With Love and Laughter, John Ritter by Amy Yasbeck

Author:Amy Yasbeck
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2010-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

chapter you know what *

*Actors are notoriously superstitious. No whistling in the theater. Always leave a light on onstage. Never utter the name of “the Scottish play.” John and I and every actor who has spent anytime onstage are made well aware of these old standards early on. But John had a little something extra to deal with. A full-blown lifelong case of triskaidekaphobia : fear of the number thirteen. So in honor of John: no apterchay irteenthay.

chapter 14

Stella

After Wings ended, I shot the pilot episode for the WB sitcom Alright Already. Carol Leifer was the executive producer, writer, and star of the show, and she and I became fast friends. Carol had gone from the world of stand-up comedy to writing for Seinfeld and dozens of other superhigh-profile television shows. She was hilarious on Alright Already, and I felt lucky to be cast as her best friend, Renee. If you’re gonna play the second banana, this show was the place to do it.

Carol had recently gone through a life-changing—make that life-affirming —breast cancer scare. It turned out to be a false alarm. One of the best things about Carol is that once her consciousness is raised about something, she becomes a tenacious advocate. It was January 1998, and we had been working together for a few months. She knew I was thirty-five at the time and she urged—make that lovingly pestered —me to make an appointment for my first mammogram, even calling me on our day off to make sure I had followed through. I assured her that I had. (I hadn’t.) Lying about a mammogram seemed like more than bad manners; it seemed like bad luck. As much as I pooh-pooh other people’s quirky superstitions, I tend to obey mine. Neurotic or just half-Irish, you be the judge.

To counteract the feeling that I had just induced cancer, I called to make an appointment. When the very polite receptionist taking my information got to the part of the form that asked me for the date of my last period, I was stumped. As I always am. My cycle is regular but my monthly organizational skills are anything but. I never write it down, although I grew up with a sister who, at my mother’s urging, wrote “Me Due” at twenty-eight-day intervals on all of her calendars. To jog my memory, I always have to think back and pin my start date to some event. This time it was Thanksgiving, so I answered, “Six weeks ago.” There was a pause so pregnant you could drive a baby buggy through it, followed by the receptionist’s drawn out “o-o-o-k-a-a-a-y…” and then I heard myself say, “Holy shit.”

John and I were over the moon. We decided that I shouldn’t tell anyone at work. I didn’t know if the WB was going to pick up our series for a second season. If it did get renewed, I would tell Carol then. (It didn’t, but she was thrilled for me when I finally told her that I was expecting.

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