The Domestic Life of a Porn Star

Porn stars are different from you and me. They have more sex.

The scene is incredibly Peter Pan, or for those of you who saw it, Marie Baie des Anges. In that film, two very bad and very beautiful children fall in love in the woodsy paradise of the French Mediterranean. No parents are ever in evidence. In Candy's case, though, parents are in evidence: Candy's parents, both retired, and married—to each other!—for 35 years, talk to her almost daily.

She was living at home when she started making movies at 19. Her parents knew she worked for a porn-production company, but once they realized she was also starring, they made her move out. "I didn't talk to them for, like, a year," Candy says. "But now they realize I'm stable and paying my own bills and stuff."

I ask how much she makes. She says she gets up to $2,000 per scene and works 10 to 20 days per month. But if she's making, say, $200,000 per year, I don't see any evidence of it in their modest apartment.

"The first four years, she probably made a million dollars," says Bill. "But you spend it as fast as you make it. If you make $1,000, you'll spend it because you're thinking, 'I can make another thousand tomorrow.' Clothes. Partying."

"I'd have five guys living with me," Candy says, "and I wouldn't necessarily be sleeping with them, but I'd be home so I'd want them to be home, for company."

"So she's getting six people's bills . . . ," Bill says.

Now she gets three people's bills. She's restoring their credit, she says. And saving for the future? "Yes," Candy says shortly.

Around 1 p.m. on a Friday, bowls are smoked. Candy, after much puttering, finally finds the earrings she took out of her nipples; she wants to stretch her earlobes with them. Then it's off to Newport Tattoo on the Balboa Peninsula. Next door to the tattoo parlor, people are hanging around outside a bar, smoking. A truck is parked out front; two boxers sit quietly inside, waiting for their master. After the piercer, a friend of theirs whom they haven't seen for a while, stretches Candy's ears and puts new balls on Bill's earrings, Bill hands him a $20. He always carries the money, although Candy is the one who makes it, and I think to myself that she's smart. She'll never let him feel like less of a man. He is lover, chauffeur and baby-sitter in one. She pays the bills and likes anal. In the year they've been together, they've spent three days apart: when Keith Richards, "who is a really big fan," flew her to Vegas for a Stones video shoot. How often do Candy and Bill have sex? Every day. "I pout if I don't get it every day," Bill says, laughing. "He wakes me up at 5:30 in the morning," Candy grumbles good-naturedly. But she loves him, and aside from her job and those 742 men, she sleeps only with him.

At 4 p.m., Bill and Candy go to their friend Jimmy's house. He is adding flowers and vines to the "Porn Star" tattooed on her lower back. She winces the whole time. "This one fucking kills," she says. She has a fairy on her neck and tattoos above both breasts. But the lower back hurts like hell. By about 7:30, Jimmy is done. From then on, Candy will greet everyone they see with, "My back hurts sooo bad!" She is excited about her tattoo, and they will spend 20 minutes at a time discussing it before a few moments of silence. Then they will discuss it some more.

We go over to Candy's friend Pilar's to pick up the pants she borrowed, and Candy insists that I sit in front. She swears she likes the back seat, and I don't know if she's just being polite to a guest or if she maybe likes the feeling that she's being chauffeured. Then it's back to the apartment again. Bill's little sister is there, hanging out with her best friend: Natalie.

While Candy gets ready to go out, we watch Greed. One team answers that "com" in "dot-com" stands for "communications." No $100,000 for you! Bill talks about his tattoo some more and then recounts to Natalie and his sister tonight's Blind Date episode, which included a chick getting finger banged in a taxicab. We all discuss the merits of the show, which wanted to pay Candy $400 to appear. "Why would I want to do that?" she asks. "I'm married."

Candy appears in the living room with two tops: one is a maroon push-up number, which she's currently modeling, and the other is a fuzzy, lime-green teeny tube top. "What do you think, babe?" she asks her husband. We all agree that the green will look marvelous in the black light at the Tap House. She puts it on, and I realize the maroon number wasn't pushing her up at all. Her breasts were doing that all by themselves.

The three of us head to the Tap House; we are on the list, thanks to Bill and Candy. Once inside, I spot Bear, a bouncer I know from Club 369, and am quickly passed six drink tickets. It's the most natural thing in the world to immediately hand the tickets to Bill to hold. I seem to be channeling Candy: the man should be in charge of the drinks.

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