"What the f.u.c.k is the matter with you?" I yelled. I don't think she knew why she did what she did at this time.

She continued her a.s.sault, throwing more candle holders, my ba.s.s guitar, mirrors, whatever she could get her hands on, including a blackjack--a piece of lead wrapped in leather that I kept in the apartment for protection. She grabbed the blackjack and threw it at me. But she missed and hit a piece of Plexiglas that shattered all over the apartment. When she saw that she missed, she came at me swinging and clawing.

"Fine! I'll just kill myself," she said as she lunged at me and pulled me with her as she hurled herself down the stairs in the loft. We fell head over heels and hit the ground really really hard. She was out to hurt herself, and she was taking me down with her. After we recovered from the fall, her rage continued. hard. She was out to hurt herself, and she was taking me down with her. After we recovered from the fall, her rage continued.

With tears rolling down her face, she threatened, "I'm going to call the cops!"

"But you're you're attacking attacking me me!" I tried to reason with her.

"They'll never believe that, because I'm the girl," she replied.

"And then they'll arrest me and you'll be all alone in this insanity. At least I'm here trying to help you!" I said as I tried to hold on to her so she would calm down.

"GET OFF ME!!!".

That was when I realized her problems were more than I was able to handle. I called our family therapist, Nelson Lugo, for some advice. Nelson is this wonderful Puerto Rican psychiatrist who I used when Sammy was having a hard time with my divorce from his mother. Nelson told me that I had to be careful Tera didn't hurt herself or others because there was no way to reason with a person suffering like this. I would call Nelson regularly during this time and talk to him about Tera's recurring episodes, and he said it sounded like she was having a nervous breakdown. I agreed.

When she did come out of these episodes and have a moment of clarity, she'd feel horrible and be hyper-apologetic. She'd apologize and say, "I'm sorry! I don't know why I did that." She'd write me little "I'm sorry" cards and dote on me for a while. She didn't know what she was doing. Some nights she would go to bed mad as h.e.l.l at me and then wake up all lovey-dovey, make me breakfast, and give me another huge apology note or flowers. I have tons of her apology notes. They'd often say "I'm sorry. I don't know why you stay with me. I'm a crazy b.i.t.c.h. I'm going through a lot of s.h.i.t right now. I don't know what's happening with me."

When Biohazard was on tour in the UK in the fall of 2002, Tera came out on the road with me. One night in a London hotel, we were having s.e.x and everything was great, and then that switch went off and she started getting angry with me and physically attacking me. She was really jealous at the time so I think the fight was out of some sort of jealous rage. She scratched me so hard that she drew blood on my face and my chest. She flung herself on me and was scratching and clawing at me. I never laid a hand on her. I just tried to calm her down, but her screams alerted hotel security and they called the police. The cops came and found Tera and me naked and scratched up. It looked bad. Then something clicked in her and she snapped out of it. She told the police, "Everything is OK. We were just having rough s.e.x." The cops looked at me and saw the blood and scratches and asked, "Sir, do you want us to take her her away?" Of course I told them no, and after that Tera apologized. away?" Of course I told them no, and after that Tera apologized.

The last three weeks before her big incident, from the time we were in London until the meltdown that landed her in the hospital, I was like Edward Norton in Fight Club Fight Club. I always had a new scar, bruise, or black eye.

All of this was just the precursor to the meltdown of all meltdowns--the day she finally snapped and had to be inst.i.tutionalized. This is where Tera's a little fuzzy on the details. But here is how I remember it going down that night in the loft. Something set Tera off again. Maybe it was the phone call with the attorney like she remembers. But what she doesn't remember is that she took that anger and frustration out on me again and started swinging at me and scratching me. We were at the top of the stairs and she's attacking me and I'm trying to hold her back and we ended up falling down the stairs together . . . again. But this trip down the stairs was more serious. She was trying to kill herself. I just thought it was another freak-out, but it was way worse than that.

After our fall, she started throwing anything she could get her hands on. I was eventually able to get both of her hands behind her back and there was some duct tape lying around nearby (we used duct tape to tie each other up sometimes when we had s.e.x, and duct tape is like the Swiss Army knife for musicians; we use it for everything). So I wrapped duct tape around her hands and threw her in the backseat of the Suburban and took her to St. Vincent's Hospital in Manhattan.

We got to the emergency room at the hospital, and Tera was still kicking and screaming. "I'm not the crazy one! It's him. He's the crazy one. Look, he tied me up," she told the nurses and cops. There are always cops in emergency rooms, and this night was no exception. When they saw Tera's hysterical state, the cops naturally looked at me as the bad guy and sat me down in a chair to question me.

"Guys, just go talk to her for five minutes and you'll understand completely who the crazy one is here," I told them.

They didn't know who to believe. To them, it must have looked like a scene from Natural Born Killers Natural Born Killers, like Mickey and Mallory, you know? Here's this big, bald, tattooed guy with scratches on his face, bleeding, with the prettiest Asian girl they've ever seen, duct taped to herself, screaming b.l.o.o.d.y murder.

So one of the cops pulled me aside and said, "What are you doing? You can't duct tape someone against their will. It's against the law. You should have called 911."

"It was a judgment call. I thought taking her to the hospital myself would be faster," I said. "Take the f.u.c.king tape off her and see what she does. Go ahead."

When things finally settled down, I had a chance to explain to them the emotional stress she had been under over her legal battles with Digital and how there had been many episodes leading up to this. I told them that I loved her very much and I would be there for her, but that she needed some serious help and she was a danger to herself. Tera would later admit that she was suicidal that night.

She ended up signing herself into the hospital, and they put her in the psychiatric ward for observation. She finally calmed down and fell asleep in her hospital bed and told me to go home. There was nothing else I could do. She spent two weeks in the psych ward at St. Vincent's, and things got better after that.

*CHAPTER 18*

What Have I Done?

Once the mayhem of being admitted to the psych ward at St. Vincent's subsided and I realized I did need help, my doctors sat me down and told me that I was suffering a series of symptoms similar to bipolar disorder, though I've never officially been diagnosed as bipolar, then or now. When they explained the symptoms to me, I knew instantly it's what I've been suffering from all along. It explained my crazy highs and lows, my wild spending, the way I would act out s.e.xually, and my depression. I remember the doctor asking me a series of questions and one by one I answered yes to them all with a growing pit in the bottom of my stomach. He asked: Do you have s.e.x a lot? Do you shop a lot? Do you overreact? Are you easily agitated? Do you throw things? Can you not control yourself at times? Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. It clicked, and I cried about it a lot. I couldn't believe that I was so psychologically damaged.

I thought a lot about my mom during my two weeks in the hospital because my mom has all of these symptoms too. I guess it was just in my genes. They say there are five stages of grief, and that is exactly what I went through when I processed this diagnosis. The first stage is denial. I certainly thought the problem was everyone else, not me. I didn't think I was wrong in my outbursts against Evan. I didn't think I was acting crazy.

The second stage is anger. Evan can, and has, attested to that one. I was angry at Digital Playground, angry at myself, angry at the world, and then angry at the one person who loved me enough to stand by me, help me, and believe in me.

The next stage is bargaining. I begged to get out of the hospital and promised I'd be better if they'd only let me out of there. The bargaining part was my "if only" phase. I'd tell my doctor: "If only I wasn't in this lawsuit, life would be so much better. If only I could work again, I'd have more money and that would make me happy. If only I wasn't on meds, I would have my appet.i.te back. If only I could have my stepson full-time, it would make Evan happy and we'd be a happy family." I'd tell Dr. Nelson Lugo, "If you get me out of the hospital, I promise to be better." And then my overwhelming emotions would kick in and I'd flip on him and say, "If you don't get me out of this hospital now, I promise I'll kill you!" My bargaining turned to threats, and that kept me in the psych ward even longer.

The fourth stage is depression. Once it hit me how serious my situation had become, I went back to crying and curling up in a ball on my hospital bed. I spent several days in the hospital in the woe-is-me phase, feeling even more depressed than ever.

And of course, the final stage is acceptance. I finally came to accept my situation. I started taking the medicine they gave me, and it really did help.

Once I started following doctors' orders, my psychiatrist promised the hospital that he would look after me and suggested that I was stable enough to leave. Dr. Lugo said to me, "You know, Linda, you just have to accept that you have to face it and go on with your life." And I did. But not without one more outburst.

When I got home from St. Vincent's, I spit venom at Evan. "I can't believe you locked me up in that place! I hate you!"

"Oh, G.o.d. Here we go," he said.

Just when I thought I was understanding what was happening to me and feeling positive about it, along came those paranoid and angry feelings again. I don't think you can get better overnight or even in two weeks. And I do know that it takes a little bit of time for medicine to kick in and really begin to work. I think when I came home fighting mad, it was because I was still processing my situation and working through it.

Evan and I fought for days following my return from the hospital. We'd go round and round like this: "You had me committed!"

"You needed to be committed! You were crazy!"

"Stop calling me crazy!"

"But you are. You needed help!"

"No, I didn't."

"If you don't get it together, I'm going to leave you because you're so crazy. I can't handle this anymore."

Deep down I knew he loved me so much, and I think I was afraid of that love. I was afraid to surrender myself to that love. We were fighting so bad that I made him sleep on the couch. I just couldn't deal, and I was so angry. It was the first time we didn't sleep together.

On our third day of fighting, I was looking down at him sleeping on the couch and he looked so exhausted. I had a moment of clarity. I felt like the worst person ever. I am am crazy. Oh my G.o.d. I do need help. What have I done? This man loves me and was just trying to help me. I went to down to where he was sleeping and I kneeled beside him and woke him up. "You're right. I need help. Please help me and please don't leave me." crazy. Oh my G.o.d. I do need help. What have I done? This man loves me and was just trying to help me. I went to down to where he was sleeping and I kneeled beside him and woke him up. "You're right. I need help. Please help me and please don't leave me."

"I'm not going to leave you," he said. "I'm going to get you through this."

I knew I was in good hands: the hands of a strong man who loved me and who would help me get better. Evan made sure I took my medicine. He made sure I saw the therapist. He kept me positive. Evan vowed to help me get better and to become successful on my own terms. And that's exactly what we did.

2003 DIARY ENTRIES:These are the diaries I kept in 2003 as I struggled with my craziness, adjusted to medication, and dealt with the lawsuit and my insecurities about Evan. The number of days noted in each entry was the number of days I'd been sober at the time of writing it.APRIL 19, 2003105 DAYSI woke up crying. I'm not feeling good. I love Evan so much and I don't want to hurt him. I don't know why my emotions take such charge of me sometimes. I can't believe he feels this way about me. And I can't believe I disrespected him because I love him so much. I never want to hurt him. Maybe G.o.d will help me every day as long as I pay attention every day and help myself to keep my inner peace.Love,LindaMAY 20, 2003136 DAYSWoke up feeling good. Evan was obsessing about the car stereo. Well, he loves cars. Chopper [a black and white toy fox terrier that Evan gave me on Valentine's Day 2003] is going to school for three weeks. My little man needs it. Today is doctor day. I'm hoping to get some health insurance. I have a photo shoot tomorrow with Anneli. Glad to start my stuff and work again. I'm smiling a lot today. See? This is how I need to feel. Lots of love to you G.o.d.I love you,LindaMAY 21, 2003137 DAYSPhoto shoot day. Took my new medication and it made me not feel so good. I had to take a nap. Then I had a huge fight with Evan. I really realize how much he loves me and how much I love and need him. I love Evan so much and want to spend the rest of my life with him. I love you G.o.d. I'm going to write more later.MAY 22, 2003138 DAYSMeeting with Jim Kohls and Mark Hamilton, 1:30 pm.President and VP of Hustler Media.Had a pretty good meeting. Went to the party for Hustler and had a good time. Evan blew me away and tattooed my name Linda on his wrist. We left for New York. I love you G.o.d. Thank you for another great day.MAY 23, 2003139 DAYSI just flew in from New York. We picked up Sam. I'm feeling pretty good. We're just going to have a mellow day. Evan is such a good dad. I love him so much. I hope I can be a good step mom. I can't stop thinking about pot. Oh my G.o.d. I hope it pa.s.ses. I love you.Love,LindaJUNE 1, 2003148 DAYSI slept in late today. We're going to write my press release. I felt OK. I'm having some episodes of moodiness. Thank you so much for everything G.o.d. I'm trying not to think about my case. It's so hard. This is the start of a new month. Summertime. Yay!I love you,LindaJUNE 2, 2003149 DAYSI had a horrible night. Evan and I started major fighting. I went totally crazy. I don't know why I just can't be normal. I did not take my medication. I did not want to sleep at all. I love Evan. And I'm so angry with myself for hurting him. Please help me G.o.d.Love,LindaJUNE 4, 2003151 DAYSI woke up so tired. I had to do VH1. I went to get my hair done and it turned out so beautiful. I'm so blond! I love it. I had a nice interview. I hope they cut it together nicely. I hate doing shows when they're not accurate. Evan did so well. I'm so proud of my baby and I love him so much. I went home and cleaned up and we had amazing s.e.x. Thank you so much for everything.Love,LindaJUNE 5, 20035 MONTHS. YAY!I felt like I didn't get enough sleep. Looking forward, believe it or not, to a little travel. Digital Playground is trying to fight me again. Ugh. It never ends. Anyway, we picked up Sam and are having a fun day. Thank you G.o.d for everything.Love you,LindaJUNE 7, 2003154 DAYSI had a nice day. I went to a new Pilates mat cla.s.s, "Happy Now Flat Belly." I loved it. I miss my baby so much. Chopper and I are on our way to the airport to meet his trainer. Chopper goes to school for three weeks. I'm worried about court and I hope it all goes well. Thank you G.o.d for everything.Love,Linda *

*CHAPTER 19*

Dancing Queen After things started settling down after my return from St. Vincent's and my medicine started kicking in, I started feeling strong again. The fog was lifting and I was back in fighting-for-my-rights mode. Evan wasn't only my rock through all of this, but he also took over as my manager. Evan has managed his band Biohazard for years, so managing wasn't something new to him and I trusted him.

Evan had a very important thought one night. He said to me, "You're obviously a very powerful commodity. If you weren't so special and worth so much, these sc.u.mbags wouldn't be fighting so hard to keep you out of the business. So there's something here, and I really think we should get you back in business on your own terms." It was hard for me to see the light at the end of the tunnel at the time, but Evan knew what was at stake and that's why he fought so hard for me.

Evan started making phone calls and lining up allies. We needed people to be in the Tera Patrick camp if we were going to give my career another shot. Evan was calling on anyone and everyone he knew in the industry to get me work. One of his first calls was to his old friend Dan Davis, editor in chief of the adult magazine Genesis Genesis . They made me masthead publisher and gave me a column, which I t.i.tled "Teravision." I was honored, and it was yet another way to express myself. It was a great chance to use my brains instead of just my body. It proved that I wasn't just some dumb p.o.r.n chick, but that I could actually write and had something to say. I discovered a new talent that I never knew I had in me and felt proud that I could share my experiences in a positive light. And it paid well and we needed the cash. Over the next six years, I wrote approximately seventy columns, appeared on the cover a dozen times, and was featured in a bunch of layouts. . They made me masthead publisher and gave me a column, which I t.i.tled "Teravision." I was honored, and it was yet another way to express myself. It was a great chance to use my brains instead of just my body. It proved that I wasn't just some dumb p.o.r.n chick, but that I could actually write and had something to say. I discovered a new talent that I never knew I had in me and felt proud that I could share my experiences in a positive light. And it paid well and we needed the cash. Over the next six years, I wrote approximately seventy columns, appeared on the cover a dozen times, and was featured in a bunch of layouts.

The next ally we found was my old friend Teri Weigel, the former Playboy Playboy Playmate and p.o.r.n star who took me under her wing at my first AVN convention. She'd been in the industry for a while and I needed some sage advice on what to do next. Playmate and p.o.r.n star who took me under her wing at my first AVN convention. She'd been in the industry for a while and I needed some sage advice on what to do next.

Teri asked me, "How are you making money right now?"

"I'm not," I said.

"You don't dance?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean what do I mean? Are you doing feature dancing?" she asked.

Unlike many other p.o.r.n stars, I didn't come from the world of strip clubs. In fact, I'd only been to a strip club with an ex-boyfriend a few times. It wasn't really my thing. I always thought that stripping was something you do in order to get into p.o.r.n and not something you do once you're already a p.o.r.n star like me.

"Feature dancing? What is that?" I asked.

"Oh, honey," said Teri. "When you're a huge star like yourself, you can make a ton of money doing feature dance shows. It's notches above stripping and you can make ten times the amount of money a regular stripper makes. You need to call this guy, Tony Lee. He's going to introduce you to a whole new world."

Tony Lee is the number-one booking agent for adult film stars on the feature dancing circuit. Evan had already spent all of the money he made from the last Biohazard tour, as well as his music publishing advance, on my legal bills, and we were running out of money. (We ended up spending about $300,000 to fight the suit.) I soon found out that feature dancers are essentially special strippers. If you have a name and a following, the club makes a special event of your dancing engagement. You're paid a guaranteed fee. You get to keep 100 percent of the money on the stage and you do a meet-and-greet after your show where you sell the fans your merchandise: autographed photos, DVDs, posters, T-shirts, etc. And you get to keep all of that money too. It sounded like the perfect way to make some fast cash.

Evan called up Tony immediately. "Is Tony Lee there? This is Evan Seinfeld."

"This is Tony Lee. What can I do for you?" he answered.

"I'm Tera Patrick's manager, and Tera Patrick has expressed an interest in dancing," said Evan.

"Can you hold on for a second?" Tony said very businesslike. Tony must have just placed the phone down without hitting the hold b.u.t.ton because the next thing Evan hears is this loud, "Whooooo hoooooo!" on the other end of the phone.

Tony got back on the phone, tried to play it cool, and said, "So, Tera Patrick is interested in dancing? This is the phone call I've been waiting for my entire career."

"There's one catch," Evan said.

"What's that?"

"We're in litigation with Digital Playground and--" Evan said.

Tony interrupted, "I know all about it and I don't care. I would love to work with you guys."

Tony Lee became my next ally, and he soon booked me on my first feature-dancing gig. He promised me that I would make more money than any other feature dancer ever did dancing and that I would be paying my legal bills and have money left over.

There was just one more problem. I didn't know how to dance. Tony wasn't concerned about that. He hooked me up with someone who could show me the ropes: Lisa Ann, a performer in the business who now runs a talent agency. Lisa Ann gave me a one-day crash course in what feature dancing is all about.

Lisa Ann, my stripper mentor Our first stop was a sleazy lingerie store in Hollywood. She helped me pick pieces that were easy to get off and I ended up going with a four-piece outfit that consisted of a bra, panties, an overcoat/robe, a skirt, and, of course, five-inch stripper heels. I had one piece of clothing to take off for each of the four songs I would dance to. In the early days, I danced in themed costumes, such as a French maid, various schoolgirl outfits, and a few versions of a biker babe--one in leather and one in denim. My idea was to act out men's fantasies with these various personalities.

After we suited up, Lisa took me to the Spearmint Rhino strip club in Van Nuys to watch some of the girls there dance and hopefully pick up some tips. I took mental notes as the girls would twirl around the pole and do their splits on the shiny stage. I was inspired and excited at the idea of being the girl up there twirling around in fancy lingerie for a captive live audience. It was so different from performing for the camera.

I was intimidated by the strippers' more advanced moves, i.e., the upside-down pole work, splits, and other fancy footwork. I didn't know how I was going to pull off all that stripper trickery onstage. "Don't worry about it. You're a big star," Lisa Ann explained. "The fans just want to see you. you. You don't need to impress them with complicated moves or fancy pole work. You just need to get up there and do what comes naturally." You don't need to impress them with complicated moves or fancy pole work. You just need to get up there and do what comes naturally."

That took the pressure off. Still, I practiced in our Brooklyn loft the night before my first gig, which was at the Admiral Theatre in Chicago. I pretended there was a pole and practiced how I would walk around it and what kind of simple little twirls I could do. I just kept reminding myself that if I didn't know what to do, the stripper pole in the middle of that stage would be my safety net. I thought out all of the ways I would use the pole to my advantage: I could hang on it, walk around it holding on with one hand, slide down it with the pole going between my b.u.t.t, lick the pole seductively, etc. But I had no real routine to speak of. In retrospect, maybe I could've prepared a little more.

Tony Lee just kept reminding me that the fans would love whatever I did, but I couldn't help but wonder: Are they going to expect me to shoot fire out of my a.s.s? What are they going to expect to see? I was terrified but excited before my first show.

We get to my dressing room backstage at the Admiral, and I immediately felt comfortable as I saw photos of Chasey Lain, a gorgeous Vivid Girl, on the wall. I felt like I was in good company and it eased my fears a little bit. I got suited up in a pink/black/white punk-rock schoolgirl outfit and walked out of my dressing room to see what the stage looked like, and I was shocked. It wasn't called Admiral Theatre Theatre for nothing! The "club" was actually an old theater with theater seating and a traditional stage . . . with for nothing! The "club" was actually an old theater with theater seating and a traditional stage . . . with no no stripper pole! I was horrified. I had planned to walk out onstage and head straight to that pole, but this stage didn't have one. What was I going to do? Panic set in. They announce me; my heart starts pounding, and all I can think is, "I have no idea what I'm doing! I didn't plan for a stage without a pole!" stripper pole! I was horrified. I had planned to walk out onstage and head straight to that pole, but this stage didn't have one. What was I going to do? Panic set in. They announce me; my heart starts pounding, and all I can think is, "I have no idea what I'm doing! I didn't plan for a stage without a pole!"

The curtain opened and there were five hundred fans out there all standing up and cheering for me to come out and do my thing. The lights were bright and the crowd was loud and I still didn't know what my first move was going to be. It felt like one of those dreams where you find yourself naked in a cla.s.sroom and everyone is staring at you. I was petrified. But I knew I couldn't disappoint. So I put on a huge smile and I walked out onstage as if I was walking onto a catwalk and I did my best runway walk. The crowd went crazy and I immediately felt more at ease.

After a few introductory bend-overs and kisses blown to the crowd, my stripper instinct took over and somehow I just knew exactly what to do. Every girl has an inner stripper, and I was no different. Off my clothes went. One by one, I peeled off my lingerie and threw it on the stage like an old pro. It was exhilarating. Every move I made, the crowd cheered me on. I was trying to keep my s.e.xy face on, but I couldn't help but smile. I've never done anything so raw before in front of such a large audience. It was a thrill.

My early shows were more like a photo shoot in slow motion. I would walk around the stage doing various modeling poses to the music. But it was very s.e.xual. The first song was like the foreplay and I'd take off my sheer robe or little top. The second was where the s.e.x begins and I'd take off my skirt or shorts. The third song was the big reveal and off my top would go. And the fourth and final song was the big climax when my panties would come off and I'd do my giveaways of posters and photos.

A typical set-list for my show was: 1. . . AC/DC, "Girls Got Rhythm" AC/DC, "Girls Got Rhythm"2. . . Def Leppard, "Pour Some Sugar on Me" Def Leppard, "Pour Some Sugar on Me"3. . . Marilyn Manson, "Great Big White World" Marilyn Manson, "Great Big White World"4. . . AC/DC, "Givin the Dog a Bone" AC/DC, "Givin the Dog a Bone"

When my fifteen minutes were up, I ran backstage, pleased with my performance, still panting and hot from the show. Evan rushed in and immediately yelled, "What did you do?"

"What? No, 'Great job on your first show, honey'?" I thought.

"You forgot to take their money!" Evan said.

The bouncer then walks backstage and says to Evan, "Why didn't she take any money?"

Oh my G.o.d! They were right. I forgot to take the money from the customers! I was so excited to be onstage performing that I forgot to even one time bend down and take that 20-dollar bill from the guy's hand like you're supposed to. It was flashing back to me now. The stage was lined with girls and guys holding up bills, waving money at me, and looking up at me in antic.i.p.ation. And I forgot to go to those fans and take their money!

"You did not take one dollar from the customers," Evan sighed, completely exasperated.

No worries. I could make up the loss by selling them my merchandise. I powdered up my face, put on fresh lipstick, and threw on a s.e.xy robe and went out to greet my fans. There were about 300 fans in line waiting to spend their money on me. For $50, they could pose for a Polaroid photo with me topless, and I would sign the photo. For $30, they could buy a signed DVD of one of my movies. And for just $10 they could buy a signed 8 x 10 glossy photo of me. Between the guaranteed fee of $3,000 and my merchandise sales, I made close to $10,000 that night.

But more important, it helped pull me out of my depression because: (1) I had a job and we needed the money. (2) I got to go on a dance tour and see new places. And (3) There is nothing like standing onstage and having a room full of people cheering for you. I felt like a rock star. It was a creative new outlet for me. It's something so terrifying and so freeing at the same time. And dancing turned me on. When the crowd cheered for me, my nipples would get hard and my p.u.s.s.y would get wet. Dancing was another way to turn guys on and be the exhibitionist that I am.

I think dancers are among the bravest people in the world. You are going out onstage whether you feel you look good or not and you are taking money from people. The average person has that nightmare of being in cla.s.s or in the boardroom and suddenly they are naked, or on a busy street and naked. We live that nightmare. But for me, it was my dream.

Proud of my earnings as a stripper *

That dream soon took me dancing all around the world from every major city in the U.S. to France, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Belgium, Portugal, Hungary, Croatia, England, Scotland, Australia, and other countries. I made $3,000 for my guaranteed fee at every show, but took in between $10,000 and $60,000 per engagement with the tips (which I never failed to remember to pick up after that first time) and merchandise sales each night. I danced three weekends a month for about four years in a row. The Foxy Lady in Rhode Island was one of my biggest bookings--$35,000 for ten shows. We came home with nearly $60,000 in twenties, tens, fives, and singles that night. The strangest place I danced was at Anthony's Showplace in Tennessee. It was a converted church. As I strutted my stuff onstage I kept saying in my head, "Sorry, G.o.d!"

But hands down, the craziest performance I ever danced was on July 24, 2004, at the Pink Pony in Atlanta. I was into my third song, which was either Marilyn Manson's "Great Big White World" or Deftones' "Change," and I do this move where I'm on my back on the floor with my back arched and my legs slightly spread and I do a little shimmy. All of a sudden, I feel this girl right between my legs and she's trying to take my panties off. There was no security, and Evan was off getting the bag of merchandise that I throw out to the crowd for my final song.

I bolted upright and tried to push her way, literally kicking her away with my legs and she's still clinging on to me. I was screaming, "No! No! No!" but kind of laughing at the same time. The girl was clearly wasted and she was just going for it . . . going for me me! She was relentless and wouldn't let up. I think she just got really excited and couldn't contain it. All of a sudden the DJ says, "Wow. We got a live one!" Evan finally saw what was happening, rushed to my side, and pushed her back down.

One of my favorite dancing gigs was at the Trails Men's Club in Salt Lake City, Utah. It's a gorgeous club with a long, winding stage with rails on the sides that you can really use to your advantage when dancing. And it was a pasties club, which meant that I didn't have to get naked! Once in a while, I liked not not having to get naked. I felt like a true rock star there. They put a star with my name on it on the outside of my dressing room door and gave me monogrammed towels to use for my shower that night. I still have those towels. And my dressing room was filled with gift baskets of champagne, soaps, perfume, lotions, body sprays, and other girlie things that I loved. having to get naked. I felt like a true rock star there. They put a star with my name on it on the outside of my dressing room door and gave me monogrammed towels to use for my shower that night. I still have those towels. And my dressing room was filled with gift baskets of champagne, soaps, perfume, lotions, body sprays, and other girlie things that I loved.

Two very pretty strippers walked in and said, "Hi, Tera. We're really big fans. And we have a little present for you."

"Oh, no," I thought. "Are they going to get naked or something? I'm sooo not a lesbian."