by Toni Braxton
Though I’d sued LaFace, my dispute was never really with L.A. and Kenny; it was with Arista—which is why I was able to maintain at least a working relationship with both of them. L.A. and I never talked about the fact that he hadn’t returned my calls in the weeks leading up to the bankruptcy—we just moved on. And by then, I’d realized that Arista had given L.A. and Kenny a deal that was nearly as crappy as mine.
AROUND THE TIME of the bankruptcy, my relationship with Curtis shifted. In general, he’d been very supportive and stood by me through the early weeks of the ordeal—but then things started to get weird in other ways. For instance, I was finding it tougher and tougher to understand some of his new restrictions on our physical touch. Yes, we’d agreed to save the ultimate act for marriage—but then he started saying things like, “We shouldn’t touch each other below the neck.” We’d be making out, and all of a sudden, he’d just stop. “That could lead to other things,” he’d say. True—but at a time when my whole world was falling apart, I really needed his consolation, not more rules. And how could he really expect us to stay above the neck when we would sometimes sleep in the bed together when we visited each other? I was thinking, Okay—if you don’t want to make out below the neck, then you’d better go sleep in a separate bedroom.
Curtis also started making statements like, “You’re going through this bankruptcy because God wants you to get back with Him. He wants you to let go of all these materialistic things.” I’m like, “What materialistic things?” It sounded crazy to me that God would somehow cause this bankruptcy—so I just chalked it up to Curtis not knowing what else to say or how to comfort me. We didn’t really argue—yet when he made the kinds of statements he was making, it definitely drove a wedge between us. More and more, I noticed he seemed distant and moody. Even still, I knew I wanted to be with Curtis forever. Love does that to a girl.
A couple months after I filed for bankruptcy, I flew to Pittsburgh to spend time with Curtis—he said he needed to talk to me. I had a bad feeling in my stomach even before I boarded the plane. What he told me during that trip sends shivers up my spine: “Jesus told me we had to break up.” I stared at him blankly. “What?” I finally managed to say. “God told me that we shouldn’t be together anymore.” No matter how I pressed him, he kept repeating what Jesus told him. It felt like he was breaking up with me using a one-liner on a Post-it note—and the fact that it was face-to-face made it all the more heart-wrenching. “I can best serve you as your friend,” he finally added. Huh? “We’re friends now,” I protested. “We’re not lovers—we haven’t even been intimate!” But it was clear he’d already made his choice—and it’s one that, to this day, I still don’t really understand. I flew back to Los Angeles feeling numb and confused. I was completely heartbroken—there’s just no other way to put it. Once home, I curled up in my bedroom and cried like a little kid—something I’d gotten used to during the bankruptcy.
Even with as much pain as I was in, I did my best to focus on my next chapter. I knew I had to somehow put the one-two punch of financial and relationship devastations behind me. I also knew I needed to get some money coming in—other than the $10,000 that Curtis had given me, I had no other income. I only used the money I did have on basics like food. By this time, because I’d already been declared bankrupt, I could at least earn new money—so work beckoned even more feverishly than it usually does for me.
Since I’d always wanted to try acting (and because it was a great way to earn income), I took a role on Broadway as Belle in Beauty and the Beast in September 1998. I rented a place on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. The show was exactly the change I needed: I was out of my element as a singer, so I had the opportunity to experiment with another form of artistry. I loved the gorgeous costume dresses (costume designer Ann Hould-Ward created an off-the-shoulder gown just for me!) as well as the energy of a live audience. And I considered it a great honor to be the first black actress to ever play Belle in the show. The most difficult part was the commute: On my off days, I flew from New York back to Los Angeles for the bankruptcy depositions. It was quite an exhausting schedule, yet I was grateful to be consumed by something other than the huge challenges I was facing.
Even still, I won’t deny that I was seriously depressed as I did the show. I’m sure a lot of people were thinking, She must be happy to be doing the show—and I was. I could disappear into the performance, but as soon as the curtains closed and I dragged myself home, all I had the energy to do was climb into bed. Most of the time, I had this strange feeling that my body was vibrating—as if there was a constant heartbeat beneath every part of my skin. And I don’t know why, but I ate a lot of cantaloupe. I would take the fruit, cut it in half, take out the seeds, and just sit there and eat it. For some reason, that’s one of the only things that brought me a little relief every day. I never actually tried to take my life, but when I look back on that time, I think I might’ve been somewhat suicidal—for instance, I stopped being so careful when I crossed the street. I walked around New York like a zombie.
Mommy knew how down I was feeling—I didn’t even have to tell her, because she could sense it. She’s one of those people who knows how to offer others great comfort during times of crisis—any one of Mommy’s friends can tell you that she’s the one to call when you’re feeling depressed. She is a spiritual life coach. “This too shall pass,” she would remind me. “This is just a phase. It’s seasonal. We do not claim this.” I was particularly grateful for Mom’s encouragement, I had few people to rely on. And forget a social life: I was much too embarrassed even to be seen. I was sure the whole world was thinking, She’s dumb. She’s stupid. She’s broke. I wore a brave face during the Broadway show—but I mostly hid otherwise.
There were a few bright spots during that dark period: I received so much support from fans who’d heard about my financial struggles. Can you believe people actually sent me checks for $200 and $300? Jamie Foster Brown, the founder and editor of Sister2Sister magazine, even sent me a check. I never actually cashed the checks—but I appreciated each gesture of kindness.
For my six-month run in Beauty and the Beast, composer Alan Menken and lyricist Tim Rice wrote a new song for me to sing in the show. “A Change in Me” perfectly captures a pivotal moment for my character, Belle. “There’s been a change in me, a kind of moving on,” I sang in each performance. “Though what I used to be I still depend on. For now I realize that good can come from bad. That may not make me wise, but oh it makes me glad.” A lyrical transformation for a princess—and a dramatic turning point for me.
CHAPTER 13
Battle Wounds
Here’s what most people don’t know: I won my bankruptcy case because of Kenny. Toward the end of the proceedings, the judge said to him, “You’re an artist. If you were offered the amount of money that Toni was offered, would you have taken it?” Kenny paused. “No, I wouldn’t,” he said. L.A., who was in the courtroom that day, gave Kenny the look of death. I couldn’t believe he said that—I will always love him for telling the truth in spite of his situation. By then, Kenny and I wanted exactly the same thing—to finally settle the case. His testimony is what helped to make that happen.
In January 1999, I finally reached an agreement with Arista and LaFace—and got a check for $20 million. I bought back my Grammys, designer dresses, and other valuables. In short, I won—but because the case left me so bloody, it didn’t feel like as much of a victory as it should have. I’d hired lots of attorneys to represent me in what turned out to be a David versus Goliath battle. The RIAA and the record companies were lobbying against my case and trying to change the bankruptcy rules for all artists, so my lawyers had to get a lobbyist to lobby on my behalf; the RIAA’s proposed legislation was eventually declared unconstitutional.
Yet even after that triumph, I couldn’t tell the world the whole story because of a gag order. Upon settling, I had to sign an agreement ensuring that I would remain silent about the dollar figure of my payment for t
en years. Let’s just say that I couldn’t be on the annual Forbes list because nobody could know how much I had received. So while I may have been privately exonerated, a certain public perception remained: Many still believed that I was broke.
The $20 million did allow me to start over. Because of the magnitude of my legal case, I had to pay millions in commissions and fees to my agents, managers, and attorneys. And of course, I handed over about $8 million for taxes. In the end, I was left with about $7 million, which I used to rebuild. I moved from L.A. to Atlanta and bought a home there. I set up a retirement account and bought some life insurance. At last, I was back on my feet—at least financially.
MEANWHILE, MY FRIENDSHIP with Keri, which had started during my Kenny G tour, began to blossom. We’d often spend hours together, writing music in the studio. “That’s hot!” I’d tell Keri when he played a track for me. He was not only an amazing keyboardist—he was also a super-talented producer. In fact, in 2000, he left his band to work on my production team at LaFace. Keri’s relationship with his girlfriend eventually ended, and once it did, we both slowly realized our connection was a little more than just a friendship (we’d been what I call “flirty friends” for at least a year . . . ).
Early on, we never made anything official—we just knew there was a spark between us. But in 1999, while I was doing Beauty and the Beast in New York, we actually started dating. Our first real date was a movie. We went to see The Best Man starring Taye Diggs, Morris Chestnut, and Nia Long. I threw on my hat and scarf as a disguise—though I didn’t really need to do that in a place like New York. And by the way, have I mentioned just how much I love the movies? All About Eve and The Heiress are two of my all-time faves. And I’m always amazed by the talents of my favorite actresses—Whoopi Goldberg and Meryl Streep. A movie was a perfect choice for a first date.
Keri was exactly what I needed at that time in my life—a calm spirit. Back in those days, Keri was a vegetarian. “You’ve gotta eat better,” he would tell me. But I loved my meat. “I don’t get it,” I’d joke. “If you’re going to eat cheese, you might as well eat beef—they’re both from an animal.” “They’re different!” he’d say insistently. For years, he and most of the guys in Mint Condition had never touched meat—they used to be meat eaters, but they became vegetarians. Keri has always been so laid-back and cool. I’m exactly the opposite. “Count to eight until the rest of the world has caught up!” he’d often tease me. With all the craziness in my life—my parents’ marital problems, the bankruptcy, the lawsuit—he made me slow down and just breathe. That was really the attraction. I’d call him up on the phone and we’d talk late into the night. With so much on my mind, I often had insomnia (most entertainers are control freaks—including me—and we’re constantly trying to figure things out. A sleeping pill usually does nothing to get us to doze . . . ). Keri and I would chat about silly stuff, like the latest movies. But little by little, I began confiding in him about personal things. Over time, we became emotionally and physically intimate.
I found out in between my Saturday-night show and my Sunday matinee of Beauty and the Beast that I was expecting. That Sunday morning, I’d asked my assistant to pick up an e.p.t. pregnancy test for me, but I lied and told him it was to play a practical joke on one of the cast members. He got the double pack, which was a good thing—because when it came up positive I immediately thought, That couldn’t be correct. I shook the test stick like they used to do with the old mercury thermometers, hoping that the double line would go away. It didn’t. So I drank forty ounces of water as a way to make my urine clear and dilute any traces of HCG, the hormone that signals pregnancy. Finally, I peed on the stick—and I got exactly the same result.
I kinda laughed at first—I guess I was just shocked. I hadn’t been sexually active for at least a year and a half before Keri, but I still considered myself a “safe-sex girl.” As reality set in, I became really mad at myself. My mind went back to that one night when Keri and I had not used protection . . . but not quite the whole time. I worked up the nerve to call Keri and tell him the news—and his response immediately put me at ease. “We’ll get through this together,” he said, reassuring me. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll support you.” He was a complete gentleman who said all the right things—just like you hear in the movies. (Secretly, the performer in me was hoping for a little drama . . . not the Maury Povich show, but maybe an argument or a few tears.) Within a couple of hours of my call, Keri got on a plane and flew from Minnesota to New York just to be with me. I knew then that I would marry him someday.
When I discovered I was pregnant, I was right in the middle of a six-month prescription for Accutane—a kind of miracle drug for acne. I had begun taking it because all of the stresses of my life were showing up on my face. Like every drug, this one had its side effects. In fact, when my dermatologist gave me the prescription, I had to sign a waiver saying that if I got pregnant while on the drug, the fetus could be severely deformed—even two years after the prescription ended. But that didn’t deter me, because I’d have done anything to get rid of my crunchy skin. So I scribbled my signature and got the prescription filled in ten minutes at a ma-and-pa pharmacist. I do remember seeing the pictures of a deformed baby on the back of the package, but I set it aside quickly. I couldn’t wait for the day when my acne would magically disappear and I could be “cute” again. Within weeks, the Accutane began to work. But on the afternoon when I discovered I was pregnant, I was suddenly faced with a choice I’d never thought I’d have to make. Amid my major misgivings about abortion (according to my strict religious upbringing, God considers abortion wrong . . . so you can imagine how much agonizing I did), I eventually made a gut-wrenching decision—I would abort.
On the Monday following my test, I called my ob-gyn and told him my news. “I’m excited for you!” he said. I then told him I was planning to terminate the pregnancy—and he went dead silent. I could tell he was judging me. So before he could speak, I quickly added, “I’m on Accutane—and that’s why I’m making this decision.” The doctor seemed relieved once he heard my rationale, and his tone completely changed. But I knew that even if I weren’t on the medication, I would’ve made the same decision. I felt selfish. I certainly wasn’t wealthy, but I was rich enough to take care of a child—I’d just received that settlement check. My reasons had more to do with convenience than they did the fear that my baby would be abnormal. Yet I had them anyway.
The morning I showed up for my appointment, Keri came with me and stood by in the waiting room. He was the only person who knew what I was facing—I was too guilt-ridden to tell my family. I had the procedure done at Cedars-Sinai Hospital rather than in a clinic—because I’d been taking Accutane, my procedure had been deemed a “medical abortion” and therefore could take place in a hospital. When a nurse came in and looked over my chart, she said in a not-so-nice tone, “Oh—so you’re having a D&E,” which is a dilation and extraction—another term for an abortion. I sat there wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. When it came to my abortion being medically necessary, the nurse didn’t mention that part—either to me or to the Mexican doctor who later came in to perform the procedure. I felt exposed—like everyone there knew my real reasons for having the abortion. It was as if I could hear the doctor thinking, You are a grown woman—and you can afford to have this baby. I sat there in total silence.
The anesthesiologist broke the tension with his lighthearted manner. “Do you like to cook?” he asked, prepping me to go under. I nodded and smiled. “Well, I’ve got a recipe for you,” he said. “Here’s how you can make a great sautéed shrimp.” He then walked me through every step, laughing all the way through it—“You take a skillet, put a little olive oil in it, put in the shrimp, throw in some spices, add a little butter, some orange juice, and Grand Marnier, stir it, thicken it up a bit, and voilà!” Meanwhile, I was so pleasantly distracted from what I was there to do that I barely even remember the moment I was out.
When I awakened less than an hour later, I was throbbing . . . down there. Very sore, very crampy. I even bled a little. After spending another hour in a recovery room, I finally met Keri in the waiting lounge. We embraced without a word (Keri’s calming presence was enough), and he helped me out to the car. Once we were back at the condo, I climbed into bed to rest. The following day, I woke up feeling so angry. What did I do? There was no easy answer to that question. The truth is that I’d made a choice that violated every religious principle I was raised to believe—and that reality suddenly overwhelmed me. I also felt that with everything I’d been given—a great relationship with Keri and an amazing career—I had little to show God for it. I felt like I’d taken advantage of the gifts He had given me—and that made me furious with myself. I felt like I deserved whatever I got.
For weeks after the abortion, I was in denial of how ashamed I felt. Though Keri continued to show me his support through his daily presence, he and I never really talked much about all the deep emotions I was experiencing. I just tried to move on as if nothing had happened and do what I’ve always done during difficult times—busy myself with work.
As I wrapped up my Broadway run, Disney offered me a role in Beauty and the Beast in London. I thought about it but decided it was time to go back to recording—and besides that, my record contract stated that I needed to begin recording immediately. So since I’d sorted out the mess with Arista, I signed another deal with LaFace and began on a third album. Yet whenever I would think about the decision I’d made, I would tell myself, “I had to do it. I had no choice.” It’s amazing how you can brainwash yourself into really believing something you know isn’t true. Over the following months as my romance with Keri deepened, I would have that conversation with myself many, many times. In my heart, I believed I had taken a life—an action that I thought God might one day punish me for.