The Ludmila Confessions

“Nina Blanchard’s” favorite models, me standing above her

At the end of 1960, in Caracas, everything looked promising with Walter and I. We had wonderful times dancing, celebrating the holidays, and of course living it up with alcohol and cocaine. It all seemed so inoffensive back then. One night, before we went out to the Key Club, he told me he wanted to make a stop so I could meet this French lady. He said they had a business relationship, but of course they spoke French so I was in the dark. Her place looked like aunt Gigi’s place. I thought she was a prostitute or maybe a madame, because she looked so much older than me and so made up. They went into a room, closed the door, and when he came out I felt certain this was where he got the cocaine for that night. Taking coke back to the US was dangerous, but it was so easy just to carry it in your pocket or purse. No problems. At least, I did not yet know the consequences of such acts, and unless you were a suspect, the customs did not search you then as they do today.

On the other hand there is Oscar, and it is more difficult for me to describe my love for him. Our romance was different, more innocent and full of outdoor life, like polo, scuba diving, fishing, wine, and dinners. It was romantic and charming, a very unique rich old money world. Oscar was part of a new generation of Venezuelan men of European ancestry. He was also the good boy, and Walter was the bad one, crazy and adventurous. Each one could be a romantic novel or film by itself, and in my crazy young mind I was not being bad or immoral. Since I was not married to anyone, it seemed simple and justifiable.

From Caracas, Walter and I flew together to Miami in first class, with real napkins and crystal goblets. Even the water glass was crystal, and there was a real menu, and washcloths with perfume or cologne. After dinner again they served a clean hot perfumed bowl with floating flowers and a piece of lemon to clean your hands. In the bathroom was cologne, perfume and all kinds of pretty things. We talked about how things had changed in New York and especially in California in the last few years. I remember when I first sat on a bus, and no black people were allowed to sit up front, they all had to sit in the back. I had read a little history about slavery and that made me terribly sad, that people could treat other people like that, but I was not involved in politics, nor was I unselfish, feeling too busy to spend my time for anyone. I didn’t think I could save the world. I only was interested in me, myself, and I.

At our arrival at the Miami terminal, Walter picked up his new Mercedes Benz convertible sports car, which was already there waiting for us. I never understood why Jewish people would buy German cars– Hitler and the Nazis were German weren’t they? Walter was a French Jew and said he had been in the French Legion in World War II, spying for the French– so he said. He also told me a story that one time he was briefly taken prisoner and the Nazis were going to bury him alive, until he fooled them by screaming in perfect German that they were idiots to bury one of their own people, and that he was an important counterspy! But why Mercedes Benz?

There was something very dark and mysterious about Walter. I was naive or ignorant about things, and never went deeper than loving him and enjoying life with him. I didn’t dig any deeper, and honestly I was not interested in his past. We drove the car up to New York together and then he shipped the car west and flew to San Francisco. I went back to Hollywood where Daud was awaiting me. Mama told me that he even spent couple of nights on our sofa. I forget the reason why– maybe he did not know when I was coming back.

Now I was back in Tinseltown and seriously had to look for an agent. One lucky morning, after Gala went to work, my niece went to the school across the street, and mama went to see some Russian lady friend for a job; I went off to see an agent by the name of Nina Blanchard, in a little one room office on Sunset Strip. She was just getting started and was planning to expand her operation on Sunset Blvd since she already had one of the most famous models in the world signed with her. A few years later her supermodel died of drug and alcohol overdose, but I did not know that she was using at the time. She was so very beautiful but totally wasted her life. Little did I know then, that is where I was headed too.

I walked in the office and there was Nina. She just said, “sign here and tell the secretary to take your measurements and give all your information.” Then she sent me to some photographers to take some different test shots. She did not want to change my look or cut my hair –nada, nothing, she liked me just as I was.