The first film I appeared in under my Wicked contract was Priceless. We filmed it at a place called Sterling Studio, a beautiful soundstage run by a cocky, condescending asshole named Jay Grdina, who seemed to have been given a mandate to make me uncomfortable, perhaps because he was dating my predecessor at Wicked, Chasey Lain.

Since I was allowed to choose the guys I worked with, I decided to try Peter North. I wanted to prove myself, and he was known as the best dick in the business. He was the size of a Coke bottle and could come ounces. On top of that, he had a reputation for being very professional. He barely said a word on set: he just showed up, did his business, and left. To this day, I’ve only heard him utter three sentences.

Our scene was on the hood of a vintage automobile, and it was phenomenal. When he began to fuck me, I was literally in shock. He tore me wide open, so that it was impossible to do anything but be in the moment. And when he came, he covered the car and me. The guy was amazing.

The next day, a male performer stopped by the set: Steven St. Croix, an in-demand square-jawed character whose look and intensity people often compared to Ray Liotta. Though we never did a scene together, he took a liking to me. A few weeks after my decision to socialize, he called and asked if I wanted to be his date for an event called Night of the Stars, an annual charity gala run by the Free Speech Coalition. For the first time in months, I said yes to an invitation to leave my apartment.

I put on a dark blue velvet dress, and he picked me up in a limo he had rented with some friends. I had never made a public appearance before, but as soon as I entered the convention center where it was being held, every head turned in my direction. I felt like Cinderella at the Prince’s ball. Everyone wanted to know who this new girl in town was.

This was great for Steven’s ego. The guy didn’t leave my side all night. Photographers taking pictures of other stars kept asking them to pose with me. Of course, I didn’t utter more than twenty words all night because I was so unused to being social. I hadn’t made small talk in over a year, and didn’t really know anyone there except for Steven.

By the time we pulled up at my house, I had a good buzz on. Steven walked me to my door, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and left. I was surprised that he didn’t try anything, but ultimately it was a good move on his part because we ended up seeing each other after that.

The next thing I needed to do to get a life was buy a car. But at six thousand dollars a film, and only eight films a year, it was going to take forever to save the money. One day, however, Steve made the mistake of asking what he could do for me, and I said I needed a truck. So he took me to a dealership and offered me a Corvette instead. I pointed to a beautiful black convertible, and it was mine. Life was beginning to look up. Now that I could drive myself around, I didn’t need to treat sweet Lyle like a slave boy anymore. Besides, his star was beginning to rise in the business as well.

Once Buddy saw me driving around in a new Corvette, he started pushing Nikki to get back on the other side of the camera. And the minute he was cool with it, she was cool with it. However, the damage was done and, though I sometimes saw her on set, we never exchanged a word off camera.

For my first Wicked movies, I kept my mouth shut and absorbed everything that was going on. I looked at how the other girls were being treated (basically, like Tinkertoys) and what type of people got to call the shots (the male directors). I was determined not to just be a fuck toy but also to retain as much power as possible off camera.

And that was where Joy King came in. Joy had come into the adult industry by accident. In 1984, her roommate turned her on to a temp company, which placed her in the accounting department of Caballero. She started out working on the company’s children’s films, but was transferred to the adult division after a couple years.

As Caballero’s profits began dwindling, Steve was starting Wicked. Though he wanted to work with Joy, he didn’t have the money to add her to his skeleton staff. But the week he hired me, he decided that there might be a use for her after all. So he worked out a deal where she’d take care of an account with a mail-order company, Adam & Eve, on commission, in addition to doing marketing and public relations. It was clear to both Steve and me that making movies was only part of my job. The rest was to promote myself, to work the entire world as if it were just one big Crazy Horse club. So Joy’s number one objective was simple: to get my face in the media. However, she accepted the job before even seeing the product.

Steve brought us together one day in his office. I took one look at Joy and thought, “This bitch is hot. How can she be a publicist?”

She looked like she belonged on my side of the camera. She had huge knockers and didn’t wear a bra. In the meantime, I was wearing jeans and tennis shoes. I could tell as soon as she saw me that she was disappointed. “You’re it?” she asked. “You’re so tiny.”

“Looks are deceiving,” I told her.

Within fifteen minutes, we were best friends. We had a similar sense of humor and outlook on life: she too was a person who didn’t take no for an answer. A vivaciously friendly party girl, she was also a hard-core motherfucker whom no man dared to mess with. And she radiated sexual energy: I was probably the only girl who worked with her back then that she never slept with.

When I told her what I had told Steve about my plans for the future, she smiled so hard her cheeks practically inflated to the size of her breasts.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s add this up: Steve wants more market share and you want to be the biggest star ever. This is going to be a breeze.”

And I thought, “Finally, I have a partner in crime.”