Unbreak My Heart: A Memoir (13 page)

I thought my manager was right: A little flirting couldn’t hurt, and it might even improve our business relationship. So I went out a few times with Bryant. On one of those dates, we started making out . . . and . . . one thing led to another. I’ve never been one to kiss and tell, so I’ll just say that things went farther than I ever intended—and I regretted it to the twentieth power. I called my cousin Jackie and told her the details. “You’ll get over it,” she said. “He’s a nice guy.” But I wanted to end it.

That wasn’t as easy as it sounds. Even when I went silent, which was my way of letting the whole thing fade away naturally, Bryant kept calling. And calling. And calling. Let’s just say, I ended up continuing to see Bryant because I didn’t feel like I could break it off without hurting my career given his connections. In retrospect, I should have followed my heart and walked away.

IN DECEMBER
1992
, L.A. and Kenny began strategizing: How could they ride the wave of the soundtrack’s popularity and quickly put out my first album? Back in those days, you couldn’t just come out with an album suddenly—the record company had to slot you in, sometimes as far out as a year ahead of time. I lucked out with getting onto the
Boomerang
soundtrack because it was already in the works and had to be done so expediently. So L.A. and Kenny had to persuade Arista to get my project out by the following summer. Arista finally agreed.

The process of making that album happened superfast. Kenny had already written “Breathe Again,” and he sang it for me as he played the instrumental on a cassette. I nearly cried the first time I heard it—the melody sounded just that beautiful to me. Some of the other songs, like “Seven Whole Days,” were written right there in the studio. When you’re creating a song, it’s not necessarily a straightforward process: sometimes, you just play around with the lyrics and melody until you stumble upon something that feels right. “Try singing that line, Toni,” Kenny would often say to me as we were working on a piece. Once I sang the melody, he would usually go back and rearrange some of the lyrics, then ask me to sing it again. We could go back and forth like that for hours.

A lot of people think that famous musicians live a rock-and-roll lifestyle—but when I was starting out, my life was anything but that. No one saw me around town partying: I was in the studio for twelve, fifteen, sometimes even twenty hours a day. I’d often leave the studio at six in the morning and be back there by noon. Even when I was at home, I’d sit and study music—that’s what you do before you go back into the studio for the next session. At times, I would dig out some old Babyface or Anita Baker cassettes and study the music. I’d also listen to the songs Kenny and I actually worked on and think about how I would interpret them. For instance, when Kenny first gave me “Breathe Again,” he was singing it on the demo—and I listened hard while thinking, How can I make this my own? And of course, I had to do a lot of fast memorizing of the melodies and lyrics because we had such a short time to complete the album. That’s what many don’t know: If you want to be a great musician, you first have to be a devoted student of music. That involves practicing strict discipline every single day. It’s not all just about getting up on the stage to perform—most of the real work happens behind the scenes.

As hard as I was working on the album, I still made time to connect with my family. I talked with them by phone on most days once I was home from the studio. Mom had gone from angry about my choice to go solo to proud and fairly supportive (that is, as long as I remembered that I was supposed to circle back and get my sisters a deal). My parents drove down from Severn to Atlanta every couple of months just to spend time with me. I didn’t really take them with me to the studio (our sessions were closed, so none of the artists brought others along). So they would hang at my apartment as I worked, and we’d often go out to eat in the evenings. My sisters stayed behind in Severn—and word once got back to my parents that they’d thrown a huge house party (with alcohol and everything!) while my parents were away . . . and I’m sure you can imagine how well my parents took that news.

From time to time, I’d fly all of my sisters to Atlanta and have them hang out with me. I wanted to give them a front-row seat in my new life as a solo artist, as well as to encourage them to keep their own musical dreams alive. “Keep practicing and working hard!” I’d tell them. While they were in town, we didn’t do anything particularly glamorous: I’d just take them with me to Lenox or Phillips Mall so we could shop together. Sometimes, we’d stop in Claire’s and buy a cheap pair of earrings.

On July 13, 1993—a short six months after the project had been green-lighted by Arista—my self-titled album hit the record stores. I was so excited when the first single, “Another Sad Love Song,” made it to the top of the charts. Other hits followed: “Breathe Again,” “You Mean the World to Me,” “I Belong to You,” and “How Many Ways.” I can’t tell you how appreciative I was that people were listening to my music—imagine me, a little country girl from Severn, suddenly having a hit record. What a gift. I wanted to include my sisters in my success and give them another shot at breaking in, so I featured all four of them in the video for “Seven Whole Days.” Practically overnight, I became the newest R&B artist people were buzzing about. You want to know when I felt like I had “made it”? The day I received a Soul Train Music Award. For me, that honor was the ultimate one, since it came from the show that first inspired me to dream. And on top of all that, I even won my bet with L.A.: He actually bought me a baby-blue Porsche, which he had delivered.

My life changed dramatically. My private life was pretty ordinary, but whenever I went out in public, I suddenly felt like I was living the glamorous life. Gone were the days when I could just roll out in my sweats, flip-flops, and no makeup. The paparazzi were usually close by, ready to snap a photo. People came up to me when I went to the grocery store—my short haircut was an instant giveaway. One time when I was stopped at an intersection, a couple guys pulled up and shouted, “Can we have your autograph?” Another time, I went out to dinner at a Houston’s restaurant in Buckhead, Atlanta, and a group of girls followed me into the restroom. While I was in the stall, one of them said to me through the door, “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Toni, but can we have your autograph?” I’ve always been so flattered when others show me appreciation—but it was a bit awkward to have that conversation while my stream of pee flowed down and hit the water in the toilet. And yes: Once I zipped up and washed my hands, I did give the girls my autograph. It’s a privilege to have such amazing fans.

Whenever I would pop in at Neiman-Marcus in Lenox Mall, people would come up to me and say hello. Once when L.A. and I went there together, a woman stopped and said, “I love your haircut!” In moments like that, L.A. would often step aside and just observe the interaction: He was always gathering information on how to create the best image for his artists. After that lady commented on my hairstyle, L.A. said, “We’ll have to make your sideburns even more of a strong detail.” He was so good at finding ways to improve me and the many other entertainers on his record label.

My family was as thrilled as I was about the success of my first album. When I returned to my hometown to visit, Mom and Dad hosted a barbecue at their house. They surprised me by having a lot of extended family there. I knew my parents were proud and just wanted to celebrate me. But the truth is that I was fatigued. I’d been on the road for weeks, performing my butt off onstage and then offering hundreds of handshakes afterward. Hanging out with a whole group of family in Severn felt like work to me—and I had come home to get away from work. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve always loved performing, and I’m so grateful for the millions who support my work. But no matter how passionate you are about what you do, there comes a moment when you need a break. I needed to catch my breath.

From obscurity to superstardom—that became my story in a matter of only months, and I was pinching myself during the whole ride. Back when I was a girl, I had repeatedly prayed for fame. Yet I’d forgotten to add the part about fortune. I’d become a celebrity, yes—but I was still waiting on the financial rewards. God is busy. That’s why I’ve since learned I need to itemize.