Showbiz, A Novel

by Preston, Ruby

  “Get to the point.” He stood up.

  “Reilly Mitchell.”

  Scarlett and Reilly Mitchell? Margolies saw red.

  Scene 32

  Scarlett checked the time. She had been in the Jackman Theater for ten straight hours, for the third day in a row. And yet they had barely gotten through three scenes that night. She flexed her aching fingers, tired from the copious notes she’d been taking about everything from scene transitions to costume adjustments to dramaturgical fixes. Scaling Mount Olympus would be easier than mounting this show, thought Scarlett.

  At least she hadn’t needed to worry about Cupid. Since he’d spent the majority of the day strapped into a remote-controlled harness, flying around the theater, his flirtations with Scarlett had been relegated to leers and lewd gestures from above, which she could safely avoid, sitting in the darkened audience well below his grasp.

  The show was really starting to come together. Though Scarlett preferred her musicals with a little more heart and a little less spectacle, she couldn’t fault Margolies’ vision of Olympus. Even with only piano accompaniment—the orchestra wouldn’t be called in until later in the week—the songs were stunning. The choreography performed by the top-notch cast, in dazzling costumes, was truly breathtaking.

  Scarlett had miraculously managed to avoid unnecessary run-ins with Margolies as well. The activity at the theater had reached a fever pitch. Margolies and Scarlett were more or less taking turns running between the theater and the office, conveniently ensuring, as a result, that they were rarely in the same place at the same time, other than for production meetings with various other players. That suited Scarlett just fine, as she had neither the time nor inclination to get any more humiliating beratings from her boss.

  It had been the toughest two weeks of her life at work. Luckily, a couple of late night dinners with Reilly—when she could get away from the theater—as well as constant update texts from the Jeremys and Lawrence, who were deep in rehearsals downtown, were getting her through.

  “Doughnut?” the intern whispered, coming down the aisle of the theater. He squeezed into the theater seat next to her. She had to give the kid credit, though he really should lay off the doughnuts. He’d been tireless in the past couple of weeks, bringing her food, apprising her of Margolies’ whereabouts, making her laugh when things got particularly stressful. Maybe the intern would do okay after all.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Is it alright if I head home? It’s after ten,” he said.

  “Oh!” Time went by so quickly. “Sure, of course. I had no idea it was so late.”

  “That’s okay. I had a lot to do at the office,” he said. She’d been dumping work off on him like it was going out of style. “You were the one who was here all weekend.”

  “Look, I really appreciate everything you’re doing. You really are a lifesaver.”

  The intern had pretty much taken the reigns of the extensive press and marketing activities, in partnership with the ad agency. In true Margolies style, the boss was keeping a close eye on everything that was being done, but the extensive day-to-day management that usually fell to Scarlett had landed squarely on the interns shoulders.

  The intern craned his head to look at the remote-controlled flying contraption that now held Cupid’s understudy. Cupid had left hours before to make an appearance at some glamorous party. The remote-control technology they were pioneering was almost perfect. And the effect was breathtaking.

  “We’re making history here, right?” the intern said with a sense of awe. “I’m just glad to be part of it. Are you sure you don’t want a doughnut?”

  “I’m sure.” She was grateful that she wasn’t a stress eater. At times like those, she had to force herself to remember to eat anything at all. At least all the drama was good for her waist line. “Did you close up the office?”

  “The boss is still there.”

  “I thought he left for the night.”

  “Nope. Been there all evening. Looked like he was having some meetings.”

  “With whom? Everyone’s here,” Scarlett said, gesturing around to all the designers, actors, and directors who were scurrying around the darkened theater. At that moment, they were busy resetting the stage to re-rehearse the scene they had just run ten times already. It was the tricky Act One finale. All the gods took flight while Cupid, as Zeus, had his triumphant Act One finale song, a spotlight-lit rock-and-roll crowd pleaser sung from the flying contraption above the audience. They had almost gotten it right. The next day they’d rehearse the rain scene with the lightning pyrotechnics. It felt more like what Scarlett imagined a movie set would feel like, rather than a Broadway show. But there was no doubt that they were blazing new territory. Audiences would be wowed, that was for sure.

  “I think they were money people,” the intern said in answer to her question, licking powdered sugar off his fingers. “Not sure, since they kept the door closed. One of them was that guy who’s been hanging around a lot. I’ve never caught his name. Black hair. Fancy suite. Kinda creepy.”

  Why did the hair on the back of Scarlett’s neck stand up every time she saw or thought about that guy? “Sure. I know the one.” Not wanting to share her discomfort with the intern, she pasted on a smile.

  “Well, I guess that’s it for the night,” she said, giving him permission to go home. During the conversation, he had finished off the doughnuts he had brought for her.

  “How much longer are you sticking around?” he asked her.

  Now it was her turn to take in her surroundings. Rehearsal was still in full swing. “It’ll be a while.” She had been hoping to see Reilly, but the night was ticking away. Ah, well. The show started previews in three days.

  Scene 33

  “Do you really need me here tonight?” Reilly asked Scarlett as they walked arm in arm out the door of his building, huddled together under an umbrella. They were on their way to a dinner party at the Jeremys’ apartment in Chelsea. Scarlett was thrilled to have a night off, but Reilly seemed jumpy and irritable. He’d been distant all week.

  “Yes! Everyone’s dying to get to know you,” she said, squeezing his arm and giving him an encouraging smile. She was eager for her good mood to rub off on him.

  “Do you think it was a good idea to tell all of them about us?” Reilly asked, frowning.

  “It would have to come out sooner or later. And, anyway, that’s one bonus of you losing your job. At least I’m not dating New York’s nastiest gossip columnist.”

  “Don’t rub it in.”

  “I meant it as a compliment.” Scarlett kissed his cheek as they made their way through Times Square, the umbrella only keeping them somewhat dry. “And, anyway, you’ll soon be re-employed!”

  Scarlett could see Reilly trying to muster a smile for her benefit. Clearly his heart wasn’t in it. He claimed he hadn’t been sleeping well. It seemed that losing his columnist job had really shaken his confidence.

  “Don’t you see how quickly someone can go from being somebody in this town to just another nobody on the streets of New York City?” He gestured to the throngs of tourists brushing by them. The busily flashing Times Square billboards promoting Mamma Mia, Jersey Boys and The Lion King were splashing a collage of colors onto the wet sidewalks.

  “Oh come on, you saw the review this week! The junior critic blew it,” she said. She was trying so hard to cheer him up. They had dissected the most recent audition review earlier that day on the phone and confirmed that it wasn’t good for the junior critic, but was very good for Reilly.

  “The world is waiting for you, Reilly.” Scarlett forced Reilly to stop and face her under the umbrella. “I know you’re nervous, but this is everything you've always wanted.” She kissed him on the lips. “Look at us! At the center of the world!” She held her arms out wide.

  Reilly’s eyes l
ocked on the massive Olympus billboard that dominated a two-story high space over her shoulder, dwarfing the Wicked and Phantom of the Opera ads. Scarlett could see his spirits sinking again. She gently placed her hands on either side of his face and gazed into his eyes. “You are poised to get your dream job, Reilly. And, my show starts previews next week. Let’s enjoy this. How many people get where we are? This is Broadway.”

  Reilly just stared back at her with a bleak expression. She kissed him again, but there was no passion in his return kiss. She could feel her good mood starting to ebb. She held his gaze for a few moments longer. Her heart was eager to make the relationship work. Their mutual attraction was undeniable. And yet, it had only been a few weeks since they’d met and it felt like they were on a constant emotional rollercoaster.

  Reilly shivered and pulled his coat around him with one hand, re-angling the umbrella with the other. “I’m sorry, Scarlett. I’m in a weird mood tonight. I don’t want to bring down the group. Why don’t I head home?”

  “We don’t have to stay long, but you have to make an appearance. Please. I promise they’ll all love you as much as I do.” She looked at him pleadingly.

  Reilly sighed. “Ok. I’m sure you’re right.” He kissed her forehead. “Lead on.” He crooked his elbow for her to take. As they strode through the center of Times Square arm in arm, she desperately hoped that an evening with friends would rehabilitate his mood.

  Scene 34

  They were the last to arrive at the Jeremys, where they were met by a lively group lounging on couches and on the floor of the living room. Scarlett had been looking forward to the evening all week. It had been a while since she’d carved out an entire evening for a non-work related event.

  “Doth mine eyes deceive me?” Jersey Jeremy asked, greeting them at the apartment door with two glasses of wine. “Or is the one and only Reilly Mitchell in my humble abode?”

  Scarlett cast a wary glance at Reilly. She could see that Jeremy’s flattery was perking him up already.

  “And I’m chopped liver? Is that any way to greet your producer?” Scarlett teased.

  “The red carpet is at the dry cleaners,” Jersey Jeremy said as he took their coats.

  Scarlett fished a bottle of wine out of her purse and added it to the other guests’ alcoholic offerings on the kitchen counter, just to the right of the front door. The Jeremys' apartment was three times bigger than Scarlett’s, but that wasn’t saying much. Still, the cozy group of friends that had gathered for the evening fit just fine.

  “Scarlett, you know everyone here, but have they met Reilly?” Buff Jeremy asked, sliding from the couch onto the floor to let Scarlett and Reilly share the small plush loveseat.

  “We all know you!” said an impeccably dressed young guy in an argyle sweater and jeans.

  Scarlett made introductions starting there. “Reilly, meet Rob. He does what I do in Erlander’s office.”

  “Head slave, at your service,” Rob said, leaning across the low coffee table laden with fancy cheeses and crackers to shake Reilly’s hand.

  “This is Mara and her husband David.”

  “Of course,” Reilly said to Mara. “Didn’t you write that Oscar Wilde bio-musical that made it to Broadway last season? It was good!”

  “Thanks.” Mara beamed.

  “And David is an entertainment lawyer,” Scarlett continued.

  “Broadway power couple,” Reilly said with a wink.

  Scarlett continued around the room, pointing out the various friendly faces draped over the furniture and on the floor of the living room, ending with Andrew, an up-and-coming independent Broadway producer who, like Scarlett, was hoping to someday be a major player. Lounging on his lap due to lack of any other available surface was his girlfriend Cat, a talented singer/dancer.

  The group quickly devoured the cheese and crackers and more than a few bottles of wine amid lively conversation and theater gossip. Scarlett stole a look at Reilly, deep in conversation with Andrew, who was regaling him with the sordid details of his current projects. He was probably hoping to get a mention in Reilly’s column, Scarlett thought. No one knew yet that Reilly was no longer at the Journal. She was pleased to see him getting along so well with her nearest and dearest friends in New York. They all appeared to be more than willing to accept Reilly into their circle despite his public profile as a snarky columnist.

  “So, Reilly,” Jersey Jeremy began, “when do you get your turn in the Banner’s critic competition?”

  “I’m last,” Reilly said.

  “They’re clearly saving the best for last,” Scarlett said, kissing Reilly on the cheek.

  “We’ll see,” Reilly said modestly.

  “Any idea what show you’ll be assigned to review?” Buff Jeremy asked.

  “I should find out in the next week or two,” Reilly said.

  “Well, we’re all rooting for you, man,” Jersey Jeremy said. “Anyone who can capture the heart of our lovely Scarlett must be a good guy.”

  Reilly suddenly looked uncomfortable, but the conversation quickly shifted to the usual topics. Mara and David began debating loudly with Andrew about whether Patti LuPone or Bernadette Peters was the greatest diva currently working on Broadway, while Cat and Scarlett attempted to help the Jeremys finish up in the tiny kitchen.

  Half an hour later, the group squeezed around the Jeremys’ dining room table and dished up heaping portions of truffle mac and cheese, cranberry walnut salad, and lemon chicken, their version of gourmet comfort food, and the perfect menu for a rainy New York night.

  As the Jeremys took their seats, Scarlett tapped her fork on her glass to get everyone’s attention. “I’d like to toast our fabulous hosts! Chefs par excellence, soon to be the brightest stars off-Broadway!”

  “Here, here!” “Cheers!” echoed the group.

  As the happy crowd dug into their meals, David, the entertainment lawyer sitting across from Scarlett, leaned in and asked her the inevitable questions: “So, how’s Olympus?”

  The clattering of silverware hushed as everyone waited for her response.

  “Don’t make her talk about work!” Jersey Jeremy said—somewhat selfishly, since, having heard more than his fair share about Olympus during his daily conversations with Scarlett about Swan Song, he already knew the dirt.

  “I don’t mind, really,” Scarlett said. “It’s going well, actually. The new flying technology is working and looks pretty cool. The rain and pyro still have some kinks, but we’ll get it together.”

  “That’s all well and good,” Mara said, “but we could have read that in the Banner. There’ve been editorials almost every day. Margolies sure has the PR racket in his court. We want to know what’s really going on.”

  “I invoke the cone of silence,” Buff Jeremy said. “Nothing said here leaves the table.”

  “In that case, it’s actually just more of the usual,” Scarlett said. “Crazy leading couple. Cupid is a total disaster. He’s not untalented, but he’s driving the music director crazy. He rewrites his and everyone else’s songs weekly, even though we are technically working off of the final draft…which probably explains why he never remembers his lines. And his lovely wife and the understudy were caught ‘in the act’ between acts, in the orchestra pit, while the musicians were on dinner break.”

  “Is it going to be any good?” Andrew asked.

  “Depends on how you define good,” Scarlett said candidly. “The script isn’t much to write home about, but the visuals are going to be spectacular, that’s for sure. And the music has a few high points. It’s not really my idea of true musical theater, but the tourists will probably like it.”

  “I hope you’re getting combat pay for this,” Andrew said.

  “If only,” Scarlett said. “The best compensation I’m getting on this show is that I haven’t had to spend a
s much time alone with Margolies as usual. I should complain about how crazy busy we’ve been, running between meetings and rehearsals, but it’s really a blessing. Not that there haven’t been the requisite Margolies meltdowns.”

  “You deserve a trophy for working with that man,” Rob said, raising his glass.

  “I could say the same to you, working for Erlander,” Scarlett replied, clinking glasses across the table with Rob.

  “Margolies, Erlander... Aren’t there any nice people in this business?” David asked.

  “You’re looking at them,” Buff Jeremy said, gesturing to the people gathered around the table.

  “If we do say so ourselves,” Andrew said with a wry smile. “I don’t disagree. But we’re the next generation. I’m talking about our role models. Several of us here want to get to the top echelons of this biz. Don’t you find it discouraging when you look at how nasty so many of the handful of top producers have turned out to be?”

  Scarlett and Andrew had had that conversation many times before, commiserating over drinks.

  “They can’t all be like that,” said David.

  “Name one top Broadway producer who’s known for being nice,” Andrew challenged. “Margolies is a tyrant. Erlander is a royal jerk.”

  “Well, what about that Michael guy who headed up the Hello Dolly revival last season?” Mara asked. “He’s interested in producing my next show, and he seems nice.”

  “Michael. Yeah, I’ve heard he’s pleasant, but he’s only done one or two Broadway shows,” Andrew said. “I’m talking about the producers at the very tip top. That crowd of cronies that skulk around the Angus McIndoe.”

  The table fell silent.

  “Franklin?” Rob ventured a suggestion.

  “Ick,” Cat said. “He felt me up at the Mamma Mia anniversary party.”

  “God, this is depressing. These are our role models?” Scarlett said. “Do you think they started out being assholes? Or does something happen to them along the way?”