The Last Black Unicorn(51)

But sometimes, my friends make the threats for me.

One time, this promoter flew me and my friend Marlow up to Seattle. He was supposed to give us our money before we got onstage. He gave us half our money:

Promoter: “I’m gonna give you the rest when you get off.”

We get offstage, we finish the show.

Promoter: “Okay, I’m gonna give you the rest of your money when we get to the hotel.”

But we didn’t go to a hotel.

Promoter: “Okay, we got to go to a casino right quick, and then I’m gonna take y’all to the hotel.”

So we at the casino, he buys us some drinks and runs off, and the next thing we know, it’s five o’clock in the morning, our flight’s supposed to leave at 7 a.m.

Promoter: “Aw man, can I write you a check?”

He was a reputable promoter, so we said, “Yeah okay, write us a check.” So he wrote us a check, dropped us off at the airport. He had printed out our return tickets home. We went to check in, ain’t no ticket, ain’t no flight, nothing.

There’s nothing for us to get home. So we start calling, we blowing up his phone:

Promoter: “What do you mean, there’s no ticket? There’s a ticket.”

Tiffany: “Motherfucker we are not calling you because we want to talk. THERE’S NO FUCKING TICKET. You sure we at the right airline?”

Promoter: “YES! My homegirl work at Southwest, she sets me up, she do everything, that’s the only airline I use.”

Turns out, homegirl canceled everything. Why? Because she caught him with another bitch the day before. He neglected to mention that shit about his “homegirl.”

Marlow was having none of this. I don’t know who Marlow called, but the next thing you know, an hour and a half later, the promoter showed up at the airport, and he paid cash for these tickets. And he gave us the rest of our money in cash.

Promoter: “Marlow, please don’t have that man call my phone no goddam more. I don’t want no problems, and I ain’t never booking y’all for nothing again. Please, just leave me alone and let me live my life.”

Marlow: “Yeah, motherfucker, we don’t never want to do your shit again, treating us like shit ’cause we women. If we was men, you wouldn’t treat us like this, motherfucker!”

I never asked Marlow who she called. I just know that Marlow’s from Compton, and she knows a lot of motherfucking gangstas. She knows Suge, all them. I don’t know who she called, but I will tell you, this promoter had the fear of God in him.

All this shows, it’s really hard as a woman in comedy. But I don’t want to make it out like all dudes is bad. Some guys are amazing. Like Kevin Hart. He’s like, my comedy guardian angel.

There was a time, early in my comedy career, when I was homeless. I was living in the Geo Metro. I used to be homeless in Beverly Hills, and I thought, If I’m homeless, I’ll be homeless with class. Keep my nails done. Keep my hair pretty, baby wipes, I’m fresh, it’s okay. I’m in Beverly Hills. As long as I’m sleeping in Beverly Hills, I’m safe.

I pulled up to the comedy club one night, and Kevin Hart saw all that shit in my car.

Kevin: “What the fuck is going on with you?”

Tiffany: “Nothing. I’m good. I’m just in between houses.”

Kevin: “No. What the fuck is going on?”

I told him what was up. I cried and everything, I opened up to him.

Kevin: “Tiff, you can’t be living like this. You a pretty girl. Like, you a beautiful woman. Why are you living in your car? Any dude will be happy to let you live in his house.”

Tiffany: “I’m not fucking for a roof. I fuck people to heal them. Okay? I’m a healer. That’s why I fuck, not for no roof over my head. I got a car. I got a roof.”

Kevin: “Tiffany, you crazy as fuck. You should not be sleeping in your car. Here is $300, get yourself a hotel room for the week.”

That was so nice of him, and I should have been more appreciative, but I had to point something out:

Tiffany: “What? I cannot get no hotel room nowhere for no week for three hundred bucks?”

He told me to write out a list of the goals I wanted to accomplish, like what I want out of life. I wrote the first thing on my list, “I want my own apartment.”

The next day, I got a phone call from one of our mutual friends:

Friend: “Girl, there’s an apartment for you. You should check it out. Kevin talked to some people, you should go check it out.”

I went to check it out, and like—it was wack. The neighborhood was terrible. There were crackheads everywhere. It straight looked like the Walking Dead set or something. I pulled up to the apartment building. There were bars everywhere.

But I had this weird feeling—this place is secure. It’s safe.

I ended up taking the apartment, and I fixed it up, and I still have it. The neighborhood is actually really nice now.

All thanks to my comedy guardian angel, Kevin Hart.





Tiffany’s True Hollywood Stories


Scientology


I think everyone who lives in LA has a Scientology story. Mine is pretty short. A lot of people think it’s funny, but I didn’t at the time. I still kind of don’t.

I don’t remember how I found Scientology. They offered me a place to stay for free, and this was during the period I was living out of my car. They said they would give me $50 a month to live there, and they would help me become a superstar.