Array Seka - Inside Seka

“Well, you’re Frank Zappa,” I blubbered all over myself.

“I know that.”

It blew me away because here was one of my all-time favorite musicians and he knew little old me. I was becoming aware I was famous to some degree, but didn’t realize how famous. This was one of the first times it hit me. He told me to enjoy the show and that was that. Funny enough, I bumped into Frank again at the opening of “Dreamgirls” in New York a few months later and we both had on the same sweater again.

When we got home, it was business as usual. I went to the gym regularly and continued my elocution and diction classes.

Fred and I started a mail order company and part of the deal with Club was that I had a certain amount of ad space in both Club and its sister publication, Club International. It was a very strategic contract that got me so many ads on the right side of the page, in the middle of the page, and on the spine. It was based on how people paged through the magazine. I think twice a year I got the inside back cover. These ads paid off, since the mail order company took off quickly.

We started creating products like T-shirts, blocks of note paper, and coffee mugs. The mugs were cute. When you put something hot in the cup, a lip print and my logo would appear. We also had strip pens where you’d click them and my clothes would fall off. There were also used panties, key chains, and a fan club membership. Fans could even order a phone call for a certain amount of time with a first, second, and third best time for me to call on whatever day they wanted.

What was interesting about the calls was that when I made them, it would be mostly human interest questions. You’d think they’d want me to talk dirty or whatever, but I was pleasantly surprised. Most just wanted to chat. “Where were you born? Who’s your favorite girl or guy to work with?” Even today it’s the same. People want to know certain things about me because they don’t believe everything they read. We also had pre-recorded sexy recordings they could get off on, and those sold very well because most people were intimidated to ask me on the phone to do that. We did custom Polaroid pictures. They got six pictures and they could ask me to wear stockings and garter belts, or however they wanted me to dress. As long as it wasn’t too outrageous, I’d fill the orders.

I was extremely proud of it all, as I initially had no idea what mail order companies were about. I created something from absolutely nothing and money was coming in pretty well. Some wack-a-doos wanting things like clippings of my hair or pubic hair, but I figured, “Whatever floats your boat.” I was also thinking, “I’m making really good money without having to have sex on screen.” What a concept! It was like a residual. It was easier than making films. No travel. Nobody’s B.S. I could actually use my time constructively — not only with the business, but by working out and taking all my lessons and classes to improve myself as a model, an actress, and a person.

I really wasn’t dating much. I went out to dinner with one fellow occasionally, but it wasn’t a heavy-duty romance. He was a nice Jewish boy who worked for one of the distributors that released everything from mainstream movies to X-rated. There was also a fellow who reminded me of the Marlboro Man. He knew who I was because my hairdresser, Chuck, and Chuck’s lover, Cedric, told him about me. He knew about my career and it didn’t bother him. In fact, he thought it was a pretty hot deal, since I was probably the only porn star in Illinois. Our entire industry was centered around L.A.

Over the years, it has intimidated some men. Even today, I see some guys sweaty, shaky, and finding it hard to talk when they ask me for an autograph. It’s a strange feeling to have that effect on people. But he was just a pretty boy living at home with his mommy and daddy who were rich. I don’t think he worked. His job was to be cute. I didn’t really want anything serious, though. I had come to the realization that this was my career and I was very focused on myself and making sure I had money in the bank.

Fred made me start paying rent, which I wasn’t opposed to doing, although this was on top of him taking 50% of my earnings for being my manager. He said it would teach me responsibility. But somewhere in the back of my head I didn’t want to face the fact the numbers didn’t mesh. I was the one earning most of the money coming into the house, I was paying him a salary already, and now rent. I rationalized that he did my makeup and devoted a lot of time to me and what we were trying to accomplish. We worked together for close to a year, but suddenly I noticed expensive wallpaper going up, and top-of-the-line carpet being ripped out and replaced. And he wasn’t working nearly as much at his own gigs.

I may have been a country girl, but I could add. I also didn’t have as much freedom as I thought. I always thought of him as my friend, but I was hearing way too much of, “I don’t want you to do this. You shouldn’t do that.” I figured I had my own parents and didn’t need him to be one, too.

Without his knowing it, I had found an apartment. One day I got up the nerve to address the issue, telling him we all needed our own space.

That was when the shit hit the fan.

‘”You can’t even find a place on your own!” he screamed. The whole thing threw him into a hissy fit. The truth is, he really didn’t want me to go because then he wouldn’t have control — just like Ken. But I moved that very day.

I didn’t feel as alone this time. I had made friends through him. One fellow, Ronald, was also a gay hairdresser. Seems I made a habit of collecting gay hairdressers. He was an absolute crazy man in a good way.

I met a woman, Barbara, who was also gay. I had a lot of fun with her as well. I had this theory that Fred was trying to set me up with her, to keep me away from guys who could take me away from him. It didn’t occur to him she was totally supportive of my independence, or that maybe a woman could take me away from him, too.

About this time, Club Magazine called to renegotiate our contract. There was always a signing bonus and a royalty check. We got to the meeting and things were a little tense between Fred and I. Peter from Club sensed this, but we worked it all out. Peter handed Fred one sealed envelope and me another. When Fred asked for my envelope, I told him no. I had the larger of the two, so clearly Peter knew what was going on, and I promptly deposited it in my bank.

Sensing things were going badly, I told Fred I wanted to see the books. He was very reluctant. He’d even started to keep his office locked when he left the house, which he had never done before. I don’t think he realized that when we went to get our novelty items made, I took everyone’s business card. I wanted to have the contact info handy. Little Grasshopper learned quickly. My wiser instincts had kicked in. I now knew whom to reach if I ever needed anything.

All the mail orders were being sent to Michigan Avenue, because it was a prestigious Chicago address. Fred would always go down to pick up all the orders. Now I was sending someone else downtown to beat him to the punch.

One day when he was gone, I checked the books. His little office was off of his bedroom and he’d forgotten to lock the doors. Lo and behold, I found two sets of books.

Even though I cut him a 50/50 deal, I discovered it was more like 90/10 in his favor. I was white-hot pissed off. I was extremely hurt, too, but knew what I had to do. I took the books and he came home and freaked out. I sensed a lawsuit was about to ensue as he realized I finally knew exactly what was going on.

Fred sued me for breach of contract, since I didn’t put my Club check back into the business. But Barbara was a court reporter and was surrounded by lawyers. She worked for a Judge Bailey and talked to her on my behalf. She sent me to a criminal attorney named David Shippers, who was one of the best in the country. Subsequently, he was one of the men who worked with Kenneth Starr when he prosecuted Bill Clinton. He had also worked to write the RICO Act.