I HELD THE ADVANCE CD OF SWEET KISSES, TURNING IT OVER AND OVER to look at it fresh.
Remember this, I told myself. Remember this. I wanted to be still just for a moment and hold on to this feeling of happiness and pride. I had gotten so hung up on superficial stuff, but the music was what mattered to me, and now it was going to be out in the world. Someone who I would never meet in my life could press play, and they would feel what was in my heart. How many times had I set aside my shyness because that need to connect was the only thing bigger than my fear?
Columbia expected it to sell huge because my single had done so well. I did, too. Though it would eventually go double platinum, that first week it sold sixty-five thousand copies, landing with a thud at number sixty-five on the Billboard chart. Many critics, mostly men, seemed to review who they thought I was rather than the actual work. I would get used to that, but it was a shock to me then. One called me an aspiring trophy wife, and another wrote that I should leave because my mom was waiting for me in a station wagon. I still don’t get that one—a convertible, maybe.
But it was only the numbers that mattered to Columbia and Sony, and I didn’t know how I could have done more to sell that album. I was barely able to keep up with myself with all that I was doing.
“Britney sold almost twice as much her first week,” I reminded my dad, though I knew he knew the exact number. We were in another hotel room. I was now someone who knew enough about the industry that I could throw around numbers, but not so much that I knew how to get them.
“But you’re a better singer, baby,” he said.
“Then why won’t God let me have that success?” I asked. “I don’t understand what He wants from me.”
At the mention of God, my dad slipped into preacher mode. “He is allowing you to go through this struggle so that He can build a strong foundation in you,” he said quietly. “So that when it comes time for you to have that success, you will appreciate it. And know how much work it takes. ‘If you remain in me and my words remain in you—’ ”
“Ask whatever you wish, and it will be given to you,” I said, finishing John 15:7 for him. You can take the girl out of youth group, but you can’t take youth group out of the girl.
“That’s a beautiful promise, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes,” I sighed. The verse did minister to me, though I also knew my dad didn’t really think fulfillment resided solely in sticking to scripture. Otherwise we’d still be in Richardson, and I wouldn’t have to be working so hard to prove my worth.
I started to hear voices when I was alone at night, waiting for the sleeping pill to kick in. Half asleep, I would examine myself for flaws in the mirror, and a mental chorus would weigh in. They were intrusive and so mean that I was really convinced Satan was behind them.
“You’re never going to be good enough, Jessica. Look who your competition is.”
“Could your zits be any bigger?”
“What happened to your hair? It used to be so much thicker and longer.”
“Do more sit-ups, fat ass.”
These thoughts derailed me just as I had to work harder to sell the album. It should have been no different than back when I stood next to the stage at a small Texas rodeo, selling my very first album. Back then, I knew if I just kept at it, people would respond. But now I was running on fumes, then beating myself up for that, too. I was fully aware that I was being unreasonable with myself—I would even beat myself up over beating myself up—but like a lot of times in my life, just because I could name the problem didn’t mean I was ready to do anything to fix it. Looking back, I see how my anxiety amplified the very real pressures on me, but I didn’t have that perspective then.
So I doubled my efforts with radio, and when my tour with Ricky Martin was done, I went back on tour with Nick and 98 again. By then, the girls knew what was happening with me and Nick. A lot of them were just blatant with their hatred, literally throwing garbage at me and saving their bras for Nick and the guys.
I was working nonstop on the tour and promoting the album, but at a December tour stop in Madison, Wisconsin, my body again humbled me and told me I needed a break. I got a terrible kidney infection, and I spent nine days recovering on the fourth floor of St. Mary’s Hospital. Nick’s tour with 98 had to continue without me, and only my mom stayed behind to hold my hand. We watched the snow fall and complained about hospital food to fill the days.
I had to cancel so many showcases and fan events, and I’m sure I cried on the phone to Charlie Walk about how bad I felt about letting everybody down. I don’t know if it was him or Tommy, but someone arranged another call to make me feel better.
A few days into my stay, I was alone in my hospital room, watching Family Feud. This was comfort viewing from when I was a kid and loved game shows. The phone rang, and I picked it up, assuming it was Nick or my mother, who had gone out to run errands.
“Hi, Jessica,” said a chipper voice. I had learned that this kind of voice at the other end was usually an assistant, and no matter how cheery the girls sounded, it didn’t necessarily mean the actual news was going to be good. “There’s someone who would like to speak with you.”
I thought it was Tommy Mottola firing me. “Okay,” I said, turning off the TV as I tried to sit up. Then this bright, beautiful voice came on, one I recognized immediately.
“Jessica, it’s Céline Dion.”
“Oh my gosh,” I said. “I love you.”
“I hear you are not feeling well,” she said in her French-Canadian accent, rushing her words. “I just wanted you to know how much I love ‘I Wanna Love You Forever.’ ”
“That means so much to me—”
Céline started singing my song. “I wanna looooove you forrrreeevvvveeer.” She just nailed the line—full-throttle out of nowhere—and I was laughing because I was so happy.
“You just made my life,” I said, meaning it.
“Jessica, I am so excited for you,” she said. “You have so much ahead of you, and I want you to remember one thing I have learned: The best competition is always our own selves.”
“Thank you,” I said, crying.
We hung up, and soon after, a nurse came in to check my vitals and saw my tears.
“You okay, hon?” she asked.
By then I knew all the nurses on the floor. “Nanette, Céline Dion just called and sang to me.”
“Really,” Nanette said, casually checking my forehead for a fever that might be causing hallucinations.
The best competition is always our own selves, I thought. Who knows who Celine was told she had to be when she started out, and later, even with all her success, who she was told she had to be to stay at the top? I looked at the window at the snow falling. A red bird had perched itself on the ledge of my hospital window.
“You see that?” I said.
Nanette was on her way out and stopped to look. “Pretty guy,” she said.
“Don’t you know to fly south for winter?” I said to the bird. “What are you doing in all this cold?”
“Nah, that’s a cardinal,” she said, leaving. “They’re crazy enough to stick it out.”
Me too, I thought.
NICK AND I HAD A RULE ABOUT NEVER GOING MORE THAN TWO WEEKS without seeing each other, and generally the way we spent time together was through work. We helped host MTV’s New Year’s Eve party to welcome 2000 and even did the countdown in Times Square. The ball dropped to a blizzard of confetti and fireworks, and Nick kissed me at midnight. People ran a photo, which helped us break out of the teen market a bit. After that, when I went to events with 98 Degrees, photographers would ask the other guys to move to the side so they could just get a shot of Nick and me. We started getting hosting gigs, and Nick was a natural. He could talk to anybody, answering the same interview question for the fifteenth time that day and act like his answer was something that just occurred to him. I’ve always said that if he wasn’t a singer, he should have been a politician because he was so personable. I
was always fumbling, saying something I didn’t realize was funny until everyone laughed. It was interesting to me that MTV kept inviting me back when they seemed so reluctant to play my actual music videos. I had to beg my fans to call in to Total Request Live to get my video played. God bless ’em, because they did.
The label thought that we could bump up my sales by releasing my duet with Nick, “Where You Are,” as my second single. I was happy because it meant that we would be together on the promotional tour and it wouldn’t be just me on the dog and pony show. Around the release of the single, I did an interview with Teen People where they asked me about being a virgin. I said I wanted to wait until I got married. “I don’t judge people who do have sex before marriage,” I said. “And I’m not trying to make anyone think that I’m such a good girl or such a holy person. I’m a regular girl.”
I didn’t realize this statement was going to get so much attention, but the magazine got the most letters it had ever received about a story. Young people, an awful lot of “regular girls,” talked about the pressure they were under to be sexual before they even really knew what sex was. I also didn’t realize I’d just handed every daytime show a news hook for having us on. They asked Nick and me about my virginity at every appearance, and my take was that it wasn’t so much about “saving myself” but building up anticipation. I was nineteen and still sheltered, so it was kind of bizarre to me that people felt free to ask, “How have you not had sex yet?” The interviewer would always start with me and then turn to Nick, who was twenty-six and a man. This situation did not compute for them.
“And you’re okay with this, Nick?” they’d ask. He always handled it well, since we both knew the question amounted to “You’re cool with dating a girl who doesn’t put out?”
“I really respect everything that she cares about and everything that’s important to her,” he said on The View. “And she talked about this from the very beginning, and so I knew going in that that was an issue with her and that was cool with me.”
It gave America a story line to follow. The sexy virgin and the long-suffering, but still understanding, hot prince. Barbie and Ken didn’t have sex either, right? Nick loved the fact that I was so strong in my faith and that I had this wide-eyed innocent approach to life. He didn’t share it, though. I would get so frustrated, asking God to take the blindfold from his eyes and help him find a spiritual center. And then I would hear Sarah telling me to relax and to just accept him for who he was.
Our duet, “Where You Are,” sold okay numbers and didn’t push the album higher on the charts, so Tommy Mottola was determined that I make good on showing my abs in the video for the next single. When discussing the concept for “I Think I’m in Love With You,” the label kept using the phrase “MTV friendly”—which meant big smiles and skin. We shot over three days at the Santa Monica Pier, and it was freezing, but you would never know it. I wore a white blouse tied under my bustline, but where the ties of the shirt didn’t cover, I made sure to keep “feeling the music” by placing my hands around my stomach. I was just so uncomfortable showing that much of my body and jumping around. Nothing to see here, folks, buy my album.
I had been on the covers of a bunch of teen magazines, and then Nick and I started appearing on magazine covers together. When we got the cover of the very first issue of Teen Vogue, it was a huge deal for us. Herb Ritts shot the cover on the beach in Malibu, and when I heard about the location, I got scared that this was going to be another “let’s show some skin” situation. Herb had shot Janet Jackson’s “Love Will Never Do (Without You)” video, which introduced the world to the abs Tommy Mottola thought I should have, too.
I didn’t need to worry, because Herb immediately put me at ease. They didn’t want me too done up, so there was very little makeup. He was so focused on the light of the sunset on our faces and capturing the real sweetness of two people who were genuinely crazy about each other. I wore J. Crew jeans and a baggy cream sweater from DKNY Jeans; Nick was in a Banana Republic sweater and Dockers khakis. Mall clothes people could see themselves in. I held the sleeves in my fists just like, well, a real girl on a date with her cute boyfriend. I swear, it seemed like he only took ten shots before announcing he had it. He was right. It was one of the first covers that I didn’t pick apart for a flaw.
Condé Nast did a huge media push behind Teen Vogue, mailing their first ever issue to everyone who was subscribed to regular Vogue. This was incredible exposure for us and a chance to establish ourselves outside the teen market. The cover line was “Pop’s New Princess” and then “Jessica Simpson” huge in red. And then beneath, smaller and in black, “& Nick Too.” I was so proud, but I also recognized that I had entered the relationship as Nick’s plus-one. Whenever I felt self-conscious about the increased attention I was getting from the media and how it might affect our relationship, I would tell myself, He sells more records. And he did. 98 Degrees had a single come out that June, “Give Me Just One Night (Una Noche),” which reached number two on the Billboard Hot 100. You were only as big as your last hit, and he’d just had his biggest one yet.
I didn’t want to outshine him, because that just wasn’t what I knew. He seemed so much older than me, my guide in everything. I wanted him to feel like he could show me all that he knew—about the business, about the world.
He was there for so many of my firsts, even my first taste of alcohol when we went to Hawaii. At twenty, I had never had a drink before, and I turned to Nick like a father, asking if it was okay. “You’re on vacation,” he said.
I immediately felt the effect, and Nick thought it was hysterical. I realized I liked the woozy feeling. “If we get in the hot tub,” Nick said, “you’ll feel it more.”
“Oh!” I said. “Then let’s go to the hot tub!”
I pinballed down the hallway, talking to everybody we passed. After I told an elderly woman she was beautiful, I whispered to Nick, “Was that weird?”
“No, just keep going,” he said.
He was right about the hot tub. We kissed, and I stopped worrying about everything. “Okay, so what kind of drink can we have tomorrow?” I asked.
He brought two wine coolers to my room at the hotel, because of course we had separate rooms. These were the starter drinks the kids in my high school drank at the parties I avoided. I drank two, loving the feeling of calm it gave me, the closeness to Nick it gave me. I felt grown up, closer to his age.
“Ohhh, it’s so pretty outside,” I said, getting up to go to the balcony. I walked right into the screen door, knocking it off its hinge. It crashed to the ground, and I laughed because Nick laughed. He called down to the front desk to have it fixed, and I stood behind him when they sent someone up to fix it.
“Relax, baby,” he said. And I did, feeling like maybe I was growing up after all.
We were all changing in my family, and in a real way we were all growing up together. We were having experiences we would have shunned years before. I am not sure when my parents started to drink alcohol, but they took to it. The lines are so blurred in the music industry—there’s a need to be in the mix, and so many meetings and events are at bars and restaurants. They wanted to fit in. There were parts of us that were still so country, but we were all trying on these new lives. We didn’t go to church, and I noticed my dad dropping f-bombs on the phone as he advocated for me.
As we changed, my parents’ marriage had devolved from a friendship to a business arrangement. They fought more than ever, always nitpicking and blaming each other if some plan with my career didn’t work out. When Tom Hicks, who gave us the money to move to California, came to get a return on his investment, my dad didn’t want to pay him.
“It’s pennies to him,” he said, over and over. “He’s a gazillionaire.”
“Dad, you signed a contract,” I said. “We signed a contract.” I had to pay him a huge sum of money, and this was out of my income after taxes. He wasn’t the last person I had to pay off because of a promise my dad made on my
behalf. But I didn’t ask questions. I just missed the days when we only had to save up to tithe.
SONY AND COLUMBIA DECIDED TO MAKE A PUSH FOR ME IN THE YOUTH market, so during graduation season, I did Disney Grad Nites in Orlando with Destiny’s Child. Disney World would shut down the park certain nights and only allow high school seniors to attend. We would perform at the end, and I just loved it. It gave me more time to bond with Beyoncé and Kelly Rowland (this was pre-Michelle), and besides having Teresa in common, these were Texas girls who hadn’t forgotten where they came from. Beyoncé and I had similar family dynamics, so I think we understood each other well. Her father had left his business—in his case, Xerox, not Jesus—and her mother, Tina, became the group’s stylist. Our younger sisters, Ashlee and Solange, were both our backup dancers, and they, too, became friends. We shared failure stories to buck each other up. Hers was Star Search, back when the group was known as Girl’s Tyme, mine was the Mickey Mouse Club disaster.
Destiny’s Child were just really nice people, and I was so used to being one of the only girls on a tour with guys that I loved being with them. It was also ironic that here we were, two singers who’d left school to be the family business and never had a graduation day, celebrating all these other kids who did.
On one of the Grad Nites, we were all backstage just before a concert when a security guard came up to me.
“There’s a girl who says her friend is a huge fan,” he said, “and her dream is to meet you.”
“Tell her I will absolutely be hanging around after,” I said.
“Cool, cool,” he said. He started to turn back and then added, “Just so you know, her friend is blind.”
“Go get her now,” I said. He nodded, smiling.
He brought back two girls. “This is Lauren,” said the friend, who led her to me. Lauren was nineteen, my age, and wearing her school’s baggy white Class of 2000 T-shirt.
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