He met her in her home in Alpharetta, in the final days of her marriage. Her image was shot, her career was in the toilet, and Gary and Pat Houston, her brother and sister-in-law, were hovering around like nurses in an emergency ward. "My voice is stuck in my throat," Whitney told Catona. "I try to sing, and nothing comes out."
"She looked thin. Her hair was a little messy," he says. "She looked like someone who had gone through some kind of emotional trauma."
Yet, there was a spark. Singing was in her bloodline. The great Aretha had told her, "I'm passing the baton on to you." Catona continues: "Everyone was relying on her to make a comeback, not just for financial reasons but for her well-being."
Catona demanded her full commitment, and she agreed. "She wasn't a crooner," he explains. "She had to sing at the very top of the capacity of the human voice. She was also an alpha female, domineering, commanding, and people were scared of her."
After a few months of Catona's daily exercises, Whitney rented a house in Orange County, California, determined to live with her daughter and without her husband. "She blossomed," says Catona. "She was the most devoted student I ever had."
She focused on her health and tried her best to quit smoking. "Once, I forgot my keyboard, and she thought I had left," says Catona. "I went back in, and she started coming to the door with a cigarette in her hand. She hugged me, and I saw her flick the cigarette over her shoulder."
