Showbiz, A Novel Read online

  Scene 23

  Early the next morning, Scarlett got back to her apartment. She dropped her computer bag heavily on the floor and leaned against the door. The past twelve hours had made her head spin.

  Her eyes burned. A combination of yesterday’s crying—she really needed to get a thicker skin—and getting very few hours of sleep at Reilly’s apartment. By the time they had finished combing through the bank statements, it had been way too late to go home.

  The excitement of their first real fight combined with their discoveries about Margolies had proved to be an irresistibly provocative cocktail. She worried that they were moving too fast, yet she had to admit, it had been wonderful to spend the night with Reilly. The evening’s earlier drama had been stressful and fraught with all kinds of moral and emotional implications. And yet she felt like, if anything, all the drama was pushing them closer together.

  Waking up in Reilly’s arms had felt fantastic. In fact, her impulse was to turn right back around to his apartment and climb back into his inviting bed. She knew, however, that it wouldn’t be prudent to give in to infatuation. She was determined to play it safe where her heart was concerned, though she had a sneaking suspicion that it was way too late for her to turn back.

  A few weeks earlier, she never would have guessed that she’d fall for Reilly Mitchell, of all people. Or that, by all appearances, he had fallen for her as well. It crossed her mind that in an ironic way, she and Reilly were mirroring a young Candace and Margolies. The aspiring producer and ambitious journalist. It would be an appropriate bookend, Scarlett told herself, for the two of them to make right what Candace and Margolies had set into motion decades before.

  That morning, the reality of what she had potentially done to Margolies—as well as the reality of what Margolies had been doing all those years—began to sink in. She could hardly comprehend the turn her life and career seemed to be taking.

  Though she should have been getting changed and heading into the office, she couldn’t get motivated quite yet. She hoped a hot shower would clear her mind.

  As she stood under the faucet, a wave of mixed emotions washed over her. On one hand, she felt incredibly guilty for not only stealing Margolies’ bank statements but also proceeding to share them with a journalist. On the other hand, she was horrified that all evidence pointed to the fact that Margolies very likely had been bribing Kanter to guarantee good reviews for years.

  On top of all that, she wondered what would happen when Reilly’s exposé hit the presses. Would she really be in a position—and capable of—picking up the pieces of Margolies’ producing career? Maybe it would blow over and nothing would happen. After all, hadn’t Margolies told her that she was in over her head? Maybe such was the way the world worked at that level. Her mind felt like a broken record, replaying her conversations with Margolies, and later, with Reilly the night before.

  She wrapped a towel around her wet hair and grabbed her threadbare robe off the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Her brother had bought her a new robe when she moved to NYC, but she had yet to find the right occasion to lounge in its purple satin, fur-cuffed “fabulousness.” She liked the fact that her brother, though he knew better, insisted on picturing her lounging in her Broadway apartment in the elegant satin robe, eating bonbons and smoking a cigarette from a long holder—though he also knew she’d never smoked anything in her life. In reality, there was another reason she hadn’t let go of her old cozy robe. It was a daily reminder of how far she’d come. It was the same robe she’d had since high school. It seemed like much longer than the ten years it had actually been since she had sat in the school’s “cafetorium,” dreaming of being exactly where she was.

  That day, however, she felt nostalgic for her life back home. The stress of her high-school theater world which had kept her awake many a night at the time now seemed ridiculously petty compared to what was giving her sleepless nights now. She couldn’t bring herself to call her parents. They’d probably have good advice. High school teachers and lawyers tended to have an answer for everything. But she wasn’t in the mood to rehash her week. Plus, it would be really early in the morning their time. Though they claimed she should call anytime, day or night, she knew they would be very worried if they saw her number on caller ID at such an unusual time

  Unwilling to face the day, she shot off a quick text to the Jeremys: Let me know how it goes today. I’m there in spirit. It was the first day of rehearsal, and it broke Scarlett’s heart to be missing it.

  She felt tempted to text Reilly as well but resisted the urge. She reminded herself that she needed to take things slowly, even after the night they’d spent together.

  Reluctantly, Scarlett got dressed and made her way into the office with palpable dread.

  Scene 24

  The elegant gallery of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was packed as Scarlett squeezed her way through the impeccably dressed guests. In my next life, I’ll come back as a wealthy theater investor, she thought. They got to have all the fun and glittering glory of showbiz and none of the late nights and heart-attack-inducing crises that made up her daily existence. The ritzy guests had their own daily stresses, she assumed, but their brush with Broadway, at least when the Margolies production team had anything to do with it, was always impressive and memorable.

  The night was a perfect example. She was pleased that the Olympus investor reception that she’d been working so hard on had such a good turnout. After wracking her brain, she’d found just the right venue—opulent enough for the upscale guests, yet creatively Broadway. As she took in the view of the Greek and Roman galleries of the hallowed Upper East Side institution, she felt gratified to see the perfectly coifed and sculpted investors drinking and laughing animatedly under the unblinking gaze of the gallery’s ancient marble inhabitants.

  Between her huge effort to forego another run-in with Margolies and her attempts at avoiding Lawrence, she also had to make sure the event went off without a hitch.

  “So glad you could be here,” she greeted a member of the press who had just arrived. “Have you met our director?”

  She wound her way through the imposing Roman columns. The soft art museum lighting set off the bejeweled silver-haired men and woman who were financing the Margolies machine. Scarlett greeted various investors and members of the media, making introductions to the creative team where she could. These extravagant events were one of Margolies’ key strategies for getting and keeping investors. On so risky a show, the funders really needed to be onboard. Regardless of her frustration with Margolies, it was to her benefit that she appear professional in the crowd. Someday she’d need them for her own productions.

  Lawrence caught her arm. “Scarlett, you look stunning.”

  His eyes swept over her dress—a playful, white, one-shoulder dress draping over her slight frame, hinting at a Greek-goddess—and strappy heels. She had bought the wardrobe combo during a holiday shopping spree with her brother, Colin, who served as her unofficial stylist. She was pleased with her evening attire, but was in no mood for compliments from Lawrence.

  “Thanks.” She gave him an obligatory smile and attempted to continue toward the entrance.

  “Are you mad at me? You haven’t answered any of my calls.”

  “No, just busy,” she said, too brightly, and made a quick escape.

  “I need to talk to you!” she heard him say to her back.

  The truth was, she had been avoiding him. She still didn’t entirely know what was going on but she wanted to stay out of it as much as possible, despite feeling thrust into the middle of it by the very nature of her job.

  She touched base with the check-in table. The last few guests were trickling in, which meant she could give the cue to start the brief presentation. Margolies would be speaking, followed by Cupid and Psyche performing a duet from the show and backed by their own band. They were off in a clo
sed side gallery, waiting to make their grand entrance.

  Scarlett glanced at the list that the intern was keeping at the door. It was a good sign that there were surprisingly few no-shows, a rarity in New York, where people were perpetually overbooked.

  At the bottom of the list were a few handwritten names. That was not unusual, as people sometimes arrived with extra guests or unexpected members of the media dropped in. One name caught her eye: Candace Gold. Scarlett glanced over her shoulder, looking for the woman who she had seen only at the bar one night but never actually met. Scarlett spotted her over by the bar and couldn’t resist the impulse to talk to the woman who had been married to her boss and was also part of Reilly’s alleged scandal.

  “Excuse me,” she said as she held her hand out to Candace, “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Scarlett, Mr. Margolies’ associate producer.”

  Candace looked her up and down before extending her hand, none too warmly. “Scarlett? That’s quite a name. Candace Gold. New York Banner. ”

  “My mom watched Gone with the Wind four times while she was in labor with me.” Scarlett recited her standard explanation. People asked about her striking name upon almost every introduction. “Thank you for being here!” She was curious to get a sense of the woman.

  Candace seemed to be ignoring her entirely, downing her drink in one long gulp.

  Scarlett tried again to start a conversation. “Are you familiar with our project, Olympus?”

  “Very,” Candace responded tersely before turning back to the bar to order another drink.

  “Right, of course,” Scarlett said to Candace’s back. “There have been several articles about it in the Banner...” She trailed off.

  Candace was apparently done with the conversation, and it was time for the presentation, anyway. Scarlett scanned the crowd for Margolies. Lawrence had pulled him aside and was talking to him intently. Scarlett caught Margolies’ eye and signaled to him that it was time. She saw Margolies excuse himself. Lawrence tried to wave Scarlett over. She ignored him and started weaving her way to the side gallery to give Cupid and Psyche a heads-up that they were on in five minutes.

  The crowd hushed as Margolies stepped onto the small platform they were using as a stage. At times like those, he reminded Scarlett of a circus ringmaster. In his impeccably tailored black pinstriped suit, he expertly commanded his own three-ring circus: the investors, the press, and the stars.

  “Welcome, brave and fearless gods and goddesses of New York,” he began. He was the consummate showman when he needed to be. “We are in this room tonight among the celestial beings of the past making our very own theatrical history. Each and every one of you is joining us for something unprecedented that will change the face of Broadway!” That statement was greeted with enthusiastic applause from the guests. Margolies continued, but Scarlett couldn’t hear him as she poked her head into the room where Cupid and Psyche were supposedly warming up. She encountered a chilly scene.

  Cupid was in one corner, Psyche in the other and their band members looked bored with it all. The band wasn’t exactly thrilled that their leaders were going to be tied up on Broadway, leaving them unable to tour or record albums for the unforeseeable future. They had all been offered jobs in the show’s orchestra, but it wasn’t exactly the rock-and-roll lifestyle to which they had grown accustomed. But the pay was good.

  “You’re on in five,” Scarlett said. No one acknowledged her. “See you out there,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

  Margolies was mid-speech. “A show of this magnitude has never been attempted on Broadway. With a budget of over $50 million, we are creating an epic of unimaginable proportions. I am standing here tonight to say that, thanks to all of you and our incredible creative team, we are going to give Broadway something it’s never seen before. It is my promise to all of you here tonight that you will be rewarded for joining us in this endeavor.”

  Scarlett noticed Candace Gold standing a few feet away with a grim look on her face. It suddenly occurred to Scarlett that if Margolies and his ex-wife really had been bribing the critic, then Margolies would be at the mercy of a real critic for the first time. No wonder he’s been in such a state recently. It isn't just Olympus that has him on edge--it’s losing his ace in the hole. Scarlett didn’t have time to think it through just then. She needed to get through the evening.

  Margolies started wrapping up his presentation. “Audiences and critics alike will have no choice but to adore what they see. Storms of Zeus’s wrath!” The crowd oohhed. “Fire!” The crowd aahhed. “The gods will literally take flight, like you’ve never seen before in live theater!” Another round of applause. The investors were helpless to resist the intoxicating combination of champagne and Margolies’ words.

  “And now, without further ado, it is my pleasure to introduce the real stars of the evening.” Despite his modest words, not a single person in the room was fooled by Margolies’ feigned humility. “Our very own divine royalty, straight from Olympus. The love birds of legend, both in our time and in the storybooks. Dare I say the most talented artists of our day, as proven by their worldwide acclaim, will reach new heights, literally, as the stars of our show. I give you Cupid and Psyche!”

  The crowd went crazy as Cupid and Psyche bounded up onto the stage. Cupid pulled Psyche into a deep kiss. The genteel, well-bred crowd was eating it up.

  Oh, please, thought Scarlett. She could see why so many veterans of Broadway ended up jaded and burned out after spending time with the Cupids and Margolies of the world. Ultimately, she craved the real people she had been working with on Swan Song. Would they all turn out like that, too? Would they too eventually create public personas as a facade to disguise miserable, unhappy personal lives? Scarlett fervently hoped not.

  Lawrence was by her side again. He whispered urgently in here ear. “Please, I really need to talk to you.” He was more serious than Scarlett had ever seen him. But the band started, making all conversation impossible.

  “I can’t hear you,” she mouthed to him, gesturing to her ears and the band. “Sorry.”

  Scene 25

  Margolies stepped off the platform, relieved to see Cupid and Psyche taking the stage. The “lovebirds’” relationship was so tense these days that Margolies half-expected them to strangle each other before opening night arrived. The project was turning into a total nightmare, but it was too late to turn back now.

  He still didn’t know how it could have happened. He had made sure that everything had been in place for his crowning Broadway achievement. A fool-proof show. The money. The critic.

  His pep-talk minutes before might have gotten the crowd fired up, but it had left him feeling worse. Everything single thing was going wrong.

  The critic. His critic was dead, and Candace wasn’t cooperating. And to think she had the nerve to show up. He had always known Kanter was weak; that’s what had made him such a malleable pawn for Margolies. But he hadn’t thought the pressure of the critic’s job would push Kanter to the brink. He gritted his teeth in anger before remembering that he was at a party. He regained his mask of composure, a major effort under the circumstances.

  A fool-proof show. Sure, it had been a good idea, but with impossible stars and technical effects that pushed the creative team to its limits, he was beginning to have doubts. OSHA and the safety inspectors were breathing down his neck, and the theater owners weren’t helping much with the structural renovations to the space. Where had everyone’s artistic vision gone? Couldn’t they see that he was making Broadway history? They needed to stop breaking his balls over this or that wireless remote flying track or pyrotechnic.

  The money. He had always had a cordial relationship with certain “money people” but hadn’t needed to resort to working with them, despite their increasing attention as he proved that he could turn a Broadway gamble into a financial win. He’d never wanted to
mix with that contingent, having seen what happened to people who get on the wrong side of that crowd. Now, not only had he been forced to go to them by Olympus’ Olympian budgets, but it was costing him legitimate investors. Lawrence had somehow found out and pulled out his own investment just that evening. It was a lot of money that Margolies couldn’t afford to lose. But how could Lawrence have known about the source of the other money...?

  Scarlett. That bitch must have told Lawrence. He already knew that he needed to fire her. Unfortunately, he needed her too much at the office to throw her out right away. The perfectly executed event that evening was just another example of how good she was at her job. But he should have known better than to let her get so deeply entrenched in his work, despite the fact that she made his life easier. He couldn’t trust her. As soon as Olympus opened, he could focus on getting rid of her and finding a replacement. He just needed to make sure she didn’t do something stupid and get herself mixed up in all that. If his new business associates knew that she knew, getting fired would be the least of her worries. And he needed her in one piece right now.

  Cupid and Psyche were finishing their second and final song. Margolies steeled himself to put on a smile for a room full of people who were depending on him. He smoothed the lapels of his expensive suit. He might not feel like the “king of Broadway” at that moment, but he’d defy anyone to say he didn’t look the part. Through the cheering crowd, he saw Candace making a beeline in his direction—or as much of a beeline as she could make, being unsteady on her high heels. Before she got to him, however, he was enveloped by a crowd of electrified investors.

  Scene 26

  The room was positively bursting at the seams with excitement. Despite her personal challenges, Scarlett felt immensely proud of her work that evening. Everyone was thrilled. Well, everyone except Lawrence.