Ordeal (21 page)
Authors: Linda Lovelace
“And when the fuck is that supposed to be?”
“Four-thirty!” I said. “That’s supposed to be four-thirty!”
While Chuck and I were going at each other, the rest of the company stood silently by. They were all frightened of him. The week before they had seen him at his worst; he had hit me in front of everyone. Later David Winters and Mel Mandel spoke to Chuck alone and told him they would have to leave the act if that happened again. That conversation was still fresh in Chuck’s mind.
“I’m supposed to leave you here until four-fucking-thirty?” he said.
“That’s right!” I was still excited. “Just leave me alone!”
And he left. Chuck Traynor actually left. For once in my life, I had the last word in an argument with Chuck. But only God knows how determined I was that day. What Chuck had been doing to me then made me angrier than all the things he had done before. It was one thing to force me to do indecent things; it was another to stand in the way of all my hopes for a decent life. When he left me alone that day, I threw myself into the rehearsals—really singing, really dancing, really feeling it.
I was into it
. For once I was into something with every part of me. The people there all saw the change.
I was into it
. For once I was into something with every part of me. The people there all saw the change.
“You know something, Linda?” one of the back-up dancers said. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.”
“Oh, you’ve seen me smile.”
“Just with your lips,” he said.
“You know what it is,” another dancer said. “This is the first time I’ve seen you when you looked like you were really living.”
It was then that our writer, Mel Mandel, said something that changed my life. Maybe it was not all that profound or original, but it triggered something deep inside of me, and I’ve never forgotten it. At the moment he said it, it seemed to be a capsule holding all the truth in the world.
“I think I’d rather be dead,” he said, “than not really be living.”
I went back to my singing then but I couldn’t get that thought out of my mind. All my energies during the past couple of years had gone toward preserving my life. I had stayed alive—but I had not really been living. And I agreed with Mel. Yes, it would be better to be dead than not really be living.
Later in the day, Chuck called to say that he was going to come to get me. For the second time in a single day, I told him no, that I needed more time for working. But what I really needed was more time for thinking.
By this time, David and Mel and most of the others had gone. The only one left with me was my choreographer and dance coach, Joe Cassini. Often, Joe and I would be the last ones in the rehearsal hall. I suddenly turned to him.
“Joe, could you drop me off somewhere?”
“But Chuck—”
“I don’t want to be here when Chuck gets here,” I said. “I don’t ever want to be with Chuck again.”
Joe was scared to death of Chuck and didn’t try to hide that fact. Everyone who had ever seen Chuck’s temper was scared of him.
“I won’t tell Chuck who took me,” I said. “But Joe, if you don’t drive me away from here, I’m just going to start running. And I won’t have a prayer. Chuck would find me and kill me. You know Chuck.”
“Where could I take you?”
“The Beverly Hills Hotel.”
I don’t know why I chose a celebrity hangout like the Beverly Hills Hotel, or why I put my trust in a choreographer I barely knew, or why I signed the name “Linda Hyatt” when I registered, or why I did almost anything I was doing. But God was with me. God was definitely with me. No one at the hotel gave me a second glance, and no one recognized me as I went to my room. The bellboy left—“We hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us, Miss Hyatt”—and I closed the door and locked it; then I took a deep breath.
Finally. Finally I was safe behind a locked door and the madman who ruled my life was on the other side of the city. My mind raced over everything that had gone down. Had I been too careless? Too trusting? Too stupid? No, I was all alone and Chuck Traynor had no way of finding me. I was accountable to no one, owned by no one.
It was a heady feeling and I gave in to it completely. One of the first things I did in that hotel room is the same gesture that millions of adolescents have done to declare their independence. I lit up a cigarette. I took in a deep swallow of the smoke and let it filter out through my nostrils. Today, years later, I’m still smoking. I know it’s stupid and I intend to quit someday, but it will be on a day that I choose.
Then, a long hot tub bath. From time to time, I thought of Chuck—I imagined him furious and frantic, scurrying everywhere looking for me—and then I put him out of my mind. I thought about my past escape attempts and where they had gone wrong. They had failed because I had relied on other people, because I had gone to other people and sought help. Well, this time I was alone. I was relying on the strength of just one person, and I had no doubts about that person.
Later, relaxed from the bath and lying down, I finally got around to calling the offices of Linda Lovelace Enterprises. If Chuck had answered, I would have hung up the phone. But it was Dolores.
“Where
are
you?” she asked. “How
could
you leave me alone with that nut?”
are
you?” she asked. “How
could
you leave me alone with that nut?”
“I better not tell you yet,” I said. “It would only cause trouble for you. What’s been happening?”
Dolores lowered her voice and talked rapidly. She said that Chuck was going berserk. He had called every taxi company in town and none of them would say they had picked me up. Then he had gotten hold of my co-workers—David Winters, Mel Mandel and even poor Joe Cassini—and he had ranted and raved at them. The latest thing he had done was to pack a loaded revolver in his flight bag and—
Suddenly Chuck was on the phone.
“Where in the fucking hell are you?” He was screaming. “What in the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do you realize we’re supposed to be meeting with Brodsky and his—”
I looked at that noisy little telephone receiver and dropped it into its cradle.
Click
. That simple.
Click
, and all that awful hysteria came to an end. It was such a pleasure being able to turn Chuck off, to sever his grip on me. And now he couldn’t threaten me or yell at me or do anything to me at all. I reached for another cigarette.
Click
. That simple.
Click
, and all that awful hysteria came to an end. It was such a pleasure being able to turn Chuck off, to sever his grip on me. And now he couldn’t threaten me or yell at me or do anything to me at all. I reached for another cigarette.
The next time I spoke to Dolores was that evening and she was at her home.
“Linda, you must be very careful,” she said. “Chuck’s a madman. He’s got his gun with him and he’s cruising everywhere looking for you. He’s been here three different times.”
“He’ll never find me,” I said. “I’d tell you where I am but it really would put you in danger—”
“Don’t tell me,” she said. “I don’t want to know. You can tell me when Chuck has cooled down.”
That didn’t happen quickly. During the next few days, Chuck became more and more frantic. The meeting with Brodsky—and that represented ten or fifteen thousand in cash—had to be postponed again and again.
Chuck was paying visits to everyone who had been involved in the act with me. No longer was he alone. Now he was in the company of Vinnie, Lou Perry’s old bodyguard. Somehow Chuck had persuaded Lou that I was being held against my will, that I had been kidnapped.
Chuck was very direct in talking to David Winters and Mel Mandel and the rest. If they tried to hide me or help me, he would kill them. He would also kill their wives and children. The threats became so bad that several of them got a court order barring Chuck Traynor from ever talking to them.
This time I was determined not to crack. Every day away from Chuck made me stronger, made it less possible that I would ever again go back to him. I didn’t tell Dolores where I was until it was absolutely necessary and it was then that she proved herself to be a friend in need.
It was Dolores who advised me to move out of the Beverly Hills Hotel; there were too many people who might recognize me there. It was Dolores who drew some cash out of the company for me; Dolores who showed up with wigs and new clothes; Dolores who checked me out of the hotel and then drove me to a new hotel while I crouched on the floor of her car. And it was Dolores who arranged for two bodyguards to watch over me twenty-four hours a day.
In the company of one of the bodyguards, Dolores and I took a wild chance and drove out to the Malibu cottage Chuck and I had been renting. We went frantically through bureaus and closets, grabbing everything we could get our hands on and taking it out to the car. After a short time of this, the bodyguard became suspicious.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” he said. “Are you two girls doing something you’re not supposed to do?”
While I was hiding out, my brand new career as a stage performer came to an end. The men who had been working with me explained that they enjoyed working with me but they also enjoyed breathing; Chuck had told them they couldn’t have it both ways.
As the days went on, my only constant companion was fear. Every time I spoke to Dolores, she had a new story about Chuck, a new threat or a new tantrum. There was no longer any question about going back to Chuck. The other times I had tried to escape, the punishment had been unbearable. This time he would surely kill me. So be it. This time he would
have
to kill me. This time I would choose death ahead of Chuck Traynor. I kept thinking about what Mel Mandel had said that day:
I’d rather be dead than not really be living.
have
to kill me. This time I would choose death ahead of Chuck Traynor. I kept thinking about what Mel Mandel had said that day:
I’d rather be dead than not really be living.
While I was alone, with plenty of time to think, I asked myself why I hadn’t taken this step before. Why hadn’t I made the complete break? The answer: I was not strong enough. I was the kind of person who needed to draw strength from other people. The people I met with Chuck were not the kind of people anyone could draw strength from; they had no strength to spare.
Finally I had been exposed to decent people with talent. I became stronger by seeing myself through their eyes—I was not crazy, not sick, not a bad person. They had made me feel like a whole human being again and so I had finally been able to function as a human being.
I needed strength now more than ever. I learned that Chuck was searching for me with both his pistol and his automatic rifle by his side. Acting on Dolores’ suggestion, I called the police. They knew who I was and they listened to my story about my husband coming after me with a gun. I gave up forever on police help when I was told, “Lady, we can’t get involved in domestic affairs.”
While I was still hiding out, I called Sammy Davis, Jr. This time I told him everything, my true feelings about everything. I know now that I was looking for more support, perhaps even for a place to go. What I got instead was a little philosophy.
“Well,” he said, “you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.”
I’m sure that meant something very profound. But what it meant to me was that I was on my own. I guess I already knew that. Everyone has to learn that sometime, but it’s still a hard lesson. I was on my own and I would just have to wait Chuck out.
Basically that’s what happened. He finally stopped threatening to kill everyone. Now he began the bargaining and the wheedling. He would change his ways; he would help me with my career; he would do anything if I agreed to come back to him.
Messages went back and forth. Now Chuck was desperate. He could see our backer, Gerry Brodsky, and all his cash, disappearing from sight. And all those deals were going down the toilet where most of them belonged. Now he was saying that I didn’t have to live with him; it would be enough to just
pretend
long enough to get the rest of the money from Brodsky. The message went back to him that I wanted to have my own lawyer for any new deals. The message came back to me that he wanted one last chance to talk to me.
pretend
long enough to get the rest of the money from Brodsky. The message went back to him that I wanted to have my own lawyer for any new deals. The message came back to me that he wanted one last chance to talk to me.
I agreed to a telephone call. I tape-recorded that call. Chuck began by saying that it was now or never; if we didn’t land Brodsky now, the big fish would get away from us. I insisted that I wanted a lawyer, and I meant my own real lawyer, not Philip Mandina.
“What can I do, man?” Chuck said. “What’m I gonna say? Maybe if Brodsky sees us both smiling at each other, he’ll calm down a little bit. He’s seen us fight and that was a mistake. I told you not to fuck around but you can’t listen—”
“Well, if everything is the way you say it is, what difference does it make if an attorney looks at it?”
“I don’t want
my
wife to have an attorney, it’s that simple.”
my
wife to have an attorney, it’s that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s bullshit,” he said. “You’re my wife. I’m your husband. We are married. And
we
have
our
attorney. And if you got an attorney on your own, it’s only for one fucking reason. It’s to file for a fucking divorce or to set things up for our Linda’s private fucking deals. That I will not go along with. I’m very sorry, but you
are
my wife. I love you. I take care of you.”
we
have
our
attorney. And if you got an attorney on your own, it’s only for one fucking reason. It’s to file for a fucking divorce or to set things up for our Linda’s private fucking deals. That I will not go along with. I’m very sorry, but you
are
my wife. I love you. I take care of you.”
I take care of you
—I almost laughed at that. Throughout this, our last conversation, I had the feeling that Chuck was divided and in turmoil with himself. At times he seemed to be reading a script prepared by a lawyer; at other times it was pure Chuck Traynor.
—I almost laughed at that. Throughout this, our last conversation, I had the feeling that Chuck was divided and in turmoil with himself. At times he seemed to be reading a script prepared by a lawyer; at other times it was pure Chuck Traynor.
“I mean, if you’re this alien to me,” he was saying, “you—you’re talking to me like I’m a total fucking stranger, like I’m some god-damned rip-off artist who’s trying to fucking take you over the coals. I’m not going to take that, honey. You’re my wife. And I love you. But I won’t take this kind of shit. Now you know, you’ve pushed and pushed, and I’ve backed and backed. I’m not backing any farther. I want this show to go on. But I won’t take this kind of shit. All I want is to put us back together. You can start with your rehearsals. And spend as much time as you can in putting us back together—without interfering with your rehearsals.
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