Ex-Madam Seeks a New Path--Via Limo

Lt. George Giurbino has seen a lot of people walk out of prison, but before Thursday morning, he said, he had never seen anyone do it like Karen L. Wilkening.

Dubbed the “Rolodex Madam” for her list of 500 clients, the convicted San Diego panderer was due to be released from the California Rehabilitation Center about 9 a.m. Thursday. By 7:30 a.m., her public relations man was already there, having sped up from San Diego in a rented silver limousine to “manage” a much-touted press conference.

“Usually on high-profile cases, we don’t set up this type of situation,” Giurbino, an administrative assistant at the medium-security prison in Riverside County, said as he corralled more than a dozen cameramen and reporters behind a yellow police line. “A lot of times, inmates don’t want to be interviewed. This is not a situation like that.”

Indeed, when the 45-year-old Wilkening emerged, tearful and glowing in a sleek black and gold dress, she said she had plenty to say, “very possibly” including new information about her dealings with the San Diego task force investigating the murder of dozens of prostitutes. But before she divulged a thing, she said she wanted a green salad and a glimpse of the sea.

“I need to go to a salad bar and get some fresh food,” she said when asked about her immediate plans. “I think I’ll go look at the ocean, because I haven’t seen it for two years. I’m real anxious to have some serenity.”

Wilkening, who ran a high-class call-girl ring until vice officers searched her Linda Vista condominium and confiscated her Rolodex in 1987, said she will definitely be writing an autobiographical book about her experiences. And why not? As Ray Drasnin, her publicist, pointed out in a press release faxed to local media offices earlier this week, the details “read like a spellbinding novel.”

During her preliminary hearing in 1987, Wilkening fled the country to avoid prosecution on 28 counts of pimping and pandering.

By all accounts, including Drasnin’s press release, her clients included wealthy and influential San Diegans--doctors, bankers and lawyers. Wilkening has only named one well-known personality: the late actor Desi Arnaz.

Tony McCune, a prominent San Diego auto dealer, testified at Wilkening’s preliminary hearing that he was a customer--an embarrassing moment for a man who had appeared with his dog in TV ads for his car dealership saying: “The only dog on this lot is not for sale. Honest!”

Nineteen months after Wilkening disappeared, San Diego law enforcement officers spent $20,000 to track her down and bring her back from Manila. They brought her home to face pending charges and a host of questions from the Metropolitan Homicide Task Force, which is investigating the murders of 44 prostitutes and transients.

Eventually, the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department would decide that, while Wilkening “may have known” one of the victims, a former prostitute and police informant named Donna Marie Gentile, she was “not closely connected” to any of the cases under investigation.

But even after she pleaded guilty to two felony counts and began serving her 44-month sentence, other connections kept Wilkening in the news. She briefly shared a cell with Elisabeth (Betty) Broderick, the La Jolla socialite who admits killing her ex-husband and his new wife in 1989. And last fall, Wilkening testified at the trial of fallen financier Donald R. Dixon, who allegedly paid for prostitutes Wilkening provided with money from his Texas savings and loan.

On Thursday, however, after serving 18 months of her sentence--she obtained early release for good-time credits--Wilkening seemed pleased to bask in her own limelight. And Drasnin, a San Diego publicist who said he began corresponding with Wilkening four months ago, had done his best to create some.

At Drasnin’s direction, reporters huddled just outside the prison door, so close that they could hear Wilkening’s cheerful “Bye-bye!” as she left her jailers behind. What lies ahead, she said, is not yet clear. “I’m starting over from scratch,” she said, as the limo driver loaded two cardboard boxes and her footlocker into the trunk. “I’d like to think there are some people out there with some guts and a sense of humor who might consider employing me.”

Wilkening, who once got paid $150 an hour for providing prostitutes, was paid 24 cents an hour in jail to work as a literacy tutor--a job she said made her feel “extremely useful.” She also has training as an algebra teacher, a systems analyst and a management consultant, she said, and she could return to sales--she still has a real estate license.

“I’m going to find my highest purpose and serve it,” she said.

Judging from her reception Thursday, Wilkening will not fade quickly into anonymity.

“Karen, I just wanted to say I’m really glad to see you out and you look really, really good,” cooed one newspaper reporter, adding later: “Do you have anything to your name? How about the book I gave you?”

Wilkening will be living in San Diego for the time being, where she must check in every two weeks with a probation officer. Asked whether she thought her notoriety would prevent her from living a quiet life, Wilkening, who was once quoted as saying her Rolodex could “ruin people’s reputations and lives,” said no.

“I don’t anticipate being hassled--except maybe by the media,” she said. And is that why she hired a publicist, she was asked. “I haven’t hired anybody,” she said. “I have people assisting me.”

Drasnin explained that he is working “on account” for Wilkening, whom he considers a “real neat lady” and a friend. Even if he never gets paid, he said, the experience will be worth his time.

“She didn’t want to be inundated. I thought I could help facilitate that,” he said, seemingly unaware how strange that sounded coming from the man whose press release had lured the media to the remote prison. “If you believe in immediate gratification, you work for what you can get immediately. If you can see a payoff down the line, that’s good, too. It’s called vision.”

Considering the startling findings of the 1990 county grand jury, which said police may have mishandled Wilkening’s star-studded Rolodex, perhaps removing some prominent names from it, Wilkening’s release may be causing some other San Diegans to look toward the future as well--but with trepidation.

The grand jury found that while police did not “sanitize” the Rolodex to protect high-profile customers, one card in the file may have been removed while it was in police custody. The grand jury, which referred the case for further study by this year’s panel, also found at least one police officer’s name in the file.

“It would occur to me that some people might be worried,” said Deputy Dist. Atty. Dick Lewis, the homicide task force leader. “If she’s going to be writing a book and she’s going to be candid and truthful in that, it will be the first time to my mind that she’s been so.”

Wilkening, who has received mail in jail from more than 1,200 people, said that for all the old friends who abandoned her after her conviction, there are new friends who accept her for who she is.

“Since I’ve been ‘down,’ as they call it, I’ve made some new pen pal friends who I really cherish,” she said, heading for the waiting limousine, which was decorated with streamers and stocked with champagne and doughnuts. Before she could slip inside, however, an unidentified male stranger approached and handed her a bunch of flowers, a bag of fresh fruit and vegetables, and a 1991 calendar featuring baby animals.

“For me?” she asked, smiling brightly. “Oh, wow. Thank you so much.”