B004YENES8 EBOK (36 page)

Our chauffeur, Martin Lewis, handed over his touring car’s mobile phone, and in minutes Gless had explained to Hector (although only in part) that she would be taking her return flight a couple of days later than planned. I remember marveling at the new-to-me technology that made this trans-Atlantic call possible from a moving car and have been grateful to cell phones ever since.

On the dais of CLASS (Cagney & Lacey Appreciation of the Series Society) in London, England: Sharon Gless (the blonde) and the author.

Photo: Rosenzweig Personal Collection

That night, the four of us attended a show in London’s West End that had world premiered only days before: Andrew Lloyd Webber’s
Phantom of the Opera
. That then-newly minted musical, presented in the very theater for which it was designed, has (I am sure), over the years, impacted many couples; still, I cannot imagine Mr. Webber ever had two more perfect members of an audience than he had that London night in the personages of Sharon Gless and Barney Rosenzweig. The flawed hero, the heroine, torn ’twixt a romance with her Svengali and her more conventional fiancé, the opera and showmanship as a backdrop, the high melodrama of it all. I was in sensory and emotional overload. Sharon held herself together better than I, but not much.

We were far from discreet on that flight over the Atlantic en route to the States, and I believed we had been spotted by someone I was pretty certain I knew back in Hollywood. The good news was that Tyne and Georg remained clueless.

On landing at LAX, Sharon was met by Hector. He had packed her bags for Carmel and was prepared to make their connecting flight. Barbara was there with a limo to take me home. We were all too quickly returned to reality. Sharon came running over to my car to say good-bye, tapping on the window for me to open, which, with tears running down my cheeks, I did. Barbara either didn’t notice this moment or chose not to ask what it meant. I volunteered no information on this or anything else relevant to it as we drove home.

There would be no agreement this time between Sharon and myself, save that we would each do our best to keep our affair ongoing and clandestine. She was not asking me to break up my marriage, although she did voluntarily end her long-standing relationship with Hector. Then, after a few weeks had passed, I was asked to visit her motor home, where, upon opening the door, I was confronted by a stuffed monkey, sitting atop a music box, playing “Masquerade” from
Phantom of the Opera
.

It was the back-up prop from the production in London, which Sharon, unbeknownst to me, had pleaded to purchase for her unnamed lover. Her unusual request was granted; it seems, in the theater, even prop masters can be hopeless romantics. The monkey and his music box are—to this day—among my most prized possessions.

Photo: Sharon Gless Personal Collection

Sharon Gless at a special reception in London. That is Brian Connolly, a fabulously talented English performer, on the far right of the frame and Barry Manilow, one person removed down the line to the left. Oh yes, that is Princess Diana, who is offering her hand to La Gless.

Photo: Sharon Gless Personal Collection

Sharon with two of London’s finest.

Photo: Sharon Gless Personal Collection

One of my favorite photos of Sharon and me. Occasion was the celebration of our hundredth episode of
Cagney & Lacey
, and the photographer was ironically Sharon’s beau at that time, cinematographer Hector Figueroa.

Photo: Rosenzweig Personal Collection

Chapter 41 

QUALITY CONTROL 

On the Lacy Street front, Sharon and Tyne were closer now than ever; it is, they say, “the best year of our marriage.” The growth patterns for all of us were apparent, and the work continued to be good, if uninspired. The lack of soaring had Sharon and Tyne critical, but I thought they failed to see just what an accomplishment there was in maintaining a level of quality.

Miami Vice
slipped badly its second year and its third was worse;
Moonlighting
was not nearly the show it was in its first season.
Hill Street Blues
was stumbling as well (though not so much as the other two). Our show was—on balance—doing some of its best work, missing some of the highs of the past, it was true, but also dodging the lows. We were maintaining a high standard of quality, and I felt we three should learn to take more pleasure in that—the getting on base with each time at bat—and learning that was now our game. The emotional extremes of the home run batter, clearing the fence or striking out, were part of our past. We were fine. It had been a great year for
Cagney & Lacey
, and so all the other bad news fell into the background.

Writer Joel Oliansky once said that I “was a born producer.” I have always elected to believe this was meant as a compliment; still, you never know. That I am no futurist is made evident by the facts of 1987, particularly when juxtaposed beside my diary entry of December 26, 1986. It was not to be, as I had predicted, “One of the best years yet.”

It was the year of some extraordinary good work on
Cagney & Lacey
—especially our two-part, award-winning episodes on alcoholism (“Turn, Turn, Turn” Parts I and II
⁷²
)—which rivaled our previous two-parter on breast cancer for topicality, relevance, and for being credited as a potential life saver.

Another rollover by Stoddard at ABC and a suspension/extension by an equally sympathetic Herman Rush was put forth in anticipation of yet another season for
Cagney & Lacey
. That order for yet another semester of the series was not so easy in coming.

CBS had preempted us for the month of April, saving our two-parter for May sweeps. The chances of us doing well in any sweeps period (against typical blockbuster competition) were slim. Coming after five weeks of preemptions and the subsequent loss of audience flow, the odds were reduced substantially. Instead of having CBS making their decision based on March numbers (two of three were already in and excellent) and our two-parter following in April (when we are on a roll against relatively weak competition), this piece of scheduling “genius” was put forward, clouding my horizon.

I had three choices:

(1) Do nothing

(2) Get on the bandwagon and use the CBS line that the two-parter was so superior it was being saved for May sweeps

(3) Raise a stink through the press, the National Organization for Women, and all my other pro-feminist contacts

If I did either 1 or 2 and May 15 came and we were not on the schedule, I would never forgive myself. Acting on 3, however, was not without its problems. Not only would a national press campaign be a lot of work, it could cause plenty of trouble with CBS (for the only way to do this, at that point in the series’ history, was to personalize the battle. The issue of May sweeps and a five-week hiatus was, I believed, a little too technical for our lay audience; besides, after five years, it would be tough to pull out the same old tactics used in the past). This time it could get nasty. I would have to give interviews about a post–Harvey Shephard CBS and be quoted on Kim LeMasters’ disdain for the series from the outset. I wouldn’t make many friends at CBS with that tactic.

An evening’s discussion with Corday, Ann Daniel, and Len Hill (by this time, Mr. and Mrs.) regarding the CBS situation resulted in my first sleepless night since
Fortune Dane
, one year before. I found myself regressing emotionally into the pre–
Cagney & Lacey
period of my life—feeling angry, bitter, and powerless. I thought I had put those victim feelings behind me, and it frightened me to see how short a distance I had actually come.

Sitting at a dinner table with those three network executives—for that’s what they were at the nadir of my life in the early eighties—had me breaking into a cold sweat and fearing for my future. It was just like the bad old days all over again.

My sense of anticipated loss was acute. The power of being on the air with a series that provided me an opportunity to say whatever I wished endured only through the life of the show itself. It was nontransferable. The true power (over the life and death of that program) was not mine.

I would begin to mourn. I knew, as did Shakespeare’s Mark Antony, that such a Caesar would not come my way again. It was not the fear of being able to come up with another hit; the chances, I felt, of doing that—now with
Cagney & Lacey
as a springboard—were greater than ever. It was the loss of this particular franchise that I could not tolerate, the unique confluence of events of my own power and abilities, the women’s movement, the synergy with Corday, added to the equal wizardry of Tyne and Lacey, then multiplied by the affinity of Sharon for Cagney, Cagney for Lacey/Lacey for Cagney—and increased by the congruence of Sharon and Tyne themselves. There was the uniqueness of the Lacy Street experience and of my first true, authentic hit. These things could not be put back together again, and the terrible sickness is that I began this lament far sooner than necessary.

Our ratings in March continued to be good-to-excellent. We took the time period every week in the month. Still there was no word from CBS. I requested a meeting with LeMasters and Bud Grant. I was calm and seemingly in control of my emotions. I asked for an early pickup to be announced at our April 2 special screening of the two-parter;
⁷³
they would “reflect on it.” I requested that they be straight with me and tell me if they were considering canceling the show.

“We’re considering picking it up,” Mr. Grant said. It was sort of a glass half full/half empty condition. The next day,
The New York Times
revealed that Gene Jankowski
⁷⁴
had termed
Cagney & Lacey
“marginal.” I was being urged by the press to respond to this assault. I decided to keep a low profile. Discretion truly became a better choice than valor, but even in my agitated state I was not bereft of ideas.

A planned promotional screening for the National Commission on Alcoholism, to be attended by various civic and political leaders, would feature the organization honoring those of us connected to the production. I asked them to give the laurel to Kim LeMasters of CBS instead, reasoning that it would be more than a little difficult for him to accept such an honor with one hand while canceling the series with the other. It had become a game of centimeters, and I would grab territory wherever I could.

LeMasters called. My plan of having him receive an award at our special screening was working. Kim wanted to announce something but conceded he did not have authority to grant an early pickup. It was political, he said; Jankowski didn’t wish to appear to be undermining the news division or
West 57th Street
. The whole mess was over the unscheduled five-week break
Cagney & Lacey
was being asked to take.
West 57th Street
would replace us, and, according to Jankowski, one or the other would then make the fall schedule.

It seemed patently unfair to us since the stats that
West 57th Street
might rack up would be against the semi-weak competition of the month of April, while we (on the other hand) would be judged by our ratings against the formidable counter-programming inherent in May sweeps.

At this point, what seemed to matter to LeMasters was that I not “call out the press.” He wanted to know if I would be satisfied with a CBS commitment for twenty-two scripts, scripts that CBS would guarantee to fund even though they could not yet confirm a new season of production. It amounted to a $600,000 show of good faith (the dollars required of the network for us to commission those twenty-two scripts), and it enabled us to prepare for a new year well in advance of the announcement of the next season’s schedule. I felt it was a good start and told LeMasters we would be happy to accept the offer.

The Beverly Hills screening of our two-parter at the Fine Arts Theatre played better than any film with which I have ever been associated. Sharon’s riveting, powerful performance swept all of us (audience, director, writers, myself) to a triumphant conclusion. We packed the several-hundred-seat movie house, and the film received a standing ovation. Even the self-critical, often insecure Gless was moved to tears.

LeMasters was gracious and announced the script order and, in a—for him—unusual display of emotion, enthused that a pickup was a virtual certainty. Even the always taciturn Ronnie Meyer, Sharon’s longtime agent, had to exclaim, “I didn’t know she was that good.” The evening was a resounding smash.

A few weeks later, the two-parter was also screened for NOW at the Kennedy Center in Washington DC. There, too, it was greeted with standing applause and rave reviews from, among others,
The New York Times
and the Pulitzer Prize– winning Howard Rosenberg of the
The Los Angeles Times.
. The ratings were terrific, and, frankly,
West 57th Street
’s were not. We got our pickup for year six.

My love affair with Sharon had gone through some very rocky times and was more off than on, as I found it difficult-to-impossible to be lover and executive producer and married to another all at the same time. We had pretty much stopped seeing one another, but now in DC, we were most definitely on again—something to do with geographical monogamy. Only my assistant, Carole R. Smith, whom we had dubbed the “mother of the couple,” had any idea as to what was really going on. Tyne Daly remained in the dark, as did my spouse and everyone else.

The “thing” with Sharon was, to understate it all, an explosive relationship, fueled by sex and alcohol. One or the other of us would end it, then long for it to resume. I could hardly bear her not being a part of my life, to not have her with me. Movies I would attend were now distorted by the affair; Sharon’s image would (in my mind’s eye) be super-imposed over the face of whatever leading lady was then on screen. It was bordering on obsession. Sharon’s emotional state, so far as I could tell, was not that disparate from my own, but added to that was her own natural insecurity whereby she would voice concern that perhaps I had fallen for my muse—remembering the Rita Hayworth quote about men going to bed with Gilda but waking up with her. Was it, she wanted to know, Christine Cagney I loved or her? My assurances for the real girl over the reel one were not always believed.

Our constant breakups were terribly painful. My desire for Sharon, a growing sense of guilt over my marriage, my concerns over both of our images in light of the work we had created and all that it meant to us were burdens I could not always handle with equilibrium.

This would be the year that Sharon would win her second
Emmy
.
⁷⁵
There was a second Writers Guild nomination for Georgia Jeffries and a Director’s Guild nomination for Sharron Miller, both for their work on the two-parter. Sharon and Tyne were named “Women of the Year” by
Ms.
magazine (our second, albeit shared, cover). There was the Governor’s Award from the National Commission of Working Women (a first) when, in Washington DC they took
Cagney & Lacey
out of competition forever, dubbing the series “the quintessential show for working women.”

The Museum of Broadcasting (now called the Museum of Television & Radio) honored our series with a special tribute screening, and I received a “good guy” plaque from the National Women’s Political Caucus and the Channels magazine Award of Excellence. The roses were plentiful, but my olfactory system had been damaged by the heavy economic losses I had taken and by the recurrence of those feelings of powerlessness I thought I had put behind me. On the surface, my life was ideal, but I was—more and more—being gripped by the darkness I perceived on my horizon.

I had been led to believe that if you produced enough episodes and did so efficiently then that was all that would be required. I was like one of the chicanos in Jaime Escalante’s calculus class at Garfield High School .
⁷⁶
I had worked hard, played fair, won according to the rules in place; now I was being asked by the power establishment to take the test again. I wasn’t up to it.

Our final season moved on. Bob Hegyes was added to the cast as Detective Manny Esposito; Merry Clayton would replace Carl Lumbly as Isbecki’s partner and become the third woman detective at the 14th Precinct. My baby brother, Joel, finally got his directorial shot and did fine.
⁷⁷