The Hardest (Working) Man in Showbiz (36 page)

Tammy Faye Messner and me at a lovely restaurant in North Carolina.

Keira Knightley and me during the shooting of
Domino
in Las Vegas.

My good friend Brad, Gene Simmons, and me at a KISS concert in Florida.

With Dimebag Darrell, Pantera legend (R.I.P.) who died in 2004.

With Colin Farrell after he finished filming
Miami

John Wayne Bobbitt, me, and Joey Buttafuoco during the filming of the “Freak of the Week” music video.

With Ringo Starr backstage at the Hard Rock Hotel, Las Vegas.

With Slash at his home Jacuzzi (way before he met his wife Pearla).

With Rodney Dangerfield at a Sam Kinison party.

“Okay, fine,” Como said. “I’ll let him go unnoticed. I can’t get his name off the police report, but we won’t make a big deal of it. Just get him out of here as fast as you can.”

I escorted John to the back door, apologizing all the way.

“That was certainly an experience,” he said, giving me a quick wave as his Ferrari sped away, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

After months passed and his name never appeared in the tabloids, John finally decided it was safe to contact me again. He wasn’t brazen enough to visit any more porn sets, but he had other ideas about how I could contribute to
52 Pick-Up
.

He needed actors for a party sequence, and, because it required some nudity, he asked me to call in my industry friends.
*
I brought him porn stars like Amber Lynn, Jamie Gillis, Tom Byron, Amy White, Herschel Savage, Inez, Honey Wilder, Erica Boyer, Peter North, and, of course, myself. He also asked me to shoot a short, soft-core porn loop for a scene in which Roy Scheider goes to an X-rated theater and watches an adult movie. The video never made it into the final cut, but I was still given a “film clips courtesy of” credit. And John did use the audio portion. So the next time you rent
52 Pick-Up
and hear groans in the background, just remember that I created those groans. And John also gave me a small acting role, as a porn film director.

Often when mainstream directors have needed a brief snippet of porn for their movies, they’d come to me. Director Ron Howard asked my friend Bobby Gallagher and me to shoot some soft-core footage for
Parenthood
, for a scene in which Steve Martin’s nephew watches a porno tape. It needed to be nonexplicit, as the studio wanted a PG rating. So we hired Janine Lindemulder, Veronica, Victoria Paris, Benet (and, of course, me) to do a little bumping and grinding for a short loop. Ron appreciated our efforts, but he opted instead to use a clip from a late 1970s porno called
Blonde Goddess
. My face never appeared in
Parenthood
, but listen closely during the scene and you can briefly hear the audio of me and a few other actors grunting and groaning.

I soon developed a reputation in Hollywood as the “go-to” guy for porn. If a director needed background on the history of adult films, he’d call me. If he needed a bunch of naked porn actresses to cavort in a hot tub, he’d call me. If an actor was cast as a porn sleazebag and needed coaching on his character, he’d call me. I even spoke on the phone with James Gandolfini to help him prepare for his role as a porn henchman in
8MM
, measured Jennifer Tilley’s breasts (in a bra unfortunately) for a body double in
Fast Sofa
,
*
supplied porn footage for
American Psycho
, and consulted on the authenticity of the sex-club scenes in
9½ Weeks
. Any movie that so much as mentioned porn in passing has probably utilized my expertise in some way. And my name has almost always appeared in the credits.

It was only a matter of time before I was called upon to consult on a movie that not only dipped its toes into the shallow end of the porn pool but dove in headfirst.
Boogie Nights
was a comprehensive history of the adult-film industry, reaching back to the golden age of porn that I knew all too well. When director Paul Thomas Anderson called and told me he was working on an epic biopic about a porn actor with an unusually large schlong, I thought to myself, At last! Somebody has finally decided to document my life story!

“It’s about John Holmes,” he told me.

Crap.

Even in death, that skinny little bastard was still stealing my spotlight.

I
came very close to blowing it with Paul before the
Boogie Nights
project even began.

He invited me to a private screening of his last movie,
Hard 8
, at the Hard Rock Cafe in Beverly Hills. Burt Reynolds and Drew Barrymore were also at the screening, because Paul was trying to woo them into accepting roles in
Boogie Nights
. Now, I don’t know if any of you have ever been inside a private screening room, but it’s not like the theaters at most multiplexes. You’re not sitting in hard-backed seats designed to rupture your spine. You’re reclining in huge, comfy sofa chairs, with cushions so soft and plushy that your ass just sinks into them. They’re so cozy that even with the most captivating and well-crafted movie to hold his attention, a guy could feasibly drift off into a deep slumber.

My friends have accused me of having narcolepsy. While I’ll admit to occasionally falling asleep in public places, I don’t think a medical condition is to blame. If anything, it has more to do with my hectic schedule. I’m constantly on the move, whether it’s shooting porn or hustling for mainstream work or flying across the country for another stand-up gig. If I slowed down long enough to get a proper six hours of sleep a night, I might not suffer from spontaneous napping. But as it stands, I have to make do with catching a few minutes of sleep wherever I can, whether it’s in an airport terminal or on the set of a porn movie or, most disturbing to anybody who happens to be with me, while driving a car and stopped at a red light.

The last thing you want to do is throw me into a comfortable chair in a dark room. It’s like slipping me sleeping pills. I’ll be unconscious before the title credit hits the screen.

I don’t know how long I was asleep before I felt a finger jabbing into my stomach. I jerked awake and saw a red-faced man glaring down at me.