Cybill Disobedience Part 8

When I arrived in Memphis, my mother picked me up at the airport and said "I've never been as proud of you as I am today." Tears streamed down my face as I spoke of my hope that this museum would give us all a chance to start healing the destructive hatred of the racism that had surrounded us for so long.

Moments before the ceremony began, however, my then-publicist, Cheryl Kagen, appeared, pulling a tall, distinguished-looking man by the arm. She introduced me to Governor Bill Clinton of Arkansas, who had flown in to attend the ceremony but had not been scheduled to speak. When he arrived a few minutes late, he was refused a seat on the podium. No one recognized him. In the coming months, I would speak at three different fund-raisers for the Clinton/Gore campaign. At an event in Little Rock, Clinton and I waited backstage, and I realized, as so many women have, how intelligent, warm, and charismatic he is. I realized I was staring into his eyes and caught myself. "You know what?" I said. "You're entirely too attractive. You better stand on the other side of the room."

In 1993 CBS OFFERED ME A ROLE AS THE MOTHER OF a kidnapped child in a made-for-TV movie called a kidnapped child in a made-for-TV movie called There was a Little Boy. There was a Little Boy. I pushed successfully for the director to be Mimi Leder, a woman whose work I had admired from the series I pushed successfully for the director to be Mimi Leder, a woman whose work I had admired from the series China Beach China Beach, even though she was not on the CBS "approved" list. She went on to direct The Peacemaker, The Peacemaker, with a with a $50 $50 million budget, and million budget, and Deep Impact Deep Impact, at $80 million, becoming one of a handful of women making major action features.) I always explain to colleagues that I have a particular way of trying to develop and sustain a mood that usually involves some quiet and reflection before a scene, but not all actors need to work that way. John Heard, who was playing my husband, can make wisecracking comments right up to the moment the film starts rolling and a moment later have tears streaming down his cheeks. Mimi had been the frequent brunt of his teasing humor, but one day he went a little too far and asked her, "What makes you think you can direct?" She turned to him and said evenly, "When I hired you, I thought I was hiring John Hurt." Mimi was well liked and the crew applauded.

We were filming at a high school in an area that was considered the drive-by shooting capital of the wor One night, just moments after I'd left, a man was shot and killed half a block away from my trailer. My manager called one of the executives at Lorimar to request a bodyguard for me, and he absolutely refused, so I arranged and paid for an off-duty LAPD officer myself.

It was a good thing. About a week later, we were working in a neighborhood that was the home turf of some notoriously violent gangs. I was waiting for the setup of a scene that called for me to cross the street pushing a baby carriage, when my bodyguard said, "Don't move until I get back," and dashed off to grab a walkie-talkie from one of the crew. I was oblivious to what had caught his eye: a group of men who appeared to be smoking dope on the balcony of a nearby apartment building, one of whom suddenly started waving a gun in my direction. Within moments a police helicopter hovered overhead, and officers on foot entered the building. Filming stopped as the revelers were arrested, but no weapons were ever found.

IF THERE'S ONE THING I'VE LEARNED, IT'S THAT THE tide goes out and the tide comes in. But I never expected to see Jay Daniels, part of my misery on tide goes out and the tide comes in. But I never expected to see Jay Daniels, part of my misery on Moonlighting, Moonlighting, washed up on the beach as another piece of flotsam. I was almost struck mute (an uncommon occurrence for me) on the day in 1994 when my manager told me Jay had called, asking to meet with me in hopes of persuading me to go back to television as both star and executive producer of my own show. There was no way I wanted to talk with let alone work with, a man who had stood by pa.s.sively while Glenn Caron ripped into me. Jay kept calling, and my manager kept repeating my answer: no. But he claimed to have done a lot of thinking about my troubled washed up on the beach as another piece of flotsam. I was almost struck mute (an uncommon occurrence for me) on the day in 1994 when my manager told me Jay had called, asking to meet with me in hopes of persuading me to go back to television as both star and executive producer of my own show. There was no way I wanted to talk with let alone work with, a man who had stood by pa.s.sively while Glenn Caron ripped into me. Jay kept calling, and my manager kept repeating my answer: no. But he claimed to have done a lot of thinking about my troubled Moonlighting Moonlighting experience during his subsequent four years on experience during his subsequent four years on Roseanne Roseanne and had concluded that I'd been the victim of what amounted to a s.e.xist boys club. He repeated this to me directly when I agreed to a meeting at my house. And I believed him. and had concluded that I'd been the victim of what amounted to a s.e.xist boys club. He repeated this to me directly when I agreed to a meeting at my house. And I believed him.

We ended up at Ca.r.s.ey-Werner Productions, a "boutique" studio that had produced The Cosby Show The Cosby Show and had and had Roseanne Roseanne and and Grace Under Fire Grace Under Fire on the air. In agreeing to do the on the air. In agreeing to do the Cybill Cybill show, Marcy Ca.r.s.ey (a former actress herself) and Tom Werner were, for the first time, taking on a project developed outside the auspices of their studio. But they hated our first script and asked us to start from scratch, reluctantly agreeing to the original plan of my character being an actress. It felt like the show would never get made. show, Marcy Ca.r.s.ey (a former actress herself) and Tom Werner were, for the first time, taking on a project developed outside the auspices of their studio. But they hated our first script and asked us to start from scratch, reluctantly agreeing to the original plan of my character being an actress. It felt like the show would never get made.

For several years I had given up singing in public because of all the discouragement. But on a visit to New York in 1994, I saw my good friend Jimmy Viera, who still makes me a blonde with his own two hands even though he's no longer an executive at L'Oreal and I'm no longer the company spokeswoman. "I'm going to take you to hear Dixie Carter at the Cafe Carlyle," he said, and during her performance, he leaned over and whispered, "You should be back on that stage again." On the next two nights we saw Andrea Marcovicci at the Algonquin and Annie Ross at Rainbow and Stars. Somewhere along the way I had lost the spirit to say "watch me." Jimmy gave me that voice back--and soon there was a microphone to amplify it. I was offered a three-week engagement, five nights a week, two shows a night, at Rainbow and Stars. I hired a new musical director, who brought several new musicians to my home, including one who sang backup, and played sax and keyboards. I will call him "Howard Roark."

I happen to believe that people identify themselves to us within the first days, sometimes within the first moments, of our acquaintance--we often choose not to hear or believe what is patently obvious. It was inappropriate for Roark, at a band rehearsal, to hand me a valentine with a Superman figure he'd altered to be "Safety Man." Strike One. Strike One. On our second date, e told me that when he'd seen On our second date, e told me that when he'd seen The Heartbreak Kid The Heartbreak Kid years before, he'd vowed, "Someday I'm going to get that babe." years before, he'd vowed, "Someday I'm going to get that babe." Strike Strike Two. But it didn't stop me from spending the next three hours in bed. After our romp, we took a walk in a wildlife preserve near my house, still damp after a heavy rain. The light was dreaming through the clouds, and two wild mallards flew across our path. Two. But it didn't stop me from spending the next three hours in bed. After our romp, we took a walk in a wildlife preserve near my house, still damp after a heavy rain. The light was dreaming through the clouds, and two wild mallards flew across our path.

"Maybe that's a good omen," I said, feeling a little mystical. "They're on parallel paths, and they're crossing ours."

"Nah," he said, "that's just two dumb birds." Strike Three. Strike Three.

Roark was going through a bitter divorce, living over a friend's garage, and moved into my guest room almost immediately. Only a few weeks later, he announced that he had an offer to go on the road as a backup musician for a rock band. "I understand that you have to make a living," I told him, "but I'm going to date other men while you're gone." A few days later he said that he wanted to turn the job down and stay in town with me, but that would only be possible if he were made musical director of my show. I didn't have a show at that point and made it clear I could never guarantee such a thing. Strike Four through Thirty-seven.

Since Jay Daniel was a producer but not a writer, Ca.r.s.ey-Werner suggested that I meet the head writer from Grace Under Fire Grace Under Fire. Everyone warned me that Chuck Lorre, a talented writer, could be difficult. But at our first meeting, he was sweet and funny. When he left, Marcy's mouth was agape. "That was amusing," she said "I've never seen Chuck so smitten, or so polite."

The arc of Cybill Sheridan's story was closely drawn from my own checkered career and private belly flops: she's a single mother with two ex-husbands, the sort of journeyman actress I would have been had I not been lucky enough to have The Last Picture Show The Last Picture Show or or Moonlighting Moonlighting. Chuck dissuaded me from making the character a mother of small children, as I was in real life. "It curtails the shooting schedule," he said, "but more importantly you can't get away with adult material. The network doesn't like using s.e.xy double entendres in front of kids."

Jay made many contributions to Cybill, one of which was its use of the Hollywood Walk of Fame as the t.i.tle sequence. The camera pans the sidewalk stars of Carole Lombard, Lana Turner, Kim Novak, Jean Harlow and La.s.sie (all famous Hollywood blondes). I suggested mine be a fake star, drawn in chalk.

My strongest objection to the original pilot script was the absence of any sustaining female friendships. I knew that I didn't want to reprise the icy b.i.t.c.hiness of Maddie in Moonlighting Moonlighting, insisted on a best friend who was more of an uptight glamour queen so I could be the clown. (You know me, always beggin' for pies in the face.) Chuck created just such a character: Maryann Thorpe, a cynical, hilariously vindictive divorcee who guzzles martinis and refers to her credit card as her therapist, "Dr. Gold." My first choice for the part was Paula Poundstone, a stand-up comedienne with a twisted, wacky charm, I'd met her years before at a party, and as I approached her to shake hands, it looked as if her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were motorized. "Just a minute," she said. Then she reached down the front of her shirt and said, "Stop that, Fluffy." I was thinking: This woman has a real problem. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s are doing figure eights, and she's talking to them. This woman has a real problem. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s are doing figure eights, and she's talking to them. Then she pulled out a kitten. Then she pulled out a kitten.

But Paula was otherwise engaged, on a variety show, and I began reading with other actresses. It came down to a choice between Sally Kellerman and Christine Baranski. The latter was a Ca.r.s.ey-Werner favorite--she had been considered for their new show 3rd Rock from the Sun, 3rd Rock from the Sun, a role that went to Jane Curtin. Christine has fabulous legs, and she arrived wearing a tight, horizontally striped miniskirt that practically showed goose b.u.mps, but evincing a chilly att.i.tude that I interpreted as "'This is beneath me." Since she had a theatrical background in New York, where she'd won two Tony awards, I checked her out with some New York theater friends, and everyone said the same thing: her work was respected, she was serious and talented, but watch your back. So I knew going in, just as I did with Bruce Willis, that this wasn't necessarily Mr. Nice Guy. But when she read for the network, she hit a home run, nailed all the laughs. It was obvious, as it had been on a role that went to Jane Curtin. Christine has fabulous legs, and she arrived wearing a tight, horizontally striped miniskirt that practically showed goose b.u.mps, but evincing a chilly att.i.tude that I interpreted as "'This is beneath me." Since she had a theatrical background in New York, where she'd won two Tony awards, I checked her out with some New York theater friends, and everyone said the same thing: her work was respected, she was serious and talented, but watch your back. So I knew going in, just as I did with Bruce Willis, that this wasn't necessarily Mr. Nice Guy. But when she read for the network, she hit a home run, nailed all the laughs. It was obvious, as it had been on Moonlighting, Moonlighting, that this was the best person for the part. that this was the best person for the part.

We settled on Tom Wopat as the sweetly Neanderthal stuntman ex-husband and Alan Rosenberg as the overwrought Jewish intellectual ex-husband. But we agonized over the role of the younger daughter, Zoey. Even though the t.i.tian-haired Alicia Witt was a real-life musical prodigy and had an interesting snotty appeal, she had almost no acting experience. She was already on her way home after the reading at the network, when we decided to call her back and tell her she had the part. The security police stopped her at the gate and sent her back up. I walked out to meet her, put my arms around her, and said, "Congratulations." The role of my elder daughter, Rachel, went to Dedee Pfeiffer (sister of Mich.e.l.le), and when I suggested, "Why don't we make Rachel pregnant?" Chuck said, "You'd agree to play a grandmother? You're so brave."

Working with Chuck was like a romance without the s.e.x (although if I hadn't just taken up with Roark, we might have crossed that line). He took me out for sushi, he sent me bouquets of out-of-season peonies, he practically moved into my house, and he transcribed my stories as fodder for the show. Much of the pilot was inspired by anecdotes I related, and he asked to have Clementine read the script to make sure the dialogue seemed plausible from a teenager's perspective. A journalist had once teased me about being "an old spotted cow," and Chuck borrowed the phrase to convey the sense of fear about aging in public. Losing cats who wander into the canyons after dark and get eaten by coyotes was my experience too. The set designer even visited my house and modeled Cybill Sheridan's home after it, although the set was too clean, and I kept urging, "It's not like home. Make it messier."

If Cybill Sheridan was the heart of the show, Maryann Thorpe was the sharp tongue. Christine delivered her clever barbs with perfect acerbic timing, but her character was more of a caricature, so it was easier to write her jokes. Every Friday night, I would receive my executive producer's script, and sometimes we needed another pa.s.s before it went to the actors--the writers often had to come in on Sat.u.r.days to revise. My notes on every script were the same from the beginning: make all the characters smarter. Don't trade their intelligence for dumb jokes. Never underestimate the viewers. Suspense is more interesting than surprise, and a joke is funnier if the audience sees it coming.

It's also true that the rhythm shouldn't be predictable. Sometimes we got into a rut, with my character setting up the joke and Maryann delivering the punch line. When Christine won the Emmy and I did not, it fed a growing conspiracy theory in the press that a.s.serted I was trying to sabotage Christine's lines and enhance my part at the expense of her character. The gossip went something like this: I had been jealous when Moonlighting Moonlighting made Bruce Willis a star, and now it was deja vu all over again. Once a template gets made, the press tends to regurgitate all the old adjectives. The grain of truth in this controversy was that of course I was envious. Who doesn't want to win an Emmy? made Bruce Willis a star, and now it was deja vu all over again. Once a template gets made, the press tends to regurgitate all the old adjectives. The grain of truth in this controversy was that of course I was envious. Who doesn't want to win an Emmy?

My complaints about wardrob added fuel to the flames of contention. I chose to work again with Robert Turturice, who had won an Emmy for his costuming on Moonlighting Moonlighting. For Cybill Sheridan, he often chose the square, shapeless clothes of a septuagenarian librarian, while Maryann's skirts were so short that the world was her gynecologist. Christine didn't need jokey clothes to be funny, and the tackiness of her wardrobe was sometimes distracting.

Nominated for an Emmy for Cybill, Turturice became progressively less willing to consider new ideas and was replaced the second season by Leslie Potts, who gave both characters sophisticated and chic wardrobes. When she won an Emmy, you'd think it might have validated my original objections, but the theory, I believe, went: Cybill is jealous that Christine is thinner and wears s.e.xier clothes. Christine once called Leslie into her dressing room and complained about one stunning c.o.c.ktail sheath that I wore, arguing that Cybill Sheridan wouldn't be able to afford such a dress. She was the victim, I was the monster, and there was little I could do to counter the accusations of self-promoting b.i.t.c.hery.

Almost immediately, the show garnered loyal audiences and dream reviews. I did not take it for granted. I felt like a phoenix rising from the ashes. And if I didn't have an Emmy, at least I was a figure at Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum in London. The sculptor from the museum came to California with a bowlful of eyeb.a.l.l.s, measuring every square inch of my body and every hair on my head--it took him eight hours. When I balked at doing the revolting dental impressions that make you gag, he convinced me to do it by saying, "Tony Bennett did it."

Part of my job satisfaction was working with the man I loved. Chuck and Jay asked Roark to compose some of the "incidental" music for the show. I was very pleased they offered him a job, but keeping to an old pattern, I had fallen in love from the neck down.

Roark could be cruelly insensitive, p.r.o.ne to pick a fight at the worst possible moment, like an opening night. But our biggest source of friction was his allegiance to a pseudo-philosophy called objectivism, promoted by the novelist Ayn Rand and based on the theory that reality is not subjective. There's only one correct point of view, and anybody who doesn't subscribe to it is wrong. In the hope of resolving our conflict, I agreed to finance "couples" therapy, and at our first session, the shrink announced, "This will never work." The relationship was too unbalanced, and Roark was dependent on me for his livelihood. So I made a mental adjustment: Roark's belief was rather like voting Republican--alien to me but something I could overlook. He had recently become my musical director and I thought that music, along with our s.e.x life, was a strong enough bond.

In 1995 both Christine and I were nominated for Emmys. What the public generally doesn't know is that actors have to put forth their own names to be nominated for these awards: the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences sends out a big book with all the names that have been submitted, and then the entire acting membership votes for five in each category. Those nominees each choose an episode that represents their best work from the previous season, and a "blue-ribbon" panel of industry volunteers watches the videotapes in a Beverly Hills hotel suite before voting.

Because I was cohosting the awards that year, I was doing an interview at the back of the auditorium when Christine won for Best Supporting Actress. By the time they got around to announcing Best Actress, I was standing in the wings, listening to my heart beating, hearing people laugh heartily at the footage from my show but applaud more for Candice Bergen's clips from Murphy Brown. Murphy Brown. I was prepared to lose, so when the camera panned to me, I took a swig from a bottle of Jack Daniel's that had been emptied and filled with Snappe. It was history repeating itself. Candice announced that it was embarra.s.sing to keep winning and disqualified herself the following year, but it's pretty d.a.m.n embarra.s.sing to keep losing too. Actors are telling the truth when they say that the real thrill is to be nominated but it's only a thrill until thirty seconds after the nomination is announced. Then all you care about is winning because this time you deserve it, more than anyone else. Please, G.o.d? (To quote David Addison, G.o.d must have been otherwise engaged.) As the winner walks up the aisle, you're smiling graciously and thinking: I was prepared to lose, so when the camera panned to me, I took a swig from a bottle of Jack Daniel's that had been emptied and filled with Snappe. It was history repeating itself. Candice announced that it was embarra.s.sing to keep winning and disqualified herself the following year, but it's pretty d.a.m.n embarra.s.sing to keep losing too. Actors are telling the truth when they say that the real thrill is to be nominated but it's only a thrill until thirty seconds after the nomination is announced. Then all you care about is winning because this time you deserve it, more than anyone else. Please, G.o.d? (To quote David Addison, G.o.d must have been otherwise engaged.) As the winner walks up the aisle, you're smiling graciously and thinking: Die, b.i.t.c.h, die, it should have been me. Die, b.i.t.c.h, die, it should have been me.

Every actor has bad habits. I'm sometimes guilty of the kind of shameless mugging that inappropriately comments on the material while pulling the viewer's focus away from the other actors. Orson Welles used to say, "Actors are either getting better or worse. There's no standing still." I was able to do more self-correcting on Cybill Cybill because for the first time, as executive producer, I had the right to look at dailies. Not so for the others. Alan Rosenberg is a terrific actor, trained at the Yale School of Drama, but he often spoke his lines so fast that it was difficult to understand him, and he made a chewing motion with his jaw after nearly every punch line, like Charlie McCarthy. Christine Baranski went to Julliard, and she breathed fire and magic into her characterization, but she had a couple of bad habits--gazing directly into the camera lens--in movie parlance, it's known as "looking down the barrel." (The camera operator is supposed to let the director know if an actor is doing it.) There's also a bad habit known as "buying it back," laughing at her own joke. Sometimes we had to cut away from her best take at such a moment. The biggest problem was she often refused to hold for laughs, especially when it was my joke. In other words, she would say her lines while the audience was still laughing. As a result, they wouldn't hear the setup for the next joke and wouldn't laugh. because for the first time, as executive producer, I had the right to look at dailies. Not so for the others. Alan Rosenberg is a terrific actor, trained at the Yale School of Drama, but he often spoke his lines so fast that it was difficult to understand him, and he made a chewing motion with his jaw after nearly every punch line, like Charlie McCarthy. Christine Baranski went to Julliard, and she breathed fire and magic into her characterization, but she had a couple of bad habits--gazing directly into the camera lens--in movie parlance, it's known as "looking down the barrel." (The camera operator is supposed to let the director know if an actor is doing it.) There's also a bad habit known as "buying it back," laughing at her own joke. Sometimes we had to cut away from her best take at such a moment. The biggest problem was she often refused to hold for laughs, especially when it was my joke. In other words, she would say her lines while the audience was still laughing. As a result, they wouldn't hear the setup for the next joke and wouldn't laugh.

I wanted to have a friendship with Christine, but she turned down so many invitations to visit my home that I finally said, "Look, you'll just have to tell me when you'd like to come over." We were both mothers working outside the home, but she worked in L.A. and her children lived in New York City, which meant that she spent most weekends on the red-eye, usually rushing off after the Friday filming without taking curtain calls. Her wardrobe a.s.sistant would come to my dressing room and say, "Christine's so sorry she couldn't say good-bye, but she had to make a plane." Sometimes she returned late on Monday morning, understandably jet-lagged and acting as if the Cybill Cybill set was the last place on earth she wanted to be. She couldn't have read the script because she was flying cross-country when it was distributed on Sunday night. set was the last place on earth she wanted to be. She couldn't have read the script because she was flying cross-country when it was distributed on Sunday night.

Everybody could see when something was troubling Christine--the writers kept asking, "What's wrong with her?" But she never came to me directly to say she wasn't happy. That was not her way. Sometimes I would ask, but there wasn't a lot of time for that kind of solicitation during the craziness of the production week and when I did have some time, on weekends or during hiatus weeks, she was back East. For both of us, time with our children was the most precious commodity, and just about every moment not working was spent with them. There was little opportunity to develop an off-site camaraderie, even a phony one, which might have been helpful. When performers have some degree of off-camera friendship, it can help develop a basis of mutual trust.

Jay and Chuck never intended to film the show with an audience. From the beginning the plan was to play the finished episode in front of people for the laugh track. The studio audience, they argued, is not a real audience anyway;they're just tourists herded onto the soundstage, and they're weird because they know they're being recorded. By not having a live audience, Jay and Chuck kept control out of the hands of the executives and actors. It's true that just because an actor gets a laugh doesn't mean it's a good laugh. Christine got some of her biggest ones playing falling-down-dead drunk. We couldn't use them because then her character would be a serious alcoholic and we'd have to take Maryann back to the Betty Ford Clinic, and that's not so funny.

With a live audience, a show becomes more of an actor's medium--you have the opportunity to say, "See, they didn't laugh. Write me something else." And the buses carry the studio audience away by eleven o'clock, making it imperative to finish by then. Without that limitation, we were at the mercy of Jay and Chuck, who could keep us as late as they liked, while we did take after take.

Even though our ratings were good, Ca.r.s.ey-Werner wanted us to have a live audience. As we approached the second season, they asked for a meeting to talk me into it. "Make sure you say no," Jay instructed. But what the h.e.l.l, I thought it'd be fun, more like theater. Jay was furious. "You're real popular now," he sniffed. "They call you the 'good witch.'" And Marcy Ca.r.s.ey sent me a Barbie doll dressed as Glinda from The Wizard The Wizard of of Oz. Oz.

The first time we did the show before a live audience was the second season opener. One of the executives at CBS came to the filming I said my thoughts out loud to The Suit. "You're an executive at CBS? You're so attractive." He smiled, pleased with the flirtation. That spring I got a call from an a.s.sistant to The Suit saying that he wanted to take me to dinner. I a.s.sumed it was a pleasant way to have an official meeting. I knew that he was married, and as far as I was concerned, so was I.

I was ten or fifteen minutes late arriving at Pinot, an Italian restaurant in the San Fernando Valley, and The Suit was already at a table having a c.o.c.ktail. He stood to greet me, said something complimentary about my outfit, and commented on the fact that a driver had brought me.

About halfway through dinner, he asked, "So, are you involved with someone?"

"Yes," I said, mentioning Roark. "We're very committed, very much in love."

We talked about children, his and mine. And then, quite out of the blue, he said, "My wife doesn't really turn me on anymore."

I know there was fish on my plate and a few mounds of vegetables because I looked down for a while, thinking, I've heard this before. I've heard this before. Those were almost the exact words my dad said to me when he was getting ready to leave my mother. Wrenching myself back into the present, I looked up at him and said, "I'm sorry to hear that." Those were almost the exact words my dad said to me when he was getting ready to leave my mother. Wrenching myself back into the present, I looked up at him and said, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Mmmmm," he said, "I've had a number of affairs."

"With whom?" I asked, and he mentioned one well-known actress. I was curious: how much would he spill?

Just as the check came and he was reaching for his credit card, he said, "Why don't you tell your driver to go home?"

I was trying to handle the situation without bruising his ego. It was a bad idea for so many reasons. "You're very attractive," I said smiling "but this wouldn't be a good thing. I don't fool around, I'm happy where I am, and we have a really important business relationship here."

There was an uncomfortable pause. As he handed the signed receipt to the waiter and rose to leave, he said, "Maybe you're right. Suppose we broke up and I didn't like you anymore?" That might not be good for your show. The network might have to cancel your show."

I don't know what emotion my face registered, but I recovered enough to exchange cordial good-byes. I sent The Suit a handwritten letter, thanking him for dinner and carefully wording a comment about valuing our business relationship. He sent me flowers. I thought we were okay.

But, as John Ford used to say, it was my turn in the barrel. My days at CBS were numbered.

I had not spoken to Bruce Willis since the last days of Moonlighting, Moonlighting, except in pa.s.sing at an awards show. Perhaps inspired by the rapprochement with Jay Daniel, another alumnus of the show, I had called him during the hiatus. Neither of us apologized for anything that had transpired between us, but I was empathetic about the difficulty of becoming famous, about how hard it is to have a private life and give your family a sense of normalcy. "Hey," he said when we'd made amends, "if you like, I could come on your show and do a walk-on." except in pa.s.sing at an awards show. Perhaps inspired by the rapprochement with Jay Daniel, another alumnus of the show, I had called him during the hiatus. Neither of us apologized for anything that had transpired between us, but I was empathetic about the difficulty of becoming famous, about how hard it is to have a private life and give your family a sense of normalcy. "Hey," he said when we'd made amends, "if you like, I could come on your show and do a walk-on."

"That would be wonderful," I said "would you like to talk to the writers?"

"Nah," he said, "just have them come up with something and send it to me."

They wrote a perfect Bruce Willis cameo into the first episode of our second season. I had suggested that spirituality was a rich area to mine for comedy, and in "Cybill Discovers the Meaning of Life," the writers created a character who was Cybill Sheridan's "spirit guide." It seemed ironically appropriate to have Bruce play the part, since G.o.ddess spiritually had become an indelible part of my life as a direct result of my angst during the Moonlighting Moonlighting years. I knew that some of my views met with glazed--over eyes and could only imagine what hits I took behind my back--I tended to say "G.o.ddess bless" when anybody sneezed and was probably a little mischievous in directing such a blessing to the most recalcitrant souls. Some people on the show resented any suggestion that we explore these themes, protesting what they considered a soapbox. If the audience laughs, it's not a soapbox. years. I knew that some of my views met with glazed--over eyes and could only imagine what hits I took behind my back--I tended to say "G.o.ddess bless" when anybody sneezed and was probably a little mischievous in directing such a blessing to the most recalcitrant souls. Some people on the show resented any suggestion that we explore these themes, protesting what they considered a soapbox. If the audience laughs, it's not a soapbox.

In the second-season opener, my character is about to become a grandmother, and drags a reluctant Maryann into the Mojave to meditate.

Cybill: "The desert is a power place." "The desert is a power place."Maryann: "Spago is a power place." "Spago is a power place."Cybill: "People have been having profound experiences in the desert for thousands of years." "People have been having profound experiences in the desert for thousands of years."Maryann: "Name three." "Name three."Cybill: "Jesus, Moses and Bugsy Siegel." "Jesus, Moses and Bugsy Siegel."Cybill is chanting to Mother Earth; Maryann is distracted and bored.Maryann: "You're the one who's all screwed up with this self indulgent, New Age yuppie c.r.a.p--meditating, fasting, raising the cone of silence." "You're the one who's all screwed up with this self indulgent, New Age yuppie c.r.a.p--meditating, fasting, raising the cone of silence."Cybill: "It's a cone of power." "It's a cone of power."Maryann: "It's a cone of c.r.a.p." "It's a cone of c.r.a.p."

If I had wanted a soapbox, that line would have been cut. It was a way to poke fun at my own beliefs, and I thought it would be even more fun to have "David Addison" show up in the desert. But Bruce Willis' agent said he didn't have time. Read whatever you want into the fact that he did cameos on Ally McBeal Ally McBeal and and Mad About You Mad About You (the latter was head-to-head with my show on Sunday nights for a while). (the latter was head-to-head with my show on Sunday nights for a while).

Second season, second episode: I was thrilled that Tony Bennett was signed as a guest star. I said to Chuck, "Hey, why don't Tony and I sing a duet?"

"We can't change the script," he said. "Tony has already approved it."

That was how I learned that a guest star had read the script before the star and executive producer, namely me. "How did that happen?" I asked Chuckn the s hemmed and hawed, deflecting blame, and said, "If you want him to sing, you'll have to ask him yourself." When Tony Bennett arrived to film his spot and came to my dressing room, he graciously agreed to sing two diets with me, "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" as well as "Nice Work If You Can Get It," the song that I performed over the opening credits every week. Afterward I gave Chuck an ultimatum: "Don't ever send out a script that I haven't approved to a guest star." He rolled his eyes. He had done something inappropriate, and I don't think he ever forgave me for it.

Perhaps my worst infraction was once asking to swap lines with Christine. In the opening scene of the "Zing!" episode, Cybill and Maryann are relaxing in chaise lounges under a ludicrous camouflage of hats, protective clothes, and sungla.s.ses. Cybill was to say, "I miss the ozone layer," and Maryann was to respond, "What a price to pay for decent hair spray." Chuck interpreted my request as an attempt to steal Christine's joke. Both of us got big laughs, but it was considered the final straw of my evil intent, and Chuck and I would never be the same.

Whenever I argued with Chuck about something that didn't ring true for me, he inferred a hidden agenda. In the third episode of the season, called "Since I Lost My Baby," Cybill goes shopping with her infant grandson, and Maryann absentmindedly leaves with the wrong baby, a girl. She discovers the mistake in the process of changing the baby's diaper and says, "My G.o.d, that is the worst circ.u.mcision I've ever seen." I hated that line. Referring to the female anatomy as if it is inherently defective because something has been cut off smacks of the most archaic Freudian p.e.n.i.s envy. The joke was demeaning and gratuitously disrespectful to all women.

I knew that the line would get a big laugh, but again, audiences sometimes laugh for the wrong reason. Jay implied, none too subtly, that I was simply trying to sabotage a huge laugh for Christine. If they had given me the line, I would have refused to say it. But I was told: too bad, it's staying in. Christine got a big laugh. Looking back, I realize it would not have been uncharacteristic of Maryann's consciousness to say such a thing. The logical fix would have been to simply give Cybill Sheridan a follow-up line that reflected her feminist perspective. Who knows? My response could have been funny. I wish I had thought of that then.

From the beginning Marcy Ca.r.s.ey gave me enormous support. "I was on every show, in every single story session," she defended me in a TV Guide TV Guide interview. "Cybill is smart, she is supportive of Christine. Story meeting by story meeting, she said, "Can't we do more for Christine here?" And by the fall of 1995, when virtually every decision with Chuck Lorre involved a fractious disagreement, Marcy was prepared to let him go. Since Chuck is Jewish, she respectfully waited to deliver the bad news until after Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar, but he still demurred in the press that the timing of his dismissal was insensitive to his religious traditions, without mentioning that his replacement was Jewish too: a kindly-looking bearded fellow named Howard Gould, who'd done an excellent job as supervising producer on the show. When we were looking around to replace Chuck, I kept saying, "Howard can do it, Howard can do it, Howard can do it." Jay Daniel and Ca.r.s.ey-Werner kept responding, "Howard can't do it, Howard can't do it, Howard can't do it." I won that round and Howard did it. interview. "Cybill is smart, she is supportive of Christine. Story meeting by story meeting, she said, "Can't we do more for Christine here?" And by the fall of 1995, when virtually every decision with Chuck Lorre involved a fractious disagreement, Marcy was prepared to let him go. Since Chuck is Jewish, she respectfully waited to deliver the bad news until after Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar, but he still demurred in the press that the timing of his dismissal was insensitive to his religious traditions, without mentioning that his replacement was Jewish too: a kindly-looking bearded fellow named Howard Gould, who'd done an excellent job as supervising producer on the show. When we were looking around to replace Chuck, I kept saying, "Howard can do it, Howard can do it, Howard can do it." Jay Daniel and Ca.r.s.ey-Werner kept responding, "Howard can't do it, Howard can't do it, Howard can't do it." I won that round and Howard did it.

It was Dedee Pfeiffer who suggested hiring her friend Don Smith as our makeup man, and he soon became buddies with Christine as well, often driving her to and from work. He was let go after one season, but that didn't stop Christine from bringing him realizer date to the Golden Globe awards, making an uncomfortable evening for me. (How would you like to have the man you just canned sitting across the dinner table?) Every few months, there seemed to be a story in the tabloid press, always scurrilous and unattributed and usually about me. Christine was the target of one particularly obnoxious item, claiming that she was afraid to kiss a h.o.m.os.e.xual actor for fear of contracting AIDS (her children saw the paper in a store and brought it home, a virgin experience for her but one I've had over and over). It was obvious that someone close to the show was peddling "information." Finally, a well-respected journalist I knew called me and said, "I thought you might want to know that the source of those stories about your show is Don Smith."

When I shared the journalist's information Christine looked stricken. "I'd heard that might be true," she said quietly, "but I didn't want to believe it." It was the closest I ever felt to her. Dedee was equally dismayed but seemed to put his treachery behind her: When she and a new boyfriend became engaged she called my a.s.sistant and said, "Look, I really can't invite Cybill to the wedding because Chuck Lorre and Don Smith are going to be there."

Howard Gould and I worked like a finely calibrated piece of machinery for most of his first year, but there was something about the first hiatus that changed the dynamics just as it had with Chuck Lorre. In an episode called "Mourning Has Broken," Maryann is convinced that the lawyer Cybill is dating murdered his wife. The two women sneak into his house, and the script called for us to blacken our faces. This came on the heels of a huge contretemps when Ted Danson was made up in vaudevillian blackface for the Friars Club roast of his then-girlfriend Whoopi Goldberg, and the couple spent weeks in public relations purgatory, defending their odd sense of humor.

"We can't do that," I told Howard. "It's demeaning to black people."

"It's just a little smudge," he argued.

"You know what?" I said. "I am on the advisory board of the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis. Let's call the museum director and ask what she thinks."

He exploded. "I lost family in the Holocaust," he screamed, "and if anybody knows about discrimination, it's me."

"Why don't we use panty hose pulled down over our faces?" I suggested. "That will look funnier anyway," but he stormed out of the room. The panty hose were hilarious, with the feet dangling like ta.s.sels, but Howard never forgave me for my defiance. When he quit the show the next season, he had to be dragged from my trailer, practically foaming at the mouth and shouting, "I'm leaving, but I'm a better person than you are."

'Things became Byzantine when Peter Bogdanovich told me his daughters had heard a rumor that my show was too expensive and was about to be canceled. Part of the reason was Jay Daniel, who sometimes demanded extravagant sets and had an expensive predilection for myriad takes of every shot. There's an adage in the business that film is cheap but time is money, which justifies doing it "one more time" to make sure you "get it" and don't have to come back later. But that's not true for a situation comedy with four 35-millimeter cameras moving in a complicated dance across the stage floor between the actors and the audience, each requiring a camera operator riding a dolly, a dolly grip to push, and a focus puller. Video is infinitely cheaper, but film is more aesthetic, more sharply defined, more flattering. We figured out that it cost about $1,000 per foot of film. For at least a year, Ca.r.s.ey-Werner had complained about going over budget and persistently urged that we fire Jay. I defended im but took a stand: "Three takes--that's it. If the actors get the words right and don't fall down, we have to move on."

There was an entire building on the CBS Studio City lot in which every office was filled with people involved in the making of my show. Or so I thought. One day I went in the side door and was walking briskly down the hall, a little late for an editing meeting, when I heard my name called. It was an unpleasant voice from the past, but I didn't identify it until I turned around. What the h.e.l.l was Polly Platt doing there?

"Cybill," she enthused, "guess what? I'm heading up the new feature film division for Ca.r.s.ey-Werner."

Pause. "How wonderful," I said, knowing that I was up s.h.i.t's creek without a paddle. Who's the absolutely last person on G.o.d's green earth I would want whispering in the ears of the people who sign my paychecks? It is unlikely that I'll ever work in a Polly Platt production. The source of Peter's rumor was apparent, and from then on I used a different entrance to the building, nowhere near her office. A short time later, Polly sent me a handwritten note on Ca.r.s.ey-Werner letterhead, with a little heart drawn next to my name, telling me that her elder daughter, Antonia, an aspiring actress, had submitted a reel of her work to Jay Daniel, who had promised to get her a small part on my show. "Could you help?" the note pleaded. "It would mean a great deal to her, and of course, to me." The note was signed, "My very best to you Cybill." I pa.s.sed the note on to Jay.

When I finally insisted on being part of the show's budget meeting, I discovered that Jay was blaming me for the high costs. In his considered opinion, Christine was a Xerox machine--she would say a line exactly the same way no matter how many times she did it. I was the exact opposite. I did it differently every time and took pride in surprising myself and the audience. Jay would say that I didn't even warm up until the fourth take, and he considered himself the master hand, putting together the bits that he liked from each scene. I would often see his choices and remember another, better, funnier take (this was true for all the actors, not just myself). He seldom liked my most outrageous moments and felt that slapstick was appropriate only in isolated incidents, "I will not use your biggest, Lucy-esque takes," he told me. "I will protect you from yourself."

In the fall of 1996, for an episode called "Cybill and Maryann Go to j.a.pan," Jay went over budget creating an unnecessarily large and elaborate j.a.panese garden, but he said we couldn't afford a pond that would have provided me with a hilarious Lucy-esque moment (my character, dressed in full geisha costume, would fall in) so I finally agreed that Jay should go. When he left, eight episodes into the season, we were over budget. By the end of that season, we were safely in the black.

Caryn Mandabach, the head of production at C-W, said that the only way the show would survive was to "poach" a great head writer named Bob Myer from his development deal at Tri-Star, who had refused to consider her offer until Jay was gone. And Bob did seem heaven-sent, literally the answer to my prayers, from our very first meeting. "I know that part of the problem has been a lack of communication," he said. "But I promise I will be the first person you talk to in the morning and the last person you talk to at night. You will be kept so informed, you will get sick of the information and tell me you don't need to hear any more." Over time we even developed a private code. I hate it when someone says "Be good" as a parting salutation--I always want to say "What if I ain't?" So Bob started signing all his notes to me with "Be bad," "Be so bad," or "Be ever bad> IT WAS ALWAYS INTERESTING TRYING TO DECIPHER THE peculiar logic of Standards and Practices at CBS. In the episode "When You're Hot You're Hot" during our second season, Maryann is in denial about the approach of menopause, referring to the herbal potions that Cybill is trying for hot flashes as "bark juice" and "the fungus of many nations." peculiar logic of Standards and Practices at CBS. In the episode "When You're Hot You're Hot" during our second season, Maryann is in denial about the approach of menopause, referring to the herbal potions that Cybill is trying for hot flashes as "bark juice" and "the fungus of many nations."

Maryann: "Thank goodness this will never happen to me" "Thank goodness this will never happen to me"Cybill: "Probably not. They say alcohol pickles the uterus" "Probably not. They say alcohol pickles the uterus"Maryann: "When you say you're premenopausal does that mean your 'friend' has stopped visiting every month?" "When you say you're premenopausal does that mean your 'friend' has stopped visiting every month?"Cybill: "My 'Friend' what are you, twelve?" "My 'Friend' what are you, twelve?"Maryann: "You know what I mean, Aunt Flo?" "You know what I mean, Aunt Flo?"Cybill: "Just sat it out-period, period, period" "Just sat it out-period, period, period"

In our fourth season, we did another menopause episode called "Some Like It Hot." We were told not to refer to a woman's biological cycles as anything other than her biological cycle, and were forbidden to say uterus, cervix, ovaries, menstruation, period, or flow. And why? Years earlier, Gloria Steinem had pointed out to me that the valentine heart was originally a symbol of female genitalia. When I repeated this to Bob Myer he was rightfully intrigued and said he'd like to build an episode around it, having fun with a different kind of "V" day. When CBS read the script, Standards and Practices forbade the use of the word v.a.g.i.n.a. v.a.g.i.n.a. I asked Bob to see if they'd agree to let is use I asked Bob to see if they'd agree to let is use l.a.b.i.a. l.a.b.i.a. Remarkably, they said yes. We wondered if CBS knew what the word meant or thought no one else would. Although the episode got some of our biggest laughs and highest ratings, that's when the network began to crack down on any element of the show regarding female anatomy or bodily functions. I had the distinct feeling that they thought we were trying to be lewd or shocking, but our insistence on using those words came from political awareness. Knowing the proper names as well as the slang for body parts is one way for women and children to protect themselves from s.e.xual abuse, as well as open themselves to s.e.xual pleasure. It's astonishing that in daring to describe female anatomy accurately we were breaking new ground in television. At the time, I had no idea that Eve Ensler had won the 1997 Obie Award for her one-woman show called Remarkably, they said yes. We wondered if CBS knew what the word meant or thought no one else would. Although the episode got some of our biggest laughs and highest ratings, that's when the network began to crack down on any element of the show regarding female anatomy or bodily functions. I had the distinct feeling that they thought we were trying to be lewd or shocking, but our insistence on using those words came from political awareness. Knowing the proper names as well as the slang for body parts is one way for women and children to protect themselves from s.e.xual abuse, as well as open themselves to s.e.xual pleasure. It's astonishing that in daring to describe female anatomy accurately we were breaking new ground in television. At the time, I had no idea that Eve Ensler had won the 1997 Obie Award for her one-woman show called The v.a.g.i.n.a Monologues The v.a.g.i.n.a Monologues. I didn't know about her hilarious, eye-opening tour into the forbidden zone at the heart of every woman until I read an article in the Arts and Leisure section of the New York Times New York Times in 1999, a year after my Valentine's Day episode was aired. I rejoiced at the public acknowledgment that her play was an important groundbreaking work, yet I was saddened that similar groundbreaking work on the Cybill show had gone unnoticed by the press. But, like menopause, the issue of a woman's ident.i.ty in regard to her genitals was still taboo in the media at the time we were dealing with it and reaching a huge prime-time audience. in 1999, a year after my Valentine's Day episode was aired. I rejoiced at the public acknowledgment that her play was an important groundbreaking work, yet I was saddened that similar groundbreaking work on the Cybill show had gone unnoticed by the press. But, like menopause, the issue of a woman's ident.i.ty in regard to her genitals was still taboo in the media at the time we were dealing with it and reaching a huge prime-time audience.

It was Christine's idea to do an episode about mammography, but the show became a source of contention for us. Last-minute changes were not her thing, and she perceived improvisation as ambush. But even flubs often prove to be the funniest moments. In the episode called "In Her Dreams," Maryann goes for a worrisome mammogram. It was scripted that she would cry, but when we came to do the scene, I started to tear up too. Working up the emotion for the scene, I had been listening to "Come in from the Rain," Melissa Manchester's song about friendship ("Well, h.e.l.lo there, dear old friend of mine..."). I was imagining a breast cancer scare not for Cybill Sheridan's best friend but for Cybill Shepherd's best friend, and I started to feel the moment for real. I've been there, sitting on turquoise vinyl seats in hospital waiting rooms with loved ones, waiting for scary biopsy reports, and my friends never cry alone--we cry with and for each other. But when Christine saw the tears in my eyes, she went cold Before the second take, Bob Myer came to me and said, "You know Christine doesn't like these surprises." Then she had her manager call him. Christine, it seemed, felt quite strongly that we not use the first take when I had cried. In fact, she wanted to partic.i.p.ate in the editing to ensure that the first take was not used. Bob denied her request, explaining that we used parts of every take, showing each actor to his or her best advantage.

Early in 1997, Bob came into my dressing room, practically chewing up the furniture and spitting it out with fury. "We've just gotten a call from the producer of 3rd Rock," 3rd Rock," he said, who insists that he needs Christine next week." he said, who insists that he needs Christine next week."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Ca.r.s.ey-Werner wants her to do a cameo," he said.

"Why didn't we know about this earlier?" I asked.

"Didn't they tell you?" he said. "Oh, those people don't know how to talk to anybody. I'm going to call them and say they can't have her now."

"You do that," I said, "and furthermore, we want a trade-off: let's get one of their actors to come on Cybill." Cybill."

A few weeks after Christine did her cameo, Marcy and Caryn sent me a note: "If we would have had a brain in our heads, the right thing for us to do would have been to have told you directly about Christine's appearance on 3rd Rock. 3rd Rock.... We value your work and your friendship more than you know and hope you can forgive us." I also heard from a Ca.r.s.ey-Werner executive known privately as The Executioner because he was always mentioning his uncle Ivan. (If somebody was being rude to you, he would offer, "Uncle Ivan could bury his feet in cement.") His note to me was contrite: "I'm sorry if I caused you any problems regarding Christine and 3rd Rock," 3rd Rock," he wrote, signing off, "Your loyal production slave." he wrote, signing off, "Your loyal production slave."

One of my concerns with the direction of the show was that Maryann Thorpe had a new romantic interest, while Cybill Sheridan had zippo. Bob kept talking about the difficulty of finding the right actor to play opposite me, so I suggested that my character date lots of men--they might all turn out to be ax murderers, as they often do in real life, but the odyssey would be rich loam for comedy. For the third season closer, he came up with a story called "Let's Stalk" that ends with Maryann fearing she has killed Dr. d.i.c.k, but in the first episode of the upcoming season she was to discover she hadn't killed him. Dr. d.i.c.k would suddenly appear and be played by a recognizable guest star.

The opening and closing episodes are two of the most important of the year, because of the promotion and media attention, and it's crucial to have a cliff-hanger that practically ensures the audience will watch to see the resolution when the new season begins. It was a bad idea to have two such crucial episodes dependent on the casting of a guest star, who might or might not materialize. There was always pressure from the network to have cameos, because such appearances generated good buzz, but I objected to the idea when it came to Dr. d.i.c.k. I thought he should be seen only in the imagination of the viewers, a device used successfully throughout television history, from the invisible Sam as the answering service for "Richard Diamond" (it was Mary Tyler Moore's voice), to the off-camera Charlie of Charlie's Angels Charlie's Angels (John Forsythe spoke his lines), to the ent Maris, sister-in-law of (John Forsythe spoke his lines), to the ent Maris, sister-in-law of Frasier. Frasier. CBS continued to push for John Lithgow to play the odious Dr. d.i.c.k, but he had already turned the role down, sending me flowers with a note that said, "Quite apart from feeling wildly overextended these days. I'm following a firm personal policy of concentrating all of my sitcom energies on CBS continued to push for John Lithgow to play the odious Dr. d.i.c.k, but he had already turned the role down, sending me flowers with a note that said, "Quite apart from feeling wildly overextended these days. I'm following a firm personal policy of concentrating all of my sitcom energies on 3rd Rock 3rd Rock. If I did any other show, it would be yours, but for the moment, I'm doing none. If it's any consolation, you'll never see me turning up on Friends." Friends."

Timothy Dalton and John Larroquette also declined the honor of playing Dr. d.i.c.k. Don Johnson didn't even bother to respond. Just days before we were to begin shooting, I told Bob Myer, "Forget about getting somebody's idea of a name. Just cast the best actor."

"I want you to trust me on this," Bob said. "We'll just shoot the segments that don't require Dr. d.i.c.k, and by the time we need him, we'll have somebody great."

Everyone knows the joke about the three biggest lies in Hollywood: "The check is in the mail," "The Mercedes is paid for," and "It's only a cold sore." And they're all preceded by the words: "Trust me." Dr. d.i.c.k was never cast, the story was rewritten, and we shot in bits and pieces for several months, never resolving the cliffhanger. Bob admitted that he had been badly mistaken in building the opening and closing episodes around uncertain casting and sent this note to the cast early in the new season: Dear Everybody,Because we waited until we found just the right casting for Dr. d.i.c.k to complete the filming of the episode that featured him (#401), we've had to make certain adjustments in the production schedule. If you remember, we preshot two scenes from episode #403 to make room for the two Dr. d.i.c.k scenes in #401 that we postponed. Therefore, the following pages represent the scenes from episode #403 that have not been shot, as well as the remainder of the scenes from episode #401 that have not been shot.Confused? There's more.The pages that are included under separate cover contain material that needs to be shot, as well as the material that it relates to, which has been shot.Still with me?Robert Stack appears in one of the pickup scenes from #401 that formerly featured Dr. d.i.c.k. No, Robert Stack is not playing Dr. d.i.c.k. He is playing Robert Stack, a friend of both Maryann and Dr. d.i.c.k.What's more...I ask n.o.body to actually understand this. Just remember, we're having fun.Trust me,BobP.S. We never did find Dr. d.i.c.k, which turned out to be a good thing. Really.

Audiences have always enjoyed seeing me send up my image as a perfectly groomed mannequin. But the network wanted me to be more ladylike: no more burping or spitting olives back into the martini gla.s.s. The message, delivered by Bob Myer, was "Can't Cybill leave the sloppy stuff to Drew Carey?" What were they afraid of? That my show might get ratings as high as his? My sloppy eating, talking with my mouth full, and scenes of occasional burping consistently garnered some of my strongest laughs from the studio audience and those episodes always generated the highest ratings.

That November we filmed an episode called "Grandbaby" in which my character becomes a grandmothor the second time and is saddened that her daughter's family is moving away to Boston. I had the idea of using as a lullaby to my new granddaughter "Talk Memphis to Me," a song Tom Adams and I had written about my missing Memphis. I wanted to expand the lullaby moment into a brief music video showing what my character hoped she'd get to do with her granddaughter in Memphis if ever given the chance to take her there. The video included shots of my granddaughter at different ages as we visited our favorite places there. It had already been well established that Cybill Sheridan was born and raised in Memphis like I was. Also, the singing of the song became a reconciliation between my character and her first husband, who was also the grandfather of the newborn girl. That impromptu duet, which reflected their history of singing together, was a creative and emotional resolution to their prior conflict in the episode.

At first, Ca.r.s.ey-Werner refused to finance the video and I agreed to pay for it myself, but once they saw the footage, they loved it so much I never had to pay. What they and the network wanted cut, however, was thirty-five seconds of a helicopter shot pulling back from a steamboat on the Mississippi River showing a crowd of black and white Memphians rocking out to the song. The studio and the network said that it took us too far out of the story, that n.o.body would understand who those extras were, even though no one had ever questioned the presence of the extras who sat in the trattoria scenes on the show every week.

This was the seventy-third episode of the show. It was the first and only time I would ever try to pull rank and go higher up to an executive at CBS. I placed a call to The Suit in hopes of getting a chance to explain why that thirty-five seconds of blacks and whites dancing together should stay in. After six hours of waiting with no word from the executive, I received a frantic message that Bob was on his way to the stage and I was not to speak with anyone about this until he had spoken to me. When he arrived there, he told me that it was no longer a creative decision. Standards and Practices, the watchdog department for the network objected to the use of all the Memphis footage, saying it was a conflict of interest (meaning it was blatantly advertising my CD, Talk Memphis to Me Talk Memphis to Me).

I asked Bob, "So you're saying we have to cut the whole song?"

"No, no. Just any of the footage shot in Memphis."

"That doesn't make sense. It's not logical if their point is conflict of interest. Then they should insist the song be cut in its entirety."

"Well, they're not asking for that," Bob replied.

That's when I realized that it was not really about creative differences or conflict of interest. It was a conflict of power. Who was going to decide what stays in or what is cut out? It was not going to be Cybill Shepherd.