Pornstar

by Ian Gittler

  TAKIN’ITTOTHELIMIT

  The hallway ends at an L-shaped living room with sliding glass doors that open onto a patio, pool, parched desert backyard, and mountain views. One wall has a series of five Betty Page portraits hung on the same incline as the slanted ceiling.

  Bionca says Billy Idol called last night, out of the blue, to tell Bruce he wants him to direct his next rock video. Bruce invited him to this shoot.

  “He’s giving him directions,” she says.

  Today Bruce is helping Bionca direct. She’s going to do it his way: one scene, no rush, in real time. Bruce is sitting on a striped sofa in front of a mirrored wall. He hangs up the telephone, shrugs.

  “That kid sounds high,” he growls. “Let’s see if he finds us.”

  Bruce coughs deeply three times then extends his hand to shake.

  Marc and Jon are hanging out in the kitchen with Careena Collins. Jamie Summers had talked about Careena back in 1991. Careena was once Jamie’s roommate, how Jamie got into porn in the first place. Jamie said Careena got out of the business when she got into law school.

  “Yeah. I just finished. I’ll take the bar exam in about six months,” Careena says. “I’ve done, I don’t know, six or seven scenes since I got back into it. Only for Bruce.”

  A small kitchen table is littered with bags of Cheez Doodles, Oreos, carrot and celery sticks, canned dip, liters of Pepsi and Diet Pepsi. It’s kind of blue collar, but not negligent or stingy like the lack of food on the set of Easy Love. It’s homey. Bionca slices more vegetables and spruces up the spread like she cares, like someone preparing snacks for a Super Bowl party.

  Glenn’s wife, Lissa, an unassuming woman in her late twenties, is an assistant or production coordinator. A French couple arrive. The blonde girl is called Barbara Doll. The guy is her husband and manager. Lissa leads Barbara Doll to a bathroom off the hall where a tall, bleached-blonde woman is doing Rebecca Bardoux’s makeup. The makeup artist, who looks like she’s had collagen injected into her lips and a breast job, will do Barbara next.

  Glenn and Jake, the cameraman, haul a black-carpeted platform into the middle of the living room. They set up two lights on stands. There’s a four-inch Sony monitor on the floor near Bruce’s feet.

  The actors trickle into the living room. No one’s in a hurry. Jon sits on one of two sofas at the lived-in end of the room. The coffee table is covered with issues o( Hustler’s Erotic Film Guide, Adam Film World, a couple of half-full ashtrays, a bag of reefer, a mini-bong, a cordless telephone, and two remotes for the large-screen TV and VCR.

  Careena climbs onto Jon’s lap. She’s in a black stretchy dress, no panties. She fires up a bowl and takes a hit of Diet Coke. Jon lazily gropes her crotch. She passes the bong to Rebecca, who’s sitting on the other sofa with the makeup artist. The French actress decided to do her own face. The French couple don’t fall into step socially with the rest of the people here.

  Careena walks off toward the kitchen. Jon plops down in between Rebecca and the makeup artist. Nodding at Careena’s backside, he whispers, “Keep your eyes on her. She’s the hot one today. Just watch and you’ll see.”

  Jon kisses Rebecca on her mouth, caresses her thigh. She gets up and takes the bong over to Bruce, who takes a hit then coughs some more. The makeup artist rubs Jon’s neck, leaning in close to his back, pressing her big tits against him. Jon closes his eyes, sighs. She asks Jon to come watch her strip at a bar on Ventura Boulevard. She says she works Friday nights.

  Glenn photographs Rebecca nude in the shade of a small palm tree in the backyard. It’s over a hundred in the sun. She can only take the heat for a couple of minutes. Glenn says Lissa occasionally does “girl-girl” scenes for Bruce, and that he doesn’t mind at all.

  Barbara Doll curls up on the striped sofa, resting her head on Bruce’s shoulder. They haven’t been introduced. Barbara’s husband is across the room reading a magazine, keeping to himself. Neither one speaks English well.

  Rebecca lies down topless, on the platform, in front of Bruce. Bionca sits nearby. Then Careena. Then the small crew, too, and the makeup artist, and finally Marc and Jon, though the guys stay to the sides; one leaning in the doorway, the other against the opposite wall. They all hang around Bruce, hang on his every word. He doesn’t say much. When he does speak it’s barely audible.

  It’s not quite cultish, more like an extended family. Bruce is definitely in charge, though, in some weird, loved way. Normally, directors are off on a set somewhere: Their assistants have to coax performers out of dressing rooms to get them in front of the camera. Then the directors take over, half guilty, half embarrassed, a little apologetic, and also kind of indifferent about what they’re asking their cast to do.

  Bruce isn’t embarrassed or apologetic, just dead serious. And he didn’t call this congregation together, either. It just happened—everyone gravitated toward him. Everyone is right here. There’s not much equipment to speak of. Everything is ready to go. This old, unshaven guy in jeans and discount-store canvas slip-ons is the center of attention. He’s scary looking, but the girls especially like staying close to him, wait patiently to be told what to do. The guys look like sons, obedient out of grudging respect or fear. I only know Jon admires Bruce because Jon told me so last night.

  Lissa lays an arsenal of dildos, vibrators, harnesses, prods, lubricants, oils, and two bear-shaped honey jars on the floor in the corner near a pile of fresh towels. She helps Glenn set up two Japanese screens that divide the living room and create a backdrop behind the platform. The set shrinks: Anyone watching will be no further than three feet from the performers.

  Bruce tells Bionca to put some music on. She chooses a Nine Inch Nails tape, cranks it up. Glenn gets the three actresses—now all in black dresses—to line up on the platform. He shoots a series of stills that will end up on the video box cover. The actresses wiggle to the drum beat, stick their rear ends out in unison. When Glenn has what he needs Bionca turns the music off.

  Jake sets two bar stools in the corner near the screens. Bruce tells Marc and Jon to ‘just watch.” They take their seats fully clothed.

  Then Bruce gives his OK for the girls to begin.

  They fondle one another. Then they’re all nude, or exposed, with dresses around waists, shoes, thigh-high leather boots for Careena. The girls tumble around the platform, trying out various positions and combinations. Each actress has a chance to use her fingers and mouth on the others.

  “OK, move on,” Bruce says.

  Bionca was supposed to direct but that isn’t what’s happening.

  Rebecca complains there’s no Astroglide, only the thick, gooey Abilene. Somehow that stuff makes the scene even raunchier. Rebecca stands and straps on a long, fat dildo. She strokes it, slathers it with lube, acts like it’s her own. Careena rummages through the pile and finds a ten-inch-long, ridged, flesh-colored prong with a five-inch handle.

  Barbara Doll sees that and becomes alarmed. She stands, approaches Bionca, and the two women engage in a whispered but heated discourse. The language barrier doesn’t help. Barbara leads Bionca off the set, behind the screens. A minute or two pass and they return.

  Bionca tells Bruce, “She didn’t like the size of that thing Careena’s gonna put in her tush. I guess it’s pretty big,” with an expression like, “sorry this chick is such a wimp.” She continues, “Me and the husband settled it, though. Barbara gets a hundred more for the scene. I thought it was worth it.”

  “Let’s do it,” Bruce announces.

  He hasn’t budged from his spot on the sofa.

  For the next ten minutes Careena and Rebecca assault the French girl methodically, relentlessly. Marc and Jon watch with their dicks in their hands.

  Barbara screams at first, but somewhere along the way loses the strength to do even that. Her moans are drugged with misery. Rebecca rams her with the dildo from behind while Careena pushes the prong into her rear end as far as it will go—over and over. Barbara reaches under herself and holds a
vibrator against her clit until Bruce says, “That’s good enough.”

  Barbara rushes out of the room.

  “Well, that was bullshit,” Bruce says, coughing. He eyes Bionca, looks mean. She looks at the floor, doesn’t respond. Bionca cast the French actress.

  Careena and Rebecca are giving Marc and Jon head when Barbara comes back. She joins them.

  Jon pairs off with Careena, Marc with Rebecca. As the scene progresses Barbara’s role is subordinated. She helps the others do things without doing them herself. Then she just watches.

  Marc sits on the edge of the platform. Rebecca straddles him, riding Marc “anal re-verse cowgirl”—reverse because her back is to him. Rebecca’s shrieks are horrifying, inspired. She’s desperately into it.

  “Good, Becky,” Bruce says.

  Rebecca hears this and slams down on Marc harder, yelps like an animal in a trap. Anything for Bruce. Her eyes are filled with frozen panic. Her heavy, oddly doctored tits swing and bump.

  Careena has Jon’s dick in her throat. Tears stream down her face. He pulls out and turns her around.

  “STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU WERE, JON,” Bruce commands.

  Jon obeys. Careena resumes with her mouth and hand. Marc is ready to let go and Bruce gives him the OK. Rebecca climbs off and takes his come on her face and in her mouth.

  “OK, Jon, now go ahead,” Bruce says.

  Jon takes Careena from behind, hard. The tiny actress’s ability to handle a man of his size defies reason. By the time he nudges into her rear end, Careena is drenched in sweat.

  Barbara Doll, taken to the limit.

  Jon, Rebecca, and others

  Patrick Collins slips into the living room, past the cameraman, and sits near Bionca and Bruce just in time for the finale.

  Jon holds nothing back; the pounding is merciless and exhaustive. One wouldn’t know it, though, from the sound of Jon’s whimpers and sighs. Jon sounds feminine when he fucks. He climbs onto the platform with Careena and parts his legs wide. This way Jake, crouching behind the actors, can film everything in clinical detail.

  After a few more minutes pass Bruce says, “OK, Jon.”

  This is the cue for Jon to work up to his orgasm. Careena doesn’t scream, she heaves long gasps in rhythm with his thrusts, maintains her resolute resistance. Her eyes are blissed out, and it’s not easy to fathom. Bruce’s girls go all the way, or go all the way for him, anyway, and it reminds me of Debi Diamond. The hard-core ones have some kind of need to go all the way. Bruce Seven understands this—can take them there—is apparently involved in exorcising his own demons—needs them to do it—and along the way facilitates the girls’ needs too. It’s a powerful dynamic, arguably dangerous for all participants, and the process is not devoid of qualities normally associated with “art.” Money is only part of it.

  Jon pulls out. Jake hangs tough on the from-behind shot. I crouch right behind him, two feet behind Jon and Careena. Jon jerks himself off the rest of the way, three or four strokes, and comes. A lot.

  Careena’s decimated, stretched-wide-open asshole coated in a drippy window of Jon’s semen is the most hard-core thing—maybe the most disgusting thing—I’ve ever seen. Like a car wreck, it’s impossible to ignore.

  The title of this movie: Takin’ It to the Limit.

  All eyes are focused on the exact same spot. Jake doesn’t move the camera, but after a few long beats, he looks over his shoulder at Bruce for a sign, for a direction.

  Sixty excruciating seconds pass before Bruce barks: “No w turn around and suck his cock.”

  Careena follows the director’s orders. Jon’s erection eventually subsides in her mouth. Careena rests her head against his belly.

  Hushed silence.

  Now all eyes are on Bruce, waiting.

  “That was nasty,” he growls.

  The tension is broken. Jake laughs, wiping his brow. Patrick Collins applauds, then the actors do, too. Bionca hugs Bruce. Glenn and Lissa start breaking down the set, cleaning up.

  “You see the difference, don’t you?” Bruce asks me, then turns his attention to Patrick before I have to respond.

  Lacy Rose, another porn actress, arrives to pick up Rebecca. Bruce asks her about “the baby.” Lacy hadn’t told me she was pregnant, and once I’m given an affirmative nod, she dismisses further inquiries. Jon and Marc are gone within ten minutes, and Patrick, too, but the women stay close to Bruce—except for Barbara Doll and her husband. They disappeared before the scene was over, or right as it ended.

  Careena doesn’t even get up to shower, at first; then, when she is dressed in her street clothes again, she lies across the platform listening to Bruce speak. She finally leaves, reluctantly, after Rebecca and Lacy. Then it’s just Bionca and Bruce.

  They pose for pictures. Bionca gets naked, spreads, sucks her thumb at Bruce’s feet.

  She’s hard-core, casually. He scowls, pets a black cat, squeezes its paw to show off the points of a claw, and pets Bionca’s hair.

  Bruce complains again about the French actress.

  “She was just in the way, that’s all.”

  Bruce coughs. He calls his emphysema “a fucking hassle.”

  Bionca tells her story. She was nineteen when she saw an ad for World Modeling. She went to Jim South’s office. Bruce was there. He invited her to come over and watch some of his videos, to see if it was something she might want to try.

  Bionca was working at Jack in the Box at the time. She thought about Bruce’s offer for a couple of days, then said OK. Bruce put her in an orgy scene in a video called Teacher’s Pet. Bionca and the then-forty-five-year-old director were married soon after. That was over ten years ago.

  “Right when I turned twenty, I got stopped for DU I and I had coke on me, just a little. I spent four months in LA County Jail. It was rough. But Bruce showed me what loyalty is. Bruce would give me the shirt off his back and the skin off his body if he could. I love him with all my heart,” she says.

  Bruce and Bionca don’t live together anymore, but they still work together most of the time and are still in contact every day, still close, like husband and wife, or father and daughter, or something in between.

  “We never got officially divorced,” she says.

  Bruce helped Bionca start Exquisite Pleasures, her production company Bruce says he’d like to see Bionca do as well as he has. Bruce says he makes around a hundred thousand dollars a month, the same as Patrick Collins. That’s after they each give John Stagliano—Evil Angel—a cut for manufacturing and distributing their tapes.

  I mention I met Gene Simmons from Kiss and that he said he wanted to publish this book.

  “Gene is one shrewd man,” Bruce says. “How many elementary school teachers from the Bronx do you know who’ve made ten million dollars?”

  Bruce isn’t surprised by how the day with Debi Diamond ended. Bionca smiles knowingly. She and Debi starred in a bunch of Bruce’s videos together.

  Bionca pulls a tape off the shelf.

  “This one is really hot,” she says.

  She hands me Buttslammers Part 4: Down and Dirty. It features a scene with Debi and Bionca.

  “Debi and I were best friends for years. I still love her,” Bionca says. “I hope she finds someone who can take care of her. Sometimes I think she resents that I have Bruce.”

  Debi said she does.

  “You have her number, right?” Bionca says. “If you give her some time—” Bruce cuts in, impatient and annoyed by the Debi Diamond obsession.

  “When it comes down to it Debi is no different from any other girl in this business,” he scowls. “She has no sense of her own self-worth.”

  Bionca gives me a lift down the street in a red sports car, a race car, really. Bruce bought it for her. She waits until I start my engine then smiles, waves, and pulls away. Billy Idol never showed up.

  Bruce Seven and Bionca

  I FOLLOW JON DOUGH TO MORE SETS, WATCH HIM HAVE SEX WITH MORE PORN ACTRESSES. His effeminate whimpers and moans
interest me, but there’s no diplomatic way of asking him about it.

  It’s another hundred-degree day in the Valley. Jon is here to do a scene for Cass Paley, a large, friendly director in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. Paley says he shoots promotional clips for “clients like Warner Bros. Records” when he’s not making porn videos, and says everyone working today is doing it as a favor, on spec, to help him get his production company going. A porn star named Trinity Loren’s ex-husband is the cameraman, the ex-husband’s new girlfriend the caterer.

  Jon’s scene is with Tina Tyler, a Canadian. Last night Jon said, “It won’t be anything special, but she’d be good for you to photograph.”

  Jon means she’d be good to photograph because she’s pretty.

  The scene begins with three or four drops of candle wax—what the scene with Debi was supposed to be like; light, not foreboding—then Jon and Tina go into the “normal” sex. It isn’t “anything special.” But any journalist who writes that he or she was bored on the set of a porn movie is just posturing, attempting to distance himself: Jon and Tina are doing it, casually, in front of a film crew, and that in itself—though I’ve seen it many, many times already—is still bizarre. Jon’s assessment is true only in the sense that the kind of stuff being played out on this set is tame—detached and professional—compared with what transpired at Bruce Seven’s house, al-most unrelated.

  Jon and Tina achieve no momentum, and don’t appear to be trying to. They accommodate one another. Tina asks for breaks to use the bathroom a couple times, saying she has her period. During one break Jon sits on the floor of the set, leaning against a sofa, relubing his dick with Astroglide, stroking it. He used the lube before the scene began, too. I ask him why, if he has to. He already has a hard-on.