Vela claims that Cosby never tried to rape her former colleagues Dickinson and Johnson, posting to Facebook:
Them’s fibs, cuz. I was there when both talked on the phone to [various men]. Pretty saucy too…I think they’ll never pass through St. Peter’s Gates with their lips! They need to own up to the truth.
Goldberg speaks with Johnson regarding Cosby’s rape allegations and her memory of meeting with him at his home:
So I went to the brownstone and we had a little light um dinner downstairs and then when you go upstairs into the living quarters, um its a huge cappuccino contraption on the bar there and he said I want you to act like you were a drunk woman….
Johnson tells CNN she hopes her essay in Vanity Fair, will prompt victims of sexual assault to come forward.
This, to me, is not about Bill Cosby. This, to me, is about violence against women. What I want to see happen is that women come out and speak their truth.
Vanity Fair interviews Johnson about Bill Cosby allegedly drugging her.
I was a top model during the 70s, a period when drugs flowed at parties and photo shoots like bottled water at a health spa. I’d had my fun and experimented with my fair share of mood enhancers. I knew by the second sip of the drink Cosby had given me that I’d been drugged and drugged good. At a certain moment it became clear that I would be fighting a losing battle with a powerful man so callous he not only drugged me, but he also gave me the number to the bedroom he shared with his wife.
Johnson writes an essay for Vanity Fair in which she claims to have been drugged by Cosby at his New York City brownstone in the mid-80s. Johnson writes:
It’s nuts, I know, but it felt oddly inappropriate arguing with Bill Cosby so I took a few sips of the coffee just to appease him. Now let me explain this: I was a top model during the 70s, a period when drugs flowed at parties and photo shoots like bottled water at a health spa. I’d had my fun and experimented with my fair share of mood enhancers. I knew by the second sip of the drink Cosby had given me that I’d been drugged—and drugged good. My head became woozy, my speech became slurred, and the room began to spin nonstop. Cosby motioned for me to come over to him as though we were really about to act out the scene. He put his hands around my waist, and I managed to put my hand on his shoulder in order to steady myself. As I felt my body go completely limp, my brain switched into automatic-survival mode. That meant making sure Cosby understood that I knew exactly what was happening at that very moment. You are a motherf-cker aren’t you? That’s the exact question I yelled at him as he stood there holding me, expecting me to bend to his will. I rapidly called him several more “motherf-ckers.” By the fifth, I could tell that I was really pissing him off. At one point he dropped his hands from my waist and just stood there looking at me like I’d lost my mind. What happened next is somewhat cloudy for me because the drug was in fuller play by that time. I recall his seething anger at my tirade and then him grabbing me by my left arm hard and yanking all 110 pounds of me down a bunch of stairs as my high heels clicked and clacked on every step. I feared my neck was going to break with the force he was using to pull me down those stairs.