For the Love of Money (56 page)

R
oad Kill
was to begin shooting in the Nevada desert on Wednesday, May 31, 2000. The budget for the film was capped at about twenty million dollars. That was a big jump from the eight million that we used to make
Led Astray.
It also meant that I would have to break the forty-million-dollar mark at the box office in order to keep moving up. We were scheduled to shoot up until early August. So much for having family over for the summer. I wrote my cousin Vanessa a letter to inform her.

During my down time before our first location shoot, I began to work out twice a day on body strength, stamina, speed, and drills with Tae-Bo. I also attended a Beverly Hills weight room facility to work with personal trainers to bulk up for the role. Since I hadn't been much of an athlete, my muscles got sore as hell, but the results were immediate. I felt stronger, faster, in shape, and I was toning up my little-used muscles.

On another note, for my sequel book idea to
Flyy Girl,
I selected the final poetry that I would use, as well as the style in which I would want the book written. The poem count came out closer to
forty
than the twenty-five that Susan suggested, but they were all relevant poems, and I didn't know how many chapters I would have yet.

When I found the time, I sat down and had a long thought about sending Mercedes money in Philadelphia. In a way, I owed her because of the emotions that I had borrowed from her life to play the role of Cynthia in
Led Astray.
On the other hand, I didn't want to spoil Mercedes. She needed
to catch the fire from
somewhere
and keep it lit on her own. So I decided to write her a letter asking to let me sign for the house that she wanted. Once she paid off the rest of the mortgage, I would turn the ownership over to her. However, if she didn't pay the mortgage, and she started acting up . . . then I would sell it. Actually, I didn't believe that Mercedes would agree to that, and it would only make things more complicated between us. I just wanted to see how serious she would be. It was my challenge to her to get her priorities back in order with her life.

$   $   $

I called Susan over to the house on Thursday morning to catch up on all of our business. I had to get used to not being able to go out as much. I had two interviews set up at my house for that afternoon, one with
Movie Life
magazine and the other with
Fade In:.

Susan walked in and said, “So, are you still thinking about leaving this place?”

I loved my Marina Del Rey home, and I had been there for less than a year. I hadn't even bought a lot of furniture yet, because I was busy half of the time. It wasn't as if I had a family or anything. However, all of a sudden, I was worth four times the property value where I lived.

I shook my head and said, “I just may have to deal with whatever, Susan, because I don't really feel like moving. I just
moved in
here.”

“I know,” my girl said with a chuckle, “but that's how fast you're moving up.”

“So, what am I supposed to do, move to a two-million-dollar estate now?”

“Or at least one million,” she joked.

I shook my head again. “I think I'm gonna stay right here until something
forces
me to move, like an earthquake or a burglary.”

Susan said, “That's what
I
would do. I'd stay put and save my money for other things.”

I said, “Okay, well, I've typed out the poetry, and it's more like forty poems than twenty-five, plus I have the style that I want to write it in.” I handed her a copy of the poems and a one-page proposal on the style.

She took a seat on my sofa (in the middle of my wide-open family room) and looked through it. She began to smile and nod, liking what she read.

“This is going to blow people away,” she told me. “When most actors
and Hollywood people try to write books, it's so”—she stuck her finger in her mouth for a gag gesture—“but this is serious material here.”

I smiled, raising my hand. “I'm the English teacher with the master's degree, remember?”

Susan broke up laughing. “Yeah, you're a ringer, I almost forgot.” She stopped and asked, “Okay, so tell me now, Tracy, how much should we offer Mr. Tyree to ghostwrite this book before we move on to someone else? I hear that Eric Jerome Dickey is hot, and he lives in the area. We could get this proposal over to him in a day or two and see what
he
says.”

I smiled. My girl was ready to move the hell on from my Philadelphia connection. I said, “Well, let's try it with the poetry and the proposal
first,
and see what Omar says before we move on. And if push comes to shove,
we will
move on.”

“Okay, so what's the offer?”

I thought about it. “A half of a million dollars, and half of the royalty rights like before. And if he doesn't jump at that, then fuck 'im; we go somewhere else.”

Susan smiled at me, but she also looked concerned.

“
Half
of the royalty rights?” she asked me. She turned to serious in a hurry and said, “No way! This is
your
poetry,
your
life,
your
proposal, and we're having to practically
beg
him to do it.

“When you guys got together on
Flyy Girl,
I could see giving him half, because it was a real risk involved,” she said. “Neither of you really knew if it would sell, but to his credit, it did, mainly because of his ability to piece together your story in a very entertaining, fast-paced style that worked out very well for you. But
this
book is different. You'll be a lot more involved this time. And with five hundred thousand dollars to write it, Mr. Tyree will already be making a
killing
off of you.

“I would offer him no more than fifteen percent, the limit on a literary agency fee,” she advised me. Susan
knew
her damn numbers!

I began to smile and couldn't hold my tongue. I said, “You know my people would say that you're being a little bit greedy right now, just like a J-E-W.”

Susan looked at me dead-eyed and said, “Tracy, this is business, and if I'm going to represent you as a friend and agent, I'm going to do my job.”

I broke out laughing and said, “I know, I know. You're not offended by me saying that are you?”

She smiled. “No, I think I know how you are by now, Tracy, and you'll say anything that comes to your mind, but I
will
give you a serious warning: Do not even
joke
like that to the press.”

I looked at Susan and said, “Shit, I wasn't born yesterday. In fact, my people need to think more in regards to their
own
money issues instead of complaining about other people. You know how many black celebrities died penniless?
Too
many! And it was all because of their
own
lack of good money habits.”

“Well, that won't be you. If
you
die broke, then
I'll
die broke. And I
mean
that.”

I looked into Susan's eyes and she was dead serious. I knew her well enough to know it too. Besides, it wasn't as if I was depositing my money in her bank account. My finances were all up to me anyway, and I was sure that Susan would say something to me if I began to spend money on Mike Tyson–like shopping sprees.

I said, “Okay, you're right; he gets fifteen percent. Now what about the five hundred thousand? Do you think that's too much?”

Susan grinned and said, “Well, since I don't want to sound
greedy
like a J-E-W, we can offer him your two million.”

I broke out laughing again. “Two million of
your
money,” I snapped.

She said, “Well, you know, I was just being a stereotypical B-L-A-C-K. I just
love
throwing money away. Take me to the nearest clothing or jewelry store,” she cracked.

“O-o-o-kaaay,” I responded. I smiled it off and chuckled, but I sure felt the burn.

Susan asked, “You're not offended that I said that are you?”

What the hell could I say? “No, I'm not offended,” I whimpered.

“Good, because if you're gonna dish it out, then be prepared to take it back.”

I smiled and nodded. “That's why I like you, Susan, you tell it like it is, just like
I
do.”

She stood up and said, “Well, I've had good lessons from you. Boldness is growing on me now. So, I'll send this proposal and offer out right away and see what happens.”

$   $   $

When my first reporter arrived from
Movie Life
magazine, a dark-haired Italian woman named Jackie Perrotta, I showed her in and planned to be as lighthearted as possible. Who really cared about cultural and political views of an actress anyway? I planned to give the people just what they wanted, the
hype. I was sure that Jackie already knew the figures on my new contract from reading
The Hollywood Reporter
or the
Daily Variety.
So I just went wild with the interview.

She said, “So, Tracy, you're obviously beautiful. You could make tons of money by just being pretty on the screen. But now you're going to do a big-time action movie. Is that what you want to do, or are you just trying something different?”

I answered, “Are you kidding me? I've wanted to kick a guy's ass real good all of my life. Haven't you? They're such assholes!”

Jackie laughed her behind off. I guess I caught her off guard with it.

“Yeah, I've had a few,” she admitted.

“I know you have. Have you dated exclusively Italians?” I asked her.

She shook her head and said, “No.”

“Well, so far, I've only gone for brothers with the gusto, you know,” I said, grabbing at my crotch, à la Foxy Brown. “But if these white men keep offering me these Robert Redford deals, I don't know how many more I can turn down before I break out and say, ‘SHOW ME THE MONEY!'”

Jackie could barely ask her questions because she was laughing so hard. “Well, is it true that it's increasingly difficult for a black woman of your stature to find a suitable man?”

I looked around in my big, beautiful, and relatively empty California home and asked, “Do you see one? What is he, invisible? TY-RONE!” I stood up and screamed for affect. “DAR-NELL!” I yelled up my stairs. “POOOKAAAY!” I hollered toward the back porch.

“Oh my God!” Jackie commented. “You're an absolute
riot
!”

I didn't think much at all of that interview, and that's not because I didn't like Jackie or
Movie Life
magazine. It was their job to give the people what they want, and the people didn't want education, they wanted entertainment.

When my second reporter arrived, a young East Indian woman named Pascha Shiam, I was pleasantly surprised. She was darker than me with long, straight, jet black hair that black American men would damn-near
kill
for on a sister! Since I was already in a silly-behind mood, I went straight for the jugular.

“So, Pascha, have you ever slept with a black man?”

“Excuse me?” Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

I asked, “You know, have you ever jumped bones with a black man before, like Denzel Washington in
Mississippi Masala
? What do y'all call boning in India anyway?”

She was too embarrassed to answer me.

“I'm supposed to interview
you,
” she said with a laugh.

“Well, I haven't boned an East Indian man. Are they fairly large downstairs?”

Pascha laughed some more before she pulled out her tape recorder.

“Can we get you on record too? Tell me about the size,” I pressed her, “when the tape is on.”

She said, “I'd rather not, but the size is normal.”

“And what does normal mean?”

She put her face in her hands, still embarrassed by me. She said, “I guess around six inches.”

“You actually measured them?” I asked her.

“No, I read that somewhere.”

“Are you sure you don't have a little nine-inch ruler in your bag, Pascha?”

“I swear to you. I don't.”

Pascha told me that the interview for
Fade In:
was a straight Q&A. That caught me by surprise as well. Once she told me that, I got rid of my silliness
real
quick.

“This is a straight Q&A?” I asked her just to make sure.

“Yeah.”

“With all of the background information up front?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, shit, is this a cover story?”
Fade In:
usually used the Q&A format for their cover subjects.

Pascha said, “They haven't really made up their minds yet, but I heard the editor asking about seeing if we could get some photos of you on the set, so maybe they are.”

“But this is
far
too early for that.
Road Kill
doesn't come out until next summer.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know until it happens.”

I was getting excited for nothing, because it
couldn't
have been a cover story. You would know that well in advance. Nevertheless, there was no way in the world that I would allow myself to sound like an idiot for a straight Q&A interview, so I changed my entire tone.

“Okay, let's do it then.”

She clicked on her tape.

Q
: “You had an unusual start as an actress where you were actually a television writer first. Was that the way that you planned it, to move into screenplays and then acting?”

A
: “No, I actually had no plans on that at all. I knew I wanted to write screenplays eventually, but the acting thing just sort of happened for me. I was told that most writers don't look like I do. But this whole Hollywood merry-go-round, for me, all began with my lack of fulfillment teaching English in Philadelphia. So I figured that it would be natural for me to start with the writing, and then one thing led to the next.”