The Secret Lives of Hyapatia Lee
Author: Hyapatia Lee
Date: 2000-11-20 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Biography & Autobiography; General
Description: The world is fascinated by sex and the sex industry. In the last 20 years, we have seen X-rated movies go from a theater in the worst part of town to our own VCRs and on the menu of expensive hotels as in-room entertainment. Its stars have gone from being virtual unknowns in the early 70’s to doing appearances on Jay Leno and television talk shows. The adult film business has grown by leaps and bounds. In 1984 alone more people rented or bought an X-rated movie than voted for Ronald Regan. In this book, I have given the reader an uncensored, inside look at all the workings of the sex industry
Publisher: Authorhouse

“The Secret Lives

of

Hyapatia Lee”

by Hyapatia Lee

Copyright © 2000 by Hyapatia Lee

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 1-58721-906-9

ISBN: 978-1-4208-9773-9 (eBook)

1stBooks-rev. 10/06/00

About the Book

The world is fascinated by sex and the sex industry. In the last 20 years we have seen X-rated movies go from a theater in the worst part of town to our own VCRs and on the menu of expensive hotels as in-room entertainment. Its stars have gone from being virtual unknowns in the early 70’s to doing appearances on Jay Leno and television talk shows. The adult film business has grown by leaps and bounds. In 1984 alone more people rented or bought an X-rated movie than voted for Ronald Regan.

In this book I have given the reader an uncensored, inside look at all the workings of the sex industry from movies and magazines to men’s clubs and all the emotions that go along with it. By reading these excerpts from my personal diary, I share with you the anger, elation, sadness and fear that have comprised my life. I give an inside look at the many famous people I’ve met and their personal quirks. As the first Native American porn star, I show you how this line of work is seen in the eyes of my religion and culture and I share some of the healing ceremonies I have experienced.

Why would a young woman decide to get into such a business? What is it like to make an X-rated movie or to dance nude on stage in a gentlemen’s club? Many women say it is empowering. What kind of lives did these women have before entering the world of X? Why do they say it increases their self-esteem? Is it REALLY healthy emotionally? Why have five of my colleagues committed suicide? What’s it like when your friends (and the Godmother of your children) are dropping like flies? Why would a sexually abused and abandoned child decide of her own free will to make X-rated movies and how could this possibly be a healing experience? Is it really?

Contents

INTRODUCTION

IN THE BEGINNING

BACK HOME

PLEASE GOD, NOT AGAIN!

BUD

THE MICHIGAN CIRCUIT

MY FIRST MOVIE

BECOMING A PORN STAR

LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

ONWARD AND UPWARD

SHAUNA GRANT

AND BABY MAKES THREE

MEGAN LEIGH

DIVORCE

AIDS IN THE BUSINESS

MY FIRST CD, ROCKIN’’ AND ROLLIN’ IN LA

MORE SUICIDES

SUNDANCE

UPIN SMOKE

THE END

About the Author

INTRODUCTION

I have done many exciting things in my life. Quite a few of them could be considered controversial by some people’s standards. Most people find it difficult to understand why someone might do something they themselves would never do. That is one of the reasons for this book. Another is to give the reader an insider’s point of view of the workings of the adult film industry and the businesses that surround it, such as the adult magazine and nightclub businesses. There are many opinions on all sides of these topics and it is rare that a female performer is able to give her uncensored opinion about her experiences with them.

After well over a decade working in these fields I have seen some pretty amazing things, some frightening, some awe-inspiring, and some tragic. I hope to expose many misconceptions and explain why so many people do the strange sexual things they do. I believe no one should ever judge another, but perhaps by hearing these true stories of the intimate workings of people’s lives, you can start to understand what it means to be a product of these histories. Since all actions are merely reactions, I hope that as you read about my life, you will see why I acted as I did and why others who experience similar situations might behave in the ways they do. One never makes decisions without being influenced by things that have happened in the past, whether it is a conscious overview, or one that occurs spontaneously.

Cycles continue, and unless we are aware of the cycles that led to our current position, we are bound to unknowingly repeat them.

It is often hard, if not out right impossible, to understand other people’s actions when their life is so different from yours and their decisions so far from what you might choose for yourself. If you truly want to understand it, you must first commit to having an open mind and secondly, you must try to understand how we are all products of our past and just what that really means.

It is proven scientific facts that newborn babies who are given all the food, warmth and physical care they need die without love and affection. The medical term for such a death is “Failure to Thrive”. The human need, not desire, but absolute need for survival, to be held, talked lovingly to, smiled at and treasured, last long past infancy. Is it any wonder our elders who have been abandoned in nursing homes, not the ones who are remembered and visited, but the forgotten ones, die so soon?

This book is about humanity, what society has done to our humanness and the on-going ramifications of separating the mental, physical and emotional aspects of a human being. We are living in a pain and death denying society. No one wants to admit fear, pain and sorrow. We are told to “get over it” and to “get on with our lives”, as though sadness and grieving are not a part of life. A buried emotion eats away at the inside. It festers until one day it explodes. How many times have we heard “You’re blowing this out of proportion”? How many times has a small splinter turned into an ugly infection, stomach pain to an ulcer, discomfort to cancer? A broken bone never properly set and left alone to heal itself, is never the same, never completely healed back to its former self. It may be painful to prosecute child molesters in the immediate family, or to admit our mistakes or put a child’s needs first before an adult’s desires, but the ramifications of denying such things are far reaching, “Unto seven generations”, my people say.

Life is not a fair game. The good and honest are stricken with tragedies, the innocent children are sometimes born into a world of famine or abuse, thieves and murderers sometimes go free. No matter what God you pray to or how hard you try to believe that you are special and protected, there is nothing to save you from some mad man’s bullet. If your belief system were that tragedy is God’s way of testing you, why would a loving God test his innocent ones, especially children, to the point of death and broken spirit and body? The God I believe in does not wish pain and suffering on His/Her Children. How then, do you protect yourself from the shit that just happens? Not all of it is random, let’s do what we can to stop the cycle of pain and destruction of lives, and when we can’t stop it, let us doall we can to help those who have been touched by it, to heal, in any way they can.

I have changed the names of many people in this book to protect both them and myself.

IN THE BEGINNING

The elders say that after death, a soul goes back to the Great Round. Years are spent reviewing ones lives and the lessons learned and all that is still to be learned on the road to enlightenment. The soul, knowing what is needed next on its path, chooses a womb to jump into. The elders say this happens in the fourth month of pregnancy.

At birth, the Angel of Forgetfulness touches us under the nose and above the upper lip and we forget all about our past lives and time spent in the Great Round.

This concept has at its heart, responsibility; responsibility for one’s life and the opportunities for growth and wisdom along the way. Adversity is a character builder. Those who are never challenged do not know their strength. Those who live in perpetual comfort don’t exercise their soul to its fullest potential. Therefore, the more progress a soul wishes to make, the more challenging the environment it chooses. (I must’ve wanted to learn everything at once!) This gives power back to the person whose life is in question. The soul has chosen these opportunities for growth. It is of course, up to the individual whether a challenge will actually promote growth and enlightenment or crush ones spirit.

This concept does not negate a newborn child’s innocence. All children are born pure, not carrying the mistakes of their past lives or their ancestors. The mistakes of the other dances (lives) have already been learned and atoned for in the Great Round. Anyone who has ever held a newborn and felt with their heart knows the Universal Truth that all babies are born innocent and pure.

We are highly impressionable; the world we are presented with is the only world we know. It’s not until our teen years that we are able to see the differences and options around us of how to live and what kind of person to be. The things our environment teaches us about the world, society and our role in it, religion, government and financial survival, we take to be absolutely true until we are old enough to shake off the things we’ve been taught and decide for ourselves to re-adopt them into our core belief system or not.

My mother, Mary, and my father, Randy, met in high school. My mother was 15 when she discovered, to everyone’s horror, that she was pregnant. I was born in the early 1960’s and it was customary for two teenagers faced with an unwanted pregnancy to get married and grow up as quickly as possible. They tried to do the right thing.

When two teenagers become parents, everyone suffers. My mother and father were still children themselves.

My mother stayed home with her parents and my father went into the military to make ends meet and to help pay for the medical bills associated with giving birth. After his basic training, he was stationed in Cape Cod and my mother went to join him while I stayed home with my maternal grandmother to give them some time to get settled in.

During this brief time, my mother’s father, my grandfather, explained to my mother, that he had gotten another woman pregnant and would be divorcing soon to go be with the mother of his child. My mother felt a responsibility to be there for her mother, to help her through such a rough time. She didn’t want her to feel totally abandoned. She divorced my father and went back home. He was devastated; he really had wanted it to all work out. My mother’s half-sister was born soon after.

My mother went back to school to get a GED and my grandmother took care of me. I didn’t see my mother very much while she was busy trying to pull her life together and grow up. With all the pressures of her school, work, raising a daughter and the ostracization she felt from her peers, she needed a break. Her release came in the form of a race track. Living right next to the Indy 500, it was a natural progression for her to develop a love of racing and subsequently, the men who drove the cars. She traveled all across the country to attend as many races as her work and school would allow, while I stayed home with my grandmother, whom I called “Mother”.

Life with my grandmother had its ups and downs, but for the most part, it was a great way to grow up. I started dance and gymnastics classes when I was four. My grandmother had abusiness with her sister, Atchie. They made draperies for an interior decorator in their homes. Both of them had their workroom in the basement, which became the major living area in the house for Atchie.

One birthday, when I was so excited about my dancing classes, Atchie and my grandmother made 6 different costumes for me to dance in. One part of the basement at Atchie’s was set up like a stage. She and her husband George had put up lights for me to perform under and whenever we went out there, which was three or four times a week for their work. I would always sing and dance to records they played. During their break, they would sit and watch me. I was quite the ham.

It was my great-aunt Atchie and uncle George who paid for my voice lessons and much of my dancing lessons, and this was a way of showing them what their money was going for and if it was doing any good. They were all connoisseurs of the arts and had good constructive criticism that helped me improve.

The four of us would go to the Cincinnati opera to see performances of THE MAGIC FLUTE, TOURANDOT, OTHELLO, FIDELIO and others. Every year, Atchie, Grandma and I would go to Michigan to visit Interlochen, the arts school for young people. They would put on shows and symphonies throughout the week or two we stayed there in a cabin on Lake Michigan. That is where I first developed an interest in the theater while watching a rehearsal of “Annie Get Your Gun”.

When I was nine years old and in the third grade, my real mother decided to marry a man she had been dating for several months. He worked in the building next to where she did and they met when he came over to borrow the copying machine. His name was Don and he was a short, heavy-set, red-haired man.

Although I had always dreamed of having a mother and a father like everyone else I knew, I had quite a hard time adjusting to this new family. I was not used to looking to my real mother for all my needs. It was hard to leave the woman I came to know as Mother and separate myself from her so suddenly and completely. We moved in the middle of a school year and the differences between the inner-city education I was getting and the lily-white, rich, suburban school system I was transferred to, were astonishing. Although I earned straight A’s before, I found myself far behind in every subject.

Don and I did not hit it off right away either. There were serious problems when he forbade me to see my grandmother more than once a month and to call her no more than once a week. She had been my only constant source of love since my real mother had spent the first seven years of my life traveling around the country to car races with her girlfriends and growing up when she wasn’t working. I hated him for cutting me off from her so abruptly. What right did he have to dictate when I could make a local call to the woman who had raised me so far? He was a tyrant, a power hungry Hitler. He was the arrogant, pushy, sometimes out-and-out rude, type. He was “too good” to stand in a line, always cheating toward the front, even if it meant paying someone off. He was always right and his word was absolute and final. He enforced his rule with his fists.

My weak, small-framed mother had no confidence in herself at all and even though she thought his manner was becoming more and more abusive, she could not protest. After all, she only had a GED. Don was a rich architect. The money he made allowed her not only to live without want of anything, but also to quit her job. She didn’t want to rock the boat, and by this time, she had gotten pregnant.

Living with this strange man was quite a shock to me. Cherokees are Matriarchal. They see the feminine side as being equal if not superior. Women held property and ruled the house. When a couple married the husband took his wife’s last name. Our society is patriarchal; the predominant culture sees men as superior. The conceptual change was thrust on me quite abruptly. I had never really known my father or any other man. I didn’t even know the difference in genitalia. My grandmother would re-roof the house, paint the garage, do plumbing and upholstery all by herself, and quite well too. She spoke of how men always get women pregnant without claiming any personal responsibility and then take off and never look back. I was not used to being treated like a second-class citizen just because of my sex.

It’s been scientifically proven that children accept whatever environment they are in as being the way life is. The movie “The Truman Story” is based on this premise. I had been raised to see the world as being one way, Don made it look completely upside down. It was culture shock. I was a nine-year-old child who had been torn from the arms of the one woman I knew as Mother and thrown into a foreign culture. The mind has many ways to protect itself during prolonged traumatic events. One such way is to split, to form an alternative personality that can face the world void of the memory of it’s alternative self. “Stacy” was born, the first of many to come. Stacy was a very sad little girl who bit her fingers and pulled on her hair while crying hysterically for her mother, her “real” mother. Whoever that was.

I remember one rainy night I couldn’t sleep. I was afraid of the thunder and lightening. I was scared and asked my mom if I could sleep with her and Don. She agreed and in the safety of her presence, I drifted off to sleep. When I awoke, she was gone and Don was on top of me with my legs spread. His hands were between my legs, and something else, too, although I wasn’t quite sure at the time what it was. My mother was nowhere to be found and it was still very dark outside. I screamed for her. I was ten.

At first I thought maybe he was asleep and mistook me for my mother. I guessed that this was what “having sex” was all about, and that he was trying to do it to her. When I yelled, he did not appear to “wake up”. My mother did come though, and she calmed me, thinking it was fear of the storm that had made me call out.

It was during this time that “Lisa Patrick” was “born”. There was just too much going on for one child to handle. Lisa was wild, like an animal. Nature was her confidante and her companion. No one would ever tame her. I did not tell my mother what had happened. I was very afraid of this strange man and knew from the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that this was wrong. It felt dirty, and that made me feel dirty. I also was never quite sure if he knew it was I and not my mom.

After that I felt very uncomfortable at home and so I requested more dance classes to get me away from there. I guess the feelings must have been mutual because they complied and even went a step further by enrolling me in a junior civic theater acting class for the summer that ended in the production of a musical called “Twelve Dancing Princesses”. I was a proud little princess. My Girl Scout troop and family all came to watch a performance. I felt happy, accepted, normal and comfortable on stage, like in my dance classes, but much stronger. It was a special feeling of ecstasy and I strove from that point on to spend as much time on stage as I could. I cried for days when the production was over.

My mother and stepfather had a son named Danny, who was born when I was almost a teenager. I developed early and was often mistaken for a 14 or 15 year old. There were many times when I would be told to take him outside and keep him occupied. I felt like everyone was looking at me strangely, many thought Danny was my son. I was embarrassed and would always make a point of saying something like, “Let’s not get your clothes all dirty, you know how upset Mother will be with us if I bring you back dirty.”

Not long after that, my stepfather got transferred to Florida, and we moved to Fort Myers. Again, it was in the middle of the school year and just about as painful as possible because now I was 12 and had a lot of friends at school and near home I had to leave. Being that far away from my grandmother was torturous. Now the calls were long distance and even further restricted.

To escape the unhappy home life, I again turned to dance lessons and the theater. One of my favorite roles was that of Helen Keller in “The Miracle Worker”. Not only did I get to learn the manual alphabet, which proved to be quite an asset much later in life, but also it was also quite an inspiration for me. Regardless of all the blows life dealt her, she survived and even thrived! I wanted to be like her.

Once we were in Florida the situation with Don got progressively worse. He now felt he could create a total dictatorship, with the matriarch of the family over a thousand miles away. Traditionally, the oldest, most respected female heads Native American families. Don enforced his rule with his fists, saying he was the man of the family and what he said,went. Women have respect and power in my people’s ways. You can see how this change was quite a shock and a blow to my self-worth as a female.

Again, my response was to get out of the house as much as possible. In addition to the theater I was involved in, I joined a drum and bugle corps, the Royal Lancers in Cape Coral, Florida. My mother went back to school to become a surgical nurse. I think she saw the writing on the wall and knew she couldn’t put up with this abuse much longer. She was trying to get an education that would enable her to support Danny and me. If she hadn’t been a teenage mother and could’ve finished her education we could have been spared many beatings.

I was not allowed to ever close the door to my bedroom, not even when changing clothes. The master bedroom was across the hall from mine and he had a perfect view of my body every time. I was not allowed to close the bathroom door when taking a shower or bath, and he would always come in and stand there, pretending to do something at the sink, whenever I bathed. I avoided baths and showers for years after that, something my real father and stepmother never understood.

My diaries were always read and discussed out of the clear blue at dinner or some other awkward, embarrassing time. He would use exact quotes of what I had written and no matter where I hid the journal, he would find it.

I was not allowed to talk to boys on the phone or to have any over or go outside to talk to any. All of my friendships took place at school or in the Royal Lancers Drum and Bugle Corps.

The Corps would travel all over Florida to go to competitions and parades. We traveled in two buses and stayed in VFW halls, sleeping in our sleeping bags and playing pranks on each other. It was a wonderful time and a great escape. I had many friends there.

Whenever my mother wasn’t home, Don would come up from behind me, grab my breasts and comment on how big they were getting. He’d ask me what size bra I wore now and how far had I gone with the boys. Was I a slut yet? Did I let any of my boyfriends touch me here, and he would touch me there as an example. It went on almost daily. There were several times when I would wake up with him in my bed, on top of me. He would force me to have sex with him. The pain was excruciating but I was too scared to scream. He said he would take the machete from the library and cut me up into a million pieces and ship me back in shoeboxes to my grandmother, one by one. He would paint quite an explicit scene of her opening the boxes and her feelings and the body parts she would find, always the sexual ones first. I was afraid to tell anyone.

I was terrified in my own home. “Veronica Holds the Anger” had to be created to fulfill her namesake. There was just too much anger at all the injustice and dark absurdity for me to hold on to, I would’ve exploded. There was no escaping the daily abuses and no way to let my fear, anger and grief out.

Don would pick fights with me. One year, on my birthday, I remember my grandmother had sent me a clock radio. Everything my grandmother sent me he purposely destroyed. He did everything he could to make the severing of that relationship as painful as possible. He loved control and the power to inflict pain, both physically and emotionally. I was setting up the clock radio by myself in my room when he walked through the door.

“You never did like me, did you?” He asked.

If I said that I had liked him, I would be lying, and I knew I would get hit. If I told him he was right, I would get smacked for being a smart ass. It was always a “no win” situation with him. “Veronica” decided to stand up for herself. She told him he was right, I never did like him; in fact I hated his guts!

He hit me with his fist, hard. I expected it, of course, but what I did not expect was my mother coming into the room standing up for me! It was the first and only time I ever remember her doing that. She said to leave me alone. It was my birthday. He said he didn’t care and started hitting her instead.

Many times I tried to tell my teachers, guidance counselors, and I even called the police to ask if threatening to murder me was a crime. I explained that my stepfather had wanted me to keep quiet about something. I told them in detail what he had promised to do, if I let anyone know. I thought they would understand, that they would be there to help and protect a child in this situation. I even believed they would guess at what thesecret was. They did none of the above. They told me it wasn’t a crime and hung up on me.

At school Mrs. K., the guidance counselor had a support group. I brought up my stepfather’s abuse. She gave me a book on psychosomatic diseases. The group was stopped abruptly. No one wanted to hear an ugly truth because they would have to get involved if they had a conscious, and if not, live with the guilt. They found it easier to turn their heads and ignore it.

I finally told my mother. She was angry at me for messing around with her husband! As if I wanted the slime ball!!! She told me she would try to make it so I was not alone with him in the house very often and then she took me to a psychologist.

My therapist had long blonde hair and was very pretty. She was nice and kind and I felt I could talk to her. I slowly began to explain the abuses a little at a time, until I could be sure I could trust her. She eventually brought my mother into the sessions and said that I was making things up. My mother told her that the things I described, that she had seen, were true. My therapist’s schedule became so full all of a sudden, that she could no longer see me!

No one wanted to get involved! No one cared! I felt like no one believed me! On many occasions, I would hide with Danny, my half-brother, and try to comfort him during their violent fights. One time, he accidentally got in the way and ended up having to have fluid drained off of his head. I was too young to know the exact medical condition and procedure, but I remember seeing the doctor stick a huge needle into Danny’s little head and pull out puss and blood-colored fluid twice. He was just a baby. It was not a healthy environment for him and he would wake up screaming in the middle of the night almost every evening.

One night, Don and my mom were involved in their usual knockdown when he pulled me up out of my chair and into the middle of the argument.

“Your mother won’t have sex with me when I want it! That’s against the law. She has wifely duties. What do you think about that?”

“Leave her out of this”, my mother yelled, but he wouldn’t let go.

He kept hitting me, saying we uppity women needed to be put in our place. My mother came to my rescue and he started beating her. I left the house and went walking the neighborhood looking for help. I went up to several doors and knocked, yelling that I needed to call the police, my mother was being beaten. No one dared answer his or her doors. They didn’t really care about anyone but themselves. I went to 7-11, knowing I didn’t have the money for a pay phone call, just hoping God would leave enough money on the ground for me to make a call to save her. Everyone let me down that night.

When I got back, she was worse than I had ever seen her. Her face was bruised and her eyes were almost swollen shut. I could hardly recognize her. She called one of her friends from school, Charlene, and she took her to the hospital. I thought the whole thing would soon be over. I didn’t think she would go back to him. I thought I would finally get a chance to know my mother and have a relationship with her. We could help each other. We could heal together.

The next night when Don came to pick me up from drum corps practice, I was terrified to get into the car with him. I stalled as long as I could, hoping my mother and Charlene would show up and rescue me. He was getting impatient and opened the passenger door demanding that I get in, now. I kept staring at the windshield. Not even out of it, just at the glass in front of me. I was petrified, too afraid to move or talk as I listened to his never-ending ranting and raving about how he was going to knock some sense into my mom and me. He said we were two of a kind and rotten to the core. He was going to teach us respect. He reiterated the threats about the machete and the many shoe boxes filled with my blood, bones and tissue being sent to my Grandmother in Indianapolis. I really didn’t think I was ever going to make it home that night. I thought he would find a field and kill me in it and that would be the end of my miserable life. I don’t even remember getting home, but I’m sure I did at some point, because I’m still alive today. Thankfully I had Veronica, Stacy and Lisa to breath for me until it was over.

My mom and Charlene decided to rent a beach house for a week together, to “find themselves”. Charlene had four children,

Stan who was one year younger than me, Laura, a year and a half younger than him, Betty, another year and a half younger, and Cindy, three years younger and the smallest of the family. Charlene had recently divorced her husband they were all trying to adjust to the change. I think she thought she could help my mom get through the hard times, but there was something else there too. I wasn’t sure yet what it was.

The cottage was beautiful and was right on the beach off Sanibel Island, off the gulf coast of Florida. Our week was a nice, quiet one filled with sun, salt-water breezes, sand castles, radio Mystery Theater and seashell collecting. I got along well with the other children and it was nice to be a kid again. It was wonderful to go to sleep at night without the fear of waking to find a man in my bed or a fight outside my door. Danny was a happy child and he and Wendy were becoming great friends. I didn’t have to take care of him as much.

On the last day of our beach stay, Don came. He and my mother and Charlene had a discussion behind closed doors in the master bedroom. I knew what was going to happen. It was only a matter of time before the violence started. Unfortunately, I was right. My mother was explaining to him how she wanted a divorce. Of course, he hit the roof, but this time, he didn’t hit her. Charlene was there, and so were four other children right outside the door, all just waiting to call the police if necessary.

Whenever the fighting would start, Danny would cry hysterically. He was just a baby when all of it started. It scared him. Don came thundering out of the bedroom.

“What are you doing to my son? What did you do to make him cry like that?”

Veronica didn’t care if he hit her anymore, she figured he was going to, no matter what she said, so she might as well tell him how she felt and get some good out of it.

“I didn’t do anything, you did! You are the one who always makes him cry! You start yelling and throwing things and hitting his mother, of course he’s going to cry! He’s scared!”

I could tell by the look in his eye he just wanted to kill me, but he couldn’t, there were too many witnesses. He went back into the bedroom to finish with my mom. It wasn’t long before he finally left.

We ended up moving in with Charlene and her children and I was trying to get used to family life like this. Perhaps I’d finally get to have that relationship with my mother I’d always wanted. My mom was still trying to “find herself” and it appeared she thought she had gotten lost in the bedroom because that was where she and Charlene kept locking themselves. Since I was the oldest, it was my responsibility to make sure the other five children did as they were told. I didn’t really want to be in charge, I certainly didn’t know how or feel as though I had the authority to be. The kids did as they pleased.

When Charlene disciplined her kids, it was with a spatula. She would chase them all over the house, swiping at them anywhere she could get. Most of the time, though, it really didn’t matter if they misbehaved. She and my mother were way too busy with their lives to be around much at all, and when they were, it was behind locked doors.

One time Lisa ran away. I was upset. Thinking back on all those nights with Don, all the terror, being taken away from my grandmother, I just needed someone to talk to. I had knocked on my mother’s door a few times, only to be told to go away. I knew what they were doing in the bedroom all the time. Even if my mother didn’t want to admit it to me, I had seen them in bed together. It didn’t upset me that she was having sex with another woman. I was only angry that it took her away from having a relationship with me because she was always too busy with Charlene. Lisa opened the front door and just kept walking, and walking and walking. Several cars pulled up by me and asked me if I wanted a ride. I ignored them, or if they were persistent, I’d run between houses to lose them. I was running from some headlights that got too close when I realized by the P.A. that it was a police car.

They asked me what I was doing out at this hour, and Lisa Patrick explained about my mother being beaten, to the divorce, Charlene, and locked doors. I wanted a relationship with my mother more than I wanted Don to see justice, so I never brought that up, as he was no longer a threat. They took me home.

When my mom answered the door, she was surprised. She didn’t even know I was gone. I’d been out almost all day and night.

I really didn’t want to run away. I just wanted her loving attention, but no matter how hard I tried, she was not available for me. One night, Charlene and my mother had decided to put together a large puzzle. It was too big to hide in the bedroom, so they had to bring it out to the kitchen table. I finally had a chance to talk to her. I asked her if we could have a conversation. She said no. She was busy. I started crying. I just wanted to know if she loved me. She never told me. All I remembered was how she accused me of taking her husband and fooling around with him. I tried to tell her how I needed help to deal with these memories. She told me I was a liar, that nothing had ever happened and that she did not want to talk to me or see me. She sent me to Laura’s bedroom, next to the room she was in, and told me not to come out.

At first, I just laid there and waited. Then I called out, “When you get to a stopping place, will you come here a minute please?” There was no answer.

“Mom? When you get a chance, can you come here for just a minute? I need to talk to you.” Again, there was no answer. I was getting hurt and angry. I called out louder.

“Mom! I really need you!! Just for a minute! Please!” She would not respond. I kept calling, louder and louder, thinking maybe she just didn’t hear.

Finally, Charlene came in, spatula in hand.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. Shut up or I’ll give you something to scream about.”

When she left, I waited a minute or two. Then I called out again.

“Mom? Do you love me? I just want to know if you love me? I promise I will shut up if you will just please come tell me if you love me or not. Do you love me? MOM!”

I called out to her for as long as I could, until, literally, I could no longer make a single sound with my vocal chords. She never came. I decided I would run away for good and never come back. I wanted to go live with my grandmother, but I didn’t know if she would have me. I knew she couldn’t afford me.

I didn’t know how I would get money to leave. Would I go from truck stop to truck stop hitching rides and paying for them with sex? I didn’t care; it would be better than staying here. I didn’t have any clothes to speak of. I could fit everything I needed into one small bag. I also didn’t have any money. I would need money for food, at least. I had to come up with a plan.

Every penny I saw on the ground, I carefully picked up and saved. I offered to wash peoples cars and cut their lawns. I tried to get a job or a newspaper route. I found there was a discriminatory law on the books in the state, boys could get a route at 12 years of age, girls had to be fourteen. I wasn’t old enough. A job was even more unattainable; I would have to be 16 for that. Not many people wanted their cars washed or their yards cut by a strange 13-year-old girl.

There was only one other hope, the Royal Lancers Drum and Bugle Corps. I had won prizes for collecting the most donations for expenses like uniforms, bus repairs, gas to major competitions, etc. I started collecting for two charities, the Lancers, and the “Save My Childhood” foundation.

I still won every fund drive competition we had. I simply increased my time in front of the stores tremendously and gave myself a small percentage. I only needed $93.00 for a one-way ticked to Indianapolis. I figured that would be a cheaper and safer way for me to go, as opposed to finding funds for food, hotels, gas donations instead of sex, etc.

During the time I was saving money, I prepared for where I would go. I called directory assistance for Indianapolis and asked for my father’s number. Luckily, he still lived there. I didn’t know if he would even talk to me. It had been years since I had heard from him. He was remarried to a nice woman named Grace and they had three children. I had visited them a few times before my mom got married to Don.

He was very receptive to my call! Lisa briefly explained that my mom was getting a divorce and that it was not convenient for her to keep me, with all the stresses she was going through. Iasked if I could come to visit for a while. Much to my amazement, he said “yes”. After I hung up, I cried tears of joy for a long time. I felt a small glimpse of what it must feel like to have a dad. I couldn’t wait to see him. There was a light at the end of my very long, dark, dank tunnel.

By the time I had saved enough money, it was close to the end of the school year. I had been a straight A student and I wasn’t about to blow my record by leaving without graduating from 8th grade. The day after school got out, I took my violin, nicknamed Casey, one small suitcase and my purse, and asked my mother for a ride to the airport. I told her that if she didn’t want to take me, I understood, I could hitch a ride.

She was very unemotional and matter-of-fact about the whole thing. She had time to take me. On the way, she asked where I would be staying, I told her about my dad. Charlene was with us and they exchanged glances. Not much else was said.

I wondered if she would just drop me off at the airport, but she didn’t, she went to the gate with me. I was reminded about the time Don left on a business trip and French kissed me good-by at the gate in front of my mom and everyone. I couldn’t wait to leave Florida. I didn’t even care if the plane crashed, as long as it wasn’t over Florida. When it came time to go, I boarded the airplane. There was no hug or kiss good-by, no request to be called to see if I made it O.K., not a word about when or if I was coming back, nothing.

Looking out the window of the plane, I felt no remorse as I left. I knew I would never be back. I did not care if I had not given my mother a hug or kiss good-by, but of course, it still hurt that she had not cared to give me one. I tried to cut off all my emotions and let it go as the plane went faster and faster down the runway, faster and faster running away. I took off, up, above and beyond the pain no one cared to listen to, believe, or help me with.

I was startled when a flight attendant asked me if that was a violin I was carrying. When I told her it was, she asked me if I would play some music! I didn’t think she was serious, not in front of the other passengers, but she was. I guess she must’veseen my distraught look or something and was trying to comfort me. It worked. I played.

BACK HOME

Life with my real dad was very different from anything I had ever been exposed to. His wife was a great mother to their three young children and they lived in a nice neighborhood. I began to think maybe this would be a good place to grow up. I missed my grandmother very much and would have preferred to live with her, but I didn’t really think that was possible. Whenever I spoke to her on the phone, she said she was in no position to keep me. Her finances were so desperate that she went out and got a second job, in addition to the drapery workroom. Because of that, she was working all the time and away from home every evening. She said it would be impossible for her to get me to school and pick me up each day, besides not being able to afford me. My father paid child support of $12.50 every week, barely enough to cover my lunch money. Getting that sent directly to her would make no difference.

My dad was a very active member in the local Southern Baptist church. Every Wednesday evening was Bible study and Sunday was spent almost entirely at the church from dawn till dusk. Cards were one of the Devil’s tool and women were not allowed to wear red. It was summer time and the church planned a trip to the local amusement park, Kings Island, but all girls were forbidden to wear shorts, no matter how hot it was. Of course, the boys could. I did not understand any of this new belief system.

God seemed like a good thing to me at the time. I had always believed there was one, even though no miraculous happenings had saved me from my many atrocities. I could not easily relate to a God that was male, however. A Heavenly Father to me just had more authority to molest and beat his daughters, especially if this particular view of God included the restriction of females in his little black book. I tried to understand the Southern Baptist doctrine and learn the Bible from their point of view. I truly did want to have a relationship with a Supreme Being.

Pastor Willis and his family would join us almost every week for dinner. During one of these times, I asked to speak with him alone. I had hoped he could help me to be closer to God, to feel his love and sanctity. I thought it would be impossible to explain to my step-mom and dad what had happened in Florida with Don. It was so painful to remember, but to tell someone who you think loves you and may be hurt by it too, was more than I was capable of. I had hoped Pastor Willis could tell them and then they would understand why I was so shy, so afraid to take a bath, so afraid of my father and other men. They had started to accuse me of being a troublemaker in Florida and assumed that my mother was fed up with my bad behavior and that is why I ended up here.

Many things I did were very rebellious. I was a 14 year old who had lived as an adult with adult problems and no support group for a long time. I had developed multiple personalities to help me deal with the many traumas I had lived through. How could I go back to being a normal 14 year old? I’d seen and done things my father and stepmother either thought happened only to other people, or didn’t really happen at all. I had no respect for authority figures because none of them listened or believed me when I needed them. I had learned that respect must be earned and is just not given to a parent or an elder as a birthright. They did not know what I had been through, how could they understand who I was? How could they possibly reach out to me and help me? They couldn’t. My only hope of bridging the gap was to somehow let them in on all the tragic secrets and hope they would understand what it all had done to me. If they were capable of understanding what experiencing these events as a child does to the human mind, then maybe they could get me some help psychologically.

The pastor and I went into the bedroom I shared with my half-sister, Prissy. He asked me what was troubling me. It was so hard to trust someone again with my pain, to hope they would believe me, understand me, and help me. I started slowly at first, recalling how my stepfather would rule the house with his fists, then I began to talk of the incest. I started to cry and as I did, my speech got faster and louder and more emotional. I was on a roll.

Pastor Willis reached his hand up to my lips, silencing me. He didn’t want to hear any more. I could tell it troubled him.

“Let us pray,” he said. “Great Father who watches down from us in heaven and knows all, forgive this child of her sins of the flesh.”

I never heard another word he said. He had judged me guilty of something I didn’t have any control over. He totally misunderstood me and I could not stay in the “here and now”. My mind was running wild with ideas of how this all related to my stepfather. The patriarchy of the church was reminiscent of the dictatorship I had lived under in Florida. My real father had given away his power to make up his own mind to a male authority figure that did all the thinking for him. I didn’t fit in here and they all knew it. No matter how hard any of us tried to shape shift, we would never fit the mold. I would never get the loving support and understanding that I needed to heal in this environment. I planned how I would find a way, some way, any way, no matter what, to move back in with my grandmother, the woman who was my true mother in my eyes.

Pastor Willis never mentioned what I had told him to my dad, or anyone else in the family, as far as I know. After they left and the dinner dishes were done and everyone had settled down for the night, I made sure the house was sound asleep. I crept quietly down to the basement where the telephone there was my only link to sanity. I called my grandmother. I told her I could not live here with these people. I explained the patriarchy of their church and how desperately I needed to be with her. I promised I would do any job I could get for money, buy my own clothes, walk the 19 plus blocks it was to the local school, eat very little, etc., so as not to be a burden.

I couldn’t hold back the tears and she knew there was something dreadfully wrong. I couldn’t tell her, it would have hurt her too much. She loved her daughter, and me, and to think of us being beaten and held hostage in our own homes, it would have broken her heart. I couldn’t do that to her, but she knew. She guessed something really bad had happened in Florida and she knew how much I needed her now. She promised me she would make it work. Now it was up to me to let my dad know.

It was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in my life. I knew what I needed to help me heal my wounds, but I also knew I needed my father and a good male image. Deep inside it was obvious that going back to my grandmother was going to help me the most. I did not want to hurt my stepmother and father’s feelings. After all, they had been nice enough to open up their house and their lives to me, a complete stranger and intruder. They had done their best to make me happy and comfortable and I did feel accepted and loved there. It was such a tragic situation because I wasn’t capable of explaining to them exactly why I had to leave. I couldn’t tell them what had happened, I was afraid they would react like Pastor Willis. They were in his flock. I was even more terrified that if I told them, they wouldn’t believe me. I know it broke everyone’s heart when I left to go live with my grandmother. I doubt if they will ever forgive me, but I could see no other way. I felt like I had thrown away any hope of ever having a relationship with my father.

My grandmother’s neighborhood is on the near west side of Indianapolis in a section known as Haughville. When my grandmother first got married and moved there with her husband theirs was the only house visible in the area. Many years later, the neighborhood is notorious. Known for high crime, drug houses and the location of many government-subsidized housing editions, it is home to a varied and colorful section of the population. The schools on this side of town had lower academic standards than most, and there were gangs and violence in the halls. My grandmother had witnessed the demise of the area over two generations.

For the rest of the summer, we spent our days in courthouses, getting the proper guardianship papers that would allow me to stay here. My mother in Florida had to sign things and send them; they were always slow and never came with a note or thread of hope for love. I did not speak to her over the phone at all during this time. My grandmother simply got the necessary information from her. My father’s meager child support was sent to Florida first, and then forwarded on to us. I’d like to take this opportunity to let you know, just for therecord, he was never in his life late with this money, even though it was only $12.50 a week.

I went with my grandmother to the flower shop where she worked and felt safer that way. It was so good to be back at home with her. I once wondered if I’d ever live to see her again, and here I was living with her. I was so thankful. I knew there was a God. We talked, watched TV together, read romance novels, played card games, and, of course, went to Atchie and George’s house. It was just like old times, even though some major things could never be like they once were, like, my virginal childhood.

When school started, reality once again set in. I learned in the first week that girls could not wear dresses or skirts to school without expecting to get it lifted and their panties felt on the stairs. Kids who raise their hand and know the answers are threatened in the halls. Bathrooms are filled with smoke, mostly from pot. During my stay there over the years, I would encounter a teacher stabbing, gunshots heard from the hall during class, and a librarian beaten so severely with a baseball bat by students, that he is blinded in one eye. Yet, with the strength of a lion, he returns to work!

Getting to and from school was another problem. There were no busses, save the city bus. I had quite a long walk to school. Indiana winters are bitterly cold, sometimes with temperatures reaching 22 degrees below zero actual, and 40 below wind chill. Such was the blizzard of ‘78. The land I walked on the way to school was covered with porno movie houses, old homes that had been renovated into churches, pool halls and two housing projects. Almost every day I would find my mind back in Florida, remembering that feeling of impending doom. I knew that any minute, some guy would come out from behind something and rape me.

The city buses did not run anywhere near my home and it was actually closer to walk than to go to the bus stop. My grandmother had rearranged her schedule so that she could take me to school in the morning, but I would have to walk home in the afternoon. It was the best we could do, and I was happy to be able to be there, no matter what, but school was uncomfortable for me because I did not feel safe. There was racial tension as our ratio was 60% black, 40% white. I wondered where I, a Native American Indian, fit in.

I decided to take summer school in order to graduate sooner, but also because I could take driver’s education and get my driver’s license sooner. I was a straight A student and I knew if I played my cards right I could get my credits and get out in 3 years easily. In the evenings, I worked in the flower shop with my grandmother and helped her with the hand stitching necessary for her draperies. For this I was paid and I saved what was left after buying my clothes, for a car.

Once I had my car, I took my classes all in the morning so I could go home for lunch and then on to work. I held jobs working in the mall at various stores, telephone soliciting, and in the box office of a dinner theater. I also typed original scripts for the theater owner and Indy’s favorite resident playwright, Randy Galvin. I got the job because I had been active on his stage in shows like GODSPELL, THE FANTASTICKS, LOVE STRUCK, TOP BUNK, CENTERFOLD, KISS ME KATE and many others. There were other theaters I had become a fixture at too, like the one I had done the musical TWELVE DANCING PRINCESSES at so long ago, Footlight Musicals at the Booth Tarkington Civic Theater. I met a wonderful director named Jim Schroom at the Indianapolis Civic Theater and found myself performing in something from one of these theaters, literally, every weekend of the year. I went from show to audition to rehearsal, usually working on two or three productions at once. It was a marvelous time of my life and I had many friends and learned a tremendous amount about life, acting, the stage, and myself. My grandmother was usually busy with work at the flower shop until 10:00 at night or so and the shows gave me something to do while she was gone, besides being something I really loved. I got to dance, sing, act, and choreograph. I even had a room I rented out from Randy Galvin in his Showcase Theater that I used to teach dance in.

On weekends my grandmother and I sometimes attended the meetings at the Native American Brotherhood Council. These were gatherings of people from all tribes and mixes who wantedto learn more about their heritage and culture. We did little arts and crafts projects like making dream catchers, and learned traditional stories and history. It was a wonderful bonding time and it really revived my interest in a culture I had been embarrassed to claim.

Jim Schroom was Chippewa and he had two sons, one of which I worked with in a play called LITTLE MARY SUNSHINE. As I got to know him, I really liked him. One day, he asked me to go to his prom with him. I was so happy!!! I didn’t have a dress, so we got one from Good Will and my grandmother helped me clean it up. It was beautiful peach chiffon and I felt so happy. It was the only prom I ever went to, and the amazing thing was that it was at the school I would have attended if my stepfather had not moved us all to Florida.

Jim Schroon also tried to help me get an acting scholarship to Loyola University in Chicago. He worked with me day after day on a monologue from OUR TOWN and went with me to audition. I actually got the scholarship, only to have it taken away because the football team needed more members so they took a scholarship from the drama department to give it to athletics. We were heartbroken.

I had great grades, but the education I was exposed to wasn’t the best and I didn’t do such a great job on my SAT’s, although I graduated 11th in my class. I had been told I was eligible for a scholastic scholarship, but when I applied, I filled out the application literally. They asked how many children in my family, I said one. They sent me a letter saying that since my mom and dad had only one child, I was not eligible. The way they saw it, my parents were together with an only child and they could find the money for this one child’s college. I guess I should’ve counted my stepbrothers and sister, and then it would have said I had four siblings. No one explained it to me at the time, and I didn’t want to lie.

It is so easy for someone to fall through all the cracks of our societies protective net, so easy for the police and school officials to turn the other way when confronted with a difficult situation. It is so easy to not get involved. It had been my experience in the real world that most people do not know or want to know that these things happen so often. People are afraid to hear that they happen to the innocent and the young and that justice is not served. It scares them to think that it is possible to be a good person, say your prayers, do all the right things, and then still have something bad happen to you. It kind of shakes their belief system and makes them question their God. It’s a shame that all of this gets in the way of helping the people who, through no fault of their own, find themselves without basic necessities that everyone else takes for granted.

My father has often told me in more recent years he is proud to say he has put all his kids through college. Obviously, he must not consider me his child.

I wanted to be an actress. I planned to go to New York and try to make it on Broadway. I had my portfolio and was still adding to it as I tried to save up money for this goal. I was working at the Black Curtain five days a week and rehearsing or performing there seven nights a week. It seemed like the smart thing to do to move into an apartment that Randy had next door. The price was cheap and it was so close to work. I thought I could move out and be on my own and stop burdening my grandmother. She helped me fix the place up. I was seventeen.

PLEASE GOD, NOT AGAIN!

I worked in the Black Curtain Dinner Theater next door to my apartment from 10:00 in the morning until 6:00 at night, eating my lunch at my desk while answering the phone. For this I was paid $15.00 a day. At 7:30 Monday through Wednesday, I had rehearsal until 10:30 PM. On Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays, we had an 8:00 curtain time for whatever show we were performing. Sundays were spent rehearsing from 2:30 to 5:00 and performing again at 8:00. For my work on stage I was paid $35 for the weekend. Obviously, I couldn’t really afford to live anywhere other than in Randy Galvin’s cheap apartment.

There were plumbing problems in the kitchen. Randy always did the maintenance on his property himself and at around 6:00 one morning, he came in to fix the sink while I still slept. When he left, he forgot to lock the door.

I awoke with a pair of orange-handled scissors at my throat. At first, I closed my eyes and thought it was a dream, but when I opened them again, the scene was still the same. A black man was standing by my bed with the scissors in his hand. I couldn’t breath at first; it was such a shock to me.

He told me to take my clothes off. I tried to grab the phone but he cut the wire. I screamed and he put his hand over my mouth. He held me tight. I couldn’t get away. I kept staring at the furniture, wishing I had a gun and a chance to use it. I fixated on the clock, watching the minutes slowly go by. He kissed my left breast during it, although I never could understand why a rapist would kiss anything. When it was over, he announced it.

He pulled me to the kitchen where my purse was and spied my car keys.

“Give me your car keys.”

“Sure, go a head and take it, you won’t get far.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t run. Someone stole the battery out of it last week.” I lied.

“Give me your money.”

I showed him my wallet. It was empty except for seven one-dollar bills.

When he left, he made me promise to not call the police for five minutes. He said he would be watching as he ran away and that if I were not outside watching him, he would come back and kill me. Of course, I locked the door immediately after he left and called the police.

I gave them a complete description and they brought several men they had picked up on the street for me to look at, but none of them were the one who had raped me. They dusted for fingerprints and got several great sets off of a glass he touched. They took my only set of sheets as evidence, never to be returned. They tore my apartment upside down. There were men going in and out and asking me all kinds of rude questions.

Detective Sergeant Judd Greene was the one assigned to my case. He was more sensitive than the others. They all insinuated I knew this man and had let him in. I had honestly never seen this guy before in my life. Not on the streets around the theater, not in any of the stores I frequented, not in the audience of any of my performances that I could tell, nowhere had I see this man before, to my knowledge. I certainly never dated him or let him in to my home!!!

Judd said I should go to the hospital so they could gather semen as evidence. The bookkeeper at the theater, a lovely lady named Jo, took me, as I was in no shape to drive. She was a good friend and she waited with me in the emergency room.

It was just another insult to the injury to go through the humiliating experience of being examined for semen. I still can’t have a gynecological exam today without thinking of it. The nurses were as kind as they could be, but no one seemed to want to believe that I had been innocently sleeping in my bed and that I did not know this man. It made them feel so vulnerable to think that it was in no way the victim’s fault. They didn’t want to believe that there was nothing I did to provoke this. If they couldn’t find any fault in my actions, then they could see that this could also happen to them. That made them feel too uncomfortable, it was easier to distance them from me somehow, even if that meant not believing me or making me feelat fault. This is how all victims of rape and incest get the feeling that they themselves are guilty. It is an often unspoken attitude and tone of voice filled with assumptions and disbelief that further cripples the victim, often hurting them more than the original injury.

After it was all over, I got dressed, and to my horror, the zipper on my pants broke! Now I had to walk around with my pants undone! I was very thankful that I had a sweater I could hold in front of me to cover it up. I went back out to meet up with Jo and leave, but they wouldn’t let me go yet. It was standard procedure for all rape victims to visit a therapist first. I had to wait in line.

As Jo and I sat there waiting, we started watching the crowd and trying to talk about anything that distracted us from the painfully obvious reason we were there. A tall, muscular man with long dark hair and skin came down the hall towards our spot.

“Look at him, wouldn’t that be great if he was your therapist.” She said.

“Yeah, he’s real cute.” I tried to respond politely. I could think about it and realize he was good looking, but at the time all men looked very ugly to me.

It turned out he was to be my therapist, and we went to a private room to talk. He asked me to tell him what had happened today. I had repeated it so many times for the cold, callused police officers, to Jo and to the disbelieving nurses, it had become a tape I played, trying to separate myself from the emotion as a self-preservation technique. It hurt too much to feel this kind of pain any more.

John Cochran listened as I talked, nodding politely, and then he said something that changed my world. He rattled me to the core. Acting sincerely interested, he asked, “How does that make you feel?”

It took the wind out of me. I had been running from my emotions for so many years. No one had ever asked me how something made me feel. Even my grandmother, although I knew she cared, never asked me how I felt about things!!!

I broke down and cried for a long time before I could answer. I explained how I felt, like I was back in Florida, like I would never escape being at the sexual whims of some demon, like I wanted to die to escape the pain I couldn’t bury anymore.

We talked for a long time. I felt bad for Jo, waiting. When I left, I had an appointment to see him in the morning and a prescription for Valium. I knew I couldn’t sleep in my apartment, I never wanted to sleep again unless I could be assured I would never wake up, so he had helped me call a girlfriend of mine named Linda Leonard, and she agreed to help me through the night.

I didn’t want to tell my grandmother for two reasons. These were mainly the same reasons I didn’t tell her about my stepfather. I was afraid she would be like all the other people I had told and judge me to be at fault somehow. I also did not want to hurt her and I knew, just like I would be hurt if something happened to my children, she would be hurt too. It was bad enough that I had been hurt; I didn’t want my perpetrators, both my stepfather and the man who broke into my apartment, to have the satisfaction of hurting anyone else by their demented actions. Naturally, this is not possible, as what I have been through effects my every action from now on and my children and their children and everyone else I have intimate contact with will be touched by this.

There was a man who lived across the street from the Black Curtain Dinner Theater in another one of Randy Galvin’s Buildings. His name was Johnny Hamilton and he was in his sixties. I stayed with him the second night after it happened, and from then on for several months.

I was seeing John every day or every other day now. My sessions with him lasted hours and it was very painful. I recalled what had happened in Florida, memories of my stepfather’s repeated rapes I had to suppress in order to get through life. When the man broke into my apartment and I was raped again, I could no longer live a normal life. I had to spend every piece of energy just getting from one breath to the next. I went from Valiums to Triavil and Meserill, and Donatol Extentab for my constantly upset stomach. The first two drugs made me numb.

Having my senses dulled, I was supposed to be able to get through life better, not feeling the depth of my pain. I really was having a hard time functioning at all. I was like a zombie.

I spent days in the police station going through mug shots of sex offenders and other criminals. None of them looked like the man in my apartment. The fingerprints are only used as evidence if someone is caught. There was no way at the time to take a fingerprint and find it’s owner out of a haystack. The differences in them are very subtle and hard to see. Detective Greene told me my case was being put on the back burner. They never caught the man who broke into my apartment and my stepfather has never faced justice either. I was told that not only was it very difficult to go after my step-father because of crossing state lines, the statute of limitations was almost up. It is hard to believe there is any justice in this world sometimes.

John Cochran suggested I move into a halfway house called Helios. It wasn’t far from where I had been raped, in fact, just a block or two down the street. I could have a room there. John was a member of the staff and it would be a good environment to help me heal. I was often upset and there would be help for me there 24 hours a day.

I tried to do what I had done before, ignore it and go on. I tried to bury all the emotions by keeping myself busy. I continued to plan for my trip to New York City and attend rehearsals for the play “Barefoot In The Park”. I had just been given the lead role. Eventually it was obvious I couldn’t do it. I was afraid to go out in public or to drive. I couldn’t concentrate on my lines. I wanted to just give up on everything and die. John convinced me to give one last thing a try, New York.

I had another girlfriend named Linda who had moved to New York a few years back for the same reasons that brought me there. She had been with several agencies and set up an appointment for me with one of the best. I would only be there for a week, so I wanted to make the most of my time. I needed to see if there was work there that could keep me busy and help me run away from my problems in Indiana. I was very grateful for Linda and the help she was giving me. She even went with me to her agent’s office.

On our way, Linda offered me a little advice. Her voice grew very serious as she started her conversation.

“I know you’ve done a lot of plays, musicals, commercials and I’ve seen your portfolio. Some of those reviews in there really prove you can act, I don’t have to tell you that. But here, you are a dime a dozen. Every pretty talented girl comes to New York to make it big, and I’m not saying that you don’t have a chance; I just want you to be prepared. You’re only 17!”

“Well I don’t expect instant success.”

“I know.” Linda said, “I mean, I want you to know what you’re getting into. Look, you’re young, pretty, and talented, you’re going to get many offers that might offend you, but to succeed in this business, you’re going to have to compromise yourself. It’s just a matter of how much. I did it for a while, you know what I mean?”

I really wasn’t quite sure. Linda laid it straight on the line.

“You know, the casting couch. A little sex with the agent and he gets you into the audition. The union has everything tied up. You can’t be in an Actor’s Equity production unless you are an Equity member, but you can’t join until you’ve been in TWO productions! And all auditions are open to members only. Catch 22.”

I had already been informed about this situation many times over from my friends who had gone out to “make it” and came back with their sad stories. Her words scared me so much I didn’t even attend any auditions while I was there. I was so afraid. I only left her apartment twice, with Linda right by my side, to go to the grocery store and to see her agent.

Linda and I walked into the sleazy looking room of an old Manhattan Building. The place smelled it’s age. Behind a partition of glass in another room was a man in his early forties talking on the phone. His long sleeves were rolled up and the first two buttons on his shirt were undone. He never seemed to notice us.

“May I help you?”

I didn’t see the receptionist at her small desk to the side. Linda spoke for me and we were told to be seated. She went in to tell the man we were there.

After a few minutes I was told I could go in. I don’t think I’d ever been so nervous as I walked over to his office door and entered the room. This was what I had been working for all my life! Finally I was knocking on the door of opportunity in the big time and the door opened. Now it was all up to me.

“Have a seat. What’s this?” He motioned to my portfolio.

“This is my portfolio. Resume, 8X10 glossy, and reviews from things I have done.” I handed it to him and he began to leaf through it. Much to my surprise, he even took time to read a few parts.

“I’ve been in over 72 different plays and musicals since I was 12.”

“And how old are you now?”

“I’m 17.”

He looked up at me and gave me a faint smile, studying me, and then went back to my portfolio.

After a while, he said, “You’ve got a lot of credits here, seems like you’ve got some talent, and you’re pretty enough, a little short, but we can work around that. I think I might be able to do something with you.”

I couldn’t believe my ears! My heart was flying!

“The hardest part about this business is getting the audition. You don’t have your Equity card yet, do you?”

I admitted that I wasn’t a member of the stage actors unionyet.

“Well then you probably know how it goes.”

I nodded my head.

“I’m having a little get together with the producer of a new Broadway musical this Saturday night. It might be a good opportunity for you to get to know some important people. If you two get to be friends, you’ll have an open door. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Linda will explain it to you, she’s a great girl. She’ll tell you what to expect.”

“Thank you very much. This is great!” I was so excited.

“You’re welcome. I think you could get some work. Look, you got my number, call me tomorrow and I’ll give you the instructions on how to get there and at what time.”

I was excited, happy and scared to death all at the same time.

On the way out of the building I relayed the whole story to Linda. She didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic as I had hoped she would be. The rest of the way to her home, for the most part, was spent in silence.

When we got there, her father with whom she shared the apartment was out grocery shopping with Linda’s two-year-old son.

“I’m glad they’re not back yet. I think we should talk. This thing Saturday night, I don’t know if you fully understand the situation. You’re so young and I’d hate for you to do something you might regret for the rest of your life.”

I started to think about it. The ugly, sleazy office, the agent that went with it, and me, locked together intimately, having sex, for an audition. Then the producer, what would he look like? Would I have to service him too? Linda seemed to think so. Would I have any control at all in a situation like that? Considering what I had just been through, this was a guaranteed ticket to the booby hatch.

I never called the agent back and I certainly didn’t go to the party on Saturday night. Instead, I went back home to Indiana.

I ran into some of my old circle of acting friends and relayed my experience to them.

“Don’t feel so bad kid, look at Joyce Dewitt! She’s been out in LA for about 5 years now and she’s still not doing anything!” Joyce used to do shows at the Black Curtain. ‘Tou could’ve stayed and played the games and still not gotten anywhere.” Randy was trying to be nice.

“Randy’s right,” said CJ, “Why give in to those fat old producers for nothing?”

I thought that was rather ironic, coming from one of the ladies who used her own sexual prowess on Randy himself to get parts, though time and time again the critics panned her. Cynthia Johns was a very beautiful woman, a stunning blond with a perfect figure and although she didn’t want anyone to know it,plenty of brains to match. She made a very good living by dancing at a local gentleman’s club and was a Miss Nude World 1970something. I had been down to see her strip after rehearsals with some of the other actors and actresses. They were always sneaking me into bars of all kinds.

This last blow in New York had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. I had nothing left. There were no reserves of energy or hope for the future. I had nothing to care about, no reason to go on. No hope. All my dreams had been shattered, my desire to live, totally destroyed. I stopped seeing all my friends. I slept, stared into space listened to sad records and occasionally tried to kill myself and that was about all there was to my existence. I didn’t care about anything anymore.

John saw me for free because I was in such a financial state. He worked under the supervision of a psychiatrist. I had sessions with either John or Dr. Koons almost daily. I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD).

PTSD is commonly associated with war veterans. It happens when people have been exposed to repeated unpredictable acts of violence. It makes people forget where they are and go back to a dangerous time in their minds. They act as if they were in that violent situation. It is not an uncommon phenomenon, this often happens when people live for extended periods of time in a “war zone”, either literally or figuratively.

There have been several movies and television shows about Multiple Personality Disorder, but it is not very common. This happens when the psyche is living in an unbearable situation as a natural defense mechanism. The personality that takes over gives the other a rest. The original personality usually doesn’t remember anything that happened while the other personality or personalities, took over.

There were many times at Helios when I would find myself standing somewhere and not know how I had gotten there. It would be night, when just a moment before, it was day. John encouraged me to write in a journal as often as I possibly could. Not only would this help me to uncover hidden memories and issues for us to work on in therapy, but he thought it would help me stay in the here and now.

I would begin writing in my journal only to find that seconds later, I had written a dozen pages or so. As I looked back at my writing, I noticed another style had begun after the first paragraph or so. Reading the words, it was obvious that another personality had taken over. Sometimes I would begin to write only to find myself in a different room of the house, or out in my car. It was terrifying.

It was very hard to get along with the other residents. Some of the other patients were very angry and scary. One purposely let my dog out of the fenced yard to run away because he liked to see people upset. It was a house full of insanity, mine included. I slept several nights in the hall outside of John’s door, waiting for him to wake up in the morning.

One time, I found myself throwing up in the toilet at Helios with one of the other female residents next to me. She was understandably mad at me because I had thrown up in her car. It seems we had gone drinking at a strip club and I had gotten on stage and danced! I had even accepted their offer of a job and promised to come back the next night. I didn’t remember any of this. This type of scenario happened more than once. Hyapatia had been born.

Through hypnosis, I found out about Hyapatia, Lisa, Veronica Holds The Anger and Stacy for the first time and everyone’s stories were confirmed. I was encouraged to write in my journal even more, and so were my other personalities. Hyapatia was a strong personality. She used sex and wasn’t afraid of much at all. Stacy was the opposite, a shy, and tearful little girl. Lisa Patrick was very matter-of-fact and a tomboy.

Veronica was angry, strong and occasionally violent. It was she who stole Johnny’s gun and went out on the streets looking for the guy who raped her. When she fired a few rounds in the air, the Indianapolis Police Department came. Luckily, they understood how distraught I was over my recent victimization and let me go with a polite but stern warning. These things come from the chaos that is created inside when things have been pushed too far towards injustice and dark absurdity.

I was somewhere in the middle, I suppose. The journal helped me to find out what they had been up to.

One of the guys there was the brother of one of the girls I went to high school with. Neil was a quiet, laid-back kind of person and he and I could at least talk on occasion. One night, Neil invited me into his room to talk. Most of us never told each other why we were in the situation we were. Our past was usually too private to share with others, but we started to scratch the surface with each other that night. As we talked, Neil lit up a pipe. I could tell from the smell that it was marijuana. He offered me some. Johnny had smoked pot a lot, and I tried it a few times, but I never felt any effect. This time, I decided to try it again. The conversation was painful. The situation in my life was hopeless from my point of view. I felt my life was ruined and I would be in a mental institution for the rest of my life. What was a bit of pot smoke possibly going to do to make my life worse? I didn’t even get high. I felt the whole world was against me. Then it happened. I got a buzz.

I felt a separation from my pain. It was as if I could look down from above and watch myself going through life. I could command my body and actions from above the turbulent waves and get a better perspective once up and out of the pit of emotions. I stayed in his room for hours, smoking with him until, finally, I felt tired and wanted to sleep. It was the first time since the rape that I was able to sleep without forcing myself and taking prescription sleeping pills. It was the best sleep I had had in almost a year.

The next day, I told John Cochran all about it. He said that, personally, he thought I would be much better off to quit all the drugs I was on and just smoke pot. In addition to the Valium I had been prescribed, there was Triavil and Elavil, for my depression, Desyril to help me sleep and Donnital Extentab for my constantly churning stomach. He said it was less damaging to the system. I had already started to twitch and shake as a side effect of the drugs. John, also part Cherokee, mentioned how the Cherokee word for marijuana is also the name of the planet the star people left when they came here to seed this planet. The plant even looks like it’s from another world as it glows under infrared light like no other.

I really had to find a way to make money. Immediately after I was raped, I found I could no longer sit in the office without crying and looking at every man who went by, wondering if they were the one. I tried to work at a local mall, but I had the same problem. I couldn’t concentrate on work. Johnny Hamilton had a suggestion. Since I had gone to these men’s clubs with my girlfriend from Helios and auditioned for and got a job dancing about half a dozen times, why didn’t I do that?

There was something strangely ironic about the whole thing. I was terrified to go out in public, drive, talk to strangers, look people in they eye, and yet, Hyapatia felt in control and powerful when she snuck out and onto a stage. There was the physical separation the stage provided; she was above them, “on a pedestal”. There was the lust she created in the men that for the first time she knew she could safely walk away from. Such lust in the past resulted in submitting to things against my will. Here it was different. There was a feeling of control. Time and again, she safely walked away. I safely walked away. With each time, the confidence in my right and power to walk away was strengthened. The consistency of me stirring up lust and exercising my right not to have my body touched gave me a power and control over my life I had never known and didn’t really believe existed until now.

CJ worked short hours and made great money. I had talked to her many times and done several different shows at many different theaters with her. She was a single mother raising her daughter with no support. Everyone was her friend. She was beautiful and admired by all. Johnny was very good friends with CJ and they thought that if I started dancing at the bar with her I could make good money, be comforted by two friends while at work, and feel in control of men sexually.

I thought about it. Although I considered myself too fat to ever be attractive in the nude, I really did need a job. I had totally given up on the idea of my ever becoming a successful actress. I even dropped out of “Barefoot In the Park” because I just couldn’t concentrate anymore, and besides, what was thepoint? One more play was not going to get me out of the casting couch if I ever went to New York again. Hyapatia kept sneaking out at night to go strip in clubs anyway. Maybe it was time I made some money off of the enjoyment men got from my body. It certainly never gave me anything but problems. Why not take off my clothes and get paid $400 a week for what men had been taking from me all my life? It was good money.

The Red Garter Lounge in downtown Indianapolis was a small, dimly lit club next door to a fire station that, ironically, my step-father had been the architect for. A Lebanese man named John owned the club. It took me a few drinks to get up the nerve at first and to let Hyapatia take over, but Hyapatia got up on stage and took everything off but her panties. Later that night Hyapatia wrote about it in my diary. I was terrified they’d laugh at me, but they didn’t, they applauded! They actually thought I was sexy! I couldn’t believe it. I was no longer a little girl trapped helplessly at the whim of some lecherous man, I was a grown woman in their eyes and they treated me as an equal. I was on a stage above them, in control and they had to look up at me. I walked off stage covering my breasts with my folded up dress and quickly headed downstairs to the dressing room. No one grabbed me. I sat down and smiled. I got away safely, untouched, and I even made tips! I got paid for something they had been taking from me for years! All the times Don stared at me in the shower or while I was changing clothes and I got nothing but chills, not anymore. Perhaps I could go on living now, just a little bit.

Writing this book has been a real challenge. I had to re-read all the journals I kept through the years. Even now not all of my memories have returned. Naturally, as I read my journals many memories came back to me, but there are still some that I can only read about. That is especially true of the years 1983 and 1984, when I first started making X-rated movies. It was during this time in my life that the pattern I set when I began dancing got out of control. Hyapatia served many purposes, not the least of which was to provide a way for me to have a job. As time went on, she took over more and more.

I was eighteen and could not sit in the bar. I had to stay in the dressing room between my sets on stage. I danced three songs in an evening gown and was paid five dollars an hour in addition to all the tips I could get.

After a month of this I put together shows lasting twenty minutes. These shows had costumes and a theme to them. For example, CJ, whose stage name was Stormy Shea, did a Marilyn Monroe look alike show. Mine were more amateurish, but good enough to graduate me to “exotic dancer”. As an “Exotic” I did a certain number of shows per night, as opposed to dancing in rotation for seven-hour shifts. I was paid $17 per show to begin with, and quickly rose to $25.

THE CAT

Smelling appropriately of Tabu, the black cat with her red claws set to tear the flesh from men, slowly walked to the stage. Jewels flashing, crowd yelling, she began her ritual seduction dance designed to hypnotize the lustful onlookers into a state where they could be rendered totally helpless to the witch queen. She smiled with a sly, almost unnoticeable snarl just to keep the beasts in their place. As she danced on, time stood still and the beat of the music was her knife to cut into the souls of all those who stood frozen in the dim dungeon lost in space and dimension. Soon all were one and the cat gathered energy and life from their spirits, returning nothing but a strong memory designed to keep them in her power forever.

by Hyapatia Lee 1980

One of the reasons I became popular was that I was always dependable. When the exotic feature dancers who traveled on the road from one city to the next came in late and couldn’t make the Monday morning matinee, I was called. I lived close, so Icould be there and on stage within 30 minutes. I worked six nights a week and was never late or absent. Most of the other dancers were much more unreliable.

I met a lot of girls with similar backgrounds. One of the girls I danced with, named Rocky, had been through more than I had. Her father had molested her and gotten her pregnant at the age of 13. At 14 she gave birth to a baby she was never allowed to see or hold. It was forcefully taken from her before she even knew if it was a boy or a girl. The father had told everyone she was a slut and the baby was her boyfriend’s, no one would even think of believing the daughter. After the child’s birth, she was sent to reform school where other girls raped her repeatedly. Rocky was underage, but somehow she managed to get drunk every night.

There were several other girls in a motorcycle gang called the Sons of Silence. They had tattoos. One girl had three cherries above her breast, and “Property of Loser” was on the butt of another. They really were nice and friendly though, and invited me over to their clubhouse to play Euchre. One of them (‘Loser’s’ girlfriend) was shot dead off the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle with a shotgun blast to her head.

Other dancers were working their way through college and would do their homework in the dressing room between shows. The girls who traveled on the road as “features” usually sewed and mended costumes in between sets. It was a nice social circle downstairs!

Upstairs were several ladies who came in alone, left with patrons and came back a few hours later. They usually went to a near-by motel and most worked independently. We never saw pimps in the club. Two of these ladies had become friends of mine.

One night, after work, I went home and had a terrible dream about how one of these girls had been brutally murdered. When I returned to work the following evening the place was filled with cops. They were questioning everyone about my friend and asking when everyone saw her last. I told one of the officers about the dream I had. He just looked at me dumbfounded. Evidently she had left with two men, gotten in the front seat of a white car and gone over to the local motel where they went up to the second floor, just like in my dream! I even saw the correct room number! I didn’t dream the murder, except to see a knife and know her throat was cut. I didn’t know they took money from under her wig, or that she even wore one, but what I did know was enough to make me terrified. I was so afraid that I didn’t remember my dreams for many years after that. It is interesting to note that I put my dreams out of my head, the waking ones and the sleeping ones.

For one of the first times in my life, I was making friends, and not just one or two but half a dozen! This was very uncharacteristic of the me I had come to know in the past. Hyapatia’s personality was much more out-going than my own. Some of the ladies I danced with were going to the Miss Nude America contest at a nudist camp in Roselawn, Indiana and they invited me to go with them.

There were two nudist camps in this small town two and a half hours north of Indianapolis on I-65, and we were going to Naked City. This camp was owned by Dick D. who has spent most of his life in a wheel chair due to Muscular Dystrophy. Rumor has it that his parents bought him the camp years ago as a toy. Some of the members didn’t like the way Dick ran his place and decided to start their own, more respectable nudist camp.

Dick liked to bring the truck drivers in and offer them his prostitutes. Of course, I had no idea about these activities. I only spent six or seven hours there for the contest and compiled this other information years later.

The contest started at noon and there were 46 contestants. Anyone could enter. As a contestant signed in, she chose a state to represent out of the ones still available and received a balloon with that state written on it. Some of the states actually did hold their own preliminary contests. I chose Oklahoma since that was the home of the Western Band of the Cherokees and where my ancestors had been on their way to when they broke from the path and settled in Indiana.

After I was given my balloon, I went outside with the other ladies. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There were hundreds and hundreds of people there with cameras and they were takingpictures of me, too! There were photographers from men’s magazines like Cheri, Velvet, Stag and High Society. I was so flattered. With all the other beautiful girls there I didn’t think they’d waste their time on me. You can imagine my total surprise when I won the contest! I thought it was rigged and later on someone confirmed my suspicions. The club I worked for bought me the title.

Naked City had two contests a year, Miss Nude America and Miss Nude World. Stormy Shea (Cynthia Johns) was Miss Nude World 1975, Raquel Daniel was Miss Nude World 1977, and Princess Pamelia was Miss Nude World 1979-all house girls at the Red Garter Lounge. Most title winners went on the road to tour the stripping circuit and make more money, but a “house girl” stays at the same bar all the time. It wasn’t long after I won the contest that the Red Garter became so famous for its exceptional house girls that none of the road strippers wanted to dance there.

Most of the house girls saw the road strippers as an opportunity to buy costumes, improve their act and learn more about the road in case they ever wanted to go. I was no exception. I longed to go on the road and run as far as I could from Indianapolis where I was expecting to see that man who raped me at any time. I knew I could never go all across the country by myself, though, and there was no one I could trust who could go with me.

A few weeks later I went to Roselawn again for the contest at the other nudist camp, the Ponderosa Sun Club. This place was far bigger and more legitimate. For one thing, the judges were pulled randomly out of the audience by calling the number on a matching ticket they were given at the gate. The Miss Nude Galaxy contest was bigger than the one I had gone to before. There were over 70 contestants and the audience was three times as big! This time dancing was part of the competition. Dancing had always been my forte. I was surprised that I won again! This was starting to make me feel good about myself.

I was enjoying all of this success. John Cochran wasn’t so sure this business was a good thing for me. He wanted me to quit. One of the other residents at the halfway house had seen me counting my tips, a stack of one-dollar bills. She told the staff I was making a fabulous amount of money. They immediately wanted to raise my rent. John thought I should quit and the rest of the staff thought I should keep working and pay more money.

John and I decided I could not put it off any longer. I had to explain to my grandmother what had happened to me in Florida, in Talbot Village where that man broke into my apartment, and what I was doing for a living. I was terrified it would kill her, or she would hate me. I asked her to come in to a session with me. She obviously knew where I was living and that I had been upset. She knew Don had been abusive in Florida and thought all my therapy was for that. It was hard to explain it to her, John was very helpful in that regard. It took several sessions to tell her the whole story, but she took it very well. She did not have a heart attack and she did not hate me.

I moved back in with my grandmother again and continued to dance. She did not like my job, but she understood and even helped me sew my dance costumes. It was that or let me use her equipment for draperies in the basement and run the risk of me ruining everything.

John still was not so sure this was a good job for me to be doing. He was worried it wasn’t emotionally healthy. Hyapatia was coming out more and more often, even most of the time when I wasn’t at work. He wanted to increase my dosage to control it. I needed Hyapatia to take over so I could work and I refused. I felt no pain when I was Hyapatia and I liked the money I found in my purse the next morning. I argued that I needed the money. If I’m going to get gawked at and whistled to on the street, or raped in my own home, I might as well make some money off of it. I really enjoyed being able to turn these men on and then just walk away with a few of their dollars in my hand. I began to read studies about the effects of pornography, prostitution and strip clubs on society. It seemed to me that if men had a local prostitute to turn to, they wouldn’t need to force some poor unwilling soul into sex.

According to US News and World Report, researchers have found that most sex offenders grew up in strict homes wheresexuality was not openly discussed. The majorities of sex offenders were not molested or abused themselves as children.

In Denmark, the prohibition against pornography was abolished in 1967. The reported incidents of sex crimes in Copenhagen for 1967 and 1970 are all follows:

Girls

Indecent Exposure Peeping Accosts on Accost on

Women

160 87

40 20

90 60

1967 163 1970 104

If I could do anything to stop another woman or child from becoming a victim, I would do it. I can’t understand why anyone would stand in the way of a decrease in the chances of their wife, girlfriend, mother, grandmother, daughter or self getting raped. Why are we so behind the times?

Perhaps Alfred C. Kinsey knew why. When The Kinsey Report first came out, theologians everywhere attacked it viciously. Spearheading the assault was Dr. Henry Van Dusen, President of the Union Theological Seminary. It prompted him to write an editorial called Christianity and Crisis and it blatantly bashed Kinsey. A special House Committee headed by B. Carroll Reece and known as the Reece Commission later investigated Kinsey. Funny how similar it sounds to the later Meese Commission on Pornography. Kinsey was even accused of being a Communist and trying to further the communist cause in this report.

According to the book ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY, The Problem of Maladaptive Behavior by Irwin G. Sarason and Barbara R. Sarason, the sense of power, anger and aggression is much more important than any sexual gratification. Men who reported a higher likelihood of raping a woman if they knew they would not be caught showed greater anger and aggression towards women.

In 1971, Dr. Menachim Amir published a book called Patterns of Forcible Rape, which shattered many prevailing myths. Dr. Amir did an extensive survey of 646 rape cases handled by the Philadelphia Police Department. He found that 71% of all rapes were thoroughly planned, 11% were partially planned. This shatters the myth that rape is committed on the spur of the moment, caused by wild passion generated by the movie or dancer one just saw. The rapists studied were generally found to have normal sexual personalities, differing from the well-adjusted male in only one way, they had an overwhelming tendency to express violence and rage. This supports the fact that rape is not a sexual crime but one of anger and hatred toward women.

The Meese Commission on Pornography took all the most violent and explicit footage they could find, most of it illegal, and watched every last frame. These people were not watching mainstream, adult entertainment. These were the infamous snuff films and other types of heavy sado-masochistic videos. After days upon days of viewing such filth, they decided these things were detrimental to society and would cause people to commit atrocities. If that is so, who is watching the members of the Meese Commission to be sure they are not committing these acts? Are we to believe that these people posses special powers that make them better that us? Most erotic entertainment does not depict rape and violence like we find in R-rated movies and the ones made for TV, so why do they think viewing such nonviolent erotica will contribute to sex crimes?

I saw myself as a sacrificial lamb to save future would-be victims.

It is often easier for a victim of incest or rape to feel the guilt society shoves on their weak shoulders. This way, we are in charge and control. You see, if we are deserving, then the world isn’t such an unfair place. As one woman said, “I’d rather be the slut that seduced my father than the worthless piece of shit he used.” It hurts less. If we have some shred of guilt, maybe we can avoid it happening again. If we know we are truly innocent, it can become too dangerous to live. All of our loved ones can get hurt and there is nothing anyone can do about it. And if I were already guilty, why shouldn’t I be sacrificed to help save others?

There is also another thought society turns it’s head to. What about the victim getting better? If we make sex and virginity so all-important that we lead a victim to believe she is “ruined for life” aren’t we doing her a disservice? Of course it is a very devastating event, but we must find a way to go on living. Our society needs to remove sex from the weapons list. Some very prestigious organizations that counsel rape and incest victims use X-rated movies in their therapy. If the viewer can turn the scene off at their leisure, get comfortable and at ease with human genitalia, and not view it as a weapon, they can start to heal. For most, this is the only safe way to begin to be at ease with the necessary and healthy side of the sexual psyche. When society as a whole banishes all forms of erotic art as being sinful, this puts an over-importance on sex. When this happens, rape is even more devastating. Getting your wallet stolen is traumatic too, but if society believes the wallet is sacred, only to be touched by one other, it is even more traumatic. Please do not misunderstand, rape is much much more devastating than simple robbery and always will be, but we could do better for our victims by taking some of the sacredness off of it. For example, a friend of mine who is a member of V.O.I.C.E.S. (Victims of Incest Can Emerge Survivors, P.O. Box 148309, Chicago, Ill 60614) was engaged to be married. She thought she should share her life experiences with her future husband, and so she confided in him how she was raped as a child. He broke off the engagement because he was raised to believe he should marry a virgin. This is the kind of attitude that re-victimizes. It is easy to see how one could decide it is their place to be exploited by men.

I did a peyote ceremony with some members of the Native American Church I had met a few years earlier at the Brotherhood Council meetings. This is a very sacred ceremony. The cactus does induce visions, but the purpose is not to get high or “trip” but to receive direct messages from Spirit. It is a sacred sacrament to make us one with the Great Spirit. I fasted all day and did prayers and ceremonies in preparation. At sunset, we went inside and drank the tea. My teacher says people not of pure intent get sick. I’ve also heard you will get sick if you don’t fast. I was very glad I didn’t get sick.

We sang songs and passed around the water drum and rattle. For a long time I felt like nothing was happening. I expected wild visions I couldn’t discern from reality. Slowly, over time, I began to feel an internal “presence”. I prayed. I asked for guidance. What should I do?

As we sang and I concentrated on my situation, I closed my eyes. I saw a beautiful woman in every direction. There was a gorgeous oriental woman in a bikini in front of me, to her left was a perfect blonde. A redhead was on her other side. Above her were black women, brunettes, strawberry blondes, Mexican, Hawaiian, and Scandinavian, all kinds of beautiful women. All were sexy. Their clothes barely covered their perfect bodies.

I kept asking for an answer to my question: What should I do? I didn’t think this vision had anything to do with it. These women just smiled and posed, they never said a word. I had hoped to hear answers to my questions or to be shown what I should do. This was just like finding the Playboy under my mom’s bed.

For most of the night it went on and on. I opened my eyes and tried to invite a different vision. Now I could see the sexy models everywhere I looked, even with my eyes wide open. I worried about what the others would think of me when I told them my vision in the morning. I began to look forward to it all being over, but it went on and on.

I decided I shouldn’t fight it, so I looked in their eyes. I could see them differently now, in a new light. Their eyes all said the same thing. They were happy and self-confident. They all enjoyed being sexy. It was fun for them. They all had exactly the same eyes. Their bone structure was the same. Their lips were the same. They were all me.

BUD

I was trying to convince John Cochran that this job of dancing was good for me. I was happy and making money like I could make nowhere else. Finally, all those dance classes were paying off. I did dance moves others couldn’t and I was proud. I wanted John to see my show. He did not think that was such a good idea. After lots of badgering, he finally gave in, but only if he could bring a few of his buddies and not stay long.

One of his best friends was a man named Bud. He had recently been divorced and John was trying to cheer him up and get his mind off of his ex-wife. Bud’s mother and John used to run a marriage counseling clinic together, although they were both divorced. I later found out that John and Bud had been friends for many years and worked and played together quite a bit. Bud was the secretary/treasurer for a water softener company and spent most of his days delivering salt and checking out softener units and plumbing.

A week later, Bud came back to the bar by himself. I quickly recognized him and he bought me a drink. We talked the whole night while I worked and he seemed like a very sensitive guy. I knew John would kill him if he laid a finger on me. I even suspected John had told him about my past, so I trusted him enough to ask for a ride home.

At this point in my life, my grandmother usually dropped me off and picked me up with my dog. I wouldn’t go anywhere by myself. It was a wonder I could even operate in a work environment, as agoraphobic as I was.

Bud was a gentleman the whole fifteen minutes it took to get home. I was pleasantly surprised and never expected to see him again.

A few days later, the phone rang and it was Bud! How did he get my number? I hadn’t given it to him. Bud had access to the criss-cross directory for Indianapolis. This directory lists the phone numbers to every address. All he had to do was look up the address of where he had dropped me off that night. He asked me out and I very cautiously accepted.

I was sick with nerves the night he came to pick me up, but we had a good time and not only did he not attack me, he didn’t even want a good night kiss!

For three months he took me out, came with me to work and dropped me off safely at home without even holding hands. This was so strange to me that I talked to John about it. Was Bud gay? Did he just consider me “one of the guys”? Why didn’t he ever get romantic? By now, I was falling in love with him. I could talk to him and be myself and he still accepted me. I actually wanted him to kiss me, hold me, and perhaps even make love to me. Before I had met Bud, I was beginning to think I’d never feel that way about a man.

One night Bud picked me up after work and we went to his apartment for a few drinks. We sat and talked for a few hours and then he put his arm around me. I could feel my insides twitch with nervous anticipation, but nothing more happened. He took me home after a little while and still did not give me a kiss good night. Wow!

Now I knew I wasn’t just “one of the guys”, he respected me! I had never met a man like this. I only heard whispers of them in long forgotten fairy tales. How could it be that I was so lucky to have found one? He had me right there and could have taken advantage of me, and didn’t!

A few weeks later, he finally gave me that long awaited good night kiss and it was so special and magical that I thought of nothing else for days.

I continued to go with Bud back to his apartment after I got out of work at 3:00am. Bud went to work at 9:00am and that didn’t leave much time for sleeping. One night, we fell asleep on the couch. When we awoke before the alarm went off, he suggested we move into the bedroom. “This is it,” I thought, and prepared myself for what I had been both dying for and dreading.

But when we got in bed, he kissed me goodnight and turned to go to sleep! For several nights we slept together with absolutely no sexual contact until I couldn’t stand it anymore and one Saturday night, we made love.

He was so gentle and loving, it was the first time I could ever call fucking making love and mean it. He kept asking if hewas hurting me and although I swore up and down he wasn’t, Bud was too sensitive to be lied to. We spent the entire next day in bed and I loved it, even though I never actually came.

After lots of sexual therapy with Bud, most of it spent teaching myself how to masturbate; I was able to achieve actual orgasm with him. Bud had gotten to know Hyapatia but what about my bad days? There were times when Stacy came out. Bud was not very patient with her. He thought I would be much better off just letting Hyapatia take over 100% of the time and told John so. John was very much against this idea.

I felt like I finally had a friend, someone who understood. I have felt alone all my life. I never thought I would feel anything other than painfully different from everyone else. I thought I was too crazy to ever have a normal relationship. I had given up the possibility of ever being with a man physically. I had been repulsed by the thought. I thought it was obvious I would never be able to have a normal life or function in society, yet here was a man who treated me like a normal human. All other men treated me like my only function in life was to go to parties and have sex. I despised both activities. I felt the only other opinions others ever had of me were that I was dumb and crazy. I bought into that, but Bud did not.

One morning he came into the bedroom with shaving cream all over his face and asked me to marry him. Although I had always been told to be wary of a man on the rebound, I said “yes” instantly. I loved him madly and couldn’t let such a rare breed slip by.

We wrote our own ceremony and my grandmother made the all the bridesmaid’s dresses and together we made my veil and dress. Since my father never really raised me I decided to let my grandmother give me away. It was our first production and we were as happy as could be.

That night Bud and I went to a hotel that had a waterbed and X-rated movies on the TV. It was the first time I’d seen an adult movie. I watched a few minutes of some bad quality film with dirty people in it and quickly got bored. We proceeded to do our own rendition.

For a while I continued to dance at the Red Garter but it became more and more obvious that Bud considered my work to be a threat. Somehow he thought I liked turning guys on for an ulterior motive other than my ego. So I agreed to quit. Bud quit his job too, and got a better one with a finance company.

We moved in with a couple that he had known for many years and I had met during our time dating. Paul and Melodye were very friendly, easygoing people who had been married for several years. Since Bud’s office was in our house, the company and it’s owner, Stuart, were responsible for his business phone and part of the rent. We got another Siberian husky, a male this time, and enjoyed a simple home life. When I wasn’t dancing and there was no need for Hyapatia, she didn’t come out as often. I was not as happy though because there was no escape from my painful memories. Bud was not as happy either.

After six months, Stuart and his company moved suddenly to New Orleans. Since Bud and I did not want to relocate, he quit. Stuart, who was also the best man in our wedding, was never seen or heard from again, leaving us with a stack of bills totaling $17,000. Being a sub S corporation, we had no recourse legally to get our money back. Our bills also included Bud’s school loan, my car, his truck and the credit cards his ex-wife had charged up to the max before their divorce. How were we ever going to pay it all off?

I was doing some local acting and modeling through a talent agency in Indianapolis but there wasn’t much work. I did some commercials for Coachman Recreational vehicles, Noble Romans Pizza and Mello Yellow. I was even the poster girl for WSAI radio station in Cincinnati, Ohio. It sounded good, but was not nearly enough to pay the bills.

After much discussion, it was decided I would go back to dancing at the Red Garter. Hyapatia was anxious to take over and glad to be back in control. I was given a raise and made many friends. There was Midge Michaels, who I am still in contact with 16 years later. She did a very talented roller skating number. She also danced with a filled shot glass on her forehead, did acrobatics, and broke boards on stage with her karate. Her husband helped her and traveled everywhere withher. Many of the dancers had boyfriends or husbands who did this. I was starting to become interested in the idea of being a traveling feature. I thought I could make more money.

I was also getting very uncomfortable with the fact that I had a following. People were getting too close. They were starting to get to know me. Customers in the club were demanding more conversations with me, even wanting me to sit with them as I drank my diet Cokes. I was terrified to talk to people and look them in the eye. No one believed me when I told them I was 19 and couldn’t sit with them. I only felt safe when the stage separated us. I wanted to spend all my time either there or alone. If we went on the road, I would never stay in a city more than a week or two and never have to form any relationships. No one would ever have to know about my multiple personalities. I knew I couldn’t stand much more of the pressure at the Red Garter. Bud did not want to get a job. He said there was nothing he could do that could make the kind of money I did. If we were to work together on the road, it would solve both problems, he reasoned. I didn’t see any other options and agreed.

Hyapatia also did not really want to be “just” a housewife. When I was home, I did not have Hyapatia to hide behind. I was aware and felt my pain and I didn’t feel powerful and in control like Hyapatia did on stage dancing. Bud encouraged me to let her take over since she was stronger and more fun to be around. If Bud had gotten a job and I had stayed at home, I would have felt like I was doing what my mother had done. I would have felt that it was only a matter of time before Bud started hitting me and abusing me, as that was the only example of marriage I had ever seen, other than the few weeks I stayed with my father and stepmother. The former naturally made a bigger impression. I refused to live like that. I did not want to be trapped in a situation where I had no money to get myself out because I had no job. Hyapatia preferred to be in a position of power. Being the major wage earner meant that I had control. Yes, it was Hyapatia’s job and he was helping her do it and most women went on the road by themselves and needed no help, but I did not feel safe anywhere in the world except on stage. I felt I needed him and to me it was a fair trade at the time.

When we first agreed to go on the road, we hooked up with an agent from Florida named Lee. Working at the Red Garter, I had seen many features come and go at the rate of one or two per week in that club alone. I asked around for as many different agents names as I could find and as many stories about those agents as I could stand to hear. The same few names kept coming up and all the information about them was pretty much the same. They were all unscrupulous and disorganized. It was truly a case of “the lesser of the evils”.

One night, Bud and I nervously called Lee from his apartment on the East side of Indianapolis. He seemed nice enough and was much more receptive to the possibility of booking me than I had feared he would be. I still had not gotten used to my new status as Miss Nude America and Miss Nude Galaxy. We sent him photos, as he requested, and then called back a week later to see if he had received them. Again, I was pleasantly surprised by the enthusiastic response as he said he could book me in two weeks in Evansville, Indiana. I would make $750.00, minus 10% commission, of course, for one week of work, four shows per night. I jumped at the chance and we drove to nearby Evansville.

The She Lounge, my first feature gig! My pictures were up in the entrance way along with a sign that read “Tonight’s Star: Hyapatia Lee, Miss Nude America and Miss Nude Galaxy”. I thought I had really made it. Then I walked into the club.

The dimly lit room smelled like old beer and urine. The dancer’s dressing room was a hall lined with plywood and was large enough for two people to pass each other in. It was about six feet long. Seven of us were to change in that space. All of this was really not the worst of it, believe it or not. The final assault to the senses was out in the audience. The patrons were used to grabbing bee-bee filled, sealed soda cans that they shook up and down, not in time to the music, but as an angry baby would shake a rattle to get attention. The motion resembled masturbation. You can imagine the frenzy this put the men in, to say nothing of what it did for the sale of Tylenol to dancers.

At the end of my first night, I made up an excuse about the medical condition of a relative and escaped. At the time, I didn’tcare if I ever danced on the road again or not, it was such a bad experience, and I sold quite a lot of my costumes to my friends who were dancers when I returned to Indianapolis.

As I shared my experience with other dancers at the club, I heard most clubs weren’t like that. I also found out about theaters. A lot of the road dancers didn’t like to work in the porno theaters that stopped their films four times a day for the burlesque show. It meant longer hours as your first show was at noon and your last one at ten at night, and you must be totally nude. This was not legal in a bar where alcohol was served. For all the trouble of working in a theater, there was usually an increase in salary. Since I had been to the nudist camps, I felt comfortable enough without my g-string and was very glad to dance for men whose inhibitions and senses weren’t disrupted by alcohol. I called Lee and told him my relative was better and was booked at the Festival Theater in Chicago for $800.

Here, I was treated like I was the last woman on earth. Paul, the owner, was a true “class A” gentleman. His audience, on the other hand, was comprised of bums, winos, and degenerates who slept through everything, and a few businessmen and amateur photographers. All were much more polite than the average bar crowd. Even if they were hiding their bottle in a bag on the floor, they kept control of themselves. If they were to make a ruckus, their alcohol would be discovered and they’d be out in the street. Whatever their motives, I found it to be much more conducive to my needs.

Although $800 was pretty good money compared to my competition, by the time I paid for gas, hotel and food for two, there wasn’t much left over to pay those enormous bills we had back home. The Miss Nude Galaxy contest was coming up again and I knew another title and the publicity it would bring from the men’s magazines would guarantee me a raise in salary, so I entered again.

That year, 1981, there were 81 contestants. Three were former Miss Nude Galaxy winners. Bud was there by my side to help with physical and moral support and there were almost twice as many professional photographers. It was fabulous for my career when I won again! I made my first appearance in

Playboy’s February 1982 issue in “The Year In Sex” review and on the Playboy channel in America Uncovered. I even got offered a part in an adult film, but I did not take the offer seriously. Still, I kept the man’s card.

I got a hundred dollars a week raise and began a virtually continuous tour across the US and Canada. We decided it was more economical to put all of our furniture in storage, rather than pay rent for a house we would never be in. Hyapatia was in charge almost constantly. I kept up my journal writing, obviously, or I wouldn’t be able to write this book! Occasionally my weaker personalities would come through, but only once or twice a month for a few hours.

Lee the agent finally came to see my show in person. Previously, he had relied on reports from the club owners I was working for. After sitting through my show with another dancer who obviously commanded his attention much more than I did for the twenty minutes I was on stage, he concluded that I danced too much. He wanted me to walk around and strut like everyone else did. Then he told Bud that he needed to spend lots of time alone with me to get to know me real well so he could do a better job of representing me. He wanted me to come to Orlando for a few weeks with him. I never did and things went from bad to worse.

We drove across the land in my little Scirocco pulling a small Jartran rented trailer. In the back seat were our two Siberian Husky dogs, Ayin (the devil) and Samekh (temperance), Sanskrit names I had picked for the Tarot cards they represented. Although their temperaments suggested they should exchange names.

There were several towns in Nebraska I would eventually play in also, like Hastings, Kearney and Ravena. Ravena, Nebraska’s claim to fame is a turning station where they take long trains and physically turn them around on a revolving track. The S. Y. Acorn caters to the men who work there. It is a small local bar with no stage, but a spot in the middle of the room where they pull back the tables and the girls dance. Since the town is so small there is no hotel, the dancers, all of whom are “imported”, stay in the owner’s, Susie Yodel (that’s where the

“S. Y.” comes from) house across from the parking lot. Naturally, everybody and his brother knows where they can find the dancer’s bedrooms. The one and only time Bud and I worked there, we heard a constant flow of men going in and out of a few of the rooms.

It is a common misconception that all dancers have their price for sex with a stranger. It has been my experience over the years that almost all (perhaps some 95%) do not have a price for anything other than dancing. The reason is fairly self-explanatory and logical, if you think about it. If you were able to make anywhere from $100 on a bad night to, say $2500 for a star on a good night, why in the world would you want to take a chance on diseases or being abused or murdered by prostituting yourself? (Not to mention the fact you could end up in jail.) Even if one might consider it, how much would you charge, considering the amount of money you can make in one night just dancing? Could anyone, would anyone be willing to pay what it would really be worth to a person who makes such a large sum of money from the safety of the stage? Bottom line is this: if you can make that much money dancing legally and feeling quite good about yourself, why would you jeopardize your self-respect and freedom for any amount of money?

There is, however that 5% or so that may not be in such high demand on the dance circuit for one reason or another. Perhaps they have a large drug habit to support that makes their judgment impaired and their cash disappear quickly. Ravena was one of the few places I was to work over the years that appeared to have a high number of such dancers. As we lay in our room, listening to the men come and go, several knocked on our door. Being drunk and unaccustomed to being denied, they were angry and forcefully tried to open the door. This happened a number of times during our six-day stay there. I could easily foresee some poor dancer either getting raped or killing some man in her attempt to protect herself. I wondered what this sleepy little railroad town would think if such a murder came to trial. Many times my mind will go off on these kind of thought paths, and I usually think nothing of it, but that whole week, my mind kept returning to this scenario.

It was several months after my first and last visit to Ravena when I was having one of my normal conversations with Lee. These conversations happened two or three times a week now as were now on the road full time. We often engaged in small talk about the business and people and places in it. Lee casually mentioned that he wasn’t booking the S.Y. Acorn anymore because one of the dancers had killed a man who was in her room trying to rape her. I never did find out if she got a fair trial.

We met several ladies with which we formed a deep camaraderie in the two years that we had all of our worldly possessions in storage and took to the road. Belinda Cachet was another stripper traveling on the road and occasionally we would be booked in the same town or close enough that we could meet. With friends like Belinda, Raggedy Ann, Tara Lane, Midge Michaels, Rhea Roma, Aja Lynn and her husband Doc, the road wasn’t quite as lonely. There were countless waitresses, bartenders and theater operators, and those ever-present regular customers, who made things a bit friendlier. Soon, however, there were other unfamiliar names entering the stripping circuit. Porn stars like Candi Barbour, Lee Carol and Desiree Coustou were touring movie theaters and doing their rendition of a strip act. Marilyn Chambers and Seka were doing it too, but for the most part, the porn actresses had absolutely no experience in dancing and it showed.

Common complaints we heard from theater owners after a week with such a performer were: “no costumes, just one dirty negligee”, “she danced barefoot and was late for every show”, “she snorted cocaine off of our candy counter in the lobby!!” Now this wouldn’t have been any concern of mine except for the fact that these porn stars were making from $1,500 to $2,500 per week and the theaters were paying for their hotel accommodations and airfare! After one of these ladies had gone through a particular circuit, it could take months before customers would venture back into the theater.

Bud and I were getting tired of working constantly to upgrade my shows and costumes. I had a belly dancer show, a whip show and one where I manipulated fire with my bare hands. I had a robot show where Bud carried me on stage and Iturned from machine to human and still I could not make near the money these unreliable “dancers” made. It was explained to me why.

These porno stars had been cover and centerfold of many magazines. Their names appeared in the gossip columns every month. Their movies played on the screen constantly and especially right before they came out to dance in person. They were famous, or infamous, it didn’t matter which, they were stars in many, many people’s eyes.

We had reached an impasse. The money we were spending on the road was not worth the profit. With the wear and tear on our vehicle, travel expenses and hours involved, we could have made more in a job at home. Of course, we didn’t realize that when we started. Eight or nine hundred dollars a week looks pretty good until you realize what the expenses associated with making it are. We worked so hard and invested in costumes and promotional materials like photos and posters. After being out of the work force for so long, Bud was convinced he would never find a job above minimum wage. I didn’t think there was any job I could do except dance.

Bud brought to my attention what was happening and how frustrated he was by the situation. I was quite aware of how we were beating our heads against the wall. He suggested that we might be in the wrong end of the business, that maybe we should consider making a few movies. Then we could demand the same kind of money these stars were making.

Not long after that we were booked in the Festival Theater in Chicago again. Seka was doing a personal appearance at another theater in town. I arranged in advance to be late for one of my shows so I could go see hers.

The Admiral Theater was a luxurious place, much nicer than the Festival. They had the red carpet out for her and the room was full of flowers. As Bud and I paid admission, we were handed a small black and white photo to be autographed personally by Seka herself after the show. When we walked into the auditorium it was full and we could barely find two seats together.

Seka did not dance or strip like we had anticipated, but instead conducted a question and answer session on a microphone from the stage as she posed for the many customers who had thought to bring their own camera. She was classier than I had thought, though perhaps a little aloof. It came across almost like nervousness. I asked her about getting into the business, as did most of the guys in the audience. She told me it would be impossible for me to be involved in the adult film industry in any capacity without moving to Los Angeles or New York City. I was a little discouraged by that information, but not so sure we still couldn’t do it our way.

After the show, everyone migrated to the lobby to have their small photos autographed. I was already late for my own show, yet I admired Seka and wanted my picture signed too. I asked a man who appeared to be her bodyguard if I could be one of the first in line and I explained my situation to him. He was very understanding and let me be the first in line.

Seka asked my name and I told her “Hyapatia”. I started to spell it for her and after the first three letters she gave up and said “Oh well, that’s good enough.”

Just then, someone said “Hyapatia, are you dancing at the Festival this week?” I looked up to see a fairly familiar face. He must’ve been one of the regulars from the dark theater. I told him that I would be on stage within the hour. This prompted more of the men who had seen me dance there or at the nearby Miss Nude Galaxy contest to say something about it.

When a man enjoys adult entertainment enough to remember the names and faces of the nude dancers he sees, it’s a fair assumption he frequents more than one such establishment. Unfortunately, Seka did not find it flattering in the least bit that her fans also knew who Miss Nude Galaxy was. She started to get up and leave the lobby. When her bodyguard stopped her and asked her what was the matter, she said “Get that bitch out of here!” I looked at Bud and back to the bodyguard who could only shrug his shoulders, and we left.

After my show, several of the fans that saw the whole thing at the Admiral mentioned how surprised they were by Seka’s reaction. I was too. After all, I had been really impressed withher in the magazines and movies I saw. It made me think she might not have been telling the entire truth about the business.

We spent 48-50 weeks a year on the road. From Quebec City and Montreal to Albuquerque, from Boston to San Francisco, and everywhere in between, we traveled all over the North American continent. The entire time we were following or preceding some adult film star’s performance. I was painfully aware of how much money they were making for the same amount of work, and what type of shows they were doing. Their popularity was increasing as more and more actresses were venturing out on the dance circuits. There were stories of film stars giving blowjobs to patrons for a few bucks backstage and having to cancel the rest of their $6,000.00 a week job because they were in jail. Numerous stories were told of X-rated actresses canceling at the last minute for no apparent reason. I wanted my chance at that kind of money. I certainly wouldn’t screw it up like that!!!

I remembered the card I had been given at the Miss Nude Galaxy contest and I started to reconsider. One of these offers came from some people who were involved in a club circuit in Michigan.

It was Christmas time and Bud and I decided to dance for less money in Indianapolis at a place called Sinbad’s so we could be with our families for the entire month. Here we could take a break from the road life filled with restaurant food that’s over priced and never cooked the way you want it, cheap hotels with maids that use your perfume and make-up, long hours, and sometimes days of driving. There were times we put our last dollars in the gas tank and prayed we made it to our next engagement where we’d sleep in the truck out front until the bar opened. I’d wash up in the bathroom and dance all day so I could ask for an advance on my pay that night for food and a hotel room. We were very thankful for the change in pace.

Lee was now working against us more than ever. He’d tell me the only places he had available to book me were places I had been already and was treated badly, all the dives. We threatened to book ourselves in the clubs we had been and enjoyed and were told, ‘Tou can’t do that! I’ll blacklist you and you’ll never work again, and don’t think I can’t do it!”

We immediately hung up the phone and Bud booked me in my three favorite clubs and got me more money!

At Sinbad’s we met an aspiring road stripper named Carla Lynn. It felt good to be able to share some of our troubles with her. She in turn told us that the adult film actress Lee Carroll would be performing at the 38 Street Bar starting the following Monday. She was to be there for one week and Carla suggested I talk to her about making movies, since they were paying and treating her like a real big star.

When Lee arrived in her chauffeur-driven limousine, the parking lot and bar were full of people. Her dressing room had a star on the door and beautiful red roses on a fancy dressing table. They called her “Miss Carroll” and begged for her autograph. Her pictures and posters hung all over the bar. Everyone knew who she was and they treated her with the utmost respect.

In between my shows, Carla, Bud and I went next door to see and meet Lee Carroll for ourselves. As we entered the room, she sat at the bar drinking and watching the dancer on stage. We approached her.

“Lee, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” I stuck out my hand. She took her eyes off the dancer, looked me up and down and never said a word.

Soon it was her turn to dance and after her rendition of Girl From Ikaneema, she conducted a question and answer session from stage. Someone asked her if her large breasts were silicone, to which she replied, “No, they’re natural. All my family is amply endowed.”

“Shit,” came a female voice from the back of the room.

“Will the mother fucking bitch that said “shit” get her ass up here so I can kick it?”

She would not stop yelling until everyone in the audience had left. The owner asked her to let the next lady dance.

Jim, the owner of the bar, invited us all into his office and the backstage area. He knew why I was there and he was trying to help me get close to Lee so we could talk. Eventually we didhave our chance. I asked her what it was like to be an X-rated movie star.

“It’s shit, honey. You eat shit.”

“But everybody thinks you’re so beautiful. They all watch your movies. I’ve never seen this many people in this club in my life!” It was the truth. “They all came to see you. Doesn’t that make you feel good? I’d be going crazy!” I was being perfectly honest.

“You want to get into the movie business?” She laughed hard. “You’re crazy!”

I was getting pissed now.

“Why? Don’t you make a lot of money? You get to dance on the road any week you want work and you make good money.”

“Listen, you want to get into this business, you’re going to have to eat shit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you have to eat shit! Literally, you have to eat shit!”

Right there I made up my mind that if this little bitch and Seka could be big stars and make all kinds of money, I could too. And I’d be sure never to act like they did.

Carla, Bud and I went back over to Sinbad’s in shock.

The rest of the week went from bad to worse. Lee exposed herself to an officer of the law in a Denny’s restaurant one night after work and was almost arrested. The next night she got so drunk she fell asleep and could not be awakened when closing time came, so everyone just locked her in the bar. At about 5am the alarm went off when she tried to forcibly break out of the bar. The police had to be begged not to take her downtown.

Since then, Lee has stopped drinking. I’ve heard she was an alcoholic. When I ran into her some three years later she threw her arms around me like I was an old friend. Alcohol can do strange things to people.

THE MICHIGAN CIRCUIT

The most popular circuit on the road was known as the Michigan circuit and it consisted of Mishawaka, and Fort Wayne, Indiana, Lansing, Flint, Kalamazoo, Port Huron, Ypsilanti, and Detroit, Michigan, and Springfield, Illinois. The same company owned all of the clubs and to be booked with them meant a lot of money. It was also rumored that these people were producers of X-rated movies. One of the men, Mike, who was the booker for the company (meaning he decided who to hire to dance the circuit) had asked me at the Miss Nude Galaxy contest if I was interested in making X-rated movies. At the time, I said I was not. I had heard about Linda Lovelace and her book “Ordeal” and I thought the Mafia owned the entire business and that I would be forced to do scenes I didn’t want to do and murdered if I dared to retire. My opinion had obviously changed since then.

In Mishawaka, at the start of the circuit, I asked the owner, Faye, if she knew anyone who made adult movies because I was interested in talking about getting into them. Not long after that, I was re-introduced to Mike.

Mike met us at a theater he had part ownership in and actually watched me dance, unlike the agent Lee. Afterwards, he took us to a nice dinner and we went back to our hotel to discuss our long list of questions.

Bud and I were fairly nervous and hoped Mike didn’t expect a sexual audition. I wouldn’t have sex for an audition for a Broadway musical and I sure wasn’t going to do it for a part in a porno flick! Luckily, it was never suggested or alluded to. Mike told us facts, like: the company he worked with always shot their films in California. I would have to commute, but I did not have to live there. I could have script and cast approval as far as the men I’d be working with and possibly even work with Bud occasionally. When Bud asked him what would happen if we decided we wanted to quit after one film, Mike said, “Well, then you quit. Lots of girls do one film and quit.”

“Are you sure no one’s going to put a gun to our heads, or whisk her away somewhere?”

Mike gave a look of surprise. “Absolutely not! You’ve been reading too many books. Look Bud, everyday a couple of dozen women walk into the offices of the many talent agencies that work exclusively in this genre. There are plenty of women, beautiful women, who are more than willing to make an adult film. Why should we force your wife? That’s ridiculous!”

Mike seemed very honest and I immediately believed him. Even my doubting Bud could trust him. We talked again one night after my last show and I asked even more questions about the specifics of how those movies were really made and how the talent was treated on and off a set. It all sounded better and better. Mike was telling me all the things I wanted to hear. He said he had a friend who was really the one I should be talking to and that he would try to arrange a meeting.

Several weeks passed and we were now working in Lansing. Bud was running the follow spot for me and I was doing my last show on stage when a man came to the back of the theater, where the spot light was, to watch. After a few minutes, he spoke.

“So you want your wife to make fuck films, eh?”

Bud was taken off guard. He didn’t quite know what to say.

“Well, uh, yeah. I mean, she wants to. I mean, she’s been thinking about it. Who are you?”

“I’m Harry, Mike’s friend.”

Harry was Gail Palmer’s boyfriend. Gail was a writer and producer of X-rated movies, some of the best, and one of the few women in such a position of power at that time. She also sometimes appeared in them, not in sexually explicit scenes, but as a narrator in a sexy outfit to tie the story together or simply introduce it. I later learned that this is called a “wrap-around” in the business.

After the show, Bud brought Harry back to my dressing room so I could be introduced. Of course, I waited until I was fully dressed at the time. He’d already seen my show, but I wanted to express that I was not available to him for sex. I thought that if I let him in before I was dressed in my warm jeansand sweatshirt, he might think I was available. I worried about what he would think of me. Would he think I was nothing more than a common prostitute? Would he expect me to give him an example of my sexual prowess? I told him about my acting resume, how many different plays and musicals I had done, the choreography, everything. He was a bit confused as to why someone like me would want to get into X-rated movies.

Harry was a gentleman. He wanted to make sure Bud was not forcing me into this decision. He made a point of asking me questions about how I thought this might affect my mental health. Of course, I didn’t let him know about my multiple personalities or post-traumatic stress disorder. He was concerned I was interested in it only for the money and would later regret it. He wanted to know if I did drugs.

Good questions. Why was I pursuing this so vehemently?

After all the sexual abuse I had gone through, after all the therapy, the tears and frigidity, what was I doing this for? I had to prove to myself I was healed. I had to show myself and the rest of the world that no matter how many times your step-father rapes you, no matter how many times you wake to find a man standing over your bed with a pair of scissors at your throat who does the same thing, you can survive and thrive again, if you want to. I had to share my joy at finally regaining control over my own sexuality and being able to achieve orgasm again. I had to stand as an example to anyone else out there, male or female, who may have been hurt like I was, that we could overcome!

I had to keep running from my other personalities who were trying to reclaim the body I, Hyapatia, was using. I had to keep pushing it so I would be in charge and in control. If I deliberately put us in situations only I could handle, I could be in charge all the time.

Nancy Qualls-Corbett writes about the clay and stone figures of the feminine goddess in “The Sacred Prostitute”. She was called by many names, including Diana, Astarte, the Mother Goddess, and The Goddess of the Moon. She was represented as having wide hips, full breasts and a full-bodied, feminine nature. The idea of the female Goddess and the feminine archetype circled the globe in different time periods and cultures such as the Celtic traditions and ancient archetypes of the Goddess that are sold to this day in Israel. The White Buffalo Cow Woman of the Native Americans and the Oriental and Australian Aborigines all had them. They respected the female side of nature and themselves. They were balanced. Today, because we have thrown away the feminine side of nature, we are not.

Why must sexuality and spirituality be at odds with one another? Why can no one today accept a sexually active person with devout spirituality? It was not always this way. Throughout the world people have looked at sex as a sacred union between the male and female powers of nature. There were rituals where the sacred union was worshipped and held in high reverence. The sacred prostitute danced in the temple and her union with a man insured fertility of fields, animals and humans. She was just what her name implies, sacred. Why and where have we lost this important connection?

Surely the union between man and woman, yin and yang, is still sacred, otherwise it would not produce the miracle of our children and the joy of orgasm. Orgasm releases oxytocins from the brain, natural stress reducers which are necessary for a healthy life. Studies have shown a decrease in oxytocins throughout the system can contribute to ulcers, cancers, hypertension, irregularity and a host of other diseases. Why does the predominant religious culture in this society remove all hints of sex and femininity from sacredness? It was not always so and it is not right.

Why is God always a male in the Bible when women are the sex chosen to create the miracle of a new life, give birth and feed their precious young from their own bodies in all but snails and seahorses? The feminine power of the universe is very strong and our current world has chosen to dominate and silence it. Mother Nature has already started her revolt with unseasonable tornados, floods, earthquakes, hurricanes and droughts in record numbers and severity. One cannot live out of balance long before there is disease. This planet is one organism. We are not living off of the Earth; we are a part of it. What we do to ourselves, we do to her. If we deny the sacredness of femininesexuality and enjoyment, then we are denying the Earth her feminine creativity.

Women are told in this society that they must remain virgins until their wedding night. They are not to let men touch their genitals or to let a man see them in anything less than a healthy bathing suit. Yet, as soon as a woman starts her first menstrual cycle, she is expected to visit an unknown person, usually male, and just because he has the initials “Dr.” in front of his name, she is to let him spread her naked legs and insert a foreign object into her vagina. All this is considered normal and she is not expected to complain, or have any emotional problems with this situation!

So, as society dictates, a young woman reaches the altar a virgin, soon after, she is pregnant. Now this strange Dr. is putting his hands all over her body and in places she didn’t even know existed. In a few months he will be there at one of the most frightening times in her young life, when she is expected to spread her innocent legs and push her beloved baby into this strange man’s hands. He will probably cut her vagina open before she does this in what he calls an episiotomy, and then sew it back up again. Then she must feed this child from her breasts, if she chooses to do it the way Mother Nature intended. In our society, her breasts have always been considered “sexual organs”. This poor woman is probably very embarrassed at the thought of her newborn being hungry at the mall or grocery store.

These things; sex, birth, and breast feeding, are perfectly natural. Why should a woman be inhibited or embarrassed doing any of them? The society we live in has been too masculinized so that these normal female functions have been feared and relegated to the hidden corners. These functions are the very ones that are the most important for survival of the species, and yet, we have deemed them dirty (sex), a medical emergency (birth) and disgusting and inadequate (breastfeeding).

I wanted to stop these crimes against humanity. People should not be made to feel so guilty about their sexual urges that they suppress them to the point they explode. Babies should not eat less nourishing food simply because some prudish society can’t get over the fact the natural source is a breast. Mothers should feel comfortable and safe in birth, otherwise, the “fight or flight” instinct takes over and most women end up with medication or a cesarean. Our nation has the highest cesarean rate of any of the industrialized countries. Many experts believe it is because birth is managed in a hospital with strangers and the mother is out of control of her environment and does not feel safe enough to let her body birth her baby. Our culture simply must get over this Victorian age and embrace normal human sexuality, before one more woman is raped, before one more baby is cut out of it’s mother unnecessarily and bottle-fed, before there is any more suffering. I thought making x-rated movies would contribute to this end.

Bud did a good job of getting me decent money for my prospective work. At the time, most women started out at $200-$500 per day. Because of my titles, I would be making $750. We shook hands, he gave us his office phone number and we said goodbye. I was surprised it was so simple.

It turned out that it wasn’t quite that easy. Now we had to wait months for a script. Gail Palmer had given Harry a rough copy of one she had started, but for some reason, she still wasn’t finished with it. I had waited so long to get all the information and make a good decision about getting into this business and now that I was finally ready, it was taking forever. Bud called Harry almost daily.

Eventually, we were invited to Harry’s office in Michigan to talk. He and Bud went over the script of what was to be “The Young Like It Hot”. It was 13 handwritten pages long. I couldn’t believe it had taken this long to get the script, and that was all there was to it. Harry saw my hesitation and offered to let me rewrite it and stretch it out. I was surprised at the opportunity. The movie went through several working titles, including “Dial 69”, “The Girls of Ma Bell” and “Finger Talking’”. We quickly learned that a “working title” might not mean anything by the time the movie is marketed. It was eventually called “The Young Like It Hot” because it was released on the 25th anniversary of “Some Like It Hot”. Harry also contacted a friend of his who could get me in a photo layoutfor Hustler magazine. We knew that would be great exposure for me and increase my demand and salary on the road.

Mike booked us in a few of the theaters he knew of while we were waiting for the movie to be shot. Lee the agent was out of the picture. We were scrimping to buy two one-way tickets to the west coast in hopes that we would find enough gold to get us home again.

MY FIRST MOVIE

After months of preparation, Bud and I were ready to go to Los Angeles for the first time. On the plane ride out, I ran into an old friend from theater in Indianapolis. Dave Garrison had been the host of a kids’ show back home and was an expert ventriloquist, amongst other things, and we had gone on a date to Chicago to see “The Wiz” years before. I thought it was a good sign that we were on the same plane and that he was going to visit some old mutual friends from the good old theater days. I figured I was definitely doing the right thing.

The plan was to shoot for Hustler, then go to San Francisco within two weeks to start production on “The Young Like It Hot” and another film called “Sweet Young Foxes”. Hustler supplied our room for the three days it would take to shoot the layout. If all went well and it was good enough to be a centerfold, I would get a $500 check on the last day of the shoot and a $1000 check in the mail when the magazine went to print some 8 months later. The problem with the $500 check was cashing it. How does a person from another state get a check that is written to a stage name cashed? It took some doing, but the company was eventually able to pay us in cash.

The centerfold would give my name publicity and notoriety right before the movie was released and give me some pocket money before the shoot. I worked with a photographer named Clint. We shot on a sound stage in a set that was as close to authentic as they could get.

I was amazed at the professionalism of it all. Everyday I was told to come to the studio with clean hair and body and they would do the rest. The make-up artist worked for hours to apply make-up in such a way that it looked like I had none on. I had never seen a reflection like that staring back at me from the mirror before. She did my nails, made them all the same length with plastic tips, and then made the color match my toenails, even though they never showed in any of the pictures. My hair was fussed over until it was “just right” and then I was taken down to the set and it was messed with again. Between every shot she would powder my nose, add lipstick, smooth my hair, etc. I had never been pampered over like this in my life. I felt pretty and they treated me like a Goddess.

For each of the three days I did not want to take my make-up off when it was over. I usually hated to eat out, I did not enjoy being in groups or crowds of people, but these days were different. I wanted the world to see me like this. I couldn’t believe I looked like this, and I knew I never would again because I had no clue as to how to apply my make-up that skillfully.

I hoped the movie would be the same way and I waited in nervous anticipation to find out the shoot date. It seems the soundstage we were to shoot in was booked for a solid month. What were we going to do? We couldn’t afford to stay in hotels for a month, yet we certainly couldn’t afford to fly home, much less back again!

We turned to Mike for help, since we were closer to him. He told us Harry had some clubs in San Diego I could work at for a while.

In San Diego we were invited to stay in Harry’s home in La Costa. Bud and I were given directions and keys in Los Angeles and when we arrived, we were very pleasantly surprised. It was a beautiful place right on a golf course. We were so impressed with Harry’s hospitality. He told us to make ourselves at home in the downstairs bedroom. As we moved in the suitcases, I stared to put things away. I opened the closet door and found clothes, a set of golf clubs, and a suitcase belonging to someone else. I was perplexed. I called it to Bud’s attention.

We had never heard of the name on the suitcase tag. We started thinking. What if this person doesn’t have his belongings anymore because he’s dead? What if the Mafia really does own this whole business and this guy crossed someone and they had him snuffed? Whose house were we really in? Were we in a safe position or dancing with the devil?

Later that night Harry came home with a friend. After dinner, as they played chess, we heard them talking about another man, the same one whose name was on the luggage in the closet. We listened as they talked about his trip.

“Why didn’t he take his suitcase?” Bud asked to my horror.

“What do you mean?” Harry questioned.

“In the closet of the room you told us to take is his suitcase with his name on it. Didn’t he need it?”

“He always keeps his stuff here because he comes down here every other weekend.”

“Are you sure he’s not dead?” My bold, brave, stupid husband asked.

“What are you talking about?” A very confused Harry asked.

“Well, we thought that if this business really is owned by the Mafia, that maybe this guy got in your way and you had to snuff him.”

Harry looked at his friend for a minute, dumbfounded, and then they both broke out in uproarious laughter.

“No, no, no,” he said, tears of laugher creeping out of the corners of his eyes, “He just comes down here to play golf twice a month and leaves his stuff here. We’re not the Mafia.” They couldn’t stop laughing and we felt relieved.

After waiting a few more weeks for a shoot date, our funds were low again and Harry had run out of clubs for us to dance in temporarily. He contacted a friend of his, Jerry Stonem of Essex. Jerry was shooting a movie next week and Harry thought he could get me a part in it. That would give me a decent amount of money to tide me over until his production started.

Bud called and talked to Jerry and we were invited out to his office, but we had no car and it was an $80 taxi fare from where we were! When we explained all of this to Jerry, he sent someone to come and get us. Tim knocked on the door about an hour later and politely introduced himself as Jerry’s brother-in-law and away we went.

The Essex building was majestic. To our surprise, Jerry was younger than Bud and seemed nice enough. We sat and talked at length and he bought us lunch from the chuck wagon. We talked about what we wanted, our requirements, and our position with Harry. Jerry called Harry on the phone while we were there to let him know he was taking good care of us. Jerry then told us that he thought he could get me a part in a film that was to be shot next week. I would have to meet the director and read for the part.

Everything was moving so fast. Tim took us to meet the director, a husband and wife team named Ed and Spring Black. Eddy directed under the name of Stephen Lucas and his wife was the production manager. We sat down with them and discussed our relationship first.

Harry was very protective of us. I was to be signed to work exclusively for Caribbean Films, just like in the old Hollywood Studio days when stars worked for only one studio. He did not want to let me be used by every company in the valley, but he thought he could trust Jerry. His offer was to let me shoot this movie provided they would not release it until after “The Young Like it Hot” came out. He also stipulated that they were to handle me with kid gloves and that it was imperative that I leave his set with a good taste in my mouth about the adult movie industry.

Ed was worried that Bud would be jealous watching me with another man in front of the camera. Bud explained to him how we had worked to prepare ourselves for the business. He even lied and told him we were swingers and that he had seen me with other men before. That satisfied Ed. Then Ed asked me how I felt about blowjobs. I told him that I was not a prude. I’d seen X-rated movies before and I knew that blowjobs and facial cumshots were prerequisites and I plainly told him I had anticipated doing them. He seemed happy and I finally read for the part.

Later that night after Tim took us back to our hotel, Jerry called to say I was a good actress according to Ed, and I was cast as Jane in “Marina Del Rey”, as it was being called then. It was later released under the title of “Naughty Girls Need Love Too” and was a million dollar seller! Jerry also said he was impressed with me and wanted to star me in another film after this one! I was ecstatic! I couldn’t believe he really wanted to star me after having just started. I hadn’t even made my first film yet! I did not understand then that the business thrives on new meat.

Essex flew us up to San Francisco and put us up in a hotel. The Oasis hotel was “the porn hotel” as everyone always stayedthere whenever there was a shoot. I had a fairly small part and was only to work for two days. Bud’s mom also lived in the city and she came down to say hello. She was a very understanding mother who knew exactly what was going on.

The soundstage was like a land of enchantment in a warehouse. Its large doors gave way to a small area where a red light above a door was the center of attention. If the light was on, they were in the middle of shooting a scene and you could not go in. If the light was off, all was clear. A bell sounded before the cameras started to roll so everyone would know to be quiet and two bells were our signal that we could resume activity. Through the door was an area for set construction and the smell of paint and sawdust was heavy in the air. Every sound was magnified by the tall ceilings and cement floors that housed a collage of sets and props. A thirty-five millimeter movie camera sat on a dolly with a slate board on its seat looking mysteriously lonely. I could hear the actors and actresses in the distance. The vast space was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. When a set was lit, the heat from the lights was intense. There were three private dressing rooms for bigger stars and one large “greenroom” as they are always called, for the rest of the cast. Adjacent to the dressing area were the wardrobe and make-up rooms where bits and pieces of sponges, cloth, safety pins and Abilene make-up remover sat waiting to be needed. There was a production office and restrooms equipped with showers. The place was kind of spooky, as if every character ever created in this building actually lived and still lived in the form of a ghost whose presence could be felt long after the work was done.

Ed and Spring agreed to anything we needed to make us more comfortable, which really wasn’t much. We wanted to be sure Bud was allowed to stay within my eyesight on the set once the sex scene started.

They had given me a list of five guys they were considering for the part opposite me. I had seen them all in action in movies with Seka and Lee Carroll. I chose Randy West. The first day I was on the set, we shot dialogue only and I got to get to know Randy. We ate lunch together and talked off set when we weren’t needed. It gave me a chance to feel comfortable with him. He knew how nervous I was and he did everything possible to make me more comfortable. I felt like he really cared about me as a person and was polite and respectful. He asked me what kind of sexual acts he should be sure not to do to offend me and what he might do to actually turn me on.

The movie itself was written by Ed and was shot in 5 days for $75,000 on film. This was before the video boom and this was an average budget. There were others that were bigger shoots, some that were not as elaborate, but this was normal for the fall of 1983. The soundstage we shot on was huge. I kept getting lost in it. I was told commercials and movies made for T.V. were also shot here. Production companies rent the stage, along with the lights and sets in it, on a daily basis. Apparently, the owners of the stage looked at Essex as having just as legitimate a paycheck as Tide and Dynasty. When there were outside shots to be done, that did not involve sex, of course, it was fine to go out on the streets of San Francisco and set the camera and sound equipment up and shoot the shot. Everything was shot in San Francisco back then because L.A. had a law against shooting explicit sex in the county, but explicit violence was legally sanctioned. The law was changed in the mid to late 80’s and all adult movies were shot in L.A. after that.

It was strange to be on a professional movie set meeting stars I’d seen in the many adult theaters I’d danced in. The animated sounds of sex permeated the tall set walls and filled the air, as did the pungent smell of days’ worth of sex scenes.

On the set Ed was very busy and never had time to coach the actors very much except right before the sex scene. My sex scene was my last scene to do on my last day of work. The dialogue that preceded it was shot early in the day and everything was going smoothly. I was worried about the sex scene now only because of Bud. I was afraid he’d flip and get angry or jealous. I was concerned that even if he didn’t, he would lose it on me when we got to the hotel after work. Remembering our deal with “the powers that be” to have Bud in eyesight, I went to double check with Spring that everything was OK. She assured me that it was, and we started in on the scene.

Ed took Bud and me into the wardrobe room and blocked out, or choreographed, the scene. When he was finished, Bud and I looked at each other. Ed never mentioned me giving Randy a blowjob! Now we knew what the audience was coming to see and I spoke up.

“Don’t you want me to, you know, go down on him sometime?”

Ed said, “No, no, that won’t be necessary, your character is real innocent anyway.”

Bud and I just shrugged our shoulders and went to the set.

I played a librarian and it was in this scene that I was to let my hair down. It started out with a slow, seductive strip while Randy lay eagerly in bed. Things were going very smoothly. I looked over at Bud who smiled and nodded approvingly. Then it came time for the actual sex.

I followed Ed’s directions as Randy spread my legs and began to go down on me. I looked over for Bud, but he was nowhere to be seen. I started to get a little nervous. No one was doing anything I objected to, but where was Bud?

I started to get worried and lost focus on the matters at hand. Everyone kept going. They kept on shooting and I didn’t feel like I was in a position to yell “cut”! No one acted like anything out of the ordinary was happening. All the crew was quite used to filming explicit scenes. It was nothing for them to be holding an inky light within inches of someone’s spread legs. Randy was the only one who noticed I was upset. He asked what was bothering me. When I told him he brushed it off, saying something about how lots of girl’s boyfriends and husbands think they can handle it only to freak out in the middle of the scene. He thought we would easily work it out back at the hotel after we wrapped.

I was riding on top of Randy now, trying to hurry the scene along so I could find out why Bud wasn’t on the set like he was supposed to be.

Ed said, “OK, we’ve got enough coverage of this. We’re ready for the cum shot, Randy. Now Hyapatia, when Randy is ready to cum, he’ll tell you and I want you to hop off of him and get down there and give him head.”

I looked at Ed in amazement. What about all that crap he said upstairs about my character supposedly being innocent? There wasn’t much time to discuss it. Randy was quickly approaching his orgasm and I did what Ed wanted. The camera has to see the orgasm, so it was more of just getting my face in the frame than anything else. I had no ill feelings about doing it; I had told Ed that the first time we talked, so why did he feel as though he had to manipulate us?

When the scene was over, I searched for Bud and found him looking for me. It seems he was forcefully taken aside by two house apes that explained that it would be better if he stepped off set as a precaution. They said the director thought he would loose it and ruin the scene. We were livid.

Bud said we should not get upset just yet. We should get paid first. Spring did all the paperwork and not a negative word was said. On the way out, I went to say good-by to the make-up artist, David Clark, who had been a very good friend to me on the set. As we were talking, Ed came in for some coffee because he was so tired. Bud brought Ed a cup. Ed’s reply was “Well it’s nice to see you’re good for something.” I thought Bud was going to hit him, but he didn’t.

I couldn’t believe this five foot five inch Napoleon actually had the guts to say that to my over six foot, two hundred pound husband. Surely the man was suicidal. If I had been Bud, I would not have been able to restrain myself.

We immediately left the set. We called Jerry Stonem at home since it was after hours and raised hell. He apologized profusely. We called Harry and complained. He said he’d have Jerry make it up to us. The next day we got an apology from Spring Black, the producer, but not her husband Ed. She said that Ed was afraid Bud would break the camera or stand in front of it and demand more money like Seka’s husband was known to do. I told Jerry I was not interested in starring in this other movie he wanted me in. Over the years, he never did apologize and Bud and I never forgot. I do believe Spring was embarrassed about her husband’s behavior.

A few days after that experience, I found myself back in front of Clint’s camera, posing for Gentlemen’s Companion with

Julia Parton and in a pool by myself for Hustler again. Then it was finally time to shoot “The Young Like it Hot” and “Sweet Young Foxes”, the first movies in my contract with Caribbean Films. Harry had his work cut out for him. To convince Bud and me that everything was on the level and that we could trust him he would have to bend over backwards, and he did. It was quite a different kind of experience.

BECOMING A PORN STAR

Bob Chin was to direct both “The Young Like it Hot” and “Sweet Young Foxes”. His wife had written the later of the two screenplays and we were to shoot it first. The two movies were shot back to back, with no down time between them. They were done in San Francisco, just like Essex did with “Naughty Girls Need Love Too”. The movie had many established stars I’d admired and wanted to meet, and also some very beautiful and talented newcomers. Kay Parker, Eric Edwards, Joey Silvera and Pat Manning were talented and respected stars who were easy to work with and down to earth. Kay Parker, especially, took me under her wing and gave me some advice about how I should not be afraid to stand up for myself and let no one push me beyond my boundaries. It was quite different from the “eating shit” lecture I had gotten from Lee Carroll.

In “Sweet Young Foxes” I was to play a college freshman that missed her boyfriend, ‘Alex’, back home and eventually found another. My first scene was a masturbation to a memory of a lovemaking session Alex and I had in front of a fireplace. Harry asked me if I had anyone in mind that I would like to work with to play Alex. Naturally I said Bud and so it was.

It was beautiful, so romantic with a bear skin rug, candlelight, and wine. We were both excited about the prospect of actually getting to work together in front of the camera. Being the stage performer I was raised to be, the lights turned me on. I could completely relax with Bud. No one would take him off the set now! We did a great job, to be modest.

At the end of the movie, when my character found her new boyfriend, things were not as easy. Bud was afraid now that he wasn’t actually in the scene, someone would usher him aside again, and he was beginning to get jealous. To make matters worse, we were filming on location and the scene was to be shot in a small wine tasting room. There was hardly enough room for the performers and a cameraman. Harry took Bud aside and talked to him.

“You know, this is just sex.” Harry said out of the blue.

“What do you mean?”

“Your wife isn’t making love to these men, it’s only sex. It’s just a physical act.” Bud still wasn’t convinced. “Just because this guy’s going to stick his peter in her doesn’t mean she loves him. She’s just doing a job.”

“But what if she actually comes?”

“Do you mean to tell me that every woman that’s ever made you come, you’ve been in love with?” Harry had a good point. Bud could not hold back a small chuckle. “Then what makes you think she’s any different?”

“She just looks like she’s enjoying it so much with them.”

“How do you know? Do you ever watch her when you’re making love to her?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit! You’re too busy fucking her to watch. And if you stop fucking and start watching, of course she isn’t going to enjoy it as much. Who does she go home with every night? Who is she married to? No guy is going to change all that with his dick!”

“That’s what she keeps telling me.”

“Then maybe you’d better listen to her. Do you remember when you came up to my office in LA to get the final copy of the script? Everyone in that room swore you’d be divorced or out of the business in six months or less. I told them they were wrong.”

“You’re damn right they’re wrong, we will quit this business before we get divorced!” Bud declared boldly.

“I know, but you don’t have to do either. You can stay in this business and be happily married. Many people have.” Bud looked at Harry in disbelief.

Their conversation was interrupted by the fact it was time to return to work.

It was a hot day and the scene was moving rather slowly. The crew was starting to become impatient. The director, Bob, suggested we use a stand-in, a “stunt cock”. I started to get worried. Bob turned around and said “Harry, is there anybody here that looks the same from the waist down that can get a hard on?”

Harry turned to Bud, who didn’t hesitate a second before he said “I’m hard as a rock, are you kidding me? It’s turning me on to watch her suck him like that.”

I was overjoyed for two reasons; first, I’d get to make love to only my husband for the entire film and secondly, for such a switch in his attitude. Bud walked on the set and in a matter of minutes we were wrapped.

So far I had done 3 sex scenes. These took about 45 minutes each to shoot, including dialogue and changes in lighting and camera angles. I was learning the secrets of the sex film business. If a director wants a man to cum on your lips and you don’t want to, all you have to do is turn your face at the last minute and disregard his directions. The actor will demand another day’s pay for a second cum shot and they will never take the time and money to shoot it again. If you’re tired of the sex and you’re starting to get sore, tell the director and they will simulate the sex as soon as they get all the hard-core angles. There were more people in the business that were married or with a significant other than were not. A very large portion of the women were gay in their private lives.

The day after we finished “Sweet Young Foxes”, we started shooting “The Young Like It Hot”. The film is about a group of telephone operators that are going to be replaced by the “ever efficient” computer. In order to keep their jobs, they provide a more personal style of service. Because of the title, owners of theaters where this film played were arrested for incest in my home state of Indiana a few years after it’s release. The arresting officers didn’t even bother to watch the film to find it had nothing to do with incest at all, but the daily workings of a telephone company.

I was to have four sex, or “commercial”, scenes in this movie, two with women and two with men. One of the men I was cast opposite of was also in “Sweet Young Foxes” and I had been able to watch him film his scene. He was very rough. All I could think of was-that’s rape, violent, abusive, over-dominating sex without any thought or care about your partner. During the shooting of his scene, I asked Harry if he could find a replacement. Who? Bud of course, and so it was.

My scenes with Rose-Linda Kimball and Lilly Marlene were fairly easy for me. Since I didn’t have to keep my partner erect, the girl-girl scenes went quicker.

One of the newcomers was a lovely blonde girl who called herself Callie Aimes for this movie, but would soon change her name to Shauna Grant. She was nice and sweet, very soft-spoken and innocent-like. Not at all what one would expect to find on the set of an X-rated movie. Actually, only two of the women I worked with in these movies were the kind one might expect to be sexually open and active. I was beginning to form opinions about the people in this industry, just as I had about the ladies who dance in strip clubs. There were a lot of similarities. There were pretty much three basic types of girls doing these kinds of things. There were girls who were working their way through college and were planning on getting out of it just as soon as they could. There were those who were very comfortable with the environment and the clientele in clubs. These included girls whose boyfriends were in bikers clubs. There were girls who, like me, had been abused as a child and saw this as a way of having power over men and escaping from the victim role.

In these two movies, I was to be the star. I had much more dialogue and more screen time. Production Assistants (PA’s) would rush me from make-up to wardrobe to the set. I felt in demand and important. Once on the set, I would hear “Here comes the star, clear the way. Get her a chair.” The cinematographer made it a point to show me how much work was being done on the lighting to show me off best. This wasn’t always easy because of my coloring. My dark hair ate the light and it wasn’t really possible to make my skin tone match that of my co-star. He used camera angles that made me look tall and majestic. I was always asked if I was ready to do a scene, especially if it was to be in the nude or sexual, and I was given all the time I needed to get comfortable.

On the second night after we finished shooting, Bud and I went back to our hotel after we ate dinner on the set. We were sitting in front of the television when there was a knock at the door. It was Callie, or Shauna as we came to call her. She waswearing a simple T-shirt and a pair of nice panties, and nothing else. We invited her in.

She was lonely in her room and wanted to talk. She was new to the business of making X-rated movies, just like we were and we enjoyed her company. It was nice to make friends with these people we were working with. They were all friendly and polite and “normal” folks and it was good to realize that one could make adult films and still blend in with society. These people were living proof. It made me feel like I didn’t have to be ashamed of what I was doing and perhaps, I could even be proud.

Soon there was another knock on the door. It was JD, the cinematographer. Shauna had told him she would be in our room and invited him to come get her when he got back to the hotel. After talking a while, they went to her room. Bud and I listened through the thin walls to the sound of our neighbors, more cast members, making love.

Bud played a telephone operator and I was his supervisor. After listening to an especially steamy and helpful call to a horny customer, my character rewards him with a blowjob. Bud had no problem rising to the occasion and the scene was shot smoothly and without a hitch. I thought it was quite a hoot that I got paid for having sex with my husband. I was totally relaxed and found it exciting.

We were really feeling at home there and I felt like I had been on a set almost all of my life. Theater people are different from most and I felt like I was back in Indianapolis. Having done so many different plays and musicals, memorizing my lines was a cinch. It was challenging to learn about hitting my mark (a spot on the floor you must stop on in order to be in focus) and key light (a light especially for a certain actor to highlight them and show them off to their best advantage). There were many small differences to remember when acting in front of a camera as opposed to on stage. I was having fun learning them all and changing my style of acting.

When the movie was done being shot, I was almost as heartbroken as I had been when the first play I was in finished its run. I wanted to do more. Sex seemed a small price to pay to be able to star in a couple of movies and fit in, be accepted, and maybe even looked up to.

This was different from the plays I had done at dinner theaters though. I decided to wait for these movies to come out and see the reaction I got from the public. Would I be recognized everywhere I went? Maybe no one would even notice. Would my family and friends find out and have a canary? Or would life go on as usual. I had to find out first before I made any more films. Besides, I was under contract with Caribbean and they were going to wait almost a year before they shot again.

I knew it would take a while for the movies to be edited and finally released, but I did not understand just how long. While we waited, we went back to the dancing circuit. I thought I would get a bigger salary because of the films I had made, but it didn’t make any difference if they weren’t out yet for anyone to see.

We were booked in Quebec City, Canada. We had worked in Montreal and many other Canadian cities before, but this was the farthest north we had ever been. It was a nice club, with male and female dancers, none of whom spoke English. We even had a hard time ordering food in a McDonald’s up there because everything is in French. It was winter and my first show was at 6pm, my last, 3:30am. By the time we got done with my show, found some food to eat and went back to the hotel to go to bed, it was so late that we slept until early afternoon. The sun sets at around 2:30 in the afternoon in winter in Quebec City! We never saw the sun the entire two weeks we were there! I was very depressed.

Our agent, Adele, told us there was a booking in Chicago for us the Monday following the two weeks in Canada. We were still driving everywhere at that time and in order to make it from Quebec City to Chicago in time for our first show Monday night, we had to leave Saturday morning and drive continuously. We made it to Chicago late Monday afternoon. We had to cancel our last Saturday night in Quebec in order to make it to Chicago. We were not happy about it. To top it off, this was a new club that had never booked a dancer before and no one I knew hadever been to it. All agents are known for their unscrupulous acts and I wondered if this was really such a good idea.

When we got to Chicago, we were tired and half crazed from driving for so long without rest. We went straight to the club. Inside, we found a theater but no stage. We asked to talk to the manager. He was shocked to see us.

It seems he had contacted the agent a few weeks ago to ask about the possibility of having dancers there some day. Adele had jumped the gun and started insisting he take me on this date. The club said they could not be ready by then, they didn’t even have a stage yet and would have to build one. They wanted to offer live entertainment periodically during the day as a break between movies like so many other theaters had done. She thought that if I showed up, they would feel bad and put me to work. They did not. It seemed there just was no such thing as a decent agent.

Mike and Bud started booking the act and we went to Minnesota to work for a theater called the Faust. While we were there, we got a call from Shauna Grant! She was visiting her family in nearby Farmington, MN and on Sunday, our day off, we went to visit her.

Her boyfriend and some high school friends were going to get a bite to eat and we went along. Her friends almost made fun of her because they knew about her x-rated movies. She was a very sensitive girl, quiet and shy. They were loud and teasing teenagers. Her boyfriend acted like he didn’t think much of her. He was gone more than he was at the table. Her family seemed rather cold and distant in my brief encounter with them. I felt sorry for her and could relate to how she must’ve felt. As we left, she gave me a white smoking stone to remember her by. I have always treasured it and still have it today, even though I no longer smoke.

Harry wanted Bud and I to learn the film industry inside and out. He asked us to come to California to watch the movies as they were being edited so we could learn more. It was fascinating to watch as the film slowly took form. We looked through the Motorola and saw how they splice the frames together, how the sound track is added, how the color is matched in every scene, and how the credits are done. Bud and I could never thank Harry enough for the fabulous education we were getting in filmmaking.

After a long day at the editing bay, Bud and I went out to eat. We stopped by a newsstand first to see if any of the photo layouts I had done were in print yet. Sure enough, the first Hustler shoot was in the magazine. We bought a copy and went in to a nearby restaurant to eat and study the spread.

As we stood waiting for our table, a waiter came over to us with excitement in his eyes.

“Congratulations! I saw your movie last night. You were wonderful! Are you going to make any more?”

I was in shock! I looked at Bud and accused him of paying the guy to say that. They both denied it vehemently. The guy started talking all about the movie and my scene. I could tell that he had really seen it. I was freaked out. “Naughty Girls Need Love Too” had just opened in a theater down the street the day before. He must’ve seen the first showing! I wanted to leave and find another restaurant.

Once we left, and were on our way to finding another place. Bud gave me a lecture about anonymity. He said that I should’ve known I would have no more private life when I started making these movies. I really didn’t think that many people watched them, and even if they did, they wouldn’t want everyone to know they were fans of adult entertainment. I never imagined I would be recognized on the street. It became a more common occurrence as time went by.

When it came time for “The Young Like It Hot” to open, Harry took it to New York for the premiere. There was a theater on Broadway called the Pussycat and he rented it out for two weeks. I was to do my dance there for the entire run in between showings. On the night of the opening, they had spotlights in the sky and a red carpet an hour before I was to arrive in a white Rolls Royce limousine. There were people standing there staring at the street just waiting for someone famous to show. The front of the theater had bigger than life-sized cutouts of me on the marquis. There were photographers there from every men’s’ magazine I’d ever heard of and more. The lobby had strings ofballoons draped across the ceiling. There was free fresh popcorn served to you by topless waitresses and the smell was mouthwatering. The place was packed with people and I was in heaven! I was about to dance on Broadway!

The movie was held over after it’s two week run. By the time it was all over with, Bud and I had spent almost three months in New York. I interviewed with just about all the magazines and shot layouts to go with the print, or “copy”, as they call it. It all happened so fast. It took forever to make the movies and get them out, but once they were, everything just sky rocketed.

People started to recognize me in restaurants and on the streets. Bud had warned me that this would happen, but somehow I never believed him. At first it was nice, but then it got to be a scary invasion of privacy.

LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

Life in the fast lane was getting more glamorous but also more difficult. The schedule was demanding. In most places my first show went on at 12:00 noon and my last one went on at 1:00 or 2:00 am. It took about and hour to an hour and a half to complete a show from the dancing to the question and answer session on stage, usually in the nude, and then the photo session where I posed with fans for a fee. I worked six days a week and flew to a new location on the seventh, starting the whole thing over again on Monday morning. When I got exceptionally tired, Stacy would come out. I found myself crying in hotel rooms with a sore body from so much dancing. I didn’t know where we were, what the date was or the time of day. Bud would be frantically trying to get me to get ready for a show I didn’t want to do at all. There were times when Hyapatia didn’t take over until right before I went on stage. I needed to decrease my work schedule but we needed the money. I couldn’t wait for my salary to go up as a result of the movies so I could take some time off and these traumatic scenarios would stop.

The editor for Oui magazine, Peter Wolf, had a friend named Alexis X who was just beginning to get involved in making movies. She was a pretty young blonde with a heart of gold and a bubbling personality. She was wild, willing and always out for a good time. One night, Peter, Alexis, Ron Jeremy and his girlfriend and I all went to Plato’s Retreat.

Plato’s Retreat was a warehouse-sized adult playhouse. With an Olympic sized pool, discotheque, buffet, alcoholic drinks, orgy rooms, X-rated movies, rooms for four, six and eight, etc., it was known the world over. We couldn’t wait to see this infamous place.

When we first arrived, the ladies hit the buffet while the guys all got some drinks. Once we had eaten a bit, we began to look around in the dimly lit club. People were making out everywhere! As we sat there in amazement, a man approached me and started to kiss me and touch me. I didn’t quite know what to do. I made up some excuse and walked away. He apologized. I looked at my friends and we decided to check out the disco.

Not very many people were dancing, although there was a wonderful light and sound system. Alexis asked me to dance with her because she didn’t want to get hit on and I agreed. After a few minutes on the dance floor, some guy came up and asked her if she was Alexis X. He had seen her movies. She was very proud, just beaming. It can be a very flattering thing to be recognized. It can have a funny effect on you, like it did her. She started to feel a need to live up to her reputation and before I knew it, she was stripping on the dance floor right in front of me. That’s when the guy recognized me. Before I could say much, Alexis was kissing me and groping my body. Soon I was naked. Then there were the flashes of the cameras. Peter and a few other photographers were there to catch the action on film. It was very exciting to be the center of attention with everyone rushing to see what all the excitement is about, but before long I had had enough. I was all for a good show, but I saw no reason to have sex with someone I was not into just to be a “good sport” for the camera.

After getting our clothes back on, we realized we would have to go somewhere private in order to get away from all the guys trying to grope us. We went to an orgy room. As we all sat there, just talking, another guy came up to me and started rubbing my feet and legs. We soon left.

While in New York, we met several other actors, actresses and directors in the business. F.J. Lincoln and his wife, Tiffany Clark, were celebrating the opening of Fred’s new movie, “Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll” and we were invited to the opening. It was a good movie and it was nice to meet another couple like us in the business.

Fred and Tiffany were members in another exclusive New York underground club, and I do mean “underground”. Hellfire was an S & M swingers club underneath the streets of Manhattan. The club was supposedly founded as a devil-worshipping group back in the days of Thomas Jefferson. As a matter of fact, Benjamin Franklin was said to have been a member that played quite a trick on his comrades. It is said thatwhen the first monkey was brought back from Africa, no one had seen such a thing and had no idea what it looked like. During one of the satanic incantations, he released the monkey to the terror of all. They thought they truly had summoned the devil.

When I first walked down the stairs into this place, I saw a man tied arms stretched out above his head and feet spread wide. He was naked and being whipped by a short brunette woman in black leather. A man crawled around on the floor. Other men and women were being led around on chains attached to either a dog collar around their neck or to a chain that connected their two pierced nipples. I just stood there, staring, probably with my mouth wide open.

Fred nudged me and pointed me over to the bar. I could use a good strong drink about now! I waited for the bartender to fix my drink, trying not to stare at anyone in particular. I was looking at some spot on the bar or cocktail napkin; a man crawled up to my shoe and started licking my heel. I almost screamed.

“Hey, hey, back off.” Fred stopped him.

Finally, my drink was here. As I drank it, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I just didn’t feel right. I was dizzy, week. I felt like I might pass out.

“Hey, we’re about ready to do a big show in the back room, come on!” Some guy passed us and invited us through a door I had not seen before. I started to get up.

“I don’t think you want to go back there.” Fred said. “That’s where they do all the devil worship. Hey, are you O.K.?”

He could see that I was not feeling well. I was pale. We left immediately.

As soon as I was outside in the fresh air, I felt fine again. I don’t know if it was the stale air in the underground, or the energy of the place, or something in the drink, but I was fine once we left.

The only other time I felt similar to that was when I visited the Magic Castle in Los Angeles with Porsche and our chiropractor/friend, Dr. Lee. After eating and having a drink, we began to visit the different show rooms. It wasn’t long before I felt dizzy and weak. I couldn’t stand up. They took me to the hall and gave me oxygen, but it wasn’t until I got outside the building that I felt better. I have heard rumors that upstairs in the Magic Castle is a library with thousands of books on magic, and some on devil worship. I don’t know if it all has any connection or not, I just know how sick I felt and that these are the only two times I have felt like that.

One of my favorite parts of New York City is its “Best Kept Secret”, the Robin Byrd Show. On Manhattan Cable, she has invited actors, actresses and exotic dancers on to talk about their opinions, views and projects, as well as to take live calls from the viewers. She is a sweetheart and it was always nice to have a stable, sober friend in New York.

While in the city, Bud and I were invited to visit Bob Guccione, the publisher of Penthouse, at his home. A butler opened the door when we arrived and the place was spotless, with fresh flowers in every room and printed paper towels in the bathroom with today’s date. Large Rhodesian Ridgebacks made themselves at home.

Upstairs, Bob’s mother and oldest son were visiting. They were charming and gracious. His wife was a bit pre-occupied. The dogs were his pride and joy. One of them had broken his large canine tooth as a puppy and Bob had it replaced with a gold tooth. The dog was accustomed to showing it off, but not happy about it.

We only stayed a few hours and were treated to tea and snacks. Bob was a smart businessman and a very generous host. It was obvious his family was important to him and that he was no drug addict or alcoholic.

At the other end of the spectrum was the clubs I was dancing in. Viner’s Pub in Onaloska, Wisconsin was our first booking with a new agent. We were so disappointed in Lee, we figured it couldn’t get any worse. Wrong. Rosa B. wanted us to rent a light system for my show. She said this place was sooo classy, they expected a real show with lights, great costumes and props. I had fabulous shows where I set myself on fire, danced like a robot after being carried on stage, was a belly dancer, cracked a whip, etc. She said that wasn’t enough. So we did as sherequested and really expected a great gig. We were to be paid whatever money was made at the door for the cover charge. It was the first and last time we went anywhere for anything other than a guaranteed salary.

When we arrived, the place had the strong stench of urine. As we were escorted to the communal dressing room, it was obvious this was where the smell originated. The man who was showing us around said some of the girls couldn’t wait to go to the restroom, so they just relieved themselves in the corner!

At show time, I was to start my own music from the controls right there on stage! There was no DJ or place for Bud to start the music without getting front and center on stage. All the other dancers were starting their own music, so I just did the same.

There was no crowd, in fact there were hardly any people at all. The contract stated it was up to the club to advertise. Seems they neglected to fulfill their part of the bargain. When Rosa finally came in to see us, she swore up and down that it would be amazingly better by the weekend. We were stupid enough to have waited 2 days for her to come; we were dumb enough to stay around a few more!

Friday night was no better. We were fed up and ready to leave. As we were leaving, I said my good-byes to every customer in the room, both of them.

After Bud and I packed we told off the sick father and 2 sons who owned the place. They had insisted on all dancers turning tricks out of the back room and a lot of the grief they were giving us was due to my refusal to do that. We went to our hotel room to pack. We were so fed up with it all that we had planned on leaving to go back home immediately.

Experiences like that on the road were what made me really appreciate Mike. Mike worked for Caribbean Films. It was his job to make sure our travel arrangements were in order, notify us of any dates we were needed for filming or an appearance, and be the liaison between us and the company. The company owned many of the places I danced and we were performing two jobs while there. Not only was I doing a personal appearance, but we were also watching the managers and hired help to see how they treated the customers and other dancers. We were also watching to see if they pocketed any of the money or stole any goods from the bookstore. We were “checkers”. Often, Mike would come to the club we were working at the end of the week to follow through on any information we had given him.

One of the cities we danced in had a pretty blonde young woman named Delacy working in the peep booths. She wanted to be an actress in adult movies and model for men’s magazines. She naturally gravitated towards us. Bud was happy to give her all the attention and help he could. I suggested she come on the road with us and dance at the clubs I would be dancing at. In a month, I would be going to New York again and I could put her in contact with photographers and producers and she could be on her way to fulfilling her dream. She moved in with us and lived with us for over half a year.

Bud was getting very close to Delacy, too close. I knew what he was up to. I was rather fed up with Bud treating me like a workhorse. He wanted me working as often as possible, regardless of my mental or physical health. He did not want to be with Delacy and let me go. He told me that outright. I never cheated on Bud behind his back, but I sure did dream about it. There was never a chance, even if I had wanted to follow through. He was always there, constantly by my side. I never went to a store, restaurant or movie by myself that Bud wasn’t right there, like a Siamese twin. I never went out alone with friends or relatives. Every phone call I made was listened to and questioned. I was even escorted to every bathroom and dressing room I went to in public or at work. There was not five minutes without him, unless he went to get ice while we were in a hotel. Delacy soon realized Bud would not leave me for her, and she went back to her hometown. At home, he had no qualms about romancing her in front of me or in her bedroom as I watched TV.

I was back acting all day in front of a 35mm Panavision camera. I had written many scripts. I sang the title song. I was learning editing and given a large say in it. Everyone treated me like a star. I rode in limousines. I was constantly interviewed and I only had to be involved in sex for 15 minutes or so every day or two when I was shooting. We only shot two movies ayear for a total of 10 days when I was with Caribbean. I was with them for three years.

Once on a set, two actors were taking a break in one of the dressing rooms. The soundman was going nuts. He went and got the producer and director and gave them earphones. It seems the two actors were going to do some cocaine and their wireless microphones had been left on. The producer and director could hear them as they discussed what they were doing. They were caught red-handed.

Many people think there are drugs all over the sets of adult movies. Many times, there are, but it is not blatant and the people who are caught are fired, or at least reprimanded, depending on their star stature. I remember Amber Lynn being 6 hours late to the set and my husband, the director, letting her work anyway, even though we had already re-written the movie to delete her character and shot the footage to fix it. The rest of the cast and I were livid!

One night, out on the town in LA, I went to the ladies room. Standing there in the small bathroom was an old woman, probably in her 60’s, snorting directly out of what appeared to be an ounce bag of cocaine. She tried to hide it, realized I saw, and then offered me some. I couldn’t believe someone her age would be on drugs. That’s life in the fast lane, I guess.

ONWARD AND UPWARD

Now that I had more name recognition, I was worth more money in the clubs dancing. It was amazing to notice the difference in how I was treated. Club managers and owners now gave me much more respect. My dressing rooms were bigger and they often contained flowers given to me in the club’s name. My hotels went from the small ma and pa operations we paid for, to Holiday Inns, to Sheratons and Marriots at the clubs’ expense. People kept asking if I had a fan club and what the address was, so I started one and was surprised how many men would actually write letters and how few realized that an 8X10 color photo is not free. If I actually sent all the free photos requested of me, I would have spent well over $1,000 a month!

While we were on the road, I began to write a movie. It was inspired by “Turning Pointe” starring Shirley McClain and my love for ballet and classical music. We took it to Harry to see if he was interested in shooting it. He read it and said “Body Girls.”

“Is that what you want to call it?” I asked.

“No, that’s another movie I want to do when we shoot this one. I always shoot two movies back to back.”

“What’s ‘Body Girls’ about?”

“I don’t know, you haven’t written it yet. I like the way you write. Write a movie called ‘Body Girls’ and we’ll shoot them both. How much money do you want?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t thought about it. I guess, a thousand more than last time, for the extra script.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, kid. You’re worth more than that. I’ll give you a three thousand-dollar raise.”

Yeah, I ate shit in this business! Yeah, women sure are abused and taken advantage of. I couldn’t believe he would be so generous. I wrote the other script and we called the first one “Let’s Get Physical”. Paul Thomas played my husband in the movie and he wrote a song he sang and played on the piano while I danced ballet on pointe. I even sang the title song for “Body Girls”. I was in heaven! I was fulfilling all my fantasies, not just sexual ones, and getting paid for it. People were asking for my autograph and joining my fan club. It was hard for me to see how this business could be anything other than good.

Hyapatia was out all of the time. I simply became the character I was portraying and when that character really wanted to have sex with someone, so did I. I was a blank slate to put a persona on and when I wasn’t acting, Hyapatia Lee was happy being whatever they expected of her. The praises I received were quite rewarding. I felt like people liked me, like they cared if I was happy or not. I was interviewed, either in person or long distance over the phone, almost daily. What was my favorite color, most romantic vacation spot, what did I think about this, that or the other? I felt important and loved.

Harry liked our enthusiasm for the business and said that ultimately, he’d like Bud to direct and produce the films for him so that he could stay home assured that his projects were going the way he wanted them to. Bud assistant-directed the films and had a substantial part in “Body Girls”. He learned lighting, screen direction and camera angles and shots. I learned right along side him. I was also in charge of rehearsing the talent and making sure they knew their lines. I had to make them at least semi-believable. After the shoot, I was told I could keep my entire wardrobe, just like last time.

We were paid in cash, just like the time before. After the last scene was shot, everyone lined up to get paid. Talent went first, they had to sign the model releases, then went the crew. When JD, the cinematographer, went to get paid, there was a problem. It seems Harry had made a deal for everyone in the crew to work for a flat rate, regardless of how many hours it took in overtime to shoot the films. JD said they had gone far overtime and he wanted more money for his crew. He decided to confiscate all the footage shot that day and hold it for ransom. Bud and I did not think this was a good idea at all. We were afraid for JD’s safety. We didn’t think Harry was with the Mafia, but withholding part of a $150,000 film is enough to make a lot of people see red. Harry owned several stores in just about every major city and it was nothing for him to stop in one and pick uplarge amounts of cash. Eventually, he gave the crew the extra money but he swore never to work with JD again.

It didn’t take long for these movies to come out. Again, we were involved in the editing process every step of the way, and it was so nice to be able to have some control over how my scripts were eventually put onto celluloid. Harry even helped my career a bit further by calling the movies “Hyapatia Lee’s Body Girls” and “Hyapatia Lee’s Let’s Get Physical”.

Harry was changing and enjoying the process too. When we first met him, he did not consider making X-rated movies an art.

“Don’t kid yourself, were making fuck films here. All we are is a bunch of smut peddlers.” He’d say. Doing these two movies had helped him to have pride in his work. They were socially responsible movies, with a real plot and character development, not your average “pizza delivery boy gets laid instead of paid” scenes.

“Body Girls” was sold to Essex for distribution and “Let’s Get Physical” went to Caballero. Caribbean kept the theatrical rights. “Body Girls” sold well but Harry was never paid a cent of the large sum of money he was owed in royalties. There was a big courtroom battle over it.

Bud and I kept up our personal appearances all over the country, but we were moving up. Now we flew everywhere and rented cars. There were lots of clubs and theaters to dance in and they were much nicer than the ones I had worked in years before.

These gentlemen’s clubs had lavish sound and light systems, bouncers who wore tuxedos, a house mom in the dressing room to mend costumes and inspire morale. There were rules about everything. Some clubs wouldn’t allow certain colors, like yellow. Others had minimum heel heights and nail polish color demands. Most clubs now had a make-up artist and hair stylist in the dressing room and the DJ didn’t just announce the next dancer, he ran the show. Some clubs even had sets for different shows the dancers might do. There were chain-link fences, car fenders, cactus and saddles and all other sorts of theatrical props. I loved every minute of it. There were times I’d finish a show and Bud would ask me if the fight that broke out in the back had bothered me. I would have to say no, because I hadn’t even seen it! I was too busy dancing to the music and having fun. I was in my own little heaven and nothing could interrupt.

It wasn’t long before Harry called to talk about our next projects. I had written a script called “Tasty” about a disc jockey named Tasty Tastems. Harry liked the idea and agreed to do it if I would write the movie he had always wanted to do, “The Ribald Tales of Canterbury”.

I started to research the book. If you have ever read “Canterbury Tales”, you know that it does not treat women with respect and they are not in positions of power. Wives and daughters are considered property and there is even a rape scene in it. I refused to reflect this in my version, so I had to do a major rewrite. Sorry Chaucer.

A budget of over $300,000 was unprecedented in an industry where $50,000 was now considered expensive. It was the biggest budgeted X-rated movie ever done, next to “Caligula”. We shot for nine days in the United States and two on location in Scotland. Because of the legal ramifications, only non-sex scenes could be shot abroad. It was the most professional shoot I had ever been on. Everyone involved was proud to be working on the project. On most sets the most commonly heard phrase is “ Oh who cares, no one will notice, it’s just a porno movie”, but on this set, everyone went out of their way to do their best. It was unheard of to see actors voluntarily rehearsing their lines off set like they did on this shoot. Everyone added an extra piece of believability to his or her ad libbing. There were no egos, no tempers; none of the usual upstaging and nit-picking that so often accompanies any type of entertainment. Everyone involved was willing to sacrifice for a good movie.

We had an actual miller’s wheel, a real stuffed pig for the scene at the inn and the costumes were rented from Universal Studio’s production of “Camelot”. It was a real movie, which just happened to have sex in it here and there. It was also released in a very popular R-rated version with the explicit scenes cut out.

Colleen Brennan and I had a scene together. She was a very talented actress who had done many roles in regular movies and television. She was a few years older and wiser and I respectedher. Later, the movie was voted the best X-rated movie ever made.

Bud also directed “Hyapatia Lee’s Tasty” and while it was something to be proud of, nothing could compare to “The Ribald Tales of Canterbury”. In this movie I played a radio station disc jockey that also had a band she sang with. I got to do an X-rated music video for it and it was very fulfilling to be doing something with music again.

When “Tasty” came out, we were back out on the road again, dancing in those ever-popular men’s clubs. Harry was being kept busy in court on an old charge of distribution of pornography for owning a company that shipped a hard core tape to Miami. In Florida at the time, they only allowed soft-core movies. As a result, he decided never to make any more movies so I was cut loose from my exclusive contract with Caribbean.

The Las Vegas Consumer Electronic Show was coming up. Every year all the adult movie companies had booths where the stars signed their photos and one-sheets for the movies they were promoting. I was signing in Essex’s booth, just like I had done before, since “Body Girls” was distributed through them. Essex was going to be throwing a big promotional party and Jerry wanted me to do my infamous fire show at it. It was to be at “Jubilation’s”, a club owned by Paul Anka and operated by his father, a very nice man who helped me in every way to make the show a success.

In the fire show, I set the contents of a Pyrex bowl on fire and pick up the fire with my hands. I then rub it on my bare arms, legs, chest and stomach. It burns for a few seconds and goes out on its own. I then take two torches, light them and rub them over my arms and legs, letting the fire burn on me for a few seconds before it goes out. The show is a Native American and modern physics revelation and usually creates a lot of attention. Jerry was no exception. It wasn’t long before we got a phone call from Jerry asking us to work for him under an exclusive contract. We were to do 6 films in one year and get a total of $100,000! The offer seemed too good to be true and it took us about a month to decide to say yes. It might’ve been one of the worst moves we could have made.

Jerry called almost everyday to reassure us that signing was the smart thing to do. He sent us flowers for the holidays that happened to be in that month. He treated us like a dear friend, caring about us personally. We called Harry to ask his advice and he said it appeared to be a good offer and that if it were him he’d probably say yes, but he also suggested we talk to his former girlfriend, Gail Palmer. She was now with Essex. We saw her personally the next time we were in LA.

She accurately portrayed how we had been “wined and dined” and treated like royalty to persuade us to sign the contract, but she predicted a future full of non-communication, selfishness and unprofessionalism by the company. In particular, Jerry and his brother Terry were the masters of the game. We believed her, but after months of renegotiating the contract and more reassurances, we signed anyway.

Perhaps I should have known better, after my personal experience with Ed Black on the set of “Naughty Girls Need Love Too”. After all, he was probably acting under Jerry’s direct orders when he had Bud removed from the set. Experience is the best teacher and I was about to learn a lot.

The first project was to be shot on video and was called “Hyapatia Lee’s Secret Dreams”. I had never shot on video before. I thought it would only be a difference in the camera we used and some lighting changes. With the death of the theaters and the birth of the video market, no one was shooting on film anymore. It was so much cheaper to shoot on video. There were no developing costs, the editing was cheaper and easier, no answer prints, no prints to duplicate and send to theaters! All of the biggest expenses were slashed. Instead of keeping the rest of the budget intact though, everything was being cut. Actors and actresses were being told that their day rate should go down if it was a video. I never understood that. You do the same amount of work, it takes just as long, why should you get paid less because they are using a different format? The average shooting budget was cut in half. All of a sudden, anyone with a little money to invest could make an X-rated movie, and there were many new companies headed by guys who had always fantasized about making an X-rated movie and could now afford to do it.

Adult movie houses were always in high crime rate areas and slums because all cities have zoning ordinances that specify adult establishments had to be so many blocks away from schools, residential areas and shopping malls. Any business located in such a confined place is going to attract either very brave people, or those that don’t care about the surroundings, just the entertainment. Such people enjoyed sex in any way, shape or form, no matter how “perverted” in other people’s eyes. A major portion of this audience was comprised of businessmen on a lunch hour or off early from work. They were married for the most part, and could not take home hard core pictures and magazines but they could enjoy an adult film while out of the house and not offend or cheat on their wives. There are still lots of businessmen who do this.

It is interesting to note that most people in the production end of the “porn” business really look down their nose at their consumer. They say things like “the perverts will love that”, and “I can see the raincoat crowd jacking off to that already” in a derogatory way. At the same time, most people who watch that kind of entertainment think the actors and actresses are living one big sex orgy. They think they are so into sex, that’s all they do and they really live a life like the one they see in the movies and hear about in the magazines. They look down their nose at the talent, thinking they are too dumb to have a life other than a sex life. I can’t count the number of times I’ve signed autographs to men named Bob who felt the need to tell me how to spell it. They do not realize so much of what they read is just hype. The saddest part is knowing that both sides disrespect each other and sex itself.

When the video market hit, single men and married ones with free-thinking wives could now take these films to the privacy and safety of their own home. They were the exact same quality version they could see in the theaters. These videos that were shot on film had an average budget of over $50,000. Lots of men and women who had never seen an adult film before rented their first and many kept coming back.

Seeing the increase in business, the producers assumed that their films were renting and selling because people wanted to see nothing but hard core fucking and sucking. They thought that if the viewer wanted a plot or acting, they would watch a general release, or mainstream, film. They figured that the more sex, and the wilder it was, the more product they’d move. That’s where the fist-fucking, double penetration and heavy bondage and discipline came in.

Almost overnight, new video companies were popping up with an average shooting budget of $17,000 to $30,000. Soon almost 250 videos a month were being released. The distributors didn’t know what to buy and what not to, so they chose by price, and the wars began.

A video shot originally on film was selling to distributors for $35.00 in 1984. By the end of 1986 it had dropped to barely $19.00. Distributors cried for lower prices. They never bothered to even read the title or look at the box, much less watch the film.

During the question and answer sessions after my shows four times a day, I heard audiences begging for more plot and characters they could care about. They wanted the better quality movies they had originally fallen in lust with. Most men did not enjoy the kinky sideshow trend the industry had taken, even though Hustler magazine and other so-called authorities swore up and down that kinkier was better.

As one could expect, the law soon stepped in. It started out as a rebellion by closet fans in positions of power trying to steer the adult industry back on a suitable track before more conservative law makers caught on to the current wave and threw us back to the dark ages. But it was too late.

Local video storeowners couldn’t afford the tremendous legal bills for renting a simple movie, one that they themselves had probably never watched. They sent their message loud and clear in the form of rejections of certain videos back to the distributors who reluctantly told the producers to make some “clean” product.

“Hyapatia Lee’s Secret Dreams” was one of the first videos shot after the conservative trend was relayed back to the industry. As a natural result, all the wild sex scenes in “Secret Dreams” were substituted for more romantic ones and the wholescript had to be changed at the last minute. Director Robert M. was heartbroken to loose some of his favorite kinds of scenes. He held a big grudge towards it’s ‘tame’ sex scenes and the writer and star of the project, me.

Robert, or Bob, is of the belief that an adult film is nothing more than an excuse for sex and therefore, quality, acting, story and continuity are unimportant and can be thrown to the wind. “Oh who cares? It’s just a porno movie, no one will notice” was heard more than “action” or “cut”. Essex and the rest of the business were not like Harry and Caribbean. In this side of the business, no one wanted to hear of an actress having enough brains to write her own name, much less a script.

This is one of the few occupations, if not the only one, where women can make more money than men are for equal work. Actresses are hard on a macho man’s ego. These two points, along with everything else, caused Bob, a pure chauvinist, to repel off of me, a pure feminist, like oil and water. It was not a good shoot and it was an even worse video.

Immediately after we wrapped production, it was time for the standard signing of model releases followed by my pay. According to my contract, I was to be paid $5,000 in cash at the end of the last shooting day. Here was the first hitch.

Terry, who was in charge of production, claimed ignorance of this fact, although it was in plain black and white in my contract for any literate person to read. He wanted to mail me a check that, being from out of town, would’ve taken weeks to clear. I told him I would sign the model release when the check cleared. His response was that he didn’t need my signature anyway, the signed contract to work with Essex exclusively was probably enough. I took this as a threat of breach of contract as I still had not been paid for my work and he was insinuating release of the video without compensation as specified. I was eventually paid a few days later in Essex’s office before I left town to go home. I signed the model release there.

Being a new breed of legal and clean video in an extremely hard-core market brought terrible reviews, especially from Hustler and the movie was best forgotten.

The next project was to be shot on 16mm film and was called “The Red Garter”. I wrote it about the gentlemen’s club of the same name that I had started in. In the movie, the law harasses the club. This was my attempt at opening the public’s eyes to the attack on our freedom that was starting all over the United States and Canada.

Essex accepted the script and a shoot date was set. Terry told Bud he could direct this project, although he would not be paid for it. They were letting him do it to appease me. A few weeks later I was told to take out the plot because they were afraid if they made the police look bad in the film, they themselves would be subjected to legal repercussions. It was no use arguing with them.

A week later we got a now rare call from Jerry Stonem. He was excited because he had gotten Anthony S. to direct the movie, even though it meant a $10,000 increase in the budget. What about the promises made to Bud? Jerry pretended he had known nothing about it and that it was too late to change things now, even though Bud was free and Anthony was an extra ten grand.

Naturally, Bud was heartbroken. Terry told him he had cleared his directing with Jerry. Everything had to be cleared with Jerry, as he was the owner of the company. We had both been assured it was in stone. Of course, it was just a big scam. Here were the lies and miscommunications we had been warned about.

The movie was about the law harassing a men’s club. As often happens in real life, if the cops didn’t get sexual favors from the dancers, they would arrest them on trumped up charges. This was way too controversial for Essex. They did not want to take any chances at offending the powers that be. I was asked to rewrite the script.

I tried to replace the original plot with another and was told “what do we need a plot for? We’ll just shoot a day in the life of the Red Garter Lounge.” How could I tell them they needed some semblance of a plot to satisfy the audience even though they considered them sexual perverts and misfits? They didn’t care.

I told Bud I didn’t want to do the film because of all the changes and lies, but he hated to see me throw away the money and lose the publicity. We got it in writing that Bud was to direct the next project, “The Wild Wild West” and I agreed to shoot “The Red Garter”.

After weeks of rewriting and arguing, we finally found a plot we all could live with, no matter how thin, and our shooting date was scheduled…and canceled. This time, the soundstage we wanted to shoot in was already booked. On the third try, we finally got the project underway with the direction of Anthony S.

Mr. S. is an admired and acclaimed filmmaker who finally gave me the acting instruction I had desired for so long. When performing on stage, one must project their emotions and voice over the footlights and back to the last row. One must be animated and show lots of emotions. A camera is closer and it takes a subtle, realistic acting approach to bring film to life. Anthony was the first to really help me with this transition.

Unfortunately, Anthony also had the “it’s just a porno movie” attitude as evidenced by the fact that he and his wife, who was on the set working script and continuity, physically left every time a sex scene was being shot. It was as if he preferred to think of himself as a general release director and any reference to sex was beneath him. So much was sex “beneath him” in fact, that even though the film is totally centered around a strip club, he had never been in one and blatantly refused to go even when we invited to treat him and his wife to an evening of burlesque to help lend the film an air of authenticity. Therefore, it doesn’t have one, but it sold outrageously anyway because of the lack of any quality X-rated videos on the market and because of the promotional package D. B. put together.

One of the incentives to buy it was the fact that four actual red garters would be placed in four different boxes of the movie and distributed at random to video stores across the US. If the store found a red garter in a box, they would win a free personal appearance by me. This was designed to bring in more customers. Lots of stores wanted the publicity this could bring them if they won, so they ordered big. Ironically, when stores did win, they realized the bad attention it would bring to their store by the local law enforcement agencies. Any time an adult movie store did not keep a low profile, they were asking for trouble. I ended up doing appearances in stores that were not advertising my visit or held the autograph session after the store was closed at night. Some told Essex they would just rather I didn’t come at all. I couldn’t really blame the stores or Essex, but it was frustrating, to say the least.

We tried to use our spare time to our advantage by booking ourselves in dance clubs when Essex didn’t need us to work, but this proved to be impossible as Essex didn’t know from one week to the next when they’d need us. This really cut out our major source of income. In view of all this miscommunication and/or outright lies, I didn’t trust anyone at Essex but Don, vice-president in charge of sales. He told us exactly how many pieces of each of our films had been sold so that we could keep track of the small percentage of royalties we had coming to us. When Terry found out we were getting an accurate count he took the books away from Don.

Terry was not as smart as he thought he was though. He ordered Don to send me a list of every distributor they sold to so that I could personally call the buyer at each one and promote “The Red Garter”. Nine times out of ten, they would automatically tell me how many copies they ordered and when they didn’t, I would ask. It didn’t take a whole lot of brains to add all the figures together for an accurate count on how much money they owed me. My royalties were to be paid 90 days after the sale. Within three months I discovered Essex thought I flunked my math courses as they deliberately took more than two thousand copies of “The Red Garter” they sold to Model Distributing in New York off my report. I called them on it and was ignored or put on hold. None of my calls were returned, until I threatened not to shoot “The Wild Wild West”. Bud wanted to direct this so badly that he could taste it as he felt he had really found his niche in life. He loved to direct so much that when Essex admitted to “putting me off’ on the pieces in question and promised to make amends, he talked me into shooting the film.

SHAUNA GRANT

Three times a shooting date for “The Wild Wild West” was set and three times it was postponed for one reason or another. Bud was still scheduled to direct. By now I was used to this ping-pong game of flying from Indy to LA for no reason so it didn’t upset me as much as all the other problems we were having with Essex.

Finally the day came to start the cameras rolling on what was originally supposed to be an 1870’s western but because of budget problems turned out to be a modern day video set on a ranch called “The Wild Wild West Dude Ranch”. It was a fun 3-day shoot with a great cast. There were some minor problems that seemed major at the time; for instance, the water main broke right before a shower scene. It all turned out to be just what I needed to put my enthusiasm and love back into my career. Barbara Dare, the other star under contract with Essex was in it and we had a scene together that was nominated for the best girl-girl scene of the year. She was good to work with. Being from New York, she did not have the midwestern manner I am used to, but she was still a nice person. A little aloof, but nice. She was one of the many ladies who preferred to work with other women.

A few days after the shoot we flew to Las Vegas for the Video Software Association convention where all adult companies try to out-do each other in display booths and sexy stars. Lots of people from the business are there.

J.S. was amongst the crowd. He was a former employee of Essex and from what we could see, one of the few to ever do his job there. We were discouraged when he left the company and very surprised when he came to our room to tell us just how Essex was cheating us. He showed us where and several ways we could prove it, besides the distributor’s roster I had. He told us who was lying and who was not and gave us lots of ammunition to put us in a position of power. We were very grateful.

Since we caught them cheating on our royalties for “Red Garter”, Terry knew we would not let it continue. He was stuck with honoring the original agreement. This was too much money and Terry called to ask us to drop the contract. We asked to be bought out. I wouldn’t be making all the money they said I would and nine and a half months of the contract had already gone by. It was originally supposed to last only one year. Only three of the six films promised had been completed and I lost a tremendous amount of money by not being able to do the personal appearances in dance clubs because of their unprofessionalism. They had gotten their exclusivity, I worked for no one else but them. Next, Essex asked to drop the royalties on the last two projects. Obviously I was not happy taking $35,000 of what was originally a hundred thousand dollar contract, but there was no choice.

I shot a layout for three days with Stephen Hicks, a wonderful photographer who works for Penthouse magazine. He was not so sure Penthouse would publish the photos of me using my name, as they were not usually interested in using porn stars in their magazine at that time. It was a wonderful layout though, and Steve was great to work with. I was very comfortable and felt pretty with all the professional make-up and attention. When Penthouse called me to do an interview to go with the photos, I was very pleasantly surprised.

When the magazine hit the stands, I was shocked to find out I was in the one with Miss America, Vanessa Williams, and George Burns on the cover. This was to be the largest selling issue of any magazine ever produced. Penthouse sold out of their first printing and reprinted it twice and sold out again. Not only was this magazine graced by the presence of Ms. Williams, but also Traci Lords! I could not have handpicked a better issue to be in. It was just one of those lucky career breaks that meant the world for me.

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 surgery.

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.

They had a newborn baby girl named Autumn. She was adorable and being around her on daily basis made me painfully aware of just how much I wanted a baby myself. Bud said he understood how I felt and that he, too, wanted a child. After carefully talking it out and planning, we decided to try to conceive a baby. I went off the birth control pills and it wasn’t long before I was thankfully blessed with pregnancy.

People who were unaware that I shot four movies a year at the most, with only one or two sex scenes in each, made stupid comments like “How can you be sure it is Bud’s baby?” Fertility awareness, coupled with spermicides, would preclude a pregnancy conceived on an X-rated movie set. Sex in X-rated movies climaxes with external ejaculation, which further limits the chances of conception. Naturally, insensitive comments put more stress on our already weak relationship. We were trying to concentrate on our happiness.

Our joy was short lived, however, as three months later I miscarried.

I have always believed in a woman’s right to choose to give birth to a fetus inside her or to have an abortion. I always felt that the baby would be better off to come back to the woman’s womb at a time when the baby was more wanted, when she could give the baby all the time consuming and energy draining things that it needs. I often wished my mother had gone through with the abortion she had planned so I could have been born at a better time or to parents who really wanted me. After the miscarriage, however, I started to re-think my opinion of abortion. I started to question at what point does life begin.

The Cherokee believe that life begins at four and a half months. Some tribes believe the soul comes into the body the first time a baby smiles. I think a baby is alive when the mother, the one who is physically attached to it and carries it, feels that it is. After all, the baby is inside her, part of her body. If she doesn’t know, no one does. I also decided it should be entirely up to the woman carrying the baby to give birth or not. If you can’t trust a woman with a decision to give birth to a child, how can you trust them with raising the child? Similarly, it should be up to the mother to decide when someone causes her to physically loose her unborn child if that person is guilty of murder. I know of several women who feel they were almost forced into abortions by spouses or parents and these women suffer tragically.

No matter how many painfully short days I had to get to know my baby, I was attached to it and I loved it and I grieved for it. There are organizations that support women who have experienced miscarriage, and some of them advocate a ceremonial burial complete with tiny casket and tombstone. This helps the grieving mother to see her loss as real and valid. Toooften in today’s society death and pain are denied, especially when it comes to miscarriage and stillbirth. Luckily, it is not as bad as it once was.

When my maternal grandmother gave birth to her first baby and it died within a few hours, she was still asleep with anesthesia and they never even let her see her baby. She never got a chance to properly grieve for it. All the pain was just swept under the rug. That’s how they handled such things back then. In some parts of the country it is still not much better today. The emotional consequences of miscarriage and stillbirth in our society is not very well understood or supported.

Bud and I soon conceived again, but there was not the happiness there was the first time. Instead, there was fear, doubt and anxiety. Would I miscarry again? I couldn’t go to the bathroom without living in terror of finding blood on the tissue. I was happy to be pregnant, but I could not share my joy for fear of only having sad news in a few weeks. I could not dream of a baby shower, no matter how far along I might get to be, it would be bad luck to me. At any time, the baby could die. Right before the fourth month of my pregnancy, I miscarried again. I was devastated.

This time I saw a midwife, instead of a doctor, and I hoped she could suggest some herbs to stop this. I had studied Native American medicinal healing when working in Deleware but nothing I had learned in my studies on herbal healing with Gladys had said anything about stopping a miscarriage. My midwife had no ideas either. The only thing better about this time was that I did not go to the hospital for a D&C, but stayed at home to mourn and bleed with the support of my husband and my dogs. Living with our friends and their beautiful baby girl only made it worse. I didn’t want to be at home to have it rubbed in my face how lucky others were and how much I was missing out. Every place we went I saw the children first. Kids who were being yelled at and frazzled moms made me furious because I had so much love and patience to give a child and yet I was denied. I was angry at God for the unfairness of women pregnant with their third and fourth baby. Eventually our friends moved out. It hurt to be in my house when they were there.

They were good parents and very understanding friends and I felt bad about their having to leave, but there comes a point where one must protect one’s self. I could not take any more. I paid for their moving expenses and helped them relocate.

After I healed I made a concentrated effort to find out everything I could about miscarriage and why it kept happening to me. We went to fertility specialists who did tests on each of us that totaled over $500.00 apiece. I read books and searched out people like Gayle Peterson who specialized in therapy and hypnotic suggestions to help the client relax and trust their body, helping it along in the process of conception, gestation and birth. I tried fertility ceremonies from several cultures and I prayed to God for understanding.

Many people would tell me it was “God’s will”. But why would God take a child who is desperately wanted from a happy womb when so many children are being aborted who are not wanted at that time? They told me that there must be something wrong with the baby, but tests did not show this to be true, and if it were, that would only cause me to wonder why things kept going wrong with my babies. My Ob/Gyn said she would monitor my progesterone levels in the next pregnancy and see if they dropped and if that had anything to do with it. A nutritionist suggested the same thing.

Finally, I conceived again. I took 3 pregnancy tests just to be sure. They all came back positive. My doctor said that all the old TV shows where the pregnant woman gets thrown down the stairs and miscarries were lies. She convinced me that if a woman was going to miscarry, there was nothing they could do about it and if she wasn’t, a train wreck couldn’t start it. So I continued to go about my life and work. I had spent the last pregnancy living in terror. I had stopped everything! I did nothing but concentrate all day on keeping the baby and avoiding going to the bathroom. I realized with this pregnancy that if it was going to happen, it was going to happen and all I could do was to love my baby every day we had together and pray at night that this day wasn’t our last.

My doctor took blood tests in the third month and said everything looked perfect, my progesterone levels were soaringand she didn’t want to see me for another two weeks. Bud and I went to do a short weekend gig, hoping everything would continue to be fine, but when I returned, I was no longer pregnant. I began to bleed the day before I returned.

This whole thing was driving me absolutely crazy.

Statistics say that 1/5 to 1/4 of all pregnancies end in miscarriage, but three times in a row? The first time many of my friends who had experienced miscarriages understood how I felt. But I felt all alone when it came to someone understanding the triple betrayal by my body. All the tests had come back normal and they couldn’t seem to determine the cause. My cervix was normal and didn’t open up prematurely, there was no genetic abnormality, Bud’s sperm were healthy, etc. The only thing abnormal at all was the blood test after my final miscarriage, it showed extremely low progesterone levels, even for someone who had just lost a baby.

I had been ordering candles and incense from a home-based mail order catalog. The owner advertised tarot card readings. Bud and I were going to be in the LA area near where she lived and we requested to go there in person. We each wanted to have our cards read and my question focused on whether or not I would ever be able to give birth to a live, healthy baby.

Annu was a very sweet, soft-spoken woman. You could tell by looking into her eyes that she was very wise and spiritual. Her basement area, where she did her readings, was decorated in Egyptian decor, showing her obvious love of Isis and Osiris. As she did our readings, the cards appropriately spoke to our inner voices of fear and doubt. The reading made sense to us and seemed to fit. After it was all over, she asked me if I would like to do a traditional Native American pipe ceremony for the prayer of a healthy child to be born to us. I had told her of my heritage. She had asked about the origin of my name and it led to my Indian blood, so she must have known how this would appeal to me.

As we did the ceremony, I was in awe of how comfortable this white woman was with a traditional Native American sacred pipe. It stirred up many emotions in me. There is quite a controversy surrounding the Native American Church and their consent to worship with people who do not have a certain amount of Native blood. This stems from the United States government’s desire to restrict the practice of our traditional religion and their outlawing many of our ceremonies except for those with enough proven Indian blood. I was happy and proud to see Annu’s obvious love and understanding of my people’s culture and religion. It really touched my heart. When it was all over, Annu asked me if I would be interested in being healed by her teacher, Swiftdeer. I had never heard of this man but the idea of being healed by the traditional way of my ancestors was like going back to the spirits that my womb ties me to. Going back to the ones who have come before to help birth the ones who would come in the future felt like the perfect thing to do.

Swiftdeer is three-quarters Cherokee and one-quarter Irish, like me. He studied the Sweet Medicine Sundance Path with Tom “Two Bears” Wilson, a Navajo Medicine Man and former president of the Native American Church. Carlos Castaneda portrayed Two Bears as Don Genaro in his famous books. In 1992, Swiftdeer was seated and sealed as a Twisted Hair Elder on the Twisted Hairs Council of Elders. “Twisted Hairs” means that they have studied knowledge from all sources and tried it out for themselves. When they find it to be true, or to “grow corn”, as they say, they weave it together with what they already knew, to formulate what is true and valid for them. In 1250 B.C. men and women of knowledge gathered from all over Turtle Island. This includes North and South America, Australia, New Zealand, and all the Pacific Islands in between. They formed a secret society called the Rattlesnake School. In 1224 AD they met with other shamans and wise women and men from all the eight great powers, or the representatives from the rest of the world. In 1250 AD The Twisted Hairs of Turtle Island formed a Metis (or mixed-blood) Medicine Society Council of Elders. During times when their knowledge and ways were threatened, the elders were wise and kept all the knowledge in underground kivas. These kivas are underground shelters where traditional ceremonies are often held. In 1975 the council decided it was necessary to share the teachings with public in order to heal the Earth and the collective. Swiftdeer was designated as one of the

Carriers of the Southwest Shields of the Sweet Medicine Sundance Wheels and Keys.

A week before the healing Annu gave me a sheet of paper with what seemed like a million questions on it. For the healing, Swiftdeer needed to know more about me, the patterns I had fallen into in life, how I saw things, experiences I had, and much much more. There are 5 areas of your life, physical, mental, emotional, spiritual and sexual. There are also 5 arenas of life; family, social, political, religious and economic. For each arena, I was asked to look at my life at different ages and explain what was going on in each area and what decisions I formed from these events. It was a very enlightening exercise and I really got to know myself better.

In payment for the healing, I was to bring medicine gifts for each person in the healing circle, things like; crystals, tobacco, medicine pouches, etc. and tobacco for Swiftdeer. As the day approached, I was afraid my gifts would be too small, too cheap. I didn’t know what was customary and I wasn’t sure how many people would be there, “18-23 “ was what I was told.

When the day finally arrived, I could hardly wait. I was dying to find out just how authentic this medicine man was and what would be involved in the healing. I wasn’t even sure how long it was going to take. We met Annu at a pre-determined place and time and followed her out to Swiftdeer’s house. Annu was part of an advanced class of healers and blanketed apprentices. Bud and I waited in the living room while they held class for two and a half hours.

The house was marvelous. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. The walls and floors were covered with the skins of all kinds of different animals, Indian paintings and artifacts. There were pictures of famous Native Americans like Geronimo, Chief Joseph and Red Cloud. Massive crystals of all shapes and colors adorned the shelves and tops of every table. Most of them had lighted stands that shot their luminosity up through the bottom of the crystal, giving it a glow that made it look alive. There were authentic bows and arrows, Navajo rugs, baskets and skulls everywhere. The smell of clove cigarettes permeated the area. There was also the smell of smudge drifting by every now and then.

Swiftdeer ushered us into the living room. He quickly explained that we were to wait here while he and the others prepared for the ceremony. We sat as instructed as the house bustled about us. There were dozens of people running around collecting power objects and other items. Then all was quiet. We assumed they were discussing and planning our healing, as we knew this was one of Swifts’ classes for his advanced students. I suppose it was kind of like an internship.

Hours ticked by, time slowed and suddenly we realized it was midnight and we hadn’t even gotten started yet! Some time later, everyone was out. They would be ready for us soon, after a short bathroom break. We smudged. Smudge is made up of sage and many tribes add lavender or cedar to it. The Cherokees often used cedar alone. The idea is to light the mixture in a shell, held in the left hand, and fan it with feathers, held in the right hand. You fan the smoke over your body. Some say you start at the left leg, work up the body, over the head, and back down the right leg, others prefer to do the solar plexus first, and then on to over the head and other extremities. The purpose is to cleanse yourself and your spirit. It takes stress out of you and blesses you in preparation for prayer, or just as a relief from a stressful day. Often times a braid of sweetgrass is lit afterwards to bring the spirits into our lives and call Wakan Tanka, the Great Spirit, to us.

We entered what looked like a garage outside and an almost traditional Cherokee council house on the inside. Inside the garage were a lot more people than I had thought I saw go through the house. They were all sitting in a circle, a medicine wheel. Swiftdeer was the only one in a chair. Bud and I entered and were instructed to sit in the center and face Swift. Then we turned clockwise as everyone in the circle took their turns asking questions about our lives and our quest.

There are many medicine wheels for many different things. As one studies them, it becomes obvious that they all overlap.

One of the most important wheels is the Star Maiden’s circle. As I faced each direction, I was asked about thingspertaining to it. In the South I was asked about mythology and entertainment. This is how we have made sense of the things that have happened to us and how we “entertain” ourselves with visions of what we expect the future to be like based on what we have decided is our truth.

Facing the southwest, I was asked about symbols and how I processed life’s experiences. What did I get from the things life threw at me? Did things beat me down or make me stronger?

When confronting the west, I was asked about my daydreams. Did I find myself in the past or the future most of the time, or did I stay in the here and now? What did my daydreams anticipate?

In the northwest I faced rules and laws. If one does not obey the sacred laws of the universe, one does not find their true self. Did I honor the sacred laws and listen to the rules of my heart?

In the north I looked at philosophy, meaning and purpose. This is the place that stands for your knowledge. Is it just sitting on a dusty shelf in the back of your mind, or are you using the things you know to add a positive meaning and purpose to your life? Have you put two and two together yet and understood how to get more than just four out of it?

Looking at the northeast I faced design and choreography of energy movement. How did I plan on reaching my goals and using my knowledge?

In the east was fantasy illusion. Sometimes things that look very bad are actually good, and what seems like the obvious way to go, is not. How did I separate fantasy from reality and what happens when I find out I was wrong?

The south stands for concept of yourself and the world. This means that you actually are the one who decides what kind of person you will be. You decide how you will allow the events in your life to shape you.

Each participant had been given a copy of my lengthy life experience questionnaire in advance. I had written about my life and how its experiences had affected my five arenas and five areas. I felt naked, exposed to the core, and I started to feel embarrassed. Swiftdeer must’ve noticed because he started to comfort me, calling me “Little Sister” and explaining to everyone how my thoughts and beliefs were the normal thoughts of anyone who would have been in the same situations I had been in. I immediately felt this man understood why I did the things I did, and that I might be more normal than I thought after all.

After he finished, I started with the person to his left and faced them as they asked me questions about what I desired out of life and what I expected out of parenthood. Swiftdeer’s partner, Diane, spoke first.

“Little Sister, did your family teach you your heritage and your tribe’s traditions?”

“Not really,” I answered, “my great-grandmother Lee wanted to be as pale white as possible. She lived in Indiana during a time when our people were harassed a lot. She did not want to acknowledge her Native blood. That feeling has been sort of passed down. My grandmother taught me to love and respect nature, to treat the earth like our Mother and the Sun, our father.”

“What kind of father will you be, Little Brother? Will you do everything your child wishes, living for them, or will you expect him or her to bend in the wind of your wishes?”

“I will teach my children they have to learn to do certain things to get along in society, even though they might not want to. I will prepare them for the world.”

“Little Sister?”

“I remember what it is like to be very young. I want my baby to have a happy childhood. I know there are things they will have to do that they might not want to, but I will try not to make it too many.”

We continued like this all the way around the circle. Their perceptions and questions gave me insight and made my vision of myself and my future clearer.

When this was finished, Diane smoked the sacred pipe in such a way that she was making it a Karma pipe. She was able to see into my book of life and find my Karma and read if I were to have children or not. I held my breath as she read the book. If I were not to have children, the ceremony would be done, there would be nothing they could do and that would be the end ofthat!!! I wondered what I could have possibly done in another lifetime to not deserve children. Perhaps I was a dead-beat dad!!!

With her eyes closed as if in a trance, she told what she saw in the book. “I see a nest of snakes.”

“Oh no!” I thought.

Swiftdeer said, “That’s good.”

“It is?” I asked.

“Yes. Snakes are good beings that bring souls to this world.”

I sighed a big sigh of relief.

“Then it is meant for them to have children?” He asked Diane.

“If it does not deter you from your path” was the answer.

“What is the path?” Swiftdeer asked.

“To teach, to normalize sexuality, to unite the mind and body, to bring back to nature healthy sexuality.”

This was what my original vision quest years before, when I was in Helios, the halfway house, had told me.

“Good, then we can continue with the healing” Swiftdeer said.

I was asked to remove all my clothes and lay down in the center of the circle. Several women in the south (the direction of trust and innocence, children and music) started singing and playing a drum. As I lay down, Swiftdeer kept talking to me, asking me questions about my life and how I would change the way I was raised from the way I would raise my child. He talked about traditional philosophies and how I needed to get more in touch with that naturalness, the union with nature. He told me my path was long and wide, stretching over many streams that I could easily be swept away in, holes I could fall down in and get stuck. There were many rocks I could trip on. He said it was a much bigger and more important path than I gave it credit for and that it would be very hard but that I must always stick to it. When I follow the path, he said, Mother comes to greet me and carries me with her so I can accomplish my life work.

Three or four other women started balancing my charkas with crystals. One was charging me by sticking the point of her crystal into the bottom of my left foot. It felt amazingly good. There was a crystal egg I “gave birth” to with the help of the “midwives” in the center of the circle with me. I was wideawake and aware of what was going on, but it felt like I was being moved back in time. When I looked at the walls of the garage it was not the same as when I first entered it. With the drumming and the smell of the sage, I was no longer surrounded by Metis (mixed-bloods), but full-blooded traditional Native Americans in some sort of long house. There was even a fire that was not in the garage when I had come in.

They began to paint me and I felt the power of all of their energy focused on me. I was charging and I felt like I could glow, if I wanted to. Swiftdeer asked me how I felt and I said that I could swear I had just been picked up by a big bird. Everyone laughed at me and I felt so violated. I had been opening myself up completely for hours with this healing and I couldn’t understand why they were laughing at me.

“They are laughing at you, Little Sister, because she has just painted a bird on your forehead that you would have no way of knowing! We are all surprised that you’re so connected!” Swiftdeer said.

I felt much better.

He took a quartz crystal that was long and pointed on one end, rounded on the other. He pressed it to my chest bone hard and ran it straight down to my navel with great force.

“Ho!” He said.

“Ho!” everyone repeated.

I felt lifted, like I could breathe better. I was light headed When the entire ceremony was over, I was covered with paint. It was many hours later and I had laughed and cried several times. I was offered a room to take a shower in and I was happy to take advantage of that.

“As the colors go down the drain, let the water wash off all the bullshit too. You don’t need it. Wash it down the drain so it can go down, down into the ground and do something good for a change like turn to compost and grow some pretty flowers.”

After the shower, I gave out my medicine gifts, very worried now that they were too small for such an enthusiastic and longhealing. It was almost dawn, yet I felt lifted, revitalized, and full of energy.

Before we left, Swiftdeer invited us back into his bedroom with his wife and another couple. It was here that I was first introduced into the Chuluaqui-Quodoushka teachings, or sexual teachings. Traditionally, when a child reaches puberty, they choose a fire person. If they are a boy, they choose a fire woman, and if they are a girl, they choose a fire man. The child chooses her/his teacher and this is how they learn all about sex. There is a lot more to it than what we are taught. For example, the four levels of orgasm, the fire breath (how to achieve orgasm without self stimulation, including rubbing the legs together-it’s all done with the breath), the five different male and female anatomical types and how each prefers to experience sex and orgasm. It is quite a wonderful teaching that everyone should know before they ever have sex with anyone. It is never too late to learn. Swiftdeer and other members of the Deer Tribe give Quadoushka teachings all over the world. Bud and I were so amazed by all that we had seen and done, we were shocked to be so awake after being up all night. It was almost 10:00 AM when we left there. We went to our hotel room and made love, thankful to have until that afternoon before we had to be anywhere for work.

I never had another period, or moon cycle. I was pregnant. I couldn’t believe it had happened so quickly. I was overjoyed. This time I wanted my doctor to monitor my progesterone levels closely and be prepared to prescribe natural progesterone suppositories if my levels got low and I started to bleed. She agreed with me all the way.

At the ninth week of pregnancy, blood tests revealed a sharp decline in progesterone. I asked for a prescription. She told me to wait until I started to bleed or cramp. I was starting to get angry. This was on a Friday afternoon. By early Friday evening, I was spotting. I called the doctor and was told she was not on call. The doctor who was covering for her would call me back. When he did, I explained the situation and expected to be told when I could pick up my progesterone, instead, he suggested that if I lost this baby, they would know for sure what the problem was and THEN I could take progesterone if I needed it on the next pregnancy! I told him how my doctor had already cautioned me on the possibility of a malformed heart in my baby and the other risks of taking this drug to prevent miscarriage. I told him I had signed waiver after waiver. He still would not budge. I told him that if I lost another baby, I wouldn’t care to live anymore and I would be sure to hunt him down and take him with me. I couldn’t believe how insensitive he was being! Finally, he agreed, against his better judgment, to give me the prescription that would save my baby’s life. How ironic that I had to fight so damn hard to keep my baby when so many people today are working to get rid of theirs. I felt so cheated and misunderstood. But I was still pregnant!!!

Soon after that incident we got a call from the Phil Donahue show. They were doing an episode on couples in the Adult Movie business and how they got along. It was to be shot in New York City and I had a major decision to make. Did I feel safe enough about the pregnancy to fly to New York? Bud and my doctor encouraged me and I decided it was okay.

Nina Hartley and her husband Dave were on the show too, along with Jeanna Fine and her fiancé’. Phil was very nice to us. Before the show started, he came back to the green room where we were all waiting and told us that he was basically on our side. He said it was a matter of freedom of speech in his eyes. If they censored us, he would be next. He said he would have to play the devil’s advocate, however, in order to make the show interesting and stir up controversy. He did not want us to feel he thought badly about us. I was very touched by his thoughtfulness.

The show went well. We had several conservative people in the audience who were aghast at our professions. They couldn’t understand why people who looked and talked like they were normal, would want to make explicit adult movies. This was a topic I was to discuss on many talk shows in the future. It is also one of the main reasons for this book.

When I got back home, I stayed in bed for three months, not getting up except to go to the bathroom and shower. I read the encyclopedia and several other books I’d been trying to find time for. I watched videos and listened to ballets and operas, all thosethings I’d been swearing I’d do some rainy day. It didn’t take long for me to get extremely bored.

After all that laying around in bed and doing little more than raising my food-filled hand to my mouth, I was certainly starting to look pregnant. I was not in any condition to make money off of my looks. A Playboy photographer that I had known for years, Dennis Silverstein, came to my house and shot a cover and centerfold layout of me in a merry widow, to hide the pregnancy. This was the last thing I did in the adult entertainment business for a year.

While I waited for my baby to be born, I studied the Cherokee language and some information that one of the girls, Lynn, at the healing with Swiftdeer had given me. I had an intense desire to learn more about the Twisted Hairs Council of Elders and all their teaching wheels and keys. Lynn offered to help me to learn some things. When my baby was born, she would be the first nanny we had.

Our meager savings was dwindling and I suggested that perhaps Bud could get a job of some sort. Bud, however, thought it would be better for him to stay home and take care of me. We had fallen into a pattern.

In a relationship, when one person grows, it affects that relationship. There must be an appropriate adjustment. There must be room to grow, and ideally, the two grow together. Each person needs to have their individuality and the relationship has its own individuality as well, so that it looks like two circles overlapping a bit in the middle. Our relationship wasn’t quite like that, we were codependent. Having worked and traveled together, never being apart for more than an hour or two, we were like Siamese Twins.

After nine months and a cesarean, I finally had my baby!!! Now I had a family. Now I would have my chance to know, at least on one level, what a real mother-child relationship was like. I believe one of the reasons I had such a hard time carrying and birthing my child was because I had negative feelings about my own gestation and birth. Some therapists believe what a child hears in utero and in the moments following birth will affect their whole life. I am sure there must’ve been many conversations about how I was not wanted, a mistake, a problem. Perhaps, subconsciously, my mind equated all pregnancies with the feelings of trauma, abuse, and despair, even though I wanted my baby more than anything in the world. It was so important to me to finally have a family. Words cannot express the need, the void that I had felt all my life that was finally comforted that day.

Now I was fulfilled. I thanked the Great Spirit a million times over and prayed for my son to be safe and healthy and live a long happy life for many, many years after I was gone. He was born two days before the fourth of July and as we watched the fireworks from the hospital hallway window, my heart mirrored their brilliance with its joy.

TRACILORDS, GERALDO AND TIMALLEN

My long time off work left us in deep debt. We had no insurance, we were self-employed and didn’t know where to go for any that would cover maternity anyway. The excruciating pain from the surgery made it impossible for me to do normal things, like go up and down stairs, for quite a while. Bud did not feel as though he should get a job. He preferred to stay home and help take care of the baby and me. It became obvious that I would have to go on the road again to make money just as soon as possible.

Considering my recent birth and the fact that all my abdominal muscles had just been cut through, not to mention my breast-feeding, it was necessary for me to have all new costumes. Nothing fit. My grandmother helped me with this.

My first dancing gig was in San Francisco at the Market Street Cinema. One of the ladies from my healing with Swiftdeer, Lynn, was to be my son’s nanny. I was so uncomfortable on stage. I could not simply let Hyapatia take over anymore. Victoria Cares For the Children. It’s not that Hyapatia wasn’t good to Kevin, she was, but Victoria Cares For the Children. She is the one who wanted him the most and worked so hard for a healthy pregnancy. It was hard to balance the two on the road. I was used to letting Hyapatia take over 99.9% of the time when I wasn’t home.

I really enjoyed the extra full breasts I had from the milk, as well as the special bond and closeness felt with my baby. It was as if he were back in my womb, almost. No one could take him from me or replace me. He was fed only my milk for the first six months of life, traveling with us everywhere.

It had been so long since I had done anything in front of a camera. People were starting to forget about me. In this business, yesterday’s video is easily forgotten when some months see well over 100 new releases. I needed to get something recent on the shelves in order to increase my demand on the dancing circuit and pay those hospital bills. After all the miscarriages and prescribed bed rest, I started the pregnancy with few resources to begin with.

Six months after the birth, I made my “come back” movie. “Saddle tramp” had high expectations, I had been working on the script for years. Originally, I wanted to use it when we did “The Wild, Wild West” for Essex. Vidco would be producing it under the eye of R.C. and our old friend, Mike. Bud would be directing.

R.C. should have worked for Essex. He was cut off the same bolt of cloth. By the time the project was shot, Mike and JD were directing, the script had been haphazardly butchered and the amount of money that was in the budget somehow never found its way to the set. The movie was thrown together and my only real sex scene shot uncommercially short. The total effect was devastating. It sucked.

Bud and I were mad and frustrated. After all we had been through with Essex, after all the work to get back in shape, we felt like it was a waste of time. Surely there was an easier way to heal and educate the masses about sexuality and satisfy myself with a little entertaining at the same time.

C. Zane of the Zane Entertainment Group offered me a few roles in some of his productions as a package deal. I wrote two of the movies and asked if Bud could direct them. There were many times when producers wanted to use more established directors. Most thought of Bud as just my husband. His presence on the set at all was barely tolerated. It was an uphill battle to get people to give him a chance now that Harry was out of the business. After holding out on my services, he usually got the job. If that was the only way they could get me, they would, but more often than not, his fee was included in my original offer. In other words, he worked for free, according to them.

These projects “Take My Wife” and “Uniform Behavior” were cheap one-day wonders, but I had fun. The people I worked with were great. Nina Hartley and Megan Leigh were always fun to work with. Sharon Mitchell and Keisha were also on the set. So was Brittany Morgan. It was a good bunch of people.

This was the first time I worked with Megan Leigh, a beautiful woman with a heart of gold. She lived with her mother and enjoyed her career. We took my son to Sea World together. She was very good with him and he fell in love with her. We became very close friends, keeping in touch weekly.

I had been doing live phone sex for the Personal Services Corporation for many years. They provide the only opportunity to talk to X-rated movie actresses live on the phone. This helped me support the family during my pregnancy. It is amazing how basic and normal 95% of the men are. A lot of them just wanted someone to talk to and reassure them their desires are normal. Some didn’t want to discuss sex at all, but just needed advice on how to impress and feel comfortable with women.

Geraldo Rivera was doing a segment on phone sex for Entertainment Tonight. Through Vivid Video, whom we were planning on doing a few projects with, I was asked to be involved. We’re like most people in that it is a thrill for us to meet people like Phil Donahue and Geraldo and we always take pictures. Geraldo even posed with the baby and me. He was a real nice guy, but once the cameras were rolling, watch out!

He asked me about children getting on the phone and running up a bill. I explained that Personal Services requires a major credit card and a telephone both listed in the caller’s name. A check is made on every single call. As for pre-recorded sex, kids have been abusing the telephone for years. Haven’t you ever gotten a call asking, “Is your refrigerator running? Well, you’d better go catch it?” or some such nonsense? This is just another way for kids to misuse the phone. If a kid is going to play with something he shouldn’t, I would prefer it be the phone over the medicine cabinet, knives, matches, or a gun.

“What about rape? Some people believe phone sex is responsible for many rapes.”

“Rapes were being committed long before the telephone, cameras or motion pictures were invented. People need to take responsibility for their own actions and not blame their behavior on things like telephones, movies and photographs.”

I thought it went rather well, and the segment generated publicity for me, which increased my demand on the road some.

One Sunday night Bud and I were listening to the Dr. Demento show on the radio. I have always enjoyed his syndicated weekly show of parody and comedy songs. This is where Weird Al Yankovic got his start.

We thought to ourselves, “Why don’t we take the Doc a copy of my album?”

One side was nothing but such songs. Perhaps he would even play a track. We looked up his executive producer at the Westwood One Radio Network and brought a copy to him at the station. Bob was a really nice guy with an adorable pre-school daughter whose picture he kept on his desk. We didn’t come out and tell him about the adult film flavor of most of my work, but then again, we didn’t lie either.

We were overjoyed that the Demented Wonder had decided to play a couple of cuts from the album and announced my song as “a little PG-rated fun from back room video queen Hyapatia Lee.” One week, “Rub-A-Dub-Dub” made it to number three in his list of the Funny Five top songs!

Almost every year I would return to the Ponderosa Sun Club in Roselawn, Indiana for their Miss Nude Galaxy contest on the third Sunday in July and their second contest of the year, the third Sunday in August. I would emcee the Mr. Nude Galaxy and Mr. Male Exotic of the Year and other contests with male contestants for the ladies’ enjoyment. I would also hand down the crown and shoot photos with the audience. It was at one of these contests that I met Tim Allen.

Tim Allen had not really been discovered yet. He was with a Detroit production company that was doing a video of the event from behind the scenes. Tim was the host and interviewed several contestants, and myself, for his video. The general consensus was that he was kind of a jerk. He would ask us to do some strange things, for example, he had me sit next to him for the interview and insisted I keep my legs spread. I was wearing a wrap-around silk kimono and he wanted it pulled up so that with my legs spread so there was more to see. He wanted me to be animated and very energetic. Another girl was asked to lie down on the diving board as if sunbathing. During the interviewon camera, he asked her why she was laying there, she said “Because you told me to!”

I started writing an advice column for Cheri magazine every month. I answered some of the thousands of letters sent to me through the magazine and my fan club. It was amazing to me how many myths there are circulating regarding sex. So many people are terrified that if they have the slightest interest in something they have not seen sanctioned in a medical book, they are perverted and in jeopardy of losing their health! The amount of guilt surrounding basic necessary sexual functions is overwhelming, and this is all coming from the portion of society comfortable enough to write about it and read such a magazine as Cheri. It makes me wonder just how much guilt, shame and blame is going around out there in the rest of the population.

Guilt is a useless emotion, remorse causes one to change behavior and grow. Guilt eats a person up inside a constantly abuses them for an act that is not continuously being committed. Blame is a useless emotion. To find who is at the cause of something is to take it out of context and not assume responsibility for any part of it. Even in cases of absolute just innocence, spending too much time on blame and not getting on with one’s life is burying oneself in the past. Shame is created by guilt and blame and is one of the most destructive emotions of all, often causing one to forever snuff out their own inner light of self worth and robbing themselves and the entire world of the wondrous gifts they alone possess.

Vivid Video was one of the top companies in the business. They were the only one signing girls to exclusive contracts. Caribbean had started the practice, Essex continued it, and then Vivid took it up. Soon there would be more companies to so. PT (Paul Thomas), their resident director, called and asked me to come in for an appointment with Stan, the owner.

Stan was a nice man and Vivid had a good reputation, but I couldn’t get used to the difference in budgets. A large budget was $45,000 now. The star doesn’t make very much if there is to be money left over for the rest of the cast, the crew, video tape, location, lights, camera, editor and box cover photo. Instead of shooting for 9 days, we were now lucky to get three.

My first movie for Vivid was “Sleeping Beauty Aroused” and I was very surprised how thrown together it was. The business had gone through quite a change in the last year.

The rest of the world had gone through some changes too. Since the first Phil Donahue aired, back when I first got pregnant with Kevin, more and more talk shows were finding that topics related to the business got their ratings up. I went on Jenny Jones, Montel Williams and Entertainment Tonight several times. I was on Current Affair probably a dozen times, plus many others. These appearances all helped to boost my demand on the road. As more actresses found their salaries going down in front of the camera, the dancing circuit got very popular. Suddenly there were more actresses looking for work than there were clubs and it became impossible for anyone to be on the road full time.

The adult entertainment business was organizing a bit more, and seeing that there was such a demand for representatives on the talk show circuit, they chose a few to take a 3 day course in giving interviews in LA. It was a smart move and taught us all how to stop rambling and come to the point. We learned how you must pound your point into the ground repeatedly in order to be heard and understood in controversial situations. It paid off for us all.

We were on the road in Poughkeepsie, New York, working in a dive where the customers would not stop throwing beer bottles on stage. Bud and I got a call to fly down before our first show one morning and do the Geraldo show. Knowing any publicity is usually good publicity, and feeling confident after my course, we accepted.

Having come from a club such as the one I just described, I was already on the defensive. When we got to the green room I saw two preachers there with their Bibles in hand. This put my back up even more. By the time we got to the set, I was seething. Geraldo has a reputation, and I was expecting the worst.

In our corner sat Bud and myself, Ron Jeremy and his sister, and via satellite, Nina Hartley and her husband Dave. Before it was over, Dave walked off the set and left Nina holding the bag,eventually he was convinced to come back on to finish the show. As expected, the preachers said we were going to hell and causing the deterioration of society. My standard response is that rape and incest existed long before the invention of the camera or any form of pornography. I believe the denial of the expression of sex in an appropriate fashion causes such crimes.

This prompted the preachers to throw “The Book” at us. We were damned, it said so right there. The Bible was used to take this country away from the Native Americans. Manifest Destiny is what it was called. It is believed that the Bible says Christians should do whatever must be done to spread the word of Jesus Christ until all people on Earth are Christians, otherwise, Jesus will not come back. Since there is no record either in the Bible or from Native Americans of Jesus ever coming to this continent, many Christians believed the Indians not to be human and not to possess a soul. The Bible has been used to present many strange, perverted ideas. The show turned into a shouting match.

Having studied with Swiftdeer and following the traditions of my Grandmother and other relatives, I do not believe sexual freedom practiced with consenting adults is against Sacred Law. In fact many teachings, like the Quadoushka, go right along with it! It is ironic that people looking for freedom from religious persecution invaded this country and yet one of the first things they did was to rob the indigenous peoples of their religious freedom. This is still being done today in many different ways.

I continued to shoot photographs with various men’s magazines and independent photographers. I was aware that I was, at the time, the only Native American working in the business. I was finding myself being put in more and more situations that exploited this and reinforced stereotypes or showed no cultural awareness or sensitivity. When I did “The Wild, Wild West” and “Saddle tramp” there was a respect and acceptance of my culture. There were no real racial slurs or historical inaccuracies. One time I was doing a layout for a magazine and was asked to pose with a poor representation of a Sacred Pipe (peace pipe) between my legs as if masturbating with it, the equivalent of masturbating with a crucifix. In one movie I was at a party where I was to ask for another drink only to be told I shouldn’t because everyone knows Indians can’t hold their liquor. I was supposed to agree to that!

All of this prompted me to get a new hairstyle. I cut and permed my hair. It was not a very popular decision, but I did not look as Indian and so could no longer be part of a scheme to perpetuate myths and stereotypes. The Forgotten American, the Native Americans are still not recognized and respected. It is amazing to me the amount of stereotypes and racist slang that exists and is voiced against us.

One time in Nebraska, I sat down with a man who bought me a drink between shows. He asked me the origin of my peculiar name. When I told him it was Native American, he said, “Oh well, you’re still pretty” and immediately got up and left, leaving his full drink and me to sit insulted.

Other minorities would never tolerate the Tomahawk Chop and phrases like “Indian Giver”. We are the poorest of the poor in this country, hidden behind the invisible walls of a reservation or unseen in urban areas. Some people think we are all given money by the government, receive a free college education and don’t have to pay taxes. For most, that is not the case. Our own casinos are usually owned or leased by outsiders who take the lion’s share of the profits. Our mannerisms and clothing choices are often seen as being more “hippie” than Native American. We are not even given the honor of being recognized for who we are.

A lot of people don’t realize it, but most magazines give the nude models in their layouts any old name they choose. When the model is well known and the fans recognize her and the name is clearly different, it prompts many fans to think the model is trying to hide something. It is not the model, but the magazine that is trying to pass their girl off as a newcomer, someone they can see nowhere else.

At one of the conventions in Los Angeles, Traci Lords came up to me and asked me if I would come to her room later on that night. She and her boyfriend wanted to talk to me and Bud. She and I had been in that same issue of Penthouse together, the one with George Burns and Vanessa Williams on the front. Last I heard issues in mint condition were recently selling at over $100each. I had never worked in a movie with Traci. She and I were both stars and the bigger names rarely worked together as the small budgets couldn’t afford two salaries larger than five hundred dollars. Some actresses were doing roles with one sex scene for $300 a day. In many cases, that’s a 24-hour day.

Traci’s boyfriend was having trouble accepting her career choice. He did not feel loved and wanted her to quit. She wanted to know how we dealt with it all. Bud and I were very candid in our description of how it had affected our life, both good and bad. Traci was equally open when she said she felt dirty after a shoot. She said she found herself taking showers that lasted for hours, trying to continually wash off the dirt she felt was there, the memory of the touch of some strange man. I knew how she felt. I felt the same way about my stepfather and that guy who raped me. I told her she should get out of the business immediately and seek therapy. She said she was scheduled to do one more movie. I encouraged her not to. That was the last time I spoke with her.

You probably know the rest of the story. Traci was found to have been underage when the photos for Penthouse were taken and when she filmed almost all of her movies. She was a runaway and needed identification that said she was old enough to act in an adult film. She sought out fake ID and for the specific purpose of making and adult movie, from the way I heard it. She acquired a passport in her new name and the rest is history. If she can fool the government, how can the adult industry be held responsible for knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that all talent is of age? They can’t, but that is exactly the repercussion of Traci’s incident. All adult manufacturers are now required to keep on file all ID information and they are expected to be able to tell if the ID is fake or not, even if it is government issued and unhampered.

Back on the road I was still breast-feeding. I was a La Leche League member and believed in prolonging the activity well into toddler hood. It is healthier for the child and the mother. Some believe it reduces a woman’s chance of developing breast cancer.

When a woman has not fed her baby for several hours, the milk builds up and after a while, it is released. A full gushing of milk is known as a letdown reflex. One night while dancing in Connecticut, I had milk start to flow from my breasts. The men in the audience noticed and after the show, when I do my customary question and answer session from stage over a microphone, one man asked me how I got that water to come out of my breast! I was shocked at the ignorance. I guessed he must’ve been bottle-fed as a baby! I explained to the crowd basic human anatomy and that breasts were really made for babies.

WORLD TRAVELS AND A HEALTHY BIRTH

I was so happy with my son in my life. It was wonderful to finally have a real family. I wanted to have another baby and experience a normal birth, hopefully with no drugs or interventions at all. I was under contract with Vivid to do six pictures a year, but there had not been any year that went by where I actually did that many movies. It was more like four. Stan had hired six different “Vivid Girls”, as they were called, to work exclusively for his company and this kept the roster pretty full. There were no provisions for getting paid for work that was promised but never actually done. Salaries were going down all across the board in the business and roadwork was hard to find.

I had not made a movie in four months and we were planning a three-week road trip to the East Coast. Bud’s sister’s daughter, Rachel, was our nanny. On Monday morning of the second week, I took a pregnancy test and it was positive! I was overjoyed. Since it was so early in the pregnancy, and my history was to miscarry in between the seventh and ninth weeks, I had time to finish my tour before I had to bother my obstetrician for progesterone.

Our last week was to be in Connecticut at a place called “The Log and Lantern”. I had danced there many times before. There were shows every day at noon, and three at night. Thursday morning we were pulling into the parking lot when we noticed four squad cars and very few regular cars. The police cars were pulled up in front of the doors as if there were trouble. We left and called the club from a near-by telephone, not wanting to be caught in any cross fire. When the club owner found out it was Bud on the line, he went into his office to finish the call. It seemed the police had come for me! There was a warrant out for my arrest for a supposedly indecent act I committed on the stage of another club a year ago. They accused me of showering the audience with my breast milk and they said I could have spread diseases like AIDS that way. I was shocked! I had never heard of such a thing.

Bud immediately got off the phone and we drove to Massachusetts and checked into a hotel. We called our nanny and explained the situation. Bud left me there while he went to get our son and sitter. He checked out of that hotel, gathered my costumes and partial pay and brought everyone to safety in Massachusetts.

I wondered why they sent four squad cars for one lactating female. There were no matrons with them. When safely out of state, I called the Hartford police department and asked them why there were no female officers. I had considered facing the charges. We were told the Hartford Police Department did not have any matrons on the payroll! What kind of sick trip to Hartford were they planning for me? I believe I would have found myself on a detour. This was my one and only brush with the law.

I was happy to be safe and sound with my baby feeding from my breast in Massachusetts. It would be one of the last times he nursed, as my milk gradually dried up over the next month or two. Naturally my body gave all its energy to my growing baby.

Back home in Indiana, my obstetrician didn’t hassle me about the progesterone this time, but ironically, I never spotted and I didn’t need to take it. This pregnancy was going along perfectly all by itself! I felt happy and healthy. My doctor said it was safe to continue dancing and so we tried to get as much work in as we could before I started showing.

When I was sixteen weeks along and on my last dancing gig, we went to San Francisco. I worked at the world famous Mitchell Brother’s Theater on O’Farrell Street. The Mitchell Brothers are best known for starting Marilyn Chambers in the business. They produced “Behind the Green Door” and almost all of the rest of her movies. One of the brothers is also known for accidentally shooting and killing his brother.

Marilyn is a fascinating woman and has always been very kind to me. I have great respect for her and have tried to model my career after hers. She is probably the best known actress in the business and has been at the top of it for over a decade. All of this has come out of a handful of movies. She is selective and will only appear in the best, limiting her exposure and using thelaw of supply and demand to her advantage. There are only a dozen or so Marilyn Chambers movies so they are all popular.

The first time I met her was at a convention in Las Vegas where we were signing autographs for different companies. She was very friendly to me when I went up to get her autograph. I collected autographs from all my favorite actors and actresses. She knew I was in the business and was very encouraging. As time went by, we saw each other occasionally at conventions like that one and award shows. She was always cordial.

Marilyn sat next to the follow spot during my show. After a few songs, she leaned over out of earshot of the lighting technician and asked Bud “how far along is she?”. This was the first time anyone had known I was pregnant. She is a very astute woman. A few years later, she would be blessed with her own bundle of joy.

It is interesting to note that Linda Lovelace was married to a man named Chuck Traynor who, after divorcing Linda, married Marilyn Chambers. Marilyn’s career started when she posed for the box cover of Ivory Snow with a baby in her arms and the words “99.9% Pure” across the top. People flipped when she came out in a hard core erotic movie with group scenes and interracial sex at such a controversial time in history. Chuck and Marilyn are no longer married.

I wanted this pregnancy to be the opposite of my last. I wanted to be as healthy as possible, up and active to the end. I signed up again for prenatal aerobics and watched my diet like a hawk. With my Doctor’s approval, I asked Vivid if there were any bookstore appearances I could do. They said “Yes!”.

My first assignment was to go to Italy for the Mifed convention in Milan. There were distributors there who carried American movies and dubbed the dialogue using European actors. I was to sign autographs in their booth. The company would supply a bonded baby sitter. I hoped she would speak English.

After the long, uncomfortable flight, we waited forever to get through customs and get our work permit. We were familiar with this from all our work in Canada. Milan reminded me of Gary, Indiana, except no one spoke English. We enjoyed the shopping and I got many nice gifts for everyone and some very nice maternity clothes for myself.

My interpreter patiently wrote the names of the men with their correct spelling for me on a scrap piece of paper as the men crowded around me and dripped sweat on my photos and me. I was having morning sickness that lasted all day and frequently I would have to run to the bathroom. All the smells were ten times stronger because of my condition and all the warm milk over there was turning my stomach. Once, someone got me a sandwich for my lunch break and when I bit into it I discovered, to my horror, that it is customary to put an anchovy on a turkey sandwich over there! I just wasn’t in the kind of physical condition to be experimenting with food. I really was having a wonderful time though, the people were so friendly. They were all very helpful.

At the convention, they wanted me to wear traditional Native American fringed leather dresses and war paint with my hair in braids. I did have some “modern Indian” wear, but I thought it was kind of strange that they wanted me to wear my hair like that and put war paint on. I didn’t think it gave a good representation of what was really going on with my people back on Turtle Island. I felt very uncomfortable and kept thinking about how they would never ask my black friend, Jeannie Pepper, who was also there, to dress up like the old Aunt Jemima wearing a frock and bandana on her head!

Porsche Lynn was there too, and the four of us hung out quite a bit. It was very comforting to have some friends there that I could share my feelings with and who spoke English. Porsche met marvelous Marvin Haggler and they hit it off. She was on my flight back home and we had fun discussing our many experiences before we dozed off on the plane.

Next, Vivid sent me to Australia and New Zealand. New Zealand was absolutely beautiful and the people there were the friendliest I have ever met. The people we were working for there took us in like family. Their daughter, Claire, was a little older than our son was, but they became instant friends. Their baby-sitter watched our son and Claire while we worked and were treated to a special tour of Auckland.

We went out on our own one day and stopped for a bite to eat. After we were done, we asked the waitress if she could direct us to a shopping area. She took her break and walked with us to make sure we got there all right! That is how friendly they are!

The indigenous people, the Maori, are a close knit group. They honor their elders and still practice many of their traditional ways. In the airports you can see extended families holding hands and singing as they wish their loved one a safe journey. It is a wonderful sight and an honor to witness.

Australia was just as amazing. There are more poisonous spiders and snakes there than anywhere else. Sydney is a very big, clean, city. I loved hearing the bonded nanny read “Lady and the Tramp” to our son in that beautiful accent. After working in Sydney, we were driven down to Canberra in the Australian Capital Territory. On the way, we passed through rain forests and views of the ocean with its Great Barrier Reef. One of the sights we passed was Lake St. George. This lake is a mystery. It was formed almost over night, devouring fenced farmland and even a number of cows and lambs. Divers have been sent down to discover what the source of the lake is and why it sprang up all of a sudden, but they were lost under water and never found again. Navigational instruments in aircraft passing over the lake go haywire. I decided I wanted to do a traditional Pipe ceremony next to the lake, since it was so special. Bud and our host, Bruce Portman, joined me as I filled the pipe with tobacco in a Sacred way and we prayed. I was very grateful for my healthy pregnancy and these wonderful experiences I was living.

We celebrated my birthday in Canberra. The company I was working for threw a huge party in a sheep-shearing barn, complete with a band, a huge cake, balloons and decorations, and about 300 people. It was a marvelous time. I couldn’t believe that people who didn’t even know me would go out of their way to make me feel so welcome. I have pictures of Bud dancing with many Aussie beauties.

On our way back home, our plane stopped in Hawaii for refueling. It doesn’t cost anything extra to schedule a few days off before boarding again to go back to the mainland, so we had planned a small five-day vacation for ourselves there. I had wanted to visit Hawaii since one of my favorite teachers in fifth grade gave a slide presentation on the islands based on her personal experience. With all the volcanoes, waterfalls, ocean, native Hawaiian customs and activities, it is a wonderful place. My only regret was that I was too pregnant to enjoy most of the activities, like Scuba diving snorkeling and jet skiing.

Once back home, I was so far along I couldn’t do much except concentrate on the pregnancy. With the need for Hyapatia gone, Victoria began to focus every ounce of my energy towards having a completely normal and natural childbirth. I had long been a member of the Cesarean Awareness Network and they were having a convention in Ohio with one of my favorite authors as a speaker. I decided to go.

Lynn Baptiste Richards is a very insightful person who spoke about our life experiences and how they affect labor and delivery. I learned how not wanting to let go of my baby probably played a large part in why I had to have a cesarean the first time. I had been through so much therapy in trying to heal the scars of my childhood and formative years, I thought I was over it all. Even my multiple personality disorder was better. I could now be myself for days and sometimes weeks on end. It seemed to me that if I could make these movies and perform in these clubs it proved I was healed. Lynn taught me that labor and delivery are sacred times when the subconscious talks to us stronger than ever. During pregnancy our dreams are more intense and frequent and our senses are all heightened. In labor and delivery, the mind can influence the events even more strongly. There were still some unresolved issues in my mind.

After the conference, I devised a plan. I had an authentic 18-foot tipi that Bud and I occasionally put up on our property out in the woods. Tipis are one of the best structures ever devised for living. They are warm and cozy in the winter with the fire burning right under the smoke hole. By design, they resist wind and are amazingly sturdy. We set up the tipi and I prepared for four nights of ceremonies to clear my emotions around these unresolved issues. I smoked the sacred pipe as I had been taughtand brought the spirits of each child I had lost, one night for each, to come inside and talk to me over the pipe. Each night, my dog Samekh, would come in to the tipi and sit by me as I worked next to the fire. It was February in Indiana and I would have thought, being a Siberian Husky, he would have been more comfortable outside.

After I had my nights with each of my miscarried babies plus my live birth, my midwife came and gave me a blessing way. With several of my closest female friends, we shared stories, songs, gifts, hopes and dreams relating to birth in my tipi. We sang songs that honored the sacred mother Earth and women’s special connection to the moon, who is on the same cycle we are.

It is funny that babies have been coming into this world in the comfort of their parents homes with the aid of midwives since the beginning of time, yet in the last 200 years western civilization has invented a need for hospital births. In some communities, the cesarean rate is 50%. I do not believe, and statistics agree with me, that laboring women need major abdominal surgery to give birth half of the time. In fact, the World Health Organization states there is no justification for having a cesarean rate higher than 10-15%. They also report that countries with some of the lowest perinatal mortality rates in the world have cesarean rates under 10%. It is not unusual for hospitals to boast a rate of 25-30%. This is considered low. Even so, our infant mortality rate is higher than most third world nations. In fact, it is one of the highest of all the industrialized countries. Why do one third of our women need such interventions to give birth? A cesarean increases the mother and child’s risk of death by two to four times according to statistics gathered by the International Cesarean Awareness Network. The pain and recovery associated with recovering from a cesarean costs many women their jobs. Very few companies will give their employees more than one week off for a birth. Physicians routinely keep their sectioned patients in the hospital nearly that long and prescribe bed rest for another week or so. Driving and stair climbing are restricted for six weeks.

Until some king in England (I can’t remember which pervert it was) wanted to watch babies being born and gave his peasants the option of a free birth if they would have it at his castle (where he could watch hidden from view) women almost never gave birth in the lithotomy position, or laying on their back. It cuts off the vena cava, the main artery giving oxygen to the baby. It’s no wonder so many women have babies with declining heart rates while pushing in this position, it’s actually pushing up hill, as far as the anatomy of the birth canal is concerned.

When one of the queens of England was offered anesthesia during birth, it became the faddish thing to do for all the wealthy women who could afford it. It is interesting to note that midwives and Native American medicine men and women too, have always had herbs that could speed, slow or ease a labor like red raspberry leaves, uva-ursi, castor oil and black and blue cohosh. When, as sometimes happens even today with our medical miracles, a birth ends tragically, there are sometimes very hard feelings between the parents and the birth attendants. Puritan men thought they should be in charge of the miracle of birth. These highly charged emotions are what gave rise to the witch-hunts. Midwives were the wise women of the era, the healers, and as such, were often said to have made a pact with the devil. After the witch burnings the stage was set for the beginning of modern day medicine and obstetrics. It was begun in an effort to keep women under control and take away their power and the over-use of cesareans today is an extension of that desire. Many women, including myself, consider it, in addition to the epidemic hysterectomy rate, to be the equivalent of female castration. There is something really perverse about the way we view sex and birth in this country.

My midwives agreed with my beliefs, although we also believe there are many wonderful modern inventions that, when properly used, can increase the chances of a healthy baby. That is why I was having my baby in the hospital, even though I wanted the birth to be as natural as possible. The blessing way was imperative to my emotional preparation. They gave me herbs for a special bath to be shared with my new baby and medicine gifts to help with the labor. The blessing way tookplace on the night in between my honoring my last miscarried baby and my first live birth.

After all of this, I went out alone to the tipi for one more night of ceremony, to honor and connect with the child I now carried. This time Samekh did not come into the tipi, but stayed out in the cold. I could hear him walking in circles outside. As I started my ceremony, I felt a strong backache coming on. As time went by, the pain grew stronger and I found myself adjusting my position and getting on my hands and knees to relieve the pain. When I was almost done with my time there, I realized that these pains were coming in spasms. I was in the beginning stages of labor! My dog knew it before I did! Most male animals will instinctively circle and protect a laboring female.

Remembering my 24-hour labor and cesarean, I decided to ignore the labor for as long as possible. It could also easily have been false labor and I wanted to be sure this was really it. I went inside.

When I got pregnant I was overjoyed and so was Bud. Then I saw my doctor. She took me in her office and with a midwife I had chosen, read my chart off to me rather non-chalantly.

“Let’s see now, you’ve had three miscarriages, you took progesterone suppositories with your fourth pregnancy when the levels dropped and you experienced spotting, you had high blood pressure, swelling and protein in the urine in the final trimester, we did a section for CPD and failure to progress, I really don’t think a VBAC is feasible for you.’

I couldn’t help it, I started to cry. To me it was like saying I would never be able to enjoy sex as all intercourse would have to feel like rape to me. The doctor handed me some Kleenex and said “but if you want to try, I guess there’s no harm in attempting, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up!”

I don’t believe one’s chances for a VBAC are unchangeable until labor starts, so I did everything and read everything I could to stack the deck in my favor. I read in the VBAC Source Book that acupressure can loosen pelvic ligaments and increase the diameter, so throughout pregnancy I saw an acupressurist and a chiropractor, to keep everything in alignment. In the same book,

I also found a number for Gayle Peterson, a holistic therapist and author of several books on childbirth outcomes as they relate to emotional issues. I called her. My visits with Gayle and in particular, the tapes she made me, had a profound influence on my pregnancy and birth. She gave me images that helped me gain confidence in my body (not an easy feat!) and taught me ways to relax when fears came to mind.

My pregnancy progressed totally normally, without progesterone suppositories or bed rest this time. I even traveled around the world with my work and never had an abnormal problem. I asked the doctor if I could start seeing the midwives that worked with her and to my surprise, she agreed.

I called Krystn, the midwife, and Bud loaded the truck with enough stuff for a two-week stay. The hospital is an hour and a half away and if I had to have another cesarean it would be at least that long before I could stand the long ride over bumpy gravel roads home.

We headed for Kristen’s house near the hospital with our two and a half-year-old son. My contractions got closer together and more intense before I even got off our road. Last labor my contractions were one minute long and one minute apart from the start, so I thought we would have many more hours of this before I could hold my baby.

The moon was a beautiful clear crescent with a bright star next to it and as time progressed, the sun rose with the moon still in the sky, both sending their energy down to me. The Earth sent her energy up through my body and all three met in my uterus with all the force and sound of a thunder bolt.

Krystn recommended placing two combs in the palms of my hands, teeth facing the palm to help with strong contractions. I had bought two black combs just for the occasion. They were in my purse in the back seat and luckily Bud could at least give me my purse and I found the combs. They did help! We made it to the hospital just in time.

Immediately after the birth I felt an amazingly empty feeling. With my first born, it felt like all my insides had been removed, severed from my body, but this time I felt the kind of emptiness you feel when all your dreams have come true and allyour goals have been met. I quickly spun around to grab my baby. I didn’t even know until later that Bud had caught him. I was too concerned with getting him into my arms as fast as possible to notice who was handing him to me.

I got to hold him while he was still wet with the sacred waters of birth, unlike last time when my poor baby cried himself to sleep waiting for my arms to hold him. This baby was so alert, eyes wide open, focusing on me, the bonding was so fast and complete. What took me months with Kevin was achieved in seconds with Keith.

I never believed life could come from the vagina that let three very small babies go way too soon. I had never made peace completely with my traumatized vagina. I knew it could save my life, bring me pleasure, etc., but I wasn’t quite sure that it could really give birth. To so many women it may seem like such a little thing that they take for granted, I am so very grateful for my deeply healing vaginal birth.

MEGAN LEIGH

One week after Keith was born, Megan Leigh came to my house to help me recover from childbirth and take care of the new baby, in addition to the rest of the family. Some people call it a Doula, a “mother’s helper”, who comes after the birth to assist with the transition. We had become very close friends over the years. She had gone with Kevin, Bud and myself to Sea World in Northern California when I was dancing there, near her home where she lived with her mother. They were building a new house. Actually, from what I understood, Megan was building a new house for her mother. She loved her mother dearly and wanted to give her something special, something that proved her love and her worthiness of her mother’s love in return. She was very excited about it. She called me often with the details of the decorating and pool installation. She and I used the same dancing agent for gigs in clubs on the road and she always spoke to both of us about it. Megan was trying to get as much work as she could to pay for the whole thing.

Fred, our agent, has been booking me for over 10 years. He is one of the few reliable agents out there. When I first started going on the road and booked through Lee, he was doing business. Lee had once booked us for two weeks in Peoria, Ill. On the second half of the two-week stay, he also booked us in Kearney, Nebraska for two weeks. So the second week of Peoria was also the first week of Kearney. We danced at the Kearney club before and it was a nice, classy place where we were treated right. The club in Peoria was lacking muscle to protect the dancers. There were fights and chairs thrown and beer bottles tossed on stage. My contract read that I got paid in full on each Saturday night. At the end of the week, the Peoria club refused to pay me. I called Lee and he told me it was in an effort to get me to stay the second week and not go to the Kearney club. That is not the way to make someone want to stay and work for you! First of all, why did Lee double book us? Secondly, he should’ve straightened it out, not let us decide whom to piss off. Thirdly, regardless of our decision, the club still owed me the money. This Lee guy was a real character, typical of the agents out there. Fred was a welcomed breath of fresh air.

It’s funny when you have friends, like Megan, Porsche, and Fred, whom you rarely see, but talk to once or twice a week at least. Somehow, the phone lets you tell secrets you might be embarrassed to share if you were in person. Megan and I were very close. She was engaged to a man named Robert. He was a gentleman, a special kind of man, with class, brains, and a heart.

She loved my sons and treated them as her own. One Christmas, she bought them a drum set, teeter-totter, coloring books and a HUGE crayon box with every shade imaginable. When she took her mother to Europe, she returned with lederhosen and tin soldiers from London for them.

During her stay with us after Keith’s birth, she spent as much time sleeping as I did, which was quite a bit. I was worn out from labor and she was tired from dancing on the road almost every week. She had swollen lymph glands that were bothering her so much she went to the doctor here and got a prescription for antibiotics. I was worried about her but she brushed it off saying she was fine. A week after she came to help, we were sad to see her go. It was so sweet of her to be here for me and Kevin loved her dearly. There were many pictures taken of our good time together. One in particular stole Megan’s heart, a photo of her and Kevin in his playhouse with him on her lap.

One of my first gigs after Keith was born was in a club in Providence, Rhode Island. The Saturday night DJ, Peter, wanted to get involved in the business of making movies and he was asking us all about it. We had become friends during the week. After work, when we were packed and were ready to go back to the hotel, Bud and Peter escorted me to our truck. Peter had worked with Megan when she was there and I thought nothing of it at first when Bud started talking about her. Once in the truck, Bud explained to me that she had committed suicide with that picture of Kevin in her arms. She had written a six-page suicide note.

I couldn’t believe it was true. I thought it was a sick joke. Once I started to believe them, I couldn’t understand why Budtold me in front of Peter, whom I wasn’t that close to. I was embarrassed for him to see my emotions and it made me feel like a spectacle, a side shows.

The next day, I called Megan’s mom, half-expecting Megan to answer the phone. It was true. Megan had committed suicide. The note mentioned Bud and me and our kids. She wrote of how she loved the children and would miss us. I didn’t know how to explain it to Kevin.

As a result of Megan’s death, Porsche Lynn, Nina Hartley and Angel Kelly who had founded The Pink Ladies Social Club, revitalized it in order to help actresses and other women involved in the business. After Shauna Grant, and now Megan Leigh, they didn’t want any more suicides. It was obvious that women in our profession were ostracized by society, shunned by our neighbors and often disowned by our families (if we had any to begin with). We needed a support group. Many producers and companies donated money to help our organization. Every Consumer Electronics Show and Video Software Dealers Association convention in Las Vegas we would get together for meetings. It was a great idea and it was a wonderful group, but so many of us traveled across the world for dancing gigs and European shoots, that we were not able to have enough meetings where everyone could attend. I wasn’t the only actress who did not live in Los Angeles. Eventually, it fell apart.

There were a few movies done about the Pink Ladies, like “Sorority Pink” parts one and two. Unfortunately, the ladies had very little say regarding the movies, especially part two. Someone who knew about the actual club decided it would make a good fantasy, all these X-rated movie actresses together in one place for a social gathering. The actual club was not a sex orgy, but a physical testament to the fact that most, not all, but most of these women came from homes that were less than ideal and supportive. They were proof that the sexual and/or physical abuse that a lot of these women survived is what drove them to embrace their sexuality so fiercely, to use it and shove it in the world’s face. They were not nymphomaniacs who couldn’t concentrate on anything but sex. They were smart, normal women, striving to be the best and strongest they could be.

Many were not even orgasmic. For them, this industry gave them power, attention, control, a voice, and money, in that order. For years many of them had felt their sexuality was a weakness, something that was used against them. In this business they were in control because of their strong sexuality. It was a delightful newly found power and they enjoyed watching the doors it could open for them. All of a sudden, they were not the abused and abandoned ugly duckling. Cinderella had grown up and gone to the ball. People finally listened to what they had to say. The magic didn’t end at midnight. They now had money to live the life they had only dreamed of. The way I saw it, we were abused children trying to get used to the womanly bodies we possessed and the chaos and power that such bodies had control of. When a child is forced to grow up, either by having early sex or by being forced to worry about survival, their childhood is stunted and it is not so easy to feel like an adult, even though age says adulthood was reached long ago.

DIVORCE

Now that we had two children, I did not feel the need to be involved in the adult entertainment business anymore. In fact, I frankly wanted out. I felt it was now Bud’s turn to finally get a job and support his family. Bud had been directing movies for years now, but there was never any salary involved. It was always a part of a package deal that included me in the starring role. No one really wanted to hire Bud as a director, they just took him in order to get the star that they thought would sell their product.

A regular job in the Midwest was out of the question in Bud’s mind. He could never settle for such a boring existence. He loved the entertainment business, knowing celebrities and life in the fast lane. Finally, he decided he would try his hand at booking dancers on the road. He specialized in the adult film actresses, as these were the women he knew best.

Bud has the “gift of gab” and could easily talk his way into just about anything. Clubs and actresses were eager to work for him, in theory. When it came down to getting schedules to match, the job was harder than it seemed. There are many agents out there and the actresses use them all. The agent that calls first gets the booking. Bud’s forte was not initiative. After a few months it became apparent that the cost of being in business outweighed the profit. Postage to mail promo packs and contracts always had to be by Fed Ex because he put everything off until the last minute and there were phone bills of close to two thousand dollars a month. Expenses were far more than the gross income. Bud’s business was costing us money. I would have to go back to dancing and Bud sold “The Lee Network” to a Canadian to pay off what he had lost us. The company did have a reputation and it allowed the Canadian to move to the U.S. no questions asked.

I was still under contract with Vivid to do a few more movies. PT always directed the Vivid movies. At first, he was fun to work with. He was easy going but professional. He tried to put out a good movie with the limits he was given. With the passing of the years, his interest had waned. Each movie I made with him was worse than the one before. He often left the set for hours at a time while his crew was left to shoot without him. Very rarely would he block, or choreograph, the dialogue scenes anymore.

Bud and I had moved in with Porsche in Los Angeles as a second home in order to be closer to the movie part of my work. Porsche had picked up where Megan had left off with the boys. She was their “Aunt Porsche” and they loved her. She always had crayons and coloring books for them, gifts for the holidays, or no particular occasion at all. They loved spending time with her and she made herself available for them.

Television shows like Current Affair, Entertainment Tonight and daytime talk shows were always coming up with segments about the adult film industry on the spur of the moment. If I were in Los Angeles, I would get a chance to be involved and get more publicity. If I was going to have to go back on the road to pay off more of Bud’s debts, I might as well get top dollar.

Bud and I had a nanny named Marta to watch Kevin when we were on the road. Bud always sold photos of me to fans and never stayed at the hotel when I worked, so we needed someone take care of him while we were away doing a show. We always came back to the hotel between shows if there was time. This usually left our days open for sight seeing at the local attraction or zoo. I think we have been to just about every Chuck E. Cheese there is. This arrangement worked fine until Keith was born. Two children were more than Marta could handle. We had to let her go and find someone else. We were especially blessed to find Tiffany.

Tiffany was a wonderful person who did a great job of taking care of our boys. She helped Kevin to learn to write and I never had to worry while at work knowing she was there. Kevin loved her dearly.

One time, I got booked to dance at a club in New York City. Tiffany came with us as she usually did. Many times I was asked to do the local morning radio show to promote my appearance. This gig was no different but the show I was to be on was The Howard Stern Show. He has quite a he reputation and I was a bit nervous. I was pleasantly surprised to find thatwas very nice and professional. Robin Quivers was wonderful, as was Stuttering John and everyone else. Howard invited me on his cable television show to do part of my dance and be a Snapple Juice Spokes-model. I eagerly accepted.

On the way back to the hotel we were stopped in traffic by a riot in front of the United Nations. People were setting flags on fire, rocking cars and police in riot gear were pushing back demonstrators. I was scared. When we finally got out of there, I thought I would have quite a story to tell Tiffany. I had no idea she would out-do me.

It seems they had gone to the local Burger King for breakfast when some scruffy looking characters two tables over suddenly stood up, drew guns and yelled “Freeze”! They were undercover police officers involved in a drug bust. Tiffany and the kids ran out. The boys were crying because they had just gotten their meals and were too young to understand. They just wanted their food. I felt so bad for Tiffany and my boys. They would never have been in such a situation if it weren’t for me.

We (all the personalities inside of me) loved living with Porsche, but with all the people, it was getting crowded. There was Bud, our two kids, our nanny, Porsche and her boyfriend and me. That’s seven people in a three-bedroom house. We had to move.

Rent is much more expensive in LA than it is in Indiana. By the time we found a place big enough for us that was in a decent neighborhood we were way out of our budget. We decided to rent out the house as a location for shooting movies in for extra income. As part of the deal, I would cook a bit for the cast and crew for breakfast and lunch. We shot many movies in that house and Savannah, one of the other actresses signed to work exclusively with Vivid, became quite fond of my deviled eggs. She said I made them like her mother did. That made me feel good inside.

Savannah was a Vivid Girl, along with Tori Wells, Christy Canon and many others. At the conventions in Las Vegas every year, Stan, the owner, would take us all out to a company dinner and tell us how well we were doing in sales compared to the rest of the companies. He would stress how we were a family and we would always stick together. It was a support group, he’d say, and we were there for each other. I believed him; it did seem like a family, as far as I knew about families. Everyone got along and it was fun to be at work with your friends, giggling in the other room between takes. When I was eight months pregnant with my second child Stan asked me if I wanted to renew my contract. I was happy to know I would have a job after the birth. Stan and Vivid saw to it that I got work all over the world while I was pregnant.

It had always been amazing to me that the X-rated movie business has no organized pay scale for its’ talent. This business puts out over a hundred new movies a month and supports millions of workers, from production to distribution to retail to the dance clubs, yet there are no standards for work conditions. I have had large expensive lights explode over my head. If I hadn’t moved at the right time, I would have been badly burned. The salaries and budgets are so low it is pitiful. I have seen actresses work sexually for as little as one hundred dollars a day. Often a shoot will start at six in the morning and not stop until six the next morning with no change of crew. There are no retirement plans, and yet, everyone knows it is almost impossible to find anyone in the legitimate world who will hire a former actress for fear of appearing to support such behavior. With budgets of $17,000 in the mid to late ‘90’s and steadily going down since, how much can be left over to pay the talent? Not enough for them to put back for retirement, that’s for sure. It’s by far harder on women than men. Men are expected to sow their wild oats in this society, while women are still somehow expected to remain virgins until their wedding night.

I was under contract to do six films a year, although the most I ever did in a year was four. More and more girls were added to the Vivid roster. They now had six girls under exclusive contract. Sometimes I would learn of a project and shoot date only a week or two before it happened.

I was not doing as many scenes in films as I once had. I wanted to use condoms. The first scene I did with a condom was in “The Red Garter” for Essex many years ago, before either of my sons were born. It was at the request of the actor I wasworking with. I had been thinking about this and thought it was a good idea. Not many actors had agreed, and I had limited myself by sticking to my condom request. Most of the movies I did were called wraparounds as I just did dialogue to put in before and after sex scenes that were already shot. It was very common to use sex scenes shot for one movie over and over again in others. That’s where they get their “Best Of…” collections. In all the scenes I had done with a condom we didn’t make a big deal out of it. We’d cut to put it on and then use angles that did not show it off. The idea was subtlety. Since I was doing less sex scenes as a result, I tended to get more dialogue, which was just the way I wanted it!

Gloria Leonard was asked to direct a movie called “Slow Dancin’” to get a woman’s point of view. I also suspect it had to do with the fact I wanted to make my condom use in scenes apparent and so did she. Instead of leading up to a scene, cutting and then putting on the rubber and cutting back to the scene of us in full action, I wanted to show the viewers the many erotic ways to put on a condom. PT really did not like the fact I would only work with protection, he felt it limited his creativity! Gloria was more socially responsible.

On the set of “Native Tongue”, Rebecca Wild and I had a three-way scene with Scott Irish. Rebecca and I both demanded condoms. PT was directing. All was going well, Scott was wearing his rubber and had finished me when he changed condoms and started to do Rebecca doggy-style. I was up by Rebecca’s face, interacting with her. After quite a bit of shooting, we cut for a new battery on the video camera. Rebecca turned and looked at Scott and found out he was not wearing his condom.

“What happened to the rubber?!” She demanded to know.

“Oh honey, that came off long ago.” Scott casually replied.

“WHAT!?”

She was furious. PT and everyone else on the set thought it was no big deal and couldn’t imagine why she was making such a big scene. I tried to explain the facts of life and death to them.

“OK. OK, he’ll put the condom back on. Now can we finish the scene?” PT asked in a condescending way.

I never really had much interest in directing in the past. Through the years I became frustrated with most directors lack of respect for their audience and their product, not to mention their cast and crew. I felt I could put together something that most people would enjoy because I had talked to so many fans in all my personal appearances. I heard their requests and understood their frustration at what was available. I knew what they wanted. So many times I had seen a script that had been near and dear to my heart butchered because someone didn’t do a very good job at estimating the budget. When it is obvious that the script is going to take more time and money than originally planned to finish, directors are left with no choice but to start cutting things out of it. Plots are often sacrificed along with pages and scenes when shooting is taking way too long on the set. After spending so much time on movie sets and helping Bud, I was confident in my ability. I just wasn’t sure if anyone would listen to me. After all, I don’t have a penis! Naturally, it would take time to get respect.

When I first mentioned the idea to Vivid Video, they were much more enthusiastic than I thought they would be. My first video was called “Taking It Off’ and was a series of interviews backstage with adult film stars before they went out to do a strip tease in a night club. I shot their show and then went backstage afterwards to talk a little more with the actress and wrap up the segment. We shot on a soundstage and recreated our bar and dressing rooms. It sold far better than I thought it would and even aired on the Playboy channel for a while.

As a result of directing a few projects, Current Affair wanted to interview me for a segment they were doing on women who directed erotica. I was in good company with Gloria Leonard, Candida Royale and a few others. This was the kind of thing I could only do if I were in Los Angeles.

Keith’s birth had been a deep emotionally healing experience. I had more self-esteem and confidence. I loved my children and was very comfortable in my roles as mother. I didn’t feel the complete separation from my other personalities. Hyapatia rarely came out anymore, just when I needed her for work. I had to force it and I didn’t like it. I only danced a fewdays every two or three month. Now I had to face the past and the present at the same time. My memories of my early adolescence were like yesterday to me. The years that had passed were a quick blur. I was starting to remember bits and pieces of it. Now I was living a life I barely knew.

I was in a state of confusion. I needed to go on a Vision Quest. There is a sacred piece of land north of LA where Swift deer has led a Sundance for many years. Sundance is the most Sacred of all Native American ceremonies. It is a ten-day event. We often shot movies on this land. Swift and his wife Diane often came to watch us and talk with me and Bud. It was on this land that I had my Vision Quest.

Walking through dried up riverbeds and over desert terrain, I was in a heightened state of awareness. It is not at all like the land I was used to in Indiana, green and lush with many trees and rolling hills. I was looking for unfamiliar animals, insects and cactus. I found myself going up the side of a small mountain. I wanted to get as high up as I could. I thought I could see better from up there and maybe get a clue as to how to get out of this maze that my life was in. As I went further up, I saw another foothill next to this one that led to an easier way to climb and I moved over to it. When I finally found my place, I took out my sacred pipe and said a prayer.

The wind sang in my ear. I began to hear a song, a melody at first and then the lyrics. The wind was telling me to trust, have faith and soon I could get away from this situation. It was the first time I had ever caught a song. It was a very special moment for me.

I had heard the many tales of our ancestors, how hearing a song in the wind, or catching a song, is a sacred gift. It is the voice of the Great Spirit singing a very private and personal medicine gift. Some songs are meant to be shared because their medicine is good for everyone, others are much more personal. I thought this was a special gift just for me.

SOLITARY ECLIPSE

At first no one but I not a sound My heart’s bleeding, it’s lonely beating deafening.

No one to hear, the walls close in.

The light turns black with fear.

Trust, have faith, the sun will bring a new day And then you can get away From your solitary, solitary, your solitary eclipse.

Later on I saw a large hawk catch a snake and take him to a tree where the snake squirmed in his talons like the symbol I have seen so many times. It was an awesome sight and it gave me inspiration that perhaps the song was right.

I wanted to hear this song again. My vision had shown me that I had to go back to playing guitar, and I wanted to see if I could catch any more songs that were out there. When I came back down to civilization, I went out and got an Ovation first, and then a Telecaster. I started to play the song I had caught and a few of my old favorites. I took lessons in Hollywood.

One day I sat down with my guitar and smudged with sage in order to calm me and shake off the negativity and distractions of the world. I took myself to a higher state where the moon’s light was dancing on my wings. Moon On Her Wings was back. I tried to catch a song. I started to play. A tune called “Obsessed” played itself on my guitar. I heard the lyrics in my head and wrote it all down on staff paper. I didn’t believe this could be happening, I had tried before to write songs for SRO Records, the ones who had done “Two Sides”, only to remember that I had heard the melody before in a popular song. I asked Spirit for more songs to play for me.

Soon four songs had found their way on to my paper. I called Terry Rose at SRO and told him. He wanted me to go to a studio and record them. I called Paul Mosier, a man I had heard and read about through several “general release” actresses I had met at auditions, and we set to work in the studio in his garage. After we had several songs down, we sent the tape to Terry.

I was not happy with my life in the X-rated world. I wanted to find something else I could do for money. They idea of people watching two consenting adults make love was fine; I just couldn’t stomach the unprofessional bullshit anymore. The head games and the way the companies try to control actors was all getting to me. Some companies were promising their stars cars and condos, only to take them away on a whim. What was the actress to do? She was out on the street with no car! Weirder and wilder sex was getting to be the norm and I still wouldn’t do anals or work without condoms. I was embarrassed to be involved with a business that put out some of the product I had seen on shelves.

One of the songs on the tape was called “Strike Back” and it was bout how the government tries to limit what we can do, say and watch and how we should let our voice be heard. I played it for some friends and they suggested I contact a group known as The Stingers. Two brothers who run a video company head the Stingers. They have the band on the side and always do the music for the Adult Video News awards show in Las Vegas. When they heard the song, they suggested I sing it at the show and also at the club they were playing at that weekend in the same city. I called Terry and told him about it. He decided to fly in to check it out.

STRIKE BACK With fifty-one percent of the world You’d think they’d call us more than just “girl” They burned all our books and called them “mysteries” The Earth is our mother and brother so are we The only way it’s gonna change Strike Back-You know it’s your right Strike Back-you shouldn’t have to take back the night Strike Back-who’s gonna be there when it comes down to “thelife”

Try it our way and make the world light.

I promoted the show at the convention as I signed autographs for fans and co-workers. The club was packed with my friends and fans. There was a line two blocks long to get in. The crowd was energetic and by the time I got on stage, everything was going smooth and hot. I loved being up there, singing into the mic with everyone dancing to the beat. It was a good show and I had lots of photos given to me the next day at the convention from it. It sure is nice to have such friendly fans.

After the show, Terry said he was mainly into Gospel singers now. Pat Boone was his big name, before he went into heavy metal. With the screaming electric guitars and loud rock and roll, it was not his style of music. He said there was not much he could do for someone like me since he didn’t have the right connections. I was cut loose of any contractual obligations so I could be free to pursue other avenues.

I had a lot of fun in Las Vegas and wanted to continue writing music and playing it on stage. I needed to get a band together. I knew The Stingers were busy with their own thing and didn’t have time to be my back-up band. I had to find my own. Jimmy, the drummer, said he would help me. He had time to be in two bands, which is quite customary in LA. He suggested I come see him in another band he was playing with, The Capitol Homeboys.

Bud and I left our sons with the nanny, Tiffany, and went. Bud was insistent on being the manager of the band and as I knew of no one else interested in the job, it seemed OK to me. The Capitol Homeboys were a blues band playing at a popular club in North Hollywood called FM Station. They were very good and we were already impressed, especially with guitar player Chuck Kavooras. Suddenly, Slash from Guns and Roses stepped out of the audience and on to the stage. The keyboard player, Teddy Zig-Zag, toured with Guns and Roses. Slash is known to sit in with bands often. He and Chuck exchanged fancy licks. I was very impressed with Chuck. Bud and I decided it would be great if he would be interested in being in the band. After the show Jimmy introduced us. Chuck was very nice and helpful. He said he would be interested in being in my band. I found a few other players and we were ready to start.

The first practice was absolutely horrible. I wanted two guitar players and the other one was not at all up to Chuck’sstandards and neither was the bass player. Chuck suggested some friends of his that were much better. It took almost six months for us to get all the players we wanted in each position and coordinate our schedules, but finally, we were ready to get serious.

On guitar we had Ben Schultz, who has played with such greats as Rod Steward, Steven Stills, Ric Ocasek, Belinda Carlisle, Bonnie Pointer, Buddy Miles, Carmine Appice, Rick Nelson and more. Ted Nugent released his song “When Your Body Talks” on his “Little Miss Dangerous” album. Ben had his own solo album called “Triality” where he played every instrument, produced, composed and engineered every song for TVT Records.

On drums we had Rich Sumner, who began his career touring with Helen Reddy in the ‘80’s and played sessions and toured with Linda Carter and others.

Lou Castro was on bass. He also played with The Capitol Homeboys and was a well know session player and writer.

Chuck’s credits included studio work with Toto, sessions with Bonnie Raitt and work on songs for such movies as “Made In America”.

We had a very solid band and it did not take us long to learn new songs and perfect them. Chuck and I wrote a couple of songs together and Lou and I wrote one. Our first gig was at a club in Hollywood and Current Affair was there to cover it. Can you imagine? The first time we played out as a band together, the whole world was watching! There was also press from Japan as I have always been popular there, and they videotaped our show and shot photos for their country. I was nervous. Even my therapist Ann was there to show support. The band acted like they were afraid I would break under pressure, like I would forget the lyrics or do something else that would embarrass them. They all chose to wear dark sunglasses.

Two thirds of the way through our very first song all the lights and sound went out. All the extra electricity to run the video cameras for Current Affair and the Japanese audience caused an overload. It took several minutes to get everything back up and running again. Needless to say, our concentration and momentum was broken badly, but we recovered amazingly well, considering all the pressure, once the electricity was back.

It was time to shoot another movie for Vivid. As is customary with Vivid, I did not get the script until I was in the make-up artist’s chair. I remember doing the movie “I Do part III” and being especially furious about this bad habit of theirs. In that particular movie I had page after page of monologue directly into the camera. Being trained in the theater and one of my few joys in this business being of the acting, I really wanted to do a good job with this nice juicy part I had been given. Naturally, when one has only a few hours from first read to final shot, it is quite a challenge to memorize all the words, not to mention adding meaning to them. The thing that made me the angriest was that it was all so very unnecessary! PT had the script days before we shot! It wouldn’t have taken a thing to drop it in the mail or have us come pick it up! This is what I mean when I say no one cares. The one thing I cared about, they abused. It was tearing me up inside.

Anyway, this particular shoot was not at my house, but another location. PT came up to me while I was in the make-up chair reading the script and said he had a horrible fight with his wife the night before and had been up all night long. He was exhausted. He was going to go home and get some sleep and he would be back in the afternoon. We were to carry on without him. The writer, Karl, was on the set and he would help if there were any questions.

Being used to this behavior from PT, we went about our business shooting the script we had been given. There were a few questions along the way and Karl answered them as promised. PT came back to the set at about three in the afternoon. He questioned the cinematographer about the progress we had made. We had been shooting for hours and were almost halfway done with the “one-day wonder”.

All of a sudden PT started screaming and throwing scripts. I had no idea what the problem was, but I figured I should go find out. It seems that we have been shooting the wrong script all day! There had been a major re-write and Karl had not knownabout it or had forgotten or whatever, but we had been shooting the wrong script. Everything would have to be shot all over from the beginning. Everything we had done so far was useless. PT was adamant that we would start over, no one would leave until we were done, and there would be no extra pay!

I was furious! Why should I work for free just because PT gave someone the wrong script and then left the set? Why should all the work I had done since 7 AM be for free? It was not my fault we were shooting the wrong script! It was the director’s responsibility to make sure everyone had the right script and if he had been on the set to watch the shoot, he would have known there was a problem on the first take! I was so mad, I told Bud I wanted to leave the set.

We drove around for a while, him trying to calm me down, telling me how much money we didn’t have and how I had two children to take care of and how we had no time for tempers. Veronica would not be reasoned with. Bud’s words only made her madder because she knew he should have been the one responsible for money while she stayed with her very young children. Victoria Cares For The Children was just so sad to have to be away from them and Veronica knew she was in the right. She hated Bud. Lisa hated LA almost as much as Stacy did. No one wanted to be there. No one wanted to be on the set of that movie. Hyapatia was long gone and would not come back.

Bud drove back to the set and began to park behind PT’s car. PT was opening his car door and looking for something. I knew this was not a good thing. I knew I could not control myself. I asked Bud not to go back to the set. I begged him not to park anywhere near PT or where PT would approach me. As is usually the case, Bud did as he pleased with no regard for common sense or anyone else’s feelings or needs.

As we got out of the car PT came over to me. He was still angry. He was still saying how it was not his fault and I would not get paid if I did not finish the movie and how dare I leave the set! I slammed my car door, breaking my long, costly, crippling fingernail in the process. He really pissed me off. Now I had to dig in my purse for a nail file before I scratched myself with that jagged acrylic edge. I hate digging in my purse for things. Purses should be like suitcases, with wheels to pull behind and a big zipper on top so you can open it and see everything in it. As I searched, PT bitched, like a fly buzzing around my head. He was close. It was hot. I could smell his breath. Finally, I found my manicure set with my nail file. I started to file my nail, ignoring the “buzzing fly”, but the fly would not be ignored. He wanted attention and, like my 2 year old, would not stop until he got it. He was not about to be upstaged by a broken nail. He got even closer to me, grabbing my arm as he yelled and spit flew. I raised my nail file in a protective way. I told him to get out of my face. He freaked out.

“Oh my God! Are you threatening me? You’re threatening me! Get her away from me! She’s crazy!” He yelled as he ran back into the house screaming like I would if I had seen a spider.

I can’t remember for the life of me what happened after that. I have searched my brain for years. There is nothing in any of my journals to help me fill in that gap either. Somehow, we got back home and I never did go back to that set to finish the movie. Stan at Vivid headquarters had heard about the incident, only he had heard it was a knife instead of a nail file. I was no longer wanted at Vivid. Bud was mad at me and would not talk to me for three days.

Stan, president of Vivid, always said we were a big family. Now he wouldn’t even accept my calls to explain what had happened. I was fired. I wouldn’t have really cared that much, except that my husband made me feel as if everyone had abandoned me except my kids.

He talked to the kids, saying things like “You’d better watch how much you eat, we won’t be able to afford food for much longer because mommy is such a hot head”. He talked on the phone, telling people how I had “really blown it” and how no one would ever hire me again. But he would not say a single word to me for three days.

When he finally did start talking to me, I wished he would shut up again. It was all a bunch of complaining. ‘Tou sure have changed. You’re a real drag to be around. I don’t know what happened to you. You used to be able to go out and havefun. Now you’re just boring. You never want to out and drink or just have fun or go to any parties. We used to be able to have fun. It’s all because of the children. It’s all their fault. If they weren’t here, we would get along fine again.”

For weeks he said things like this, then one night, he said it in front of Kevin. Kevin was just barely old enough to understand. “What did I do daddy? I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” He answered when Bud saw him come into the room and yelled, “It’s all your fault we don’t get along anymore.” It broke my heart.

I promised myself that no matter how hard it was, I would leave this abusive father. No one was going to talk to my children like that! NO ONE! I couldn’t leave him for my sake, but I would protect the children from him. That was final.

My therapist in LA helped me learn things I had never known, like how to put gas in the car. I had to ease myself back into driving. I had to over come tremendous fear at going into grocery stores and banks and other simple daily routines most people take for granted. I had gotten used to having Bud do it all and I had believed him when he said I was too well known to safely go anywhere alone or with the children. I believed him when he said it would jeopardize their lives to be seen with me.

I wanted to leave him, but I did not feel safe in LA. I planned to separate as soon as we got back to Indian. We usually spent one or two months in California and then one or two months in Indiana. It wouldn’t be long before I could get rid of him.

About a week after “the PT incident” Bud and I, now on speaking terms, went to check out a club for my band to play at. On the way there Bud pulled over to make a phone call. We didn’t have a cellular phone and he found a booth on a busy street to call from. As I waited in the car time was marching on. After about a half an hour, I got out of the car and went to ask him what was taking so long. As I was standing there talking to him, a car pulled up and a man got out.

“Miss Lee! Miss Lee!’ He shouted. Obviously he was a fan. I was aware of how I was dressed. I was trying to get this club to hire my band. I did not want to go out in a frumpy dress. I had a short North Beach Leather skirt and halter-top on with a very Native American jacket over it. I looked like Hyapatia and there was no escaping it.

I turned to Bud for help, protection. He turned his back to me. I talked to the man, was as polite as I could be, signed his autograph and expected him to leave. Bud was still ignoring me. The man headed for his car and I thought I should get back in ours as quickly as possible. When I reached for the door, I realized the man was right behind me. I did not want to open the door for fear he would get in the car with me. He stood by the door with me and I couldn’t believe it when he unzipped his pants and started to masturbate! It was dark and all, but we were on a pretty busy street, with lights and traffic going by. It didn’t seem to bother him. Bud turned around and looked a couple of times, but he did nothing. Eventually the guy came on my shoe and finally, left. Bud was still talking on the phone.

I went to the phone booth next to his and called Chuck, the only person who was home and who’s number I remembered that wasn’t long distance. He was concerned and tried to calm me down. He couldn’t understand why Bud didn’t do anything. I didn’t understand why Hyapatia didn’t take over.

It was apparent that Bud would no longer protect me at all. In fact, he would be happy to help feed me to the wolves. I was not any safer at all with him and possibly in greater danger. I would have never been there on that street if it weren’t for him and his long phone calls. I decided I couldn’t wait to get back to Indiana to leave him. I told him the next day he needed to find a place to live. We went out and got him an apartment at a temporary residence complex. Naturally, I paid for it.

AIDS IN THE BUSINESS

Even though I was through with my life with Bud, I was still afraid to be anywhere without him. I was especially afraid to go out on the road by myself. I had a gig coming up in Canada. Out of fear, I asked him to go with me. The club owner was going to pay for two rooms and that way I would have my space and privacy. It was very important that he know this did not mean we were getting back together.

It was a long and stressful plane ride from LA to Toronto and we didn’t get along for one second of it. By the time we got through customs and had my work permit, I was so anxious to get to my room and be alone that I thought I would explode. Since Bud was with me, supposedly doing all the jobs he used to do, I assumed he would know where we were staying. He did not. He had not called the club or the agent to find out any information at all. When I called the club from the airport, the manager on duty said he didn’t know. He wanted us to go to a nearby bar and wait for the other manager to get back from his break. He would be back in an hour and we were to call him back. A bar was not a very good place for us to be in our moods.

From the moment we sat down, we were drinking shots as fast as they could pour them. Bud and Veronica argued all the while. By the time we finally got the word on where we were to stay and got checked in, we were in the middle of a very big fight. We were both drunk and neither of us held our tongue. Eventually I found Bud standing above me in my room with his hands around my throat. I pretended to pass out so he would think I was dead and finally let go, which he did. The rest of the week was horrible. I covered the bruises with thick make-up. I couldn’t wait to get back home where I felt safer and had a support group of friends.

It was a very difficult time of life for me. I was afraid to live anywhere without a man to protect me, yet I had heard that 3/4 of all female victims of homicide are murdered by their own husbands or boyfriends. I wasn’t safe with him and I wasn’t safe without him. I was terrified to leave the house, to get groceries or to fill up the gas tank of the car. I wanted to be with my children all the time to protect them, but I could not take them with me on the road. Having stopped making movies, I was not making enough money to take them any more. Even if I had been making enough to afford three extra tickets and a nanny’s pay, where could I find a reliable person who was available only one week every other month? That is all the work there was on the road because so many other actresses were now dancing.

I started to go on the few gigs I did get by myself. It was amazing to me every time that I returned safe and paid. The more times this happened, the more confidence I got. It was empowering to return from a week in Canada alone with everything I left with and a paycheck.

Whenever I went out of the house, I thought everyone was staring at me and knew who I was. More often than not, my suspicions were verified when someone would ask me for my autograph. In LA, it wasn’t so bad. Most would politely ask and then leave me alone. In Indiana it was very different.

People in the Midwest are not accustomed to seeing actors they have watched in a movie or on television out and about just living life in their community. When a particular actress is known for explicit sexual movies in an area where conservatism is the norm, the problem is compounded. I felt like these people were staring at me as if there were no way we could ever have anything in common. I was a monster in their eyes, an alien. They made no effort to hide their stares or censor their stupid remarks. They assumed I lived a lifestyle completely different from theirs, marked by late night parties, seductive attire, alcohol and drugs and not one shred of responsibility. Many people expressed the mistaken opinion that I was independently wealthy. To live as they fantasized, I would have to be!

People don’t know about the low budgets in X-rated entertainment. They see “actress” and they think “money”. Fame equals fortune in their eyes. People think anyone who lives or works in Hollywood is rich. It sounds so glamorous to have made dozens of movies. It is hard for some people to distinguish X-rated movies from mainstream ones in some ways and the salary of its stars is one of them.

The word “retire” has a very different connotation in this business than it does for any other. It is a polite way of saying an actor or actress is no longer accepting roles in movies. It does not mean that the actress is not getting offered roles anymore, nor does it mean she is wealthy enough to quit working for the rest of her life. I was amazed at how many guys would come up to me after a show in some gentlemen’s club and say that I looked good enough to get a role, why didn’t I contact the video companies and tell them I looked this good? They were sure I could still get more work. It never crossed their minds that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want to do that work anymore.

New people were always getting into the business. Actresses read ads for nude models in the newspaper and called “Pimp Sleaze” at “Whore” Modeling Agency. When a new girl came in and decided she wanted to perform in X-rated movies, she was sent down the street to a clinic to get tests for Sexually Transmitted Diseases, including AIDS. One such prospective actress came to “Pimp” on a Friday afternoon. It takes a few days to get the results of the AIDS test, and hers were not due back until after the weekend.

A shoot was in progress over that weekend and “Pimp” had supplied most of the talent for it. One of the actresses did not show up. The producer called “Pimp” to complain. The production company needed to fill the role. Did “Pimp” have anyone available? New girls are what the industry thrives on and if someone was the first to cast an actress that later became a big star, it would bring them lots of sales. The production company was angry and “Pimp” needed to do something extra to appease them, and quickly. They wanted to replace their no-show with someone new. “Pimp” told them of a girl whose test results were not in yet, and they agreed to hire her. It did not matter to them that she might have a sexually transmitted disease.

The entire industry had a policy regarding testing. Most talent were willing to perform explicit acts without condoms. Every six months actors were to be tested for all STDs. Given a clean bill of health, they were to take their “papers”, proving their status, to the set every day and present them before each sex scene to the director and any other talent they were interacting with. After everyone had viewed everyone else’s test results, the scene would commence. In real life, it did not work this way very often, if ever.

I have heard many people say “I forgot my tests.”

“Oh it’s OK, don’t worry about it, I know you’re clean.”

“Yeah, you can tell, your fingernails are clean.”

People felt awkward about turning down work on the set. They were afraid they would get a bad reputation and never get hired again, or offend the person they were supposed to be working with. All actors and actresses are asked who they do and don’t want to work with. If someone were to alienate themselves this way, they might never get work. So it was no surprise that people would still work with this new girl even though her AIDS test results were not back yet.

When her test result did come back, it was positive! The industry panicked. First, the people who had worked with her and those that had subsequently worked with the group who had had direct contact with her were quarantined. No one wanted to have sex with someone who had been exposed to the virus. Everyone did this voluntarily and the actors and actresses decided they would wait three months to work again.

The new girl was asked to get a second test to confirm the results. Everyone waited anxiously to hear back from “Pimp Sleaze”, and waited… and waited. The girl disappeared and her phone was disconnected. She was never to be seen or heard from again. We wanted to err on the side of caution. We all assumed that the test had been accurate.

The third result of all of this was to form a performer union. Our interests had long been abused and in need of protection on the set. Now that it was a matter of life and death, those who cared about their life wanted to protect it. The first policy we would establish was “No condom, no scene.” We never wanted this horrible thing to happen again.

All the talent that was quarantined were involved, as were several other health-minded individuals like me. The more people who jumped on the condom bandwagon, the more companies hired people who would work without them. It wasobvious we needed leaders to talk to these companies to persuade them that this was not only a healthy move, but also a smart one politically. We reasoned that we needed a male leader and a female leader, as the issue was sexually divided. Many male performers did not want to work with condoms. They were not at such a risk, statistically. The women on the other hand were much more likely to catch AIDS after being exposed to the virus. Votes were taken anonymously and I was elected as the female leader and Ira L. was elected the male leader.

Ira is a very articulate and bright man with no fear of expressing his illuminating views on all subjects. His area of expertise was in the dominance field, and he was a very talented director. He was a perfect representative. It was an honor to be chosen to work with him.

Almost every day for over a month we set up meetings with talent agents and producers. Everyone said it would take too long to stop shooting and put on a condom and the guy would go soft. They said it would look awkward, the public would never buy it, and gave other weak excuses. At first, they were polite when they listened to our side of the story, then they grew impatient. They thought we would have given up this silly notion long ago. They didn’t want to hear from us about it any more. Suddenly people known to prefer to work with condoms were sitting at home. At one point, my life was actually threatened by Pimp Sleaze the agent if I dared to go public about what had happened in our business. All the people I had been defending on television as having a right to do this business, swearing they did it with compassion and good intentions, were suddenly showing a side I had never seen before. They had sent me to those three-day workshop years ago to learn how to give better interviews and represent our industry to the public. I was to show everyone we cared about our people and that sexual freedom was a right and necessity for mental and physical health. Now these people were turning around. They wanted me to keep quiet about this life threatening issue that they were choosing to ignore!

Almost every night we had meetings with the other actors and actresses to tell them what had been discussed with the producers and agents during the day. It was very difficult to tell these people that their lives were not worth a few minutes or a couple of dollars. It was hard to hear it myself, much harder to tell it. They could not believe that these people in positions of power were taking it all so lightly. We thought up newer and better ways to present our point, like the fact that the all-male cast movies had used condoms for years now, and they were experiencing a constant increase in sales. We brought up the possibility of a lawsuit for negligent homicide, should someone contract the disease on a set. If we did not police our own industry, the government would surely do it for us, given the chance. We mentioned how we would look in the public eye if we turned out back to this issue. We had a responsibility to portray safe sex! That was when my life was threatened, as if silencing me could keep the entire incident quiet, and as if this was the only time such a thing could or would happen. They closed their ears to the fact that the AIDS test papers were not enough protection and were not being used. This type of thing could happen again and again unless there was a major policy change. They didn’t care.

Some of the members of the Adult Actors Association were able to get the president of the United Nation’s World Health Task Force on AIDS to come to a sound stage on a Sunday afternoon and meet with just about everyone in our business to discuss the issue. The large building was packed with directors, producers, talent, crew, sales people, and photographers. There must’ve been a thousand people there.

It began with a complete explanation of what had happened to put the entire industry in a headlock. Shoots had been canceled, performers quarantined, friends had turned against one another. Then we gave the history of the performer’s organization and our “no condom, no scene” policy. It was met with boos, jeers and loud shouts of disapproval. Finally, our guest speaker was introduced to explain the medical facts about the disease.

Everyone listened carefully as he told how the virus could go undetected for years. After a test, it takes only one exposure to render someone contagious. The virus could go unnoticed untiltheir next test many months later. This time period in-between exposure and the next AIDS test was referred to as a “window”, like a window of opportunity for the virus to strike. Our practice of not using condoms and relying on tests was referred to as a virtual time bomb.

Our expert explained that with so much repeated sex amongst our group, we were like a tribe. It would only take a short time for the virus to spread to each of us if only one was infected. The testing policy was insufficient because of the “window”. He recommended only working with condoms and preferably, dental damns as well, for protection during oral sex. He said it would be suicidal at the very least to continue working without condoms.

Next, the representatives for the producers and directors had a turn to speak. They expressed concerns about time and time being money on a set, and the subsequent loss of revenue if the audience refused to buy such product. The issue that male talent would not be able to perform under such conditions was harped on repeatedly. Bill Margold and Lynn LaMay called a safe scene a fake scene. They considered sex with a condom to be simulated! They called it “pretend”, “under the sheets”, “like in a real Hollywood movie”, and “not real”. Voices grew louder and emotions were hot. People drew sides that were becoming increasingly further divided as the tension escalated.

I was embarrassed to see people I had considered friends stand up and say that this business was founded on rebellion and that there was no way they were going to be told what to do! The gentleman who had so graciously taken his time to explain the facts on AIDS once again took the podium. He said we were not as smart as the 12-year-old prostitutes in Thailand he speaks to were. He could not believe we were so ignorant and foolish. I was ashamed to be part of something that had so obviously wasted his time. I am sure he thought we were all morons.

A group of us went to speak to him as he was leaving. We wanted to assure him his time was not wasted completely and to tell him we had listened and appreciated his speech. He said if we had half a brain cell working, we would either never work again without protection, or simply get out of the business altogether. Most of the people who were there in that final small group are no longer working in the business.

The next week, there was another large meeting in a conference room of a large hotel. About 200 of the industry’s producers, production companies, directors and talent were there to rehash everything that had happened at the last meeting. This time things did not start so civilly. As Nina Hartley started her introductory speech, people were yelling “get her off the stage” and “get out of the business if you don’t like doing ‘real’ sex scenes!”.

Patty R., a successful director and mother of a new baby girl, got up and said, “Nobody in the business has a family anyway, so what does it matter if we want to be reckless with our lives?”

I stood up and said, “Excuse me, but what do you call my two sons? I am not the only one here who is a parent and many are married. Do you think we all hatched? And what the hell does it matter if you’ve got a family or not, does that mean your life isn’t worth anything? Besides, if some of us actually want to protect our health, why should we be forced out of the business?”

Randy West, the first person I ever worked with, was sitting right in front of me. He turned around to face me and said, “wear a seat belt if you are so concerned about your health and your life.”

“Randy, I do wear a seat belt, all the time, now why don’t you wear a condom!”

Everyone broke out yelling at once.

“Nobody’s going to tell me what to do!”

“You just can’t get it up with a condom!”

“If you want to do fake sex scenes, go to real Hollywood!”

“I have children too and you have no right to force me to jeopardize their happiness!”

“Get a real job if you don’t like real sex!”

It was mostly men against women. Women, being in far greater risk of catching the disease, were more likely to want condoms used. Almost all the actors, on the other hand, who didn’t have as great a risk, were worried about performingsexually with condoms, and really couldn’t care less about the actresses.

After some semblance of order was finally achieved, the representative for the production companies got up and made a statement.

“The producers and distributors have decided that using condoms cause our product to sit gathering dust on the shelves. It has therefore been decided only talent willing to work without condoms will be hired.”

There were audible reactions from the crowd.

Then Stan from Vivid stood up.

“As most of you already know, we work with Adam and Eve and the Playboy channel. We have had scenes with condoms in our movies in the past and haven’t noticed any decrease in sales because of it. We will continue to use condoms in one or perhaps two scenes per video.”

Blacklists were discussed so directors would know who would work without condoms and who wouldn’t. Producers said blacklists were not necessary, they would just be asked point blank as part of the hiring process! People who had originally been in the Actors Association and on the side of safe sex, realized that if they wanted to get enough work to stay in this business, they would have to pretend to have been on the side of unsafe sex all along.

I had made my decision long ago that I would never work in an explicit movie again, no matter what. Not even with a condom. I saw this business for what it really was, not the expression of guilt-free sex as naturally healthy and right, but the exploitation of sex and the people involved for the almighty dollar. It was not to help our society accept sex as a normal part of humanity, not to stop rape and child molestation and not because the people involved even believed in healthy sexual encounters. Most of them were just as screwed up as the general population, if not more. It was for one thing and one thing only, i-tse-u-s-di go-whe-li, the green paper everyone craves, money. It didn’t matter to any of them how many people died a most horrible death, how many innocent children, husbands, fathers, mothers and grandparents would be tragically affected. They didn’t care about anything but the money. Is it any wonder the business subsequently turned to the most bizarre and kinky sex acts? With a sexual circus of obscure and dangerous behavior, they could shock the public into buying more.

It wasn’t about art, or making an erotic movie, or helping rape victims heal or balancing the scales of the Victorian views on sex. I should have seen it to begin with, or when the people I began to work with were so different from Harry, or when we went to shooting on video with cheaper budgets. I kept hoping for the good old days to return. Instead, our industry had stooped to the gutter-residing smut peddlers society thought they were all along.

MY FIRST CD, ROCKIN’’ AND ROLLIN’ IN LA

I could never make another X-rated movie again and look myself in the mirror. I felt like it would be a way of abusing myself to get in that position. Since I had filed for divorce, Bud paid absolutely nothing in child support and consistently tried his best to ruin every job offer I got dancing on the road. I was really hurting for money.

Bud was now working for Vivid Video and had his own office and shooting schedule that kept him quite busy. My babysitter worked for a BMW dealer during the day and personally saw contracts for three different BMWs Bud bought from that dealer, one for himself, and one for each of his two favorite girlfriends. One of them was even moving into an apartment with her young son and out of her mother’s house. By her own admission this was at Bud’s expense. We had several friends in common and grew to be closer behind Bud’s back. She was becoming disillusioned.

In Bud’s house lived a model from Hungary and Tianna Taylor, an X-rated actress who had once been my friend. Bud paid for all of this with his extravagant salary from Vivid and the other movies he was shooting for other companies on the side. In 1993 from Vivid alone he made over $100,000.00. Again, I received no child support.

Before the divorce was final, the child support was set at $150.00 per week. After the divorce hearing, where his salary and mine were compared, he was ordered to pay $200.00 per week. He consistently refused to pay and even though the court ordered Vivid to withhold money from his salary, they never withheld one red cent.

This is a matter of a father shirking his responsibilities and a system that does not enforce a court order. This is a matter of the government preferring to prosecute a dancer who breaks a G-string than parents neglecting and abusing their children.

I still loved to act, but was very uncomfortable with the sex. I decided to try my hand at a legitimate acting career. I got new 8X10 head shots taken, revised my resume, and sent them out to every major casting director in LA. I had my name and photo listed in the Academy Players Directory. I got myself an agent. I already had my SAG and AFTRA cards. I went to auditions, and most people were aware of my work. I was happy to get a part in a movie called “Swingers”, even if it was a small budget production. I played myself. In the movie, a man is obsessed with me and I keep coming to life out of the film he is watching. It was a very short shoot.

One of the directors I had worked with many years before in the X-rated world had a friend who was doing a small budget R-rated movie. It had a nude scene in it and he asked me if I would be interested in auditioning for it. Of course, I was!

It was for the role of a stripper/prostitute and I would be murdered in it. My friend said that the director was from New York and that he thought the part was for a girl from Manhattan. This movie had a bigger budget than the last, and would star John Savage from “The Deer Hunter” and “The Godfather”. I was very excited.

When I went to the audition, every word I spoke from the introduction, the reading and the good-bye’s at the end, was said with my best New York accent. The director, Paul Leder, even asked me where in New York I was from and I gave him an address across the street from the club I had worked in the most there. The movie was to be called “Killing Obsession” and they treated me very nicely, even though they knew I had been asked to be there by a director from the “porn” business. I was amazed when I got the call telling me that I had been cast in the role!

I was so nervous on my way to work, afraid I would be looked down on, coming from the X-rated side of the industry. When I got there and the first person I saw was a tall gaffer named Mike that I had worked with for years, I was relieved! The rest of the cast and crew treated me very well. I was treated just like anyone else.

My first scene was shot in a bar and I was to dance and strip for John Savage. His character had recently escaped form a halfway house and he was obsessively searching for a girl he used to know and he thought I might be her. It’s funny, but after all the times I had stripped on stage in clubs, I was still nervous abouttaking my clothes off in this situation. I think it was because I was not sure of how everyone else would react. If it were to be viewed as just another scene, nothing special or unusual, I would have no problem with it, but if people were going to get all nervous and uncomfortable, it tends to make me feel the same way. Luckily, most of the cast and crew did not make a big deal out of it.

The following days were much easier, even though there was one more nude scene. By the time we were ready to shoot it, I had spent enough time working with everyone that I didn’t feel so self-conscious. John was great to work with, it was so much fun actually getting to take our time and do our best acting. When the scene came for him to stab me, John taught me a lot about how to make it look real. We had never been able to do violent scenes in the X-rated business. Even if someone had wanted to be creative and add a story line that included murder or crimes, we couldn’t because of legal reasons. If an X-rated movie had such scenes in it, people could think they were real and that actresses were being coerced or threatened. Such a movie could lead to jail time for its producers.

Paul Leder, the director, introduced me to one of his friends, Tim Campbell. Tim was working for Orion Films at the time and we hit it off. He was down to Earth, a real person. He reminded me more of the polite, friendly people back home than the pretentious party animals of LA. When the movie was over, we continued to see each other. One of his associated, Richard Hearn, was starting a management company called Star Care. Richard talked to me about how he might be able to help my career.

Richard had been managing the financial careers of many popular athletes. Unfortunately I had no finances to manage, only debts. There wasn’t much he could do for me there. He introduced me to as many people in the entertainment business as he could, but no deals were ever made. There were dozens of bites. People had scripts they wanted me to be in, but no financing to produce them. There were add campaigns for sunglasses, but company presidents kept changing and budgets were dropped. As Richard put it, my notoriety got many people’s interest, but it was not professional. They just wanted to get to meet me but not to seriously do business. This proved to be as frustrating for Richard as it was for me.

Paul Leder, the director of “Killing Obsession”, was casting another movie and I was given a role! Seven Arts Distributing Company, who was handling the movie, requested that I be given a larger role as they thought my name might help sell it. I was overjoyed, of course! This movie was to be called “The Wacky Adventures of Dr. Boris and Nurse Shirley” and starred Paul Bartell and Karen Black. It felt so good to be out on my own, working. Bud didn’t know anything about the movie or the people involved, so there was no way he could make any damaging phone calls and ruin it for me like he was doing with my dancing career. I felt more confident on the set this time. I didn’t have that feeling that at any minute I would be pointed out and laughed at.

It was a marvelous experience to go to the previews of these movies. Neither was released to video without a theatrical run. It reminded me, in a way, of the first few movies I had made for Caribbean Films and the limousines and red carpets they had rented. The best part of it was that my sons could come to the opening and see them. Paul was always very good to my kids. He treated them like part of his family. They came to the set and ate lunch with me a few times and Paul showed them around and explained all the equipment and whetted their appetite for a career in film. It sure was good to be able to share my work with them for a change. I was so happy!

Double Euphoric, my band, was playing out as often as we could, considering I was still going back to Indiana every now and then. It was a smart decision I had made to home school. My kids had no trouble accompanying me wherever I went.

I really wanted to dance to my music in the clubs on the road. All the clubs were only using CD’s now, no tape decks anywhere. I needed to get my music onto CD. It would cost a lot of money without backing from a major record label. Bud was still not paying child support.

When I could afford it, I cashed in on favors of friends and took advantage of vacant studio time in LA to record our musicon to CD. We did four songs the first time, “Little Jumping Mouse”, “Strike Back” “Don’t Forget the Red” and “Obsessed”. Then I ran out of money and had to go out and dance again. These first studio sessions with the band were quite a learning experience.

I felt totally alienated from the rest of the band. They were all in one big room together, playing, and I was in a small soundproof room off to the side by myself. I had to strain my neck to even see them. I did not feel like a part of the band, and I wasn’t, judging from how they were all treating me. They did not take my suggestions seriously and anything I requested was blatantly ignored. They obviously didn’t think I knew what I was talking about. They were going to do as they damn well pleased. It was just like being back on a porno set, no one took it seriously, they just wanted their money. I was becoming angry, but I knew you only catch flies with honey. I decided to explain the medicine story behind “Little Jumping Mouse” to them before we recorded it.

I took some sage in a shell and smudged everyone in the green room. As we all sat in a circle, I began the story.

“There once was a mouse. He was a good mouse, doing all the things that good responsible mice do. He hunted for nuts and seeds all day long. He explored the ground next to his whiskers and kept busy. As he went about his life, he noticed a sound, a noise in his ears, a roar. He tried to ignore it for many moons, and still, he heard it. The more time went on, the more he could not ignore the sound he now heard all the time. One day, after finishing his mouse duties, he decided to go investigate.”

Everyone fidgeted in their seat. They thought of it as a children’s story, and they were ready to get back to work, collect their pay and go.

“As he walked out of the familiar mouse territory he was raised in and moved closer to the source of the sound, he met a raccoon.

‘Hello, brother mouse. What are you doing outside of your mouse home?’

‘I’m searching for something’, he said, with his nose close to the ground.

‘What are you searching for?’

‘I have a roaring in my ears. I am trying to find out where it is coming from.’

‘That is the river.’

‘What is a river?’

‘Come with me and I will take you to it.’

So the mouse followed the raccoon until he was standing by a big beautiful river. All the things of his world floated down it. There were logs, leaves, stones and branches, but he had never seen water like this, unless it was raining. He looked back, but the raccoon was gone.

Back in the river, he noticed a frog sitting on a lily pad.

‘Hello brother mouse, what are you staring at?’

‘I have never seen a river before.’

‘If you think this is something, then bend down real low, and jump up in the air as high as you can. Look over there, if you want to see something really spectacular.’

So the mouse did as he was told. He crouched down real low and jumped up just as high as he could. As he looked, he saw a magnificent mountain in the distance. He had never seen such a wondrous sight. Then he fell down, splat, into the river.

‘You tricked me!’ He screamed.

‘No, you are not hurt, you were only tricked into seeing something you could not see before.’

The mouse was very anxious to get back to his home after that experience.

When he reached his neighbors and relatives, they were all afraid of him. They could not understand why he was wet. It had not rained. He tried to explain how he had fallen in the river, but they had never seen the river. They doubted that such a thing existed. They thought a big animal tried to eat him and spit him out because he was poison and that was why he was wet. They wanted nothing to do with him. Besides, he was always kind of weird anyway, always talking about a roaring in his ears.

Little Jumping Mouse decided he did not want to stay where he was not welcomed. He wanted to go search for that mountain, and climb it to the top.”

The band was a little more interested, but just a little.

‘He ran across the Forest until he came to the edge, where the plains start. He knew if he ran onto the grassy plain, the eagles and hawks would be able to see him. There would be no cover to hide under, and he would be very vulnerable. But he could see the mountain a bit and he still wanted very much to climb it. He took a deep breath and ran.

Every time he looked up into the sky, he could see black specs, and he just knew they were eagles, just waiting to swoop down and eat him. He ran harder and faster, until finally, he came to a small bush, just big enough to hide in. He ducked in for safety and found all kinds of nuts and seeds, tunnels and fun mouse places to explore. It was a wonderful place with a small stream nearby, and a female mouse that was very happy to see him.

After a while of living there, the two mice went out to get some water from the nearby stream, as they were used to doing. As they bent over the water, Little Jumping Mouse was amazed to see how fat he and his wife had become. Before he could say anything, a snake jumped out of the bushes and caught his wife. There was nothing he could do.

Back at the bush, he decided he had spent too much time sitting and looking at the mountain. He was going to go back to his dream of climbing it, even if it meant going out across the prairie and possibly being eaten by an eagle.”

The band was now much more interested. They saw that this mouse was them, and the mountain was their dream. They finally understood the meaning of the story.

“He gathered all his courage and ran across the plains. He went for a long time, and then he came to a big animal lying down, breathing heavily, as if it were in great pain. Next to it, was a very very small bush, just big enough to hide in if he was still. He rushed under it and studied the animal. It was a buffalo.

‘Brother Buffalo, you are such a mighty animal of the plains, why are you laying there like that?’

‘I am going to die.’

‘Oh no!’

‘Yes, I am going to die. The only thing that can save me is the eye of a mouse. But I do not know what a mouse is, I do not think they even exist.’

Little Jumping Mouse was very glad the buffalo did not know that he was a mouse. After a while though, with a lot of thought, he started to speak.

‘I am a mouse, brother buffalo. If I could, I would give you one of my eyes. After all, I could still see with the other one.’

As soon as he said that, one of his eyes popped out of his head and the buffalo was instantly restored to health.

‘Brother mouse, you did not have to do that! I know what you are searching for. You want to go to the mountain. I will take you there. Run under me and I will be sure the eagles cannot see you. I will be sure not to step on you with my big hooves.’

And so the mouse ran under the buffalo all the way to the mountain’s edge where the buffalo told him he could not go up the mountain as he was an animal of the plains and his hoofs would not take him there. Little Jumping Mouse continued up the mountain. At first, it was not so bad because of the bushes and trees to protect him, but the closer he got to the top, the thinner the cover was. When he was at a place where he was sure all the eagles could plainly see him, he saw another animal lying down breathing hard, and another very small bush just big enough to hide under.

‘You are such a beautiful, strong animal, why are you lying down like that?’

‘I am a mountain lion, but I am going to die unless I can find the eye of a mouse, but I don’t know what a mouse is, I don’t even think they exist.’

‘Oh dear,’ the mouse thought, ‘I only have one eye left. If I give it to him, I will be blind! I am glad he does not know I am a mouse.’

After a very long time, and a lot of thought, the mouse came back out.

‘Excuse me, but…I am a mouse. I only have one eye left. I am very far from home, and there is no chance I could ever make it back there before I die. I wanted to come to the mountain,now I am almost to the top. I don’t really need my eye anymore. If there were some way to give it to you, I would.’

Just as he said that, his eye popped out, and the mountain lion was restored to health. Little Jumping Mouse was blind.

‘I will take you to the magic lake that reflects the entire world at the very top of this mountain,’ said the mountain lion.

When they got there, the mountain lion told him that he was a guide and that because the mouse had given up his eyes, his vision, his way of perceiving things, he was ready for a new way of looking at things. As he sat him down by the edge of the lake, he told him he had to go bring others to the lake, since was that was his job as guide.

Little Jumping Mouse could feel the wind in his whiskers and smell the water of the cool lake. He could hear it lapping at the shore and feel the sun on his fur. He knew that the eagles could surely see him clearly now. He heard the call of one, heard the wings flap and get closer, he could feel the shadow come over him, and then it hit.

He rubbed his eyes. Everything was blurry. Soon he could make things out, a little bit. He saw a frog sitting on a lily pad. It was the same frog from the river!

‘If you think that was something, just bend down real low, and jump up as high as you can.’

‘Oh no, I fell for that once already, that’s what started this whole thing!’

‘Trust me, what have you got to lose?’

Little Jumping Mouse thought a minute, he was right. So he bent down as low as he could and then jumped high into the air. He kept going up, and up….and….up. He looked down at the frog.

‘What’s happening?’

‘Didn’t you know? You have a new name now. You are Eagle!’

And that cuts it off.”

The band was obviously moved. They could relate to the story as I had. Now they understood it and stopped comparing it to “Muskrat Love”. We played it a few minutes later and I think it is one of the only songs on the CD that has that extra energy needed. This time, they weren’t just going through the motions.

It took almost an entire year, with me having to go back out on the road to make money and visit my home in Indiana to get keep my head on straight, but we got 9 songs down I was happy to have my own CD to sell at gigs and through my fan club. Porsche had been very important to me in getting it done. She was invaluable moral support through a time when I had little self-confidence. Several people produced it, since we did a batch of songs at a time, months apart, and often the person we were last working with was unavailable. John Butcher, of the Barefoot Servants played on several cuts, as did Teddy Zig-Zag. Slash was going to play on a song or two, but had to go out on the road by the time I got enough money to do some more tracks. Michael Braunstein, who has worked with Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and just about every major name in rock and roll, and Peter Lewis engineered and mixed most of it. Ben Schultz did the rest.

We threw a big opening release party at FM Station and several of the movie companies I used to work for donated movies to be given away as door prizes. It was a great time and a fond memory.

It was 1994 and the kids and I were off to the East Coast for a three-week run in some dance clubs there. We took a babysitter, Debbie Kolinsky, a friend of mine from LA whom I had met through a band member. She was 6 months pregnant at the time and wanted to get used to being with children more. The kids knew her and liked her. She had watched them many times before in LA.

When we flew in to Boston, it was blanketed in two feet of snow. The sides of the streets looked like steep, white canyons. There was no place else to put the snow. We were in the middle of a blizzard and it wouldn’t get better until long after we left. Despite the weather, we did an amazing business and had a fun time. One of Porsche’s old boyfriends, a Marine that lived in the area, helped me out with security.

When the week was over, we drove in our rented van to Philadelphia. On our Sunday off, we had planned to drivethrough New York City, showing the kids all the famous sights. I knew it would be a stressful trip, me driving a van through the Big Apple with two kids and a pregnant woman who had never been here before. I could not have possibly been prepared for what happened.

That morning, as we awoke and finished packing, we turned on the television only to hear about a devastating earthquake that had just hit the Los Angeles area. They said the epicenter was in Northridge. Bud was living in Northridge, which was less than five minutes down the road from my house.

We tried to call, but all the phone lines were down. We couldn’t reach anyone in LA at all. We tried to put it out of our minds, after all, there was nothing we could do, but that was impossible. We packed and checked out of the hotel, promising to listen to the radio and try to call Bud on my cellular all the way. The kids were very worried about their daddy.

Outside, it was snowing, hard. Visibility was down to a few feet. It was bitterly cold and my asthma does not mix well with such weather. Once in the car, it was a treacherous trip. Between the stress of the weather, unknown roads, concern about the earthquake, and a pregnant woman and two kids in the back, it is a wonder I am alive today to tell about it.

When we got to the club, they were ready to cancel the gig because of the bad weather. We wanted to go home and inspect the damage. It took a lot of convincing to get Delta airlines to change our tickets, instead of issuing four one-way tickets. They charged for the change, but it was better than the thousands of dollars they originally wanted. Why do such people take advantage of others in times of disasters?

When we landed in LA it was sunset. By the time we got to our neighborhood, it was dark. Flashing lights and closed roads blocked the path to our house from all but one direction. We dodged holes in the road that were almost the size of Volkswagens. The sidewalks and driveways looked even worse. Houses were abandoned, their occupants living in tents out front on the lawn, or gone altogether. It looked very much like a war zone.

Our neighbors, the Lopez’s, greeted us as we pulled up. They are a sweet retired couple whose house is their pride and joy. They had survived the earthquake huddled in the bathroom. They thought they were going to die together. Everyone that I spoke with said they believed that would be the end of them. The area smelled of fear and anticipation of death, you saw it in their eyes and felt it in the air. Aftershocks were happening all the time, each taking down a little more of the damaged buildings and spirits. Our neighbors cautioned us not to go into the house. There were no lights or electricity and no running water. The smell of broken gas pipelines promised an explosion if it encountered a spark. As a matter of fact, four houses had already burned down behind ours.

Three months earlier, the city had completed construction on an underground natural gas main that ran directly in front of my house. The pipe was six feet in diameter. Tall fences were erected to keep people from falling or driving into the huge hole that was dug for it. The earthquake damaged that pipe, along with water and sewage pipes. The streets were flooded.

A truck stalled on the street behind my house. When the driver attempted to restart the vehicle, the spark from ignition hit the natural gas in the area and caused an explosion. Several houses on either side of the street were burned immediately, others caught fire as the winds blew the flames. All that was left of the road was a hole big enough to bury two semi tractor-trailers in. President Clinton did a news appearance from the corner behind my house when he visited the area to inspect the damage.

We could not go inside and see much at night, it was too dangerous. There was glass everywhere, and holes in the floor.

In the daylight, things looked even worse. It was a disaster area. I couldn’t image having been in the house when the quake hit. I would have tried to get to my kids and get out with them as fast as I could. According to what I had heard, that might have been impossible. One young mother broke her neck as she tried to get to her newborn baby in the room next to hers.

My bed was covered with glass from the large pictures I had hanging next to and above the bed. Everyone in California toldme I was stupid for having put them there. I am not used to taking earthquakes into consideration when decorating. If anything, I think of tornadoes.

The hall had a four foot framed picture hanging in it. Now it was sharp shards of glass waiting dangerously on the floor. Sewage spilled from the master bedroom’s bath and into the closet, bedroom and hall floors, where my clothes lay after being thrown across the 14-foot room along with their dressers. The dressers had shattered when they hit the wall. There was a crack in the floor from one end of the house to the other that was about half an inch wide. We dropped a pencil down it and never heard it hit bottom. Everywhere was the stench of sewage.

The children’s furniture in each of their rooms was shattered, as was my office and all of the negatives for my publicity and fan club photos were under the sewage. One added-on room of the house was tilted and cracks lined the places on the wall where it connected to the original, as did the walls of all the other rooms.

My glass dining room set and shelves were a dangerous mess all over the dining and living room floor. The Activist/Actress “Legend’s of Erotica” Hall of Fame award I had received a few weeks earlier was broken on the floor. The television was face down, as were the stereo and speakers. About the only thing standing was my son’s Playmobile Native American Tipi.

I was devastated. Everything was surreal. It was so much to take all at once. How would I be able to continue living in LA and pursuing my music and acting career? Would I have to give up my dreams and go back to Indiana? It was as if my home had been broken into again but this time it was destroyed instead of me. I was so grateful I wasn’t there at the time it happened.

Amidst aftershocks, we tried to salvage any canned goods or boxes that hadn’t shattered or been dipped in “human honey”. Almost all our clothes were ruined, filled with ground glass and sewage. Furniture and knickknacks were mostly shot. Beds were still good, a futon, a couch. A table, here and there. The refrigerator, washer and dryer. Some small appliances. Bud got all of these things since there was no way I could transfer them to Indiana cheaply.

We were lucky we had our full suitcases. It was more than our neighbors did. There was schoolwork to be done, affairs to get in order for moving us back to Indiana, and breaking our lease. We needed tickets to get home, etc. The National Guard had large tents set up as shelters in the parks. We were north of the city and in a suburban area. There were many parks we could go to and feel fairly safe, considering armed soldiers were within feet. Their guns, slung over their shoulder, big, green and threatening frightened my children. They were nice though, they handed out fruit and helped us find a bench where we could do some schoolwork.

At night, the kids stayed with Bud. Bud said that we could all come to his house and do the school work during the day, even though he lived with two other girls. After all, the kids each had a room there, with their own beds and a zillion toys. There was a pool in the back, and a yard with grass and plenty of room to ride the bikes that sat in the garage. It was understandable that I would not be welcomed there at night. I would have been more uncomfortable than he would. Tianna Taylor, slept in his bed. We had done some local access television talk shows together. I thought we could still be friends, at least a bit, even though she was now with my ex. After all, I certainly didn’t want him.

For a few days this arrangement worked out fine, then one day while Kevin and I were in the middle of a lesson. Tianna came home in a rage. She screamed that we were to go leave immediately. She wanted all our stuff, the kid’s things, and us out, too. She wanted us to take everything out of their bedrooms. Whatever was left, she threatened to burn!

I called Bud and asked him what I should do, he tried to talk to her for a while, then asked to talk to me again. He actually wanted us to do it! He wanted us to pack up as much stuff as we could and get in the car and leave! He said he would talk to her when he got home and patch things up and not to worry about it now but just to do as she said! I couldn’t believe he was actually siding with her and was going to put his kids through this!

We packed up as much as we could into our small car as fast as we could, and left. I did not know where to go. I did not have a hotel for the night, I had been staying with friends in a place too small for the children and had no key. They were not expected back from work till the evening hours. As we drove around, it all started to hit me, everything I had lost, all the money, the ability to live in LA and pursue my dreams, the friends I would have to leave. It was bad enough that I had to drive around LA for hours with all my possessions and nowhere to go, but the thought of what my children were going through, that broke me down. They had just lost their daddy, then their home in LA, now they were unwanted in their father’s home. He had let some woman they barely knew kick them out of their own house, after just losing another in an earthquake! I cried for them. I had nowhere to take them.

I wanted to go back to Indiana immediately, but I couldn’t. The bank I had my account in had been destroyed. The branches would not honor my account until they could verify it. That took weeks. The airlines were flooded with people leaving LA. There were three tickets to buy. I had to wait three weeks to get us all on the same flight. My lease, salvageable possessions and my car had to be taken care of before I washed my hands of the whole thing.

As I drove aimlessly around LA, I knew I had to be strong for the boys. It was the same feeling I had when I finally got enough nerve to divorce Bud. They were so upset. After all, their world had been shattered. I had to somehow act like the adult I was. Kira Nighthawk took over. She was strong and in control. She could hold back the tears, comfort the children, keep and eye out for car-jackers and devise a plan.

She tried to think of everyone she could call. Porsche was out of town, or she would have called her to begin with. When she came back, she gave me a key to her place so I would never be in such a position again. Debbie, the pregnant baby-sitter was already back home with her mother in upper state New York. My band rehearsed at a studio owned by a woman named Holly Thrasher. I had talked to her a few times and signed autographs on free 8 X10’s to her friends. I hoped she might be able to at least let us stay there for a few hours, if she was home.

She did better than that, she let us stay until our flight took off for Indiana! She was so generous and kind to my kids, she even provided baby-sitting when I had to go out. Later we took her on the road with us. The kids loved her.

When we finally got back home it was quite an adjustment. I had done 3 R-rated movies, “Swingers”, “Killing Obsession” “The Wacky Adventures of Dr. Boris and Nurse Shirley”. I’d been on countless television shows as a result of being in the area, studied acting, singing, dancing and guitar playing with many different teachers and cut a CD. Now I had to go back home and put my dreams up on the shelf and count my financial losses. The children had a difficult time letting go of all their toys, desks and things they had out there, especially the pool and their dad!

MORE SUICIDES

I lost almost everything I had of my fan club in the earthquake, along with everything else. All the negatives and 8X10 photos I had both for sale and for making promotional kits for my agents to book me with were gone. Most importantly, the box with the cards of all the members and their addresses was totally destroyed. It took me well over a year to get my fan club back up and running and I am sure there are some who think I abandoned them. It was amazing how many members wrote to me asking where I was and how come they had not gotten a newsletter recently. When my children were born, I got cards and gifts galore. Every holiday I am blessed with many greetings. My son’s birthdays are remembered, as is mine, but only one person asked if we were okay after the quake! What a death and catastrophe denying society this is! This is one reason why very few people heal properly from their emotional traumas.

It was not easy getting work on the road dancing when none of the club owners could get any recent photos of me to see what I looked like or put in the newspaper for advertising. New photos had to be shot, and all the known photographers for such photos live in LA or New York. I was stuck in Indiana so it was a difficult task.

Double Euphoric was doing well. We were regularly playing around LA and in Las Vegas. We opened for Blackfoot there and in some small towns in Utah. I always did radio interviews to promote my gigs and while doing one in Utah with Ricky Metlocke from Blackfoot, we ran into a small snag. We found out that some local people were going to protest the show and form a picket line across the main entrance to the venue. I had been waiting for something like this to happen. I wasn’t surprised that it was in Utah.

Ricky informed everyone on air that I had been opening for him since the beginning of his tour in LA and there was nothing obscene or indecent about my show. It was just plain rock and roll. He said if I didn’t play, he wouldn’t either. I was so surprised and honored that he stood up for me. I told the radio audience I hoped people could forgive my past and if they must judge me, to do so based on the present. We soon got word that there would be no problems at the show that night.

In Las Vegas we got to open for rock legend Paul Rogers. He was the consummate professional. At sound check I sat in the back of the six thousand-seat theater in awe of his voice and stage presence, and he wasn’t even trying. What a lesson I was getting. That night was magical. We were so fired up by the large exuberant crowd that none of us could sleep for a long time afterwards.

Holly introduced me to a friend of hers in New England. She had been involved in managing musicians for a number of years and as a result, had many connections. Before she moved to Los Angeles, she lived in Massachusetts. She still had many friends in the business in that area of the country. This man, I will call him Brian, was interested in distributing my CD under his record label and signing me to a contract to produce five more albums. I was to get pitifully little for the Double Euphoric CD I had paid to produce, and even less for the next projects, but at least it was a record deal, even if it wasn’t with a major label. I was still happy to get it.

Brian seemed like a nice guy. He acted professional enough, and when I met with him in his office, he was a gentleman and talked to my eyes and not my breasts.

I was trying to make a complete break from all things X-rated. Hyapatia didn’t take over as much anymore. I felt like my multiple personality disorder was fading. There were times I could remember details of what had happened when I was Hyapatia years ago. Memories were coming back and I was more comfortable and happy being me, aware and awake. I started a 900 line of Native American Herbal healing recipes, drawing from my training with Gladys Tantaguideon in Delaware, but music was where my heart was. If I couldn’t audition for movies and television since I wasn’t in California, at least I could pursue music. I flew out to LA every three or four months to try and keep my foot in the door and to play out with my band.

Current Affair ran the segment they did with my music and me, complete with footage from our first live gig and recording the CD in the studio. It was in conjunction with a segment on Traci Lords, Ginger Lynn and I and how we are all aspiring to a career out of X. It promoted Traci’s appearance on the Jay Leno show and it mentioned the agent and manager who had been most instrumental in getting her on Melrose Place and in movies.

I looked up the agent and called him to ask if he might be willing to consider representing me. To my surprise, he agreed to see me. On my next trip to LA, I had an appointment with him and he agreed to try and help me. He said he could promise nothing, especially since I lived so far away. Don Gerber sent me out on more auditions than any of my other Screen Actors Guild agents ever did, and he was always respectful.

Brian, from the record company, was stalling on signing the contract. Although it had been to both of our lawyers several times, racking up a bill over $500.00 on my end, it was still unsigned. Brian was coming to town and wanted me to meet him by the pool.

“Bring your bathing suit and we can sunbathe while talking about plans for your future.”

“I would love to Brian, but I have an audition today.”

“But I’m leaving town tomorrow and I still haven’t gotten to lay in the sun with you!”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I have some very important plans.”

“I really think we need to talk about this contract.”

“Brian, we have talked about it a million times, the lawyers have looked at it, we have all agreed to the points, what do we need to discuss?”

“Well…maybe I just want to see you in your bathing suit.”

I would try to laugh such things off and tell him to stop being silly, that I had to attend to the children. Then one day, while I was on the road dancing, he called my answering machine asking me to call him as soon as I could. He was on the road, too and there was something coming up he had to talk to me about immediately.

I called after my last show, hoping it wasn’t too late at night. I was exhausted, but I wanted to show him I was responsible and a hard worker. He was still awake, but it sounded like he had been drinking a bit.

“You said that something was coming up you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Yeah, my cock! Do you think you could give me a little phone sex?”

I was so tired of this crap. It was always like this with anyone who pretended to be interested in helping me professionally. I didn’t quite know what to do. So many times before I had ignored it, laughed it off, put the guy down or made him feel like a fool, burst into tears and tell him how abused and used I felt, whatever felt right at the time, because all fit. I wondered if I gave into him if he would finally sign the contract. I was by myself. The kids had stayed home with a sitter due to finances. I decided to do it.

The next day I got a call from his lawyer on my answering machine saying that the deal was off. His company was having some unexpected financial difficulties! I felt like it was all my fault because I had given into him. Then again, I know if I hadn’t, I still would not have had a signed contract. I never heard from him or anyone representing his company again.

Bud came back to Indiana on a rare visit to see the kids and his family. We got along as well as can be expected while he was here. He stayed in a hotel and spent some quality time with the boys while I got to clean their rooms. One night, we went out to dinner together. While we were eating his cellular phone rang. It was someone Bud worked with and he looked kind of upset. When he got off the phone, I asked him what was wrong.

“Savannah just shot herself”, he said.

“She shot herself! Well, on purpose? Is she dead? Is she okay?”

“No, she is not okay. She is in the hospital. She shot herself in the head.”

Nancy Pera was Savannah’s manager. She had worked on sets I was on in the capacity of everything from director, to producer to production assistant. I knew her well, and of course, I knew Savvy. According to Nancy, Savannah had been out partying. She was known to do that quite often. On her wayhome, she had wrecked her car (drove it into a fence), and possibly broken her nose. She called Nancy to ask for her help as soon as she had gotten home. Nancy promised to be right over.

When she got there a few minutes later, Savvy’s roommate had said she asked him to go walk her dog. When he came back, he found her in a pool of blood on the garage floor. Nancy called 911 and they took her to the hospital where she was placed on life support. She lived for over a day before they finally let her go.

Why did she do it? Why was this the third actress in 7 years to do this? From what I understand, Savannah had a hard life from the beginning. Rolling Stone did an article on her, because she dated so many of the rock stars. Axl Rose, Greg Allman, and Slash all were known to have dated her, in addition to Pauly Shore. She was raised in a single parent home and from what I heard, her father was not around much. At 15 she was touring with Greg Allman and doing heroin. I personally had witnessed her do cocaine. She made no effort to hide it, or anything else, from those who disapproved. She had an abrasive personality to many, boastful and mocking. Why does a person develop such defenses? Because they are happy? I think not. She obviously had some very deep problems and not many people were surprised by her suicide.

On the other hand, when Cal Jammer took his life, the first actor to do so, it was a shock to many. Not more than two months after Savannah crossed over, Cal was arguing with his fiancée. She wanted to leave, call it “quits”. He begged her to stay. As she got in the car and started to pull away, he said “if you leave me I will kill myself’ and then he did, right there. Again, a single gunshot wound to the head.

Less than six months later, Alex Jordan, another popular actress, was found dead in her closet. She had hung herself. Many suggested that perhaps she was experimenting sexually with the deadly game of strangling oneself until you reach orgasm and at the last minute, letting go. Many people have died this way in all walks of life, and Alex was found with one handcuff attached to her wrists, perhaps suggesting sexual experimentation. Or maybe it signified how she felt bound by something and this was her escape. I don’t believe anyone really knows for sure.

Such a rash of suicides. Very sad and perplexing. Was there a connection? Was it the business? Or is it what happens in one’s lifetime that also happens to drive them to the business? Or is it what happens to a person in society after being involved in the business? How could it be stopped? Did anyone care to stop it?

SUNDANCE

My band was still playing out in LA whenever I could get there and our CD was selling well in the few stores I had been able to personally put it in. Whenever I traveled for dancing, I was sure to take some extra copies to local stores that might distribute it. I sold it through my fan club and after my dance shows, as well as whenever the band played. Adam and Eve, a mail order catalog of sexual movies, lotions and devices, was also carrying it. A gentleman named Paul Harvey, who is the single largest independent distributor of free condoms to third world nations, owns them. They took a couple thousand copies of the CD.

Being so far away from the rest of my band made it impossible to work on any new material or record anything else. I was only able to get out to the west coast three or four times a year at best and I knew it would be even less as time went by. Whenever I was out there I felt my control on myself slipping away. It was mostly Kira, Lisa and Veronica that took turns controlling my body. There was little money out there for me, since none of us wanted to do X-rated movies or pose for magazines anymore. Dancing was getting harder and harder on my mind. It was difficult to be enthusiastic about my work after I realized the business I was associated with was so money hungry and disrespectful of it’s fans, workers and human sexuality in general. Hyapatia rarely came out at all anymore. In the past, Hyapatia just automatically took over almost all the time. Some of my memories of what Hyapatia had done were now blending into my conscious mind. I didn’t want to go back to calling on her in order to work but I knew of no other way.

It was harder than I thought it would be to force myself to dance to feed the children. Everyone expected a sex party girl full of confidence to grace their stage but what they got was plain old me. I could not bring Hyapatia out on demand like I used to.

I found the asthma I had developed from my three bouts with pneumonia could wreak havoc with work.

Being stuck back in Indiana most of the time there wasn’t much hope for a way out. After scanning the local paper and finding out there was very little I was qualified for, I hit the streets. Naturally I didn’t want to put “porno star” under my previous jobs, so I settled for “self-employed entertainer”. I never knew just how famous I was until I found everywhere I went people refused to have their business associated with someone like me. I got strange looks, observed whispered secrets, glaring eyes and tons of rejection. I was being judged for something Hyapatia had done. They thought I was Hyapatia! The idea was so unbelievably evil and unfair to me and yet there was no hiding the fact I looked like her. To bleach my hair would be to deny my culture much more than just the cut and perm I once had. My grandmother would never forgive me. I would never forgive me! I tried every way I could think of to change my look but there was only so much I could do and it was never enough.

Through networking I discovered an agent who could book my band on a tour for almost two thousand dollars a night. We would start in the Midwest, work our way to the Eastern Seaboard and back. This meant I had to find a band in the Midwest as we could never afford all the expenses associated with going from the Midwest to the east coast and back and four round trip air fares from Los Angeles. The tour had more down days for traveling than we did playing days.

Chuck Kavooras from my LA band Double Euphoric flew to Indiana and we found local musicians to flesh out the band: Tony Medieros on drums, Steve Townsend on guitar, and Johnny G. on bass. This band, in my opinion, was better than the one in LA. They were better musicians and team players, a great bunch of guys. We rocked!

The tour was a great success. We got rave reviews and were welcomed back everywhere. We all got along great. When we got home and everyone was paid, including my babysitter, I found I had slept three hours a night, rode thousands of miles in a hot van for a few hundred dollars. I couldn’t raise my family like this. It killed me to be away from the boys that long and Irealized I’d have to go back to living on the road fifty weeks a year to make enough money to live.

Bud had found a girl he was serious about and they got married in Las Vegas. Asia Carrera was an actress in the X-rated movie business. Bud was still directing so it seemed natural they should be together. She was a good step-mom to my kids. They loved her and enjoyed her company. She was my oldest son’s favorite Nintendo competitor.

Every summer, Swiftdeer hosts a traditional Sundance near the Navajo reservation and this year I wanted to go. I thought it would be a great chance for me to focus my energies on a new career path. I was praying for a vision and strength. I wanted to continue my healing and my apprenticeship. Sundance is a weeklong ceremony of the strictest kind. It is very sacred, or Wakan, and to go would be very good for my soul and peace of mind. Porsche and another friend of mine, Susan, were also going. I met Susan for the first time when Porsche and I went to Hawaii for a spiritual learning trip with Swiftdeer. We would all be camping together before the actual dance began, and dancing next to each other at the ceremony.

For four days we worked building the dance and water arbors, putting up all the shields, and preparing the land. It was hot, strenuous work and those of us who had come from other climates were not used to the dry desert air. Each night we all did a sweat lodge ceremony.

In the nude, the participants enter the low structure and circle from left to right around the inside until they are sitting as close as they can to the person who came in before them. To the left of the door is a pit where hot rocks are placed. Prayers are said over the rocks as water, enhanced with herbs, is sprinkled over them, bringing lots of steam. In the pitch-black darkness, you can not even see your hand in front of your face. The heat becomes intense as more than 20 prayers are said over the rocks.

Each person takes their turn going around in a circle, stating their prayers and give-aways. We pray for others, our ancestors and ourselves. In between each round of prayers, the flap of the doorway is opened and we are given a brief bit of cool air and light. It is symbolic of being in the womb of the Earth mother. It’s a very powerful experience and extremely cleansing.

After four days of this, a sweat for each direction, we were ready to start our dance. At sunset, we paraded around the arbor with our sacred pipes in hand. As we went through the entrance in the east, the drum team changed the song. We walked around the circle, to the south, then west, then east, to our individual lanes where we were to dance, sleep, and live for the next three days. There was no eating and no drinking. We were on a strict fast. Those who absolutely needed water or electrolytes only could do so at the water arbor built outside the Sundance arena.

To leave the main arena to go visit the bathroom or the water arbor, you must go around the outside of the circle from your lane, in the direction of the sun, until you reach the eastern gate. When entering, you must also travel near the outside, sun wise, until you reach your spot. You must never turn your back to the tree that stands in the center of the arena. This is the Sundance Flowering Tree and it symbolizes light, goodness, all that is Wakan. When leaving through the eastern gate, you must walk out backwards.

I made it two days without water. In the late afternoon of the second day, I couldn’t stand it any more. The rose quartz crystals we were allowed to suck on to stimulate saliva would no longer do. We had been hydrating ourselves with water and electrolytes constantly in the days before the actual dance in an effort to prepare our bodies, but at this point, nothing could have prepared me to make it through. It was the Arizona dessert, on a high plateau, dancing day and night with four hours off from midnight to 4:00 am. We danced to the tree with our Eagle whistles in our mouths and our plumes in our hands, blowing the whistle as we ran. Once at the tree, we said our prayers, perhaps touched the tree or part of the deer skin or buffalo head or other items that hung from it. The Great Mystery made all things of this Earth, and in each of them, are reflected the Great Spirit’s fire. We honor them all. Then we danced backwards in our own lane, tooting in short spurts on our eagle whistles as we followed the trench made by our own feet to our spot along the outside ofthe arbor. From the sky it looked like a bicycle tire with all it’s spokes being our dancing lanes.

There were Grandfather and Grandmother pipes, male and female pipes full of power, energy and mystery that were too big to lift. These had been carved long ago and the spirit I felt when ceremoniously smoking them in the Eastern Gate by the Children’s Fire was one of the most powerful and “real” things I have ever felt.

Once along the outside of the arbor, we could take a break by stepping behind the line and into our small private space comprised of sleeping bag, change of clothes, warmer wear for night, medicine bundle, pipe bag and prayer sticks and/or corn paho. When a dancer was ready to resume dancing, they were to first take a prayer stick or pinch or corn paho to the tree where they would offer it to the four directions, state their prayer to themselves and then begin the dance.

On and on it went. We prayed for our future, our past, the Earth, her future, our children, our ancestors, anyone and anything that was near to us. There were special dances for veterans, those who died in battle or service, and to honor many great leaders and help them stay in the light. I danced for everyone in my life, from my family, to Bud and others, even cashiers in stores who were nice and polite and waitresses that recognized me and didn’t look down their nose.

I had many visions, that’s the idea. Most of them are private and personal, but the one that did make an immediate difference in my life was about my music. With the pow-wow drum beating constantly and the music of my ancestors playing loud and clear for all the Earth to saturate herself with, I was profoundly affected. I decided I had to get that sound into my music. After all, that was the heart of Native American music. “A-ho-li” is Cherokee for “heart”, “drum” and also “mouth”, so to speak from my heart, I would have to use the drum. I wanted to get a band together in Indiana and use a pow-wow drum and chanting to get an even more distinct “Native American Rock and Roll” sound. I’d hoped we could do work in a studio or at local clubs and I could stay with my children. Of course, making enough money to take them with me would’ve meant we’d gotten really popular and I was always open to that option too.

After the actual dance, there was a feast and one more sweat lodge to close the ceremony and prepare us to go back to the other world. It had been a wonderful, moving experience. I wanted to do this every year for the rest of my life. I really bonded with my ancestors and the way of my people felt as natural as taking my first breath.

Once home from Sundance, I moved quickly. A friend of mine, Amy, was married to a musician who had a band called “Windwalker”. Before I left for Sundance they asked me to sit in with them on a few songs for some of their upcoming gigs. I was very happy to do so. We opened for the Little River Band and played in some local clubs.

One of the guitar players in the band, “Shred”, also played in another band and the drummer of that band, Zac Dawson, was interested in starting a new band with us. At a local club, I met a couple who was also interested. In no time at all, we were playing out in public throughout the Midwest. We even opened for the Scorpions. Our band was called Vision Quest and we had invented our version of Native American Rock and Roll.

UPIN SMOKE

I was relieved to be out of that business altogether. “Shred” and I fell in love and after a year or so, finally got married. My new husband and I were very happy. We were overjoyed when we discovered, after trying to conceive for several months, that I was pregnant. With my history of 3 miscarriages and needing to take progesterone to sustain pregnancy, I knew I needed to see a doctor as soon as possible.

With my ex-husband owing his children over $50,000 in back child support and no income but what my new husband could make at temporary jobs, we were living on under $400 per month. In the state of Indiana, Pregnancy Medicaid is available for those who cannot afford prenatal care. I applied.

The office was over an hour away and phone calls were long distance. The caseworker I was assigned to, Brad Ellis, knew exactly who I was. He even said he was a fan and wanted to know about what it was like to work with some of the men he had seen in action. He wanted an explicit description of my sexual encounters on the screen! I tried to explain to him that I no longer was involved in such work and found talking about it to be highly upsetting. Before the meeting was over, I was bleeding vaginally. I worried about my baby. Brad assured me he would file the paper work.

I contacted my doctor. She examined me by ultrasound and found that I had had a partial placental abruption-the placenta had partially broken away from my uterus and the baby was in grave danger. I was put on bed rest.

A month of waiting in bed went by. I called Brad to see what was keeping the papers that would say I had medical coverage so I could pay for my medical care. First he said he had lost them, then he told me he did not file them because he did not think I was serious about my family’s income. He could not believe we were living on such a meager amount. He was sure that I had unreported income somewhere from the X-rated movie business. I did not. He insisted I get out of bed, drive the hour it took to get there and re-apply even though this was all against my doctor’s orders. He said if I did not do this, there would be no prenatal care and I would be responsible for the medical bills I had already racked up. I had no choice. He said it had to be me physically that went to apply; my husband could not do it for me.

Having no choice, I went. This worsened the abruption and before the end of the appointment, I was bleeding again. I told Brad. He replied that maybe the baby should die anyway!

In order to pay the bills I had been living off of credit cards. This had gone on for quite a while, as Bud had never paid any child support. The amount I owed in credit cards was virtually the same amount Bud owed me in child support.

I have heard people say that when a father doesn’t pay child support, it is the mother’s fault for choosing such a looser to begin with. Let he who has never made a bad choice throw the first stone. It is a universal law that all things change and continue to change. What makes me or any other woman able to foresee all changes a person could go through in their entire lifetime? What makes us so smart that we should be accountable for another’s change? Furthermore, why should an innocent child suffer because of that change? When a politician refuses to enforce a court order of child support by blaming the victim’s mother, that is a cop out. The government is supposed to enforce the law. When a child is being neglected, how can anyone with a conscious possibly look the other way? Much worse, how can someone waste time placing blame?

We live in the United States of America, yet if a deadbeat parent wants to escape justice; all they have to do is move to another state! Our states are woefully inadequate when it comes to sharing information for the good of the children. They act like a different state is another country. It takes at least six months to catch up to a deadbeat parent after they have moved. No one seems to care that the children suffer for six months while the government shuffles paperwork and gives the neglecting parent more rights than the children have. No one cares what financial bind this puts the one parent in who remains to actually care for the children. No one even seems to care what effect this has onthe abandoned children. The system is far more concerned with letting the abusing parent have 60 days for this, 90 days for that, all in an effort to “make sure he is actually aware of his obligation”. Believe me, he was aware when he had sex with the mother, he was aware when the divorce was filed and he is very aware now. He is also aware that the government has lost it’s authority, will not enforce it’s laws and will always find a way to cop out of what should be their responsibility. A court order is a court order and should have some weight. How can the government allow people to get so far behind in child support? A few dollars is one thing, tens of thousands is another. My ex-husband had a 1099 tax return stating his income for one year alone was over $150,000.00 yet he owed over $52,000.00 in back child support. There is no excuse for a government that allows its children to be abused like this. No wonder kids no longer respect authority, authority doesn’t respect them! How can our government expect children to grow up obeying the law when they see that those who do not go unpunished?

Three months later, halfway through the pregnancy our son was stillborn. People’s belief that I had more money than I actually did had killed our precious son. But the insult and injury didn’t stop there. Brad took it upon himself to turn me in for Medicaid fraud! After a complete investigation it was found that not only was I in the right and Brad responsible for my son’s death, but legally, I was not required to go down to fill out the paper work to enroll to begin with! The state has a law that when applying for assistance would bring a hardship, the caseworker is supposed to go to the applicant’s house!

Of course, there was no monetary reward for having had my son, the fourth baby I had lost, murdered by the state. It would be no consolation if there were. There are no lawyers that are willing to sue a branch of the state that they are allowed to practice in. I was left to live with the fact that four of my six pregnancies had ended in death and that the last one could have been saved if it weren’t for the government! It was the government that didn’t stop my stepfather from raping me repeatedly. It was the government that allowed my real mother to abandon me at first, then come back into my life and take me away from the woman I knew as mother. It was the government that had never caught the man who broke into my apartment in Talbott Village to rape me. It was the government that did not enforce its laws and protect its people that had let me down yet again. It was the government that did not enforce a court order that put my family in poverty and caused me to need the services of Medicaid to begin with. If the government was not interested in enforcing laws and protecting people, why do they keep insisting they are? It’s only propaganda. We are not that much better here in America than the cave men were millions of years ago. Men still beat their wives to death, sexually abuse and murder their own children and the fantasy that there is a system in place to prevent such things is merely an illusion.

I was the one who had to live with breasts full of milk, empty arms and an excruciating pain in my heart that would never ever heal or go away. I assume that after all the letters from the ACLU and the head of the states Medicaid unit that Brad just went on his merry way with all his children born alive. I had never had a family and now this pond scum had taken away my short-lived happiness. It was all my world could do to restrain me from committing murder and /or suicide. My baby was lost on the other side and needed me and I felt I had to go take care of him.

For two years we tried to conceive again. I was inconsolable. Nothing was pretty in my world anymore. Things I used to enjoy and take pride in no longer mattered at all. Food tasted like sawdust. I woke every morning with tears streaming from my eyes before I was even fully awake.

One typical night I was up crying, unable to sleep when my husband said he smelled smoke. Our house was on fire. It was lucky that we were awake. The house was an old farmhouse that had first been built in the 1800’s and it filled with smoke faster than I could ever have believed. I called 911 and got Kevin and Keith out as my husband tried to put out the fire. The volunteer fire department came within minutes but the house was a total loss.

Our neighbors, the nicest people I have ever met, helped us. I had smoke inhalation and had to go to the hospital. They tookcare of the kids and let us stay at their place for a few days while the Red Cross got us a place to stay. Old electrical wiring caused the fire. We had lost everything and were now homeless.

How much pain, torture, disappointment and heartache can one soul stand? Where is the point of no return, the last straw, which makes one give up forever? How many times can one keep a stiff upper lip, hold their head up and just go on? How can one person’s shoulders take all the weight of the pain this world can bring? How can one force their body to take another breath when there simply is no more will to do so? At what point does the dog who has been kicked too much simply loose the will to live and decides to just lie down to die? At what point does the human will break like a severed spinal cord? How many tears does it take to completely drown out the fire of ambition?

I felt like I had sold my soul for my house and all the things I needed to feel equal to everyone else. Now it was all gone. I could never go back and do what I had done before and so there was no way to replace these things. Standing there in the snow watching my house burn, I got the strangest feeling. I wanted to see it all go. What did it matter anyway? “They” had won-I had lost my son, my sanity, my ambition and will to go on. What good were these things without my baby? They were all tainted with bad memories anyway. I wanted to run inside and burn up with them. Perhaps that’s why I had smoke inhalation.

I didn’t want to include this chapter. I knew it would be very depressing, but so are the first three chapters. I wanted to end this book on a happy note. This is an autobiography though, and this is what happened in my life. I have tried to be totally honest with both the reader and myself. I have analyzed and reanalyzed my life. I have tried to look at every issue from all sides of the Medicine Wheel.

Some may accuse me of being overly emotional. Let them walk a mile in my moccasins before judging. Women are supposed to be emotional. Nature made us this way so we could take proper care of the children. When a breastfeeding woman hears a baby cry, her breasts respond by giving milk. To ask a woman to be less emotional is to ask her not to be human. If men were free to be more emotional, perhaps we would have less war, poverty and abandoned children in the world. Swiftdeer calls emotion “e-motion”-energy in motion. Our feminine energy is emotion and there is nothing wrong with that!

My anonymity is sacred to me now, so I cannot tell you where I live, after loosing my safe home in Indiana, but I do feel very lucky that everyone in my little family is safe and healthy, including our dogs. We have gone on, like the Phoenix, rising out of our own ashes, to breath again. I do not have plans for the future, only to make it through each day, one at a time.

I hope this book has opened minds, expanded beliefs and most importantly, inspired change, both personally and socially. Thank you for taking the time to read it.

THE END

Looking back at my life, the choices I have made, the mistakes and the shit that just happened, I try to make some sense of it all. Some believe that all things happen for a reason. If that is true, then I would like to think that the sexual abuse I experienced repeatedly as a teenager and the career I subsequently embarked on, led to something good. Maybe my career did something positive for society or a few people in it and that is the good that comes from the things that were so very bad.

Maybe my life’s example will help to stop the evils that lead to my occupation. I hope people will start to give the bonding of a baby to its major caretakers the sacred, undeniable respect it deserves and go to great lengths to see that it is not destroyed. I see no evidence that this is true, however. Children are shuffled like pawns in a chess game between parents in custody battles. Adopted babies are torn from the only family they have ever known with no thought about how it will affect the child, when a birth parent changes their mind. Single mothers are thrown in jail for minor first time offenses or for protecting their own lives and their children are ignored by the courts and left to suffer needlessly. Today there is a greater tendency for school counselors, police and therapists to stand behind an abused child and do what is necessary to stop their torture. The more incidents that are recounted and believed the less an abuser feels like he can get away with his vile atrocities. There are many more support groups than there were back when I was a child. Therapists are starting to realize how prevalent such incidents of sexual abuse really are and have begun to act appropriately.

Even so, how many victims, both younger and older, walk around with a secret pain? It takes a lot of courage for a child to go against what a parent or authority figure says you must do under penalty of death, to tell someone else what is happening. This dark secret causes the victim to feel dirty, ashamed and at fault. Children can not rationalize and see that they are not to blame. The very nature of the crime and its ramifications make it terribly hard for children to tell their horrible secret. If a child is old enough to know that telling could turn her remaining parent against her and cause a substantial loss in the family income that could put them on the streets, it is even more difficult to do.

As a society, we owe it to our children to protect them from these situations and support them when they fall innocently to victimization. People who turn their backs to cries for help should meet with repercussions. Our criminal system needs to begin to put a child’s rights over parent’s rights. Too many parents are irresponsible and child-like themselves. SOMEONE has to let the children have a safe childhood above all costs. When a victim sees their proven abuser slapped on the wrist she believes there is no justice and that no one cares enough to protect her. She gets the message her feelings and safety doesn’t matter and spends the rest of her life acting accordingly.

We owe it to all victims, be they of incest or rape, male or female, a way to heal in a society that supports them. Victims don’t need nurses and therapists doubting the basic facts of a crime in order to protect their own fear of vulnerability. Victims don’t need a group therapy program where they are lumped together with all the other rape victims from the last week and told they are “over it” when the six-week limit is up. Victims don’t need to see their convicted rapist set free after six months, or worse, not serve any time at all. This is a crime against humanity that will scar a victim for life, most often causing violent and deadly repercussions during childbearing and times of depression. It should be punished accordingly and if this society wasn’t so patriarchal, I believe it would be!

A large number of women working in the sex industry have been victims of rape and/or incest. Most I have spoken with swear they enjoy their work and see it as a healing experience, even if they may not feel exactly comfortable with the sexually explicit parts of it. Personally, it did help me become more at ease with my own sexuality and in control. I learned so much about the human sexual condition and it’s deviations. Even though I’ve read just about everything I can find on the subject of sexual healing, nothing compares to the real life experience

I’ve been exposed to. Having heard thousands of stories from fans and co-workers there’s not much that I haven’t learned about sexuality. If it helps victims, no matter how few, there must be something good to be said for it.

Of course, society’s attitude towards sex workers is very damaging to their self-esteem, so the individual must weigh the pros and cons. Perhaps if society could get over their puritanical views on sex and move into the 21st century, the experience would be one of a purer healing.

On the other hand, it depends on what part of the sex industry one is talking about. There is quite a difference between dancing in a bikini bar and being a porno star or streetwalker in New York City.

What about the porno star? In doing movies, posing in magazines or dancing in gentlemen’s clubs, there is a big risk to one’s anonymity. Fame and fortune are not synonymous, but the assumption by society that they are, is a testament to the fact that everyone agrees they should be. People subconsciously acknowledge that anonymity is very valuable. To give it up is worth a fortune. The value of anonymity is the lack of being judged by others. The opposite, fame, is a constant judging by others. You are in the limelight, under the microscope, in the spotlight, the public eye. Some will find you too promiscuous, others, your “peers”, too prudish. ‘Tou can’t please all the people all the time!”

Abused and abandoned children often seek mass approval to make up for the lack of love by a significant caretaker (mother and/or father) earlier in life. They are willing to do just about anything for this acknowledgment and, feel they quite literally, need it. How many times have you been told about someone’s suicide attempt only to hear it followed by “they were just trying to get attention”? Is attention in such scarce supply that we do not feel that an attempt on one’s own life is enough to warrant giving it? Do people not realize that attention is such an important thing that newborn babies will actually die from lack of it? Failure to Thrive does result in death if not stopped soon enough. The infant, lacking physical touching and emotional bonding in the form of positive verbal reinforcement, will slow down his eating, quit exploring his environment and lose weight until he dies. Doesn’t this sound like a severely depressed adult? People who commit suicide are just acting on a natural instinct. Failure to thrive doesn’t happen with just abandoned babies. There ought to be some way our society can unselfishly give the mass approval and love to abused and neglected children that they need to heal.

Bad things do happen to innocent people, despite what your beliefs about God are. Swiftdeer says that 80% of everything that happens is related to karma. This could either be bad karma, or your soul’s need to experience a traumatic event in order to grow. According to the Twisted Hairs Council of Elders, all souls make a plan for their life before they are born. They decide how far they want to evolve in this lifetime and how much they want to accomplish. 20% of what happens is just plain luck, bad or good. Shit does happen.

The Wiccan belief is that hell and karma were designed by people in positions of power as a way to control the masses. Since we are all given free will, this was a way to make sure people didn’t walk all over each other. When bad things happen it’s an opportunity for our soul to learn and grow. People who hurt others will simply have to keep coming back in reincarnations until they “grow up”.

Bad people do go unpunished in this life and children and adults who have done nothing to deserve it are often victims of violence on the streets and in the home as well as accidents and financial disasters. Any one of us could become a paraplegic at any time simply by crossing paths with an irresponsible driver. Any one of us could lose everything we own in a fire due to no fault of our own and most people are not insured for what it would cost to replace everything, not to mention the stress involved. No one is immune to the many atrocities that could befall us, and yet our society tends to kick people when they are down. This is in an effort to deny any similarity between them and us

We feel so vulnerable when we look at a person in such ill health they can not work, we do not like this feeling, so we hide it behind thoughts like “They must not have taken care of theirhealth, maybe they did drugs or drank too much.” We look at a person in a wheel chair and think “they must’ve been doing something dangerous they shouldn’t have been, perhaps drinking and driving”. We look at the victim of AIDS and say to ourselves “they must’ve had lots of promiscuous sex”. Blood transfusions and non-sexual transmissions never cross our minds. We hear about a victim of rape and believe “they must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time” as if the victim is at fault. When a victim sleeping in her home is raped, we think of ways to deny her innocence in an effort to make us feel less vulnerable. It is the same way for all other bad luck. We want to go to church, pray, do all the ‘right’ things so that these things won’t happen to us. There are no guarantees of that, people all have free will and Spirit does not sweep his or her hand down to save the innocent children, men and women who are suffering in other war torn countries or from famine, why should he or she save us? Saying we should be saved because we are of some ‘special’ faith is a lie to ourselves we use to make us feel safe in a very unfair world. If we become a victim again, we believe we didn’t pray right. These kinds of beliefs set victims up for the continuous re-victimization they experience from society.

When a person needs help with their emotions and actively seeks out therapy, they should not be denied because of an inability to pay. Just as important as a person with a physical emergency, society should take care of these people, if not out of compassion, then out of self-preservation. These are the people who could snap, break the law and cause injury to innocent people. A parent can unwittingly pass on damaging behavior and the cycle repeats itself. If someone recognizes a need for help in themselves, they must really need it and should be helped. They should never be looked down on because very rarely, if ever, has a person willingly brought ill mental health on themselves. People’s minds do what any other normal person’s mind would do in such situations and it is strength to recognize a need for help. Even so, such people are often the brunt of stupid jokes, wise cracks and discrimination.

A victim of violence and sexual abuse, like myself, grows up seeing everything in extremes. This causes them to view life either as one way, or the other, there is no middle of the road. Either a person is the type to be a virgin on their wedding night and has sex only to bear children, or they are an over-sexed pervert. Society does a very good job of perpetuating this myth. If a person is sexually aware and open, they are treated like a tramp. A provocative dress will also land you in that category. Likewise, a high collar and low hemline will mark you a prude. Somewhere in the middle lies a healthy sexual attitude but there are few examples of that in our mainstream media and entertainment. It’s no wonder our culture is so hung up on sex.

The sex industry itself, from movies to most magazines needs to stop perpetuating the image that it’s models and actors are sexual freaks, always performing side-show sex every waking moment. Naturally society has its nymphos, but you’d be surprised how many actresses I’ve heard say they find sex painful and only do it for the pay check. I have never seen an actress performing sex for fun on the set sidelines because she ‘just couldn’t wait to get to work’, although I’ve seen stories like that in print dozens of times.

If the X-rated movie business refuses to do anything to protect it’s performers from AIDS and other STD’s, someone should. We have governmental rules and regulations to protect laborers in all lines of work. Large posters on safety are mandatory in all work places, but one of the most dangerous professions has been virtually ignored by a government that is afraid protecting it’s performers could be seen as advocating the business’s right to exist in the first place. If those in positions of power in the industry had common sense and decency they wouldn’t need someone to point out the obvious. In the meantime, people’s lives are in danger.

Some might argue that the few thousand people involved in such work do not warrant the government’s attention. The message it would be sending to the rest of the world, however, I believe would be worth it. To say that safe sex is that important, that these people do count like any other human beings, to admit that people are influenced by what they watch in these movies, would all be great things. It would be a step in the right direction to normalizing our societies views on sex andeliminating the pressure-cooker suppression of a normal function that sexual denial contributes to. This suppression has been proven to cause sexual crimes in many different studies.

Was my work in this business a good or bad thing? Was it healthy or harmful to me in the long run? Is the business damaging to the psyche of its actresses? Does it demean and use women? When I first started doing this work, it made me feel good about myself. I did not feel abused or used. Obviously I was not emotionally stable to begin with. Few, if any, X-rated actresses are. As time went by, I felt differently. Several things contributed to this change.

First, the business changed. In the beginning, I was treated with respect, budgets were higher, so we took more time and had a movie you could be proud of. I was treated like a star at opening galas and personal appearances. When budgets and plots were slashed and I was treated like “today’s special”, it felt cheap because I was treated cheaply. The longer I was in it, the more obvious it was that the new meat on the market is what gets “seniority”.

Secondly, I became aware of how the glamour was to cover up being taken advantage of. When a movie can bring in hundreds of thousands of dollars and the star is only paid $5,000.00, we’re being used. When the public buys these movies not for their artistic content, fabulous screenplay, large budget, special effects or director’s name, but solely on it’s female star’s attractiveness, and she is not financially rewarded accordingly, knowing she will be shunned by society for the rest of her life, she IS being abused.

Thirdly, I changed. I gained self-confidence enough to recognize when I had been taken advantage of. I also was able to see the number one problem with being involved in the business-everyone else’s reaction to it; from seeing your child’s dejected face as he tells you his friend’s mom won’t let him spend the night because she disapproves of your “lifestyle”, to being told you can’t be hired because it will give the impression this company approves of your past. The major abuser is this society whose cracks I fell through growing up and which throws stones at people like me and our families on a regular basis for choices made as a direct result of our childhood traumas.

Psychiatrists say that we all have different fragments or aspects of our personality. When my personality split, I did things I myself would never have done. This business provided an outlet for that. What would I have done if I didn’t have this business to turn to? I can think of no other job that I was capable of doing at the time.

If the business and it’s stars were respected by society, if safe sex and set guidelines were practiced and performers were rewarded financially as they should be, then perhaps it would not be quite so damaging.

The writing of this book has been a power struggle between a segment of society who has refused to respect honesty and my absolute need to be myself. At first, when the rumor got around that I was working on a book, an old friend named Roy approached me. He wanted to be my manager for the project. He brought in a friend of his whom had never written a book in her life, and had never been involved in the X-rated movie business, or dancing, and knew nothing about Multiple Personality Disorder, or Disassociative Identity Disorder and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. How typical of what I had experienced as Hyapatia Lee!

She sat me down and made me watch my movies with a tape recorder running for three days. She wanted me to talk about any experiences these movies brought up. I talked of Essex and getting ripped off by club owners, the struggle to bring out an alter who no longer wanted to be out and the pain of people’s judgments and expectations of me based on a job one of my alters had. She was deaf to my words. She wanted a juicy story of how I seduced the director or went to a swinging party or something. When it became obvious she not only wasn’t listening to what I had said, but took it upon herself to embellish my life’s story in a way that was totally fabricated, I quit.

I began to write the book myself. In a strong statement, my body began to bleed severely out of cycle as I wrote about my stepfather. My uterus was crying. It did not stop for over a month and I ended up getting four units of blood transfused.

Royalties only come in when one is still making movies, evidently. Every job I got dancing on the road would end one day into the gig as my medically unexplained bleeding would inevitably return with gusto. It was just too emotionally draining to force myself into this work that made me feel so used and abused any longer.

I severed ties with anyone and everyone who had ever known Hyapatia Lee. I had to, I could not be her anymore and none of them understood that. I changed my address and phone number several times and even my real name to throw off several ardent fans and stalkers. I’d had too many serious scares.

There was no more desire or need for anything that personality had formerly offered. I was NOT healed, as there were still several other alternative personalities on my personal island, but Hyapatia was gone and not missed at all there. I guess she had either served her purpose or it became apparent that the air of control, victory and success were a facade. I had merely been an ignorant puppet on a string. Though I would never dance that dance again, everywhere I went, people still saw me as that Hyapatia Lee role. It didn’t take long for me to avoid people altogether.

Like a battery whose charge had been depleted, my life force energy, or orende, was dangerously low. I had no hope or desire left. I truly felt everyone in my life would be better off without me. All the personalities left were switching back and forth at a ferocious pace. Back in intensive therapy, I am trying to learn more about the human mind, my mind, and how it functions after being shattered by abuse.

I have learned that first of all, I am not alone. There are many children who are abused and quite a few of them go on to develop DID. The condition is a normal reaction to an abnormal environment.

I have learned secondly that the emotions and mind control the body, not the other way around. The body is inside the mind as the mind determines how the body reacts and processes events. Traumatic events can and often do manifest in a physical issue at some point down the line.

I have also learned in how many different ways society blames its victims and how eager people are to look the other way when faced with unpleasantness. They distance themselves so far that their efforts to help become disassociated to the victim.

In trying to protect themselves, those that would help sever the one key ingredient that keeps the survivor going-that we are NOT alone!

I hope this book has given the reader a different perspective of the X-rated movie industry and all that goes with erotic entertainment. There is a good and bad in everything and I see both everywhere I have looked. Overall, it is not good or bad so much as it just “is”.

While I can in no way speak for anyone other than myself, it is my opinion that I am not the only X-rated movie actress with DID. In fact, I believe the incidence of PTSD and DID run amazingly high in the business. I believe those in positions of power in the industry are well aware that their actors and actresses are at the least, emotionally unstable. It is my belief that they use these actors and actresses instability against them to their own advantage. After all, isn’t that what America calls “good business”?

At some point, America has to wake up, smell the coffee and develop some compassion. Instead of saying “that won’t happen to me”, we should think “ I am so thankful that didn’t happen to me” because it could have. And while we’re at it, let’s think about how to help the victim survive and thrive!

So often I have seen people who simply can not imagine atrocities like those mentioned in the early part of this book. It is not a fun subject to dwell on and so their mind naturally protects itself by pushing such thoughts away. But until we mature, and evolve as a society to the point we can look at these things, the effects they have and how, at anytime down the line, we have the power to either add insult to past injury or to promote healthy healing, we will be condemned to repeat our mistakes. We shouldn’t have to know all the gory details of one’s past before we offer kindness and compassion.

The Dalai Lama says the purpose of life is happiness and that our common human bond is much stronger than people believe. We are all the same. We all want happiness, a good life for ourselves and our children, love and peace. I hope that people everywhere live their life with happiness and love for each other.

About the Author

Since starting in the sex industry first as a dancer in 1980, I have literally lived on the road for years, traveling from town to town, club to club. As the only two-time winner of the title Miss Nude Galaxy, I was popular when I first started making adult movies. I was the first actress to start the now popular trend of signing an exclusive contract with a production company, much like the old Hollywood studio days.

I was in the adult movie business for well over 10 years. I have received the “Legends of Erotica” award in 1994, Fan Favorite in 1993, Free Speech Lifetime Achievement Award in 1995, was voted into the Adult Video News Hall of Fame in 1990, and won the award for Best Actress in that same year. Most recently I was honored as one of the top 25 actors and actresses ever to be in the business. In addition to X-rated movies, I have also worked in films with such stars as Tim Allen, Paul Bartell, John Savage.

I was elected president of the short-lived X-rated Actors Association, an organization formed to protect actress’s rights to work with condoms. This group was formed when some talent started getting positive HIV tests.

I wrote a sexual advice column for Cheri Magazine for five years, in addition to penning most of my own movie scripts. After leaving the business, I started writing my own songs for my bands Double Euphoric and Vision Quest.

Having been very close friends with almost everyone in the business who has committed suicide, especially Megan Leigh, who died with a photo of my oldest son in her arms, and Savannah, who loved my deviled eggs, I feel the world needs to know their true stories. Most will be very surprised.

As I have been the only person, to my knowledge, to do audience preference questionnaires at adult movie theaters and bookstores, I feel I know what the audience really wants and is really like. I have met them repeatedly face-to-face, from Quebec City, to Milan, to Auckland and Sydney and every state in the union. I’ve heard the audience on the dozens of talk shows I have been on, I understand their questions and how they think. This book is for them and everyone else who ever wanted to hear an insider’s point of view on the industry.

Not since Linda Lovelace has an actress been able to completely speak out about her experiences here. Alex Jordan was writing her book when she committed suicide. Many comic books have been done by and about the lives of several actresses in the business, but this book is a very complete, detailed, story of my life. I have kept nothing back.

Table of Contents

“The Secret Lives of Hyapatia Lee”

Copyright © 2000 by Hyapatia Lee

Contents

INTRODUCTION

IN THE BEGINNING

BACK HOME

PLEASE GOD, NOT AGAIN!

BUD

THE MICHIGAN CIRCUIT

MY FIRST MOVIE

BECOMING A PORN STAR

LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

ONWARD AND UPWARD

SHAUNA GRANT

AND BABY MAKES THREE

MEGAN LEIGH

DIVORCE

AIDS IN THE BUSINESS

MY FIRST CD, ROCKIN’’ AND ROLLIN’ IN LA

MORE SUICIDES

SUNDANCE

UPIN SMOKE

THE END

About the Author