Going Down in La-La Land (30 page)

We each had our bathing suits on the whole time. The hard part was getting the rhythm of our movement right. Perry was trying to get us to gyrate in such a way that it looked like I was really getting it up the ass, but it just wasn’t happening. Instead his groin and my ass were smacking into each other like two bumper cars on the Santa Monica Pier. Perry was getting a little impatient, and in his excitement over instructing how it was done in actual porn he ended his lesson with, “You know what I’m talking about, right, Adam?”

Perry knew I had “dabbled” in gay porn since my arrival in LA, but I wasn’t expecting him to bring it up on the set.

“
You mean you’ve done this before?” Mr. Beefcake leading man asked, standing behind me in surprise. At least someone had thought of me as a legitimate actor, until now.

I gripped the railing tighter in frustration.

“
Uh . . . sort of,” I answered, dismissing his question. I was still hunched over and now getting agitated. Imagine standing in front of tens of people trying to simulate a sex act with you as the recipient, and an uncomfortable costar. Not an easy feat.

It still didn’t go right. Again Perry gave us some pointers, and once more, ended this time with, “You know what I’m saying, right, Adam?” in an encouraging tone, as if I was the porn expert and could take matters into my own hands and show Mr. Baywatch how it was done.

Perry had no clue that I had no desire to be considered the porn expert or thought of as an experienced porn actor, much less be reminded of the fact I appeared in an actual porno. I simply wanted to be treated as just a legitimate film actor. Was that so fucking hard? Too much too ask for after years of appearing in plays, taking classes, and even joining a goddamn union along the way?

“
I don’t know!” I snapped, obviously irritated and catching Perry off guard, but at this moment I really didn’t give a shit.

Why did he feel the need to point out my porno past not only once, but twice? Taking a hint I didn’t feel like getting into the specifics of how a simulated ass fuck should flow and what it should look like, he finally told my costar to thrust himself against me and that I remain passive and let myself be pushed forward, which worked.

Shortly thereafter it came time for me to say my last line, my character asking impatiently for his pay so he could go to his gig in Vegas. When that was done I was wrapped and free to go.

That evening John and I stayed at home and ordered in his favorite Chinese takeout from Chin Chin on Sunset. I told him in detail the events of my first day on the set.

“
Hey, I’m proud of you babe. It’s a start, and I’m sure the film will do real well. These guys sound like they know what they are doing,” he beamed.

“
You are so sweet, you, know that,” I said, grabbing the back of his head and pulling his forehead toward mine. “Even though it’s a theatrical release that I still wouldn’t feel comfortable bringing my mother to, you just made me feel like a million bucks!”

“
Hey! You don’t know your mother wouldn’t like it. Didn’t she like
Boogie Nights
?” John asked.

“
I don’t think that movie is her thing either,” I said.

“
You might just be right about that,” he agreed, biting into an eggroll.

“
Have I told you just how happy I am you’ve come into my life?” I asked, nibbling on his ear.

“
Don’t tell me, show me . . .” his voice trailed off, eyes closed and head falling backward.

We proceeded to enjoy the rare comfort of a quiet night at home. No entourage, no riffraff, no crowds and cameras to deal with—just the two of us.

I wasn’t so lucky a few nights later. John had an event to attend and would be out late. I decided to spend the night at Candy’s, do some laundry with her, and just hang out.

Unfortunately, street parking wasn’t abundant that particular evening. After driving around the block a few times I settled on a spot a block and half away. Walking briskly toward the building, I heard a car door slam behind me and the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming my way.

Be cool,
I told myself. Before I turned around I heard a familiar voice say, “Hey, Adam, wait up man!”

It was Dale.

I broke into a sprint toward the building.

“
Get away from me before I call the cops,” I threatened.

“
Just listen to me!” Dale implored in a panicked voice.

“
Help!” I yelled.

“
Listen!” he had caught up with me and grabbed me by my shoulder, forcing me around to face him. I pulled away and put my arms up, ready for whatever was to come.

“
I don’t want to hurt you, dude! I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I just need a little money. Can you do that for me? Huh? Anything— fifty bucks, twenty bucks?” Dale begged.

He was worse than a mess. He looked downright indigent. He reeked of body odor and his face had not been touched by a razor in weeks. His hair was greasy and shaggy underneath a soiled baseball cap, while his face looked gaunt and broken out. There were numerous bumps on his face and neck. It was as if all the chemicals he was putting into his system were trying to escape from his body through his skin. Apparently he had been habitually picking at them as well, as many were open ulcers that were either scabbed over or oozing.

“
Oh my God, Dale. You need help. Are you trying to get any help?” I pleaded.

“
I know dude, I know!” he whimpered, tears streaking down his face. “I’m trying. But in the meantime I have nothing to eat. Please, help me out,” he sobbed.

I just stood there in disbelief.

“
Please!” he begged again, this time with even more desperation.

All of a sudden I heard, “Get the fuck out of here!” Candy was leaning over the balcony, phone in hand.

“
Adam, are you okay? I’m calling the cops! You better leave motherfucker!” she screamed.

Dale looked at me with sudden desperation.

“
Please!” he begged once more.

Shaking, I grabbed my wallet, managed to pull out some twenties, and handed them to him.

“
Dale, please go find some help. Maybe the community center. If you want me to make some calls for you . . .”

“
I know. I’m going to. I promise,” he said.

“
The cops are coming!” Candy announced. “I’m coming down there too with a bat!”

Bless Candy’s soul. There was a lot she owned, but one thing I knew for sure she didn’t own was a baseball bat, but she had my wellbeing at heart.

“
Look, you better go,” I said.

“
Thanks, Adam, I love you for this man. I’m sorry I fucked up. I’m sorry I hurt you,” he sobbed.

With that he ran back to his car, turned on the ignition in a flash, and screeched off into the night.

This time Candy made me file a restraining order. Not that it was going to do much good. Chances were Dale had probably lost his place by now and couldn’t be found.

Orly came out of her apartment to see what all the fuss was about, wearing nothing but a Victoria’s Secret negligee much too inappropriate for her age along with all her jewelry, of course.

“
Ad-deem! You must be very careful with all the crazee peeples in dees town!” she scolded, then proceeded to flirt with the cops and ask them unrelated questions about the neighborhood for minutes afterward. I thought she was going to invite them over for a nightcap.

When the cops finally left, Candy and I sat at the table with some tea and tried to calm down a bit.

“
Oh fuck it,” I said. “This ain’t doing shit to calm our nerves. Let’s crack open a bottle of wine.”

“
Good idea,” Candy agreed.

Tonight there was no joking, nothing to make light about. It was just sad and pathetic. Watching another human being destroy themselves had to be one of the most painful experiences in life.

“
Oh, my gay nerves. Oh, my gay nerves,” I repeated over and over again. “My gay nerves are fried.”

“
You’ll be okay,” Candy muttered as she struggled with the cork. “The human body is pretty resilient. It has a way of mending itself.”

“
It better. I think it’s aged twenty years just in this past year alone. Talk about sensory overload, and ups and downs,” I said.

“
You wanted an exciting life. That’s what brought you to the big city,” Candy remarked.

“
I had visualized exciting in a dynamic, invigorating, thriving way. Not exciting in a crazed, directionless, demoralizing way,” I whined.

“
Look at it this way, Adam, we’re experiencing the wild side early on,” she reasoned, then changing the subject asked, “So why did you give him money?”

“
I just felt so sorry for him. Even though he attempted to cut my face up that day in the warehouse, I think it was just the sheer desperation. It’s like he is completely disgusted with himself and what he is doing, he just doesn’t know how to stop.”

“
Or not disgusted enough to want to stop. You know what they say. Once you hand out a few crumbs you’ve got them pecking at your door for good,” Candy cautioned.

“
Actually no,” I remarked, “I never heard that.”

“
Okay, I just made it up,” Candy said in a testy yet humorous tone. The first bit of humor all night. “I just hope he doesn’t come lurking down the street again, all right!”

“
I don’t think so. I think that’s the last we’ll see of him.”
“What makes you so sure?” Candy dismissed.
“I don’t know,” I answered simply. “I just get the feeling.”

My second day on the set of
The Voyeur
wasn’t scheduled until a few weeks later. The days until then had been quiet. I hoped all my troubles were behind me. This scene was at Missy Manhandler’s birthday extravaganza and was being filmed in some hole in a wall bar on Fairfax that had been re-created inside to resemble a decent club. I thought it might be stranger than then my first time on the set, only because with Missy being there I was reminded even more of my days at HUNG Video.

The bar had regular drag performances, so there was a stage and a dressing room in the back. When I arrived for my call time, the cast and crew were sitting down to lunch. I drove my car along the side street where the trucks, catering, and dressing room trailers were set up and waved to Perry and Mitch, who shouted greetings and waved back. When I had parked my car I sat down and joined everyone to eat.

What did make me excited about today was my wild getup wardrobe had given me. It consisted of my own white cowboy hat bought on Melrose, a silver leather jacket, silver boots, silver lamé G-string, and a silver holster with two toy guns that shot off confetti. I only had two lines, in which I drunkenly approach and interrupt the lead character then shoot my guns off in the air and saunter away.

Before my scene was set up, the rock diva that was the star of the production had some dialogue to shoot. The directors and a few crew people personally escorted her from her dressing room trailer to the bar. After I was in my getup and sitting in the makeup chair she walked by, looked me in the eyes, and practically purred hello.

This woman was the fucking essence of cool. A downtown New York legend I’d loved since childhood had looked me up and down in my sexy cowboy gear and greeted me. That moment alone made being involved with the film worth it, no matter how successful it turned out.

Being the biggest name attached to the project, they wrapped up the rock goddess first and then it was on to the rest of us. After lunch many people began to arrive on the set. Because the setting was a party, plenty of extras were needed. I hid out in the dressing room of the club with the Dutch costume designer and her assistant, both of whom I had bonded with.

The dressing room was plastered with pages ripped out of fashion magazines such as
Vogue
and
Elle.
On the ceiling was a fabulous poster of Diana Ross from the 1980s, on which she wore her hair in a new wave, Mohawk sort of style. The drag queens that normally performed at this dump had a field day decorating their dressing room, which appeared to be an ongoing collage in progress.

Soon Missy arrived on location, already dressed to the nines in all his magnificence. He had scared the shit out of some poor PA who was trying to direct him into a tight parking spot, and blamed the poor sucker for causing him to bump his car into the one parked behind. Wearing a white platinum wig, colorful airbrushed eye makeup, and a black latex outfit with black ostrich feathers, Miss Manhandler was a sight to behold. His backup band was just as outrageous, and ready for the rock number they were going to perform in the film onstage.

Missy wasn’t the only porn superstar on set. Evidently Perry was friendly with straight porn legends as well. Ron Jeremy, the male porn actor otherwise known as “the hedgehog” was in the scene as well. He sat near the door to the street in a chair, resembling a pudgy, droopy-eyed dog.