They didn’t even try to honor my proposal. They didn’t even try to meet me halfway. Realistically, I knew that they weren’t going to give me $2, 000 a week, but I figured I would at least shoot high and maybe they’d give me at least half of what I asked for. But all I got was an extra $100 a week on the basis that they were saving for Slim’s retirement. I said, “You know what? That’s great that you and his accountants are concerned about Slim’s future, because most managers and accountants aren’t concerned with their artists’ retirement, so that’s great that you care about him. But don’t forget about all the people who work for him and contribute to his success, because we have mouths to feed, as well.We have futures. ” I even proposed a 401K or an annuity program, but they shot that down, as well. I can’t say that right away I saw that there was racial dissension among the Shady camp, because the camp members were very diverse. There were Jews, whites, blacks, a Mexican, and a German, to say the least, but I can say one thing that has not changed is the fact that the brothers were paid less. I call that oppression, and that oppression comes through Paul, and Slim agrees to it, even though he acts like he doesn’t know what’s going on, and that’s the sad part.
So, with my new $100 extra a week, I realized that I was making $185 a day, less than what I could have been making back home at GM on straight time alone. Again I tolerated this in the hope of making connections and gathering resources that would enable me to get my own label, Big Willz Recordz, with my group, the Wadsquad, off the ground. At the end of July and at the beginning of September in California, I realized that there were a lot of paper gangsters in this business. They couldn’t do shit to you physically, but they could beat you down on paper. That’s what Paul and Slim were: paper gangsters. I knew they couldn’t do shit to me physically, but behind closed doors on paper, where they called all the shots, what could I do? They killed me on paper. I continued, though, because I figured I could gain some things that money couldn’t buy: networking and connections.
In my downtime, I presented them with packages, and I knew we had some good stuff, but they always found ways to hate on it. I even presented some packages to Paul to possibly submit for some soundtracks, but he never even listened to them. I knew then that it was time for me to make some things happen for myself. Slim would sleep in until like 2:00 p. m. while we were out in California recording his album, and I would spend my free mornings taking cabs to this radio station or that radio station, as well as various record companies. I got a few connections, but it was reinforced to me that unless you had a referral or were talking to the man who made the big decision, you weren’t going to get anywhere. That put a damper on things for the moment. I decided to make the best of my time while in LA, so I spent some time with Sarge and Rowe, Dre’s security, who schooled me on how to adjust to the California lifestyle. They told me about how people at Death Row can cause problems, as well as some other people. After being in California for about two weeks, I decided to get certified, to get my executive protection order as well as a few CCW permits. I did this to make myself more well-rounded and hoped that by taking my status to a more professional level, I would get more adequate pay from Slim and Paul. I also made myself more marketable, in case I wanted to do other forms of security or security for other artists. I took all my classes in the mornings while Slim was asleep and still made it back in time to take him to the studio. I learned a lot from Sarge and Roe.They taught me a lot about appearance and conversation as security, about how not to get caught up in the hype. They taught me a lot of survival tactics that I didn’t know about. They helped me to take it to the next level. I figured that anybody who could keep Dre alive through all the Death Row drama was worth listening to. California was an educational experience for me about security.
Another thing I learned was that California was a very expensive place to live, and Paul took his time sending out per diems, which are daily allowances. He gave us about $175 a week, which boiled down to about $25 a day, but in California you need double that amount, or at least 35 bucks a day. I told Paul that it was ridiculous that I had to spend my own money for per diems, and every time I spent my own money, I would collect my receipts and send them in for reimbursement. This got to be a hassle because sometimes it took three or four days just to get a response.
Nice eyes! Arizona Warped Tour. I told Paul and his accountants to send the per diems out weekly, because they knew how much they were, so they should just send them out. But they didn’t. Slim never had any money on him, so I had to dig into my pockets for his liquor, his mistresses’ liquor, his tanning booth trips so he could get darker, his food, his haircuts, etc. Now, I’m not a platinumselling rap artist, so I can’t afford the spending habits of one, and I told Paul this. I told Paul, “This boy spends at least $300 a day, and I know y’all reimburse me, but it’s hurting me. Y’all need to send me a flat amount of petty cash for this boy so that he has money. Or give me a credit card to hold for him or something. ”
Paul quickly shot that idea down, saying that I would need power of attorney for that and he didn’t want to go through that, and I was like, “But it’s OK for me to spend my money on him! I need my money for myself to live! Plus, Slim always loses his cell phone so he stays on mine with his women and his wife, and they call me at all hours of the morning, never saying good morning, just, “Let me speak to Slim!” I would be trying to sleep, so I just started turning my ringer off and giving him the messages as they called. Soon Slim would just ask me where my phone was, and basically my phone became his phone. They would reimburse me, but only after a big hassle over who made what calls. Eventually, they set down a budget for Slim, but it was only $250 a week, and Slim went through that in a day. I was so frustrated because I was Slim’s personal bodyguard, not his road manager, not his secretary, not his driver. For the $185 a day that I was making, it wasn’t worth it. I brought this up to Paul, telling him that I couldn’t keep up with Slim’s spending habits, even though they did reimburse me. I told him that I would definitely need a raise for all the various tasks I was performing. I needed more per diem and a raise because I was doing more than my job. I was getting pimped. Again, that idea was shot down. I was like, OK, I settled for the $100 a week, so why am I still here?
I reminded myself of my reason for remaining: for the networking to get my own label off the ground. I was trying to help my own group. No one was doing anything to help me, either. I wasn’t even being paid properly for the services that I rendered as a security guard. I was being oppressed, and Paul was the oppressor, and Slim was allowing him to do so. I was allowing myself to be used, because in turn I was using them for something that I didn’t have before: the musical connections and the networking. But they were benefiting more from the relationship than I was. They gained a personal security guy, a driver, a chauffeur, and a ho keeper because I kept up with his girls from both coasts. If his wife found out, she would have killed him, just like she will when she reads this book, but who cares? The thing was, he lost his phone and his money, and I kept those things for him because he was as irresponsible as a little kid. He couldn’t keep up with anything, and he would lose his head if it wasn’t attached. Keeping up with his personal and professional life required me to be paid more than the $185 a day that I was making. It just wasn’t worth it doing two or three different peoples’ jobs, and I realized that getting certified and better educated about security was the smartest thing I did while I was out in California, doing something that bettered myself.
September 9, 1999, MTV Music Awards This was a day where again it was shown to me where I stood financially. Paul took the liberty of hiring a guy named Noel, whom he had known for awhile, and he planned to slide this guy into my place as Slim’s full-time bodyguard, paying him a rate of $250 a day. I didn’t find out about this until later on. When I first met the guy, I didn’t care for him too much for the simple reason that Paul had something to do with it. The good thing that came out of this was that Noel had a pa
rtner named Rock, whom I had met before and who used to work for Mariah Carey and was currently working for Funkmaster Flex. Rock and I talked, and we exchanged some information, and it turned out that Noel was an OK guy. He was a fair individual. Paul’s plans to disrespect me and Noel by trying to slide Noel into my spot backfired because the $250 that I hoped to earn was too small an amount for Noel, and I can understand that because everyone had their own personal rates. Anyway, the three of us became kind of cool by working together, and I always requested them to work with me whenever I worked in New York because I trusted these guys and they were qualified.We would keep in touch over the phone and touch base, as well as keep one another posted on what each of us was making. It turned out that the night of the MTV Music Awards, Rock made $400 and Noel got $250. Now, mind you, I was working 24 hours, and I wasn’t making half of what Rock made and didn’t even make what Noel made. I didn’t blame them in the least because I knew Paul was the one who set everything up. I should have been making what they were making because I had to walk Dre and Slim down the red carpet and deal with all the paparazzi and walk Slim to the bathroom, and even though I got to be on TV, that wasn’t my first time being on television, and I’m sure it won’t be my last.
Overall, the awards went smoothly until night fell. It was the afterparty, and it was hectic because everyone wanted to be in the VIP area. I was thankful for having Rock and Noel there because they really had my back, and I appreciated that. Again, I had nothing against them, but in the back of my mind it pissed me off that Paul was paying them more than me and they were only there for a short period of time. Again, I liked the way Noel and Rock worked, and I always requested to work with them and even requested for them to take my place when I went home on September 11th for my son’s birthday.
Prior to my meeting Noel, I met and got cool with one of the head security guys from the Warped Tour named Kenny. He and I kicked it and networked and politicked, and I was going to try to pull him on in my place when I needed days off. The first time I wanted to put him to use was going to be for my son’s birthday on the 11th of September, and Paul agreed to that. However, at the last minute Paul decided that it was too expensive to fly Kenny from San Diego to Tampa, and he would rather use Noel. I didn’t have a problem with that because I knew Noel would do a good job, but I had a problem with Paul changing his mind at the last minute because Kenny had turned down other work to take this job. That put a damper on my friendship with Kenny. I mean, we still kick it, and he understands that I had nothing to do with it, but it comes to mind every time we talk. It was just another example of Paul being unprofessional. He doesn’t care how his actions affect other people or whether they are to anyone else’s liking. It didn’t bother me that Noel did the job. It bothered me that Paul couldn’t tell Kenny the truth the first time when he gave Kenny the job, because Kenny missed out on a $1, 500 job elsewhere. Paul took advantage of every opportunity he could to step on the toes of as many people as he could, especially security guys, as you’ll find out.
After my son’s birthday, I returned to California in mid-September, while Slim continued working on his second album. It was business as usual, with me taking him here and there, spending my money, calling his hos, making his appointments—it was to the point where it almost seemed normal. I called Paul to get the remaining itinerary for September. I wanted to make some personal plans. My wife’s birthday was coming up, and I didn’t want to miss it. I had already missed our wedding anniversary in May, as well as my son’s christening, and I was beginning to realize that some moments were lost forever. I was making a strong effort to at least not miss any birthdays. I had just purchased my home that year and had not been able to spend three weeks in it at one time. I was getting sick of sleeping in the hotels, eating the hotel food, and living out of a suitcase. Again I wasn’t feeling respected or appreciated, and I knew I was constantly improving myself yet wasn’t being recognized for it. I didn’t care if they liked me or not, but they would have to respect me. I always had a doubt in my mind that they didn’t respect me.We had Hawaii coming up, with the Dre–Snoop “Break Up to Make Up” reunion there, so I made arrangements to have my wife come out that Thursday, the 23rd, so she could go to Hawaii, as well.
Then something really pissed me off. All I asked them to do was to have a car waiting for her. I had the key to the room for her at the front desk, but I knew I would be too busy running around to pick her up. She didn’t know anyone in California. I talked to Dean Geislinger, who handled all the accounts as far as the limos, and he supposedly made arrangements for her to be picked up. He is a pretty decent guy. I don’t know if there was a mistake on his part or some other outside factors, but, needless to say, there was no car waiting for my wife the night she arrived. She ended up having to take a taxi, and she was afraid because neither one of us knew the area too well. I wasn’t asking for a limo or anything extravagant, just a simple car to transport her safely. They couldn’t even do that much. It was just a big mess. You would think that for all I did for them they could get one thing right.
As you will read later, Hawaii turned out to be trouble in paradise. My wife stayed an extra day but left after all the drama that you will read about shortly. Anyway, when we returned home from Hawaii, we started getting calls that we may have had to go back to Europe. We did a 10-day promo tour there in August, and we weren’t looking forward to going back. The tour was light work, and it was cool to see Europe for the first time, but it wasn’t exactly the type of place where you wanted to spend weeks at a time. Slim couldn’t stand it—he hated Europe. I learned to hate it, too, at least from the aspect of visiting it on business with Slim Shady.
It was October 7th, about a week before we were scheduled to leave for Europe, and I was under stress and underpaid. I was reaching a boiling point from dealing with all the various forms of stress that came with the territory of working with Slim. I felt that I had proven myself to the Shady
Em pops the top during a fourteen hour delay in DC on the way to Europe. Tours family many times, and in many ways, and that I was worth more than I was being paid, and I was still not receiving the respect that I felt due. This was the first time I ever chewed Paul’s ass out. I had tried by all available forms of communication to reach Paul: phone, cell phone, pager, and e-mail—you name it. He was unresponsive to all my efforts. Slim was getting impatient with me because I had no money—which meant he had no money—and Paul was not reimbursing me or getting back to me in response to all the messages I had left him. I took the liberty of writing Paul a two-page letter telling him about everything from the lack of money to the lack of respect that I was dealing with. I told him how I felt about being on the road six or seven weeks at a time and only being able to hear my wife’s and kids’ voices. I was seldom allowed any time off. He didn’t care about the drama I was going through in California, dealing with Death Row and Slim’s personal life. He didn’t care about the stumbling blocks I was going through or the strain my absence was putting on my marriage. I was on the road raising Slim, a grown man, when I needed some time to be at home and raise my own kids. I was too busy trying to cultivate this man and help him keep himself together. I felt a lot of guilt for giving this man all of my attention and not being appreciated when I belonged at home, where I would be appreciated, even though I would only be able to stay for a short time. That really affected my kids and my wife. My wife told me that my older son couldn’t even sleep at night, and he would just wake up and cry for no reason. My biggest fear was that I would come home from a six-month stint and my baby boy wouldn’t even know me.
I had sacri ficed a lot and gained little.You can’t go back in time and regain the moments you missed. I began to analyze what was important. I looked to my Bible for the answers because no one around me could really sense what I was going through. I had always been into my Bible, but I was really leaning on it now. Dealing with Paul and Slim, you had to pray, because if you didn’t you would wind up killing o
ne of them boys. That’s the main reason I kept reading the Bible, that and for my own salvation. I’ll admit I made some mistakes on the road and got caught in the hype. All security guards at one time or another get caught in the hype, if they’re not careful. I realized how easy it was to cross the line. It doesn’t take more than a minute. But some security guards get caught up and never catch themselves. If you catch yourself and recuperate from it, you’re OK. I made some mistakes, and one of those mistakes was drinking. I admit it, I am human.
My first big mistake was being in Amsterdam. Amsterdam was full of drugs. I experimented with some hash brownies and drank some mushroom tea and also went to a live sex show. I got a little out of character, and it was because I needed an escape from the problems I was going through and to escape the guilt I felt from being away from my wife and kids. When I left Amsterdam, I felt like shit. While I was there, I was still into my Bible, but I was in this mode like, Yo, I’m going to have me some fun! That attitude cost me some of my dignity and definitely cost me some of my pride. No one in the crew held it against me. They were all getting high because that was what Amsterdam was all about: all the drugs you could take and all the sex you could want. The hash brownies tasted just like brownie, only they had weed in them; the mushroom tea tasted just like regular tea only it was shrooms instead. I even smoked a little weed. I was out of character, but I admit it. It’s sad to say that is one of the only times when Slim and Paul showed me any respect, because I was on their level then, I was on a lower level. Being caught up in the hype is not a good thing because it gets you out of character. I am not the only one who got out of character. I saw Paul, a lawyer, taking Ecstasy and doing Whip-Its, which are little balloons of nitrous oxide that are sucked up through a metal canister, and they freeze your brain and kill your brain cells. I saw Paul smoke weed. I heard some people say that they were going to call the bar association because they had seen Paul out in public places taking drugs. I didn’t judge him because that was what he chose to do. Personally, I felt as if I had diminished my pride and my dignity to an extent, because I felt as though I had sidetracked myself from what I was trying to accomplish, that I had stooped to their level, and that the one time I stooped to their level, they actually respected me. It was odd, because it indicated that they believed that I thought I was better than them because I never had a drink. If I did have a drink, it was in my room at night while Slim was asleep. I never got drunk because I had a job to do, and Slim was always unpredictable. If he got up in the middle of the night and wanted to go to a club or something, how would I look sitting up there drunk? I only had a drink at times when I wanted to unwind.
Shady Bizzness: Life as Eminem's Bodyguard in an Industry of Paper Gangsters Page 4