JOURNAL ENTRY: Poor baby. He’s in love.
My family drove from St. Louis to see me in the show. On one hand, I loved having them. But on the other hand, I felt a higher level of stress because I wanted them to be proud of me, especially Mama. She seemed to always find something to criticize.
We all ate at Gates Bar-B-Q, and I was so happy that my sister Jackie stayed with me in my hotel room. Her son, Michael Quinton, was a toddler at the time, and shared my bed. It was so cozy and sweet until I awoke with a full diaper in my face!
The combination of my guilt about Miguel and the stress of having my family in town made me irritable, which caused some bad blood with a couple of members of the Eubie! company. I felt remorse about being on the outs with my castmates, but I just didn’t know how to fix it. I lacked certain social graces. I had no boundaries, I teased and joked and often went too far. I also always flat-out spoke my mind, resulting in people either loving me or hating me.
A week later during the opening-night reception in Boston, I drank too much and basically acted a fool, even jumping onto the piano and rudely hushing the crowd so that I could sing to them. When I finally took a breather, a beautiful blond woman who had been in the audience approached me. “Your performance was extraordinary. We just had to meet you.” This is how I met my friend Temi Hyde. She took my hand and in a refined Boston accent, introduced her boyfriend Billy. Temi was gorgeous in a beaded silk dress and dripped of culture and wealth. I guessed she was in her mid-forties. We chatted awhile, and I became enchanted with this elegant, worldly woman who thought I was brilliantly talented.
As the evening wore on, I went with my castmates to a disco, where I continued to drink, trash talk, and act out. By the time I went back to my room, I was a drunken mess. Crying, I called Debbie and Miguel, but their words of comfort did not help much. I thought about calling Mama, but instead called Miss Mitchell, one of my mother figures, who I knew would comfort, not criticize me. Afterward, I still felt sad as I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “God, what is wrong with me? The show went great, so what’s wrong, baby?”
JOURNAL ENTRY: 2:30 a.m. I’ve failed. I need a cause in my life.
I tried to keep my mind on what Temi had said. Was I really “extraordinary”? I felt guilty about Miguel, at odds with my castmates, and completely fucked up.
A couple of days later, I met Temi and Billy for drinks. They brought along an older man named Jack. He was an alcoholic, which I saw as dangerous and exciting. I thought, So what, I’m all those things too. I brought him back to my room and had sex with him. I might have gotten gonorrhea from him. Or maybe it was Nick from Kansas City. It scared me and I was much more careful from then on.
On matinee days, I left the theater and aimlessly wandered the streets of Chinatown. Traveling and working with people in close quarters every day was becoming increasingly difficult. The thing is, while I was clearly an asset to the company, I didn’t know how to be part of a team offstage. Ever since childhood I had been the lone wolf. There were seven kids in my family, and they paired up into three couples, leaving me the odd one out. With the neighborhood kids, I put myself above the crowd in order to lead. I became the alpha wolf. I was running the show. I would get loud and bullying and shut the shit down!
In high school, my nickname was “Killer” on account of my sharp tongue and pushy nature. In college, I was dubbed “Majestic” for my commanding theatrical abilities and queenly behavior. Throughout my adolescence and young adulthood, people had catered to me because I was talented, cute, and charismatic. Often, I received special treatment or I would get people to laugh and be forgiven for my transgressions. As a result, I did not develop certain social skills—collaboration and conciliation—that were necessary in a touring theater company, and in life in general.
When I became a professional and show business added glamour to a persona that was already bullying, killer, and majestic, I emerged a diva. Now there’s a two-edged term! It can be the ultimate compliment, indicating a woman’s mastery of her art and, often, her “fabulous” demeanor. But the term can also be an insult, describing despicable grandiosity and disregard for others. Yes, a diva is admirable and a “Qween.” But she is also a self-centered, demanding bitch. During the Eubie! tour, my diva-tude flourished, unfortunately in both senses of the word.
My shortcomings, combined with a working culture that breeds drama and competitiveness, caused me to continue to have friction and disappointment with the other gypsies. I was sort of the baby, straight out of college. They had been pounding the pavement and surviving for years, and here I come—fresh from four years of classical training and living in a dorm. In an unconscious move to protect myself, I became obnoxiously overconfident: “I am the best whether you know it or not.”
JOURNAL ENTRY: I wish I knew who I really am. Why the fuck am I here?
Speaking of divas, when I went with several company members to see the incomparable singer Carmen McRae, the great George Benson was in the audience. Following the show, I went to Miss McRae’s dressing room to tell her how much I appreciated all that she’d contributed to the art of singing. To my surprise, she squeezed my hand and openly flirted with me. It made me uncomfortable. Remember, it was 1980, and lesbianism was still pretty taboo. I have never had a problem with people’s sexuality, but be you man, woman, goat, rooster, or rhinoceros, don’t be squeezing my hand with your sweaty palm!
I left the nightclub in a foul mood, feeling frustrated that Carmen McRae was a big star and I wasn’t. During dinner with Terry and a couple of others, I boasted endlessly about my own talent and grandeur. It quickly became too much for my companions to take. I wound up in a showdown with the Eubie! hairstylist Breelum Daniels.