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But a better one was in the offing. Last year Paramount proposed another late-night talk show; Hall would be executive producer as well as star, and he would be guaranteed time off to make movies. He was still reluctant. But a guest appearance with Carson on Tonight got his talk-show juices flowing again, and he finally agreed.
"Arsenio eats, sleeps and breathes the show," says Cheryl Bonacci, vice president of Arsenio Hall Communications, which was formed last year to handle his TV and record affairs. "When he's not doing that, he's sitting in his house writing songs. Things like going out just aren't important to him right now." Hall usually arrives at the office around 11, conducts personal business and prepares for the late-afternoon taping. After the show, he reviews the tape with producer Brown, who worked with him on The Late Show. Most nights he watches the show again at home by himself, then takes a look at Carson, Sajak and Letterman before going to bed, usually around 2 a.m., with a talk-radio station droning in the background. Says he: "I can't go to sleep without it."
Brown and Bonacci are two of his relatively few close friends. Another is Murphy, whom he met at Los Angeles' Comedy Store in 1980. "Eddie's the brother I never had," says Hall. "We share intimate secrets. We cry together. There's no competitiveness between us. When I called and told him I had been signed by Paramount, he couldn't have been happier." Though Hall has been linked with Murphy's so-called black pack -- a group of young black performers and filmmakers, among them actor-directors Robert Townshend and Keenen Ivory Wayans -- Hall says the others are only casual friends.
Speculation about Hall's girlfriends has ranged from Dynasty's Emma Samms (they dated a few years ago, says Hall, but are no longer involved) and Newhart's Mary Frann (too old for him, he insists) to singer-choreographer Paula Abdul ("just very good friends"). Hall refuses to identify the current "special woman" in his life and claims to spend much of his time after hours by himself. "My life is in front of people," he says, "so when I go home, I don't want to hear voices."
Home is a relatively modest four-bedroom house in the San Fernando Valley, decorated in blue and filled with electronic gear. ("I'm very high-tech oriented. I wouldn't have a TV without doors that open electronically.") His garage houses two cars: a white 1986 Jaguar XJS and a Mustang convertible. He stays in close touch with his mother, who is a big fan ("No one barks louder at my show than my mom") and for whom he bought a condo in West Hollywood. For relaxation, Hall tried painting for a while but gave it up; took tennis lessons but "hated them." Says he: "I'm not an outdoor person at all."
Which pretty much leaves work. In addition to the five-day-a-week grind of his show, Hall has taped some antidrug commercials and is working with Reebok to promote a shoe that would "pay tribute to antiapartheid awareness." He co-wrote and co-produced his new Chunky A record album. Its cuts include a comic rap number, a satire of raunch rock ("Let me check your oil with my dipstick") and a straight-faced antidrug anthem titled Dope, the Big Lie.