Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,18

Lear. As it turned out, Lear respected her. When she flew to L.A., he attended her audition. On the spot, he offered her the role. But, he said, she had to understand a key element: she would be playing the wife of the first interracial couple in the history of prime-time television. Her character, Helen Willis, is married to a white man whom she’d have to kiss. Would that bother her? Instead of answering, Mom pulled out a picture of Dad. “This is my husband,” she said. Lear smiled. The deal was done.

Back in New York, she said she’d have to return to Hollywood to shoot the pilot. I wasn’t all that happy. Did that mean we’d be moving to L.A.? That was the last thing I wanted. I was about to go into sixth grade, the “senior year” at P.S. 6, the school I’d been attending for five years. Sixth-graders had the most status and the most fun. I also didn’t want to leave my friends at school or my friends in Bed-Stuy. I didn’t want to leave Grandpa Albert and Grandma Bessie.

Not to worry, Mom said. Lots of pilots are shot, but most never get picked up. There was an excellent chance this would simply be a one-time trip to the coast. She’d be back in a week. Let’s just take it one step at a time.

* * *

That week, I was alone with dad. With Mom gone, all the good vibes were sucked out of the apartment. It was gloomy and gray. All Dad could do was get on me about every little thing. Without my mother, my mind was a mess.

When she came back, there was still no word on the fate of The Jeffersons. First, the pilot had to be aired. On the night of the premiere, Mom, Dad, and I, along with Grandpa Albert and Grandma Bessie, sat on our living room couch and watched the show on our television set. It was great seeing my mom in the role. She was a natural. The part was made for her. I was proud. Half of me was rooting for the show to be picked up, while the other half was rooting for things to stay the same. I was dying to be a sixth-grade big shot.

It wasn’t long before the word came down. The pilot was a hit. The audience response had been overwhelming. The network committed for a full season.

What did all that mean?

Mom said it meant that she and I would be leaving soon for L.A. Dad would join us later. I’d be going to school in California.

No time for reflections. No time for objections. Things were moving so fast my head was spinning. Excited, angry, anxious, curious—I experienced every emotion under the sun. Our life was being turned upside down. We didn’t know what was coming.

SUNSHINE AND SMOKE

MOVIN’ ON UP

Where is everyone?

That was my first thought when I woke up in Santa Monica, walked out on the balcony of the apartment, and didn’t see a soul. I could smell the ocean. I could see palm trees in every direction. But no one in sight.

It was 1975, I was eleven, and Mom and I were living at 2901 Fourth Street in the apartment of Aunt Joan; her husband, Bobby; their daughter, Heather; and Joan’s mom, whom we called Sarge (short for sergeant). Everyone was afraid of Sarge, a bossy woman who could get Max, the family schnauzer, to piss and shit on command. Sarge was scary, but also lovable. At this point, Aunt Joan had gone rock ’n’ roll. She sported a blond pixie cut and metallic thigh-high boots. She was space-age funky and looked like she belonged in LaBelle. Aunt Joan had come to love L.A.

I didn’t. Santa Monica seemed desolate. I was used to the sounds of honking cabs and roaring subways. The quiet was eerie. The Pacific was only a few blocks away, but I couldn’t hear the waves or see the sand. I felt lost.

We were staying at Aunt Joan’s because my mother wasn’t sure that The Jeffersons would last more than a season. Always practical, Mom wanted to economize. That meant she and I slept on a pullout bed in the living room. I didn’t mind. I was used to sleeping with Grandma Bessie. Besides, before we fell asleep, I liked helping Mom learn her lines. I played the other characters. When I read their parts too blandly, she’d say, “Put more feeling into it!”

It took me