He began by telling me that he’d been following my career and was aware of everything I’d been doing. Then he made his pitch, but it was all hypothetical statements, vague promises, and future hype: “This is gonna be real big, and if you wanna be part of this, I got you.”
In these situations, I don’t necessarily focus on what someone says. I look at who they are. And Will seemed to have a lot of attributes that I shared, things that had gotten me to where I was. He was a people person. He was passionate and dedicated to his craft. He seemed like a hard worker. And, like me, there was nothing he felt he couldn’t handle or do.
“I’ve worked with Clint Culpepper over at Screen Gems, and we do great business, big movies,” he went on. “I want you to star in this movie I’m putting together. I got the rights to Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man. Steve Harvey’s book. Huge bestseller, a phenomenon. Biggest book of dating advice for women out there. Have you read it?”
“I’m not exactly the target audience.”
“Here’s a copy. Read it and let me know if you want to be involved. I think you’re the guy for it.”
“Okay.”
“I should have the script and stuff soon, but I just want to know if you’re interested. If you are, I can put this thing together and make amazing things happen for you.”
He showed me a bunch of numbers about how profitable the movie could be. I felt like I’d heard this story before, but I was willing to take a chance that maybe this time it would have a different ending. “I hope your word is as good as you say it is,” I declared as we parted ways that day.
“All I know is how to deliver, baby,” he answered.
Whatever amount of confidence that response was intended to instill in me, it accomplished the exact opposite.
I read the book that night. Rather than seeing it as a betrayal of men, like some guys did, I respected most of the advice—for example, the part about how it was important to understand a man’s dedication to his career goals. There was also a section about waiting ninety days to give a man the “cookie,” as Steve Harvey called it. I wondered if Eniko had used this tactic on me. If she had, then I owed this book a lot.
I called Will back the next day. “Hey, man—so who else is in the movie?”
“Right now, brother, you’re the talk of the town. I wanted to get you first and then build it around you.”
“Well, you’ve got me. Let’s build it.”
“Great, great, I’ll send you this script as soon as it comes in.”
I didn’t hear from him for a while and the project faded from my mind, until Will called out of the blue. “We’re ready. The Think Like a Man script is done. It’s incredible—you’ll love it. I want to get it to you. You’re our anchor on this, man!”
I read it, called him back the next day, and told him the writer had done an amazing job of turning a self-help book into an ensemble dating comedy. “Great,” he responded. “Then we’re gonna start casting so we can shoot this baby.”
“You might not wanna use that expression.”
“You’re funny, man, genius. Let’s knock this outta the park. Who should I talk to? Who’s your representative?”
I’d never actually told Dave Becky about Will. I wanted to wait until it was real—and now it was. In the meantime, I had some serious instigating to do.
88
* * *
KEEPING MY GUARDIAN ANGEL BUSY
Since the shows had moved up to theaters and arenas, there was constantly money in my pocket.
So what happens when a risk taker who’s not good with money gets a lot of cash?
He does dumb shit with it.
Most of that involved getting someone on my team to do something stupid. It all started when we were at a Fuddruckers somewhere in the South. I bet Wayne three hundred dollars that he couldn’t eat two one-pound burgers without throwing up. The cocky motherfucker ordered his two burgers with bacon, mayo, the works. Halfway through the second one, he started feeling sick, and by the last bites we could see him working to control his gag reflex.
He won the money, then lost it all a few days later by pouring a shitload of vodka into a red plastic cup and betting me three hundred dollars that I couldn’t drink it all.
I may be short, but I have the liver of a tall man. Back then, I could down twelve shots and still get on stage to perform without missing a beat. I won that three hundred, but the next morning, I had a Seriously Funny DVD signing.
Eniko was with us, and she couldn’t wake me up, so she ran to Wayne for help. He smacked the shit out of me until I got out of bed. I was still wasted, and covered in vomit and urine. Eniko then won my devotion forever: She put me in the shower, dressed me, and got me ready for the signing. I’d like to say that I’d do the same for her, but I’ll never know, because I out-drink her every time.
I arrived at the signing drunk and belligerent, and sat behind a folding table. A woman made her way over with a baby in one hand and a DVD in another. “Hurry it up, mama, I don’t got all day,” I snapped. She approached nervously. I quickly signed her DVD, then shouted, “Now get that ugly baby outta here!”
I’d lost the ability to censor myself. To a guy who was lingering at the table: “C’mon, man, nobody wants to talk to you. Go back to your park bench.” To a woman who was taking a photo with me: “Get your arm off of me, lady. You look diseased.” And the next person: “Look at those goddamned pants. I’m not signing no DVD for nobody wearing those stupid-ass pants. Take them off and go to the back of the line.”
Eniko kept trying to calm me down, but the fans just thought I was doing my act. “Oh, man, that Kevin’s so funny! He’s crazy!”
I wish we’d taped that signing. It could have been the next special: Laugh at My Drunkenness.
We were on fire with challenges after that, until we bet John two thousand dollars that he couldn’t finish a bottle of Hennessy without throwing up. When he passed out upside down in the rental car, vomited, wet himself, and almost died, it was a wake-up call.
From that day forward, we decided to stop doing bets that were about hurting each other. Instead, we made bets to help each other. All the touring was killing Wayne slowly: He was three hundred and thirty pounds, and always sick. He had high blood pressure, sleep apnea, you name it. He snored so loudly that if he napped on a plane, the other passengers couldn’t sleep.
“Let’s make a bet right now,” I said to Wayne. “I’ll put up ten thousand dollars to your thousand that you can’t lose forty pounds in the next six months. If you lose fifty, I’ll throw another five grand on top of it.”
“Man, that ain’t nothing. I can lose sixty.”
“Then I’ll add another five thousand.”
“Done.”