Unbreak My Heart: A Memoir

by Toni Braxton

  When my eyelids slid open two hours later, I could hardly breathe. After the surgery, the doctor had packed my nostrils with sponge and gauze—this was an old-school nose job. My throat was on fire from the breathing tubes the doctor had put down my throat. And my eyes felt painful and puffy. Later, when I gathered the strength to get up and look in the mirror, I just about scared myself. I looked like I’d been in a very big fight—one that I’d apparently lost. “Will the swelling go down?” I asked the doctor. “Yes, eventually,” he told me. If there was any chance at all that he was wrong about that, my singing career would’ve suddenly been done. That’s just how much of a hot mess my whole face was.

  As it turns out, it took three years for the swelling to completely go away, and that was the point: L.A. and Kenny wanted the change to be gradual so it wouldn’t look like I rushed out and had a nose job. And of course, I later got my boobies done—just about every female performer gets breast implants. Plus, I’d always been shaped like a gymnast—size double A breasts and thunder thighs. In fact, I wish I would’ve had lipo on my inner thighs. I’ve always hated them.

  By the time I went in to see a Los Angeles surgeon about breast implants, I was more comfortable with the idea of altering my appearance, thanks to the nose job. But that didn’t mean I was over my jitters about anesthesia or the postsurgery pain. In fact, I made an appointment for the procedure—but then I canceled it at the last minute because I got scared. During our pre-op appointment, the surgeon had talked me through all of the options for implants. “How full do you want your breasts?” he said. I didn’t really know. “I think your frame would look good with a cup size that’s somewhere between a C and a D.” I nodded. I then had to choose what kind of implants I wanted, silicone or saline—and I chose saline. “We’ll make the incision in your underarm,” he told me. He then explained the risks (most of which had to do with the anesthesia) . . . which is right around the time I began wondering again whether I was ready for this. In fact, that’s probably why I ended up canceling our scheduled surgery.

  But my courage returned—and a few weeks later, I put on that gown and surgical cap. This time when I awakened, I felt like I had an elephant sitting on top of my chest. That’s just how intense the pressure was! They were swollen for a while, but in that case, it made them look even fuller. I loved how they looked. At last—Homey Toni Braxton had some curves. And finally, my taping days were done: Before I got the breast implants, my stylist would use duct tape beneath my tiny boobs to make it look like I had cleavage.

  And can I be honest with you about something else? To this day, I am still happy I got that nose job. Yes, I wish I’d gotten it smaller, but the new nose did fit my face so much better. Making my bridge more narrow and my nostrils smaller gave my nose a more feminine look. And though my parents were scared for me to have the procedure, they liked the final result as much as I did. And a couple of my sisters were like, “tell me everything about the surgery—because I might have my nose done, too!”

  Eight weeks after my nose job, we shot the video for “Another Sad Love Song”—and yes, our plan worked, because no one seemed to notice a change. I also began performing live. After all those years of singing in church, the record company didn’t have to do much to mold me as a live performer. And of course, once our first single debuted, I set out on a grueling promotional tour to every urban center around the country. I did radio lead-ins like “Hi, this is Toni Braxton!” I shook lots of hands, posed for countless photos, and sat for dozens of interviews. The hard work paid off: DJs really grasped on to my songs. “Who’s the short girl with the chubby cheeks, the pixie haircut, and the big ol’ butt?” people started asking. I never thought I had a big butt—though I do have Serena Williams thighs and an athletic build! But that wasn’t important. What mattered is that I was getting a whole lot of attention for two songs that weren’t even originally written for me. Thank you, Anita Baker.

  AROUND THE TIME when Boomerang took off, my manager called me up one day. “L.A.’s brother likes you,” he told me. “You don’t have to be his girlfriend, but why don’t you flirt with him a little? You’re in the business now—you’ve gotta hang out with people sometimes.” I’d worked with L.A.’s brother, Bryant, a few times—he was an A&R manager at LaFace, and he’d been overseeing the songs I did with Tim and Ted. I thought he was a nice guy, yet I wasn’t interested in a romance. He was averagely attractive. But he just wasn’t my type—a little too short.

  On the day my manager called, my mind flashed back to an experience I’d once had in Maryland. When I was nineteen, I worked as a background singer for a rapper whose Caucasian manager liked me—but the feeling wasn’t mutual. He was older, overweight, and frumpy. “Girl,” the rapper later told me, “if you want to be successful in this business, you’re going to have to get with a few guys you don’t like.”

  I thought my manager was right: A little flirting couldn’t hurt, and it might even improve our business relationship. So I went out a few times with Bryant. On one of those dates, we started making out . . . and . . . one thing led to another. I’ve never been one to kiss and tell, so I’ll just say that things went farther than I ever intended—and I regretted it to the twentieth power. I called my cousin Jackie and told her the details. “You’ll get over it,” she said. “He’s a nice guy.” But I wanted to end it.

  That wasn’t as easy as it sounds. Even when I went silent, which was my way of letting the whole thing fade away naturally, Bryant kept calling. And calling. And calling. Let’s just say, I ended up continuing to see Bryant because I didn’t feel like I could break it off without hurting my career given his connections. In retrospect, I should have followed my heart and walked away.

  IN DECEMBER 1992, L.A. and Kenny began strategizing: How could they ride the wave of the soundtrack’s popularity and quickly put out my first album? Back in those days, you couldn’t just come out with an album suddenly—the record company had to slot you in, sometimes as far out as a year ahead of time. I lucked out with getting onto the Boomerang soundtrack because it was already in the works and had to be done so expediently. So L.A. and Kenny had to persuade Arista to get my project out by the following summer. Arista finally agreed.

  The process of making that album happened superfast. Kenny had already written “Breathe Again,” and he sang it for me as he played the instrumental on a cassette. I nearly cried the first time I heard it—the melody sounded just that beautiful to me. Some of the other songs, like “Seven Whole Days,” were written right there in the studio. When you’re creating a song, it’s not necessarily a straightforward process: sometimes, you just play around with the lyrics and melody until you stumble upon something that feels right. “Try singing that line, Toni,” Kenny would often say to me as we were working on a piece. Once I sang the melody, he would usually go back and rearrange some of the lyrics, then ask me to sing it again. We could go back and forth like that for hours.

  A lot of people think that famous musicians live a rock-and-roll lifestyle—but when I was starting out, my life was anything but that. No one saw me around town partying: I was in the studio for twelve, fifteen, sometimes even twenty hours a day. I’d often leave the studio at six in the morning and be back there by noon. Even when I was at home, I’d sit and study music—that’s what you do before you go back into the studio for the next session. At times, I would dig out some old Babyface or Anita Baker cassettes and study the music. I’d also listen to the songs Kenny and I actually worked on and think about how I would interpret them. For instance, when Kenny first gave me “Breathe Again,” he was singing it on the demo—and I listened hard while thinking, How can I make this my own? And of course, I had to do a lot of fast memorizing of the melodies and lyrics because we had such a short time to complete the album. That’s what many don’t know: If you want to be a great musician, you first have to be a devoted student of music. That involves practicing strict discipline every single day. It’s not all just about getting up
on the stage to perform—most of the real work happens behind the scenes.

  As hard as I was working on the album, I still made time to connect with my family. I talked with them by phone on most days once I was home from the studio. Mom had gone from angry about my choice to go solo to proud and fairly supportive (that is, as long as I remembered that I was supposed to circle back and get my sisters a deal). My parents drove down from Severn to Atlanta every couple of months just to spend time with me. I didn’t really take them with me to the studio (our sessions were closed, so none of the artists brought others along). So they would hang at my apartment as I worked, and we’d often go out to eat in the evenings. My sisters stayed behind in Severn—and word once got back to my parents that they’d thrown a huge house party (with alcohol and everything!) while my parents were away . . . and I’m sure you can imagine how well my parents took that news.

  From time to time, I’d fly all of my sisters to Atlanta and have them hang out with me. I wanted to give them a front-row seat in my new life as a solo artist, as well as to encourage them to keep their own musical dreams alive. “Keep practicing and working hard!” I’d tell them. While they were in town, we didn’t do anything particularly glamorous: I’d just take them with me to Lenox or Phillips Mall so we could shop together. Sometimes, we’d stop in Claire’s and buy a cheap pair of earrings.

  On July 13, 1993—a short six months after the project had been green-lighted by Arista—my self-titled album hit the record stores. I was so excited when the first single, “Another Sad Love Song,” made it to the top of the charts. Other hits followed: “Breathe Again,” “You Mean the World to Me,” “I Belong to You,” and “How Many Ways.” I can’t tell you how appreciative I was that people were listening to my music—imagine me, a little country girl from Severn, suddenly having a hit record. What a gift. I wanted to include my sisters in my success and give them another shot at breaking in, so I featured all four of them in the video for “Seven Whole Days.” Practically overnight, I became the newest R&B artist people were buzzing about. You want to know when I felt like I had “made it”? The day I received a Soul Train Music Award. For me, that honor was the ultimate one, since it came from the show that first inspired me to dream. And on top of all that, I even won my bet with L.A.: He actually bought me a baby-blue Porsche, which he had delivered.

  My life changed dramatically. My private life was pretty ordinary, but whenever I went out in public, I suddenly felt like I was living the glamorous life. Gone were the days when I could just roll out in my sweats, flip-flops, and no makeup. The paparazzi were usually close by, ready to snap a photo. People came up to me when I went to the grocery store—my short haircut was an instant giveaway. One time when I was stopped at an intersection, a couple guys pulled up and shouted, “Can we have your autograph?” Another time, I went out to dinner at a Houston’s restaurant in Buckhead, Atlanta, and a group of girls followed me into the restroom. While I was in the stall, one of them said to me through the door, “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Toni, but can we have your autograph?” I’ve always been so flattered when others show me appreciation—but it was a bit awkward to have that conversation while my stream of pee flowed down and hit the water in the toilet. And yes: Once I zipped up and washed my hands, I did give the girls my autograph. It’s a privilege to have such amazing fans.

  Whenever I would pop in at Neiman-Marcus in Lenox Mall, people would come up to me and say hello. Once when L.A. and I went there together, a woman stopped and said, “I love your haircut!” In moments like that, L.A. would often step aside and just observe the interaction: He was always gathering information on how to create the best image for his artists. After that lady commented on my hairstyle, L.A. said, “We’ll have to make your sideburns even more of a strong detail.” He was so good at finding ways to improve me and the many other entertainers on his record label.

  My family was as thrilled as I was about the success of my first album. When I returned to my hometown to visit, Mom and Dad hosted a barbecue at their house. They surprised me by having a lot of extended family there. I knew my parents were proud and just wanted to celebrate me. But the truth is that I was fatigued. I’d been on the road for weeks, performing my butt off onstage and then offering hundreds of handshakes afterward. Hanging out with a whole group of family in Severn felt like work to me—and I had come home to get away from work. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve always loved performing, and I’m so grateful for the millions who support my work. But no matter how passionate you are about what you do, there comes a moment when you need a break. I needed to catch my breath.

  From obscurity to superstardom—that became my story in a matter of only months, and I was pinching myself during the whole ride. Back when I was a girl, I had repeatedly prayed for fame. Yet I’d forgotten to add the part about fortune. I’d become a celebrity, yes—but I was still waiting on the financial rewards. God is busy. That’s why I’ve since learned I need to itemize.

  PHOTO SECTION

  One of my first baby pictures, at three months old.

  Our childhood home in Severn, Maryland. Every year in the spring, Mommy would paint the big rock (there in the yard) with “The Braxton Family.” She changed the paint color each year.

  An early school photo—I was five years old here.

  Enjoying ice cream in the summer with Mommy at Grandma Eva’s house in Baltimore.

  Family photo from the late 1980s—I’m standing in the back, second from the left.

  All dressed up and posing in front of our house before heading to church on Easter Sunday.

  All of the siblings together at Grandma Eva’s house on Easter Sunday.

  At age sixteen, I was already practicing how to look like a star.

  With my senior prom date, Ferron, when he came to pick me up from my house.

  This picture is from my senior year in high school. Note my monogrammed sweater!

  My sisters and I performed at Anne Orundel Community College in Arnold, Maryland. I played piano for the group and sang a solo of the gospel song “God Is.”

  All smiles at my graduation from Glen Burnie High School in Glen Burnie, Maryland.

  I wore this outfit when my sisters and I performed a showcase for L.A. Reid and Babyface in Atlanta shortly before I signed with LaFace Records. I was about twenty-three years old here.

  Performing as the Braxton Sisters at Bowie State University in Maryland. I’m right in the middle!

  A signed promo shot from the Braxton Sisters’ single, “The Good Life.” This is the only single all five of us ever released as a family group.

  (© Robert Manella for Atlantic Records)

  In 1995, LaFace Records hosted a party for me, their new artist, and my family drove up from Maryland to take part in the festivities.

  (courtesy of Anita and Steve Shevett)

  My sisters (Trina, Traci, Tamar, and Towanda) joined me for a European tour on the heels of the success of my 1996 Secrets album.

  I was honored to be cast as the first African American woman to play a leading role in a Disney production on Broadway when I starred as Belle in Beauty and the Beast. This was our cast bow at the show’s final performance.

  (courtesy of Anita and Steve Shevett, used with permission from Disney)

  A promotional postcard used to advertise my Broadway role in Beauty and the Beast.

  (© Disney. Photography by Lynn Goldsmith)

  I was thrilled to return to Broadway to play the title role in Aida. I love this Times Square shot of my two Broadway billboards side by side!

  (used with permission from Disney)

  April 22, 2001, one of the happiest days of my life: my wedding to Keri Lewis at Dean Gardens in Atlanta, Georgia.

  (© Yitzhak Dalal)

  Proudly showing off my baby bump with Keri—this was during my pregnancy with our first son, Denim Cole Braxton-Lewis, born December 2, 2001.

  (© Daniela Federici)

  This was our number in Vegas for
“7 Whole Days.” I am definitely not a dancer by nature—the color of your skin doesn’t always mean you have rhythm! We practiced for six weeks, and my dancers and their amazing bodies were my inspiration.

  (© Keirston “Keri” Lewis)

  We almost had a wardrobe malfunction with this Vegas costume—as you can see, it was cut pretty high. Let’s just say I was very glad I had just been lasered!

  (© Keirston “Keri” Lewis)

  Here I’m singing “Un-break My Heart”—we were trying to re-create the video onstage in this white dress. This has become the song that I’m most known for, which is why I wanted to make it the title of my book.

  (© Keirston “Keri” Lewis)

  CHAPTER 10

  Grammy Nightmare

  Right after I finished my first album, I got my sisters a record deal at LaFace—but they never released any music on the label. That’s because the A&R manager who signed them—Bryant, L.A.’s brother—left for a job at Atlantic. Bryant asked Kenny if he could take my sisters with him. Kenny agreed.