Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn

by Seka

  I knew Chuck. Everyone knew Chuck. Chuck was the guy who gave the world Linda Lovelace. He then married Marilyn Chambers, whom I got to know quite well later on, although I never actually worked with either Linda or Marilyn.

  Most all the world knows of Chuck Traynor. Linda Lovelace wrote a scathing book about how Chuck brutalized her, forced her into porn, beat her, made her turn tricks, and literally held her prisoner. Is any of it true? I have no freaking idea. Truly, I do not. Within the industry, I heard rumors both ways, some claiming it was all gospel truth, and others claiming Linda’s tales were exaggerated beyond belief. And since I never saw any of it with my own eyes, I have no opinion whatsoever. When I got friendly with Marilyn, Chuck’s name came up but there were never any confessions similar to Linda’s, which doesn’t really mean anything one way or the other.

  I did meet Linda once, although it was a surprise meeting for both of us. I was booked on a talk show — I believe it may have been The Richard Bey Show, though I could be mistaken. It was around 1988 and Linda had just written her book and was out promoting it. Me, I was simply making a TV appearance, or so I thought. I used to get calls all the time to appear, usually to discuss the adult industry. Some folks like Phil Donohue, Oprah Winfrey, and Larry King were quite kind, while others, like Morton Downey, Jr., had me on as a human punching bag. Either way, I usually got little to no prep, nor did I need it. I think pretty fast on my feet and it was never an issue of worrying they’d booked me to discuss astrophysics, though I could sure as hell discuss black holes and big bangs.

  So there’s Linda Lovelace trash-talking Chuck, which was perfectly fine with me because no one really liked Chuck. But then she went after the entire industry and everyone in it, which would include me, which prompted me to fight back.

  She was rambling on and on that she was forced to do everything she did on film and she had no idea what was going on, ever. I’ve heard this sort of stuff from a lot of people after they leave the business and it never fails to piss me off, particularly when I know it’s crap. I perked up and said, “If you had no idea what was going on, why did you ask Al Goldstein, the publisher of Screw magazine, to babysit your pets when you were filming?”

  Linda snapped back, “If I knew you were going to be on this show, I wouldn’t have shown up.”

  I can’t argue that I had, indeed, been sprung on her by surprise. Hell, no one told me Linda Lovelace was going to be on the same panel, either. They had us in different dressing rooms and we were even kept from each other in the green room. I suppose it was more to keep her off-balance than me, ‘cause I could care less. But I definitely struck a nerve. As it turns out, I was reaching deep into my memory for that Al Goldstein anecdote — so deep that I actually got it wrong! For which Linda should have been eternally grateful. I knew Al, and I knew he told me something about him and Linda and dogs. Seems when Linda disavowed the industry, Al found not one but two movies Linda did where she had sex with a dog. Geez! And here I was, turning down scenes with humans I didn’t like.

  So Chuck Traynor calls me. By this time, he’s divorced from Marilyn Chambers as well and now, according to him, he’s married to some stripper named “Bo,” like Bo Derek. I don’t know Bo from Bo Diddley, but whatever. Traynor tells me I could make tons of money stripping. I blurted out a loud laugh. To me, strippers were dancers. I’m no dancer. I mean, I could dance at a wedding reception or a crowded nightclub, but I was not a skilled pole dancer.

  Chuck kept pushing. More and more strip clubs were opening. Adult film stars were being asked to headline. It wouldn’t be like regular strip club action where I’d be working the pole with half a dozen other girls and hustling lap dances. It would be like a stage show and I would be the feature attraction. No, check that. He wanted me to be the opening act for his new wife, Bo.

  Opening act?? Moi?? And again, who the fuck was “Bo”? I knew Chuck was a hustler and I realized he was trying to hustle me.

  “Chuck, I never heard of any ‘Bo,’ and unless she’s the real Bo Derek, she ain’t headlining over me. You know and I know if I show up, everyone in the audience will have paid to see me, not some no-name.”

  This went on and on and Chuck was persistent, even when I called him on his bullshit. He got down to talking numbers. I thought for a moment, and then came out with the most outrageous price I could conjure up. The point is, I really didn’t want to do this. I’m not a dancer, and even if I could learn how to do it, I didn’t know if I even wanted to. So I handled the negotiation as I did at the end of my film career. Since I didn’t really want to do it anymore, I asked for the sun, the moon, and the stars, expecting to be turned down.

  Chuck said, “Okay.”

  Shit. Now I had to do it. Off I went to beautiful Rochester, New York. I was goin’ on the road.

  When I got to Rochester, I met Bo. She was stunning. She looked nothing like Bo Derek — she was a dark-haired beauty with a killer bod and was younger than me. I hated her. Ha! Worse yet, she could dance. Boy, could she dance! She really was a star-attraction-level dancer, but no one knew her yet. But they knew Seka and that’s what sold the tickets, just as I predicted.

  Chuck booked me to be the featured performer-of-the-week at a number of venues and we drew big crowds, filling the house each show. They wanted six shows a day, but I demanded no more than four, as each set was about twenty minutes and it was grueling work.

  I had steamer trunks full of costumes and gimmicks and I’d get enough bookings to be on the road for two to three months at a time. I had elaborate costumes made. There were huge capes with my name written out in my handwriting with bulbs that lit up. I had a top hat and tails that were mirrored to go with the songs. My tapes were also custom made to go with each of my outfits. The set would start out with Singin’ in the Rain, with my umbrella lit up and flashing underneath, which would lead right into It’s Raining Men. I also had flash paper that made sparks of fire for two seconds, along with a magic cane that expanded when you held it a certain way.

  I began doing a comedy act before the show. I would come out unannounced, dressed as an old woman, sort of like a white Moms Mabley. Guys wouldn’t know it was me at first. I’d tell dirty jokes and stories, making fun of this slutty girl, Seka, they’d all paid to see. It was a riot. I swear, I was doing everything in my power to entertain them and distract them from noticing I couldn’t dance a lick. I could strut my stuff. I was a showman. I did everything I could think of to dazzle them with flash.

  When I first started, it felt incredibly weird to take my clothes off on stage. The guys would hoot and holler and I felt very bashful and would almost want to crawl under the stage. Odd, I know. But it was so different from doing movies. On set, I would be around eight or ten people at most, all of whom I knew, some quite well. On stage, I didn’t know any of those people. And the people from my movie days wouldn’t clap and shout when I dropped my drawers.

  It was kind of cool to work in these big, big places. They’d hold two or three hundred people, with a mob standing outside for the next show. After each set there would be a designated area cordoned off for guys to take pictures with me. There were times when they’d have to actually cut the line so I could get ready for the next show. After my performance, I’d go back and finish the pictures of those I didn’t have time for the first go-round, and there would already be new people coming. It was a really good feeling to know I had that many fans.

  I’d work Monday through Saturday, travel on Sunday, and start the process all over again the following Monday, just in a different city. Half the time I didn’t know where I was. Sometimes I’d wake up in the hotel and have to look at the matchbook by my bed to see what town I was in. I felt beat up after a while.

  While I was on stage, I was thinking of how much money I’d be making selling the pictures and merchandise after the set. Or, “This show will get me to Mexico.” I tried to do most of my dancing in the summer months so I could go to Mexico, St. Maarten, St. Croix, and other places
I loved in the winter. I’d call Chicago and find out if it was warm yet and if it wasn’t, I’d just stay longer until it was. If I needed more money, I’d call my secretary and tell her to pay my credit cards off and I’d get back to stripping.

  Although I obviously preferred to be lounging on an island, I enjoyed doing the shows. And I never, ever thought of the audience or fans as losers. These were the folks who paid my bills. Stripping does give you an empowering sensation. There’s an excitement knowing that people are there just for you. It does a lot for your ego. The only thing was, it never mattered how many times I went on a stage, I was always scared to death before I went out. I didn’t want to disappoint people.

  They always gave me bodyguards to go to and from the clubs to my hotels. They’d drop me off and pick me up every day. After the show they’d go with me to the area where we’d do the photos and autographs with the customers. They’d always give me these huge, gigantic bodyguards who were generally bouncers at the club.

  There was this one black fellow we called Tree. He was the most massive man I’d ever seen. And his partner was pretty big himself. When I’d walk between them, nobody could even see me. The late actor Michael Clarke Duncan from The Green Mile was one of my bodyguards in Chicago. He, too, was one helluva big man.

  Sometimes people would try to reach out, touch me, and grab a piece of clothing when I was walking to the autograph area. That was pretty scary. The security guys would just take their arms, push them back, and practically project them across the room. There was no intention of hurting them, just to get them away. There was one club in Chicago that was so packed we didn’t know how they would get me on stage. But I had some bodybuilder friends there who said they’d help me for free. They were dressed up in leather and KISS-like make-up, with spiked armbands and dog collars. It was quite a scene as they carried me above the crowd as I lay flat and felt like I was floating over the masses. If anybody started to get too close they would smack them with those spiked armbands.

  Eventually, I stopped working with Chuck Traynor. While I can’t say exactly how he treated Linda Lovelace or Marilyn Chambers, I can say this: he’s an asshole. That came out rather quickly in our relationship. He treated Bo like shit and I didn’t like it. I may not have seen anything illegal or worth calling the cops about, but an asshole is an asshole, period, even if there isn’t a law against it. He tried treating me that way and I stopped him in his tracks. That put an end to that, but still, I found him unlike-able and he was making an otherwise pleasant experience unpleasant, and who needs that? Life is too short. Besides, while he may have introduced me to the field, once I’d gotten my feet wet, offers from others kept rolling in. I’d get by.

  Most of the other girls at the clubs were really nice — and they could really dance. A lot of people have this concept that strippers are real bitchy to each other. But they’d knock on my door and ask me if I needed anything. They’d also want to know how to become a feature performer and get into the adult business. I basically recommended they do something for Playboy, Penthouse, or Club as opposed to films. The porno industry can be cutthroat, and if you’re just doing magazines you’ll work alone. You didn’t have to worry if you like a partner or not.

  I’d get offers to go out after the gigs. Some rock band would be in town like The Fabulous Thunderbirds, or good local bands. We’d both be playing at the same time so they couldn’t come to the show. They’d send flowers and invite me to go out clubbing. I got to meet Roy Orbison that way because we were in town at the same time. He was my absolute favorite performer. I still have a picture of us together.

  From time to time there would be female impersonators who would come in dressed as me. There is no better compliment than someone trying to emulate you. I would make them get up on stage with me and it was hysterically funny. Some of my greatest fans are gay men. At the time there weren’t a lot of gay bookstores where they could watch gay movies. A lot of times they went to see my movies with John Holmes. After all, he had the biggest cock around. Even today I have a lot of gay members on my website. I’ve even had recent appearances where on certain days gay men would predominantly come and see me. Some would swoon, “Oh my GAWD, it’s Seka!” Packs of gay men crowded around me. The same with lesbians. I think I cover all bases with my fans.

  As my film career got smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror of my life, attendance started to drop in the clubs and ultimately the bookings dried up. But in spite of the grueling nature of it all, some of the best times I ever had were when I was stripping.

  During my dancing days, at the infamous Frank’s Chicken House in NJ, posing with some deranged fan. OMG, it’s comedian Jim Norton!

  With baby-faced Jim Norton in the 1980’s. How did he get into a strip club? He looks about 12.

  A pit stop during my dancing days with the crew of the USS Honolulu.

  On the USS Honolulu during my dancing days. No, I did not dance on the ship, at least not professionally.

  With a fan and my dancing co-star, Bo, Chuck Traynor’s last wife, in Niagara Falls, Canada.

  Relaxing between gigs in St. Maarten.

  35. Sam the Man

  I went to see Sam Kinison at the Vic Theater one weekend in Chicago. It’s a beautiful old theater with gilded artwork on the walls, opera boxes on the side, and graduated seating. It had been converted into a nightclub and performance palace. Bands and comedians would come in and they even had a series where you could watch classic movies while eating snacks. It was a great venue because of the ambiance and the type of unique programming presented.

  I heard Sam was not only hysterical but also irreverent, which certainly appealed to me. But I didn’t know much about him except he was an ordained minister and the church he started was near the theater. I was invited to the performance and not only had backstage passes, but a great little opera box on the side of the stage. I was with a couple of friends and it was V.I.P. treatment all the way.

  Suddenly, out comes this large, roaring, straggly redheaded man in an overcoat with his cap turned backwards. Most of the comedians of that era were dressed a hell of a lot better. It was like seeing a heavyset Columbo on stage. But seeing him storm out and seize the mike was like an instant jolt of energy. The place went wild. It was just amazing to watch how he worked the crowd. He literally started screaming and it made me jump out of my seat. I started to laugh uncontrollably. When I get extremely tickled like that, I can’t get my breath. I couldn’t stop laughing and was making a honking sound to the point that he stopped the act, looked at me, and he actually started laughing.

  We were getting ready to leave when one of Sam’s people came over and said, “Sam would like to meet you.” I said, “Cool, but my friends have to come, too.” I didn’t go anyplace by myself if I didn’t know the person. Besides, I figured “share the wealth” — my pals wanted to meet him, too.

  We went backstage and were hanging out and hitting it off. It was a really interesting chemistry. I felt very comfortable, like I had known him a long time. It wasn’t like, “I’m Sam and you have to worship me.” He was just very down-to-earth.

  “We’re going out. Would you like to come with us?” he asked.

  As I had nothing to do, I said, “Why not?” It was a group of his friends and his manager Elliot Abbott, a really nice man. He helped Penny Marshall put together A League of Their Own and was a big time agent.

  We went out on the town in Chicago, hitting what felt like every nightspot. It was amazing how people flocked to him. Sam was very cordial to everyone, but he never neglected me that evening, which I found kind of refreshing. He wasn’t treating me like just another groupie. I didn’t mind that he wasn’t a traditionally attractive man. Looks were never a big thing to me anyway. I’d rather have a man who can hold a conversation. Sam had unbelievable charisma and was highly intelligent.

  I ended up spending the night with him, and with Sam it was all sex, drugs, and rock and roll. I had certainly done my share of p
artying, as many of us had in the eighties, but this ex-preacher sure took things to a whole new level.

  He stayed in town that week, with his next show scheduled four or five days later in Fort Lauderdale. Elliot asked if I wanted to go. “Sam really likes you. And he hasn’t felt like that towards someone in a long time.”

  I figured, why not? It was a trip to Florida on someone else’s dime. Plus, there were a lot of drugs around.

  I never did drugs as a kid. When I got married, Frank got me to try pot and I continued to smoke up once in a while, though I was never what you’d call a stoner. Hell, I never really liked to drink much. When I’d be booked for industry events and meet-and-greets, I’d force myself to hold a glass in order to fit in. I never knew what to order so I’d ask for a screwdriver. To this day, I hate those things. Eventually, I started to enjoy sunny morning mimosas when I was living in California and would lounge around on my days off by the pool and Jacuzzi. Later on, I learned to appreciate fine wine.

  When I was on set, I was always straight as an arrow (my girl/girl scenes aside). I knew cocaine was becoming popular, but I never saw any being used at work because it would have screwed up filming and wasted precious time. In fact, I never tried it myself until after I’d stopped doing films and after I’d been asked about the topic before the Meese Commission. But like most others of my generation, I eventually gave it a try and liked it on occasion. But at this point in my life, it wasn’t a driving passion or hobby.

  So we went to Florida and I was told to have my bags packed and Sam’s guys would take care of everything. I didn’t have to worry about checking in or anything. Sam did another spectacular show, which led to another spectacular evening of partying and drinking. That was a continuous thing.