Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn (38 page)

She drove a couple hundred miles each way for radiation treatments and chemo. Matthew didn’t want to stay in the hospital, and she promised him he’d never be alone. For a couple of months, Matthew would be able to basically go about his life. I’d fly in from Chicago and take him to his favorite restaurant. It wasn’t so much going out to eat, but us all being there together.

On top of everything, it was a financial drain on them. When I asked if there was anything she needed, she answered honestly, “Well, we can always use money.” So I sent what I could. Considering I worked at a Home Depot slinging hot dogs eight hours a day, I didn’t have an abundance of that.

When I told the owner of the hot dog stand what was going on he said, “Okay, we’ll set up outside and sell hot dogs for a dollar each. We’ll do a fundraiser for him. And if people want to give more, they can.”

We raised two thousand and change in one afternoon. That’s a lot of hotdogs.

For the most part, everyone was very nice about buying a hotdog or throwing some money in the jar. But there’re always rotten apples in the bunch. One guy said. “Why in the hell would I want to give a porn star money for her nephew? That’s just ridiculous. Go beg from someone else.”

I got very angry, but a split second later I realized how sad it was that this man had no compassion whatsoever.

Later in the day, a woman just stood there staring at me and said, “You spread your legs all these years. Why don’t you spread your legs again?”

She gave me the strangest look as if she was expecting me to say something hostile, but I figured why waste my breath on someone like this? I simply said to her, “Why don’t you just walk away?”

When the smoke cleared, though, I felt really, really good. Not only had it been a financial success, it was heartwarming that people who didn’t know my Matthew were willing to dig into their pockets to help someone literally a thousand miles away. It gave me back some faith in humanity.

We did another fundraiser at The Big House restaurant in Chicago, where I had known the owner for years. It was a Sunday afternoon and she called all our musician friends — Nan Mason, Bob Salone, Frank Deron. Buddy Charles, Carla Valenti and many other well-known Chicago performers. Other community leaders and business people donated items for a silent auction like TVs, a spa day, and dinners at different restaurants. Joey Mondelli’s chef, Armando, from La Scarola’s restaurant, donated a home-cooked dinner to the highest bidder. The support was overwhelming. These were all friends who came through for me when I most needed them. Each and every one of them passed out fliers around the neighborhood, told everyone they knew, and asked for five-dollar donations. There were also tip jars around that were filling up with cash, but even more amazing was the fact that person after person kept walking over to me with envelopes with cash in them. Even the musicians who donated their time and service and weren’t making a dime came over and handed me money. I broke down and cried several times.

In spite of the sad circumstances, it was an amazing show and they purposely picked out uplifting, funny, and poignant songs about people loving and caring for each other. “Time in a Bottle” was one song I remember being performed. And tunes about love took on a whole new meaning, since this time it was a love between an aunt and her dying nephew.

Unbelievably, I walked out of there with almost thirteen thousand dollars.

For several weeks, bar and restaurant owners let me put a jar out with a picture of Matthew on it where their patrons could put in money. I’d come by a few days later to pick them up and it was overwhelming to me that these jars were full. I’d send large checks in Matthew’s name, and Sarah was also just blown away by the whole thing. It helped them out a lot. The thankfulness that came from Matthew alone meant a lot to me.

“You really do love me, don’t you? Thank you for everything you have done for my mom and my family.” He was a very selfless child.

Lelo and Frank of the Italian restaurant Topo Gigio helped me get in touch with the Make-A-Wish Foundation. By this point Matthew knew he was dying and I knew there were things he wanted to do. He wanted to go to Disneyworld to go on the Aerosmith ride. He loved the band and amusement parks. So Make-A-Wish brought Sarah, her ex-husband, Meredith, and Matthew there for four days. Whatever Matthew wanted to do they took care of it and it was a beautiful experience.

Matthew also loved the Dallas Cowboys, while his sister Meredith is a Washington Redskins fan. Washington and Dallas play each other twice a year. I called my ex-boyfriend Billy Connors of the Cubs and asked if he knew anyone in the football world. He asked me to give him a couple of days to see what he could pull off and he called me back with four tickets for the game. Not only that, Matthew had a pass to be in the Cowboys locker room. His favorite player was Emmitt Smith. Emmitt gave him his Super Bowl ring to wear during the game. Matthew met all the guys and was just thrilled. He was in a wheelchair at this point and it was very exhausting for him, but it was just a wonderful day. That young man could not thank me enough. But I didn’t need to be thanked. I was just happy I had been in a position to do it.

The last time I saw Matthew was on July 3, 2002. He was bedridden. He said, “Aunt Dot, I love you. I’m really getting tired now.” I knew what he meant. I walked out of the room and broke down. At that point it was a waiting game. I got the call the next day that he was gone.

Sarah, Meredith, and her husband were in the room when it happened. They all needed to say what they had to say to him. Rather than dying alone in some hospital hooked up to machines, that’s the way it should be.

After he died on July 4th, I took a blanket, a small cooler of beer, and walked up the street to grab a nice, grassy spot where they were blowing off fireworks. The sky was so crystal clear. It was like a celebration of his life and a sendoff at the same time.

Matthew had asked Sarah to have me pick out a song for his funeral. When the music started to play and everyone heard rock and roller Joe Cocker’s voice they looked at me like I was nuts. The song was from a CD called
No Ordinary World.
It’s a ballad called “On My Way Home.”

By the end of the song there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

43.
The Last Garter

I retired and un-retired as often as an aging prizefighter. I was like Al Pacino in
Godfather III
 — just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.

When I started in adult films, I got paid peanuts, like everyone else. Then I raised the stakes and the industry went with me. I raised my wages to the point where I ran myself out of the business, and I was glad. But even once I’d done that, even once I left and then came back to do
Careful,
which I felt was my swan song, they kept calling. It was like a bad romance. I’d name a ridiculous figure, they’d turn me down, and I thought that would be the end of it. Some time would pass and they’d call again and we’d dance the same dance once more. In my heart, I knew the day might come when they’d say yes and I’d need the money enough to call their bluff.

The numbers I’d quote were far more than any other single venture I’d moved into after acting. And there were certainly times I wondered where my next paycheck was coming from or how I would pay my mortgage. It was like a game of chicken.

In the middle of all that was AIDS. By the 1990s, the world finally started to have some semblance of agreement on what it was, what caused it, how you got it, and how best to prevent it. Tests were finally developed.

One day, everything came together just as I’d feared and hoped. A company was willing to meet my price. They agreed to my demands for creative control. They allowed me to cast who I wanted. I would only do sex scenes with people of my own choosing. Everyone I did those scenes with would be tested for HIV, and even then, they would still be wearing condoms. I never thought anyone would accept my terms, but they did, and I needed the money so much I had no sane choice but to go along.

The film was called
American Garter.
Like
Careful,
it was very story-driven and practically soft-core — a couples’ movie, as they were called. It was done on film instead of video, so it looked classy. They got Henri Pachard to direct, and Gloria Leonard was involved in the production as well. I’d never worked with Henri before, but I liked everything I’d heard about him from others I knew and trusted, and I’d always liked and respected Gloria. It looked like there was nothing for me to complain about, no excuses for me to use to get out of doing it.

Check that — there was one thing. I’d gained weight. I was pushing forty and I looked it, at least in my own eyes, despite having had some work done. I started working out and dieting and lost the worst of the weight, but when I looked in the mirror, I still wasn’t satisfied with what was looking back. I was in MILF territory, which I had trouble coming to grips with. That term hadn’t quite been invented yet, but there were girls like Kay Parker, Juliet Anderson, and Georgina Spelvin who’d always done those sorts of roles. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that yet. I think lots of mainstream actresses feel the same way, kicking and biting their way into middle age, still wanting to play ingénues and romantic leads with hot young guys and not being regarded as a cougar. Now that was me, and I didn’t like it one bit.

There was something else I should have known from all the years I’d been in the industry — everyone lies. Yes, they paid me what they promised, and yes, I got the casting I’d asked for — good guys I could count on like Randy West. But when it came to condom time, the hair flew.

First, they conveniently forgot I’d insisted upon it. Yeah, like I’d forget a thing like that, right at the height of AIDS awareness. We fought. And fought. And fought. I wasn’t going to do a scene with a penis unless it was covered in latex, and if they didn’t meet their obligations, I was walking off the set and I knew if we went to court they’d be the ones in breach of contract, not me.

Would you believe they thought they came up with a way of “meeting me halfway?” I never would have dreamed there was a way of “sorta” wearing a condom, but they found it. Of course, this didn’t come from any discussion with me — I’d already drawn my line in the sand. But when they “agreed” with me, we got started on my first sex scene and when it was time for insertion, I looked down and there was this little rubber thing on the very tip of the guy’s cock. I’d never seen such a thing in my life. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what a condom looked like — the men I was sleeping with at the time were all wearing them. But nobody ever wore anything that looked like this. It was so funny looking I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“What the fuck is this?!”

“It’s a condom.”

“No it’s not! It’s, it’s… It looks like a fucking yarmulke!” And it did. It looked like it was made for a penis having a Bar Mitzvah.

“It’ll work; trust us. It’s rubber; everything will be okay. And best of all, the audience will never know.”

I stomped off the set. This wasn’t Gloria or Henri I was fighting with. They were actually on my side. It was the suits — or what passes for suits in the porn industry. The money guys who ran the show.

“Don’t piss on my shoes and tell me it’s raining. You can call that a condom all you want; I say it’s not a condom. A condom covers the entire penis. That thing will fall off the moment he enters me.”

They debated me. More than anything else, they kept saying, “But this way, no one will know he’s wearing one.”

“Listen, everyone should wear a condom unless they’re in a long-term, committed, monogamous relationship. I
want
the audience to know he’s wearing one!”

I never would have dreamed it, but I’d just given my first Safe Sex Public Service Announcement. If they’d had the cameras rolling, they could have shown it on TV or in movie previews. And it would have worked a helluva lot better than the kinds of homogenized spokespeople who were already doing them. I had become associated with sex, and if someone like me said it, unscripted, people might have taken it more to heart. I never set out to be the spokesmodel for safer sex, but I believed in it and I would have done PSAs in a heartbeat. But America didn’t want to see someone like me with a message like that, unless I was already riddled with AIDS and speaking from my deathbed. I believed in what I was saying because I didn’t want to end up like that. I liked breathing too much! Life is good! So is sex, so what you do, if you have any sense at all, is try to combine the two — life
and
sex. Condoms help with that.

Henri and Gloria cheered me on. “Give her what she wants!” It worked. If you watch closely, you can see the condoms in my
Garter
scenes, and even if you can’t because of some angle, trust me, they’re there.

Garter
was not a big hit, unfortunately. If it was, perhaps I would have “un-retired” a few more times. But
Garter
would be the last — my final XXX feature in which I’d have real sex.

Did I miss it? No. The phone continued to ring, but it wasn’t just that they wouldn’t meet my price. The industry continued to change, and not for the better.
Garter
was practically a throwback, with people like Randy, Ona Zee, Mike Horner, and I involved. Literally no hardcore was being done on film. There was either soft core — no erections and no penetration seen — or there was hardcore. Most hardcore was becoming almost totally plotless. Many of the old players were disappearing, and not just the ones in front of the camera. I’d get calls from people I’d never heard of. Flyby-nights. It used to be we all knew each other — not just the actors, but the entire industry. Now any punk with a video camera was a filmmaker, especially in porn. With home video and the Internet, the industry had grown too large. And it wasn’t some big corporate thing. That might have actually been better, believe it or not. I’d go to return people’s calls and the number would be disconnected. That sort of thing didn’t happen with Time Warner or Sony.