by Kim Fields
Born in Vietnam, Johnathon was a war baby who was adopted by an American family through Catholic Charities. He grew up in Boston and went to college in Florida, where he was a star athlete. After graduation, he went to work at Callaway Golf in San Diego. He was doing well there when we met, but he aspired to starting his own marketing company. Given my aversion to being in a serious relationship with someone who didn’t have a safety net, I should have listened to my inner voice as it cautioned, “Take it slow.”
But Johnathon’s job at Callaway kept me in my comfort zone. And not only did he pass the “Mom Test” at church, but he also passed more of my tests. He seemed focused on his faith and developing his relationship with God. He wanted to grow as a person. “I’m happy for you,” John Henton said when I told him that I was in a new relationship. Then he jokingly added, “Now get out of my dressing room.”
A few months later, toward the end of the season, Johnathon—what was it with me and guys named John?—surprised me on the set. We were in the midst of taping a show, and I was in one of the quick-change dressing areas behind the sets, putting on a different outfit between scenes, when he said hello, gave me a kiss, and then got down on one knee and presented me with a diamond ring. “Oh my God,” I shrieked as I covered my face with my hands, as if to stop my world from spinning out of control. My eyes filled with tears. “Oh my God.”
My cast mates and crew watched through the open curtain of my dressing area. Cheers and applause followed. In case those in the control room were wondering why I wasn’t back onstage, I grabbed the headset from the stage manager and said, “He proposed! He proposed! He proposed!” Word spread almost instantaneously through my circle of family and friends, and the reaction was joyous. “Sis, you love love,” said my friend Mark Kibble of the group Take 6. “You love to care for people. No one deserves to be married more than you.”
After setting a date in late July, I began to plan my wedding. Not that I needed to think about it much. Like nearly every girly girl, I had fantasized for years about my wedding. I had saved bridal magazines up to my eyeballs. I had dog-eared pages and ripped out pictures and organized everything in a file. I even knew exactly where I wanted the party. Back in college, Pepperdine had held a dance inside the Avalon Casino ballroom on Catalina Island, and the grandeur and romantic look of that building had imprinted itself in my head as the place I would celebrate my betrothal, once that special day arrived.
Now, it was written in my planner, the date circled in red and embellished with little hearts. I pictured myself in a first dance, gracefully traversing the world’s largest circular ballroom in my gown as our family and friends watched breathlessly, framed by the French doors that circled the room. Flowers everywhere. An orchestra playing on the Romantic Promenade above. And…
Well, you get it. If it sounds like I went a little overboard, it is because I did. Hey, that is me. I am a planner, a romantic, a dreamer, and, in terms of my vision of a wedding on Catalina Island, I’m also a water baby. I love the water—being on it, in it, looking at it, watching the waves, staring off into the distance, and seeing Johnathon and I exchanging vows on a vintage, double-masted schooner that sails the wedding party twenty-six miles across the Pacific to Catalina for a gala reception in the 1920s-era Art Deco/Italian Renaissance–style landmark.
Earth to Kim!
Earth to Kim!
Come back to reality!
Wake up!
* * *
Planning the fantasy wedding was interrupted briefly when I helped Brandy prepare to star in her own TV series, Moesha. She was friendly with my sister, and the show’s producers asked me if I would spend some time with the teenage pop star as she transitioned to acting. Initially, I was reluctant to say yes, knowing I was focused on my wedding and had a short window of down time before Living Single started its next season. But Brandy was touring with Boyz II Men. Going on the road with them sounded fun. I heard Brandy was a sweetheart, which proved true, and I was already really good friends with the guys. The previous summer, I’d received a call from a casting director friend during Mom’s bridal shower I was hosting at my home. I was offered a role as one of the girlfriends in the upcoming Boyz II Men video, “On Bended Knee.” Well let me tell you…Mom and I did our usual celebration. Yes, there in the middle of the shower games and gifts! To be requested by big stars like Nate, Mike, Shawn, and Wanya to be one of their girls in a video? You know the next words: You could have bought me for a penny and asked for change. We filmed the beautiful video in New Orleans. It’s still a career highlight and treasured memory, as well as the gateway to friendships with four wonderful and talented gentlemen.
I liked Brandy immediately. We worked on different types of acting exercises before she got ready for her concerts. Moesha’s producers sent us outlines and scenes. Brandy was a good student and a hard worker. She had natural comedic instincts. She impressed me by asking all the right questions. Not only did she want to know all the on-camera stuff about doing a TV series, but she also asked me to describe everything that went on behind the scenes. “I want to know as much as you can tell me,” she said. “I don’t want to be blindsided.”
She and the guys in Boyz got a kick out of watching me obsess about my wedding. She was young and the guys were all single, so planning was its own comedy to them. I had hired a wedding planner to help out while I was on the road. But she lasted only a few weeks. No matter how much we talked, she seemed to have her own vision for how “Kim Fields” should get married—not what I wanted but what she wanted. Finally, I said, “Never mind,” and took over the planning myself. You know what? I thought. I know how to run a production. This ain’t nothing but a production.
I asked two production assistants from Living Single to help, plus an interior designer friend whose work on Blair’s home had knocked me out, and I put my team to work. First, we put together my wedding navy. We found an old-fashioned schooner exactly as I had envisioned for the wedding ceremony in Newport Beach and then we secured a ferry to take everyone not in the immediate wedding party to Catalina, where they would watch us exchange vows on oversized TV screens in the ballroom.
Next, we tackled flowers, food, music, and seating arrangements. Everyone who heard me run through the details stared at me in disbelief at the extent of the undertaking. But this was my way when I tackled a project, whether I was directing a TV show or planning a wedding. I was organized, passionate, detail-oriented, and determined. I was like most women: My wedding was a major production. Even the invitations were little boxed treasure chests filled with various RSVP cards.
Then we hit a snag. Johnathon and I had just started premarital counseling at our church when the pastor asked to meet with me privately. I thought he wanted me to answer some personal questions that he could weave into his service when he married us. Instead, the pastor informed me that he wouldn’t perform the ceremony and advised me to rethink the marriage altogether. “The decision is ultimately yours,” he said. “But as I’ve come to know both Johnathon and you, I feel like the two of you are not equally yoked.”
I was dumbfounded. “Do you mean spiritually we are not in sync?” I asked. “If that’s the case, I disagree.” No, he said, trying to be delicate, he thought we lived in worlds that were significantly different. “You mean we can’t be married because we aren’t in the same tax bracket?” I asked. He nodded. Well, I strongly disagreed and left the church—literally.
I ran down the stairs from Pastor’s second-floor office and outside, where I got into my topless Jeep and peeled away from the curb in a rage. “Why couldn’t there be a middle ground?” I asked. “Why couldn’t there be a ‘here’s some things to watch out for or work on’? Why was it all or nothing?”
I made an all-or-nothing decision of my own. I quit that church. So did Johnathon. We did not step back in there again.
The fallout was heartbreaking. All but one of our dear friends from the church sent word that they either could not or would not atte
nd or be in the wedding. Only actress Cassi Davis, who would go on to be a major star for Tyler Perry, confirmed her plans to be there. She had moved to LA and stayed at my house for about a year, and we had a ride-or-die friendship. “I will still be a member of that church and love my pastor,” she said. “But you’re my friend. We’ve been through a lot together. I’m going to be there for you.”
My poor mom was torn between her child and her faith, and in one of the hardest decisions she ever had to make, she chose to obey her pastor. That made me more angry at him than ever. How dare he put my friends and especially my own mother in this position! This should have been a special time for the two of us: going to fittings; talking about flowers, food, and place settings; and sharing all the intimate, loving mother-daughter moments that precede a marriage. Instead, I had to look to the other women in my village for hugs and support. It was not an easy time for either of us, but eventually, after many conversations and prayer, my mom came around and decided to attend the wedding.
* * *
On the morning of my wedding, I was preparing to get a massage in my hotel room when the phone rang. I didn’t want to answer. T.C. had gifted me with a wedding morning massage from a good friend of his who was a professional masseuse, and he was standing by. When the ringing persisted, I picked up the phone and heard my mom’s voice. “Baby?”
I thought, Oh no, she’s changed her mind and decided not to come. But rather than jump to any conclusions, I took a breath and said, “Yeah?”
“Have you looked outside?” she asked.
“No,” I said, before walking across the suite to the windows. I pulled the drapes and saw the sky was filled with dark, gray clouds. It was drizzling, too. My heart sank. It certainly was not the kind of day to sail over to Catalina on an old-fashioned schooner.
“Don’t panic,” my mom said. “Everything’s going to be all right. The rain is here to wash everything away and make all things new.”
She was right. By the time the wedding party boarded the schooner and charted a course for Catalina, the rain had stopped and the sky was clear. The ceremony on the schooner was as lovely as I’d imagined. About twenty-five family members and close friends watched as my sister, Alexis; my other amazing sisterfriend bridesmaids Gigi Weatherspoon-Bell, Katrina Adams, Carol Kim, and Andrea McClurkin-Mellini; and my flower girl, Andrea’s daughter, Brittany, preceded me down the aisle. Then, while holding a small bouquet of white roses, I stepped carefully, in an off-the-shoulder satin and lace gown designed by my godmother, Victoria Shaffer. Being uber traditional, I even asked my father, Tony, to give me away, with my dad, Ervin, lovingly by Mom’s side.
My hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, and I wore a small hat with an ivory veil. Johnathon had asked me not to wear much makeup, if any, explaining that he thought I was beautiful without it; and indeed, as I took my place beside him, Johnathon looked at me and whispered, “You are so beautiful.” Clarence McClendon, the bishop at our new place of worship, Church of the Harvest, handled the ceremony. It was perfect.
The celebration kicked into high gear once we arrived on Catalina, where another two hundred people, including my Living Single and Facts of Life cast mates, ate, danced, and partied into the night. At some point, my friend Carol had snuck off and primed the honeymoon suite in a nearby hotel for romance, with rose petals strewn across the bed, a waiting bubble bath, sparkling cider on ice, and soft music. At midnight, when Johnathon asked if I was ready to leave the party, there was no confusion when I took his hand and purred, “Ready.”
* * *
For our honeymoon, we flew to Acapulco and promptly got into an argument that, in my opinion, needn’t have happened but might have foretold future issues. Consider: As Johnathon knew, I struggled with the idea that I was boring and had been boring my entire life, and now that I was his wife, I was ready to change my MO, so to speak. Where better to start than on your honeymoon?
So while Johnathon was playing golf, I got out my eyeliner pencil and wrote him a special message on the side of the double-soaker spa bathtub: “Meet me in here tonight.” That was me getting freaky. Well, he saw it and flipped out. “What if it doesn’t come off? What if we have to pay for a new tub?”
That was not the response I’d wanted. “Really?” I said. “Not ‘Wow, baby, this is going to be a fun time tonight.’ Instead, you’re thinking, ‘Hopefully this comes off so we don’t have to pay for it.’”
After getting past that hurdle, I was sidelined with a sinus infection that spoiled the next couple of nights for both of us. We made the best of the rest of the vacation. He played golf, which was his passion, and I sat in the golf cart with a good book, one of my passions. We hit the beach, went sightseeing, and enjoyed good food.
Back home, Johnathon moved into my San Fernando Valley house and we settled into an everyday routine. I returned to Living Single for a third season, while Johnathon, who quit his job with Callaway in order to move to LA, partnered with a friend and launched a branding and licensing company. They customized jackets, T-shirts, coffee mugs, and other items with logos on them. NASCAR was an early client. For Christmas, I hired them to do sweaters with the Living Single logo on them and gave them to the cast and crew. The next year, the cast ordered show jackets for the crew.
I also started my own production company, L’il Mogul Productions. I brought in a head of TV, a head of film, and an assistant. We struck up a relationship with the Christian publisher Zondervan to develop books into TV and movie projects as intended and also explored business opportunities in Harlem, which was starting to enjoy a revitalization. Despite my earlier setbacks trying to produce projects, I thought we had the right combination of talent, experience, and ideas to break through.
But Hollywood is a tough, unpredictable, fickle business, and I didn’t have to look any farther than my own show. Warner Brothers produced both Living Single and NBC’s newest hit, Friends, and we felt the studio favored the newer and, dare I say, whiter series. The evidence was right in front of us. Billboards for both shows went up outside the studio gates, where we drove in every morning. Ours was a third of the size of Friends. “It just pisses me off every time I see that Friends billboard,” Queen Latifah told the LA Times. Our showrunner, Yvette Lee Bowser, spoke for all of us when she said “It’s disappointing that we have never gotten that kind of push that Friends has had.”
Both shows were about six friends dealing with relationships, careers, and trying to figure out life. Except one cast was all black, and the other was all white. “You can’t deny the similarities,” Yvette said after Living Single was moved to Thursday nights, which pitted the two shows against each other. But the dissimilarities were what enraged us. At one point, the cast of Friends walked off their set to get more money. By contrast, we staged a protest during season three, refusing to come out of our dressing rooms, in order to get the heat turned up on our soundstage. We were freezing! We rehearsed in big, puffy winter coats. You haven’t lived until you have seen Kim Coles do Synclaire in an ankle-length down jacket with a San Francisco 49ers logo on it pulled from a wardrobe closet.
That was one of many incidents. For instance, that same season, we did not get a prep day with the new makeup artist before our new opening title shoot. Our wardrobe was also delivered wrinkled. “You can’t just give our costumer the key to the wardrobe trailer and say, ‘Go throw something on them; we start filming in twenty minutes,’” I said. We constantly fought for respect. I hated hearing people say, “Well, you’re the number one black show.” Why was that the bar?
There was a lot going on, in many directions, but I was happy at the end of the day when I was able to go home and spend the evening with my husband. I enjoyed being a wife to Johnathon and one-half of a partnership. Call me old-fashioned, but I cherished those values. As for Johnathon, he got two versions of me: the private and the public, and I’m sure the latter wasn’t easy. Whenever we went out, someone invariably stopped me for an autograph or a quick w
ord, and I obliged. I understood fandom. I still had my Rick Springfield Fan Club membership card and a pink sweatshirt from his concert Janet and I went to. But I also understood the deeper human need for connection and the atypical role I occupied in the world. I’d grown up in millions of people’s living rooms. They saw me every week. They watched me grow up. They followed me on camera and off. To them, I wasn’t a stranger. Even if I was, ain’t nothing wrong with a world where strangers practice random acts of kindness.
While nothing takes God by surprise, things were about to jump off that would surely take me by surprise.
14
Frustrated
Church on Sundays affected me in a variety of ways. It fed my soul. It opened my eyes. It warmed my heart. It deepened my relationship with the Lord. It renewed my understanding of His power. It connected me to community. It inspired me. It shaped my week. It recharged my batteries. It reminded me of God’s presence in my life. It provided a blueprint for applying His Word to my everyday life. It helped me to deal with the frustrations of running my company. It did so many things.
And on this one Sunday, I heard the bishop say, “Don’t let small-minded people lock you down. The Lord strengthens us. Jesus is a healer and a deliverer.” This inspired me to ask for help. Not to mention that during one of our regular life chats, Blair had recently (and gently) reminded me, “Kim, you don’t like to ask for help. But you could be blocking someone’s blessing of helping you…Don’t be a blessing blocker.” After hearing Blair’s and the bishop’s words—Jesus is a healer and a deliverer—I prayed on them, and about two weeks later my agent asked if I wanted a summer job directing the new Nickelodeon series Kenan & Kel, a spin-off of the network’s hit All That starring Kenan Thompson and Kel Mitchell. Was it an answer to my prayers? Or just a coincidence of timing?