Showbiz, A Novel

by Preston, Ruby

  She half-heartedly turned her head to the door, debating whether to call out a response. She idly wondered how he had gotten in the front door. One of her neighbors must have let him in.

  “Scarlett? We’re all worried about you.”

  “Go away!” she yelled toward the door. Her voice sounding raspy after a full day and night of crying and not speaking to anyone. She knew she needed to get her butt in gear and salvage what she could of the situation. She had always prided herself at responding well in a crisis. But this one-two punch of bad news had really thrown her for a loop.

  “Thank god you’re alive. I thought I might have to tear hungry cats off your body.” His attempt at a bad joke fell flat.

  She turned back to the window, prepared to wait him out. He knew she was alive, and she saw no reason why he couldn’t leave her alone. Forever.

  “Scarlett? Bad joke, sorry. Will you please let me in?” He waited. “Scarlett?”

  “No!” she yelled toward the door.

  “I’m not leaving until you let me in.”

  She sighed and got up. “I’m fine. Go away.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “I’m not dressed,” she said, looking down at the ratty robe she wore over nothing but cutoff sweat shorts.

  “Nothing I haven’t seen before, Gorgeous,” he said, obviously encouraged that she was at least responding to him through the door.

  “I said go away.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen. I’m prepared to wait for you to change your mind.”

  She could hear what sounded like his back sliding down the door as he sat on the floor outside her apartment, presumably to wait her out. He wasn’t going to give up, she realized. Fine, she thought, if he wants to subject himself to my misery, that is his problem. What do I care? He’d hear about it soon enough, anyway, once the bad review hit. At least he could take his money and dump it into something else.

  She didn’t care. She had been so sure she could find her place on Broadway, become a player in the business she had loved her whole life. She had thought she could play the game, gave it her best shot, and still had come out a loser.

  She wrenched the door open, and Lawrence, who had been leaning on it, flopped into her apartment. He looked up at her, upside down from the floor.

  “Good to see you, Gorgeous.” He flashed her his best smile.

  She turned around and shuffled back to her chair.

  Lawrence got up off the floor and dusted himself off as he came further into her tiny studio apartment, closing the door behind him.

  “So this is where you live?” he said, looking around at her three-hundred square feet of Broadway show posters, unmade Murphy bed, and cluttered excuse for a kitchen. Not surprisingly, they had never spent any time there; Lawrence’s penthouse was the more appealing and infinitely more spacious option.

  “I didn’t know you had my address,” she said, her curiosity trumping her silence.

  “I had to track it down,” he said, clearly proud of himself. “Turns out it’s not so hard to track down the one and only Queen Colleen in San Francisco. Your brother gave me your address.”

  “You remembered my brother’s drag name?” At the moment, it didn’t seem at all strange to be sitting in her bathrobe, talking to Lawrence about drag queens. Now that was an idea. Maybe she would move back to the Bay Area and produce drag shows at Castro dive bars. It cheered her up momentarily.

  “It’s not something one easily forgets. Besides, I was happy to hear that you had told your brother, or should I say, ‘sister,’ about me.”

  “Brother. Get over yourself,” she said, but she had to admit that he was starting to improve her spirits, and she could see that he knew it.

  “Now that I’m here, will you tell me what’s going on? We’ve been worried about you. It’s not like you to not show up at the theater.” As he talked, he slid her chair around, with her in it, to face the bed. He took a seat on the edge, amid the tangled knot of sheets and pillows.

  “I don’t even know where to start.” She crumpled over, ending up with her head between her legs, feeling pathetic.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” He pulled her to her feet. “Get up. We’re putting you in the shower.” He half-walked, half-dragged her limp body toward the bathroom.

  “What’s the point?” she whined.

  “The point is that you’re a mess, and we need to get you sorted out so you can tell me what’s going on.”

  “Put me down,” she said half-heartedly.

  “Fine. But I’ll be waiting right here.” He set her down on the nearest surface he could find, which happened to be the closed toilet seat. He turned on the shower and got the temperature just right for her.

  “Now get in.”

  She sat there, slumped on the toilet. Not as comfortable as her chair, she thought, but it will do.

  “If you don’t get in, I’m going to put you in.”

  That got her attention a little. “Fine!” she said with frustration. “I’ll do it. Go away.”

  “I’ll be right outside,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  She had to admit the steamy air felt good on her dry, scratchy eyes. She gingerly peeled off her robe and shorts and climbed in. She washed her hair and brushed her teeth. She was starting to feel somewhat closer to human again. She wrapped a towel around her hair and was about to put her ratty robe back on when she realized just how much it had started to smell. Before she could put it back on, an arm shot through the bathroom door with the purple satin fur-cuffed robe that Colin had given her.

  She slipped it on. The satin and fur felt good on her skin, but one glance, even through the fogged-up mirror, confirmed that she looked ridiculous. She came out of the bathroom and struck a diva pose.

  “Ah, that’s more like it. You look like the Broadway producer you are…or soon will be!”

  That sent her in a downward spiral again. She threw herself on the bed and put a pillow over her head.

  “Was it something I said?” he asked, peeking under the pillow.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, Lawrence...” she said, though it just came out as muffled syllables. He came around to the other side of the bed and sat down. He lightly stroked her back with one hand and pried the pillow off her face with the other.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Is it Reilly?”

  “Ding, ding, ding. Ten points for you.”

  “Did you guys break up?” he asked.

  Scarlett didn’t sense even a hint of triumph in his voice. He really was a good guy. Maybe he was getting more mature at fifty, she thought. “If only that was the worst of it.”

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked again, gently.

  She rolled onto her back and looked up at him. “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?”

  “It’s too terrible. And anyway, I promised I wouldn’t.”

  Just then a buzzer rang, indicating that there was someone at the building’s front door for her.

  “Hang on a sec,” Lawrence said, jumping to his feet.

  Before Scarlett knew what was happening, Lawrence had grabbed her keys off the counter and flown out the door. He returned minutes later with two bags of incredibly good-smelling Thai food. Apparently he had called for take-out while she was in the shower.

  “Lunch is served,” he said, unloading the bags. He’d gotten enough for an army.

  “I’m not hungry,” she grumbled as he continued to set out more cartons of yummy-smelling food. “My gosh, do you think I eat that much?” she said, slightly joking, slightly offended at the volume of food.

  “Let’s just say we may have reinforcements on the way,” he said.

  “I don
’t want to see anyone!” She put the pillow back over her head.

  “I know, Gorgeous, but the Jeremys were worried about you, too. When I called to confirm that you were, in fact, alive, I couldn’t say no when they begged to come over. You know they always cheer you up.”

  “Fine,” she said, giving in. “You don’t seem to listen to me, anyway.”

  “Now you’re talking,” he said with a grin. “Eat! That’s an order.”

  Though she could still feel a dull ache in her stomach, the Thai food was calling to her and she gave in.

  “You’re getting some color back, at least,” Lawrence said encouragingly, filling his own plate with pad Thai and green curry. “This is good. I wonder if they’d deliver to my place.”

  They continued eating. Lawrence did most of the talking while she picked at her food. They left the rest of it out for the Jeremys’ imminent arrival. Lawrence put up the Murphy bed, with instructions from Scarlett, since he’d never operated one before in his life, while she dried her hair. She didn’t bother to get dressed. The satin robe was surprisingly comfortable. I only look a little like a drag queen in it, she thought.

  Lawrence made her a cup of chamomile tea. After the Jeremys arrived and devoured the last of the Thai food, the four of them gathered around her tiny apartment. Scarlett was pleased to see that four people could fit in her minuscule apartment at the same time. From the bed, the chair, and the floor, they looked at Scarlett expectantly.

  “This isn’t like you, Scarlett. What happened?” Jersey Jeremy asked.

  “What can we do?” Buff Jeremy said.

  “It’s really bad, guys,” she said, looking at all three of them. “And I don’t even know where to start. I’m worried that it’s somehow my fault.”

  “We’ll be fine, honey,” Buff Jeremy said. “Just tell us what’s on your mind.”

  She felt tears coming to her eyes already but took a deep breath and charged on. “Well, you know how Reilly’s up this week as a finalist for the Banner critic’s job.” They all nodded. “In a nutshell, the last critic, Kanter, had apparently been paid off by Margolies for decades to write good reviews for his shows.” Three pairs of eyes widened. “Now Margolies is blackmailing Reilly into doing the same thing. Only to prove that he is the ‘right guy for the job,’ they’re making him write a scathing review of our show this week.”

  They all stared at her in shocked silence. Clearly, it was far from what they were expecting.

  “Well, of course he’s not going to...right?” Jersey Jeremy said, trailing off as he realized that it was a silly question, given Scarlett’s state.

  “I can’t believe I ever trusted him,” she said sullenly.

  “But he seemed like such a good guy. And he was clearly crazy about you. It just doesn’t make sense,” Buff Jeremy said.

  “I guess his career came first. Let’s just say we broke up.” She stared at them in stony silence.

  Lawrence was the first to recover. “I’m so sorry, Scarlett.”

  The Jeremys tried to echo his condolences, but Scarlett could tell that her announcement about Swan Song had knocked the wind out of them.

  “I just don’t understand why Reilly would do that you. To us,” Buff Jeremy said, when he could speak again.

  “He claimed he wasn’t going to do it, but Margolies has threatened to kill his career if he doesn’t go through with it. It’s complicated,” Scarlett said.

  “I get that, but this would be really low. I mean, really, really low.”

  “And why would Margolies want to kill our show?” Jersey Jeremy asked.

  “To punish me, I guess. I thought being fired was enough, but apparently not,” Scarlett said.

  “Actually,” Lawrence said, “there may be more to it than that. If you’ve read the editorials, there’s talk that if Swan Song came on to Broadway during this Tony Award season, we would actually have a shot at beating out Olympus. The Tony voters may shun Margolies’ show for being too overblown, not to mention hard for the touring market.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” Scarlett said, relieved, in a way, that maybe it wasn’t entirely about her. “But we don’t even know if we’re going to Broadway. Now, obviously, with the upcoming bad review, we have no chance.”

  “Scarlett, you’re being modest,” Jersey Jeremy said. “Thanks to you, we were perfectly set up for Broadway. The review would have been the lynch pin, but you positioned us perfectly. Lawrence’s money didn’t hurt, either.” He nodded to Lawrence.

  “Well, it’s all over now,” Scarlett said miserably.

  Jersey Jeremy slid out of the chair to join Buff Jeremy on the floor. They wrapped their arms around each other. It was small comfort, after such devastating news.

  “I don’t know about you all, but I’m not willing to throw in the towel, just like that,” Lawrence said.

  “I love your enthusiasm,” Scarlett said, “but I’ve wracked my brain and can’t think of any way around it.”

  “Short of taking out Reilly…” Buff Jeremy said.

  “Not going to happen,” Scarlett said. “I’ll admit I hate his guts right now, but he got himself in a bad situation. And, anyway, he’ll get what’s coming to him, if he has to spend the rest of his career wrapped around Margolies’ little finger.”

  Jersey Jeremy shuddered. “Good point. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

  “Listen up,” Lawrence cut in. “I don’t think Reilly’s our problem. The real problem—and I know this won’t come as a huge shock to you all—is Margolies.”

  “But what can we do about him? He ‘is Broadway,’” Jersey Jeremy said, making air quotes in mock tribute to Margolies’ constant self-aggrandizing claim.

  “Actually, he’s killing Broadway—or at least the Broadway that we love,” Lawrence said. “When word got out that I had pulled my Olympus money, I started getting hit up by all the other major producers. I guess they thought I was available for fleecing.” He smiled. “Anyway, those guys had some pretty interesting things to say about what’s really going on.”

  “And you’re only telling us now?” Jersey Jeremy asked.

  “This all just happened,” Lawrence said.

  “Let him finish,” Buff Jeremy said impatiently.

  “Apparently, Margolies has done stuff like this before. When Scarlett mentioned that Margolies was paying off Kanter, it all started to make sense. I think he may also have been finding creative ways to keep certain other shows off of Broadway, too.”

  “You mean to keep his competition down?”

  “Sort of, but there’s more to it than that.”

  Scarlett sat up. That was interesting.

  Lawrence explained, “Basically, Margolies’ figured out that his big-budget, ultra-commercial shows—you know, some of those heavy handed movie musicals and spectacle shows that he’s been doing—can command a faster increase in ticket pricing than your normal Broadway show. Tourists have heard of the titles, so they basically come pre-branded. And he has good enough street cred to lock movie stars into the lead roles.” He paused to make sure they were following him.

  “Now that ticket prices are no longer fixed but can, instead, vary widely based on demand, like airline tickets, Margolies has free rein to drive his ticket prices through the roof. When he has a hit, of course.”

  “Well, I hate to say it, but that just sounds like good business,” Jersey Jeremy said.

  “Except that it sucks up all the money that tourists used to spend on multiple shows. Now, more often than not, they can only afford to go to one. And if they only pick one, of course their first choice will be a Margolies hit since they want to see stars, stunts, and spectacle.”

  “Well, you could say they get what they pay for,” Scarlett said.

  “Yes, but it pressures all the other major p
roducers to try to match his exorbitant production values at huge expense and in turn they have to raise their ticket prices too. In fact, each hit show that takes ticket prices to new heights sets the bar for the rest of the shows.”

  “I see where this is going,” Scarlett said. “As Margolies systematically drives up costs and ticket prices, it gets harder and harder for the smaller and more obscure new shows and original musicals to survive. The shows that used to make it on merit alone…you know, great shows like Next to Normal or The Drowsy Chaperone... can’t stay solvent.”

  “This is blowing my mind,” Jersey Jeremy said, shaking his head. “I knew the guy had power but this is crazy!”

  Scarlett looked at them all in disbelief. “So basically, the fact that Broadway is becoming a show-tune theme park is Margolies’ fault and for the past four years I was helping him do it. I feel queasy.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Scarlett,” Lawrence said, gently. “A lot of people outside the theater world would think he was a genius. He is a genius. Broadway is big business and money will always trump art in the end. We just happen to want to keep the art part.”

  Buff Jeremy cut in. “So, you’re saying that all those original musicals that should have come to Broadway but disappeared were killed on purpose so the schlock from Margolies’ office — no offense Scarlett — could take over Broadway?”

  “It certainly explains a lot.” Scarlett said. “I can finally understand why Margolies would tackle something as enormous as Olympus. He’s simply raising the bar again.”

  “God, this is depressing,” Jersey Jeremy said.

  “So what can we do?” Buff Jeremy asked the obvious question. “Confront Margolies and tell him to cut it out?”

  “Obviously talking to Margolies isn’t going to do it. Between his goons and his influence, he’d squash us like flies,” Lawrence replied.

  “But what’s the alternative?” Scarlett said. “Seriously, Lawrence, I’ve got nothing. I’m out of ideas.”

  “As it happens, I do have the beginnings of an idea,” Lawrence said looking at each of them with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “But it will only work if you’re all in...”