Jenifer Lewis - Walking in My Joy: In These Streets

Aint no shame in my game. This is what too much stress looks like. Yall come on and take this ride with me. Courtesy of Jenifer Lewis

To Ruby & Hart Campbell

To Kendrick Johnson

And you? When will you begin that long journey into yourself?

attributed to Rumi

THE BEST PLACE TO GOSSIP on a studio set is while you are in hair and makeup. Even before I open the big white trailer door, theres a certain glow about it, daring me to spill all the tea. On the black-ish set, hair and makeup is a sweet, safe space full of warm lights, high directors chairs, and air that smells of glamorous perfumes and too-expensive products. The glam squad, as I like to call them, is always ready to engage in the whispers.

Araxi, my hair stylist, is everyones favorite. Shes a sister. Unapologetic. Never malicious, but insanely fun to giggle with about whatever absurdity is buzzing on set that day. For whatever reason, her sacred spirit and the intimate walls that hold us in that space make people pour out their deepest, darkest secrets. Po bastids.

On this particular morning in January, more gossip was floating around the set than Id heard in years. I mean, I had barely closed my eyes before I was inundated by it. Im not one to complain, and God knows I love this job, and after eight years we are family, but truth be told, sometimes I wish people would just shut the fuck up. As I slipped my earbuds into my ears, I heard the door slam, hard, behind me. Whoever it was would undoubtedly be fired. Didnt they know Araxi could have a hot comb to my head?! Then I was subjected to a high-pitched Jenifer Lewis?! from a little, sweet production assistant working the morning shift. Now, that fucked me up, because here I am, minding my own business, damn near snoring in the makeup chair, and I still cant catch a break. What in the world could this little girl need? I thought, Bitch, please oh please, its 6 a.m. Stop all that gotdamn hollering.

Miss Lewis, Kenya Barris needs to see you, she said through her huffs and puffs, having done a fifty-yard dash across the Disney lot.

Well, tell him Im finishing up in hair and makeup, baby girl! I got thirty minutes left in this chair.

No, he wants to see you see you. Like, in his office. Now.

See me see me? AW, SHIT. In the office office? Oooooo. This better be a fucking raise. Did black-ish have more green-ish for me in these Disney streets? I wrapped one of those bright green Ruby Johnson scarves around my head turban style, put a lime-green helmet on top of it, slipped into my matching green robe, and stepped outside to mount my little red cruiser bike, looking like a combination of Erykah Badu and an insane Margaret Hamilton from The Wizard of Oz. Heading over to Kenyas office, the whole time I was thinking, What the fuuuuck? Why is this nigga making me pedal my ass all the way over to the production offices by the Disney water tower? What in Gods name could be so important?

I finally pulled up to Kenyas office and was ushered right in. He was camouflaged behind his big white desk, spitting words into his cell phone, with gold diamond chains dripping from his neck. Running Hollywood. The king of it now. He signaled for me to have a seat. Then he put one finger in the air and mouthed, One minute, Jenifer. Im wrapping.

I surveyed the room and decided on a sofa. I reclined on it like Cleopatra. I looked up at him as if to say, What up?! in the most intimidating way. He looked back at me warmly, the only way he ever has, with a smile reserved just for me. Kenya is self-assured. Hes smart. Large and in charge. Hes the creator of black-ish, grown-ish, and mixed-ish. His show #BlackAF, basically broke the internet. Hes done more in his years than most do in a lifetime. But listen: Kenya Barris is not my elder, so trust me when I say I did not give a FUCK that he had summoned me. I just kept thinking, What are you getting ready to do, baby boy, fire me? The whole world loves Jenifer Lewis. My fans will burn this bitch to the ground. Say something! I came from nothing and Ive saved all my money, so if Im about to be fired from black-ish, the entirety of Hollywood can kiss my ass.

He finally hung up the phone. Jenifer, ABC has called me three times today. They want to offer you your own show. Old-ish.

Did this mothaFucka just call me old? And did he just say that a primetime network television studio wants to give me my own show? I had dreamt of this moment my entire life. Saw it in my minds eye. Wished and worked and waited for so long. I sat up, stunned and still. The last time I had sat straight up like this was on the streets of New York City when George C. Wolfe called me himself to offer me a part opposite Meryl Streep in Mother Courage and Her Children.

Yet for some reason all I could see at that moment were the faces of Anthony Anderson and Tracee Ellis Ross as they dragged their asses to Stage 4 at five oclock in the morning, exhausted but dedicated to their sixth scene of the day. I mean, these two actors were in their forties, summoning the energy to do seven scenes a day. And here I was, in my wisdom years, sitting in front of Kenya Barris, trying to hide how fat my stomach was. Would I be able to hold up? It took these mothaFuckas sixty years to make me this kind of offer. What if I didnt want to be number one on the call sheet anymore? What if I didnt want to be sitting on a suffocating sound stage twelve hours a day, bones stiff and body weary from sleep deprivation? But then again... what if I did? It was thrilling to have somebody offer it to me.

The rumor all over town was that I was stealing the show. Even the trades printed it: BLACK - ISH S JENIFER LEWIS IS A SCENE STEALING GRANDMA . To that, I say, No shit, bitches. Ive stolen every scene in every show Ive ever done. They should have thought about that before they hired a living legend.

Ladies and gentlemen, I should pause here and confess that in my visualizations I have sat for hours in the lotus position on top of the Great Pyramid of Giza and prayed for humility. Instead of Ohm, I would repeat to myself, Be humble, be humble, be humble. Shit didnt work, yall.

After a few moments of silence: Jenifer. You cant tell anyone. Think about it. But dont tell anyone until we can shape this thing.

You know how it is when you finally get offered what youve always wanted. Be careful what you wish for. I felt a sense of doubt bubble up from deep inside of me. Was this offer too good to be true? My entire life Ive dreamt of superstardom. Im talking about that Michael Jacksontype shit. Ive almost tasted it so many times, the A-list. Back in 2002, when they were casting Chicago, I remember waiting for the call to play Mama Morton. There was no one in Hollywood more qualified than I was. I had practically grown up on Broadway. Surely I would be first on the list. Guess what? I didnt even get an audition. The phone never rang. Next thing I knew, all the trades were announcing Queen Latifah as Mama Morton. Dont get me wrong. I love me some Tifah. Thats my girl. The way she draws an audience in with her warmth is one in a million. Plus, sister girl can saaaaaangg, and she deserves everything she has gotten. I never have been able to conjure up that warmth. Fuck you, Queen.

Old-ish might give me a chance to make that name for myself. I sat there, feeling insanely accomplished but, in the same breath, scared to death. Having my own show would surely take my career to another level, but all my senses were telling me to run as far and as fast as I could. Why hadnt they offered this to me in my thirties, forties, or even fifties, when my brain could still memorize lines? I was fried. I was bruised from being overlooked.