Way, way  back in February 2014, powerhouse songstress Jennifer Holliday strolled through the doors of KSHB-TV to appear on Kansas City Live. At the time, I was the stalwart co-host and absolutely giddy that a diva of her stature would grace our show. To be honest, I don’t even remember why she was in town. Some philanthropic singing gig. The details are as consequential as a Blockbuster late fee.

Do I remember the interview? Nope.

I do, however, remember everything else.

Including the literal horde of gay men who suddenly — and inexplicably — materialized in the studio that morning. Some were co-workers. Some were fans. Some were, I’m fairly certain, on Holliday’s glam squad. How they all got in there, I’ll never know. I suspect at least three bypassed security by rappelling down from the ceiling.

As a giddy gay man myself, I felt the universe had aligned. She was an icon. The woman could rip the roof off an amphitheater with a single sustained note.

Fast forward to this past spring, when Holliday returned to KC for a fundraiser benefiting another local icon, Melinda Ryder. After spending months in the hospital, Ryder was facing mounting medical bills, and Holliday didn’t hesitate to step in. In fact, the fundraiser was Holliday’s idea. Wanting to help a dear friend, she graciously offered to perform. It turned out to be an unforgettable evening of support for KC’s most revered drag queen. (The fundraiser surpassed the $5,000 mark for Ryder, who is beloved far and wide in the metro.)

Meanwhile, I was tapped to host the Q&A before Holliday’s performance.

Why?

Because she and I had history.

And I was fairly certain … chemistry.

It also helped that I’ve been interviewing celebrities for 30 years.

Before the event, I scheduled a quick phone interview for a groovy feature story in The Pitch KC. I was my usual jovial self.

Jennifer Holliday was — for lack of a better term — not having any part of it. At all. Whatsoever.

I opened by joking that she was coming to Kansas City not only to perform but because she was secretly excited about our World Cup festivities.

“No,” she replied. “I live in Atlanta. It’s going on here too.”

When I mentioned KC was thrilled to be hosting for the first time, she countered with all the enthusiasm of dial-up internet.

“Six or seven states have it.”

The interview didn’t go downhill after that. It drove off a cliff.

I kept trying to steer things toward lighthearted banter.

Me: “How did you end up in Atlanta?”

Jennifer Holliday: “I moved here.”

Aaaand, scene.

Eventually, she made it abundantly clear she’d prefer I stick solely to the topic at hand: the 45th anniversary of Dreamgirls.

So, I did.

Religiously.

Except for when I whimsically pivoted and asked, “Does Jennifer Holliday have a go-to karaoke song?”

I figured she’d play along. Readers, she did not.

That’s when I realized there was zero joy left in Whoville.

(Mercifully, the Pitch article was carefully curated and actually did us both justice.)

At the tail end of the interview, I casually mentioned I’d written a book about the celebrities I’d interviewed and that she was in it. She asked the title.

“You! Have! Four! Minutes!“ I said proudly.

Then I added that she’d actually given me twenty minutes today, so technically I owed her sixteen minutes back.

Crickets.

Less than a week before our big onstage interview, I got a call from the venue.

Jennifer Holliday wanted someone else to interview her. Apparently, she didn’t like what I’d written about her in my book. (Well, that — and our pre-interview had all the warmth and charm of a root canal.)

I nearly threw up. Naturally, I assumed I’d written something marginally offensive. (Happens.)

Curious what I wrote?

Buy the book.

I kid.

Here’s the vignette:

“Tony and Grammy-winner Jennifer Holliday does not suffer fools lightly. Gays, maybe. Fools, no. When she showed up to tout a charity performance, I noticed an abundance of my gay co-workers and their friends circling her like chum in the water. Who the hell let them in, I wondered? We never had looky-loos in the building.

To be honest, I had completely forgotten about her status as a beloved gay icon. I was more worried that her perfectly coiffed, perfectly curled 325 lb. wig might topple over during our 10:15 a.m. segment.

Instead of sitting in the green room, Holliday slowly ambled her way around the studio in gravity-defying stiletto heels, poking her way through the show’s kitchen, the control room, and the news set. She was, I guess, soaking in her surroundings. Her gaggle of tittering gays were not far behind — each desperately clamoring for her to make eye contact with them. In slow-motion, I watched one of them gather enough chutzpah to ask her for an autograph. He wanted Holliday to sign his arm. Or his back. Or any body part, for that matter. He was as subtle as a train wreck.

She refused. Her curt, flat “no” hung in the air like descending napalm. And then she folded her arms in defiance. The room — which was now covered in a thin sheet of ice — went silent. Holliday then continued her painstaking promenade up to the interview set, sat down, and held court with me for the next five minutes. I didn’t know whether to bow, curtsy, or kiss her ring. All hail, Ms. Holliday, dasher of dreams and deflater of egos.”

Now, I can’t say for certain what pissed her off. Although, I’m guessing the “325 lb. wig” quip officially took me off her Christmas card list.

For the record, I did compliment it.

Twice. (Shout-out to her wig-dresser.)

So, there you have it.

Jennifer Holliday allegedly purchased my book.

She seemingly took umbrage.

And I lost an interview because of it.

Worth it?

Honestly … maybe. (Okay, definitely.)

Because while I didn’t get to interview Holliday for a third time, I’d like to point out the biggest takeaway in all this:

JENNIFER FREAKIN’ HOLLIDAY BOUGHT MY BOOK.

(I think.)