fling

Ooh, Ba by, I Love Your... It was the summer of 1978. I was a 20-year- old former record- store clerk, a music geek who was obsessed my weekend of unspeakable good fortune took place with the lives of rock in 1978, but this story begins two years earlier, in January ’76. stars. Maybe a lit tle I was a 17-year-old suburban nerd, a midyear “early” too obsessed. So when the beautiful, exotic graduate of New Rochelle High School in Westchester girlfriend of the biggest County, New York, who’d taken a job as a record-store clerk star in pop music walked to pad my college fund. It wasn’t an accident that I ended through my parents’ up at Stereo Stop. I’d been obsessed with music from an back door, I thought early age, a gift from my unusually musical mom. Rolling Fate had intervened. And for the next few Stone was my bible back then, and the knowledge I sponged days, man, did it ever from its pages had earned me the (continued on page 273) john mc alley

• • • Peter Frampton and Penny McCall at the Beverly Wilshire, 1978. GALELLA RON

266 gq. com September 2008 fling

• • • The author, age 17, at home in New Rochelle, New York, circa 1975.

Way” and “Baby, I Love Your Way”—topped the Billboard pop chart for more than four months. By the end of the year, it had sold 12 million copies. Success hit Frampton with sudden, stun- ning force. By the second time (in a year) 19-year-old writer Cameron Crowe profiled him for the cover of Rolling Stone, Framp- ton, 26, had grossed an estimated $67 mil- lion, becoming the heartthrob of girls from Brixton to Budokan and a staple of the gossips—or what passed for the gossips in those days. I got my G-rated tidbits and pa- parazzi photos from the Random Notes sec- tion of Rolling Stone. That’s where I first saw a picture of Penny McCall. Looking back, it’s easy to see how a straight arrow like me would fantasize about Peter Frampton’s girlfriend. She was beautiful, of course—at least from what I could make of her in the muddy news- print photos that were the standard then. More important, she was wholesome and unthreatening—or so I assumed, given how earnest and clean-cut Frampton was (com- pared to, say, Jagger or Plant). Unlike the groupies who bounced from one rocker’s bed to another, Penny was no itinerant slut. She’d first met Frampton in the early ’70s, when he was a member of the British rock group Humble Pie and she was married to the band’s road manager. Eventually, Penny and Peter paired up, and she was an es- sential support and muse in his run-up to superstardom. In fact, “Show Me the Way” was written for her. By the end of 1976, Frampton had grossed an estimated By 1978, Frampton needed Penny’s inspi- $67 million, becoming the heartthrob of girls from Brixton ration more than ever. It was a terrible year to Budokan and a staple of the gossips—or what passed for him, already tilting toward career col- lapse on the fifty-three-acre estate he and for the gossips in those days. I got my tidbits and paparazzi Penny shared in Westchester. I’m in You, photos from the Random Notes section of ‘Rolling Stone.’ the high-stakes 1977 follow-up to Frampton That’s where I first saw a picture of Penny McCall. Comes Alive!, had sold poorly by compari- son. And his starring role in one of cinema’s most resounding creative abortions, Sgt. job. Stereo Stop was sta≠ed, in High Fidelity character-assassinating the pop stars of the Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, tarred tradition, with an impossible-to-make-up day. Posters of Elton John, Barry Manilow, his reputation before it was even released. cast of obsessives and misfits, criminals and and the Eagles were aggressively defaced. He began drinking heavily and shooed Captain Beefheart scholars. I was the resi- A cardboard stand-up of the execrable teen Penny to their getaway in the Bahamas dent square, the anti-drink-and-drug guy idol Leif Garrett was fitted with a cock and so he could begin writing the album that who manned the floor while his co-work- balls sculpted from Bazooka bubble gum. would turn things around. ers nuked the storeroom with mushroom But Buddy’s ripest target that summer Instead, on a July night, Framptonmania clouds of pot smoke. was pretty-boy superstar Peter Frampton, went up in flames. Hoping to surprise Penny The bent kingpin of the place was our whose album Frampton Comes Alive!, re- after their time apart, Frampton flew into assistant manager, Buddy O’Dell, whose leased the month I started the job, seemed Nassau unannounced. When he arrived at greatest talent was for the perverted visual to be the only record we sold and whose the house, Penny was missing, but accord- joke. An aspiring cartoonist with R. Crumb’s best-selling poster Buddy made over by ing to Rolling Stone, a stack of Polaroids told raunchy proclivities, Buddy festooned our erasing Frampton’s eyebrows and eye- enough of a story to send Frampton on a rag- Stereo Stop–branded LP bags with draw- balls. There were plenty of stars in the pop ing bender around the island. A brutal car ings that discouraged repeat business. He firmament in 1976, but the industry hadn’t crash into a palm tree dismantled the pop was a master at working with found ob- seen a phenomenon like Frampton since, star—a broken arm, hand, and foot, six shat- jects, too, like the crates of promo materials perhaps, the Beatles. Frampton Comes tered ribs, a concussion—and e≠ectively that came into the store each week; a hard- Alive!—a double-disc concert album featur- destroyed his career. It certainly ended the

COURTESY OF JOHN McALLEY rock snob, Buddy took rabid pleasure in ing the inescapable radio hits “Show Me the ballad of Peter and Penny. From a hospital

September 2008 gq. com 273 fling bed, Frampton tossed her out of his life, stripping her of her home, her credit cards, Late one night, the phone rang. “I’m sorry, John, but and her lofty status as a rock god’s goddess. I can’t see you anymore,” Penny said. “My l awyers Two months later, Penny walked through are about to file a palimony suit against Peter, and my parents’ back door. they don’t think it’s smart for me to be seen running it was labor day weekend in New around with a 20-year-old in a sports car.” Rochelle, and as was their nature, my mom and dad had pretty simple holiday plans: beach and a backyard barbecue. These summer of ’78—other than a pretty sweet At midnight a tipsy Penny leaned over plans took a hallucinogenic twist with the copper-colored sports car—it was empathy. the bar and whispered in my ear: “Wake me arrival, Saturday morning, of the blond in I was a world-class listener, and Penny, I up when you get home.” hot pants and high-heeled sneakers. think, sensed it. Panic set in. What would I do when I got As it turned out, Penny’s rowdy cohorts So, in an absurd parody of family day, there? Earlier in the day, it had been de- in Nassau were members of the Scottish my mother, brother, Penny, and I packed cided that Penny would sleep in my attic funk group the Average White Band. And our towels and went to the local beach, a bedroom, directly above my parents, while through roundabout circumstances, the workingman’s St-Tropez called Hudson I crashed in my sister’s apartment. With suddenly adrift Frampton ex ended up in Park, which substituted concrete for sand one whisper, she rewrote that plan. the guardianship of my older brother Rob- and sat in the seaweed-clogged dead end Of course, she was passed out when I got ert, who had situated himself in Manhattan of Long Island Sound. During the height home. as an all-around aide and fixer for a strange of the Frampton ride, Penny had toured The next day at the beach, we hung out, constellation of pop acts. That weekend’s the White House, played backstage grande and swam, and flirted intensely. Thirty task: Keep Penny McCall out of trouble. dame in pink satin robes, and romped on years later, all I remember is a story she told When I bounded down the stairs in some of the most pristine oceanfronts of having, a few years earlier, rolled her car my cuto≠s to find her standing in our liv- on the planet. Here, deeply tanned in a from the northbound lanes of Manhattan’s ing room, I recognized her immediately. I turquoise string bikini, she cut a dizzy- West Side Highway across the median and was staggered by the sight of her. She was ing swath through the crimson bodies of into southbound tra∞c. What can I say? I unlike anyone I’d ever seen—slender and plumbers, lunch ladies, and cops. was charmed. eccentrically stylish, with bold platinum Not that she minded. She seemed rejuve- That evening we headed to a Manhattan bangs, wide red lips, and a rock-chick swag- nated by the fresh air and the water, where, nightclub with my brother and a friend. It ger that elevated cartoonish features into alone for the first time, the two of us bobbed was there, as Penny and I spent more and audacious exotica. Although I couldn’t ini- face-to-face. She was thoughtful and smart, more time together, that I witnessed the tially see past the miracle of Penny in the and we shared easy conversation. What first flashes of my brother’s anger. It hadn’t flesh, I do recall sensing something vulner- made our rapport even more seductive dawned on me that maybe he had designs able in her. Of course, I’d read all about her was the discovery that we shared the same on her, too. But over my shoulder, as Penny dramatic fallout with Peter. And if there birthday—April 21—but ten years apart. I and I stepped onto the dance floor (it was was one thing I had going for me in the was 20, she was 30, and the synchronicity, the ’70s, after all), I saw him raise a glass like, totally blew her mind. above his head and smash it across the bar. Before a bouncer could put us on our asses, at the time, I was bartending at a we hustled back to the burbs—and Penny restaurant in Scarsdale called Caleb’s Re- and I headed to my sister’s place. treat, and when Robert and Penny swept We were full-bore in flagrante delicto into the place that night, the four-deep when the buzzer went o≠—not in short crowd at the bar parted. Penny looked like bursts but in a long, raw GGGGGAAAAAH- royalty. Glasses were lined up for the first of HHHRRRRRRRRR. It was 1:30 a.m. many rounds of kamikaze shots that would “Don’t answer it!” Penny shrieked as I be poured for Penny and her new friends. struggled to pull up my pants. Just her presence made the scene electric. GGGGGAAAAAHHHHRRRRRRRR! “Holy shit, holy shit!!!” That was me. GGGGGAAAAAHHHHRRRRRRRR! Then it stopped. At which point the pounding on the door began. “Johnny, open up.” It was my brother. Through the peephole I could see him, ashen with rage. “Calm down,” I said. “Please—” “Open it!” I’d barely cracked the door when he pushed it wide, flinging Penny’s weekend bag into the apartment. “Fuck you,” he spat. “Now you take care of her.” It had taken all of ten minutes for lust to morph into distress…and then back again.

• • • Peter Frampton and Penny McCall, in various states of mid-’70s

fashion distress. PRESTON/CORBIS NEAL PHOTOFEST; IMAGES; ARCHIVE/GETTY INTERNATIONAL/HULTON EDWARDS/FOTOS FRANK LEFT: BOTTOM FROM CLOCKWISE

274 gq. com September 2008 Penny and I might have woken to bliss— Cleansed in all manner of ways, I left my I saw Penny twice more in the month that weatherwise, it was a glorious, crystalline home number with Penny and set off for followed. They were far more sober encoun- Labor Day—had both of us not found our - New Rochelle. When I skulked through the ters—and I was grateful for that. Then, late selves wrung out and with nowhere to go. kitchen door of my parents’ house, my one night at Caleb’s the phone rang. “I’m “Take me,” she said, “to Freddie Sessler’s mother was standing there. “I don’t want sorry, John, but I can’t see you anymore,” house.” to know,” she said, raising her hand. “Just Penny said. “My lawyers are about to file a make it up to your brother.” palimony suit against Peter, and they don’t HAD I BEEN a bigger Stones fan, I I spent the rest of the evening in a daze think it’s smart for me to be seen running would have recognized the name. Freddie and was ready to turn in when the phone around with a 20-year-old in a sports car.” Sessler was a 55-year-old Polish émigré rang. It was 11 p.m. Penny was in hysterics. I remember feeling relieved. and concentration-camp survivor who had “Please ,” she sobbed. “I want to see you. made and lost pots of money through one Please come back.” She’d been sitting PETER FRAMPTON never regained harebrained entrepreneurial venture after around Freddie’s, drinking and sinking. I his star status after the Bahamas disaster, another since arriving in the States in asked her what was wrong. “ Please . Come.” but he’s had his victories. In February of 1952. But the thing he was best known for I floored it up to Cortlandt Manor, and 1979, Penny filed suit against him in a was the strange, antic, loving friendship once I’d pulled into Sessler’s driveway and Westchester court, claiming she was enti - he had forged with Keith Richards. In a flipped off my headlights, I was enveloped tled—as his mentor, consultant, muse, and quid pro quo that suited both of their in darkness. I’d barely stepped out of the companion of six years—to half his worth. needs beautifully, Sessler—a onetime ex - car when I heard screams coming from the The judge tossed the case. Penny, it turns ecutive at the pharmaceutical giant Merck, woods behind the house. When my eyes out, had never divorced her husband, and with ready access to uncut cocaine—sup - adjusted, I saw two bodies tucked into the to rule in her favor would have sanctioned plied Richards with his rocket fuel in ex - tree line twenty yards away. It was Penny infidelity. Appeals went on for years. change for a permanent backstage pass. and Freddie’s girlfriend—naked, soaked, Frampton would have other victories, too. On one of their many careening road trips, covered in mud, bleeding from the knees. His old friend Cameron Crowe even cast him Richards and Sessler famously got busted Groping my way toward them, I jackknifed in the movie Almost Famous , Crowe’s own in Fordyce, Arkansas, in 1975—Keith for over a hedge. When I finally reached them, coming-of-age tale about a life-altering en - reckless driving, Freddie for coke posses - they were manic, shivering and plastered, counter with sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. In sion. One Richards biographer perfectly de - unable to walk a crooked line: that twist - a delicious joke, Frampton played Humble scribed Sessler as a madcap “Falstaff to ing path from the pool through the woods. Pie’s road manager. Crowe named the film’s Keith’s Prince Henry, the father figure “We went swimming ,” Penny cried, “ and irresistible groupie Penny. Keith had long been without.” Their bond we couldn’t find our way back, so we Had I, at age 17 or 20, the benefit of tell- lasted for decades. CRAWLED .” all Web sites and gossip magazines, I’d have Sessler’s home was thirty miles north of I helped them into the house and laid known a few more things about Penny be - New Rochelle, on a remote cul-de-sac in them down on sofas. Somehow, in a stew of fore I let my fantasies fly. Before teaming Cortlandt Manor. Penny knew exactly anger and fear, I managed to get turned on up with Frampton, she’d been married not how to get there. The house itself, a two- by the sight of Freddie’s girlfriend naked. once but twice. And her penchant for party - story box at the end of a long driveway, Not taking well—for good reason—to my at- ing would have had context: two reported wasn’t much to speak of, but the property tempt to swab her with a warm, damp cloth, early-’70s drug arrests, one in the Virgin Is - surrounding it seemed to sprawl for miles. she lifted herself up and bounced off the lands for hash possession and the other for A lake sat to the rear and right of the doorframe into Freddie’s room. As I tended peddling coke to an undercover cop. Would house, and a long, winding path through a to Penny, I considered leaving. This whole knowing this have made a difference? Prob - stand of trees in the backyard led to a se - episode— what the hell was I doing there? ably not. Thirty years later, it lingers as one cluded swimming pool. I led Penny into bed, where we fell into a of the most exhilarating experience of my life. Penny and I found Sessler in the kitchen, trauma-induced sleep new to me but prob- Is Penny even alive today? I don’t know, a barrel-bellied toad with a wide, flat nose, ably routine to her. We made peace of a sort but I hope so. And I hope she’s thriving. a comb-over, and a thick European accent. in the morning. I was in way over my head, Deep in the strangely cheery ephemera of Wielding a long-pronged barbecue fork I told her. If at midnight I hadn’t fully real- the Web site maintained by the world’s most and dressed only in shorts and an apron, he ized it, I knew it in the light of day. We got bumptious groupie, Pamela Des Barres, is was—in the spirit of the holiday—broiling dressed and found our way to the master one clue to Penny’s where abouts: a guest - sausage in the oven. Joe Perry, the Aero - suite, where Freddie and his girlfriend sat book post from 2001 by a guy named Ethan. smith guitarist, was there, as was a scat - naked and propped up in bed. As if to prove “Theresa [recently] asked about Penny Mc - tering of bikinied young women—Sessler’s my point, Keith Richards— Keith Richards — Call,” he writes. “I spent some time in svelte young girlfriend among them—who was on the speakerphone. Hawaii this winter and met her. She’s a roamed the house in what appeared to be “Hey, Keith,” Freddie said, “I got Penny friend of a friend, who’s dating a guitar different stages of quaalude dementia. and her new boyfriend here. He doesn’t player in a band called Lost Child. Cool lady— Freddie offered us kielbasa and blow, drink or do drugs. Can you believe this fuck- nonstop fun, and a good person as well, which we declined. Puffing out my chest, I ing guy? He must have a giant cock!” though she doesn’t flaunt it. One night told him I didn’t drink or do drugs. Penny My embarrassment obliterated Keith’s with [her] was enough for a movie script.” grinned and led me out to the pool, where, reply. In fact, I don’t remember a word of You think? under towering trees, we made love and what was said the rest of the day. Penny floated languidly in the water. Back in the and I ended our weekend where it started: house, we stole an afternoon nap, then took in the water, where we paddled around JOHN M CALLEY has written for Rolling a bath—Penny at one end of the tub, pulling Freddie’s lake in a boat, the subtle summer- Stone , Entertainment Weekly , and on a freezer-chilled bottle of vodka, and I to-fall changes in the weather already ev - Spin. He lives in Dallas and is currently at the other, nursing a cold Perrier. ident in the crisp air. It was time to go home. a contributing editor at NPR.org.