B004YENES8 EBOK (42 page)

Chapter 46 

“KID” ROSENZWEIG 

The meeting with Moonves was a disaster. If Peter Lund had, indeed, paved the way, then Moonves had taken exception to having an executive from the New York office encroaching on his turf.

The “paving” might not have mattered in any event. The fact is, I was not good at the meeting. Was it the Werner confrontation in the hall just moments before, or the long wait throughout the summer for some kind of sign from the new management team that a track record such as mine would be respected? Whatever it was, I simply felt blindsided and was having a tough time recovering in that room.

Moonves had not read the scripts for
Whatever Happened to Nancy Drew?
, nor did he seem even remotely interested in them. He let me know that he didn’t want to be bothered with this kind of development stuff and that I should deal with his lieutenants (or even lesser executives much farther down the network food chain). It also became clear that my projects were on the wrong side of the demographic pool to be of real interest to Mr. Moonves.

For someone such as myself, the playing field would now, I was told, be a level one; I would have to get in line, along with everyone else in Hollywood. So much for “First Family” and eleven years of my relationship with the network.

Prior to the Moonves meet, I had been informed by a couple of trusted CBS executives that I had scored on the two private-eye scripts (“two for two”, it was said). As a result, the Moonves disinterest shocked even more than usual. “Shocked,” perhaps, but not rocked as I would be by the Moonves flat-out statement that he had no interest in a multiple picture deal for
Cagney & Lacey
, gratuitously adding, “The first one was a fluke, and the second was a flop.”

I gathered that, since I had just heard the same phrase from young Werner, precipitating our altercation in the hall outside the Moonves office, this was now the official CBS line. I was reeling, finding myself in full retreat from my original position of a ten-movie order over a five-year period.

Backpedaling, I asked for script money for two new
Cagney & Lacey
movies and holding money for the women. Moonves said he would wait to see how the two
Cagney & Lacey
films I had just completed would perform before making that decision.

“If you wait that long, I cannot guarantee delivery,” I said.

The backlighting of his countenance kept me from seeing the narrowing of eyes, but, from the tone of the response, one would have to guess that narrowing is what they must have done as he spoke in the manner of Tony Soprano: “Are you telling me if I call you in January with an order for the fall, you’re not going to be able to deliver?”

“That’s exactly what I am telling you,” I said, regaining some of my equilibrium. “My deal with the women is to hold themselves available to me for May and June, when any other show they might do would be in hiatus.” I continued on quickly, so as to counter what I perceived as mounting incredulity that I would have a plan so far in advance of any production date. “This very morning—Tyne Daly called, saying she has an offer to do
Gypsy
in London in May, and she asked, ‘What do I do, Boss?’”

Moonves was not impressed. He simply shrugged and said he would not put up any script or holding monies. “Look,” I said, “it is clear you have no interest in this material, which is certainly your prerogative; so, even though I am not contractually obligated to notify you of my intentions, I feel it only fair to let you know that I have to look for another home for this franchise.”

The words from the backlit executive were clear and deadly on point: “If I even hear of your talking to another network about
Cagney & Lacey
, I will bury the two films I now have in our vaults.”

There was a pregnant silence in the room. There was no question such an action by the CBS chief would irreparably damage the viability of the show. Moonves knew that—and more to the point—he knew that I knew it. It would seem that Leslie Moonves was bringing to television what Tonya Harding had brought to ice skating.

I got up from the couch, which, I was sure (based on common industry gossip regarding the diminutive network chief), would witness more pleasurable conquests for Moonves in the near future. Anita Addison, then recently installed as a network development executive, accompanied me out of the office. I probably looked as though I needed someone on whom to lean.

There is no question I was intimidated. I believed Moonves would make good on his threat to bury my show; I was also somewhat disoriented, not fully understanding how I had (so quickly) gone from “First Family” to this particular moment. At the outer door of the Moonves suite, connecting us to the reception area, I paused long enough to observe Ms. Addison’s one-time (during my now long-ago Paramount days) friendly face. “That may be the worst network meeting I have ever been to in my life.”

Ms. Addison, ever cheerful, smiled at me and said, “Oh, I have been in a lot of meetings with Mr. Moonves. That one wasn’t bad at all.”

“It was bad enough for me,” I said. “I am not a rich man, but I am too rich for this. I will not be coming back.”

I walked away, not expecting or waiting for a response. It has been over ten years since that meeting, and I have continued to honor that pledge of not returning to that, or any other, network. I did, however, continue in business with CBS for several months as they still had two of my films to release.

“Business” is heavy overstatement. It implies some kind of give and take. That was hardly the case. It was a very one-sided affair. I did take the Moonves threat seriously. I was sufficiently cowed that I made no attempt to approach his competitors at the other networks.

September 11, 1995
:
It has been over a month since that awful meet in the Moonves lair. Today’s special edition of
The
Hollywood Reporter
on the fall schedule lists the CBS movies, and there is no mention of
Cagney & Lacey
. Would Les Moonves really bury us, simply to prove his point that young is where it’s at? Do I know?

My diary would go on and on, date after date, week in, week out, well into the following January, noting my many dilemmas, including, but not limited to, how to properly promote my two films without a cooperative CBS or, at the very least, publishable air dates. I knew, from past experience, that in order to be effective, to have a chance at the Sunday TV supplement covers, we had to have a minimum six weeks’ lead time. What I got, on the first of the two films Moonves was holding hostage, was nineteen and a half days.

While waiting those two months for some word from CBS, I met regularly with publicist Joan Carrey on designing a nationwide publicity tour for Sharon and Tyne, one that could be put together with very little advance notice and— obviously—at my own expense. Work also included trying to find a tenant to sublease my expensive Hollywood office space (to help stop the bleeding) while I also toiled at effectuating my forever disappearance from the film and television scene by finalizing plans with our decorator for Sharon’s and my new digs at Miami’s Fisher Island.

Why Florida? I had always believed that one could not retire from show business and hang around the L.A. area. I had seen others being given the fish eye, because, whether by choice or not, they were not working; the supposition invariably being that the person not working was unable to get a job. That was not my idea of a happy retirement. Besides, Florida was probably the only place in North America where people might still call me “kid.”

Deep into the second week of October of 1995, we got the word from the network; the first of our two air dates would be October 25, and against the
World Series
. The CBS failure to officially notify
TV Guide
in a timely fashion of when we would air cost us that publication’s valuable close-up feature and, also due to time constraints, effectively killed the piece scheduled by
In Style
magazine. Barbara Salztman, of the
L.A. Times
, and Gail Pennington, of the
St. Louis Post-Dispatch
, both confirmed that, had they been given any reasonable notice at all, there was little that would have competed with
Cagney & Lacey
for a cover of their Sunday TV supplements for that last week of October.

A week later, from Minneapolis, where the Tyne Daly /Sharon Gless /Barney Rosenzweig troika was doing its eighteen-hour-a-day road tour for
C&L III
, I called Leslie Moonves to tell him of those lost opportunities. I added that the $10,000 his network had spent on producing by-the-numbers color art (still photos) and mailing those to editors across the country was totally wasted, since there was so little time between when the announcement of the air date was made and the air date itself. As a result, I said, none of this material could, or would, be used.

Moonves seemed nonplussed, saying he had been told that the six weeks I had asked for was unnecessary. My response to that was, “Fire whomever the asshole was that doesn’t know this simple fact of Sunday supplement deadlines.” I don’t believe Moonves followed this advice, but he did promise me sufficient notice in the future for
C&L IV
.

Our road show was a happy and exhausting time: the three of us, doing our act, singing show tunes to one another between appearances, betting money as to who had which lyric right during our private moments, and venting our displeasure with CBS, in front of live audiences. We were on the radio or TV, or on the phone with journalists in cities we could not visit. From guest lecturing at Brandeis University to joining a Lily Tomlin fund raiser in Boston, from St. Louis, to Pittsburgh, to Minneapolis/St. Paul, Chicago, New York, Boston, and DC, we did our best to make folks aware that a new
Cagney & Lacey
reunion film was coming their way.

It was the Johnny Appleseed approach. We were out there tossing our seeds and hoping that some day it would all bear fruit. On the road, mornings usually began with a 5:30 am leave from the hotel for the local CBS affiliate, time with hair and makeup for the two women, and then a morning talk show segment at about 8 am. From there we would continue on with whatever radio talk shows there were in the vicinity, perhaps a lunch with the area’s print media, more radio, and then the afternoon local TV spots. Dinner would, more often than not, be with a top local TV editor representing the area’s biggest newspaper. It was rare when our efforts ended before 10 pm, for we most often got a flight at that point to our next destination.

From my diary:
October 25, 1995
:
This show may fail, but it will be through little or no fault of this duo. I’m proud to be in their company. Yesterday, a very good review in
Daily Variety
, today the biggest rave I have ever seen in
The Hollywood Reporter.
No reviews published anywhere else of consequence. Tonight’s the night!

The ratings for
C&L III
were, by my standards, less than stellar (something like a 10 rating and a 15 or 16 share), but apparently there was enthusiasm for this performance at CBS, where the ratings were over half again what they had previously garnered on a Wednesday night for the season; if one considers we did that while taking on the
World Series
, it was a bit more impressive.

The day following this news, word from a source at the network was, that in a staff meeting, Les Moonves referred to me as his “new best friend”, going on to say that I was right and he was wrong. He did phone me and was complimentary, reiterating his promise for more lead time in the future for promotion. I was apparently unimpressed as I noted in my diary:

October 27, 1995
:
All I want to do is pack up my offices and stuff here in L.A. and get the apartment in Florida ready for occupancy so that I can move the hell out of here
.

Just about this time Sharon accepted an offer to star opposite Tom Conti in Neil Simon’s
Chapter Two
in London. She would be in the UK for six months. It was a great thing for Sharon, coming as it did at a terrific time in terms of her own self-esteem issues. I had overheard her on the phone turning down some inquiry for her services with regret because of our upcoming move to Florida and all that would entail. After the phone call, I asked what was going on, and, when she told me, I suggested that, all things considered (she being a far better actress than a packer) she would probably be a lot better off doing something she did well. I told her I would “produce” the move, getting us into and onto Fisher Island, and that she should go to London and act on the stage in a work by one of America’s great playwrights opposite an award-winning leading man. My wife could not have been more relieved.

It was a quiet Christmas holiday that year with my father in and out of the hospital and Sharon off to London for rehearsals.