Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn

by Seka

  John Holmes’ death hit me particularly hard. John and I did so many scenes together. We were paired together as often as Tracy and Hepburn. But John’s death left as many questions as answers. We all knew he did drugs, but which ones? When? How much? Did he use needles? Most of us didn’t think he did. I never partied with any of the other actors in the industry, so as well as I knew John, a lot of those tales were just secondhand stories to me. I didn’t know what to believe. And he went so fast. That was the part that freaked me out the most. It made me wonder — and to a degree it still makes me wonder — if it was even AIDS at all. I’m not saying AIDS doesn’t exist, but for most people the incubation period is fairly long and the painful slide to nothingness horrifically drawn out. John seemed to go in a matter of weeks. How was that so?

  But worst for me was realizing how often I’d been with John. And some of the others who died — the girls, too. Now if someone screened a movie I was in and I saw John or one of the others, it was like watching a horror film, like I was watching the prediction of my own death.

  I started turning away jobs. A lot of us did. Others, on the other hand, were in denial. There was so much misinformation that if you were the eternal optimist, you could con yourself into blocking out the bad news and clinging somehow to the reports that the whole thing wasn’t as bad as it seemed and it only happened to “other kinds of people.” Some thought since we all knew each other so well, we were in a protective little bubble. But most of us had been with at least one person from the business who had it, so how was that theory supposed to make any sense? There were also the “death wish” people who claimed they simply didn’t give a shit; life was a crapshoot anyway and any of us could walk outside and get hit by a drunk driver on the way to the corner store.

  Me? I wanted to live. The idea of condoms protecting you from infection started to gain more and more traction. But the powers that be who ran the industry tried a few films with guys wearing condoms and the feedback wasn’t positive. By and large, guys didn’t like to wear those — guys in the audience, I mean. After the Pill came out, every girl was on it and condoms gathered dust on pharmacy shelves. Most guys in mainstream America got used to going bareback and they liked it. Watching pornos with woodsmen in rubbers was a buzzkill for them. Most non-industry folks were less paranoid and scared than we were, so they really didn’t want to start using them.

  Another strange thing was that as more people became aware of AIDS, the more XXX product they wanted. Masturbation went up! No one ever got AIDS from jerking off, so bring on the porno and have yourself a safe sex party! The disease was cutting into the amount of new product being produced since it was cutting into the acting pool, but all our old stuff was being converted to Beta and VHS and people were watching it at home. In the eighties, everyone went out and bought a home video system. Gone were the red carpet premieres. Adult movie theaters began closing. Who wanted to be harassed by local cops for jerking it in a public theater when you could watch our stuff in the privacy of your own home? Of course, we actors saw none of the new profits. We got paid to work on that film one, two, three, four years ago, and the fact that now it was playing in half the bedrooms in America didn’t make us one thin dime. Even when we tried negotiating for a piece of “the back end” — a percentage of the video sales — we never saw a penny. Creative accounting. None of us had the cash to take those guys to court to prove we were owed more money, so our only option was to keep working or get a job waxing cars.

  With the advent of home video, the industry expanded. More new girls and guys came in. When people like me and others started turning down jobs, even more came in. Those of us who took a tiny bit of false comfort in the fact we were a little community of actors who all knew each other and who we’d all been with, had that thrown out the window. We’d show up on set and we knew no one — it was all newbies. Fresh meat. People who could have been carrying any damn disease.

  But I was still Seka. I was still a star. It wasn’t an ego thing; it was a business thing, period. Like any other company in America, I knew how my stock was doing on the market.

  I got more demanding. If I was going to risk my life, I was damn sure going to die rich. I haggled with people like crazy. I was asking for fees no other porn actor had ever asked for before. And I was getting it. As soon as I’d get it, I’d ask for even more the next time.

  But I was playing with fire and I knew it. Not only did I start asking for ridiculously high fees, I coupled that with demands for my personal choice of co-stars. That worked pretty well, since the people I wanted were also big names who had been on the scene a while and had nice-sized followings as well.

  But then I took it too far — or exactly as far as I should have, depending upon how you look at it. Not only did I jack up my fee and demand final casting, I also insisted everyone wear condoms. It was a Mexican standoff. The industry and I had a gun on one another and someone was going to blink. I’d been winning these battles for a while now, but it was finally time for the ol’ gunslinger to get it right in the heart.

  They turned me down. I’d set the bar too high. But you only do that if you know you can afford it. Affording it had nothing to do with money in the bank, though, at least for me. Affording it meant I was sick and tired of playing Russian Roulette. I wasn’t going to budge on the condom issue, which was now even more important to me than the money and the casting. And if I didn’t get my way, I was more than happy to walk away from it all.

  When they finally said no, I was still on the top of the porn world. I was still box office gold. But if it didn’t matter to them, it didn’t matter to me. I’d walked off jobs before and now I was ready to do it again. I never knew where I was going when I did it in my early days, and I had no idea where I was heading now. But it didn’t matter. I was getting out alive.

  Some of my Club Magazine shots from the 1980’s, courtesy of photographer extraordinaire Suze Randell.

  With Ginger Lynn.

  31. Art

  For a while, I wasn’t doing films except for Club’s R-rated ones. But I was doing plenty of photo shoots for three different photographers: Dennis Scott in Chicago, Suze Randall in L.A., and Joanie Alum in England.

  I used Dennis when I first came to Chicago. He also shot for Australian Playboy and has always been very highly regarded. Some photographers have a knack for shooting food or nature, while others really know how to shoot people. In my opinion, these three are masters at shooting women. Suze and Joanie worked for Club Magazine a lot and when the publication asked me to model for Suze, I said absolutely, because she did gorgeous work. None of them wanted to give up the rights to the pictures, but I ended up retaining the ownership of the transparencies because otherwise I wouldn’t have done them. At the time it was unheard of for a model to wield such power.

  Suze was a riot to work with. She was very motivating and had the best make-up artists, stylists, and set designers. You would go in and there was nothing you’d have to do but have your make-up and hair done and walk out in front of the camera. That took a lot of the stress off getting ready for a shoot. She always had great music playing, which was helpful. To be in front of a camera with nobody saying or doing anything is kind of boring. She had this chair that looked like an old school desk with wheels she’d put on it to roll around the studio. She’d just be flying around on this contraption. Suze was an interesting-looking woman, too. She had the clearest, bluest eyes, with extremely short, curly hair. And her British accent was so expressive. You could hear the enthusiasm in her voice.

  It was an experience working with her because she’d work very quickly. Using four or five cameras, she’d shoot a roll of film and her assistant would just hand her another one. Keeping up the energy and pace, everything would just click and work very well. Of course, those were the days before digital cameras. We’d have Polaroids and check the lighting and make-up, but once she started shooting, everything was “brilliant, sparkling,” and all those other catchy British phr
ases. She’d shoot one hundred or so rolls of film and there were thirty-five pictures on a roll of 35mm slides. There would be literally 3,500 pictures shot. The reason you did that was if you could get two or three good pictures from a hundred pictures taken, you were happy. When we would finish the shoot, she would have the film developed. She’d mark the ones she liked and send me the pictures to edit, as I had final approval. Then I’d send them to Club. It was a wonderful experience.

  Suze was like a painter. I don’t know if you could use Monet or Renoir as comparisons, but like them, she’d set the stage to take the photographs. The lighting had to be just right for the subject to look her best. If she made you look good, it made her look good. She used jewel-toned colors. Really rich emerald greens. Cobalt blues. Ruby reds. Even the make-up artist had to be the very best. She used Alexis Vogel. Alexis’s father photographed more Playboy covers than any other Playboy photographer to date. Like a photographer uses lighting, Alexis used her make-up and brushes. She works for the crème de la crème of Hollywood such as Pamela Anderson, Jay Leno, and the American Idol participants, just to name a few.

  Many photographers were frugal and would use their own vehicles, but Suze wouldn’t do that. She’d lease a Ferrari or a Rolls Royce. Everything was extremely highbrow with her. And she treated everyone with respect. Not just the model, but the make-up artist and her assistants. It made it easy for everyone to work because they all got along. She eventually built an empire and today does films as well. Her daughter Holly was just a baby when I was being shot, and now she’s also in the business. Suze, like Dennis and Joanie, loved the work we did together and none of them felt they were selling out because they were shooting nudes for adult magazines.

  Dennis was quite different in the way he did things. He was much more of a romantic. He would have music playing — whatever the person in front of the camera wanted. I preferred a little rock and roll or jazz. But he was much quieter. He doesn’t talk a whole lot in general. When you see his work, you can tell a true romantic had done them, because the lighting is softer and the settings he chose were dreamier. There was a famous book Dennis did called Four Faces, with pictures of Veronica Lake, Gloria Swanson, Marlene Dietrich, and another legend from that time.

  I always liked Marlene, so we redid that famous picture of Marlene, down to the cigarette holder and gloves from that time period. I’ve had people look at that shot and say, “That’s a great picture of Marlene Dietrich.” I’ll tell them, “That’s not Marlene, that’s me.” He was a master with lighting, as were Suze and Joanie.

  Joanie was a gorgeous woman. Just beautiful. She was really tall, willowy, and youthful-looking, with that Bo Derek kind of hair. She dressed very hip. Joanie was married, but I can’t remember her husband’s name. Very up. Vivacious. They flew me to work with her. I thought, “How am I going to get in front of this woman? She’s too gorgeous.”

  It was intimidating for me to take my clothes off in front of pretty women. Joanie looked like she should have been in front of the camera; she was just striking. Like Suze, she was very vocal and physical. But unlike Suze, who sat in her chair most of the time, and Dennis who was very quiet, slower paced, and methodical, Joanie would be up on six to eight foot ladders shooting down on you. Or she’d be on the floor or shooting from around a corner. Her body would be as contorted and twisted up as the person in front of the camera. You can always identify one of her pictures by the way they are posed. I don’t think I ever hurt as bad as after the first day I shot with her. She’d like to get you all scrunched and twisted up, and you’d think, “How in God’s name is this going to look?” But they were always great photographs. Her husband was in charge of this cone-shaped light she called her “pussy light.” This was back in the days when women still had hair on their genitalia. She’d put a little bit of oil on your pubes and he knew just how to hold the light to get just the right amount of illumination there. You never heard him say a whole lot of anything. I truly believe he didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, like an onlooker or anything like that. He was very much a gentleman.

  They were all totally professional. They never came on to their subjects. I eventually did date Dennis, though. One night he said, “Why don’t you come on over? I’ll order some dinner and go through the pictures.” We always liked each other and there was a good chemistry there and things just happened. I loved him to death. He was a nice man. But I don’t think either of us was ever in love with the other. It was something safe. I knew what he did and he obviously knew my story. At the time, I was the only nude photography he was doing. I enjoyed my time with him but knew it wasn’t going to amount to much. I can’t even remember us breaking up. There was never an argument or anything like that. I got busy at one point and we just stopped seeing each other.

  When I look back at these pictures I started doing from about 1980 on, I just love them. It wasn’t that the prior ones were bad, but the photographers simply weren’t of the same quality. In a way, these pictures preserve not only my youth but also a time in history. It’s a documentation of life.

  When I think about it, now that I’m in my fifties, I’ve spent literally half my life in front of a camera. This, of course, puts pressure on me. When I leave the house, just to go down the street, I refuse to let people see me looking bad. One of the reasons is you never know if someone is going to take your picture and publish it somewhere. I want to have my hair looking nice. I always wonder why people walk around in dirty clothes with hair looking like it hasn’t been washed in a week. I’ve even seen people shopping in their bedroom slippers. I guess some people feel when you get to a certain age there’s no reason to take care of yourself, but I feel you shouldn’t let yourself go. I’ve had some bouts with keeping my weight in check and I hate it, yet I never reach a point where I think, “Okay, so I’m overweight. Big deal. This is my ‘new normal.’” I don’t think this is being egotistical. You should keep it together. To have the entire world think you look good for your age makes you feel better about life in general.

  Those three photographers spoiled me for anyone else. Working with them was a high point in my career and in my life. Even at shows I work today, people will walk up and ask me to sign those pictures. I get requests via my website for certain shots from the Club years. None of the pictures for Club at that time were hardcore. Today, there are all kinds of books that present nudes as art. But if it’s in an adult magazine, it’s regarded as pornography. If those very same pictures I did were taken out of those publications without anyone knowing where they came from, most people would say, “That’s a beautiful photo.” But since it’s in Club, they frown upon it. Perception is everything.

  I will go to my grave believing the human body is a beautiful thing and these pictures hold up as art. Looking back at these shots I’m extremely proud of the work I’ve done.

  Some of my Club Magazine and glamour shots from the 1980’s, courtesy of the fabulous Dennis Scott.

  Posing me as Marlene Dietrich.

  Looking like I’m ready for a roller disco.

  Dietrich again.

  Getting wild.

  32. Good Times

  Living in downtown Chicago, I was the toast of the town. In the mid-eighties there was hot nightlife and no matter where I went, I didn’t have to wait for tables or on lines. I was invited to all the new nightclubs and didn’t pay for a drink or a meal. I was having a ball.

  I even hired a PR person. Pornography was such a hot topic and a lot of the attention given to me was about my case. I had the balls to use the RICO Act and won, so I was continually doing TV talk shows from L.A. to New York. Meanwhile, the mail order business was doing very well and I was still working at Club. For once, life didn’t have any rough spots.

  There was a nightclub called Limelight that had a big opening in Chicago, which was hyped for a couple of months. Everybody wanted to get into the event. Special invitations went out to certain people to enter first, because there were lines down th
e street. There were tons of limos. It was an old Shriners Hall, which was kind of gothic looking in a way. Neat rooms. VIP areas. I went and it was absolutely one of the craziest nights ever in Chicago. As the doors opened, the flashbulbs start going off. There were so many flashes you couldn’t see anything. It took like forty minutes to walk up the stairs because I was literally blinded. My friend Ronnie, who was my hairdresser at the time, was with me and we didn’t get home until five o’clock in the morning.

  Champagne was flowing like water. Anybody who was anyone was there. Oprah Winfrey, all of Chicago’s pro athletes. It didn’t matter which team: the White Sox, the Cubs, the Bears, and the Bulls. Even other club owners were coming in. Restaurant owners. Magazine editors. And an awful lot of networking. It was overwhelming because everybody wanted to talk to me.

  I had never really experienced anything like this. I was used to autograph signings and appearances, but this was different because these were press people who could take me to other levels in my career. I was proud that I didn’t have anyone telling me what to say or what to wear. I was on my own now and it felt like the first time leaving home without answering to anyone.

  I also went to the International Film Festival and it was full of people from all over the world. Dolph Lundgren was there and I went out with him once. He was a very good-looking man and we all know he’s built very well. But very strange. He was extremely quiet and shy for someone who wanted to take me home. At the time, he had just broken up with Grace Jones, because in bed he kept comparing my nipples to hers. I guess he had a thing for nipples. Oddly, for somebody who had a body like his, he always tried to cover himself with a robe or a towel. There wasn’t anything wrong with him at all, believe me. He looked like a Greek God and was one of the best male specimens I have ever seen. The whole date, as well as the sex, though, just didn’t live up to my expectations. He called again the next time he was in town but I told him I had a prior engagement. I tried to be nice.