Part 9 (1/2)

There is never a doubt in any sane person's mind about who really has the power in the television business. It is and always has been the networks. But when an issue begins as a creative one, moves on to become a racist one, and finally ends up as a conflict of interest, it does not bode well for a star/producer or her show. I knew my days were numbered at CBS. I absolutely believe that if I had simply cut the thirty-five seconds that the studio and network representatives originally had requested, the issue of conflict of interest would never have come up and the lovely, moving footage of my character taking her granddaughter to the beautiful landmarks of her youth would have been included in the episode. When I asked Bob if he thought that was the case, he said most likely it was.

”Never ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.” I began to hear a death knell in my heart for this show to which I had given so much. I knew starting in November 1997 (less than six months before cancellation) that it was only a matter of time. Two things came of this--a constant sense of dread and a constant sense of grat.i.tude that I was getting to do the show at all.

When I returned from the Christmas break, my line producer, Henry Lange, told me he had gone into his office over the holidays to pick up messages and been surprised to see Bob Myer's car on the lot. He was even more surprised when he went in to say h.e.l.lo and was told that Bob wasn't in his Cybill Cybill office, that he was working on a new Ca.r.s.ey-Werner production starring Damon Wyans. office, that he was working on a new Ca.r.s.ey-Werner production starring Damon Wyans.

I was stunned. So much for my getting sick of all his information. ”I heard there was a memo about it right before the hiatus,” Henry told me.

”Have you seen this memo?” I asked him.

”No,” he said, ”but I'll see if I can get a copy.” Until Henry showed me the memo, dated the week before Christmas, I had no idea my head writer was undertaking a new a.s.signment that would mean being gone more than half the time (while continuing to draw 100 percent of his salary). It was unsigned, and no one would ever admit having been the author. With tears streaming down my face, I confronted him, asking if he was deserting a sinking s.h.i.+p. He didn't dispute the time allocation but pledged his continuing commitment to my show. The only difference, he said, was that he would take my notes from the Monday table reading of the script and give them to the writers, then go to the Wayans show leaving the writers to work out the material.

This was not a good idea. The people who created my dialogue, essentially translated my voice, needed to be hearing my notes directly from me. So I asked for several writers with whom I could communicate personally in Bob's absence. He seemed to be okay with this and asked ”Who would you like?” I chose Linda Wallem and Alan Ball, both of whom had been on the show the longest. Bob added two new writers, Kim Frieze and Alan Pourious, and the four choices felt like a good balance. The first story line they pitched involved having the gay waiter at the trattoria come out. I had pitched this story line months before to Bob and he had rejected it because he felt that gay characters coming out was happening so often on television that it was becoming a cliche. What I didn't know was that Alan and Linda had pitched the same thing to Bob and had also been turned down. Bob bowed to the pressure of being outnumbered on this issue and we got our waiter coming-out episode after all. But when it came time to a.s.semble the episode, it didn't seem as good as the others. Editing had always been one of the things Bob did best. We had worked happily side by side for most of our collaboration. Perhaps in this instance he was biased by his original rejection of the material. I felt we needed the input of Alan and Linda who had actually written the episode, but Bob declared that it was unnecessary. I insisted.

I called Marcy Ca.r.s.ey and proposed that she keep Bob Myer on the new show full-time. We didn't seem to need him anymore, and there was hostility all around for deserting us in the first place. I could justifiably never trust him again because he had broken a solemn promise that he would inform me about everything by not telling me he had begun working on another show.

For the past year or so Alicia Witt had been acting like a spoiled brat, so pouty and truculent that when she wanted time off to have a b.u.mp removed from her nose, Bob Myer said, ”Get rid of her,” and some writers asked if they couldn't write her out of the show. When Peter Krause was hired to play Rachel's husband, he and Alicia became romantically involved and they barely spoke to me.

In April Ca.r.s.ey-Werner received a letter from Alicia's representatives, detailing her ”creative concerns” about ”character development and partic.i.p.ation” and calling me tyrannical, abusive and demeaning. But her fit of pique turned out to be fair warning for her demand that she have time off to make a film. When we granted her permission and worked around her absence, she wrote me a note, this time detailing my ”generosity.” I found out later that she got a raise after complaining about me. I also found out, by reading it in the press, that Christine had asked for a secret meeting with The Suit and subsequently got a raise too.

Chapter Eleven.

”TO BE CONTINUED”

THERE ARE TWO OR THREE DAYS OF MY LIFE I'D LIKE to rewind and say ”I need another take.” One was the day that Christine Baranski walked off the set during the rehearsal for what would be the final episode of to rewind and say ”I need another take.” One was the day that Christine Baranski walked off the set during the rehearsal for what would be the final episode of Cybill. Cybill.

I recognized the first real death rattle of the show quite circuitously when I asked CBS for a raise. Word came back from the network: ”We're already paying through the nose for that show. She doesn't get another penny.” The rumor was that C-W had made an extraordinary deal in which they didn't pay any money on my show until it went into syndication, making Cybill Cybill disproportionately expensive for CBS. Two things are curious about this deal: it was made while Peter Torrici was president of CBS Television; he later left to join Ca.r.s.ey-Werner. And it was made at a time when C-W had enormous leverage, having developed a new show for Bill Cosby that had to have been a useful negotiating chip with any network and, in fact, landed on CBS. Toward the end of the 1998 season, Marcy Ca.r.s.ey had a.s.sured me that Cybill would be picked up. ”CBS doesn't have anything else this good,” she said, ”but Ca.r.s.ey-Werner will have to eat dirt,” meaning the company would finally have to pay its share of the bills. disproportionately expensive for CBS. Two things are curious about this deal: it was made while Peter Torrici was president of CBS Television; he later left to join Ca.r.s.ey-Werner. And it was made at a time when C-W had enormous leverage, having developed a new show for Bill Cosby that had to have been a useful negotiating chip with any network and, in fact, landed on CBS. Toward the end of the 1998 season, Marcy Ca.r.s.ey had a.s.sured me that Cybill would be picked up. ”CBS doesn't have anything else this good,” she said, ”but Ca.r.s.ey-Werner will have to eat dirt,” meaning the company would finally have to pay its share of the bills.

Marcy suggested that the CBS bra.s.s wasn't really watching my show, and that the two of us might take some tapes to The Suit to show him how good it was. That never came to pa.s.s, although now I'm not sure it would have made much difference.

The Emmy Awards were on CBS that year, and the second highest rated Emmy broadcast of all time had been emceed by Jason Alexander and me three years before. My manager called The Suit and said, ”Cybill would love to host again.”

”Bryant Gumbel is doing it,” he said.

Okay. Bryant Gumbel had a highly promoted magazine-format show premiering on CBS. But this was the first time since my show was on the air that my own network was airing the Emmys, and I wasn't even asked to be a presenter.

”We're not having stars from old CBS shows, only new CBS shows,” said The Network Representative.

The network had been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around with our time slot almost from the start, as networks are wont to do. Twice episodes of Cybill were pulled off the air to be supplanted by a new series starring Jean Smart of Designing Women Designing Women, but both High Society High Society and and Style and Substance Style and Substance were dropped after one season. There followed pilots for Faith Ford (of were dropped after one season. There followed pilots for Faith Ford (of Murphy Brown Murphy Brown) and Judith Light (of Who's the Boss Who's the Boss?), neither of which captured the public imagination. But in 1998 there had been relentless preempting: In February Cybill was replaced by both the Nagano Olympics and a new Tom Selleck show called The Closer The Closer. (I read about this change in the Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Times and a few days later on a talk show, I ”accidentally” misspoke and called it and a few days later on a talk show, I ”accidentally” misspoke and called it The Loser The Loser.) Three times my show was pulled during ”sweeps,” those weeks in November, February, and May when the networks schedule their most aggressive programming in an attempt to generate high Nielsen ratings and demand the best rates from advertisers. It was hardly a demonstration of support.

When it seemed manifest destiny that the series was on its way out, Bob Myer came to me and said, ”Could you ask Bruce Willis to come on? It might help.” I didn't want to leave any stone unturned, but Willis' answer came back: too busy.

During the last hiatus week before the filming of what would be the final two episodes, Christine Baranski's forty-eight-year-old brother dropped dead of a heart attack. She was on the East Coast when it happened, and we didn't know if or when she was returning.

I had no intention of shutting down production. As John Wayne says in The Searchers The Searchers, I knew as sure as the turning of the earth that this would be my last season, and for the sake of the fans I wanted to get in as many episodes as possible. It was not about money--I would have gotten paid anyway. Despite the stress and infighting, Cybill Cybill provided the best part, the most fun, and the biggest creative opportunity I'd ever had. provided the best part, the most fun, and the biggest creative opportunity I'd ever had.

I called Marcy and I said. ”I've got the best writing staff in the business. Let's put them to work. They can have Maryann on the phone from out-of-town, and her part can be edited in later. We've done this many times before.”

''Do you think you can get a good show?” she asked.

”Absolutely.”

”Okay,” she said.

I wanted to do a story line where my character was a talk-show host with a venomous cohost; a role I thought would be perfectly cast with Linda Wallem, not only a writer but a side-st.i.tchingly funny comedienne. Cybill Sheridan was to lose her job when the talk show is canceled. Joking around with Bob Myer, I said, ”Wouldn't it be funny to have a network executive make a pa.s.s at me and cancel the talk show after I reject him?” Bob gave a cynical little laugh and said, ”Yeah, right.” A few days later he relayed a message from CBS that they would never air such a show, and from now on, all plot outlines were to be submitted in advance.

”How did they find out?” I asked.

”I felt that I had to tell the network rep,” said Bob. Good ol' ”trust me” Bob.

The week before Easter, in order to avoid working on Good Friday (which would have been prohibitively expensive), we were planning to condense the usual five-day workload into four days. That Sunday I was awake all night with stomach pains, but I went to work on Monday morning and later phoned my doctor, who told me to come in right away for some tests. ”You don't understand,” I said, ”this is probably the last episode I'll ever do. I have to finish.” Then I took some Maalox. Every single person on the set was fried--the actors, the crew, the writing staff, all in the final stage of burnout--and I was pretty sure my symptoms were stress related.

The final episode called for the talk-show host to break down on camera and walk off the set, leaving my character alone to fill time. My idea was to have Maryann make a grand exit by calling her onstage, from where she was watching in the wings, and have her perform one of her ranting, raving monologues. I also thought that if my character needed to fill another five minutes, we could give Cybill and Maryann an opportunity to sing together one last time. Ever conscious of budget restrictions, I looked on my list of public domain songs and came up with ”Rockabye Your Baby with a Dixie Melody.” During rehearsal I asked Christine to sing it with me. She said, ”No, you do it.” When I finished the song, I turned around to get Maryann's reaction but Christine was gone. Everyone on the set was acting unnaturally calm, as if the elephant in the middle of the room had laid a giant t.u.r.d. When we got ready to do a second run-through, Christine's stand-in had taken her place.

”My, you look different today, Christine,” I said, trying to leaven the moment. n.o.body laughed.

The stand-in was looking at her feet. (Clearly abashed, she said, ”Christine just left.”) I was later told that she went to the warbe department with The Executioner, who told her, ”Just pick out anything you want--it will make you feel better.”

Early in my career, I learned that an actor had better be able to stand and deliver when the director says, ”Action.” The audience doesn't know that you're inhaling the rancid fumes from frying potatoes in a scorchingly hot Times Square coffee shop, or your leading man is p.i.s.sed because you rejected his affections, or your costar has walked out in the middle of your song. Before I chose Christine to play Maryann Thorpe, I'd been warned: watch your back. And now there could be no lingering doubt about her feelings toward me.

The night of the final show I greeted the audience during the warm-up with palms upturned, as if I were holding my grandmother's silver tea set, and offering them a gift. I knew it was good-bye. ”This is a season of miracles,” I said to them, ”whether it's Jesus Christ dying on the cross and rising from the dead, or somebody pa.s.sing over your house and not taking your firstborn. I've been in the business thirty years. When you get a pilot okayed to go on the air, it's a miracle. When you get picked up for a season, it's a miracle.

I really consider eighty-seven episodes a mighty miracle. So like the Lone Ranger said: 'Hi ho, Silver, and away.”

That weekend was Good Friday, Pa.s.sover, and Easter. On Monday my manager let me know about a call from The Executioner. ”Ca.r.s.ey-Werner is exercising its right to final cut,” he informed her.

”Ca.r.s.ey-Werner has always had that right,” I said to Judy Hofflund, my manager, when she relayed this conversation. ”Why is it being specified now?”

”I don't know,” she said.

”Please find out,” I asked.

She reported back to me that The Executioner had initially replied, ”We want to increase the odds that the show will be picked up for another season.” But when Judy persisted, he opened a window into the collective thinking: ”In order to protect the rights and interests of Ca.r.s.ey-Werner, and those of Bob Myer and Christine Baranski, Cybill will no longer be involved in the final cut.”

Calls to The Executioner and Bob Myer went unreturned for twenty-four hours. When Bob finally called me back, he said angrily, ”We have not collaborated in weeks.”

”I had no idea you felt this way,” I said. ”I wish you had said something.”

”Oh, come on, Cybill,” he said, ”you haven't even made eye contact with me all week.”

He was right about that. I hadn't trusted him for quite some time. ”Is this about money?” I asked. ”I'm willing to come down to the editing room right now.”

”No, it's nothing to do with that,” he said. ”I don't want to work with you. I didn't want to come in and do any more work on your show, I wanted to stay home with my kids for Pa.s.sover, but they made me come in and do the final cut. So I told them, ”The only way I will do this is if Cybill isn't involved.”

So. Those were Bob Myer's interests. Christine Baranski's interests seemed to involve the increasingly plausible rumors that a series would be developed for her at CBS. Ca.r.s.ey-Werner's interest was making sure the company did not have to ”eat dirt” if the show was picked up.

The following Sunday morning I'd planned to hike up in the Santa Monica Mountains with a girlfriend. I put on shorts and a T-s.h.i.+rt, my hair was in a ponytail pulled through a cap, and I was just applying sunblock when I started to feel pain in my abdomen. I crawled into bed wearing everything but my shoes and told my friend I needed to rest. As the morning wore on, the pain intensified. Roark piled me into the car and drove at illegal speed to the emerge room. A battery of tests revealed a spiking white blood count and an obstruction in my small intestine. As I was prepped for surgery, the doctor said, ”I'm afraid it's not going to be a pretty scar,” and Roark started sobbing.