Unbreak My Heart: A Memoir (16 page)

IN DECEMBER
1993
, my manager called me with some news: The Recording Academy had asked me to be one of the artists to announce the nominees for the upcoming spring Grammy Awards ceremony. “When you’re asked to announce,” my manager told me, “it could mean that you’ll be nominated.” There was no guarantee of that, but it was still pretty exciting for me to show up at the venue at like five thirty in the morning, get my hair and makeup done, and then read off the nominees from a sheet that was handed to me. Hundreds of members of the press were gathered. When I looked down on the sheet and saw my name, I froze. My nominations were in three categories: Best Female R&B Vocal Performance (for “Another Sad Love Song”), Best New Artist, and Best Female Artist.

I was ecstatic—yet I didn’t really have a chance to celebrate the moment. Bryant disapproved whenever I went out and did anything fun. He wanted to keep me to himself. Plus, my guilt resurfaced any time I accomplished something that didn’t include my sisters, so in that way, Bryant was perfect for me. He endorsed my habit of staying home or with him all the time, and it was easier to blame him for that than to admit that I probably wouldn’t have been out on the town anyway. When I look back on that time, I really hate it that I didn’t go out and live it up. I had reached the biggest accomplishment in my career to date, and yet I didn’t feel like I could celebrate.

My prep for the Grammys started weeks ahead of the ceremony. Right away, I knew one thing for sure: I wanted to wear a red dress. Why? Because I’d noticed that other artists had worn red when they’d received their first award. Maybe the color would bring me some luck. I chose a sheer, red, lace halter with small rhinestones on it. Very sexy.

In the days leading up to the ceremony, the jazz saxophonist Kenny G and I rehearsed “Breathe Again,” the duet we would perform at the Grammys. During one of the rehearsals at the show’s venue, Radio City Music Hall, I ran into Jody Watley. In 1987, she’d won a Grammy as Best New Artist. She’d been asked to return and present the Grammy to that year’s winner. “I think you’re totally going to win it!” she told me. She couldn’t know that for sure, of course, but I still felt a surge of adrenaline.
Maybe I have a chance
, I thought.
This could be my big moment.

On March 4, 1994, I attended the Grammys. I spent most of the day getting ready: hair (my signature short cut, just sharpened up a bit), makeup, and even red heels to go with the dress. I decided to keep my makeup super simple. “The dress should speak for itself,” I told my stylist. By the time I stepped onto the red carpet, I felt like a princess.

So many of the stars I’d admired for years were actually excited to meet me. “I love your music, Toni!” Billy Joel told me on the red carpet. I was stunned that he and other celebrities even knew my name! When I finally took my seat in my red halter dress, Bryant—my date that night—sat right next to me, but throughout the evening he barely spoke to me and didn’t offer a single word of encouragement.

The moment finally arrived for the Best New Artist category. My parents—proud as ever—were there watching in the audience. As Jody Watley and Billy Joel read off the nominations, my heart raced every time a name was called. Belly. Blind Melon. Toni Braxton. Digable Planets. SWV. By the time Jody opened the envelope, I was sure SWV was going to win. “And the Grammy goes to . . . Toni Braxton!” The crowd erupted with applause. “Another Sad Love Song” played over the loudspeaker. I placed my palm over my forehead in disbelief as my eyes filled with tears. But those weren’t tears of joy. What should’ve been one of the proudest moments of my life was ruined because I chose to share it with Bryant, who had been cold to me all night.

After my name was called, I hugged Bryant, handed him my purse, and made my way up to the stage. Once Jody handed me the gold-plated trophy, I opened a folded piece of paper and read a thank-you to just about everyone in the universe: God, my parents, my sisters, my brother and his family, L.A. and Kenny, Davett Singletary (VP of artist development at LaFace), Daryl Simmons, Bill Pettaway, Ernesto Phillips, the entire LaFace and Arista staffs, Clive Davis, my band, Vernon Slaughter . . . and that’s not even the full list. I even acknowledged the very man who made me feel nothing like a winner that night.

My career shifted into high gear after the Grammys (and by the way, my second win, the one for “Another Sad Love Song,” happened off camera). Jon Avnet, the director for the Robert Redford film
Up Close and Personal
, asked me to do a song for the movie’s soundtrack. Diane Warren, the award-winning songwriter, let Kenny and me hear a demo of a ballad she’d written—“Because You Loved Me.” But since the soundtrack would be released in the same year that my record would be out (1996), L.A. thought it might be too much. “As an artist, you don’t want to be overexposed,” he said. In those days, the thinking was that fans might get tired of an artist who was all over the place—which is the total opposite of what’s true today. “What do you think, Toni?” L.A. asked me.

I shrugged. “You’re right. It’s probably too much,” I said, “and I don’t really like the melody.” The truth is that I was excited about doing the song, but I didn’t think I had much of a right to my own opinion. That’s why I usually just repeated whatever L.A. and Kenny said. So we passed on the project—and I acted like I was cool with that.

As the opportunities rolled in, my relationship with Bryant continued. Once when Bryant and I were visiting my parents in Maryland, I borrowed my mother’s white Mercedes to drive my godson back to D.C. to drop him off. Bryant came with me, and on the way, we got into a big argument. I was so angry that I twisted the car’s steering wheel and swerved onto the right curb of Pennsylvania Avenue. I will never forget that feeling. Never in my life had I wished that another human being would die.

I made a decision that day: I would never talk to Bryant again. The rage I felt in that moment lent me enough courage to end it. Over the next few weeks, Bryant called. A lot. But I didn’t care anymore. Nothing he said or did could make me go back. For the first time in my adult life, I took a stand for myself. Nearly two decades after that incident, I’m still mastering how to do that.

M
y first real payday came in 1996—the year my attorney added an amendment to my previous contract. Under this revised agreement, I was to receive an advance on future recordings. I thought I might get $30,000 more—but the total amount due to me after that adjustment was $1.6 million. The day I got the check, I sat and stared at it for a full six minutes. At last, I had some money.

Then again, $1.6 million isn’t
really
$1.6 million. First, you’ve gotta pay taxes on that money. I did that right away. Then there are commissions—an artist’s agents, lawyers, and managers each have to be compensated, and the payments can add up to 25 percent off the top. So after I handed over checks for all of those things, I had about $600,000 left.

Most people would call $600,000 a lot of money—and frankly, so did I. I purchased my first place, a four-bedroom house. I wanted a home large enough to accommodate my family when they came to visit—that’s how a country suburban girl thinks. The home was just being built, so I added hardwood floors throughout, and I had two of the bedrooms combined into one long one. I then purchased a gorgeous mahogany Schimmel piano (which I still have in my living room to this day) and I leased a navy blue Cherokee.

There were perks to being famous—and finally having a little money to go along with that fame. I went from staying in basic hotel rooms to sleeping in the double suite penthouse at the Four Seasons in New York. The first time I saw the space, I was blown away: The walls were covered with gorgeous art, the sheets were super luxurious, and I felt like I’d just stepped into a scene from
The Great Gatsby.
Totally spectacular. My only regret was having no one to share the room with me. At the time, I didn’t have a boyfriend—and though my family sometimes visited me, they weren’t with me during that first stay at the hotel.

Speaking of my family, our connection had grown tighter as my career ascended. Mom might’ve originally disapproved of my choice to go solo, but once I was solidly on that path, she got behind me 100 percent. She and my dad called me often and came to see me whenever they could. When I’d travel home to Severn, they proudly invited their friends to come to the house. And any chance I got, I flew my sisters in to spend time with me either when I was on the road or in Atlanta. I wanted to give them a front-row seat to my singing career—and to keep alive their own dreams of making it big.

As for the fabulous vacations that usually come with fame, I didn’t really take any—but that doesn’t mean I didn’t get out of the country at times to perform. I crisscrossed Europe and visited places I’d only read about—Berlin, Paris, Brussels, London, Rome, Milan. Arista’s parent company, BMG, is headquartered in Germany, so I passed through there a lot. The crazy part is that when you’re working overseas and darting from one city to the next, there really isn’t much time for leisurely sightseeing. But at the very least, a chauffeur might point out a city’s most famous sites (as in the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben) during the drive to or from the airport.

I once traveled to Tokyo for work—and I came home with a funny story. I adored Japan itself, but I wasn’t in love with the fact that so many things on the room service menu were raw (lots of sushi!). So I decided to order the Kobe steak—and I loved it, so I kept ordering it for a few nights. How was I supposed to know that Kobe steak is one of the most expensive cuts of meat in Japan? At the end of the week, my room service bill was more than $4,000! I didn’t have enough money with me to cover the bill, so the record company settled the bill—and I paid them back a couple months later.

Fame comes with another big change—your community expands to include other celebrities. L.A., who was always trying to get me to step out on the town with a hot celebrity man of the moment, thought that would do wonders for my image. At one point, he was pressing me to show up to an awards ceremony with Wesley Snipes—but I was too embarrassed to even ask Wesley because of a situation that had previously cropped up. Out of nowhere, Wesley apparently sent flowers to me at my record company. The only problem is that my publicist never actually told me that he’d sent the flowers—I swear that I had no idea. That kind of thing happens all the time in my business—your team handles a lot of your day-to-day details, and word doesn’t always reach you about all that has been written about you, said to you—or, in my case, sent to you. Half the time, you read something in the paper about yourself, and you’re going, “What is that all about? I didn’t even know that happened.” So anyway, I was out on the road doing a show when Wesley’s delivery arrived, so my publicist probably just hadn’t gotten around to mentioning the gift. And by the way, I had no clue about the intention behind the nice gesture: I’ll never know whether Wesley was interested in me, or if he was simply a fan of my music. But either way, someone in my camp had put the word out in the press that Wesley had sent me those flowers. So once I actually heard (weeks later!) about the gift, I called Wesley myself—and he seemed a bit annoyed. He goes, “How do I know that your publicist isn’t on this phone right now, writing down everything I’m saying?” I apologized profusely that the news had been leaked—maybe he had a girlfriend at the time, and he didn’t want her and the rest of the world to know that he’d sent me flowers. Fair enough—but my point is that this was exactly the kind of “What the hell?” experience I suddenly began dealing with in my new world. Crazy, right?

I never had a fling with Wesley—but I did once have a short romance with Shemar Moore, the model and actor. He and I met when he appeared in my video for the song “How Many Ways,” which was on my first album. We shot the video on location in Miami. And he had just gotten his role on
The Young and the Restless.
It was never anything serious between us—to this day, we’re cool as friends. If he walked in the room right now, he’d be like, “Hey, T—what’s up?” Yet from the day I saw him on the set, I have to admit that I did think he was cute. “My agent called and asked me, ‘Do you want to be in a Janet Jackson video or a Toni Braxton video?’” he said jokingly when we met. “I go, ‘Janet Jackson.’ But then I heard that Janet had already picked another guy—so that’s how I ended up with you.” We both snickered—me less so than him.
What a prick
, I thought. In the following few months, we’d call each other and get together when we were in the same city.

In between hanging out with Shemar, straightening out drama with Wesley, and jetting around the world for performances, I did my share of shopping. And in fact, I rarely had to plunk down my own credit card: The celebrity life comes with clothes galore. From Gucci to Manolo Blahniks and beyond, I received so many (free!) dresses, shoes, and handbags, and for a fashionista like me, few upsides of the famous life could compare. My stylist could call up a designer and get a dress for me right off the runway! “I need that for Toni Braxton,” he’d say—and many times, I would get exactly what I wanted. If I requested a dress to wear for an awards show or an event, I usually had to return it. But that didn’t matter too much—because there were always more cute items coming in for the next appearance. PS: I could wear just about anything worn by Kate Moss because we both have a short torso and long legs . . . the only thing I’d have to change about one of her dresses was the hemline. Once when I performed for Princess Diana, I wore this blue Calvin Klein dress that Kate had just worn on the runway. Loved it!

Using the money from that big check, I decided it was time to do what most celebrities get done when they first get a few dollars: I spruced up my home. “You’ve gotta get your house decorated,” L.A. had told me. “You don’t want it to look like you went down to the store and picked out a living room set.” So I hired an incredible decorator, Tom Pharr. In the end, the entire house was so charming . . . very French. Tom even got it onto the cover of
Southern Living
magazine. After getting settled into my new home, I also helped my family financially—I bought cars for my mother and sisters. Once I’d made those purchases, I still had $300,000 in my account. I figured that was plenty for me to live on—mostly because I didn’t know what awaited me just around the corner.