An Intimate Life (37 page)

My practice continued to thrive, even though ordinary aging presented certain physical challenges. I was no longer as flexible or as nimble as I was when I first started as a surrogate. On the other hand, I had nearly four decades of experience to draw on and a level of expertise, sensitivity, and insight that I couldn’t have had as a younger woman. My reputation in the field was established, and I had a coterie of therapists in the Bay Area, and even other parts of the country, who referred clients to me. Between my standing in the community and the dearth of surrogates, the work continued to roll in. In the wake of AIDS, surrogates left the practice in droves. I sometimes wonder how my profession would look today if the disease hadn’t changed the course of it.

I could look back on a rich and rewarding career, and I was still in demand. In all of my years in this profession, my age has only been an issue for one client who referred to me as “no spring chicken.” He and I actually wound up working well together after I explained to him that if he expected to be a hit with any woman, he should keep that kind of comment to himself—especially since he was hardly a young man himself.

Sometimes clients call me after our work is completed to get a confidence boost, or with questions that arise for them. They also often send me cards or emails thanking me or reflecting on our time together. In 1990, Mark O’Brien published the essay “On Seeing a Sex Surrogate” in
The Sun
magazine. He detailed how our work together unfolded in a way that only someone with his talents as a journalist and poet could have. I was moved by it, and so was Ben Lewin, a Los Angeles–based screenwriter and filmmaker.

In 2007, Ben visited me with an old friend of his who was also his chief financial backer. Like Mark, Ben had been afflicted with polio as a child and he walked with forearm crutches and a leg brace. I’m sure this was a primary reason Mark’s story resonated so deeply with him. Between other projects, Ben started working on a screenplay based on Mark’s article and our interview. He would send me drafts to review and check in occasionally, but long periods went by without any contact.

With Ben’s busy schedule and the vagaries of the film world, it sometimes seemed that the project would languish. Then, in 2010, when I returned home from a trip to Boston to visit family, I found an oversized envelope in the stack of mail waiting for me on the dining room table. The screenplay was finished and it was tentatively titled
The Surrogate
.

From there an incredible cascade of good fortune began. The film received more financing and Ben secured three talented actors to appear in it. John Hawkes had been cast as Mark. I was thrilled. I had admired him in
Deadwood
,
Winter’s Bone
,
The Perfect Storm
, and other movies, and I couldn’t wait to see the chameleon-like actor turn into my erstwhile client. The inestimable William H. Macy was set to play Mark’s priest and confidant. Several actresses were considered for the role of the surrogate.

When I learned who would be the onscreen version of me I was in my car. “Helen Hunt is going to play you.” My heart sped up; I must have taken my foot off the gas because I soon realized my car was nearly at a stop. I was so stunned that I almost forgot I was driving. Pull over before you cause an accident, I thought and veered to the roadside. “Helen Hunt,” I stammered into the cell phone. “That’s right,” said Ben. Academy Award–winning Helen Hunt, a bona fide star and a beautiful and respected actor, was going to play me. Was this really happening?

Ben also asked if I would serve as a consultant on the film, which would start shooting in May 2011. This would entail working with the two primary actors, and being on set for some of the filming. I made plans to fly to Los Angeles as soon as I got home.

I’ve always loved movies. Growing up in the ’50s I went to our hometown theater almost every Saturday. That was before you could log on to the Internet or buy a book about filmmaking, so the workings of the Hollywood dream factory were opaque and mysterious to the general public. Even as an adult, I lost myself in onscreen magic, having little sense of what it took to create it. Being on the set with the cast and crew of the movie changed that. The amount of time, work, and energy that goes into a film is staggering. One thing I learned immediately is how much curiosity and thought underlies a great acting performance. Both Helen and John asked a number of smart questions about me, my work, and Mark. They honed in on the tiniest details and immersed themselves in the story.

Helen Hunt invited me to have lunch with her on one of the first days I was in Los Angeles. We met in Santa Monica, and as I sat at a table waiting, I saw her walk past the restaurant window, and, once again, felt like I was dreaming. Helen had so much genuine interest in me and my work that I quickly lost my anxiety about sitting across the table from an accomplished and celebrated actor. She taped much of our conversation and paid careful attention to the cadence and rhythm of my speech. The next day I went to her home and demonstrated Sensual Touch on her partner, who remained fully clothed.

By the time John Hawkes and I met, he had seen
Breathing Lessons
, an Academy Award–winning short documentary about Mark O’Brien, close to twenty times. One of the first things John said to me was how impressed and inspired he was by the courage Mark had shown throughout his life. He wanted his performance to honor him. John was in the process of reading every piece of Mark’s writing he could get his hands on, and he had even learned how to type with a mouth stick, the way Mark had. I’ll never forget the first time I saw John on set playing Mark. It was overwhelming. It was as if he had dissolved into Mark. As I sat there with my headphones listening to John deliver his lines in Mark’s wheezy voice, I got chills.

Only one sadness shadowed this extraordinary time. Mark wouldn’t be here to see the movie. In 1999, he succumbed to post-polio syndrome. I know he would have been tickled by the whole process, and I thought often about how he would have coached the filmmakers. One of the many things I love about the film is how Ben and John capture Mark’s wit. If it’s true that our spirits live on after death, I’m sure Mark is laughing at all the humor.

For a while, it seemed like every day something positive happened. In November 2011, I received an early Christmas gift when I learned that the film had been accepted to the Sundance Film Festival. It would debut on January 23, 2012. Not only that, but I was invited to attend the screening. I was heading to one of the most prestigious film festivals in the world.

I called my cousin and dear friend Susan, and she whooped so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. I set it down on an end table and switched to speaker mode before I asked if she wanted to join Bob and me in Utah.

The next day I hit some high-end thrift shops for something special to wear on the trip. I finally found a gorgeous beaded silk kimono-style top and pants to match. Where else had these clothes been worn? I wondered. I didn’t know, but I couldn’t imagine it had been to Sundance.

On the Saturday before the film was due to open, we arrived in Utah in the midst of a blizzard. The next morning we walked around the quaint Park City streets that were festooned with Sundance banners. They buzzed with excitement and the media was out in force. “The Sundance Film Festival” emblazoned the marquees of the theaters that dotted the downtown. CNN had requested an interview with me the day after the premiere.

I spent more time getting ready for the premiere than I had for any event in recent memory. I was anxious and excited. I had seen clips from the movie, but this was the first time I would view the finished product. It showed at the sprawling Eccles Theater, and when we arrived we were shunted off to an area designated for people involved with the film. Ben Lewin, Helen Hunt, John Hawkes, William H. Macy, and others from the cast and crew sat amid the packed house. As the film began, I squeezed Bob’s hand. I still couldn’t believe this was really happening.

The Surrogate
was everything I could have hoped it would be. It was poignant, smart, beautifully acted, and funny. One of the things I loved the most about it was the thoughtful portrayal of my profession. I don’t think it could have done a better job of revealing the complexities, challenges, and rewards of surrogacy work and the unique relationship that develops between surrogate and client. It was also one of the first times I had seen the sexuality of a disabled character handled with such honesty and grace. Maybe it’s asking more than a movie can deliver, but I hope that disabled people will come away from it feeling that their sexuality has been affirmed and recognized, and reminded that they have as much of a right as anyone to explore and enjoy sex.

In our continuing string of luck, the film was sold to Fox Searchlight. It also won the special jury prize for ensemble acting and the audience award in the drama genre. I was touched by how many people wanted to meet me after the movie and how warmly they treated me. When I got back to the hotel, I called Jessica, who was only slightly less ecstatic about all of this than me. Hours later I was still wired, but I eventually slipped into sleep and out of the dream I had been living.

Back in Berkeley, I brushed off the stardust and returned to my work and life. So much had happened recently that I could never have imagined when I began as a surrogate. As a confused and frightened kid, I worried about a desolate future burdened with secrets and shame. I predicted a long string of doomed efforts to mold myself into inhuman standards that I was sure I was the only one who couldn’t meet. As I look back, my life seems like a road with impossible twists and turns. I often wonder what it would be like today if I had been born in a different era, if I had never met Michael, if I had never heard of surrogacy. I know one thing for certain: The person I know as me wouldn’t exist.

As I inch toward seventy, I appreciate more and more how much I have to be grateful for and how fortunate I’ve been. I was lucky to find a wonderful career and to be surrounded by so many smart, adventurous, caring people. My personal sexual revolution auspiciously paralleled our culture’s, and in many ways was made possible by it. I am eternally grateful to the pioneers, rebels, and dreamers who made our society a little safer for women who embrace their sexuality. I have seen hundreds of clients, and I still can’t think of anything I would rather do with my life than to help people more fully express and enjoy their sexuality. Confusion about sex remains rampant in our culture. An all-pervasive media promulgates misconceptions, distortions, and falsehood about it, while retrograde political forces continue to threaten sexual education and freedom. I know that the men and women with whom I’ve worked are but a small fraction of the people who struggle with their sexuality. Still, I feel gratified when I look back at my career and recall how I helped my clients build healthier, happier sex lives.

That I am encircled by a loving, supportive family means that I am doubly gifted with happiness in both my work and personal life. Bob and I have shared nearly half of our lives. It was with him that I learned that love wasn’t something I had to earn anew each day. It could be received and given unconditionally. A loving partnership transforms the individuals in it into better people than they would be on their own. It both uplifts and grounds a life. It is only because of Bob that I know this, and my love for him is immeasurable. Today my children are successful, confident, and caring adults. Michael and I gave them a childhood full of love and support, encouragement, and guidance. Together we laid the ground for them to become the people they are today. This is the only accomplishment I take more pride in than my surrogacy career.

I’m more in demand than ever from the media, and I still get asked to explain how I’m different from a prostitute. As I watched
The Sessions
, as the film was later retitled, I wondered if it would make the difference clear to the general public. If it doesn’t, I’m not worried. I can think of worse things to be conflated with, and what separates surrogates from prostitutes is significant. When people have difficulty grasping it, I turn to my beloved and late friend Steven Brown’s cooking analogy that I’ve so often relied on to help me through that question: Seeing a prostitute is like going to a restaurant. Seeing a surrogate is like going to culinary school. I’m sixty-eight now, and I have no intention of hanging up my apron.