Deborah Nicolle Johnson is moving along the sidewalks of New York, singing, "Oooh wah, oooh wah, bebop ditty / Talkin' 'bout the girl from New York City." "Maybe you could work that into the title of the Playmate pictorial, hey? Well, if not the title, how about the opening paragraph?" Consider it done. Heads are turning, and Miss October is literally stopping traffic. A 14-year-old boy stops in his tracks and shouts, "You are a real woman. The rest are imitations."
Debi laughs, then chides herself for reacting. "It's hard living in this city. I get lots of comments. I try not to react. If you say the right thing, they come after you. If you say the wrong thing, they come after you. I have never learned how to flirt. If I see something I want, I go after it. But I listen. I guess I'm still insecure. When you stop hearing compliments, it means you're dead." Where were we? Oh, yes, talking about the girl from New York City. "Well, originally, I'm from Torrance, California. My father was a hod carrier. I grew up with a lot of love, in a very protected atmosphere. I have three brothers. Two are policemen; the third is a Marine Corps drill sergeant. They used to sit on the front porch, cleaning their BB guns, when my dates came over." After high school, Debi got a job as a flight attendant with TWA. "I saw all of the United States, plus Mexico, the Bahamas, Aruba; you name it. What no one realizes is that the job is very lonely.