Authors: Traci Elisabeth Lords
Pat and I left Paris days later and pounds heavier, she for Baltimore and me for Los Angeles. I was already missing her as my plane took off into the clear blue sky, returning me to my husband and an audition for a miniseries called
The Tommyknockers
.
After the audition a few days later, I peeled into the driveway of our house bursting with excitement. I screamed for Brook, but he was nowhere to be found. I was dying to tell someone! I called Pat in Baltimore.
"I got the part!" I screamed into the phone. "I'm playing Nancy Voss in Stephen King's new miniseries!"
"Yeah!" she cheered. "When do you start?"
"Next week!" I told her it would mean going on location to New Zealand for about three months, and that I'd heard it was beautiful there. But I was nervous about Brook's reaction to my leaving again. He never complained, but I could tell he was growing tired of my whirlwind travels. I hoped he wouldn't be angry. I had to do it! I was a fan of horror and Stephen King was my favorite! I was dying to play Nancy. I must! I must! And even more significantly, this would be my first big network job.
I was all wound up as I waited for my husband to come home.
Brook was working on
House Party 2
and the hours were insane. He was wrecked. I'd spent the previous evening baking him cakes for a party scene they'd added at the last minute.
He walked in the front door covered in icing. 1 ran to him like an excited puppy wanting to share my news, but he wore a sour expression. He was covered in chocolate cake. Apparently he'd fallen asleep at the wheel, crashed his car into a tree, and the cakes went flying. He wasn't hurt. The car had little damage but was a sticky mess. And he was in a foul mood as he scrubbed frosting from his clothing.
My good news was met with obligatory congratulations. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for me. He just missed having his wife around. It was hard trying to earn a living and nurture a marriage at the same time. In so many ways we were like every other couple in their twenties who are trying to find balance in their lives.
With Brook's blessing, I took the job in New Zealand and left for Auckland the following week. I cried my eyes out all the way there. It was hard being away from him.
What if things changed? What if the distance took its toll?
Was my job really worth the risk?
The cast trailers sat in a clearing of a heavily wooded area of Auckland, New Zealand. The Tommyknockers had been shooting nights for the past few weeks. There's something creepy about midnight filming in the jungle, with a full moon on a horror film set. My overactive imagination ran wild and I entertained thoughts of lurking beasts as I downed my second cup of coffee. As 1 made my way toward the set, my white stiletto heels sank into the moist earth. Thick worms wiggled by as I walked on tiptoe up the narrow path trying not to squash them. The full moon lit my way. Creatures rustled in the brush nearby.
I climbed into the vintage Mustang convertible and offered my coffee to my weary costar, Cliff De Young. He looked like he needed toothpicks to prop up his eyelids. Fighting off the evening's yawns, we ran lines for the scene. We were postal employees whose romp in the woods led to an alien possession. In the scene my character, Nancy Voss, becomes "one of them," joining the growing army of possessed citizens in a sleepy little town somewhere in Maine. Marg Helgenberger was our leader. Joanna Cassidy played the sheriff who tried to save the town, and Jimmy Smits filled the hero spot.
It was it large ensemble cast and I was cast as the baby of the bunch. I had enormous respect for my costars but little in common with them. Marg had her children in tow. Joanna traveled around Australia on her days off. Allyce Beasley was a thirtysomething yoga fanatic. Handsome, hunky Smits had his hands full with a gorgeous fiancée. And I was homesick, missing my husband.
I hung out with the show's drivers and production assistants. They were all in their twenties and most of them had been born and raised in Auckland. They turned me on to the best clubs and took me to hidden nightspots that played awesome tribal music on the weekends. It wasn't hard to love New Zealand. The gorgeous moss-covered mountains took my breath away.
One Sunday afternoon, we headed out in search of water falls. Otis, my driver, led a small group of us down a steep that that he claimed eventually emptied into the bottom of a water fall. I'd left the hotel wearing a black dress and strappy sandals, completely wrong for the muddy hill we were approaching. I grabbed my new friend Shelby's hand, giggling as we slipped down the hill, balancing ourselves against each other and nearby trees. Our legs were covered with streaks of mud and the path grew slicker. I fell, sliding on my butt with Shelby right behind me the rest of the way down. We picked up speed as we squealed down the smooth cool muddy path. It was our jungle Slip 'N Slide and it took me back to Great-granny Harris's hill from my childhood. My sisters and I used to lay down the plastic runner and connect the hose at the top to add water to our slippery runway on her hill. We then took turns running and jumping, sliding all the way down.
I'd forgotten that moment until then. I felt a layer release, freeing me from the pain and shame I'd held on to for so long. I had no idea why it happened then. Why in New Zealand??
When the path ended I was shot out into an ice-cold pond. With a rebel yell, I burst through the water, completely exhilarated and screaming at the top of my lungs, utterly giddy.
I was silenced by the beauty of the waterfall in front of us. I felt a part of the water and the wind and the sky. It was a moment of rare magic and I was overwhelmed with a deep respect for life.
Floating in that water, I felt as if I'd been reborn.
Work in New Zealand was an adventure. I particularly relished my scenes with Jimmy Smits. He was a giant of a human, standing about six feet three or so, and. I was the Mighty Mouse who brought him down.
I spent my free time in the hotel room staring out the window at the ocean below. Listening to a new artist named Tori Amos, I became inspired by the candid stories she told in her lyrics. She sang about being raped, and I found myself writing about the same thing, filling notebooks with random thoughts from years before. I titled that section of words "Father's Field," although it had nothing to do with my father's field. My father's backyard brought such vivid images to my mind that that's where my story character was placed.
Tori Amos turned out to be magic in concert. She played to a packed house in Auckland Hall the following month. I dragged my driver, Otis, with me. Tori wore blue jeans and red ruby slippers. I sat transfixed in our front-row seats watching her writhe around on the piano bench as she played. Her curly orange hair hung in her eyes as she wailed "Silent All These Years." Then she stood up with the microphone and walked across the dimly lit stage as she spoke the words to the rape song "Me and a Gun."
Man, she was brave. I was amazed that anyone else shared the same horrible thoughts I had entertained as a teenager, the very thoughts that had driven me to drugs, drowning me in a sea of meaningless sexual activity.
She said out loud what I'd always fought to hide. Why did I do that?
I was quiet on the ride home. Bowing out of the evening's clubbing schedule, I called Brook from a soapy bubble bath. I missed him. I felt vulnerable and had done a lot of thinking in my time away from home. I was changing. It was unsettling. I thought I'd already put the pieces of my life together. I thought I'd already dealt with everything in therapy. So why was I spending so much time thinking about these things all over again?
Why did they even matter anymore?
I wanted to go home.
I came back from New Zealand three months later with a few good stories, a few more friends, and the shadow of things past hanging over me. I was thrilled.to see Brook. We spent the afternoon on our sunny front porch painting each other's toenails shades of blue. "It's clear you missed my grooming services," I teased, marveling at how long his nails had grown. They practically curled over the tops of his toes, strangely resembling Mr. Steve's claws, a comparison that earned me a playful swat from my indignant husband.
Coming home was always weird for me and this was no exception. It seemed my body arrived before my spirit did. I think I felt our separation more than Brook had. I sat there in the sun taking him in, chatting about the cast, filming in the jungle, my Slip 'N Slide ride into the waterfall, how bummed I was that I never got to meet Stephen King in person —you know, light stuff. But what I really wanted to talk about was Tori Amos and how her song had affected me. I'd never spoken about the rape to anyone, not even Brook. I searched for a way to tell him, but it all seemed wrong. As much as I wanted to share my feelings, something stopped me. I wasn't sure I would ever tell another soul my secret.
Why had I been silent all these years? Was it because I didn't want Brook to see me as a victim? Was it because saying the words made me feel so helpless? Or was it because I didn't want my husband to have that image of me? Why after all these years did I still carry such shame?
How does anyone get over these things? Maybe I needed a new round of therapy? Arggggggg!
The thought of spending more time in the shrink zone practically made me groan out loud. I'd already done a good three years, on and off. Wasn't that enough time to unload a girl 's baggage?
I listened to Brook talk shop, grateful for the distraction. I sucked on a cigarette, filling me in on the new movies going into production around town. I'd have to ask my new management team if there was anything in them for me, I thought. I Brook always had his ear to the ground, looking to get the jump on his competition. He was stressed about booking another prop gig, but I took it with a grain of salt, knowing full well that Brook was always worried about his next gig. He didn't need to be, though. His reputation always put him in front of the line.
Our painting chores complete, we walked our pretty feet oft into the kitchen, strapped on our aprons, and fried up some bacon. We built bacon and bagel sandwiches and brewed up a pot of coffee, falling back in sync with each other.
The next day I entered the elevator at 8730 Sunset Boulevard, pressing the button that would take me to a meeting with my new managers, Juliet Green and Alan Siegel. I didn't know them very well, having signed with them only a couple of months earlier. But I was already impressed with their connections, having booked the
Tommyknockers
film through them. I was sure they'd want to hear all about my filming adventures and readied a few quick sound bites from my trip to New Zealand for their amusement.
Juliet Green, a petite woman with curly brown hair, was like a steamroller. A straight shooter with impeccable taste, she had strong opinions about my career and what it would take to get me from point A to point B. My agent, Don Gerler, was not in these plans, and I knew that if I wanted to continue on with Ms. Green it would mean listening to her advice.
Gerler's days were numbered. Juliet wanted to see me represented by a more prestigious agency, and although Gerler had always been respectable in my eyes, I was still being offered bad-B-movie auditions while the Movies of the Week and serious independent films came and went without ever landing in my hands. Treading in unknown waters is always risky, but there was no doubt it was time to take the leap. I had never had a woman put such faith in my career, and I wondered if there were more Juliet Greens in the world.
Could this be my tune? Was it possible for me to step into the next phase of any life? Was I beginning to look different to the world?
I was a grown-up, happily married, with some good work to my credit and a reputation for being professional and kind. But how do I get people to focus on that? Juliet said there would be doors that I would never be allowed to walk through, but there would be those we could break down. It had been five years since my departure from porn and I was only beginning to get recognition as a legitimate actress. There was still much to learn, much to do, and much to forget.
The task seemed daunting. But with her at my side, I took the leap and fired Gerler, diving into uncharted waters feeling confident she'd be there to toss me a life preserver if I needed one.
If was a scorching ninety-one degrees in Sherman Oaks, California, as my husband and a small army of movers finished unloading the final boxes into our newly rented house in the heart of the Valley. Both of our careers were in transition. We had outgrown our adorable Hansel and Gretel home but were still uncertain about where we wanted to nest permanently, so we opted to save our money and rent a three-bedroom Valley home with a pool and huge garage for Brook to store his props in. His massive collection included everything from ladies' purses to rubber guns, and our new garage was already overflowing with boxes on wheels containing his prized prop kit. It was then I discovered that a property master was just another name for junk man. Through the kitchen window I watched him methodically organize hundreds of sunglasses by brand. The sweat rolled down his face as he lovingly cleaned each pair and then placed them in their proper case.
What an odd creature, I thought, smiling to myself.
He hustled about in his Hawaiian shorts and combat boots as I watched the neighbors watching him. So much for blending in. Brook didn't care, though. He dubbed it his "festive moving outfit." What could I say? He was a constant source of amusement.
He's still cute
, I thought, taking in his oh-so-pale Baltimore bird legs and noticing the extra married poundage he'd put on, which had earned him a rather undesirable Sam Kinison comparison by the press at a recent party we'd attended. Funny how un-Hollywood the two of us really were. We rarely went out, cooking feasts in our kitchen instead, and never hit the club scene, preferring an occasional bottle of champagne in the privacy of our own home. We were recluses and I believe that served me well. There was no evidence of my wild-child party-girl days.
As I unpacked my pots and pans I watched Brook take a seat out front by the white picket fence and grab a smoke.
What are you thinking about right now?
I wondered as I studied the expression on his face, but couldn't gauge his thoughts.
Change was thick in the air—I could feel it in my bones.
I'd been spending way too much time away from home and I wondered if it was shooting holes in our marriage. There was so much I wanted to do, and ironically, the safety I felt being married was exactly what allowed me to swim in uncharted waters with sharks.
Was I naive to believe our marriage was that solid? Why was it accepted for a man to put his career first but when a woman did she was criticized?
My husband was always there to hold me when I fell on my ass, whether that meant I lost a role, got trashed in the press, or just felt beaten up and wanted to give it all up, disappear from the public eye, and get a normal job. While he supported me completely in those moments, he still couldn't hide his jealousy over the time I spent pursuing other things.
My ambition was the greatest problem in our marriage, and as I grew and added music to my career wish list, things became even more difficult. Brook always fancied himself the singer of the family, having grown up playing in bands, and he wasn't thrilled when I started studying music and hired a vocal coach named Robert Edwards to help me expand my vocal range. He wasn't exactly against it but he wasn't for it either. And it just added to the building tension between us.
I'd spent the past month working on a film in Italy called
Mafia Docks
, only to return home and win a role in the enormously popular show
Tales from the Crypt
. Thanks to my gamble on Juliet Green and a new agent named Stephen LaMantia, the quality of projects I was now doing was light-years beyond the Gerler days. But I still struggled to book jobs I could be proud of while earning a reasonable income.
I got word later that afternoon that I had been offered a role in the TV version of
Smokey and the Bandit
. It was a very G-rated project and exactly the type of good-girl role I had yet to play. The only catch was it filmed on location in North Carolina.
Would three more weeks away matter?
I hated the idea. Brook and were both edgy from the move, but it was about more than that. I was worried about how my husband was spending his lonely evenings. I'd begun hearing disturbing gossip over the last month as Brook completed work on the film
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
. Rumor had it that while I was on location in Italy he was getting cozy with an actress in the movie. I'd found no concrete evidence to support these claims, but the shadow of doubt had been cast. The source of this gossip was undeniably reliable, but I needed the cold hard facts before I would ever confront my husband with such an accusation.
The filming of
Buffy
ended without further gossip, but I wondered if my leaving town again would open the door for such temptations. We had been married for three years now. Was he bored? Our sex life was great—we had no problem in that department. So why then would he go elsewhere?
Was it the distance? Or was it something else? Conquest? A new piece? Man, what a thing to think about before leaving town. Was he capable of bringing another woman into our bed? Would he risk my leaving him?
As I fried chicken for dinner, I thought of the actress in question. I imagined covering her with eggs and flour, and plopping her into my pan voila, star sauté.
I loved my husband and I wasn't going to let my imagination get the best of me. But I wasn't a fool either. This time, I asked him to come visit me on location. And I'd make sure he had a smile on his face when he went back home.