Showbiz, A Novel Page 8

  Candace’s tone became professional, “So, let’s get right down to it. Why are you interested in the position of chief critic?”

  The interview commenced in earnest. Half an hour in, Reilly knew he had nailed it. After the initial interview questions, they had fallen into a discussion of the future of theatrical criticism in light of social media’s threat to its existence.

  “It’s been a pleasure. Nice to talk shop with a kindred spirit,” he said, hoping he sounded like a colleague and not like he was sucking up to the woman who he hoped would be his future boss. She lapped up his every word. He was grateful he’d spent so much time preparing for it.

  He couldn’t help himself from fishing just a little for fodder for his exposé, though it occurred to him that he probably wouldn’t publish it if he did in fact become a finalist. Oh, well, he thought, my year of research will be a small price to pay.

  “It’s nice to meet someone who values journalistic integrity as much as I do,” he said.

  He saw something flash in her eyes at his words, only for a brief second. A hint of confirmation of his theories, perhaps? He paused to see if she’d say anything, but there was only awkward silence. He jumped in. “So, can you tell me when I might hear something?”

  “We’ll be notifying the five finalists in the next day or two,” she said, all business. Then she softened and met his eyes. “I don’t want to speak out of turn, but you should stay by your phone.”

  Reilly tried to look nonchalant, but inside he was beaming. “Great. What’s the process going to look like, if I might ask?”

  “The finalists will be introduced to the public in a spread in the Sunday Arts section this weekend. Then each finalist will get one shot to review an upcoming show. An audition, as it were, with the Banner’s readers as the judges.” Reilly nodded as she continued, “Can you hold on a minute? I’d like you to meet our managing editor who’s working with me on the finalist selection.”

  Reilly was thrilled. He couldn’t remember ever having had a better interview in his life—and for this, of all jobs. Candace got up and walked down the hall. Reilly glanced at the neatly stacked papers on her tidy desk, trying to glean any hint as to who the other finalists might be—or any clue that could work to his advantage.

  He quickly looked back down at his own notebook as Candace’s assistant walked in and laid out a couple of phone message slips on the desk.

  As Candace came back to the office, he caught a brief look at the first message. He wasn’t sure. He only got a quick look before Candace swept the messages into her top drawer, but he could have sworn he saw the name Margolies.

  Scene 21

  Scarlett was on cloud nine after two fantastic days of auditions for Swan Song and another perfect date with Reilly to celebrate his selection as a finalist at the Banner. She wasn’t looking forward to how behind she’d be at work, but it would be worth it.

  She walked into the office to hear Margolies screaming into his phone. Despite the closed door, she could hear him clearly.

  “I’m warning you... You don’t know who you’re messing with this time... I promised I would take care of you, but I could ruin you just as fast... I’d like to see you try!... This is not the end of this conversation... Don’t you dare hang up on me. Don’t you dare—”

  Scarlett heard his fist slam into the desk. “Damn it,” he said, presumably to himself, since it sounded like whoever he was talking to had hung up on him. She could think of any number of people he might have been talking to, though his tone had been particularly intense. She couldn’t remember him ever resorting to explicit threats in the past. The stress of Olympus must be getting to him, she thought.

  Just then his door flew open. He seemed surprised to see her there.

  “Well, look who decided to show up to work today.”

  “You gave me the time off.”

  “Well, I take it back. No more days off, no more weekends, no nothing until Olympus opens.”

  So much for my good mood, she thought. “I’m sorry, but that’s unacceptable,” she said in frustration, trying to stay professional. Her own show was starting rehearsals that week, and she needed to be there. She was already disappointed that she would be on site for so little of the process, but to miss the weekends would be devastating.

  “Your personal life is unimportant, Scarlett. We are making history here.” He pounded his fist on her desk. “In this office.” He pounded his fist down again. “With Olympus! Do you want to be a real producer or not?”

  She didn’t respond. There was no sense trying to reason with him when he was in such a rage. She wished he wasn’t taking it out on her. Given the fact that he hadn’t taken the time to so much as read Swan Song or ask about the latest developments, his words cut her to the bone.

  Don’t cry, she thought to herself, gritting her teeth. She took a deep breath. He continued to stand over her desk.

  “I’m here now,” she said, keeping her voice level. “What do you need?”

  “I need you to know that your job is on the line.”

  “With all due respect,” she said as she forced herself to hold back tears, “I’ve never missed a deadline, the production schedules are running on time, and the investor event is ready to go.” A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

  “Are you crying, Scarlett?” he said with a sneer. “Maybe this business is too tough for you.” She stared down at her boots, biting the insides of her cheeks so hard she could taste blood. He continued, “Believe me, I didn’t get where I am by crying. You better get a thicker skin, little girl.”

  She turned around abruptly, grabbed her coat and her computer bag, which she hadn’t unpacked yet, and ran out the door. As the elevator opened, she could already feel hot tears streaming down her face. It was too much. It was just too much. At that moment, she didn’t care if he fired her. She just needed to get away from him.

  Coming out of the elevator as she went in was the same well-dressed but vaguely menacing man she had seen Margolies talking with at the production meeting the week before. She didn’t know why, but just looking at him made her skin crawl.

  As the elevator let her out, she already had her phone to her ear.

  “Reilly? Are you home right now? …I need to see you.”

  Scene 22

  “Oh, my god!” Reilly said when he opened his apartment door to Scarlett’s tear-stained face and wild eyes. “What happened?” He grabbed her hands and pulled her into the apartment.

  “I can’t tell you. But I need to know something.”

  “Okay,” he said uncertainly. He took her bag off her shoulder and slipped off her coat. “Can I get you some water or something? Some tea? I was just making some for myself.” It was a writing day for him, so he was still in his sweat pants and hadn’t been planning to leave the house all day. He had just been finishing his latest juicy column for the week when she’d appeared on his doorstep.

  She ignored his attempts to make her comfortable. “Do you really think there was something going on with rigged reviews at the Banner?”

  “Why do you ask now?” he said, hedging for time. He felt torn. On one hand, he wanted to come clean, to tell her what he’d found and enlist her to help him. Yet he worried she’d think he had only been interested in her because of her job all along. And while that may have been partly true in the beginning, their relationship had since become very real to him. He put his arm around her slender shoulders and gently steered her over to the couch. He pulled her down on the couch next to him.

  “Please,” she said, turning her teary eyes to him, “just tell me if you really think the reviews are being rigged. I need to know.”

  “Well, it’s complicated.”

  Now that he was a finalist for the critic job, he had put his exposé on the back burner. His editor was mad at him, anyway, since
the article about the five finalists had disclosed to the world the fact that he was looking for another job. He had to admit to himself that he hadn’t fully thought through the short-term ramifications when he’d applied for the job at the Banner. He had been so focused on nailing the interview. Now he was likely to lose his old job before he even found out about the Banner. He needed to get the Banner job that much more.

  “Do you have something or don’t you?” she said impatiently.

  What got into her? wondered Reilly. Has she found some proof? If she has, it could really change things for him. For them. But he needed her to trust him. And though they had an unmistakable attraction, he needed to be able to trust her.

  He got up and walked over to the window and gazed out on midtown, not sure where to start. “What do you know about Margolies’ marriage?” He turned to look at Scarlett.

  “As far as I know, he was married and divorced years ago. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Potentially a lot. Do you know who the former Mrs. Margolies was?”

  “Not a clue. Frankly I can’t imagine any woman being willing to tie the knot with him.”

  He sat back down next to Scarlett and pushed a stray lock of dark hair off her face. He decided to risk disclosing what he’d found out that very morning in his research. “Well, what if I told you it was Candace Gold?”

  “The Arts and Culture editor at the Banner? That Candace Gold? It can’t be.”

  “It can be and it is. Or I should say, was. They were married very briefly and got divorced years ago. And no one seems to remember that they were ever together.”

  “Well, that’s certainly good gossip,” Scarlett said.

  Reilly realized she hadn’t yet connected the dots. “It’s more than good gossip,” he said. “I’ve been looking into the circumstances surrounding Kanter’s hiring. It was way before my time, and yours, but I’ve been doing research, and he basically appeared on the scene out of nowhere. There was some throw-away article about his journalistic history, but he was just sort of there one day, reviewing shows. A nobody, as far as I could tell.”

  “And you think Margolies and Candace had something to do with all that?” she asked, cocking her head. He could see that she was starting to understand.

  “Well, he was hired right after Candace was promoted to Arts and Culture editor. In fact, he was her first hire. Margolies had done a few shows at that point, but he hadn’t really hit his stride. That’s when his reviews started to get better. Not every single one. But I did some quick statistics, and since Candace’s hiring, Margolies’ shows have gotten significantly more good and great reviews than any other producer on Broadway.”

  “He also produces more shows than any other producer on Broadway,” she countered.

  “True, but wouldn’t you, if you knew you would get a stamp of approval 90 percent of the time from the Banner?”

  Reilly had actually expected Scarlett to be shocked, considering how she reacted when the subject came up at their first dinner. Maybe it wasn’t news to her after all.

  “Do you have proof?” she asked.

  “I’m working on it.” He paused and then decided to just go for it. “Do you?”

  She stood up and glared down at him. “Is that why you asked me out in the first place? To get dirt on my boss?”

  He hoped with every fiber of his body that his face didn’t betray his guilt at the truth of her statement. He couldn’t bear for her to think that about him now. She started to go for her coat.

  “No, Scarlett, wait!” He grabbed her arm and she wheeled around to face him.

  “Why would I have proof?”

  It wasn’t going well. “Please just sit down and let’s talk about this.”

  “I’m done with this conversation.” She jerked her arm out of his grip.

  “Just hear me out, and if you want to leave after that, you’re free to leave.” He took her hand and she flinched. “I know you’re angry, but please stay. Give me five minutes.”

  She sighed again. “Fine.” She left him to sit on the couch alone and took a seat in his favorite reading chair across from him.

  “Thank you. Now let me finish before you storm off again.” She continued to glare at him. “I believe that Candace and Margolies worked together to get Kanter the job and that they paid him off for good reviews. I’ve been putting this together for a year now in bits and pieces, and that’s the only conclusion that makes sense.”

  “But you’re a finalist for that job. Are you hoping to pad your paychecks from Margolies’ bank account, too?”

  “No,” he said, stung by her accusation. “I want the job specifically so that I can ensure that no one is getting paid off for anything. Do you realize how long this has been going on? How long it’s been since Broadway has had unbiased, honest journalism?”

  “Do you think others are doing this, too?”

  “From what I can tell, it’s just Margolies and it’s just the Banner. But they’re the biggest players in the biz.”

  “But Kanter panned Margolies’ last show.”

  “He couldn’t make all the reviews good. That would be a giveaway.”

  “This could certainly explain why Kanter might have chosen suicide. Being a nasty critic is one thing, but being a nasty corrupt critic is a lot to live with.”

  “More important at this moment is that Margolies and Candace have a lot to lose from Kanter’s death. They’re just lucky he didn’t seem to have left a note.”

  “Why should I help you?” She got up abruptly and went over to stare out the window.

  “Because...” He got up and stood behind her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t pull away that time. He whispered in her ear, “Margolies’ job could be yours.”

  She turned to face him with an icy gaze, and he took a step back. “I think you’ve seen All About Eve a few too many times.”

  “Think about it for a second. You could pick up all his shows. I know you’re doing most of the work already. It would be so easy. This is your chance to have what you’ve always wanted.”

  She stared at him in stony silence.

  “He built his career on a lie,” Reilly continued, reaching for her hands, trying to coax her over to the couch.

  She still wasn’t convinced. “His shows run for years,” she said, batting away his hands. “He may be bribing critics, but a lot of those reviews were well deserved. People flock to his shows in the millions. He’s made Broadway what it is today. That’s true regardless of one critic’s reviews.”

  “I can’t believe you’re defending him!” It was Reilly’s turn to be angry. He began pacing around his tiny living room. His cards were on the table, and he honestly didn’t know what she’d do with that information. All of a sudden, he felt extremely vulnerable. What a disaster, he thought.

  She watched him pace for a moment and then said slowly, “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to run this exposé article, I get to take over for Margolies...and despite the scandal, the Banner hires you as their new critic?” She shook her head in disbelief. “To be honest, it sounds fairly unlikely.”

  She was right, he thought. It was pretty far-fetched when he looked at it that way. However, during the conversation, another thought had occurred to him. If he had proof about the rigged reviews, he could turn it around on Candace and Margolies. After all, they might already be scheming about how to ensure that the next chief critic was equally corruptible.

  Reilly simply couldn’t let that happen—and he realized that the best way to ensure honest journalism would be to get the job himself.

  He was warming to the idea in his head. If Candace and Margolies were determined to play dirty, maybe Reilly just needed to beat them at their own game. Candace would certainly be interested to know what he kn
ew—and interested in keeping his mouth shut. He could forego his exposé article and, instead, use what he knew of their fraud to force them to hand him the chief critic position on his terms—reader votes or not.

  If he could only get some real proof. But he couldn’t tell Scarlett, not until he’d worked out the details. He worried that his new plan would make him sound opportunistic and out for his own career advancement. And yet he firmly believed that the situation was much bigger than just his career. He knew the integrity of the Banner was at stake, and he realized that he was quite possibly the only person who could restore it.

  He couldn’t risk Scarlett misunderstanding his motives, although that didn’t lessen the fact that he still needed her help. He wondered again what had made her so upset before she came over. Margolies must have pissed her off. That was good for his own cause, though he hated seeing her so unhappy.

  “Are you in?” he said, carefully grasping her shoulders and meeting her eyes, willing her to go with it.

  “Why should I trust you?” she said, meeting his gaze.

  “Because I just told you what I’ve never told anyone. You of all people, who could so easily run to Margolies and tell him everything.” Reilly pulled Scarlett over to the couch and she allowed him, that time. He put his arm around her shoulders and took in the scent of her hair. Her recent misery at the hands of Margolies only intensified his desire to bring her boss down. “Who knows what he’d do to me if this got back to him before I have a chance to get it published.”

  She tilted her head to glance at him. He could tell from her look that she had already thought of that. He continued. “I’m trusting you. I’m at your mercy.” He kissed her temple. “But this could be a win-win for both our careers.”

  At that, she stood up and looked at him for a minute. He could see she had made a decision in that moment. She went over to her computer bag and took out a stack of what looked like copies of bank statements. “What kind of proof would you need?”