The Amazing Randy Plays a Party

I Recognize Them All

Randy had never flown first class before. Normally, he used rental cars to move from one gig to the next. The hypnotist/comedian genuinely enjoyed traveling across America by road. Because he was his own tour manager, he could take his time. So, each year he altered the sequence and number of his performance dates to allow him to use different routes and see different parts of the country.

Randy's career wasn't about making more and more money. He had all the money he needed. It was a matter of lifestyle... and security. Randy was happy living alone. He loved nature and country life, his lifestyle comfortably and intentionally low key.

The issue of security was never very far from the hypnotist's thoughts. Very soon after he had realized the full extent of his incredible psychic gift and shared his secret with his parents, the three had discussed not only the responsibilities which were part and parcel of his power to influence and control others, but the fact that nobody else could ever know their full extent. One leak to the press and his lifestyle would consist of electrodes, needles and military guard.

The World's Greatest Stage Hypnotist was met at the airport by a limousine and a driver who held up a placard with "Mr. Baumgardner" written on it. Before he knew it, he was in the main portico of the Playboy Mansion being greeted by its owner who was dressed in his signature bathrobe and holding his pipe. Leaving the staff to take his luggage to his room, Hef offered his guest a tour. Randy followed politely as Hef led him to a wall filled with photos of the many great comedians who had either "played" the Mansion or stayed as guests.

"I thought you might like to see the kind of company you'll be joining," said Hef. "Over here's..."

"Hef," said Randy, "no need to tell me their names. I recognize them all," Randy said. "That's Sid Caesar next to Shelly Berman. After him, it's Jonathan Winters, Steve Allen, Groucho of course, and George Burns. Here's Mort Sahl, Lenny Bruce, Bob Newhart and Richard Pryor. That's Ernie Kovaks between Mae West and Phyllis Diller. That's Paul Winchell and Jimmy Durante flanking Carol Burnette. That's Senor Wences on the end next to Henny Youngman. I know them all. It's my job to know them and to know what makes them or made them so funny. Comedians study other comedians. Do you know, Hef, how Senor Wences got his stage name?

"How?" asked Hef.

"He got it off a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes. The coat of arms on every pack has the Latin phrase In Hoc Signo Vinces."

"Mind if I incorporate that into my tours for future guests?"

"By all means, just don't attribute it to me. Remember," he said lowering his voice to the conspiratorial level, "I was never here."

Poolside

It was a perfect southern California day, perfect clear blue skies, perfect temperature, perfect intermittent light winds. The Amazing Randy sat by the pool, which was, of course, populated by a bevy of "perfect 10s." Sun-tanned beauties splashed about, some tossing a beachball back and forth, others just floating on blow-up air mattresses and soaking up the sun. As he sat surveying the frolicking beauties, a beachball sailed past his head and into a flower bed behind his deck chair, barely missing a young gardener who was busy tending to the brilliant floral display.

Randy rose and went to retrieve the errant pool toy which had lodged itself in one of the colorful beds, squashing a half-dozen of the beautiful plants, many with broken stems, and showering the green foliage with red petals. Before he could reach the ball, the gardener grabbed it and threw it back into the pool. "Sorry, Michelle," said a bikini-clad redhead who caught the ball as it splashed to a rolling stop in the crystal-clear pool water. Michelle waved and got back to the business of beautifying the estate.

"Hi," said Randy. "These are beautiful dahlias. I'm sorry they got crushed." The young gardener stood up, wiped her brow on her white and black bunny logoed tee shirt, which, along with a broad-rimmed Panama hat, formed the upper half of her work clothes. Strands of golden hair leaked out beneath the brim and clung to her sweat-covered face. The athletically built gardener wore a black bikini bottom to finish her outfit. She removed her hat to mat her brow revealing a solid pile of yellow braids pinned together. "Don't worry," she said, "there are plenty more where these came from. I'll have the bed re-built in twenty minutes."

"I take it you have a greenhouse on the estate."

"Yup," she said, "it's over by the maintenance shed. You a gardener?"

"Yes and no," said Randy. "I just bought a property in Northern Michigan and I'm putting one in. It's good-sized, but nothing anywhere near the size of the plantings here. Your work is splendid. I assume that the grass is mowed and cared-for by someone else."

"No, not really. Antonia and I pretty much handle all of the day-to-day work. Any super-heavy digging we contract out."

"Interesting work clothes," said the hypnotist. That grass looks as soft as cotton, not too hard on the knees, is it?"

"Hef prefers everyone who works at the estate be dressed in clothes which reinforce the brand."

"It looks to me like that policy doesn't stop at attire. Why aren't you in the pool?"

"You're new here..."

"Mike," he said holding out his hand to shake.

Michelle took off her dirty gardening glove and shook.

Immediately, Randy dug deep into Michelle's mind, probing for information. She was twenty-six, unattached, and happy. There were no obvious signs of the deep-seeded trauma of mental illness. Most importantly, he discovered that he was not the only one checking out the person at the other end of the handshake.

Randy, still in his thirties, was no matinee idol. His looks were decidedly "average." Michelle's were not. Her sweat-soaked tee shirt clung close, defining a body with few, if any flaws that he could see. Her face was freckled and pretty, tomboyish under the golden braids.

"That sun's awfully bright. How do you avoid getting a 'farmer's tan'?" he asked.

"Easy," said Michelle, "like this." Michelle reached down and drew her sweaty tee-shirt over her head revealing a matching, though decidedly un-workmanlike bikini top.

"What brings you to the Mansion, Mike?"

"I won a contest at work. I'm a liquor distributor from Michigan. My parent company spends a lot of money advertising in Playboy and I'm their best salesman. So, here I am."

Michelle said, "Here comes the boss. Gotta go." She slung her sweaty shirt over her shoulder and made for the greenhouse.

Hef came up to Randy and asked, "Ready for tonight's debut?"

"Oh yeah, looking forward to it."

"Getting friendly with the help are we?" asked the millionaire publisher, smiling.

"She's very friendly and we share a common interest in gardening. The gardens here are very impressive. I hope I haven't done anything against the house rules."

"Not at all, Randy."

"Hef," said the hypnotist, "Please call me 'Mike' when I'm in my civvies. I'm a liquor distributor from Michigan, here because I won a contest at work, OK?"

"Sure, Mike. See you tonight. You go on at eight sharp."

"I'll be there."

Sonny Drops His Drawers

The assembled guests chatted away while they waited for the night's entertainment. There were at least two girls, each a remarkable beauty, for each of the male guests. The young women, including a number of Playmates of the Month, were spread around the room. Some sat on the arms of overstuffed chairs, mostly occupied by the men, or at their feet. Others sat together in small groups on the floor, some in skimpy negligees or 'revealing' peignoirs. Scanning the room, Randy recognized James Caan, the actor. Two of his favorite comedians, Rodney Dangerfield, and "Professor" Irwin Corey, "The World's Foremost Authority," sat together, blending in with the crowd.

Hef took the microphone. "Honored guests," he said, "as you know, the Playboy Mansion takes great pride in showcasing new comedic talent. Tonight, I am especially proud to introduce 'The World's Greatest Stage Hypnotist', The Amazing Randy!"

Randy, in his signature top hat and tails, strode onto the makeshift stage at the bottom of the broad staircase, stepping into the spotlight, bowing deeply to polite applause.

"Normally, I have to caution my contestants not to remove their clothing during my performances. You know," he said as he fanned himself with his top hat, "It's getting awfully hot in here, Miss... that sort of thing. Apparently, a number of you didn't get the memo." The audience responded with his first laugh of the night. It would not be the last. Turning to face his bath-robed host he said, "I think we can safely make an exception tonight, right Hef?"

"It's your show, Randy," said the smiling host.

Then, following standard show business etiquette, he said, "I would be remiss in my duty if I failed to acknowledge three of Hef's very special guests. One of my favorite leading men, James Caan! The spotlight rested briefly on the actor from The Godfather, who stood up, waved, and then sat back down. "Have you signed for Pippi Longstocking in the South Seas 2 yet?" The laughs got a little bit louder.

"I am especially pleased to be able to perform tonight in front of two of the funniest men who have ever lived and personal comedic heroes of my own. May I introduce Professor Irwin Corey, 'The World's Foremost Authority,' and the incomparable Rodney Dangerfield? I mean it. Give it up, folks. Honestly, I love your work. If you hear anything you like tonight, feel free to steal it. I've stolen from the both of you more times than I can say."

He spoke directly to the famous actor. "Jimmy, would you be interested in giving me a hand up here? Don't worry. I left my Tommy guns in the dressing room."

Sonny Corleone joined Randy on stage and shook the master hypnotist's hand. As they exchanged a show-biz hug, Randy whispered, "You will obey my every command. Play along."

"Tell me, Jimmy," Randy said into the microphone, "have you ever been hypnotized? By the way, we've never met before this moment, have we?"

"No to both, Randy. Never been hypnotized, don't know you from a hole in the ground and I'm beginning to see why." The audience laughed.

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" the actor said, feigning fear.

"Only your pride, Jim, only your pride." Turning his back to the "tough guy" actor, and sporting a huge exaggerated stage grin, The World's Greatest Stage Hypnotist addressed the room. "Don't worry, nobody here would dare to make fun of Sonny Corleone. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be..."

"OK then. Folks, how about a round of applause for our handsome Contestant Number One?" Reaching into his tux, Randy withdrew a small motorized black and white spiral wheel and turned it on. "Watch the wheel, please. As you follow the wheel, you find your own will bending to mine." After another ten or so seconds, Randy shut the gratuitous stage prop off and put it back into his waistcoat.

"Now that didn't hurt did it?"

"Not at all. Am I under?"

"I'm not sure. Do you feel any different?"

"To be honest, no," said the actor.

Randy turned to the crowd, grinning from ear to ear. "You sure about that, Jimmy?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. This is a great act, Hef. Where'd you find Kreskin Jr. here?" The crowd laughed, hesitating, not wanting to embarrass the stage hypnotist. The two veteran comedians just leaned forward. They knew a set-up when they saw one. Randy had their undivided attention.

Randy, still staring into the crowd, brought both hands to his face, feigning embarrassment. "That's odd...," said the hypnotist as his gaze remained fixed on the audience. He hesitated and rubbed his chin. "...because most people don't like it when they feel hungry red fire ants crawling up their legs."

"Jesus Christ!" The tough-guy actor shouted as he began jumping around and rubbing his pant legs. "Ouch!"

The crowd roared with laughter. The two comedy greats laughed, clapping for their brother-in-arms on the stage.

"You know, Jimmy, you'll kill more of them if you take your pants off and can see them. Better hurry before they start biting the elephant with a Beatle haircut."

Down came the actor's pants, leaving him swatting away at the imaginary insects. Wearing only his boxers, "Contestant Number One" twisted and squirmed as the crowd applauded.

"The fire ants have all gone away now. You can put your pants back on." The actor bent over and started to pull his pants up. "Naw," said the master hypnotist, "leave 'em down." Down they went. "Naw, pull 'em back up. No, down. Up. Down. Up. Down. The crowd laughed as "Jimmy" followed each instruction to the letter, like a malfunctioning middle-aged Jack-in-the-Box.

Randy stood next to his famous volunteer, put his arm around his shoulders and said, "You know, Jimmy, you might have better luck if you were to get down on your back and use both hands. Those look awfully tight. Maybe if you wiggle some more." Jimmy wriggled around for a minute or so while the crowd laughed until Randy said. "Your pants fit just fine. Finish up and stand up."

Once the actor finished dressing and rose to his feet, Randy said "Jimmy, when I snap my fingers you will awaken, completely refreshed. You will remember nothing you did on stage, except of course, calling me 'Kreskin Jr.' You will not believe anyone who tells you otherwise until, I don't know, ten minutes after I introduce Contestant Number Two. Then you will remember everything you did. Feel free to speak up when you do. Nobody can hear you."

"Snap!"

"Please give a round of applause Ladies and Gentlemen, for the fabulous, and very difficult to hypnotize, James Caan!" The crowd burst into applause, but not for the actor.

"What do you say, Rodney, care to take a turn on stage?"

"No thanks," said the funnyman as he grabbed his shirt collar and shook his head "I already don't get enough respect, I tell ya."

"How about you, Hef?"

"Do you want to get paid, Randy?"

"All-righty then. Looks like we have to go to the fairer, and braver sex for our second contestant. Who wants to come up here and give me a hand?"

Silence.

Doing his best imitation of Edward G. Robinson, Randy said, "OK, you mugs, so you wanna play rough, do ya?" Slowly reaching into his pocket for an imaginary gun he suddenly pulled out a pocket watch on a chain and waved it around. "Don't make me come out there!"

Laughter, and lots of it.

Ten minutes after he had put Contestant Number Two under his control, Contestant Number One blurted out "Oh God, I did do all those things! I remember the ants. I had my fuckin' drawers around my ankles. Hey, Kreskin Jr., I gotta admit, you got me."

"First," said the hypnotist, "I did not make him say that!" Then, turning away and whispering into the microphone, "even though he's right."

"Second," he said "Thanks, Jimmy, for being such a good sport. Just as soon as you apologize for the 'Kreskin Jr.' crack I'll get rid of those fire ants for you." Meanwhile, stand up and take a bow. You earned it."

Eventually, the show drew to a close as Randy brought a trio of bunnies back from their trance after doing a variation on the Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail routine that Hef had seen back in Lansing. This time, he was under no "public decency" ordinances and the act moved squarely into the "R rating" range.

Eventually, once he'd judged that the biggest laughs were behind him, The World's Greatest Stage Hypnotist bowed to a standing ovation. "Thanks for inviting me, Hef. Goood Night!"

Once the applause died down, Randy made a bee line for his fellow comedians who stood to shake his hand. "Great show Randy," they both said. "Why haven't we heard of you? This act belongs in Vegas."

"Thanks. I meant everything I said when I introduced you two. Your praise means more to me than I can say, but Vegas doesn't need another hypnotism act. Besides, I like doing the club circuit. The money's more than enough for me and I feel a sense of loyalty to the club owners who gave me my first break in the business. I want nothing to do with your level of fame. I'm happy playing in my own little pond."

"I play Harrys, in Portland, Pepe's in Albuquerque, The Busted Mike, in Indianapolis and about twenty more. My tour takes nine or ten months a year."

"We've both played every one of those clubs back in the day. It was a good life," said "The World's Foremost Authority."

"It still is." Randy shook hands again and made for the dressing room.

Hey, Big Spender

Randy spent the next two days alternately wowing Hef and his guests and spending time by the pool talking to Michelle. They talked gardening and about life at the Mansion. He told her about the liquor business, which, of course he was not actually in, but he'd spent enough of his career in supper clubs to work up a pretty convincing cover story. He could have commanded Michelle to believe anything he told her.

He just didn't want to.

Randy asked Michelle if she intended to attend the last performance of Hef's new-found talent, which Hef had designated as a "Special Performance for the Help."

"I don't know. People are saying that this Randy guy puts on an astounding show. Are you going, Mike?"

"I've already seen a couple of them. He's funny and his hypnotism thing is beyond belief. I'm going to try to make it, but I have an important work call tonight."

"Maybe I'll see you after you finish your business. Tomorrow's my day off so I can stay late." Michelle reached out to shake "Mike's" hand. "I was kind of hoping we could have a couple of drinks together but if I don't see you again, I've enjoyed our conversations. You're a good guy, Mike... and I like your looks too." She smiled and gave the master hypnotist a wink.

Reaching to take the beautiful gardener's hand, Randy said, "Michelle, you will attend the show tonight and after the show you will come down to the pool and wait for me."

Randy changed into his stage clothes in preparation for the final performance of his commitment to his host. As he sat in the makeshift dressing room applying his make-up, he took stock of his stay. All in all, it had been a good one. His performances had been well-received. He'd had the opportunity to meet a number of his comedic heroes. In addition to Rodney Dangerfield and Irwin Corey, he'd met George Carlin and Garry Shandling as well as Joan Rivers, and that was at a single show. There were rumors that the great Henny Youngman would attend The Amazing Randy's final performance.

The opportunity to meet his comedic heroes had been an unexpected benefit of his week on the west coast. There had been at least one at every performance. Randy'd made a point of explaining to his idols that he had no wishes for either fame or riches. He wanted neither publicity nor assistance moving to the next level. His secret was safe with his fellow comedians. They understood.

As usual Hef took the microphone in his bathrobe to introduce Randy. The audience was an interesting amalgam of world class beauties in designer outfits and bathing suits peppered with kitchen help, maids, chauffeurs... and at least one gardener.

Randy surveyed the crowd looking for two people. He had hoped that Henny Youngman would be in the audience. He wasn't. Randy looked for Michelle. She was there standing towards the back of the room, but she wasn't paying particularly close attention to the activity on the stage. Her head swiveled from side to side, clearly looking for someone. Little did she know that the man she sought was standing on stage, his identity hidden by a tuxedo, stage makeup, and a false beard and wig.