Troublemaker: Surviving Hollywood and Scientology (19 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, you know, sending that positive email when you’re the most negative person on the show.”

“I’m negative, or I care? Because I love how everybody asks me in the morning meetings what they should say, because they know I’ll tell you if you’re going to look like a complete asshole or not. So, yeah, I am harsh, but it’s because I want this show to be
good
. So when I say to the producers, ‘What are we doing that’s a little bit more interesting than
The View
?’ it’s not to be a bitch but to do better. Meanwhile, you saunter in when you feel like it, and give everyone a hard time. So if you think caring means a bad attitude, then, yes, I have one.”

“The only reason you care is because you’re a loser, and you have nothing else going on in your life.”

“Oh, did everybody hear that?” I said, looking around at the table, where everyone else was dead quiet. “Honestly, Sharon, it would be in your best interest to just back it down.”

“Or what?”

“Or what?” I said incredulously.

“Or you’re going to get your low-life Mafia family after me?”

“No. I’m going to take this iced tea that I’m holding in my hand and I’m going to crack it over your fucking head.”

And with that, I got up from the table before anyone could see the tears in my eyes and went outside to pull myself together. Holly quickly joined me, trying to console me. I was confused and hurt.
Yes,
I thought,
I’m a pain in the ass,
but weren’t we a team? Clearly Holly was the only one who took my side and stuck up for me. That’s why she and I have remained friends to this day.

D
ESPITE ALL THE UPS AND
downs I went through on
The Talk,
I really did think things were going to turn out okay. It might sound absurd for someone who almost got into a fistfight with her co-host to say that, but TV is a high-stakes business where passions run high. Having been on a sitcom for nine years, where there were periods when Kevin and I weren’t talking to each other or the writers weren’t talking to either of us, I thought we would get through this, because to me a show is a family and all families fight but they eventually get past their rough moments.

I was so convinced that I had a future with
The Talk
that I hosted a wrap party with Holly at her house after our first season when CBS didn’t want to pay for one. We even bought wrap gifts (mugs that said “I survived Season 1”).

Cut to the summer of 2011. Not long after the wrap party, I got a call from my agent: “Your and Holly’s options are not getting picked up for Season Two.” This was a new version of “It’s not going any further.” I could only believe that Sharon was behind it. So apparently my mom was right again. You know, they say when you get older you learn that your parents might actually know what they’re talking about.

At the time, not getting cast for a second season hurt—a lot—because Holly and I helped launch this show. Our blood, sweat, and tears went into it, so to be discarded in the way that we were felt horrible. Not to mention that Holly and I had gone to bat for Sharon, who I blamed for what had happened to us (of course Sharon denied having anything to do with it). Our ex–co-hosts then added insult to injury by going on every program they could to talk about us, and say we were fired because we weren’t authentic. Every time they needed a ratings bump, they discussed us on
The Howard Stern Show
and said things about us like that we were “ghetto,” or that they’d heard “there’s a catering job that opened up on the set—maybe Leah can get that.”

I was shocked that they would pull such a childish and vindictive publicity stunt. Coming from
The King of Queens
I wasn’t used to all
the power games and backstabbing. It was the depressing but real side of Hollywood where everyone is so worried about their own job that they’ll do anything to keep it. While we had plenty of opportunity to respond to the attacks, Holly and I took the high road and didn’t comment in return. It would have just added fuel to the fire.

I’m not blaming anyone else for the way I acted (my “humor” can come off as abrasive or degrading, so much so that I was actually called into Human Resources while I worked on
The Talk,
where I got reprimanded for how I spoke to people)—and I don’t even blame myself. Certain environments don’t bring out the best in you, and I can say with full confidence that although I don’t have any regrets,
The Talk
wasn’t my finest moment.

A few years later, as fate would have it, I took a recurring guest role on
The Exes,
which filmed on a stage upstairs from
The Talk
. So while working on the TV Land sitcom I could actually hear the hosts of the talk show below me. I saw my old dressing room, all the guest rooms I personally shopped for and decorated…I felt it was my baby too. I helped launch it. What I should have known was this: The show was going to be on air regardless of my fighting for it to be better.

One day, while I was sitting outside my
Exes
dressing room, who should walk by but Julie Chen. I was angry for a long, long time after leaving that show, but in that moment there was something in my heart that said, “Let it go.”

My outlook in life as a Scientologist caused me to ask what responsibility I had for the place I found myself in. So with all those things and more running through my head, I made a quick decision.

I stood up, grabbed Julie, and hugged her.

“I’m sorry for my part,” I said.

While hugging me, she was also trying to pull back and get away, but I said, “It’s not going to happen. I’m not disengaging. So this uncomfortable moment’s going to go a little bit longer, Julie,” which made her laugh.

I let her go and she smiled broadly at me and said, “I hope
everybody’s well, and that you’re well. And I wish you nothing but the best.”

Her reply was poised and polite. I felt like I had done my work and I was ready to move on, regardless of whether she or the rest of the co-hosts had.

E
VEN NOW, AFTER DECADES IN
this business, I still have moments where I am trying to fit in as an actress in Hollywood, as if I were somehow an imposter. For so long, I looked for acceptance from everyone from my dad to the people in this town. What I have slowly come to realize, and often still have to remind myself of, is this: There is no “right” way to be. I am flawed and imperfect, but am uniquely me. I don’t fit in and probably never will. And I don’t have to try to anymore. That other person was a lie. And let’s face it, normal is boring. We all have something to offer the world in some way, but by not being our authentic selves, we are robbing the world of something different, something special.

My time at
The Talk
was a lesson in learning who my true friends were. If there is one thing I can brag about and be proud of in my life, it’s my dedication to friendship. If I call you a friend, I mean it. You are now on par with being a family member. Friendships are not made overnight; it takes time, effort, and energy. For me, friendships are tested not in the best of times, but in the worst of times. You don’t always get a second chance to be there for someone when they really need you. So when I say I will be there, I mean it. And when I need you, you better be there. Everyone has deal breakers and this is one of mine.

If real friends are hard to come by in life, you can imagine what it’s like in Hollywood. I have said I can count on one hand the number of real men I have met in this town. Finding real friends, who will step up and say or do the right thing on your behalf, is almost impossible as well. Most are just looking to save their asses or their jobs, loudmouths who will say anything to anyone but secretly
apologize behind closed doors. Leading actors, big executives, and powerful people talk a big game until they realize their jobs might be on the line, and they instantly become complete and utter pussies.

Stupidly perhaps, and sometimes at the cost of my own job, or being labeled “difficult,” I’m willing to say shit to people no matter who they are and what the consequences may be. And yes, in the end, I’m probably cutting off my nose to spite my face. But that’s who I am.

When I started to write this chapter, I had planned to spill all of the details behind why Holly and I were not asked back to season two but then as I read it over, I thought I would just be doing what they wanted. I would be no better than them.

So yes, I was an asshole when it came to defending myself, the other hosts, and the show as a whole. Rather than kiss everyone’s ass, I brazenly (and oftentimes obnoxiously) spoke my mind, and as a result lost my job. But I stood by what I thought was right and I was a friend to those who I felt deserved my friendship. While I am able to forgive those who spoke out against me at
The Talk
, I have learned a valuable lesson in Hollywood and in life; by their actions, they will show you who they are.

I
N 2012, SI
X YEARS INTO
their marriage, Tom Cruise announced that he and Katie Holmes were getting a divorce.

Katie and her team of lawyers initiated the proceedings with her formal filing of divorce. Rumors started flying immediately speculating that there would be an explosive showdown over custody for Suri and fears of revelations of secret facts about Tom’s life. While Katie’s team denied any of the rumors, the divorce was settled in less than two weeks and Katie ended up with primary custody. Tom seemed to acknowledge that Katie left because she wanted to protect Suri from Scientology. It made me wonder whether protecting his church was more important to him than his own daughter.

Katie’s action, of filing for divorce in such a public way (it had quickly been picked up by the media), would definitely get her declared a Suppressive Person by the church. It had always been my understanding that as a Scientologist you have the right to request that any Knowledge Reports written by an SP be removed from your files. I had been fighting for years to get the Cruise wedding fallout expunged from my files. So as soon as I heard news of the divorce, I picked up the phone and called my auditor, Todd, and said, “What do you have to say to me now?”

“I guess you can expect to have that report taken out of your folder,” he replied.

We met shortly thereafter and Todd basically admitted that they had screwed up about moving me off my OT levels and onto the training track after speaking up about everything I had seen in Italy.

“Look,” he said, “you got some bad auditing the last time you were at Flag. Putting you into training was not the right thing to do. In fact, it was all wrong. Go back to Flag and go back into auditing.” (This would, of course, be at my expense.)

Now that my church seemingly had realized that it had fucked up, and was starting to apply LRH policies again, I wondered where were the apologies to me from everyone involved in the wedding debacle? After I reported on what I saw in Italy, I was made to feel like I was crazy and that I was the only one to witness these things. Yet Norman Starkey was sent home early from Italy in disgrace. And guess who got divorced and remarried? Less than a year after the wedding, Jessica and Tommy, who were all over each other at the wedding, both took extensive leaves from the Sea Org—and later wound up married to each other after divorcing their spouses. So did I get a plaque that said, “You were right”? Nope. And I never got an answer about Shelly Miscavige’s whereabouts. I made up for the damage that they had accused me of doing. What about the damage they did to me?

“Well, if it was all wrong, are you going to give me back my money? Because, as a Scientologist, when I’m reprimanded I’m asked what I’m going to do to make up the damage. So now I’m asking you, what are you going to do to make up the damage?”

“What do you mean?” Todd said. “Are you asking for a refund?”

Although the church publicly claims that it will simply return funds to anyone who is dissatisfied, the reality of this policy is quite different. In fact, requesting a return of money from the church is classified as a Scientology “High Crime” or “Suppressive Act,” which qualifies one to be declared a Suppressive Person. And in an even more bizarre twist, once the church declares you an SP, according to its policy you are no longer eligible for a return of your money. It is
the perfect catch-22—if you ask for your money back, you will be Declared and thereby no longer qualify to get your money back.

“No, I’m not asking for a refund,” I responded. “What I’m saying is, what does the church do to take responsibility for its actions? When I fucked up I spent my hiatus from
King of Queens
in Florida, in session twelve hours a day, having my ass handed to me. And so I want to know what you people do when you fuck up?”

Eventually, after some time, Todd came back to me and said, “It’s done,” and that I would get the $300,000 credited to my account. I believed him, never bothering to check my accounts. Why would I? To me Todd’s word was that of my church.

Todd went on to encourage me to get back onto my OT levels, but I decided that I wanted to continue pursuing the auditor training path because I liked the idea of helping people, working with preclears, counseling them. With the church’s seeming admission of having messed up the wedding fallout, and its agreeing to return my money, I began to re-engage, dedicating myself in the weeks that followed to moving ahead in my training as an auditor. But one thing still nagged at me: the fact that
no one
would tell me where Shelly Miscavige was. When I would ask Todd during our sessions, he would take me outside where there were no recording devices and say, “Shelly is a Sea Org member and you’re asking about the leader’s wife. How do you expect people to react? I can’t call COB and ask him.” When I flat out asked if she was dead, he responded, “I’m sure she’s not dead, but you and I are not in a position to ask where the leader’s wife is. I think it would be in your best interest to stop asking.”

In requesting my $300,000 back, I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that if this kind of problem with money happened to me, an outspoken celebrity in the church, similar things must be happening to so many others who suffered in silence. That just wasn’t right. Having grown up a Scientologist, I knew firsthand the financial sacrifice that the church demands of its ordinary practitioners. I had met one man who said he was in foreclosure because of a sec-check—and a mom who told me she had drained her daughter’s college fund
after she was sent to Flag. On a more personal level, I had watched my whole family struggle to move up the Bridge. They were $250,000 in debt at this point. The fact that people making average salaries of $50,000 a year somehow find a way to pay the $500,000 necessary to get on their OT levels—frankly, it’s a superhuman task. The level of dedication is astonishing and admirable, but over the long term it means financial destruction for a lot of people and families.

When anyone arrives at Flag, one of the first places he or she is sent is to the IAS (International Association of Scientologists). It’s one of the various wings in charge of getting donations out of parishioners. But the IAS is the eight-hundred-pound gorilla of extracting money from Scientologists for the church’s monumentally important causes. Before you’ve even had time to go to your hotel room, they’ve looked up how much money you’ve donated to the church and immediately started to question it: “Do you really think you’re going to get onto OT VII with this donation?” No matter what you say about the state of your finances, the fund-raisers of the IAS can always find a way for you to give more. They’ll ask for your credit card number and its limit. Then they “help” you call Visa or Amex and they know exactly what to say to get your limit upped. And once they’ve helped you get that $10,000 or $25,000 credit limit increase, you end up charging that amount to your card as a donation. Either you’re an able being, or you’re not. Able beings make major donations. And of course, any “good” Scientologist is expected to be able.

I wondered how many Scientologists with far fewer resources than I had were in debt to the church because they had spoken out about something they saw that wasn’t right and were punished with a costly security check or a course of reprogramming. I also continued to wonder why parishioners had to pay for the same things over and over again. Why we had to keep purchasing new or revised textbook editions and CDs of the same policies/courses we had already bought. Forced to repeat courses if we wanted to move up the Bridge. Redo auditing actions over and over again, all at our expense. If we were made to abide by the same rules of “you are
responsible for all,” why didn’t the church say, “Hey, we fucked up on that process, so we are going to have you do it again at our expense”? Instead, there was just no end to what was required of a parishioner.

The response I would get whenever I voiced my concerns to someone in the church was, “We just have to do it,” or some other runaround excuse. No one was willing to challenge these financial practices, instead just accepting them as the status quo. Even more infuriating was my original complaint that as parishioners we had to make financial and spiritual amends for our wrongs, but the leaders of our faith took no responsibility for anything ever. How could that be?

Here was Tom Cruise, being rewarded for being the most dedicated Scientologist on the planet, but you know who should actually get that reward? The guy who makes $75,000 a year and donates $250,000.

Soon after my various conversations with Todd, I got a call from my handler, Shane, who worked with Todd on my service. “You know what, Leah? I’m looking at things in your folder from over the years, and there have definitely been some issues in regards to your speaking up. Why don’t I come over and I can help you write up some Standard Request for Withdrawal Reports.” (Apparently the previous ones I had submitted to have earlier Knowledge Reports on me from people like Katie Holmes pulled from my file had been rejected due to the fact that I showed too much emotion in the language I used. I had found out that the requests were essentially ignored for years.) I agreed to meet with Shane, and together we worked on the new requests.

As we were working I once again broached the subject of Shelly. I told Shane that I found it surprising and concerning that I hadn’t gotten a holiday card or thank-you note from her after I sent her a gift that past Christmas, something she had always been diligent about in the past. It wasn’t like her. Shane, like Todd, responded with “I don’t know, I can’t ask where the leader’s wife is.”

I figured as long as Shane was here trying to help me with the requests for withdrawal, why not have him help me try to get a letter
to Shelly, to which he agreed. I wrote the following note and gave it to him for delivery:

Dear Shelly,

It has been some time that I have seen or heard from you. I have sent you a few Christmas cards and gifts. It was not like you to not write back right away. I had asked about you and was told you were on project. Out of respect I didn’t want to say “Are they (meaning you and Dave) not together?” or “Is she on the RPF?” I let it go for a bit. But, it has been way too long now that I have not seen or heard from you.

I have come across some letters from you to me, my family, my daughter and I just feel as someone who I considered a friend, I needed to know that you were indeed ok.

I get it that you might be busy and might very well be on project, but you were there for me when I needed you and I don’t take that lightly. Further, you were always in comm. with us.

I am sure you can understand why I would write.

My cell is XXX-XXX-XXXX.

With Love,

Leah

A week or so passed and I called Shane to see if he had been able to get the note to Shelly or if he had gotten any response. He told me, “Honestly, Leah, I never sent the note. It was inappropriate the way you referred to COB’s relationship.” He told me to write a new note with a more appropriate tone and language. And so I did:

Dear Shelly,

It has been a while since we have spoken or seen each other. I came across a few letters that you had written to me and my daughter and I thought “I really love & miss Shelly.” What better way to show someone you love them than to not write them for 6
years! (That’s a joke.) So, I decided to write!
I think of you often, Shelly—you were really there for me when I needed you and I will always consider you a friend.