I'll Scream Later (No Series) (31 page)

I
WAS ON THE
phone to Henry—career-advice time.

The L Word,
Showtime’s racy drama series about a group of lesbians living and loving—a lot—had called.

Heading into the fourth season, the creators wanted to introduce a new love interest for Bette, played by Jennifer Beals. The character was an artist they described as fiery, an independent spirit—and they wanted me to play her.

This would finally give me a chance to work with Jennifer. I just hadn’t expected that it would be as her lover. But the show was edgy enough—lots of steamy sex scenes—that I wanted to at least run it by a trusted adviser to see what he thought.

Henry says, “Marlee called and asked me, ‘What do you think, should I do it?’ And I asked her three questions: ‘How does your husband feel and are the kids taken care of? Could you use the money and will you make a living? Would you enjoy it?’ And her answer to all of the questions was yes.

“The great thing about Marlee is that when that door does open, when an opportunity presents itself, she grabs it, throws it to the ground, and beats it into submission. She can’t even stop it, it is this life force in her, this commitment in her.”

So I headed to Vancouver, where the series is shot, to join the world of
The L Word
and learn how to be a really fantastic lesbian lover.

The writers/producers of the series were great, some of the best I’ve ever worked with. In talking to Ilene Chaiken, the show’s creator, about my character, I asked if we could rename her Jodi. I’d had a friend named Jodi who was a lesbian and a mom, who
passed away, and I wanted that touchstone as I thought about this new role.

L Word
creator Ilene Chaiken and Jennifer Beals

They’ve also been sensitive to make sure they are portraying this character accurately as far as her deafness. Over time they’ve brought in other Deaf actors and have asked me to help with story lines. I couldn’t have asked for a more supportive and creative environment.

As welcoming as everyone was, I was still nervous and stressed in the beginning—this was a significant role for me and I wanted to get everything right. I called Liz and asked if she’d come spend some time with me in those early weeks while I was getting my bearings, getting grounded in this role.

Maybe my nerves played into it, but we had the worst fight of our lives in Vancouver. It was so horrible I wasn’t sure how we were going to recover, if we could recover.

When I look back at the arguments or disagreements we’ve had over the years, most of them are over silly things, the kind of fights you have with your sister or best friend, and Liz is really both to me.

This fight was over just a few words—“you have to understand”—that I said one too many times to Liz.

Although it was the last thing that I intended, she was hurt; she felt I was patronizing her. Near the end of what had been a great sushi dinner with another friend of ours—the three of us laughing and talking for hours—Liz slammed her hand down on the table and said, “Stop saying that to me! You’re saying that like somehow I’m dumb. I
don’t
have to understand.”

So we got into it, and I think we scraped open every wound of our friendship, dredged up every slight from thirty-five years. We said terrible things to each other.

It was the first time in all these years of friendship that I remember Liz saying any of this, really telling me how she felt about some of the tougher aspects of our relationship. Or maybe it was the first time I really, truly heard her. More than anything else, it felt completely one-sided—Liz never let me tell her how I felt. She refused. We were both shaken to the core.

Then things got worse.

When she got back home to Chicago, Liz wrote me a letter that just cut me to the bone. She said, “I’m willing to give up, to sacrifice our 35-year friendship if you don’t change.” Other things she wrote in the letter seared my heart, which I thought were terribly unfair—I didn’t think it was possible that I would ever feel that kind of pain from Liz.

I was devastated. I wanted to understand how Liz felt, but I was confused by the depth of her anger. I didn’t want to see our friendship crumble, and I couldn’t believe it had come to this. I also wasn’t ready to believe that it was just me.

I think when Liz looks at me and watches how I go at the world, what I’ve made of my life, she sees a fearless, intense person who wants to be in control of everything, including her.

What she doesn’t seem to see is that I’m like everyone else, I’m human, I get scared, I feel insecure, I worry, I fail, I hurt, I cry.

Maybe I do, as Henry says, tend to grab life and wrestle it to the ground and beat it into submission. Maybe that’s the only way I know to protect myself and those I love from all the sharp edges of life, the ones that can damage you, scar you forever.

For a few weeks, it was rough, so rough between us. We were like two boxers badly bruised and beaten, collapsed in opposite corners and not eager to go back into the ring.

In the end, we both found ways to get past that fight, to patch things up. These days we’re a bit more careful with each other, I think, as we work to heal the pain that fight inflicted.

Liz says, “I am very, very lucky and Marlee is very, very lucky, too, that we have each other—we have both earned our friendship.” That’s just how I feel, too. We have earned each other, for better or worse, in love and in pain—and whatever happens, we will find a way to survive it together, stronger than before.

I
N THE FIRST
scene of the first episode that introduces Jodi on
The L Word,
I’m holding a power drill, working on a metal sculpture, sparks fly—literally and figuratively.

The scene actually was electric. Jennifer and I had a natural chemistry, and the way the characters were written, this amazing range of emotional and physical interplay occurred between Bette and Jodi.

But sooner or later I knew we’d get to a love scene. It was sooner.

Love scenes are hard to do—there’s so much to the logistics and angles so that the camera can actually shoot them. The result is you often find yourself in the most unnatural of positions to achieve a final look that is completely believable.

There’s that.

Then there’s the fact that Jennifer and I have known each other since we were in our twenties. In those years we’ve stayed in touch, both got married, had kids, put wilder days behind us.

So in the early episodes, when it came to actually pulling off those love scenes, it was almost impossible for us to do it without completely cracking each other up. Along the way, I mastered the art of completely breaking her concentration by arching one brow just so.

I think we had to get through the teasing to finally shoot with the level of passion, intensity, and sexuality that we needed to make the scene work.

Now nearly thirty episodes in, we’re comfortable and so in tune with our characters—whether it’s love or laughter, a quiet conversation over coffee or emotional fireworks—we can slip into that sexual place really easily.

I have to admit I’ve found it so much easier to kiss a woman than a man. I love men and I am a huge flirt, and with cute, handsome guys, well, I can get nervous about that kiss.

Make no mistake, I am absolutely in love with and committed to my wonderful, handsome husband. But that electricity that comes with a first kiss with someone attractive and new, well, I may be married, but I’m still human!

O
NE OF THE
best things about the relationship between Jodi and Bette that Ilene and the rest of the writing team have created is that it is completely unpredictable. I probably like finding out what’s going to happen next as much as the audience—and the fans are rabidly devoted.

They analyze every episode in incredible detail and debate just about every decision the writers make, which is what you always hope for, that those watching the show will be as emotionally invested in the outcome as you are.

I cannot begin to say how extraordinary the acting talent on the show is. Jennifer is truly one of the finest actresses in the industry today. The out-of-nowhere girl we were all first mesmerized by in
Flashdance
has grown into the most remarkable professional at the top of her craft. She just takes my breath away.

The series has been such a fantastic, happy experience. We’re finishing shooting the final season as I write this, and I’m struck by how unlike the final days of
Reasonable Doubts
it is. You might think with so many women in the cast that there would be feuds and infighting, egos out of control—there aren’t. Everyone is working to keep the quality of the show at the highest level, and the internal support we all extend to each other is pretty unusual.

One unexpected side benefit of the show has been how it has strengthened my relationship with my brother Marc, who is gay. We’ve always been close, but I think the show has helped me see
even more clearly that we’ve both struggled with being outsiders, having so many stereotypes to overcome.

Marc came out when he was in college. He remembers, “Marlee was too young to really understand it—but immediately it wasn’t an issue, she’s always been very supportive. My parents were role models; their reaction was just fabulous…. I came home and my mother had gotten a new car that day. It was raining out and we sat in the car and she asked how it went with the doctor—I’d been to a doctor for stress-related stomach issues. She said, ‘I think you might be gay.’

“I told her what was going on in my life. I felt really good telling her, but asked her not to tell Marlee or Dad or Eric yet.

“A few minutes later in the house, my dad comes down the stairs and says, ‘What are you doing tonight? Let’s go to Marshall Field’s and buy a couple of cashmere sweaters.’ Mom says to me, ‘I told him.’ They both dealt with it in their own way, but they both accepted it immediately.”

I’ve also come to understand the struggle for acceptance and understanding will never completely disappear—it may have peaks and valleys, but it is never-ending. I know we can never allow ourselves to become complacent, to get too comfortable—it doesn’t take much for public opinion to suddenly shift and in ways you never anticipated.

But Marc and I had good role models on tolerance in our parents. Just as they accepted my deafness, they accepted Marc when he told them he was gay. In our family, it just doesn’t matter; underneath it all, the love is always there.

N
ETWORK TELEVISION HAS
almost gotten out of the TV-movie business these days. So I was excited when I learned that Hallmark was going to produce a prime-time movie for CBS based on the play
Sweet Nothing in My Ear.

Stephen Sachs would adapt his play, which examined the use of cochlear implants through the prism of a family—the mother was Deaf, the father hearing, the son Deaf but an excellent candidate for implants. The parents’ argument over whether their son should
have the implants turns into an angry, sad custody battle over an issue that continues to divide the Deaf community.

When word first surfaced, the rumors were not good—the producers supposedly wanted to cast a hearing actress to play the role of Laura Miller, the mother. The thought alone was so depressing—I really wanted the role because the story was so important and I knew it would be creatively challenging in all the right ways. But more than that, I really wanted a Deaf actress, even if it wasn’t me, to get cast.

After much back-and-forth on casting for both of the leads, they asked me to take on Laura, and Jeff Daniels would play my husband, Dan. I could not have been happier.

Jeff Daniels is one of the absolute best actors around, and I’d never gotten the chance to work with him. He can move from heartbreaking sensitivity to wry humor to sharp anger in a remarkably seamless way.

This would be a hugely complicated, demanding project for him. In addition to his dialogue, he had to do an incredible amount of signing. Basically he had to act, interpret, sign—all of it.

His performance was not only amazing, but he was a dream to work with, which helped because the three weeks that we shot were really intense. I’d been a fan of his for a long time and am so grateful that I got the chance to work with him.

That said, I was dying to nail him on something, just for the fun of it. We’d been working on the movie for nearly three weeks and Jeff started saying, “I have three more days, then I won’t ever have to sign again.” Next day: “Only two more days, I can retire these hands.” “Today’s the last day—I don’t ever have to sign again for as long as I live!”

We still had two days of court testimony to shoot, but he didn’t have to sign for the scene. So he did his last scene signing and everybody applauded. That’s when I started plotting.

I grabbed director Joe Sargent, explained the situation, and asked him to do me a favor. “Could you please tell Jeff that things have changed and he’s going to have to sign his entire court testimony?”

The next morning, Jeff and I were in hair-and-makeup together, which was unusual. He’s in one chair, I’m in the next. Joe comes in at eight, bright and early. He’s never done that in the entire three weeks of shooting. He walks over to Jeff, who’s so happy about the signing and still bragging, “No more signing, I’m done!”