Falling with Wings

by Dianna De La Garza

Although Selena and Demi had dreamed about getting discovered at the same time—you know, getting to say, “Hi, I’m Demi Lovato!” and “Hi, I’m Selena Gomez!” as they waved their wands and announced, “And you’re watching Disney Channel”—it didn’t turn out that way. Demi would have to wait a bit longer.

  * * *

  As summer approached, we began to plan for my sister Kathy’s arrival. Every July, she and her husband, Jason, would come and stay at our house so they could attend the Believers’ Convention in Fort Worth, a weeklong gathering that featured well-known evangelists such as Kenneth Copeland, Creflo Dollar, and Jesse Duplantis, as well as top-notch musical artists. “You know the Lord will bless you for letting us stay here,” she always said, and sure enough, after they left Eddie always seemed to get an unexpected bonus or the girls would book a big commercial. It never failed.

  The convention also featured a children’s ministry known as Superkid Academy—a service just for kids twelve and younger. That particular summer Kathy really wanted Demi to go because once Demi turned thirteen—which would happen in August—she’d no longer be eligible to attend that portion of the event.

  But Demi was hesitant. “I’ll be right next door with the grown-ups,” Kathy insisted. “And I promise you’ll have fun.” Still dealing with the trauma of having been bullied, as well as some social-anxiety issues, Demi wavered. “Are you sure I don’t have to sit next to girls?” she asked, her voice trembling. Kathy assured her she could sit wherever she wanted to. “Tell you what,” Demi bargained. “If you come to my church with me on Wednesday evening, then I’ll go with you on Thursday morning—but only if you promise I can sit next to a boy!”

  On Thursday morning, Demi tentatively followed her aunt toward the auditorium that was filled with more than three hundred kids. Before they parted, Kathy took Demi’s hands and looked into her dark eyes. “I’m going to pray that something special happens in there,” she said.

  Two hours later, Kathy met Demi at the same door where she had left her and knew from the look on Demi’s face that something had indeed happened. “So, how’d it go?” she asked. Demi was superexcited and could barely stand still.

  “I got a message in there,” she gushed. “You’ve got to tell me what this means! Right now, I need to know!” Kathy suggested they go to lunch so she could hear all the details. Apparently, the service had started out like any other youth service Demi had been to. There was music as well as praise and worship, pretty typical stuff. Then a lady took the stage and began talking about people in the Bible who had been called to their appointments from God at an early age. She talked about boys such as David and Saul. She also mentioned Jesus, who was only twelve when he taught in the temple. Each of them, she emphasized, saw their appointments as an honor. Women were mentioned, too—such as Mary, who was just a teenager when she became the mother of Jesus, and Esther, a young bride who risked her life by going before the king to speak in favor of saving the Jews from extermination. “That took courage and bravery,” the woman said. Then things got really interesting.

  The speaker stopped talking and started looking at the crowd of young people, scanning from one side of the audience to the other. Then she stared and pointed at Demi. “YOU,” she stated with authority, pausing until Demi looked back at her, “have been chosen by God at an early age for your appointment.”

  Frozen by her words, Demi held her breath, waiting to hear what she would say next. “What you’re doing right now,” she added, “is what He has appointed for your life!”

  I’m working on my music, Demi thought. That must be what God wants me to do! The woman started to walk away but suddenly spun around, looking right at Demi one more time. “One day,” she boldly proclaimed, “you will reach millions of people and make a real difference in their lives.” She paused, her eyes still locked on Demi. When she finally spoke, her words pierced the air. “ARE YOU READY?” she demanded. Stunned by the woman’s boldness, Demi nodded her head and answered, “Yes.”

  By the time Demi finished talking, Kathy was covered in goose bumps. “Write everything down,” she said to Demi, handing her a piece of paper. “It was a prophecy, and God will bring it to pass.” Demi listened, and to this day, that piece of paper lies in a box of keepsakes that’s buried somewhere in our Texas home.

  All my life I had heard prophesies in church, so when Demi retold her story to me, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that what that woman said came straight from God. I accepted the message as confirmation that we were on the right path, doing what we were called to do. Strangely, I didn’t feel euphoric. Not once did I jump up and down in celebration. Nor did I hear that familiar chant that my baby was going be a star. Instead, a calm steadiness fell on me that assured me everything would come to pass just as God had promised. Even though I didn’t know how or when, I knew that God would put everything into motion. I also sensed that there was a bigger purpose at work than I could understand.

  Two long years would pass before we began to see the fulfillment of that prophecy, but whenever I started to lose hope, I’d get another reminder that God was in control of Demi’s career, not me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “I always left it up to God. To me, it was about His timing, not ours.”

  Much of what we learned about the entertainment industry was by trial and error, which is another way of saying that sometimes we wasted our time and money. In February 2006, when Dallas was eighteen, Demi heading toward thirteen, and Madison a newly turned five-year-old, I decided we’d all go out to Los Angeles for pilot season. Eddie, though, would stay behind to work. Although Dallas had tried her luck at a previous pilot season, we had since learned that having representation was key for getting sent to auditions. That little detail fell into place thanks to Cathryn, who had organized a showcase during the fall at her studio in Texas, where Mitchell Gossett, a well-known LA agent with CESD Talent Agency, got to see my girls in action.

  Cathryn encouraged all the participants to find a monologue of their choosing. Demi, young as she was, settled on portraying Lisa Rowe, a sociopath committed to a mental institution in the riveting drama Girl, Interrupted, while Dallas chose to play the mentally challenged Carla Tate in the romantic comedy The Other Sister. Gossett loved them both. “Wow, both of you girls have improved so much from the last time I saw you,” he raved. When he asked if they had representation for pilot season, both shook their heads. “Well, you do now,” Gossett replied.

  I was standing nearby and heard the whole conversation. A rush of pride swept over me that was quickly replaced with dread. While many scurried out to LA for pilot season, I liked the fact that my girls stayed behind and got lots of extra work while everyone else was gone. But I assumed that Gossett’s endorsement meant he expected to see them out on the West Coast that February. My mind filled with questions. Where would we find the money? Where would we stay? How would I break the news to Eddie? After I politely thanked Mitchell for the amazing opportunity he had extended toward my girls by offering to represent them, I also prayed. Lord, if we’re ready for this, please provide a way!

  Pilot season is an eight-week investment, which at that time ran about $25,000 for both girls. Today, the costs would be even higher. Coaching, which can eat up half the budget if you have a lot of auditions, is considered a necessity by most agencies. In addition, there are the expenses of lodging, food, gas, head shots, and other miscellaneous things. Finding that kind of money seemed impossible, but when I asked Eddie about going, he didn’t even seem surprised. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “We always do, don’t we?” And we did, thanks to a hefty tax return and Dallas, who chipped in with a nice windfall from a voice-over job. When Betsy McHale, a fellow Texan and mother of Kevin McHale (an aspiring actor at the time who’d go on to star as Artie Abrams in the FOX TV series Glee) offered to rent us two rooms at her Santa Clarita home, I thought the pieces of our future were snapping together as God intended. The girls’ new status with CESD seemed promising
.

  But my expectations didn’t exactly go as planned. For starters, Santa Clarita was a thirty-minute drive from most of the studios. Whenever we managed to get an audition notice, I had to negotiate my way through LA’s notorious freeways and its horrendous rush-hour traffic, which left me as jumpy as hot grease in a skillet. Then I learned that to be hired for any of those auditions, my girls needed California work permits. It was something I hadn’t thought about, and to get the process started, I needed to retrieve their birth certificates, which, of course, were back in Texas.

  After making numerous phone calls, filling out forms ad nauseam, and paying a hefty fee to expedite the process, I finally received their birth certificates about a week later. Elated, I dragged the kids and the certificates into the permit office in Van Nuys, only to have the woman behind the counter glare at me in frustration. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, peering at me over the top of the reading glasses perched on her nose. “You also need to provide proof that your children are taking classes from an accredited school.”

  When I explained that I was homeschooling them, she insisted, “That doesn’t matter. I still need a seal of approval.” But Texas, at the time, allowed me to teach them at home without a seal of approval! I left Van Nuys in tears. Eventually, despair set in. What are we doing here? Why are we even trying? Even if my girls get something, they won’t be able to work! When Betsy suggested I speak to someone like Trisha Noble at www.childreninfilm.com, the gates of heaven finally opened.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Trish laughed when I explained my dilemma. “We have a service that can do that for you.” Within the week, we had our permits. It was an important lesson about the value of having an advocate to work with in an industry with a lot of confusing rules and regulations. As I wrote the check for the company’s services, I vowed I’d never let those permits expire. I also vowed to stay in touch with Trish, whose friendship and advice I still cherish today.

  Of course, by the time we got those permits figured out, our window of opportunity had dwindled considerably. Add to that my lack of experience driving on California’s freeways as well as my penchant for getting lost (these were the days before GPS), and it all added up to one futile and expensive trip. Later, I’d also learn that although my girls had representation, they were too new on the scene to be invited to many auditions. Even if their work permits had been approved sooner, they probably wouldn’t have been any more successful. “Oh, well,” I told the girls, “at least we got to see Disneyland for the first time in our lives.”

  * * *

  Ever since the Believers’ Convention, my sister Kathy and I had become close—and not just emotionally. It was like we shared some kind of spiritual-mental telepathy. One night, I might pray privately about a situation and the next day my sister would call delivering a message about what I should do. “I think the Lord needs me to tell you something,” she’d say and sure enough, her message was just what I needed to hear. It was uncanny.

  Shortly after our return from LA when I was fervently praying about my girls’ careers, Kathy suddenly called and delivered a message that made my spine tingle. “Something big is about to happen with Demi’s career,” she said. “But it’s not like ripples on the sea—it’s more like a tidal wave!” At the same time, I had been hearing the Lord’s voice telling me to “get my house in order.” Too afraid to ignore the messages, I knew what I had to do.

  The very next day, I began a yearlong process of sorting, organizing, and cataloging every item in our house. No drawer went unopened, no closet untouched. I did more than file important papers and take bags of old clothes to Goodwill. Everything from the smallest hair clip to the largest piece of artwork was scrutinized for its usefulness, placed in an appropriate location, and itemized on a list. In the end, you could have asked me, “Where’s that green pencil with the frog on the end of it that we got at last year’s pageant?” And I would have told you, “It’s in the right-hand drawer on the bottom set of cabinets under the island in the kitchen.”

  It was all preparation for what was to come, though I didn’t know exactly what that would be.

  * * *

  Although my spiritual connections were growing deeper by the day, my mental health issues didn’t disappear. I still wasn’t eating much and bouts of anxiety and depression still hovered above my busy, exciting life. No one knew about my struggles, though, as I tried my best to stay happy and focused on every new opportunity that came our way. And for Dallas, the opportunities weren’t just in Texas.

  After pilot season that year, Dallas decided to stay behind and continue looking for work. Now eighteen, she wanted to spread her wings and fly on her own, so I let her. Eddie even sent a car out to her on a transport so she’d be able to get around the city. But when she called home on Mother’s Day, I knew something was wrong.

  “I just can’t seem to make it work,” she moaned over the phone, “but what bothers me even more is that every time I talk to Madison, she seems older and more mature. I feel like I’m missing out on seeing her grow up.”

  I immediately flew out to LA and helped her pack her things. Together, we planned to make the long drive back to Texas in her car, stuffed with all her belongings. Then, days before our scheduled departure, she suddenly landed a role on a new pilot called The Amazing O’Malleys, which eventually would be renamed the Wizards of Waverly Place.

  After filming ended, Dallas and I once again prepared to make the journey back to Colleyville, just as Demi was preparing to audition for a guest role on Prison Break. Since I wasn’t around, Eddie agreed to take off work so he could go with her, even though he had never taken the girls to an audition in his life. By the time the two of them were seated in the waiting room, Eddie’s excitement was evident by the sheer volume of texts he kept sending me. It became my personal play-by-play account of Demi’s experience.

  “Okay, Jennifer Stone just got here,” he texted. Then, “Uh-oh, Selena’s here, too.” He even started timing the interviews. “Jennifer was in there for five minutes and so was Selena.” When it was Demi’s turn, he was utterly beside himself. Every single minute I got an updated text with the same message: “She still hasn’t come out yet!!!!” Some fifteen minutes later, Eddie was still sending me the same message.

  It was hysterical. My calm, intellectual businessman was more nervous than any mom I had ever encountered. And I couldn’t resist upping the ante by throwing ridiculous questions his way. “What’s Selena wearing?” “Is Jennifer’s mom there?” “Who else is auditioning for the role?” All the back-and-forth banter made me realize how much I missed being part of the action. I suddenly couldn’t wait to get home and hear about all the details in person, so Dallas and I decided to drive straight through, taking turns at the wheel. Shortly after we pulled into our driveway some twenty-six hours later, we learned that Demi had landed the role of Danielle Curtin for a future episode of Prison Break, titled “First Down.” I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the first glimmer of that tidal wave my sister had talked about.

  Unfortunately, Dallas’s shimmering opportunity didn’t materialize. About six months after we got back to Texas, we learned that her role on the show got cut from the script. It was just another example of the highs and lows of an industry that can change in a heartbeat. Nothing is ever guaranteed until you sign that all-important contract! As always, I kept hoping that both of my girls would get to sign on that dotted line in the near future.

  * * *

  Filming for Prison Break began in July, though we wouldn’t get to see Demi on television until sometime in September. In late August, after Demi turned fourteen, the Disney Channel announced that they were having a nationwide search for new talent. Both Dallas and Demi wanted to go. Shortly after that audition, Demi got another audition notice, but this time it wasn’t network specific. We thought it was either Disney or Nickelodeon, but we didn’t know for sure and neither did Cathryn. But we did know that it was an interstitial, which is a two-to-f
ive-minute vignette that runs in between scheduled programming. This one was a comedy titled As the Bell Rings, and it would be shot entirely through the view of a huge bay window in a school hallway.

  Cathryn, who had a few other students going to the same audition, set up a practice session to get everyone ready. When Demi showed up unprepared, Cathryn was furious. “You can’t work with the other two boys if you don’t know your lines,” she grumbled. “So why are you unprepared?”

  “Because,” replied Demi, looking at her feet, “I’m not going to get this anyway—I’m just not funny.”

  Cathryn was stunned. “Not funny?” she bellowed. “What makes you think that?”

  Demi went on to explain that she had never booked anything comedic. “I’ve only gotten commercials and Prison Break,” she said. “I’m better at drama.”

  Cathryn looked at Demi and shook her head. “You can be anything you want to be, if you’re willing to put in the effort,” she said. “I’ve been coaching you for years, and you’ve learned to do every kind of role—comedy, drama, and even crazy—but if you’re going to defeat yourself before you even start working on the part, then don’t show up and waste my time!

  “You can book this,” she added, “I know you can—but you won’t if you show up unprepared and touting the wrong frame of mind. It’s time for you to start believing that you can do it. Now go home and learn your lines! And if you don’t tell your mother what happened here today, then I will.”

  Demi came home and told me everything, even the part that she needed to practice her lines three times a day until the next work session. I loved how Cathryn believed in her actors, and as a parent, I appreciated the way she pushed my girls to their limits and demanded that they do their best. When Demi showed up for the next work session, she impressed Cathryn with her comedic timing. “I’m proud of you.” Cathryn beamed. “I knew you could do it.” When Demi got in the car, her triumphant smile told me everything I needed to know.