“Okay,” she said. I smoothed her hair and looked up. Everything that I had tried to keep from happening—and turned down millions of dollars to keep from happening—was happening. And I couldn’t even stand up for myself because of the NDA. I had to just take it. We just had to take it.
On the morning of January 20, I got yet another call from Keith Davidson. They wanted me to sign another statement but I refused. Because I was fine with saying nothing, but I’m not okay with lying.
I had lied enough. My husband wasn’t speaking to me, he was sleeping on the couch, saying he couldn’t trust me anymore. Everything was going great—this is craziness. I just wanted it to go away.
I hadn’t said a word, and these people kept coming back again and again. I would not lie for these people. Your integrity is all you have. Money comes and goes, but if you don’t have your word, no one will stand with you when you need them.
That night I was heading to South Carolina for a dance booking at the Trophy Club in Greenville. Jay Levy, the club owner, had advertised it as the first stop on my Make America Horny Again tour. He had made flyers of the golf tournament photo. “HE SAW HER LIVE!” it read. “YOU CAN TOO!” A lot of the subsequent clubs I was booked at followed suit with the Make America Horny Again name, which he also trademarked. I hated the name and thought it was tacky, mainly because I don’t like the appearance that I’m piggybacking off someone else’s idea. I know now that everyone assumed it was my idea and that I was profiting off the Trump scandal I wasn’t supposed to be talking about.
Driving up to the club, I saw there was a news truck parked outside. I was so unprepared, because it’s a great club that I’ve been to several times. I didn’t even bring an assistant with me. The New York Times, The Washington Post, TMZ—all there to jot down notes while I did my two shows that night, 11 P.M. and 1 A.M. They asked me questions, and I completely understand they had a job to do. I just felt ridiculous not being able to answer basic questions.
While I was at the club, Saturday Night Live spoofed “me” on Weekend Update. It was up on YouTube quick, so I watched it the next morning, scared to death. I was terrified because SNL is my favorite show, bar none. I have a crush on Colin Jost and I would have been so sad if he made fun of me. Random Instagram trolls saying “Die slut”—I mean, whatever, but if Colin said something mean? Don’t go breaking my heart. Fortunately, he didn’t. Cecily Strong did the impersonation of me. Her boobs looked good and I giggled, so good for her.
The Monday after SNL spoofed me, I got scared when I saw a news story about Common Cause, a nonprofit watchdog group, filing a federal complaint with the Federal Election Commission charging Trump with violating campaign finance laws when he made the $130,000 payment to me eleven days before the election. “The funds were paid for the purpose of influencing the 2016 presidential general election,” they wrote in a letter to Attorney General Jeff Sessions. Basically, if it was a contribution to the campaign, it needed to be reported to the FEC. Of course, it wasn’t.
TEN
The Marilyn Monroe suite at the Roosevelt Hotel is one of the most beautiful places to stay in Hollywood. The soft light glints off the white leather of the furniture and the tan wood of the walls, and there are mirrors everywhere—including on the ceiling over the bed—so you can constantly catch yourself doing a Marilyn pose. Her ghost is supposed to still be hanging out there, too. We would have a lot to talk about.
The very nice people at Jimmy Kimmel Live thought it was funny to put me up there for my January 30 appearance on the show. I was scheduled to go on live after Trump’s second State of the Union address. I got in late in the afternoon, and I had invited some friends over, because what good is staying in the freaking Marilyn Monroe suite if you can’t share it?
Gina had called, saying she had clothes for me to wear that night on Kimmel, and also for The View, which she had scheduled me on for later that week in New York. What’s funny is that once you’re famous, people just want to give you free shit. Tonia Ryan had made me the most beautiful dress I have ever worn for the January 27 AVN Awards. It was electric blue and elegant, and made Thunder and Lightning look amazing. Of course, I was excited to get more from her.
My friends were all stuck in traffic, so I was alone when Gina came by with the dress. When she came into the suite, she walked in with a bearded man in a Gucci shirt who I later found out was her boyfriend. And Keith Davidson.
I gave Gina a look, and she knew exactly what I was thinking. “Oh, we just want to talk about possible answers for you to give Jimmy,” she said.
Got it. Media training. Nothing odd about that. Right?
Gina distracted me with literally something shiny—a gorgeous dress in a similar color to the AVN one, but lacy and shorter. And then we sat down at the glass table in the Marilyn suite to talk about what I could say. Gucci guy, who I didn’t know at all, sat next to me. I then learned that Cohen had once again reached out to Davidson.
This should have been my red flag in the moment. Why are Michael Cohen and Keith Davidson always talking?
I was then given yet another statement to sign. I sat up to read it. “The fact of the matter is that each party to this alleged affair denied its existence in 2006, 2011, 2016, 2017, and now again in 2018,” the signed statement read. “I am not denying this affair because I was paid ‘hush money’ as has been reported in overseas-owned tabloids. I am denying this affair because it never happened.”
I panicked. I admit it, I panicked. I didn’t know who the Gucci guy was. Was he the one threatening me? Did he have a gun? Even though I knew the statement was complete bullshit, I picked up the pen and signed my name.
But I purposely signed it wrong. “Stormy Daniels” has a very distinct signature. I have signed my boobs on magazine covers for many years. I signed the statement like it was my first day as a grown-up, girly and bubby. I wanted to signal there was something amiss here.
My girlfriends showed up. I didn’t say a word to them, and if I seemed shaken to them, they probably thought I was uncharacteristically nervous about going on live TV. In no time, Michael Cohen had the statement, and he released it three hours before the show. Thanks, Keith Davidson. Always advocating for his clients, that guy.
Jimmy had a printout of the statement at his desk, and with no tip-off whatsoever from me, he brought up the signature right away on the air.
“This is what fascinates me,” he said. “The signature on your original statement does not match the signature on this statement.” He pulled out a bunch of signed photos he’d found on the internet as examples of my real signature. “Am I getting at anything? Did you sign this letter that was released today?”
“I don’t know, did I?” I said. “That does not look like my signature, does it?”
I was scared to say too much, so I ended up looking like a complete idiot. I couldn’t answer the most basic questions. He had this bit planned where he gave me a Stormy Muppet so I could talk to his Donald Trump Muppet. Jimmy was amazing, and such a class act, but I couldn’t help him. I felt my hands were tied.
Everyone thinks I’m a buffoon, I thought. Jimmy was so understanding and kind. He could tell I’d been railroaded. He took me aside afterward and told me that when I was ready to speak, he could devote the whole show to it. We could change the whole format, even pretaping it and allowing me to see it so I felt more comfortable. “Just tell me when you’re ready,” he said. He also donated to my legal fund and urged others to do the same. It was so odd to have someone genuinely looking out for me, offering to help. He has privately checked in on me, and later, he went on his show to ask viewers to join him in donating to my legal fund. “I never thought giving money to a porn star would be considered an act of patriotism,” he told his audience, “but then again I never thought a guy who got into a Twitter war with Cher would become president.”