Follow Gene Ross at twitter@GeneRoss3; Follow AdultFYI at twitter@Adultfyi1
from www.nydailynews.com – She started life as Dottie Hundley, becoming Ms. Hopewell High School and then international porn star Seka, hanging with superstars like the Rolling Stones and Bon Jovi, dating the likes of Sam Kinison, Matt Dillon and pitching coach Billy Connors.
Infamous for her testimony to the Meese Commission on Pornography in Washington — she addressed Attorney General Edwin Meese with “Listen, Eddie …” — her upcoming book tells all. In these excerpts from “Inside Seka,” she describes the odd requests directors sometimes feel entitled to make — and the bizarre role in which Whoopi Goldberg’s mother was cast.
“There was a big buzz around Hollywood that a major director was going to put adult stars in a new film and there was going to be a casting call. At the time, Bill Margold was booking me and I got a call from him that John Frankenheimer wanted to see me. I was very nervous. I didn’t know what to expect or what he wanted. Why me? There were quite a few good-looking women who had been around longer than I had, and others who were younger and fresher. I guess I was naive and thought I was special or something.
“Ken and I were given directions to his office. John was a tall, distinguished-looking man with full, wavy hair. He was built nicely and casually dressed with a presence about him. I imagined his Hollywood office would be more elaborate. The furnishings were nice but modest. It wasn’t that large, maybe 11 by 16. He had his secretary get us something to drink. He started telling us about ’52 Pick-Up,’ which eventually starred Ann-Margret and Roy Scheider, and I was so mesmerized I didn’t hear a word he was saying except for him mentioning a pool scene orgy in which I would be prominently featured.
“What do you mean, ‘There’s an orgy?’ ” I asked.
He hesitatingly answered, “Or you could play the hostess of a swingers’ party.”
Well, was it an orgy or a swingers’ party? I said, “Excuse me, what are you talking about?”
That’s when he went in for the kill.
“You wouldn’t have to do anything. I really just want to take pictures of me
f—— you. We could do it right now. I have a camera here.”
My ever-gallant boyfriend jumped right in and said, “Okay, we’re ready.”
“Ken, are you out of your mind?” I blurted out.
I turned back to Frankenheimer. “You want me on your casting couch so I can play a character in a movie having sex, when I already have sex on camera? I’m not doing this. I wouldn’t f— you even if you paid me. You’re a rude, ignorant man.”
I got out of my chair and glared at him. He looked pretty p—– off. Ken was still desperately trying to convince me to reconsider as I walked out.
* * *
One of Frankenheimer’s peers at the time was a major studio head known to be a womanizer. All I heard was he had a huge-budget blockbuster and he wanted to see me. He was going to be in New York and offered to fly us there and put us up at the incredibly ritzy Carlyle Hotel.
We got there and checked in and I was, of course, extremely impressed. I said to myself, “Damn, this little country girl just stepped out of the woods and into high society.”
I thought, “I hope this isn’t another Frankenheimer moment.” There was so much caviar and lobster and Cristal champagne I couldn’t help but be impressed. I feasted my eyes on chandeliers, antiques, and gorgeous, gorgeous furniture. I just hoped my mouth wasn’t wide open like Ellie Mae’s . . .
There was a knock on the door as Fred was doing my makeup. A gentleman was at the door with a box. Inside was a man’s tailored shirt that had been made for me. It was an absolutely gorgeous shirt with Mr. Mogul’s name on the back and a note that said, “It’s going to be a casual evening. Please wear jeans and this shirt.”
It fit nicely, but I thought it was really strange. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and when I went to meet him, he couldn’t stop complimenting me on the shirt. Odd.
We went to a really nice steakhouse. There were linen tablecloths and napkins, and the service was quite good, but it wasn’t over the top with guys with white gloves . There was a lot of heavy mahogany wood, which kind of reminded me of those private New York men’s clubs you see in the movies.
It was a place for real meat lovers. I was suitably impressed.
God knows Ken didn’t take me to places like this. My nerves settled a bit and he informed me he was expecting some guests to join us.
Woody Allen and Mia Farrow.
At first, I thought it was wonderful, but they were actually quite dull. Woody looked disheveled and unkempt. His hair was messed up and his clothes were wrinkled. I never suspected he actually walked around like that on his own time.
Mia was very quiet and had the most gorgeous alabaster skin. She was very proper and a bit mousy for my tastes. I never thought of her as an extremely pretty woman, but she was quite elegant.
My host introduced me as Seka. All I got was a “Nice to meet you.” I think they were both oblivious to who I was. This has always been a double-edged sword for me. People generally watch my movies to get horny or get off. What does this say about them? What does it say about the people who don’t watch my movies? I’ve never come up with an answer to either question.
I assumed we were having dinner together, but they just joined us for cocktails. They excused themselves and that was that. We had a nice enough meal with pleasant conversation, but something still struck me as odd about my host.
Stepping out of the restaurant, he motioned for a limousine to pick us up. He asked if I wanted to have a drink with him in his room. I said, “Okay,” because so far everything had been all right. He hadn’t been forward and hadn’t made any advances. I also knew Fred was in the next room if anything got out of hand. If he got a little handsy, I’d just leave.
When we opened the room there were flowers everywhere. It smelled great. Suddenly, out walked a beautiful girl with an olive complexion who looked like a runway model. She was wearing the same shirt I had on.
I asked, “Just what are you doing?”
He looked at me like I was nuts. “I thought you wanted a nightcap. Isn’t she beautiful?”
She certainly was. And she was also clearly a “woman of the evening.”
I told him, “I’ll sit on this chair. You sit over there. And you tell me what the hell is going on.”
“I just want some pictures of you two together.”
It was harmless enough. I’d been paid to pose for pictures before. But this was disingenuous. When I did modeling gigs, I knew I was there for modeling before I even woke up that morning. Furthermore, I was getting paid and I knew what the pay was. Tonight, I’d been wined and dined and it must have cost a pretty penny, but that made it barter, not a gig. I decided I wasn’t going to do it. . . .
He looked at me and said in a disappointed tone, “You mean you won’t take any pictures with the two shirts?”
What the hell was with these f—— shirts?!
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay, let me come clean with you.”
This is going to be good. “Thrill me, chill me, shock me, amaze me, but just tell me.”
“Let me tell you what I want from you.”
“And what would that be?”
I noticed him glancing at a lovely glass coffee table. It was huge. I mean, 2 to 3 inches of heavy glass. You could have a party on it or underneath it, it was so big.
“I loved your a– from the first time I saw you. I would love to see you sitting bare-bottomed on top of the coffee table while I’m underneath . . ”
Lovely. And here I was, thinking it was going to be something weird.
For some reason, out of nowhere, I just started laughing.
I could not contain myself. I was so stunned I was laughing my a– off, cackling like a hen.
He said, “Well, are you going to answer me or not?”
I managed to say, “Not,” through the laughter.
Once I’d collected myself, I stood up and said, “With all due respect, you set a very nice stage.” I looked at the girl who stood there silently throughout. I picked up two bottles of Cristal and said, “I’m going to bed,” and left the room. Clearly, I never got a part in that movie. But I did get to keep the shirt.
* * *
I’d left XXX films, I did the stripping thing for a while, I still did the Club magazine work and the mail-order business, but funds were dwindling. My opulent lifestyle was eating up all my cash, but I didn’t want to give it up without a fight.
I decided to make my own movie. It was a challenge. It was almost like giving birth . . .
There’s a scene where Shanna McCullough plays an airline stewardess and one of the passengers is Whoopi Goldberg’s mother. Howie knew Whoopi very well and he made the introduction. Whoopi was a complete unknown at the time. She asked me to send her demo tape to my agent friend, Sy Sussman, to get her started. A week later, Mike Nichols signed her to her one-woman show on Broadway and the rest is history.
Since I helped her out, Whoopi even let me stay in her home once her career got going. She’s nutty as a fruitcake, but in a good way. She’s naturally funny, but intense. The lady’s extremely well-read and well-spoken. I don’t think you can be a really good comedian unless you’re an intelligent person.
When Whoopi bought herself a red Porsche and pointed to the car she asked me, “Can you believe that? I can’t believe that car is all mine. And it’s all paid for!”
She was just so excited she finally made the big time after struggling for years. God bless her. I was invited to opening night of her show on Broadway. Ironically, the Kennedys, James Earl Jones and other celebs were dressed to the nines and sitting behind us, while I was in the front row with jeans and cowboy boots. Whoopi actually said we were sitting up front because we were the ones who helped her on the way up. That’s loyalty, and I’ll never forget her class and pure heart.
Whoopi had a tour bus and asked me for my posters because she wanted to put them on the inside of the vehicle. She thought it was funny when they took it for a wash that people would think it was my bus and not hers. Once she was sick and hospitalized in Chicago. I don’t recall exactly what was wrong at the time, but she had to cancel her run. I visited her in the hospital like a good friend. I told a pal of mine who ran a great restaurant to bring her and the hospital staff some food. I made sure
everyone was well fed. Even in L.A. we’d pass each other in our cars and pull over and chat. She never once ignored me. I think she’s a supercomedian, an excellent actress and a good human being.
Anyway, I told Whoopi I needed some extras for the movie and she said, “Hey Mom, you want to be in a movie?”
Just like that. She simply sat on the plane. It was a nonspeaking role where she was supposed to react to the pilot and the stewardess having sex, which they weren’t actually doing at the time. You just saw her and the rest of the extras rubbernecking to watch the action that was supposedly going on.