North Hollywood- Raven Touchstone is asked how her book’s coming along.

Touchstone has been writing scripts since today’s crop of porn performers first put their baby booties on, and no doubt Touchstone has some really interesting tales to tell over the years.

Touchstone’s book will, one also suspects, dwell on the upbeat. Mine, on the other hand, [and everyone in porn seems to be writing a book] will be more along the quality but humorous lines of the slime, lies, cocksucking and back stabbing. Which I think is the dish people prefer best served, anyway, although I never intentionally sought any of this material out, by the way.

Colorful as they are in their own manner, those kinds of stories generally managed to land on my lap in some form, shape or another.

But porn isn’t always like that. Sometimes it’s mellow. Sometimes it’s honest. And this week it was a tearful embrace and a heartfelt kiss for one of its own, Henri Pachard.

Cancer has kicked Pachard in the ass. And ain’t it always like that. The good people getting kicked in the ass. I’ve known Pachard since the Eighties. Always a robust, ebullient man with a great story to tell. Pachard and I had a lot of laughs together, and I always remarked how young and vibrant he looked, even for an old goat. He’d roar. He never laughed. Pachard always roared. Like the MGM lion.

Then this piece of shit Cancer-thing came along and tore at his windpipes. Now, Pachard can’t roar. He whispers loudly. Besides the fact of being a director of consummate creativity and authority, right there, porn lost one of its great gifts. While porn can’t give Pachard his normal voice back, it’s trying to square up in other ways.

This week Bill Margold, along with Amber Lynn and a lot of other people from the old school, donated their time, and took over the TTS loft in North Hollywood on the relatively short notice of things to put together a project called We Are The World XXX. The proceeds and profits are being turned over directly to Pachard.

“PAW is producing this,” states Margold. “It’s PAW’s first movie, and it’s a goodwill gesture that I’m very proud of.” Margold then introduces me to Jason Gemini who is a magician.

“He can make you disappear,” Anita Cannibal tells me. That’s all I need, I think to myself.

Cannibal’s got her vidcam out and is shooting footage, I guess, for her documentary, which she’s been working on, it seems, for as long as I’ve known her.

Cannibal’s also talking about her tits, and I get the impression she just had them re-done or something. Except Cannibal says, no, this was back in 1998. Cannibal has this tendency to bring the past and present together in one sentence and one tense which gets really confusing at times to listen to her.

But not to let ten years get in the way of a good story, Cannibal’s talking about how this tit doctor in Canada couldn’t give her simple directions to get to his office. I tell her, damn if I’d let someone like that handle my tits.

“Smart people are like that,” she says.

Probably the last time I saw Raven Touchstone was at her house during a Mitch Spinelli shoot. I think this was the time inscribed in the history books when Kat snared Scott Nail’s foreskin with her braces. But I could be wrong.

What I like about Touchstone is that she collects “stuff”. Neat stuff. Creative people always collect neat stuff. When I first moved to California, Pachard had some afternoon party for whatever reason and invited me over. He’s probably lived in a million places, but this is where he was situated at the time. And Pachard had the same kind of stuff. He was like me, we both loved the flea markets.

Touchstone tells me she had to put her book aside for the moment to finish a script for Vivid, and apparently they’re re-making Deep Throat.

Touchstone’s also working on a mainstream project. She’s writing a movie about Tempest Storm and has been hanging out with the legendary stripper. Tempest is in her Eighties now, skinny, but still with the big hair.

According to Touchstone, the legendary Georgina Spelvin, who has also written a book, was at the studio Tuesday to shoot some wraparounds. Touchstone has also put the necessary literary touches together for the We Are The World shoot. Five directors were announced as taking part in it, but I only saw Brad Armstrong. And I heard Paul Thomas backed out. Rumor was that Larry Flynt might show.

And I had also heard some other Armstrong-related drama earlier in the week pertaining to casting, but I think I’ll save it for the book.

Besides, I promised Anna Mills I’d behave and not report shit. Especially on this occasion.

Mills is decked out in black pumps and a blue dress wrapped tighter than a UPS package. She apologizes for mixing black and blue together. Porn performer John Decker apparently tried that, and is now serving a very long stretch in the pen for some OJ beef involving his girlfriend. At least that’s what I’m told by someone within our little circle of chatter. It was his third strike, so porn is likely never to see Decker again.

Aside from the fact that I could get lost in her foot arches for weeks at a time, Mills is quite sharp and spunky.

“I always liked you,” she says, implying, subtly, that others might find me to be an asshole. Mills felt we bonded ever since the time I reported on the fact about how she got jumped by seven people at a Ken Marcus fetish party at The Key Club. Which was years ago. Mills was involved in physical therapy and lawsuits.

She did a scene the night before with Ron Jeremy.

“He has a lot of attractive characteristics,” says Mills before I get a chance to make any food jokes.

Regarding the We Are The World project, Mills comments, “We’re all doing it for a good cause and love of a good man. He was there for a lot of us in a lot of different ways.”

The studio is a bedlam of energy needing to be harnessed, and Amber Lynn is trying to bring some semblance of order, which is amusing in a sense. Because in her younger days, Lynn might have missed five years of her own career for lack of, shall we say, focus? But you wouldn’t know it Wednesday night. Lynn is a bullhorn of authority. While one very large P.A., in particular, is a pain in the ass with a misplaced sense of it.

“He was rude to you, wasn’t he?” says Steve Nelson, who, as the head P.A., makes an effort to apologize. I tell Nelson, no problem, that this is someone who just needs to be seriously kicked in the balls, is all. I make another note for my book. I have a name.

“I know you from somewhere,” Porsche Lynn tells me. “You look a lot different.”

Which is probably Porsche’s subtle way of telling you, you look like shit. But I could be imagining things. Ona Zee, of all people, is sitting in the makeup chair saying, yeah, she had to be a part of this, although she’s not taking her clothes off any more. Nudity is out of the question at this stage of her life, she laughs.

Ona’s got a jewelry line and a new husband who hasn’t robbed her. And I only bring this up, because Ona did, noting that her ex, Frank, blew all the money he stole from her. Frank got re-married. Ona got re-married. And that’s the way it goes.

“I’m a dramatic and eccentric person,” Ona says. “I’m happy the way things have turned out.”

The tall blond who shakes my hand isn’t sure if I remember her name.

“Karen?”

Of course I remember Karen. I shot her in Great American Ass 3. And Karen still has a great ass and appreciates the compliment. We talk about the fact that she’s no longer with Goldstar Modeling, and there, again, is more material for the book because this amounted to a $30,000 accusation, contested unemployment and a day in court between her and Joel Lawrence. Karen says she’s back with ex-husband Stan Brunt, at least in a professional sense. They’re shooting Internet content.

Meanwhile Sir Richard DeMontfort is shooting a porn movie this weekend. It’s in Beverly Hills and the scene of the shotgun murders where the Menendez Brothers did their parents in. And Sasha Grey, who’s in it, gets $2,000 for a boy-girl scene.

No correlation, but amazing that someone is getting this kind of dough in a skewed porn economy.