Fergie: Woman of the Year

There were two low points in Fergie’s life. The first was a career low: the day Wild Orchid, a trio she spent 11 years in, played a fair in the Midwest, next to a barn full of pigs. “We were glammed up for the show, and I think there were three people watching us. The pigs cared more than the people.” She laughs at the horror of it. “It was really sad. We all know the story after that, yada yada.”

For “yada yada,” read drug addiction, the low point in Fergie’s personal life. “Voodoo Doll,” a song on The Dutchess, describes the twitchy anguish of meth addiction. It’s a sordid story she’s told before and will probably tell again the next time someone asks about it. “Hey, it’s the Fergalicious Fergie,” one YouTube parody begins. “I used to be addicted to crystal meth.”

“It’s like there’s one or two things the public knows about every famous person,” she says. “With Ashlee Simpson, everyone knows she had a nose job. With me, everyone knows I wet my pants onstage and had a crystal-meth addiction; that sucks. You have to laugh.”

And she does laugh, recalling the night she spent eight hours talking to her hamper: “I was paranoid, and I thought somebody was inside, spying on me.” But that wasn’t the worst of it. “No, here’s a new one for you: I was outside my apartment, wearing some strange getup, looking through the window to see if there were cameras inside. I weighed 90 pounds, because on crystal meth you don’t eat. So a guy comes by and goes, ‘Here, honey, I know you’re hungry,’ and he hands me this package of muffins. When somebody thinks you’re homeless, that’s kind of a low point, wouldn’t you say?”

As a kid, she’d been precociously responsible, “a young adult.” She played Lucy in Peanuts TV specials and spent five seasons on Kids Incorporated, a Saturday-morning series where cheery sprites covered pop hits of the day.

Her hometown, Hacienda Heights, California, was full of Mexican gang-bangers, and soon she was riding in their cars, listening to N.W.A. The videos for “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” “Glamorous” and “Clumsy” all show her affection for Mexican-American culture. “I had a lot of boyfriends, or whatever you call it — make-out partners — who were cholos. I’m part Mexican, even though I don’t really look it, and Native American on my dad’s side, as well. I’m just as American as you can get.

”Her parents, both teachers, worried about her blossoming rebellion. “I had a videotape of The Exorcist and Exorcist II,” she says. “And I got really into watching it. My mom thought I was going to become a Satan worshipper, so she taped over it. I got so mad at her.”

When Black Eyed Peas played in Russia, Fergie saw the ornate carriages Catherine the Great had used in the 18th century. She wanted to ride a carriage to the MTV Video Music Awards, but a pimped-out one: hydraulics, spinning rims, blasting hip-hop. “You can’t take the girl out of Hacienda Heights,” she shrugs. “I’m a little bit ghetto, a little bit redneck, a little bit snobby, all of it.”

Her cell goes off — the ring tone is the theme from The Exorcist, a touch of rebellion retained. It’s Duhamel, missing her already. She talks to him in a baby voice: “You came to supwise me. I wuv you.” She puts on lip gloss while they talk.

We hand her the second bottle of wine. “I should probably stop,” she says. But she doesn’t.

You’ve talked openly about having sexual experiences with women. Did you ever have a real relationship with one?
No, it was just fun.

When did that last happen?
[Smiles] In the hotel room, with channel 34. Me and a few bitches got down. That was my last lesbian experience.

The Black Eyed Peas had already made two albums before you joined in 2004. Did the guys put you through a period of hazing?
Oh, hell yeah. It sucked. I fought my way through it, punch by punch.

Did you actually hit anyone? It’s easy to picture you hitting a dude.
Only in bed. [Giggles] When you have sexual dominance and things like that, you have to have trust and understanding. And yes, I have been slapped, too, but it’s been consensual.

All right, Woman of the Year. How many times in the last 12 months have you cried?
Too many to count. At least once a week, because I cry watching Nip/Tuck.

How many times in the last 12 months have you been drunk?
Probably too many to count, as well. [Laughs] Not that I’m proud of it. But if I’m drinking too much, I’ll call my therapist and make sure I’m not going overboard. Because I never want to go back there.

How many times in the last 12 months have you seen your parents?
I see them all the time. My mom and my father split up when I was 17, and my mom remarried — they’re all friends; they watch football together. They stayed together for the kids, because I was a drama queen and used to run out screaming when they fought: “It’s my fault!” I knew exactly what I was doing — I was trying to keep them together. But at 17 I had my fake ID, I was cool with it. I was like, “Sure, split up if you guys want. Can I go out?” I had about five fake IDs.

Why were you so eager to get into clubs?
Dancing. Flirting. Older guys. Better than what was going on in my house. I started going out with a guy who had a teardrop tattoo on his cheek.

It’s surprising you didn’t get into more trouble.
How much more trouble could I have gotten into? My God!

The SUV has arrived at the airport, and there’s a delay before Fergie can head to the terminal. Instead of the casual, filthy banter we’ve enjoyed, she talks a bit now about “trying to give back” (she sold a Hummer she’d been given and donated the proceeds to Global Green USA) and explains how “the rewards make me even more driven.”

The solemnity doesn’t seem to suit her, but it’s the flip side of the tears that began the night. When she talks like this, it’s as though she’s reciting the membership oath of an exclusive club: the One-Named Superstar Club, or the I’ve Got a Hunky Boyfriend Club, maybe the I’m Flying Off to a Big Gig in Mexico City Club. She has spent 25 years waiting to be admitted.