Ms. Gayle wasn’t hard to find. Of all the rooms in the hotel, hers was the noisiest and most crowded, filled with girls of all ages waiting for her services.
“You wanna be one of my girls?” she boomed as we stood wide-eyed in her doorway.
“Yes, ma’am, we’d like that very much,” I said, staring at the sight in front of me. Ms. Gayle was large in every way—in stature as well as personality—and she worked assembly-line style on each and every girl, wielding a can of hairspray in one hand and flourishing a cigarette in the other.
“Now that’s perfection,” she barked after shellacking one girl’s meticulously coiffed hair until it was as stiff as a plank of wood. “Honey,” she added, “don’t wash your hair all week, ’cause it holds better that way.”
Apparently, Ms. Gayle’s legacy was hair that didn’t move … all day … all week … all month, if needed!
Ms. Gayle was indeed one of a kind. Although we quickly realized that we didn’t need her help to win, the pageants just wouldn’t have been the same without her. You see, behind that big, loud voice was an even bigger heart—and a wicked sense of humor. “Let us pray,” she began every session. If anyone looked confused, as my girls did on that first visit, she’d give them a few extra cues. “Kneel down, child,” she’d laugh. “That’s it, facing me.” Only then did she start applying makeup.
Ms. Gayle’s operation ran like a well-oiled machine, starting at 5:00 a.m. and going right to competition time. Sometimes she’d cut it so close that we moms were as nervous as long-tailed cats in a room full of rockers! Yet we always managed to make it to the stage in time. Besides making our girls pretty, Ms. Gayle loved to share her infinite wisdom regarding all things. Sometimes it was a bit of gossip, but mostly, it was advice. “Eyelashes should be applied by gluing them underneath the lash line,” she explained one day. “That’s what makes them pop!” If someone had plucked her eyebrows too thin, she’d explain how to do it differently, and if one of the girls was dating someone she didn’t like, she’d talk about that, too. Above all, we loved the way she conveyed to each and every girl that she was special inside and out. “You’re absolutely gorgeous,” she often gushed. And if someone needed a little extra convincing, she’d wrap her arms around her and say it again. Ms. Gayle did more for everyone’s self-esteem than winning ever did.
* * *
That first Cinderella state pageant was like a merry-go-round that kept spinning faster and faster. Thankfully, Aunt Jan came along to help, or I might have keeled over at some point. Each of the five days grew more intense, and by Friday, we all were a bundle of nerves. Although I wanted my girls to win, putting the outcome in God’s hands only seemed right. “Lord,” I prayed, “if you don’t think we need to win this year, then that’s okay with me.” But that didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous for my kids.
When Dallas started vomiting that final morning, I knew we were off to a rocky start. “Oh, honey,” I said, wrapping my arms around her. “You need to lie down and rest. You don’t have to compete if you’re not up for it.”
At that point in my life, I was just a regular mom. If my kids were sick, then rest was needed. I wasn’t worried about losing our money or not competing. Over the years, my attitude would change when contracts and paychecks were at stake, but things were different during those pageant years. To my surprise, Dallas rallied and insisted she wanted to compete.
An hour later, Aunt Jan and I were throwing costumes on the girls and wishing them luck. By evening, I was the one feeling so nervous for my girls that I thought I’d be ill. Surrounded by my new Cinderella family, I sat in the audience, holding hands with those around me, just like the girls did onstage as everyone waited for the winners to be announced. When the list of semifinalist names for Miniature Miss were announced, I nearly leaped out of my seat when I heard Demi’s name. When she made top five, my heart rate tripled. As we waited for the final announcement of the Overall Winner, I stared at my youngest daughter in her gorgeous white dress—the very one from the Salvation Army—and I went rigid.
Oh, dear! Please don’t let the judges see! Her feet were anchored to the floor. Her makeup glowed. Her smile never wavered. But her tiny right hand kept reaching toward her hair. First, it was a few scratches on the back of her neck, then it was a swipe across the side of her head. Before long, she was digging at her scalp.
Oh, God! No! No! No! It was more than bad timing. I knew then that all those rumors about a head lice breakout were absolutely true. And that’s when my insides started quivering louder than the drumroll.
“The winner is … Demi Lovato!” I clapped and cheered like everyone else, but my mind was at war. What do I do? Should I run to the drugstore? Should I act like I didn’t notice? Since there was no such thing as a quick exit, as there were after-parties and meetings that would keep us busy until 3:00 a.m., I tried to enjoy the moment and pretend everything was fine. But my hands never stopped shaking.
A few minutes later, Dallas won her division, too. The roller coaster of Dallas being sick, Demi getting lice, and both girls winning was a wild ride for all of us. Our family always tried to turn bad situations around into something positive, so for years afterward whenever one of the girls felt sick before an audition, we’d laugh and say, “You know that’s good luck.” Though I have to admit that I never found anything redeemable about getting head lice.
* * *
“Because they won, they have to compete in the international pageant or give up their crowns,” I told Eddie at home. When I explained that the event was scheduled for early August, he frowned. “What should we do?” he asked.
First, there was the issue of money. Pageants aren’t cheap. The entry fee for both girls, just for the state competition, had set us back $1,300—and that didn’t include the extras like social events or Ms. Gayle’s services. The next pageant would be more costly, especially since it was in Las Vegas.
But there was another problem that was even more perplexing. Eddie had proposed to me back in December and I was knee-deep in planning a summer wedding. I had chosen a cake, a dress, and invitations. How was I supposed to fit in a trip to Vegas, too? “This is too much work,” I finally sighed. “How about we just get married in Vegas after the pageant?” When Eddie agreed, I made one stipulation: “It has to look and feel like a real wedding. No justice-of-the-peace affair.”
We decided the groomsmen needed to wear tuxes and the bridesmaids would wear black cocktail dresses. Our guest list included family and friends from Texas as well as our pageant friends. For the first part of the week, we could focus on the pageant. Then, since many of our guests were arriving early, they could stop by the final ceremonies on Friday evening and watch the girls. On Saturday, we’d get married at the chapel in the Flamingo hotel. After that, we’d all depart in limos and head to our reception. It was the perfect plan, especially since I thought my girls were going to win it all like they had at the state pageant.
From June to August, we put the finishing touches on the girls’ competition clothes and continued to work on their talent and modeling skills. Day after day, Demi practiced singing, “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile,” complete with choreography, and Dallas belted out her perfected version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” In between giving them pointers, I’d try on my wedding dress and imagine what it would feel like to look at Eddie, my knight in shining armor, and say, “I do.” By competition time, I was running on pure adrenaline.
Friday evening, when the winners were announced, it was evident that my girls were nowhere near the level of many of the other contestants. Neither girl even finished in the top ten, but we were having so much fun together that losing didn’t seem important.
Early Saturday morning, all the bridesmaids gathered in my room, and we had an impromptu bachelorette party with a bit of champagne. Thanks to Ms. Gayle, who stayed an extra day after the pageant to do my hair and makeup, I looked like an ethereal movie star when I left the room later that evening
in my mermaid-style dress and thirty-foot train.
The wedding was everything I had hoped it would be, especially the reception, which was a full blown-out party with toasts, laughter, and encore appearances from my girls, who sang the same songs they had sung the night before at the pageant. Afterward, Eddie and I went back to the Bellagio hotel and walked through the casino. As we strolled about, people clapped and cheered for us. I felt like Cinderella at the ball.
That night, before I fell asleep, images from my wedding, the pageants, and the countless days of practicing and planning whirled through my mind. It was the happiest, most wonderful collage of togetherness I ever could have imagined. And I knew that meeting Eddie had made it all possible. It was like all the bad patches of my past had been reassembled to form a beautiful new quilt, and in that merging of old and new, the future looked amazing.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Fame is weird. It appears to be one thing in your head until you achieve it. You think it’s what you want, but if you really knew what it entailed, would you work so hard to achieve it?”
“Your due date is January 12, 2002,” my doctor stated in early spring. That would make our next child almost nine and a half years younger than Demi and nearly fourteen years younger than Dallas. Life as I knew it was about to change in drastic ways. Had I had been able to look into a crystal ball that spring, I would have seen the pace and direction of our lives swinging wildly in new directions, and not just because another baby was on the way.
The girls, as reigning Cinderella winners, continued to make appearances at pageants, and both planned to compete again at internationals. It looked to be an exciting year on the pageant circuit. When July rolled around, I happened to notice an announcement about another open casting call for Barney & Friends that was scheduled for the end of the month. Demi, now that she was nearly nine, wanted to audition again.
Just like the last time, we got up early so I could curl every lock of Demi’s hair, and for good measure, I clipped on a big ole pageant bow to add a little dazzle. And once again, the audition line was wrapped around the building when we arrived. In all, more than 1,400 boys and girls showed up that day, all hoping for a shot at stardom.
“Uh-oh,” I sighed as I got out of the car. The sudden blast of heat made my stomach churn. As we waited in line, the sun grew even more intense. Within minutes, Demi’s perfectly styled hair began to droop, and my five months of pregnancy got the best of me. If I didn’t find shade quickly, I was going to get sick.
“Excuse me,” I said to the mother standing next to us. “I’m not feeling well and was wondering if I could leave my daughter with you so I can go to the car for a bit?”
It was an unusual request, but I was desperate. We had been chatting for a while, and the woman seemed nice. Her daughter, who was Demi’s age, had even offered her jacket to Demi so she could sit on it. “Of course,” the mother replied. “Take your time.”
Over the next few hours, I kept appearing and disappearing as I walked back and forth to my car, where I’d sit for a few minutes in the air-conditioning to soothe my nausea. When both girls finally got called into the audition, I watched as they bounded into the studio. Please, God, I prayed, let Demi do her best so she can be proud of herself. It only seemed right to put the outcome in God’s hands, much like I did with pageants.
Lord, you know our hearts. If we’re not ready for this or if it’s not good for us, then don’t let us get it. To me, it was always about His timing, not ours. Oh, I always wanted success NOW! But I also knew if we weren’t ready, it could hurt us, and I didn’t want that. My family was—and always will be—the most important entity in my life, which is why I continued to utter that same prayer even as the stakes got higher and higher.
When I thanked the woman one last time for helping me out, I didn’t expect to see her or her daughter again. But I was certainly wrong about that, as the girl was Selena Gomez and the woman was her mother, Mandy Teefey. I’m sure our meeting that day was destiny, because in the coming years, our paths would cross over and over again.
* * *
Typically after an audition, the girls and I soared in anticipation about getting a callback. So much so that for days we didn’t dare leave the house, as cell phones were still expensive to use and we relied on our landline. It was all part of what we called “riding the roller coaster”—those rushes of fear, hope, and adrenaline that appeared during and after any audition. No matter how many times the girls walked away from an audition empty-handed, we always believed the next attempt would produce our golden tickets. Each thrilling sequence of ups and downs was just part and parcel of chasing our dreams. But that July, my mind was on the upcoming Cinderella pageant in Las Vegas. When the phone rang, I figured it was Aunt Jan.
“Good news, Mrs. De La Garza,” the woman beamed. “We’d like for Demi to attend a special Barney Boot Camp for a few days in early August,” the woman said.
“No, I don’t think so,” I blurted back. “We have plans to go to Vegas in a few days, and we’ve already paid our entry fees, reserved a hotel, and … well, we’re really looking forward to going as a family.”
The woman cleared her throat. “Okay,” she said, “I don’t think you understand. We’d reeeeally like to see Demi there.”
But I still wasn’t persuaded.
“Not everyone from that first audition is being asked to return,” she continued. “We’ll put everyone through a few days of singing, dancing, and acting, and then we’re choosing our new cast.” She paused, then added, “I strongly suggest you bring your daughter.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I countered. “I’ll talk to Demi and let her decide. If she wants to go, we’ll make arrangements for her to get there.” But the voice in my head wasn’t supportive. We’ve been down this road before, and nothing ever comes of it.
Later that night, I called my friend Lisa and asked her to join me as I presented the options to Demi.
“This is your choice,” I said to Demi as we all enjoyed some ice cream. “Dad, Dallas, and I are leaving for Vegas in a few days, but you have to decide if you want to go with us or stay behind to go to Barney Boot Camp.” I reminded her that there would be another pageant the following summer, but Barney auditions only happened every few years. I also told her that Selena would be there but on different days. “It’s up to you, whatever you want,” I concluded, adding that Lisa and Melody would pitch in to care for her if she didn’t want to go with us.
It only took her a few seconds of deliberation. “I’ll stay and go to Barney Boot Camp,” she said, before finishing her dish of Marble Slab ice cream.
When we left for Vegas, I hoped she wouldn’t regret her decision. Then I forgot about her audition because I was so busy with Dallas, who won a few titles that pageant, including International Cameo Girl, a prestigious award for facial beauty. Once the pageant finished, Dallas went home with Kris Smalling, who took her back to Texas to join Demi, while Eddie and I stayed behind to celebrate our first anniversary. Monday morning, Eddie and I were lounging in our room at the Bellagio when my cell phone rang. The number wasn’t one I recognized, but I answered anyway.
“Dianna,” the man began, “this is Hit Entertainment. We have exciting news—we’ve chosen Demi to be part of the new Barney cast.”
“Whaaat?” I screeched into the phone. “Are you serious?” I mouthed the message to Eddie and tried to focus on what the man was saying as I danced around the room. It hardly seemed real because until then, Demi hadn’t even booked a commercial.
When I hung up, I shared all the details I could remember. Demi would play the role of Angela and filming would begin in mid-January, right around my due date. Each statement left me grinning more and more wildly. “Guess I need to call Demi,” I said, still feeling like I was in a dream.
I called Melody because I knew the girls would be at her house. “I need to speak to Demi,” I said calmly. “And I want you to watch her reaction.”
“
You’re telling me she got the part!” Melody gushed. I reminded her to stay calm because I wanted it to be a surprise, though Demi would later tell me that she immediately knew something was going on. Apparently when Melody and her husband walked into the bedroom, they both knelt down and stared at Demi so intensely that she was almost afraid to take the phone from them.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I said, “but you made the Barney show!” Although my excitement had nearly propelled me into doing cartwheels down the hall, Demi sounded nonchalant. “Oh, okay,” she said, using her soft, little-kid voice. Even after I told her how proud I was of her, she only had two words for me: “Okay, Mom,” which made it seem like getting the role was no big deal.
Her reaction puzzled me until I witnessed a similar reaction a few years later when Madison got the call about making Desperate Housewives. In retrospect, I wonder if kids are too young to really process the magnitude of being selected for a role on national television? Of course, Demi’s subdued response didn’t really matter because I had enough excitement running through my veins for the both of us. Yes, indeed, I mused. Now my baby is gonna be a star!
A few weeks later, I sent Demi off to fourth grade as Dallas headed to junior high. “Enjoy a normal school day while you can,” I told Demi that morning, knowing that by January she’d have to withdraw from public school because of her filming schedule. By evening, we were all gathered around the television watching the events of September 11 and wondering if we’d ever feel normal again.
* * *
As the world tried to regain some stability, so did we. Thanks to a tip from my friend Kris Smalling, we were back on the audition circuit by late October. This time it was a well-advertised cattle call for Radio Disney DJs. “They both have great voices,” Kris encouraged. “You should let them try.” So I did, and this time Dallas, not Demi, got a callback.
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