by Bailey Thomas, Cynthia,Thomas, Peter,Short, Rochelle,Saunders, Keith
My mother was a strong woman who could have left and made it on her own if she had wanted. When they married, she brought along two daughters from a previous relationship. He cared for both girls and raised them as his own. I’ve always believed my mom stayed because she saw in him all the same things I did. She knew he was an imperfect man, but she loved him completely.
My dad paid twenty-six years of apartment rent to his Brooklyn landlord, Mr. Stern, but never experienced the satisfaction of New York homeownership. In all his wrongs, there was always something monumental about him that outshined his mistakes. That’s why I loved him so hard, but his agony was painted all over me like a cheap suit. It made me something I didn’t want to be, and I hit the streets selling major drugs at twenty-four years old. When I finally left the hood, it was long overdue. I knew the only way I could lift the suffocating pressure of my father’s pain was to get the hell out of dodge.
I knew my father supported me making good decisions and wanted me to find the right woman. He witnessed the massive bullshit I endured in my five-year relationship before Cynthia. He knew I put everything (emotionally and financially) into helping that woman establish her business and a solid life. He offered nothing less than encouragement by allowing me to move back home for the first time since I was eighteen. When I realized Cynthia was the one, I had to show her off immediately. She would be my proof to him that I wasn’t going to mess up again.
My dad wasn’t home the day I took Cynthia to meet my parents. I drove to a south-side barbershop where my mom told me I would find him. He thought I was crazy for hunting him down. I’d never gone looking for my father for anything in my life, nor brought a woman home to meet him. He knew it was a crucial matter. I believed my actions made him fall in love with Cynthia on the spot, and I could sense Cynthia was resolved in some new way after meeting him.
I’d exposed all my vulnerabilities to Cynthia that weekend, and she left Atlanta knowing my every soft spot. I needed her to know who I was and that I wasn’t hiding any secrets. She was responsive. The more I gave, the more she seemed to want. When the time came to drop her off at the airport on Tuesday afternoon, we vowed to see each other at least once a month and make it work no matter what. Whatever making “it” work looked like and whatever demands came along – we were prepared to it. It was clear to me that she wanted us to be partners and take on the world together.
Her only hesitation was putting herself in a situation where she wouldn’t be Noelle’s sole provider. Cynthia Bailey wasn’t the type of woman to wait on a child support check to take care of her kid. She wasn’t afraid to work, and wouldn’t think of dragging a man into court to make him man up to his responsibilities. This was a woman who’d given Jayson Williams back his engagement ring. She broke it off with him while he was at the height of his NBA career and sitting on a one-hundred-million dollar contract. She was the fearless female who told record mogul Russell Simmons it wasn’t the right time for her to accept his marriage proposal. Cynthia had even walked away from her daughter’s father while he was a rising Hollywood heartthrob.
She didn’t base the future of her relationships on money or fame. It was always about her authentic happiness and being in a position to provide for herself and Noelle. Any outside support was a cherry on her sundae, but she wasn’t the one to be standing on a curb with a begging hand out. She was the kind of woman I wanted to roll with for life. My chest swelled at the thought of knowing I had the chance to prove myself and earn her respect. She was so worth it.
Cynthia’s Upgrade
With Uptown being only months away from its grand opening, it would not have made sense for Peter to move to New York. I didn’t know a lot about Georgia, but I’d always been one for making a change, as long as it didn’t stifle my ability to have a career or make a living. When the time came to transition to Atlanta, I was mentally and financially prepared. Peter, on the other hand, seemed a little jolted the day we landed at his doorstep. Even though he had long anticipated our arrival, it was still an adjustment for him. We rolled up like a hurricane in a windmill, and his place was transformed in a span of twenty-four hours. Noelle, the nanny and I converted his swank bachelor’s condo into a modest single-family home in the blink of an eye.
It didn’t take long for him to start acting funny – coming home looking at me sideways with major attitude. I wasn’t having it on no level! I knew damn well this man didn’t have me displace my entire life to start having second thoughts after the deed was already done. It wasn’t like I stuffed the contents of my life into a U-Haul, drove to Atlanta and called him from a payphone asking, “Guess who’s here?” Peter was very much a part of my move and every logistical decision. I was disappointed and pissed off by his behavior.
I knew some of his energy was directed toward my nanny. It was difficult for him to understand that she was a necessity, not an extravagance. Noelle was my top priority and her nanny was like a second mother. Being with her was like being with me. Their closeness was a bond that would’ve made most women insecure. Not me. Noelle’s nanny had been with me since her birth, and when I had my baby I felt like she had one too. My work and travel schedule was hectic and erratic. Her presence helped me feel more grounded about leaving my child for an assignment. Noelle needed to be taken care of, and the nanny was there to heed her every beck and call.
Needless to say, she was as much a part of my package deal as Noelle (and her daddy). From the beginning, I put all my cards on the table. I knew it was a lot of shit and moving pieces for any man to juggle, but no conditions in my life should have come as a surprise to Peter. As much as I loved him, if Noelle, the nanny and I were cramping his style, I was prepared to call the moving company and work out a two-for-one deal to get my ass back to Manhattan. Noelle was my supreme deal breaker, and all bets were off where she was concerned. If the world wasn’t right with her, it wasn’t right with me. If the world wasn’t right with me … Houston, we gotta problem!
Peter’s place was always intended to be a temporary solution, not a permanent home to raise a family. Even before my move, he had his sights set on the house where we now live. I never laid eyes on it until I got to Atlanta, but I knew it would be suitable for Noelle from the pictures Peter sent. The pictures showcased a neighborhood that resembled a little Hamptons of the South, with people walking their dogs and riding bikes. The house itself was the perfect size, having enough bedrooms and space for the nanny and overnight guests. I thought it was great and saw no reason not to move forward. Peter had visited my apartment in New York, and I was convinced he understood my taste. More importantly, I knew he had meticulously chosen the home with us in mind, and I trusted his sensibilities.
Once we settled into our new home, all was well. I found a great school for Noelle, Peter had more room and the nanny was happy. Uptown was thriving and so was my career. I was forty years old and had no plans of completely forfeiting my modeling checks, but I was very open to a career change. As my personal priorities began to shift, traveling back and forth for work grew more stressful. For the first time in my life, I started to consider a professional move outside of modeling. I was on a hunt to find a gig that would keep me in Atlanta more and traveling less.
Peter’s Upgrade
Uptown opened its doors on New Year’s Eve, 2007. Cynthia flew in for the grand opening party and had Boris and Nicole lend their names to promote the event. The following February, I threw a blowout birthday bash for Cynthia, and she came back to town with all her famous friends from New York. That time marked a year of us dating and alternating visits between New York and Atlanta. I was over the long-distance dating thing and wanted to live in the same city with my woman.
Searching through communities I knew she would like, I found a house that had our names written all over it! I emailed her pictures of the home’s interior and exterior, and she agreed it was the right place for us to start our lives. Even though it would be a s
ight unseen decision for Cynthia, I steamrolled ahead in setting up the purchase. She appreciated my flavor for the finer things and insisted that my approval was enough to make her secure in moving forward. It was hard to put in words how extra-ordinary her unconditional trust made me feel.
Month-to-month leases didn’t exist in New York. You either initiated a new full-term lease or got the hell out. Unfortunately, Cynthia’s lease expired before our home was completed, so once we signed the purchase contract I didn’t drag my feet in getting her to Atlanta. We started the process of securing financing and setting up the closing. I paid off a $20,000 balance on one of her credit cards, and we used her credit to secure our mortgage. She couldn’t pack up and get to stepping fast enough.
Our makeshift plan was that we’d all live in my 1,000 square foot, two-bedroom condo until the house was ready. In June of 2008, my residence became home base for the three of us and Noelle’s nanny. I was cool with Cynthia and Noelle being in my tiny place, but the addition of the nanny was throwing me off! I just couldn’t get past the fact that there was another grown-ass stranger living in my crib. She was a nice lady, but at the end of the day, she wasn’t going home at five o’clock. When nightfall came, she was sleeping on the other side of the wall where Cynthia and I got busy.
Cynthia could sense I was feeling some type of way and it started to annoy her. She thought my energy was projected at her and Noelle – nothing could have been further from the truth. My mindset was simply that I’d fallen in love with Cynthia and her daughter, the nanny wasn’t in my equation. I just needed the solitude and square footage of a bigger place and the nanny out of my grill!
I never shared the real lowdown with Cynthia, because this nanny lady had been a part of their lives for years. Back then, Noelle was eight and homegirl was still in the picture. It was hard for Cynthia to function without her support. I wasn’t stupid; I knew it was a three-piece meal with no substitutions. The breast, wing and biscuit were all one deal. I just shut the fuck up and went out of my way to make everyone comfortable until the move could happen.
When that day finally came, my condo was bursting at the seams with toys, fashion magazines, the nanny and shit everywhere! The nanny went along for the ride to the new house, but only stayed another year. She was gone by the time Noelle turned nine. Not at my urging, of course.
Having Noelle in my everyday home life was refreshing and something I was already familiar with. In my last relationship, I was the proud surrogate father to a daughter my ex had from a prior relationship. Though her dad was present and very involved in her life, I happily played the role of second dad. I loved her dearly, but the breakup with her mom was also the end of our bond. I had completely accepted her as my child and made the same sacrifices for her that I did for my own children. I swore I’d never get mixed up with another woman who came with a plus one. I didn’t mind breaking up with the woman if we weren’t jiving, but breaking up with the child was like pouring alcohol on hemorrhoids.
It was interesting to see all the places where the separation from my children had created issues in other parts of my life. One time in particular, I had visited Cynthia in New York and left feeling like she would hate me forever. Noelle had asked me to play with her, and I told her I didn’t play board games with children. It was a time when I was hurting and longing to spend time with my young son in Miami. I wasn’t thinking about the jab of my words or how they might hurt Noelle’s feelings. Cynthia was quick to let me know if something like that happened again, we’d be toast.
Noelle has always been Cynthia’s everything. Back then and even more so now, she’s very guarded about her. When Cynthia and I moved in together, both sides of Noelle’s family (her grandparents especially) were very protective and involved in our everyday lives. There was also the pressure of Noelle being the only child of a famous movie star – and a daughter at that. Leon was so influential in Noelle’s life that Cynthia made me meet him before I could spend the night at her place that first time I visited New York. Everything regarding that child’s life was a production. If she had even a cold, the world would stop! I always felt like too many hands were in the cookie jar.
Cynthia would not leave Noelle alone with me when she traveled for work. The nanny always had to be there. Though our relationship had a rocky start, I eventually took refuge in the nanny’s presence. I learned she was a necessary buffer in my home life and relationship with Cynthia. If anything ever went down, she could stand witness for me against all the protecting arms around Noelle.
I had to constantly check my reactions to Cynthia’s and the other adults’ care of Noelle. I recognized that putting her first was really how it was supposed to be. Cynthia was a remarkable mother who would never make a decision that was not in the best interest of her daughter. Her outlook on things matter to me, and I grew to use her logic in weighing important decisions in my own life. She could only make me a better man, husband and father.
I wanted the world to see my diamond and it wouldn’t be long before it got the opportunity. Just prior to her move to Georgia, Cynthia met a memorable black guy at a political fundraiser at L.A. Reid’s house. She was so impressed by his intelligence and conversation that she had her money on him to win the seat he was running for. Months later, he beat out Hillary Clinton for the Democratic presidential nomination. That suave gentleman Cynthia had been so enthusiastic about was Barack Obama.
Her instinct about him was spot-on! In October 2008, he was elected the forty-fourth president of the United States of America. It was a powerful and exciting time for blacks everywhere, but the country was growing unstable. We were all in the chokehold of a crazy recession and just about every socioeconomic class was bracing for a beating. The country was changing, and our lives were also about to have a huge reality shift.
In Jan 2009, Satchel Jester, who handled marketing for Uptown, mentioned he’d caught whiff of a casting call for an Atlanta-based reality show. Its producers were apparently looking for an ambitious, self-made, African American woman. Satchel knew the casting director and mentioned to her that he thought Cynthia would be a great fit. I believed television was the best way for Cynthia to open herself up to greater opportunities, so I shared the proposition with her.
Other than what Satchel had told with me, I knew nothing about the show or its cast. What I did know was Cynthia was a woman who had blindsided me with her beauty, poise, charm and class. If she had that effect on a tough guy like me, she could blow away any television audience. I arranged for her to meet with a woman by the name of April Love. April was helping with the casting for a show called The Real Housewives of Atlanta (RHOA).
Cynthia’s Upgrade (Part II)
Several months after moving into our new house, I stopped by Uptown to have lunch with Peter. His promotions coordinator struck up a conversation that completely threw me for a loop. He mentioned that his close friend was a casting agent for The Real Housewives of Atlanta. He went on to say that he had put a feather in her cap about me being a prospect for the upcoming third season. I couldn’t wrap my brain around the concept and didn’t think much of the exchange. That conversation with Satchel had been completely erased from my brain until Peter came home the following week and ran the idea by me again.
I was like hell to the naw! I was tripping that Peter was even seriously stepping to me about some reality TV hustle. I had never thought about doing reality TV and certainly not in a forum that featured six other women. Yes, I was at a crossroad in my career, but Peter’s option was not a detour that registered on my GPS. Everything I knew about reality TV was enough to make me not want to know more. It didn’t seem very progressive or favorable of a black woman’s image. If I ever considered working in television, it would be supermodel Tyra Banks’ blueprint that I’d use to make my transition from modeling. I’d always hoped that life after the runway would be fashion-related and saw no direct correlation between my current world and
the reality world.
My gays were faithful RHOA fans and hounded me about the show’s need for my character type. Their badgering was a flashback of how I got started in modeling. People would always walk up to me on the street and say, “You should be a model!” The message kept coming to me from every corner of my life until I answered the call. Now, I could see the same cosmic trend with RHOA. First Peter’s promoter, then my gays and now there was an opportunity for me to actually sit down with April. Truthfully, Peter got on my nerves so bad, I really only agreed to a lunch meeting with April just to shut him up!
At lunch, I had my laundry list of questions prepared – each specific and to the point. How would I be compensated? Would the cameras be in our home 24/7, watching us sleep? How many days a week would I have to shoot? I had so many questions. April was not only direct in her answers, but gifted in piquing my interest. I went from hell to the naw, to why the hell not?
Though more receptive than I was before our meeting, I still wasn’t completely sold on the idea. I couldn’t see how I’d fit into the cast. I wasn’t a messy person, I didn’t hang out with bitchy, gossipy women and my life wasn’t brimming with drama. How would I be an asset to the show with my no-drama storyline?
The modeling world had a lot of cattiness, but the battles were more about becoming the hot face of the moment. There was maliciousness as with any job, but it was an industry where you kicked it with the crew that matched your morals and flow. Nobody really had time for a hate agenda. There was an unspoken, mutual respect that was hardly ever broken and certainly not publicly. I was accustomed to being around women who were fabulous, but didn’t advertise it. In fashion, women like Beverly Johnson simply wore it like a second skin. I could never have disrespected or talked shit on a set about Beverly. She was a matriarch who’d opened doors for women of color to model all over the world and have fruitful careers. The profession had instilled a modesty in me that probably wouldn’t bolster show ratings.
