by Traci Lords
I think about how close I came to becoming another statistic and it chills me. I was another runaway, another molested child, another victim of sexual predators. But underneath it all I was a survivor. I chose to write this book for that very reason.
59
Turn Up the Volume
I walked into the beauty salon giggling like a schoolgirl, my Starbucks latte in one hand and a ringing cell phone in the other. I smiled wickedly as I switched it off. For the next hour and a half no one would be able to find me! It was just me, hair color 841, and a pungent twenty-volume peroxide. Ahhh, a morning of beauty. What every author needs after schlepping across the United States hawking her book.
In the weeks after its publication, I’d done hundreds of interviews for radio, television, and print, traveling from Texas to D.C. to San Diego. Along the way, I made many store appearances. Old boyfriends and schoolmates as well as complete strangers showed up at my signings. My high school sweetheart read the book and gave me one of the most heartfelt apologies I’ve ever received. I was overwhelmed. People I’d never laid eyes on before confided in me, sharing their most intimate stories. They told me things I quite frankly didn’t always want to know. From sexual advice to mental health referrals, I was a taller Dr. Ruth. They came in droves, an endless army of humans who had struggled with similar demons, and helped prove to me that I really wasn’t alone.
Relishing a moment of peace in my regular grooming parlor in Los Angeles, I began to think about the Book Soup appearance later that night on the Sunset Strip. I certainly wasn’t going to show up with a head full of roots! I had friends flying in from Canada and New York, and my pal, designer Rebecca Richards, had stitched me up a fabulous frock to wear. I was on edge. Maybe it was from being home for a moment, maybe it was seeing the support around me, or maybe I was just feeling the cracks in the interior.
The tour had been fantastic in many ways. But it had also been really difficult. I started out with a glorious review from Publishers Weekly and a much-anticipated interview with Dateline. Everything had lined up beautifully…and then I hit a bump. In the world of media journalists the luck is in the draw, and I got a lousy hand. The Dateline piece was a huge disappointment for me. Unfortunately they assigned my interview to a journalist who seemed to have written the story before he’d even met me. While some interviewers understood my book as an attempt to shed light on how my life had evolved and my desire to use my own story as a cautionary tale, he seemed to willfully misinterpret my motives and chose to see it as a nefarious plot to rewrite the history of a “bad girl.”
The show went for the cheap shots and sexed up the whole thing. They tried to push me to give them permission to use clips from the last porn movie I ever did. I refused. Ultimately, no clips were used but they saw fit to interview my former porn agent, and I was horrified. The last thing I ever wanted to do was give that man any more publicity, which is exactly why I changed his name in the book. I didn’t want any other innocent young girls to seek him out thinking he might give them an entrée into “show business.” Having explained my position to Dateline’s producer and the journalist who interviewed me, I was stunned by their decision to give him airtime.
The piece was shown the first night of the book tour. I sat in my Dallas hotel room, gaping at the broadcast and cringing as this foul little man called me a liar. It was all I could do not to throw the television out the window. I was livid, absolutely inconsolable. Several martinis later, I passed out feeling even worse.
That night I dreamed I was the murderous bride in Quentin Tarrantino’s movie Kill Bill. I woke deeply disturbed by the glee with which I’d slain my enemies. In that moment, I felt a pure, unapologetic hatred wash over me. It made me sick, literally, that anyone could affect me like this. Retching in an elegant bathroom high above the city I doubted everything, especially myself. As the sun rose, I popped an aspirin and headed for the airport. I was due in D.C. that evening. There was no more time to wallow.
Next up was Larry King, whom I hadn’t seen since Cry-Baby days. In my vulnerable state, I was grateful not to be speaking to a complete stranger. He asked tough questions but did it in a respectful way. We laughed easily during commercial breaks. I felt safe, well liked, and, most important, seen. It meant a lot to me when he closed the interview by saying, “I’m really glad you’re happy now, Traci.” I was screaming on the inside, wanting desperately to tell him how hard doing these interviews was. But I took a deep breath instead, feeling his words land. He was right. I was happy! My life was rich with love and the kind of success I’d always hoped for. Why was I letting a few fools drag me down? Larry King had inadvertently been the voice of reason at a time when the past and present weighed so heavily on my mind that I had momentarily forgotten that these were the good days!
Soon I was off to New York to chat with Matt Lauer on the Today show. Matt was everything the Dateline interviewer was not. He was intelligent, sensitive, and genuinely curious about my life. He understood my desire to send a wake-up call to parents, and I left the studio with some of the bounce back in my step. They weren’t all bad guys after all.
As I walked down Forty-fifth Street toward Times Square, the stench of ripe garbage assaulted me. I stood anonymous in the crowd, feeding off the frantic energy, taking in the faces. Tonight, some of these very same people may come to see me, I thought.
At five o’clock I arrived at the Virgin Megastore in Union Square and was whisked through a back door into the building. A reporter from Inside Edition, the tabloid TV show, was waiting in the corridor to interview me. I laughed out loud as the journalist introduced herself. “Forgive me,” I said, “but this is truly like returning to the scene of the crime.”
“No kidding,” she replied. “You snubbed me at the Blade premiere.”
I was really amused now. “Yeah, well, you guys have trashed me in the past and I hold a grudge!” Dateline had sure cured me of any lingering respect I had for the media.
She shrugged, defeated, adding weakly, “I’m sure it wasn’t personal.”
AHHHHH! “You guys suck,” I snapped.
We spent the next thirty minutes sparring with each other. I finished the interview, held my ground, and somehow managed to laugh at how ridiculous it all really was.
“I guess I’ll remove you guys from my hit list,” I quipped. “But don’t let it happen again,” I added, doing my best New York tough guy impersonation. I walked away laughing, but underneath it all the request was very real. I hoped now that I’d told the full story they wouldn’t treat my past flippantly.
I turned the corner, a small army of handlers behind me, and walked right into my friend J.T.’s arms.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he said, hugging me, talking a mile a minute. “It was hell getting through security. I had to show them my picture in the book! This place is a madhouse! Did you see the lines?”
As we walked through the doorway, I was thunderstruck by the mass of humanity. Faces peered at me and people started screaming my name. A stunning dark-haired man reached out for me. It took me a moment to realize it was my pal, photographer Mike Ruiz. I felt my eyes well up; my friends were all here, surrounding me. And my fans had come out in droves to support me. I was deeply moved. I swallowed hard, putting on my game face as I posed for the paparazzi.
Several hundred handshakes later, I found myself enjoying a moment with my publisher Michael Morrison at the after party. I was grateful for the opportunity to sit with him and thank him for his faith in me. Seriously, most writers never get published. I knew how lucky I was. And I felt the overwhelming urge to thank everyone in the room that night. Just as I was approaching full-on “gush” my editor Josh Behar saved me from myself. He was running on pure adrenaline. Wide-eyed and slightly crazed by the turnout, he slid into the booth next to me. This project was his baby and tonight was as much his victory lap as mine. We grinned at each other and I planted a wet one on his face.
“You did alright, Behar,” I said, wip
ing the lipstick off his face.
Back in the salon, lost in my thoughts, I jumped when the timer went off. It was 10:17. My hair was cooked. Rubbed and scrubbed, I was then sent back out into the world to carry on with the day. No sooner had my feet hit the pavement, cell phone switched on, it all started again. Ringgggggggggg. It was Juliet. Rats. I’m being hunted. I surrendered, answering the phone.
“Yes…Ms. Green…”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Umm…nowhere,” I replied, feeling guilty as I slid into my car.
“Well,” she said coyly. “Guess who just got accepted into the Fox Search lab?”
I lost my breath, my eyes welled up, and I gasped, “WHAT?! Me? Are you serious?” Oh my God! She was for real.
Weeks earlier, I had applied to Twentieth Century Fox’s program for first-time directors, pitching an idea I had for a short film, but I’d heard nothing and feared the worst. Thinking I sucked and they just didn’t want me, I went on the book tour and tried not to care. But I did care! I was so happy that I blasted the radio, singing along with Sheryl Crow, bawling all the way home. I couldn’t wait to tell Jeff. I was going to write and direct my first film! I promised myself that it would be shot by the end of the year.
I wrote “Sweet Pea” in the fall as soon as I was finished with my book tour duties. The idea came from an early chapter in this book called “The Curse of the C Cups.” As much as I wanted to “turn the page” in regard to talking about my past, I found that as a writer my strength was in what I knew. I used my experience as a victim of rape to write a fictional story about a young girl who finds herself in a similar situation. I chose fiction because I felt that it would give me the emotional distance I needed as a writer/director.
Having completed a rough draft of my script I now had to assemble a crew. The budget I had been given was minuscule, meaning everyone who worked on the film would have to work for free. Now I understood why the Lab only accepted filmmakers who had spent years working in the business. You had to be able to call in a whole lot of favors to put together a film with almost no cash. I got incredibly lucky.
On December 5, 2003, I walked onto the set of “Sweet Pea.” It was seven in the morning and I felt like I was going to explode. We were shooting exteriors that morning and the weatherman said there was an 80 percent chance of rain. I could only pray that we’d finish before the storm hit. It was day one of a two-day shoot. And I’d never directed a thing in my life. Oh man…what have I gotten myself into now? I downed my third cup of coffee, pacing near craft service. Calm down, woman, I ordered myself. It’s all under control.
The actors were in makeup, the camera was in position, and we were ready to roll. I’d approached my position as director much as I approach my work as an actress. Homework. It’s all about doing the prep. And I had. The storyboards were tight, the shot list was ready, and I could see the film already playing in my head. I just had to put it on the screen. No problem, I told myself, taking a seat behind the monitor. I can do this. I was no longer pacing, which was a good sign, but boy was I amped! It was like jumping off a cliff and suddenly discovering I could fly. Whether or not I was good at it was a whole other thing, but the fact was that at that moment I had wings! It was the ultimate rush. I loved every minute of it.
Directing was the most challenging and fulfilling experience I’ve ever had working in the film industry. The learning curve was sharp. I was astonished that even after more than fifteen years on movie sets there was still so much I just didn’t know. But I soon found my rhythm. I realized that flexibility was a key component. You plot it all out, and then you go with the moment. It’s kind of like putting on a wet suit and fins and diving into a tidal wave. My perspective on filmmaking was forever changed. As a director, I saw a bigger picture. From the wardrobe to the wallpaper, it all painted a specific picture. My picture. It was the first time I had seen my vision from concept to creation come to life on film. And I was hooked.
Working with a stellar cast and crew we completed the movie in two very long days. It was grueling, but as I said my good-byes I felt like I had been part of something important. And I was proud. During production, I learned that nearly every single person who worked on the film had somehow been touched by rape in his or her life. Ironically, as much as I had tried to create some emotional distance from my own experience, I found it staring me right in the face. I surrendered to it and stood still. It wasn’t the first time the waves had hit me, and once again they took me down.
As much as I’ve grown, healed, forgiven, and tried to forget, there is still a part of me that aches and remembers way too clearly what it feels like to be powerless, rendered silent. But at the end of the day, no matter what happens, I am no longer a victim of that silent shame. I am grateful to have somehow found my voice. In my heart I know, without a doubt, the drama of putting myself out there to be scrutinized is a ridiculously small price to pay for a truly blessed life.
The beginning of my happy ending.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Juliet Green, my true soul sister. This book would not have been possible without you.
I would also like to thank my dear husband, Jeffery Lee.
For their help and support on this journey, my appreciation goes to Josh Behar, Andrea Cagan, and Stephen LaManna.
To the following lifesavers, my gratitude: Leslie Abramson, Kenneth Beck, Alan G. Dowling, Robert Edwards, Vincent Fauci, Howard Fine, Joanne Jacobs, Lorraine, Pat Moran, Danna Rutherford, Donna Stocker, John Tierney, and Cynthia Watson.
I would also like to thank the following artists and photographers for their contributions to this project and my life: Kent Belden, Brendan Burke, Dennis Ferrara, Greg Gorman, Jeff House, Gary Kurfirst, Michelle Laurita, Cynthia Levine, Sam Maxwell, Jeff Pitterelli, Elisabetta Rogiani, Mike Ruiz, Liz Smith, Gilles Toucas, Raúl Vega, John Waters, and Albert and Elizabeth Watson.
And for their continued inspiration, Dr. Lois Lee and Children of the Night (www.childrenofthenight.org), a nonprofit organization dedicated to working with children between the ages of eleven and seventeen who are victims of the sex industry.
My love to all my fans and friends who have supported me throughout my career. I welcome your comments at www.tracilords.com.
Photographic Insert
As Wanda Woodward on the set of Cry-Baby.
The collection of Traci Lords
With Ricki Lake on the set.
The collection of Traci Lords
On the Cry-Baby set as Wanda, in a giant champagne glass.
The collection of Traci Lords
The Cry-Baby gang (from left to right): Robert Tyree, Kim McGuire, Darren Burrows, me, Johnny Depp, Ricki Lake, and show children.
The collection of Traci Lords
At the premiere of John Waters’s Serial Mom in Baltimore.
The collection of Traci Lords.
A limo ride to guest on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno, Los Angeles, 1999.
Copyright Juliet Green
Brook and me.
The collection of Traci Lords
Modeling for Thierry Mugler in Paris, 1989.
The collection of Traci Lords
With costars William Shatner and Christopher Atkins during the filming of Dead Man’s Island, a Movie of the Week.
The collection of Traci Lords
Goofing on the set of MacGyver, 1990.
The collection of Traci Lords
Striking a pose for my calendar, 1990.
Copyright Jeffrey House
On the set of “Control,” the first music video for the album 1000 Fires, Los Angeles, 1996.
The collection of Traci Lords.
The covers of the album 1000 Fires and “Fallen Angel,” one of its singles.
Joshua Jordan. Courtesy of Radioactive Records, © 1994 Radioactive Records, J.V.
Raúl Vega. Courtesy of Radioactive Records, © 1994 Radioactive Records, J.V.
Cynthia Levine. Copyright Divi
ne Entertainment.
On the set of First Wave with director of photography Henry Chan.
Cynthia Levine
About the Author
TRACI ELIZABETH LORDS has starred in dozens of films and television shows, including Cry-Baby, Stephen King’s The Tommyknockers, Melrose Place, and First Wave. Her groundbreaking album 1,000 Fires was a critical and dance club hit. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two cats. This is her first book.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Copyright
Certain names have been changed to protect the guilty. My attorneys say it has to be that way. Funny how life works.
A hardcover edition of this book was published in 2003 by Harper-Entertainment, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
Cover design by Mabel Zorzano. Front cover photograph by Greg Gorman.
TRACI LORDS UNDERNEATH IT ALL. Copyright © 2003, 2004 by Divine Entertainment Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
