Life Is Not a Fairy Tale (8 page)

Rico and I didn’t want to spend the night on the floor of the Georgia Dome, and our cousin, Junebug, lived in Atlanta. We decided to go over to his house, eat, and then come back early in the morning so we could at least get a good meal and a good night’s sleep. The next morning we arrived back at the Dome to find that the doors had been shut.
Locked.
The guards had been instructed to not let anybody else into the building. There were too many people in the Dome, and the producers were worrying about how they were going to keep order when so many people were coming in and going out.

There were about a hundred people outside the Georgia Dome, cryin’, cussin’, and yellin’ at the security guard, who just kept sayin’, “No one else is getting in.” We all had been told that we could get back in that morning, but no one expected it to be so many people, I guess. The scene was a mess. Everyone else was carryin’ on, and I just started cryin’ to myself and prayin’. I prayed aloud, “Lord, if you can get me in that door, I will change my life.” I prayed, but we still were not gettin’ in. Rico and I left the Dome with all of those dreams draggin’ behind us like a torn tail.

I cried all the way to the car, and once I got into the car, I pulled out a cigarette to calm my nerves. I had been smoking for a couple of years. It was what I saw all the people around me doing to “calm their nerves.” I needed one at that moment, so I picked up my pack of cigarettes. We got back to Junebug’s house, and I called home to tell my family what had happened. Everyone at the house said, “Go back!” I told my mother, “I’m not going to make myself feel even worse by bein’ turned away a second time.” Sadly, I said, “It just wasn’t meant to be.” I hung up the phone slowly and almost before the call had disconnected, Daddy was calling us back and saying, “Go back to that Dome! Go back! You hear me, you go back!” That force in his voice brought me right back to all the years that his voice made me shiver with the excitement of having a real daddy in our house. That presence that he always had was still there after all those years. Not wanting to disappoint my father, Rico and I did as we were told. We even said, “Yes sir!” Rico and I drove back to the Dome.

We went back, and the security guard from the night before who mentioned my lip piercing saw me and motioned for me to come to the door. He said, “Did you audition yet?” and I said, “No,” and he said, “I’ve got to get you in there.” He went back in and came back out with one of the producers from
American Idol.
All those thousands of people had gone home, and I was the last person to get into the building. And I was the one who wasn’t supposed to get in at all.

The judges were exhausted. I had prayed on this and this was my last chance—for everything. I walked onto the football field. There were twelve tables lined up on the field with three judges at each table: a producer and two production assistants. It was at the end of the day, and the Georgia sun was setting slowly. I walked up to the microphone, introduced myself, and sang Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly.” I felt confident and started to feel the emotion of the song and ignored the fact that there were two other contestants singing at the same time in front of the other tables nearby. I could feel my three producers listening to me. I was in my own world. The producer simply said, “Fantasia, you are going on to the next round.” I wanted to shout, but all I said was, “Oh my God, God, I thank you. God, I thank you.”

I ran to Rico. He hugged me and we went back to the car. The pack of cigarettes was sitting on the passenger seat. I looked at them, considered having one in celebration, and then threw the whole pack out of the window. I had made a promise to God and He had kept His promise to me.

Two weeks later, everyone came with me for the next round of auditions. This audition was not in the Dome; it was in a building in downtown Atlanta called Americas Mart. It’s a large warehouse about thirteen stories tall. This is a building that showcases art exhibits and flea markets. This set of auditions was held on two floors of the industrial building. I went to the registration desk and got my number. I was nervous this time. All of the “beautiful girls” were there with their outfits and their long hair and light skin. I was not feeling confident. All those feelings of ugliness that I had when I was in school—I was too dark skinned, big lipped, and skinny—came over me. The beautiful girls were flippin’ their hair and flauntin’ their boobs. I just knew one of them would win. Girls like that are
idols.
I was just a good singer.

There were two parts of this audition, and it was held over two days. The first day the contestants waited in a room that was on one of the lower floors of the building. That was called the holding room. Two contestants were taken up at a time to perform in front of the executive producer and more production assistants. Five contestants were taken from the holding room to be “on deck.” I didn’t know what a holding room was, but I figured it meant that it was almost my turn. Those five contestants waited on the five folding chairs outside of the audition room door. This audition required that you have a nicer outfit than the last. J.B. bought me an outfit. It was nice, but it was nothing compared to what the other girls had on. Some looked like they had already become the American Idol.

I wasn’t really sure what I was going to sing. I had practiced a couple of different songs. I worked on songs by Mary J. Blige, Aretha Franklin, Natalie Cole, and Tina Turner. Tina jumped into my spirit, and because I was needing confidence that day, I sang her classic, “Proud Mary.” Once I started singin’, I felt strong and energetic. I was “rollin’,” just like the song says. After I sang, the producer said, “Fantasia, you are beautiful. I love your name. You are the one.” The judge pointed his finger at me and repeated, “Fantasia, you are the one.”

The next day was the big one. I was going to sing for the folks you see on TV—record producer Randy Jackson; recording artist Paula Abdul; and record executive (and infamously nasty man) Simon Cowell.

While watching the contestants in front of me, I listened to the answers they were giving in response to the simple question “Why do you think you should be the next American Idol?” Everyone was talkin’ all over themselves, saying dumb things like, “I have worked so hard and I have been singing all my life and that’s why I should be the American Idol!”

I decided I wasn’t going to say anything like that, because the judges were bored of hearing it over and over again. I walked up to the mic and said, “My name is Fantasia Barrino. I have a two-year-old daughter; her name is Zion. My lips are big, but my talent is bigger.” The judges were shocked that I was so bold to say what everyone was thinking about my lips. They laughed nervously but didn’t know how to respond, so they asked me about my child. One of them said, “You have a child?” I said, “I do,” and they asked, “What are you going to sing, Fantasia?” I sang a Marvin Gaye song, “I Heard It Through the Grapevine,” and Simon said, “Fantasia, you are going to Hollywood.”

My whole family—my mama, my daddy, J.B. Grandma Addie, and Zion—were all waiting in the hallway, givin’ me so much love and kisses when I came out of that audition. We were all takin’ pictures and smiling like folks who had never smiled before. It was all a blur. It was amazing how life can change in one moment. Suddenly, I had hope.

Out of the 42,000 contestants who were seen in seven cities, 117 were going to Hollywood. When we arrived in Hollywood, we were placed in a hotel near the Pasadena Civic Center, where we were going to perform. I had never been to Pasadena before. I had never been to California for that matter. The sky was so blue it looked fake. The palm trees towered over everything, and it felt like I was walking through a cloud. I prayed for God to keep me from burstin’, I was so excited.

We were immediately given a roommate. My roommate was the same age as me and she was female. That was the criteria for roommate selection. My roommate partied the whole time. All of this stuff had happened so fast to me. I was having to deal with so many people and all these personalities. It was all new to me. Back home, everyone was the same. I was seeing and dealing with types of people that I had never even imagined before. It was exhausting. I couldn’t even think about partyin’. I just needed to get my rest and tune out this whole week of auditions. Every day after I did whatever I needed to do for
Idol,
I would go back to the hotel, call my family, say my prayers, and go to sleep.

I heard one of the producers call this week “boot camp.” It was crazy. This was the time that the producers could see who had real talent, not just people who could sing in the shower.

The first audition you can pick any song you want and sing it alone. That was simple enough. I chose another R&B classic that my mother used to sing around the house, and I knew it well after hearing it for years on end. The song was called, “I Try” by Angela Bofill. The song was all about lovin’ a man who doesn’t love you. I sang the song, remembering everything my mother and I had been through. My heart felt every note.

For the second audition, you had to write a song on your own. I can’t even remember what I came up with, but it was soulful and allowed me to show my “big vocal,” as my mother calls it. I was getting the swing of this process, and it was feeling easier to me. I was reaching my comfort zone. I was singin’! Although the number of contestants was now only 117, there was still craziness. Managing all of the auditions, comments, judges, and egos was a lot to handle. Most of the days were spent auditioning at the Pasadena Civic Center, practicing for the next round’s assignment, or at the hotel, trying to prepare your clothes for the next audition. Because
American Idol
is a TV show, everything about the process is being taped. Everywhere you look there is a camera in your face. During the aired season, often clips of the audition process are shown, especially if the people make it to the Top 12, which is when the professional stylists and makeup artists start working with the singers. Before that, we had to do our own hair and makeup, which is scary, especially if you have never been on camera before and don’t know how you’ll look. Some of the people that I was competing against were from New York City and Atlanta. Those people know about fashion and clothes. They know how to make themselves look good. They compete against other people every day. I didn’t feel like I had looked good for the past three years, since before I had gotten pregnant.

Just like the producer said, those auditions were like singin’ boot camp. Instead of being told to do push-ups at a moment’s notice, you were asked to perform a particular style of song that has to be prepared in less than a day. Sometimes these songs are performed in a group and other times you are asked to sing a solo. You have to be ready to do whatever they ask. It helps to have lots of different kinds of songs in mind because you have very little time to learn anything. The folks who know lots of different styles of music have a better chance. Because I had been singing in church my whole life it wasn’t that hard for me to put on a smile or make people shiver with a song. That is what church singin’ is all about. Also, because I grew up around so much music, I knew lots of songs and lots of styles. The different singing assignments were my push-ups.

After the first day, I started seeing people messin’ up. They just weren’t ready for this kind of singin’ on demand. That made me feel bad for them and scared for myself at the same time. I knew I could do it, but you never knew what would make the judges eliminate you and send you home. We were expected to do some sort of an audition every day of this first week, and every day people were cryin’ and goin’ home. Even when we weren’t auditioning we were being watched by all of the producers who were checking out our vibe, checkin’ to see if your spirit was in the wrong place, and makin’ sure that you weren’t catty and unprofessional. I saw girls sent home for not remembering their lyrics, guys messin’ up with their harmonies in the group exercises. One girl was sent home because she wasn’t “connecting with the audience.” The producer told her, “You can’t be a performer if you aren’t connecting with the audience. You have to go home.”

After each audition, whether it was a solo or a group piece, we would have about a twenty-minute break to eat or get something to drink. Then you were paired up for your next assignment, whether it was with a vocal coach for solos or with other singers for your group assignment. What was so hard about all of this for me was all these TV folks barking orders because everything is moving so fast, telling me what to do and where to be. I wasn’t used to people who took their work so serious and knowing exactly what they wanted. I didn’t know how to take them sometimes. I couldn’t even joke with them to calm my own nerves, so I just listened as hard as I could and did what they said. And I kept seeing a steady line of people going home every day.

After 6:00 p.m., officially, we were free, but we usually used that time to practice some more or we could go out with the new friends that we had met. I never went out. I was too nervous that I would oversleep the next morning or forget what I was supposed to do or forget where I was supposed to be early in the morning. I had to work
hard
to concentrate. I hadn’t concentrated so hard since the eighth grade. I don’t think I ever concentrated before, really. I was having to listen to directions twice as hard to hear what the producers were sayin’. There were so many different room numbers and times and group numbers, I was scared all the time that I would mess up by not showing up or going to the wrong room at the wrong time and be sent home.

One day we got a half day to go shopping. It was time for the last set of auditions before the final cut to thirty-two people. My roommate asked me if I wanted to go with her, but I had no extra money and Mama didn’t send me with a credit card, so I told my roommate that I had to practice something for my solo at the end of the week. I went to my room and cried, knowing that I didn’t belong in this fancy competition with all these people who could go shopping when they wanted. I didn’t belong in this competition because if they didn’t make it, they had something else that they could do with their life. This was all that I had for my life.