Showbiz, A Novel (21 page)

             
“Well, we’re all rooting for you, man,” Jersey Jeremy
said
. “Anyone who can capture the heart of our lovely Scarlett must be a good guy.”

             
Reilly suddenly looked uncomfortable, but the conversation quickly shifted to the usual topics. Mara and David began debating loudly with Andrew about whether Patti LuPone or Bernadette Peters was the greatest diva currently working on Broadway, while Cat and Scarlett attempted to help the Jeremys finish up in the tiny kitchen.

             
Half an hour later, the group squeezed around the Jeremys’ dining room table and dished up heaping portions of truffle mac and cheese, cranberry walnut salad, and lemon chicken, their version of gourmet comfort food, and the perfect menu for a rainy New York night.

             
As the Jeremys took their seats, Scarlett tapped her fork on her glass to get everyone’s attention. “I’d like to toast our fabulous hosts! Chefs par excellence, soon to be the brightest stars off-Broadway!”

             
“Here, here!” “Cheers!” echoed the group.

             
As the happy crowd dug into their meals, David, the entertainment lawyer sitting across from Scarlett, leaned in and asked her the inevitable questions: “So, how’s
Olympus
?”

             
The clattering of silverware hushed as everyone waited for her response.

             
“Don’t make her talk about work!” Jersey Jeremy
said
—somewhat selfishly, since, having heard more than his fair share about
Olympus
during his daily conversations with Scarlett about
Swan Song
, he already knew the dirt.

             
“I don’t mind, really,” Scarlett
said
. “It’s going well, actually. The new flying technology is working and looks pretty cool. The rain and pyro still have some kinks, but we’ll get it together.”

             
“That’s all well and good,” Mara
said
, “but we could have read that in the
Banner
. There’ve been editorials almost every day. Margolies sure has the PR racket in his court. We want to know what’s
really
going on.”

             
“I invoke the cone of silence,” Buff Jeremy
said
. “Nothing said here leaves the table.”

             
“In that case, it’s actually just more of the usual,” Scarlett
said
. “Crazy leading couple. Cupid is a total disaster. He’s not untalented, but he’s driving the music director crazy. He rewrites his and everyone else’s songs weekly, even though we are technically working off of the final draft…which probably explains why he never remembers his lines. And his lovely wife and the understudy were caught ‘in the act’ between acts, in the orchestra pit, while the musicians were on dinner break.”

             
“Is it going to be any good?” Andrew
asked
.

             
“Depends on how you define
good
,” Scarlett
said
candidly. “The script isn’t much to write home about, but the visuals are going to be spectacular, that’s for sure. And the music has a few high points. It’s not really my idea of true musical theater, but the tourists will probably like it.”

             
“I hope you’re getting combat pay for this,” Andrew
said
.

             
“If only,” Scarlett
said
. “The best compensation I’m getting on this show is that I haven’t had to spend as much time alone with Margolies as usual. I should complain about how crazy busy we’ve been, running between meetings and rehearsals, but it’s really a blessing. Not that there haven’t been the requisite Margolies meltdowns.”

             
“You deserve a trophy for working with that man,” Rob
said
, raising his glass.

             
“I could say the same to you, working for Erlander,” Scarlett
replied
, clinking glasses across the table with Rob.

             
“Margolies, Erlander... Aren’t there any nice people in this business?” David
asked
.

             
“You’re looking at them,” Buff Jeremy
said
, gesturing to the people gathered around the table.

             
“If we do say so ourselves,” Andrew
said
with a wry smile. “I don’t disagree. But we’re the next generation. I’m talking about our role models. Several of us here want to get to the top echelons of this biz. Don’t you find it discouraging when you look at how nasty so many of the handful of top producers have turned out to be?”

             
Scarlett and Andrew had had that conversation many times before, commiserating over drinks.

             
“They can’t all be like that,” said David.

             
“Name one top Broadway producer who’s known for being nice,” Andrew
challenged
. “Margolies is a tyrant. Erlander is a royal jerk.”

             
“Well, what about that Michael guy who headed up the
Hello Dolly
revival last season?” Mara
asked
. “He’s interested in producing my next show, and he seems nice.”

             
“Michael. Yeah, I’ve heard he’s pleasant, but he’s only done one or two Broadway shows,” Andrew
said
. “I’m talking about the producers at the very tip top. That crowd of cronies that skulk around the Angus McIndoe.”

             
The table fell silent.

             
“Franklin?” Rob ventured a suggestion.

             
“Ick,” Cat
said
. “He felt me up at the
Mamma Mia
anniversary party.”

             
“God, this is depressing. These are our role models?” Scarlett
said
. “Do you think they started out being assholes? Or does something happen to them along the way?”

             
“Maybe the backstabbing and competition just wears them down over the years,” Rob
said
. “I know Erlander doesn’t trust anyone in showbiz, and that can make you cynical and hard pretty damn fast.”

             
“Rumor has it the theater-owning Stewart family keeps extensive
files
on every player in the business. Probably waiting to screw anyone who crosses them,” said Andrew.

             
“I’ve heard that the generation before these guys was even worse. We’ve all heard the David Merrick stories, right?” Jersey Jeremy
said
. “Maybe they’re just doing to us what was done to them.”

             
“Are you saying that gives them permission to be like that?” Buff Jeremy
asked
.

             
“Of course not, but it could explain a lot. They had to suffer so we have to suffer. And a few bad apples like Margolies can ruin the whole barrel,” Jersey Jeremy
replied
with a shrug.

             
“Can I just say right here and right now that I will never be like that,” Scarlett
said
. “I have every intention of getting to the top”—she glanced at the Jeremys—“but I vow to stay nice, honest, and uncynical.”

             
“Cheers to that,” Jersey Jeremy
said
as everyone raised their glasses. “May we all prove that nice guys...
and
gals,” he added, nodding to Scarlett, Mara, and Cat, “
can
win in this crazy business we call show.”

             
“Amen!”

             
“Cheers.”

             
Reilly pushed his chair back abruptly, almost knocking it over. Only Scarlett noticed. “Are you okay?” she whispered. He looked a little ashen.

             
“Fine. I just need some air.”

             
“I’ll come with you,” she said, concerned.

             
“No. I’ll be fine.” He sprinted toward the front door, leaving his coat and his girlfriend behind.

             
His dramatic exit did not go unnoticed.

             
“Is he okay?” Buff Jeremy
asked
.

             
“He’s had a rough week,” Scarlett
said
apologetically, her mind racing at Reilly’s strange behavior. That wasn’t like him. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over him.”

             
“For a gossip columnist, he seemed awfully quiet tonight,” Jersey Jeremy
said
.

             
“I better see if he’s okay,” Scarlett
said
, despite Reilly’s telling her not to. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

             
“Take your time, darling. I’m sure you’ll find a way to cheer him up,” Jersey Jeremy
said
with a devilish grin.

Scene 35

             
Scarlett waited in line at one of the many Times Square Starbucks, in desperate need of a late afternoon pick-me-up. She had been burning the candle at both ends. There were tech rehearsals for
Swan Song
every evening that week until the wee hours, and then early mornings at the office to get some work done before spending the day putting out fires, literally and figuratively, at
Olympus
rehearsals. Early previews of
Olympus
were going relatively well, but the technical challenges required hours of extra rehearsals during the day before each evening’s performance. The cast and crew must be seriously exhausted, thought Scarlett.

             
Swan Song
would start its week and a half of previews the coming weekend.
Olympus
was doing a full month of previews, the standard for Broadway. Preview performances had become nearly as important in the industry as real performances because the chat-room regulars and bloggers came early and often to see the show first and expose the scoop, before institutional reviewers like the
Banner
were allowed to show up. The full-priced tickets for previews gave audiences the impression that there was no difference between a preview and a post-opening production—which often there wasn’t.

             
It blew her mind that her little show, just a producing pipe-dream a year ago, was going to open off-Broadway, even before
Olympus
. True, it was way downtown, but based on the feedback she was getting from her trusted theater friends on the quality of the show, combined with the possible funding from Lawrence, a Broadway transfer was a realistic possibility.

             
She shot a quick text to Reilly while she waited:
Thinking about you.

             
She had been worried about him. After he had fled the Jeremys’ apartment the other night, she had found him slumped on the front steps of the building, looking like he was going to cry. She had made polite excuses to the Jeremys and taken him back to his apartment. He’d perked up during the weekend but still didn’t seem like his old self. Her schedule hadn’t allowed her to spend as much time as she’d like to with him either. It was unfortunate that her life would get especially hectic just as he was temporarily unemployed, and clearly going stir crazy.

             
A text came back almost immediately…but not from Reilly. It was Margolies:
Need you at the theater.

             
She groaned. She hadn't left the theater for five minutes all day, and of course, he’d need her back just as she was taking a short break. Well, he could wait five more minutes. She needed coffee.

             
A few minutes and a few sips of her latte later, she headed back through the stage door at the theater.

             
“Have you seen Margolies?” she asked the stage-door security guard.

             
“He showed up a few minutes ago,” he said.

             
She ventured further into the backstage maze riddled with dressing rooms filled with costumers, dressers, and cast members. Margolies’ greasy, black-haired goon slid by her in the narrow hall. Scarlett avoided his eyes. That guy creeped her out, big time.

             
“Is Margolies back here?” she asked an assistant stage manager, who answered with a grim look and pointed to the half-opened door of one of the dressing rooms.