Happy Accidents

  Later that night on the deck of my canyon home I wrote this e-mail to the cast:

  I am basking in the afterglow of a wonderful finale after a perfect eight weeks. I’m home nursing a near-beer and the shame from the lap dance is almost gone. My mind swims with memories and laughs created by all of you wonderful, talented, wild and weird people. I had a blast, to put it simply. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so heartily or felt such deep affection for my co-workers.

  I picture us all dining at Pace in the canyon, at an outside table laughing and smoking. We’re enjoying good food, good drink and you’re all impressed with how the staff kisses my ass because I go there all the time. Let’s commit to do this soon. If not a Monday in the next few weeks, let’s nail something down after Party Down wraps.

  I’m a lucky gal. My joy and bliss was so complete after this evening that I fully expected to be killed in a car crash on the way home.

  Enjoy each other and remember how special and unique is our band of merry players!

  xxoojane

  And with that bittersweet parting, on to Glee I would go! While shooting the third episode, I got a call from Gabrielle, my beloved, and generally even-keeled, agent. She was screaming, “They released you! They released you!” The producers of the bad pilot had bailed on the project, the deal had fallen apart, and I was now able to be a regular cast member of Glee.

  I brought a pillow and a blow-dryer to my trailer the very next day, because I was home.

  Chapter 12

  “Perfect”

  The Glee pilot premiered on Fox on May 20, 2009, in the time slot right after American Idol. The Nielsen ratings didn’t live up to the advance hype, but it didn’t much matter; we were in a whole new era in which success was gauged by a different set of metrics. Instead of just counting the number of households tuning in, the network executives were looking at what the 18–34 demographic had to say about the show via the Web, including Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, Hulu, Fox.com, iTunes, entertainment websites, and blogs. By that measure, the Glee pilot was an undisputed hit. The kids’ rendition of “Don’t Stop Believin’” was the number one download on iTunes the following day and a Billboard top five hit that week. The pilot episode (the only one that had been aired) became a viral phenomenon on the Internet, and over the summer, the absence of Glee from the airwaves seemed to just make hearts grow fonder. One critic throbbed, “I think I’m in love and I can’t wait until August.” In fact, these newly minted Gleeks would have to wait until September to get more of the McKinley High School glee club and its nemesis, Sue Sylvester.

  The reviews for the Glee pilot episode were just fabulous. The reviews for me personally were almost over-the-top in their use of superlatives. For a girl who had wanted nothing more than to be seen as special for her entire life, my internal response was surprisingly muted. As I pondered my reaction, it occurred to me that I might have actually matured a bit over the years. Had this level of adoration been heaped upon me in my younger, more insecure days, I would undoubtedly have disappeared into the hype, believing it all. This would have been disastrous, because inevitably the excitement dies down, and once that happened I would have been left without a firm ground of self-esteem to stand on, chasing praise, endlessly. Luckily, at the tender age of forty-eight, I was neither dependent on the attention for validation nor was I unmoved by it. I could enjoy it for what it was and put it in the context of the stronger sense of self I had developed.

  Nevertheless, the effect on my life was big. I immediately became more recognizable on the street and in restaurants and grocery stores. Almost everywhere I went, people seemed compelled to stop me to tell me how much they loved Glee and why. There was an almost religious fervor to the encounters; these people needed me to appreciate how much the show lifted them. “No, you don’t understand! I LOVE this show” was a common refrain. A fifty-year-old guy friend of mine, cynical as they come, was moved to tell me that he cried when the kids starting to sing “Don’t Stop Believin’.” The appreciation wasn’t always for the feel-good qualities of the show, either: parents and teachers often came up to me telling me they wished they could talk to their kids the way Sue Sylvester did.

  The audience did not seem to be confined to any one demographic. All kinds of people—young, old, married, single, black, and white—were digging the show. The broad appeal was largely due to the fact that Glee’s lovable cast of high school losers came in every size, shape, and color. Everyone watching could find someone to root for. They were played by a fabulous group of mostly newcomers. The jock was played by Cory Monteith, the handsome Canadian. The head cheerleader was played by the lovely Dianna Agron. The dark and mysterious Mark Salling was the bad-boy punk character. The African-American diva was played by the astoundingly talented Amber Riley. Chris Colfer, with his beautiful baby face, was cast as the gay kid. Of course, some of the kids in the cast had been singing and dancing for years. Darling and dimpled Jenna Ushkowitz, who played the adopted Asian, had been performing on Broadway since she was ten. Lea Michele, having starred in Les Miz at age eight, was a Broadway veteran as well when she was cast as Rachel, the overambitious star in the making. Kevin McHale had been drawn to performing since he was a youngster and had been in a boy band for a couple of years before he was cast as the kid in the wheelchair. This group, along with the fabulously talented and sexy Matt Morrison, who played Will Schuester, was drawing fans from all walks of life.

  Back at Paramount Studios, we had been in the midst of shooting our first handful of episodes when the first one ran. We had been working on the show since February and had been in a bubble of sorts, since nothing had been on the air yet. When the pilot aired, we were all blown away by the reaction. It felt so unreal. Could our little show really be a phenomenon?

  Right after the airing of the pilot, we went on a mini-hiatus for about a month before returning in mid-June to complete the network’s order for thirteen episodes. Meanwhile, my life was about to undergo another big change.

  During my break, my good friend (and The L Word creator) Ilene Chaiken was being honored at the National Center for Lesbian Rights gala in San Francisco. She was being given the Voice and Visibility award and asked me to present it to her. NCLR is the leading legal advocacy group for gay and lesbian families, and Ilene is a passionate supporter. In fact, she had created my character on The L Word, Joyce Wischnia, as a hero of the movement. I loved NCLR as well, and I found Kate Kendall, the brilliant and tireless leader, to be an inspiration. I felt privileged to be supporting this organization and especially to be the one to give Ilene this well-deserved honor.

  After landing in San Francisco, I checked into the hotel where the event was to be held. The festivities would be under way shortly, starting with a photo session for the award winners and presenters, and I needed a coffee to rev me up. I found the closest Starbucks and then returned with my soy latte to the vast, multiwinged hotel lobby and promptly got lost trying to get back to my room. I wandered around, frustrated, looking for the correct bank of elevators. Unbeknownst to me my wife-to-be was lost as well, looking for the photo session I would join after a quick trip to my room. When she saw me as I strode across the lobby, she would later tell me that she felt pulled to follow me, and told herself that this was a good idea because I might know where I was going. This rationalization faltered when after a few steps she realized I was headed elsewhere, but, she later confessed, she continued to check me out and liked what she saw.

  Once in my room, I brushed the coffee breath from my teeth, put on my fancy duds, and headed to the photo session a few floors down. When I arrived, one of the handlers said the Justice Award winner in from Sarasota, Florida, would like to take a picture with me and asked if that was okay. Expecting to meet your run-of-the-mill The L Word fan, I said, “Sure.”

  When I was escorted over to where Lara Embry was being photographed, I saw that she was anything but run-of-the-mill. Instead she was gorgeous, even more so when she smiled at me. I immediate
ly began to pray that she was gay. While we were posing for the photographer, she jokingly said something about her best friend telling her she should ask me to sign her breast. My heart went boom, and I got all hyped up. In a split second, my mind wanted to know Who is this “friend”? and Does she really want me to sign her breast? and I hope she doesn’t mean to fix me up with this friend because I want HER. I mustered up a cocky flirtatiousness that didn’t at all suit me and retorted, “I’ll sign anything you want.” Off my game yet all atwitter, I allowed the photographer to put us in some schlocky poses that on any other day I would have nixed. But I was literally in an altered state, so I happily stood back to back with Lara, arms folded, and yucked it up for the camera.

  As we dutifully followed directions, I checked her out. Lara was a bright light, all shiny and glowy, and had the most beautiful smile; I noted the perfection of her teeth. She was wearing a tight-fitting black cocktail dress that hugged her incredible body like a glove. She had “curves on her curves” as my mom used to say, and her arms looked strikingly toned. The soft, dark brown curls of her hair contrasted with her beautiful porcelain white skin. I was immediately smitten.

  With the moment coming to a close, I brazenly said to her, “You know, in ten years, we can show our kids a photo of the moment we met.” I was all the way in, and yes, I had only known her a minute.

  Photographic evidence of the moment I met Lara Embry.

  Photo courtesy of Trish Tunney

  As we went our separate ways toward the ballroom for the event, I watched her from afar interacting with the handlers and well-wishers. Her elegance and grace came along with a certain cool reserve that I found intensely compelling and attractive. I guessed correctly that people tended to come to her. The fact that she had approached me, and with such warmth, filled my heart with joy.

  I also noticed with dread that she was accompanied by a woman who I feared might be her girlfriend. I sized the chick up and concluded smugly, I could break that up. I still wasn’t sure she was even gay, and I hoped to god I wasn’t falling for the one girl in the room who didn’t play for my team. After a quick investigation, I found out that the woman with her, Kate, was an old friend from their days together at Smith College (a liberal lezzie school, so that answered the gay question) and that Lara was unattached. I was very relieved and glad I wouldn’t have to destroy another’s happiness to go after mine with Lara Embry.

  At the dinner, although we were seated at different tables, we were facing directly across from each other. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Remembering what I had been figuring out about my tendency to lump huge, outlandish projections onto people, I wisely restrained myself from crying out, “I love you!” right then and there. It was hard, though. I caught her eye several times, and to my shock, she held my gaze.

  She was receiving the Justice Award for fighting (and ultimately winning) an appeal establishing that out-of-state gay and lesbian adoptions had to be recognized in Florida. I learned the story as she was being introduced by Shannon Minter, the NCLR legal director. While in a relationship for ten years, Lara’s partner had given birth to their first child, and Lara gave birth to their second. The women had cross-adopted the girls in Washington State, where they had been living and where it is legal for gay people to adopt children as a second parent. The two little girls were being raised as sisters. After they moved to Florida, Lara and her partner eventually broke up, but they continued co-parenting for several years, until her ex-partner suddenly and unilaterally cut off Lara’s contact with their older daughter, who was then seven years old, and walked away from the five-year-old girl Lara had given birth to. Even though the adoption that had taken place in Washington State was perfectly legal, an incompetent judge ruled that it was not binding in Florida because of that state’s disgraceful anti-gay adoption policy. All of a sudden, Lara was no longer considered to be a parent to her older daughter.

  Lara had contacted NCLR and they had successfully represented her in appealing that ruling. It was a rout, with NCLR cleaning the floor with the legal team from the Liberty Counsel, Jerry Falwell’s nonprofit legal organization for the defense of “Christian religious liberty . . . and the traditional family.” The ruling meant that Florida had to follow the Constitution and recognize gay and lesbian adoptions from other states. It was a victory that meant that gay and lesbian families could rest assured that the children they legally adopted could not be taken away from them because of the parents’ sexual orientation.

  You could hear a pin drop as Lara accepted her award and talked about her story to a captivated ballroom at the NCLR gala. Her poise and self-possession were awe-inspiring, especially since, although she had a legal victory to celebrate, Lara was still being kept from her daughter, and the sisters were still separated. The legal process that followed the appeal was long and arduous, and reunification would not occur until after a custody evaluation and subsequent mediation more than a year later.

  Because of her strong and steady nature, Lara’s plight did not trigger my “rescue” impulse, as it might have otherwise. She was a substantial person, with great integrity, and that was clearly no projection on my part. I was, however, in danger of falling into hero-worship and idealization, but Lara would not be amenable to taking this on, as I would find out later that night. . . .

  Lara’s best friend (and soon-to-be maid of honor at our wedding), Trish, was the one who had told Lara to get me to sign her boob. In between the time Lara saw me in the lobby and this photo session, she figured out that I was the actress Trish wanted her to meet. Trish was a Two and a Half Men fanatic, and when Lara had told her I would be at the event, her first response had been a very jealous “You suck.” So I have her to thank for putting me on Lara’s radar. Trish had been trying to get Lara to watch my portrayal as Charlie’s therapist for a long time, telling her she would love me. Though Lara had never caught the show, Trish was convinced we would have a lot in common: I played a therapist and she was a therapist; I was a lesbian, and she was a lesbian, too. It was perfect! She was perfect! And that night as we were making out in her hotel room, I told her so.

  “You’re perfect!” I exclaimed.

  “No, I’m not,” she said in a very measured tone. “You’re turned on and I happen to be the woman who is on top of you.”

  Oh my god, I thought, even more perfect!

  In between kisses during the best make-out session I’ve ever had, we talked and talked. She had just turned forty and had a therapy practice in Sarasota. She’d gotten her bachelor’s from Smith College, master’s in philosophy from Columbia, and a PhD in psychology from the University of Washington. I don’t think I had ever kissed anyone so educated. She was originally from Alabama, and her parents were both doctors, Mom a radiologist and Dad a forensic pathologist. (I’d played a forensic scientist in The Fugitive, so I sort of knew what that was.) She had a brother who was doing his residency in radiology and he was married, with a little boy. She had acquired those terrific guns from rowing, which she had done since her Smith crew team days. She loved her kids fiercely; her birth daughter, Haden, was seven and, as she put it, a “pip.” (When I met the child the next day, I would find that to be an understatement.) She showed me a school photo of her freckle-faced older daughter, by then nine years old and at that time in neither Lara’s nor Haden’s life.

  As I listened and Lara offered me bits of her life story, the piece of her past that seemed to weigh the heaviest on her was the devastating loss of her older sister in a car crash when they were in their early teens. That her two daughters had lost each other was unbearable; it was clear that she would do everything in her power to reunite these sisters.

  I was so taken with her peaceful countenance and self-assurance, in part because it contrasted so much with me. I am a whippersnapper, full of anxious energy and all go-go-go. Her steady tempo calmed me, and helped me keep guard over my enthusiasm, because after one evening with someone, even someone this wonderful, I had no busine
ss deciding I’d found my soul mate. And yet that was what I was feeling.

  At around 3 A.M., Lara needed to take her leave. Haden had slept over at a cousin’s home nearby so Lara could attend the event, and Lara didn’t want her to wake up in the middle of the night and not know where her mom was. This warmed my already warm heart. My insides jumped up and down when she agreed that I should return to her hotel room in the morning with coffee for us. I also wished I had brought one more outfit to wear.

  I went back to my hotel room and barely slept, watching the clock, waiting for the moment when I could get up and get the coffee and see her again. Could she possibly be as wonderful as I felt she was? I did not want to repeat my tendency to create, sometimes out of whole cloth, an entire person based on nothing other than my projections, resulting in my being shocked (shocked, I tell you!) when she turned out to be someone completely different.

  Dressed in the clothes she’d seen me wearing in the lobby the day before, I went to Starbucks and got us soy lattes. After I got back to the hotel, I realized I had completely forgotten to get anything for the kid: no hot chocolate, no treats. I was not at all used to considering the needs of children, and this wouldn’t be the last time I would forget to feed the child.

  Haden was in the shower when I arrived, which gave me a moment to look at Lara in the light of the morning. My feelings for her had not eroded in the least during the night. I was still completely goo-goo-eyed.