The Secret Lives of Hyapatia Lee Read online

  One night, Bud and I nervously called Lee from his apartment on the East side of Indianapolis. He seemed nice enough and was much more receptive to the possibility of booking me than I had feared he would be. I still had not gotten used to my new status as Miss Nude America and Miss Nude Galaxy. We sent him photos, as he requested, and then called back a week later to see if he had received them. Again, I was pleasantly surprised by the enthusiastic response as he said he could book me in two weeks in Evansville, Indiana. I would make $750.00, minus 10% commission, of course, for one week of work, four shows per night. I jumped at the chance and we drove to nearby Evansville.

  The She Lounge, my first feature gig! My pictures were up in the entrance way along with a sign that read “Tonight’s Star: Hyapatia Lee, Miss Nude America and Miss Nude Galaxy”. I thought I had really made it. Then I walked into the club.

  The dimly lit room smelled like old beer and urine. The dancer’s dressing room was a hall lined with plywood and was large enough for two people to pass each other in. It was about six feet long. Seven of us were to change in that space. All of this was really not the worst of it, believe it or not. The final assault to the senses was out in the audience. The patrons were used to grabbing bee-bee filled, sealed soda cans that they shook up and down, not in time to the music, but as an angry baby would shake a rattle to get attention. The motion resembled masturbation. You can imagine the frenzy this put the men in, to say nothing of what it did for the sale of Tylenol to dancers.

  At the end of my first night, I made up an excuse about the medical condition of a relative and escaped. At the time, I didn’tcare if I ever danced on the road again or not, it was such a bad experience, and I sold quite a lot of my costumes to my friends who were dancers when I returned to Indianapolis.

  As I shared my experience with other dancers at the club, I heard most clubs weren’t like that. I also found out about theaters. A lot of the road dancers didn’t like to work in the porno theaters that stopped their films four times a day for the burlesque show. It meant longer hours as your first show was at noon and your last one at ten at night, and you must be totally nude. This was not legal in a bar where alcohol was served. For all the trouble of working in a theater, there was usually an increase in salary. Since I had been to the nudist camps, I felt comfortable enough without my g-string and was very glad to dance for men whose inhibitions and senses weren’t disrupted by alcohol. I called Lee and told him my relative was better and was booked at the Festival Theater in Chicago for $800.

  Here, I was treated like I was the last woman on earth. Paul, the owner, was a true “class A” gentleman. His audience, on the other hand, was comprised of bums, winos, and degenerates who slept through everything, and a few businessmen and amateur photographers. All were much more polite than the average bar crowd. Even if they were hiding their bottle in a bag on the floor, they kept control of themselves. If they were to make a ruckus, their alcohol would be discovered and they’d be out in the street. Whatever their motives, I found it to be much more conducive to my needs.

  Although $800 was pretty good money compared to my competition, by the time I paid for gas, hotel and food for two, there wasn’t much left over to pay those enormous bills we had back home. The Miss Nude Galaxy contest was coming up again and I knew another title and the publicity it would bring from the men’s magazines would guarantee me a raise in salary, so I entered again.

  That year, 1981, there were 81 contestants. Three were former Miss Nude Galaxy winners. Bud was there by my side to help with physical and moral support and there were almost twice as many professional photographers. It was fabulous for my career when I won again! I made my first appearance in

  Playboy’s February 1982 issue in “The Year In Sex” review and on the Playboy channel in America Uncovered. I even got offered a part in an adult film, but I did not take the offer seriously. Still, I kept the man’s card.

  I got a hundred dollars a week raise and began a virtually continuous tour across the US and Canada. We decided it was more economical to put all of our furniture in storage, rather than pay rent for a house we would never be in. Hyapatia was in charge almost constantly. I kept up my journal writing, obviously, or I wouldn’t be able to write this book! Occasionally my weaker personalities would come through, but only once or twice a month for a few hours.

  Lee the agent finally came to see my show in person. Previously, he had relied on reports from the club owners I was working for. After sitting through my show with another dancer who obviously commanded his attention much more than I did for the twenty minutes I was on stage, he concluded that I danced too much. He wanted me to walk around and strut like everyone else did. Then he told Bud that he needed to spend lots of time alone with me to get to know me real well so he could do a better job of representing me. He wanted me to come to Orlando for a few weeks with him. I never did and things went from bad to worse.

  We drove across the land in my little Scirocco pulling a small Jartran rented trailer. In the back seat were our two Siberian Husky dogs, Ayin (the devil) and Samekh (temperance), Sanskrit names I had picked for the Tarot cards they represented. Although their temperaments suggested they should exchange names.

  There were several towns in Nebraska I would eventually play in also, like Hastings, Kearney and Ravena. Ravena, Nebraska’s claim to fame is a turning station where they take long trains and physically turn them around on a revolving track. The S. Y. Acorn caters to the men who work there. It is a small local bar with no stage, but a spot in the middle of the room where they pull back the tables and the girls dance. Since the town is so small there is no hotel, the dancers, all of whom are “imported”, stay in the owner’s, Susie Yodel (that’s where the

  “S. Y.” comes from) house across from the parking lot. Naturally, everybody and his brother knows where they can find the dancer’s bedrooms. The one and only time Bud and I worked there, we heard a constant flow of men going in and out of a few of the rooms.

  It is a common misconception that all dancers have their price for sex with a stranger. It has been my experience over the years that almost all (perhaps some 95%) do not have a price for anything other than dancing. The reason is fairly self-explanatory and logical, if you think about it. If you were able to make anywhere from $100 on a bad night to, say $2500 for a star on a good night, why in the world would you want to take a chance on diseases or being abused or murdered by prostituting yourself? (Not to mention the fact you could end up in jail.) Even if one might consider it, how much would you charge, considering the amount of money you can make in one night just dancing? Could anyone, would anyone be willing to pay what it would really be worth to a person who makes such a large sum of money from the safety of the stage? Bottom line is this: if you can make that much money dancing legally and feeling quite good about yourself, why would you jeopardize your self-respect and freedom for any amount of money?

  There is, however that 5% or so that may not be in such high demand on the dance circuit for one reason or another. Perhaps they have a large drug habit to support that makes their judgment impaired and their cash disappear quickly. Ravena was one of the few places I was to work over the years that appeared to have a high number of such dancers. As we lay in our room, listening to the men come and go, several knocked on our door. Being drunk and unaccustomed to being denied, they were angry and forcefully tried to open the door. This happened a number of times during our six-day stay there. I could easily foresee some poor dancer either getting raped or killing some man in her attempt to protect herself. I wondered what this sleepy little railroad town would think if such a murder came to trial. Many times my mind will go off on these kind of thought paths, and I usually think nothing of it, but that whole week, my mind kept returning to this scenario.

  It was several months after my first and last visit to Ravena when I was having one of my normal conversations with Lee. These conversations happened two or three times a week now as were now on the road fu
ll time. We often engaged in small talk about the business and people and places in it. Lee casually mentioned that he wasn’t booking the S.Y. Acorn anymore because one of the dancers had killed a man who was in her room trying to rape her. I never did find out if she got a fair trial.

  We met several ladies with which we formed a deep camaraderie in the two years that we had all of our worldly possessions in storage and took to the road. Belinda Cachet was another stripper traveling on the road and occasionally we would be booked in the same town or close enough that we could meet. With friends like Belinda, Raggedy Ann, Tara Lane, Midge Michaels, Rhea Roma, Aja Lynn and her husband Doc, the road wasn’t quite as lonely. There were countless waitresses, bartenders and theater operators, and those ever-present regular customers, who made things a bit friendlier. Soon, however, there were other unfamiliar names entering the stripping circuit. Porn stars like Candi Barbour, Lee Carol and Desiree Coustou were touring movie theaters and doing their rendition of a strip act. Marilyn Chambers and Seka were doing it too, but for the most part, the porn actresses had absolutely no experience in dancing and it showed.

  Common complaints we heard from theater owners after a week with such a performer were: “no costumes, just one dirty negligee”, “she danced barefoot and was late for every show”, “she snorted cocaine off of our candy counter in the lobby!!” Now this wouldn’t have been any concern of mine except for the fact that these porn stars were making from $1,500 to $2,500 per week and the theaters were paying for their hotel accommodations and airfare! After one of these ladies had gone through a particular circuit, it could take months before customers would venture back into the theater.

  Bud and I were getting tired of working constantly to upgrade my shows and costumes. I had a belly dancer show, a whip show and one where I manipulated fire with my bare hands. I had a robot show where Bud carried me on stage and Iturned from machine to human and still I could not make near the money these unreliable “dancers” made. It was explained to me why.

  These porno stars had been cover and centerfold of many magazines. Their names appeared in the gossip columns every month. Their movies played on the screen constantly and especially right before they came out to dance in person. They were famous, or infamous, it didn’t matter which, they were stars in many, many people’s eyes.

  We had reached an impasse. The money we were spending on the road was not worth the profit. With the wear and tear on our vehicle, travel expenses and hours involved, we could have made more in a job at home. Of course, we didn’t realize that when we started. Eight or nine hundred dollars a week looks pretty good until you realize what the expenses associated with making it are. We worked so hard and invested in costumes and promotional materials like photos and posters. After being out of the work force for so long, Bud was convinced he would never find a job above minimum wage. I didn’t think there was any job I could do except dance.

  Bud brought to my attention what was happening and how frustrated he was by the situation. I was quite aware of how we were beating our heads against the wall. He suggested that we might be in the wrong end of the business, that maybe we should consider making a few movies. Then we could demand the same kind of money these stars were making.

  Not long after that we were booked in the Festival Theater in Chicago again. Seka was doing a personal appearance at another theater in town. I arranged in advance to be late for one of my shows so I could go see hers.

  The Admiral Theater was a luxurious place, much nicer than the Festival. They had the red carpet out for her and the room was full of flowers. As Bud and I paid admission, we were handed a small black and white photo to be autographed personally by Seka herself after the show. When we walked into the auditorium it was full and we could barely find two seats together.

  Seka did not dance or strip like we had anticipated, but instead conducted a question and answer session on a microphone from the stage as she posed for the many customers who had thought to bring their own camera. She was classier than I had thought, though perhaps a little aloof. It came across almost like nervousness. I asked her about getting into the business, as did most of the guys in the audience. She told me it would be impossible for me to be involved in the adult film industry in any capacity without moving to Los Angeles or New York City. I was a little discouraged by that information, but not so sure we still couldn’t do it our way.

  After the show, everyone migrated to the lobby to have their small photos autographed. I was already late for my own show, yet I admired Seka and wanted my picture signed too. I asked a man who appeared to be her bodyguard if I could be one of the first in line and I explained my situation to him. He was very understanding and let me be the first in line.

  Seka asked my name and I told her “Hyapatia”. I started to spell it for her and after the first three letters she gave up and said “Oh well, that’s good enough.”

  Just then, someone said “Hyapatia, are you dancing at the Festival this week?” I looked up to see a fairly familiar face. He must’ve been one of the regulars from the dark theater. I told him that I would be on stage within the hour. This prompted more of the men who had seen me dance there or at the nearby Miss Nude Galaxy contest to say something about it.

  When a man enjoys adult entertainment enough to remember the names and faces of the nude dancers he sees, it’s a fair assumption he frequents more than one such establishment. Unfortunately, Seka did not find it flattering in the least bit that her fans also knew who Miss Nude Galaxy was. She started to get up and leave the lobby. When her bodyguard stopped her and asked her what was the matter, she said “Get that bitch out of here!” I looked at Bud and back to the bodyguard who could only shrug his shoulders, and we left.

  After my show, several of the fans that saw the whole thing at the Admiral mentioned how surprised they were by Seka’s reaction. I was too. After all, I had been really impressed withher in the magazines and movies I saw. It made me think she might not have been telling the entire truth about the business.

  We spent 48-50 weeks a year on the road. From Quebec City and Montreal to Albuquerque, from Boston to San Francisco, and everywhere in between, we traveled all over the North American continent. The entire time we were following or preceding some adult film star’s performance. I was painfully aware of how much money they were making for the same amount of work, and what type of shows they were doing. Their popularity was increasing as more and more actresses were venturing out on the dance circuits. There were stories of film stars giving blowjobs to patrons for a few bucks backstage and having to cancel the rest of their $6,000.00 a week job because they were in jail. Numerous stories were told of X-rated actresses canceling at the last minute for no apparent reason. I wanted my chance at that kind of money. I certainly wouldn’t screw it up like that!!!

  I remembered the card I had been given at the Miss Nude Galaxy contest and I started to reconsider. One of these offers came from some people who were involved in a club circuit in Michigan.

  It was Christmas time and Bud and I decided to dance for less money in Indianapolis at a place called Sinbad’s so we could be with our families for the entire month. Here we could take a break from the road life filled with restaurant food that’s over priced and never cooked the way you want it, cheap hotels with maids that use your perfume and make-up, long hours, and sometimes days of driving. There were times we put our last dollars in the gas tank and prayed we made it to our next engagement where we’d sleep in the truck out front until the bar opened. I’d wash up in the bathroom and dance all day so I could ask for an advance on my pay that night for food and a hotel room. We were very thankful for the change in pace.

  Lee was now working against us more than ever. He’d tell me the only places he had available to book me were places I had been already and was treated badly, all the dives. We threatened to book ourselves in the clubs we had been and enjoyed and were told, ‘Tou can’t do that! I’ll blacklist you and you’ll never work again, and don
’t think I can’t do it!”

  We immediately hung up the phone and Bud booked me in my three favorite clubs and got me more money!

  At Sinbad’s we met an aspiring road stripper named Carla Lynn. It felt good to be able to share some of our troubles with her. She in turn told us that the adult film actress Lee Carroll would be performing at the 38 Street Bar starting the following Monday. She was to be there for one week and Carla suggested I talk to her about making movies, since they were paying and treating her like a real big star.

  When Lee arrived in her chauffeur-driven limousine, the parking lot and bar were full of people. Her dressing room had a star on the door and beautiful red roses on a fancy dressing table. They called her “Miss Carroll” and begged for her autograph. Her pictures and posters hung all over the bar. Everyone knew who she was and they treated her with the utmost respect.

  In between my shows, Carla, Bud and I went next door to see and meet Lee Carroll for ourselves. As we entered the room, she sat at the bar drinking and watching the dancer on stage. We approached her.

  “Lee, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” I stuck out my hand. She took her eyes off the dancer, looked me up and down and never said a word.

  Soon it was her turn to dance and after her rendition of Girl From Ikaneema, she conducted a question and answer session from stage. Someone asked her if her large breasts were silicone, to which she replied, “No, they’re natural. All my family is amply endowed.”

  “Shit,” came a female voice from the back of the room.

  “Will the mother fucking bitch that said “shit” get her ass up here so I can kick it?”