Authors: Rosie Perez
• • •
After numerous red carpet appearances, I began to get bored with it all. Seriously. Okay, not so much bored, but anxious. Yes, I loved going to movie premieres and openings of plays, but getting all done up, worrying about what to wear, was too much—it wasn’t fun anymore. Then it hit me. The red carpet could be a gift, not just an anxiety attack or an entity to be wary of. It wasn’t just about my career and me. I had to see beyond the glitz and see how I could use the press for good.
The rewards were immediate. Outside of feeling good in my soul, a blessing came my way while I was choreographing a charity event for Arsenio Hall for AIDS. It was held at a high school gym. I went down to the locker room in the basement after the halftime performance to change. Who do I run into? Don freaking Cornelius! He was walking straight to me. I froze. Then I started to turn the other way. “Hold on, Rosie. Come here … Please.” I turn back around. “Look,” he said, “I once said you didn’t have any talent. And you proved me wrong. Seriously. You really did a great job in
Do the Right Thing
, and I’m sorry.” “Ah, that’s okay, Don. I’m sorry too, for the chicken thing.” He laughed and then held out his arms to hug me! Can you believe it? It was the best! We saw each other every now and then, and I was very sad when he passed. I’m so glad we made peace.
It was the early ’90s. I began to dive into the charity scene really
hard now. I began volunteering for the Gay Men’s Health Crisis Center and advocating for better education in the public school system. Things were going well with me, career wise, and in the relationship department.
After Ramier, I began dating Robbie, Marion’s friend. The first day we met, which led to our first spontaneous date, I knew Robbie was gay. After that date, we just stayed friends, but eventually became a couple … that never had sex. I know. But he was gay. Being African American and from a well-to-do family from the South, he was beyond closeted and lived the life of a straight man. He never admitted it, never mentioned being gay, and I never asked. Why? I don’t know. Maybe I felt that it was his business to share with me. Maybe I fell too deeply for his kind, considerate, gentlemanly ways. Maybe I needed someone that felt safe, that I felt respected and loved by. I moved in with him. We never did it, honestly. But we were intimate in a way that was very loving. Eventually, he gave me my own room so that I could sleep better—he snored. Okay, it was because he was homosexual but who’s counting. I knew he couldn’t last like this. His clandestine late-night escapades got in the way of our trusting bond, and I finally let go, but we remained close friends.
A few years later, Robbie was dying of AIDS. Man that killed me. Why him? Why anyone? I’d really dedicated myself to the fight against AIDS and became a so-called AIDS activist while still working with kids and education. Why AIDS? I don’t know. I just felt this heavy compulsion in my heart to do so. Laurie Fabiano, who was head of the Gay Men’s Health Crisis, asked me to attend an AIDS dance-a-thon, and Robbie saw me on the press line from his bed. He rang me up.
“Hey. Listen, I appreciate all you’re doing, but make sure you’re not doing it to promote your career, don’t do us any favors.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know you! I know you spent hours on your hair!”
“True. But what does that have to do with the price of eggs?”
“I just don’t want you to be like those other celebrities. If you’re going to fight for us, do it for the cause, not for the cameras.”
Wow. Besides being thrown by what he said, I was worried by how different he sounded, so weak and upset. I went to see him to make sure he was okay. I had not seen him in about a year. I tried to conceal my shock and heartbreak when I saw the devastating toll that AIDS had taken on his body. You hear about it, we talk about it, but when you see AIDS up close and personal, it’s a whole other thing. I promised him I would fight, hard and honestly.
I put all my energy into it. I wore the red ribbon at every event, on every step and repeat, and used the microphone to spread the word. I showed up at almost every dance-a-thon, every walk-a-thon, and countless rallies and protest. I wrote editorials. I visited hospitals, hugged AIDS patients, told them jokes to make their day brighter, and gave speeches at high schools, ranting on about safe sex. I volunteered for days and hours at the GMHC headquarters, following Laurie Fabiano around at the GMHC learning everything I could about advocacy and the politics surrounding HIV/AIDS.
I went up to Albany with her and screamed at lobbyists, always with the haunting visual of dear Robbie pushing me on. I listened to Laurie when she chastised me for making mistakes now and then—like the time I put my foot in my mouth when we stormed city hall. The sound bite that all activists were told to say was, “If Mayor Giuliani cuts DAS [Division of AIDS Services], he’ll be cutting off his nose to spite his face.” I was so hyped up and nervous, especially since Susan Sarandon (love) was standing right next to me, that when the camera got into my face I yelled, “If Giuliani cuts DAS, he’ll cut his face!” Or something stupid like that. Boy, that didn’t go over well. And NY1 played it over and over. But it made headlines, and DAS wasn’t cut.
On and on I went, never stopping, even when I wanted to. Odd to say, all this activism gave back to me. It brought a light to my soul that I cannot describe. I was always made fun of for my need to be nice, to be a do-gooder, for wanting to make the world a nicer place, and here was that opportunity, through Robbie’s simple challenge. It made me appreciate Nigel, Beth, Miss Connie, Grace, and many others who had given back to me, making my life better. This opened me up to many different causes that spoke to my heart as well—like stopping violence against women. AIDS activism unknowingly began another career for me—a career of advocacy and activism that has stayed with me to this day.
Sadly, Robbie passed away from the disease. My heart hurt like never before. And I will always keep fighting until there is a cure.
• • •
From all of the choreographing jobs, especially LL Cool J’s tour, I had enough money to finally move out of the damn Jungle and was ready to buy my very first house! Yay! I wanted to make sure there was enough room for Tia and me. I told her I wanted her to live with me, and when I made more money, I’d buy her a house of her own. She refused! I kept begging and begging until she exploded, “
Ay
, don’t keep being irritating, please! I keep telling you, that’s your money. I’m okay. Plus, I don’t want to leave my grandkids. You know how their mothers are.”
I was hurt. I wanted to take care of that stubborn woman. I got the house for myself and got her a nice apartment but had her believing it was Titi’s—yes, Titi, the heroin addict. We had made peace. After she contracted hepatitis from dirty needles, she got sober and became a different person. Titi told Tia that the apartment was only $200 and she could afford it. Tia bought the lie and I kept paying for it on the sly. Unfortunately, Titi’s hepatitis
worsened and eventually she died from the disease. It was so sad. Everyone took it hard, especially Tia. I really wanted to take care of her better, even more now. Still, she refused to move in with me. “Why?” She left the apartment and moved into an assisted living building that Millie, who was on disability, had moved into. Jeez! Of course I took care of her, but I still had to lie about it.
BACK ON tour with LL, I had gotten a call from Keenen Ivory Wayans. I had met him at Eddie Murphy’s house parties in New Jersey at his mini-mansion he called Bubble Hill. Keenen had his own show in development on the Fox Network,
In Living Color
, and wanted me to be the show’s choreographer. Yay! There would be five beautiful girls opening the show with him, à la
The Jackie Gleason Show
. They would be referred to as the Fly Girls, and he wanted them to dance like real New York dancers. A producer from the show would be calling me in the next few days to work out the deal.
I never got the call. I kept calling Fox Studios, asking to speak with Keenen, but kept getting derailed to the show’s line producer, Kevin, instead. “We’re looking at other choices, and we’ll let you know.” Kevin called on a Tuesday and told me they’d found someone else. The show debuted without me. I was disappointed, but I moved on. I still had a tour to deal with.
LL’s tour pulled into the Universal Amphitheater in Studio City, California. Hanging backstage, supervising the performance, I saw two of the Wayans brothers wandering around. Then I saw Keenen with his new girl, Daphne, who later became his babies’ mama, standing in the wings. They were so hot and horny for each other. She was standing in front of him while he was grinding the shit out of her booty, thinking no one was noticing.
Keenen had called over someone on the crew asking him who choreographed the show. When he told Keenen it was me, Keenen
immediately asked to speak with me. I told the crew guy to tell Keenen I was too busy. I didn’t want to endure further humiliation. I don’t remember if it was Marlon or the other brother, but one of them finally came over and asked why I didn’t take the job. Huh? I told him what happened. Keenen came over.
“I dissed you? You dissed me!” he said.
“What? I talked to that Kevin guy, and he told me, blah, blah, blah!”
“You messin’ with me, Rosie?”
“Nope.”
“Listen, come to my office tomorrow and we’ll fix this shit.”
“I can’t just break out on the tour like that!”
“How much is LL paying you?”
“Fifteen hundred a week.”
“I’ll pay you three thousand a week, and if you do well, I’ll double it after three months.”
“Hmm, let me ask Todd. I don’t want to dis him like that.”
During a quick changeover, Todd came toward us, stage left, said hi to Keenen. Keenen explained the situation. Todd looked at me and cracked up in my face, telling me, “You better get that TV money.” He gave Keenen a pound, gave me a hug, and jetted back onstage.
• • •
First day. I arrived extra early. Rehearsed for two hours alone, nervous yet ready! Keenen called me into his office. “First thing, about Kevin. You’re here, so let it go. Now, we need three numbers per show—an opening, a middle, and an end, each twenty-eight seconds long, and an assist in picking the music. You are in charge of the girls. Make sure they stay looking good—no fat, busted chicks allowed. Work with hair, makeup, and wardrobe. And I want them to dance like MC Hammer’s girls too. If you don’t deliver, bullets
will be flying, homie.” He laughed. “That goes for all of the staff, so I hope you don’t catch one. Welcome.”
“Thank you so much for this opportunity. I won’t let you down. Oh, I usually work with my assistant, Arthur Rainer. That’s cool?”
“Ask Tamara, the co-executive producer. See if it fits in the budget.”
“Okay. Oh, another thing. I need to pick the music. And I don’t do ‘Hammer.’ ”
“What’s wrong with Hammer?”
“Nothing. If you want Hammer, hire him.”
He laughed his ass off.
The girls were pretty cool, though a few resented that I took the other choreographer’s place and that I used street vernacular (“… And then you spin all around, and boom, stop on the down beat …”). These were technically trained dancers and were thrown by me. Their eyes would discreetly roll, some would chuckle. “You mean pirouette, and stop on the last four count of the second bar.” Here we go again. I understood, but whatever. I liked these girls and I liked their work ethic even more.
Their hip-hop skills were severely lacking. I was tough with them, making them do the numbers over and over until it seemed second nature to them. I remember making all of them stand in front of the mirror and just bop their heads to the drummer’s beat until their necks were sprained. I wanted everything to come off as innate. The worst thing I hated most about hip-hop dancers was that forced “street” vibe, looking like a satirical portrayal of a low-level corner drug dealer. Hated it. They never fully got it. The girls just couldn’t get that swag down like I needed them to. I decided to combine their technique with hip-hop and precision dancing from cheerleading, and threw in a lot of Ann-Margret (love) via
Viva Las Vegas
. And the Fly Girls were born!
After a few weeks of completely exhausting work, I knew I had to get Arthur in there with me. I had to have someone take some
of the pressure off and to have my back. I was hesitant to ask the co-executive producer after what happened with Kevin, so I just brought him in on my own, paying him out of my salary, promising him that I’d get him the job soon enough. After the first week with Arthur, being ahead of schedule and not all stressed out, Keenen came down to rehearsals one day to praise me for a job well done.
“This is Arthur, my assistant I told you about. He’s been helping out tremendously. But he’s not on pay yet.”
“Cool. Arthur, welcome, you’re hired.” Yay!
Arthur and I put in approximately ten hours a day—me, sometimes more. We would always come in two hours before the Fly Girls’ call time, working on new routines. Man, those were the best times, so much fun dancing, messing up, figuring it out, taking five and telling stories, cracking jokes in between, getting back into it—arguing over steps, and then cracking some more jokes. By the time the girls got there, we were spent but hyped—the freedom and opportunity Keenen gave us was so exciting that we would get recharged in an instant!
When I was choreographing, I wasn’t thinking about my mother. I wasn’t thinking about what had happened in the past. Working all hours into the night after the girls had gone home, meticulously deciding on what songs to pick, editing them down perfectly, brought me so much joy that there wasn’t time for dwelling on things.
Things started to ease up between the girls and me, mostly because of Arthur. I was too shy to engage in chitchat, honestly, and Arthur was an easy icebreaker. During our lunch breaks we would sometimes sit in a circle, and Arthur would start telling jokes, softening the room. He allowed me to feel comfortable enough to join in the fun. Unfortunately, I couldn’t participate too much. I still had to deal with the music too.