Free Preview: Playmate of the Month April 1982 - Linda Rhys Vaughn
Like Mercury, Linda Rhys Vaughn is hard to pin down. Californian by birth, Californian by nature, she lives a gypsy's rapid life like a small, hurried trickle of quicksilver. "My dad was a cowboy," she explains, "and he worked in the feed lots. We moved from feed lot to feed lot, wherever the jobs were. I still like to keep moving." <br> We'd heard she was on a whirlwind tour without a schedule, so we flew into Los Angeles International Airport and stepped right into her contrail. We tracked her to Beverly Hills, then followed her down the Pacific Coast Highway to San Diego. From there, the trail led to Ramona, which sits in a cluster of hills under stars that seem too clear for Southern California, and from there to a vacated motel room in Escondido. We found her, at last, at the bottom of a ski slope in Lake Tahoe. Tahoe was where she lived. For then, anyway. <br> "I moved up here last September just to be in the snow. There's not much to do but ski and party," she says. "Everyone goes to a Mexican / Irish restaurant called Carlos Murphy's - when somebody scores a touchdown on Monday Night Football, they serve 50-cent kamikazes. The limit's five. I never know who won or what the score was, but it's good to be away from the city." <br> She's not a great deal taller than a ski pole. She weighs 98 pounds. Her young girl's face and fast smile draw stares whether she is at the top of a slope at Tahoe or on the streets of Los Angeles - a previous stop on her staccato agenda...
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