Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn

by Seka

  There was an adult actor named Jerry Butler who stated in many interviews that I went into rehab for a year. Not true. Nobody goes into rehab for a year. I’ve never even been in rehab. I’m the type of person who says, “When I’m done, I’m done.” Could I have used therapy and rehab? No doubt. What made me decide to stop, though, was my life was out of control, especially my business life, which was in trouble. I couldn’t understand why this was happening, but I simply hadn’t bothered to pay attention.

  One day, I just put down my drink, put down my doobie, put down my straw, and blew the cocaine off the mirror. The air became clearer. It was time to get myself back together.

  39. Old Strippers

  Movies were over, but I still occasionally did appearances. I went down to Tennessee for an autograph session at an adult book store and was picked up at the airport by two promoters. Prior to the appearance, they told me what was expected. I was just supposed to sign and pose for pictures with the fans. Sounded easy enough.

  I asked them to take me to the store so we could set up. There was a six foot-long table with a curtain in the front and a backdrop. But they kept acting sort of strange. When I asked what the backdrop was for, they said “Oh, that’s where you get naked and take pictures with the guys.”

  I said, “That’s not what the deal said. I’m not going to do that.”

  I was told I had no choice. It was what the customers expected. I’m sure they had a lot of girls who came down and did that — there were tons of pictures of performers on the wall. What made it seem shady, though, was having the big black curtain there so guys could feel me up. It wasn’t simply that it was beneath me. If they told me in advance, at least I could have decided whether or not to do it. What pissed me off was the deception, the attitude that as an adult actress I was such a whore they could do anything they wanted with me without so much as a “how do you do?” And on top of it, they wanted 50% of the picture money.

  I said, “I’m not getting naked. And you’re not getting anything.”

  They were trying to be tough guys, attempting to bully me into it. I wasn’t going for it. They said, “Well, the gig’s off.”

  They turned around, walked away, and I said, “Are you at least going to take me back to the hotel?”

  “Find your own way.”

  And I did.

  I started walking out of the store to grab a cab when this large, round, jolly fellow with thinning red hair came into the store. He said, “I saw you were going to be here today and I wanted you to come to my club. But I didn’t know how to get in touch with you.”

  I had heard of his place and it was supposed to be pretty nice, upscale strip joint. We went back to my hotel and he informed me, “We’ll pay for your room for a week so I’ll have time to advertise you. I only want you to do two shows a day for four days.” He also said I could keep all the photograph money.

  Some five years and several pounds since I’d last stripped, it didn’t sound like the greatest idea in the world. Hell, I didn’t even have “proper stripping clothes” with me. But I needed the money.

  I knew I wasn’t in dancing shape. Once I stopped doing coke, the pounds grew back on and then some. Even back in my prime, I was nervous and scared about live shows. Any dancer who tells you otherwise is lying. I would always think, “Are they going to like me?” But I would get standing ovations just for walking out. It was a feeling of power. Sometimes I’d even see guys jerking off in their seats. For whatever reason, it didn’t seem sleazy to me. I was amused they would actually have the nerve to do this at a live performance in a room full of people. Hell, I could get a guy to do anything I wanted from the stage. If I wanted him to jump out of his seat and walk on stage for me to do a lap dance, he’d do it. I had fans actually come and bow down in front of me and say, “I am not worthy.” That made me uncomfortable, since I’m just a regular person, but it wasn’t like it was my idea.

  But did I still have it? I wondered nervously as we wrote the out contract on a napkin.

  The club was packed the entire four days. The owner asked if I would hang around between shows to just talk to customers and have a drink with them. Since he had been so gracious, I didn’t mind at all. I had already told the bartenders that when the customers bought me a drink, put very little alcohol in as I didn’t want to get hammered.

  They had a designated corner table for the owner and me. I had on a mini-skirt with high heels and a low cut blouse, but was well aware I didn’t look like the Seka of old. Yet the customers were exceedingly nice and flattering to me. That was until one guy put his hands on the table. Kind of leaning on his knuckles, he said, “Would you mind standing up?”

  Not knowing his game, I obliged him.

  Looking me up and down in a disdainful sort of way, he suddenly blurted out, “Why would I want to see a fat old porn star?”

  That cut me deep to the bone. He had been intentionally cruel and it was devastating.

  It always hurts me when fans have this unrealistic expectation that thirty years later a Seka or a Ginger Lynn won’t age. That we’re like that image on a seventies screen or in a magazine centerfold from a quarter century ago. We all get older. Have they looked in the mirror to see how they’ve aged? This fellow wasn’t exactly Mr. GQ himself. But it does hurt your feelings. It makes you doubt yourself. You wonder if everybody feels that way or if they’re just feeling sorry for you and that’s why they’re coming by.

  I didn’t know what to say, nor did I even have the chance to respond. The owner sort of lifted his finger and suddenly two huge bouncers grabbed the guy. “You’re never allowed back in here again. Don’t even try.”

  Sitting in the dressing room prior to my set, I thought this was one of the stupidest things I’d ever done. The customer’s cruel comments kept playing through my head. It was all I could do to walk on those pumps up to that stage. I was totally self-conscious. I was actually grateful the club was not well lit.

  But when I got up there, the audience was so warm and responsive. And very kind. When they were giving me tips they’d say things like, “Thank you for being here. I love your movies.” Some said I looked better. One or two even said it was nice I put some weight on. Who knows, maybe they were prompted by the owner to say it, but it helped alleviate the feeling of not being good enough anymore. Without our fans, we’re nothing.

  My Aunt Merlyn and my Uncle Doug were my favorite relatives and since they didn’t live that far away, they picked me up at the hotel. I hadn’t seen them in a long time and they drove me to the airport. It was wonderful being with them as they had always been so supportive of everything I had done.

  Getting on that plane, I actually felt good about my little misadventure. What had started out as a horrible, horrible time turned out to be an eye-opening experience. I saw how cruel people could be, but left feeling really loved and appreciated.

  40. Heads I Live, Tails I Die

  When you’ve spent much of your life living on the edge like I have, any particular decision or action can be life or death. August 27, 1990, was no exception.

  I went to the Alpine Valley Music Theater near East Troy, Wisconsin, to see the great blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughn. I was a huge fan of his so it was well worth the ninety-or-so-minute trip from Chicago to see him. I had been given all-access passes by some friends I knew and immediately went backstage. They had a hospitality suite with a buffet spread for guests and it was sort of like a meet and greet, with the band members hanging out and socializing. The band knew who I was, since I was kind of the “It Girl” for rock and rollers in those days.

  This was the first time I met Stevie and I was thrilled because he was one of the most dynamic blues guitarists who ever lived. I was awestruck and nearly speechless during our brief conversation. He seemed like an old soul, much wiser and insightful than his years. His eyes held great depth. And that came out every time his fingers touched the strings of his guitar. Not much was said, but I remember how gracious he wa
s. “Thank you for coming. I appreciate it.”

  He was clearly a man of few words, but I sensed his sincerity. I knew from being around a lot of musicians to give him space, as he was about to get on stage. Some performers are nervous and quiet moments before show time and I didn’t want to be intrusive and put him out in any way. I certainly didn’t want to come off like a doting fan, although that’s exactly what I was.

  Amazingly, Eric Clapton, Buddy Guy, Robert Cray, and Stevie’s older brother Jimmy Vaughn were also backstage, and as much as I respect and admire all of them, I’d come to see Stevie.

  It was one of the most amazing blues shows I had ever seen, and I felt privileged to be there. Hell, it was like a musical orgasm on stage. Truly memorable.

  After the show, I innately knew he’d need to come down. The adrenaline had to be through the roof and I knew that feeling, so I tried to stand back and respect his space. The worst thing you can do in a situation like that is to be goo-goo over a star.

  Everybody was kind of mingling around backstage. Somebody suddenly said to me, “We’re getting ready to go back to the city by chopper. We can get you back sooner than by car.”

  A cold chill ran down my spine and the hairs on my neck stood up. Maybe it was a premonition. Or maybe it just wasn’t a good night since I knew how foggy it was. But as much as I wanted to, I listened to the voice inside telling me, “Don’t get on that helicopter.”

  I declined the generous invitation. How many people would have turned down a chance to share a helicopter with a major rock star and his crew?

  I drove back to Chicago. It wasn’t until the next morning I learned the chopper had crashed and all aboard were killed, including Stevie Ray Vaughn.

  I was devastated. The whole thing shook me to my core. One of the most magnificent true bluesmen was gone at the peak of his powers. It was like a relative or friend dying. You know you’re never going to hear that person live again. A recording may be brilliant, but it’s just not the same. I don’t claim he and I had some fabulous friendship — we’d only met that night and hardly spoke at all. That would have made it so much more ironic if I had joined him on that flight and perished as well. Think of the erroneous conclusions people would have drawn.

  The experience affected me deeply. It validated that I should always listen to my “inner voice.” I think we all have that innate ability to know what we should and should not do. Now, whenever I have an inner battle over something, I try to listen to myself and do whatever I think is right. Had I not that night, I wouldn’t be here today.

  41. Hot Dogs

  I hadn’t done a film in several years. And when you don’t work in the adult industry, you are looked upon as a has-been. I also wasn’t exactly in the best shape of my life. I had let myself go and was embarrassed to be seen in front of a camera. I actually wasn’t doing much of anything but staying at home, worrying about bills, and eating.

  Once I realized I wasn’t going to make films, and the modeling dwindled down, I started to look for jobs. The porn legend was about to join the “real world.”

  I still had my looks and personality, but to find a good job with benefits and to make my house payments was virtually impossible. Everybody in Chicago knew who I was. It would have been okay if I was a real, full-time stripper, but for “legitimate” jobs, people didn’t want an ex-porn star.

  I’d go into a normal bar, ask for work as a bartender, work for a week and a half, and then they’d tell me somebody was coming back from sick leave or whatever. None of it was true. The owners would hear who I was and didn’t want “my element” around.

  So I figured the strip clubs would be the way to go, since it was “my element.” I eventually did find a job at The Crazy Horse in Chicago as a daytime bartender. I never actually went to bartending school. I pretended I knew what I was doing and read my little bartending book. I had big boobs and was blonde, and if I bent over enough they didn’t care what drink I put in front of them. Eventually, I learned how to be a good bartender.

  Did I think this was a come-down from my former red-carpet, autograph-selling life? Believe it or not, no. It simply followed a pattern I’d been on my entire life. When I needed money, I worked. Each step along the road, I’d go as far as I could and then something would force me to completely change direction and start at the bottom again. At Ken’s, I was just a cashier in a dirty bookstore. Eventually, I became management. In the film biz, I was the new girl doing cheap loops, and then worked my way up to being the star. Stripping was about the only thing I’d ever done where I came in at the top and worked my way down! I needed some bread and bartending did not hurt my ego one bit. It was honest labor and I got paid.

  I still looked around for other opportunities. On some job interviews, I’d be recognized and they’d get excited about hiring me, but eventually a customer would complain that a porn star was serving them and they’d let me go. “How could anyone think of hiring somebody like her?” I had to be a whore, a hooker, a lowlife. It was okay to look at my films and fantasize about me, but not to have me out in public. It was almost like being an animal in a zoo. You could look at them but not let them loose. It really pissed me off big time because I had become a good bartender. The bar tabs would go up three or four times when they heard I was there. The zoo had a new attraction. But they’d come up with some absurd reason to let me go and I knew why. I went through this same scenario five or six times.

  Sometimes the bosses would ask me to do things they’d never ask anyone else. They’d have me work New Year’s Eve. When they’d split tips, they’d cheat me in spite of the fact I was doing more business than they were. One New Year’s Eve, I quit because management was literally screaming at me. I had totally cleaned up after my shift, but now they were demanding I do the work of the rest of the staff. Meanwhile, we were in the middle of a snowstorm and I wanted to get home in one piece. They told me if I didn’t like it I could leave. In spite of desperately needing the gig, I told them to go fuck themselves and walked out. The only reason I could think of for being treated like this was because of what I had done in the past. Also, it must have made them feel oh so powerful to push around a former porn “star.” Once you’ve been on a pedestal, everyone wants to knock you down.

  Some of the girls who got out of the adult film game changed their appearances and their names in order to never be found or found out. I couldn’t care less about that. I sincerely wasn’t ashamed. The way I saw it, it wasn’t my problem, it was everyone else’s problem. My only problem was they were letting their problem become my problem.

  A customer named Paulie came into the bar one night and said he loved my movies for years and years. He told me if I ever needed a job I should get in touch, and handed me his card. He owned hot dog stands inside of Home Depot. So I went to work selling hot dogs. He told everybody that Seka was working there and it was great for me because it was just this little hot dog stand and all kinds of characters would stop there. They’d want to talk to me and the added bonus was that the hotdogs were really good. All the contractors came in at night. I’d sell literally $2,500 worth of hotdogs in a shift, but I only got $10 an hour plus tips. Regardless, it was better than bartending.

  It bothered me tremendously that I had allowed myself to be in this position. I had made some terrible business decisions. But I was willing to pay my dues to get back on my feet.

  Ironically, I had a good time. Firemen would visit in all their gear and get hot dogs just because they wanted to meet me. Ditto the police. And these people who came in were wonderful. They thought it was the best thing since sliced bread that I was making a hot dog for them. It was probably the safest job I ever had, since there were always cops and rescue squad people there to see me.

  Most of the people I worked with were Latina women. They were pretty and sweet. They’d watch their p’s and q’s and did they ever work their asses off! I felt bad for them because they put up with a lot more crap than I would at a job. They didn’t have
health insurance and had large families to support. I don’t think I could have worked with a nicer group of women ever. They were very gentle, sincere, and caring. They weren’t judgmental of what I had done. As long as you pulled your weight, they were great to you. They saw I didn’t expect to be treated any differently than they were and they respected me for that.

  Their plight made me think of the choices I had made. Whether I had picked the easy or hard road in life as an adult actress, at least I had choices. Since many of them were illegal and barely spoke the language, their options were limited, to say the least.

  I enjoyed seeing people from all walks of life coming in. It was the full spectrum of society from very high end folk getting out of limos for a hot dog, to normal people going about their lives. You never knew from customer to customer how the conversation would go or what would happen. Nine times out of ten customers who recognized me were totally respectful and friendly, but whenever there was a problem it was usually the women who were jealous and spiteful.

  I got really good at it. I could hold four hot dog buns in one hand and make four hot dogs at once. It may have been an odd thing to be proud of, but that’s me.

  The job was physically hard, though. I was in my forties and on my feet and in the heat for six or seven hours straight. I’d get home and couldn’t move. The girls had warned me that the owner’s girlfriend was a real bitch. They were right, too, because she tried to make my life miserable because her boyfriend liked me. She spoke to me in an insulting way and tried to make me do demeaning things she wouldn’t dare ask anybody else to do.

  I was never a person to lie down and be humiliated. As far as I’m concerned, you judge a person on who they are and if they keep their word. I wouldn’t put up with rudeness. And slinging hot dogs wasn’t a career. I told him one day, “Look, I can’t work for your girlfriend and I know you’re not going to give her up over me. I quit.”