The Wendy Williams Experience

by Wendy Williams

  My coworker told me that he enjoys these parties immensely. He tells me that he enjoys washing the perfect feet of these women, and applying lotion and rubbing their feet. It’s not about the full-blown sex for him. It’s about the feet. And he loves it.

  I’m not sure what kind of party or venue Fenderson was dropping Puffy off to, but there are all kinds of secret parties and gathering spots throughout the city. Perhaps the address Wardell Fenderson is referring to was a secret party address.

  WF: There was a scandalous address, which I found very strange because he never took any security with him and he would have me wait around the corner.

  WW: What’s the address?

  WF: I cannot give you an exact address. I will say only that it’s an Upper East Side address.

  WW: Could be innocent.

  WF: He would walk back to the car.

  WW: How long would you wait?

  WF: An hour. Sometimes half an hour, forty minutes—not even enough time to get a decent bite to eat, because I never knew when he would be coming out. We had a designated meeting spot.

  WW: Did he seem more at peace after coming out—like he wanted to smoke a cigarette or something?

  WF: (Laughter.) I’ve never seen him smoke a cigarette . . .

  WW: I was playing . . .

  WF: . . . not a legal one, anyway.

  WW: Oh! Ding-ding!

  WF: Oh, yeah!

  WW: Is his name Puff “E” Combs? Does he know “E”?

  WF: I know that his bodyguard, Wolf, knew “E”.

  WW: Oh, not the security. Was security not on point all the time?

  WF: Wolf was not just security. He was an escort, a bodyguard. Wolf was his muscle.

  WW: Does Jennifer know drow?

  WF: I never witnessed her on drow.

  WW: How has this affected your business?

  WF: If you put my name on the search engines, see what comes up. As a result, I have been unable to find truly gainful employment. No one wants to deal with me because of this whole Puffy scandal. People depend on a driver like me to have discretion and be low key and secure. But once they do a background check and all of that stuff comes up, I don’t usually get a call back. I may get the first interview, but I don’t get the second.

  WW: When was the last time you talked to Puffy?

  WF: The last time I talked to him was when I went to his house and told him that I was not taking the rap for his gun. I had my partner waiting outside for me.

  WW: How long after the incident did you go to his house?

  WF: About four days after we were arrested.

  WW: How long were you in jail?

  WF: Seventeen hours.

  WW: How long was he in jail?

  WF: Seventeen hours. We were all in the same amount of time.

  WW: Jen too?

  WF: Jen had her Monopoly “Get Out of Jail Free” card. She was gone. But we did get the VIP treatment. They went out and got McDonald’s for us.

  WW: What was the mood like?

  WF: Nervous. Very nervous. Puffy was pacing. In fact, it was the only time that I knew he knew my name. Until that day, he had never called my name. He would call me “Playboy,” or “Yo, dog.” But in the prison—he was on the outside of the holding cell, chained to a bench, and Wolf and I were on the inside—he leaned over up against the bars and said, “Yo, Woody, don’t talk to nobody. Wait until you talk to the lawyers. Don’t say nothing.” He needed me.

  WW: What was Wolf’s demeanor?

  WF: Wolf’s demeanor was very friendly toward me too. They thought I would be down with their plan.

  WW: But you saw through it right away. So somewhere along that eleven-traffic-light ride, you knew you weren’t going to compromise your foundation beliefs.

  WF: I didn’t know I would even have to be tested. I went from being in shock to being in double shock. I had never been arrested in my life.

  WW: So when you went to Puffy’s house and told him you weren’t going to take the rap for the gun, did you ring the doorbell? And who answered the door?

  WF: He knew I was coming. And he said, “Don’t worry, Wolf won’t be there.” Wolf and I had had some run-ins and he had threatened me a few times before this incident. And I guess Puffy thought I was coming there for the payoff.

  WW: So did you ring the doorbell at his house?

  WF: The doorman let me in.

  WW: This is the place on Park Avenue that was on the market for sixteen million dollars? My friend Susie John, who is a listener and a friend in my head, is also a real estate person and she says it’s a very, very small place—even though it’s like four stories high. So you go there, does he invite you in?

  WF: Uh, yeah.

  WW: Does he offer you a seat?

  WF: I didn’t sit down. I was in there no more than three minutes.

  WW: But he was offering hospitality? He wanted to lure you.

  WF: He did promise to make my family comfortable. And I knew at that point that he was a snake and I had to deal with this on my own.

  WW: So did he come to you with a better offer?

  WF: Nope. I didn’t even let the conversation go there. I came for one purpose. I said, “I cannot work for you anymore. And I’m not going to take your gun. My daughter was totally hysterical over this situation.” And he said, “Yeah, dog. I can understand all of that. But you can’t be telling people that I offered you this money.” And I said, “Okay.”

  WW: So you essentially quit your job. And your ride-out speech is “Don’t tell anyone I offered you this money”? Then you turn around and you left. Did you say anything to him, like “You’re pathetic!”?

  WF: No, no. I just left and I had my partner waiting outside. I told my partner, “Listen, if I’m not out of there in five minutes, call nine one one. Tell them I’m being kidnapped.”

  WW: Wow!

  WF: I had only planned to be in there no longer than five minutes.

  WW: So when Shyne gets out of jail will signing with Bad Boy again be smart?

  WF: I don’t know. I didn’t really have much to do with Shyne and that whole thing. But if you notice, during the trial the whole thing shifted toward Shyne. Now, I don’t know if they had some sort of deal for it to go that way or what. But Puffy distanced himself from Shyne during the trial and basically left him out there to dry. Whether that was smoke and mirrors we will not know.

  WW: I guess you’re right. Thank you, Wardell!

  WF: My pleasure.

  WW: It was nice meeting you.

  WF: Same here.

  CHAPTER

  8

  BMs (Baby’s Mamas)

  Women have been trapping men since the dawn of time. But never in our history has it become so prevalent. It is more than just a strategy. Trapping men with babies and becoming baby’s mamas (BMs) has become for some women a full-time profession. In the world of celebrity, the BM game is damn near an art form.

  But for every success story—for every woman who has trapped a rapper, singer, athlete, or actor by having his baby, for every woman who has found wealth and a lifetime of security doing it—there is a story of pure hell. I get frequent calls from women for whom the baby-mama game has backfired and gone terribly wrong. There are stories of family court and paternity tests and worse—finding out that your superstar is really just another broke-ass nigga leaving you stuck with a baby and all of the bills. This happens more often than not.

  A lot of girls who fall for these artists and entertainers have no idea what they are getting themselves into. They have no idea what this game is all about—and believe me, it is very much a game, particularly for many of the men. For them it’s all about the conquests and racking up as many notches in their belt as they can. For many of these men, it is a game to see how many women they can play.

  It is so sad to see how women allow themselves to be treated just for the hope, the possibility, of being Mrs. Celebrity. And yes, for a lot of these girls it is about being the “one.” It is ver
y much in their minds that they will be the special lady whom he takes home, with whom he settles down. This, too, is fantasy. Too often, the woman is looked upon as little more than a groupie. And getting pregnant, more often than not, will not guarantee that he will marry and settle down. It just may cause so much animosity that the relationship could border on abuse—which can come in many forms.

  The mother of three of the alleged eleven children of Old Dirty Bastard, who is now calling himself Dirt McGirt and may be calling himself something else by the time this book comes out, has a sad story. She used to call me on a regular basis at the radio station. One particular time, I was talking about him on the air and she called up on the request line. Do you know how hard it is to get on the request line, how many times she had to call back and then hold on? But she wanted to talk. I didn’t put her on the air. I had Art, my producer, play a couple of songs while I talked to her behind the scenes.

  She told me Old Dirty was driving around in a big-body Benz while owing thirty-five thousand dollars in back child support. She could barely feed her kids. And this woman was calling me just to kvetch. And I must tell you, this story is very common.

  I did an interview with Craig Mack’s baby’s mama in the studio. She flew all the way from Chicago to do the show. And she was saying the same thing—no child support, blah, blah, blah. I was kind of shocked to hear all of this.

  There are many baby’s mama horror stories of men of means turning their backs on the seeds they planted and leaving children damn near destitute. And it’s not only in rap. Karl Malone, NBA All-Star and one of the fifty greatest players ever, walked out on his twins and didn’t acknowledge them until very recently. Their life growing up was very different from the millionaire status their father and his other children have enjoyed.

  But when the BM game is played correctly, a woman can sit back and never have to worry about another dime as long as she lives. Exhibit A: Kim Porter.

  Kim Porter is the Baby’s Mother of the Millennium. If you are going to be a BM, she has written the blueprint. For women like Kim, who have no other niche in society, don’t know how to make a dollar any other way, being a BM at the scale of a Kim Porter is the best route to take. If you’re going to do it, do the damn thing! Go to the Kim Porter Baby’s Mother School and take Course 101: How to Land a Rich One. And if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

  Kim Porter arrived in New York City on the back of hotshot producer Dallas Austin (who produced many of the hits of TLC, including a baby with Chili). He wasn’t a big name then. He and Kim knew each other from Atlanta. Dallas was coming to the Big Apple and somehow Kim managed to be right there with him. She landed a job as a receptionist for Uptown Records, which at that time, in the early 1990s, was the hippest label in America— home to an up-and-coming Sean “Puffy” Combs and acts Jodeci and Mary J. Blige.

  At this time, I was the queen of nighttime radio on 98.7 KISS, which was slaying everybody up and down the dial. And I was the KISS “it” girl. Puffy was an intern, moving into head of A & R at Uptown. From what I understand, he tried to holler at Kim Porter back then, but who was he? He didn’t have any real money, he wasn’t fabulous. Al B. Sure, however, was “it.” He had “Nite & Day,” and was every young girl’s dream. And miss honey got with that and trapped it. She zeroed in on her target and produced a son.

  When Al didn’t step up to the plate and basically abandoned little Quincy, she didn’t miss a beat. Kim Porter found another— not only one who would take care of her first child but one who would allow her to trap him with another. That’s why she’s the Baby’s Mother of the Millennium. Even with her game plan out there exposed for all to see, she was still very effective.

  She didn’t give Puffy a second look when she first came to town. Then all of a sudden, as his star started to rise and he was becoming one of the hottest producers/acts in the business, he became very cute to her. All of a sudden he’s now good enough for her. And how she did it? Scandalous. According to Misa, Puffy’s first baby’s mother, Kim and Misa were good friends. So while Misa’s crying on Kim’s shoulders, Kim is angling her way right into Puffy’s life—and bed. (See exclusive interview with Misa.) But all’s fair in love and hootchieness.

  I used to be very judgmental toward women like Kim Porter, until I grew up and matured. I realize now that everybody cannot have a viable trade. This is America, where anything is possible for anybody. Formal education is not for everybody. Everybody cannot be a plumber, a welder, or a hairdresser. Some people have a gift of a sexy walk and being pretty. And they’re so lazy and shifty in their movements that they decide, “Why expand my mind when I can be with a man and have him take care of me?” And if you’re going to take that route, ride it well. And Kim Porter does it well. She has turned being a baby’s mom into a full-time profession. She figured it out. Good for her.

  And I’m going to tell you a secret: Men are weak. They are weak to the flesh. I don’t care whether it’s a brilliant Einstein or a dumb schmuck, there is one thing that weakens men and that is the flesh. As strong as they pretend to be, they can always be broken down. I know it. And the Kim Porters of the world definitely know it. And, ladies, if you didn’t know it, you know it now.

  But if you’re not careful, this Baby’s Mama game can definitely backfire. If you don’t trap the right man, you could be left with a bundle and you can end up being trapped. It’s one of the chances you take.

  And for those who do judge these women and look down your noses at them, fall back. There would not be a BM game to run if men weren’t so damned unscrupulous. If they weren’t out there running around like tomcats, if they were faithful and took even the slightest precautions when dealing with women, there wouldn’t be any baby’s mamas. If a man finds himself trapped, having a baby he didn’t plan on with a woman he barely knows, it is his own damned fault.

  Men are so sloppy with theirs that it’s a wonder that there aren’t more scandals. Hell, Kobe Bryant could have been dealing with a baby along with the rape charges. He didn’t use a condom. Men seem so anxious that they don’t step back for one minute to use that head between their ears.

  If I were a man, I would never use a condom that some girl pulled out of her purse. I don’t care how well I knew her. Poking pins in a condom is the oldest trick in the book. And screwing so hard that the condom falls off is another old trick. And don’t fall for “I’m on the pill.” Shiiiit. Another old trick. If I were a man, not only would I have my own condom but I would pull out before I was ready to cum—just to make sure. I would use intercourse just for the “in and out” experience, but I would splash off on her back or in her mouth or in her hair. You might be laughing when you read this, but I say it with a very serious face.

  Let’s be real. A man who has a child with a woman—even a woman who trapped him—has a responsibility to pay. I repeat, it’s his responsibility.

  Kim Porter’s first baby’s daddy, Al B. Sure, didn’t pay. His career died. Al was successful in his twenties. Usually men don’t snap into place until they are in their thirties. That’s when they become more responsible. She’s lucky that she found somebody like Puffy. I’m not saying Puffy is the greatest, but I have never heard anyone say he wasn’t a good father to his children. Even with Misa and arguing about the money, his being a bad father was not an issue. He pays his child support. Five thousand dollars a month—which is what it was estimated Misa was getting before taking him to court—is good money. But not when you’re sending your son to a twenty-five-thousand-dollar-a-year school and security detail costs about another hundred thousand because dear old dad decided to put him in all of his clothing ads and have him in on his MTV specials and everybody knows what he looks like.

  Puffy accepts Kim’s Quincy—her son with Al B. Sure. Then he goes on to have a child with her, Christian. He hasn’t married her. Being faithful? Hmm. I don’t know what I can really say about that. I just remember J.Lo coming into play somewhere during that relationship.
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  But the question, people, is why should he marry her? She’s very accepting, apparently, of everything and everybody around him. She’s the doormat, in my opinion. This is the problem with the Baby’s Mother of the Millennium title. As you get older and the chippies get younger, you run out of options. You have based your livelihood on what you can do with and for your man. But is he really your man?

  Kim Porter says she is a model. But have you seen her in anything? She’s not a model, she’s a professional shopper, and she sure knows how to run those pockets, honey. And I don’t blame her. Run those pockets, Kim!

  She did well for herself. And as her looks fade and she gets older she may not always have Puffy—he might turn to someone younger or more beautiful. But she has his baby. And even bigger than that, she has a son. Only women who have given birth to a son would understand what I’m saying. She has his son. And she will always be taken care of.

  Misa has Puffy’s first son. But Misa’s mistake—and I actually wouldn’t call it a mistake—but she failed Baby’s Mother School Course 101, because she moved on and made a life for herself. And she got married—that’s the quickest way to lose out in the BM game.

  I have heard many guys say that marriage changes the whole game. Guys who were so good about child support in the beginning, all of sudden as soon as that baby’s mama starts dating, starts getting serious with another man and eventually gets married, he starts acting funny with the money. He doesn’t want that other guy lapping off any of the extra money he is giving that baby’s mama.

  It’s not right. But I understand. And it seems to be that way with Puffy and Misa. You cannot give me a good reason why he hasn’t made her child support in line with what he is giving Kim Porter or why he hasn’t made it in line with inflation, even. Or in line with his earning abilities, which have increased dramatically since Justin was born.