Praise for Blow Jobs: A Guide to Making it in Show Business or Not!
“Dolores DeLuce is more than a Counter Culture Diva, actress and writer. I regret that I didn’t have her as a guest on my show while she was the reigning Alternative Queen of Los Angeles. My Bad!” *
—David Letterman, Late Night Talk Show Host
“Who knew this fashion forward Diva had a wit as dry as my vagina. Reading Dolores’ book made me wet myself.”*
—Joan Rivers, comedian, writer and star of Fashion Police
“Dolores DeLuce was made for greatness. I loved her sauce.” *
—Dean Martin
“This book is the best food for thought I have ever read, more delicious than Chasen’s chili. Enjoy its lusty lusciousness.” *
—Elizabeth Taylor, academy award winner
“Dolores DeLuce has a biting humor that tore my heart out. Get this book and let her glamorize you like she did to me.” *
—Alex Skarsgard, actor best known for vampire role in True Blood
“DeLuce’s Blow Jobs are not only honest but they exemplify my life’s philosophy: The best thing you can do for the poor is not to be one of them.” *
—Rev. Ike, Minister and Prosperity Guru
“The Counter Culture Diva is a filthy whore but the bitch can really write. These words came to me as I awoke with an erection. I had been dreaming that Divine was writing the quote with liquid eyeliner on my penis and with each word my penis grew like Pinocchio’s nose.”*
—John Waters, Film Director and Author
*Quotes by celebrities if they were still alive or had bothered to read my book.
Also By Dolores DeLuce
My Life a Four Letter Word: Confessions of a Counter Culture Diva
Blow Jobs: A Guide to Making it in Show Business or Not!
Dolores DeLuce
Copyright © 2014 Dolores DeLuce
All rights reserved.
Double Delinquent Press
www.counterculturediva.com
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or parts thereof, in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotes in a review.
For agents, managers, casting directors,
producers and directors who passed me up
for a bigger name.
"That's Life"
That's life (that's life), that's what all the people say
You're ridin' high in April, shot down in May
But I know I'm gonna change that tune
When I'm back on top, back on top in June
I said that's life (that's life), and as funny as it may seem
Some people get their kicks stompin' on a dream
But I don't let it, let it get me down
'cause this fine old world, it keeps spinnin' around
I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king
I've been up and down and over and out and I know one thing
Each time I find myself flat on my face
I pick myself up and get back in the race
Lyrics by P. Anka, J. Revaux, G. Thibault, C. Frankois
Chapter 1
Bargain Basement Beauty Queen
After four years under the tutelage of drag queen mentors in San Francisco, where I perfected the craft of over-acting, I suddenly had a burst of ambition to make it in mainstream entertainment. I returned to the City of Angels armed only with the knowledge of how to put on a show in the backyard like Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney did in their early movies. It didn’t take long for the big fish I had become in the small pond of San Francisco to realize I would need something special to make a significant splash in the Hollywood talent pool.
In the 60s I turned on, tuned in and dropped out, but the wretched ‘80s was dawning and Ronald Reagan was about to give me a loud wake-up call. Living on welfare to subsidize my artistic pursuits was not going to work anymore. Now that I had a legitimate career to consider, topless dancing and drug dealing were no longer options to supplement my addiction to the stage. The proverbial casting couch was also not an option, although I did have an offer once not to sleep with a closeted producer friend whose name will remain anonymous. He paid me to stay off his couch but that’s for another story.
Finding an agent and getting membership in the entertainment guilds was not an easy task. I discovered you had to have worked on a union show before you could join any of the film or television unions, but you had be a member of one or more unions before any agent worth having would see you or any film production company could legally hire you. I found a way to get around the catch-22 by auditioning to be a contestant on The $1.98 Beauty Show.
The $1.98 Beauty Show, a showcase for amateur talent, was produced in 1978 by Chuck Barris, the infamous producer who was rumored to be a hit man for the CIA. Barris was also credited for creating his other big hits: the Gong Show and the Dating Game. The union rule was that if I appeared on an A.F.T.R.A. show (American Federation of Television and Radio Actors) I would then qualify to join S.A.G. (Screen Actors Guild). All I had to do was make an impression at my audition. Fortunately the requirements were not as grueling as the talent shows of today like American Idol or The X Factor, where a performer shows up in a stadium at five AM with 10,000 other hopefuls to sign up. To be a $1.98 Beauty you didn’t even have to be beautiful. All you needed was a bathing suit and an act. Even a bad act would do.
For my audition I chose to sing a song from one of my favorite musicals, Grease. I wore a ’50s taffeta thrift store prom dress and my transsexual friend Ruby teased my bouffant wig into a beauty school dropout’s dream. Then, just as I was about to step out on to the stage, I dipped my Aqua Net lacquered wig into a bucket of water and put it back on my head. The music was cued up and as I stood there singing the lyrics, “It’s raining on prom night, my hair is a mess. It’s running all over my taffeta dress.” My fabulous wig dripped throughout the verse, wrecking my heavily made up black cat eyes which then spilled on to my dress. My audition won me a spot on the show.
On the taping day, Rip Taylor, the comic host, came on stage dressed like the Wizard of Oz. He started off by introducing the candidates one by one and I took my place in the lineup among six contestants. Rip, like so many flamboyant men I’ve known, was intrigued by me. With a quick glance at my bright floral print circle skirt, he licked his lips and said, “Contestant #3, the lovely Dolores Deluxe, looks like the top of a scrumptious cake.”
During the first commercial break, we made quick changes into our costumes. Under my taffeta formal, I wore an actual Maiden Form quilted corset and stuffed the bra cups with tissues, increasing my double Ds to triple Ds. When it was my turn, I took the stage like a pro and began to sing and drip, and drip and sing. “It’s wilting the quilting in my Maiden Form and mascara flows all down my nose because of the storm.” As I sang, I plucked the tissues out from my bra, one by one, to wipe the running mascara off my cheeks. “I don’t even have my corsage, oh gee! It fell down a sewer with my sister’s ID.” As my cup size diminished I had Rip Taylor, the judges, and the audience in stitches.
After the next commercial break the bathing suit contest commenced. As each contestant took her turn walking the steps in heels and her bathing suit, an off-camera announcer made commentary, giving our stats, including age, height, and measurements. Since I am not your perfect 36-26-36, I used my stature—or lack thereof—to my advantage on the walk of shame. As I passed the celebrity judges’ table, I
paused in front of Jaye P. Morgan, Dorothy Lamour, and Peter Lawford and made a point to emphasize my short and zaftig shape. I pushed up the flab from under my left upper arm with my right hand and then flexed my new bulging muscle made from excess fatty tissue. Like a body builder, I turned to camera and did several more weight lifter poses. From the corner of my eye I could see Chuck Barris standing in the wings chuckling at my antics. After more commercials, all the bathing beauties stood in a row for the last segment while the judges tallied our scores. Then, with fanfare and confetti, Rip Taylor announced that I was the winner and held the title of the $1.98 Beauty Queen until next week’s show.
As soon as the taping was over I ran straight down to the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists’ office on Hollywood Boulevard and signed up. Not only did my first job in television usher me into the industry guilds, the first screening of my shenanigans on network television brought me another showbiz opportunity.
Some gentleman from New York City contacted the Chuck Barris Production office looking for my contact info. Since they never gave out contestant’s numbers, the production office called me with his name and number and a message stating he had a job offer for me in Manhattan. That day I was working a temp job with a complicated switch board at a large Beverly Hills Law firm and couldn’t wait until my coffee break to return his call. For the next hour I drifted into a fantasy about what this job could be; perhaps something on Broadway.
When I placed the call, a man with a crackling voice answered. He introduced himself and began to speak with excitement. “My best friend owns an establishment midtown Manhattan. It’s a theater that I frequent often.”
Not wanting to sound over-anxious, I said, “And how do you fit into the theater community?”
“I’m one of the investors. Whip Lash is a theatrical dungeon in Hell’s Kitchen which is Broadway adjacent, you know.” As the excitement in his voice increased my hopes hit the floor. “When I saw you on The 1.98 Beauty Show flexing your stuff, I just knew you would make an ideal Dominatrix. As I said, the owner, ‘Madam No Nuts Nonsense,’ is my good friend and trusts my opinions. She is always looking for strong girls with big muscles and raw talent.”
“Mister, I think you have me all wrong,” I protested. “I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m a dominatrix.”
This was not the first time my theatrical spoofs were taken the wrong way. My mind flashed back to 1974 in Golden Gate Park when I straddled a giant dildo wearing black leather and cracking a bull whip, while my four gay roommates in their underwear were chained to the dildo and pulled me to the stage. This stunt put me on the map in Gay San Francisco but I do recall afterwards encountering new friends who didn’t realize I was doing a parody and thought I was seriously into S and M.
My wanna-be employer went on to argue that the job on offer at Whip Lash was no different than any other acting job and it was in a theater, after all.
“Yeah,” I said, “I know Broadway adjacent, no thank you.”
He tried to keep me on the phone and sell me, but the more he rambled the more I imagined the Marquis de Sade drooling in a padded cell on the other end of the line.
When I began to hang up, he blurted out, “I’ll send you a first class round trip ticket to N.Y. if you’ll just meet me. We’ll have lunch, no hanky-panky. We can meet in broad daylight at a nice restaurant, how about The 21 Club? No strings; just a free trip to New York City and a free lunch.”
Since I have family on the East Coast, I accepted his offer and cashed in the first class seat for two coach tickets so that my nine year old daughter, Viva and I could visit our friends and family in Jersey and Manhattan. Since the ticket was already mine, I didn’t even have to show up for the lunch date, but I was curious and kept my word. I had never been to The 21 Club, the once Prohibition-era speakeasy, and I was impressed with the décor of red and white tablecloths and toys hanging from the ceiling and there was still a lunchtime dress code: men had to wear jackets and neckties and no sneakers or jeans were allowed. It’s a good thing I wore a dress and boots that day.
My date wasn’t at all what I was expecting. He was a conservative middle-aged man, resembling a Republican politician with sagging jowls and a bloated belly. The restaurant was abuzz with patrons and waiters and as soon as we were seated the waiter delivered champagne and a few starters to our table. My gentleman explained that he took the liberty of ordering our appetizers beforehand. As I looked over the country-club-classic menu he jumped right into the subject at hand; me, leading lady with a whip. I listened politely for about five minutes as he described the so-called performances at the Whip Lash Dungeon. He spoke at a frenzied pace while slurping up oysters from their shells. “For the most part, the girls perform your average beatings or walking men on dog leashes around the neighborhood, and other forms of humiliation. He dabbed the juice from the oysters rolling down his chin just before it hit the table cloth. “Of course, our clients often request to be urinated upon. It’s not my thing but you’d be surprised how popular those golden showers are; so much so, we had to build a special stage. It’s an all-rubber padded cell.”
I listened politely, enjoying the Mumm’s and the cornmeal-crusted crab cakes. He took a breath to suck down another oyster and with his mouth full he went on to describe the rare client who requested castration. That’s when I stopped him. It was a good thing I wasn’t thinking of ordering the sweetbreads on the menu.
I turned the tables on him and started to interview him about his life. The more I got him talking about himself, the more he revealed who he really was: just a sad, lonely old man with too much time and money on his hands. He told me he was a widower who never had children and was seriously mourning the loss of his wife. He even admitted that his S and M interest was a distraction from his grief. By the end of the lunch I had gotten more out of him then a shrink could in one hour. If only I had finished college, I would have made a good therapist.
He never uttered another word about torture and the dungeon and at the end of the lunch he paid the check and gave me a little hug goodbye. I never saw him again.
On our trip to the Big Apple, Viva and I stayed in Greenwich Village with my good friend Tommy when we weren’t at my folk’s house in New Jersey. Viva loved her Uncle Tommy who was closer to her than any of our blood relatives and he had loved playing her gay daddy ever since we all lived in San Francisco in her formative years. One of those mornings while I slept in, Tommy took Viva out for breakfast. That day as they walked down Bleecker Street on their way back to his apartment with my bagel and coffee, they passed a couple sitting on a stoop. Tommy heard the man say in his New York accent, “That’s the most beautiful fuckin’ kid I ever saw.” Tommy took pride in thinking that strangers thought that my pretty child with her wild curly locks and soft mocha skin was his daughter. When Tommy looked up to acknowledge the compliment with a smile, he realized the words about Viva were coming from none other than Robert De Niro. He was talking to his friend, the beautiful Lauren Hutton.
When Tommy got back with my bagel and a grin ear to ear, he was buzzing, “Girl, you won’t believe it, but we just saw De Niro down the block and I heard him say that he thinks Viva is the most beautiful fucking kid he ever saw. And Lauren Hutton the hottest model in the world agreed with him. Get dressed so we can go back and see if he’s still there. Ya never know, maybe Bobby will give the kid a part in one of his movies. Since you turned down that freak show offer you could use the money.” We all had our Hollywood dreams.
Well by the time I got out of the apartment De Niro and Hutton were long gone from the stoop but I was content with my $1.98 career for the moment and my new union card and I was counting my blessings: a fancy lunch and free vacation, and a special blessing on my daughter from a favorite movie star. Not bad for my first paying gig in Hollywood.
A year after my $1.98 Beauty win, I ran into Rip Taylor in Palm Springs. He was having lunch alone in a booth at a diner. I went over and re-introduce
d myself, reminding him of my antics on his show. He remembered me and asked me how my career was going. I shared the S and M Dungeon story with him and he got a big kick out of it, as I knew he would. He even asked me why I didn’t take the job.
A few years later I decided to try my luck again by entering another beauty contest. In 1981 a documentary film of The Miss World Pageant was made and the infamous drag star, Divine, was the emcee of the Pageant. To promote the screening of this newly released documentary, the Fox Venice Theatre advertised a live event, The Miss Alternative Los Angeles Beauty Pageant that was to take place during The Miss World premiere week. The three contest segments would be spread out over the week’s screenings. I had just finished a short run of a show I wrote and performed called Primetime, that won me rave reviews, but good reviews did not translate into any paid acting work so when I heard about The Miss Alternative Los Angeles Beauty Pageant I jumped at another opportunity to take L.A. by storm.
The judges were D-list celebrities of the eighties, including Doctor Demento, Weird Al Yankovitch, and Edie Massey, famous for playing Divine’s mother Edie, the ‘Egg Lady,’ in John Water’s cult classic Pink Flamingos. Edie had recently moved from Baltimore to Venice and opened a small thrift shop on Abbott Kinney Boulevard. I had not met Edie yet but I had been very close friends with Divine in the early 70s, at which time Divine had been my greatest theatrical influence and responsible for getting me in my very first show with the Cockettes in San Francisco.
Blow Jobs: A Guide to Making it in Show Business, or Not!: A 'How Not To' by The Counter Culture Diva Page 1
