Underneath It All (16 page)

Scott went back to Los Angeles later that afternoon, en8a8ement ring in hand. He said he could forgive me everything if I married him when I got back. I somehow managed to stifle my anger at this absurd "solution." He left for the airport, satisfied that I had "come to my senses." I felt like a fool.
I was a home wrecker and I didn't even know it. Why hadn't his wife said something? I sure as heck would have. She let this jerk play us both!
I wondered what lies he had told her. But did it really matter now?
Man, my head was spinning.
God, I have to see that idiot again—all my things are still in Woodland Hills. How am I going to contain the situation for another month until I can get home and get out of there? Oh, screw it . . . screw him —let him throw my belongings in the street. I'm not wasting another breath on him. It's stuff, it's, just stuff. I need to talk to Brook.
As I climbed into the cast shuttle bus the next day, I could tell by the looks of my fellow cast members that word of my love triangle had spread fast. Johnny offered me a smile, shrugging his shoulders and saying, "Ah fuck it you'll be fine." He too had broken up with his girlfriend recently, and he knew the score.
Ricki patted my back, saying Brook was all pumped up about another cock being near his henhouse.
What? Did he think for one second I wanted to be with anyone else? Didn't he know how I felt about him? Maybe it's time I said the four-letter "L" word?
The ride to location seemed way too long. I was anxious to find my boyfriend and bring him up to speed. I was the gossip of the day and I really loathed it. I was embarrassed that every one knew my business, and the only thing that made it bearable was that I was among real friends. I was safe.
A few hours later, I was wearing a flaming-red dress, and my thoughts couldn't have been farther away from Scott Bell. I was lost in the moment at hand. Garbed in our 1950s finest, I struggled not to fall off my ultrahigh heels as the entire cast performed as the Cry-Baby Band in front of dozens of extras. I sang backup and played the triangle. Johnny and Amy lip-synched to "King Cry-Baby" and danced hand in hand across the stage. It was floe finale of the movie. The cool cats that would be us—versus the rich geeks.
The battle of the bands raged on, finishing to thunderous applause. We brought down the house. Then we all had to she one single teardrop of joy. Cut. Print. Moving on.
Waters paced excitedly on the sidelines. Extras milled about and the producer, Rachel Talalay, called lunch break. I kicked oil my shoes and headed for my dressing room, where I could see Brook already waiting for me. He smiled and planted a kiss on my face. It was now or never. "You know, I love you, man."
"Yeah," he said, smiling, "I love you too."
Toward the end of June, as we wrapped up production, Pat Moran knocked on my dressing room door and asked to speak to me. I invited her in thinking she was there to chat. We'd become very close friends during the filming and spent lots of downtime gossiping and sipping coffee, enjoying the fact that our friendship made Brook a little nervous. I guess he was afraid I'd learn all his childhood secrets.
But that afternoon her expression made me nervous. She came right to the point. The FBI was on the set. They'd been looking for me for about twenty minutes. John, Rachel, and the first assistant director all knew.
I felt sick, picturing myself being led away in handcuffs. What now?!
Pat read my mind and in her smoky voice said, "Don't worry. These assholes are not going to do anything but serve you. bring them in here. No one else needs to know."
I started crying, horrified that the casting director/producer/boyfriend's mom knew what a loser I was. Oh fuck. I lost my composure. Furious on my behalf, she steamed onto the set, determined to solve the problem quickly.
I was served in the privacy of my trailer, but everyone knew something was up. I was completely rattled when I was called to shoot my next scene. They'd tracked me down on location to serve me a subpoena.
What if word got out that Traci Lords gets served at work? Would producers be afraid of the lurking fells? Why couldn't I go on with my life? It had been three fucking years! Enough!
My cover blown, my insecurities took over. How am I going to walk in front of a camera now? Once a porn star always a porn star. What am I doing here? I'm not good enough. I don't deserve it. That quickly I knew I didn't belong next to these "real actors." I was an outsider, an imposter, a loser. I fought the tears welling in my eyes as I told myself it didn't matter.
Fuck what these people think.
But it did matter . . . I loved them.
My tough exterior crumbled in front of everyone. I tried to suck the feelings down but they consumed me.
I'm not strong. I feel like no one's ever going to let me forget my mistakes.
The tears poured down my face and I found Pat immediately at my side. I stood there dressed in my 1950s garb crying on her shoulder. My boyfriend appeared and wrapped his arms around us. I was sandwiched between them, sobbing.
Oh man, what a spectacle.
John broke the intensity of the moment, walking up to our huddle and saying, "Traci, I bet everyone here has had a run-in with the law. You're not the only one." He raised an eyebrow and looked from Sue Sue to Patricia Hearst, who smiled back innocently. I could see his point, but it's always different when it's you.
Returning to the set after having my makeup repaired, I found the entire cast and crew sitting around telling stories of their "previous incarcerations." John was right. It seemed that nearly everyone on the film had been arrested for something, ranging from drunk driving to public exposure to grand theft auto. It was much different from the recurring drama I experienced, but the fact that all these people cared so much about me that they shared their own bouts with the law just to make me feel better . . . well, it did. Clearly, no one in the land of
Cry-Baby
looked down on me.
I turned the subpoena over to my lawyer Leslie. It was the same thing as always. Some distributor had sold my underage porn films to a federal agent and once again my mother agreed to testify in my place.
Filming on Cry-Baby wrapped the following week. I couldn't believe it was over. The cast and crew wrap party was going to be held in the Celebrity Lounge at the Tremont. Since I was flying home to Los Angeles the next day, Brook and I decided to tell his parents we were going to continue our relationship, which meant he'd move to California in two weeks' time. He'd wanted to check out L.A. before, feeling he'd prosper from greater film opportunities there. But his love for his family had always kept him in Baltimore. He was close to them, especially his grandma Grace. He'd lived there his whole life and it wasn't an easy decision for him to make. I just hoped we were doing the right thing.
It was a loaded situation. Emotions were charged, everyone was exhausted, and there was a somberness in the air. I knew the blessing of Brook's family was important for our future and I hoped the timing didn't work against us.
We went to the wrap party that night together. Everyone was already there. We broke the news to Brook's mom and dad, and I could see Pat breathe deeply. Then she just hugged us. His father signed my script: "To Traci, the girl who stole my son away," and we all started crying.
Many tears and several martinis later, the cast and crew of John Waters's
Cry-Baby
said good-bye.

Twenty-four hours later I stood in front of the home Scoff and I rented in Woodland Hills, surrounded by luggage. As t he taxi roared away, I took a deep breath, preparing myself fort he worst. I was tired from the early-morning flight and dreaded facing my scorned ex. I hadn't spoken to him since his unexpected visit to Baltimore but things were clearly over between us. Earlier that week I'd left word on his machine that I'd he arriving this afternoon to collect my things. I'd gotten no response and I had no idea what I was walking into.
I left my pile of luggage by the garage and struggled with the front gate. He must have been waiting for me because the moment I got in, he stormed through the front door, calling me every name in the book. I kept my voice calm, not wanting to fuel the fire. I told him I was sorry to upset him and that all I wanted to do was collect my things and go, but he tried to snatch the keys from my hand and said I wasn't stepping foot in his house. His fury scared me. I turned around and walked quickly to the street.
He laughed, slamming the door behind me.
I stood there on the curb for a minute, shaking and trying to decide what to do next. I knew he was angry, and maybe even genuinely hurt by my relationship with Brook, but we were grown-ups. This wasn't the way adults were supposed to act. At twenty-one years of age, it was finally clear to me that certain types of behavior just weren't acceptable. I fumed as I thought of all the money I'd spent on rent for this house while I'd been away on location. Not to mention the countless dollars I'd given him for child support for his son.
Forget it, pal,
I thought.
We're even. I'm out of here.
But first I needed my car.
The next few minutes moved at warp speed as I ran for the garage and punched in the code. My red convertible was right where I'd left it, and I jumped into the driver's seat. Throwing the car into reverse, I sped backward out of the garage as Scott came running after me like a crazed lunatic. My heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest as I squealed around the corner, home free.
I had no choice but to go to the cops. I showed up a couple of hours later with two cops. Scott answered the door all smiles and "yes sir's," pretending nothing had happened. I wanted to slap that smirk right off his overly tanned face, but I bit back my impulse, ignoring him as I scrambled to gather my things. I stuffed a duffel bag full of clothes and grabbed my guitar and a stack of lyrics I'd written. Even in my haste I could tell many of my things were missing. I couldn't locate the Bible my grandmother had given me, and Scott denied ever seeing it. At an autograph signing months later, it was returned to me by a fan who said he had purchased it.
As I was dragging my things out the front door, I heard a mewing sound coming from the kitchen and stopped to crane my neck for a better view. There in the center of the floor was a tiny white Persian kitten. Scott swatted at it for peeing on the floor and referred to the adorable ball of fur as "Rat," announcing that he'd named it after me. I headed through the door. I'd had enough.
"Hey!" he snapped. "Don't forget your cat!"
He threw the little creature at me.
"It's your problem now." He turned. "Happy fucking birthday, bitch."

I spent the next few days living out of a suitcase and talking long-distance to my Baltimore Boy. The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel became my hideout as I searched for new digs for Brook and me to move into together. I wasn't sure where I wanted t live, but I was positive I wanted to be as far from Woodland Hills and Scott as I could get. Thankfully, I had some money to work with. I'd earned a decent salary for
Cry-Baby
, and although Scott had helped himself to some of it, I managed to hold on to what was left.
I pounded the pavement apartment hunting in the Holly wood and North Hollywood area, finally settling on a rather boring, sterile-looking town house that overlooked the 101 freeway. It was new, clean, safe, and the price was right. Screw the freeway—I was out of time. Brook was supposed to arrive in two days. I hoped he wouldn't hate it.
Oh, what the heck — the freeway can be our ocean.
God, I missed him
.
I signed the lease and then stopped off at my agent's office to show my face. I wanted to make sure he knew I was back in town and ready to work. Sitting in his office, we chatted about where I wanted to go in the next phase of my career, and I stressed how much I wanted to do television and avoid exploitation films. He nodded in agreement but offered no further comment, changing the subject instead. He asked about the Waters film, wanting to know all about the shoot. I gave him the rundown but kept the feds and my affair with Brook to myself, saying only that I'd decided to split with Scott.
I left Gerler's office unsure of how seriously he took my desire to star in more serious projects. Over the next few days, he reminded me several times that I could be working right now if I would just appreciate the offers before me. It was hard to stick to my guns at a time when I had little going for me. I doubted myself constantly.
Maybe Gerler was right. Maybe Cry-Baby was the biggest film I'd ever do. Maybe I should be grateful to star in B movies, count my blessings, and call it a day.
But I couldn't. I wanted something more. I just had to go for it.
It was an uphill battle. I encountered many obstacles during that period of time, self-righteous casting directors, conservative production companies, and people who flat-out refused to grant me an audition. It was maddening to be judged by people who had no idea who I really was or what I stood for. I wasn't sure I had the guts to stay in the game.
The constant rejection and general meanness took its toll. I nearly gave up a dozen times and I honestly don't know what kept me going. I wondered if I'd ever be allowed to star as a series regular on television or find myself in an A movie. I had my doubts. But I needed to know I'd given it my all, and even if I ultimately failed, I would not quit. I was willing to struggle for the career and the life I wanted.
Brook hated Los Angeles the moment his combat boots hit the ground. "Everyone is so pretty here," he grumbled, chain-smoking Merit cigarettes, "even the straight guys shave their legs." He was an East Coast boy and sunny L.A. made him feel like a "fat, sloppy dirtball." But as much as he hated it, he said he loved me. And he stayed. We were like peas and carrots, always together.
Brook and I settled into our new life together, spending our days hunting for work and our nights cooking meals and sharing the secrets of our lives. He landed a job working for New Line Cinema doing props on a movie called
Book of Love
. It was his first job as a Hollywood prop master, and as cool as Brook always acted, I could see the excitement bursting in his walk and in his voice when he called his mother to give her the news. I was very proud of him. He'd gotten exactly what he wanted.
Within days I could say the same as I booked a job as a ditsy dental hygienist on the television sitcom
Married With Children
. Brook and I bought a bottle of champagne and danced in the darkness of our living room to celebrate. The headlights of the big rigs that streamed by on the freeway below provided us with urban candlelight. Life was good.
The following Monday I began work on Married With Children. I'd never done a sitcom before and I discovered how different work schedules were for half-hour sitcoms, hour dramas, and feature films. The show ran like a well-oiled machine. The cast seemed to effortlessly nail their lines and hit their marks. I was in awe and wanted to learn their technique.
Monday through Wednesday were prep days. We did table-reads, wardrobe fittings, and dealt with dialogue changes. We reported to the Hollywood stage about 8 A.M. and finished by lunchtime. On Thursday we rehearsed in front of the cameras, and Friday was the shoot.
We performed before a live audience twice on Friday, once in the afternoon, then again at about six in the evening. The rush of performing live was a real high. I loved it. The cast members of
Married With Children
were all seasoned pros and I learned a lot about comedy just sitting in the read-throughs, watching them work. They had a rhythm when they acted. A lightbulb went off in my head: comedy was all about rhythm! It may seem obvious, but that realization changed the way I attacked my role.
Christina Applegate in particular fascinated me. I could relate to her. We were about the same age but she was light-years ahead of me professionally. She was about eighteen at the time and had a quiet confidence about her. When the camera hit her, she was a ball of energy. Whip smart, dead sexy, with incredible timing. I liked her. Over the next few years I guest-starred on Married With Children several times, and Christina and I became good friends. I struggled with booking acting jobs; she struggled with having a life outside her acting job.