by Seka
When we got home, it was business as usual. I went to the gym regularly and continued my elocution and diction classes.
Fred and I started a mail order company and part of the deal with Club was that I had a certain amount of ad space in both Club and its sister publication, Club International. It was a very strategic contract that got me so many ads on the right side of the page, in the middle of the page, and on the spine. It was based on how people paged through the magazine. I think twice a year I got the inside back cover. These ads paid off, since the mail order company took off quickly.
We started creating products like T-shirts, blocks of note paper, and coffee mugs. The mugs were cute. When you put something hot in the cup, a lip print and my logo would appear. We also had strip pens where you’d click them and my clothes would fall off. There were also used panties, key chains, and a fan club membership. Fans could even order a phone call for a certain amount of time with a first, second, and third best time for me to call on whatever day they wanted.
What was interesting about the calls was that when I made them, it would be mostly human interest questions. You’d think they’d want me to talk dirty or whatever, but I was pleasantly surprised. Most just wanted to chat. “Where were you born? Who’s your favorite girl or guy to work with?” Even today it’s the same. People want to know certain things about me because they don’t believe everything they read. We also had pre-recorded sexy recordings they could get off on, and those sold very well because most people were intimidated to ask me on the phone to do that. We did custom Polaroid pictures. They got six pictures and they could ask me to wear stockings and garter belts, or however they wanted me to dress. As long as it wasn’t too outrageous, I’d fill the orders.
I was extremely proud of it all, as I initially had no idea what mail order companies were about. I created something from absolutely nothing and money was coming in pretty well. Some wack-a-doos wanting things like clippings of my hair or pubic hair, but I figured, “Whatever floats your boat.” I was also thinking, “I’m making really good money without having to have sex on screen.” What a concept! It was like a residual. It was easier than making films. No travel. Nobody’s B.S. I could actually use my time constructively — not only with the business, but by working out and taking all my lessons and classes to improve myself as a model, an actress, and a person.
I really wasn’t dating much. I went out to dinner with one fellow occasionally, but it wasn’t a heavy-duty romance. He was a nice Jewish boy who worked for one of the distributors that released everything from mainstream movies to X-rated. There was also a fellow who reminded me of the Marlboro Man. He knew who I was because my hairdresser, Chuck, and Chuck’s lover, Cedric, told him about me. He knew about my career and it didn’t bother him. In fact, he thought it was a pretty hot deal, since I was probably the only porn star in Illinois. Our entire industry was centered around L.A.
Over the years, it has intimidated some men. Even today, I see some guys sweaty, shaky, and finding it hard to talk when they ask me for an autograph. It’s a strange feeling to have that effect on people. But he was just a pretty boy living at home with his mommy and daddy who were rich. I don’t think he worked. His job was to be cute. I didn’t really want anything serious, though. I had come to the realization that this was my career and I was very focused on myself and making sure I had money in the bank.
Fred made me start paying rent, which I wasn’t opposed to doing, although this was on top of him taking 50% of my earnings for being my manager. He said it would teach me responsibility. But somewhere in the back of my head I didn’t want to face the fact the numbers didn’t mesh. I was the one earning most of the money coming into the house, I was paying him a salary already, and now rent. I rationalized that he did my makeup and devoted a lot of time to me and what we were trying to accomplish. We worked together for close to a year, but suddenly I noticed expensive wallpaper going up, and top-of-the-line carpet being ripped out and replaced. And he wasn’t working nearly as much at his own gigs.
I may have been a country girl, but I could add. I also didn’t have as much freedom as I thought. I always thought of him as my friend, but I was hearing way too much of, “I don’t want you to do this. You shouldn’t do that.” I figured I had my own parents and didn’t need him to be one, too.
Without his knowing it, I had found an apartment. One day I got up the nerve to address the issue, telling him we all needed our own space.
That was when the shit hit the fan.
‘”You can’t even find a place on your own!” he screamed. The whole thing threw him into a hissy fit. The truth is, he really didn’t want me to go because then he wouldn’t have control — just like Ken. But I moved that very day.
I didn’t feel as alone this time. I had made friends through him. One fellow, Ronald, was also a gay hairdresser. Seems I made a habit of collecting gay hairdressers. He was an absolute crazy man in a good way.
I met a woman, Barbara, who was also gay. I had a lot of fun with her as well. I had this theory that Fred was trying to set me up with her, to keep me away from guys who could take me away from him. It didn’t occur to him she was totally supportive of my independence, or that maybe a woman could take me away from him, too.
About this time, Club Magazine called to renegotiate our contract. There was always a signing bonus and a royalty check. We got to the meeting and things were a little tense between Fred and I. Peter from Club sensed this, but we worked it all out. Peter handed Fred one sealed envelope and me another. When Fred asked for my envelope, I told him no. I had the larger of the two, so clearly Peter knew what was going on, and I promptly deposited it in my bank.
Sensing things were going badly, I told Fred I wanted to see the books. He was very reluctant. He’d even started to keep his office locked when he left the house, which he had never done before. I don’t think he realized that when we went to get our novelty items made, I took everyone’s business card. I wanted to have the contact info handy. Little Grasshopper learned quickly. My wiser instincts had kicked in. I now knew whom to reach if I ever needed anything.
All the mail orders were being sent to Michigan Avenue, because it was a prestigious Chicago address. Fred would always go down to pick up all the orders. Now I was sending someone else downtown to beat him to the punch.
One day when he was gone, I checked the books. His little office was off of his bedroom and he’d forgotten to lock the doors. Lo and behold, I found two sets of books.
Even though I cut him a 50/50 deal, I discovered it was more like 90/10 in his favor. I was white-hot pissed off. I was extremely hurt, too, but knew what I had to do. I took the books and he came home and freaked out. I sensed a lawsuit was about to ensue as he realized I finally knew exactly what was going on.
Fred sued me for breach of contract, since I didn’t put my Club check back into the business. But Barbara was a court reporter and was surrounded by lawyers. She worked for a Judge Bailey and talked to her on my behalf. She sent me to a criminal attorney named David Shippers, who was one of the best in the country. Subsequently, he was one of the men who worked with Kenneth Starr when he prosecuted Bill Clinton. He had also worked to write the RICO Act.
This was a serious player.
Fred had Jenner and Block, who were also huge. I had never dealt with attorneys before, but I knew I was in for the fight of my life.
I walked out of David Shippers’ office after giving him a $5,000 retaining fee, took a deep breath, and said, “Okay, let the games begin.”
29. Victory
The battle had begun.
Although the business was mine, it was at the time named Fred Marks, Ltd. The court, however, legally turned it over to me until the actual trial. What I had to do was put 50% of it into an escrow interest-bearing account, and whoever won in the end was the one who got the business and the account.
Clearly, this was winner take all.
Money at the time was extremely tight. I h
ad to run the company, take care of my bills, pay expensive lawyers, and put 50% away that I could not touch. Stuck out in the suburbs of Chicago, it was also pretty hard to maneuver back and forth to the city three times a week for endless meetings with lawyers.
It wasn’t exactly the best year of my life.
I told my friend Barbara I desperately needed to find an apartment downtown. I wanted one with two bedrooms, as I needed one for my office. I also asked for a terrace, both for my little dog and because of my claustrophobia and needing someplace to get outside.
She found me just what I wanted, right in the heart of the Gold Coast of Chicago, a frou-frou neighborhood. Pleased with it, I ended up living in that building for twenty-five years. The following year, 1982, I bought it. Although the rent was extremely reasonable, it was still more than what I was paying in the ’burbs, and I also had to pay for parking.
It was all an additional strain on me. I couldn’t shop for clothes and had to watch what I bought at the grocery store and make sure the rent got paid. An awful lot of Friday and Saturday nights were spent home alone because I just didn’t have the money.
I knew Fred was out clubbing but I didn’t want to put myself in any kind of jeopardizing position. He didn’t play by the rules, so I didn’t know what he could conjure up as far as my activities and who I was socializing with. I thought it was best to stay quiet and be by myself for the most part. It was like being in solitary confinement for a year and a half.
I thought Fred was a friend and had been proven wrong. The whole situation was extremely disheartening. I didn’t mind giving him half my earnings because of all he had done for me, but I saw this as pure greed and his not giving a rat’s ass about anyone but himself. I’d sit across the room from Fred and Gary and wanted to rip their eyes out. Fred always wore sunglasses because it was like someone playing poker, not wanting to show his hand. The lawyers actually made him take off his glasses one day. Fred was like a clear piece of glass. No emotion. Nothing. Gary was the polar opposite. He was highly emotional and didn’t really know how to play poker, if you will. He would get upset at the questions and try to place all the blame on me. I was attacking his lover. He was like a puppet — he’d do anything Fred told him to, even if it meant perjuring himself. Gary thought Fred was emotionally stronger than me, but he had never seen the likes of me before. One of the things that always get me through life is my tenacity. I’m like a pit bull. I don’t give up until I’m done, I win, or I’m dead.
With all kinds of depositions and legal maneuvering, it was extremely draining and I got very thin during this time. It went back and forth, forth and back over months, with my finding out more things Fred had done. Because of his familiarity with the law, David Shippers tried the unusual strategy of going after Fred under the RICO statutes. Under RICO — usually reserved for Mafiosos and other organized crime figures — there are five charges and you have to prove three out of the five for a winning case.
In my head and in my heart, I felt I was going to win, but it was overwhelmingly exhausting and there was always that doubt things could go wrong. Consumed by this legal battle, I had to hire more attorneys to handle what few movie contracts, appearances, and entertainment business I was able to squeeze in. I really didn’t have the time or energy to wholeheartedly pursue my career. One of my lawyers, Charley Witz, was crazier than a loon, but quite nice. Very eccentric. He would make you nuts with his dotting every i and crossing every t. Incredibly precise. It was nerve-wracking, but he did teach me how to read legal documents.
And boy were there documents.
One of the few positive things that came out of all this was there was a ton of publicity. It went AP wire to wire, USA Today, the Wall Street Journal, and all the other newspapers from coast to coast. You couldn’t pay for that kind of publicity. I was doing TV interviews with Larry King, Phil Donahue, and all kinds of morning shows from New York to L.A.
Larry and Donahue were both very respectful. I was nervous with Larry the first time because I always watched his show and liked him. But he was very pleasant. He doesn’t try to jackpot you and pull one over on you. He gave me an open invite to come back, and I did several times.
It was kind of interesting, as I was doing interviews on my legal situation instead of on the adult entertainment business. I was an entertainer using the RICO Act to sue someone on criminal charges as opposed to civil charges. Nobody had ever used the RICO Act in this manner. The possible outcome was the loser facing triple damages, attorney fees, and getting jail time as well. It involved wire fraud on the telephone, mail fraud, as well as charges for cooking the books.
After one of the depositions, Fred and Gary left and Mr. Shippers suddenly shot me a triumphant look. “This is a slam dunk. We have five out of five.”
I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, but it still was far from over.
Mr. Shippers sent Fred’s lawyers a letter proving we had, in fact, proven the five counts. He wanted to know if they wanted to go to trial or settle out of court. I’d already invested a year and a half of my life and probably spent an easy $90,000. Back then that was a fortune, besides all the bookings I lost because of being so involved with this.
The first response we got back was they were willing to spend $2,000 to settle out of court and they wanted half the money in the escrow account. That was pretty stupid. Then they came back with another offer that was just as outrageous. By the time the third offer came I knew I had won, and knew it was in my best interest to settle rather than go through another long, drawn-out trial, which probably would have been another year. Plus, there was a lot of money in the escrow account.
They wanted to settle for $10,000. I would keep the business and all the cash in the account. At this point I felt I had been rode hard and put up wet. I was done. I took it.
I finally convinced myself I was satisfied, although deep down I wanted another five or ten pounds of flesh for what had been done to me. He had completely redone his house and driveway with the money from our business. But I felt like I had been stuck in mud this whole time. I didn’t want another year of anguish. I was content with my decision, and also vowed nobody would ever own part of me again. I could continue with my life; I had grown up once more.
The business’ name was changed to Pearl Productions, Ltd. I got the name from the late, great Janis Joplin and her first solo album, Pearl. As I started to piece my life back together, I heard through the grapevine that Fred and Gary were very sick. They were early AIDS cases. Nobody knew much about the disease at that time. They were in and out of the hospital with pneumonia. Both died within the year.
I can’t say I was happy Fred was dead. I knew and liked all his friends and family, and they suffered. Nobody should have to suffer that way. But I wouldn’t say it bothered me either. The visual I had in my head was of the house falling on the Wicked Witch of the West, with Dorothy — Dottie — Seka — me — watching all the Munchkins dancing around. “Ding, dong, the wicked witch is dead… .”
Getting press for using RICO to get justice.
30. A New Four-Letter Word
AIDS. Fred and Gary drove it home for me, but while they were some of the earliest cases I knew, talk of the disease was spreading like wildfire throughout the adult industry.
For those not old enough to be sexually active in the 1980s, let me take you back. Take what we know about AIDS today and imagine a time when we knew nothing! Absolutely nothing. In some cases less than nothing. Every day we were being pelted with new information, much of it untrue: It only happens to gay guys. You get it from toilet seats. You could get it from oral sex. You couldn’t get it from oral sex. Condoms protect against it. Condoms provide no protection at all. There were those saying the whole thing was a crock and it didn’t exist at all! Or that it was a massive conspiracy to kill gay people. You name it, we heard it, and by “we” I mean the adult industry. We probably heard most of it before anyone else because we had sex for a living. You’re damn righ
t we were listening. Again though, the problem was, what do you listen to?
We had always been into getting tested on a regular basis, but that was for the clap and herpes and things like that. We girls also kept up on pregnancy testing as well. But picture a time when there was no test for HIV or AIDS. That’s what I lived through.
Initially, it was called “the gay disease.” Did that give us all a sense of relief? No. The girls all did girl/girl scenes. Did “the gay disease” cover that, too? We didn’t know. We doubted it did, but nobody knew anything for sure.
Some of the guys were gay, believe it or not. A greater number were bi or else occasionally did “gay for pay” — straight guys who did gay porn when they needed the extra dough.
Gay guys in straight porn? Sure. Premature ejaculation is always a concern. If a gay guy can manage to get it up and keep it up, he is often a good bet to perform well. He’ll be on top of a girl, reading Blueboy magazine, bored out of his skull and lasting for hours. It works.
But once “the gay disease” came around, it was a witch hunt. Certain guys were shooed off sets and blacklisted. Some were gay or actively bi, while others were merely “suspected,” and that was enough to kill their careers.
Then we had our first fatalities. Some guys we swore were straight as an arrow passed away. Then some girls. Things were getting freaky. Along with these events were the ever-changing theories from the news and medical community. Everyone could get it. Or maybe we all already had it and the entire world was coming to an end. It was madness.
Some folks slept right through the whole thing. Mr. and Mrs. America, married and monogamous for decades, tended not to worry as much. But us? We were on the front lines, baby. An enraged God was gonna smite us all for our perversions. We was all gonna die.
