Then the owners hold tryouts that are judged by Lovell, Squatriglia, and local celebrities. Hundreds of women audition (normally between 300 and 400, though Vegas had 700). "I'm constantly surprised at how popular the movie is. Girls cry because they didn't get the job," Squatriglia says. After they winnow down the aspirants to 25 or so, Lovell's crew starts training coyotes and licensees.
At the time of the movie Squatriglia turned the bar-top dancing--which had been left up to the coyotes--into choreographed, copyrighted numbers. For a week the new coyotes toil on three--Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me," the Charlie Daniels Band's "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," and Tom Jones's "Sex Bomb"--and learn clogging, bartending, and attitude. "There's a lot of role-playing on what to do, how to harass somebody," says Joanna Olsen, a partner in Atlanta and three others. "We pretend that we're dudes and have them say something." According to Olsen, a coyote earns on average between $300 and $400 on a Friday night.
"Licensees do things I wouldn't. Nobody understands Coyote the way I do."
Soon, though, it became apparent that licensing and Lovell didn't mix. Manterola's was the first of a number of bars (he eventually closed in summer 2002) that either tried to use her brand without paying (Ugly Inc. spends several hundreds of thousands a year stopping unlicensed bars from using the Coyote Ugly name) or, once licensed, ran their bars in ways that Lovell did not like.
In one instance, Lovell walked into one bar--she won't say which one--and as a test ordered a froufrou drink. That she was served it angered her. "That's something I'm totally against," she says. Atlanta and Dallas both toyed with karaoke nights. All Lovell could do was complain. "Liliana will call up," says Dallas partner Hudson. "With karaoke, it was, 'I don't like it. I don't do that in mine.' She expresses her disapproval."
Atlanta dropped the practice and while Hudson says that Lovell has accepted his Wednesday-night gig--featuring American Idol also-ran Nikki McKibbin--the inability to give orders gnawed on her. "I have a decent relationship with my licensees, and I'd call them up and usually they'd change what they were doing. But it's frustrating that they would do things that I wouldn't," Lovell says. "Nobody understands Coyote the way I do."
Of course, not every licensee is sanguine about Lovell's close supervision. Kevin Callanan, a partner in the Philadelphia bar who calls Lovell "a super control freak," points to his coyote tryouts. According to Callanan, because Ugly Inc. booked a theater he couldn't fill, he decided to put the celebrity judges onstage and give them microphones. That way, the media cameras could take in the girls and the judges without showing the partially empty space. Lovell, he says, was "furious, almost to the point of walking out," because she wanted the girls to be alone onstage and didn't want the judges miked in case they were lewd. "She didn't join us in the judging. I haven't spoken with her since," says Callanan. "When you run a bar for 10 years everybody says yes when you say yes. But when you're dealing with other successful businesspeople, they question you. I wonder how that is for her." Lovell disputes Callanan's claim that she refused to take part in the judging.
In early 2003 Lovell stopped selling licenses (there are eight licensed cities still to open). From that point on, Ugly Inc. would take outside investments, even majority stakes, but would maintain managing rights. The first bar to open under this arrangement was Tampa, with Olsen as a partner. There, Lovell got to install a manager despite the fact that she only has a 10% stake.
"I'm learning that I'm more of a control freak than I originally thought," Lovell says. "It's hard for me to completely commit a project to someone else without being involved in some way."
At some point in her growth, however, Lovell realizes, she will have to trust others to run parts of the show. She plans to do so by hiring people who fit snugly with the Coyote ethos. "You'll have general managers and regional managers trained by me," she says. "It's about me hiring the right people who have the same image of Coyote that I do."
Right now, between 35% and 50% of the patrons are regulars, a key sign that the bars still feel like local hangouts. Lovell says she's not concerned about central control making her bars cookie-cutter tourist traps because she's always allowed each bar to reflect its location--thus, southern rock on the Dallas jukebox and Eminem in Atlanta.
It even appears that Lovell is learning the first lessons in stepping back. In Tampa, Lovell's inner control freak seems soothed by knowing that she is able to get involved, without her always doing so. "We only talk about once a month," says Olsen. "She's not in on every little thing."
Still, don't get Lovell wrong. While she may ease her grip from white-knuckle to firm, the old equation still holds.
"At the end of the day, this is my company and Coyote Ugly is going to be as strong as I make it," says Lovell. "When I have 100 I want you to be able to go to London and have as good a time as when you went to New Orleans or New York."
And that good time you're having? It will be on her terms.
