But the single life that I’d missed so much—it got old quickly. It was always the same thing:
I’d think, Having a variety of women in my bed is going to make life better. This is what being single is all about, right? I got one for Mondays. One for Tuesdays. But, wait, it’s Wednesday. I gotta go through my contacts and find someone. “Hey, what’re you doing today? . . . You got plans, huh? . . . Oh, okay.” “Hey, girl, whatchu doing? Wanna come by and chill? Nope? Oh, okay.” “What about you? Great, how soon can you get here?” An hour later: She looks great. But damn, talking to her is like pulling teeth. Let’s just take care of business. Bam bam bam. Okay. She still here? What time is it? Finally, she’d speak the three magic words: “I gotta go.” “Aww, so soon? All right, I’ll see you around.”
It was sad, and the saddest thing about it was that I had kids. I couldn’t be the guy living this life while being a father. There was a reason why I never introduced any of those women to my kids. I wouldn’t even introduce Eniko until I knew it was something very long-term.
Eniko was also cautious. She refused to put a name on our relationship until I was divorced. Twenty-year-old Kevin would have hated the idea of taking things so damn slowly. But thirty-year-old Kevin was grateful for it. That’s how I knew I was actually growing up.
85
* * *
NO, I’M GOING BACK TO TITLES. LET’S CALL THIS ONE: SOME MORE GROWING UP
“It’s some really heavy shit that happened to you growing up,” Joey said.
He and Harry were at my house for a writing session, which, as always, was 5 percent writing and 95 percent Madden. They had great jobs: When we weren’t on the road, they were basically paid to play video games with me.
“Yeah, man.” I agreed with Joey. “But the last thing I want is for anyone to feel sorry for me, because I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’m glad for everything that happened.”
“Even losing your mom?” Harry asked. “Seems like you’re still hurting over that.”
“Of course, that was tough.”
They asked about the funeral. It was a sad day, but since I’m not the type to wallow, I lightened up the story for them and started describing the characters in my family. They kept busting up, and every now and then, taking notes. It actually looked like they were working during work hours.
I riffed on my family and my dad’s addiction for a good hour. As I did, I thought, I’m supposed to be a comedian who isn’t afraid to bare it all, so why have I been hiding this part of my life?
By the time I was done, it was clear to all of us what the follow-up to Seriously Funny would be.
“Are you really ready to go to these places?” Joey asked.
“I guess. Some of the shit is so funny, I couldn’t even make it up. The main thing that’s important to me with this is that when I leave the stage, people know who I am and what made me.”
I started popping up for unscheduled spots in the New York clubs where I’d cut my teeth so I could test different stories and approaches. Some nights, there were only ten people in the audience. Other nights, I’d do thirty minutes and I wouldn’t hear a single laugh. A few times, I saw people on their phones when I was in the middle of talking about my mom’s funeral. But I needed to bomb to succeed: I knew that if I could find a way to win over audiences in these tough, cold rooms, then I’d have no problem in a theater packed with people who were actually there to see me.
Through talking on stage about subjects I typically avoided thinking about, and receiving the immediate response of laughter—which to me says, I can relate to what you went through—I began to heal wounds I didn’t know I had. It enabled me to accept even my father’s worst behavior and finally go through the grieving process around my mom.
Choosing to talk about these deeply personal subjects on what became the Laugh at My Pain tour took me down a whole new road in life. People told their friends to see the show, and those individuals then told their friends. Groups of people came up to me in the street, yelling my dad’s phrase from the show, “All right, all right, all right!”
Eventually, Mike Berkowitz called.
Mike: You know, I think we can add a second theater show in most of these cities.
Me: I don’t know, man. I just want to be patient.
Mike: Let’s try it.
Me: Uh, okay.
(A few months later . . .)
Mike: You can probably stop doing theaters and go to basketball arenas in a few of these cities.
Me: I don’t know.
Mike: I’m telling you, you can. You sold out three nights in Boston. Let’s try it.
Me: Uh, uh . . . fuck . . . okay.
The first arena show he booked for us was at the Mohegan Sun Arena in Connecticut, which holds ten thousand people. As we walked down the loading ramp and through the backstage door on the day of the show, I felt like every line of cocaine I’d ever turned down entered my bloodstream. I came on stage with so much energy that I had to slow myself down to keep from steamrolling over the jokes.
All the work we’d put in had created momentum, and for the first time it felt like we couldn’t stop the audience from growing even if we wanted to. Our days of flyering were over. At this level, there was a machine working for us. Promoters had a budget for marketing campaigns with radio spots, billboards, print ads, and professional publicists. And I finally had enough money to make one essential addition to the Plastic Cup Boyz: John, the only barber who could do my hair right.
He left the back chair at Platinum Cuts, joined the Make-Up Artists and Hair Stylists Guild, and became a permanent part of the team.
Beyond the roadwork, the social media, the specials, and all the other promotion, another factor was probably responsible for this acceleration in my career. I was finally cleaning up the one area of my life where I was a jerk and a hypocrite and didn’t live up to my own standards: my relationships. Without the guilt, fear, frustration, and resentment running through my mind all the time, I was free to be the best version of myself that I could be.
86
* * *
THAT ONE TIME I GOT CAUGHT CHEATING WITHOUT ACTUALLY CHEATING
The first time I saw how powerful the media’s influence on my life could be was when I took Eniko to a Lakers game. The next day, there were photos online of us holding hands, with headlines like, “Caught Creepin’! Married Comedian Kevin Hart Brought His Jumpoff to Last Night’s Lakers Game!”
My name had never been on TMZ. I’d never been someone who gossip sites were interested in. I was still so small time that some of those headlines spelled my name “Kevin Heat.”
The instant the story broke, Torrei was on the phone:
“I can’t believe you would do this to me!”
“Huh?
“How dare you humiliate me like that!”