the third day of her visit, I had a shoot in Woodland Hills. It was for a movie called Grrl Power . My call time wasn’t until the afternoon. It didn’t really matter, because I was planning on being late. I was a few hours late, in fact. Tyler and Desiree dropped me off at the location. We were all super high on ecstasy, too out of it to leave Desiree at home alone. I didn’t feel good. But the director and production manager told me I was fine, so Tyler and Desiree left. It was probably for the best. Having an underage girl at a porn shoot could get everyone arrested. I stayed there to do my scene, but I was rolling so hard I could barely open my eyes during the stills. I’d already gotten the cold shoulder from the makeup artist.
Two different men on set lectured me about taking drugs before scenes and how it looked bad. They asked me what I was on and I told them, “Mmmm, ecstasy…” But I had no idea who they were or why anyone cared. This was porno, right? I was on the road to ruin, not success! Not one part of me felt guilty or sorry for doing drugs. I was a total mess, but they shot me anyway. I did a great scene, despite the bad looks and worse vibes I got from the entire crew. They were happy when I left. Tyler picked me up a few hours later, without Desiree. The director wrote out my check and told Tyler not to let me take as many pills next time.
When our infections cleared up, I was ready to leave Texas. We could retest and go back to work seven days after starting the antibiotics. We needed to get back to LA All of our shoots were rescheduled because of the STDs. No one in porno really cared that we got sick. Everyone was very sympathetic and understanding. We were not ostracized or treated poorly because of it. I was looking forward to going back. Porno had become the world in which we thrived.
After not being able to talk about porn and our involvement in it for so many days, I began to miss it dearly. I wanted nothing more than to speak freely about it and not have to hide from it. Even if I wasn’t proud of it or bragging about it, I wanted to be able to mention it if I wished. Tyler and I needed to get back where things were happening. LA was where people would be open-minded again. Where the Republicans were outnumbered and the weather was nice. Home to cocaine and pornography. Home to Trent and Ashley. Home, where we fit in. Hollywood. Home.
Chapter Twelve
Heart Attack
B ecause Tyler and I were doing coke every day and every night, and booze was just as excessive as the cocaine—we drank it all, beer, Scotch, vodka, whiskey, tequila, wine coolers, red wine, Goldschläger, gin and tonic, etc.—all of our porno money was spent as soon as we fucked for it. It was a blast to live in such a grand city and have the time and means to enjoy everything Dionysian within it. Los Angeles is the best place to live, period. Tyler and I frequented The Cat & Fiddle, Barfly, The Abbey, Improv, The Viper Room, Saddle Ranch, La Poubelle, and Birds. We went out dancing at Joya, 7969 Santa Monica, Hollywood Athletic Club, Three Clubs, and Fubar. We ate at Matsuhisa, Water Grill, The Pig, Cobras and Matadors, and French Market Place. We went anywhere we damn well pleased. Carousing was all that mattered, our skewed version of everyday, normal life. Our lives revolved around the next outing, the next party.
We remained living in the same cheap studio apartment. Even though we were making a few thousand per week in porn, we still only paid $575 a month for rent. Our neighborhood was full of transsexual prostitutes and drug dealers, so it was cool. Much better than the closed-minded and uninspiring suburb of Thousand Oaks. The filthy and unsafe elements suited us. It got unbearably hot in the summer without air conditioning. But we could be as loud as we wanted since it was so loud on the streets at night. There were fights, car crashes, police helicopters, and drunks. It was scary and fun at the same time.
Our
Two different men on set lectured me about taking drugs before scenes and how it looked bad. They asked me what I was on and I told them, “Mmmm, ecstasy…” But I had no idea who they were or why anyone cared. This was porno, right? I was on the road to ruin, not success! Not one part of me felt guilty or sorry for doing drugs. I was a total mess, but they shot me anyway. I did a great scene, despite the bad looks and worse vibes I got from the entire crew. They were happy when I left. Tyler picked me up a few hours later, without Desiree. The director wrote out my check and told Tyler not to let me take as many pills next time.
When our infections cleared up, I was ready to leave Texas. We could retest and go back to work seven days after starting the antibiotics. We needed to get back to LA All of our shoots were rescheduled because of the STDs. No one in porno really cared that we got sick. Everyone was very sympathetic and understanding. We were not ostracized or treated poorly because of it. I was looking forward to going back. Porno had become the world in which we thrived.
After not being able to talk about porn and our involvement in it for so many days, I began to miss it dearly. I wanted nothing more than to speak freely about it and not have to hide from it. Even if I wasn’t proud of it or bragging about it, I wanted to be able to mention it if I wished. Tyler and I needed to get back where things were happening. LA was where people would be open-minded again. Where the Republicans were outnumbered and the weather was nice. Home to cocaine and pornography. Home to Trent and Ashley. Home, where we fit in. Hollywood. Home.
Chapter Twelve
Heart Attack
B ecause Tyler and I were doing coke every day and every night, and booze was just as excessive as the cocaine—we drank it all, beer, Scotch, vodka, whiskey, tequila, wine coolers, red wine, Goldschläger, gin and tonic, etc.—all of our porno money was spent as soon as we fucked for it. It was a blast to live in such a grand city and have the time and means to enjoy everything Dionysian within it. Los Angeles is the best place to live, period. Tyler and I frequented The Cat & Fiddle, Barfly, The Abbey, Improv, The Viper Room, Saddle Ranch, La Poubelle, and Birds. We went out dancing at Joya, 7969 Santa Monica, Hollywood Athletic Club, Three Clubs, and Fubar. We ate at Matsuhisa, Water Grill, The Pig, Cobras and Matadors, and French Market Place. We went anywhere we damn well pleased. Carousing was all that mattered, our skewed version of everyday, normal life. Our lives revolved around the next outing, the next party.
We remained living in the same cheap studio apartment. Even though we were making a few thousand per week in porn, we still only paid $575 a month for rent. Our neighborhood was full of transsexual prostitutes and drug dealers, so it was cool. Much better than the closed-minded and uninspiring suburb of Thousand Oaks. The filthy and unsafe elements suited us. It got unbearably hot in the summer without air conditioning. But we could be as loud as we wanted since it was so loud on the streets at night. There were fights, car crashes, police helicopters, and drunks. It was scary and fun at the same time.
Our
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