Handbook for an Unpredictable Life: How I Survived Sister Renata and My Crazy Mother, and Still Came Out Smiling (with Great Hair) (31 page)

For the majority of the ride Spike was quiet, but he would burst out laughing in the middle of one of my stories about Suydam Street and
Soul Train
, writing down things that I had said, like, “And his shit was to the curb.” A few days later, back in Brooklyn, he asked me to audition for a part in his new flick,
Do the Right Thing
.

I HAD planned to move in with Carmen and her “common-law” husband, Wilfredo, who everyone called Chavo, who unfortunately recently passed—God rest his soul. Chavo was half Italian and half Puerto Rican, medium height, white skin, light green-brown eyes, and light brown wavy hair. He was Carmen’s first love, since the age of fourteen. She used to get beat-downs from her mother for going out with him because he was a “bad boy,” and the gossip was that she lost her virginity to him. They in fact got caught their first time doing it behind a rock at Crash Boat Beach—scandalous! When Chavo moved to New York to work for his father’s “business” acquaintances, Carmen, at the age of eighteen, did everything in her power to follow him a year later. The whole family, except me, was upset because they all knew of Chavo’s activities. I had no clue, but quickly found out when I moved in.

Spike dropped us off somewhere, I don’t remember, but it wasn’t near my sister’s house. Marion and I took the subway and got off the A train at Utica Avenue in Bed-Stuy with our suitcases. We couldn’t find the place for anything. We kept buzzing and knocking on doors to no avail. Our bags were getting heavy as hell, and we were scared off our asses. Then I remembered it was above Casablanca’s.

Carmen lived above Casablanca’s, a bar that had seen better days. The lettering on its sign was faded, and the front door creaked each time it swung back and forth as old Southern rhythm-and-blues blasted through the darkness onto the street. Stumbling out were
drunken fifty-something black men and women dressed as if they were in a 1970s time warp, wearing double-breasted gabardine suits and gators. The only entrance I could see was the one that led inside the bar. And I wasn’t trying to go in there. I went to the corner pay phone.

“Where are you?” Carmen excitedly asked.

“At the corner pay phone.”

Carmen looked out her window.

“I only see some skinny bitch in tacky peppermint-striped hot shorts.”

I looked down at what I thought was a cute outfit and then at my reflection coming from the pay phone. I had lost a lot of weight from dancing and starving but never took notice.

“That’s me, stupid!”

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I thought you was some crackhead.” She laughed.

“Could you just tell me where to go?”

We approached a wooden/steel door on the side of the bar. It creaked open. It was pitch-black inside. A crackhead with three missing front teeth jumped out.

“Aahhhh!” Marion and I screamed bloody murder!

“Who dat?! What the fuck you want?” yelled the toothless crackhead.

“I’m sorry. I thought this was my sister Carmen’s building,” I said, trying not to look scared.

“Oh shit! You mean Chavo’s wife?”

He looked spooked as hell. Then another crackhead came out of the darkness holding a gun—no lie.

“Who dat?”

“Chill, man! That’s Chavo’s wife’s sister!” the first crackhead answered.

Inside was a dingy, small kitchen that had a small bedroom off to the side. Carmen greeted me with hugs and kisses, with her one-year-old,
Angela, the cutest baby ever, in her arms. “I’m so happy you’re here! Say hi to your Titi Rosie, Angela!”

Angela looked like a white version of Carmen. She balled up her tiny fist and swung it at me. “Angela! Don’t do that! That’s your Titi Rosie!” “Carmen, this is Marion, my best friend that I told you about.” “Hi, Marion! Welcome. Come on, let me take you guys to your room. I hope you like it.” I turned my head toward the small bedroom. Carmen cracked up. “Not there. It’s past this hidden door. We just have that part as a front for welfare and the cops.” Say what?

The wall/door opened up to a long hallway, the length of the entire building, with rooms shooting off to the right. My bedroom was huge! Unfortunately, like the rest of the house, it was tacky and ostentatious as hell. It had a painted rug on the wood-side paneling wall and a spotted leopard bedspread to boot. The rest of the house was decorated in blue, white, and gold, with mirrors everywhere.

“Chavo likes the Marie Antanette period.”

“You mean Marie Antoinette?”

“Whatever.” She cracked up. “Please don’t start with that ‘I know it all’ shit. You get high?”

“Uh, no! You do?” I asked, all shocked and nerdy and shit.

“Hell yeah. You drink?”

“Uh, a glass of wine now and then, but not really.”

“Oh my God, you’re still a freakin’ nerd.”

She lit up a joint and poured herself a Scotch, Dewar’s on the rocks, and raised her glass in a toast. “I’m so glad my sister’s here!
Salut!
” I know Marion, who is a churchgoing person, was shocked to shit!

Then Chavo walked in, carrying a milk crate filled with used handguns. He had gotten so fat and wore so many gold chains around his neck and gold rings on almost every finger that he looked like the Puerto Rican—Italian version of Mr. T.

“Rosie! Hey! How’re you? Sorry ’bout my men downstairs.
None of them fucked with you, right? ’Cause I’ll fuck them up! Oh shit! What the fuck you got on?” He laughed. “You look like Peppermint Patty. Carmen, help me put away the guns. Rosie, can you get me
un café
?”

Stunned, I quickly went to the kitchen to make coffee while Carmen helped her “husband” hide the handguns underneath the wooden floorboards. Welcome back to the BK!

Carmen and I hung out thick as thieves. We never got along better, laughing for hours at each other’s stories, being our true selves, and accepting each other without effort. The change in her did bug me out, though. It was weird hearing her use the latest slang and gestures, like a Brooklynite. And she had gotten so fat … I mean, really big.

“It’s from the baby. And I’m so bored all alone all the time. I just eat. Plus, Chavo makes me eat with him when he has the munchies too. He gets high to forget what he has to do for the ‘company’ every night.”

That made me so upset, to see her accepting this life. But she loved Chavo and wanted to keep her family together. I must say, Chavo did treat me well. He always made me feel like family instead of just a guest. He never asked for anything from me except to make him a cup of coffee. Always asked if I needed cash, which I politely refused. (I would shudder to think where and how that money was made.) Yet, I was still upset that he had helped turn my sister into a gangster’s stay-at-home wife—it was so unbelievable it was hilarious, and so wrong. She was better than this.

•   •   •

I had to fly back to Los Angeles to audition for Robi Reed, the casting director for
Do the Right Thing
. I thought that was so ironic.

Do the Right Thing
was bittersweet. I knew immediately after reading the script that the film was going to have big political ramifications,
that it was going to ruffle a few feathers, and that excited me. But there was the nudity issue. Oh, the nudity issue that I wish to this day hadn’t become such a big deal. Why? Because I get sick of talking about it, so here’s all I will say. And then I’m done with it.

I didn’t have a problem showing my body—can you believe that with all that Catholic stuff shoved down my throat? Why? I don’t know. However, I also didn’t want ice cubes down the crack of my ass, or an ice cube heading south to my vagina. I didn’t even want an ice cube on my breasts. It was gratuitous. There had to be a more artistic way, but I had already signed the contract that only stated “nudity” and didn’t relate how much or in which way, so production told me there was little I could do about it. I took the contract to another lawyer for a free consultation. He kind of said the same thing, but felt there would probably be room for negotiation. Since I didn’t have the money to hire the lawyer, I told Spike that if he had the nerve to ask my “brother-in-law” permission, since my father was in Puerto Rico, I would consider it. He called my bluff. I didn’t know the guy was actually going to go and ask Chavo.

Spike came over with Monty, his producer. Carmen only allowed them in the front room, there was no way she was going to reveal her secret living quarters. I wanted to kill Spike. “Monty, Monty!
Lookit
at the Bustelo can! The Bustelo!
Lookit
at the plastic flowers and the plastic flowered tablecloth! Love it!” Carmen was mortified and embarrassed … me too.

Then Chavo came in from the side bedroom. He was listening the whole time. He walks in with a sly grin, wiping his machete down with a kitchen towel before he set it on the table. Spike started cracking up, “Oh shit!” Chavo, in a calm, scary, joking tone, says, “What’s so funny?” Spike shut the fuck up quick fast. Chavo then leaned in close and smiled. “So, you want to ask my sister-in-law to do what?”

A compromise was made: no ass-crack, nothing close to the
vagina. It sounds so silly, right? Spike, by the way, says he doesn’t remember any of this.

The first day of rehearsal was crazy. Although the cast and crew greeted me kindly, there was this one girl who wasn’t so nice. The role was originally for a black girl, and I could understand her being upset; but every time I tried to break the ice, I would get the sucking of the teeth and the rolling of eyes. Oh boy. I was already terrified to be there so I subconsciously retreated inside and kept my distance from her, which of course worked against me, just as it had done many times before. She thought I was stuck up and a bitch. When the real seasoned actors came in, I came off as aloof and moody. And when I did speak, I masked my intimidation and shyness by whipping out my smart aleck side. That didn’t work out too good either. I didn’t realize my behavior until years later, truly. Spike never reprimanded me either. Maybe he should have, maybe not. Maybe he knew that it would have shut me down, since I was so new to this, or maybe he got a kick out of it. Who knows? Monty would smooth things over, telling everyone that I was “special” and “intensely artistic.”

Good thing I clicked instantly with Martin Lawrence and Robin Harris. Both of them were funny as hell, I loved hanging with them. I remember the day Monty took them to an apartment that production had rented for them around the corner from 40 Acres’ offices. Robin had asked me to come along. It was a shithole. I don’t know if it was Martin or Robin, but when we all stuck our heads inside, one of them, with perfect timing, quoted the line from
Coming to America
: “It’s a shame what they did to that dog.” We died laughing. They couldn’t stop killing that one joke for hours.

I was so very anxious my first day of shooting. But I have to say, I felt very confident about how to play this character. I’ve been acting all my life, hiding, creating different realities, and suppressing true emotional responses. I easily took on the persona of Tina—taking it from the few girls I would watch from my window on
Suydam Street in Bushwick, who undeservingly expected so little from their frustrated lives. I took from the hard-core girls who later came to the GH and who got pregnant too early as an escape. And I took my own frustration and anger from being born into a situation that felt contrary to who I was.

The sweet side of filming was the personal interactions and connections. Robi Reed, the casting director, couldn’t have been more supportive. Ruth Carter, the costume designer, made me feel sexy and safe on set, especially when it came to the love scenes. Gosh, I was so nervous for those days! Dan Aiello, a sweetheart. He saw me one day wandering off on my own on set looking scared and confused. “Hey, darling. Nervous? Come sit with me. See, this is how this thing goes.…” John Turturro and Richard Edson were great too. Almost all the girls on set had a crush on Turturro, but he was clueless. Ernie Dickerson, the cinematographer, and his assistant, Darnell Martin, were fabulous and kind, especially during the nude scenes as well. Even with Spike, we had our moments on set that were hilarious. And Carmen, and at times my half-sister Kathy, came to the set to hang with me, making me feel secure. Filming all day and then clubbing with Kathy all night was mad fun. It was a great summer.

Kathy liked this Puerto Rican guy on set, Angel, and wanted me to double-date with his friend, Sixto. “Wait. I know that name, Sixto,” I said. She pointed him out. One look and I told her I didn’t want to go. Something felt weird about it. I called Tia up. “Sixto?
Jes
, he’s your cousin. We call him Yunior. He’s Rachel’s son. You used to take baths with him and his brothers and sisters when you was a baby.” Holy crapola! I almost went out with my cousin!

Sixto and I didn’t click immediately, we are both stubborn as hell, but thanks in part to this film, he has become one of my best friends and relatives.

And despite shit that went down with Spike and me—which will remain as private as possible as far as I am concerned—I was
and will be forever grateful for the entire experience. I am so appreciative that I went up to him and his lovely wife, Tonya, years ago and asked, “Can we start over?” We shook hands and that was that. I’m really happy that we’re cool now. He saw something in me, and it changed my life, again, but in a much bigger way. And let’s not forget about the gift he gave me by way of that opening-credits scene! Feel me, people? That whole experience was off the hook!

•   •   •

I couldn’t get seen for another film.
Do the Right Thing
had not come out yet, I didn’t have an agent, and Tia was so worried, and worried about the inconsistent choreography work too. I would go back to Los Angeles for a few video gigs from time to time. Arthur and I began to get work again, but now everyone was doing what we did, so the jobs were tight. Tia would beg me over and over to go back to school and find work in an office. I didn’t want to break her heart, so I did. I didn’t apply to Stony Brook like I had planned on; I went back to working as an office manager, but as soon as I got a call for the Diana Ross video
Workin’ Overtime
, produced by Nile Rodgers of Chic, I quit.