Array Seka - Inside Seka

I said, “That’s not what the deal said. I’m not going to do that.”

I was told I had no choice. It was what the customers expected. I’m sure they had a lot of girls who came down and did that — there were tons of pictures of performers on the wall. What made it seem shady, though, was having the big black curtain there so guys could feel me up. It wasn’t simply that it was beneath me. If they told me in advance, at least I could have decided whether or not to do it. What pissed me off was the deception, the attitude that as an adult actress I was such a whore they could do anything they wanted with me without so much as a “how do you do?” And on top of it, they wanted 50% of the picture money.

I said, “I’m not getting naked. And you’re not getting anything.”

They were trying to be tough guys, attempting to bully me into it. I wasn’t going for it. They said, “Well, the gig’s off.”

They turned around, walked away, and I said, “Are you at least going to take me back to the hotel?”

“Find your own way.”

And I did.

I started walking out of the store to grab a cab when this large, round, jolly fellow with thinning red hair came into the store. He said, “I saw you were going to be here today and I wanted you to come to my club. But I didn’t know how to get in touch with you.”

I had heard of his place and it was supposed to be pretty nice, upscale strip joint. We went back to my hotel and he informed me, “We’ll pay for your room for a week so I’ll have time to advertise you. I only want you to do two shows a day for four days.” He also said I could keep all the photograph money.

Some five years and several pounds since I’d last stripped, it didn’t sound like the greatest idea in the world. Hell, I didn’t even have “proper stripping clothes” with me. But I needed the money.

I knew I wasn’t in dancing shape. Once I stopped doing coke, the pounds grew back on and then some. Even back in my prime, I was nervous and scared about live shows. Any dancer who tells you otherwise is lying. I would always think, “Are they going to like me?” But I would get standing ovations just for walking out. It was a feeling of power. Sometimes I’d even see guys jerking off in their seats. For whatever reason, it didn’t seem sleazy to me. I was amused they would actually have the nerve to do this at a live performance in a room full of people. Hell, I could get a guy to do anything I wanted from the stage. If I wanted him to jump out of his seat and walk on stage for me to do a lap dance, he’d do it. I had fans actually come and bow down in front of me and say, “I am not worthy.” That made me uncomfortable, since I’m just a regular person, but it wasn’t like it was my idea.

But did I still have it? I wondered nervously as we wrote the out contract on a napkin.

The club was packed the entire four days. The owner asked if I would hang around between shows to just talk to customers and have a drink with them. Since he had been so gracious, I didn’t mind at all. I had already told the bartenders that when the customers bought me a drink, put very little alcohol in as I didn’t want to get hammered.

They had a designated corner table for the owner and me. I had on a mini-skirt with high heels and a low cut blouse, but was well aware I didn’t look like the Seka of old. Yet the customers were exceedingly nice and flattering to me. That was until one guy put his hands on the table. Kind of leaning on his knuckles, he said, “Would you mind standing up?”

Not knowing his game, I obliged him.

Looking me up and down in a disdainful sort of way, he suddenly blurted out, “Why would I want to see a fat old porn star?”

That cut me deep to the bone. He had been intentionally cruel and it was devastating.

It always hurts me when fans have this unrealistic expectation that thirty years later a Seka or a Ginger Lynn won’t age. That we’re like that image on a seventies screen or in a magazine centerfold from a quarter century ago. We all get older. Have they looked in the mirror to see how they’ve aged? This fellow wasn’t exactly Mr. GQ himself. But it does hurt your feelings. It makes you doubt yourself. You wonder if everybody feels that way or if they’re just feeling sorry for you and that’s why they’re coming by.

I didn’t know what to say, nor did I even have the chance to respond. The owner sort of lifted his finger and suddenly two huge bouncers grabbed the guy. “You’re never allowed back in here again. Don’t even try.”

Sitting in the dressing room prior to my set, I thought this was one of the stupidest things I’d ever done. The customer’s cruel comments kept playing through my head. It was all I could do to walk on those pumps up to that stage. I was totally self-conscious. I was actually grateful the club was not well lit.

But when I got up there, the audience was so warm and responsive. And very kind. When they were giving me tips they’d say things like, “Thank you for being here. I love your movies.” Some said I looked better. One or two even said it was nice I put some weight on. Who knows, maybe they were prompted by the owner to say it, but it helped alleviate the feeling of not being good enough anymore. Without our fans, we’re nothing.

My Aunt Merlyn and my Uncle Doug were my favorite relatives and since they didn’t live that far away, they picked me up at the hotel. I hadn’t seen them in a long time and they drove me to the airport. It was wonderful being with them as they had always been so supportive of everything I had done.

Getting on that plane, I actually felt good about my little misadventure. What had started out as a horrible, horrible time turned out to be an eye-opening experience. I saw how cruel people could be, but left feeling really loved and appreciated.

When you’ve spent much of your life living on the edge like I have, any particular decision or action can be life or death. August 27, 1990, was no exception.

I went to the Alpine Valley Music Theater near East Troy, Wisconsin, to see the great blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughn. I was a huge fan of his so it was well worth the ninety-or-so-minute trip from Chicago to see him. I had been given all-access passes by some friends I knew and immediately went backstage. They had a hospitality suite with a buffet spread for guests and it was sort of like a meet and greet, with the band members hanging out and socializing. The band knew who I was, since I was kind of the “It Girl” for rock and rollers in those days.

This was the first time I met Stevie and I was thrilled because he was one of the most dynamic blues guitarists who ever lived. I was awestruck and nearly speechless during our brief conversation. He seemed like an old soul, much wiser and insightful than his years. His eyes held great depth. And that came out every time his fingers touched the strings of his guitar. Not much was said, but I remember how gracious he was. “Thank you for coming. I appreciate it.”

He was clearly a man of few words, but I sensed his sincerity. I knew from being around a lot of musicians to give him space, as he was about to get on stage. Some performers are nervous and quiet moments before show time and I didn’t want to be intrusive and put him out in any way. I certainly didn’t want to come off like a doting fan, although that’s exactly what I was.

Amazingly, Eric Clapton, Buddy Guy, Robert Cray, and Stevie’s older brother Jimmy Vaughn were also backstage, and as much as I respect and admire all of them, I’d come to see Stevie.

It was one of the most amazing blues shows I had ever seen, and I felt privileged to be there. Hell, it was like a musical orgasm on stage. Truly memorable.