by Erika Jayne
Suddenly, out of the vast sea of sand, a United Arab Emirates checkpoint appeared like a mirage. We were surrounded by men in military fatigues carrying automatic weapons. We all got out of the car and went into a carpeted room. And I don’t just mean carpeting on the floor. There was carpeting on the walls and ceiling, too. If something went wrong in here, would anyone hear us scream?
They checked the cars and our documents and let us through. There weren’t any problems, but just being with a group of women and gay guys in a conservative country was enough to make me very nervous. I didn’t want any unnecessary attention.
We finally arrived at the Enterprise, which they call “The Big E.” Seeing it up close is like those movies in which people come to New York City for the first time. They just look up at the skyline, simultaneously delighted by and petrified of the enormity of the whole thing. Once we got inside we were taken to “Flag Country.” It’s a part of the ship reserved for the admiral, the highest ranking officers, and their guests. We were in shorts and T-shirts, and everyone else was in full military regalia. I felt embarrassingly underdressed.
They were happy to have us onboard. They showed the dancers and the glam squad to their bunks, which were just tiny beds crammed into a little room. And this is an old aircraft carrier, so there was no air-conditioning on most of her. (You call an aircraft carrier “her,” because she’s powerful and not to be fucked with.)
Meanwhile, Admiral Carter, the highest ranking officer onboard, showed me to my quarters. I don’t know where the admiral slept, but it couldn’t have been any better—I got a queen bed, air-conditioning, and a TV. This was the lap of luxury. There was even a huge Marine posted outside my door, to make sure I was safe.
The only caveat was that this room was high up on the ship. “Listen, when you sleep in here at night, don’t be afraid if you hear some crazy stuff,” he told me. “The flight deck is right on top of you. So don’t be worried.” Yeah, that was a good warning to get in advance.
We had a female public affairs officer (or PAO) assigned to us. She gave us a tour of the whole ship, and we had the time of our lives. I got to pick up the red phone, which allegedly was a direct line to the president (though only to take a selfie). Our guide told us that the Enterprise was the first nuclear-powered aircraft carrier. (This was 2012, and the ship would eventually be decommissioned in 2017 after fifty-five years of service.)
We watched as they put fighter jets onto these giant elevators and raised them onto the flight deck. We ate a lot of Pop-Tarts, which apparently are very popular at sea. This is because they keep forever in their packaging and, well, they’re delicious.
Our assigned liaison introduced us to several of the crew members onboard. They told us about their jobs and how they ended up in the military. We heard from men who left their small towns because there were no jobs, and the only way out was the service. I talked to a young father who was doing this to support his wife and two kids back in the States. We were all inspired and moved by the sacrifice of these men and women keeping us safe in the Persian Gulf. They live a tough life so we can sit our fat asses on sofas, drive SUVs, and take our freedoms for granted.
The next day was the Fourth of July. We were going to be performing on Steel Beach, which is the flight deck. They transformed it into a place for R & R. Imagine what a day off must be like for these people, since they can’t leave the ship. By this point, we were out of port and cruising. People were playing music, throwing footballs around, just trying to have a good time.
There was a small stage set up for us, and we trotted up there. We were wearing jean shorts, crop tops, and boots in bright colors. We keep it real classy for the Fourth of July. There was a clutch of people standing around watching. They weren’t dying to see Erika Jayne specifically. They were probably just wondering, who were these broads walking around the ship in short-shorts for the past few days?
The problem with the performance was that the ship was moving. On top of that, we were against the wind, which kept blowing my hair back into my face. Just imagine trying to dance and sing on a moving ship while trying not to fall over in heels and having a mouthful of weave. Because the ship was moving, I couldn’t really focus on the audience or else I’d get vertigo. So I was trying to look out to the horizon, but then I would get lost in the vast expanse of sea in every direction.
John, my sound guy, tried to record the show, but the temperature was literally 127 degrees. The camera didn’t quite melt, but it did fog up and stop working.
Our performance wasn’t the best of my career. We soldiered on (pun intended) through the whole thing, and the audience was polite, if not blown away. We did the job that we were there to do. If laughing at us trying to sing our stupid songs on Steel Beach while looking a mess brought even a little bit of joy into their lives, then mission accomplished.
You know when you hear service members say, “I was really pushed in training and now I know I can do anything.” That’s how I feel about this performance. I can wear a full weave and a full costume in 127-degree heat, dance my ass around in heels on a tiny stage at sea, against the wind, while trying just to concentrate on one focal point so I don’t fall over. Bitch, bring me any stage on this Earth and it can’t be as bad as that.
Yes, our show was a challenge, but the rest of the day was great fun. We spent it with the sailors while they had their barbecue. We helped them to a little slice of home halfway around the world. I’ve never felt more American on any Fourth of July as I watched our flag whipping in the hot, blue sky, blown by the same wind that had earlier in the day wreaked havoc on my hair.
While we were relaxing with the sailors, the admiral came by to thank us and tell us that the next morning we’d be leaving by carrier onboard delivery, or COD, plane. These are the small planes that deliver personnel, supplies, and mail from the mainland to the carriers. Because the runway is so short on an aircraft carrier, all the planes take off using catapults that help fling them into the air. Remember Top Gun? It’s really just like that.
The admiral told me we’d be taking off at about four Gs. “Put your feet on the seat in front of you and tuck your abs like you’re doing a crunch, and you’ll be fine,” he advised.
That last night on the carrier, everything was winding down. The sun finally set, giving us a bit of relief from the heat. My dancers, my whole crew, and I went up to the vulture’s nest. It’s the round, bucketlike structure that is the highest point of the ship and is used as a lookout.
You could feel the stillness in this huge expanse of ocean. We looked out, and there was nothing to see in any direction except water and the rippling reflection of the full moon. It was so calm and peaceful. Which was ironic, considering there were six thousand sailors below us keeping this floating fortress in operation. Everyone was quiet and we just tried to take it all in, to savor the experience together.
I thought about our earlier show. I thought about all of our bad shows. All the times I’d fallen down, or the lights went out, or I had to deal with some shitty promoter who didn’t have his act together, or some cop who had an ax to grind because he thought I was too sassy. But those are the things that make my job worth it, too. They make me stronger and better. Those are the things that fuel me to keep putting myself out there time after time.
Without all of those mishaps, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it when it’s going well. When I have that glow deep inside my chest, when the audience is having as much fun as I’m having and pushing up against the stage like hungry dogs. Those victories make all the defeats seem insignificant. That’s why I’ll never stop. Every time, I have something to prove. Not just to the audience, but to myself.
13
BEST PIVOT OF MY LIFE
Just before I was cast on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, I had secretly quit Erika Jayne altogether. The idea had been swirling in my mind for some time. I thought it was time to hang up my catsuits and settle back into the quiet life of being the wife of a success
ful attorney.
I started Erika Jayne in 2007. I had been performing everywhere I could, releasing songs, and gaining traction for eight years. Finally, after making the “Crazy” and “Painkillr” videos with Mikey, I felt like I had exhausted my personal network. I had talked to every producer, manager, songwriter, and choreographer that I possibly could. My inspiration was waning.
Through a friend of Tom’s who is a music industry veteran, I scheduled a meeting with one of the biggest music managers ever. I figured I’d meet with him and see what he said before making the final decision about quitting. It was summertime, and I was wearing a supercute black jumper when I pranced into his office. I thought this was going to be a talk about numbers. I knew to keep the project going I would need to make some more music, do a few more videos, and book some more show dates. I was planning on running the numbers by him to see if they made sense.
When I sat down in his office, he had a massive whiteboard behind his desk with a roster of all of his clients and what they were working on. These are the biggest superstars in the world. Not only was I impressed with the names, I was impressed with the giant whiteboard itself. I made a mental note to buy one.
As we started talking, I laid out my whole case. I debated about how to further my career, and he looked at me across the desk and said, “Yeah, that’s cool. You can do that. I know who you are and what you do, but I don’t really think that this is where you should be.”
He explained that I could get back on the treadmill and do what I had been doing all over again, but I probably wouldn’t get more spectacular results. It’s like I had reached the ceiling with what I could do by creating and releasing my own music. He was confirming to me what I was already thinking: I was running out of possibilities for advancement.
Then he said, “I just feel like when you’re in a situation like this, you should pivot.”
Pivot? I didn’t quite understand. For a second, I thought he was telling me that I should take a 180-degree turn and run away with my tail tucked between my legs.
I got into the car and had my driver take me home. In the backseat I thought, You know what? I’m done with this. We’ve done a ton of shows, we’ve made a ton of tracks, and we’ve traveled all over the world. I made money and I did a lot more than anyone thought I would ever do. Maybe there’s nowhere left to go.
I had a long, hard conversation with myself. Maybe that manager was right. Maybe all good things must come to an end. He wasn’t telling me to stop being creative or stop being myself. But he had convinced me not to drop a ton of coin on making a whole new album that might not do any better than the last one.
Erika Jayne had become less of an inspiration and more of a drag. The return on investment wasn’t really making sense anymore. I came to it with no expectations other than to express myself, make some records, and get back onstage. I did all of that. I gained a cult following and sold a bunch of records. But the bullshit disappointments were becoming a little too common. The whole process was beginning to feel a bit rote. For a few days, I was feeling very sorry for myself. I was trying to figure out what to do once I sent Erika Jayne to that big, bubblegum-pink boudoir in the sky.
Maybe I’d finally go to college. That’s sort of the running joke I tell about my career path. Since I never went, whenever something goes wrong, I always say flippantly, “Well, I could always go to college.” I’m the only member of my family without a college degree, so I never got the collegiate experience the rest of them did. I have this vision of myself walking across the quad of some campus in a hoodie, sweatpants, and a backpack. My hair would be in a ponytail and my only makeup would be some blush and lip gloss. I’d be friends with everyone, and they’d all love me. It’s like my own fantasy version of Legally Blonde.
But I don’t think I’ll ever really go to college. What would I even do after that? Like I’m going to take a bunch of classes and suddenly become an accountant? Please.
About a week after that meeting with the music manager, Tom and I were driving to Malibu. We were going to spend an afternoon with David Foster and his then-wife, Yolanda. Our good friend Robert Shapiro, who became famous for his involvement in the OJ Simpson trial, had introduced us to David years before and we had all become friends.
In the car on the way to their house, there was something strange in the air. We were driving along the Pacific Coast Highway and all of a sudden, this extreme calm came over me. I was wearing a vintage Journey concert T-shirt, my Rick Owens leather jacket, a pair of jeans, and Christian Louboutin pumps. Tom was next to me in a pair of navy blue slacks and a baby blue shirt (which makes his blue eyes sparkle). Usually I’m pretty animated and can’t sit still, but this day I was serene and staring out at the ocean.
When we arrived, Yolanda was sick as a dog, battling Lyme disease. She had on her famous cream bathrobe that fans of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills saw her wearing all the time that season when she was quite ill. We sat on her sofa, opened a bottle of wine (obviously Yolanda wasn’t drinking), and were just having a nice, leisurely chat.
Finally, Yolanda asked me how my music was going. I told her my frustration about where it was headed and the meeting I’d recently had.
And then the strangest thing happened. It’s as if I could see something come over Yolanda, like a force taking over her body. She had no makeup on and her hair was tucked behind her ears. She was looking as simple as she possibly could. As I was rambling on, I could see the gears turning in her brain.
“Have you ever thought about being on Real Housewives?” she asked me when I finished.
“No.”
She was holding her cell phone and started typing out a message right there. “I’m going to text my boss and let him know that he should talk to you about being on the show.”
Looking back on it, that is what that manager meant by pivot. This was the pivot. He was telling me basically what I’ve been telling myself ever since I started my pop career: There’s another way to do this. That manager challenged me to find yet another way. It wasn’t until after I’d gotten the job that I realized this was the way.
Yolanda told me she wanted me to have a conversation with Alex Baskin. He’s one of the partners at Evolution Media, which produces the show for Bravo.
Tom was sitting across from me and finally said, “What’s Housewives?” I swear to God—one of the most brilliant legal minds in the country, but he has no idea about pop culture. (Even now he’s more likely to watch The Real Housewives of New York City than me and my crew.)
“It’s this reality show we’re on,” David told Tom. I can’t make too much fun of my husband, because I had never watched the show, either. I knew what it was and I knew that Yolanda was on it, but I had never seen an episode.
I told Yolanda to give Alex my number and that he should give me a call if he wanted. Then I sort of forgot about it.
A few days later, Alex called me. We had a ten-minute conversation during which he explained the show and the casting process. It was almost like a legal discussion, as if he was saying, “Full disclosure, this is what the show is about. If you want to discuss it further, let me know.” At the end, he asked me if I’d come in and tape something, so they could see how I look on camera. I said sure.
I’ve been on tape a million times for a million different auditions, and I know that sometimes it leads to a job. More often, it leads to nothing. After our call, I still wasn’t seriously considering that this would happen. I was in a very neutral state about the whole enterprise.
The next day, I called Mikey, because I call Mikey every day. He mentioned my visit with David and Yolanda. “Did you guys talk about music?” he asked.
“No, not really,” I said. “We talked about Housewives.” I paused for a minute, and there was an electric silence coming from Mikey’s side of the call. I said, “I think I’m going to go and meet with the producers on camera.”
“What? The fuck are you talking about?” he exclaimed. He was curio
us and excited at the same time, because Mikey has watched every episode of every Housewives franchise ever.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Just from this conversation at the house?”
“Yes. That’s it. I talked to her boss about it yesterday.”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” He knew the power of reality TV. He’d even been on a few different reality shows himself. But he never thought I would be interested in doing it.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I said. “But we’re pivoting, right? We’re pivoting.”
I went into the Evolution office, and I was waiting for my appointment. I pulled out my phone and started to watch the beginning of Madonna’s Virgin tour. I had seen it live in 1983 in Atlanta and watching it always makes me feel good. In that moment, I wanted to feel good. I sat there watching Madonna sing “Dress You Up” with the sound off.
Then I went in for my taping. I was just matter-of-fact, open, and very honest. I was unbothered by the whole process and was simply being myself. They asked me a lot of questions and were prying into what my life was about. It felt like an on-camera deposition, with lots of questions about life and how I see relationships.
They had already started filming the season with the other women. I knew that I was under consideration for the job and that they’d be moving fast. They gave me a window in which I would hear back.
It was a very hot summer afternoon. I was with Mikey and my assistant, Laia. They were both really excited about the possibility, but they’re my biggest cheerleaders in the whole world. I could say we’re doing a fucking fair in Pomona, and they’d be excited about it. Anyway, they wanted to be with me when I got the call.
We were running errands all day in Beverly Hills. As we walked around together, eventually I said, “Guys, I don’t think they’re going to call today. Let’s go home and meet up tomorrow.”