Stormy Daniels - Full Disclosure

I was still wired from the show but tried to sleep. My assistant Kayla was out like a light, and I left her at the hotel when Michael sent the car service for me. The crew was extremely rushed when I got there. The lighting crew was local, and they were trying to set up and sign NDAs at the same time.

A makeshift makeup room in the cramped office bathroom had been set up. I pushed open the door, right into Anderson Cooper.

“I never thought we’d be having our first meeting in a men’s room,” I said.

He laughed. He was just finishing up getting his makeup done. When he came out he shook my hand and said he was looking forward to it. I took his spot in the makeup chair.

The makeup woman seemed nervous and rushed, and for one brief second I considered telling her I would just do my makeup myself. But I was so tired I thought, Oh, fuck it, and let her do it. I should have just slept in my makeup from the night before, but that probably would have been too much. A little dramatic and strippery. Though now I would take full Raging Whore over what I got.

It’s not really her fault. She started my makeup and the whole time, they were knocking on the door, asking “How much longer?” so she was super panicked.

Finally, I was seated across from Anderson. I was calm, ready to tell the truth.

“I think some people listening to this,” he said as the cameras rolled, “are going to think that you’re an opportunist. That you’re just trying to get the most money you can. This is an opportunity for you and you’re just trying to grab the money while you can.”

“Which is exactly why I’m sitting here,” I said. “Not getting paid.”

“We’re not paying you.”

“Correct.” Sigh, I thought.

“We didn’t get you a hotel room. We haven’t flown you here.”

“No.” About four hours before, I was picking up dollars at a strip club that brought me here, dude.

I had prepped by watching some of his interviews on YouTube, just to see if he had a “gotcha” trick thing he would do before he tries to throw you. I didn’t see any, and I don’t think he has one. He seemed genuine and eager to just let me talk. The interview was three hours, and I still didn’t say everything I wanted to say. It was so long that I wondered how they could possibly edit it down to, what, eighteen minutes?

Afterward, I asked Anderson if I could take a picture with him. “I know this is secret and I won’t show anybody, but when the story is out I really want to show it to my dads.”

“Your dads?” he said.

“Yeah, they’re gay and they’re big fans of yours,” I said. “I know I can’t get an autograph or anything because it’s proof we met.”

“Well, I can autograph a book and send it to them once this is out.” I gave him their address and names and didn’t think that he would follow through. (He did!)

I was under the impression that they were going to rush it on the air that Sunday. They kept pushing it because they needed to verify my story and fact-check, and I started to get annoyed, feeling that they were flat-out calling me a liar when I knew every word I said was true. They freaked out when Rolling Stone posted Denver’s story on me on March 9, earlier than I thought it would. I thought it was the best thing anyone had ever written about me, so I wasn’t apologetic about it. Plus, Denver had become a close friend, someone I could actually trust. Through Michael, 60 Minutes demanded to know what other interviews I had done.

Meanwhile, as they waited, I was catching all sorts of shit and couldn’t fully defend myself. I tried to relieve the pressure by batting at some of the trolls who came at me on Twitter. When someone tweeted asking if I was worried I was going to go to hell from taking so many dicks, I had some fun. “Does heaven have a maximum dick-taking number? More importantly, does hell have a minimum? Just want to make sure my quota is on track.”

“Pretty sure dumb whores go to hell,” some guy named Scott wrote.

“Glad I’m a smart one,” I answered.

A woman’s response blew my mind. “A very smart one,” a girl named Stephanie wrote. “I wish every woman had the confidence you do and the ability to not take personally people’s lame insults. Whether you’re an adult film star or a teacher or whatever, if you’re a woman, you’ll be called a whore one day. Let’s not let that lame insult affect us.”

I blinked a few times, rereading the tweet. Every word she said was true. More women started chiming in, sharing not just “you go girl” cheesy sentiments, but thoughtful comments about what happens when women speak truth to power. I’m not comparing it to a #MeToo thing, because nothing about it smacked of victimhood. It was just smart women from all walks of life and classes discussing facts.

I think CBS would have preferred that I check into a nunnery under an assumed name until they were ready to finally air the damn thing. Every few days, Anderson Cooper would personally call me to say, “It’s coming together.” I think he was genuine, but I can also see someone suggesting that a call from him would make me feel better. When they said it was going to come out March 18, the day after my birthday, I was relieved.

Cohen then stated he would seek twenty million dollars from me, which he said was his tally of how many times I had talked. One million dollars for each “breach.” 60 Minutes pushed it one last time, to March 25. But now they wanted to do additional shooting of me at home for B-roll, the fluff day-in-the-life footage to keep viewers interested during boring narration.

I didn’t want to do it and wasn’t going to be in Texas anyway. I compromised, letting them film me at my dads’ house in L.A. They filmed me with Keith’s horses, even though they’re not the right breeds to do what I do. It didn’t look anything like Texas.

I couldn’t believe they wanted this stuff. Then they shot what felt like two hours of me watering flowers.

Why were we wasting even a second with fluff when there was so much information to cram in? They shot a three-hour interview of me and Anderson—even if they gave me the whole episode without commercials, the show is literally called 60 Minutes !

I watched the show live as it aired March 25. Anderson sat on a chair in front of a huge photo of me. “A week before the 2016 election, Donald Trump’s personal attorney paid a porn star named Stormy Daniels to keep quiet about her alleged relationship with the Republican candidate for president. Today, that arrangement is well on its way to becoming the most talked-about ‘hush agreement’ in history….”

I only know what he said because I watched it again. The first time I watched it, I was just staring at my photo, horrified by how bad I looked. My makeup was terrible. Here I was, finally getting my chance to talk, and I had to work through my feelings about vanity. That done, my thoughts turned to “I can’t believe they used so little.” Anderson had done such a fantastic job interviewing me, and there was so much focus on what happened in the hotel room in Lake Tahoe, and then in the parking lot in Las Vegas when my daughter and I were threatened. But as edited, the reasons behind my decisions, all the things that I have detailed for you here, seemed unclear. Still, more than twenty-one million people watched it, a bump of over 100 percent from the previous week’s show. In fact, it was the most-watched episode since the November 2008 postelection interview with Barack and Michelle Obama. I bet Trump really hated to hear that.

I had some close friends, including Denver Nicks, over to watch the show with me as it aired, and Glen waited to go ballistic until it was over. At first I didn’t understand and thought it was because it was so public.