I Ain't Scared of You (10 page)

I don't know!

Another time, I was somewhere playing golf. A brother came up to me, he said, “Bernie Mac, what's up man?”

I said, “What's up, brother? How you doing?”

Then he gon' ask me: “Where Steve Harvey and Ced at?”

Like we sleep together or something! We ain't connected at the hip, muh'fucka. I don't know.

Brothers hold you so close to everything, it's amazing. If you sing a song, you can't have imagination.

We take things out of context. Everything is real to us.

But I don't think people care all that much about who I am. Muh'fuckas don't remember all that “he was funny” shit. They
don't care about the person behind the act. They just wanna know your business.

Muh'fuckas want dirt on you. They want to hear somethin' bad.

I'm sure people talk shit about me. “That muh'fucka make me sick.” Because they know I'm gonnna make it rough. They know I ain't bullshittin' when I get on that stage.

Niggas are afraid, a lot of them, because they don't work at it. I don't even know a lot of their names. Hearing the names of comedians today is like listening to the weather bureau: Earthquake, Tornado, Snowflake, Hurricane. There's Pierre and T. J. Smooth.

People come up to me and say, “Bernie Mac, Bernic Mac! I love you, man. My nephew's a comedian. Ever heard of Boxhead?”

Not a whole lot of people have gone out of their way to help me. I mean, Phyllis Hyman was truly a blessing to me. She hooked me up with my first really big gig, out at the Hollywood Bowl in LA years ago. And there have been others, too.

But there haven't been too many comics who have done a lot for me. I'd go to the amateur room and people would play me to the left. A lot of the other comics had their cliques and shit, and I wasn't really a part of all that. I mean, I was cool with a few guys, but not too much so. Hollywood was a muh'fucka. I got rejected so many times in Los Angeles.

I can go all the way back to Damon Wayons and
Mo' Money.
I had gone out for a part in the movie, but I didn't get it, right? But later, the people involved with the movie told me that they really liked my work and that Damon was going to give me a part in the movie. And this was when Damon was hot.
In Livin' Color,
his HBO comedy special, he had all that goin' on. Hot as hell.

So not long after I read for that part, I was back in Chicago hosting at the Cotton Club like I did every Monday night, and Damon came to my club. I walked in the back; he was there. We started talkin', and he told me, “All right, I'm gon' out you in my movie.”

Man, don't you know, I was a
doorman
in the movie
Mo' Money?
All I did was open the door.

He's hookin' me up, right?

I don't think I said, “Uh-huh” in that muh'fucka. I ain't say, “Come in,” “Please,” or nothin'.

I was a
doorman!
I could've at least asked, “Who is it?”

Everytime them white folks go up there on those award shows and get their trophies, they don't never give thanks to God. Because they think they are God. They have control. They control your destiny. They sit there and they tell you if you live or die. And the blacks believe that. Hispanics and Asians, they ain't got nothing coming. And if you do get a role, you a ho. You gon' be a drug dealer. Or you gon' be a snitch.

Then you have the blacks go up there to get their awards: “First I'd like to thank God who made it possible . . . What's up, mutha-fuckas? What's up, yo! To the people, man. Sho' you right! Ray-don, Jerky, Samuel, Lil' Wee-Wee. I'm comin' home, baby! I want to thank God, though, for real. For real!”

But in Hollywood, blacks know what we're up against, so ain't no reason to keep getting angry. How many times have we seen this? So why does it still bother us? I done seen every side of prejudice. I done went on an audition, went into a room, and ain't nothing but blacks there—for one role: Jamie.

Niggas ask you, “What you here reading for?”

“I'm reading for Jamie, nigga!
He
reading for Jamie.
She
reading for Jamie.
We all
reading for Jamie!”

“And he die in the beginning of the movie. So I hope y'all die good, whoever get the role—because you gon' be a dead mutha-fucka.”

Sho' 'nuff, three minutes into the movie, Jamie dead.

Pow!

That be your only line.

And after you done been in a movie like that, you're so embarrassed. Your friends be like, “I thought you was in the movie.”

Because you know black folks ain't coming at the beginning. A fourth of the movie is over and we got to scoot past a muthafucka. “Sit down! Sit down!” “I left my coat. Excuse me one more time.” “Damn!”

When we get there, we chewing all loud and shit, talking to the movie.

And then when the movie ends and they don't see you, they talk about you.

But he was in it—you just missed him. He dead. When you get the movie on videotape, you see.

I ain't complainin' about my success; I grew up hard, so to have the money and fame that I have achieved is all gravy. This stuff is just the cherry on top.

But that doesn't mean that everythang is cool. It's hard sometimes when you've made it and people see that. People use you. They try to get stuff outta ya—especially money. I don't mind doing it for somebody I care about, but people take it too far.

They play psychological blackmail. Instead of just coming out and telling you something—“Bernie, could you help me with my rent this month?”—they throw innuendos:
“Sigh
. . . I don't know
what
I'm gon' do, man.”

They want you to say, “What? What's wrong?”

I don't say nothing.

They say it a few more times: “Yeah, man . . .
sigggghhhhh
. . . I don't know
what
the fuck I'm gon' do . . .
Sigghhhh
. . . Shit's deep.”

I still don't say nothing. They waiting on me to say, “Man, what's up?” But see, I learned—don't say shit.

Then they'll say it loud. “Don't make no got-damned sense, man. Shit! Pretty soon I'm gon' have to get a trailer! Man, moving gon' be a bitch! Muthafucka gon' try to put us out first thing in the morning! I ain't gon' worry about it, though.”

I ain't either. I just stay quiet.

They keep goin': “Aw, man, you know, landlord
trippin'.”

I'll go onto something else: “So how ya kids?”

I'm so good, I know the bullshit when it come. The phone'll ring . . .

ME:
Hello?

PITIFUL VOICE:
Hello?

Bernie Mac and daughter Je'Niece at her graduation.

Soon as I hear that voice, I'm already like, “Here it come.”

What the fuck you beggin' for if you so damn blessed then?

If you blessed, why you cranking and moaning and bitching?

Man, more people come to me for money. Bullshit money. And they don't never pay you back. Bullshit money is if they need a thousand, I give 'em five thousand. If they need five, they come for ten. And they can't just come at you with one problem. They gotta have a whole list of bullshit.

You lie on your daughter? Lie on they own
kids!
Now, I don't mind helping you, but when you get to that, you bull-shittin'.

I used to be into giving people money for Christmas. I'd get my family over here and just give out checks. You know, I just wanted to keep the family thing going.

One Christmas, everybody was over. We had just got our house. People in the basement talkin', opening presents. I came downstairs, and I heard my family member talkin' about, “How much he give
you
?”

Muh'fuckas was comparing! “We got more last year, didn't we?” “Hmph . . . Muh'fucka cuttin' back.”

Betcha I won't do that no mo'. I cut that out—and that was three years ago.

When I ask for the money back, it's not really that I want the money back. I just be trying to get control over the situation. Because if you don't stop them, it gets out of hand.

He just came crying three or four months or a year ago.

Now? He won't even call you. Won't even mention it to you. Just stop coming around. Now when you see him, he got a fucking attitude.

What the fuck is he short about? He owe me money—but now he don't want to speak.

Then when you ask him for it, he throws your success at you.

Hold on! See, that's the front. Talk all loud, try to make me feel bad.