“With the nanny of course,” Danny said.
I left him watching his movie and walked into the kitchen. There, a young blond woman was warming baby bottles in a pot on the stove.
I said, “Where’s my baby?”
The nanny said that Anansa was in the tub having a bath—my six-month-old baby alone in a bathtub. What was she thinking? That was plain child abuse. I wanted to choke this woman and my crazy-ass husband at the same time. But since I had just checked out of a psychiatric hospital, I didn’t want to be taken right back.
With that in mind, I took a deep breath and went to the bathroom, where, sure enough, I found Anansa alone in the tub. I scooped her up and took her to pack our clothes. When we were done, I walked past Danny without saying a word. I would let my lawyers do the talking from now on.
For the first few weeks after I moved out of that apartment, I stayed with Sheilah and her family. I needed to make sense of my life and map out some sort of plan of what to do next. The first rule of thumb for any woman who is filing for divorce is to get her financial house in order. But what I quickly realized when I started the process of doing so was that I didn’t have a financial house to get in order.
When I married Danny, just eighteen months before, I had more than a million dollars in several bank accounts. I’d worked for more than six years and was one of the world’s most recognized models. I had barely had any time off since I turned nineteen years old, and had saved almost every dime. I’m a very frugal soul, and after sending money to my parents, I tucked away nearly every dollar I ever made from every modeling job I had done. But I was in for a shock: When I filed for divorce in early 1981, I had absolutely nothing but the photos I posed for to remind me of the career I worked so hard to build. The money was gone.
Making matters worse, the FBI had contacted my lawyers and asked that I come in to meet with them and discuss a case that involved Danny. Though I had kept my first husband Billy at arm’s length since Anansa was born, I knew I needed his counsel now more than ever. He had real street smarts and knew exactly how the feds and other authorities worked.
I had lawyers to lead me through how to handle the feds legally, but the legal advisors liked to keep stuff close to their chests. Billy knew the real truth, and I needed to see the entire picture of what I was facing. I had no idea what Danny was involved with, nor did I know whether or not it would lead him to wanting to come after me again. It was just a few weeks earlier that he had come after me because he believed I had ratted him out to the FBI, so clearly there was more to the story of Danny Sims. I just didn’t know what it was.
Billy was blunt with me. He told me to say that I was clueless about Danny’s affairs in every possible way and under all circumstances. He didn’t care if they asked the basics of how he buttered his bread in the morning; I was to say I had no idea. Both of us thought that the FBI was investigating Danny for his involvement with the Mob. I was beginning to connect the dots, and they pointed to that lovely Italian family Danny was so close to, and to whom I had gone for marriage advice. They were his backers, they floated him money, and they had supplied him with all types of products for him to distribute. They were the Mob.
My mind ranged over all the other strange incidents that had happened during our marriage, and there were plenty. It had always bothered me that all the beautiful jewelry Danny gave me would suddenly disappear. He would give me the most gorgeous pearls and glistening diamond rings, only to say he needed to take them out for cleaning a few months later. When he returned them to me, they wouldn’t look quite the same. The diamonds were cloudier than before, and the pearls lacked sheen. Too green to understand exactly what the problem was then, I would come to realize that Danny had borrowed the jewels from the Mob’s jeweler with promises to eventually pay for them, but when he couldn’t, he would have copies made to appease me. This was well before the invention of cubic zirconia, so you can imagine how poor the imitations were. He was giving me glass.
It wasn’t long before I was subpoenaed to appear before a grand jury. I was asked a bunch of rapid-fire questions about Danny Sims, and those questions had my heart pounding. To my surprise, though, none of the questions was related to the Mob. Instead, they all revolved around a guy called Lionel, who was one of Danny’s closest friends, and his involvement in the murder of a high-powered Washington official. I knew this particular friend of Danny’s very well—we would often travel to DC to parties at the ultra-swank nightclub Lionel owned. Danny would always leave the club with a paper bag full of money, money I never quizzed him about. Whatever he and Lionel were involved in was not my business, and I wanted it to stay that way.
Still, it wasn’t the questions about his friend Lionel that put the fear of God in me. Rather, it was the picture the FBI showed me of the gun that had been used in the murder. It looked eerily similar to the gun Danny had been haphazardly loading that day he attacked me in our apartment. That was the first time I had ever seen Danny with a gun, so that image was seared into my brain. So this was why Danny was so afraid—the Mob and Lionel thought that Danny had snitched on them, so they had put a hit on him. Danny needed to put the blame elsewhere, so that’s where I came in. He accused me of being the snitch—me, the mother of his child. What a gem of a guy! He didn’t need to kill me; he’d have the Mob do it for him.
As I looked at the picture of that gun, I could feel my head begin to throb and my stomach became weak. As soon as I got out of the hot seat, I excused myself. Outside in the hall, I had a long discussion with my lawyer about our next move. Thankfully, my lawyers were already three steps ahead of me and ready to play the wife card. Though Danny and I were in the midst of a divorce, I was still technically his wife and legally not obligated to testify against him about anything. In the end, Danny wouldn’t be indicted by the grand jury for co-conspiracy for murder, and no formal charges were filed against him in court.
But that didn’t end all of my problems, nor did it change Danny’s status with the Mob. He had to stay on the run for the rest of his life, and I was still scared for my life and the lives of my family and friends. The Mob and Lionel would have no way of knowing that I hadn’t spoken to the FBI, and they surely still believed Danny’s lies about my being the real villain, when in fact it was Danny speaking regularly with the FBI. What could I do now to escape the new kind of hell I was living in? I couldn’t go to the police because then I would be dead.
Also, my money was gone, so I couldn’t run far even if I wanted to. Danny was well aware of this since he was the one who had spent the cash. And staying with my sister and her family was no longer an option since it put them in jeopardy.
I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to anyone in my family because I had married a madman, so I ended up taking a room at a seedy hotel in the city (Anansa stayed with Sheilah). Every night I fell on my knees crying and praying to God for strength to make it through the coming weeks and months. I had hit rock bottom.
At the hotel I had plenty of time to think, and after a few days the name Johnny Baylor came to my mind. Johnny, a former special ops ranger, had come to our apartment several times to visit with Danny and to discuss music deals.
Army Rangers are highly trained in general combat and small-unit tactics, as well as unconventional warfare, special reconnaissance, direct action, and counterterrorism. They are the kind of guys who conduct military and paramilitary actions behind enemy lines. In short, Johnny was just the man I needed in my life at that moment.
Johnny used his talents for years with Stax Records, a Tennessee-based label for southern and Memphis soul, and he held several positions on their security team, keeping all the artists, writers, and producers in check. He made sure all disagreements and arguments at the record company were kept to a minimum. I remember Johnny cutting quite the striking figure in our living room, and I was also struck by the complete deference Danny showed him. Danny was seldom in awe of anyone, and I’d never seen him be afraid o
f any man, but he appeared a bit fearful of Johnny.
Out of the blue one day before Danny and I had split, Johnny called me, offered his number, and suggested I call him if I ever needed his help. I was confused since I was still married and Johnny was involved already with an attractive woman who had accompanied him to the apartment a few times. Apparently, and without my knowledge, news of my ill-fated union was getting around. Johnny was just ahead of the game. Thank goodness he was.
Now I made the call for help, and Johnny and I had dinner to discuss my dire circumstances. We talked about the divorce, the FBI, the Mob, Lionel, and the fears I now had for me and my family. Johnny seemed all too familiar with many of my issues with Danny and willing to help me.
Johnny’s first bold move was to call Danny and ask for a meeting. The two met the next day for several hours, and although Johnny never divulged what they talked about, I could only assume that he made it clear to Danny that I hadn’t given the FBI any information of any kind involving him or Lionel, and that Danny needed to pass that fact around. Johnny probably also added that he and I were now together, and that if anything should befall me, be it a car accident, robbery, broken leg, or broken nail, Danny would be held directly responsible.
Regardless of whatever Johnny said, I remained concerned for my well-being. Danny was a real fool, so I never knew what to expect from him, but I did feel a certain comfort in Johnny’s arrival in my life.
Johnny’s second suggestion was a huge one for my sense of security. He invited Anansa and me to move into his fabulous three-bedroom apartment on East Eighty-Ninth Street. I was blown away by his kindness—I had desperately wanted to move Anansa out of my sister’s home and bring her to live with me. And I didn’t want to stay in that seedy hotel any longer.
As Anansa and I made the move to Johnny’s lovely home, divorce proceedings with Danny continued, and the surprises of what really had been going on during my marriage just kept coming. Along with being virtually broke, I also learned that Danny, and only Danny, was earning a large percentage from Elite Model Management and Johnny Casablancas. That bombshell revelation meant Danny had been earning money from each of my modeling assignments while also chipping away at the money I had already made before we met. Johnny Baylor recommended I sue Elite, Danny, Johnny Casablancas, and several advertising companies for conflict of interest and a host of other things done to me and my career over the period of time I was signed with them. I had lost months of work due to the damage done to my reputation as a result of Danny and Johnny Casablancas’s sordid and tangled involvement in my career, too.
Johnny Baylor’s suggestion of a lawsuit didn’t surprise me. He knew a lot about lawsuits, as he had been involved in one with the IRS for over a decade. Johnny made millions over the years at Stax Records from publishing deals, but the IRS wasn’t convinced by this explanation of his fortune, hence the lawsuit.
It was clear that with no work coming in I was totally dependent on Johnny. No modeling agency would take me on while I was embroiled in a lawsuit against another one, and going to court would also make my financial situation even bleaker for months to come. But I had to right this incredible wrong done to me. I couldn’t just roll over and let people like my former husband and Johnny Casablancas come in and take away everything I had worked for. But there is always a hefty price for fighting back.
Johnny Baylor was the polar opposite of Danny in ways too many to count. He took great pride in his southern background and was good friends with men like Calvin O. Butts, pastor of the Abyssinian Baptist Church in New York City. He loved studying the works of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., supported the efforts of several black civil rights projects, and was active in a number of other social issues involving race and politics. I learned so much from just being around him.
But though he had volunteered to rescue me from my hell, Johnny was by no means an uncomplicated Prince Charming.
Johnny was a conundrum. A southern gentleman in the most traditional ways, he had been raised to believe that a man never took anything from a woman, and certainly not in the way Danny had stolen from me. Johnny admired how much I had achieved in my work, and abhorred anyone who tried to ruin me along the way. On the other hand, this was the man Danny was afraid of. If I had had the luxury of the time to think more clearly, I might have realized that one day I could end up afraid of him too.
I was getting more and more overwhelmed by all the issues facing me. I hadn’t fully recovered from my postpartum depression, either, so the wave of sadness I already felt had now taken an even-tighter grip of me in the midst of my divorce proceedings. Throughout my career, cocaine had been my solace, and as the bottom continued to fall, I welcomed my old friend back with open arms.
Johnny’s ultra-chic apartment was so breathtaking—featuring, as it did, sleek chrome fixtures, gorgeous furnishings, and a perfect mix of exotic African art—that it belonged between the covers of some glossy home magazine. Aesthetics aside, it soon became apparent that though the apartment was beautiful, it wasn’t exactly child-friendly with its many expensive odds and ends. After about a month of staying with Johnny, he suggested I move in permanently, since he and his girlfriend had pretty much split. I jumped at that idea, but then he also suggested I take Anansa home to my parents’ house in Buffalo until I could get my bearings. Johnny felt I needed a clearer picture of what I would be facing as the divorce proceedings continued. I reluctantly agreed and took my baby to my parents for what I thought would be only a limited time.
I had no way of knowing that day, as I left Anansa at my parents, that I’d just made a decision that would haunt and torture me for years to come.
Danny didn’t dare touch a hair on my head with Johnny in my life, but Johnny also began playing games of his own, especially regarding Anansa. He kept telling me that my daughter was in the best place with my parents, and that I didn’t need to keep calling them every day to check in on her. What I didn’t realize was that Johnny was slyly pulling me away from my daughter in hopes of gaining complete control over me. I was living in his house, and was quickly becoming entangled in another man’s world and manipulations. This wasn’t about my money. Instead, because he was now single and had been helping with my many problems, he felt he deserved my full, undivided attention, and my being a mother to Anansa wouldn’t allow that. I was the new woman in his life, and he wanted all of me.
I was too broken to fight Danny in court and Johnny at home. Also, in my heart of hearts, I knew that for the moment at least my baby girl was in the best place with my parents. I was juggling court dates and lawsuits, with no way to even afford my own apartment. As long as Anansa was with my parents, she was in a real home and far from the concrete jungle of New York City. And we would be together again soon.
But if I thought that endlessly navigating the maze that was my life was going to get easier sooner rather than later, I was very mistaken.
Though Johnny never joined me in my bad habits of drugs and drinking, he did smoke about a pack or two of unfiltered Newports a day. Not long after I moved in, he began to notice blood in the sink after brushing his teeth. The news from the doctors was as bad as can be: lung cancer. He had less than six months to live. Johnny took the news like the strong man he was, but I didn’t know how much more bad news I could handle in my life. I was in a daze. With everything I was already facing in my own life, I had no idea if I could be strong enough to become the full-time caregiver of someone who was terminally ill. Strangely, you couldn’t tell Johnny was sick by looking at him. To his friends and those who didn’t know him well, he looked just fine. But at home, he was extremely weak and continued to throw up blood.
Johnny’s last girlfriend accompanied him on one doctor’s visit at the beginning of his ordeal, but from then on it was just the two of us. Johnny continued to advise me on my legal matters, my divorce, and my lawsuits, and though it may sound strange, it occurred to me that in some ways Johnny believed that by helping me he was also paying p
enance for some of the questionable things he’d done in the past. He didn’t tell me what any of those things were, but it felt to me that freeing me from my hell with Danny was one of his ways of making things right with his maker.
I regularly found myself reading from the Bible during Johnny’s illness. My mother had taken us to church every Sunday rain or shine when I was growing up, and during the week we would read various passages from the Bible before heading to bed. Now, for the first time in a long while, God’s word became my best friend again, my guiding force. I read the Bible from Genesis to Revelation, from beginning to end, and was amazed by the peace it brought me. I would read the Scriptures aloud to Johnny, too, which I know gave him comfort as he neared his final days. Pastor Butts came over several times a week to pray with us, too.
My need for God didn’t circumvent my need to self-medicate, however. I was drinking and taking drugs just as much, if not more, than usual. Johnny was dying right before my eyes, and I hadn’t seen Anansa in months—I just didn’t know what to do with myself. Though Johnny was ill, I still felt I couldn’t go against his wishes and reach out to my daughter or my family. Johnny needed me by his side at all times.
Making matters worse was that I hadn’t worked in months because of the legal issues surrounding the divorce. I saw no end to my suffering, so I needed something, anything, to help me forget all the horrific circumstances going so very wrong in my life. Drugs, drinking, and smoking proved the fastest way of getting that done, sometimes in excess.
So I thank my lucky stars that Johnny was there when I nearly overdosed on cocaine. Feeling numb was the only feeling I wanted, but I had gone too far. There isn’t anything more frightening than feeling as though you are about to die from overdosing. Even if you’ve had days when you wished you were dead, when you begin to overdose, your body shakes violently, you begin to sweat profusely, and your heartbeat races so fast you can hear it beating as though it’s outside your body. That’s exactly what happened to me the day of my overdose. Fortunately, Johnny made me jump into a cold shower with my clothes on and then drink a carton of cold milk.
The Face That Changed It All Page 18