Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn (37 page)

40.
Heads I Live, Tails I Die

When you’ve spent much of your life living on the edge like I have, any particular decision or action can be life or death. August 27, 1990, was no exception.

I went to the Alpine Valley Music Theater near East Troy, Wisconsin, to see the great blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughn. I was a huge fan of his so it was well worth the ninety-or-so-minute trip from Chicago to see him. I had been given all-access passes by some friends I knew and immediately went backstage. They had a hospitality suite with a buffet spread for guests and it was sort of like a meet and greet, with the band members hanging out and socializing. The band knew who I was, since I was kind of the “It Girl” for rock and rollers in those days.

This was the first time I met Stevie and I was thrilled because he was one of the most dynamic blues guitarists who ever lived. I was awestruck and nearly speechless during our brief conversation. He seemed like an old soul, much wiser and insightful than his years. His eyes held great depth. And that came out every time his fingers touched the strings of his guitar. Not much was said, but I remember how gracious he was. “Thank you for coming. I appreciate it.”

He was clearly a man of few words, but I sensed his sincerity. I knew from being around a lot of musicians to give him space, as he was about to get on stage. Some performers are nervous and quiet moments before show time and I didn’t want to be intrusive and put him out in any way. I certainly didn’t want to come off like a doting fan, although that’s exactly what I was.

Amazingly, Eric Clapton, Buddy Guy, Robert Cray, and Stevie’s older brother Jimmy Vaughn were also backstage, and as much as I respect and admire all of them, I’d come to see Stevie.

It was one of the most amazing blues shows I had ever seen, and I felt privileged to be there. Hell, it was like a musical orgasm on stage. Truly memorable.

After the show, I innately knew he’d need to come down. The adrenaline had to be through the roof and I knew that feeling, so I tried to stand back and respect his space. The worst thing you can do in a situation like that is to be goo-goo over a star.

Everybody was kind of mingling around backstage. Somebody suddenly said to me, “We’re getting ready to go back to the city by chopper. We can get you back sooner than by car.”

A cold chill ran down my spine and the hairs on my neck stood up. Maybe it was a premonition. Or maybe it just wasn’t a good night since I knew how foggy it was. But as much as I wanted to, I listened to the voice inside telling me, “Don’t get on that helicopter.”

I declined the generous invitation. How many people would have turned down a chance to share a helicopter with a major rock star and his crew?

I drove back to Chicago. It wasn’t until the next morning I learned the chopper had crashed and all aboard were killed, including Stevie Ray Vaughn.

I was devastated. The whole thing shook me to my core. One of the most magnificent true bluesmen was gone at the peak of his powers. It was like a relative or friend dying. You know you’re never going to hear that person live again. A recording may be brilliant, but it’s just not the same. I don’t claim he and I had some fabulous friendship — we’d only met that night and hardly spoke at all. That would have made it so much more ironic if I had joined him on that flight and perished as well. Think of the erroneous conclusions people would have drawn.

The experience affected me deeply. It validated that I should always listen to my “inner voice.” I think we all have that innate ability to know what we should and should not do. Now, whenever I have an inner battle over something, I try to listen to myself and do whatever I think is right. Had I not that night, I wouldn’t be here today.

41.
Hot Dogs

I hadn’t done a film in several years. And when you don’t work in the adult industry, you are looked upon as a has-been. I also wasn’t exactly in the best shape of my life. I had let myself go and was embarrassed to be seen in front of a camera. I actually wasn’t doing much of anything but staying at home, worrying about bills, and eating.

Once I realized I wasn’t going to make films, and the modeling dwindled down, I started to look for jobs. The porn legend was about to join the “real world.”

I still had my looks and personality, but to find a good job with benefits and to make my house payments was virtually impossible. Everybody in Chicago knew who I was. It would have been okay if I was a real, full-time stripper, but for “legitimate” jobs, people didn’t want an ex-porn star.

I’d go into a normal bar, ask for work as a bartender, work for a week and a half, and then they’d tell me somebody was coming back from sick leave or whatever. None of it was true. The owners would hear who I was and didn’t want “my element” around.

So I figured the strip clubs would be the way to go, since it was “my element.” I eventually did find a job at The Crazy Horse in Chicago as a daytime bartender. I never actually went to bartending school. I pretended I knew what I was doing and read my little bartending book. I had big boobs and was blonde, and if I bent over enough they didn’t care what drink I put in front of them. Eventually, I learned how to be a good bartender.

Did I think this was a come-down from my former red-carpet, autograph-selling life? Believe it or not, no. It simply followed a pattern I’d been on my entire life. When I needed money, I worked. Each step along the road, I’d go as far as I could and then something would force me to completely change direction and start at the bottom again. At Ken’s, I was just a cashier in a dirty bookstore. Eventually, I became management. In the film biz, I was the new girl doing cheap loops, and then worked my way up to being the star. Stripping was about the only thing I’d ever done where I came in at the top and worked my way down! I needed some bread and bartending did not hurt my ego one bit. It was honest labor and I got paid.

I still looked around for other opportunities. On some job interviews, I’d be recognized and they’d get excited about hiring me, but eventually a customer would complain that a porn star was serving them and they’d let me go. “How could anyone think of hiring somebody like her?” I had to be a whore, a hooker, a lowlife. It was okay to look at my films and fantasize about me, but not to have me out in public. It was almost like being an animal in a zoo. You could look at them but not let them loose. It really pissed me off big time because I had become a good bartender. The bar tabs would go up three or four times when they heard I was there. The zoo had a new attraction. But they’d come up with some absurd reason to let me go and I knew why. I went through this same scenario five or six times.

Sometimes the bosses would ask me to do things they’d never ask anyone else. They’d have me work New Year’s Eve. When they’d split tips, they’d cheat me in spite of the fact I was doing more business than they were. One New Year’s Eve, I quit because management was literally screaming at me. I had totally cleaned up after my shift, but now they were demanding I do the work of the rest of the staff. Meanwhile, we were in the middle of a snowstorm and I wanted to get home in one piece. They told me if I didn’t like it I could leave. In spite of desperately needing the gig, I told them to go fuck themselves and walked out. The only reason I could think of for being treated like this was because of what I had done in the past. Also, it must have made them feel oh so powerful to push around a former porn “star.” Once you’ve been on a pedestal, everyone wants to knock you down.

Some of the girls who got out of the adult film game changed their appearances and their names in order to never be found or found out. I couldn’t care less about that. I sincerely wasn’t ashamed. The way I saw it, it wasn’t my problem, it was everyone else’s problem. My only problem was they were letting their problem
become
my problem.

A customer named Paulie came into the bar one night and said he loved my movies for years and years. He told me if I ever needed a job I should get in touch, and handed me his card. He owned hot dog stands inside of Home Depot. So I went to work selling hot dogs. He told everybody that Seka was working there and it was great for me because it was just this little hot dog stand and all kinds of characters would stop there. They’d want to talk to me and the added bonus was that the hotdogs were really good. All the contractors came in at night. I’d sell literally $2,500 worth of hotdogs in a shift, but I only got $10 an hour plus tips. Regardless, it was better than bartending.

It bothered me tremendously that I had allowed myself to be in this position. I had made some terrible business decisions. But I was willing to pay my dues to get back on my feet.

Ironically, I had a good time. Firemen would visit in all their gear and get hot dogs just because they wanted to meet me. Ditto the police. And these people who came in were wonderful. They thought it was the best thing since sliced bread that I was making a hot dog for them. It was probably the safest job I ever had, since there were always cops and rescue squad people there to see me.

Most of the people I worked with were Latina women. They were pretty and sweet. They’d watch their p’s and q’s and did they ever work their asses off! I felt bad for them because they put up with a lot more crap than I would at a job. They didn’t have health insurance and had large families to support. I don’t think I could have worked with a nicer group of women ever. They were very gentle, sincere, and caring. They weren’t judgmental of what I had done. As long as you pulled your weight, they were great to you. They saw I didn’t expect to be treated any differently than they were and they respected me for that.

Their plight made me think of the choices I had made. Whether I had picked the easy or hard road in life as an adult actress, at least I had choices. Since many of them were illegal and barely spoke the language, their options were limited, to say the least.

I enjoyed seeing people from all walks of life coming in. It was the full spectrum of society from very high end folk getting out of limos for a hot dog, to normal people going about their lives. You never knew from customer to customer how the conversation would go or what would happen. Nine times out of ten customers who recognized me were totally respectful and friendly, but whenever there was a problem it was usually the women who were jealous and spiteful.

I got really good at it. I could hold four hot dog buns in one hand and make four hot dogs at once. It may have been an odd thing to be proud of, but that’s me.

The job was physically hard, though. I was in my forties and on my feet and in the heat for six or seven hours straight. I’d get home and couldn’t move. The girls had warned me that the owner’s girlfriend was a real bitch. They were right, too, because she tried to make my life miserable because her boyfriend liked me. She spoke to me in an insulting way and tried to make me do demeaning things she wouldn’t dare ask anybody else to do.

I was never a person to lie down and be humiliated. As far as I’m concerned, you judge a person on who they are and if they keep their word. I wouldn’t put up with rudeness. And slinging hot dogs wasn’t a career. I told him one day, “Look, I can’t work for your girlfriend and I know you’re not going to give her up over me. I quit.”

I knew at some point these jobs weren’t going to work out. It was just a means to pay some bills. I was now in my mid-forties and had to once again figure out what to do with my life.

42.
Matthew

One of my favorite people in the world is my cousin Sarah Jane. Although she’s about nine years younger than I am, she’s always been like a sister to me. And considering I don’t speak to my own sister at all, she’s someone I need so very much in my life. Pretty, smart, and kind, you could not find a better surrogate sister in the world. With her thick Radford, Virginia, accent, I’m sometimes the only person in the room who can make sense out of what she’s saying. I would do anything for her. We’ve been to hell and back together.

Sarah had two children, Meredith and Matthew. Both were beautiful inside and out, with olive complexions, dark hair, and dark eyes. Matthew was the sweetest little child, while Meredith was the feisty one. He had a silent strength about him, while Meredith would tell you whatever was on her mind. And in her twenties, she still does today.

Since Meredith was able to walk and talk, everyone in the family joked that she was my child because she’s so willful. She’s strong, outspoken, and stands up for herself. Wearing her heart on her sleeve, behind the bravado, she’s a very tender person. And the capper is she’s very, very bright.

I was always Aunt Dot to these children, as well as to all of my cousins’ kids.

When he was around the age of fourteen, Matthew started to get headaches. He was an amateur wrestler at his local high school. He’d come home and tell his mom he couldn’t get rid of his headaches. Sarah figured it was from the intense body contact and exertion. However, it persisted for weeks.

When the doctor looked in his eyes he told her simply, “Something isn’t right.”

And it wasn’t. They found three brain tumors. He had brain cancer.

Sarah was divorced from the father of her kids but he was still in their lives. When they got the news, the whole family, and even the community, rallied in support of them. Aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, friends, classmates, and everyone in between helped them with whatever they needed. We cleaned the house, did the lawn, took care of the laundry, went shopping, and took a load off poor Sarah. We saw the sadness in Sarah, but she stayed strong and did whatever she could to help Matthew in his fight. I don’t think I ever saw her break down once through the whole ordeal.