by Perez, Rosie
“I got into a car accident. Sorry, don’t want to go into it. Depressing.”
“Look on the bright side,” Peter said, “it works for the character.”
I smiled. I felt he didn’t buy my lie. Good thing Jeff and I clicked—what a sweetheart he was, and such a generous actor.
Back at work, Keenen took me into his office and asked about my “car accident.” I started crying and, in confidence, told him the truth. Motherfucker laughed in my face! “Damn, she kicked the shit outta your ass!”
“Keenen! It’s not funny!”
“Yes, it is! And why are you crying? You’re here, right? You’re back working, doing what you love, and you’re keeping it moving, right? Fuck that ghetto shit, okay?”
“Yeah.”
He then hugged me. “Go back to work and come over the house later. We’ll watch the game.… Damn, she kicked your ass!” Hilarious.
After four more callbacks, I got the part! Peter was right. The depression worked in my favor. But I was scared out of my wits taking on this big role.
We were shooting up in northern California. It was around eleven at night, the night before my first shoot day. I was a nervous wreck, pacing, convincing myself that I couldn’t pull this role off. I called Peter’s room and told him I wanted to quit. I didn’t want to mess up his film. “I’m coming up!” he shouted.
When he showed up, he asked, “Why do you feel this way? Why do you feel like you don’t deserve this role?”
Did this man just read my ass? It was the first time I had realized that I had issues with my success, that I felt guilty that I had made it, that I had made it out of the system, got to live with Tia and not my mentally ill mother, and had reconnected with Dad and could revel in his unconditional love. What I also realized—and I knew this deep inside—was that I could play this part with ease. I understood loss, depression, betrayal, and how to pull yourself back together. I clearly knew I could kick ass—no question about it. I was just scared to explore that vulnerability.
“I’m not hiring anyone else. We’re going to do this together, and you’re going to be great. Open up your script.”
We rehearsed until one in the morning. My call time was at five.
This film was the most challenging project I’ve ever worked on, yet also the easiest. Peter tapped into the vulnerability that I had been hiding for so many years. And because of the trust we had established in the wee hours of the morning, I gave everything to the part.
Peter gave me all of his trust as well, never telling me how to play the character, trusting my instincts, tweaking me and guiding me when needed and whenever I felt lost. Jeff Bridges, Isabella Rossellini, and John Turturro were supportive as well—most notably Jeff. We had great fun together. I watched him, asked him why he made certain choices and how he did things, yet he never came off as superior or condescending.
• • •
Back home, after filming was completed, I had found a new tiny, inexpensive apartment, still in Fort Greene. Although I had gotten a decent check from Fearless, I was counting every penny. I had to pay out on a potential lawsuit from the landlord of the duplex I was staying in with Kathy. She had destroyed the place and racked up a bill of over $10,000. The payoff to the landlord was nothing compared to the lawyer fees. They were in the hundreds of thousands and had drained my pocket substantially. Thankfully I was frugal and had some savings left.
• • •
Forest Whitaker, whom I starred with in HBO’s Criminal Justice, had directed a film for the network called Strapped. There was a promotional screening at the Public Theater for young people. I went to support it and was really moved by the film.
During the Q&A, they asked me to say a few words. Not thinking about the repercussions, I spoke honestly about being in a Group Home, about being a nice, shy girl with a bad temper, about frontin’ like I was a badass, which wasn’t who I was, about holding a knife to the Group Home parent’s neck so her husband would get off of my half-sister. I talked about choices—how this stupid act could’ve changed my life. If the Group Home parent didn’t find my actions ridiculous because she knew I was a cornball who was scared for her sister, I could’ve been brought up on charges and things would’ve been very different.
Why oh why did I tell the truth? Those comments made headlines, and the press went on the attack. The only bad press or negative comments I’d ever received up to this point was about how irritating my voice was. I know, but it was my real voice, change and growth takes time, people—can we move on?
My biggest fear came to fruition. My time at the Home and everything else was revealed. My mother and some of my half-siblings, and my half-sister Tiara, called the tabloids and told them that I was a big fat liar. They told the press that my aunt did not raise me, that I was in foster care, and that the incident with the knife never happened. Say what? Then Sharon, one of the Group Home parents—who was not the GH parent I was speaking about—was interviewed by said tabloid and backed their story up against me.
First of all, neither Lydia nor Tiara was there—Tiara had already been transferred back to the Home before she went to live with Lydia full-time. Secondly, neither was Sharon. And lastly, how dare any of them sell me out like that—especially my mother!
I refused to dignify any of it with a response. I was so boiling mad. Fans thought I was cold, a liar, and a bitch.
My new world that I’d fought so hard to obtain was closing in on me. The tabloids, the fact that I was still depressed over that fight with Kathy, the way my mother and the rest of the clan acted—it was all way too much for me to handle. Also, Fearless had stayed with me longer and affected me more deeply than any other film. I kept having nightmares about my mother trying to kill me, about babies dying and planes crashing. I stayed in a lot, became antisocial and grouchy, stopped going to clubs and whatnot.
Carmen was great—she came by or called every day. So were Rhonda, April Walker, and Julie Shannon, my best friend who I had met at In Living Color. Julie in fact came to stay with me for a while. Dad had come up to visit a lot as well. He was worried about me too. He was staying with Carmen and Chavo in their new two-story house in Jamaica, Queens. Chavo was still doing his “thing,” and they were pulling in close to twenty thousand a week. You wouldn’t have known it by the way they dressed—still ghetto as hell, especially Chavo.
It was such a joyful feeling to know that I had so much support from my family and friends. It was as if I was in a slugfest, in the tenth round, and they were all in my corner letting me know that I could get past this and still win the round. And I did.
CHAPTER 29
I GOT the part of playing Nicolas Cage’s wife in It Could Happen to You. Yay for me! Nick Cage is fine as hell and a stand-up guy, by the way. So excited. I almost didn’t get it, though. When I met with the director, Andy Bergman, he thought I was too nice for the role, he couldn’t see me as an annoying bitch.
“Really?”
I was so flattered—ha! I think he was referring to my shyness. Like I’ve said, I don’t always do well at auditions or meetings. Meetings are easier, and most of the time I do great in a room, but sometimes I get anxious.
I told Andy about a particular person who I wanted to base the character on. Said person lived in the hood but wore Chanel and pronounced it “channel,” like on the television, wasn’t that bright, thought her shit didn’t stink, and was a bitch on wheels—that person still holds it against me.
So anyway, I got the part and was able to climb out of debt and make a down payment on a beautiful home in … wait for it … Clinton Hill! My childhood dream of having one of those gorgeous homes had become a reality. Yay! I asked Tia to come back and live with me. She didn’t want to leave her grandkids in California. Okay! I get it! I stopped trying. Well, not really. I still paid for this nice ranch-style house I had leased in my cousin Millie’s name that she and Tia were living in.
• • •
A coup went down at In Living Col
or. I don’t know all of the details, but Keenen was out, fired as executive producer of his own show. I felt such loyalty to him that I decided, if he was out, I was out. They didn’t want me to quit, but I had to go. I pushed really hard that they keep Arthur too. He added so much and had taken over for me on various occasions when I was away filming—I knew the Fly Girls would be left in great hands. And he did a wonderful job. That was the last time Arthur and I worked together. I felt that loss for a long time. We had such great fun just doing what we both loved and getting paid for it! He was so dear, always had my back, always made me laugh, and inspired me to greatness. My choreography was never the same.
Four years I was at In Living Color. Four years, fifty-nine episodes, and three—three, thank you—Emmy nominations for choreography. I loved every moment of it. Loved the work ethic and challenge that Keenen brought my way. Loved booking artists and introducing real hip-hop to middle America—groups like Leaders of the New School (who produced Busta Rhymes), Nice & Smooth, Tupac, Heavy D & the Boyz, Public Enemy, the Pharcyde, Jodeci (K-Ci and Jo-Jo), Black Sheep, MC Lyte, and so on. I even booked Slick Rick on the show! I bonded with Jim Carrey, who would stay late like I did, trying to come up with original skits. Loved to listen to Paul Mooney’s “I hate white people” jokes, Tommy Davidson’s erratic antics, David Alan Grier’s corny repartee, Damon’s and Marlon’s constant silliness, Jennifer Lewis’s audacity, and Jamie Foxx’s razor-sharp comedic timing that no one could touch.
Speaking of Jamie, he was special, still is. I remember Keenen asking me to go with him to some comedy club on Sunset Boulevard to check out this raw and original comic he was thinking about hiring. Jamie was on fire! His material was great, and he had the audience in the palm of his hand. Keenen and I couldn’t stop cracking up. He was hired soon after.
Jamie recently told me the story of our first encounter at In Living Color that I’d forgotten. The executive producer hated that I played the music so loud in my office when I was working on song choices and placed me down in the basement by myself. Anyway, I was in my office timing out a piece of music. Everyone knew not to bother me when I was working. I had so much to do and little time for interruptions, especially while I was editing music.
It was Jamie’s first day. He came down to meet me. He opened my office door without knocking. I was right in the middle of counting the seconds where I needed a piece of music to be edited. I didn’t even see who it was and I started screaming.
“Close the fucking door!”
“I’m sorry!”
He quickly slammed the door shut. I went back to work. Two seconds later, he creaked open my door again!
“I just wanted to say hello and—”
“What the fuck!”
Slam! I finally realized it was Jamie and started laughing to myself—especially when I heard him speaking to himself.
“Damn! Just wanted to say hello. Bitch is no joke.”
Hilarious. Love Jamie. Great solid guy too. I’m so happy for all the well-deserved success he has had.
I was sad to leave the Fly Girls too. They had become a big part of my life and career. And I was very happy how most of them went on to bigger and better things. Deidre Lang became a successful dancer on Broadway. Cari French married her long-time sweetheart. Carrie-Ann Inaba had a small role in one of the Austin Powers movies and was the featured dancer on Madonna’s tour—where she tore shit up sliding slowly down a pole half naked with a shaved head—fierce! And she is now a cohost and judge on the hit Dancing with the Stars. Jennifer became a major movie star and worldwide pop artist. Despite all the malicious gossip and the previous hurt feelings, I’m very happy for her success despite popular belief.
We weren’t close but we had stayed in touch after In Living Color. After Jennifer’s first big movie, she made some disparaging comments about me. I was blindsided. I’d thought we were cool. I called her up, she wouldn’t pick up. Frustrated, I left her an irate message on her answering machine. Instead of calling me back and hashing it out like friends do, she went on a major talk show and reiterated my lashing. Wow—whether wrong or right, not on national television, people! Afterwards, everywhere I went I heard that she was telling everyone how I treated her like shit during the show. How I was jealous of her success and that’s why I went off on her. Say what?
Oh snap, Carmen was right!
A couple of months after the whole talk-show thing, we saw each other in a nightclub. I was with two of my best friends, Eric Johnson and Julie Shannon, and some other girl. It felt like everyone in the club was watching, waiting, salivating.
A few minutes later, Jennifer came over to me, smiling, saying hello as if nothing had happened. I should’ve let it go, played it off too. Instead, I killed her with my biting tongue. Andre Harrell broke it up, told me I was acting stupid. She walked away, hurt as well. This was stupid. Why were we fighting like this? Then Jennifer came back and apologized. And she wouldn’t leave until I accepted, repeatedly asking, “We’re okay? We’re okay, right?” I accepted her apology and thought that was that.
Leaving the club, Eric kept saying that I looked pathetic for even engaging. She wasn’t worth the energy. I was so angry with him, but I knew I should have walked away.
The next few days that followed, I was still upset. The glee and excitement on everyone’s face at the club as they watched us fight had sickened me. I kept asking myself, why did she hate me so much over a phone message? And how did it get so public? We ladies of color all know how hard it is for us in the entertainment business. This kind of shit hurts us all and those that will follow in our footsteps.
I quickly found out what was going on. Some of my so-called new friends had jumped on the Jennifer bandwagon and talked mad shit behind my back to her as a tactic to get in good with her, making up shit and distorting stories about my time at In Living Color. Funny thing—they were the same people who used to talk shit about her. One particular so-called friend of mine was so upset that I couldn’t get her a decent agent—I tried, but no one wanted to represent her—that she conjured up the whole thing about me being jealous of Jennifer as a way of getting back at me and impressing industry people with power. Petty bullshit. Welcome to Hollywood, folks.
I took a deep look inside and asked myself what my part was in this. Seriously. A friend who used to work at In Living Color told me later that it went back to the recording thing. Not just my stupid comment, but also that I had told Keenen she wasn’t that great of a singer. Really? I was being honest and just doing my job. But if it was true, that was her shit. I still needed to know why I reacted so poorly to this pettiness.
Then it hit me. I was still holding on to some of those old cards, working on old hurt feelings from the past, and using the same weapons that had served me well back then—in this situation and in others. That war was over, and I didn’t have to fight back like that anymore. I now had a wonderful life, with wonderful opportunities, and I was better than this. This was young stupid shit. I had to let go. And I did.
Unfortunately, I still hear rumors to this day. And every time I get asked about her in an interview, regardless of what I say, it’s twisted into a negative light. Sadly, there are mean, malicious people who get off on talking bad about others and who keep the fight going—them and yellow journalism. It’s okay. Like I’ve said, I’ve moved on. And I hope she has moved on as well. And hey, not for nothing, girlfriend did apologize.
• • •
The film Fearless was a flop in the States, it lasted three weeks in the theaters. The studio put all of its marketing dollars into another film that year, scared that Fearless was too depressing for American audiences. Then Europe came a-calling. It was a humongous hit overseas! The film and cast were getting recognized and nominated all over the place. The Foreign Press nominated me for a Golden Globe for best supporting actress, and at Germany’s Berlin International Film Festival I received a nomination for the Golden Bear Award for best newcomer and Isabella Rossellini got bes
t actress. The cast and Peter were flown over to attend the ceremonies. I brought my best friend Julie to travel with me. We got a knock on our hotel room door—it was the producers. “Yes?”
“Rosie! You got nominated for an Oscar!”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
I slammed the door in their faces. They knocked again. I opened. “We’re serious! You got nominated!”
A dag-gone Oscar! Holy crapola! Nicolas Cage was the first to send a telegram. My first call was to Carmen, my second was to Dad, and I saved the very best for last—Tia. She screamed for joy!
Just when things were going great, this asshole wannabe actor-model who I had never met in my entire life went to the press and stated that we had gotten engaged. Why? Because his terrible manager told him it would get him publicity.
Lydia and my half-siblings, who I had not seen or talked to in almost a year, believed the story, went to the press, and told them how horrible a person I was for not inviting them to the supposed wedding or engagement party that never happened. They went so far as to say how ungrateful a daughter and sibling I was for not taking care of them, letting them live a life of poverty. Say what? Despite the fact that I had spent a year and a half pulling myself out of debt in part because of them, last time I checked they were selling my shit on the street while I was recovering from head trauma and not one of them called to see if I was okay—except for the oldest sister, Amy, who had nothing to do with it—or for that matter to apologize. Yes, there was a bit of truth to the scandal—not the engagement part, but the fact that I was distant from them. But come on, people!
All hell broke loose. I was chased by paparazzi. The tabloids went crazy again. I was scorned and ridiculed, again. Instead of focusing on my nominations, this was the pressing story. I was accused of being a big fat liar, again. Great. God damn it, I was angry! How dare they, all of them? They had no right. But what was done was done. All the horrible memories and pain from the past that I thought I had left behind came back. My publicist at the time, David, who had the best intentions, told me to shake it off, to go out and be seen as if nothing had happened—easy for him to say. I should have. I should have played that stupid game and kept it moving, but I didn’t possess that skill set. I felt too much, felt all of it too much.