Traci Lords: Underneath It All

by Traci Lords

  I was completely lost.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked a bit defensively, thinking John meant that Brook’s mother would have issues with him dating an ex–porn star. “Who’s your mother?”

  John nearly choked on his drink.

  “I see,” he said, disappearing into the club.

  I turned on Brook. “What’s the deal?”

  “Traci, my mother is Pat Moran. She cast you in this movie—you know, the kooky redhead? Talks real loud?”

  Holy crap! I’m messing with the casting director’s son! What if it all goes sour and she hates me for breaking his heart? Then what? People talk in this business. Man, these are just the kind of complications I don’t need!

  Brook and me in Baltimore during the filming of Cry-Baby.

  The collection of Traci Lords

  Reading the look on my face, Brook just laughed. “She’s my mother. She won’t like that I’m dating a cast member, but she adores you and she wants me to be happy. It’s a good thing,” he said, kissing my fears away.

  An hour later we’d picked up a bottle of wine and plotted our entrance into the Tremont. We decided to arrive separately. I went first, frantically straightening up my hotel suite before he got there. He knocked on my door minutes later, narrowly escaping the clutches of a drunk and horny actress. He said she’d groped him as he made his way to the elevator, and slurred into his ear he didn’t know what he was missing. According to her, she had the “pussy of a twelve-year-old.”

  “Grossssssssssssssss!” I squealed. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “How does a person respond to such an invitation?” Beats me, I thought, pouring wine as we cozied up on the couch.

  Listening to the Cult, the Cure, and Sinéad O’Connor, we talked the night away. He told me about his life in Baltimore and spoke fondly of his family. He said they were like a version of the Addams Family, quirky but solidly together. His godfather was the late great actor Divine, with whom he’d traveled around the world, doing lighting for his/her concert tour. He’d even appeared in one of his “uncle” John-as-in-Waters’s films as a nude child who played doctor with a little girl. Most of his adolescent years were spent walking around John’s sets, dispensing props to all the actors.

  Brook had seen a lot of death in his twenty years on the planet. His father died when he was a toddler, and his mother remarried an amazing man named Chuck. He was the only father Brook had ever known and he loved him. But his own father’s untimely demise tugged at him. He said his dad died of an overdose. Of what, I don’t know. He’d also lost many close friends to AIDS. Some of these people had been friends of his family since he was a child, and his eyes burned with rage and sadness as he spoke of music composers, stylists, and designers who “had IT.” Thankfully, though, his mother had ingrained the importance of safe sex in him at puberty.

  We were both disease free. But neither of us was an angel. Brook didn’t ask about my porn days, but I suddenly felt compelled to explain them. I told him I’d been heavily into drugs and I didn’t remember a lot of the specifics of those hazy days. We spoke candidly about sex and porn, and I was surprised at how willing I was to share my very private thoughts with him. He asked me if I liked kinky sex, and I laughed, saying I wasn’t even sure what that meant. I was a virgin to anal sex, thankfully missing that phase in porn movies. “And I don’t particularly like to be tied up,” I said, “although a cool pie does feel rather nice sliding down one’s body,” I teased, breaking into hysterical laughter as I remembered the stories of sploshers.

  “The only thing I ever really learned from porn was how to give a blow job without messing up my lipstick,” I said, then excused myself and headed for the bathroom, fully aware of the amused look on his face. Unreal—I’d actually made a joke about the most painful part of my life.

  The evening ended with us in bed. All thoughts of ulterior motives and what-ifs were gone. He knew who I was, what I’d done, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d even seen my old movies. But none of that mattered. I was crazy about him and fully aware of what I was doing. We played, laughed, and made love all night long. It was exactly how I’d imagined it would be…just right.

  34

  Cry Babies

  Filming on Cry-Baby started in late April. We were like a traveling circus, wandering all over Baltimore on location. We shot in amusement parks, an old prison, and people’s backyards. My mother on film was none other than Patricia Hearst, and we had an unspoken agreement: I didn’t ask her about robbing banks and she didn’t ask me about porn movies. We got along just fine….

  The dance lessons paid off. All of us bopped along well to the music and the atmosphere was like summer camp for juvenile delinquents. John was our faithful leader and set father. Pat Moran, Brook’s mom, was definitely our set mother. We worked hideously long hours and pulled a lot of night shoots, going to work at seven in the evening and finishing at nine the next morning. Everyone was punch-drunk. As for me, well…I was dizzy in love. Brook and I were a hot item. We didn’t even bother to hide it anymore, spending all our free time together. Pat was not surprised to hear of our relationship and her warm acceptance of me dissolved any fears I’d had.

  The cast jitterbugged and snarled our way through the first month of filming and I had the time of my life, discovering the joy of working with an outrageous personality like Waters and the satisfaction of ending each day in the arms of a man I really loved. I was walking on air, a part of something bigger than myself and grateful for the extraordinary opportunity I’d been given. John’s praise gave me confidence. He was a visionary, and I was thrilled to be part of that vision.

  About halfway through filming Scott started sending me flowers and calling the hotel at all hours of the day and night looking for me. Why he suddenly seemed so desperate for my attention, I don’t know. I’d been gone for almost two months, and although I hadn’t told Scott about my relationship with Brook, I did say I needed some space and that when I got back, it would be time for me to move out. I didn’t want to hurt him or lie to him, but I couldn’t bring myself to end it over the phone. It just seemed so mean. I don’t know when he put it together or if he really did, but days later it all came to a head.

  Brook and I returned to the hotel at about eight in the morning on a Saturday after spending all night on the set. We were wiped out from the week’s filming and lounged in bed, munching on bacon and eggs and glad for a day off. Road workers were outside the hotel making lots of noise with jackhammers and we wanted to strangle them, but who wants to go to jail? So we ended up throwing water balloons at them instead. Laughing away our frustrations and satisfied with our retaliation, we finally fell asleep.

  The phone started ringing a few hours later. I unplugged it and had just fallen back asleep when I heard someone banging on the door. Pissed off at housekeeping for ignoring the “Do Not Disturb” sign, I set off down the hallway to give them a piece of my mind. But I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard an angry and familiar voice ranting outside. It was Scott.

  Creeping closer to the door, I peered out through the peephole and saw him pacing back and forth. I freaked out, rushing back into the bedroom and waking Brook.

  “Oh shit…. My boyfriend or ex-boyfriend…whatever—he’s here! Outside the door!”

  Brook was out of bed, pulling on his jeans in seconds.

  “What should we do?”

  “You…you…got to hide somewhere,” I muttered. “We don’t want a scene.”

  “No way!” he said. “I’m no pussy.”

  I panicked, trying to reason with him.

  “Listen, all my stuff is in our house in California. If it goes down like this it’s going to be a nightmare tying up loose ends with him. Please don’t make it harder.” Brook finished dressing, walked into the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of water.

  “Okay, Traci,” he said. “Let him in. I won’t do anything unless he does. I’m just going to stand here
in the kitchen. Get rid of him, though—for good.”

  Oh man, oh man, oh man. Okay, I thought, maybe I just won’t answer the door.

  The pounding got louder. I could hear my neighbors complaining. I stood in front of the peephole watching Scott grow redder by the minute. He was screaming at the housekeeper to let him in. Okay, enough: I opened the door and asked him to be quiet. He stepped right past me and headed for the bedroom. I started praying Brook would take his cue and split so I could deal with this on my own. I followed Scott as he checked the closet. Hey! He pushed me out of the way and headed toward the kitchen. My heart pounded. I held my breath and braced for a brawl. Scott backed out of the kitchen when he saw Brook leaning against the back wall with his ankles crossed and arms folded, staring daggers at him.

  Silence. Scott turned on me: “You’re fucking this kid? I can’t believe you’re fucking this kid! You better go, buddy.”

  I saw a smirk on Brook’s face at the word “buddy.” Brook and I locked eyes. I nodded. He hesitated and then walked out the front door.

  I spent the day trying gently to explain things to Scott. But he was so hysterical it made no difference what I said. I apologized for the way it had all gone down, and told him I’d had no intention of falling in love with someone else. But that only made it worse. He was beside himself. I felt bad. He seemed so distraught. But I really didn’t get it. We hadn’t been happy in a long time. I’d been looking to end the relationship for nearly a year now. Could this have been a one-sided desire? And speaking of desire—wasn’t it clear we had almost none for each other? Did he think I had no sexual appetite? Besides, this was the man who directed me in porn films! Why was he so upset I was sleeping with someone? Hadn’t he always encouraged that? Or was that just “my job” to him?

  I got frustrated as he hurled insults at me, knowing full well that he was hurt but finding the whole situation ridiculous. Oh, get a grip, I wanted to scream, it’s not the end of the world. I was suddenly pissed he’d barged in uninvited, threatening the peaceful existence I’d created among the other misfits. What’s his problem? Is he afraid of losing his meal ticket? Is that it? Just as I was about to say exactly that, he said, “Traci, my divorce is final.”

  “What?! You mean you were married the whole time we were together? No wonder your ‘ex’ loathes me!!” I was furious as he pitifully took a velvet box out of his pocket. It was a diamond ring. He’d come to Baltimore to propose to me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said to Scott as he sobbed at my feet.

  I was so sorry…I’d waited so long….

  35

  The Wrap Sheet

  Scott went back to Los Angeles later that afternoon, engagement ring in hand. He said he could forgive me everything if I married him when I got back. I somehow managed to stifle my anger at this absurd “solution.” He left for the airport, satisfied that I had “come to my senses.” I felt like a fool. I was a home wrecker and I didn’t even know it. Why hadn’t his wife said something? I sure as heck would have. She let this jerk play us both! I wondered what lies he had told her. But did it really matter now?

  Man, my head was spinning.

  God, I have to see that idiot again—all my things are still in Woodland Hills. How am I going to contain the situation for another month until I can get home and get out of there? Oh, screw it…screw him—let him throw my belongings in the street. I’m not wasting another breath on him. It’s stuff, it’s just stuff. I need to talk to Brook.

  As I climbed into the cast shuttle bus the next day, I could tell by the looks of my fellow cast members that word of my love triangle had spread fast. Johnny offered me a smile, shrugging his shoulders and saying, “Ah fuck it—you’ll be fine.” He too had broken up with his girlfriend recently, and he knew the score.

  Ricki patted my back, saying Brook was all pumped up about another cock being near his henhouse. What? Did he think for one second I wanted to be with anyone else? Didn’t he know how I felt about him? Maybe it’s time I said the four-letter “l” word?

  The ride to location seemed way too long. I was anxious to find my boyfriend and bring him up to speed. I was the gossip of the day and I really loathed it. I was embarrassed that everyone knew my business, and the only thing that made it bearable was that I was among real friends. I was safe.

  A few hours later, I was wearing a flaming-red dress, and my thoughts couldn’t have been farther away from Scott Bell. I was lost in the moment at hand. Garbed in our 1950s finest, I struggled not to fall off my ultrahigh heels as the entire cast performed as the Cry-Baby Band in front of dozens of extras. I sang backup and played the triangle. Johnny and Amy lip-synched to “King Cry-Baby” and danced hand in hand across the stage. It was the finale of the movie. The cool cats—that would be us—versus the rich geeks.

  The battle of the bands raged on, finishing to thunderous applause. We brought down the house. Then we all had to shed one single teardrop of joy. Cut. Print. Moving on.

  Waters paced excitedly on the sidelines. Extras milled about and the producer, Rachel Talalay, called lunch break. I kicked off my shoes and headed for my dressing room, where I could see Brook already waiting for me. He smiled and planted a kiss on my face. It was now or never. “You know, I love you, man.”

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling, “I love you too.”

  Toward the end of June, as we wrapped up production, Pat Moran knocked on my dressing room door and asked to speak to me. I invited her in thinking she was there to chat. We’d become very close friends during the filming and spent lots of downtime gossiping and sipping coffee, enjoying the fact that our friendship made Brook a little nervous. I guess he was afraid I’d learn all his childhood secrets.

  Taking a break on the set.

  The collection of Traci Lords

  As Wanda Woodward on the set of Cry-Baby.

  The collection of Traci Lords

  On the set with Iggy Pop.

  The collection of Traci Lords

  With Johnny Depp on the set of Cry-Baby.

  The collection of Traci Lords

  But that afternoon her expression made me nervous. She came right to the point. The FBI was on the set. They’d been looking for me for about twenty minutes. John, Rachel, and the first assistant director all knew.

  I felt sick, picturing myself being led away in handcuffs. What now?!

  Pat read my mind and in her smoky voice said, “Don’t worry. These assholes are not going to do anything but serve you. I’ll bring them in here. No one else needs to know.”

  I started crying, horrified that the casting director/producer/boyfriend’s mom knew what a loser I was. Oh fuck. I lost my composure. Furious on my behalf, she steamed onto the set, determined to solve the problem quickly.

  I was served in the privacy of my trailer, but everyone knew something was up. I was completely rattled when I was called to shoot my next scene. They’d tracked me down on location to serve me a subpoena. What if word got out that Traci Lords gets served at work? Would producers be afraid of the lurking feds? Why couldn’t I go on with my life? It had been three fucking years! Enough! My cover blown, my insecurities took over. How am I going to walk in front of a camera now? Once a porn star always a porn star. What am I doing here? I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve it. That quickly I knew I didn’t belong next to these “real actors.” I was an outsider, an imposter, a loser. I fought the tears welling in my eyes as I told myself it didn’t matter. Fuck what these people think. But it did matter…I loved them.

  My tough exterior crumbled in front of everyone. I tried to suck the feelings down but they consumed me. I’m not strong. I feel like no one’s ever going to let me forget my mistakes. The tears poured down my face and I found Pat immediately at my side. I stood there dressed in my 1950s garb crying on her shoulder. My boyfriend appeared and wrapped his arms around us. I was sandwiched between them, sobbing. Oh man, what a spectacle.

  John broke the intensity of the moment, walking up to our huddle and
saying, “Traci, I bet everyone here has had a run-in with the law. You’re not the only one.” He raised an eyebrow and looked from Sue Sue to Patricia Hearst, who smiled back innocently. I could see his point, but it’s always different when it’s you.

  Returning to the set after having my makeup repaired, I found the entire cast and crew sitting around telling stories of their “previous incarcerations.” John was right. It seemed that nearly everyone on the film had been arrested for something, ranging from drunk driving to public exposure to grand theft auto. It was much different from the recurring drama I experienced, but the fact that all these people cared so much about me that they shared their own bouts with the law just to make me feel better…well, it did. Clearly, no one in the land of Cry-Baby looked down on me.

  I turned the subpoena over to my lawyer Leslie. It was the same thing as always. Some distributor had sold my underage porn films to a federal agent and once again my mother agreed to testify in my place.

  Filming on Cry-Baby wrapped the following week. I couldn’t believe it was over. The cast and crew wrap party was going to be held in the Celebrity Lounge at the Tremont. Since I was flying home to Los Angeles the next day, Brook and I decided to tell his parents we were going to continue our relationship, which meant he’d move to California in two weeks’ time. He’d wanted to check out L.A. before, feeling he’d prosper from greater film opportunities there. But his love for his family had always kept him in Baltimore. He was close to them, especially his grandma Grace. He’d lived there his whole life and it wasn’t an easy decision for him to make. I just hoped we were doing the right thing.

  It was a loaded situation. Emotions were charged, everyone was exhausted, and there was a somberness in the air. I knew the blessing of Brook’s family was important for our future and I hoped the timing didn’t work against us.