by Erika Jayne
Sometimes the show’s makeup crew would say something like, “Erika, we’re thinking about giving you a red lip tonight.” I would relay that message to my team and show up with a red lip. “Was this what you were thinking?” I’d ask innocently. If you can say one thing about my team, it’s that we’re always two steps ahead.
The night of the first performance, I was nervous, but I wasn’t freaking out. I walked in really assured. I thought, I know what this is, I’ve got it. I’m going to get off this unicorn and do the salsa. I’m going to give it all I got. I’m dancing to my own song. How cool is that?
It also helped that I knew there would be some familiar faces in the audience. My castmates Eileen Davidson and Lisa Rinna came to support my big debut. Lisa even brought her whole family. I was so excited for them all to see everything Gleb and I had been working on.
When I was backstage, I asked my fellow contestant and former Chicago Cubs catcher David Ross, “What’s more nerve-racking, going out right now or catching the last game of the World Series?”
“I’d rather be at the World Series any day,” he told me. “I’m scared to death, Erika.”
My dance went off, I thought, without a hitch. I hopped off that unicorn, salsa-ed all over the place, threw my big blond curls around, and dropped into a split. I was feeling good.
Then we got to the judges’ critiques. As I stood there panting and listening to their criticism, Len Goodman said he thought the dance was “raunchy.” I heard that word and it was like a trapdoor opened underneath my stomach. It was everything I could do to remain standing. I wasn’t mad. It was like a giant pit of dread opened up inside of me. Not that anyone would see it through my big smile and fake lashes.
You have to remember, this was coming off “Pantygate” on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. We spent an entire season talking about whether or not I intentionally flashed my vagina at Dorit Kemsley’s husband, PK, one night, while wearing a black-and-white Mugler dress without any panties underneath. (I did not, though Dorit and PK had a hard time believing it at the time. Thankfully, that’s since been resolved.)
I thought, Oh God, not this again. Given the tone, tenor, and theme of his remarks, I felt like I was reliving the past season all over again in a single instant on live television. Dance has always been an escape for me. Now I couldn’t escape. It was like everything I loved and that people love about me—being sassy, bold, out there, myself—was now being criticized again. From that moment, I knew exactly where this was going.
Still, we got twenty-four points. This score put us in the middle of the pack. Not exactly what I was expecting when I walked in so self-assured. As they cut to commercial, Gleb and I had a chance to talk. He said, “Blow that off, don’t listen to that. Don’t let it get in your head. Fuck what he said. Don’t give into that.”
The pros on the show are psychiatrists just as much as they’re dance instructors. They’ve all been through this many times before. They know the mental toughness it takes to get to the end of the competition. I didn’t realize it then, but Gleb was trying to save me from myself and preserve our chances.
He was too late. It had already gotten into my head. I felt like I was being scolded for something I didn’t do. What about all the other dancers? What about all the guys who took off their shirts? I barely touched my partner, and I’m being called “raunchy.” Why was I being singled out?
I delivered what I always offer. It was a number that was fun, sassy, bratty, and sexy. That’s showmanship. That’s Erika Jayne, who they hired. And then, when she showed up, they told her they didn’t want her. If you’re penalized for being yourself, where do you go from there? I had no idea what to do next. I was unmoored.
I got home that night, and my son was sitting on the couch. Of course, he had watched the show to see how I did.
“They called you raunchy, huh?” he asked as I walked into the living room.
“Yeah,” I said, somewhat defeated and still trying to process everything that happened.
“Fuck that guy,” he said. “Mom, you have to remember, what are they going to say to you? Look at you. You have it all. They have to knock you down to size. They can’t praise a woman who already has everything.”
“I’m just mad they called me raunchy when everyone else was doing the same thing,” I said.
“You’re right,” he said.
“I think it’s because I’m too much woman and they can’t handle it,” I said.
“People don’t like it when they think someone has it all,” he said.
He was absolutely right, and this is something he learned through his own experience. His rookie year on the LAPD, he was told he did not belong because he came from wealth and had no idea what the life of a police officer is all about. Everyone he works with knows that his stepfather is a powerful lawyer and his mother is on television. But being in law enforcement is the only thing he’s ever wanted to do his entire life, and he has an indomitable work ethic. He works hard and deserves to be there, no matter how big the house he comes home to at night may be.
The next week, we were doing the foxtrot. When we finally performed the number, my matte-black Lamborghini was brought out onstage. Gleb and I staged a scenario in which a hot cop pulls over a pretty woman. At the end, the judges called it a “Beverly Hills foxtrot.”
I was hoping that my narrative on the show would be about a woman in her mid-forties still performing and having the best years in front of her. I thought people would find that inspirational. Now it seemed like I could never shed my title as Real Housewife of Beverly Hills. They were more interested in the perceived persona of a Beverly Hills Housewife than they were in me as a person.
That’s when I realized that it was my persona that was being judged, not my ability. Val Chmerkovskiy, a veteran pro on the show, said it best: “The show isn’t about dancing, it’s about people.” After that night, I didn’t think I’d win no matter what I did.
Week after week, I could just feel the noose tightening. I told Tom not to come to the ballroom to see me dance. I had a bad vibe about what was happening and I didn’t want him to see me like that.
What’s worse, my shoulder started to hurt all the time. Going into the show, I was worried about my right knee. I’d had two surgeries on it to repair some dancing injuries—once as a teenager and once in my early thirties. I was convinced that if I got injured, it would be that. We were icing the knee every day after rehearsals. But that wasn’t the problem. It was all the explosive upper-body movements of partnering that shredded my shoulder.
Gleb was starting to get frustrated with me, too. He knew I was talented, but he was impatient with me and disappointed at times. I would see him shake his head or mutter under his breath. I could see him tense up. He was begging me to get out of my own way. Even though he is sweet and encouraging, he’d had enough of me being in my head. At some point, it came down to a professional Russian dancer dealing with a middle-aged brat. Let’s be honest: that would be tiring.
The next week, we got through our jive without incident, and I hate the jive. With all that soft shoeing and hand waving, it’s very tricky and always looks very Vaudeville to me, even when the best dancers in the world are doing it.
Again, our score put us somewhere lost in the middle. Then I started to get paranoid. I allowed the looks I received in the ballroom—from the other contestants and from the huddling producers—to get to me. I allowed my imagination to run wild, inventing all the novel ways they were probably making fun of my cha-cha.
I also committed the cardinal sin of looking at some of the comments on social media. “Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?” someone wrote. “You guys thought she could dance well? She can’t,” someone else said. “She thinks she’s better than us,” another person chimed in. I know the first rule of the internet is never to read the comments, but it seemed like a lot of people wanted me to fail. They enjoyed seeing it. They enjoyed watching me be slowly, agonizingly consumed.
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sp; The next week, Gleb and I had a confrontation in my car on the way to rehearsal. “I really need you to break out,” he said. “I really need you to show everybody what you’re made of. I really need you to show up.”
Immediately, I started to cry. I didn’t cry because I was sad, tired, and hurt (though I was all of those things). I cry when I get angry. I cry because I can’t put my fist through a wall.
“I can’t connect,” I kept saying to him. “I can’t connect.” I was so unsure of myself that I couldn’t find my place in the competition. I couldn’t get close to the audience. A great performer will make anything feel incredibly intimate, whether it’s in a small cabaret or a giant arena. It’s something I’ve been able to do on occasion, when I’m feeling my material and really in my element. Here, I totally lost that ability and felt adrift.
That week during rehearsals, Gleb had reached the end of his rope with me. The theme was “My Most Memorable Year,” so we picked 1989. That was the year I moved to New York to follow my dreams of becoming a performer. We were going to do a cha-cha to Madonna’s “Express Yourself.”
He thought that if I were able to dance to a song I loved, by an artist I really admire, it would reinvigorate me. Even though Madonna is one of the holy trinity to me—along with Michael Jackson and Prince—I was still struggling in the rehearsal room.
Some of the other contestants were much more raw and revealing in their interviews. They talked about suffering miscarriages, surviving cancer, or helping with sick parents. I think the producers always have their favorites to win, and they really like that bravery and willingness to be vulnerable.
I could have done that, too. I could have talked about my father denying me to my face, my divorce, or my grandmother’s death. Hell, I could have done a whole dance about Pantygate. But I didn’t want to capitalize on any of those stories, at least not there.
I chose a different route. I wanted to uplift people. I wanted to show them that you can still dance in your midforties. You can still be fun. The best days are ahead of you, not behind you.
After a long week of tears and pain in the rehearsal room, our dance was well received. We got a thirty, our highest score yet. Still, the judges were telling us they wanted less “sexpot.” How are you going to take the sexpot out of a Madonna song? That’s like taking the meat out of a hamburger. Finally, I told them right there on stage, “I am what I am. I’m not going to tone it down.”
I felt a small amount of triumph saying that, but then Gleb and I were the last ones to be called safe that night. The noose was getting tighter.
I thought this was the beginning of the end for Gleb and me. He refused to believe it. The next day at rehearsal, he said, “Being called last doesn’t mean anything. I’ve been in the bottom before and gotten out of it.” He told me not to count myself out just yet.
Still, at next week’s performance, I showed up with a bag packed. If we were eliminated, we would have to go on the promotional tour the next day. Gleb saw my bag and said, “Put that bag away. You won’t need it. Having it is bad luck.”
“I’m not going on Good Morning America looking like a fool,” I told him. I wasn’t going to be caught dead wearing a bad outfit. I even booked tickets to New York for Mikey and Laia, just in case I needed them to travel with me.
Our final performance was for Disney week, where each contestant dances to a song from a Disney movie, often dressed in character. We were doing a waltz to the song “Unforgettable” from the movie Finding Dory. I was hoping to get Cruella de Vil or at least Rapunzel from Tangled. I wanted to be a villainess or a princess. I could identify with anything but Dory, the fish who can’t find her way home. As soon as we got that assignment, I knew the die was cast. They were going to help me find my way home.
Underneath my sea-blue gown, I was taped up so my shoulder would stay in place. I was in considerable pain, especially since for most of the dance I kept my arms perched upright in hold. We swirled around the dance floor like we were caught in an undersea current. I have to give props to wardrobe again, because they made me the most gorgeous costume to go home in. I knew who was rooting for me, and it was the costume department.
We got the best reviews of our time there. There were no comments about me being inappropriate or that my dancing was too Beverly Hills. “We really saw you open up,” the judges told me. “Forget princess, you were a queen.” We also got thirty-two points, our highest total yet—and once again, in the middle of the pack.
At the end of the episode, we were sent home. When they announced that we were cut, I turned to Gleb and said, “See, I told you.”
As soon as I got backstage, I started crying. Once again, it was that angry cry. I had let the whole experience get away from me and get to me. I was sad that my essence, which is over-the-top, fun, and sassy, was made to seem snobby, mean, and divisive. Also, honestly, I was sad that I lost. Who likes losing?
Heading back to my trailer, I ran into Gleb. He was with his wife, Elena, as well as his daughter Olivia and her friend. Olivia was dressed as Belle, her favorite Disney princess. It just broke my heart.
“I’m so sorry,” I told Gleb, trying to keep the makeup from streaming down my face. “This is the night your daughter came, and I made her see her father get kicked off the show.”
“What are you talking about?” he said, very matter-of-factly in his Russian accent. “That’s life. She needs to know the way the world really is.”
While we were clearing out our crammed trailer for the last time, the show’s travel coordinators came by. They told me which overnight flight to New York I’d be on. As soon as they did, Laia said, “Erika, Mikey and I are coincidentally on the same flight!” Like I said, my team is sly. And this way, I’d have some company on the very long journey.
On the flight, I barely slept. I felt frustrated and angry. It didn’t help that whenever I tried to sleep, my shoulder was constantly spasming.
The next day, we did our interview on GMA. They gave me a little disco ball trophy with a unicorn on the top of it. I named the unicorn America. That way, I figured if America wasn’t going to give me their votes, at least I could finally say, “I’ve won America!” I paraded that thing around JFK and LAX, showing it off to the world. I really do love it.
When I got home and talked to Tom, he was supportive. But you have to remember that he’s a very stoic and pragmatic guy. When I voiced my concerns about how I felt I had been portrayed and how I felt like it was unfair, he said, “You’re looking at it all wrong. You need to be looking at it from this perspective, which is millions more people know who you are now. Whether getting sent home was right or wrong, it is beyond your control. It’s not your show.”
What really concerned Tom was how I was dealing with my injury. I thought my shoulder really hurt when I was dancing, but once I stopped using it, the pain got even worse. I was taking all sorts of pharmaceuticals and it wasn’t even touching the pain. Tom is not a nervous Nellie, so when he said to me, “I need to know what’s wrong with your shoulder,” I knew it was time to get it checked out.
I went to a new orthopedist. When I saw that he looked exactly like Doogie Howser, MD, I knew he was going to be good. He believed my shoulder had been under stress from all of those years of dancing, and this period of intense use just exacerbated something that was already happening. He came up with a plan to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
The biggest lesson I learned from the whole experience is that there is such a thing as being too much woman. There is. Most of America doesn’t want real, raw, brazen sexuality in their faces, especially from a woman my age. You’re seen as cheap or slutty or “raunchy.” What they want is cute: cute smiles, dainty figures. Erika Jayne is a lot of things, but no one will ever call her “cute.”
The people involved with the show were absolutely wonderful from start to finish. I became friends with everyone else on the cast, from David Ross, whom I still direct message on Twitter every now and again, to my ne
ighbor Charo, the legend who paved the way for other “cuchi-cuchi girls” like me. Everyone was in the same boat, and we were all kind and supportive to each other. I think the love that’s in that room is the one thing people need to understand.
The professional dancers were great, too, but they’re doing a job. Once we’ve all left the ballroom, they’re going to have another cast of beginners to whip into shape and psychologically figure out. All of the pros work their asses off, and that always earns my respect.
Maybe I took losing too personally. But I take everything personally, even when they tell you not to. It’s just who I am and how I look at the world. I didn’t expect to win, but I didn’t expect to walk out questioning everything I ever built.
I’m so glad that it happened, though, because it restored my faith in Erika Jayne. The whole experience was like stripping a house down to its studs. I could just collapse it, or I could rebuild it and keep going. And when Erika Jayne was laid bare to the frame, I saw that she was made of steel. To knock her down for good, it was going to take something a lot stronger than this.
This season, I’m happy to root for Gleb and his new partner week to week. And if they ever wanted Erika Jayne for an all-stars season, I’d be there.
15
GOING TO THE CHAPEL
My family has always been Protestant, but my father and my stepfather were both Catholic. It was important to my stepfather that I be raised Catholic.
I was baptized at seven and had my first communion shortly thereafter at Corpus Christi Catholic Church. I didn’t really have any say in that, because I was a little kid. After that, I had years of religious education at CCD, the Confraternity of Catholic Doctrine. It’s the Catholic church’s equivalent of Sunday school. When I was enrolled in Catholic middle school at the Immaculate Heart of Mary, we had CCD as part of the school curriculum. Eventually, it came time to get confirmed with my entire class. But I wasn’t feeling it.
