One saving grace was that my older children were very aware and noticed when things were not right and kept me posted. They all survived! It doesn’t matter if you hire someone from a bonded employment agency. Talk to others, you’ll hear similar stories about people living on the edge or just plain crazy. I learned that “Highly Recommended” was code for “Happy to Get Rid of This Person.” It’s really the luck of the draw. With Shelley, who has been with me through thick and almost thin for two decades, I hit the jackpot.
There were two others who entered my life during this period who, like Shelley, became an indispensable part of my team and support system. In 1973, I was interviewing candidates for the job of being my personal assistant. I was getting toward the end of the process when in walked this spunky, confident young woman dressed in a little beige cowboy suit. Her name was Kayla Pressman. From the sound of the interview, there wasn’t anything that she couldn’t do.
“You know you would have to go out on the road. There’s a lot of travel.”
“Oh, I love that.”
“Do you know anything about packing?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Do you know how to sew in case I rip a costume?”
“Oh, yes. No problem.”
She had a contagious energy about her, and so she got the job. She didn’t know squat about sewing, but that little fib was more than made up by many other strong suits. Some even claim that they had never heard me utter a four-letter word until Kayla trained me in proper usage and syntax.
Being a personal assistant to someone in show business is like having to be a jack-of-all-trades. You’re constantly put into problem-solving situations where you need to think quickly on your feet. What she didn’t know, Kayla learned very fast, not the least of which was operating the lights for my stage show. When I realized just how bright she was, I told Sandy Gallin that she should be a manager. He took her and trained her and she paid her dues big time. She traveled as well with the Pointer Sisters, Patti LaBelle, and other top acts.
Being on the road as a performing artist may sound like a glamorous lifestyle to those not in it, but being away for extended periods from your family and the familiar comfort of your own bed can wear thin at times. It can also be a lonely existence if you choose to isolate yourself. When you’re on the road and in different environments all the time, having the support of a hard worker and great friend (and most important, someone you can trust) like Kayla makes a huge difference. When the traveling group grew larger with musicians, singers, and dancers, we created a teamlike, family atmosphere.
With all the changes going on in my professional and personal life, Kayla also grew to be a close confidante who didn’t shy from speaking her mind, especially if she happened to disagree with something I was doing. She had come of age in the 1960s, so she was a freer spirit who loved to push the boundaries, and in the process she got me to loosen up, sometimes perhaps a little too much.
Once when we were driving in Florida to see my friend Ruth Helen, who has a home in the Delray Beach area near Palm Beach, I suddenly grew concerned. “Kayla, how fast are you going?” The speedometer read 85 mph. “Don’t you think you should slow down a little?”
“There’s a guy on my tail,” she shot back.
Moments later, there were the bright red flashing lights of a state trooper. The officer asked Kayla the same question I had just asked her. I slumped down in my seat. I didn’t offer to help, no Florence Henderson card pulled, no nice autograph for his child, no nothing.
“You were going eighty-five,” the officer filled in the blank for Kayla.
Kayla pleaded her case. “I know I was going fast, but there was a guy on my tail. I had to keep going.”
“That guy was me,” he said as he handed her the ticket.
Another time, we were flying from Los Angeles to New York. As I will explain a little later, I had progressively become more fearful of flying. A drink or two could have a positive medicinal effect, but Kayla and I kept laughing and kept drinking. Long story short, I exceeded my limit. When we got off the plane at Kennedy, the woman known to millions around the world as Mrs. Brady was holding tightly on to Kayla’s arm and trying to disguise the obvious state of being sloshed. Thank God TMZ didn’t exist then. When we got our baggage, Kayla said she needed to go find our driver. She stood me up against a pole. “Here, hold on to this. I’ll be back.” I wasn’t so sure she’d be back, because she wasn’t too steady on her feet either.
My lone foray into the drug culture of that time also was in the company of Kayla, who was in the mainstream of her generation in the 1970s as a “recreational user.” We
