Milan is one of the most wonderful cities in the world. Home of Teatro alla Scala, the world-famous opera house; and Duomo, an amazing cathedral that seats forty thousand people and one of the most famous buildings in Europe. Milan is well known as the location of the some of the most renowned fashion houses in the world—Armani, Dolce & Gabbana, Prada, Gianni Versace—as well as some incredible shopping. I was visiting the city for the first time. Mr. Armani was wonderful and generous. He doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak Italian. Our interactions were short.
“Ciao, bella. Bellissima!”
“Grazie! Grazie! Spaghetti!”
After his fashion show I had dinner with Eric Clapton back at Armani’s palazzo, while sitting with Sophia Loren. That was pretty cool!
Under any other conditions I would have been enthralled by Mr. Armani and his amazing fashions, the city’s arts and culture, the beautiful fashions and fabrics and accessories, by being in another country. Yet on this trip I hardly paid attention to any of it. I couldn’t concentrate; I missed Courtney. The three days I was gone seemed like forever. I don’t think I ever went to sleep; I didn’t even rest well. I don’t know if it was the time-zone difference, the newness of love, talking on the phone with him at all hours or the combination of all three. What I did do was talk my girlfriend Jean Mori’s ear off for the entire plane ride—over and back. I processed and reprocessed, thought about and rethought everything about this amazing man who had just shown up in my life, though in some ways he had been right there all along. I must have dissected every tonality, phrase and look he had given me. Thankfully, Jean was very patient with me. How true a real girlfriend can be! I was already dreaming that I would be married to him and we would have children together. My heart bubbled over with passion, desire, excitement—it just brimmed over.
When it was time to leave Milan, Courtney offered to pick us up from the airport.
“Tell Mr. Armani to cancel the car, I’ll come get you.”
“You sure?” I thought that was so considerate.
“I’ll be there.”
When we landed at LAX, I could hardly wait to see him, but Jean got stopped in Customs for trying to sneak back some Italian sausage. While I was waiting for her, I thought I would die.
“Come on, girl. Come on! Come on!”
When we finally got through he was waiting for us with a big smile on his face and two dozen roses—a box of yellow roses for Jean and a box of red roses for me. It was very sweet. It was very kind. Jean was so impressed.
“If you fuck this up…” she whispered to me.
“Jean! You never use curse words!”
“You just make sure you don’t mess up!”
Chapter 14
Parking My Heart
When Angela got back to Los Angeles, I picked up a bouquet of flowers for her and one for her girlfriend Jean and gave them to them when I picked them up at the airport. Now that Angela and I knew that we liked each other, our relationship was officially on. I was head over heels, and tickled to see who God had finally brought me!
Angie and I started to spend a lot of time together. We spent as much time as possible in each other’s company. If I wasn’t auditioning or running errands, I was hanging out at her house. At first we would sit and look at each other and say things like, “It’s you? I’m amazed! I can’t believe it’s you!”
“I’ve been looking all this time and it’s you!”
I was always trying to think about unusual things to do—a different movie to go to, a new place to eat. We would go to little tiny restaurants or little hole-in-the-wall places. We would also go to church together. Before long, Angela saw that I have a spirit of service. I’m always asking, “What can I do? How can I help?” When she got sick, I came right over with my bags of health-food stuff—I was the herb doctor coming over. I headed straight into her kitchen, grated some ginger, boiled it down, then added honey and lemon. It was like an elixir—that bad boy was strong! I served it to her then I left. She said, “Wow! That’s not the norm anymore.” My willingness to serve resonated with Angela. It was what she responded to. I was someone who could assist her, emotionally secure her, help her take care of herself—which is a basic feminine response. Angela made more money than me at the time—she made a lot more money—she didn’t need me for that. But it wasn’t about money, it was about “He’s a good man, he’s a kind man.” She is a gentle woman and she needed a gentle man.
Even though I had been baptized and had given my life to Christ, back then I didn’t know anything about the Bible. I didn’t know what it said or its rules of conduct. Throughout my life I had lived by the values my parents instilled in me: love of family, hard work and academic excellence. But there were biblical laws that, as Angela and I moved toward marriage, I would desperately need exposure to.
As we talked about what we wanted for our relationship, Angela said, “Courtney, we should do this right. We shouldn’t have sex until we’re married.”
I didn’t have to think about it; her suggestion just confirmed what was in my heart already—she was the real deal. “You’re right,” I told her. “Let’s make this special. Let’s do what is right.” So before we married, we kissed and hugged and cuddled and caressed but we did not have sex. Sometimes it was hard—but she had said we were going to do it, and I was committed. Along the way she got weak a couple of times.
“Court, maybe we could…”
“No, Angela, we are not going to have sex. We’re going to do this right.”
“Okay…”
Abstaining became a big thing to me. God had finally gotten me ready for the woman he wanted me to marry. And I was determined to make our relationship special.
In the coming months, we talked about rings. Initially we went around to all these jewelers and all they wanted to talk about was “the rock, the rock, the ROCK!” It was all about the size of the ring. “Do you want a four-carat ring or a seven-carat?” No one—except us seemed to care if the ring looked good. Neither of us is ostentatious; our style is understated elegance. And it wasn’t about what the ring symbolized—our undying commitment and spiritual union to each other. Finally we met a jeweler, Martin Katz, who suggested, “Don’t worry about that carat thing. It’s the aesthetic. Get something nice.” In time Ang and I whittled a long list down to two or three options. I learned that she has a very unique way of making decisions. She’s gotta feel it out, then walk away, then talk it through with about ten or twelve different people and come to the exact choice that she was going to make in the beginning. That’s her!
“What do you think, Court?” she’d ask me.
“I like this one,” I’d say.
“Hmm…I don’t know. What do you think, Martin?”
The jeweler would share his thoughts.
She’d consider them, then say, “Oh, I can’t make up my mind.”
In the meantime, I’d be saying, “Oh, Lord, girl! You know the one you like!”
“I know, but what if I like that one tomorrow?”
“Okay, you’re right, you’re right! Okay, Martin. We’ll be back.”
She’s that way to this day. I have a different decision-making process. I may talk to one or two people, but then I know, “I like this one” or “I like that one.” None of this back-and-forth. She and I end up at the same place but go through a different process. So once she whittled the options down, I chose the antique ring she liked.
In December 1996, The Preacher’s Wife opened in Manhattan. I felt like everything had finally come together. This was the largest movie I’d ever done; I’d gone through this incredible journey to gain peace and become the man I saw in my mind; my mother and sister were here to celebrate with me following our devastating loss; and I’d found the woman I wanted to marry! Tonight, unbeknownst to her, I was going to get down on my knee and propose. That premiere was also everyone’s introduction to Angela and me as a couple. By then, a lot of people had heard we were together, but this was the nig
ht we “came out” to the press. The media was excited—wow, a new black couple! “When are you going to do a project together?” everyone wanted to know.
Chapter 15
The Real Deal
I didn’t need anyone’s admonitions to know I had finally found my husband. Courtney reminded me of my great-grandfather Slater Stokes; they had the same qualities.
Oh, he’s just so nice, I thought. Someone who thinks of me and cares for me when I’m down. In my experience, women were usually the caretakers. I wasn’t used to nurturing men. I had never experienced a guy taking care of me. That impressed me. We spent a lot of time together, sometimes at home and other times out doing something special—anything to see each other. We’d go to the movies, get dessert, take a road trip—drive somewhere far out then turn around and drive right back. We went to my little church, First Southern Baptist, in North Hollywood, together. (Courtney went to a large church, but I liked my real small, little family church, so he came to church with me.) Each time I would hear knock, knock, knock at my back door and see his little face through the window and I’d feel my face light up like a Christmas tree. I was always so happy to see him.
With every passing day I observed him display little thoughtful and caring behaviors that I might not have paid attention to before. Or behaviors where the old Angela might have thought, Oh, he’s such a nice guy. Boring…Now it was like, Oh, stupid! Forget the guys with all that drama, this is the kind of person you’re looking for. After that series of bad dates, small things loomed large, were underscored. I could tell he was genuinely concerned about the well-being of others—not just of people he knew and was close to, but anybody. He was really nice to everyone. Courtney actually makes the world a better place because he really does care for people. I had already discovered that he walked and groomed Mama Bear’s dogs, which took a lot of stress off her. When we would meet for dates at night, he’d call to make sure I got home safely. He would send a bouquet of flowers for no particular reason at all. He loves to plan gifts and surprises. Some days he’d call me up with a great and creative idea or he’d book some wonderful getaway. That was really a plus; in my experience the woman had to plan those kinds of things. So he’d plan them, and I might embellish them in some little ways. But lots of times he’d already thought of the little boat ride or side trip I’d been thinking about. We’d go to a different restaurant for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and then we’d visit some sight, then go on a shopping spree. He’d run us around until we were worn out and tired. I learned that was all a reflection of his curiosity about different places, his inquisitiveness—the “Henry the Explorer” in him, because he had grown up around a lot of books.
So I fell in love with Courtney’s inner beauty first, but shortly thereafter I swooned over his rich, deep brown, soulful eyes. Looking into his eyes I felt like I could feel his spirit and his soul, and that was amazing to me. To this day when I get upset with him, he just looks at me like he really, really wants to work things out. It’s impossible to stay ornery. I observed that he took care of himself, healthwise. He was always sharing something with me about some vitamin or herb. And he always looked nice and well groomed, which was a relief. As a woman in Hollywood, dressing myself is stressful enough without having to dress my man. He knows what he looks good in and wears it. Sometimes I found myself staring at his hands. My mother always would joke about a man having a nice smile, but hands so to’ up and dirty that you’d be afraid to let him touch you. Courtney has really beautiful hands—nice, strong and well cared for. He has affectionate hands; his hands were always touching me, holding me, caressing me, embracing me.
For the first time in my life, a man actually felt safe. I knew I was just brimming and bubbling over, but I didn’t ever worry that I was falling in love and might hit bottom and bust my head open. I didn’t feel like I was falling at all. For the first time in my life, love didn’t feel uncertain, it didn’t feel stressful, it didn’t feel rushed. It slowly began to dawn on me that true love felt calm, peaceful, so certain. I knew it was right. I could tell it would last. As Dr. Phil says, I’d found a “soft place to fall.”
As our time together revealed these and other wonderful qualities, I knew he wasn’t putting on airs or anything to impress me—you know how Chris Rock says when you first start dating you send your “representatives” to meet his “representatives”? Well, I could tell that the qualities I was seeing was just who he really is. Sometimes when he didn’t know it, I would sneak looks at him. He looked really human in the best ways; I could see his sensitivity and vulnerability. I realized that he, indeed, is fearfully and wonderfully made—made in the image and likeness of God.
In around October 1996—at about the one-month mark in our relationship—I wrote Courtney a letter expressing how grateful I was for him and how much I appreciated his love and care. Courtney is sensitive. I could tell he didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, he didn’t want to misstep and he didn’t want his heart to be broken. I wanted to give him a little encouragement, to let him know how much I cared for him. In my letter I told him that I could see him as the father of my children. I didn’t have a daddy he could ask for my hand in marriage, but I wanted him to know that if he wanted to marry me, I was going to say yes, that it would be fine. I thought he needed to know that.
Shortly after I wrote him the letter, he began to give me little hints that he had gotten the message. Though we never really discussed it, over the next month or so we looked at engagement rings a couple of times, which was very sweet and intimate. The shopping itself was a little overwhelming. I had never had a picture in my head of what I wanted my diamond to look like, and I thought, “Argh! Too many choices.” I knew I wanted something radiant; that was about all I knew about diamond shapes. But Courtney’s the type of man to go to the diamond information center or something and talk to someone so he can learn all the fine points. Fortunately he has good taste and he’s so good at this kind of thing. So I figured that as we looked I’d narrow down the choices and then he could pinpoint the right one.
Before long I could tell he was planning something and would be presenting me with a ring. When he’s preparing to do something really special he gets really quiet, very officious, sort of stands up straight. Then he does this really jokester kind of thing where it’s like he’s pulling a girl’s pigtail, where he’s got a big proclamation, but can’t wipe the smile off his face. It’s like he’s holding on to a secret and he doesn’t want to burst, or here comes his part in the school play and it must be perfect. It’s really quite endearing. Well, I could tell that a special weekend would be coming up, though I didn’t know when.
In December 1996, Courtney experienced one of the biggest nights of his career—the premiere of The Preacher’s Wife, the biggest movie of his career. It was also a big night for us as a couple. I met Courtney’s mom for the first time. I wanted to make a good impression.
“Mom, this is Angela.”
“Hi, Mrs. Vance. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You have a wonderful son.”
Today I know Mrs. Vance is very warm, loving and friendly. That night she was pleasant, but kept a little distant; she was definitely studying me. I was a little bit nervous. Still, I was glad to meet the woman who had raised this wonderful man I was seeing. We also formally “came out” as a couple to the media for the first time, which had its own stresses. And a couple of Courtney’s old flames attended the opening, which threw me for a moment. With so much going on, I felt a wee bit insecure; it was a lot to deal with at once. Courtney reassured me. Then after we watched the movie and engaged in the evening’s festivities, we went back to the hotel. We were just talking about nothing, when he handed me a little box and dropped to his knee.
“Angela, will you marry me?”
I opened the box and pulled out a beautiful ring in an antique setting. It was simple, yet really beautiful. I slipped it on. It fit. Of course I said, “Yes!”
The next morning I called to tell
Mama my good news. I was stunned to find out that she had an attitude, her feelings were hurt. Apparently, several days earlier and totally unbeknownst to me, the news had gotten out that Courtney and I would be getting engaged. Somebody somewhere knew something and leaked it to black radio. My mother’s coworkers had told her we were engaged before we actually were. From her perspective it must have been hurtful and humiliating to believe I hadn’t told her—my own mother—about my engagement, yet the media—and her coworkers—knew about it.
“But I wasn’t engaged, Mommy. He didn’t propose until last night.”
“You knew it was coming.”
“I didn’t, Mama—not really, not when.”
Unexpectedly, what should have been an exciting time—the happiest day of life!—was fraught with hurt feelings. I had been prepared for her to respond to my news with excitement, with bright red or maybe a brilliant purple. Instead, I was met with beige. Just beige. There was no particular color, no particular excitement in her voice. The occasion was no longer awash with hues of joy. She hadn’t even met Courtney, and she’d decided she didn’t like him.
He and I talked and decided to fly down to Florida to assuage her hurt feelings. When we arrived, I called her up on her job.
“Mom, Courtney and I are here in Tampa. We want to see you so we can talk to you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to come to see me.”
Oh, I was just so hurt. And I felt badly that her feelings were so bruised. She refused to see us.
“Courtney, Courtney, let’s just get back on the plane. Let’s go. Let’s go…”
“No, no.” He was really calm. He kind of understood the situation. He knew that if he had flown off the handle it could have precipitated a broken relationship or slowed down the healing process. “We’re just going to have to go through it. We’re going to go through it together. It’s going to be okay.”
Friends: A Love Story Page 26
