Baby Steps by Elisabeth Rohm Page A

this was the golden cage. We had fame and money and a regular job, but in many ways, we weren’t free to express ourselves as artists. At least, that’s how I felt. I wanted to play more character-driven roles, as opposed to the plot-driven format of Law & Order. After years, it was time to move on.
    Sam understood. He said to me, “You know what, Lis? I came to this show as an older man who had already done movies and traveled and really lived my life. You’re just beginning. This is why so many of the young women leave this show. They have bigger dreams. Get out there and do what you want to do. Explore, travel, do movies, have a family. This is your time.”
    This was exactly my plan, and to have Sam confirm its wisdom made me feel more sure of myself. Together, we decided I would make my last thirteen episodes the best episodes I’d ever done, and they were. It was my best work on the show. But it was time to go. Jerry Orbach had recently retired and the face of Law & Order was changing. I was ready for a new beginning.
    Sam Waterston always used to say, “Elisabeth wants to be everything. I just want to be an actor.” When I look back on that time, I see that I was never satisfied. I always wanted to be something or somewhere else. I was filled with the restlessness of youth, and the folly that the grass is always greener somewhere else. I remember asking Sam if he would write me a letter of recommendation to go to graduate school in psychology, or to help me get into a writing program. I’d say I wanted to quit acting to get married and have a family, or that I wanted to quit Law & Order to finally do arty intellectual films, like the Woody Allen films Sam had done, of the Merchant Ivory films I’d always dreamed of doing. My head was always somewhere other than where my body was, and I could never stay still. I loved being part of a TV family, but I was impetuous and unfocused in my ambitions.
    When I came out of the golden cage, I realized that like Sam, I did “just want to be an actor.” And that was progress. Today, there are a million reasons to love acting, but maybe the biggest one of all is that it opened my heart in a way nothing else ever had, until I became a mother.
    On my last day, I was nervous. Good-byes have never been easy for me. I was dreading what the cast might do, I was scared about the future, and I just wanted to get on with it. I couldn’t stand the idea of dragging it out, or worse, leaving with a bad taste in my mouth, the way I always did when my mother and I would argue just before I went off to summer camp. That was always so disappointing.
    When I walked into the courtroom to film the last scene, I was filled with conflicting emotions. Would they be glad to see me go? Would they miss me at all? Would they be relieved? No woman up to that point had ever stayed on Law & Order for as long as I had. Were they sick of me? But as soon as I was inside the room, I did a double take. Every single cast and crew member was wearing a long blond wig and holding a Diet-Coke. I almost turned around and walked back out. That lump I’d had in my throat on my first week was back, and it was all I could do not to burst into tears. I loved every one of the people in that room, and when I saw that room full of blond wigs, I realized that they loved me, too. Sam and Fred and Diane and all of the other wonderful actors on that show and every crewmember, too.
    I remember thinking, I’m never going to walk into this room again. I’m never going to have my vegan cupcake again. I’m never going to annoy Sam with my neediness again, and he’s never going to have to pretend he doesn’t like it. I’ve got to pack up my Ralph Lauren dressing room and go home. But at least I know they love me.
    My life was about to change dramatically. Would I end up aimless and wandering, or would I find something even better and more meaningful in my life? I