3. If we had an honest relationship without jealousy, then we’d be happy together.
4. Jealousy is a fear that one of us will abandon the other.
5. So to get rid of the jealousy, we need to make a real commitment to each other that’s undeniable.
6. Let’s get married.
The first person I told about the decision wasn’t my family but an old friend. This was his response: “Hey, dummy, you don’t need to be getting married. You’re too young and stupid. Get your career figured out first. Then decide if that’s what you want. You have no idea what you’re in for with marriage, so don’t be stupid, stupid. Call it off before it’s too late!”
Then I told my brother: “Are you sure? My shit didn’t work out, and you guys already have worse problems.”
But I shoulder-shrugged the advice. “Yeah, I got it. It’s gonna be cool.”
The only person who didn’t disapprove was my mother, who just asked if I was sure I wanted to do this. When I said that I was, she told me to be honest and loyal, and to treat Torrei well.
I wish I could say I followed her advice. I saw the marriage as another attempt in a long line of efforts to make the relationship work by making bigger and stronger commitments. I also thought it would be the coolest thing ever to elope to Vegas, then come back to L.A. as a married man.
But there was a big gap between my intentions and my actions. I started our new life out with a lie that, to this day, Torrei still isn’t aware of.
Most of my lies came from my desire to keep Torrei happy, but they always backfired and made her unhappy. So I don’t know why I kept telling them—probably because they at least made her happy in the moment.
In this particular case, she kept asking for a proper diamond wedding ring with a gold band, so I told my first lie—that I’d gotten her a special one. She was happy and stopped asking me about it.
The day before the wedding, I told her I was going to the casino to gamble. Then I ran to the jewelry stores, where I discovered that I couldn’t afford a single ring with any type of diamond on it.
I didn’t want her to know that I’d lied about the ring, so I lied about the ring again. It made total sense to me at the time. I returned to the room and told her I was on a streak in blackjack, but bet too much on a bad hand and had to pawn the diamond wedding ring to pay the debt.
Now she was unhappy, but my previous lie had at least delayed this by a couple of weeks. I promised to get her an even better ring as soon as I could afford it. That didn’t console her much.
The next day, I bought a cheap ten-dollar ring as a placeholder. The ceremony, if you can call it that, was at the casino’s wedding chapel. Torrei’s parents and sister could afford to fly in for the ceremony, so they were our only guests.
I had on a pair of Diesel jeans, white Air Force 1s, and a black T-shirt under a leather blazer. Torrei wore a beautiful sundress. I was twenty-goddamn-three years old and flat broke. It was fucking nuts.
59
* * *
LIARS GET LIED TO TOO
I was too young, too old, too good-looking, too ugly, too urban, not urban enough, or “just not what we’re looking for in this role.” I couldn’t seem to get any work.
Dave had connected me with a talent agency, UTA, and one afternoon, the agents there called me in for a meeting. The room was full. It seemed like everyone in the company was there, talking about all the new movies they were going to get me auditions for: King Arthur, The A-Team, The Hulk.
I finally said something:
Me: Wait a minute, The Hulk? They want a five-foot-four-inch black Hulk?
Them: Well, who knows, look at Tom Cruise—
Me: You guys got me going out for B.A. Baracus in The A-Team? I’ll never get that. There’s nothing Mr. T–like about me.
Them: Well, you know, I can really see you reinventing Mr. T for today.
Me: Look, man, ain’t nobody putting me in none of them damn movies. Y’all don’t have to Hollywood me.
The agents seemed taken aback by what I was saying, as if no one had ever called them out on it before. But I was starting to understand that auditions were less about nailing the part and more about nailing the casting agent. Some of those parts weren’t for me; in other cases, they already had someone they liked in the part. The goal was to shine and to win over the casting agent, so that when the roles that were right for me came along, and I was further along in my career, they’d remember me.
“Just get me in rooms with the right people,” I told them, “and I’ll take care of the rest.”
That talk, and that realization, changed my career. I started going to auditions with the intention of not getting this role, but the next role. To make an impression, I’d pop right away: “Hey, guys, what’s happening? How’s it been going so far? Am I the first black guy you’ve seen?”
Later I might say something like, “When I’m done, I’m gonna leave my phone here accidentally, with the recorder on, so I can come back for it and find out if y’all said I was good or bad.” Or I might point to the guy who was lowest in the pecking order in the room: “If I don’t get the part, I’m blaming it on Ray right there.”
The goal was to break the tension and get them laughing, but without trying too hard. I’d still work to embody the part. Even if the role wasn’t for me, I wanted them to see how prepared I was and what I was capable of. I’d mix it up and play the character in ways that weren’t right for the film, just to show them that I had different levels.
I almost always got a callback, and to this day, I’m still close with a lot of those people. The leading actors in Hollywood may change, but the players behind the scenes often remain the same. Even though they didn’t give me parts at the time, some of them ended up giving me great roles later.
Though people say to live in the moment, each moment leads to other moments. So treat each moment like a seed, and care for it so that something beautiful can grow from it. That Ray kid you joked around with when he was just starting out may become a studio head ten years later, and will remember that you noticed him and treated him special.
One day, my agents called and said that a casting assistant I’d met had alerted them to a situation where I could potentially get a role. But it wasn’t an audition. It was what’s called a table read, which is when actors sit in a room and read a script in character so that everyone can get a sense of how the dialogue will sound when it’s performed. This one was for the horror movie parody Scary Movie 3, and my agents said that if I knocked it out of the park, I might be considered for a part.