EGG (March 1991)
INTERVIEW PART

HAL: Is that your Christmas list? You're very organized.
VANESSA: Except for the suggestions the kids have scribbled all over it.
A rabbit night light, a tennis bracelet. Wait a minute, the bracelet isn't their scribbling.
There are a few hints I have to work on placing.
What are you getting Ramon? I don't see anything for him.
Luggage. He just had a 40th birthday bash, so he got just about everything. I'm at a loss.
How about another gold record?
That would be nice. Platinum would be even better.

[We cross the street from the Beverly Center to the Good Guys, a wall-to-wall discount-electronics store, where all the kids are playing Game Boy and all the tv's are tuned to a woman haranguing on Donahue.]

Are your kids old enough to forsake you for Nintendo yet?
No. They're into video, though. Old movies. They're so heavily addicted to West Side Story it's frightening. Melanie struts around the house going, "The Jets are gonna get it tonight," and she's three years old. She loves to do the Anita thing, so I have to get her dresses with full skirts to spin around. She always wants me to join her for the dream ballet. I was into musical theater the same way, so I guess it's genetic.

[To salesman:] Where are the VCRs? Can I get a basic VCR, nothing fancy? It's for a third tv, an old-fashioned one. It's not cable-ready, not stereo, it has a remote, but it's not a monitor, so I don't need a big deal. It's for our nanny.

SALESMAN: The new Hitachi has a learner remote so you use only one remote for the tv and the VCR. It records eight events in a month. It's my best price, at $248.
That's perfect.
No comparison shopping?
No. Can't deal with it. This is a discount house, so what's the point of driving all over L.A. to save $20?
SALESMAN: Cash or credit?
Credit.

[The woman on Donahue is screaming about pornography. She is Judith Reisman, co-author of Kinsey, Sex and Fraud. She finally yields the floor to a writer Donahue introduces as "from The Village Voice and a former Penthouse editor"]

He's a what?
HAL: I didn't plan this. I swear to God. Excuse me, sir, we're going to leave now.
SALESMAN: Your address, Miss Williams.

[Williams gives her address in Playa del Rey.]

DONAHUE: We are talking about what was done with these children.
SALESMAN: I enjoyed your album. It was fine.
Oh, thanks.
SALESMAN: When's the next one?
This spring. The single will come out in March.
SALESMAN: Looking forward to it.

[As The Voice writer attacks Reisman with the same vigor as Mary McCarthy did Lillian Hellman (see 100 Favorite Moments in Television, pg. 28), regarding Kinsey's supposed molestation and exploitation of children, we leave for the stock area to pick up Williams's VCR.]

STOCK GUY: Hi, Ms. Williams. How's the kids?
[Blankly] Fine.
STOCK GUY: You couldn't remember me, Miss Williams, but when you had your baby at Cedars, I was one of the transporters who brought you downstairs.
Oh, really, which kid? The first time, in '87?
STOCKGUY:Yeah, I took you down when you left to go home.
Well, you never know who you're gonna bump into. What are you doing here?
STOCK GUY: More money for this baby.
It's good to see you. Merry Christmas.
STOCK GUY: Looking forward to your next record. Keep it up.

[Moments later, back on La Cienega waiting for the light to turn to get Williams's Jeep at the Beverly Center]

FIRST KID ON STREET: Could you settle a bet for us.
What?
FIRST KID ON STREET: Are you Vanessa Williams?
Yeah.
FIRST KID ON STREET: You sure?
Yeah.
FIRST KID ON STREET: You don't look like Vanessa Williams.
How much money did you lose?
SECOND KID ON STREET: Ten bucks.
FIRST KID ON STREET: I don't got ten bucks.
SECOND KID ON STREET: Okay, five.
FIRST KID ON STREET: You sure are pretty, but you don't look like Vanessa Williams.
HAL: Is this what it's like every day?
No, honestly it's not. Usually I don't walk so much.
Well, so far you're three for three, in a half-hour.
No, believe me. In New York it happens. Not here.
You like it?
It all depends on the approach.
Today's been okay, though that "Are you? No, you're not. Are you? No, you're not" gets annoying. But in New York people make me feel much more like a hometown girl. It's lots of "Hey, Vanessa, how ya doin; good t'see ya."

[As we walk through the parking lot, clusters of mall girls stare, though they don't approach. And she doesn't see them. We drive to the Toys"R"Us. Williams goes for the bigger shopping cart.]

I don't want to spoil the kids rotten, but I have to buy two of everything because they're at fighting age.

[We walk past a wall devoted to four reptillan movie stars.]

What? First no Nintendo. Now, no Michelangelo? No Donatello?
Too much pizza-throwing. They hit each other enough without encouragement. And I hate that Ninja stuff.
You opted for kids pretty fast. Most people with fledgling careers say, "Uh-uh, kids later."
Melanie wasn't planned, neither was Jillian for that matter; so we kind of rolled with the punches. But I knew I was going to marry Ramon anyway, we were living together and had planned on getting married that fall, so we just did it quicker. Once we decided, though, having a baby became something tangible that would happen in my life. At that point my career was not established: record deals were falling through; auditions were falling through. It was the one thing that gave me a positive sense about reality. I felt comforted by it. I always wanted to have kids.

How many record companies were interested before PolyGram picked you up?
CBS, MCA, Geffen. I met with all the majors and most of them were interested at first. There was one demo deal to come up with stuff but I never got the money. It was basically just a jerk-off by Warner Brothers.

Was there a lot of Monday-morning quarterbacking and apologies after The Right Stuff went gold and you were nominated for Grammys?
Never apologies. No one does that out here.

Did it make it easier to get work in film?

You know, suddenly, everything's been kind of when I least expect it. As soon as I got pregnant, right after I'd been turned down by everyone, that's when Ed [Eckstine] called saying he'd gotten a new production deal at PolyGram and wanted to sign me as his first artist. At the time I said, "Yeah, right," and I kind of blew him off at the first meeting because I didn't want to get let down again. But Ramon felt he was really serious, and when I questioned why he could tap into the vision when no one else would, Ed said he couldn't understand why no one else could see it, because I was talented, had what it took, and anyone who didn't believe it would eat it later on.

Have you made other people do that?

I don't know. There sure were a lot of people who said I wouldn't go anywhere. But a lot of people put me in a category where I shouldn't have been in the first place-dumb beauty queen. It's weird. My whole life has been on a whim, and I just never know where it's going to take me. I hadn't done film work in five years, and suddenly I'm doing two films and up for another in February. And I didn't read for any of them. They're calling me. Peter Bogdanovich called and said, "I know it's been five years since we've talked, but I always told you I would give you a part when it was right." We met when I was going through my stuff and he was trying to introduce some bill into Congress fighting pornography. I was curious about it but I didn't want to start talking to Congress. He introduced me to Richard Pryor and I was in. (Bogdanovich has since been replaced as director of Another You.) Then Simon Wincer calls me about his film, and I'm on the top of the list to play the singer, Lulu. It's just weird to be pursued now, after what's been before. I did the title song for Almost an Angel and two out of the four songs I did for Simon's Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man are on the soundtrack. It's all because of the last record and the marketing of it. All you need is one success for a reference and then everyone else goes, "Oh this can work, there are several hundred thousand people who want to hear her after all."

Do you and Ramon have a master plan?

No, but eventually, I definitely want to do Broadway. That's always been a personal goal. I grew up in New York, and Broadway has always seemed like the ultimate. I had a couple of chances. I was up for Twiggy's replacement in My One and Only. The producers wanted me, Tommy Tune wanted me, but Lee Gershwin (of the Gershwins) decided I wasn't suitable. I was crushed. I would have loved that. And then I auditioned for Fosse for Lite Is Just a Bowl of Cherries or whatever, Big something.

The bomb. Big Dream?

Big Deal? Big Deal. But that was the closest I ever got. I'd love to do that. Sing onstage and on film, like Streisand used to do. Like Michelle Pfeiffer did in The Fabulous Baker Boys. I'd love to do the Dorothy Dandridge story, who sang and acted. I was approached several years ago by someone who had the property and was writing the script, but it fell through when they lined up a producer because he wanted Whitney Houston. I haven't heard anything about it since, so maybe it's still a possibility. Look how long they talked about doing Josephine Baker. Diana Ross has been dragging that around forever.
But I don't have a master plan, or set goals. I don't think I could carry a series. I'm not that broad a comedic actress. I'm not as driven as Streisand. Not that I know what her life is like on a day-to-day basis, but I don't want to be a mogul.

If you were driven, you would have done a seven-month, 40-city tour with the first album.

I'm touring with the next album. But not being single, and trying to have a career while being a mother make it twice as exhausting. Maybe some ladies are Super-woman. Not me. I went to see Madonna's show. I loved it. It was Broadway. But the money, the size. I won't have that kind of money or production value in line. And I don't think I'm ready for a show that size. Maybe I would, or I'd be ready faster, if I had no other obligations.

But when it's not working out, when you don't get that part, you go home to your kids and they bring you back to the moment. When the diaper has to be changed, you don't have time to lament. You don't have time to get wrapped up in your own crap. Kids are immediate. Shopping at Toys"R"Us is immediate. Wow. We never went up to 72 Crayolas. I need the dogs department. I need walking Go-Go Dogs.

[A clerk walks by in perfect rhythm to the Toys"R"Us jingle playing over the p.a. system.]

Do you know where the mechanical dogs are? They're called "go-go" something.
CLERK: Go-Go Walking Pup?
Yeah.
CLERK: Well, we did have it, but the manufacturer's plant kaplooeed and they can't make any more.
You've got nothing else on a leash? You're still advertising it, though.
CLERK: I know. Sorry. It just happened.
Do you have My Pretty Ballerina?
CLERK: That's aisle 11C.

[Past Dick Thacy toys, Simpsons toys, and the authorized pizza-throwing turtle assault vehicle, toward aisle 11C.]

Well, good-bye Go-Go Walking Pup. A fast career, but you know the biz.

[11C is jammed with plastic infants that shiver, laugh, grow hair, spit up, pee, dump, cry... In fact, there seems to be a doll to simulate every aspect of infancy except for one we name Baby Crib Death.]

[Picking up My Pretty Ballerina]
She doesn't seem very mobile for a dancer. She does something but I don't know what.
[Asking a clerk] Where do the batteries go?
CLERK #2: She doesn't take any. You just spin her from the top of her head. There might be some that take batteries. They're in the Barbie aisle, except I don't think they dance.
Maybe it's this one with the hair bow.
CLERK #2: No, that one changes hair color when you comb it.
But the hair turns blue. Just what every little girl should have to get a solid grounding in reality. How about this one?
CLERK #2: This you wind up, but she does twirl. Sort of ugly though.
No, I should get My Pretty Ballerina. That's what she really wants. It comes with a cassette, so I'm sure it's wonderful. Now what else does she want? Oh, those dogs. I'm so upset.
Cabbage Patch dolls look weird when they're black.
They put the eyes so close together.
CLERK #3: But no two are alike.
Great. You sure you have no more Walking Go-Go Dogs?

[At the check-out counter, the cashier rings up My Pretty Ballerina.]

Forty bucks. Forty bucks and she doesn't do a damn thing.

[As we make our exit, almost every cashier has left her register and is shyly clustering nearby hoping for guts in numbers. We stop by the security guard.]

GUARD: Can I see your receipt please, Miss Williams.
TRUANT CASHIER #1: Can I have your autograph please. My name is Veronica. And can I have another one please...
TRUANT CASHIER #2: To Cynthia.
TRUANT CASHIER #3: And one for Estella.
GUARD: Maybe you could put one down for Nate. I'm going to take mine down to the station and say, "See what I did on my Christmas holiday? I was Vanessa Williams's bodyguard."
TRUANT CASHIER #1: Who's gonna pay me for a new notebook?
GUARD: All the guys are gonna know we went to Las Vegas, New York, and London. Oh, they are gonna be so jealous.

[Vanessa signs five autographs and accepts a hug from each recipient, including Nate.]

You guys be careful, okay?

[Back in the Jeep heading up La Cienega]

The public has been pretty good to me. So many people have stood by me, told me, "You'll always be my Miss America." "We're proud of you." "We love you." I've spoken to the other recent black Miss Americas. Debbye Turner is pretty cool, down-to-earth. She was a tough Miss America. She just said that through her whole year out there, people would always ask about me and talk about how much they miss me. It's helped.

Ever since Nancy Anne Fleming, Miss Michigan, won for 1961, I've never missed the telecast. It's funny how, for a few years after you were banished, the show treated you like you never existed. But this year, during a photo montage celebrating their 70th anniversary, they showed clips of you.

You don't know that whole story because I've never discussed it in public, but since the incident, the only time I ever heard from the "office" was when they sent my official Miss America souvenir booklet to my parents' home. Otherwise, though I've kept in touch with some of the people I met there during my year, like my travelling companion, I'd never heard from or spoken to anyone else in any official capacity.

Last August I got a letter that says "Hi we're waiting for you to put in your reservation for a room so you can be invited back for this year's Miss America Pageant." I said, "Wait a minute, someone is not paying attention," and threw it away. Then I got another notice: "We still haven't heard from you. We're looking forward to seeing you in September." I couldn't believe they were asking me back. I showed it to Ramon, I showed it to my mother. They weren't kidding. I felt I had to address this. So I wrote them a letter saying, "I can't believe after all you've put me through that you can so blithely ask me back, like bygones should be bygones." They wrote me back saying, "How dare you say, 'what you went through'? We were nearly bankrupt after what you did." USA Today reported that I never responded, because that's what the pageant probably told them, but believe me, I did.

Don't you think in some ways it might have been sweet revenge to show up? I think the Convention Hall would have gone wild. What a nose-thumber.

True, the response might have been great. But I wasn't ready, I'm still not ready. I know too much inside stuff, like their taking down of my portrait-silly, pretentious, petty things. It's not that I still feel shame. I don't. I made a transition. It's taken me a hell of a lot longer than I wanted to, but I've gotten somewhere. And if I'd been able to do my last six weeks as Miss America, I think I would have been where I am now a few years ago. I had record deals and film offers pending, a Gillette contract. I was signed to ICM at that point. But who knows? It's been a very bittersweet thing. There are a lot of people in the organization I love, but it's a whole new regime there now. Al Marks is dead, so he can't do anything to me anymore, but I don't know Leonard Horn [the new director].

There was no mention of Suzette Charles [the first runner-up who wound up fulfilling Williams's duties in her place for six weeks].

That might have been her choice, because I heard she didn't want to go back anymore. And that's a whole 'nother story. I wish you could interview some of her traveling companions, because apparently she was quite the nightmare. She'd been waiting in the wings her whole life for this to happen, and when it did, she was going to milk it dry. And she did. She covered a lot of ground in six weeks.

[We enter Ed Debevic's bogus diner, circa 1958]

Someone's staring at you like they know you.

MAN: Hi, I just wanted to come by and say that we're real proud of you. This is Kim's mom and she recognized you. You know who Kim is.
[Without a clue] Kim...
MAN: She was going out with your brother.
Kimberly. Yeah, okay, you're her mom, yeah, okay, she came to the house last January, and he stayed with her around Christmastime. I heard they were getting back together again, or something, or talking.
MOM: They've been dating.
Right, my little brother.
MOM: Yeah, she had such a nice time with all of you. She said it was so pretty where you lived.
It's a nice place to grow up. Actually, I think we're going back next year.
MOM: The babies are fine? They're just adorable. Do you still have to hold the little one?
No. She's a year and a half, and the Little Marauder already.
MOM AND MAN: Well, have a good holiday.
You, too. Good seeing you.

[Sitting down] If the waitress turns out to be my third grade teacher, I'm leaving. Can I have a malted and some fries?
Fries? Crap food?
I know. Some mother. Fried food and a malted. But they're not here, are they?
And they can't read yet.... So, you never saw the last telecast?
No, I was working in Palm Springs. I heard Bert [Parks] seemed, like, senile. He got two cards stuck together and missed the '70s?
Announcing everyone out of sequence was only half of it. That you figured was just a technical snafu. It was when he came back on again with Gary Collins and what's-her-name...
Phyllis George? Uh-huh.
...doing the usual scripted banter, that Parks launched a filibuster about moral values and obscenity, and how at least this show wasn't full of four-letter words and nudity.
Omigod! And I missed this?
Collins, in his inimitable tv-host style, froze. Phyllis smiled, tightly and long.

Well, apparently the reason he got back on the show was that Leonard Horn's wife saw him in The Freshman and said, "Oooh, let's get him back." And he said, "Okay, honey." See, the pageant is such a small-town operation. People think Miss America is run by guys in gray suits seated around a huge conference table, but it's really a mom-and-pop operation - housewives who've been hostesses for 50 years. This one week is their life, and they start planning what they're going to wear next year right after the last one. It's not like Miss USA and Miss Universe. It's a personal project for these people. Really grass-roots. I had no idea, either.

If none of this had happened, you wouldn't have met Ramon.

No, I was planning on setting up PR people anyway. My attorney had already met Ramon. We just called him earlier than we would have.

What made you pick him?

My attorney felt he was a young, black, gifted, intelligent guy, who would have the sensitivity to deal with the issue and be better able to handle black clients - Jet, Ebony, Essence.

What was his attitude toward you when he first met you?

This poor girl. He felt sorry for me because I didn't know what was going on. I was in another world. I mean, how do you deal with reality when you walk down every street and see your picture? Cartoons like crazy. It was actually easy to detach, to behave as if I wasn't connected to myself, because I'd see Marsha Warfield, David Letterman, and Joan Rivers joke about me. They'd never met me, didn't know what I was like, and here they were telling me how I felt. Okay, it wasn't easy, I guess, but divorcing myself from the image became natural. I'm real grateful to have a sense of humor, too, because if I didn't, I don't know how I could get through anything. God, the number of times somebody chuckled "Guess who this is?" before they played my first record.

But what made that "Guess who?" work was that the songs were good. The notoriety worked in your favor. Had your music been mediocre, the answer would have had no punch.

That's because I waited to find music I liked. There were a lot of people who wanted to cash in quick on a singles deal. But how long do jokes like that stay funny? Never long enough. But the best thing to do is nothing and go back to your life. Now, the press seems to be going after everybody. And I don't know if the public is all that hungry for it. The press is pushing really hard for dirt.

There is something puritanical about it.

Poor James Worthy [L.A. Lakers forward]. Two weeks ago he was in Houston and he called an escort service, about four hours before the game, and two women came to the room. After he explained what he wanted them to do, they reveal that they're vice cops and arrest him. Right before the game. You should have seen how the news handled it out here. Prime-time news. Special Reports. The four-, the five-, the sixo'clock news. It was ridiculous. But when Worthy walked onto the court, he got a standing ovation. One of the stations had a poll asking, "Do you think we're covering too much of this?" and the majority of people said yes. The funny thing is I wish I was as wild as people make me out to be. I'm missing something. I'm so normal, so average. I'm not out every night. I'm with my family. It's hard to imagine what I've been handed.

But if you stay at home, how do you know what kids want to dance to?

Word of mouth, lots of my friends. I do go out occasionally, especially in New York. I hit some clubs, hear the vibe.

But, evidently, you're more comfortable singing ballads.

Because you get the chance to sing. Dance records are more "effect." When they do a 12-inch of your stuff, you sometimes ask yourself, "What was that song? Where was I? When did I sing that?" I'll sing everything as long as people enjoy it, but if I couldn't sing ballads, I would be very frustrated.

Who picks your music?

Me and Ed. I look for songs that I like, that I can remember and - you can't discount this - songs I won't get sick of singing for the rest of my life, because when someone in the back hollers out "Sing 'Dreamin' again," you better not want to roll your eyes and think, "Why did I ever sing that song?"

But aren't balladeers in danger of becoming the next Las Vegas headliners?

I think you can do it across the line, crossover. Sting is a perfect example. He floats in and out; he's not tied down to one form. A film, then theater, then a jazz album, then a pop album, then a tour with the finest musicians he can find. To be able to cross over you have to do a concert that runs like this: start up, do the dance step, wind it down, save the meaty ballads for the middle, do a signature ballad for the finale, come back and do an encore that's up.... Do I sound ready?

The other thing you do to keep yourself from becoming too soft-rock or getting booed at at the Soul Train Music Awards is to cut all the midtempo and ballad songs on the album first, and save the up tempo songs for the last minute. Now hip hop is pop music. Last year it was house. You have to stay real close, or you find yourself re-mixing forever. Like there's a song I'm working on now that I think is going to be the first single, called "My Boots," which addresses the Bell Biv DeVoe album, specifically the song "Poison." I'm shocked that lyrics like "Cut the low pro ho down like an Afro" and "never trust a big butt and a smile" could be in the hook of a hit song, that people could be so cavalier, that it could be cool to have something so degrading repeated constantly. And the second single, "Do Me!," was more of the same: "Ooh, that booty, slap it up, flip it, rub it down, ooh that girl's gonna do me, baby."

Two 13-year-old girls, sitting with their mothers at the New Kids on the Block concert at Nassau Coliseum were holding up a sign saying, "DO ME, DONNIE."

It amazes me. I mean, I'm 27, but I feel like, talk about puritanical beliefs. To have that much disrespect treated as commonplace is too much for me. I know that being called a ho, being called a bitch is considered acceptable, but it isn't for me. [See A Good Rap in Their Mouths, pg. 64.] So, with Kipper Jones, who co-wrote "The Right Stuff," we decided to come back with a female version that should be that offensive to men, and see how it goes from there.

Would you dance to Bell Biv DeVoe, though?

That's the problem. I have. I like the songs. I like the tracks. But then you listen to the lyrics. Look, I know they're young. I know their life is different and the women they meet may not be like me and my friends, but it's still degrading to hear they want to slap me and flip me up and then I'm gonna do them. And then little kids, one day maybe my little kids are going to sing these lyrics. That's sick.
There's a rapper named Too Short, has a song called "Hunk Bitch:" The first line is "She's a punk ass bitch, tramp, slut, and ho." How much more offensive can you get, and right after the downbeat?

But it's not only men buying these CDs. Men don't scream at Bell Biv DeVoe concerts. Eddie Murphy concerts are coed.

I know. It is acceptable to be called a bitch and ho. That's frightening to me. Maybe it's because I'm from the "chick" days, but when I hear it, I still react with "Excuse me?" Obviously, it has to do with what you learn at home and how much respect you have for yourself and how much you've been taught to have for others. Luther Campbell says his raps are indicative of the entire black experience. That's erroneous because not every black person's mother would let them say what he says on the record. It's his right to say it, but it doesn't reflect my life. I know so many people who have grown up in rough neighborhoods and deprived homes, but they weren't deprived of morals.

Still, I know what I'm up against. I was at the New Music Seminar, and a woman asked lce-T whether he thought his singing about a woman masturbating with a flashlight was degrading, and the rest of the audience got down on her, booing like crazy. She wasn't even allowed to get a response. What bothered me was that none of the women on the panel - there was Queen Latifah, me, and someone else, maybe Suzanne Vega - and the moderator, who was a woman, said a peep in her defense. I'm ashamed I didn't say anything now, but at the time I hadn't heard lce-T's recording and I was a little nervous, so I figured someone else would speak up. I was wrong.

Did you hesitate because you feared the obvious accusation?

No. I hope not. I did an interview recently on Australian television and we talked about this kind of lyrics, and the moderator started laughing and said, "How can you say you're offended?" "Easily. I'm a woman and I'm offended." "But with your background, how can you say that?" "I don't offend people in my lyrics." Yeah, I kind of evaded the charge, but I don't intend on answering for that the rest of my life.

Do you think those pictures are going to trail you in perpetuity?

Here's a perfect example. Yesterday, USA Today comes out with their best-dressed list. You see it?

Yeah, you were on the list.

The copy reads, "Now that she's dressed, Vanessa Williams looks fabulous." I'm in the company of Jacqueline Onassis, Princess Diana, Candice Bergen. My mother is ecstatic. But there's still that little zing. It's been seven years. Will it ever end? I've stopped waiting.

Refusing to do those lyrics you object to could leave you out in the cold.

Mariah Carey's doing all right without rubbing her crotch. She has hits right next to Bell Biv DeVoe. I listen to lots of different music. Oleta Adams, Lalah Hathaway, Brenda Russell is one of the greatest songwriters who has not gotten the acclaim she is due, a lot of Brazilian music, Joyce, Calvara, Sky Islands, Dave Valentine.

Right now, I don't know what my audience will be when I go on tour. We haven't done demographic studies. But I don't think people's musical tastes are as narrow as record companies play them up to be. If the kids who like Bell Biv DeVoe like my single, who's to say they won't come? Who knows how many people will come because they supported me in the past? The movies may help. And there will definitely be people who'll come simply to see if I can pull it off. My niche will become clear if people like the album.

And then you can do Arsenio.

I did Arsenio. I was on and sang "Dreamin"' plus another song, and the first thing he asked me was why I didn't do "The Right Stuff." He knew I was pregnant with my second child, but he wanted to know "Why didn't you jump around and dance?" Uhhuh. Later.

Do you think you'll find your niche as quickly in film?

Well, right now I have no production company, no power. It's still take-what-you-can-get. Luckily, I've done two back-to-back. Most are fluffy, stand-by-and-look-good roles, but I hope they will lead to something more substantial.

But as good as it is for black female singers, that's how bad it is for black actresses.

Whoopi is the only one getting work.

And her roles are neutered. Producers regard her sex appeal on a par with kissing your grandmother on the mouth. Hardly the route you'd want to go.

There is no one then. Robin Givens finished a small project. Alfre Woodard - the Cicely Tyson of our day - does television, but that's it. It's pretty barren. I'm sure if Whitney wants to do something, she can get it. And for that matter, if she succeeds, it won't hurt the rest of us. That's why a black performer can't put all her energies into one field, though I don't think I would want to give everything up just to act even if the money was ridiculous.

It can get pretty ridiculous. Think, you could buy all the fancy VCRs you like.

And I still wouldn't know how to work them. But I want the freedom to do it all. More opportunity. The doors are just starting to open. God, I want to do musicals. Originally, for Miss America I was going to do "The Music and the Mirror" from A Chorus Line for my number, but it seemed too treacherous to sing and dance on the pageant because so much is going on, so I was advised, and agreed, to just sing. I've wanted to play Anita in West Side Story for as long as I can remember. Stuff like On the Town. Two Gentlemen of Verona. Silvia is a great part. House of Flowers has a beautiful song called "I've Never Seen Snow." Movie musicals. Kiss Me Kate. Musicals let you become a triple threat. Unfortunately, Flashdance was the last of the movie musicals you could mention. Scary, huh. Maybe I was born too late.

Or have we gotten too sophisticated?

Hardly. Not the way I've seen people behave. There is something so wholesome and so basic about all that stuff. I watch my kids sing West Side Story all around the house and see how happy it makes them. I watch their faces and I don't worry about being out of touch. The problem with this business is you can get so caught up chasing after what you think is hip, listening to advisers who tell you what your career should be like, what's important, and what's happening. And they don't have a clue. They don't have a reality. But I do. When I get home I find out what's really happening, what really matters. And it's Go-Go Walking Pup.

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