by Howie Gordon
I didn’t. I wanted my career back. I wanted my family and I wanted my career too. It was not an either/or thing. I wanted them both! It was the same argument that we’d been having for several years now, only the births of our children and the onset of the AIDS plague had completely changed everything.
In prioritizing things, I did what I had to do to make my family safe and to protect my marriage. But a part of me always resented it. Yes, I wanted my marriage, but no, I didn’t want a lifetime of monogamy. Even though I would later spend years actually behaving monogamously, I could never agree to make her that promise, that commitment. It brought out the claws in me. I was deeply conflicted over this issue and so were we. It lived with us for many years like a quiet elephant in the house. To our credit, protecting the marriage always came first. But every now and then, the elephant would blow his trumpet and we’d all have to dance. Truth is, those moments became rare.
But at this particular time, I wanted to go to New York and I wanted to make this movie.
It wasn’t a knockdown, drag-out fight. There was no broken glass. There were no ultimatums and it wasn’t a deal breaker. But I wanted my career back. And I wanted this job. It would only be a few days of work and all of the AIDS precautions would be in place. Though Carly would certainly have preferred it otherwise, she gave in. She let me have it. I was grateful.
Chapter Fourteen
“Club 99” was the closest thing to a union I ever came across during my time in the business. I don’t think they ever were an official anything. From the outside, they looked to be a group of industry women who morphed from being just friends and colleagues into being a support group.
It was centered on the New York side of things and it was made up of well-known players Gloria Leonard, Candida Royalle, Veronica Hart, Annie Sprinkle, Kelly Nichols, Sue, Nero, Veronica Vera, and probably Samantha Fox and Vanessa Del Rio too. It inspired West coasters Nina Hartley, Porsche Lynn Angel Kelly, and Jeanna Fine to start up their own group called The Pink Ladies for a short time in LA. All of these women were heavy-hitting, award-winning All-Stars. They were actresses, directors, editors, photographers, producers, writers, and production managers, who were all not inclined to want to take too many more come shots to the face.
When Candida started up Femme, her own production company, and declared its mission to make hot, entertaining couples movies from a woman’s perspective, it seemed that the women had gained a much-needed, new voice in the adult industry.
Brava!
Sensual Escape was actually the umbrella title for two “mini” movies that were being marketed together, Fortune Smiles and The Tunnel. Candida and her then-husband Per Sjostedt produced both. Candida also wrote and directed The Tunnel, which starred Siobhan Hunter and Steve Lockwood.
Gloria Leonard wrote and directed Fortune Smiles, which starred Nina Hartley and me. Gloria Leonard was a delight. I wished we had crossed paths earlier in my career. She was way taller than me, and while that generally cooled any romantic ideas on my part, it did not preclude a meeting of the minds. Gloria Leonard was smart and tough. She was seasoned and seemed to operate in the world with a very effective bullshit meter. I was most impressed with her. We bonded quickly and decided we were old friends.
And I met Annie Sprinkle for the first time on this shoot too. She was the still photographer. Annie was another gem. Luckily, we’ve gotten to know each other in the years since we’ve both retired from being actors in the movies.
Annie Sprinkle was and is a force of nature.
Fortune Smiles — here’s what the box cover had to say about this movie:
Media Superstar Gloria Leonard takes us on a touchingly funny walk through the minds of two people who have been dating and are about to take the leap into bed. What is your lover really thinking about before the big plunge?
…And what happens when the (movie’s) stars are allowed to choose their own costar? Watch the sparks fly with the debut return to films by award-winning actor Richard Pacheco in a hot pairing off with the beautiful Nina Hartley.
If I ever wanted to hit a home run, this was it. But I didn’t get there. Oh, it’s not a clunker by any means, but I was all set for a monster smash hit, and I didn’t get there. You might not even notice something was amiss from watching the movie, but I know. I know that I got lost. I got strangely lost.
The story was clever. The script was clever. It was one of those scenes where we got to hear the inner thoughts of the characters as they met for a date at a restaurant en route to what they both hoped would be their first time making love. That part went well.
From Gloria’s directing on down, we all did a fine job of playing out our little scenario and setting up the sex scene. There was even some very titillating foreplay going on under the table at the restaurant. That was a good scene.
It went kerflooey afterwards, at the apartment, when we got naked, when we got into the sex scene.
It started off just fine. It was me and Nina, old friends. I was comfortable, at ease. This was the way I liked it. I had a willing and able partner, a lover I could trust. We’d been around the block before. Several times. Sure, I had my pre-sex jitters. It had once again been a long time since my last sex scene, but otherwise, it was all set up the way I liked it.
It began well and the pleasure mounted. They did their moviemaking stopping and starting, but no matter. We’d both been through this ritual more than a hundred times each.
We’d done about half the sex scene when it happened. I’d gotten hard and had put on the condom. Nina opened for me and there had been an insertion. Some hardcore footage had been shot. Somewhere, like in the middle of a kiss, there was a complete power outage. My body just turned off. For no apparent reason, arousal simply vanished.
Fear showed up. There was shame too. Y’know, the usual suspects, but I was still surprised to see ‘em showing up again this late in my career. Nina Hartley shifted into another gear. She was gonna save me. She went at it like a trooper. She went at it like my friend. She went at it like she was trying to pull me back from the abyss.
The cameras stopped running. They were in standby now. Nina continued with her rescue effort. We were like an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Sometimes, the patient died. This was one of them. They waited for as long as they comfortably could and then they pulled the plug.
There was no stunt cock for use as a Plan B, so they had us simulate the orgasm. I think. I don’t know. These aren’t really the kind of moments that I want to remember.
When we were done, everybody put a happy face on it, but I was embarrassed — and puzzled. To our credit, we did not violate our commitment to maintain the safe-sex boundaries. The rubber had stayed on and the captain went down with the ship. So be it. R.I.P.
Okay, I just made myself go back and watch that whole scene again. Wow! It’s quite good! None of that shit I just fretted about showed up on the screen at all. The editors saved that scene! They used a montage of quick cuts to make up for the missing second part of the sex scene. They used some of the same hardcore footage twice, but you might have to be me to even notice. It was all very well done. It really worked! By the way, we did simulate those orgasms. And surprisingly, we did a helluva good job acting them.
That said, I still was embarrassed by my sexual collapse, and puzzled by it too. This was strike one in my latest comeback.
P.S. Years later, when I reminisced about this scene with Candida, she had no memory of me having had any difficulties in the sex scene. In fact, she told me the scene had won AVN’s award for ‘Hottest Sex Scene’ of that year!
I never knew that! It’s not likely that I would have forgotten an award. I just don’t think I ever even knew about it. In any case, I told Candida that I hoped she gave that trophy to her film editor!
Chapter Fifteen
The homecoming was awkward. While Carly didn’t hire a marching band to greet me at the airport, she didn’t have the locks changed on the house either. My key still worked
, but there was a murky distance between us.
It didn’t help that we were being audited by the IRS. Our accountant said that an unreported savings account had automatically triggered the audit. It was our daughter Juliana’s account. It had like $3.46 in it. We spent the morning of my homecoming preparing our taxes with the accountant who would be representing us. You might just guess how this all contributed to the general merriment.
After he left, we went a few more rounds on money and on our recent separation. We were both feeling pretty beat up, but, I was home.
The New York adventure hadn’t exactly turned out to be the stuff of my dreams. I had fought for it, fought hard, and here I was paying some serious dues for having had that less than thrilling experience. Didn’t quite seem fair. There used be this expression amongst the young and hip in the 1960s: “The hassle was not worth the copping.” It was too true. The gods were having their fun with me, but I was home.
Within a couple of days, we found each other again. Carly left me this note:
My love my heart my pancreas
my nail clippers
my tax audit my heart
my love
You my you
I have tasted you
in all the little back rooms
of my soul
and said
Yes
Love,
Carly
I know, I’m a lucky man. After all, whatever other madness was going on, she was never not the love of my life. I was a lucky man then. And I’m a lucky man now.
Chapter Sixteen
We had a little financial meeting. Carly would continue her work as a therapist. We’d hire childcare to help with the kids. My job was to come up with $2,000 a month and to stay close to home doing it.
Okay. I had resumed my X-rated career, but the $1000-a-day jobs were all over. Everything was cheaper nowadays. Salaries had plummeted with the video revolution. As an actor, I was still offering to do a safe-sex scene, but there weren’t many takers. Mostly, I did non-sex roles for about $200 or $300 a day, whatever I could get. And there weren’t a lot of those coming my way either.
Both Anthony Spinelli and John Leslie used me as their assistant director. I’d make about $200 a day working for them. I didn’t do much of anything in either job, but they both liked having me around.
With Sam, I think my primary job was just to remind him of better days. He was tossing me a bone because I’d always been loyal, and, like him years before me, I had three babies at home. I’d run lines with his actors, play a bit part here and there, do whatever I could to help him make his videos. I felt like the used-up fighter who still hangs out at the gym. Hey, money was money. Dem Huggies didn’t pay for demselves.
It was different with John. Basically, he just wanted me to hold on to his money. John trusted me. That was an honor. I paid his actors, doled out the petty cash whenever he said so, and kept accurate records of where every dollar went.
Turns out, without having sex, I didn’t much like hanging around an X-rated set. I’d get aroused by ten o’clock in the morning and then have a stomach ache all day until I could get home to do something about it. I don’t know how the X-rated crews put up with that. Made me crazy. I hated being around the sex if I wasn’t going to be having any. Not my cup ‘o tea at all!
At home, I was turning my attention to writing. I wanted to harvest my stories about the X-rated industry and turn them into money. It was my get-rich-quick scheme, and thirty years later, I’m about ready to cash in on it.
Chapter Seventeen
The Huntress was an attempt by the people at Intropics Video to make a socially responsible movie. In their advertising for this film, Intropics stated that:
• Virus testing has been made available to participants in this production.
• “Safe Sex” practices are demonstrated within story context.
• A portion of the revenue from this feature will go towards AIDS research.
Well, let’s hear it for the good guys. At this point, they were one of the few companies trying to do the right thing. They certainly had my applause. I just wish I could have done a better job for them.
I was paired, once again, with Annette Haven for this one. The back of the box cover proclaimed “Featuring the sensational return of Annette Haven and Richard Pacheco.”
We once had burned white-hot together back in the days of Madame Lau. That was ten years earlier. She was the ruling queen then, it was her world. I was a rising prince, just grateful to be at her feet. Our lovemaking was a gift, a peak experience. It was a rite of passage. It told me that I belonged. It was another galaxy.
This time around, well, I can’t speak for her, but I was tired, tired like a married man with three kids trying to pretend like he still could cut it in a world called yesterday — a world that was no longer there.
Of course, I didn’t know any of that then, but that’s the beauty of hindsight. It all seems so obvious these many years later.
I watched the scene again last night. Annette and I started out like a house afire. We did have passion between us, and mostly we kept it under such restraint. The movies gave us a permission that real life did not. And when we began touching in this movie, it just like bubbled up all over us. The moans were a delight. The touch was real. The relief was tangible. I seemed to fumble and savor the gift.
It roared right on through the placing of the condom and the joining of our bodies. They were running their cameras, but we were running something else. A forbidden love? Time travel? Who knows what to call it?
I landed on my back and Annette rode me. I watched her. She seemed happy. And then. Goddamn it, out of nowhere, there was that turning off of the engine again. It was the power outage. I was stunned. My erection was fading. It had been very hot and heavy just prior, so, in the moment of panic that followed, I just continued like I was still in her and Annette wisely followed my cue. We acted the orgasm. We acted the orgasm so well that the cameraman thought it was all for real.
When she rolled off I said, “Okay, now, let’s see if we can’t give them a real one.” It was false bravado. I was gone. The condom mocked my softness.
Annette seemed as confused as I was. Where did it go? What happened? We were pros. We retreated into scene saving techniques. This shouldn’t have happened. I was ashamed to make Annette struggle to rekindle my desire. I was ashamed. Such work should not be for her. She was Annette Haven! I let us both down. I didn’t mean to do it.
Annette was lovely about it all. She worked hard to revive me, but it did not happen. I went into my sexual fantasy closet and dragged out all the old pictures, but they did not work either. The director waited a while and then gave up. They had to move on. He had us simulate a few more orgasms so that they would have some options from which to choose.
Unlike Candida and Femme, the editors of this failed scene were not able to save it in the post-production. In fact, they made an even bigger mess of it. It’s way too long. It just goes on and on. They repeat footage and it’s obvious that they’re doing it. And worst of all, they didn’t choose just one from all the simulated orgasms, they put them all in there! It looks like we both come four or five times in this one scene. It’s phony baloney and very confusing. I’m pretty sure this scene didn’t win any awards.
In fact, this was Strike Two!
Chapter Eighteen
For years after I stopped doing sex scenes in the business, I always remembered that scene with Annette Haven as my last one, but it wasn’t.
In 1987, I did the one with Nina in March, the one with Annette in April, and then my diaries tell me that there was one more with Shanna McCullough in August. I didn’t even write down the name of the movie. It’s given short shrift there in my diaries and you’ll soon see why.
We were working for Ona Zee and her husband Frank.
Ona Zee was a fiery, spectacular actress in the early days of video. At this point, she was trying to graduate to being a producer an
d a director. I had never played a scene with her and it was my loss. I adored her. She was always full of life and bursting with energy.
Ona and Frank had partnered me to work with Shanna McCullough in their movie.
I had already been on many sets with Shanna McCullough, mostly where she served as an actress and I had been the assistant director for either John Leslie or Sam. They both had used her often. She was vivacious and young, one of the rising stars of the industry. She could play a part well, handle the sex, and would show up on time and sober. I had been in her home, met her boyfriend, and even interviewed her for some porn magazines — as I now profiled the stars to help get my writing career off the ground.
I felt like her uncle.
So, what happened in our sex scene?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
It was an unsuccessful mating. It felt like a mismatch from the start, and I don’t recall if there were even any erections at all before the lights went out. I don’t think they ever came on. If I had to come up with a reason, I would give you two words: incest taboo. It wasn’t erotic to me at all.
Mercifully, I have driven all memory of that last colossal failure out of my brain. Couldn’t tell you the name of movie, the characters we played, whether we simulated some atrocity, or if they just scrapped the whole scene from the movie. Didn’t write much about it in my diary either. It just says:
“My dick inside the rubber kept screaming, ‘I’m suffocating!’”
This was Strike Three! Never even got the bat off of my shoulder.
Chapter Nineteen