“Not if you know what frequencies they’re using,” Lawrence said proudly.
“How could you possibly know that?” Reilly asked.
Buff Jeremy leaned over and pretended to whisper in Reilly’s ear. “He hacked the system.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lawrence said with a devilish grin.
“Can’t Broadway just pull together some money and buy up some bandwidth?” Jersey Jeremy asked. It was a logical question.
“Even I’m not that rich,” Lawrence said. That gave everyone pause. “But our little plan will certainly jump-start the conversation in the industry. That’s for sure.”
“See?” Scarlett said. While it had taken her a while to come to terms with the whole scheme, she was thoroughly convinced it needed to happen. “We’re doing such a good deed.”
“Something like that. Margolies can be the example that fixes things for the rest of the business. Won’t he be thrilled.” Lawrence grinned. “Now, back to the agenda.”
“I was able to get a pair of opening-night tickets for our two secret agents on the inside,” Scarlett said, leaning over to her purse and handing a ticket to each of the Jeremys.
“Wow, everyone wants tickets to the biggest opening night of the year. You don’t mind if I sell these for cash, right?” Buff Jeremy joked. “How’d you score these?”
“You do not want to know,” Scarlett said with a crafty smile. It hadn’t been all that hard, actually. The intern was more than happy to help her, even though she hadn’t told him why and had sworn him to secrecy. She’d only had to give him gift certificates for a year’s worth of Dunkin Donuts in exchange.
“Do you have your tuxes ready?” Lawrence asked the Jeremys.
“Tuxes. Check!” they confirmed.
“Well, then, I say we reconvene on Thursday for a final rehearsal. Reilly, call us with any updates on Project Banner in the meantime.”
Scarlett and Reilly helped Lawrence clean up, even though he had “people” who could do it. The whole week had been surreal, and Scarlett was ready for it to be over. On one hand, she felt guilty about what they were about to do to Margolies; but she knew she couldn’t let him continue to keep Broadway in a strangle hold. She and the Jeremys, and all of the other up and comers in the city, had big dreams. If they wanted there to be any Broadway left in twenty years, something had to be done. And she knew that they might be the only people in a position to do it.
Scene 47
It was a double-header day of editor meetings for Reilly. While Scarlett and Lawrence were making final prep for Friday’s big event, he’d been tying up his own loose ends. First, a meeting with his reluctant ex-editor and now a sit down with with Candace’s boss, Tom.
After a brief phone call in which Reilly had indicated the general nature of his business, Tom had been more than happy to meet. Happy was probably not exactly the right word for it. He had been eager to hear what Reilly had to say. After all, Reilly was technically on staff at the Banner though, he hadn’t—and wouldn’t ever—officially start.
According to Tom, the fallout of the negative Swan Song review and Reilly’s appointment as critic had caused a bigger firestorm from readers and execs at the Banner than Reilly had guessed. Tom was getting pressure from the very top to do something about it, before the theater section of the paper imploded all together.
They had met in an out-of-the-way hotel lobby, so as not to be seen. Reilly’s third surreptitious hotel meeting in a month. Note to self, he thought: No more secret rendezvous in hotels…unless Scarlett is involved, he amended. Assuming she ever officially took him back. He’d settle for friendship, until she was ready.
His meeting with Tom had gone as well as could be expected. His disclosures about the Candace-Margolies-Kanter bribery scandal had been surprising and unwelcome news to the editor.
“I find this all very hard to believe,” Tom said, unconsciously snapping his suspenders. “I’ve known Candace for a long time. She wouldn’t do this.”
“You don’t know her ex-husband, then. If you knew him, you’d know what kind of power he has. She was simply no match for it.”
“So you’re saying she was forced into it?” Tom said. Reilly could see that he didn’t want to believe that Candace was a bad person.
“I’m sorry to say that she was in on it, too. After all, she rigged the contest and got me the job.”
That got a harrumph from Tom. “That’s for sure,” he said. “You have no idea how much everyone hates you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Just being honest,” Tom said. “It’s what I do. Or at least, what I thought I was doing.”
“So am I,” Reilly said. “And I’m really sorry to be telling you all this, but you needed to know.”
“You said on the phone that you had proof.”
“Just this.” Reilly handed him another copy of his email to Candace with the real Swan Song review, including the send date and time. “But I think if you go back and look at the vote tallies, as well as Candace’s phone records, you’ll find more than enough proof.”
Tom sighed and chewed his lip. “I appreciate you coming forward, Reilly. On behalf of the Banner, I’m sorry you got mixed up in this,” he said gruffly.
“Well, as I told Candace in my interview, I’m interested in integrity in journalism. I just didn't expect the firmness of my beliefs to be tested like this.”
“Harder than it sounds, apparently,” Tom said, folding up the review and sliding into his pocket.
“Just out of curiosity, who’s going to review Olympus?” Reilly asked.
“You just sprung this on me. I haven’t had a chance to figure that out yet. I hate to think what Candace might have had in mind.”
“We can only imagine,” Reilly said. He had a feeling that Candace had given it a lot of thought. He had gotten the distinct impression after his last few conversations with her that her feelings for Margolies ran deeper than any of them had imagined.
“You know, that woman finalist did a really great job," Tom continued. “Might be interesting to have a female critic for a change.”
As the editor got up to leave, Reilly stopped him. He’d had an idea on his way over.
“I know it’s not my place, but can I offer a suggestion?”
“Offer away.”
“What if you didn’t assign anyone to review Olympus. What if, just once, you left this to the bloggers and chat rooms. Maybe just open a reader comments page online and let all those readers, who didn’t feel heard after this critic contest debacle, offer their own reviews. Maybe leave it open through the weekend or even longer. Peer reviews at the Banner. Just an idea.”
“I’ll give it some thought,” Tom said, mulling it over as the two of them headed out the lobby door. On the street, they turned to say their goodbyes.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this the day after you were selected as the chief critic, but you’re fired,” he said with a kind smile.
“You can’t fire me, I quit,” Reilly said, returning his smile.
They shook hands before going their separate ways.
Scene 48
Scarlett finished up her makeup with one last glance in her bathroom mirror. All dressed up and no place to go, she thought. That wasn’t entirely accurate, she knew. But her dress and makeup were probably unnecessary touches, considering she had no intention of leaving Lawrence’s car that night. He’d be at her apartment any moment to pick her up for the opening night of Olympus—better known as D-Day—for their big plan.
She heard her cell phone ring in the other room and she rushed to grab it, assuming it was Lawrence letting her know he was waiting in the car. Despite everything, it still felt weird to think that Olympus was happening without her.
“Hello?” she said.
&n
bsp; “What’s the story, morning glory?” sang her brother Colin cheerfully.
She felt surprised but thrilled to hear her brother’s welcome voice. “What’s the word, hummingbird?” she sang back. It was a game they used to play for hours on family road trips. The goal was to have as long a conversation as possible using only lines from show tunes. Before he could return the parlay, she continued. “I’m actually on my way out the door. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“You can call me any time you want, dahling,” he said grandly. “I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t slit your wrists. Isn’t that monstrosity of a show by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named opening tonight?”
“You can say his name,” Scarlett said. “I’m not that fragile, and you know it.”
“You’re right,” Colin said. “I’m the delicate flower of the family.”
“I’m a little surprised you even remembered it was opening night for Olympus.”
“I didn’t, dahling, but it’s on national news.”
Colin had never cared about things like current events or politics. But if Scarlett ever needed the latest makeup trend, he was her man, so to speak.
“Since when do you watch the news?”
“Since this sad excuse of a drag bar won’t turn off the TV while we’re trying to rehearse for tonight’s show,” he said, raising his voice, making it clear he wasn’t complaining for her benefit alone.
She could hear someone telling him off with a string of good natured profanity.
“My talent is woefully unrecognized out here,” continued Colin with a wistful sigh. “I might just show up on your doorstep one of these days.”
“I wish you would,” Scarlett said, sincerely. It would be nice to have her brother nearby… and Colin would get a kick out of New York, she thought. “But right now, I really need to head out.”
“What good is sitting alone in your room—” Colin began to sing.
“I’m hanging up now, Sally Bowles,” cut in Scarlett.
“Just give me some dirt about Olympus that I can use in the dressing room later,” Colin said, unfazed by her urgency to get him off the phone. “Your ex-boss couldn’t possibly pull this off without you.”
“You have no idea,” Scarlett said cryptically. Her other line beeped. “Just... watch the news tomorrow, okay?”
“Two days in a row?” he whined. “Surely you jest.”
“Trust me. Just do it,” she said. “Good night, my someone.”
“Goodnight, my love,” he responded, per their show tune tradition.
Scarlett clicked over to Lawrence on the other line.
“Your chariot awaits!” Lawrence announced.
“I’ll be right down,” Scarlett said. She picked up her purse and her wrap.
As she reached her apartment door, she paused. Maybe her brother’s overdramatic sensibilities had rubbed off, but she was suddenly keenly aware of the gravity of what she was about to do. Up to that point in her career, she’d kept her head down and toed the line. She’d always worked hard toward her dreams and waited for a break. That night, however, was a uniquely pivotal moment.
She supposed it was somehow appropriate that, in the spirit of Olympus itself, she was tempting the fates. Next time she walked through the door, she’d be a different person, for better or for worse. Scarlett took a deep breath and strode out of her apartment with renewed determination.
Scene 49
Margolies stepped into his current Actress’s dressing room backstage at Olympus, to check his tux and comb his hair. He could barely see himself amid all the opening-night notes and cards from her friends and fellow cast members, which were crammed around the edge of the mirror.
“You look hot,” she said, admiring him in the mirror. She was putting pin curls in her blonde hair and wearing only a lacy white bra and stockings.
And you look fifteen years old, he thought, not unfavorably. She was all the more appealing, after he had forced himself to make nice to Candace earlier in the week. It was just part of his job, but a particularly unpleasant part, as of late. That was over, since the contest was done. He was pleased that he hadn’t lost his touch, even on such an easy target as Candace.
“Break a leg tonight,” he said, kissing the top of her head as his hands brushed across her breasts.
“See you after?” she asked into the mirror as Margolies headed back into the hall.
“Yes. And bring a girl friend,” he replied. It would be a night to celebrate.
Olympus had been running without a single technical glitch for a week. There had been more than a few personality glitches, thanks to his temperamental stars, but nothing he hadn’t been able to iron out. Just to make sure, he decided to make a quick visit to their very separate dressing rooms.
He knocked and then popped his head in Cupid’s dressing room.
“Come to wish me luck, love?” Cupid said, reclining on a ridiculous chaise lounge that he’d brought in. Two makeup artists applied special cover up to his arms, legs, and neck, to hide his extensive tattoos. That had been an expense that irked Margolies. But it had to be done. For all Margolies knew, Zeus may very well have had mermaids like Cupid’s peeking out from under his toga—but not in this production.
“How are you feeling tonight?” he asked. Talking to Cupid always gave him an instant headache.
“I feel like a million bucks,” he said, reaching around and squeezing the ass of the cuter of the two makeup artists. She glared at him.
A million bucks in sexual-harassment claims that I’ll have to deal with, he thought. But Margolies was confident that the show would make them all millions, at which point they could all sue away. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Break a leg,” he said, escaping out the door. One down, one to go.
He knocked on Psyche’s door. No answer. When he tried to go in, he found it locked.
“Psyche?” he called through the door, feeling like an idiot having to do this in his own theater. “It’s Margolies.”
He heard the lock turn, and a mousy, wide-eyed costume assistant poked her head out.
“Sorry, sir. She’s...uh...busy.”
He could hear rustling and grunting through the open door. It didn’t take a genius to know what was going on. He was partly repulsed and partly tempted to go back to his new blonde starlet’s dressing room. Hadn’t he upgraded her to a much-coveted private dressing room entirely for that same purpose?
“Never mind,” he said to the red-faced costume girl. “Just tell her to break a leg.”
As he turned away, he marveled at the range of people who found their way into the business. In one dressing room, a makeup artists was offended at a pinch from a lecher, and in another, a costumer sat idly by while her subject went at it with the understudy. Fortunately, he was too old to be surprised by any of it.
Here, tonight, in that theater, Margolies felt perfectly in control—the real god of Olympus! He knew every second of the show, every detail of every effect, the strengths and flaws of every member of the cast.
He had already sent Candace his version of the Olympus review, since he hadn’t had time to deal with Reilly, yet. He couldn’t take any chances. His intern had gotten all the VIP tickets assigned with only minor complaints from a few folks. The big bosses from M______ Corp would finally see the immense and thrilling spectacle that their not-insignificant funds had paid for. On top of that, he was opening in perfect time to be fresh on people’s minds, heading into awards season. The Tony Award would be his for the taking.
He loved opening nights when he had a hit. He wondered how it must feel for other producers who didn’t know in advance how their shows would fare. How sad that must be, to have to wait and wonder about their opening-night fate. He, on the other hand, would be off with his little starlet, and hopefully one of her hot frie
nds, while the world learned of his triumph.
He checked his watch. Red carpet time. He never brought a date to his shows, and not just because so often whoever she was was in the cast. He didn’t want anyone to infringe on his glory. He did it by himself and deserved all the credit.
As he came out of the stage door, the paparazzi were already lining the red carpet, which was surrounded by a network of velvet ropes, flash bulbs popping as the first celebrities arrived. He enjoyed hobnobbing with the celebrities, especially the women, but he never let them forget that they were on his turf. He was the real star tonight.
Scene 50
Scarlett could only barely see the Jeremys’ heads amid the star-studded crowd slowly entering the theater. The bright lights and flash bulbs were lighting up the block under the Olympic-sized Olympus marquee. Between the actual attendees and the hordes of onlookers, 44th Street was unofficially closed down.
“Testing, one two three,” Jersey Jeremy said. “People are going to think I’m a secret service agent.”
“Stop fiddling with your earpiece. People will see it if you keep putting your hand to your ear!” Scarlett chided. They had tested it a million times the night before. The pin-hole video cameras they were both wearing were also in working order.
She saw Buff Jeremy flinch as Lawrence adjusted the volume from the speakers that he’d rigged in the back seat of his Escalade. He’d been tricking out his car all week with listening devices, video feed, and computer systems. It looked like something out of Star Wars. His driver was only too thrilled to be given an unexpected night off.
“Too loud?” Lawrence asked.
“Better,” Buff Jeremy said. From behind the tinted windows of the Escalade, amid the town cars and limousines lining the streets and depositing guests, Scarlett, Lawrence, and Reilly were perfectly hidden, right under Margolies’ nose. The Jeremys had been elected to be the “men on the ground” inside the theater, since they were the only ones whom Margolies wouldn’t recognize on sight.
Showbiz, A Novel Page 20
