"I met 'The GTOs' at Cander's for the first time. 'The GTOs' were the first organised groupies and "GTO" stood for many things: Girls Together Outrageously, Girls Together Occasionally, Girls Together Only, and Girls Together Often. The five or six of them, Miss Christine, Miss Pamela, Suzi Cream Cheese, and Miss Lucy had started a rock band, but they were more of a mixed-media event than musicians. People just got off on them. They were a trip to be with. At the time we met, one of them was testing how far she could abuse her body with drugs. There was also a boyfriend who took so much amphetamine his bones had disolved, and he slumped in chairs like a rolled sock. Miss Pamela was a smiling open-faced girl who looked just like Ginger Rogers.
I met Miss Christine, the GTO I was to fall madly in love with, across a bowl of shared matzoh ball soup. She was one of the skinniest girls I ever met, and she made me look muscular. When she teased out her frizzy, mousy-brown hair, she looked like a used Q-Tip."

"October 15 [1968]...Here I sit in the new pad. I finally found a ghetto in North Hollywood after 92 agonies... Oh, well, it's onward and upward with the GTO's. Christine and I went to see Mr. Tim and he was in the lobby with a mud pack on. So charming. He wanted to play ice hockey again, but Christine wanted to visit her new fave-rave, Alice Cooper at the Landmark."

Alice Cooper, Neal Smith and Michael Bruce with The GTOs.

The Landmark Motel was in the throbbing heart of Hollyweird on Fountain Avenue, very close to where Jim Morrison threw away the bottle of Trimar. Burgeoning rock celebs always stayed there; in fact, Janis Joplin was about to poke holes in her veins for the last time within its seedy walls. Christine was aflutter over Alice, a skinny, caved-in guy from Arizona whose real name was Vince. I had never seen her so perfectly put together-- her new outfit of one-half pant leg and one-half skirt was pressed to a stiff sheen; her clown eye makeup was nearing Emmett Kelley status; and she plucked imaginary lint from her lapels, expounding nonstop about the virtues of Alice Cooper. He was virtuous indeed; their blossoming romance was right out of a twenties movie, all innocence and flushed cheeks. They held hands and gazed at each other sideways, this tall, skinny girl we called the Dr. Seuss character of the group, and Vince/Alice, soon-to-become idol of millions. I don't know if they ever had sex, but they were clearly in love and made for each other at that precise moment in time. She gave him an outrageous makeup job and threw some of his clothes together into an outfit that defies description, enhancing his scrawny rib cage immensely. I met the rest of his group and took a shine to the drummer, Neal, and we sipped sodas by the pool while Alice effused over Christine and his new record deal on Frank's Bizarre label.
Alice had his very own autobiography, called 'Me, Alice', because he became so royally famous. He described us very sweetly (see above)."

Miss Christine's Story: She, too was born in San Pedro of Yugoslav parents. She was a "sickly kid," she says, and had a "big complex about being skinny." (She is tall and lean, the type of girl who would have been called "beanpole" by her schoolmates.) "Pop music brought it all together for me socially," she said. "It brought people together, it gave me friends." She says she is the cold, cruel one in the group, but she's not. She's bright and quite outgoing. She met Zappa when he returned to LA from New York for a concert, when she was living in Franzoni's commune. "We talk about groups a lot," she said. "That's because it's glamourous and because we're very young. If you have a fave rave in a band, it's like having a soldier in the war; you write him letters and you worry about him." When Zappa returned to LA for good, she became his housekeeper and governess to Moon Unit, Frank's daughter. "Mercy and I sent the Velvet Underground a dozen roses with our pictures on the back," she said. "You can't be subtle." Miss Christine loves clothing and makes all her own, which can only be described as junkshop harlequin. The night of our interview she was wearing a knitted patchwork jump suit in a hundred colors, colored pipe cleaners coiled into her frizzed character; not a bad description."