Array Seka - Inside Seka

Chuck kept pushing. More and more strip clubs were opening. Adult film stars were being asked to headline. It wouldn’t be like regular strip club action where I’d be working the pole with half a dozen other girls and hustling lap dances. It would be like a stage show and I would be the feature attraction. No, check that. He wanted me to be the opening act for his new wife, Bo.

Opening act?? Moi?? And again, who the fuck was “Bo”? I knew Chuck was a hustler and I realized he was trying to hustle me.

“Chuck, I never heard of any ‘Bo,’ and unless she’s the real Bo Derek, she ain’t headlining over me. You know and I know if I show up, everyone in the audience will have paid to see me, not some no-name.”

This went on and on and Chuck was persistent, even when I called him on his bullshit. He got down to talking numbers. I thought for a moment, and then came out with the most outrageous price I could conjure up. The point is, I really didn’t want to do this. I’m not a dancer, and even if I could learn how to do it, I didn’t know if I even wanted to. So I handled the negotiation as I did at the end of my film career. Since I didn’t really want to do it anymore, I asked for the sun, the moon, and the stars, expecting to be turned down.

Chuck said, “Okay.”

Shit. Now I had to do it. Off I went to beautiful Rochester, New York. I was goin’ on the road.

When I got to Rochester, I met Bo. She was stunning. She looked nothing like Bo Derek — she was a dark-haired beauty with a killer bod and was younger than me. I hated her. Ha! Worse yet, she could dance. Boy, could she dance! She really was a star-attraction-level dancer, but no one knew her yet. But they knew Seka and that’s what sold the tickets, just as I predicted.

Chuck booked me to be the featured performer-of-the-week at a number of venues and we drew big crowds, filling the house each show. They wanted six shows a day, but I demanded no more than four, as each set was about twenty minutes and it was grueling work.

I had steamer trunks full of costumes and gimmicks and I’d get enough bookings to be on the road for two to three months at a time. I had elaborate costumes made. There were huge capes with my name written out in my handwriting with bulbs that lit up. I had a top hat and tails that were mirrored to go with the songs. My tapes were also custom made to go with each of my outfits. The set would start out with Singin’ in the Rain, with my umbrella lit up and flashing underneath, which would lead right into It’s Raining Men. I also had flash paper that made sparks of fire for two seconds, along with a magic cane that expanded when you held it a certain way.

I began doing a comedy act before the show. I would come out unannounced, dressed as an old woman, sort of like a white Moms Mabley. Guys wouldn’t know it was me at first. I’d tell dirty jokes and stories, making fun of this slutty girl, Seka, they’d all paid to see. It was a riot. I swear, I was doing everything in my power to entertain them and distract them from noticing I couldn’t dance a lick. I could strut my stuff. I was a showman. I did everything I could think of to dazzle them with flash.

When I first started, it felt incredibly weird to take my clothes off on stage. The guys would hoot and holler and I felt very bashful and would almost want to crawl under the stage. Odd, I know. But it was so different from doing movies. On set, I would be around eight or ten people at most, all of whom I knew, some quite well. On stage, I didn’t know any of those people. And the people from my movie days wouldn’t clap and shout when I dropped my drawers.

It was kind of cool to work in these big, big places. They’d hold two or three hundred people, with a mob standing outside for the next show. After each set there would be a designated area cordoned off for guys to take pictures with me. There were times when they’d have to actually cut the line so I could get ready for the next show. After my performance, I’d go back and finish the pictures of those I didn’t have time for the first go-round, and there would already be new people coming. It was a really good feeling to know I had that many fans.

I’d work Monday through Saturday, travel on Sunday, and start the process all over again the following Monday, just in a different city. Half the time I didn’t know where I was. Sometimes I’d wake up in the hotel and have to look at the matchbook by my bed to see what town I was in. I felt beat up after a while.

While I was on stage, I was thinking of how much money I’d be making selling the pictures and merchandise after the set. Or, “This show will get me to Mexico.” I tried to do most of my dancing in the summer months so I could go to Mexico, St. Maarten, St. Croix, and other places I loved in the winter. I’d call Chicago and find out if it was warm yet and if it wasn’t, I’d just stay longer until it was. If I needed more money, I’d call my secretary and tell her to pay my credit cards off and I’d get back to stripping.

Although I obviously preferred to be lounging on an island, I enjoyed doing the shows. And I never, ever thought of the audience or fans as losers. These were the folks who paid my bills. Stripping does give you an empowering sensation. There’s an excitement knowing that people are there just for you. It does a lot for your ego. The only thing was, it never mattered how many times I went on a stage, I was always scared to death before I went out. I didn’t want to disappoint people.

They always gave me bodyguards to go to and from the clubs to my hotels. They’d drop me off and pick me up every day. After the show they’d go with me to the area where we’d do the photos and autographs with the customers. They’d always give me these huge, gigantic bodyguards who were generally bouncers at the club.

There was this one black fellow we called Tree. He was the most massive man I’d ever seen. And his partner was pretty big himself. When I’d walk between them, nobody could even see me. The late actor Michael Clarke Duncan from The Green Mile was one of my bodyguards in Chicago. He, too, was one helluva big man.

Sometimes people would try to reach out, touch me, and grab a piece of clothing when I was walking to the autograph area. That was pretty scary. The security guys would just take their arms, push them back, and practically project them across the room. There was no intention of hurting them, just to get them away. There was one club in Chicago that was so packed we didn’t know how they would get me on stage. But I had some bodybuilder friends there who said they’d help me for free. They were dressed up in leather and KISS-like make-up, with spiked armbands and dog collars. It was quite a scene as they carried me above the crowd as I lay flat and felt like I was floating over the masses. If anybody started to get too close they would smack them with those spiked armbands.

Eventually, I stopped working with Chuck Traynor. While I can’t say exactly how he treated Linda Lovelace or Marilyn Chambers, I can say this: he’s an asshole. That came out rather quickly in our relationship. He treated Bo like shit and I didn’t like it. I may not have seen anything illegal or worth calling the cops about, but an asshole is an asshole, period, even if there isn’t a law against it. He tried treating me that way and I stopped him in his tracks. That put an end to that, but still, I found him unlike-able and he was making an otherwise pleasant experience unpleasant, and who needs that? Life is too short. Besides, while he may have introduced me to the field, once I’d gotten my feet wet, offers from others kept rolling in. I’d get by.

Most of the other girls at the clubs were really nice — and they could really dance. A lot of people have this concept that strippers are real bitchy to each other. But they’d knock on my door and ask me if I needed anything. They’d also want to know how to become a feature performer and get into the adult business. I basically recommended they do something for Playboy, Penthouse, or Club as opposed to films. The porno industry can be cutthroat, and if you’re just doing magazines you’ll work alone. You didn’t have to worry if you like a partner or not.