Live wire, p.14
Live Wire, page 14
Did he really want me to save THAT for the air?
Maybe it was all in my head, but I was certain the vibe shift from backstage continued on the air that day.
I left the Live! studio in a state of confusion. I certainly would never be invited back to cohost again. I wondered what I had done to bring about this drastic change because as all women do, I blamed myself. Luckily, though, I was too busy to dwell on it. And, I still had a toddler and was very pregnant, so there was that to contend with.
I went back to my dressing room at All My Children and was met again by a yellow square on my door. This time the note came from Angela Shapiro, who I assumed wanted to tell me that I wouldn’t have to worry about hosting Live! ever again.
But instead she informed me that they wanted to make me an official offer to become the new cohost. The permanent one.
Who did? I asked.
The network.
Okay look, it’s very complicated, but Live! is run differently than most programs of its kind. I’ll give you the Cliffs Notes version.
The show started out local on the affiliate station WABC in New York. Then, the ABC/Disney syndication division, Buena Vista, decided to test it nationally. Still with me? It sold to myriad affiliate stations across various networks and became a hit, and the two factions, ABC and WABC, have been at war as to who is in charge ever since.
This meant that the network wanting me as the cohost all but guaranteed that I would be the antichoice inside Live! Especially by the inner sanctum and the executives from the local affiliate who kept telling me they weren’t interested in hiring me for the job. In a shocking turn of events, they had been telling the truth. I wish I had understood the dynamic between the two divisions back then. I would have run. But I didn’t. So I didn’t.
“Um, Angela, I have to tell you, I really don’t think they like me over there. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I have no idea what happened, but something clearly did. I think you better find someone else. Someone he likes.”
“It’s not his decision to make, Kelly. It’s not you, so don’t take it personally. You are the breath of fresh air the show needs. I will protect you. Just think about it. Discuss it with Mark, and let’s circle back at the end of the day.”
Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, I was still trying to figure out who my boss was. Michael waited as patiently as a three-year-old who hadn’t eaten dinner yet could. He was bouncing up and down with the anticipation of what could possibly be in the red-and-white paper bucket. I nestled the phone in the crook of my neck and moved around the kitchen table, laying down placemats, plates, glasses, as well as knives and forks, as if I was presenting a home-cooked meal to my family. I bumped into every chair, including the high chair, due to my now obviously pregnant frame. My belly was much bigger the second time around, and when I turned suddenly, I bumped into Michael, knocking him to the ground.
I tried to write down the different points of the offer.
Mark walked into the kitchen, and spying the forlorn expression on my face, threw up his “what gives” hands. I pushed the oil-stained napkin across the table toward him. THEY WANT TO MAKE SURE YOU KNOW WHO YOUR BOSS IS . . . and I pointed toward myself. Mark still looked confused, so I blurted, “They want to make sure I know who my boss is.” Then, my agent seemed confused, so I told him I needed to bring Mark up to speed.
Mark had the same reaction as me. “What does that even mean?”
“No idea. No, I take that back. You know what it means, guys? It means I shouldn’t take this job. It feels really wrong. What kind of an offer starts with, you better know who your boss is? It’s just so weird!” I said while biting into a delicious buttermilk biscuit.
Then, my husband piped in with, “Kel, you might have to decide if you can tolerate weird in exchange for better hours and more money.”
As I sat down to cut up Michael’s chicken into toddler-safe bites, I passed the phone to Mark, who put the call on speaker so we could both listen while the lengthy list of “deal breakers” was being presented.
The list would have been comical to anyone in the entertainment industry had they been listening. I thought they were petty, for lack of a more accurate descriptive. Usually, the breaking point of any negotiation comes down to money, which this did as well, but the executives at Live! were also willing to blow up the deal over much smaller issues. I’m talking the most basic of basics.
I wasn’t permitted to use my own hair and makeup people.
I can’t state enough how standard it is to have a dedicated makeup and hair team on any show, much less one bearing the “talent’s” name. But this was the number one deal breaker and the most consequential flash point of my entire contract. Not only were Richard and Doreen not permitted to do my hair and makeup in the Live! studio, but they couldn’t do it before the show either over at All My Children. Even if I paid them myself! I was commanded, yes commanded, to use Regis’s hair and makeup team. I pushed back that it made no sense for me to have to go to the second studio, wash my face and hair, and have it all redone for the soap. They insisted it was a deal breaker as Live! had a very specific look. We laughed at the absurdity of the thought of what that look might be. Having said that, I was relieved when makeup artist Michelle Champagne and hair stylist Diane D’Agostino were not only talented, but kind and welcoming as well.
But at this point, we were at a standstill over item one. Which again, is never a good sign.
But wait, there was more.
There would be no wardrobe services or budget. None. Zero.
I know I sound like a broken record, but THIS NEVER HAPPENS. ON ANY SHOW!
There would be no paid maternity leave.
On brand. And obviously, very helpful considering I was quite pregnant at the time.
I was not permitted to have an office. Not that I asked for one, but once I knew that having one was forbidden, I simply had to have my own cubicle. It was like being commanded not to look at Gelman all over again.
My name had to be smaller than Regis’s name on the Live! title card and branding. A game of inches, which speaks for itself. But on that we agreed.
Seniority, after all.
That word. Seniority was used quite a bit during that negotiation and my early years on Live! However, it seemed that seniority would be elusive to me, something I could never achieve, even when I was the person on the job with the seniority. As it turns out, “seniority” is a masculine word.
Look, the reason I’m walking you through all of these details, all of this minutiae of my work history and obviously poor negotiation skills is not to trash anyone or garner any sympathy. There is real shit going on in the world. I understand that people in the real world have real problems. I, too, am a real person, so I know my complaining about being offered a job making more money for theoretically working less hours is not going to win any tiny violin contests. I’m just trying to contextualize things.
And I feel that I owe it to myself to correct the record out there. I now know that by taking the “high road,” which is woman code for shutting the fuck up, I allowed false narratives to be attached to me.
Bethenny Frankel summed it up beautifully when I was a guest on her podcast. In describing her relationship with the media, and not commenting on inaccuracies to try to minimize the news cycle, she put it this way: “[My divorce] was completely analyzed and dissected by the media. It is their job. It is their right. I couldn’t get off the ride. I wanted everyone to stop talking about it. But because it didn’t end, it would keep resurfacing. And it was just pretty much a nightmare. I mean, everything about it, the actuality of it was a nightmare. But then living it in the media was a nightmare. And in many ways, I brought this on myself.”
Even though I had a live daily talk show I chose not to dignify fabricated stories and correct the record no matter how tempted I was. Why sell their rags for them?
But by my allowing false information to live on, unchecked, it became true as far as those in the media and the viewing public was/were concerned.
Even certain broadcasters I liked and respected were unwilling to be curious about well-established, well-documented events at Live! People who knew better.
The biggest misconception about my place on the show was that Regis had hand-selected me, guided me, and was my best friend, and then left, after which I never spoke to him again. I think that is a basic misconception about on-air personalities in general. The audience assumes that they are watching two best friends. I get it. I used to think that Regis and Kathie Lee were married. That’s the assignment of a morning show host. Rarely is that the case. Working on morning television is like any job. Except that America gets to do your performance review every single day.
Podcasts like this one helped fuel this narrative:
INTERVIEWER: What about Kelly? How often do you see or speak to her?
REGIS: I haven’t seen her, I don’t see her. She lived downtown, and now I hear she’s on the East Side.
INTERVIEWER: Have you seen her since the show ended in November 2011?
(If the show ended in 2011, where have I been going every day?)
REGIS: No, I haven’t.
INTERVIEWER: Wow. Is that weird?
REGIS: No, it doesn’t bother me. I was over there yesterday (at ABC) as a matter of fact to do something for them. No, I don’t see her.
(We saw each other in the elevator.)
INTERVIEWER: Because you had a good run with Kelly.
REGIS: Yeah, sure.
INTERVIEWER: Who did you feel like you had the most of a click with? I know you’ve had a lot of cohosts in your time.
REGIS: Hmm, well, you know, I didn’t have that many hosts. No, I did have a lot—in California as well. Mary Hart, that’s how she got her start in the business.
INTERVIEWER: Yeah, by the way, think of all these women who worked with you who became hugely successful . . . Mary Hart, Kathie Lee Gifford, Kelly Ripa. You made these women.
REGIS: Made them what they are!
(For the record, we all had jobs when we were hired.)
That unfortunate podcast was pounced on by the press and elevated that false narrative.
Nobody blamed Regis when he left the show the way he did, because to be clear, he announced he was leaving on live TV. And nobody blamed him for not reaching out to me. Including me. But I don’t think that I should be blamed either.
Would I have preferred a heads-up? Of course, but his exit wasn’t about me. He had his reasons for leaving the show. Nobody gets that more than I do.
I just wish I hadn’t become the target, of the media or otherwise. Especially since I was the one person kept out of the room, when that huge show-changing decision was being made.
Later that year, when walking a press line for The Hollywood Reporter’s annual power issue, in which I was featured, I was asked if Regis had congratulated me, or if I had heard from him since he left the show.
I considered embellishing for a split second, saying that we had traded phone calls, but it felt too dishonest. So, I told the truth.
“No.”
And yet, here again, I was dragged through the mud.
The reality is that I would have traded places with him in a second. I was scared to death, and suddenly responsible for keeping our very popular show on the air, all by myself.
In the years following his departure, Regis was invited back on the show many times, but always declined. So it was a genuine thrill and surprise when he finally relented and agreed to be on our annual Halloween show, with Kathie Lee to boot!
Everyone backstage and on set was very excited to see Regis because frankly, nobody was funnier or more robust in their hatred for our Halloween show than Regis. Plus, after years of declining the invitations, the fact that he chose this show as the one seemed downright miraculous.
I heard him before I saw him. It was like no time had passed. He was yelling at Gelman about the “horror of Halloween!” And “what the hell am I supposed to be again?”
Then I heard, “Regis is supposed to be Regis, only from twenty years ago! Like a flashback! Get it?” Gelman barked.
“Why can’t Regis just be Regis?” was the counterbark. It brought back all the old memories of the parts of the job I rather enjoyed. Especially the chronic explaining mixed with the endless exacerbation plus the confusing referring to oneself in the third person. And so, I decided I would make my way into the makeup and hair room and take my chances with an off-camera conversation.
He gave me a big smile and a hug and exclaimed, “Hello there, miss . . . star.”
Then, Gelman swept in with, “You remember Kelly Ripa.” I didn’t take it personally. Because, as America knows, we had a long-standing joke that he could never remember my name.
So, imagine my confusion when just a year after that Halloween show, Regis appeared with Larry King—whose infamous interview style of no preparation, no preinterview, no research—led to this puzzling exchange:
LARRY KING: Do you keep in touch with Kelly Ripa?
REGIS PHILBIN: Not really, no.
LARRY KING: Not really no, do they ask you to go back even for a day?
REGIS PHILBIN: Never once did they ask me to go back.
LARRY KING: You’re kidding.
REGIS PHILBIN: She got very offended when I left. She thought I was leaving because of her. I was leaving because I was getting older, and it wasn’t right for me anymore.
LARRY KING: So, you mean she took it personal?
REGIS PHILBIN: Yeah, I think so. That was eleven years ago and I—
LARRY KING: Haven’t heard?
REGIS PHILBIN: Never have.
I will never fully understand that interview. Or why my name was dragged into these interviews in the first place. I was certainly never asked for a comment or clarification, or my perspective. Not that I would have given it—I just wanted the story to go away.
In the Larry retelling, Regis claimed he retired because he was getting older and no longer wanted to work. As a response, I became angry with him, stopped speaking to him, and hadn’t seen him since he left the show.
The main problem with his story—it just wasn’t true!
And yet, the media seized. I had gotten mad at Regis for retiring. I had dropped him. I was the bad guy.
Sure, there was video footage of that Halloween show readily available. And me inviting him over for dinner to see my kids. None of it mattered. I could have pressed the issue. I could have kept the news cycle going.
So, fool me once, fool me twice, fool me a thousand times, for not setting the record straight in real time.
It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t fair. Maybe me being in that chair in the first place wasn’t fair to Regis, and me staying and enduring the fallout certainly wasn’t fair to me.
Right before his departure from the show, we were on a break from filming our final TD Bank commercial when he began telling me about the last time he walked away from a job.
Usually during breaks he held court with the crew, screaming in quasi-mock fury that it was taking far too long to shoot a thirty-second ad. This time, though, he seemed to need to get something off his chest. He was telling me about his soon to be published book and recalling the sections about his time working on The Joey Bishop Show. Regis said Joey hated having him as a sidekick and was awful to him.
So awful in fact, he quit twice, both times storming off the set in the middle of the broadcast.
He became hyperanimated, his skills for storytelling firing on all cylinders, and I felt like I was there, watching his old humiliations unfold. His humorous delivery belied the fact that his feelings were still hurt, so many decades later.
I understand the feeling perfectly.
He asked me if I would mind him giving me some practical advice, which I am grateful for and will keep between us.
It’s easy in a job like ours to lose sight of the things that are important. And sometimes I do. But the reality is I had a lot of fun over the years at my day job. I got to sit next to one of the greatest storytellers of all time. The few occasions I socialized with Regis outside the office, over the decade we worked together, I truly enjoyed. He was an even better storyteller in person. I think he would have said the same.
I learned a lot over the years, mainly that context is almost always overlooked, that something repeated often enough becomes the truth. And the good outweighs the bad . . . mostly.
I was able to raise my kids with a certain continuity almost never available to children who are raised in “show biz” households. Same school. Same city. Same home. Same friends. I have been able to live a relatively normal life, which if you’ve ever seen my show you would understand is all that really matters to me.
I earn a great living and have enough resources to allow for more philanthropic endeavors. My parents raised me to know what matters. I could have pursued many opportunities to branch out, both on the broadcast and acting side, had I so desired.
But what sometimes gets twisted, is that all of those opportunities exist BECAUSE of Live! And whoever has the great good fortune to ascend to that rare seat behind the host chat desk channels a universe of infinite possibilities, harnessing entirely that spontaneous, electrifying, and explosive energy. All while precariously perched atop a Live! wire.
“Beauty fades. Dumb lasts forever.”
—JUDGE JUDY
Chapter Nine
Aging Gracefully: The Big Lie
They say that one should grow old gracefully. I don’t know who “they” is exactly, but they is wrong, and they most certainly never had a job working in front of a camera. Of course, given pandemic work from home conditions for the past few years, most of us work on camera now. So, I hope they feel like an asshole, because they truly are.
The current on-camera reality has seen a boom in cosmetic procedures. I would imagine that some of the most thriving businesses these days besides TikTok and Amazon are the ones owned by plastic surgeons and cosmetic dermatologists. This is not something I know for certain, but there has to be some correlation between the size of my plastic surgeon’s house and the amount of time we are now required to be on screen. It just stands to reason, and they deserve it. They do God’s work, after all, or at least the work God should have done. It’s as if the entire world has woken up to what I have known for nearly all of my thirty-plus years in show business—aging is not for pussies and should be avoided at all costs by everyone with the exception of a chosen handful of people. Men, of course, get to age, but only the men who look good doing it.
