Showbiz, A Novel

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Showbiz, A Novel Page 14

by Preston, Ruby


  “Maybe the backstabbing and competition just wears them down over the years,” Rob said. “I know Erlander doesn’t trust anyone in showbiz, and that can make you cynical and hard pretty damn fast.”

  “Rumor has it the theater-owning Stewart family keeps extensive files on every player in the business. Probably waiting to screw anyone who crosses them,” said Andrew.

  “I’ve heard that the generation before these guys was even worse. We’ve all heard the David Merrick stories, right?” Jersey Jeremy said. “Maybe they’re just doing to us what was done to them.”

  “Are you saying that gives them permission to be like that?” Buff Jeremy asked.

  “Of course not, but it could explain a lot. They had to suffer so we have to suffer. And a few bad apples like Margolies can ruin the whole barrel,” Jersey Jeremy replied with a shrug.

  “Can I just say right here and right now that I will never be like that,” Scarlett said. “I have every intention of getting to the top”—she glanced at the Jeremys—“but I vow to stay nice, honest, and uncynical.”

  “Cheers to that,” Jersey Jeremy said as everyone raised their glasses. “May we all prove that nice guys...and gals,” he added, nodding to Scarlett, Mara, and Cat, “can win in this crazy business we call show.”

  “Amen!”

  “Cheers.”

  Reilly pushed his chair back abruptly, almost knocking it over. Only Scarlett noticed. “Are you okay?” she whispered. He looked a little ashen.

  “Fine. I just need some air.”

  “I’ll come with you,” she said, concerned.

  “No. I’ll be fine.” He sprinted toward the front door, leaving his coat and his girlfriend behind.

  His dramatic exit did not go unnoticed.

  “Is he okay?” Buff Jeremy asked.

  “He’s had a rough week,” Scarlett said apologetically, her mind racing at Reilly’s strange behavior. That wasn’t like him. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over him.”

  “For a gossip columnist, he seemed awfully quiet tonight,” Jersey Jeremy said.

  “I better see if he’s okay,” Scarlett said, despite Reilly’s telling her not to. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time, darling. I’m sure you’ll find a way to cheer him up,” Jersey Jeremy said with a devilish grin.

  Scene 35

  Scarlett waited in line at one of the many Times Square Starbucks, in desperate need of a late afternoon pick-me-up. She had been burning the candle at both ends. There were tech rehearsals for Swan Song every evening that week until the wee hours, and then early mornings at the office to get some work done before spending the day putting out fires, literally and figuratively, at Olympus rehearsals. Early previews of Olympus were going relatively well, but the technical challenges required hours of extra rehearsals during the day before each evening’s performance. The cast and crew must be seriously exhausted, thought Scarlett.

  Swan Song would start its week and a half of previews the coming weekend. Olympus was doing a full month of previews, the standard for Broadway. Preview performances had become nearly as important in the industry as real performances because the chat-room regulars and bloggers came early and often to see the show first and expose the scoop, before institutional reviewers like the Banner were allowed to show up. The full-priced tickets for previews gave audiences the impression that there was no difference between a preview and a post-opening production—which often there wasn’t.

  It blew her mind that her little show, just a producing pipe-dream a year ago, was going to open off-Broadway, even before Olympus. True, it was way downtown, but based on the feedback she was getting from her trusted theater friends on the quality of the show, combined with the possible funding from Lawrence, a Broadway transfer was a realistic possibility.

  She shot a quick text to Reilly while she waited: Thinking about you.

  She had been worried about him. After he had fled the Jeremys’ apartment the other night, she had found him slumped on the front steps of the building, looking like he was going to cry. She had made polite excuses to the Jeremys and taken him back to his apartment. He’d perked up during the weekend but still didn’t seem like his old self. Her schedule hadn’t allowed her to spend as much time as she’d like to with him either. It was unfortunate that her life would get especially hectic just as he was temporarily unemployed, and clearly going stir crazy.

  A text came back almost immediately…but not from Reilly. It was Margolies: Need you at the theater.

  She groaned. She hadn't left the theater for five minutes all day, and of course, he’d need her back just as she was taking a short break. Well, he could wait five more minutes. She needed coffee.

  A few minutes and a few sips of her latte later, she headed back through the stage door at the theater.

  “Have you seen Margolies?” she asked the stage-door security guard.

  “He showed up a few minutes ago,” he said.

  She ventured further into the backstage maze riddled with dressing rooms filled with costumers, dressers, and cast members. Margolies’ greasy, black-haired goon slid by her in the narrow hall. Scarlett avoided his eyes. That guy creeped her out, big time.

  “Is Margolies back here?” she asked an assistant stage manager, who answered with a grim look and pointed to the half-opened door of one of the dressing rooms.

  Scarlett poked her head in the door. “Sir?”

  “Come in,” Margolies said, not looking up. He was thumbing through a pile of papers that he had spread out across the narrow makeup table. After walking down the dim hallway, the bright round bulbs that surrounded the large mirror made Scarlett squint.

  “Shut the door,” he continued.

  She complied and stood awkwardly with her back to the door, not sure where she should stand. A rack of costumes lined one wall of the tiny room. That particular dressing room was small, meant for one person and maybe a dressing assistant. Margolies filled the space physically and emotionally.

  Without turning around, he finally raised his eyes and met hers in the mirror. She realized it was the first time in weeks that she’d been alone with him. He spoke slowly and deliberately. “So, it looks like you have a hit on your hands?”

  “We certainly do!” she said, too brightly. “Olympus is going to take Broadway by storm.” She realized too late that she was quoting the slogan that the advertising firm had created for the show. It had been the first thing to come into her mind, which was reeling under his withering gaze, reflected in the mirror.

  “Not our show. Your show.”

  For a second she didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she realized he meant her own show.

  “Oh, you mean Swan Song?”

  His eyes drilled into hers, unblinking.

  “Um...” she continued. “I guess it’s going well. Remember, I told you about it several months ago when I first found it. You weren’t interested, so I decided to take it on. You said you didn’t mind. It’s not interfering with work at all...” She trailed off. She had been babbling.

  “Do I get to see this little project of yours?”

  “I’d love that. We’re in tech, but if you want to come this week, or for a preview, just let me know and I’ll get you a comp.” She felt surprised that he was interested in her show but flattered all the same.

  “Thanks for the invitation,” he said sarcastically.

  “Sure,” she said, unsure about what was going on. Was that why he needed to see her?

  “Of course, you’re wasting your time.”

  “Sir?” she said.

  “You’re little piece-of-crap show downtown has no chance,” he said, his voice dripping with anger. “Just because you’ve watched me work for four years doesn’t mean you can play with the big boys. Just remembe
r that.”

  “Okay...” She could feel her face getting red.

  “I need you to focus on your job right now!” he said.

  “I am!” said Scarlett defensively.

  “Not possible. Between your little show and your little boyfriend...” He paused. “How can I count on you?”

  “I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do,” she said.

  “It’s not what you’re doing that I’m worried about. It’s who you’re doing,” he leered.

  “What are you talking about?” she said. It was completely inappropriate.

  She couldn’t control her temper anymore. After four years of tireless work, she didn’t deserve this, even from him.

  “Well, then, I need to know what’s going on, too!” She stood up and faced him. “What is M____ Corporation, and why have I never heard of them, even though they’ve apparently given us $9 million! And who is that guy who doesn’t leave your side but who you never introduce to anyone?”

  He stood up, knocking over his chair, and spun to face her. “What do you know about that?”

  “I know that I can’t do my job if I don’t know what’s going on around here anymore.” She couldn’t believe she had just talked to him that way. Then again, if her job was already on the line, she figured she didn’t have all that much to lose.

  “M____ Corporation is none of your business. I’ll pretend I didn't hear that from you, for your sake…and your safety, I might add. You better keep your mouth shut. You have no idea what you’re dealing with. Am I making myself clear?” He took a step toward her.

  “I understand,” she said, craning her neck to meet his eyes. He was scaring her, but she’d seen his temper before.

  “Or have you already told someone? Perhaps I should have a talk with your boyfriend.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I really thought I could trust you, Scarlett.”

  “You can, sir.” Did he know about the bank statements? She felt a pang of guilt to add to her fear.

  “Unfortunately, it seems that I can’t. You’re fired,” he said, then turned away abruptly.

  “I’m fired?”

  Her mind went blank. She knew things had gotten tense, but she hadn’t expected that. Her mind raced. “But what about Olympus? I’m in the middle of several projects,” she stammered.

  “You can be replaced,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll have someone escort you to the office to collect your things. Now.”

  He turned toward her, and she moved away from the door so he could open it. He gestured to his goon who was hovering, as always.

  “Take Scarlett back to the office and make sure she gets home.”

  She followed the silent goon across the street, up the elevator, and into the office. She didn’t have much there. A few photos and a souvenir coffee mug from Sweet Charity, which she didn’t bother to take. The rest she slid into her purse. She eyed the laptop. It belonged to Margolies. She’d be computer-less for a while without it…not to mention without an income.

  Her escort didn’t say a word as they returned to the elevator. She was in shock. She felt emotionally empty. It was so unexpected! She remembered that Margolies had asked the creep to take her home. But the last thing she wanted was to show him where she lived, although he could probably find out. Better not to try it.

  She ducked into Sardi’s and he didn’t follow. She made her way up to the second-floor bar and sank into a bench seat along the wall, not wanting to see anyone. She needed to think. To sort through the wave of mixed emotions flashing through her mind faster than she could deal with them.

  She buried her face in her hands and took a series of deep breaths. She’d been fired! His words were echoing through her brain. She didn’t know how, but she’d get through it. She knew she’d need to find a way. She’d come too far and worked too hard to have all her dreams come crashing down.

  Scene 36

  Margolies leaned back in his chair and looked out the hotel window. His glance was greeted with a view of unobstructed sky. He had purposely picked as isolated a hotel room as he could find. He had chosen the out-of-the way hotel for his meeting with Candace and Reilly for two reasons: First and most important, no one would know of their meeting; second, it gave just enough menacing ambience to accentuate his point.

  He was looking forward to the meeting. For the first time in months, things were starting to look up. He was feeling like he was regaining some control.

  Olympus was coming together. Although the intern’s best efforts couldn’t hold a candle to Scarlett’s, he and the production crew were picking up the slack of her departure. He should never have trusted her. Too ambitious.

  At least she’d learn her lesson soon, thought Margolies. She needed to see how the world—his world—really worked, sooner or later. He might even be doing her a favor by giving her a much-needed reality check.

  He heard a card key in the door. Candace walked in wearing a trench coat and sunglasses.

  “I see you came in costume,” he said, eyeing her outfit.

  “Shut up,” she snapped. “There’s a reason people dress like this. I didn’t want to be seen. I don’t even want to be here.”

  “What? You’d miss all this?” He gestured around the unimpressive room. He’d booked a suite so they could meet around a table.

  “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you? Very cloak and dagger. This isn’t one of your musicals, you know,” she said, making a bee line to the mini bar.

  “It’s 11:00 a.m., Candace.”

  She ignored him, removed several of the tiny bottles, and set them on the round table in front of the chair she’d claimed next to Margolies. He’d need to remember to settle up the additional bill after they’d left, since he’d paid for the room in cash.

  They both turned when they heard a knock on the door.

  “It’s show time,” said Margolies, standing up and smoothing his black suit. If there was one thing he’d learned early, it was that intimidation was all about putting on a show, and at that, he was the best.

  He paused before opening the door, guessing Reilly would be quaking in his boots on the other side. After a beat, he swung open the door dramatically. Sure enough, he was greeted by a wide-eyed Reilly.

  “Come in,” Margolies said grandly.

  “Thanks,” Reilly said, walking into the room stiffly.

  “Have a seat.” Margolies saw Reilly square his shoulders as he sat down, clearly trying to steel himself for their “business dealings.” Candace was already on her second baby bottle of booze. She’s not wasting any time, thought Margolies.

  “Drink?” she offered.

  “Uh...no,” Reilly replied, probably surprised, as most people would be, by the offer at that hour of the morning.

  “Shall we cut to the chase?” Margolies said, taking his seat and leaning toward Reilly.

  Reilly shrank back in his chair then corrected himself and leaned forward to meet Margolies’ gaze.

  “My business was with Candace. It seems you’re involved as well,” Reilly said.

  “Don’t bullshit me. You knew I was involved. I intend to find out how you knew, but we’ll get to that later,” Margolies said. “It seems that you intend to blackmail Candace and me in order to secure the position of chief critic. Do I understand that correctly?”

  Reilly nodded. Margolies could see beads of sweat on his temples. This is fun, thought Margolies. Candace went to open a third bottle, and Margolies reached out his hand to stop her. He didn’t need a drunk Candace straying from the script that day.

  “I’ll start by saying that we’re not entirely opposed to that idea.” He gauged the look on Reilly’s face. A glimmer of hope, perhaps. Maybe relief.

  “It seems only fair, however, th
at you do something for us.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Reilly asked.

  “I’ll tell you. But first, I need to know that you’re really serious about this job.”

  “I am dead serious,” Reilly said, swallowing hard.

  “That’s good, because it’s very important to me who gets this job.”

  “I’m not going to take bribes from you, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Reilly said in a rush of words.

  “Oh, really?” Margolies said, raising his eyebrows. “I thought I just heard you say you wanted the job.”

  Margolies knew he was pushing it, but it didn’t really matter. I can bring Reilly around once he has the job, he thought. Anyone who would resort to blackmail to get a job had the kind of flexible ethics that Margolies could work with. It was all part of the script.

  “I do,” Reilly said again, a hint of defiance appearing in his eyes. “But I think the public deserves unbiased theater reviews.”

  “Oh, you do, do you? Because you think you, a gossip columnist...” He paused, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. “You would be able to be completely objective?” Margolies realized that Reilly truly didn’t get it. “No one is unbiased.” Margolies sighed. “I’m going to explain something to you.”

  Margolies leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “Broadway is big business. We’re not talking about drama club, here. I’ll create a show that costs, say, $10 million. I’ll employ hundreds of people and bring in thousands of tourists to the city who will go out to dinner, keep theaters operating, stay in hotels. But only if I have a hit. Of which I’ve had many.” He glanced at Candace, who seemed to be paying attention. She needed to hear that, too. He wasn’t the villain everyone made him out to be. “Tell me this: Why should the petty opinion of one person, a person like you, who’s never created anything, never employed anyone, tear down my shows, put people out work, and take money from the hotels, restaurants, taxi drivers? If I left myself open to that kind of risk, that would simply be bad business. I owe it to my investors, casts, crew workers, designers, audiences, and the rest of the Broadway driven economy to curb the risk in every way possible. That includes controlling the critic.”

 

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