CHAPTER 18
“I Look to You”
A couple of weeks before the Oprah interview aired, Nippy was scheduled to perform a few songs in Central Park, to promote her album on ABC’s Good Morning America. Five years had passed since she’d brought the house down at the 2004 World Music Awards, singing those two songs in honor of Clive Davis. And a whole lot of things had happened since then, none of which was particularly good for her health or her voice.
But Nippy seemed ready to do it, ready to get back out into the world and sing. I came to Central Park that day to see her perform, and although a big crowd had gathered, they probably didn’t know what to expect. Nippy’s problems had been so public, so picked over, that by now everyone in the world knew what she’d been through. Most people probably came out just because they wanted to hear Nippy sing, but I’m sure there were more than a few who wanted to see if she could still do it.
I was a little nervous for her, just because it had been a while and Good Morning America was planning to broadcast her performance. But I also knew that, no matter what was going on with my daughter, she had a very deep work ethic when it came to her performances. She never wanted to let any audience down, and for twenty-five years now she’d been giving everything she had from the moment she got onstage.
All that training I had put her through when she was younger had paid off. I never did let Nippy get away with anything, because I wanted her to understand how important it was to give her best every single time. One time in the 1980s, when she was supposed to be singing backup for me, she got to the club late. It was already time to go onstage, but Nippy had only just breezed in, and she didn’t have enough time to get ready.
“Mommy,” she said to me, “I need some time to change clothes. Just hold on a few minutes, because I’m not ready yet.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” I told her. “You’re going to come out and sing in your old torn jeans, then.” She looked at me like I had lost my mind. I don’t think she could believe I’d actually make her do that, but I turned and walked right out onstage to start the show.
That was the best way I could think of to show her how important it was to be ready on time. And you know, she never forgot it—after that, she always came to her shows ready to do her job. Over twenty-five years of performing, there was only a handful of times when Nippy wasn’t able to give 100 percent to a show. No matter what was going on in her personal life, she was always an amazing performer. So I believed she’d be ready to go for that Good Morning America performance—but I just hoped her voice would be ready, too.
September 1 was a perfect late summer day in New York, sunny and warm, and a big crowd had gathered in Central Park. People were so excited to get a chance to see Whitney Houston perform—parents had brought their kids, people were waving signs with her picture on them, and everybody had their cell phones up, trying to take photos and record her performance. When she came out onstage, that whole crowd went crazy. They had waited for this a very long time.
I was standing off to the side, where Nippy could see me, and when she introduced the song “I Look to You,” she had a surprise for me. “That’s my mom!” she shouted to the audience, and she pointed right to where I was standing, a big old smile on her face. “That’s my mama! I love you so much.” I held my breath through the opening bars of the song, and then my baby began to sing.
Her voice was a little bit husky, and she might not have had the range she once did, but Nippy sang that song so beautifully, with so much feeling, that you could just feel the emotion surging through that place. And the lyrics couldn’t have been more perfect for what she and I had been through together. If I ever wondered whether Nippy appreciated what I’d done in Atlanta, all I had to do was hear her sing the words to this song:
After all that I’ve been through
Who on earth can I turn to?
I look to you
As she sang, Nippy kept pointing in my direction, even inserting the word mama in the lyrics, to make it clear to everyone what she was singing about. And then, toward the end of the song, my baby’s voice broke as she sang the words “You didn’t leave me,” and I’ll tell you, that just about broke me. I was overwhelmed—with gratitude, love, everything you can think of. We had been through so much, but we had made it, together. Nippy finished singing that song with her arms thrown wide, looking up at the sky, an expression of sheer joy on her face. And that’s exactly what I felt, too—joy. My daughter was back.
In February 2010, Nippy started her world tour for I Look to You. This would be her first concert tour in ten years, and she was going all over creation—Korea, Japan, Australia, Germany, England. It was like the promoters were making up for lost time or something, sending her all over the globe like that. But people had been waiting a long time to see Whitney Houston in concert, and the shows sold out just about everywhere she went.
I knew this tour would be hard on Nippy’s voice, and probably just plain hard on her. I wanted to make sure she was doing all right, so I flew to England for a few days just to check in. And while she seemed to be doing okay when I saw her, the rest of the tour didn’t go so well.
Nippy had been working with a voice coach, but the stresses of a full concert tour are hard. Going onstage every night for two or three hours is difficult enough when you’re in your twenties, but at this point Nippy was forty-six years old. And you know, nobody’s voice stays as strong as it ever was over thirty years—even in the best of circumstances. And Nippy hadn’t exactly been in the best of circumstances, as everyone knew.
On the advice of one of her doctors, Nippy was taking steroids to help keep her voice strong. That helped some, but one side effect of steroids is that they cause you to gain weight. And when that happened to Nippy, people didn’t know what to think. She’d always been so slender, it was as if nobody knew know how to behave when she put on a few extra pounds. People can be quick to criticize, and that is doubly true of people who are watching a public figure attempt a comeback.
Unfortunately, some of the other criticism Nippy was getting was justified. Her voice just couldn’t stand up to the rigors of so many performances, but because tickets had been sold and promises had been made, Nippy tried to get out there and sing anyway. For a person who had always prided herself on the quality of her performances, it had to have been agonizing for her. People complained, and some of them walked out. Some even demanded their money back. Nothing like that had ever happened to Nippy on a tour, and I can’t imagine the effect it must have had on her.
Nippy also went right back to her old habit of never wanting me to know when something was wrong, so she never talked to me about any of this. But I can’t help but think now that the frustration she felt—at not being able to sing like she wanted to, and at letting people down—must have really knocked her back a step. Because at some point, and I’m not sure when, Nippy apparently began using drugs again.
It’s hard now not to wonder what might have happened if Nippy hadn’t gone back out on that tour. She was doing pretty well up until she took on the pressures of all those performances over all those miles. What if she had just done as she’d threatened, and taken Krissi to an island somewhere and never performed again? Would she have been able to stay strong in the face of temptation? Would she have been able to just live a quiet life, away from all the madness of the music business?
Nobody will ever know the answer to that, but I can say one thing. Just as it wasn’t Bobby Brown’s fault that Nippy did drugs, it wasn’t the fault of the music business that Nippy ended up struggling the way she did during and after that last tour. Yes, it can be a tough and sometimes ugly business. And yes, she had a hard time keeping up with the demands of promoting, performing, traveling, and everything else. But Nippy was a grown woman, and she had always been taught to think for herself.
Nippy made her decision, and everything that happened afterward—wel
l, that can never be changed. And you know, God had His hand in all of this, too. Nothing happens outside of His plan, no matter how much we might not like the outcome.
Nippy’s tour ended in June 2010, and after so many months on the road, she had to have been pretty spent. But whenever we’d talk on the phone, she always acted like everything was fine. She’d put on her chirpy little-girl voice, telling me about this and that, and to my ears she sounded all right. And I knew she had a few new things going on, too, so I wasn’t worried about her.
She started talking about doing a new studio album, saying that she wanted to work with Will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas. And she also started seeing a young rapper named Ray J, whose sister Brandy had starred with Nippy in the movie Cinderella back in the late 1990s. I didn’t know a thing about Ray J, except that people seemed to be getting worked up over the fact that he was seventeen years younger than Nippy. But you know, I understood that—what do you want with an old man if you can get a younger one? I certainly couldn’t blame her for that.
Throughout the rest of 2010 and into 2011, Nippy and I would talk on the phone, and every once in a while we’d see each other. She was back in Atlanta again, in the Tullamore house, and it was easier for me to get to Georgia than it was to California. But I can’t say that I saw her often—certainly not as often as I’d have liked to.
Every once in a while I’d hear talk about something going on with her—she got into some kind of mess at a Prince concert, or people didn’t think she sounded good when she sang at Clive Davis’s pre-Grammy party. But Nippy never talked about any of that stuff with me, and I didn’t press her. If there’s any one thing I regret about our relationship, that’s it: for whatever reason, she never could talk to me about anything that upset her, unless she was really in trouble. I wish we had found ways to communicate better with each other before things got to a crisis point.
I don’t know, maybe some of that was my fault. I was touchy about certain things, and quick to tell her—or anybody—if I didn’t like whatever was going on. If Nippy had been more like me, of course, that wouldn’t have fazed her. She’d have just said, “Well, that’s the way it is. Too bad if you don’t like it.” But Nippy wasn’t like me, not at all. She was complicated, and she could be fragile. She always preferred to hide her bad news, rather than tell me and have to hear what I had to say about it.
Nobody likes to have their mama angry, and I would get angry at her sometimes. Maybe she was a little afraid to talk to me, afraid that I would snap at her. I wanted her to be strong, but if she couldn’t be strong, I wanted her to ask for my help. Sometimes she couldn’t do either one of those things. And the sad truth of it is, the more I wanted her to reach out to me, the less she probably wanted to do it. She didn’t want me coming in with a bang, trying to solve her problems, so I tried to stay on the sidelines to give her some space. But the hard part about that was, I often didn’t have any idea what was going on with her. And that’s something I’ll never get over and I’ll never be right with.
In May 2011, I heard that Nippy was going into an outpatient rehab program. I hated that she was going back to rehab, but I was glad she was facing the problem head-on. As anyone knows who’s struggled with drugs or alcohol—or loves someone who has—it’s a lifelong battle. I just prayed that when she finished the program this time, she would stay strong and just keep moving forward. It helps to have something to look forward to, of course, so I also hoped she could find a project to work on. And soon enough, she did.
In the fall, Nippy announced that she would be producing and appearing in a remake of the 1976 movie Sparkle, a project she had been wanting to do for a very long time. She had seen the original movie as a teenager, going back to the theater over and over because she loved it so much. Nippy thought the story, about the struggles and relationships of a girl group in the sixties, was inspirational.
She had gotten the rights to do the remake back in the mid-1990s, but because of one thing or another it never got done. At first she wanted the beautiful young R&B singer Aaliyah to play the lead role of Sparkle. But when Aaliyah died in a plane crash in 2001, everything got put on hold. And that’s where it stayed for ten years, until a new producing team decided to take it on.
Now that the movie had new life, Nippy signed on to play Emma, the mother of the three young singers who make up the girl group. Jordin Sparks was cast as Sparkle, and shooting was scheduled for October 2011. Nippy flew to Detroit, and over the next month, she really had a ball shooting that movie. She liked Jordin Sparks, and because Krissi couldn’t come out for the shoot, I think Nippy liked having someone to “mother” a little bit.
Nippy and I talked on the phone a few times, and it seemed like she was really enjoying herself. This was her first movie since The Preacher’s Wife, and I think she was happy to finally be acting again. Michael’s wife, Donna, was with her in Detroit, and whenever I’d ask her how things were going, she always said Nippy was doing great.
Toward the end of shooting, Nippy invited me to come visit her in Detroit for the weekend. I was so happy—I hadn’t seen her in a while, and it’s not like I would have just popped over to Detroit to see her unless she asked me to. Once she invited me, though, I didn’t waste any time making arrangements. I was actually scheduled to be in Chicago just before that weekend, so it would be easy to just fly on into Detroit from there and see her.
When I finished up my business in Chicago, I packed my bags and got ready to catch a cab to the airport. And that’s when Donna called me.
“Cissy,” she said, “Nippy decided to fly home to Atlanta. She’s tired, so she just went on ahead home.”
Well, I didn’t know what to say to that. I had been excited to see my daughter, so of course I was disappointed. She had invited me out there, and I’d gone ahead and bought my ticket, and now she’d just changed her mind? I guess that for some reason she just didn’t want to see me. But you know, I never asked her why. I just flew on back home to New Jersey, and hoped that I’d get to see her sometime soon.
I suppose there was a little bit of pushing and pulling going on at this point, because the next time Nippy asked to see me, I told her she would have to wait. This was the Christmas visit in December 2011, when she suddenly showed up with Krissi in New York City and asked me to come spend the day with them. I had already made plans with my friend Nell up in Sparta, so I went ahead and saw her. But on December 26, I went into Manhattan, to the New York Palace hotel, to see Nippy and Krissi, Gary, Michael, and their families.
That whole day, Nippy was as happy as I’d seen her in a long time. We all spent the day talking and laughing and cutting up, just as if we were back on Dodd Street in East Orange. It was so wonderful to be surrounded by my children and grandchildren, and when I sat down on the sofa, Nippy came over and laid her head in my lap. I stroked my baby’s hair, and we just talked and talked. It was the most beautiful Christmas gift I could have had.
I was always trying to get Nippy to come see me in New Jersey, and as we talked, she promised she would come soon. “I’ve got to go to L.A. for the Grammys in February, but I’ll come see you after that,” she said.
“Why you gonna wait so long?” I asked her. “Don’t worry about L.A. Come on home before that.”
“No, Mommy,” she said. “I’ve got to go for Clive’s party. I’ll do that, and then I’ll come see you.” I told her I’d hold her to it.
We spent the whole day together in that hotel, and when the sun set I finally said, “Okay, it’s time for me to go.” As I gathered my things together, Nippy said, “We’ll walk you downstairs. Come on, Michael.”
The three of us went down to the lobby, and they started to walk outside with me to get my car. Nippy was just wearing a thin sweat suit—she loved to wear sweat suits—and I said, “Child, you are going to freeze! Get back upstairs!” She just laughed and said, “I’m fine, Mom.” Fortunately, the valet came quickly,
and after I gave her and Michael quick hugs, I got into my car. As I pulled away, Nippy waved goodbye. And that was the last time I ever saw her.
I talked to Nippy on the phone a few times between Christmas and February. And I even talked to her while she was in Los Angeles. But I don’t remember much about those conversations. All I remember is that she told me once again that she was coming to see me. She knew how badly I wanted that, so she promised to come soon.
And then, on Saturday, February 11, 2012, I got that terrible phone call from Gary. And that was the end of life as I had known it.
CHAPTER 19
Bringing My Daughter Home
Right after I hung up with Gary, people started showing up at my apartment. My niece Diane was first, because Gary had called her to tell her to come. Then, as word got out, the apartment just started filling up with people, everybody crying and hugging and breaking down.
How could Nippy be dead? It didn’t make sense. I just couldn’t accept what had happened—I couldn’t make my mind understand it. I believe I was in shock, because I’d be sitting in my chair in a daze, crushed under a burden of grief, and suddenly I’d hear someone screaming. And then I would realize those screams were coming from me.
I couldn’t bear to think about whatever happened to Nippy in that hotel room. And even through the haze of my grief, I thanked God I wasn’t there in Los Angeles when it happened. I usually went out for Clive’s Grammy party, but for whatever reason I didn’t go this time. I couldn’t have survived it if I had actually been right there when Nippy died. As it was, I wasn’t sure I could survive it being three thousand miles away.
Remembering Whitney: My Story of Love, Loss, and the Night the Music Stopped Page 21