You broke, right? And I’m rich, right? So I can buy whatever I want for y’all.
Whitney, being CRAZY
One of the times during filming of The Preacher’s Wife when Whitney was staying in New York for a few weeks, she called and tried to convince me to hang out. She knew I was already in New York, and that I had plans, but in typical Whitney fashion, she asked anyway.
“BeBe, won’t you stop by?”
Basically, she was lonely and wanted some company.
“Whitney, you know I have things going on, and then afterwards I’m going to the hotel because I’m tired and I . . .”
“Just come by here. Please. C’mon.”
So I obliged. Whitney was one of those people who would continue asking until you broke. And to make matters worse, she knew me pretty well. She knew my breaking point.
I showed up on the set of The Preacher’s Wife and was meeting people and talking with Whitney. At one point, Whitney went off to do something and Penny Marshall, the director, approached me.
“Hey, BeBe,” she said. “I was thinking during the break how great it would be if you would sing Whitney’s song for her—you know, the one from this scene, ‘I Believe in You and Me.’ ”
I saw Whitney enter the set and I pointed at her and said, “Oh . . . no. You see, I’m just here for that girl over there. And besides, I don’t even know the lyrics to that one.”
Penny smiled and said, “Oh, come on; it will be fine. It’s just us. It’ll be fun.”
“Sorry, Penny. I’m just gonna hang out and observe, ya know?”
Penny gave up. After the segment ended, I walked over to Whitney. “Listen, Penny asked me to sing your song for you. And you know I ain’t doing nothing of the sort.”
Whitney just stared at me.
“I need you to tell her that you invited me over here to hang with you—for some company,” I urged. “I didn’t come here to sing. I ain’t singin’.”
At that moment Penny walked up again and said, “Hey, Whitney, I was just telling BeBe how great it would be if he would sing your song—just for fun, just to encourage everyone a bit. What do you think?”
I looked at Whitney, fully expecting her to tell Penny how bad that idea was. Whitney looked at me, leaning her head and raising her eyebrows—that mischievous look—then glanced over at Penny and back at me. She was milking the moment.
“Oh, Penny, I think that’s a great idea!” she exclaimed.
My eyes about bugged out of my head. Whitney had just sold me out.
“Really?” replied Penny.
“Yeah, of course. BeBe, c’mon; it’ll be great. I’ll feed you the words. We’ll do it just for fun,” Whitney said.
We wrangled around for a few minutes, but it was pointless. I finally relented and agreed to sing “I Believe in You and Me” as long as Whitney did it with me. And, I had one more stipulation: no cameras. “I don’t want this thing recorded,” I told them. “It’s just for fun.”
Penny agreed and assured me that there would be no cameras. So, we sang the song. It was all rather harmless and it was fun, I have to admit. In fact, my entire time on the set was great.
Well, weeks later, I was meeting my friend Pauletta Washington—wife of Whitney’s costar, Denzel, in The Preacher’s Wife—for spin class at a local gym. When I arrived at the gym, she approached me and said, “Hey, BeBe, you were great last night at the ball. I think it’s great what you did, singing that song with Whitney on the film set.”
I had no idea what she was talking about.
“What ball?” In my head, I was saying, Because I know no one saw me singing at no ball, because Whitney and Penny both said the cameras weren’t rolling.
“Whitney’s song, ‘I Believe In You and Me,’ from The Preacher’s Wife.”
She replied as if I was playing games with her. But I wasn’t playing a game. This was news to me! Apparently, not only had cameras been rolling but the footage had been shown to a group of people.
“Pauletta, where did you hear me sing that song with Whitney?”
“Denzel and I were at the Carousel Ball in LA last night. We saw the video there.”
The Carousel Ball, from what I knew, was a major event. So you can imagine my shock. I was trying to sort it out in my brain: There’s no way those people saw a video of me singing with Whitney. There’s no way, because Penny assured me that the cameras were not rolling.
I called Whitney to ask her what was going on. You can imagine the response I received: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, BeBe.” I could almost hear her internal giggling through the phone. Then, as she came clean, I found out that at first, she didn’t know the cameras were rolling either. So, Penny got us both! But now Whitney was reveling in the fact that she and Penny got me. Luckily, Penny still has a copy of this video and she made me a copy. 
GO TO TheWhitneyIKnewVideos.com TO VIEW THIS AND OTHER BONUS MATERIAL.
You can’t pull stories like this from the Internet. You live them. They’re the kind of stories you have of your friends, the stories that you laugh about over dinner or on the back deck when you’re hanging out.
Whitney’s mind was crazy. Not crazy in a negative way. Crazy in a zest-for-life kind of way. It was in her DNA to push things to the limit with regard to our friendship. And by push things, I mean, have fun with them. If she knew your buttons, she’d push them.
When you lose someone close, eventually you stop saying goodbye. Saying good-bye is the hurt; it’s the process of letting them go. If we’re honest, it can be a selfish time for the one who remains. We want the ones we’ve lost for ourselves. We want them back in our lives because they enriched us so much. But there’s another level you eventually reach. It’s the level where you’ve said good-bye for the final time and you’re content to laugh through your fondest memories.
I’m at that point in the good-bye process with my brother Ronald. I think there will always be a tinge of hurt and “Oh, I miss you, brother.” But Ronald’s memory now gives me so much joy—joy that I had him in my life, and joy in receiving the great life he gave to us all.
I’m not there yet with Whitney. I can’t escape seeing the tabloids. Someone’s constantly drumming up some ridiculous concoction of a story, marring her name even in death. It’s bad enough that we as a culture brutalize celebrities—who we seem to forget are human beings—by spreading lies and distorting truths about them in the media when they’re alive. It’s a different ballgame when we do that after they die.
I just want it to stop. I want to erase the unflattering pictures and the false articles about her and hoist the banner of truth that is Whitney’s life in totality. Like Aretha urged people about Whitney after her death: “Remember the hits. Forget the misses.” Why can’t we revel in someone’s actual life instead of the shadows of the truth? Why can’t we respect the family who’s lost one of their own, and let them grieve in private or go public as they will? Why can’t we grow up?
For me, the time will come when I move from hurt to sweet memory. But I do wonder about those who were closer to Whitney than I was. It’s hard enough to lose a mother and a daughter and a sister. That loss is compounded, however, when a culture that raised her up as their princess won’t let her pass into the peace that passeth understanding because they want to gossip about the nuances of her death.
But my disdain for the popular media does not overshadow her memory—the Crazy Whitney still lives in my mind. That memory helps me through the hurt and is helping me move into the peaceful good-bye. It helped me get through her funeral as well.
I told myself that I wasn’t going to say anything or even sing at Whitney’s funeral because I didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. But I didn’t really mind. Now that I look back on the event, I realize I said that more for me at the time. Still, before I even reached the pulpit and the music began, I broke down and started to cry. So I turned right back around and looked at CeCe and said, “Get up. You’re coming up with me.” Which is the way it should have been, because she and Whitney and I spent so much time together.
In that moment, what kept coming to my mind was the fact that we talk about Whitney’s voice and we talk about her talent, and we’d already established that it was a beautiful and unique gift. I could have easily echoed the sentiments of so many who loved her voice, but on this occasion, that just wouldn’t do.
“What I’m going to miss most of all is Crazy Whitney,” I said as memories flooded my mind. Like the one when me, CeCe, Robyn, Robert Matta, and Whitney went to see Prince of Tides, starring Barbra Streisand and Nick Nolte. Whitney always wanted to know why I never liked to go to movies with her. Well, because she talked so much. She’d just talk and talk, all the way through, commenting on everything. It drove me crazy! But the four of us went with her that night. I sat behind her because I actually wanted to hear what was being said. Whitney sat in front of me with CeCe and Robyn. I watched Whitney talk CeCe’s ear off; she couldn’t help herself.
Near the end of the movie the woman sitting in front of Whitney turned around and said emphatically, “Can you just shut up! Please! Just shut up!” and then turned around and sat back down.
I watched Whitney lean up to whisper something in her ear, and the whole time I’m praying that “Jersey Whitney” doesn’t come out. After Whitney whispered in her ear, the woman turned around again and said, “Just shut up! You’re talking too much!”
“Lord, keep ‘Jersey Whitney’ away. Save this poor woman.”
For a moment, it seemed like my prayers were getting through. But then Whitney leaned up again, grabbed the woman’s blond ponytail, and said, “You shouldn’t be so rude!” Then she pushed her head forward by the ponytail!
Robyn said, “BeBe, get her outta here! Go!” because the woman stood up and screamed, and her boyfriend stood up like he was getting ready to fight.
Robert and I grabbed Whitney and we bolted from the theater. CeCe and Robyn caught up, and we ran for the car. Once we piled into the car, trying to grab our breath, Whitney blurted, “That was so much fun!” grinning from ear to ear.
“Fun? That wasn’t fun!” I said. “My heart is pounding out of my chest!”
That was the last movie I went to with Whitney until The Bodyguard released.
Many years later, I felt like we were in a movie—because it couldn’t possibly be real. But there CeCe and I were at New Hope Baptist Church the night before Whitney’s funeral, making preparations. I turned to her and said, “CeCe, if there’s anything I want to share, it’s what I’m going to miss most of all: that Whitney who was plumb out of her mind in terms of how loyal she was to us as a friend.”
CeCe agreed, so when it was my turn to share, I spoke of the Crazy Whitney I knew: “CeCe and I were making plans for our first headlining tour when Whitney called. The story goes like this.”
“Y’all need to come on over.”
“What?”
“Yeah, come on over; I need to talk to you.”
Remember—and I was always reminding Whitney of this fact—we lived in Nashville and she lived in New Jersey. So for us to “come on over” meant booking a plane ticket. It wasn’t like we just lived next door, though that’s how she acted.
But we booked a flight and landed in New Jersey. Once we got to her house, we somehow, amid the small talk, ended up in her closet. I’m not sure how it happened, but that was Whitney. Besides, it’s not like we were hurting for room in her closet—her closet was as big as the sanctuary we gathered in to remember her. So, not to worry, we weren’t crowded.
Sitting there among the dresses and shoes, she let us in on her master plan.
“So, here’s what we’re going to do.”
“What do you mean, ‘What we’re going to do?’ ” I asked.
“Well, I went ahead and I had some uniforms made.”
“What? What uniforms? What you talking about, girl?”
“I ordered the dresses for the background girls.”
CeCe just looked at me.
“Yeah, yeah, they’re cream. And I got the band their uniforms—their shirts and pants and all that. And BeBe, I got you a suit. It’s cream too. And CeCe, I got you a melon dress made. Oh, and I got me a green one.” She had a green one made, for herself!
“Hold on, hold on. What you mean, you made yourself a green one?” I asked.
“BeBe, this is for our headlining tour—for the tour, BeBe.”
Now, as I was telling this story at her funeral, I remembered Clive [Davis] was in attendance. And I recalled that Clive was not happy that Whitney was heading out on the road with us. But Whitney was into her plan and was excited to be telling us.
I broke in and said, “Whitney, you can’t be doing that. No one told you to do that. This is not a materialistic relationship—you don’t have to do any of this.”
“Okay, okay, I know, BeBe. But let me ask you something. You my brother and sister, right?”
CeCe and I both responded, “Yeah, of course.”
“And I’m your sister right?”
“Yeah. You’re our sister.”
“And we love each other, right?”
“Yes,” we said, “we love each other.”
Then Whitney said . . . and this is what I’m really going to miss . . . she said, “And y’all broke, right?”
Oh my! We just stared at her. Should we laugh? What should we say?
“And I’m rich, right?” she continued.
No hesitation there, “Yeah, . . .”
“So I can buy whatever I want for y’all.”
Bottom line, we were about to open our first major headlining tour in Los Angeles. The smart thing, the normal thing, for a tour like ours was to start in a small city, work out the kinks, and then move to a major market. But we were headed to LA, and Whitney knew that, and I think she was a bit nervous for us. She wanted it to be perfect; she wanted to help make it perfect.
Now, that is the Whitney I am going to miss—the true Whitney.
After I told that story, CeCe tried to escape the platform, but I didn’t let her. She needed to be there, and I needed her support—and so she stayed while I tried to make it through the song I wrote for my brother Ronald when he passed. GO TO TheWhitneylKnew Videos.com TO VIEW THIS AND OTHER BONUS MATERIAL.
Family had gathered on that day of days, that time when Whitney lay quiet—her voice no longer audible. At that moment, all the thoughts and feelings of Ronald and Whitney intermingled, and I hurt deeply for my family. But in my mind, Whitney’s voice persisted. That thing she used to always say to me before I sang, I could hear her saying to me on that day, in the Jersey girl’s home church: “Don’t embarrass me, brother. Get it together.”
And so the music began, and the words came out:
With tears on my pillow
Refusing to let go
When I heard you left here
Felt alone on a playground
I’m lost, in your hometown
Since you left here
They say time makes it better
But in time, I’ll see you later
We’ll be together, a long time, forever
When I leave here
But I’ll miss your wit
I’ll miss your charm
Just want to hold you, in my
arms My heart’s sad and blue
You have no clue
How I’ll miss you
I’ll miss your voice
When you would call
I’ll miss your smile
Most of all
Just us two, with nowhere to go
And nothing to do
I’m gonna miss you
I take simple precautions
I think of you often
Since you left here
Life a bit harder
I love a lot smarter
Since you left here
The days that I can’t take it
I’ll learn how to make it
With Jesus and memories
Helps me and keeps me
Since you left here
Oh, but I’ll miss your wit
Oh, I’ll miss your charm
Just want to hold you in my arms
My heart is blue
Cause you have no clue
How I’ll miss you
I’ll miss her voice
When she would call
I’ll miss her smile
Most of all
Just us two, with nowhere to go
And nothing to do
I’m gonna miss you
So, Lord, just hold her
Hold her in your arms
Rock her in your arms
I’ll miss her voice
I’ll miss her smile
Most of all
Just us two, with nowhere to go
And nothing to do
I’m gonna miss you
There’ll be tears on my pillow
It’s hard to just let go
When she left here
But what I know for sure
It was a great celebration
And Jesus was waiting
When she left here
(“I Really Miss You”/BeBe Winans)
The more I play these stories over in my mind, the more I keep remembering. Like the night CeCe and I sang on The Arsenio Hall Show. Whitney had called earlier that day and found out we were going to be on: “I’m coming over there,” she said.
Sure enough, when we arrived at the studio, she was there. And during the performance, she stood backstage and watched her friends sing. CeCe sang “Don’t Cry For Me”; I sang backup with the girls. CeCe nailed it.
When she finished, Arsenio ran up, grabbed CeCe’s arm, announced her name, and did all the things a host does. And who do you think ran out with Arsenio?
Whitney.
That girl ran out with the host of the show and gave CeCe a huge hug on national television. Then she looked back at me and the girls and said, “That was perfect, y’all.” Who else could just show up on the set of a major network and then run out on stage with the host to congratulate her friends? Only Whitney.
After a while, we came to expect these “drop-ins.” In fact, it wasn’t uncommon for Whitney to drop in on our tours. Sometimes she’d stay for two days, sometimes a week. We kept a bunk ready for her on our bus, just in case.
One thing that makes me smile even today is the time all three of us were on the bus headed to our next concert. Whitney was hungry and wanted to stop and get something to eat.” Now, CeCe and I were early in our touring career, and there were many things we didn’t know—like what you should expect from your bus driver and all that jazz. But Whitney educated us.
“We’d love to stop,” I said, “but the bus driver won’t let us. He said he doesn’t take breaks between tour stops.”
Whitney became indignant. “He told you that he won’t stop?”
She stood up and marched to the front of the bus and confronted the guy. “Are you telling them that you don’t take breaks between tour stops? No, no, no! You’re going to stop at the next place that you see that has a restaurant.”
The two of them exchanged words, and Whitney returned to the back of the bus with us. “Okay, we’re stopping. I can’t believe that,” she muttered. Then she went on to make a laundry list of the things the bus driver was supposed to do as a paid employee of the tour.
“Does he make your beds?”
“No, we make our beds.”
“What? He’s supposed to make up the beds and wash the sheets . . .”
In mid-sentence she stood up again and marched to the front of the bus. “And when we get out to get something to eat, you need to make up all these beds.”
Boy, were we glad she was along on that tour! That bus driver was getting away with murder, according to Whitney. She schooled us on touring protocols, empowered us with knowledge—empowered us with herself.
When Whitney decided to take a break at the height of her career, there was no stopping her. She took some time to hang out with CeCe and me, even though it meant defying her record label’s president, Clive Davis, and all the other executives. So be it. It was important to her to keep it real.
Now, every great singer—including Whitney—started by singing backup for someone. It’s a great way to hone your skills. Clearly, though, Whitney didn’t need honing at that point. The real reason she came to tour with us was to have fun—to feel not like “Whitney Houston.” She did it to step out of the spotlight and into our lives, where she could be a little more at ease. When she was around my family, the weight of her fame seemed to lift a bit. She could slip into the background and sing for singing’s sake.
Still, when people came to our concerts and then realized that Whitney Houston was singing behind us, all the attention shifted. The cameras went straight for Whitney. CeCe and I would crack up.
When we were all together, we enjoyed every moment. There were no masks to wear; it was just friends singing their favorite songs and having a good time. If you watch Whitney’s and CeCe’s performance at the 1996 Grammy Awards, you’ll see them bringing down the house. You’ll also catch a glimpse of two sisters ushering in a worship service right there at the Grammys. GO TO TheWhitneyIKnewVideos.com TO VIEW THIS AND OTHER BONUS MATERIAL.
Whitney showed up so many times to sing with us that we started keeping an extra microphone on set, just in case she burst onto the stage. I remember one time Whitney called me because she was in LA at the same time we were. CeCe, Whitney, and I had each been nominated for an Image Award. Whitney found out that CeCe and I were leaving the awards early because we had two concerts.
“What time y’all singing tonight?”
“At 9 and at 10:30. Why?
“Okay, I can’t make the first one, but I’m going to come out for the second show.”
And she did come out. She arrived at 10:25 pm. And before the evening was over, she was on stage with us, singing.
From then on, I always had to remind her that she was Whitney Houston and that she had her own band. She didn’t care. She loved singing with us; she loved being with us. And we loved it too.
One final tidbit about how crazy Whitney could be when it came to CeCe’s and my music. One night on tour in Russia, I was relaxing in my hotel room when the phone rang. It was Whitney.
“BeBe, listen. Listen hard . . . and just obey me.”
“What? Why are you calling me?”
“Just shut up and listen. CeCe is probably coming to your room right now; I just got off the phone with her. She said she’s going home. She’s homesick and wants to be with her kids. But I’m telling you, don’t say nothing except ‘yes’ and ‘okay.’ If she leaves, I’ll fly to Russia and finish the tour.”
Whitney started giving me all kinds of information: she had booked her flight; she was on her way; she would finish the tour. By the time she finished telling me all this, I heard a knock on my door.
“Hold on, Whitney; someone’s at the door.”
It was CeCe. She was crying. “I’m going home. I’m not doing this . . .”
CeCe rambled on and on . . . She was a mess. “I just talked to Whitney. She said she’ll finish the tour for me. Okay?”
I remembered what Whitney said: “Just say ‘yes’ and ‘okay.’ ”
And that’s what I did.
After CeCe left, I picked up the phone and Whitney asked, “Was that her?”
“Yeah, that was the Reluctant Star. She said she’s going home.”
“Okay, now if she doesn’t cool off and change her mind, I’ll be on a plane and will finish it for her.”
Luckily, CeCe changed her mind and stayed, and Whitney was off the hook.
Would Whitney really have dropped everything to fill in for CeCe? Yes. When she called, she already had her flight reservation. Did Whitney have a full month to give so we could finish the tour? No. But she would have made time. That much I know.