Friends: A Love Story

by Angela Bassett

  Anytime I’m filming a movie, there’s always some dilemma. For this one, it became the hair. There was a surprising amount to think about: my own hair? braids? no braids? big braids? small braids? micro-braids? vacation hair? corporate hair? We were filming the movie out of sequence, so one day I might need braids and another day I meet need corporate hair. Plus, Stella was traveling back and forth between Jamaica and the United States. With the job she had, she couldn’t just show up at work in some big, unprofessional-looking braids. Couldn’t you just see her managers’ reaction? All this had been set up in the novel; now it was left to us to figure it out logistically. We settled on a braid wig for when we were filming in the United States, and real braids in Jamaica, where three women braided my head into micro-braids over the course of twelve hours. The black woman’s hair is always an issue.

  The same day that we were trying to get all this hair stuff together, Kevin handed me the videotape of a French movie favorite of his he hoped would give me an idea of how he envisioned the more sensual scenes. I went back to my trailer, popped the tape in and started watching. The scene began with a man in an apartment lying on the sleeper sofa. Then he jumped out from under the covers and started walking around butt naked with his penis flopping all around. At first I was just shocked. “Oh, my gosh! There is no way! This is what he says sensuality is?” Later I asked the makeup artist who was applying my body makeup at the time for the Jamaican commercial, “Does that look sensual? It looks pornographic to me.” I remembered visiting Paris and being blown away by the uninhibited sexual nature of their commercials. So just imagine.

  Later on I said, “Ah, Kevin, before we start shooting these love scenes, I need you to draw me some pictures, give me little cartoons, stick figures, whatever. Because these people are full frontal in this ol’ movie you gave me to watch.”

  He laughed. Yeah, he laughed. “Okay, fine. Okay, okay, okay.” Then he agreed to have it storyboarded, where images of the scene are drawn in sequence so you can see them and get a sense of what the director wants it to look like.

  The second time I met Taye was on the day we rehearsed the logistics of the love scenes. “Hey, Taye, nice to meet you. Let’s get into bed.” While we rehearsed the positions, Kevin walked around the room with a video camera trying to figure out how he was going to film us. We did the bedroom sequences, the love scene in the shower and the sequences getting in and out of the shower. Needless to say, it was a little awkward.

  During that rehearsal, I first saw the storyboard depicting the love scene in the bedroom after they get out of the shower. In succession the frames showed them lying on the bed kissing, then the man’s head going down her body, then out of the bottom of the frame, then it popped back in again and he’s smiling. Well, you knew what that was!

  Oh, no! Oh, no! I don’t like that, I thought. It was just so blatant. And I remembered this TV movie I had once watched—Laurel Avenue—where the male character was making love to his wife, he went out of the bottom of the frame, you imagined what was going on. In the very next scene the doorbell rang. Another woman at another house answers the door. The same man is now at her door. He kisses her and walks into the house. “EWWW! DO YOU KNOW WHERE HIS MOUTH HAS BEEN?” They needed another scene or needed to see him brush his teeth. Something! That’s what this storyboard reminded me of.

  Since I have never filmed a love scene this graphic before and I was feeling uncomfortable, I figured it would be smart to ask Courtney about it. I lay the images on the kitchen counter.

  “Courtney, I want you to look at this storyboard. I’m concerned about it.”

  Courtney looked then said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Oh, come on, Courtney…. Give me your take on it. I need to know, what does it look like?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You’re gonna be like that?”

  “Angela, I told you that I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I was shocked. Courtney acted like I had drawn the storyboard myself. In his defense, he was probably dealing with the scene from a “this is my woman” standpoint. I guess men don’t want to imagine their women with other men, either for real or simulation. On the set some hormones and stuff can get rollin’. Many a romance has blossomed on a movie set. Here I had a costar who was really cute and young and virile. It’s a real bed. And you really don’t have your clothes on. I mean, you might have a few pieces on, strategically placed—a woman may have on a patch and a man may have on this sock contraption, especially if they’re trying to show the sides of our bodies. By and large you’re naked. I recalled having gotten pretty excited on the couch with my boyfriend at age fifteen and we had jeans and clothes on. But Courtney was going to see the scene eventually, during a preview, surrounded by a whole bunch of other folks. I thought if he and I could be comfortable about it, then we could go into the experience without hesitancy.

  “Courtney, I’m an actor, you’re an actor. We have love scenes with other people from time to time. I’ve got a director who’s showing me French movies. I need to figure out how much we’re showin’. I need somebody to bounce this off of. Look at the board. It looks like he’s going down on me. How do you feel about it as an audience member? Am I being hypersensitive? Am I too close to it? Am I too prudish? What do you think?”

  “Angela, this is hard.”

  “Please, Courtney? What’s wrong? Come on…I need you to help me with this. I’m not trying to aggravate you or hurt your feelings. I don’t like this. This is my job. I’m just asking you to look at it for my sake and help me so I can go back to Kevin sure and strong and say, ‘No, I can’t do this.’”

  “Okay. I’m sorry. I just…”

  “It’s terrible, ain’t it? Isn’t it too much?”

  “Yeah, it’s too much.”

  Once we got over a few sticky moments, we were able to talk about it and work it out together. We decided that my natural reserve and caution could be part of the dynamic of the scene. After Courtney and I worked it out together, I went back to Kevin with my ideas about the scene and that’s how it ended up being shot. During the shower scene, Taye wore the sock thing with fish wire holding it up. But it was cutting into his body and created a crease in his side that showed on camera. That wasn’t working so they told him he couldn’t use the sock.

  “Do you mind if I don’t have anything on?” he asked me.

  “Oh, that’ll be just fine. That’s fine,” I answered a little too quickly—I’m sure my nervousness showed. I tried to play the scene without looking down. Well, truthfully, one part of me kinda wanted to look; the other part didn’t want to get caught. So I didn’t look, I didn’t see a thing. I don’t believe I felt anything, either.

  I didn’t.

  Chapter 18

  At Last

  ANGELA: On Sunday, October 17, 1997, I woke up without a care, without a worry. It was two months after my thirty-ninth birthday. Less than a year earlier I’d thought I’d never get married. Yet here it was, my wedding day. When I drew back the curtains, the sky was a beautiful turquoise blue—all hope and possibility. Usually the L.A. sky is pale, nondescript, and I miss the fluffy white clouds that float across the bright blue sky down South, back East, in Hawaii. The day before it had rained hard. Rain always washes the smog from the sky. You know the following day will be brilliant blue-blue with the white fluffy clouds I love from back home. These skies make me feel so happy. I get a sense of what California must have been like back in the 1930s—before smog. All sunshine and orange groves—very “Go West, young man.”

  I was excited that morning, but not “Oh-my-God” excited. You sometimes hear stories about wedding-day jitters. I was calm; I didn’t have them. I guess you’re not nervous when you’re sure it’s right, when there aren’t any of the red flags people talk about. I hadn’t seen one red flag. I hadn’t had to duck one bone tumbling out of a closet. I k
new red flags well; I’d certainly ignored them before. Instead, I felt calm and peaceful—the assurance you feel when you’re doing the right thing and are really sure of it. I took a leisurely bath, made breakfast, read the paper. I didn’t talk to Courtney; I would see him soon enough. It was just chill, chill, chill. Just me. Later, my bridesmaids—my sister D’nette, his sister Cecilie and my girlfriend Pamela Tyson—came over. We walked over to Lou’s house, where the wedding would be performed, took the rollers out of our hair and got dressed. Later, my niece Alexandra (Lynn and Al’s daughter), who was the flower girl, and Mama Emma, the ring bearer, joined us. I wore an ivory-colored V-neck Escada dress with a lace inset and little buttons going down the back and a little train. I thought I looked beautiful and elegant. While we dressed, the photographers took pictures of the wedding party. I wanted our photographs to be candid shots. I didn’t want all that posing, nor did I like the idea of taking the bride and groom and crew far away for an hour and a half while everyone’s starving and waiting and nibbling hors d’oeuvres. A couple of posed pictures or a smile here or there was fine. But I didn’t want all that “come over here because the light is better.” I just wanted the photographer to just catch it—grab it—and let us enjoy the moment, each other and our guests.

  The wedding was scheduled for two o’clock, enough time for people who often work late into the night to wake up and get moving. We had invited about two hundred people. I wanted to keep it simple; I didn’t want it to be over the top; I wanted understated elegance. That’s how I like to describe myself, and that’s how I want to keep it. We had tried to keep the wedding somewhat quiet, but somehow it was reported in one of the rags. You never know who will tell on you, sell you down the river for a prize, I guess. We had to fend off a couple of wedding crashers.

  B. J. Crosby, our soloist, can really sing. She put her foot into “To God Be the Glory” by James Cleveland. The way she sings it, it really swells up and grabs you hard. She has such drama in it!

  COURTNEY: Our wedding took place on the most beautiful October day. We had planned it to take place outside—without tents—and everyone had been worried about what kind of weather we’d have. There was a big storm the day before, but on our wedding day it was all blue skies—balmy and clear. I had stayed up late the night before—stuffing envelopes, doing this and doing that to get the space together. I wanted her to be able to sleep like a baby so she could be the beautiful bride everyone expected her to be. That morning I got up at 6:00 a.m. and got a haircut. I wore a black eight-button tux by an African-American L.A. designer named Dion Scott. My three groomsmen stood with me—Wren, my cousin David Daniels and Theron Cook—and all my guys were there, including Henry, who had pushed me to date her. Our two mothers and Angela’s grandmother were sitting in the first row along each side of the aisle. I remember looking up and seeing Angela in her wedding dress. It was the most moving sight I’d ever witnessed—she was so beautiful! As I watched her walk down the aisle all gorgeous and giddy and silly, I welled up with emotion. To see how happy she was and how perfect everything was turning out and to know that I had played a role in helping her have the wedding she’d wanted really filled my heart. Yes, I was moved because it was our wedding, but it was made perfect through service. I realized what a gift it had been to her that I had overcome my frustration and practiced serving her as her soon-to-be husband. I felt proud that the first thing we had done together turned out exactly the way Angela had planned!

  After Angela arrived at the altar, B. J. Crosby sang “To God Be the Glory.” I listened to her words about thanking God for the gifts he’d given us. I thought about where I’d been just a few short years ago and where I was now. I was a “puddle” after that.

  ANGELA: Two young men walked my grandmother down the aisle to steady her. She held the pillow with both rings on it. Had my father been living, I would have asked him to escort me. He hadn’t been there to raise me, but he had contributed half my chromosomes. Since Daddy wasn’t around I asked his brother, my uncle Jerry, who has been loving and kind toward me throughout my life. In modern times we’re getting so feminist—feminists that some of us are. I didn’t trip on that at all. I wanted my walk down the aisle to symbolize moving from the covering of my father’s house to the covering of my husband’s for protection and as the head of my household.

  “Who stands with this man in marriage?”

  Mrs. Vance stood.

  “Who stands with this woman in marriage?”

  My mother stood.

  “Who stands with this couple in marriage?”

  Our guests stood. Our whole world stood with us.

  I stayed calm all during the wedding our vows. Courtney got choked up. I often wonder why so many grooms cry at weddings. Maybe they’re feeling that now they’ve got to be responsible. Before, they could do willy-nilly what they wanted, when they wanted, how they wanted. But now that they are going to be married and bring children into this world, maybe they sense in that moment the gravity of life. Everyone is going to depend on them for everything—for food, for clothes, for shelter and for boundaries.

  After we took our vows, Courtney slipped a beautiful wedding band onto my finger. It is intricately carved, like a leaf and grapevine. Filigree or something like that. Similar to the ring his mother wore while he was growing up. There’s a plaque on the inside of the band that reads “ABVGODCBV” to symbolize that it’s just the two of us—but we keep God in the middle.

  I had purchased a ring for him that looked like the band his father wore.

  Courtney acted a fool during our wedding kiss. He kept kissing me and kissing me. He wouldn’t let me go.

  COURTNEY: Angela’s always been dramatic and you can bet she was when it came time to recite our vows. She was cute and funny and people just fell out! “This girl’s crazy!” When the minister told me, “You may kiss the bride!” I said to myself, “Lord, I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time!” So I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her. In fact, Angela let go of me and held her arms out wide as if she was saying, “It ain’t me!”—we had a little comedy routine going on. But I kept kissing her and kept kissing her. It was a beautiful moment….

  After we all finished laughing, the minister said, “I now present you Courtney and Angela Vance.” We turned to face our guests and walk out. As I walked past my mother, I reached out and touched her hand. I saw her face break. Seven years earlier my father had killed himself. After all we had been through together, her baby was finally getting married. I broke, too. We’d made it—we were all okay!

  After the wedding everyone walked up the street to another neighbor’s house for the reception. It was gorgeous—the flower arrangements, the chairs with gold things—I don’t know what they were—on the back of them. I mean, it was just beautiful! When we had our first dance, we gave them a dancing lesson. We had taken a dancing class together but we had thrown that out the window after trying to figure out who was going to lead and who was going to follow. Instead, while Lou Rawls and Nancy Wilson sang “The Best is Yet to Come”—Out of the tree of life I picked me a plum… We just went out there and had the greatest time. Our dance was sexy and fun and funny. The party was the bomb!

  In all, ours was the most beautiful wedding—understated and elegant. I had begun to learn that through service I would be able to make my wife happy so we could have the peace I envisioned us having in our home. Little did I know we’d have to go through a long process to get there. But that day was a celebration we enjoyed with our friends and family. That night was a celebration of our coming together in the way that we had decided we were going to come together. We had said that we were going to respect each other and respect God and we had done that. It was an amazing time to say, “Come here! We really did this. Thank you….”

  Chapter 19

  Back to Work

  Even though we were on our one-day honeymoon, I was still working. I had to get my hair rebraided because I
had to go back to work the following day. Ten hours of my one-day honeymoon were spent putting micro-braids in my hair. We spent one more wonderful night together. The next day we headed off in different directions. I went to Jamaica to finish filming Stella, and Courtney flew down to Mississippi to film Cookie’s Fortune.

  As we shot Stella, this women’s fantasy, in that beautiful environment, I thought about how easy it must be to love when you’re in idyllic settings. It’s fun to be spontaneous and exciting. Yet a whole lot of life is lived in the mundane. It’s about decision-making and making sure the water’s running and the grass is cut. You have to return to life at some point. I realized it would be important for Courtney and I to schedule out time together—to do things that were new, things that were exciting, to enjoy little experiences together. Stella wouldn’t be the last time I’d consider sex and nudity on screen. Perhaps because throughout history so many black women have been abused sexually, perhaps because of my religious values and perhaps because I was fondled as a child, I’m not comfortable being portrayed as a sex object. I’ve passed on wonderful projects over nudity. Most notably, Monster’s Ball.