[Kevin Costner] called one day and said, “Listen, are you going to
do this movie with me or not?” I told him about my fears.
I said, “I don’t want to go out there and fall.” His response was:
“I promise you I will not let you fall. I will help you.” And he did.
Whitney, about starring in The Bodyguard
I collect pieces of life. They’re spread all over my house inside wooden and metal frames. Some are large, almost larger than life. Others are small. They are pictures held forever in the timelessness of a frame. All tell the same story, though: the story of a life.
One room of my house holds a desk and a computer and a bookshelf—nothing too out of the ordinary. But the room jumps into the extraordinary when I look at the walls. On those four walls I keep the memory of Whitney. I used to walk into that room and feel invigorated and challenged, but now, not so much. Those walls hold the platinum single “I Will Always Love You,” which included “Jesus Loves Me”—the song I produced and arranged for Whitney.
As I survey the walls, the photos sing to me. Those particular frames hold so much more than mere photographs. They hold the voice of a friend. They hold her laughter—the laughter of her excitement as she told me “Jesus Loves Me” would be included on the single. They hold the lyrical memory of our relationship that crossed from stage to family to kitchen to closets.
“BeBe, guess what?”
“What you got?”
“ ‘Jesus Loves Me’ is going on the single, and on the movie soundtrack!”
‘You’re kidding! Don’t go messin’ with me.”
‘I’m not messing with you! This is real. It’s happening!”
She was almost more excited than I was. That’s one of those phone calls you receive that you never forget.
We talked and talked about the song and the album—all of it. Neither of us had any clue how successful the single, the album, and the movie would become. Our initial reaction and excitement captured the whole moment—the unknown and the possibilities of what could happen, the joy of being able to work together.
Those are the moments that you live for and cherish. That was a good phone call.
But I also remember the phone call we had before The Bodyguard even became a reality. At this point in Whitney’s career, she was really soaring, all over the charts. And she was getting offers from all kinds of movie people. There were a slew of leading men who wanted to do a film with her. I think Robert De Niro was one of them, well before The Bodyguard project was on the map. He wanted to do a film with her for her beauty alone. And who would blame him?
Yet even though Whitney was sought after by movie greats, she turned down those opportunities, willing to wait for the right timing. She wanted the project to make sense for her, and she wanted to feel comfortable with whomever she was going to be acting.
Kevin Costner was the right choice. He asked Whitney to do The Bodyguard, and after much hesitation, she agreed.
At the funeral, Kevin told the story of how it all materialized.
Some people thought he should go for a more seasoned actress. Others thought perhaps they should try and find a white actress instead. Kevin, however, knew that Whitney was perfect for the role. Even when he discovered Whitney’s tour schedule would keep her from doing the film, he remained true to his instincts and postponed the filming for a year, until her tour was done.
The kind of solidarity he showed in that decision speaks volumes to me. The kind of belief he had in Whitney’s ability to pull off the role is exactly what Whitney needed.
But what resonated with me even more than that story were his insights into Whitney as someone who still needed to hear from her mother that she was good enough. When I heard Kevin talk about the questions that Whitney would ask privately of herself her whole life—those Am I good enough? Will they like me? questions—I nodded in agreement.
In our early conversations about doing the movie, Whitney sounded just like the teenage girl Kevin described in his eulogy—an excited little girl who still needed to have a friend tell her that she could do it.
‘BeBe, I’m a bit nervous about this. What will they think of me? What if I’m awful? What if the project doesn’t do well?”
She really asked me these questions! Hard to believe, knowing now how that movie and soundtrack not only succeeded with the masses but broke major industry records. And yet the critics weighed in on Whitney’s performance, many of them tinged with negativity if not outright unkind. The very thing she feared, happened, shadowing this great success. Which may explain why, around this time, she admitted to Entertainment Weekly: “I almost wish I could be more exciting, that I could match what is happening out there to me.”
Can you imagine? And yet, at the heart of every person is the need, even the drive, to be liked and accepted by others. You and I want to perform well in our jobs. We want to be noticed by the boss. We want to receive an accolade or two, and a bump in pay sure would be nice. In this sense, Whitney was no different from the rest of us. She was once a child who needed to hear that she was special and had something to offer.
That’s a hard thing to imagine. Whitney Houston could do anything, it seemed. Whitney Houston feared nothing. She had the world. All she had to do was ask.
Not quite. At the end of the day, Whitney had to go home to a spouse and a child and do the everyday things that make a family work. She had to deal with life at home and life on the road and life in the limelight. And in all of these, she wanted to find success and significance. She thought about it and worried about it, just like you or I would.
This special room of mine holds deep memories. The kind you can get lost in if you sit long enough. When I look at the commemorative frame that holds the platinum record for The Bodyguard soundtrack, my eyes move right to the picture of Whitney at the center—her back facing the lens. In the photo she’s wearing a long form-fitting dress with a train on it, much like the one at the end of the photo section in this book. Her head tilts down and to the side, like she’s walking off the stage and reveling in the moment.
When I see this tribute piece on my wall, I can’t help thinking that this particular picture and the award itself were the world’s way of saying to her, “You did good, girl.” But where is the award for being a real person? What about the recognition for being a true human being? What about the need Whitney had to not only be respected professionally but personally? I wish we did a better job of letting people know we appreciate them in spite of their success and fame.
Every person lives a double life to some degree. We’re actually, though perhaps unintentionally, taught that lesson as kids when our parents tell us to “be on our best behavior.” Once we get home, whether it’s from church or school or the neighbors’ house, the makeup comes off. The harsh words fly. The attitudes flare up. We’re able to remove our public veneers and show our true selves. But for an international celebrity like Whitney, she almost never got to be herself until she was alone or with her inner circle, because when you’re in front of the cameras and the crowds, you have to be a certain way.
When the media finally goes away, what was a person like Whitney left with? Well, the media never went away. So right or wrong, we see Whitney pulling off “The Star-Spangled Banner” to the raves of a nation, and then we’re reading about drugs and her home life later.
I still get questions about Whitney’s substance abuse problems. It’s like people want more information than they already have from the vast archives of Google. What else do people really want to know? Isn’t it enough to know that she struggled?
Kevin Costner’s response to Anderson Cooper was right. “Was she doing drugs during The Bodyguard?” His answer: “Not that I know of.”
I would answer that question the same way. You ask, “BeBe, did Whitney do drugs around you?
“No, she didn’t.”
Did we have an open relationship where we talked about her problems? Yes. But I didn’t hound her about things. She knew I loved her and wanted the best for her, as any brother would. In this regard, our relationship was just like any relationship you have with your friends. You talk about everything—behind closed doors. But you don’t sift through the deeply personal stuff when you’re sitting at dinner with other friends and extended family. You wait till the time is right: when there’s breathing room for your trust to work itself out and for the really personal stuff—the things you hold close to your heart—to be brought out into the open.
So, Whitney was just like you—she waited for those times to divulge the personal stuff. And, just like you when you’re at church or at work, she put on her “makeup,” so to speak. She became “Whitney Houston”—the Whitney that everyone loved, but not the whole Whitney.
Maybe Whitney shared with her close friends about the addiction, and some of them, like Kevin Costner—who wrote a letter to her in an attempt to reach out—tried to help. Members of her family did as well. But at some point, you have to face the truth that Whitney is a big girl, and if she doesn’t want the help, she’s not going to take it. Still, her addiction didn’t cause any of us who were close to her to love her any less.
I gave her the space she needed. She knew that at any time she could call or drop in and talk.
The Bodyguard years were tough on Whitney. She wasn’t just releasing The Bodyguard soundtrack and watching it explode. There were the myriad demands—publicity, promotional appearances, interviews—that come after an album is released, but multiplied by a thousand because the movie and the music were such blockbuster hits. In fact, her success at the time was described as “relentless” by Entertainment Weekly. So Whitney was being pulled in one direction by all those business demands, and then she had the demands of the heart—the calls from home, the weeks away from family, the expectations and longings of a new mother and a newly wedded wife—pulling her in another direction. Whitney really wanted to make her marriage work, but it was tough.
Throughout that three-year journey, I was there, supporting her and helping her where I could. Sometimes it was from a distance; other times I was producing set lists for her.
I remember one afternoon I was driving with my friend, EMI music publisher Evan Lambert, and we were talking about what Whitney should do to open up her concerts for The Bodyguard Tour. I called her and said, “I’ve got something to send you.”
“I like this idea. Can I use this?” she asked.
The tour opened in Miami. I wrote out her first song and what would happen production-wise—what she’d do, where she’d come out on stage, everything. But it all was going wrong leading up to the first show. She was an hour late, the air conditioner wasn’t working, and the lights went off. The crowd became restless. People started booing.
But then, the interlude started. And then the music for “The Greatest Love of All” began, and Whitney broke into it, just as planned.
The crowd’s mood changed in an instant. They went crazy.
So some things worked out after all. And Whitney included us on her journey everywhere she could. A little-known fact: Whitney started a music label through Capitol Records around this time, and my sisters Debbie and Angie were on it. Whitney sang backup on their album, and Whitney had them open for her on The Bodyguard Tour.
And then there was one night in particular that I remember, when I attended their concert at Radio City Music Hall. I had flown into New York that day, but my baggage was lost, so I was very casually dressed and was just standing in the back of the venue, taking in the production. All of a sudden, Whitney started talking about how I helped out on “Jesus Loves Me.”
‘Is my brother BeBe in the house?”
I couldn’t believe her. I was in overalls!
‘Turn those houselights on. BeBe, raise your hand—there you are, my brother!”
I was so embarrassed. But that’s what family does. We keep it real for each other.
I helped her keep it real by just listening to her during this rough time. That was huge to her. It didn’t matter how she acted or what she said, I would tell her how I felt and what I thought.
We all need that from those we love. We need to know that they have our backs, but that they will also let us know when our egos become too big for our own good.
Still, despite all our conversations, I’m uncertain how she was able to sustain a new marriage and a baby and her meteoric rise, which reached Michael Jackson status. I’m sure that during that time is when her coping mechanism turned dark. Rather than being with family and friends—which is very difficult to arrange when you’re touring the world—she chose other means.
Sometimes the only thing you can do to help those you love is to let them know that you’re always there, no matter what. That’s what I did. I think the fact that CeCe and I were around, helping out where we could, allowing her to be part of our lives and careers, was a gesture that meant more than words to Whitney.