Showbiz, A Novel Page 7

  Lawrence greeted her at the door with a kiss on the cheek and his customary “Hello, Gorgeous!” He flashed her his great smile. She could only imagine how hard it must have been to get where he was, yet he always seemed so upbeat and care free. He had the enviable air of someone who had nothing to prove to anyone. She loved that about him. He took her coat from her and offered her a drink.

  “To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”

  “I was in the neighborhood and haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Is this a social call? Or are you here on business?” he asked with a wink. “It seems to be Lawrence Day in the Margolies office.”

  Scarlett wasn’t sure what he meant by that. “Mostly social, though I do actually have something I wanted to ask you about. What do you know about the Olympus investor pool?”

  Lawrence, as one of their largest investors, liked to keep tabs on who else was financially involved in any given show. He claimed it was so that he would know if the investor parties would be any good, but she knew it was also so he could keep an eye on whom he would be doing business with. He made big business look so effortless.

  “Aren’t you the keeper of the investment pool? I know how we can get some answers to whatever questions you have,” Lawrence said.

  Scarlett heard the bathroom door open down the hall. To her disappointment, out walked Margolies.

  “Well, well, well, I didn't know you made house calls, Scarlett.”

  While her relationship with Lawrence, such as it was, wasn’t a secret, she hadn’t gone out of her way to tell Margolies. It wasn’t like they sat around discussing their personal lives. She’d always gotten the impression that he wouldn’t be pleased, and it looked like she was right. Margolies was glaring at her. Lawrence jumped in, rescuing her from Margolies’ unwavering gaze.

  “Margolies and I were just finishing up.”

  That’s right, she thought, he did say he was in a meeting. He could have told her it was with her boss. It occurred to her that maybe Lawrence was showing off just a little. Lawrence was well aware of Margolies’ advances on Scarlett and her constant refusal. Guys could be so territorial—and she didn’t appreciate that it was at her expense this time.

  Lawrence continued. “Pleasure doing business with you, good sir! Olympus will be your greatest achievement yet!”

  “I appreciate your help with the funding. It’s been a tricky one, but we got there, thanks to your creativity,” Margolies said with emphasis on the last word.

  Suddenly Scarlett felt uneasy. She had been planning to tell Lawrence about her suspicions that a big portion of the funding was coming from some shady sources. She’d seen enough TV crime-drama episodes where dubious financial firms and outside-the-law investment entities figured in to sense when things weren’t adding up. Large checks. Unlabeled files. A company that didn’t seem to do anything and had absolutely zero web presence. She had been so hoping that Lawrence could help her get some answers.

  “Glad I could help. I’ll bring a check to the reception.”

  Scarlett began to wonder if Lawrence might actually be involved. Was that what Margolies meant by ‘creativity?’

  “Good night, Lawrence,” Margolies said, picking up the unmarked file folder from the table in the entry hall. With a disapproving nod in her direction, he added, “Scarlett.” And with that he was gone.

  “So.” Lawrence turned his attention to Scarlett. “Shall we make a night of it? A friend of mine’s having a little soiree at his new loft in Tribeca tonight. Should be a good time.”

  “Not tonight. I should go.”

  “But you just got here!” He put his arm around her and tried to usher her further into his grand living room.

  “What did Margolies mean by your ‘creativity’ in getting the extra funding?”

  “Is that what you came here to find out? I roped in a few friends for this one. First-time investors, but it’s about time they ponied up. They owe me.”

  Scarlett’s mind was spinning. What could those people owe Lawrence? The pieces were falling into place, and Scarlett was beginning to feel like she didn’t know Lawrence anymore.

  “I really have to go.”

  “But, Gorgeous, what’s the matter? Stay!”

  “I can’t. I’m seeing someone now, anyway.”

  She could see that stung him, but she didn’t care. She just needed to get away. It was way too much for her to compute. The only person she had thought she could tell was most likely in on it.

  “What? Just because you have a boyfriend doesn't mean you can’t come to a party with me!” he said, practically chasing after her as she walked back through the foyer to the door.

  She kept walking the last few blocks to her apartment in the dark and didn’t turn back. She felt very alone.

  Scene 18

  The unease Scarlett felt didn’t dissipate over the next two days. When she woke up Thursday morning, she felt grateful that she had asked Margolies for the next two days off. She had originally felt guilty about taking time off to work on her own musical, when things were so busy at the office. Bad timing that Swan Song got its big break just as Olympus was throwing the Margolies office into overdrive. When it rains it pours, she thought. Though, unlike Olympus, her show would forego the real rain on stage.

  She had been honest with Margolies the week before, when she’d told him that she’d need a couple of personal days to spend some key time on her own project. He hadn’t seemed to care. She hadn’t felt the need to lie to him about it, and he’d be hard pressed to find fault with the work she’d been doing during her particularly long hours at the office.

  He had been so distracted lately. Recently she’d found herself playing back their conversations, trying to figure out if there really were shady dealings going on that she should be worried about, or if she was simply being paranoid. She had certainly been under a lot of stress during the past week. Olympus, Swan Song, her new relationship with Reilly. Maybe she was imagining things.

  She forced herself to push all thoughts of Margolies out of her head and focus on the day at hand. She got dressed and made her way to Pearl Studios, where callbacks were underway for Swan Song.

  The Jeremys smiled as she took a seat behind the table in the rehearsal studio they were using for auditions. The company’s artistic director, casting director, and the show’s director were huddled around a table, discussing which scenes they’d have the actors read for the audition in addition to their prepared songs.

  “Have you seen the updated callback list?” Jersey Jeremy asked with excitement. “It’s a musical theater nerd’s wet dream.”

  “Don’t be crude,” Buff Jeremy said, but he was smiling. “Though he’s not wrong.”

  Scarlett had seen the list and was thrilled that so many of Broadway’s top actors and actresses were interested in their show. It was a good sign that buzz of their work had already infiltrated the artistic circles. That boded well for the show’s future. Getting one or two big Broadway names onboard would be a huge plus for the show.

  “Try to be objective, guys,” Scarlett said. “We’re casting a show, not putting together an all-star concert.”

  “Would it be unprofessional to ask for autographs?” Jersey Jeremy asked. Scarlett and Buff Jeremy opened their mouths to object, but he cut them off. “Only kidding, only kidding.” Under his breath he added, “Sort of...”

  Scarlett smiled. It was refreshing to work with people who were genuinely excited about every step of the process. It was a nice change from the jaded and entitled team at the top of Olympus. Days like the one she was having, and people like the Jeremys, were the reason she got involved in theater in the first place. She vowed to not lose sight of moments like those.

  She reached out and squeezed their hands. “Can you believe we’re doing this?”

 
; “Next stop, Broadway!” Buff Jeremy said.

  “In our dreams,” Jersey Jeremy said.

  “Let’s just take it one step at a time, shall we?” Scarlett said, not wanting to ruin the moment with pipe dreams. Though Broadway was obviously their final goal, she didn’t want to jinx their current success by getting ahead of themselves. It was an amazing step in the right direction. But she knew how many shows fell off the map, even after great productions at places like that. “We never thought we’d be this far this quickly. Let’s enjoy what we have now.”

  “Amen, sister,” Buff Jeremy said.

  The accompanist arrived at that point, and everyone settled in behind the audition table as the first group of singers arrived. At this stage of the game, everyone who walked in the room was exceptionally talented. Scarlett was glad to have a great director and casting director involved to start honing in on the final candidates. As producer, she didn’t need to be involved in the nitty-gritty of casting, just the final approvals. But she was enjoying the process. Plus, Margolies had always gotten the best results by being as hands on as possible.

  At the first break, Scarlett and the Jeremys went to the little snack bar near the elevators to get coffee. On their way through the hallway, they passed rows of benches filled with Broadway hopefuls auditioning for their shows and others. In the various other rehearsal rooms, Broadway and off-Broadway shows were rehearsing. She could hear a brilliantly sung rendition of one of her favorites, “Taylor the Latte Boy,” wafting from one audition room, while a less-successful rendition of “Defying Gravity” was tormenting those inside (and outside) another rehearsal room.

  There was a great energy of expectation and possibility in a place like this.

  “So, drinks at our place later to debrief?” Buff Jeremy asked, sipping coffee out of a paper cup.

  “Wish I could, but I have date,” Scarlett said casually.

  Both Jeremys snapped to attention. That was the kind of dirt they thrived on.

  “Pray tell, has our Scarlett been holding out on us?” Jersey Jeremy asked.

  “Don’t tell us it’s with that hot but too-old-for-you sugar daddy of yours. That’s old news,” Buff Jeremy continued.

  “He’s not my sugar daddy. We’re just friends,” Scarlett said.

  “With benefits!” Buff Jeremy interrupted.

  “It’s not with him, anyway,” Scarlett said.

  “Well then, spill it before we die of suspense.”

  “You’re not going to like this, but I actually can’t tell you who it is.” It occurred to her that she should probably keep her relationship on the down-low, at least for the time being. While she was probably just being overly cautious, she didn’t like the idea of word getting out that she was dating the famous gossip columnist. At least not right away.

  “You’re such a tease!” Jersey Jeremy shrieked.

  “Maybe she wants us to guess!” Buff Jeremy suggested. And that set them off.

  “Is it someone we know?”

  “Someone famous?”

  “Someone married?”

  “An actor?”

  “That rock star dude from Cupid and Psyche?”

  “Eew, gross!” Scarlett said. “And don’t bother guessing, I’m not going to tell you. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” But she couldn’t keep a beaming smile off her face.

  “Scarlett’s in love,” Buff Jeremy said in a sing song voice, drawing out the last word.

  “Oh, stop!” Scarlett said, blushing as she turned away to head back into the auditions, the Jeremys following hot on her heels as they continued to make ever-more outrageous guesses about who it might be.

  Scene 19

  Scarlett spotted Reilly at a coveted back-corner table at the bustling midtown coffee shop. Snagging any table at all in a midtown coffee shop in the middle of a chilly afternoon was no small feat. She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. They were still careful about displaying their relationship publicly, though anyone looking on would be hard pressed to miss the romantic sparks that crackled between them.

  Reilly flipped his laptop closed and slid a latte toward her as she took a seat.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Scarlett said with a smile. “Out of all the coffee shops in Manhattan, you just happened to find yourself at the one next door to our audition studio?”

  “Guilty as charged. Does that make me pathetic?” he said, giving her a puppy-dog look.

  “That makes you very sweet,” Scarlett replied. “I was thrilled to get your text. Sorry I’ve been so busy.”

  “It’s a good thing. All my interview prep has put me behind on my column. Not to mention a certain someone who’s been occupying a few too many of my thoughts,” he said with a flirtatious glint in his eye.

  “I can’t imagine who you mean.” She batted her eyes with faux innocence.

  “Of course you can’t,” he said with a laugh.

  “Speaking of which, what misdeeds and dirty dealings are you exposing in your column today?”

  “Nothing nefarious to report this week. I’m doing my annual roundup of original musicals on deck for Broadway this spring.”

  “That should be a pretty short article. There aren’t very many original musicals slated to open before the Tony Award deadline.”

  “And why might that be?” Reilly said, accusingly.

  “Yeah, yeah. I know,” she said. It was common industry knowledge that most producers were holding off on bringing in new shows that Broadway season for fear that they’d be hopelessly overshadowed by the Olympus behemoth, come Tony Awards time. Scarlett checked the time on her phone.

  “Am I keeping you from the Swan Song auditions?” Reilly asked.

  “They can spare me for a few more minutes,” she said and took a sip of her latte. “I have a new respect for casting directors. Every person who’s come through the door today has been ridiculously talented.”

  “Who’s on the short list to play the lead ‘swans’?” he asked casually.

  “Nice try,” she said with a pointed look at his laptop. “But my lips are sealed.”

  “You know I won’t print anything you tell me not to.” He held up his hands. “But I’d love to do whatever I can to help you. A little free publicity might be a good thing for Swan Song.”

  “You have a point there.” It had crossed her mind that her relationship with a celebrity gossip columnist could have some added fringe benefits. But she was wary about blurring those lines. “Let me think about it.”

  “Why don’t you come over later and let me talk you into it,” he said with a provocative smile as he brushed his hand across her knee under the table, setting off the butterflies in her stomach.

  “So that’s how you get all the dirt for your column! You seduce unsuspecting sources at your apartment?” she said teasingly, jabbing her finger at his chest across the table.

  “Only one particularly difficult source...” he said with a wink.

  “I bet that’s what you tell all your sources.”

  “You’re so right.” He leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee. “In fact, I have another one showing up in five minutes, so could you please drink up?”

  “Hey! Don’t be mean!” She started to get up.

  “Don’t pretend to be mad. I have to maintain some air of mystery,” he said. “I can’t have the whole world knowing that New York’s highest and mightiest theater columnist has been relegated to skulking around coffee shops on the off chance that he can snag a few blissful minutes with his super-busy and important Broadway-producer girlfriend.”

  She tried to conceal a wide smile but knew she wasn’t succeeding at hiding the joy his words brought her. “So I’m your girlfriend, now, am I?”

  Reilly actually blushed. “Would that be such a terrible thing?”
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  “I must admit, it has a nice ring to it,” she said, reaching across the table and briefly squeezing his hand. It took every ounce of will power she had not to lean over and kiss him right there in the middle of the coffee shop. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll spill the beans on Swan Song casting!” she said with an impish laugh.

  Scene 20

  “Nice to meet you in person, Mr. Mitchell,” Candace said from behind her desk. “I’ve read your column. Please have a seat.”

  Reilly glanced at his surroundings as he took a seat for his interview at the Banner. He had done as much research as he could about Candace Gold, but he hadn’t found much. He was hoping a scan of her office decor would give him some clues about her personality, some hints on how he should play it. What he found was generic decor, a tidy office, and not a single photo.

  “I appreciate the opportunity to be here. I know you must have seen a lot of people for this job.”

  “It’s been a busy few days,” she said, her tone clipped and professional. “Shall we begin?” She picked up her pen and made a note on a hard copy of his resume that she had in her hand.

  He held up the pen in his hand. “Looks like we have something in common.” They both had Montblanc pens. At several hundred dollars, you didn’t see them every day, and they usually came with a back story. Finally, he thought, something to go on. “My parents gave me this when I got my first job at the paper,” he explained. “They told me a pen could have a lot of power, so I shouldn’t use it lightly.”

  “Sounds like your parents are smart people. It’s important not to forget the weight our words can carry. My first Montblanc was a gift from my husband.” She looked wistful. “Been using Montblancs ever since.” She paused, deep in thought.

  A husband, thought Reilly. She wasn’t wearing a ring, and he hadn’t come across a husband in any of his research.