Stormy Daniels - Full Disclosure

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I found out from some fucker knocking on my door. And then you lied to me. Everyone knew but me!”

“I know,” I said. “I know. But it felt like too much time had passed and I just couldn’t tell you.”

“Is there anything else I need to know?” he screamed. “Why didn’t you trust me?”

“You were going to kill yourself, motherfucker,” I hissed. “I was doing the best I could. I was trying to keep us safe.”

“I could have handled it.”

“No, you couldn’t,” I said. “You have no idea how hard this has been. I was so worried about you. I know if I had told you, you would have succeeded in hurting yourself. I would be blaming myself for the rest of my life.” I brought up our daughter. “For the rest of her life,” I said, “she’d have to live with ‘When my mom told my dad what she did, he killed himself.’”

He said something cruel, which I probably felt like I deserved. I stormed off to our bedroom and closed the door. I waited for him to come in that night, but he didn’t. He spent the night on the couch, where he began to spend pretty much every night. It just became our pattern. Just another change.

To protect our daughter, our TV hasn’t been on for months, unless it’s a DVD or the Disney Channel. We can’t turn on the radio in our car. She knows that I write, direct, and star in movies, but she is too young to know what sex is. I never lie to her, so what she knows is that her mom makes movies that are just for adults, in the way that there are action and horror films that kids can’t watch. When she’s older and we have the sex talk, the very next conversation will be about my work. Trust me, I am far more worried about her reaction to finding out about Santa Claus than about my career.

But I don’t want her finding out from other people. She was set to start a new school in January, but we decided for her safety that we needed to homeschool her. We have a tutor for her now, which is crazy expensive, but I want to make sure she is getting the education she deserves. A first grader, she is already reading at a second-grade level, and she is spot on for math for first grade. And forget history, science, and social skills—she is off the charts. I’m so relieved I am not slowing her down, but there are other costs. Glen took our daughter out for pancakes and a man approached them and told them that her mother is nothing but a whore. I stopped going to Starbucks because the press figured out my routine.

“Hi, Stormy, can we talk for a just a minute?”

“Stormy, is there anything you want to say?”

Our daughter knows who Donald Trump is because he’s the president. We were being followed, and enough people kept approaching me that she wanted to know what was going on. We were in bed, and she was nestled against me, this sweet girl who’s so cool she knows every word to Drowning Pool’s “Bodies” but still wants to cuddle. I decided to level with her, giving her information appropriate to her age.

“Donald Trump did something bad a long time ago when Mommy used to know him,” I said. “People know that I know what he did. And they want to talk to me and get answers about it.”

“Okay,” she said. I smoothed her hair and looked up. Everything that I had tried to keep from happening—and turned down millions of dollars to keep from happening—was happening. And I couldn’t even stand up for myself because of the NDA. I had to just take it. We just had to take it.

On the morning of January 20, I got yet another call from Keith Davidson. They wanted me to sign another statement but I refused. Because I was fine with saying nothing, but I’m not okay with lying.

I had lied enough. My husband wasn’t speaking to me, he was sleeping on the couch, saying he couldn’t trust me anymore. Everything was going great—this is craziness. I just wanted it to go away.

I hadn’t said a word, and these people kept coming back again and again. I would not lie for these people. Your integrity is all you have. Money comes and goes, but if you don’t have your word, no one will stand with you when you need them.

That night I was heading to South Carolina for a dance booking at the Trophy Club in Greenville. Jay Levy, the club owner, had advertised it as the first stop on my Make America Horny Again tour. He had made flyers of the golf tournament photo. “HE SAW HER LIVE!” it read. “YOU CAN TOO!” A lot of the subsequent clubs I was booked at followed suit with the Make America Horny Again name, which he also trademarked. I hated the name and thought it was tacky, mainly because I don’t like the appearance that I’m piggybacking off someone else’s idea. I know now that everyone assumed it was my idea and that I was profiting off the Trump scandal I wasn’t supposed to be talking about.

Driving up to the club, I saw there was a news truck parked outside. I was so unprepared, because it’s a great club that I’ve been to several times. I didn’t even bring an assistant with me. The New York Times, The Washington Post, TMZ —all there to jot down notes while I did my two shows that night, 11 P.M. and 1 A.M. They asked me questions, and I completely understand they had a job to do. I just felt ridiculous not being able to answer basic questions.

While I was at the club, Saturday Night Live spoofed “me” on Weekend Update. It was up on YouTube quick, so I watched it the next morning, scared to death. I was terrified because SNL is my favorite show, bar none. I have a crush on Colin Jost and I would have been so sad if he made fun of me. Random Instagram trolls saying “Die slut”—I mean, whatever, but if Colin said something mean? Don’t go breaking my heart. Fortunately, he didn’t. Cecily Strong did the impersonation of me. Her boobs looked good and I giggled, so good for her.

The Monday after SNL spoofed me, I got scared when I saw a news story about Common Cause, a nonprofit watchdog group, filing a federal complaint with the Federal Election Commission charging Trump with violating campaign finance laws when he made the $130,000 payment to me eleven days before the election. “The funds were paid for the purpose of influencing the 2016 presidential general election,” they wrote in a letter to Attorney General Jeff Sessions. Basically, if it was a contribution to the campaign, it needed to be reported to the FEC. Of course, it wasn’t.

The Marilyn Monroe suite at the Roosevelt Hotel is one of the most beautiful places to stay in Hollywood. The soft light glints off the white leather of the furniture and the tan wood of the walls, and there are mirrors everywhere—including on the ceiling over the bed—so you can constantly catch yourself doing a Marilyn pose. Her ghost is supposed to still be hanging out there, too. We would have a lot to talk about.

The very nice people at Jimmy Kimmel Live thought it was funny to put me up there for my January 30 appearance on the show. I was scheduled to go on live after Trump’s second State of the Union address. I got in late in the afternoon, and I had invited some friends over, because what good is staying in the freaking Marilyn Monroe suite if you can’t share it?

Gina had called, saying she had clothes for me to wear that night on Kimmel, and also for The View, which she had scheduled me on for later that week in New York. What’s funny is that once you’re famous, people just want to give you free shit. Tonia Ryan had made me the most beautiful dress I have ever worn for the January 27 AVN Awards. It was electric blue and elegant, and made Thunder and Lightning look amazing. Of course, I was excited to get more from her.