Remembering Whitney: My Story of Love, Loss, and the Night the Music Stopped

by Houston, Cissy

  I know what I’m talking about, because I saw it. We were all in England during one of Nippy’s concert tours in the late 1990s, and Bobby was acting up as he sometimes did. They had gone to a club together that night, and after “partying,” or whatever they did, Bobby couldn’t go to sleep—he wanted to cuss and argue all night long. He’d been at her ever since they got back to the hotel, and the shouting and carrying on had been getting louder and louder, until Nippy locked him out of their suite. At which point he began kicking on the door.

  This went on for a while, and other guests at the hotel were calling down to the front desk to complain. Bae finally got up and tried to take Bobby into her room to talk to him, but he wouldn’t stop. He was pissed off, and he didn’t care who knew it.

  Well, I had finally heard enough. I got up, got dressed, and walked down the hallway to Bae’s room. Bobby still hadn’t sobered up, and he began defending himself to me, telling me Nippy was arguing, too, and that she was just as bad as he was. He said he felt like everyone was always on Nippy’s side, and he kept threatening to leave the tour and go home. He probably didn’t mean it, but I just told him, “Okay, then. Go.” Nippy had to work, and she needed her rest—I didn’t care where he went, but I didn’t want him around her if they were going to wind each other up like this. She had to be ready to perform.

  Once I’d told him to go on and leave, he said he wanted to talk to Nippy first. And he went shuffling back down the hallway toward their suite. And you know, Nippy was already halfway to forgiving him, because she couldn’t stay mad. When he started apologizing, saying, “Nip, please. I’m sorry, baby. You know I love you,” her face softened, and just like that she took him right back into their suite.

  Bobby knew that all he had to do was act sweet and sad and loving, and show her that hangdog face, and she would forgive him anything. He had acted like a lunatic, keeping half the hotel up with his ranting, but the minute he looked at her with those sad eyes, she melted. Nippy was like that with everybody—if you looked sad after she was mad at you, she’d forgive anything. She hated conflict, no matter who was at fault, and she always just wanted to end it.

  I realized later that what I saw that night in England, that quick forgiveness, is probably what happened on many, many other nights. And I suppose that’s how they stayed together.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Intervention

  After Nippy moved to Atlanta, I might have been seeing her less—but there were still times when she would call and say, “Mommy, I need you.” And I would always go to her, as she knew I would.

  In September 2004, Nippy was scheduled to sing at the World Music Awards, which was being held that year in Las Vegas. Clive Davis was receiving an award, and he wanted her to perform. Clive was always proud to have been the one to bring Whitney Houston’s music to the world, and despite all the mess of the past few years, he loved Nippy and knew she could still bring people to their feet.

  So, Nippy agreed to come and sing for Clive. But she hadn’t been working as much in the last couple of years, and this would be her first time in a while performing in front of a big audience like that. She wasn’t sure how strong her voice would be, and that made her nervous. And that’s why she called me.

  I sat with Nippy in her dressing room before the show, and I could see she was scared. “I think I’ve got a cold,” she told me, her voice all choked up with nerves.

  “You ain’t got no cold,” I told her. “You’re fine. All you’ve got to do is trust in God.” Nippy always prayed before going onstage, and this time was no different. We prayed together, for strength and guidance, and when it was almost time for her to go out, I asked where she wanted me to wait for her. “Do you want me to just stay here in the dressing room?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “I want you out there, in front.” She wanted me to sit in the audience, up close to the stage so she could see me while she was singing. She was so nervous, I think that was a way of calming herself, knowing that she could count on seeing my face out there. Sometimes you don’t know what your voice is going to do; your nerves can just cut it right out, making it hard to hit certain notes. Nippy knew I understood what she was feeling, and I think just knowing that helped to give her strength. She often drew strength from having people around her who cared about her, and she could gauge her performance by the expressions on the faces of the people she trusted. If she was at all unsure of something, she would look into the audience for a familiar face, and if the look on that face told her everything was okay, then it was.

  I went out and took a seat near the stage, and then Clive came out to introduce her. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “the best singer in the world today, Miss Whitney Houston.” And there was my baby, backlit and walking out toward the front of the stage as the music swelled up and the audience went crazy. People were hollering and clapping and stomping, giving her so much love. But I couldn’t think about all that. I was just holding my breath until she finally opened her mouth to sing.

  The song was “I Believe in You and Me,” and as soon as she hit that first note, I just said, “Thank you, Jesus,” because I knew she was going to be all right. Nippy and I looked at each other, and I just smiled up at her, so proud. And I’ll tell you something, she sang that song like it was meant to be sung. By the time she segued into “I Will Always Love You,” the whole crowd was on its feet. People were waving their arms around like they were in church, just ecstatic to hear Whitney Houston doing what she did best.

  My baby brought that place down. She sang beautifully, and I was so proud, I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I watched and listened, savoring every moment, and by the time she finished tears were streaming down my face.

  I went back to Nippy’s dressing room as soon as she finished, and she was crying, too, just from the relief and emotion of it all. I went straight up to her and pulled her into a hug, and then we sat down on the couch in her dressing room, and she just put her head in my lap and sobbed, overcome. I was wearing a white suit, and she was crying so bad and getting her makeup all over it, but I couldn’t have cared less. I just rocked back and forth, holding her, telling her how proud I was. I never wanted to let her go.

  That moment at the 2004 World Music Awards was just about the highlight of the year. Because the rest of the time, Nippy was doing something I thought was a mistake. She was making a reality show with Bobby called Being Bobby Brown.

  Bobby hadn’t been doing a whole lot since he and Nippy got married, so when a couple of producers asked him about doing a show, he jumped on it. But they didn’t want just him, of course—they really wanted Nippy, because she was famous and people wanted to know what was going on with her. No matter what went down between them over the years, Nippy always wanted to please her husband, so she said yes. And so the camera people set up at their house on Tullamore and started shooting.

  I really don’t think there’s anything Nippy wouldn’t have done for Bobby. She’d spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep him out of jail on his DUI charge. She’d gone to court with him when he was up on the domestic battery charge. She paid his child support. She really did whatever it was he asked her to do. I couldn’t understand it, except that some part of Nippy must have just wanted to let her husband be in charge. Being the head of her own company from such a young age, and being the person everybody else relied on to sing and perform and bring in money, maybe it was a relief for her to say, “Okay, now I’m just the wife.”

  Being Bobby Brown went on the air in 2005, but I only watched part of one episode. That was all I could stand. I couldn’t see my daughter anywhere in it—I didn’t even know that person on the screen. She was such a mess, so unlike the daughter I knew and loved, that I really couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And you know, people will sometimes say that Bobby didn’t respect Nippy, and that you could see it on that show. Maybe that’s true. But if you ask me, the bigger
question was, why wasn’t Nippy respecting herself?

  So, things were obviously bad while they were making that show—but they got even worse after the shooting was done. Nippy had moved to Atlanta partly because she wanted to be able to keep to herself, and Bobby seemed to want that, too. Maybe I was wrong, but it seemed to me like the farther away Bobby could keep her family, the better he liked it. For the first few years in Atlanta, Aunt Bae had at least been there to keep an eye on things. But in 2005, possibly influenced by Bobby, Nippy let Bae go. And after Bae came back to New Jersey, that’s when things really started to go to hell.

  In early 2005, before Being Bobby Brown had even aired, Gary called me. “Ma, I think Nippy is really in trouble,” he said—and Gary was not one to exaggerate. He and Pat lived close to Nippy, and they traveled with her, so they knew her situation better than anybody did. If they were worried enough to actually call me about her, then it was time for me to act. I knew Nippy wouldn’t like it, but at that point I didn’t care—I made plans right away to go down to Atlanta. My son had told me my daughter needed my help, so there wasn’t even a question about what I would do next.

  I flew down to Atlanta, and Gary and I went together to the Tullamore house. We rang the doorbell, and Bobby’s sister Tina answered the door. Right away she yelled up to Nippy, warning her, “Your mama is here!” I didn’t hear what Nippy said, but she didn’t come down, and it became obvious that she didn’t want me seeing her in whatever kind of state she was in.

  If Nippy was in half as bad a state as that house, then she really was in trouble. I had never in my life seen any house that looked like this one did—much less a multimillion-dollar home. I just stood there in shock. It was dirty and messy, but that wasn’t even it. When I walked in and started looking around, the things I saw sent a chill right through me.

  Somebody had been spray-painting the walls and doors, painting big glaring eyes and strange faces. They were evil eyes, staring out like a threat. Who would do such a thing? It just seemed crazy, having these strange images painted right on the walls, all through the house. And in another room, there was a big framed photo of Nippy, Bobby, and Krissi—but someone had cut Nippy’s head right out of it. And then they just put the portrait right back up, as if nothing was wrong. It was beyond disturbing, seeing my daughter’s face cut out like that. It was frightening.

  Gary had gone upstairs to get Nippy, but she didn’t want to come down. I saw her only briefly, up at the top of the stairs, and she looked like someone I didn’t know. I think she must have been high, because she looked like she had the only other time I’d seen her that way, back in Mendham. She was obviously not herself, because she yelled angrily at me down the stairs, telling me to leave her alone and worse. I can’t even remember most of what she said, and if I could, I wouldn’t repeat it. It wasn’t her, and I don’t even want to remember her that way.

  “Come on,” I said to Gary, “let’s go.” There wasn’t any point to staying, not with Nippy in that state. We walked back to the car and got in, and as we drove away from my daughter’s house, we talked about what we had to do next.

  I didn’t know what our options were, and I had no idea whether you could even put a person into rehab against their will. But I did know one thing: we had to try, because I was afraid Nippy might not make it to the other side of this if we didn’t.

  I started making all kinds of calls, trying to figure out what we could do. I spoke with a friend who’s an attorney, and we started poking around, trying to sort out the laws. We talked about the situation with singer Natalie Cole, whose mother had gotten herself appointed as her daughter’s conservator when Natalie was really struggling with drugs. Being appointed conservator meant her mother could make decisions on her daughter’s behalf. That gave me hope—maybe we could set up something similar with Nippy, at least until she could pull herself back together again.

  The laws are different everywhere, so we talked to a local attorney in Atlanta, who advised us on how we could get Nippy into rehab. I just said, “Please help me—I’ll do whatever it takes. I can’t just leave my daughter to die.” Because that’s what I was afraid would happen if we didn’t get Nippy out of that house.

  The attorney advised me to file a petition with the court to have Nippy treated regardless of whether she consented. It had to be signed by people who had seen her within forty-eight hours, so Gary, Pat, and I all signed it. And we had to get doctors to sign it, too, affirming that Nippy was unable to care for herself. We got all the signatures together and got the petition approved, and then we went down to the sheriff’s office.

  I presented the petition and asked them to help us physically get Nippy out of the house and into treatment. And that was how Gary and I ended up going back over to Tullamore Place with two sheriff’s deputies. I asked specifically for female deputies, thinking that Nippy would feel less threatened that way. I knew this was going to be a struggle, and I wanted to do everything possible to make it easier on all of us.

  We pulled up at the house and walked to the front door, petition in hand. This time, Bobby was home, and when the door swung open, both Nippy and Bobby were standing there in the entryway. As soon as Bobby saw the sheriffs, he started to move toward Nippy, but I just looked at him and said, “Don’t you move one step, or the sheriff will take you down.” He stopped dead and stood where he was, staring

  at me.

  “Nippy,” I said, “I have a court injunction here. We are going to get you the help you need, baby.” I was shaking with emotion, holding the piece of paper out toward her. “Let’s go. You can do this. You’re either going to come with us, or we’re going to make you come—one way or the other. But you are coming.”

  She just stood there looking at me. The light had gone out of her eyes, and my baby looked so, so tired. I wanted very badly to get through to her, so I kept talking. “If you need to, we can have you go on TV and announce that you’re retiring, okay? Because it’s not worth all this, baby. It’s not worth it.” Now I was fighting back tears. “I am not going to lose you, Nippy!” I said, my voice rising. “I’m not going to stand by and watch this happen! I want my daughter back.” I thought my heart would explode, I was so angry and sad and scared. And she still hadn’t said anything.

  “I love you, Nippy,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. “And you are coming with us.”

  The sheriff’s deputies stepped up and took her by the arms, while Bobby stood by watching. Nippy didn’t struggle, didn’t fight. She was angry, but I think she knew there was nothing she could do with the police there. They put her in the back of their car and set out for the hospital. Nippy had lost weight and was dehydrated, so the hospital would be the first stop before she went for rehab or anything else.

  I guess I should have been relieved, or maybe even happy, but this was the worst I’d ever felt in my life. I was hurting like a dog, because Nippy was so angry with me. I knew I’d done the right thing, but I hadn’t been able to reach her, and I had never felt such a gulf between my daughter and me. I knew she’d be angry with me for a good, long while. But I did what I had to do to save my baby, and that was the only thing that mattered. I had to save my baby.

  Nippy stayed in the hospital for a week, and the doctors made sure she got proper nutrition and care to get her healthy again, as was required before sending her to rehab. I imagine it wasn’t easy for her to be in the hospital all those days, but I never saw her in there. She was so angry, she told the nurses not to let me in as a visitor—and she wouldn’t talk to me by phone, either.

  She was furious with me, but I understood, because I was mad at me, too, in a way. I just couldn’t believe things had come to this. I never thought I’d have to bring sheriff’s deputies to my own daughter’s house—it was just so far beyond any kind of reality I could have imagined. I don’t know how I would have gotten through it without Gary there. As it was, I had a hard time in the weeks that fo
llowed, even though I knew I had done the right thing.

  Apparently Nippy was telling everybody who came to see her that I’d had her “locked up.” She was so angry, cursing me up and down, but I think she was scared, too. And she was unhappy. You know, lying there in a hospital bed, getting fed and tended to, maybe she didn’t have to think about all the mess that was happening to her. But she knew she’d ultimately have to face it, and that’s a scary thing.

  After she was released from the hospital, she went to rehab, first in Atlanta and then at the Crossroads treatment center in Antigua. We tried to get Bobby to go, too, because she didn’t have much chance of beating this problem if her husband kept doing drugs. And Bobby did go, for a while. But he didn’t stay, because he didn’t have to. Because of the court order, Nippy didn’t have a choice. She stayed in rehab the whole four weeks.

  She even had Krissi with her for part of her treatment. I think Nippy wanted her to understand what she was struggling with. She wanted to explain it to her, maybe so Krissi wouldn’t wander down that same path herself when her time came. When I heard about that, I was proud of Nippy for facing up to her problem, and being honest about it. All I could do was hope that this time it would stick, and she wouldn’t fall back into that self-destructive lifestyle anymore.

  Eventually, after a good long while, Nippy did stop being angry at me. She realized that I did what I did to protect her, and she later told people that I had saved her life. But you know, I’m not sure she ever really forgave me for it. I think some part of her just couldn’t stand that I had seen her that way. I had forced her to reveal her worst side to me, a side she would never, ever have let me see on her own.

  There were plenty of times when Nippy was able to ask me for help—she did it whenever it suited her. But using drugs was Nippy’s biggest problem in the world, and for whatever reason, it was the one thing she could never ask me to help her with. If she’d had her way, I would never have seen what I saw that day in Atlanta. The fact that I had insisted on coming to get her—even to save her life—was something I’m not sure she ever got over.