would come see the new American show in town and recognize all of us. He sent word backstage asking "his dancers" to join him for a drink out front between shows. The others rushed to dress and go, jockeying to get to sit next to the charming and handsome Steve. I took my time freshening up and sauntered out to find Steve had saved the place next to him for me because I reminded him of Shirley, he said, which I still think of as one of the nicest things anybody has ever said to me. I'm a huge fan of hers. Actually, we are the same age (she's three weeks older), same height, same dancing background, same mother/teacher who wanted to be an actress herself. I now belong to the same church as she does, Science of Mind. (Now you can make fun of me, too.)

Steve showed up at the Latin Quarter about once a week after that first evening to take the five of us out for drinks and supper. He called a couple of times at the hotel to make sure I was available, once asking if we would all come out to the house after the last show for a party. Putting the boy dancer in the front with the driver still left five of us for the small Mercedes-Benz sedan backseat. This led to lots of giggles and Steve insisting I sit on his lap. It was a 45-minute ride out to the suburbs. (I was terrified I might toot).

It was a beautiful Japanese-style house, complete with a tranquil Zen Garden, which Steve showed me alone. We returned to the party (and) took my hand and said, "I want to show you something, shh, shh," and led me to the bedroom wing into his beautiful little sleeping daughter's room that was dimly lit with her nightlite. He was obviously so proud of their baby, who lived with him while Shirley traveled making movies. And the little girl was darling, 7 or 8 I guessed, blonde, pixie face, cuddling her dolly. We tiptoed back to the party. I was touched. (More baby panic?)

Once on our dark night, Steve asked me to dinner without the others and took me to the Friar's Club, a famous theatrical private club with branches all over the world.

Another time, at a restaurant with all six of us, we really had tons of food and drink. When presented with the complicated bill, Steve frowned and handed it to me, followed by a tossed coin purse stuffed full of large Japanese bills and said, "You take care of it, Betty." In Japan, men never bother with money or checks -- it's considered beneath them. Wives handle all that. I was very flattered. I never even got pinned in high school. Sigh.

We half-learned three shows in Los Angeles, each to be done for four weeks. Midsummer, we were in afternoon rehearsals for one of the alternate shows we would be putting on soon. I didn't mention to Steve that I was doing a solo turn in the new show, a barroom Gay Nineties song and dance, "May I Tempt You With a Big Red Rosy Apple" (Cause you're the apple of my eye, oh my!), in which I threw plastic red apples to the audience and called out silly remarks like "Run to the round-house, Sister, they can't corner you there!" I wore a scanty black lace corset chemise, black net hose, and black heels.

One afternoon, Steve showed up at rehearsal and came unglued when I did my little comedy act, saying, "Why didn't you tell me you were doing a solo? Why didn't you let me know? You're a star!" I was surprised to learn he was interested in my career.

When we talked about it, like that I had been a tap act in New Orleans between semesters at the University of Texas, he offered me a job at $1,000 a week ( a fortune) in his nightclub in Vietnam. He said I didn't have to strip, just wear scanty costumes and dance, nothing I would be uncomfortable doing. Saigon was still being bombed occasionally in 1965, and I chickened out. I should have done it. I'd be a wealthy woman today. Come to think of it, I am wealthy, because I'm happy with what I have. Steve Parker was a fabulous man. I certainly see what Miss MacLaine saw in him. I'm sorry it didn't work out for them. Or me.

Betty Bunch is a former dancer. Today, she works with the national Elderhostel Association. Contact her at betbun7@embarqmail.com.