The phone rang, and it was Suzanne de Passe inquiring about my availability to film a television mini-series called The Temptations. Before flying to Pittsburgh for filming, I took a side trip to the Optimum Health Institute in Lemon Grove, California. They should’ve called it Wheatgrass, California, ’cause these motherfuckers advised you to put wheatgrass in pretty much every functional hole in your body. Ear, nose throat and even the eyes. I was so green, I felt like Margaret Hamilton in The Wizard of Oz. You know she never got that green shit off her face, right?
I left the health retreat ten pounds lighter, feeling like I could conquer the world. Then I made one of the worst decisions of my life: I took myself off my meds.
Two days later, the mania had me zigzagging throughout The Temptations’ base camp on a vintage Schwinn, with Suzanne de Passe running behind me screaming, “Get her off that bicycle!” Later, I got on the phone with Rachel, who knew immediately what was up with me. She asked if I was on my meds; I lied and said I had taken them. All the while I rattled on, excited about the cool 1960s cars they had on the set.
That night was, to quote James Weldon Johnson, “blacker than a hundred midnights down in the cypress swamp.” At 1 a.m. I went down to a local bar and threw back a few too many. How I didn’t pass out on the street walking back to the hotel, I’ll never know. As I fell face first onto the hotel bed and the room spun around, I had one thought only: I’m in trouble.
I turned over to reach for the old phone in that old hotel, in that old smelly room. As I reached, I fell out of the bed and wound up in fetal position on the carpet. The phone had also fallen, and somehow I dialed Rachel’s number. It was midnight in Los Angeles. In what seemed to be my darkest hour, I prayed she would answer. When her answering machine picked up, I wailed over and over, “Rachel, I need help.” She picked up. Thank God. I told her I was ready to admit I was sick. I told her I’d gotten off my meds and that I was out of control. I apologized to her for being so rageful in my sessions. I told her I wanted to be well, that I was tired of hurting myself. “I’m ready now, Rachel. This time I’m really ready.”
It was a huge turning point in my life. Though I had been in therapy for a long while, I don’t think I had been honestly serious about the whole thing. Well, now I was. That was the worst night of my life. It was also my proudest moment. I had to settle back into therapy with my newfound promise of being disciplined with my medication.
If the breakdown during The Temptations had not been enough, the call came that my Grandma Small had died. I flew to St. Louis to help comfort her fifteen children. Six sons: Robert, Walter, Roy, Charles, John, and Michael; nine daughters: Dorothy, Catherine, Rosetta, Jean, Shirley, Gloria, Janice, Margaret, and Mary. My aunt Louise had already passed away. There were two sisters as well: Ida Clay and Membry Brown, and 79 grandchildren, 105 great-grandchildren, and 17 great-great-grandchildren.
I had written a song about Grandma Small for The Diva Is Dismissed. It was everybody’s favorite:
Staring through the backscreen door
I finished my spaghetti plate
I sho’ be glad when I’m all grown up
My Aint Rosetta is always late
(My Aint Rosetta is always late)
My mama is the oldest of sixteen kids
And I’m the baby of seven
Cat Johnny drove a Big Gray Cadillac
And everybody thought that he was in heaven
(Everybody thought that he was in heaven)
But my Grandma Small, she took care of me
My Grandma Small made cabbage for me
My Grandma Small took me in
Even when I didn’t win
Somebody said the old house was haunted
So, I’d go there to play
I’d grab Billy Ray by his checkered shirt
(It was a crystal blue sky day)
It was a crystal blue sky day
What you want for your birthday, girl?
Just a brand-new bike
I was twelve years old, my daddy brought it in
Hey, Daddy, can’t you stay for just one night?
(Can’t you sleep over for just one night?)
But my Grandma Small, she watched over me
My Grandma Small was always happy to see me
My Grandma Small took me in
Even when I didn’t win
One day after school
I was watching her work in her garden
She slipped and fell
So, I ran to help
She said, “No, child, I don’t need to get up
If I can’t get up by myself”
(By myself)
My Grandma Small, she took care of me
My Grandma Small, she was always happy to see me
My Grandma Small, took me in
Even when I didn’t win
She took me in
Even when I didn’t win
The next morning, I went to downtown St. Louis hoping I could sit on the banks of the Mississippi and do some healing. I walked over the grassy knoll and took in every majestic angle of the St. Louis arch, gateway to the West. I walked down to the muddy river, sat on the cobblestones—which had been laid there by enslaved Africans—and proceeded to have my own pity party. I knew I had to get it out. I cried like a baby. I remembered what my grandmother had said: “I don’t need to get up if I can’t get up by myself.” So, I stood up and walked. I walked and I walked.
With the St. Louis skyline behind me, I realized the past was just that, the past. I needed to get back to Los Angeles. Refill my prescriptions, get serious about pilates and meditate everyday, and take care of my health—mentally, physically, and spiritually.
My answering machine was full when I got home. There was Whoopi, inviting me to her birthday party, and Bette Midler asking me to do The Roseanne Barr Show with her. I learned I had been cast in Mystery Men as William H. Macy’s wife, and Oprah’s people called to invite me to the Beloved premiere. Life was good.
I thought the sky was the limit when I was asked to audition for Cast Away starring Tom Hanks. Tom fucking Hanks! Thank you, Mississippi River. I studied my ass off. I was getting this job. I was going to cross over into the A-list world. This was my big chance. I landed the audition like a 747 in these motherfucking streets. I was so pleased with myself that after I did the scene I tossed the script aside, slapped my hands down on the table and said, “Now, that was brilliant.” The director, Robert Zemeckis, and the casting director, laughed at my sassy confidence. They called me right back and said I had the job.
It was thrilling to start shooting Cast Away. I had studied hard, was fully confident in my lines, and felt prepared to give Tom Hanks a run for his money. Before shooting my first scene with Tom, I was getting my hair done and decided to take a moment to look over the script for Jackie’s Back!, the movie for Lifetime that I would start shooting the following week. I was looking at the scene where a mink hat my character wore was taken and burned. My line was “Give me back my head, bitch.” I heard the trailer door open, but didn’t look up. I happened to be practicing a scene where a mink hat I wore was taken and burned. My line was “Give me back my head, bitch.”