Soap Opera Magazine
February 6, 1996
The Gossip

Greetings from the Great White Northeast, where, on the second day of the blizzard, Catherine Hickland (Tess, The City) tromped two miles to work through two feet of snow, arriving at the studio exhausted and "sooooo crabby. It's 8 o'clock in the morning, and I want to kill. And then the set designer runs into me in the hall and says, 'Isn't it beautiful outside?' I said, 'Are you really asking me that? Because I'm so ready to tell you what I think…' After work, I begged Walt Willey (Jack, AMC), who was leaving the building, to drive me home. He said he just had a little Jeep and he had a guest, and there was nowhere to put me. I said, 'I'll sit between your legs! Between the stick and the seat! Anywhere! Strap me on the top like a surfboard!' So I squooshed into this little spot, and he gave me a ride. I was so grateful."

The week before, Catherine had experienced rain, snow and cold weather--"but no blizzard"--when she, Eva LaRue and Felicity LaFortune (Maria and Laurel, AMC) performed in concert in Lyons, France, with the Orchestra National de Lyon. Catherine says the rehearsal and performance schedule only allowed two hours of free time. "Eva and John Callahan (Edmund, AMC) and my husband (Michael Knight, Tad, AMC) and I went shopping. I walked into this store and there was, like, wall-to-wall makeup. French makeup! My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I started frothing at the mouth. I never got past that department. Eva and I spent the whole two hours there. We were both just crazed." She hasn't a clue how Michael and John spent that time. "The ceased to exist the minute we walked in."

Makeup was the only thing Hickland bought, but she returned from France with more than she bargained for. "I got a parasite from drinking the water and got pretty sick right after the show New Year's Eve. And we had a performance on New Year's Day! It was a completely Imodium-induced show, and oddly enough, I think it was probably my best. The human body is really amazing that way, because it always knows when it can fall apart. The minute I heard the strains of the overture, it's like my body just went, 'All right, we have to do a three-hour show now, and everything is going to be fine.' And the minute we took our last bow, I just fell apart. I ran for it." Still, her discomfort "didn't eclipse the fascinating time I had there"--nor the memory of the seven-minute standing ovations.