by Hyapatia Lee
I was back out on the road again, dancing in some club, when Terry R. approached me. He said he had heard about my singing in some of the movies and seen the Penthouse pictorial. He was the president of SRO Records and he wanted to talk to me about doing a record. Back in 1970-something, a song called
“Telephone Man” was a big hit. It was about a girl who was moving into a new apartment who gets turned on by the telephone man that comes to hook her up. She sings “my fingers did the walkin’ on the telephone man” in the end. It’s a cute novelty song. Terry was the producer of that record. The woman who sang it, Mary Wells, was no longer interested in singing it, or anything else suggestive, ever again. She had been “born again”. Terry had some people over in England who wanted to re-release it and he needed someone to sing it who wasn’t going to decide it was a sin to do so in the near future. He picked me.
He sent me the song, along with a bunch of others, and I practiced them and sent him tapes of my singing from a studio in Indianapolis. We decided on several to record, some novelty and some middle-of-the-road country. I went down to Nashville and worked with “Bummer” in his studio.
“Bummer” and his wife are nice people, the kind who live in an affluent neighborhood and have never been forced to face, or understand, the realities of life that lie on the other side of the tracks. They separate themselves from such people and, while they will try to be polite, do not really desire to associate with people they have so quickly judged to be their inferior. It is often funny how these people act like they are trying to hide their true feelings, yet they are so painfully obvious. I enjoyed working with them simply because I learned so much.
“Bummer” had continuously harassed Terry from the day he first mentioned doing the project with me. “Bummer” insisted I must be giving Terry some great head because he just knew that no porn star could ever carry a note in a bucket. Never mind my years of training at Butler University while I was still in high school, not to mention the numerous musicals I had done. Once a narrow mind is made up, it takes a crow bar to open it. Even so, once we started recording, he was honest about his surprise at finding a professionally trained voice in the body of a porno star. He even said he liked my version of several songs better than other artists’.
As is often the case, “Bummer’s” conservative slant was hypocritical. He begged for him and a friend to be judges at the upcoming Miss Nude Galaxy contest I was to host. At the contest he was a different man without his wife. The guy who threw verbal stones at me and my profession spent the entire day having his picture taken with the bevy of nude beauties that surrounded him. He was especially enthralled with the “Canadian Contention”. His friend enjoyed himself also, although he was in much more control of himself.
Once back in Nashville, “Bummer” changed colors again and began bad mouthing Terry, Bud and myself, to anyone who would listen. It is amazing what a small world this really is and how many fans of mine who write me letters keep it secret. He swore I must have slept with Terry, even though there was never even so much as an inappropriate comment or look made. We were all happily married and my extra-marital sex was only for big bucks in front of cameras. I hate hypocrisy and when someone vacillates so often and with such severity and enthusiasm it makes my blood boil. I’ve heard rumors form other Nashville musicians who say “Bummer” was on amphetamines, although I never actually witnessed it. If it is true, it might partially account for his schizophrenic behavior.
When the album came out, two singles were released on vinyl, “Midnight In Memphis” and “Rub-A-Dub-Dub”. The album in its entirety was available only on cassette. I later found out that Terry had a deal all along with the British telephone company to use “Telephone Man” in their national ad campaign but Mary wouldn’t consent to it. That is why he had to find someone like me. I never saw a dime from it.
I thought I was making pretty good money. While growing up, my grandmother and I had scrimped and saved. Scarcity was the norm. Having enough was a luxury. My grandmother made under $10,000 a year my entire life. When my adjusted gross income was over $32,000 one year, I thought I was rich. All of a sudden I could afford to buy my grandmother her first color TV, air conditioning so she could breath in the summer, and a microwave oven. I went shopping in places like North Beach Leather, where they knew me as a regular in three different stores. I had fine jewelry and tennis bracelets of diamonds and rubies, diamond cluster rings and deep blue topaz necklaces. Webegan collecting household furnishings for the time when we would have a place to live. We had to rent another storage area next to our first one to put it all in. I had custom made high-heeled moccasins made by the top designer in Hollywood who makes shoes for Michael Jackson, Liberace and just about every other big name with expensive taste you can think of. I figure I needed all these things to keep up my image. After all, men’s magazines from all around the world were photographing me every time I did an advertised personal appearance. I didn’t want to look like the frumpy housewife from Indiana I felt like. I also didn’t want people to see my picture and say “I rememberwhen she wore that outfit to .” You know how it is,never wanting to be seen in the same dress twice. Luckily I could rent Bob Mackie gowns.
I also wanted to give back to the collective for the many blessings I had been given. I sponsored a child through Save The Children. I chose this organization because you can choose the country of the child you want to support. Naturally, I chose a Native American child. I was introduced to Arlene C. of the Dine’ or Navajo Nation. She was 12 when we first began to correspond. She lived in Chinle, Arizona and was a heck of a good softball pitcher. We visited her several times and I was in awe of her family and how they all interacted and behaved.
They had no indoor plumbing. Their grandmother lived next to them in a Hogan (traditional round, single room log and earth dwelling) and the closest water was a spigot that came out of the ground about 75 yards away. They carried their water from there to the house.
The Navajo are matri-lineal. Their last name and property is handed down through the mother’s side of the family. When a man marries, he goes to live near his wife’s relatives. Arlene’s cousins were the most polite children I have ever met. When we took them to the store and offered to buy them candy, they wanted only one package they all easily agreed on and then split up the contents evenly among them with no arguing. They only wanted one soda pop to take with them for a walk in the desert canyon. They took the warm pop and shared it equally, with never a negative word or look. These children ranged in age from 5 to 13 years old. I can not say enough good things about my experiences with the Navajo.
Whenever the phone would ring, Bud was always the one to answer it. When an agent called with work, he always said “yes”. With all of our belongings in storage, we worked on the road fifty weeks out of the year. It was physically very strenuous work. Dancing four or five shows a day in high heels, six days a week and traveling on the seventh was taking its toll. Over the course of the years I had two operations on my knee and pneumonia three times. The later left me with fairly severe asthma. It was now necessary to take pills and inhalers with us wherever we went.
When my knee gave out the second time, I was in Charlotte, NC dancing in one of Harry’s theaters through Mike. For days Bud carried me on stage and I sat in a chiffon gown answering questions on a microphone. Naturally everyone was disappointed I wasn’t dancing. Hyapatia hated to let her fans down, she had worked so hard to maintain a reputation for consummate professionalism and this did not fit her perfectionistic expectations of herself. It was extremely embarrassing. It was time to go home and see a doctor.
Mike wouldn’t hear of it! He told Bud to take me to a local doctor and fix me up so I could make it through the weekend. The doctor drained fluid out of my knee and shot it full of cortisone. I promptly had an allergic reaction. My knee swelled up like a basketball and I was in considerably more pain than before. The doctor said there was no choice but to go home to my doctor for sur
gery.
The theater had a full house for every show I did. They were charging $15.00 a ticket. My contract specified round trip airfare and had a clause for situations just like this where, due to health reasons, a gig might have to be shortened. Mike refused to pay the $63.00 difference to send me home early, instead, he insisted I stay and dance-no more sitting and answering the audience’s questions! I called Harry and “Veronica” raised hell. I was given my ticket home and Mike was eventually fired.
At one Adult Film Awards ceremony hosted by Seka, I sat next to Francis Ford Coppola with Shauna Grant. She hadinvited him. He wanted to go out of curiosity, you know, to see all the freaks. From what I heard, she had been told she was going to be in his next movie. Shauna looked lovely that night. She had on these silver-gray gloves and a beautiful diamond tennis bracelet over the wrist of one. Her hair was up and she was in the height of her glory. She was shy, though, as she usually was in large crowds. I talked to her privately in the bathroom. She was nominated for several awards for her big movie “Suzy Superstar”.
It wasn’t long after that night I got the news she killed herself. Her current boyfriend lived in Palm Springs, CA and he had gotten into trouble with the law. He went to jail and she put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger. I couldn’t believe it. I thought I knew her well. I guess she didn’t consider me a good enough friend to share her problems with. I wish I could’ve been there for her.
Shauna’s death really rocked the industry. There were people that suspected foul play, including the police, but nothing was ever found to indicate anything other than suicide. Many people wanted to hide it under the rug and not talk about it, the way many people in our culture prefer to ignore unpleasantness. No one wanted to admit to the possibility of anyone or anything in the adult business contributing to her demise in the least. I think many future lives could have been saved if the industry had learned to show a more compassionate side after this unfortunate loss.
I am not saying that the X-rated movie business killed Shauna or drove her to it. Personally, from what I heard about her upbringing, she did not experience the kind of unconditional love that makes a child feel that no matter how many mistakes they make or how many times they do something their parents disapprove of, they will still be loved. That is the kind of foundation a person needs for self-esteem and emotional security. We all make mistakes. That is the only way we learn and grow. If a child feels they will lose their parent’s love if they make a few too many mistakes, they will grow up being afraid to make mistakes and think for themselves. Many things can bring down a structure built on a bad foundation. Most often, it is not just one thing, but a combination of many stressful events that pushes one to the edge. When a person feels they can’t solve their problems alone and yet, they don’t feel they have anyone to turn to who won’t condemn and reprimand them, they are lost and alone in a well of loneliness. I know, I’ve been there myself more times than I might care to admit.
Top-In “Fiddler On The Roof”. Age 10 Bottom-Cape Coral, Florida. Age 12
Top-As Louisa in “The Fantastiks” in Indianapolis. Age 16 Bottom-In my grandmothers back yard after graduating fromhigh school.
On the road dancing.
With Ginger Lynn.
Top-Gypsy scene from “The Ribald Tales of Canterbury”. Bottom-An award show.
Top-On the set of “Uniform Behavior” with (from left) Brittany Morgan, Megan Leigh, Nina Hartley and Keisha. Bottom-An award show.
With Megan Leigh.
Top-Porsche and I on the plane coming home from Italy. Bottom-In Australia feeding Kangaroos.
Top-A warm Australian welcome. Middle-The biggest birthday party I ever had, where… Bottom-…Bud flirts with the local beauties.
Top-With Ron Jeremy at the Ponderosa Sun Club in Roselawn,
Indiana.
Bottom-On the set with Nina Hartley and Jon Dough.
Top-The Vivid girls. Bottom-Winning Best Actress of the Year.
Top-Signing autographs at Las Vegas at the Consumer Electronics Show. Bottom-With Paul Thomas.
AND BABY MAKES THREE
I’ve been very lucky to have the opportunity to meet many millionaires in my life. Some were self-made, others were born into it. Those who earned it themselves tended to spend each dollar carefully. Not that they were stingy with their money, but just that they were sure they really wanted what they asked for. Often, those who had been born with money took it for granted and either never felt worthy, or felt guilty for not being as happy as society seems to believe they should be. Money sometimes changes people, and when you think that all your problems could be solved with just a little extra cash, you’re not aware of the added problems that the cash brings with it.
I was introduced to a man who was a millionaire many times over through a mutual friend. He made his money importing cars to this country. Living in Colorado on the old Roosevelt estate, he had all the toys anyone could want. There was an indoor shooting and archery range, an entire fleet of snowmobiles, servants to cook his every snack and remove his boots as he came through the door. This man had it all. He even re-designed the river next to his house so it would spawn more fish, ignoring the fact that he changed it’s course in such a way that it ruined one of the last breeding grounds of an endangered variety of moose.
For all of his money and the things it bought, he did not act like a very happy man. People looked up to him and respected him, but I do not believe he had many close friends. Almost everyone in town worked for him. Most of us know how hard it is to feel comfortable enough around your boss to make him your best friend. Money often alienates us from each other, sometimes because we have too much, and sometimes it’s because we don’t have enough.
Bud and I could now afford to give my grandmother all the things I’ve always wanted to. We could afford to buy an old farmhouse in the country on several acres, away from civilization. We could buy North Beach Leather clothes and rent Bob Mackie gowns for special occasions and take drives thru
Manhattan in Limos on business trips, but something happened to our relationship.
Bud felt anger and embarrassment at what we had done. He felt like the whole world was laughing at him. Everywhere we went people would ask questions like: “How can you let your wife do that?” and “Don’t you fulfill her needs alone?” He was also painfully aware that I earned every penny.
Once, in a hotel room in Little Rock Arkansas, it got the best of him. It had been a rough week. I had to share my dressing room with many other dancers and one of my favorite sequined gowns was stolen. After working all week we were paid in cash. That was customary, as no dancer ever trusted an out-of-state club owner’s check to clear. We had been fighting for weeks, always right before a show, as if Bud were somehow competing with the audience. I was forced to choose between being late for a show and finishing our discussion. This night was a culmination of all the anger from the previous confrontations. It was the first time he got physically abusive with me.
We had both been drinking and the stress was at a peak. We finished packing up my costumes from the dressing room, gotten paid and took our things back to the hotel room. He was going on and on about how I was just using him and everyone was laughing at him and how he had no respect or job of his own and therefore no money of his own. He grabbed my purse and struggled with me. After throwing me to the ground, he took the keys and got in the truck to leave. I went after him and he tried to run me over with the truck! It was about 3:30 am and all the noise had awakened the hotel guests, who alerted the manager. He saw the whole thing and called the police.
Women in situations like this often make stupid choices. I was one of them. Even though I had seen my stepfather beat my mother black and blue and put her in the hospital, I was too afraid to think straight. I was afraid the police would take me into custody and, being who I was, rape me. I had seen a friend of mine at 38th Street Bar in Indianapolis get arrested for not wearing tape on her nipples. Three squad cars took
her over to a field where we followed them. When we came up and demanded they take her downtown, they had her pants off in theback seat. I had heard of another dancer at the Red Garter who was raped and had her case thrown out of court simply because she was a dancer and no one believed her, even though the guys who raped her broke both her legs! I was convinced I would not get justice with the police, after all, they didn’t help me when my step-father molested me or when I woke to find that guy standing over me with a pair of scissors at my throat!!!
Bud convinced me that if we were there when the cops came we would both go to jail. So we packed everything up and left as quickly as we could, fighting all the way to the next town. It was not a safe way to drive.
As time went on, we fought more and more. It became apparent that this marriage was not going to last much longer. I didn’t think I would ever get married again if I left Bud, after all, who would want to be married to a Porno Star? I decided I was not going to leave this relationship empty handed. I wanted a baby first, and then I would divorce him. If things smoothed out by the time that happened, perhaps I would stay.
After living out of a suitcase for 6 years, we decided to buy a house. We wanted to live away from town and crime, out in the country, far from people who would know and recognize us. We found a nice little farmhouse with a barn on 20 acres. It was on a gravel road, a half-hour away from anything. We couldn’t quite afford to live there alone, and with all our traveling the house would sit empty often, so we invited a couple we had been friends with for years to live with us. They had nothing to do with the business. They knew us for who we really were and we felt a close camaraderie with them.