Backstage at The Price Is Right: Memoirs of A Barker Beauty (11 page)

Chapter 18

The New Me

S
ince Dian and I were the two primary swimsuit models, Sherrell Paris informed me before we went on our ten-day break that when we resumed taping, I would be the principle swimsuit model until we found a replacement for Dian, and I needed to make sure my body was in tip-top shape. The models were periodically chastised or given notice to lose five pounds, more or less, from either Barker or Sherrell when we had ten days of downtime. This time, it was of a more serious nature since Dian was gone. I would be expected to wear less to impress.

I had always maintained a respectable weight throughout my younger days. Being active in sports, cheerleading, stage performances, acting, and modeling gave me incentive to look and feel my best. I was proud of my little waistline and voluptuous 36-24-36 body, but I had to work hard to maintain it. The older I got, the more it became a struggle to keep my perfect size eight, which, from time to time, would spill over into a size ten. When I could no longer fit into my “perfect jeans,” which I used as a measuring stick for weight gain or loss, I would kick into high gear and get my butt hard pressed for a serious, rejuvenating workout and controlled diet. My standard weight-loss program was to work out every day for two hours, no carbohydrates, and no eating after 7:00 p.m. When I needed to lose weight urgently, the almighty cascara sagrada colon cleanses worked wonders. I often resorted to a liquid fast to get the weight off in a hurry. Purging, like so many other runway or print models who were pressured into losing weight overnight, was never an option for me.

To deliver the primo body they wanted, I immediately began a very stringent diet and workout program that drove my family absolutely crazy. I love to cook, and my family loves my cooking, but I couldn’t cook for them in the way that they were accustomed, so they had to fend for themselves or eat my special “rabbit food” diet. I woke up at 6:00 a.m. every morning and began my first of three workouts for the day. My favorite all-time workout video was,
Jane Fonda’s Step Aerobics and Abdominal Workout
. I knew this video backwards and forwards and had it in my arsenal since 1980, long before my daughter, Cheyenne, was born. This was my go-to workout video, my number one guaranteed lose-weight-get-in-shape video. I got back into shape from the birth of my son in 1989 by working out with this video, which, in essence, had enabled me to land my position on
TPIR
in 1990.

Every day at noon, I headed for Bally’s Total Fitness, where I had a personal trainer who drilled me rigorously. We worked every inch and area of Bally’s facility—and my body. I am from the school of hard knocks, and I wasn’t about to give in to his taunting or harsh comments about me just being another pretty face with no drive to make it happen. I worked my ass off to prove him wrong. In the evenings, I ran five miles after dinner. The end result: I lost ten pounds in ten days.

As stated by film director, Frank Lloyd, “I know the price of success: dedication, hard work, and an unremitting devotion to the things you want to see happen.” When I returned to work, I felt great as a fabulous size six. The production staff was pleased to see that I had taken this challenge seriously, and my buddies on the crew where equally as pleased to see the new me.

Meanwhile, Holly was busy removing Dian’s pictures backstage from the prop boxes, behind the stage doors, anywhere her photo was visible. Holly was having a field day; she’d found it fun and exhilarating, until it was pointed out that the prop boxes were the personal property of the prop guys, so she had no choice but to return the photos to the rightful owners, if she hadn’t already torn them up. All other photos backstage and the main
TPIR
group photo that was hung at the entrance of the CBS Wall of Fame, where the VIPs and employees walked, eventually came down per Barker’s request.

The atmosphere backstage took on a new, refreshing feeling after Dian had left. It was almost as if a black veil had been lifted. As much as I thought that I would miss her, I had mixed feelings about her leaving. I felt a little betrayed about her decision to pose nude, once again, for
Playboy
and was appalled by the release of her Playboy Celebrity Centerfold video. Posing nude in an artistic fashion was one thing, but I had to draw the line at sex simulation for millions of people to see. When the Playboy Celebrity Centerfold video was released, someone on the production staff brought it into the Green Room for a private viewing during one of our breaks. As everyone crowded into the little space available, the video began to roll. It started out harmless enough, but became truly scandalous and embarrassing to view amongst mixed company. I wanted so much to defend my friend’s decision to perform in this video, but I couldn’t. As I viewed this exhibition of simulated sex, the hairs on the back of my neck began to rise, while something else rose for the men in the room.

After Dian’s exodus, we, the three remaining models, were content with the way the show was going and preferred not to have a fourth model added. However, this was never an option. The producers knew from day one that a hot, sizzling blonde firecracker was essential to the show to fill the void. Thus, the new model search began.

We all knew it was going to be a difficult and tedious task to find someone to replace Dian, but we welcomed the challenge.

Chapter 19

Losing Someone You Love,

My Dad

T
here is a primal connection between smells and periodic and long-term memory in the brain. Our senses of smell and taste bear unique burdens of memory. When you smell a certain scent, it feels as though you’ve slipped back in time and you’re actually at that scene again. Certain aromas are pleasing and bring back wonderful memories, while others are not so pleasant.

On February 27, 1994, I can remember exactly where I was when I heard the devastating news of my father’s passing. When I arrived home from work, my husband greeted me with our usual hug and kiss. I then gathered the laundry from the dryer and went into my bedroom to fold the clothes. It was my way of relaxing and a good way to wind down after work. The fresh floral scent from the laundry detergent, combined with the lavender and jasmine fabric softener dryer sheet smelled heavenly.

When Terrence came into the bedroom I could sense a little discomfort in his demeanor as he cleared his throat and said, “Hey, honey, your brother Scotty just called and said your dad had another heart attack and his friend Yolanda drove him to Youngstown Southside Hospital. The medical team tried desperately to resuscitate him for well over fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, he didn’t make it.”

My father had a pacemaker for several years and was at high risk for heart failure. It was shocking news to hear, but not a total surprise. My father was a heavy drinker and smoker for the majority of his life, but when his pacemaker was installed he tried so hard to maintain a healthy diet and follow the doctor’s orders.

I lost all sense of reality. I really think my hearing shut down as I slowly sat down on the floor in silence in front of the sliding mirror doors that lined the length of one of the bedroom walls. At that moment, I froze in place. Terrence came over to hold me and he, too, was at a loss for words. He and my dad were very close and had a great father/son-in-law relationship. I was speechless and wished that I hadn’t heard him correctly, but I knew that I had. Terrence sat there with me and explained a little more in detail about what had happened. I didn’t cry right away. I couldn’t because the realization that my father was dead hadn’t firmly set into my brain. Despite my disconnection to the world, I remember inhaling the fresh floral scent from the laundry with each breath that I took, which was very soothing.

Oddly enough, I diverted my attention from my dad for a moment and said to Terrence, “This is Monday, and we have two more days of taping before the week is out
.
There are only three models now since Dian left. If I don’t show up for work, there will only be two models to hold down the fort.”

The quest to find a fourth model to replace Dian was underway. So many thoughts were racing through my mind:
The show and its real-time taping and rapid pace were designed for at least three models; what’s going to happen during the Showcase Showdown at the end of the show? There’s usually a model behind each of the three doors to display the prizes, and what if all three doors need to be opened simultaneously?
To be quite honest, what happened next was somewhat of a blur. It felt as if my head was about to implode. I couldn’t think clearly.

I didn’t want to miss too many shows for two reasons: first, would I still get paid if I didn’t come to work? While we did receive paid sick leave, I didn’t know if there were provisions for bereavement. I suppose I would find out soon. The second reason was that I didn’t want my fans to miss seeing me for four consecutive shows or more. I rationalized and came to the conclusion that I would go to work the next day and get through the day the best I could, and perhaps, just miss taping on Wednesday (only two shows). How fortunate for me that the following week was our dark week (our week off), which bought me more time to recover from my loss.

As the evening wore on, and after I had talked to other family members, particularly my mother, who was always an optimist and a pillar of strength, the reality of our loss finally sunk in: our father, Albert Nathaniel Bradley, was gone. I began to cry and couldn’t stop. I decided that there was no way that I could make it through the entire day at work and not break down when someone either from the cast, crew, or the production company would hug me and convey their condolences for the loss of my father. It was going to be difficult for me to contain myself, given my fragile state of mind, knowing my emotions would be shot to hell.

Everyone had the pleasure of meeting my mom and dad on several occasions when they would come to the studio and sit in the audience during tapings. My mom and dad had divorced in 1991, but remained good friends. I imagined that since Dad lived in Ohio and my mom had been living in Los Angeles for many years since they first separated, it helped them to maintain their friendship. My dad was so proud of his only daughter, the middle child of four boys. He had never stopped bragging about me to his buddies back home. I was Al Bradley’s daughter, the first black Barker Beauty on the number one daytime game show,
The Price Is Right
! As a matter of fact, everyone in our hometown was proud of me and claimed me one way or another as their kinfolk—the Italians, blacks, and whites.

Later that evening, I finally called Sherrell to let her know what had happened to my dad. She advised me to stay home and be with my family. She, in turn, called Phil Rossi and informed him of this unfortunate news. Phil called to reassure me that they would make it work with two models or call someone in temporarily to take my place. It was rather comforting talking with Phil on this level, as we had a more business-like relationship on the set. He also reassured me that I would be compensated for the shows that I missed, and I could take all the time off that I needed. But taking too much time getting back, under any circumstances, was probably not a good idea. I knew how they operated at the studio—you’re here today and possibly replaced tomorrow!

My siblings were scattered throughout the United States. My eldest brother, Mark, has travelled the world, having lived in India for several years and cohabitating in about twenty different states. He was now living in Ohio near Dad, with his wife, Patti. Mark and Patti were raising three of his five children, Markandeya, Cintamani, and Narayana. At the time of Dad’s death, Mark was a student at Kent State University, studying African literature. Oddly enough, he was in the library, writing a poem that was later read during Dad’s memorial.

Second in line was Scotty, who lived not far from me in Burbank. He was married to his sweet Rose. Scotty graduated from college with a degree in electronic engineering from the University of Akron in Ohio and was a Vietnam veteran. He moved to Los Angeles in 1975 and was fortunate to land a great position at McDonald Douglas Aircraft; he worked there for almost seven years.

My younger brother Robert lived in Dana Point, California with his princess bride, Parvati, from India. He worked at Price Waterhouse Cooper as a senior multimedia specialist, and Parvati worked for Reuters America. They both made the long, one-hour commute each way into downtown Los Angeles every day. They never had any children, but enjoyed coming home to their two fluffy Himalayan felines.

My baby brother, Ronald, resided in Charlotte, North Carolina with his wife, Lisa. Ronnie was a proud Marine who served in the Marine Corps Avionics from 1982 to 1988. He worked at Digital Equipment Corporation as a digital equipment software engineer and did programming for Fortune 100 companies. Dad was proud of all of his children’s accomplishments.

One of my fondest memories was from when I was ten, when my father had returned home from work, his overalls smelling faintly of soot and fire from working his eight-hour shift at the steel mill. He was a little tired, but very receptive when my younger brother Robert, who was only eight, and I ran up to him and pulled him into our bedroom for a big surprise. Mommy was already seated in a chair, waiting for Daddy to join her. I broke Mark and Scotty up from their friendly tussling on the living room floor and invited them into the bedroom to fill the seats. Robert and I hung twin sheets by string as curtains from wall to wall in front of the wooden toy chest, which served as our platform. We turned the lights off and used the rotating Christmas tree floor lamp as our spotlight.

It was show time! We parted the curtains, and I stepped out and said, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to our show. We have some great entertainment for you this evening, and we hope you will enjoy it. Please welcome Robert Allen Bradley, singing ‘Chances Are’ by Johnny Mathis.” After Robert finished his first song, he introduced me, and I sang “Dedicated to the One I Love,” by the Shirelles. When it was Robert’s turn again, he sang “Poison Ivy,” by the Coasters. My second song was “Stormy Weather,” by Lena Horne. I knew Mommy loved that song, as well as the movie of the same name. She looked like Lena Horne’s twin sister. This was, for her, so beautiful.

Robert and I shared the stage near the end with our rendition of “Shimmy Shimmy Ko-Ko Bop,” by Little Anthony and The Imperials. We really got off on singing the words “shimmy shimmy co-co
pop
, shimmy shimmy
pop
,” over and over, with emphasis on the word “pop,” which was, in fact, “bop,” but who cared at the time? Mommy and Daddy were delighted and applauded enthusiastically, while Mark and Scotty were anxious to continue their horseplay and ran back into the living room.

Mommy had Ronald later in life, almost nine years after Robert, shortly after a miscarriage. I remember seeing Mommy lying in her bed, shaking and shivering uncontrollably and perspiring heavily. My daddy was by her bedside, trying to keep her warm while dabbing her with a washrag. It was disturbing and unpleasant to see this amazingly strong, beautiful woman just lying there, helpless and in pain. Although Daddy was the consummate provider for the Bradley family, Mommy was the superglue that held us together during the good times and hard times. We were all too young to realize what had just happened to Mommy, to Daddy—to our family.

“Stay here with your mother for a minute,” said Daddy, “I have something to do, and I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going, Daddy?” I had asked, suddenly frightened.

“Just out back, honey. I promise I’ll be right back,” he’d said. He then gathered a crumpled towel from the floor that appeared to have blood on it. I sat there awhile, holding Mommy’s hand as she began to fall into a deep, much-needed sleep.

I later found out from Mark that he’d followed Daddy outside to the backyard and watched him dig a little hole and place the crumpled towel into the ground while on his knees, and he wept as he covered it with dirt.

Several months later, when we found out that Mommy was pregnant again, I was so happy. By then, I was eleven years old and wanted a baby sister so badly. I was tired of my knuckle-headed brothers fighting all the time. Mommy went into labor, but Daddy was at work and unreachable, so Aunt Marguerite, Mommy’s sister, who lived next door, came over to take her to the hospital. I was so excited and didn’t want to miss out on the arrival of my new baby sister. Before Aunt Marguerite and Mommy could make it to the car, I snuck into the back seat, where I lay low and remained very still. As Aunt Marguerite drove to the hospital, she helped Mommy stay focused and calm. My heart was pumping a mile a minute, as I thought,
What have I gotten myself into now? What’s going to happen to me when I’m discovered?

Just as she drove up to the emergency entrance and before they could get out of the car, I popped up and scared the shit out of them. Aunt Marguerite yelled at the top of her lungs, “What the hell are you doing in here? You damn near scared us to death! What’s wrong with you, sneaking in the car?” I couldn’t say a word. I just sat there and started to cry. Mommy was in labor and was ready to go inside. Aunt Marguerite, still shaken and pissed-off, said, “Grab your mother’s bag, and come on.”

After a short while, Daddy made it to the hospital. When he found out what I had done, he just shook his head, hugged me tight, and laughed. I could do no wrong because I was his baby girl. When the doctor came out and said, “Congratulations, Mr. Bradley. It’s a boy!” I was so hurt and disappointed. I cried for two days.

My father, just like his father and his brother, worked at Youngstown Sheet & Tube, one of the largest steel manufacturers in the world. It was that way for almost every young male who grew up in the area. Every father expected that his son would one day work there if he didn’t get drafted into the service or if he wasn’t college bound. Steel mill towns were drab, gritty, and suffocated in smoke, but were guaranteed work places, surrounded by economically thriving communities. Our steel mill was our pride!

I remember when my brother, Mark, came home from his first day of working at the steel mill. He was covered in soot, black from head to toe. He was exhausted and could barely make it into the house. Mommy and I looked at each other and broke into hysterical laughter, we couldn’t contain ourselves. We were accustomed to seeing our good-looking, tall, dark, and handsome young son and brother, coming through the door dressed to the nines with an incredible swagger, looking like
The Mack
—but not that day. Mark’s middle name was Romero, named after the actor Cesar Romero. Now how fine was he? My mother was enamored by Cesar Romero and probably would’ve named Mark “Cesar Romero Bradley” if Daddy had allowed her.

Mommy immediately motioned to Mark to dispose of his dirty clothing downstairs in the basement and throw them into the washing machine. Daddy was far removed from this type of homecoming, as he had worked his way up the ranks over the twenty-plus years that he had worked there and was a glorified crane man. He poured the hot steel into a ladle from a crane. Mark’s first day working at the steel mill was his last day.

Quite frankly, I think the hourly wages at the steel mills were more lucrative than that of our local bankers. Daddy worked at the Brier Hill location, which closed in 1979 as part of a wave of steel mill closings that devastated the Youngstown and surrounding areas’ economies. The United States had sold us out and started ordering steel from Japan. This forced Daddy into early retirement with full benefits, which he didn’t mind one bit.