Array Seka - Inside Seka

“Yeah, sure.” I didn’t really care. And yet, on at least some level, I did.

Ken also got off on peeking in windows. He was a pervert. But as fed up as I was with him, we were living in California and I didn’t really know anybody I could turn to or trust for help. Breaking up with a guy is often ugly for a woman. Men sometimes get violent or destructive. I had no real support system in place.

As my relationship was collapsing, my career was skyrocketing. I was given the moniker “The Marilyn Monroe of Porn,” and since she was one of my idols I found it very flattering. It still says that on the cover of Inside Seka. High Society magazine wanted me to do a photo shoot in a tribute to Marilyn, so I asked for a particularly good make-up artist who they agreed to fly in: Fred. The shoot was in New Jersey. Ken came along, too, but didn’t want to spring for another room, so Fred stayed with us. They paid me a decent amount of money under the condition that Ken was not allowed to be on the set during the shoot.

It was tense at best between us. One of the reasons for his being banned was I heard he was hitting on other girls. Besides, he was shooting pictures at the same time the pros were, which was throwing off all the lighting. It would take them twice as long to shoot because he was in the way. Unlike when I first began, I found I was much more relaxed without him there and the shoot went off without a hitch. But when the work was over we went back to the room and all hell broke loose.

Ken was really pissed off. I had just spent the day with this guy he didn’t know — Fred. He insinuated Fred and I had been fooling around.

“Are you that dumb you don’t know he’s gay?” Meanwhile, poor Fred was standing there uncomfortably through the entire screaming match.

Ken knew he was slowly but surely losing control of me and was freaking out. That was the first time I told him he couldn’t come on the set, and I was also starting to make my own friends. But he just kept screaming and yelling. I got fed up and told him I was leaving and he could do whatever he wanted. I started to get my clothes together. Ken and I always drove everywhere because we traveled with our dogs. That was another big joke throughout the business, because we never went anywhere without our three dogs.

In a frenzy, he suddenly grabbed my baby poodle and locked her in the car. I pleaded with him to give me my dog but he wouldn’t. He was desperately trying to keep me there. He didn’t think I would leave without the dog and he was right.

I did not know how much rage I had until that particular moment. He had a really gorgeous red and white Cadillac with white leather interior, and he clearly loved that vehicle more than he did me. I found a piece of two-by-four and started beating the Caddy and he was freaking out.

“Don’t hurt my car! Don’t hurt my car!”

“So give me my dog!”

Here I was, looking like Marilyn Monroe outside this sleazy hotel in New Jersey, and I started bashing it in.

One headlight gone.

He still wouldn’t give me the dog.

The other headlight gone.

No dog.

I started wailing on the hood and then the mirror on the side. I said, “The windshield is next.”

He still wouldn’t budge. The Caddy was starting to look totaled.

At this point the police pulled up — two officers in one car. They looked at me and simply asked, “What’s going on?”

I explained and Fred verified everything I said. The police looked at Ken. “Sir, open the car and give the lady her dog.”

He started arguing with them. They didn’t even give him time to plead his case. “Give her the dog!”

Finally, he relented.

The cops asked me what I wanted to do and I said I just wanted to get my stuff and leave. They stood there until I did just that. I didn’t even look at Ken, and the cops wouldn’t let him say a word to me. Every time he opened his mouth to say something they told him, “Be quiet. Leave her alone.”

I left for another local hotel with Fred, who was trying hard to keep me together. I went back to California to a home that was in his name, in spite of the fact I was the breadwinner. I knew I only had a few days to get my life in order because he was back East fixing his prized car. But I didn’t know what to do.

There was no communication between us at all at this point. I had all the locks changed on the house because I had no idea what he was planning. I was afraid for my safety. Actually, I was afraid for my life. He’d never beaten me or anything like that before, and I was a pretty big girl, but no one is tougher than a bullet.

After the second or third day I called the guys at Caballero, who produced Swedish Erotica, and they told me they’d send two guys over to help me move. The only problem was I had nowhere to go.

They sent two young guys with a big truck to help me get my stuff out of there. They were huge. Muscle on top of muscle. I’d never seen two fellows quite that size before. I was upstairs as they took the furniture apart. But I’d forgotten the garage door was open and I didn’t hear a car pull up. I didn’t think it would be Ken so soon, but it was.

For some strange reason, the first thing he did was throw his clothes in the washing machine. Why, I don’t know. But he did.

When I heard the washing machine, I said to the guys, “What the hell is going on?” There he was in the garage separating his clothes to do a wash, like nothing in the world had happened.

“What are these guys doing here?” he asked.

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“You’re not stopping her,” one of my protectors said with a “Don’t fuck with me” scowl plastered on his face.

They asked me if I wanted the washer and dryer and I said, “Absolutely.”

“But I have my clothes in there….”

Ignoring him, they cut the line and pulled Ken’s load out, unceremoniously dumping his soaking garments on the floor of the garage. “Not anymore you don’t.”

They picked up the washer and dryer and without a bit of effort loaded in on the truck. These big boys were not for the faint of heart.

Ken started to say something and one of the guys said, “You’ll be in a healthier place if you just didn’t say anything.”

They proceeded to load the rest of my things in the truck. I had car keys in my hand for my little chocolate brown Spitfire convertible and they saw I was agitated.

“Do you want to drive?”

“No, I’m a little too upset to drive.”

One got on the right hand side of the car and the other guy on the left, and they picked it up and deposited it on the truck. Just like that.

My dog, Yvonne, and the little Spitfire and I sat all loaded on the truck. Having absolutely no idea what lay ahead, off we went.

The Swedish Erotica guys had an apartment they owned and let me use for free. It was gorgeous and in a nice neighborhood. It wasn’t fancy, but everything seemed to be brand new. It was completely furnished down to dishes and pots and pans. They put my things in storage. This, of course, was in the pre-cell phone days so I was grateful there was a phone already hooked up. I settled in and for the first time I could remember, I was feeling lost. There was nobody else there; it was just me. No husband. No boyfriend. No real friends. And I didn’t know my way around at all. I even got lost going to the supermarket. But as lost as I felt, I was relieved at the same time. And I slept a lot because I was emotionally and physically drained.

I had been paid pretty well thus far in my adult career, but foolishly all I had in my name was my little car. I had just begun sticking some money in a bank account, which Ken didn’t know about, because after finding the pictures of his family I didn’t trust him like I did in the beginning.