Traci Lords Page 5

  I started sleeping in layers of clothes in the sweltering heat of summer. My mother said something about my bedroom light always being on. She thought I was afraid of the monster under my bed. But actually I was afraid of the monster in hers.

  By the end of the summer, things were quiet in our little house—for a change. But it was a scary kind of quiet—like the calm before a big storm. It had been a few weeks since Roger had come into my room and I was once again starting to doubt the whole thing. Roger was as sweet, kind, and helpful as always. He took us out for burgers after school, bought me new clothes, and was always willing to drive me where I needed to go. How could I think those things about him? I decided it was me. Something was wrong with me. Maybe my head was playing tricks on me because of what happened with Ricky. Maybe I was sick. Was I paranoid? It was maddening having these thoughts. I was edgy, annoyed all the time, and desperately needed to know the truth.

  But that would have to wait.

  Mom began drilling Roger. Apparently, she hadn’t been talking about pot when she wanted him to stop using drugs. She was referring to cocaine, which Roger had started using and selling on a regular basis, all the while continuing to report for his job at the aerospace company. She wouldn’t live with a “shifty-eyed speed freak” and wanted out.

  Roger’s friend Daniel came to her rescue. He’d come to visit Roger several times over the last few weeks, but it was really Mom he came to see. I could tell she liked him. They started seeing each other on the sly, but I was sure if Roger found out, my new California life would be ruined forever.

  Why was my mother so damn reckless?

  I confronted her: “Daniel is just another version of Roger. Can’t you see that? Why go from the frying pan into the fire? At least with Roger we know the deal.” She refused to listen, telling me I was too young to understand these things. Defeated, I vowed to stand my ground if she wanted to move again.

  The fighting escalated, with Daniel feeding the flames. He was more than happy to volunteer his apartment as a temporary home to Mom and us. He wanted her to leave Roger and obviously didn’t care about the other four lives it affected. Our house became a war zone.

  Roger got wind of Dan and my mother’s little tryst and threw tantrums that would have been funny in a movie but were absolutely terrifying in real life. The two grown men charged around each other hurling insults, trading punches, and bleeding on our floor. I couldn’t help but think it would have been completely different if only she had waited. But she didn’t. Maybe we could have put our heads together to find a better road to travel if she had.

  Mom told us to pack our things. We were moving out.

  I told her to forget it. I wasn’t going along with her latest whim. Instead, I went to school, and when I came home she was gone. She’d taken my little sisters off to Dan’s and left Lorraine and me there. I was devastated. I knew I was being defiant, but I never expected to be left behind. How could my own mother leave me? I waited for Lorraine to get home. I’d seen her only hours before at school so I knew she’d been dumped too. I hoped she’d be home soon. I needed her near me. I needed something to hold on to.

  Several hours later my mother called. Roger told me I had to speak to her. I begrudgingly obeyed him. I knew Roger was selling drugs, and I still had anxiety about being touched in my sleep, but I also knew he was all we had. He’d been taking care of Sissy and me for a while now and that was more than I could say for my mother.

  We had no place else to go.

  The weeks that followed were spent chasing my tail, as I was more confused than I’d ever been in my life. Sissy and I came and went as we pleased, only relying on each other, but in my head it was like a time bomb was ticking closer and closer to the end.

  Mom and Daniel’s love nest fell apart as quickly as it had begun. Not realizing the heavy demands of an instant family, he’d simply bit off more than he could chew and within a few weeks he’d thrown them out. Mom called us from a woman’s shelter in Torrance relaying the whole sad story. She said she was apartment hunting, and that we’d all be under the same roof soon.

  I was incredulous. I couldn’t stand her pretending that everything happening to us was normal. My little sisters were living in a shelter! They had to be scared and embarrassed, and I was embarrassed too—for all of us. But there was nothing I could do. Slamming down the phone, I turned around and smashed my fist into a wall.

  8

  School Daze

  My Walkman blared, pumping my brain full of Ozzy Osbourne. It was 7:25 in the morning and the city bus crawled along the ocean toward Redondo High, where I was just days into my freshman year of high school. The bus was packed with kids and grannies alike, but aside from my older sister, Lorraine, a sophomore, I didn’t know anyone.

  Stuck without a seat again, I hung on to a pole while we made our way across town. We’d worked out all the kinks in our class schedule. I now had two physical education classes and was able to pawn off the dreaded biology class on Lorraine, who had a much stronger stomach for frog dissection than I did. My sister and I had been swapping classes since the new school year had begun. We got the occasional odd look from our schoolmates, who were hip to our game, but the teachers didn’t notice we weren’t who we said we were, and I was spared the barbaric task of cutting up helpless creatures.

  Imagining myself pole-vaulting in gym, I groaned. I was so tired that I was bound for disaster, but I laughed at the thought of it anyway. At least Maria would be there to identify the body. She was one of the two beach girls I hung with at the time—Maria Sanchez and Sherri Brady, my best friends. Like me, they both had major problems at home. Maria’s parents had died a few years earlier in a car crash and her older sister, Anna, was raising her. Her family was Spanish and very religious, but she hated the Catholic Church and was thoroughly pissed at God for taking her parents away.

  Sherri’s mom was a drunk and never around. They lived in a trailer park a few blocks away from school and the rumor was her mom was a prostitute. Sherri was always getting into fights defending her mother’s honor.

  I really liked being on a campus so big anyone could get lost, and I blended in well after a few years in California. My hair was soft and sun-streaked. Our crowd’s uniform was simple: jeans, OP sneakers, and concert T-shirts. The gang of us liked to smoke pot and to swim. Maria and I were on the swim team and the water was heaven to me. As my body cut through the water, my mind emptied itself of every thought. It was trance-like, taking me away from the chaotic and noisy apartment we now had.

  I took the average required classes. My electives were interior design and advanced baking. Interior design was where I constructed my dreams, building my dream house with a magnificent open-space kitchen, a stacked double oven, and a refrigerator with an ice maker.

  A few weeks after her split with Daniel, my mother forced us to move back in with her, threatening to call the cops if we didn’t. One minute she leaves us, the next she wants us back. I was outraged at her selective parenting, and tired—tired of baby-sitting my younger sisters, tired of cooking tuna surprise for dinner, and sick to death of her promising that things would get better when they never did. How could she bring us all the way to California, only to live in poverty again? My little sisters were traumatized from living in the shelter while Mom hunted for an apartment. And Lorraine and I were fed up with the nonstop drama in our lives.

  I started smoking Marlboro reds, ditching classes, and crashing out at Roger’s when I was too wasted to go home. Lorraine had a new boyfriend and we were always going off somewhere with him. He had a car and we’d take long rides up the coast to check out bands. We’d bake in the sun and drink beers in the alleys of Hermosa Beach.

  Music was my only salvation. It made me feel like I was part of something, since so many of the songs seemed to tell my story and reflect my pain. I loved it all, from Journey to the Thompson Twins, from Ozzy to Blondie. I didn’t discriminate. I wasn’t a rock chick or a pop chick. It was about w
hatever gave me release, and I’d dig into the words and pick them apart for hidden messages, filling page after page of my spiral notebooks with words of my own that the music inspired.

  At school I joined band, but it only lasted a few weeks. The instructor was an impatient man who was always leering at the girls, and I had enough of that going on in my life. He cornered me one day after practice and got right in my face, telling me how he noticed that I was always checking myself out in the mirror while I played the keyboards. He said he too appreciated my beauty. He offered to buy me dinner. I told him I wasn’t hungry, and dropped out of band the next day. Once again I was left wondering what I’d done to attract this attention. It seemed like everywhere I went there was some older man trying to feel me up. The most confusing part was that while I ran away from it, and secretly it made me feel wanted, I longed for that attention.

  My first love was Dean Weatherly. He was a surfer boy from Hermosa Beach and a senior at Redondo High. I’d seen him around school and noticed him mainly because he always seemed to notice me. He made my skin feel hot and I always made a hasty exit whenever he showed up. Boys made me nervous and this one scared me to death.

  I loved the ocean and I had my regular spot on the beach. Lorraine and I would set up camp right by the wall that separated the sand from the bike path, and Dean started showing up more and more, often chatting up my sister. He’d come by on his Strand cruiser holding a brown bag, and they’d go off and drink. I stayed behind in favor of basking in the sun and grabbing a ride on the waves with his Boogie board. My sister said he often asked about me, wanting to know if I was always so quiet or if I just didn’t like him. I thought that was funny because secretly I had a crush on him. Beer gave me courage one afternoon, so when he came by while I was a little tipsy, we drove off to score another pint. I was on his handlebars, leaning back into him, my bikini making me feel kind of sexy.

  We ended up sitting under the pier drinking Mickey’s big mouths and talking about music all afternoon. He told me he loved playing the guitar and was excited about the Us Festival coming up—a three-to four-day band gathering over the summer. All my favorite groups were going to be there and I decided I had to attend.

  I fell for him fast. He liked all the things I did and we spent that entire summer drifting in the ocean, lying on the beach, listening to our boom box, singing along to Led Zeppelin, and hitchhiking to the Us Festival. The festival crowd was huge, and it was scorching hot that day, but I had a great perch on top of Dean’s shoulders. I fantasized about being on that stage too, and let the music take me away.

  The summer sunsets were awesome, with orange, yellow, and blue swirls in the sky. We stayed in the parks until long after dark and kissed for hours. But the closer we got, the more difficult our relationship became. All our friends were having sex except Dean and me. He was losing patience with my excuses, and I was worried I’d lose him. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with him. I could lie there for hours kissing and holding him. It was the next step that scared me. I’d be assaulted with images of Ricky in the field and my father’s endless warnings. Memories of that pain and the guilt of letting someone touch me like that would tear through me, and I’d stop Dean from going further.

  I just couldn’t go there.

  My sexuality confused me. The only way to stop the constant pounding in my head was to write, so I did, spending hours with my diary. I suspected my mom might be reading it because every once in a while she’d try to parent me, telling me that I needed to come home after school, that we should talk. But I ignored her. She must be crazy trying to get to know me now!

  I hardly ever went home at this point and I wasn’t the only one. Our little apartment on Vanderbilt Lane seemed like nothing but a pullout couch, all five of us females coming and going as we pleased. Mom had gone back to school again, and had a part-time job at the mall, so I’d literally go weeks without seeing her.

  Dean and I dated throughout freshman year, over the summer, and on into the new school term. He was a seventeen-year-old senior and I was a fourteen-year-old sophomore when we started going all the way. The first time was on our one-year anniversary. After school he sat me down in his living room and presented me with a pretty package containing a white bikini I’d been eyeballing in a surf shop for a while. I squealed with delight, wrapping my arms around him. He kissed me sweetly and said it wasn’t the only surprise he had for me. There was a treat waiting in his bedroom. I’d been in his room plenty of times, but we weren’t allowed to close the door or his parents would come pounding. So when he asked me to wait in the bathroom I thought nothing of it. Then he came in with a bottle of champagne and turned on the shower to mask our conversation, even though no one knew I was there. I’d never had champagne before, and he said it was the good stuff. Tott’s, it was called. The bubbles went right to my head and after a while I felt as light as a feather.

  We had sex that afternoon and it wasn’t nearly as awful as the first time. I was drunk enough to feel brave. He was gentle and it didn’t go on for very long. Afterward, I wondered why I had made such a big deal out of it. It only hurt the first few times, and I wasn’t worried about birth control because we had made a deal that he’d always pull out.

  I found out I was pregnant just after my fifteenth birthday. Completely freaked out, I waited for Dean outside his shop class and broke the news to him there. Without saying one word to me, he turned around and walked away.

  My heart sank. I played and now I was going to pay…just like my father always said.

  Ditching class for the rest of the day to try to figure out what I was going to do, I ended up walking all the way across town to Roger’s. He was the only adult I knew besides my mother, and I wasn’t talking to her.

  9

  Porn Again

  When I arrived on Dow Avenue I found Roger in the garage. He had converted it into a mini apartment. The entrance was through the backyard, and as I fought my way through the rosebushes, I bit my lip to hold back the tears I’d been swallowing all afternoon. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I knew whatever it was, Roger would understand.

  Smiling with relief when he answered the door, I got a queen’s welcome from a gang of attractive guys who were hanging out in his house. The mood was light and the pot smoke was thick as I made my way inside. The place had been transformed: the front had been partitioned off into a living room, where there was a big pullout couch, a mini fridge, a makeshift bar, and brightly colored Egyptian carpets depicting women in various stages of undress on the walls. I blushed at their naked breasts.

  A few hours and several beers later, the party cleared out and I was left with Roger and a full-blown buzz that rendered me even more depressed than when I arrived. My story poured out. He listened and fixed me a cocktail. I told him what had happened with Dean, how he just blew me off, that I didn’t want to have a baby, and how scared I was of becoming just like my mother—dead broke with kids to feed.

  Roger helped me find a clinic where I could get an abortion without my mother’s permission. It was set to take place two weeks later, and all I needed was a ride. I returned to school the next day. Racked with guilt, I sought out Dean at school, feeling that maybe I was making a mistake, and hoping he would say something to make it all better, but he avoided me completely. I was damaged goods—used and discarded by age fifteen. He stopped answering the phone at home. He’d see me coming and cross the street. He made me feel like I was a stalker.

  I was overwhelmed with rage at my own stupidity. I had been tricked! How could I have ever been so stupid? After what had happened with Ricky, I knew better! I’d learned this fucking lesson already. Why had I allowed myself to believe in love again? I am such a fuck-up! I wanted to punch Dean’s face in, make him pay for not loving me. Once again my father’s words assaulted me. I could hear his voice saying, “If you play you’re gonna pay.” FUCK YOU! I thought, hating that he was right. “Fucking hypocrite,” I said out loud to the trees, thin
king of the magazines under his bed with naked spread-eagled girls. Is that all men ever wanted? Fuckers…Shit…What was I going to do? My rage turned to whimpers as I left the school campus, heading for the beach. Calm down, I told myself. There must be a way out of this.

  I blew off school the following day and spent my time circling want ads in the local newspaper. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do about the pregnancy. I was scared to death at the thought of being someone’s mother at fifteen. I couldn’t take care of a helpless baby. What if I did a bad job and it got hurt? How could I bring a child into my cruel world? It was a mind-fuck. I really needed to talk to someone—anyone. I had hoped to find the courage to tell my mother, but her absence and my shame guarded my secret. I couldn’t find the courage to tell Lorraine either, but whatever I decided, I knew I was going to need money. And money meant I needed a job. Fast.

  I did my best to ignore my predicament, but it was hard. I was already two-and-a-half months pregnant when I found out. Having always been blessed with light menstrual cycles, I’d thought nothing of it until my period stopped altogether and the home pregnancy test I took explained why.

  Over the next few days, I concentrated on landing a job. I answered ad after ad, but nothing ever came of it. Apparently my age was a factor. I applied at Bob’s Big Boy for a waitressing job but couldn’t pull off the interview. I was smart but shy and completely unsure of myself. The manager nicely suggested I come back in a few years.

  Roger then introduced me to his friend Lynn. She was a single mother in her late twenties who worked at night and needed someone to take care of her two little girls. I started baby-sitting. My mom seemed pleased I had a job, and said she looked forward to me contributing to the house. But it was hard for me to speak to her, and I could barely look her in the eye.