Saving Amy

by Daphne Barak

  ‘[We] were just looking [on] in disbelief. Then she jumped off the horse, came and kissed us and faded away. … Can you imagine what a life I have?!’

  Amy flew back into Gatwick Airport near London on 1 March 2009. On the 2nd, People magazine reported that Amy was sporting her old beehive hairstyle and hanging out with Mitch in her new North London home. Blake had been released from prison again and sources revealed that Amy was determined to persuade her husband not to divorce her; while other sources close to Blake revealed that he was determined to make the break.

  Just days later, Amy was back in the press again, this time charged with assault over allegedly hitting a fan in September of the previous year. She was due to appear in court to face charges on 17 March, which she did, appearing late, to plead not guilty. The case was then adjourned until July 2009.

  Later in March, Amy confirmed that she would be performing in the Island Records 50th anniversary celebrations to be held in May, along with such artists as Paul Weller, Sly & Robbie and Keane. But by April, Amy was back in St Lucia again, this time to record her third album, again with Salaam Remi, who had worked with her on both of her earlier albums. It was announced that Amy would also perform at the St Lucia Jazz Festival in May and then fly back to England to perform in the Island Record celebrations.

  I was with Mitch in a Moroccan restaurant on 3 April 2009 when he told me that Amy was leaving for St Lucia to work on her album and that he would also be joining her on the 23rd. Mitch needed to see me. He felt that I was neglecting him because of my other commitments.

  ‘This time you are coming, right Daphne?’

  I have already had to cancel visiting Amy in St Lucia, due to other commitments and the 23rd in terms of my work schedule seems a long way off, but I tell Mitch that I will try, even though it is also my birthday about that time.

  He says, ‘This time I am flying First Class. … I don’t care because Universal is paying for my ticket. The record company is paying for … my ticket, for her ticket and the villa accommodation because she is going to … work on a record ….’

  I say ‘OK,’ but I am puzzled. As we leave the restaurant, I think: ‘Wow! He doesn’t really get it. The record company isn’t paying for his lavish villa and First Class travel. They are taking some of Amy’s income and giving it to him.…’ And, as long as she produces another record, who cares?

  A few days before we fly to St Lucia – even though I have requested a suite for me, Erbil and Steve Schwartz, my stills photographer – Mitch’s travel agent calls to say that she is taking a villa for us, one of four sited together: one for Amy; one for Mitch and his friends; one for the recording studio and the technicians; and we will have the fourth.

  Mitch informs me that Amy is going to play at the St Lucia Jazz Festival. When I ask him who else is playing, he reels off a few familiar names, such as KC and the Sunshine Band and a few other ‘Golden Oldies’, making it sound as if Amy is just one among many musicians and it’s not a big deal. Three weeks later, when we are in St Lucia, it becomes evident that Amy is the big star of the upcoming festival. She is destined to steal the show one way or another, whether it be by a fantastic comeback performance or just through being drunk and humiliated on the stage.

  In the end we are able to go to St Lucia in April. We arrive on Friday 24th, a day later than everyone else as they have come from London. Erbil and I have come from Paris and Steve has come from New York.

  The four villas are in Cotton Bay Village and are situated literally a minute from the beach. Our villa is next door to Amy’s and beyond that is the converted record studio, where Amy is rehearsing for the festival and recording; the last one is for Mitch and his friends. Two executives from Universal Studios have also joined us for two days. The whole place is very relaxing and very beautiful. It is also very private, and the place is patrolled – day and night – by a security team. Mitch tells me that Amy is very happy here.

  But when I land, I find a worried text message from Mitch, telling me how difficult it is for him to cope: ‘She [Amy] is drinking a lot … I can’t take it.’

  I feel for him, especially while I am on the helicopter to the hotel – the friendly pilot is making some funny reference to Amy’s well-documented wild behaviour on the island. Erbil and I both stare at my Blackberry quietly. I just pray that the pilot hasn’t shared his brand of humour with Mitch or his friends.

  When we arrive at the hotel, the manager, Kevin, is there to receive us in person – he apologizes as my villa will not be ready for a couple of hours and he leads us to the bar area on the beach.

  We spot Amy immediately – sitting at the bar, drinking and chatting loudly, even at this early hour of the morning. It is actually sad to watch, so we keep our distance and she leaves after a little while.

  We later meet up with Mitch, who is wearing shorts and flip-flops. He is so happy to see us! I immediately give him a supportive hug, and tell him – referring to his text message from a few hours before – that I understand it must be very painful for him to watch his daughter ruining herself. But, to our amazement, Mitch tell us, ‘No, no. She is doing fantastic. No, she only drank one or two glasses …’.

  Instead, we start chatting happily about our plans for the day. Mitch says to me, ‘Amy knows you’re coming. You will meet her soon.’ When I mention briefly that we have, in fact, already seen her, he turns to the corner of the bar, where she was drinking just half an hour ago and asks me, ‘Oh! She was THERE? Was she drinking?!’ I avoid his eyes and his question, and quickly change the topic of conversation.

  Later, while we are relaxing by the pool in Mitch’s villa, Amy dashes in, dressed in her trademark bikini top and tight shorts, which show off the fact that one of her legs is badly bruised. After a little hesitation, Amy jumps on me, clinging to me and showering me with kisses. Then she kisses Erbil and gestures that she remembers he promised to introduce me! He kisses her back.

  Amy is now excited about our arrival and decides that she wants to throw us a welcome dinner that evening. She counts out how many people it will be for, discusses the menu lovingly with us and then tells me, ‘You don’t have to dress up.’

  Amy keeps coming back to see us again and again that afternoon, making plans for the evening. Meanwhile Mitch, Erbil and I are at the swimming pool with another couple, Paul and Beverly. Mitch and Paul are playing water games and we are all laughing, enjoying ourselves. It seems that apart from work, this trip will be a normal, relaxing vacation.

  Later that evening Mitch leads us across the sand towards a bonfire on the beach that has been built specially to help us get to the place where we are dining. When we arrive, Amy – dressed in a mini-mini orange dress – is already there, waiting rather anxiously for us.

  She hugs me, introducing us all to her close friend, Vicky (Victoria), who appears to be a lovely woman; she lives on St Lucia with her partner. Vicky explains that she almost didn’t come to the dinner as there had been a big accident, just days before our arrival, which had made the St Lucia headlines, and she had had to attend two funerals that day. But, Amy had requested that she come tonight: ‘I couldn’t say “No”’, she says.

  Amy whispers in a very childish manner, ‘That is when you know somebody is your friend, Daphne. She is my close friend.’ Vicky and her partner had met Amy two weeks earlier at the resort.

  Mitch overhears Amy’s comment, and gives me a pained, anxious look.

  We are joined by some more of Amy’s new friends: an Italian woman, her husband, brother-in-law, their young seven- or eight-year-old daughter and her friend, who is the daughter of the British High Commissioner. It is the last two guests that cause Amy the most excitement. She leaves the table, spending a lot of time with them, choreographing dance routines for them and playing with them. Amy may be 25 but she is so petite that she can almost be mistaken for one of the girls.

  Even though it is clear that she is far more happy and much more secure in the girls’ company than with us adul
ts, she is going out of her way to please me. She places napkins across my lap, slowly, one at a time, covering my dress completely.

  Although everyone is staring at us, because Amy keeps saying, ‘Daphne I want to take good care of you’, I try to keep things casual.

  There is a lot of food, which she insists on serving us, insisting too that everyone should start with rice on their plates. Amy is obviously shaking as she dishes out the food. She can hardly hold the plates. At one point, as she struggles to cut a piece of fish, she just sinks her fingers into the flesh, grabbing whatever she can. But she is fundamentally playing with her food. Most people don’t seem to realize this, as she makes a big fuss of feeding us, but she is just moving her food around her plate. Has she really overcome her bulimia and anorexia?

  Later I give Amy a gift. It’s just something fun – a set of lip gloss, made by my friend Melina Belafonte. Amy is shaking and struggles to open the little box; she soon loses patience when she can’t figure out how to open it. I end up opening it for her, after which she asks her security people to bring her a make-up pencil, which she applies to her mouth with a trembling hand. The now-open lip-gloss box seems to make her nervous for some reason. Only when I tell her that it is a beauty line made by Melina, the wife of David, Harry Belafonte’s son, does she start screaming, ‘Oh! … Daphne knows Harry Belafonte!’

  During the evening Amy disappears often to smoke and, as her worried father, Mitch, suspects … to drink. But her insecurity and her tremendous efforts to please, as well as her constant need to hug everyone around her, make you just want to hug her back and tell her that everything will be all right.

  At some point during the long dinner, Amy disappears. When we walk back to my villa after the dinner, she reappears, her security man in tow, as she heads to her villa, which is next door to mine. She has changed her dress for another skimpy blue number. She looks at me, hesitantly. She does not know what to do. The grown-up world is so complicated for her.

  I say, ‘Thank you, sweetie, for dinner. It was lovely.’ And she just looks so relieved.

  Amy hugs me and then goes to hug Erbil too, saying, ‘I am so glad you enjoyed it. It was so important to me.’

  ‘It is private here,’ Mitch comments later. ‘Even though the place is full you never see anybody. It’s great.’

  ‘So, it is relaxing?’ I ask him.

  ‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘Very relaxing. … Very secure, very private … You can hear the music now,’ he says, meaning the drumming coming from the recording studio villa.

  ‘[The] equipment has been brought over from London and from Miami,’ Mitch says. ‘All the equipment is in there – as if it were a normal studio. It is a very, very nice vibe in there.’

  ‘… She is getting ready for the jazz festival and also she is preparing her new album,’ he explains, ‘but this is where she is relaxed. This is where she feels good. This is where it is all happening. She is very happy here.’

  ‘Protected?’ I say.

  ‘Very protected.’

  I suggest that he shows me round the studio.

  He leads me in. There is a huge amount of equipment lying around, which Mitch says is just spare. We go through the kitchen and come across Amy sitting at the drums.

  ‘Hello, Dad, I have got a song for you. Watch me play the drums to this. You will like this,’ she comments, as she kisses Mitch, adding, ‘I am not as good as you!’

  ‘Hello Daphne!’ she embraces me, kissing me hello, before going back to play the drums.

  ‘She is just jamming at the moment,’ Mitch comments, watching his daughter.

  ‘Do you think she should stick to singing?’ he adds, after a moment.

  ‘Let’s have a go Amy. Something jazzy,’ he says.

  Amy moves away and he takes his daughter’s place. He starts to play the drums.

  ‘Well?’ he asks me, after a few seconds.

  ‘You are good,’ I acknowledge.

  ‘No!’ he denies, still drumming.

  ‘My Dad is really good,’ Amy confirms. ‘Honestly.’

  ‘He is. He is,’ I repeat, as I watch Amy watch her father perform.

  Mitch is so emotional that he takes me dancing to celebrate my birthday.

  I meet Amy, who is dressed in a gold bikini top, at the bar next to the beach. She says she is planning a celebration for me for my birthday. I ask her, teasingly, whether she is going to perform ‘Happy Birthday’ to me, à la Marilyn Monroe’s legendary singing to President John F. Kennedy. Amy says that she would like to, but she doesn’t have the right outfit with her!

  She orders some food but then disappears, only to return with a three-year-old boy called Ricky trailing after her. Amy feeds him, instead of feeding herself. When he drops his lollipop, she rushes out to wash it for him. Ricky’s parents don’t seem to be around and Amy has seemingly taken over the role of mother of the boy. I am reminded of Mitch’s comment that Amy always wants to help others more than she wants to help herself.

  Even with this responsibility, she manages to disappear every few minutes, asking Mitch to watch Ricky when she does. Later someone spots her at her usual section of the bar, gulping down a drink.

  When she comes back, she peers at the green-coloured cocktail I am drinking and asks what’s in it.

  ‘You wouldn’t like it – it’s not sweet,’ I tell her.

  She tries it anyway, but makes a face. Then asks, ‘Does it have alcohol?’

  When I admit that it does, she raises the glass again to her lips. Within seconds she has drained two-thirds of my drink. Mitch and I exchange glances. Has she swapped one addiction for another? Is she doing it to punish him? Herself? Why?

  Then Amy starts to chat with me about her piercings. She tells me that the one on her mouth is not painful and can be removed. She opens her mouth wide to show Mitch and I both sides of the piercing. Then she shows us the piercing on her nose.

  ‘This one I did it myself …’. She sees my expression, and adds, ‘No it wasn’t that painful …’

  Then she tells us that she didn’t have a problem removing the piercing from her nipple. ‘But the one I have here’ – she points to her vagina – ‘is harder to remove. But one day when I had sex with Blake – when we finished – I looked at the cushion and found the piercing lying there … It just got out.’

  She continues to talk about Blake, who is currently suing for divorce and is also alleged to have got another woman pregnant. From the way she discusses him, in a dry, detached tone, I don’t get the impression that it is her one and only obsession to see him at that time. But my feeling is that she does not actually understand that a real divorce is happening back in England. On the other hand, Blake’s name is obviously not taboo. Not even in Mitch’s presence – Mitch, who has been pushing for the divorce – trying to save her.

  Later Mitch confides to me that he is worried because Amy is such a lovely warm person that she speaks to everyone about everything and anything. This is a new problem for Mitch: ‘I am anxious [about] whom she is going to speak to, so my worries have changed slightly. Whereas six months ago my worries were different.’

  ‘Six months ago you thought she might be dead?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t know about that – but she was certainly on the verge of being ill, so … the progress that she has made has been astonishing.’

  ‘You say she speaks to everybody openly. She doesn’t have the judgement, right? She is too open.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Mitch says quietly.

  ‘It’s still a very bumpy road …,’ he says to me. ‘There have been many relapses [since around Christmas]. She didn’t [give up drugs] all of a sudden; she was talking about it for two or three months. Then she checked all the options and favoured going to substitute drugs.

  ‘Look, there will be more relapses,’ he continues. ‘But who would believe, six months ago, that we’d be at this stage? That she’d be walking, laughing, hosting dinner for you, singing? It’s amazing. My daughter seems
happy.’

  But is she happy, I wonder?

  On the island, over the next few days, Mitch seems to continually waver between telling everyone how much better Amy is doing – that she’s wonderful, especially now she is finally about to start recording – and then becoming more and more edgy about the forthcoming jazz festival and Amy’s condition.

  He says, ‘Why did I agree to this? Maybe she should never perform … just record. … It is like it used to be. But instead of drugs, it is alcohol. She will never be better.’

  wake up alone

  On the night of my birthday, Amy hugs me as we make the short journey between our villas. She has pulled out all the stops, and has dressed up in high heels and a minuscule dress. So tiny that it has upset Mitch.

  Amy holds onto me, complaining as we walk together: ‘My Dad thinks it is too short.’

  ‘But of course!’ I say to her, ‘All Dads are like that. They [do] not like their daughters to look … inviting.’

  And I add that she should take it as a compliment because she looks so sexy. Amy loves this and suddenly what she has previously perceived as a rejection by Mitch is turned into something more positive.

  As I start greeting friends, I overhear Amy telling someone, ‘Daphne said I am sexy. She said I am sexy!’

  We open a bottle of champagne to toast my birthday. While everybody is waiting to be served, Amy drinks one glass – bottoms up – in one rapid swallow. She then looks at me and, obviously recalling my tongue-in-cheek request of earlier that day, she starts to sing – imitating Monroe’s famous ‘Happy Birthday, Mr President …’.

  For a few seconds, the shaky insecure Amy of moments earlier becomes so powerful, so strong. I am relieved that she still has such a fantastic voice and is such an obvious talent. We give her a standing ovation. Amy bows to me; then to her father and our friends.