Out of Bondage Read Online Free Page B

for President.
    This was one of the dumbest movies ever made. It was so bad that I can’t remember the names of the other so-called actors in the movie, and even if I could I wouldn’t embarrass them by repeating that information here. Who knows? Some of them may have even gone on to acting careers.
    Anyway, Linda Lovelace for President taught me what was meant by the phrase, “exploitation movie.” People would be amazed if they saw how a movie like this is actually made. The only smart thing they did was to hire comedian Chuck McCann. The script would go from pointless to inane to ludicrous, and then someone would turn to McCann and say, “Do something funny here—anything at all.” Farther into the movie that same someone turned to me and said, “All right, Linda, we’re ready for the fucking-and-sucking scenes now.” McCann obliged them with gags, because that was his job; I didn’t oblige them with sex, because that was no longer my job.
    Maybe it was bad enough that I had to appear in the nude. But to me that was a big step up. The movie was R-rated (probably R for Ridiculous) and instead of real sexual perversions, it was filled with simulated sexual perversions. Maybe the audience couldn’t tell the difference, but I could.
    Not only was the movie an artistic disaster, it provided me with another of life’s little embarrassments. There was a screening of the movie in California just before I was to go on tour to publicize it. My mother and father were there; my twenty-year-old niece was there; my sister Jean was there; as was Larry, a man who was becoming increasingly important in my life.
    Suddenly there was a picture of me standing in front of a huge American flag, saluting, á la George C. Scott in Patton. The major difference between George C. Scott and myself was that he wore a helmet and uniform while I wore a helmet. Just a helmet, nothing more, not a stitch of clothing. Unfortunately, the helmet wasn’t large enough to crawl under.
    Immediately after the screening, I joined the movie’s other “stars.” It was just expected of me, just another thing I would do mechanically. I tried to keep a stiff upper lip but this time it wasn’t so easy. Larry Marchiano was looking at me with a funny expression on his face.
    “What are you thinking?” I asked.
    “Oh, I’m just thinking about the movie,” he said.
    “Yes, but what are you thinking about the movie?”
    “You really want to know? I was thinking that it’s a worthless piece of shit,” he said. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, unbelievable and terrible.”
    “Oh, come on, Larry,” I said. “Don’t be so polite—what did you really think?”
    It had been so long since someone just told me the truth, simply and directly, that I almost welcomed his comments. However, I didn’t really need anyone to tell me what kind of a movie it was. This was not one of the movies where the producers wait anxiously for those early critical notices; this was a take-the-money-and-run movie, the kind of movie you sneak into town and open everywhere at once, before anyone has a chance to write—or read—a review.

five
    Unfortunately, my embarrassment was not going to be confined to just that one night. Next on the schedule: a cross-continental tour of Canada to promote the film. And Larry was supposed to go on the tour with me.
    “No way,” he said. “No way you’re going to embarrass yourself by going, anywhere for this movie”
    “There happens to be a contract—if we don’t go, they sue,” I said to him, quietly. “And there are 2,500 other reasons to go. They’re paying me $2,500, plus expenses. You’ve been going through my books and you’ve probably figured out about how much money we have”
    “So when do we pack?” he said.
    The next day, as a matter of fact. Okay, the bottom line was $2,500 and we decided to make the most of it, to have a good time and not think about what we were doing. God knows I had had enough practice at