You Have No Idea: A Famous Daughter, Her No-Nonsense Mother, and How They Survived Pageants, Hollywood, Love, Loss (9 page)

Of course my mother was furious. “You’re not returning that key,” she said. Then she sent him a letter: “… I can say with great certainty that Vanessa was an exemplary Miss America, and I could not, in view of that, justify returning your ‘Key to the City.’”

In 1995, Mayor Barton was convicted and sent to prison on federal charges of defrauding the city of Talladega. (I guess it is okay to steal, but not undress!)

There were the calls to my childhood home and, of course, the barrage of hate mail. I was called the standard “Whore,” “Pig,” “Slut,” but then there were some real doozies:

“You are worse than Hitler.”

“In one fatal swoop, you pushed black people back to the time of slavery.”

“You are part of Satan’s chamber of horrors.”

“You are a clone of every wicked thought and deed perpetuated upon mankind by Beelzebub.”

Through it all, though, Ramon and I were getting closer. Bruce was in Syracuse and we were drifting apart. Ramon was commuting from Los Angeles to be with me. We spent time dating in New York, and traveled to the Bahamas and Fiji. He was my publicist and adviser, helping Dennis with business decisions as well. Ramon had spent years handling actors, musicians, and athletes, such as James Caan (whom I later worked with in the movie
Eraser
), Bette Midler, and baseball great Lou Brock. Ramon was established in the business and he knew so much. I could trust him because he had my best interest at heart.

He could also weed out the opportunists. The bullshit deals. He was convinced that, in time, I could get past the Miss America stigma and have the successful career I was meant to have.

I needed a break. All the other money offers had disappeared. I lost a ten-year promotional contract with Gillette. My Diet Coke commercial stopped airing. Kellogg’s pulled off the shelves boxes of Corn Flakes with my picture on them. All in all, I lost about two
million dollars in endorsements and countless other offers that would have come my way when I finished my reign.

There were a lot of insane offers, though. Cheesy shit. Ramon and I would laugh. I was asked to play the lead in a film called
Satan and Eve.

No thanks.

Thunder Women
?

No.

Days and Night in Los Angeles
?

No.

Another producer approached me with the concept of starring in my own life story.

NO!

There were many fictional projects proposed just to get me into a meeting and check me out.

During my first year living in Manhattan, I got a call from Francine LeFrak, a producer friend. “Don’t tell anyone, but Robert De Niro wants to discuss a possible project where you would costar in a Broadway musical with him.” I was so excited. Starring with Robert De Niro? I didn’t even know he sang and danced. But I thought it would be fantastic.

She told me she’d pick me up at my apartment and drive me to his place in Tribeca for the evening meeting. I wore a big, thick turtleneck sweater with a long knit tube skirt and boots. I was desperate to be taken seriously and hide any distractions. He was every bit a gentleman, offering me a drink while we sat on his deck under the downtown sky.

“You know, when I was young, I took nude photos, too,” he told me.
Well, we have that in common
, I thought. But I really didn’t want this meeting to revolve around my naked pictures.

“Tell me about the musical,” I asked.

He was like, “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get to it later. Tell me about yourself.”

Details were vague. We sat there, making small talk. I tried to press him for more info: “What’s the musical about? Who else are you considering?” He’d mentioned that it was an idea but nothing was definite yet. He was the ultimate in downtown cool.

But I also knew that my new flame, Ramon, was waiting for me in my apartment. There wasn’t a musical. But if this was a chance to get hit on by De Niro, I choked.

“You should go into solo recording,” Ramon said one day. “We could forge an identity, an image for you that way. If we fail, you can always go back to trying to make it as an actress. If we succeed, you’ll have an image beyond being a dethroned Miss America. You’ll have fans. You’ll have a career. Don’t wait around for the perfect movie role or the perfect Broadway show because it could take a long, long time, if it ever comes at all.”

I kept saying, “It will happen. It will all work out. I just know it.” My plan had always been to get on Broadway as soon as possible—not wait until I was established as a singer.

Ramon said I was in denial. I saw him as Eeyore, the pessimistic donkey in
Winnie the Pooh
.

“I’m not a pessimist—I’m a realist,” he would respond. “Solo recording is your way to make a name for yourself on your terms.”

But through all of this uncertainty, I could count on our growing love and I could handle my relationship and family on my own. I was the boss of me. And I was free to love.

Ramon admitted he had feelings for me, too. “But I don’t date my clients,” he said. Handling the Miss America debacle had been a great opportunity for him, as he was already well-known as a celebrity publicist in Los Angeles. But this scandal had put him on everyone’s radar.

“Everything I do right now will come under a microscope,” he said. “If I start dating my client, I’ll lose all credibility.”

I understood. Here was this older guy who had been hired to
help a twenty-one-year-old woman in the biggest crisis of her life. It was all the clichés—hero and victim; rescuer and rescued.

But I didn’t care. He was smart, handsome, sophisticated, warm, and kind. He was independent, strong, and had a relaxed way about him, like he didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. And he could cook. He seemed perfect.

But my mother wasn’t so easily impressed.

My mother is this force. When she disapproves, you can see it on her face. Her eyes blaze. She gives this icy stare. We all call it “the Look.” She might not say anything, but you can feel the force. It can fill a room. It’s so powerful that when I was cast in
Ugly Betty
, I used “the Look” for my character, Wilhelmina. The show’s writers eventually included it in the script—
Wilhelmina gives the Look
. It was an inside joke with friends and family: “Wilhelmina
is
your mom!”

Mom liked Ramon and respected the public relations work he’d done for us. But she didn’t like us as a couple. He knew it. I knew it. I wanted my mom to like him. I felt she didn’t approve of my boyfriend Bruce because he was white. Subconsciously I was thinking,
Ramon’s a black man—are you happy now, Mom? Doesn’t he remind you a bit of dad—a bearded Libra with a kind nature?
Plus he saved the day; how could she not like him?

But with Mom there was always a problem, always a complaint. “He’s way too old for you. You’re twenty-one—he’s thirty-three. You’re at different places in life.”

Falling in love with Ramon was the perfect distraction from all the mayhem in my life. It was a great escape to be excited about someone. I could focus on our relationship instead of the impending legal battle with
Penthouse
, the media attention, the late-night television jokes. Who cares about any of that when you’re newly in love? We tried to keep it quiet. I wasn’t sure what I was doing and neither was Ramon. He was still in Los Angeles, so our relationship was
long-distance. We took it slowly. We only told a handful of friends. When he visited, we stayed in, afraid of what the press would write if they found out we were a couple.

I was trying to establish as normal a life in Manhattan as possible. I was like any newcomer to the city. I spent my days furniture shopping. I painted and wallpapered the place myself. I’d bus it across town to Broadway Dance Center and take jazz class with Frank Hatchett, a dancing legend. From the outside, it looked like I was living the life. I had this ridiculously expensive apartment. I walked around Manhattan in the mink coat I’d worn at the Macy’s Day Parade. But at times, I didn’t even have taxi money.

Then one day it seemed like everything might begin to fall in place.

Paul Martins, my theater agent at ICM, told me that Mike Nichols, the famous stage and film director (
The Graduate
,
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
), wanted me to audition to replace model-actress-icon Twiggy in
My One and Only
, a musical based on George and Ira Gershwin’s
Funny Face
, a period piece set in 1927.

Perfect. Right up my alley! I’d get to showcase all my talents—singing, dancing, and acting—and I’d learn to tap with legendary choreographer Tommy Tune. Finally I was being taken seriously—and by one of the most successful directors out there. I knew this part—Edith Herbert, a former English Channel swimmer living in the Jazz Age—was perfect for me.

I met Mike Nichols at the St. James Theater. A few days before, Tommy Tune, who costarred in the musical, had taught me the tap dance routines at a studio. For the last few days, I’d practiced my ass off. I was more than ready. This part had my name on it.

My audition was flawless. I sang. I danced. I kicked higher than ever. I connected with Tommy Tune on stage. I knew I nailed it and I could tell that Tommy Tune and Mike Nichols were really happy with my performance.

“That was great, perfect,” Mike said. “You’re the real thing and we want you in this play. As far as we’re concerned, the part is yours. We just have to run it by Lenora [“Lee”] Gershwin, who is executive producer of the show.”

I was ecstatic. Finally, it was happening, just like I knew it would. I was on my way to being a Broadway star!
Broadway, here I come.

Mike Nichols called me the next day. “I have some bad news.”

He told me that he had just met with Lee Gershwin, the late Ira Gershwin’s wife, at her suite at the Regency Hotel in midtown. “We told Lee we’d found a really exciting girl who sings great, dances great, and is gorgeous—her name is Vanessa Williams. She said ‘Well, you boys are so talented. So whatever you want is fine with me.’ And then the minute we got to the lobby, her lawyer, who was in the meeting with us, received a call at the desk. It was Lee. She told him, ‘I just want it to be clear: I don’t want that whore in my play.’ I’m devastated by this, Vanessa, but there’s nothing I can do. She has the final say.”

That was the moment it really hit me.

All my life, Broadway had seemed like this attainable goal. It was only a train ride, an audition away. I’d watch the commercials, see the shows, study the performers, and think,
I have the talent. I can do this. This is possible.
I’d written “See you on Broadway” next to my high school yearbook photo.

I thought,
Okay, now I get it. This has nothing to do with talent. This is going to be harder than I ever imagined. This Miss America thing is going to be a huge, huge obstacle.

I was upset. I was frustrated. But I didn’t want to kill myself, as was reported. I look back at stories and headlines written about me at the time. They’d say things like vanessa’s dark days or vanessa’s hit rock bottom. I knew it would be tough, but I also never doubted I would succeed. When you know this, you don’t have dark days, you don’t hit rock bottom. You just have days when you want to scream at people: “You have no idea what I can do!”

•   •   •

Besides working on my career, I was also suing Bob Guccione, the publisher and founder of
Penthouse
, for publishing my nude photos without a signed release from me. His response? He published more of them in the November issue, with plans to publish another round of photos (Gregg Whitman’s) in January. It was a game to him. He figured he had all the money in the world, and I posed no threat to him.

There were endless depositions at his lawyers’ offices as we prepared for trial. His attorneys were ruthless and their questions were condescending.

“Oh, you were a musical theater major? Did you weave baskets there, too? Oh, you took modern dance AND ballet. WOW!”

Guccione’s lawyers and his whole crew were so vile. I couldn’t stand them. I answered each question as calmly as possible: “Yes, I was a musical theater major. Modern dance and ballet were part of the curriculum.”

They just bombarded me with more silly questions in the middle of my answers. They’d bring up past jobs and past relationships. Was this supposed to break me? Make me throw in the towel and say, “I quit”? These lawyers may have been experts at making people feel insignificant and foolish, but they couldn’t get me.

My lawyers warned me that there were no secrets they wouldn’t be able to unearth. Bob Guccione had endless resources. The trial could drag on forever. My parents, both elementary schoolteachers, were paying most of my bills. They wanted me to fight, but they couldn’t afford it. I hated asking for their funds—especially to pay for my mistakes.

My mom said, “It will cost us more money than we have. We don’t have Guccione money. We’re prepared to do it. But I think he’s a slimebag and not worth the time.”

My legal team laid it out. “Anything you’ve ever done will come up in a trial. And the trial will be very public. Everything you say
will be splashed all over the tabloids. They’ll dig into every aspect of your personal life.”

More headlines? More judgment? I wanted it to be over. What were we really winning anyway? I’d just be getting publicity for all the wrong reasons.

I thought,
I’m done. My life is finally not a circus right now. So who needs this?

Broadway wasn’t ready for me yet, but I’d be back. I knew it. Once the dust settled, I’d be on stage. I performed in a lively off-Broadway show,
One Man Band
, and kept my dream alive. But I was ready for more.

I decided that I’d take Ramon’s advice—try a solo recording career—and one day find my way back to Broadway. Ramon had been right. As much as I tried, I couldn’t plan every aspect of my career. Meryl Streep’s footsteps were not mine. I had to find my path.

I had to surrender to the unknown.