Every Day I'm Hustling Page 19

  I cherished those experiences, but realized that I still needed a wider audience if I wanted to keep working in film and television. One look at the TV Nielsen ratings told me reality was king. Survivor, The Bachelor, The Biggest Loser, Big Brother—there was no reason for networks to do scripted television when they could do these franchises for cheaper. It’s called show business for a reason. I had to acknowledge that the business was evolving and ask myself how I could fit into this market but still have it be comfortable for me. So when Dancing with the Stars called to ask me to be on their third season in the fall of 2006, this time I said yes. I had turned them down twice before, but I did the math. Over twenty-eight million people watched that show. When you are working with someone, you are cobranding, so you have to look at the visibility of that brand. Doing Dancing with the Stars would allow me to enter the world of reality but keep my dignity as I showcased my work ethic. Not to mention that I love dancing.

  Not enough to love those rehearsals, though. They were grueling. Six hours a day, with three in the morning and three in the evening. My feet went from a size 8½ to a 9! My favorite fellow contestants were Mario Lopez and Emmitt Smith, the former running back. With Mario, he was just so freaking sexy and I wanted to just dive into those dimples. I knew Emmitt would win if I didn’t—what a work ethic. Most of my time was spent with my partner Nick Kosovich. I love Nick, but his attitude sometimes needed adjusting. He was cocky, and could be curt with the people working on the show. Including me. But I always deferred to him as a student to a teacher. As we were assigned a dance to perform each week, Nick gave me an amazing tip that helped me as a performer: Approach each dance as a character.

  My first was, appropriately, the fox-trot. I fell in the rehearsal, real hard, but I told myself, You can be tired later. I went from being kind of under the radar to doing constant press, and I went with it. I did tons of interviews and was lucky to line up events to bring that sudden spotlight to charities I care about, like breast cancer.

  We did great, and for four weeks, from the mambo to the Paso Doble, we finished in the top three for the judges’ scores. Our tango was even the judges’ favorite of the third week. They interview you right after, when you’re out of breath and sweaty and just want to lie down. That night the character I embraced was Dorothy Dandridge in Carmen Jones, all class and beauty. When I got the three 9s to put me in the lead, I reverted back to Angie Fox winning a basketball game. “Yeah, baby,” I yelled. “Yeah!”

  So imagine my surprise when I was eliminated the fourth week. On the show, I said, “No tears,” but in my head I was thinking, How the hell did I just work so damn hard, get all those high scores, and get eliminated? I wasn’t the only one who thought that. I went to dinner that week, and this extremely formal French chef came out to see me. We talked about the meal, and then he looked me in the eye.

  “By the way,” he whispered in his thick French accent, “you were robbed.”

  I didn’t peg him as a Dancing with the Stars fan! People’s kindness helped, but only so much. I had cleared my schedule thinking that if I worked hard enough, I would at least go further than the fourth week. So, on the spur of the moment, I decided to use this sudden free time to take a vacation alone to Turks and Caicos. To hell with this, I said. I am out of here.

  Now, I never let my losses define who I am. If you sit around harping on your mistakes, there’s no room for growth. But I needed a minute, okay?

  I was getting ready to head to the airport when my business partner Lita called.

  “Vivica, I know you’re leaving for Turks and Caicos, but—”

  “No.”

  “My favorite show called and they want to know if you’ll come in and audition.”

  “I’m going—”

  “It’s Curb Your Enthusiasm.”

  “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Larry David?”

  “Lita, I’m tired,” I said. “I am this close to finally taking a break.”

  She talked me down. She told me how hugely popular HBO’s Curb Your Enthusiasm was. “I said you’re leaving town, and they wondered if you could stop by on the way,” she said.

  A casting agent saw me on Dancing with the Stars and saw how I could be pretty but throw down. They were considering me for Loretta Black, a single mom of two who Larry takes in after Hurricane Katrina. The show was mostly guided improvisation, with Larry and his on-screen wife, Cheryl, choosing what was best, so the audition would also be improv. There were no lines to learn, so what did I have to lose?

  “Okay,” I said. “But then I’m gone.”

  “One thing, Vivica,” Lita said. “When you go in there, call him L.D.”

  I went over there with my suitcases in the trunk, ready to just get this over with. Loretta was supposed to be standoffish, so my disappointment with Dancing paid off.

  Larry wasn’t in the room when I got there, and my eyes went to the clock. They told me the improv scene would be about ice cream. I didn’t tell anyone I was rushing. I just used my impatience in the scene. When he finally walked in, I was ready.

  “Yo, what up, L.D.?” I said. “Tell me something about ice cream.”

  He burst out laughing. “No one has ever called me that,” he said, “I assure you.”

  And then he said, “That’s it.”

  Then we chatted a bit, but I wasn’t sure if “That’s it” really meant anything. I zipped up my warm-up suit and left for my flight. When I landed in Turks and Caicos, I was just starting to relax with a piña colada when Lita called.

  “Get back on a plane, dear,” she said. “You got it.”

  There went my vacation, but you know I was happy to get on that plane. And what a ride Curb was. Right away Larry told me he wanted to strip the “Vivica Fox” away to make the character more raw. “I don’t want any Vivica in this character whatsoever,” he said. “I want your hair pulled back in a ponytail, and I want no makeup.”

  “All right, I got you,” I said. “I look good without makeup.”

  He was the glamour cop. I would arrive to set and he’d say, “You have on makeup?”

  “Nope. Just a little lip gloss. I swear.”

  I was only supposed to be on for a little bit, but then they made Loretta a love interest for Larry once he split with Cheryl. They even worked me calling him L.D. into the show. Just like with the “ice cream” improv direction, every morning on the set you would get a little piece of paper with a short outline saying what we were talking about that day. The actors would go in their rooms and start thinking of lines. And you all get together and say your lines and Larry would say, “Okay, that worked and that didn’t.” The moments that worked, you could massage into a scene. So we would craft and create a whole segment together. You had to be your own writer-producer, but most of all you had to have really thick skin, and then give up final control to Larry. He knew what he wanted, and getting that laugh out of him was everything.

  My favorite scene was when I told off his nemesis, Susie Greene. She was this crazy character who was always yelling at him on the show, usually calling him a “four-eyed fuck.” She comes to the door screaming at Larry as usual, and my direction was “shut her down.”

  At first I just yelled that she should watch herself or something, then slammed the door on her.

  Larry shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “Cuss her ass out.”

  “I can cuss her out for real?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Really go for it.”

  So I did. That’s the take they used, and I knew they had it when I heard Larry’s laugh right away. Susie had it coming. People always bring it up when they come up to me about Curb. They wrote me off the show, but I was so grateful it lasted as long as it did. I’ll say this: It was one of those jobs that you thought would pay a lot. It didn’t. But it paid off by opening me up to a new audience who could see me as funny. I used to be able to go to New York and be pretty incognito with no makeup on. Not after Curb.

&nbs
p; *   *   *

  It was a slow burn, though, and I still wasn’t getting big movie roles. A lot of celebrities started treating me just a little bit differently when we ran into each other. Yes, Hollywood is a little like high school. There is a cool table, and I could no longer sit there. I call them “sometimey folks.” (It’s funny, they would barely give me a wave across the room back then, but now they’re coming at me to be on their Snapchats or Instagrams…)

  The movie offers I was seeing didn’t excite me so much, but I was getting asked to do things like reality shows and talk shows. The talk-show idea interested me because I liked hosting when I did it as a guest on news and entertainment shows, but at the time it just wasn’t quite right. I was offered work hosting reality show reunions, which were becoming more and more popular. I took some of the opportunities, because I wanted to meet the people behind the scenes to figure out what made these shows tick—plus I could also strengthen my hosting muscles. It was hard to miss that the most successful reality shows seemed to be about people getting drunk enough and mad enough to throw drinks at each other. I figured this was a way that I could be a part of these big pop culture moments but let them throw the drinks at each other.

  One day in 2010 I sat down in my living room and I just said, Okay, what would I want from a new job?

  The work had to be something I was passionate about, because otherwise it would just be a job. I wanted it to have a touch of glamour to it, because I am a sucker for hair and makeup. If I had to travel for it, all the better, since I get bored hanging out in one place, and I really draw energy from meeting new people. And I needed to have control, because my brand is quality.

  I took some downtime, which was weird for me. But it was nice to visit my friends and really spend time with them individually. Not just a hi and a kiss and “I’ve got to catch my plane.” I visited Miami and hung out with my friend James Ansin. He’s what I call a connector. He knows a lot of people, and he’s just fun to be around. He has a gorgeous penthouse in Miami, and our ritual was to have a light cocktail and then head over to Prime 112 steak house for dinner.

  One night we were outside on one of those magical Miami nights at Prime 112, where the air is coming off the water and everyone just looks beautiful. It reminded me of my first days in California. It felt like something new.

  “You should get a place here,” he said. “You would love it.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But I need to be in L.A. for work.”

  He asked what I was working on, and I paused. There were a bunch of things, but the steadiest gig at the time was doing the voice of Angel Dynamite on a Scooby-Doo cartoon. I found joy in that, don’t get me wrong, because she was actually this really cool character with a lot of backstory for a cartoon. Plus I wasn’t in the hair-and-makeup chair for hours. But it wasn’t what I wanted to be doing for the rest of my career.

  “You know, James,” I said, “I’m thinking I have to start planning for something new.”

  It was the first time I’d said it out loud. It didn’t feel like failure. It just felt scary and uncertain.

  “What would you do if you weren’t acting?”

  “I have no idea,” I admitted.

  “What are you passionate about?”

  Every single time someone had asked me that for the last ten years, my answer was always, “My work.” But if I didn’t have my work, what did I have? Who was I?

  “I am passionate about the Indianapolis Colts,” I said, joking. “I should call Peyton Manning and see if they need someone. I mean, every morning the first thing I do is turn on ESPN…”

  James got this little glimmer. “Every morning you watch ESPN.”

  “And every night, too. I’m a huge sports fan.”

  “Vivica,” he said, “you know who my dad is, right?”

  Ed Ansin was the billionaire owner of Miami’s WSVN, the local Fox affiliate.

  “You’d make an incredible sportscaster,” he said, laughing. “I kinda know a guy who might be able to get you a job.”

  I sat back, and I could see the movie. I’m a sideline reporter, interviewing these accomplished athletes under the lights in stadiums and arenas. We’re all so excited to talk to each other—me and Steph Curry, LeBron James—and then I’m laying down what I know about sports! Or I’m an anchor on a sports show, setting the tone for the show as I get to talk with these great veterans doing analysis. I already had a role model in mind, the incredible Robin Roberts. She started as a sports reporter and anchor for local affiliates, then moved to ESPN before transitioning to being one of the best in the morning news game on Good Morning America. This new chapter had what I said I wanted in the next job—passion, glamour, travel, and control—because it would just be me out there, winning or losing on my own.

  I high-fived him. I had my evolution strategy, right there over the filet mignon at Prime 112. I had enjoyed hosting and felt comfortable doing live interviews. As an actor, I have already trained myself to really listen to what a person is saying and react. This was the answer to my slump. It felt like I could bolt through a door that was about to slam shut. I would start over, still be on camera, and work my way up again. It would be less money in the beginning, but I have to stress that I didn’t see it as a step down. I would still be in people’s homes entertaining them, probably making them laugh. And I would get to work with people who cared about what they were doing.

  I was so serious about leaving Hollywood that on my next visit to Miami, I had a real estate friend, Tomi Rose, show me a couple of properties in South Beach. The thing was, I was about to line up a local sportscaster salary, so the move had to reflect that.

  “Okay,” I finally said, “movie star Vivica could live here, but WSVN Vivica…? I need to be real here with you. I have to budget for this future if I do this.” We went out of the hot area just a little bit, so I could have more space and privacy, and sure enough, there was this really cute penthouse. I told Tomi I just needed to sleep on it a bit, but I was very close to putting down a down payment.

  That week I did an interview with a reporter to promote a gospel fest that I was about to cohost. All the talk of the Lord had me breaking it down for the reporter. I told him I was thinking about making a change and moving to Miami.

  “I think Hollywood is a town for…” I trailed off. “I’ve done well being Vivica Fox,” I said. “I’m just going to give myself a new challenge.”

  The interview went right up and I saw those words: “I’ve done well being Vivica Fox.” Dad used to say that when you are ready for that chapter to be over, put a period on it and turn the page. It was the end of my journey as an actress.

  And the Lord said, “Wait a minute, we’re not done with you yet.” I got a call from Byron Allen about a show he was doing with Bill Bellamy, called Mr. Box Office. It was a sitcom about a Will Smith–caliber movie star sentenced to community service teaching at a high school in South Central Los Angeles. They had a character who was a “Vivica Fox type.”

  “Ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby,” I sang into the phone. There went my Miami plan. A series meant steady work and a schedule I could work around to pursue passion projects. The initial order was for 104 episodes. They wanted to bang them out, filming two shows a week, and that was awesome for me. Plus, I would get to work with wonderful people like Bill, Tim Meadows, and Essence Atkins.

  The deal got a lot of press in Hollywood’s trade magazines because of the size of the order. And there was my picture on all those articles. There’s something about Hollywood where work begets work. People see it’s big news that you got hired, and they suddenly want to hire you, too. The calls started coming for more TV work, and I was so grateful.

  You see now that I asked myself those five questions I gave you:

  How did people perceive me? I wasn’t young enough for ingénue roles, but Mama was too damn cute to pull off mature roles. When I got negative feedback about how I was sustaining my career—like when I did sta
ge plays—I didn’t let it get to me. They didn’t know the work that goes into building a base of people who will look out for you long-term, and those bloggers certainly didn’t pay my bills.

  Was I staying current? I saw that roles on scripted television shows were dwindling and reality was only going to grow as networks saw they could get high ratings at low cost. I got on that wave and rode it by hosting reunion shows.

  Could I do it myself? Instead of waiting for Hollywood to hand me a role I wanted, I began producing and helped create those roles—and work—for myself.

  Was I keeping my squad up? I relied on the African American community to support me and I thanked them by traveling to them. I listened to Lita when she told me not to get in my own way with Curb Your Enthusiasm, and I was also honest with friends like James Ansin about my concerns. When I considered a new chapter, I found my inspiration in no less than Robin Roberts.

  Could I channel my skills and passion into a different role? I saw sports broadcasting as new way to express my love for entertaining people—and it would be material I loved to talk about. I knew it would be a lifestyle change on the paycheck front, and I was prepared to handle that.