And They Call It Buppie Love

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Gabrielle Union

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From her stories, those expectations sound pretty lofty. She recalls that Dad, S.E. Union, a former military sergeant and retired AT&T exec, made her practice free throws for hours after missing a shot that would have won her team the game. And then there's the time he taught a 7-year-old Union how to catch a softball -- by pitching the ball near her face and accidentally hitting her nose. ''I was bleeding on my little Catholic-school uniform, but I never [missed] the ball again,'' she says. ''You get so afraid of failure and so afraid of losing and so afraid of not being the best that it's not a natural drive -- it's born out of fear of failure. Which helps in Hollywood.''

Especially when you have to deal with players like notoriously hotheaded ''Bad Boys'' director Michael Bay. ''Once you go through what I did with S.E. Union, everyone else pales in comparison,'' she says. ''I'm not sensitive, I'm not a weepy person. Michael telling me my makeup looks funky is not going to make me cry. Just do my eyes over.''

This deep paternal influence could rattle a weaker woman. Not Union, who seems to draw strength from her upbringing. ''She's very professional and focused on her work, and I think that comes from her family,'' says Hardwick, who met Union's clan, including her husband, former Jacksonville Jaguars running back Chris Howard, when they all visited the ''Eva'' set last spring. ''She can shed the mystique of fame by flipping the switch -- all the things that go along with being famous are not coveted by her.'' And does her father finally seem satisfied? ''You could see it in his eyes that he's just really overwhelmed by her being the star of that movie,'' Hardwick says.

Coming off of what will likely be her first blockbuster -- ''Bad Boys II'' debuts July 18 -- Union is facing a catch-22 that plagues minority actors: If they take risky roles that don't provide completely positive representations of their race (think Berry in ''Swordfish'' and ''Monster's Ball''), they're criticized; if they take the more innocuous ''Girlfriend's in the house!'' parts, they won't stretch. ''I would love to do another psychological thriller, but not be, like, the best friend who says, 'Are you sure that's the right thing to do?''' she says, referring to her small role in last year's ''Abandon.'' ''You become the conscience of the film because they don't want you to say anything bad. I was like the Yoda, the Confucius, and the Bagger Vance.''

Nevertheless, Union appreciates the comforts of a buppie-romance set. ''You don't have to be the Rosa Parks of the call sheet,'' she says. ''You don't have to explain why certain things are offensive or why you need a black hairstylist or why frosted pink lipstick doesn't look right on brown folk.'' The built-in sense of community in black Hollywood makes the scene a lot more palatable. ''White kids are a lot more cutthroat than we are,'' giggles Union, whose close friends include a couple of competitors, actresses Tamala Jones and Sanaa Lathan. ''Oh yeah, house-sit for me and then steal the script of a lifetime.... No, no, that doesn't happen.''

She pauses for a beat and breaks into that wide, dimpled 4,000-watt smile. ''Because the black community [in Hollywood] is so small that if you talk s---, you'll know who did it.''