Stormy Daniels - Full Disclosure

When I get a ton of texts, it usually means I am being talked about in the media. For my sanity, I just sort of peek quick to get the gist. If it’s important, Denver or Michael will tell me. That morning I was getting random Facebook messages of support and apologies for what Trump’s pal and lawyer Rudy Giuliani said about me. I didn’t want to look, but a girlfriend sent me the text of his speech with the subject “Fuck Rudy.” He attacked my integrity during a speech in Tel Aviv the day before. “I’m sorry, I don’t respect a porn star the way I respect a career woman or a woman of substance or a woman who has great respect for herself as a woman and as a person and isn’t going to sell her body for sexual exploitation…. I mean, she has no reputation. If you’re going to sell your body for money, you just don’t have a reputation.”

So all day I’ll be a talking point about how we value women in society. Who gets to be believed. I’d rather they talk about the lawsuit we filed the day before against Michael Cohen and Keith Davidson. We have seventeen texts between them, Davidson acting more like Trump’s errand boy than my attorney. Michael Avenatti emailed me the texts in a document.

I put off reading them for a while, knowing it would just start a round of me pacing and cussing. But finally, I made myself do it. On January 17, the day In Touch published my 2011 interview, Cohen texted Davidson, desperate to get me to go on The Sean Hannity Show to discredit the story live on the air. “I have her tentatively scheduled for Hannity tonight,” Cohen wrote in an iMessage. Then there are all these texts back and forth. Meanwhile, my life was falling apart and Glen was screaming at me.

Davidson tells Cohen he couldn’t get me to do it and says he can try for tomorrow. Cohen writes back: “Let’s forget tonight. They [Fox news and the Trump administration] would rather tomorrow so they can promote the heck out of the show.” (His brackets, not mine!)

Two hours later, Cohen messaged Davidson about Trump’s strategy again. “Keith, the wise men all believe the story is dying and don’t think it’s smart for her to do any interviews. Let her do her thing but no interviews at all with anyone.”

A minute later, Davidson—who was supposed to be my attorney—responded, “One hundred percent.”

“Thanks pal,” wrote Cohen, quickly adding, “Just no interviews or statements unless through you.”

“Got it,” Davidson responded.

I wonder if they made friendship bracelets as they were colluding against me on behalf of Donald Trump? Michael had evidence, too, that when I finally fired Davidson, he tipped off Cohen immediately that I was going to share my story.

The wise men were wrong about the story dying. Maybe they should have asked a wise woman. It never occurred to any of these men that I would someday have a voice.

Though my book has to end somewhere, my story goes on. The last month has been as eventful as any that came before it.

In July, I was arrested while performing at a strip club in Columbus, Ohio, in what seems to have been a politically motivated sting operation orchestrated by a vehemently pro-Trump detective. The bogus charges were dropped first thing the next morning, but only after I endured hours in painfully tight handcuffs and spent the night in jail.

Reports of the whole scary episode instantly made headlines. With police body cam footage of me getting hauled away in handcuffs splashed across television news, Glen reached his breaking point and began making preparations to file for divorce. Days later, he emptied our bank account, disappeared in the car with our daughter, and filed a temporary restraining order against me that prevented me from coming near her. I had the agonizing experience of reading about the restraining order and my divorce papers, which were full of disgusting and completely false claims, on a gossip site.

I’d stopped wearing my wedding band months earlier and we had discussed ending our marriage for a long time, but what Glen did still came as a massive shock. I was devastated. I had almost no money, the car was gone, I had no idea where my daughter was, and I was forbidden by law from even talking to her on the phone.

Those terrifying days after Glen vanished with our daughter and threatened to keep her from me forever were the darkest days of my life. The whole reason for everything I had done—to protect my family—was suddenly blowing up in my face. Glen was hurt, angry, and afraid, and what he did in that moment I know he thought was right, but it’s still difficult to square with the man I fell in love with. I guess it’s a testament to just how painful and stressful 2018 has been for my family, since the news broke of a brief tryst I had more than a decade ago with a goofy reality TV star who now lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Thankfully, once the dust settled, Glen and I were able to come together and let our love for our daughter and for each other be our guide as we made more fair and sensible arrangements for ending our marriage. He dropped the restraining order nonsense, returned the car, and we’ve agreed to share custody of our beautiful little girl. We may not be a married couple any longer, but we’ll always be her parents.

Where does my story go from here? I can’t say I know, but I’m excited to see what comes next. I can look back on a life more full and certainly more interesting than I, as a little girl back in Baton Rouge just trying to survive and spend time with my horses, ever thought it would be. This most recent chapter has been quite the adventure, with ups and downs, new friendships formed, and old relationships lost. But as exciting and trying as things are right now, I know it won’t always be like this. As a friend of mine keeps reminding me, nothing lasts forever.

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FULL DISCLOSURE. Copyright © 2018 by Stephanie Clifford. Note copyright © 2018 by Michael Avenatti, Esq. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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Frontispiece photograph courtesy of the author

Cover design by Michael Storrings

Cover photograph by Keith Munyan

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-1-250-20556-8 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-250-20557-5 (ebook)

eISBN 9781250205575

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First Edition: October 2018