Excerpt from Variety Online. June 26, 2002: Exclusive Interview with Sassy Gloss
Cassidy “Sassy Gloss” Holmes is a slip of a girl. She hardly looks like someone who would command the attention of eighty thousand people in a stadium, but it helps that she is one face of four in a pop phenomenon that has taken the world by storm—Gloss, the quartet behind hits such as “Wake Up Morning” and “What Did U Say.” Since their eponymous 2001 album shot straight to number one on the Billboard 200 for seventeen weeks, starting in June of last year, Gloss has consumed Holmes’s life. She looks seventeen but is actually twenty, her vulnerability exacerbated by her recent injury that also captivated America’s interest.
When asked about her broken arm, which she has tended to gently throughout Gloss’s second stadium tour for their second album, Prime (2002), Holmes grows serious. “I know there have been rumors about what happened to my arm,” she says. “People have been terrorizing my ex [university student Alex Hernandez] about hurting me. This couldn’t be further from the truth. He never touched me in any harmful way.”
Her arm now completely mended, Holmes smiles and works her hand methodically, as if to show me that she’s all in one piece. “I’m fine, really. It’s Alex and his family I want to reach out to. I’m so sorry that Alex was implicated and judged for this accident.” She implores the public to stop bothering her ex, who was recently hospitalized for an unrelated car accident. I reached out to the family but they did not respond.
She continues, “He is one of my best friends. I just hope that he can forgive me for taking so long to make a public statement.”
What prompted Holmes to finally address the issue now, after weeks of silence? Her brown eyes grow cold. Holmes, dressed in a gray cashmere sweater and Juicy Couture jeans that hug every curve, wraps her arms around herself even though it’s still a hot summer’s day in Los Angeles. “I sometimes don’t understand why my team instructs us as they do,” she answers hesitantly. “I usually trust their judgment. This time, I think they were wrong.”
30.
July 2002
L.A.
Cassidy
Sassy Cassidy Claims “NO FOUL”
Sassy Gloss Interview: “He’s Innocent”—But Is He?
When Women Cover for Their Abusers: What Are the Reasons? A Psychologist’s Look into This Phenomenon
IF HE’S INNOCENT, WHY WAIT TILL NOW? What Else Is Sassy Gloss Hiding?
It didn’t matter. I’d explicitly stated that Alex wasn’t responsible, yet people didn’t believe me. His family wouldn’t respond to the stories, Alex himself wouldn’t answer my phone calls, and I wondered if it had even been worth going to the press at all. Now the subject had been dredged up again, and even worse, updates were printed, spread thickly in newsprint: Alex Hernandez, once accused of abuse, was likely to never walk again. Even worse, with this permanent mark on his name, Alex would likely never fulfill his dream to serve on the city council or become governor or president. This rumor would follow him around forever.
The whole thing made me sick to my stomach. My insomnia grew more agitated; I had to take several sleeping pills a night to soothe my guilt. My eating grew even more erratic—food tasted like ash and it hurt to swallow.
We played our last concert in Philadelphia, moved on to Kansas City, played Duluth, Charlotte, Nashville, and ended in Chicago. We flew home to Los Angeles, where, I’d hoped, we would have a longer break before finishing the Midwest and the rest of the nation. And all the while, the other girls were angry with me for skipping a show and taking over the piece that was supposed to go into Variety.
THEY TRICKLED INTO the label meeting, loud and already in mid-conversation with one another. I walked in by myself and sat apart from everyone else.
Stephen St. James appeared with Peter, surprising me. My gaze jumped between the two men, wondering why Stephen had shown up at a Gloss meeting. Instead of sitting down immediately, Stephen ambled over to my seat and leaned against the conference table. “Hi, Sassy,” he said, nonchalantly.
I immediately looked down at my hands, jittering my fingernails on the laminated table. I tried to ignore him and concentrate on breathing. “Hi, Stephen.”
“I saw the piece you did in Variety. Riveting stuff.”
The implication was clear. Say anything else, give a hint of what Stephen was really like, to anyone, and he’d make my life a living hell. He knew where I lived, he knew where I worked.
“Thank you,” I said, throat tightening. He tipped his hat and moved to the opposite side of the table.
Yumi was there to take his place. She sat next to me and hovered in my personal space. “Cassidy, I know I’m supposed to be pissed at you about the Variety thing, but I have something to tell you too.”
I glanced up at the source of the voice. My eyes focused on her, slowly.
She blew out a breath. “It was me.”
All I could do was blink. “What do you mean?”
“While you were gone, I talked to Rose.” Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “I mentioned how I didn’t understand why you would go visit Alex and do that interview after what he’d done, and she told me that he had been framed as a person he was not.”
I cut my eye across the table and saw Stephen, turned away and chatting with Peter, thankfully.
“When you were getting ready for the Oscars and I let Alex in—”
“Please stop talking.”
My eyes were back on the table. I really did not want Stephen to overhear this. And as much as I wanted to know about Yumi’s involvement in everything that had happened, I knew that if I learned any more of it, I would blame her just as harshly as I did myself.
“I only did it because I care about you and thought—”
I made a hard gesturing motion for her to stop. She hesitated, but obligingly shut up and sat down. Peter clapped his hands to start the meeting.
It was about the Pacific leg of the tour, but I couldn’t focus. Yumi was the one who leaked. No wonder she had been so adamant that Alex was guilty. Peter snapped his fingers in my face to get my attention again as he spoke. “We had lined up some local talent for Australia,” he said, “like we did for your Asian shows. But because of some conflicts with our Oz team, we have had to restructure. You’ll now be traveling with a fellow Big Disc client—and one of my new clients as well. Stephen St. James.” The rest of the room clapped politely, their gazes in Stephen’s direction, but I couldn’t move. My stomach felt like ice.
“Stephen, any words?” Peter asked, opening the floor up to him.
Stephen stood. I continued staring at my still hands, but in my periphery I could see his long torso and his elegant, tapered fingers hooked on the loops of his jeans. “I’ve always admired you ladies for being able to travel the world. As y’all know, I’ve been under the Big Disc umbrella for a while but my old manager always wanted me to stick to the Southern states. I convinced Peter here to take me on so I can expand my reach. I know I’m more country than usual, but I’ll be promoting my new album, which is more of a rock crossover.”
Peter added, “It hasn’t been announced yet, but Sing It is going to let Peter Vincent Management have first pick of any winners starting from season three.”
Merry said, “That’s great, Peter,” and the meeting ended on many congratulatory notes.
It took all of my willpower not to storm out. Was this why Peter had been avoiding our calls last month? He had been busy setting up this new contract with Stephen? When the rumor had come out that Alex had broken my arm, I could imagine that Stephen confided in Peter about what had happened, and Peter, in his infinite wisdom, had allowed the lie to persist. Maybe he even fanned the flames. Anything to keep his new paycheck in the public’s good graces.
The tour had been a godsend in that it kept Stephen away from me, in different states or on another continent. Even though there were only four Australian dates, it’d be a week of spending time alongside him. How was I supposed to deal with this? I felt the sting of betrayal deep in my marrow.
I arrived home to an empty house—Emily was still dog-sitting Penny—and dragged myself up to the master bedroom. All of the cushioned armchairs, soft carpets, sand-colored tapestries hanging all over the walls, dampened sound on the second floor. My feet made no noise as I placed one in front of the other, body weary, until I reached the bed. Anxiety consumed so much energy. I was spent.