What Happened, Miss Simone? Page #7

I did something, and she just...

she went off on me

in front of everybody,

and I didn't show any emotion

because when Mom...

when Mom would see you cry,

she knew she could

push your buttons.

That's what she wanted,

and I would not

give her that satisfaction.

When she would hit me,

I would look her dead in her face...

and she'd be like,

"You better cry. You better cry."

I wouldn't do it.

Times got really bad,

to the point where

I thought about committing suicide.

So, when I was 14,

I flew to New York,

and I wound up living with my dad

and I never went back.

After we broke up,

a lot of things happened.

She didn't file taxes.

She didn't take care of business.

She lost the house in Mount Vernon.

Everything went crazy.

She lived a nomadic life,

having no manager, having no husband...

but she always said living in Africa

was the happiest time in her life.

She could just be there, enjoy herself.

She didn't have to sing at all.

She wasn't playing piano

and she wasn't performing.

She said she hated the piano.

She hated it.

Think about it. She's playing since

she was four years old.

On the other hand,

she was very well aware

that in Africa, no money came in.

So she had to pick up her career again.

She didn't want to return

to what she called,

"The United Snakes of America."

So she moved to Switzerland,

which was the complete opposite of Africa,

and the first thing she did

was the Montreux concert.

You on yet?

Do you hear all those noises?

You didn't forget me, huh?

That's... That's what's so wild,

you didn't forget me.

I didn't expect you to,

but I'm tired.

You don't know what I mean.

And there are many people

in show business who said,

"Oh, she... You know,

she used to be a star.

She's gone all the way to the bottom,"

and all kinds of crap

which means nothing to me at all.

I hope that you will see me

or see the spirit

in another sphere, on another plane

very soon now.

And again, I don't wanna let you down

and I get this feeling.

So I think the only way

to tell you who I am these days...

is to sing a song by Janis Ian.

Hey, girl, sit down!

Sit down!

Sit down!

In Switzerland,

there I had no money.

I never got anything from Andy.

He just cut himself off from me

and I was left high and dry.

So I left Switzerland and I went to Paris,

thinking that I could resume my career.

I did it alone

and I landed in the wrong place.

I was working every night

in a small cafe for about $300 a night.

No, we just do "Vous Etes Seuls."

It goes like this!

I was desperate

and no one believed that I was there.

I was too big to be there.

No one came to see me.

And I had fallen from grace.

I'm sorry that I didn't become

the world's first black classic pianist.

I think I would have been happier.

I'm not very happy now.

I wouldn't change being part

of the civil rights movement.

I wouldn't change that.

But some of the songs that I sang

have hurt my career.

All of the controversial songs

the industry decided to punish me for...

and they put a boycott

on all of my records,

and it's, uh...

hard for me to incorporate

those songs anymore

because they are

not relevant to the times.

In terms of the civil rights movement,

how far have we come?

There aren't any civil rights!

What do you mean?

There is no reason to sing those songs.

Nothing is happening.

There's no civil rights movement.

Everybody's gone.

I met Nina in 1967

and I've been her friend all her life.

She called me in 1982

and she was here in Paris,

living in a very small apartment,

hardly with any money.

She did concerts of four hours long

at Trois Mailletz, that nightclub,

and she got

a few hundred dollars a night.

And that was the worst period.

I visited her in that little apartment

and it was so dirty,

so I cleaned it all up and,

"Nina, you can't live like this,"

but at that moment,

she was still uncontrollable.

This thing in the Grand Hotel

in Paris happened.

Somebody looked her

in the eyes a bit too long,

and she was already a bit nervous

and she kind of... made a movement

and I thought, "She's going to hit him."

Immediately, my arms around her,

and I dragged her out in a taxi

and I said to the taxi driver, "Drive!"

When I saw her in Paris, she was like

a street urchin dressed in rags.

I couldn't believe what was happening

and I was really, really sad.

Gerrit and I, we knew

something was very wrong,

and we were trying to figure out,

and like, "What is it?

What is it, really?"

So Gerrit found her a condo

in Nijmegen in Holland,

and Gerrit had a friend, a doctor,

that he brought to Nina's place,

and the doctor examined her

and asked her questions,

and he prescribed a medication

which was kind of new... new spectrum,

called Trilafon.

It wasn't till I was in my 20s

and I went to visit her in Nijmegen,

that's when I learned the term

"manic-depressive" and "bipolar"

and I remember asking,

"Well, what is that?

What do you mean by that?"

And her mood swings

and a lot of the things

I dealt with earlier in life

when, you know,

one minute she'd be happy

and then the next minute...

I'd be dealing with someone

that wasn't in the room five minutes ago.

It started to make sense.

She got so deep

in the sh*t in the end

that she realized

it's either dying or give in.

And she gave in

because we said, "Nina...

we'll get you a house,

we'll get you your musicians,

we'll make the things

all right around you,

we'll book your concerts...

but you have to do as we say.

You have to take your medicine.

You have to work.

God has given you the possibility

to be able to do what you do, so do it!

The only thing we want to hear

is either 'yes' or 'no.'"

And she said,

with tears in her eyes, "Yes."

When I saw her,

I was very concerned because

she had a... a nervous tic.

You know,

she'd be talking or sitting and this...

Her mouth would always be twitching,

and when she would walk,

it was more of a shuffle.

And I'm like,

"What's going on here?"

You know, "Why...

What's going on?

What am I missing?"

And they had her on medication.

She started taking the Trilafon

and the doctor said,

"Through the years, it's going

to have an effect on her motor skills.

Her voice is going to start to slur

and her piano abilities will decline.

You can deal with that

or you can deal with her probably

damaging herself or someone else."

But the Trilafon really helped.

I mean, there were times in Holland,

sitting on her terrace

in these lounge chairs

and just holding hands...

I mean, she was like...

She was my sister.

And not talking at all for hours,

just enjoying the day.

And I suppose that medication

enabled her to perform

and fulfill the business dealings

that were taking place

so that her career

could get back on track,

but there were times

when I questioned that,

you know,

"But what about her heart?"

Because at the end of the day,

you guys got wives and husbands and lives,

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