Thurs 25 Jan 2024, 02:59am Belgrade time.
My former colleague K texts “Call me”.
K never texts “Call me”. She might text me about a dream she had, she might ask whether I’ve read a certain book, or seen a certain movie, or heard a certain podcast. She might send a video of a goat or a horse.
She never texts “Call me”.
So I knew it was something bad.
Big, and bad.
I called her as soon as I was technically awake, hoping the nine hour time difference would enable me to catch her before she went to sleep. I missed that window of awake-overlap. I had to wait. Later, she texted again. “Jesse passed away”. I replied “Jesse Jane?”, knowing it was true and wanting it to be absolutely not true.
Jesse was the lead contract star at Digital Playground when I started my own career there. The office walls were covered in framed artifacts of her achievements. She stood at the stage right end of lineups for photos during press or fan meetings, or in the middle. She was biggest on the box covers of ensemble movies. For those who don’t know, these things are evidence that she was the most important star the company had.
She was the head cheerleader, too. When we’d been on set for too long, for too many days in a row, it was Jesse who was the hype-human. She generated so much upbeat energy inside her approximately five-foot-plus-an-inch-or-two frame that she had plenty to share with a group of performers and crew who very much just wanted to take a nap—if not experience eight whole hours of sleep—but needed to get that last sex scene of the day shot. At 5am, fresh off a plane and headed to do a radio show, it was Jesse who would pump us up to sparkle and sell people on coming out to an adult store or convention for a meet and greet.
One early morning, in a large black car ferrying us from an airport in the northwest to a hotel where we would have an hour to hang up our signing clothes and prepare for a radio appearance (which always involved taking pictures for social media, if not a full on livestream of video during the interview), Jesse started the hype process. I said “I have a blurry-eyes headache and every loud noise makes me feel like I’m going to throw up.” She said she would “dial it down a notch.” She actually dialed it down several notches, and I was grateful for every single one.
Jesse, Riley Steele, and I traveled together a lot for the promotion of Pirates 2: Stagnetti’s Revenge. The cities were a blur. Riley was always gorgeous, no matter how little sleep we’d had. No matter whether she had makeup on or a bare face. And Jesse was always full of life.
Strangers, from strangers into brothers
From brothers into strangers once again
We saw the whole world but I couldn’t see the meaning
-Blink 182, 2023 ‘One More Time’
In Alaska we went to the mall to buy Riley a Christmas present. Our hotel was in the center of whichever city, and there were high snowdrifts. Jesse coached me through how to maneuver my big boots through the heavy wet flakes. We stopped at the food court. A man came up, excited to meet her, and addressed me as though I was her assistant. After I’d taken a picture of the two of them on his cellphone, and he’d gone happily on his way, Jesse apologized. I told her I felt more comfortable in the role I’d just been in than in the role of star. I told her I didn’t know whether I could handle her level of fame, couldn’t imagine how weird it was. She smiled her trademark huge grin and laughed.
We had incredibly different personalities, interests, and desires.
But she was always kind to me, even in the dead of night after 16 hours on set when my temper got the best of me.
It’s a lie of capitalism to say that a company is like a family. At the same time, that group of Digital Playground Girls, as we were known, was a kind of sisterhood. And Jesse was the sun we orbited around. We covered for each other, we stood united when journalists tried to dig up drama, and we had each other’s backs when convention attendees went too far. We didn’t unionize, but we did talk about it idly, and encouraged each other to ask for what we needed. We traded tips on everything from which male performers were what way. We let each other know what lay ahead on a trip to a city or country we hadn’t seen before. Jesse was liberal with her insights. She gave them freely, in the spirit of teamwork.
The last year of the AVN Expo at the Sands’ big convention hall, Jesse and I were scheduled at the same signing podium with alternating time slots. By this time both of us had large queues, which we weren’t able to fully accommodate before our signing window ended. Due to the extreme differences between us in personality, public persona, sartorial choices, and physical appearance, one of us was absolutely not interchangeable with the other. At the end of day 1, Jesse and I crossed paths and conferred. We were both seeing the tail end of each others’ lines, with attendees being frustrated that they’d waited so long only to find that their favorite star was gone. Jesse didn’t show a single flicker of being threatened by me, or offended by the people who said “thanks but no need to sign anything or take a picture”. She simply collaborated with me to solve the problem, before taking it upon herself to go to management to suggest our solution.
When the “band” broke up post-acquisition by MindGeek (previously Manwin, later Aylo), I went off to co-found projects in the porn space. Neither project ever had a budget big enough to hire Jesse during my time there. I’d still cross paths with her at conventions. The last time I saw her I did tell her it was great to see her, and to see her smile. There was a big bear hug. A squeal of happiness, so close I could feel my eardrum react.
In the middle of January this year she died a death of despair.
I spent 40 days remembering the best parts of her, and that’s all I care to share. I needed more than 40 days to be able to speak about her out loud. Throughout, every time YouTube would give me Blink 182’s ‘One More Time’, I’d sing along until halfway through the second verse, at which point my voice would break and I’d burst into tears. You never know which grief will kick you in the gut. You never know how much people had an effect on your life until you’re older.
I miss you
-Blink 183, 2023 ‘One More Time’
Several years ago Leya Tanit founded an organization called Pineapple Support, which serves people working in the online adult industries. If you’re a performer in need of support, please reach out to their hotline. And if you’re outside the community and want to help, they have 501 (c)(3) status and a donations page.