Falling with Wings

by Dianna De La Garza

  The next day, Demi and I headed to Austin for the big audition. By then, we knew it was for Disney, which made us both excited and nervous. “Faith, not fear,” Demi told me, repeating the line my sister Kathy had given her the night before.

  “That’s right,” I told her. “And Aunt Kathy will be praying for you the entire time.” At 2:00 p.m., we walked into the modest hotel listed on our page of instructions. Then we were directed to our own hotel room, where we filled out some paperwork. Once everyone who was auditioning was checked in, we all gathered in a large meeting space and waited for the process to begin. As the first few names were called, I watched each child as they were ushered to another room down the hall. They all looked confident and sure of themselves. Oh, yes, I mused, let the games begin!

  Small groups of kids kept disappearing while we sat and waited. Two hours later, we were still waiting to be called. Demi’s mantra of “faith, not fear” had disappeared as worry lines sprouted on her forehead. Doubt and discouragement were closing in. Even my faith was waning, but I refused to show it. Why were they calling everyone except Demi?

  “They don’t like me,” Demi whispered.

  “Now, you don’t know that,” I said. “Remember, faith, not fear.”

  We waited a few more minutes, and Demi tugged on my arm. “Mom,” she gasped, “I’m sweating.”

  “It’s okay,” I told her. “You want some water?”

  “No, Mom, I mean I’m really sweating,” she said, lifting her arms.

  My eyes went wide as I stared at two giant puddles of wetness seeping from her armpits to her waist. “Oh, dear,” I said, trying not to sound alarmed. “Well, let’s take care of that right quick. Come with me—I have an idea.”

  We ran down the hall back to our room and ducked inside. “Take off your shirt,” I shouted, grabbing an iron and ironing board out of the closet. Sixty seconds later, I plunked that iron down on her yellow shirt until it sizzled. Demi stared, mesmerized by the action. When the shirt looked dry, I threw it back on Demi and we ran down the hallway, laughing. Just as we reentered the meeting room, we heard, “We’d like to see Demi and Tony next.”

  When she returned, Demi was all smiles. Whew, at least she’s happy with her performance! An hour later, someone announced six names, including Demi’s, and said, “Congratulations! You’re the new cast for Disney’s As the Bell Rings!” After much clapping and cheering, we went back to our room, but there wasn’t much sleeping that night. The kids, including Seth Ginsberg from Cathryn’s studio and Tony Oller, now a successful Columbia recording artist, all wanted to get to know their castmates. And we parents wanted to get to know each other as well. After all, we all had something in common now—recognition from Disney! It was a dream come true, and everyone wanted to savor the moment. It would be Demi’s first flicker of network success. Selena, though, was quickly becoming a star.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I was filled with a nervous excitement—I just knew we were going to get the call and off we’d go. But it didn’t happen.”

  I was talking to Mandy in mid-January when I mentioned that our family wanted to give pilot season another try. Mitchell Gossett had been working with Jennifer Patredis at Kim Dawson Agency all year to send my girls on auditions, so we felt we’d have better luck this time around. I was sure 2007 would be a more successful year, but we still had to figure out logistics such as where we’d stay and how we’d pay for everything.

  “Why don’t you stay with us?” Mandy offered. “Selena is filming the first season of Wizards of Waverly Place in February, and we’re renting an apartment in downtown Los Angeles.” Stunned, I hesitated to say anything. “Come on, it’ll be fun,” she added.

  We were all such good friends that it actually did sound like fun, so I agreed. I told her we’d leave a few days after she and Selena did. “We’ll meet up with you at the loft,” I promised. When Dallas booked the highest-paying voice-over job she’d ever gotten with LeapFrog, we suddenly had the other half of our concerns figured out. Thanks, God, looks like you want us to go! But I knew there were a few other matters I needed to take care of, too.

  “I’m still fighting depression,” I confessed in confidence one more time to my doctor, “and now I’m also having anxiety attacks.” When he asked about symptoms, I told him they were very physical. “I can’t breathe, my palms get sweaty, and the back of my neck feels like it’s on fire,” I said, adding, “If I’m driving when it happens, I usually have to stop the car and get out. At home, I go to the garage and keep walking in circles until I feel better.”

  I left with two prescriptions: one for Prozac and another for Xanax. “Take the Prozac daily,” he said, “but only use the Xanax when you feel like an attack is coming on.”

  The Prozac worked so well that I put the bottle of Xanax in my purse, hoping I’d never have to use it. The pills would be my secret. No need to worry anyone over my shortcomings, I reasoned. I wanted people to assume that I had everything under control.

  Another matter that needed attention was renting a small U-Haul trailer to pull behind the Expedition. I was planning on taking only a few suitcases and some boxes of supplies for our six-week journey, but Demi insisted that she couldn’t leave home without her full-size Yamaha keyboard. “I need it to keep writing,” she told me. I also knew that if she got the chance to play for some big record-label executive, she’d do it. You always need to be prepared, right? So even though I’d never attached anything to the back of the truck, not even a bike rack, I was determined to help Demi transport that piano. When I called the local U-Haul dealership, they suggested the smallest trailer they carried.

  “Well, hellooo,” a young man greeted when I arrived. “Looks like it’s your lucky day.” I looked at him and shrugged my shoulders. “We didn’t have the trailer you wanted,” he continued, “so we’re giving you the huge one at no extra charge!”

  I stared at him numbly, forcing myself to smile. “Isn’t it great?” he asked. But all I could think about was the panic rising inside me. How could I possibly drive from Texas to California with that hitched to the back of the truck? How would I manage the freeways? “Ah, yeah,” I mumbled, “it’ll be fine.” Ever the proper southern lady, I wasn’t going to argue with his generous offer.

  When I showed the girls our trailer, I told them we might as well pack a few more items to take along or else our meager possessions were going to bounce around like BBs in a matchbox! I piled on extras of everything—Madison’s toys, clothes, air mattresses, blankets, and a few more boxes of snacks and staples, carefully wedging everything around our original suitcases and the all-important Yamaha keyboard. When Eddie got home, he took one look at the driveway and shouted, “What’s that?” He, too, was worried about how I’d handle the load, but when he calmed down, he assured me I’d do fine. “But do not speed under any circumstances,” he insisted.

  The next morning, we crawled out of the driveway, hoping to get halfway. Instead, the trip would take three days. Along the way, I sang “Route 66,” an old Nat King Cole song made popular again by Asleep at the Wheel. “If you ever plan to motor west,” I belted out, swaying back and forth like I was on a dance floor. “Get your kicks on Route 66.” The Prozac was working its magic!

  Sometimes the girls would humor me and hum along; some days they merely rolled their eyes. I kept on singing, partly to help me remember the cities we’d be looking for along the way. “Amarillo … Gallup, New Mexico, Flagstaff, Arizona, Winona, Kingman,” I sang, ticking off each one as we passed by. By the time we finally reached the city of Barstow, California—our last overnight stay—I got a call from Mandy. “Oh, Dianna! I just pulled up to our loft, and I’ve made a terrible mistake,” she sobbed. “It looked nice online but—there’s a homeless man in front of our building pooping on the sidewalk!”

  I glanced in the rearview mirror, noticing that the girls’ eyes were wide with disbelief. “I’m sure it’s fine,” I laughed. “No matter what, we’ll make the bes
t of it—we just won’t walk around after dark!” How bad could it be? I thought. After all, we’re talking about a city full of dreams, ambitions, and adventure.

  The next day, after driving through rain, snow, and fog, as well as LA’s crazy freeways, I pulled up to the loft and thought I was the one who would burst into tears. The sight was shocking. Rows of cardboard shelters lined the sidewalks, and trash dotted the landscape like unappealing artwork. Mandy was right; we’d be living on the edge of civility, right where renovated downtown met bum condo city. We pinched our noses at the stench of urine and tried not to stare at the dazed individuals who were talking to themselves. But I couldn’t stop wondering how many of those destitute people had come to LA in search of becoming stars just like us. What had gone wrong?

  After Mandy came down, she pointed out where to park the trailer and invited us up to see our new home. That’s when it sank in—a loft apartment meant no bedrooms! The six of us, thankfully all girls, would be sharing one giant room. The only door in the whole space was to the bathroom. My heart lurched a bit when I realized we’d have no privacy and no place of escape, especially since taking a walk around the block didn’t seem like a good idea in the dark or the daytime. But none of that really mattered because in the end, the six of us would go on to share some of the happiest and most exciting weeks of our lives.

  It took numerous trips back to the truck to unload our stuff. Thank God the elevator worked, because I’m not sure we could have managed to carry that keyboard up the flight of stairs. Once we blew up the air mattresses, we all claimed our spaces. By evening, I knew everything was going to be just fine. That first night, like the rest that followed, was like a giant slumber party. We danced, sang, told stories, cracked jokes, and laughed more than we had in years. Every evening there was something to talk about, because just as Selena started her filming schedule, my girls got busy with auditions.

  One day on our way back from an audition in the heart of Hollywood, Demi and I were driving down the 101, near the Vine Street exit, when we passed the iconic thirteen-story tower that’s home to Capitol Records. We both stopped talking and took in the sight. Although the structure was meant to resemble a stack of records, I thought the arched rooflines made it look more like a spaceship ready to take flight. One thing was certain: Ever since 1959, more than a few great artists had recorded there—people such as Frank Sinatra, the Beach Boys, and even Judy Garland. And that history didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Mom,” Demi said, staring out the window, “do you think I’ll ever get my break?” The uncertainty in her voice seared my heart. She took a deep breath and sighed, “All I really want to do is sing. I don’t care if I ever get to act—I just want to sing.”

  When I glanced over, I could see the pain on Demi’s face as tears sprang from her eyes. A rush of compassion welled up inside me. I recognized the desire and longing in her voice and I understood her passion. All of it was an echo rising from the past of my own childhood. I also knew that her confidence was wavering. “You’ll get there, Demi,” I said. “I know you will.”

  * * *

  The best part of that trip was using our down time to visit Selena on set at Hollywood Center Studios, just off Santa Monica Boulevard on North Las Palmas Avenue. It was our first chance to see what really goes on behind the scenes of a Disney production, and it was magical, especially since we were treated like family and got to hang out backstage. Most days you could find us in Selena’s dressing room where we snapped selfies, listened to music, and talked for hours on end. Madison and I—the self-appointed snack-bearers—made copious trips to craft services, where we’d load up on food and drinks for everyone.

  But our favorite part of every day was anticipating who might stop by and chat with us. Often it was Jennifer Stone and her mom, Christy, or David Henrie and his mom, Linda. It was both comforting and exciting to talk with other families in the industry. I suppose they made us feel more connected to the world we so desperately wanted to be a part of.

  The atmosphere on the first night of live filming for Wizards was electric. We, like everyone else, were excited beyond belief, especially since our seats in the studio audience were just a few feet from the stage. “Look,” I whispered to Demi, pointing to big-name Disney executives as they darted about the set. Lights flashed and last-minute directions hurled through the air. With only seconds to spare, the hive of activity grew more intense as swarms of people scurried on and off the stage, taking care of everything from switching out props to touching up makeup. When the director yelled, “Action!” the crescendo of activity stilled and a rush of adrenaline spilled over us, telling us we were in the right place, at the right time, to witness something special. And just like that, Selena, looking confident and beautiful, stepped into the spotlight.

  When I glanced at Demi, I knew she was proud of her friend, but I also knew she was a bit wistful. After all, she had hoped for so long to be doing the same thing. Although acting was no longer her first priority, Demi understood how a television show with Disney Channel could be a stepping-stone to the music career she longed for. Shows such as Hannah Montana and High School Musical had been more than entertainment for us; they had inspired us to pursue a similar path. For Selena, it was unfolding right before our eyes.

  Mandy, who could have been on the floor with her daughter, chose instead to sit with us in the audience. It was Mandy’s way of reminding me that as a mom, you didn’t have to be in the middle of everything to feel important. In between scenes, two comedians would come out in front of the audience, trying to keep everyone engaged. They told jokes, played games, and encouraged the crowd to make a lot of noise. These “green light” moments were full of raucous clapping and cheering, which kept us awake as the evening progressed. After several hours, someone even handed out pizza and candy to everyone. But the moment filming commenced, no one was allowed to make a sound, except for applause and laughter.

  “Time for an American Idol singing contest,” the comedians announced during one break. My eyes lit up and so did Demi’s. No family in America had watched more episodes of that show than us, but when I looked at Demi to see if she would raise her hand, Demi’s face told me she wouldn’t. “I can’t, Momma,” she said. “This is Selena’s big night, you know?” I reluctantly agreed, telling her that maybe they’d do it again another night. Mandy, though, had a different opinion.

  “Demi, get up and sing,” she urged. “Selena would love it!” Two seconds later, someone saw Demi’s hand waving in the air and called her to the front.

  “What’s your name?” the comedian asked. Demi proudly answered and announced, “I’d like to sing ‘Ain’t No Other Man’ by Christina Aguilera.”

  I held my breath because I knew what was coming. Demi had sung this song every day, every morning, and every night for the past few months.

  “Heeyyy,” Demi started, “I could feel it from the start … couldn’t stand to be apart.” Sheer joy spread across her face as the volume of her voice bounced across the stage.

  One by one, heads started turning. Mouths hung open. And Selena started jumping up and down as she tugged on the sleeve of creator Todd Greenwald. I could read her lips as plain as day. “That’s my best friend! That’s my best friend!” she cried. The entire cast and crew, who were supposed to be on a break, including those Disney executives, remained anchored to the floor.

  “Ain’t no other man, it’s true—ain’t no other man but you!” she finished triumphantly. As her last note faded, the entire place burst into cheers and applause. Demi was beaming and so was Selena. “Well, that’s gonna be hard to beat!” the comedian declared. We all laughed, not caring if she had won. Maybe she wouldn’t hear anything right away, but I felt certain something would come of it. When the time is right, I reminded God, let us know!

  We wouldn’t have to wait long.

  * * *

  A few weeks after returning from pilot season, a series of events suggested that Demi’s future path was starti
ng to materialize. The first was a phone call from Dallas. She was sobbing so hard, I could barely understand her. At the time, Dallas was working at Buckle, a clothing store in our local mall, and my first thought was that she had been fired. “Mom,” she bawled, “I was driving to work and listening to my playlist when one of Demi’s recordings came on.” Again, she started wailing. Eventually, she’d tell me that Demi was singing “I Can Only Imagine,” a song released years earlier by MercyMe, a Christian rock band. The recording was one that Demi had made for one of Linda’s showcases.

  “I usually just skip over Demi’s songs because I hear her singing all the time at home,” Dallas explained, trying to regain her composure. “But I didn’t this time, and as I listened, I suddenly had this vision.” Again she quivered, fighting to catch her breath. “It was so real, so profound,” she said. “Clear as day, I saw Eddie and Demi seated at a table, and Demi was signing a record deal … Mom, this is really going to happen!”

  Another sign from God? I wanted to believe so, but I wouldn’t let myself get caught up in the moment. Not yet. Not even after Dallas shared that when the vision happened she was in a mass of traffic and when it ended she was in the parking lot at work with no recollection of having driven there. Dallas felt so strongly about what she had witnessed that she told me afterward if Demi didn’t become a star, her faith would be shattered. “It was such a God moment,” she insisted. “It had to be true.”

  About two weeks later, Demi was sent a script for J.O.N.A.S., an acronym for Junior Operatives Networking As Spies, which was to be a new TV series for Disney, starring the Jonas Brothers. Stella, the character Demi was auditioning for, was a flirty teen ignorant of the Jonases’ double lives and who secretly dated each of the brothers, then reported the details in her magazine column.

  “These guys are really cute and talented,” Demi confided to me, “and they’re going to go far!” She had seen their music video “Year 3000,” and she was super excited about the possibility of working with them. Dallas agreed to coach Demi and put her on tape. When Disney saw the tape, they called and said they wanted Demi to do a screen test. I was certain that Demi’s breakthrough moment had finally arrived.