And that song—“And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going”—the expectations! I just couldn’t sing it like Jennifer Holliday. Nobody in the world could. I always felt they hired me, the trained actress, to develop the character, knowing all along they were going to hire Jennifer Holliday back for that voice.
I played Effie in two mildly successful workshops of Big Dreams for the Nederlanders and the Shuberts, major producing companies in the theater world. Shortly thereafter, when Tom Eyen called and said, “We’re going with Jennifer Holliday,” it was clear he wanted me to break down on the phone. He was that kind of person. But it felt good to say to him, “I’ve got a job. I’m fine,” as I was working on Foreplay.
Thank you. And fuck you very much, Mr. Eyen.
What I’d missed out on didn’t hit me until the billboards went up all over the city for the show, which had been renamed Dreamgirls. A spasm of pain went through me as I saw those images, thinking it could have been me. It was my first major professional disappointment. However, my pain was lessened by the knowledge that I would be paid throughout the entire run of Dreamgirls on Broadway for my contribution to creating the role of Effie in the workshop production. God bless Michael Bennett and God bless Actor’s Equity.
Foreplay had unraveled, but unfortunately not before a couple of my paychecks from Kimako had bounced. I was disappointed but resumed my routine of dance class and auditions. During this period, I had begun to realize how soothing I found nature and I began spending a lot of time during the day in Central Park. Almost every night you would find me holding court till the wee hours at piano bars and clubs like the Horn of Plenty and the Grand Finale. My crowd included Mark and Bobby plus a revolving assortment of fabulous gypsies—Jackée Harry, Shirley Black-Brown, Pi Douglas, Yolanda Graves, Ebony Jo-Ann, Julia Lema, Mel Johnson Jr., Janet Powell, Jeffrey V. Thompson, and Pauletta Pearson (who, of course, later married Denzel Washington).
I got the call to go back on the Eubie! national tour. I was seeing a few guys, but I was still trying to make things work with Thomas. But then he told me he planned to be “all business” (meaning no sex) when we went back on the tour. It didn’t help things when he ran into Miguel in the lobby of my building. It was inevitable, I guess.
Despite Thomas’s pledges of celibacy, when we got to San Francisco we were having daily sex; sometimes even in the dressing room, which, I must admit, was made hotter by the possibility of someone catching us. But more, it was a loving, romantic time for us in that beautiful city—Ghirardelli Square, Sausalito, the enchantment of foggy nights. San Francisco is still one of my favorite cities!
The show was doing well, and yours truly was enjoying herself! I was a fucking beast on stage, laser-focused on my performance from the moment I set out for the Curran Theatre each evening. I was staying at the apartment of Jo Kalmus, a friend from Webster. Jo was my scene partner when I competed for the Irene Ryan Acting Scholarship (y’all know “Granny” from The Beverly Hillbillies, right?) while I was in college. Before we went on stage at the semifinals in Nebraska, I took Jo aside, gripped her arms, and said, “Fuck this up and I will kill you.” Pretty nasty thing to say to someone who’s helping you out, huh? Well, Jo didn’t fuck it up, but karma is a bitch because I fucked up and lost at the finals later that year at the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC.
After Thomas and I had a fight one day, I went with Roderick to a small gathering at the hotel suite of the legend herself, the incomparable Lena Horne. After the show, Miss Horne invited us for a visit at the Fairmont Hotel, where she was staying at the time. She welcomed us into her suite and then, wrapped in at least two robes with several lush, textured scarves around her neck, she reclined majestically on her long chair. She was coming down from her show and had three humidifiers running.
I sat at Miss Horne’s feet and drank every syllable of every word she spoke that night about show business, music, and politics. I was in the presence of someone I wanted to emulate. She was not just a performer—she was an activist who had stood up for black soldiers in the Second World War, and she had marched with Dr. King. This wasn’t just a legend in front of me—this was a goddess. It was Lena Horne who turned her back on Hollywood, vowing to never play either a maid or a hooker.
She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Ageless. I asked her, “Miss Horne, how do you stay so young?” She pointed to the humidifiers. “I live in moisture and I surround myself with young people, baby.”
’Nuf said.
When the tour got to San Diego, there were more great reviews: “Then there’s the stunning Jenifer Lewis [whose] delightfully naughty number . . . leaves no doubt about what she means”; “It is impossible to tell whether the women in this show were chosen primarily for beauty or talent . . . Lewis’ ‘Handyman’ number is . . . merely a prelude to her sensational rendition of ‘Roll, Jordan, Roll.’?”
I flew home over Christmas and then back to beautiful San Diego. Thomas and I were still going back and forth. I had had words with Terry and was feeling pretty lonely. As we welcomed 1981 amid glittery hats and horns at a New Year’s Eve party, Terry drank a few too many and told me I was a superficial bitch. My feelings were hurt. I got drunk on Black Russians, wobbled back to my room, and handled things, if you know what I mean. The orgasm took me to the cold, linoleum floor. Happy New Year, motherfuckers!
The Eubie! tour had a break, and I went back to New York. Around this time Phil Valentine, who I’d been seeing since the previous year, became a big influence. I had not known anyone like him up to that point. A gorgeous man, Phil was a black cultural nationalist (if you don’t know what that is, Google it!) and vegan who owned a holistic health center in Brooklyn. I was searching for stability, a sense of clarity, and inner peace. Phil provided some answers.
Phil wanted me to get over the “Jesus stuff.” He believed Christianity had been forced upon enslaved black people as a way to control African Americans forever. He said what was most important was to take care of my health, especially my diet. He told me to try not to eat meat and to stick with more vegetables and fruit. He encouraged me to move my body every day with some kind of physical activity.
“And whatever you do, throw these cigarettes in the trash.”
He said firmly, “Look inside, Jenifer. Pay attention to your instincts. There’s a song in everyone.”
I was really searching at this time. Along with Thomas and many friends in the theater community, I started attending services offered by the Unity Center of Practical Christianity, an organization that combines elements of Christianity with Eastern philosophies and metaphysics. Unity publishes the well-known and respected Daily Word.