by Andy Zeffer
He’s trouble anyway, so quit thinking about it, I told myself.
While my days taping up packages at the warehouse were often boring, evenings at home with Candy were always eventful, especially when she had a new project or endeavor, which was more than half the time.
Later that evening was one such occasion. Candy ran a racy, yet not explicit pinup site of herself to promote her lagging acting and modeling career. Every night she clicked away at her computer e-mailing various “fans.”
One visitor to her Web site saw a photo of her from Sect of Lucifer dressed in character as Morgana Sateen. This guy had a vampire fetish and e-mailed her a request. He would pay her $500 to make a ten-minute video of herself dressed as vampire in a French maid outfit. In the video she would have to crawl out of a cardboard coffin that he would supply in the mail. He would pay her half up front and the other half when he received the tape.
When Candy asked for my help I imagined what a fiasco the whole event would be. The fact I hadn’t held a camcorder in my life didn’t further my enthusiasm for getting involved in this latest project. When I arrived at home to help her out she was just as eager to get it over with as I was.
“Okay, Adam, let’s knock this thing out. I just want to get this shit done so we’re not up all night like a couple of idiots,” she said while running around getting stuff together.
She was already wearing a cheap French maid outfit, the kind you bought prepackaged around Halloween. The clicking of the black patent leather pumps she wore against the hardwood floors sent the cats scurrying under the furniture.
Dean the useless ex-boyfriend was over that night and seemed doped out as usual, more interested in watching television in the other room than helping me assemble the cardboard coffin. Somehow I managed to get the thing together even though I am notorious for being the worst handyman to hit the planet. Too bad I wasn’t this good with home electronics or furniture from IKEA.
Candy was wondering how she was going to keep her fangs in, with toothpaste the only thing on hand to glue them. We put candles all over her living room and they actually looked very good with her ornate baroque mirrors and overstuffed furniture. If you stretched your imagination a little you could think you were in some European palace that a vampire might haunt, albeit with a lot more cream and shabby chic accessories. After practicing on the camcorder a bit I got the hang of it. We leaned the cardboard coffin against the mirrored armoire and had Candy open it slowly and come out that way. It didn’t look right on the floor, and besides the cats kept walking back and forth to see what all the fuss was about. Having a fluffy white Persian cat walking by in the frame took away from the dramatic effect to say the least.
Dean just sat on the couch the whole time like a lazy bum while Candy and I did all the work. Her fangs weren’t staying in well and she had to continually keep sticking them to her teeth. The tape needed to be at least ten minutes long. We tried to do everything as slowly as possible, like have her take a long time to just to step out of the coffin. She was so over the top I burst out laughing a few times and had to stop the camera.
“I adore the night!” Candy pronounced in an affected, thunderous boom that sounded like a cross between Joan Crawford and Mrs. Howell from Gilligan’s Island. She continued babbling nonsense into the camera to kill time as I grew steadily sicker of holding the damn camcorder.
“Her name is Lilly,” Candy purred into the lens out of the blue in a sultry, taunting voice. It was like a bad impersonation of Eartha Kitt.
This caused me to break into titters of laughter.
Lilly was the name of Candy’s little sister, but not an actual little sister. Candy did volunteer work for the Big Brother and Big Sister program. She was forever keeping me entertained with tales about Lilly. Lilly was peculiar, like Candy and myself. She was an overweight child who happened to be very talented young artist. Her favorite activity to do with Candy was go to Color Me Mine, this place where you bought ceramics and could paint them, and then have them bake it in a kiln for you.
Lilly once painted this really cool Elvis bust and even counted the exact amount of rhinestones needed to glue around his collar. How many nine-year-olds out there would choose an Elvis bust to paint to perfection?
I had a soft spot in my heart for Lilly because like her I had been an eccentric child, and we are both Capricorns. Lilly was obsessed with astrology and the zodiac. One day Candy and Lilly were crossing the street and the light turned in the middle and Lilly ran and screamed like a lunatic. When Candy told her to calm down Lilly’s response in her baby voice was “I worry a lot because I’m a Capricorn.”
Lilly had an obese mother who met men on the Internet, putting her picture up on sites for men who love fat women. Their house was always in filth and disarray. The carpets were crusted with crud, the walls were dingy, and there were ketchup stains on the ceiling. Toys were strewn all over the house and the backyard. Her grandmother lived with them as well.
Every week Lilly would tell Candy and me, “And guess what? Grandma says if we clean the house we can get a puppy!”
And on the next visit: “Guess what? Grandma says if I have a good report card, we can get a puppy!”
And the following week: “Guess what? Grandma says if we pick up the yard, we can get a puppy!”
“Talk about hope,” Candy told me one night. “With her tenacity this girl should be a fucking actress.”
So needless to say, with all I knew and had heard of Lilly, I lost it at the mere mention of her name.
“Knock it off, Adam!” Candy groaned, barely able to stifle her own laughter as I tried to get my composure back together.
“That was a bit over the top, Candy,” Dean commented with a dumb laugh from the couch behind us, where he was sprawled out with a can of beer.
“Shut up, Dean!” Candy snapped in exasperation. “Look, you guys I want to get this stupid thing over with. These fangs keep falling out and I’m really getting over it,” she went on, indicating how tired and impatient she’d become.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I promise I won’t laugh any more,” I said in earnest.
I’m guessing it was hard work improvising and trying to be a convincing vampire woman for ten minutes. Therefore, she had to draw inspiration from whatever peculiar ideas crossed her mind.
“Where is my beautiful Lilly, she was supposed to be here!” Candy roared, sounding like a sex-crazed lesbian awaiting the arrival of her lover.
Though it was difficult, I kept my mouth shut through the remainder of her performance, and signaled to her when ten minutes were up, finally able to put the camcorder down. Candy sent out the video to her quirky admirer a few days later. He wasn’t very appreciative after viewing it, complaining he would have rather had her lay the coffin on the floor and climb out of it that way. And instead of Candy lifting her skirt up for the camera, he wanted the camera to actually travel up her skirt.
I took his complaints very personally since as the cameraman I was somewhat proud of my last-minute work. After all, the video was in part an artistic vision of mine.
“The poor guy,” I said sarcastically. “Some people just can’t be pleased. Everybody’s a critic.”
After the filming the vampire video we caught camcorder fever for the next few days. Candy wanted to audition as one of the “clue crew” on Jeopardy. I thought the tape we made of Candy was cute, especially when she gave a clue about the Eiffel Tower while speaking some French and tossing a beret in the air. She would have been great giving clues on TV alongside Alex Trebek. Unfortunately she never heard back.
We videotaped each other for Survivor, setting up her house plants to create a faux jungle and stating how far we’d go to win.
“Survivor is nothing compared to opening day at Barney’s Warehouse sale!” Candy roared into the camera lens. “If I can come out of there alive with four pair of Jimmy Choo heels and a choice Gucci wrap dress, then I can survive anything!” And with that she stabbed her umbrella
at her silk oriental rug as though it were a spear.
I don’t know that either of us would have lasted long on a deserted island or in the Australian Outback. Not that we weren’t physically tough enough, but the other contestants most likely would have conspired together to vote off two eccentric nutcases like ourselves before the plane even landed.
“I still don’t know why you are not doing stand-up,” I said after putting the camera down.
“You know, Adam, other people wouldn’t get my humor,” she sighed. “I’m funny when I’m going off to you, when I’m not thinking about it. If I tried to do it on stage, I’d bomb and make a jackass of myself.”
Then after a sudden jump where she sprang up on her toes and spun around ballerina style, Candy pronounced in a singsong voice “Only you can appreciate my humor, Adam!”
“That’s what frightens me,” I muttered under my breath.
Bobby Steelhard’s Hollywood Garage
Given the state of my financial affairs and my work environment, it was bound to happen sooner or later. The time for me to copulate with another man in front of the camera was looming.
“You talk to Ron?” Dale asked me one afternoon while passing through the warehouse.
I shook my head no. Ron was trying to hook me up with more “clients,” but I was trying not to appear overly desperate. Ron just wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted to appear in a vulnerable spot with. He’d take advantage of it any which way he could.
“You know we’re shooting another video in a week, right?”
I knew where this was going. Ron had been hinting at wanting me in his new production for days now. I just didn’t want to go that far. Everything I had done to this point had been me alone, solo. That was bad enough. But others had moved beyond it. Even that kid Simon Rex made a solo jerk-off video and managed to go on to an acting career. Yet sex on film with another guy, or two guys, or three guys, or more—I had never heard of anybody going on to do something in the public eye after that.
“You’ve got gorgeous model looks, why let them go to waste?” Dale joked, trying to lighten things up.
“No thanks,” I answered curtly. “I plan on performing in front of cameras again, but not that kind of performing and not in front of HUNG Video’s cameras.”
“Yeah you and a million others,” Dale shot back sarcastically. “Look, Adam, I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but I’m sure you’ve heard Dionne Warwick sing it, all the stars that never were are parking cars. And for a gay guy, you’ve got to get real. The odds of you breaking into acting are nil to nothing. As far as this ever coming back to haunt you, take it from me, there is so much fucking porn out there. Not just zillions of videos, but Web sites, magazines, you name it. So what if somebody sees you? You tell them the truth—you were on your last cent and needed the money, pure and simple.”
Those had been my thoughts exactly regarding the solo stuff.
“Ain’t that the truth,” I mumbled.
“Besides,” Dale was now heated and worked up, “I don’t understand the fucking stigma anyway. It’s not like we’re robbing people or hurting people; we are all adults doing what all adults do. At least you’ll look damn good doing it, which is more than most people! Fuck, most people couldn’t even do this if they wanted to, unless it was some amateur or fat fetish thing. And nothing’s forever anyway. Traci Lords was doing this before she was eighteen, and she got out of it and is doing fabulous. And whatever happens, you’ll do fabulous too!”
I took a deep breath and smiled. The perspective he put it in made it sound okay, like it wasn’t the end of the world and I wasn’t slipping into oblivion.
“Well,” I said gently, “if I do it, and I’m only saying if, I’m sure I’ll feel better about it with you directing.”
“And I take that as quite a compliment coming from big talking, smart alec Adam,” he laughed, then playfully picked up the blow-dryer and turned it on my face.
“Watch it!” I laughed, grabbing the end. He turned it off and we both held it for a minute, gazing at each other again and smiling.
That same day Ron had approached me in the stockroom and asked me in his flat Dave of Wendy’s voice, “Dale tells me you’ve changed your mind about being in our next video. Is that true?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “He did a little convincing.”
“Great!” Ron yelped, slapping me on the back.
“What better way to make money?” he winked. “I can’t think of any!” he chortled and walked off.
A lot of better ways to make money came to mind, but with not with my useless degree and pathetic resumé.
The next day Ron came into the warehouse more excited than the day before.
“We’ve secured Missy to direct our film!” Ron said excitedly. “This is the big time. No better way for you to start out.”
I had no idea who he was talking about. It sounded like the name of someone’s pet cat.
“Missy?” I asked.
“Yeah, Missy Manhandler!” Ron repeated, expecting the name to register with me. I just looked at him blankly. “Come on, you’ve had to have heard of Missy.”
I picked up the phone and called Dale in a panic.
“Why didn’t you tell me a girl was directing the shoot? How do you expect me to fuck a guy in front of a girl and not feel funny about it? I thought you would direct me!” I asked angrily.
“What the hell are you talking about bud?” Dale asked, bewildered.
“Ron said that the shoot is going to be directed by some bitch named Missy is what I’m talking about!” I snapped impatiently.
“Oh Lord,” Dale snickered on the end of the phone.
“How is that so funny? I’d rather have you direct the first time!” I fumed.
“Babe, Missy is no woman. Missy is an enormous drag queen,” Dale explained.
“Oh. All right,” I answered entirely confused.
“But don’t worry. She won’t be in drag during the shoot,” Dale laughed.
“I assumed you would be directing,” I said.
“Nope. Not this time, as much as I’d love to. When Ron secures a big name like Missy, it’s a real coup. It’s a compliment toward you, being that Missy is the top director in gay porn right now and wants you in her movie. Besides, I have my hands full with editing work. Don’t worry though. I’ll get to directing you soon enough. Look, I gotta go now. Everything will be fine. You’ll have a lot of fun. Just relax. Later.”
And with that he hung up the phone.
Things were just getting weirder and weirder.
Eventually the day for my all-out porn debut arrived. I decided to go by the name Adam Zee. I felt that if someone recognized me, it was better to own up to it than have an entirely bogus name like Sam Strong or something like that. For me that was almost like owning up to being embarrassed or having something to hide.
The video was titled Bobby Steelhard’s Hollywood Garage, Bobby Steelhard being the big star of the video. The shoot was to take place in the San Fernando Valley, the porn capital of the country, at an address in North Hollywood to be exact. The call time was 10 a.m., and when I arrived made extra sure to read every freaking street sign in sight, not wanting to add yet another parking ticket to my extensive collection. The building itself was an actual garage, complete with a car on a lift and tools strewn all over the place. A few guys were milling around, getting things prepared. After introducing myself to them they directed me to the back of the place, where there was an office, kitchen, bathroom, and a makeup room. My guess was that this place had been used as a set many times before.
Sitting down at what looked like a kitchen table was a heavyset man. He had really beautiful shiny chestnut hair, on the longer side, cut in feathery layers. He wore glasses and had an attractive face, showing a nice smile with great teeth.
“You must be Adam,” he said in a chipper voice.
“That would be me,” I smiled.
“I’m Missy. But you can call me Tommy
on the set!” he winked.
I immediately felt comfortable with him and we began making small talk and joking with each other.
From there it was onto the makeup artist, a skinny guy with bleached locks and lots of tattoos. Wow, I thought. This shoot had a makeup artist. At least I wasn’t doing low-budget gay porn.
The makeup guy looked like he partied way, way too hard for much too long. But like Tommy, he was cool as well.
While working on me the makeup maestro proudly showed off pictures of himself dressed up in bizarre drag meets bondage getups for some weird fetish magazine that I could hardly believe someone actually printed, or that people actually paid for.
“And don’t you love that shot? Hot, isn’t it?” he asked enthusiastically.
“Yeah, it’s great,” I lied, staring at a picture of him in black latex bustier, safety pins clipped to his flesh, and his head pulled back and gagged with a huge knot.
We continued to talk about idle crap while he worked on cleaning up my pubic area. Having someone shave your pubes all nice and neat was something that didn’t happen every day. The guy just kept carrying on conversation like he had done this hundreds of times, which was very possible.
“Okay, let’s take a look at your asshole!” he announced nonchalantly, as though he were ordering coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts.
I guess my chute didn’t look too swell, as he had to do a little bit of extra trimming down there.
When that was all over I left the makeup room and went back to the garage to have some still shots taken. Along the way I met my costar, Paul Powers. This was the one thing I was little nervous about; I was so hoping he wouldn’t be a jerk, have bad breath, or something that might make this really experience unpleasant. Having one bad thing to brood about could make this event a lot worse, and how I choose to look at it was a matter of perception. I could perceive my porn debut as fun and money or that I had hit a new low in life. And I was going to think the former rather than latter as I was in no state of mind to delve further into depression.