Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,45

be lucky to graduate high school.

I loved staying at Tracy’s. He became like a brother to me. We have the same sense of humor and could finish each other’s sentences. His mom, Dorsay Dujon, was cool, and his brother, Mark, was funny. Compared to my father’s boot camp, the Oberstone household was paradise. Dorsay was gone all day, so we could do whatever we wanted: listen to music, make music, skip school. Mark had the best weed, the best bong, and a serious stereo system. The mini fridge in Tracy’s bedroom was stacked with beers. We stayed up as late as we liked.

There was, though, a negative side. I quickly learned that for Black people, life in Beverly Hills, one of the richest enclaves in America, could be treacherous. This hit home for me when Tracy, Mark, and I pulled into a gas station. Out of nowhere, three squad cars came roaring in and surrounded us. Guns drawn, they ordered us out of the car and forced us facedown on the ground.

Then, just as they were ready to get rough, up popped Mrs. Freeman, my history teacher, a kind woman who’d always let me leave class to play music. She stood up to the cops, demanding to know what was going on. The police said a car matching ours had been used in a robbery, but when Mrs. Freeman insisted that they double-check their information, they learned that they’d made a mistake. Without Mrs. Freeman intervening that night, we could have wound up in jail—or worse.

Instead, we went back to Tracy’s duplex and dealt with the incident by treating ourselves to a lavish homemade dinner. We barbecued steaks with tater tots. I cooked my specialty, shrimp scampi. To add to our sense of sophistication, we pooled our money and bought a few bottles of Royal, an imported Holland brew that came in an opaque designer bottle. Buzzed on beer, we put the police drama behind us.

* * *

While I was living with Tracy, he had an audition for a stage revival of The Me Nobody Knows. The director was George Wolfe, who’d later gain fame for Jelly’s Last Jam and Angels in America.

Tracy and I went to the theater together. I waited outside while he went in to read. A woman holding a clipboard asked if I was there to audition. I said no. She told me she worked for the casting agent and wanted to know if I could act and sing.

Well, yes.

She liked my look and urged me to try out.

I figured I had nothing to lose. And I figured right. I got the part, and Tracy didn’t. I was worried he would be upset, but being a seasoned pro he was cool.

The Me Nobody Knows had originally opened in 1970 in New York, featuring twelve inner-city kids (eight Black and four white), each of whom sang a song. Each tune defined his or her character. It was an interesting dramatic vehicle and good enough to win an Obie. Tisha Campbell was in the cast of our revival. Tisha had these hazel eyes I couldn’t stop staring at. She also had the most beautiful singing voice and the sweetest personality. A working professional since she was a little kid, Tisha had been one of the stars in the original Broadway production of this very play. She was a Jersey girl from East Orange, and her street smarts and swagger gave her an attitude I found sexy. I suppose I caught her eye, too, and we started flirting. Next thing I knew, we were making out on the floor during a party at a cast member’s place in Hollywood.

George put on a number of scaled-down productions for backers, but the backers didn’t bite, and the revival never ran. The run was over, and Tisha had to go back home to New Jersey. We were in love, and I told her I’d come see her as soon as I could. I kept my promise.

* * *

Another obstacle to my newfound freedom: my GQ party operation with Dan had long ago run out of steam. The gigs had stopped. That meant finding any kind of job I could get.

Louis Smallwood, the friend of Mom’s who’d brought me to Africa, had just bought a “you buy, we fry” fish joint called Leroy’s, located on Washington Boulevard and Rimpau, where locals bought their red snapper, turbot, catfish, sand dab, and flounder. Louis hired me as a counterman. I seasoned the orders with cornmeal