Lillias White may pay the rent, but her rescue dog, LaKee, is undeniably the host and star of the house, a very crowded one-bedroom apartment on the top floor of a Harlem building.
LaKee (pronounced “Lucky”), a Chihuahua mix, is the first to answer a knock on the door — way ahead of Mrs. White or Bengal cat Mr. Jaxson Ifya Nasty. And she is first at the entrance to greet visitors. Diffusive.
To be clear, Ms. White, 72, star of the Tony-winning musical “Hadestown,” is warm and inviting. (See the show now, it airs March 17.) But it’s a daily battle not to be swayed by LaKee, even considering Ms. White’s many Broadway credits (“Fela!,” “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying’, ‘Once on This Island’ and ‘Chicago’, among others). her awards, notably a Tony for her performance as a roadie in the 1997 musical “The Life.” and her solo experiences (she will teach a cabaret master class on Y 92nd Street in early March).
Mrs White moved into the flat more than 30 years ago, at a difficult time in her life. “My two children and I were living with my mother in Coney Island because I had lost my apartment in Brooklyn,” she said. “I was divorced and lost everything.”
Lilias White, 72
Occupation: Actor
Clear the decks: “I have a storage space a few blocks away. When I get caught up in clutter, my niece comes and helps me get rid of things.”
“We were there a few months,” he continued, “and I applied to move to different places and I applied to this building. I knew someone here who knew someone, so my name came up on the list and my friend said, “They have an apartment for you. You have to get up here to see it.”
The messy kitchen had old cabinets and older cockroach droppings. Mrs White wanted two bedrooms, but the only flat available was a one bedroom. However, it was a good size and rent regulated. It also had a terrace, and even on a not-so-clear day it seemed like he could see forever.
“The view took me. It was a good old-fashioned view of New York,” Ms. White said. “I just felt it would be a good space for my kids and me. I told people “I’ll take it”. And a few weeks later, when I got the keys, I left my children with my mother and came here and cleaned. And I cleaned up. And I prayed.”
Along the way, there were stretches when he wasn’t working and unemployment — such is the life of an actor. “It was a blessing to have this apartment,” she said, “because the rent was reasonable and I was able to survive and take care of my children.”
Furniture and basic household items were the casualty of divorce. Mrs. White’s mother donated some blankets, and the local Goodwill store came up with a round wooden dining table and four matching chairs, a bookcase and a Plexiglas-fronted cabinet. They’re all still here.
Mrs. White then bought two brown leather couches at Costco. One remains. And recently, he discovered the charm of La-Z-Boy. “It’s the most comfortable thing ever,” she said of her new off-white leather sofa bed.
He put in new flooring in the kitchen and replaced the cabinets — “Ikea, but very functional.” He also bought a new stove. And a few years ago, he had a carpenter make cutouts of the African continent on pieces of wood he uses as radiator covers.
Here and there are posters, shutters and pictures of Mrs. White as she appeared in “Chicago,” “Fela!” and “Life”. But her passions extend far beyond the limelight. She has a thing for mermaids. Two, of metal mosaic tile, hang on the walls. Another is on a shelf.
She is also deeply fond of elephants. When August Wilson’s ”Joe Turner’s Come and Gone” finished its run in Los Angeles, Ms. White, a cast member, lobbied for a piece of the set: a stained-glass transom with a pachyderm.
It sits on the living room windowsill, next to an emaciated female figure that Mrs. White had seen and admired at the counter at Amy’s Bread, a bakery in Hell’s Kitchen. “I regularly patronized them because they sent unsold bread to the surrounding theaters and distributed it backstage,” he said. “He was polite and courteous. I would go to the store and the owner would always have this statue sitting there.
“He didn’t know who the artist was or what the figure represented,” he continued, “but to me it represented strength and support, because it’s a woman with a halo of what I think are teeth. And she has wide hips and is held by some material. I really liked it and when the owner died he wanted it.”
On an overcast day in late January, a few roses were hanging on for dear life on the porch. “They don’t know if it’s spring or what,” said Mrs. White, a devoted gardener.
He’s also been doing some indoor weeding — cleaning out a closet he wants to repurpose as a recording studio for voiceover work. “I’ve been here for a while – hence the mess,” he said, looking around the living room.
One such combination between couches and shelves is lined with exercise equipment, fans, a vacuum, an air purifier, stacks of Wee-Wee pads for LaKee, a flat-screen TV, and an illustration of Mrs. White rescued from the trash: a policeman and a black kid enjoying sandwiches together. “It reminds me that we can love each other,” she said.
A one-person sauna, a gift from a friend, currently has a cache of blankets. “I said to my housekeeper, ‘A reporter is coming. We have to put things away,” Ms White said.
He looked at a paper bag tucked into a cupboard. “Champagne,” she said with surprise in her voice. “I had no idea he was here.”
Ms. White is generally undaunted by the build-up, and certainly unbeatable.
“Lillias wins because I feel comfortable, okay?” he said. “It is what it is. I stopped killing myself about it a while ago. This is my comfort zone. This is my refuge.”
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