Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn (36 page)

I cast myself as a porn star. Quite a stretch.

38.
Amok

After the movie was released, I had investors down my throat, a distributor that wouldn’t show me the books, and a partner in Barbara who I butted heads with every step of the way.

Life was wonderful.

Barbara had been a good friend to me. A few years back she helped make me aware of what “Dead Fred” was doing to me, and even found me the lawyers to go after him. But we just weren’t seeing eye-to-eye on anything related to the film. Ultimately, we ended up in court. It wasn’t as bad as my previous knockdown, drag out fight with Fred, because Barbara was a good friend of mine and I didn’t want to go the Fred route. And it wasn’t that she was dishonest — she wanted to do things a certain way but didn’t know the adult business. Barbara didn’t understand what was involved in the distribution of an adult film and how to deal with the industry. I knew these people. I knew how they worked. I knew their M.O. In her legal world, everything was black and white, but in the adult film world, where everything was “grey,” you were playing with their bats and balls. I had nurtured this project, but she wanted to change the rules in the middle of the game. It was an ongoing battle with her and it hurt me because we had always been so close. I was pissed off, as our friendship was crumbling.

To get the books, I had to settle with her out of court for $10,000. This was an awful lot of money to me at the time, and another hurdle for me to go over. But I just didn’t have the strength for another long, drawn out court battle. Even worse, it ended our relationship, and that hurt me a lot. I was very sad. It was like mourning a loss of a loved one. I pretty much lost faith in humanity.

At the same time, the investors kept calling and asking if there were any profits, and the only thing I could report to them was “No, there weren’t.” All the reports I received was that the movie hadn’t made money even though it won awards. When I would ask to see why it was showing a deficit rather than a profit, I wasn’t getting a response. When I asked my accounting people to take an overview of it, they basically looked at me and said these guys are bigger than you, they could hide anything they want, and I should decide whether I want to spin my wheels or leave it alone.

I left it alone.

With everything I’d been through in the business, I just felt defeated. This was a new sensation for me. I had found producers, wrote it, edited it, shot it, and gave it to people in the industry who I’d made a lot of money for. I worked with Caballero before and just expected more from them.

I ended up running amok. I didn’t give a flying fuck about a whole lot of anything or anyone. In spite of everything that had happened to me in my life, I always had faith in people, but this was the last straw. I decided everybody was horrible and I didn’t want to see all the ugliness. I wanted to be numb.

I went clubbing. Drinking. Drugging. I had partied before, but now I was drinking heavily and doing a lot of cocaine. Sometimes I’d stay up for four or five days straight partying. It got me really skinny.

It was the era. There was lots of coke, lots of partying, and lots of drinking. When we would get ready to go out for the evening, we’d do a big line of cocaine, half a Quaalude, and a vodka on the rocks. Sam Kinison called that a rocktail and I kept up the name in his honor and eventually his memory. But I always felt I could stop if I wanted to.

Since I’d made my comeback with
Careful,
the adult world thought I was back for good. But now everything was being shot on video and I was being offered significantly less money. If they weren’t going to pay me what I wanted, I couldn’t see the point in doing them for less.

I wasn’t on any schedule and had no routine whatsoever. Time meant nothing to me. Sometimes I’d just find myself at an airport with a carryon bag, looking at the board, seeing what was available, and pointing to the first destination that struck my fancy, saying, “I want to go there,” and I’d be gone two to three months. My secretary would do my mail order business and I’d be somewhere warm like the Dominican Republic, Costa Rica, or Mexico. Anywhere there was an ocean and sand.

When I ran out of money, I’d call Chicago and simply say, “Put more money in my checking account.”

On other occasions, I’d visit my family back East. My Uncle Tom liked to speculate on real estate and he and I bought a farm in Virginia together, which we held onto for a few years and then sold. I would hang out there and garden and visit with old friends and just not do a whole lot of anything. I never really told my family much about my lifestyle or career, and they didn’t ask. They knew about the adult films, but never really questioned me about any of it. They saw I paid my bills and as far as they knew, everything was fine. But anybody who parties like a rock star doesn’t reveal much about what they’re doing, and I didn’t either. I may have appeared to them to be happy, but I certainly wasn’t, or I wouldn’t have been doing the amount of drugs I was doing.

It turned into a three-year blur. I still had the mail order business, the
Club Magazine
shoots, and some stripping here and there, but all in all it was one big, outrageous party. I’m sure I did certain things I don’t even remember. Even in my drug haze, I did manage to meet some truly interesting and talented people. Brilliant musicians like Buddy Miles, and blues greats Sugar Blue and Big Time Sarah. Not only were they fabulous performers, but they also turned into true friends. I remember seeing The Rolling Stones when Sugar opened for them in Chicago at a huge outdoor concert. Sugar played the famous harmonica part on their big hit, “Miss You.” I was on the Stones’ bus with him. Sugar was very nervous because it was such a large audience and it was
The Stones!
But in spite of the stage fright, he was absolutely awesome. Very few men on this planet can play the harmonica like Sugar.

I just couldn’t handle a serious relationship. Instead, I had fuck buddies. Whoever was convenient at the moment. The flavor of the day. I’d get what I wanted and tell them to leave. I didn’t even want them to spend the night. I didn’t want to wake up next to anyone or talk to them. I didn’t want to feel anything since I didn’t believe in people anymore. I didn’t give a flying fuck about any of them. I don’t remember most of their names.

There was an adult actor named Jerry Butler who stated in many interviews that I went into rehab for a year. Not true. Nobody goes into rehab for a year. I’ve never even been in rehab. I’m the type of person who says, “When I’m done, I’m done.” Could I have used therapy and rehab? No doubt. What made me decide to stop, though, was my life was out of control, especially my business life, which was in trouble. I couldn’t understand why this was happening, but I simply hadn’t bothered to pay attention.

One day, I just put down my drink, put down my doobie, put down my straw, and blew the cocaine off the mirror. The air became clearer. It was time to get myself back together.

39.
Old Strippers

Movies were over, but I still occasionally did appearances. I went down to Tennessee for an autograph session at an adult book store and was picked up at the airport by two promoters. Prior to the appearance, they told me what was expected. I was just supposed to sign and pose for pictures with the fans. Sounded easy enough.

I asked them to take me to the store so we could set up. There was a six foot-long table with a curtain in the front and a backdrop. But they kept acting sort of strange. When I asked what the backdrop was for, they said “Oh, that’s where you get naked and take pictures with the guys.”

I said, “That’s not what the deal said. I’m not going to do that.”

I was told I had no choice. It was what the customers expected. I’m sure they had a lot of girls who came down and did that — there were tons of pictures of performers on the wall. What made it seem shady, though, was having the big black curtain there so guys could feel me up. It wasn’t simply that it was beneath me. If they told me in advance, at least I could have decided whether or not to do it. What pissed me off was the deception, the attitude that as an adult actress I was such a whore they could do anything they wanted with me without so much as a “how do you do?” And on top of it, they wanted 50% of the picture money.

I said, “I’m not getting naked. And you’re not getting anything.”

They were trying to be tough guys, attempting to bully me into it. I wasn’t going for it. They said, “Well, the gig’s off.”

They turned around, walked away, and I said, “Are you at least going to take me back to the hotel?”

“Find your own way.”

And I did.

I started walking out of the store to grab a cab when this large, round, jolly fellow with thinning red hair came into the store. He said, “I saw you were going to be here today and I wanted you to come to my club. But I didn’t know how to get in touch with you.”

I had heard of his place and it was supposed to be pretty nice, upscale strip joint. We went back to my hotel and he informed me, “We’ll pay for your room for a week so I’ll have time to advertise you. I only want you to do two shows a day for four days.” He also said I could keep all the photograph money.

Some five years and several pounds since I’d last stripped, it didn’t sound like the greatest idea in the world. Hell, I didn’t even have “proper stripping clothes” with me. But I needed the money.

I knew I wasn’t in dancing shape. Once I stopped doing coke, the pounds grew back on and then some. Even back in my prime, I was nervous and scared about live shows. Any dancer who tells you otherwise is lying. I would always think, “Are they going to like me?” But I would get standing ovations just for walking out. It was a feeling of power. Sometimes I’d even see guys jerking off in their seats. For whatever reason, it didn’t seem sleazy to me. I was amused they would actually have the nerve to do this at a live performance in a room full of people. Hell, I could get a guy to do anything I wanted from the stage. If I wanted him to jump out of his seat and walk on stage for me to do a lap dance, he’d do it. I had fans actually come and bow down in front of me and say, “I am not worthy.” That made me uncomfortable, since I’m just a regular person, but it wasn’t like it was my idea.

But did I still have it? I wondered nervously as we wrote the out contract on a napkin.

The club was packed the entire four days. The owner asked if I would hang around between shows to just talk to customers and have a drink with them. Since he had been so gracious, I didn’t mind at all. I had already told the bartenders that when the customers bought me a drink, put very little alcohol in as I didn’t want to get hammered.

They had a designated corner table for the owner and me. I had on a mini-skirt with high heels and a low cut blouse, but was well aware I didn’t look like the Seka of old. Yet the customers were exceedingly nice and flattering to me. That was until one guy put his hands on the table. Kind of leaning on his knuckles, he said, “Would you mind standing up?”

Not knowing his game, I obliged him.

Looking me up and down in a disdainful sort of way, he suddenly blurted out, “Why would I want to see a fat old porn star?”

That cut me deep to the bone. He had been intentionally cruel and it was devastating.

It always hurts me when fans have this unrealistic expectation that thirty years later a Seka or a Ginger Lynn won’t age. That we’re like that image on a seventies screen or in a magazine centerfold from a quarter century ago. We all get older. Have they looked in the mirror to see how
they’ve
aged? This fellow wasn’t exactly Mr. GQ himself. But it does hurt your feelings. It makes you doubt yourself. You wonder if everybody feels that way or if they’re just feeling sorry for you and that’s why they’re coming by.

I didn’t know what to say, nor did I even have the chance to respond. The owner sort of lifted his finger and suddenly two huge bouncers grabbed the guy. “You’re never allowed back in here again. Don’t even try.”

Sitting in the dressing room prior to my set, I thought this was one of the stupidest things I’d ever done. The customer’s cruel comments kept playing through my head. It was all I could do to walk on those pumps up to that stage. I was totally self-conscious. I was actually grateful the club was not well lit.

But when I got up there, the audience was so warm and responsive. And very kind. When they were giving me tips they’d say things like, “Thank you for being here. I love your movies.” Some said I looked
better.
One or two even said it was
nice
I put some weight on. Who knows, maybe they were prompted by the owner to say it, but it helped alleviate the feeling of not being good enough anymore. Without our fans, we’re nothing.

My Aunt Merlyn and my Uncle Doug were my favorite relatives and since they didn’t live that far away, they picked me up at the hotel. I hadn’t seen them in a long time and they drove me to the airport. It was wonderful being with them as they had always been so supportive of everything I had done.

Getting on that plane, I actually felt good about my little misadventure. What had started out as a horrible, horrible time turned out to be an eye-opening experience. I saw how cruel people could be, but left feeling really loved and appreciated.