The Queen and I (5 page)

Chapter Seven: Rave Reviews

The events that followed happened quicker than Jeffrey could keep up with; it was a whirlwind of deception and betrayal, and he felt wounded to his very core at what his onetime assistant had done to him and Rachel in one fell swoop.

It was not bad enough that he had taken advantage of the situation and written a manuscript for Heinrich Schultz after Jeffrey had turned him down. It was not enough that this was done while Jeffrey was counting on him to take care of the business that
was
working for Jeffrey David Rothstein. What was the most infuriating was what Jeffrey came to realize when Rachel presented him with an early release of the story line for
Kristallnacht and Noel
, a story that was clearly penned by Jeffrey, and was, in fact, nothing more than a rewrite of
Ghetto
Mishegas
, a play that Jeffrey had written ten years earlier and was not pleased with the final results. He had vowed to himself that he would one day return to that script and do it the justice that it deserved in order to get it onto the big stage of Broadway.

Jacob had obviously broken the sanctity of Jeffrey’s private library and gone through all of the manuscripts for a play that was close enough to the ludicrous story that Heinrich Schultz wanted to bring to life and altered Jeffrey’s own work into that play, the play that was about to be released in a massive express run to the stage in what could only have happened as a result of Henry’s huge financial power.

Looking through the material that Rachel was able to get her hands on, Jeffrey knew there was no way that Jacob had penned this rewrite completely on his own; there was something about the way the words were put together, the darkness of the story line. And why the hell were there Jews wearing menorah hats for the grand finale?

The small details were bothering Jeffrey more than anything. He knew this style and was having difficulties placing where and when he had seen it before.

“Well, looks like your friend Jacob fucked us over,” Rachel snapped. She had been irate since returning from Curaçao, and her mood had not improved. She had just hung up her phone and was not pleased.

Part of her job as a critic was also getting scoops on all things behind the scenes of Broadway. She had worked very hard over the years developing working relationships with personal assistants, media representatives, and managers so that she would be the one breaking stories like this. It was a huge deal, and the fact that her name was not attached to the story hurt her in more ways than just causing her to lose face. Her reputation had been soiled by this revelation that a play was coming to the Great White Way faster than any in history and obviously had been bought its spot. No pre-shows, no test audiences, no off-Broadway appearances, and no early reviews; that is, except one.

“My boss is yelling at the top of his lungs at me, wanting to know why I wasn’t the one who broke this story, and to make matters worse, it was Mendel Fujikawa who decided to come out of hiding to put his name to the reveal.”

Mendel Fujikawa.
That was it! That was the reason why Jeffrey was so puzzled, and that was the style that he recognized and couldn’t put a name to. Fujikawa was a very talented, if not eccentric writer, who had turned to the game of drama critic years earlier after a play of his,
Sayonara Skokie
, was not met with critical acclaim and he was laughed out of the writing business for good. What made it worse was that this tale of a gay love affair between a Japanese journalist and an Illinois neo-Nazi did not get the support of the gay community that he had hoped for, and without the gay community, you cannot succeed on Broadway. And to add further insult to his injury, Jeffrey had gained the support of the gay community with his play
Golda: The Balls behind Zion,
a revealing one-woman show that depicted the trials and tribulations of Golda Meir, the prime minister of Israel in the 1960s, played brilliantly by the great drag queen actress, Yvonne Dubois, or Yankel Deutsch as he was known to his parents and close friends.

The simple fact that Mendel Fujikawa was the one who broke the story answered some of the questions, but it did not explain how the relationship with Jacob or Henry came into play.

Mendel was easy; he had held a grudge against Jeffrey and partly blamed him for the gay community refusing to back him even though he
was
gay. He thought Jeffrey was behind the smear campaign about his horrible play. He had also thrown a tantrum at the Tony Awards when the award for Best Play was announced, and Fujikawa seized that opportunity to protest that he received nary a nomination.

“I don’t know what to say, Rachel. I’m as stunned as you are,” Jeffrey apologized.

“Well, you have a funny way of showing it,” she snapped. “How can you be so calm when this little pissant is sabotaging your career?”

“What do you want me to do, challenge him to a fight? Tell him that I want my script back? It’s gone! He picked one of the few plays that I never made copies of or copyrighted. He picked the best one for what he wanted, and now I’m screwed out of my own work and have to sit here and watch as someone else brings it to life in an entirely unintended form while I sit here helpless. So forgive me for not throwing furniture around or drinking heavily, but I am just a little sick to my stomach right now and am trying to think of how to rectify the situation!”

This outburst was not common for Jeffrey at all, but he had to admit to himself that it felt pretty good to let it out. It was almost as if he had cleared away some space in his brain and could actually think clearer now than he had just a few moments ago. But the sad fact was that he had no idea what he was going to do next.

* * *

The night of the big premier finally arrived, and in spite of himself, Jeffrey was in attendance with Rachel, who was there on a strictly professional capacity. She had a play to review, and Jeffrey had to sit and stomach whatever dreck he was about to be subjected to.

He spotted Jacob briefly, but was unable to approach him as his assistant was flanked by Heinrich Schultz and Mendel Fujikawa. Why had Jeffrey remembered Fujikawa being black? Just another mystery without an answer in sight.

Rachel excused herself so that she could mingle among the theater elite. She left Jeffrey to his own devices, strolling through the crowd in the lobby of the sold-out theater. Jacob looked thrilled, and Henry was absolutely beaming with pride, but Mendel was nowhere to be found.

“Hello, titsellah,” Mendel said seductively behind Jeffrey, almost causing him to drop his drink. “So glad you got the tickets that I sent you.”

Jeffrey turned and sized up the smaller Fujikawa, who was wearing a chartreuse-colored tuxedo. Mendel was smiling a grin that revealed more teeth than Jeffrey thought the human mouth was capable of holding, and Mendel must have decided that tonight was a monocle kind of night.

“Actually, I’m here with my girlfriend.”

“Indeed. And where is the ravishing Ms. Benjamin?”

“She’s around.” Jeffrey gave his now-empty glass to one of the waiters and continued. “So, how do you know Henry?”

“Oh me and my dear Heinrich go back to our boarding school days. He was the captain of the wrestling team, and I was the head cheerleader.” He winked at Jeffrey. “Ah, the stories I could tell if not for parental advisories.” He chuckled again and put his hand over his mouth. “The German men, oy vey, the German men!”

“And how do you know Jacob?”

“Tsk, tsk, JD. You know that I am always on the lookout for new and vibrant talent.”

“Especially those who have access to other peoples’ work?”

Fujikawa’s facial expression went from that of proud confidence to bitter disgust almost instantly, and he whispered, “You are walking a very fine line, my friend. I would suggest that you just smile the rest of the evening and tell anyone who asks that you loved every second of the play.”

Jeffrey gave a straight and determined stare back to Mendel and said, “I wouldn’t hold my breath,
sayonara
Mendel.”

Mendel caught the inference and was instantly enraged, but somehow managed to keep his composure. He walked as close to Jeffrey as he could without touching him and said venomously, “I would watch myself if I were you. Your time has already passed.” He turned around and stalked away through the crowd as the lights began to flicker, announcing that the curtain was about to go up and the play was starting.

From Jeffrey’s perspective, the night could not have gone worse. The audience loved the play, and it received three curtain calls, even Rachel laughed at one point, and that was worse than being punched in the stomach.

He watched Jacob, Heinrich, and Mendel from his orchestra seat as they looked on from their private booth. The pride emanating from the face of Schultz was sickening, and the arrogant, pompous air that Jacob was letting out was even worse to watch.

Fujikawa could not take his eyes off of Jeffrey the entire evening. This was not unnoticed by Rachel, who stared back and even threatened to Jeffrey that she was going to walk out, but he knew that it was an empty threat because she was too dedicated to her job to allow personal feelings to interfere in any way.

The play was a huge success, and people really seemed to buy into the plot of a Jewish shop owner selling Christmas trees to avoid being targeted during Kristallnacht, and the subplot of the love story between a German Jew and the wife of an SS officer moved many in attendance.

Jeffrey found new hatred in every laugh, anger in every round of applause, and almost vomited when he heard the chorus of bravo echo throughout the hall. This was the worst-case scenario that he could have possibly imagined. He had hoped that Jacob was not up to the task of rewriting his play and turning it into a hit, but his former assistant proved that there was more talent than he had ever been given credit for. He found some solace by telling himself that the only reason why
Kristallnacht and Noel
was such a huge hit was because the original script it was stolen from was a work of genius that even the untalented Jacob Stone could not have screwed up.

As the theater emptied, Jeffrey caught sight of his three new nemeses as they joyfully received the accolades that they so deeply craved and were now the targets of. Jacob made eye contact for the first time during the evening, and with a smug expression, slowly shook his head disapprovingly, while next to him Mendel Fujikawa blew a kiss.

Chapter Eight: Phases

Henry, Jacob, and Mendel sat around Henry’s palatial apartment on the upper West Side of Manhattan basking in the glory of the most successful night any of them had ever experienced in their lifetimes—and that was saying something.

Heinrich was a billionaire ten times over and succeeded in everything that he did, and Jacob had been a part of each of Jeffrey’s last five plays, yet the feeling of tonight’s success far outshone anything that they had ever accomplished.

Mendel weighed his success in a far more vindictive manner; he took pleasure in ruining others, and although the success of this evening was very sweet on the palate, it paled in comparison to the sweetness that would soon follow once he was done with Jeffrey and his insufferable girlfriend.

Heinrich refilled Jacob’s glass with a gorgeous single malt, and the two of them reclined on the largest and softest leather sofa Jacob had ever seen. Herman quickly came over to be with his owner. The only reason the cat was allowed on the furniture was because he had been declawed in both the front and back paws, Heinrich’s way of maintaining order with the unruly animal kingdom.

Mendel casually thumbed through a trade magazine while sipping on a bottle of Pellegrino, his eyes furtive as he read up on the latest starlet and learned more about the current sexiest man alive.
He looked up only occasionally to give the appearance that he was a part of the conversation, but in reality, he could not be further away in his mind; he just could not get his altercation with Jeffrey out of his head.

At one time, he had been actually quite fond of Jeffrey and respected him as a writer. He had even secretly hoped that the two of them would one day collaborate on a project together, but after what Jeffrey had done to his play
Sayonara Skokie
, there could be no forgiveness. Jeffrey was going to pay, and Heinrich was the one who was going to make it possible for Mendel to realize his revenge. Phase one had been accomplished; they had written a smash hit with one of Jeffrey’s own scripts. The little ruse that Heinrich and Jacob had pulled off perfectly had left the unsuspecting author that much more vulnerable. He never even imagined that the first thing Jeffrey would do was leave town, making it that much easier to defraud him.

Phase two was about to be pulled off with nothing more than a few phone calls, e-mails, and some well-placed cash gifts in the hands of those who craved money over their craft. Jeffrey would be shunned in the Broadway community, and he would never understand why. He would have his suspicions, of course, but he would never be able to pin any of it on Mendel, Heinrich, or Jacob.

Jacob was the one who intrigued Mendel the most. The animosity that this man had for his former mentor was rare indeed. Usually when one harbored such distaste for another human being there were signs, telltale clues that alerted the potential victim that something was not kosher. But in this case, Jeffrey appeared to be thoroughly surprised by the betrayal and even hurt; how amusing.

“I am so proud of you, Jacob,” Heinrich said in his deep, booming voice. “It was everything that I had hoped it would be, and now I can include Broadway as another obstacle conquered.” He lifted his glass to his author.

“Maybe we should make a toast to Jeffrey.”

“Pfft! He had nothing to do with it; if the original play was that good, he would have produced it.”

“What is she wearing?” Mendel asked no one in particular, lost in his own world.

Henry and Jacob gave him a puzzled look and continued, “The next phase of our little plan will begin in the morning when he loses his venue for
A Dreidel Spins in Yonkers.
He’ll never see that coming, huh?” Henry chuckled to himself again and stroked Herman.

“It’s his own damn fault, you know,” Jacob started. “All the man ever had to do was show me just a little appreciation and respect, and I would never have even come to you when you first contacted me.” He shook his head with disgust. “When he made a toast to me that night, I could have spit in his face. All of those years and all I get is a
toast
?”

“Another actress with breast cancer, what are they eating out there in California?” Mendel was talking to himself again.

“You are getting your revenge, Jacob. Just be patient and enjoy the show.”

“I have every intention of enjoying every moment of it. Maybe I’ll write a play about it someday.”

“
Ja
, and I’ll produce it!” Heinrich roared into laughter. “And when we are done with ruining his career, I am going to take so much pleasure in ruining his life.”

“Why does he wear those pants? He’s never been circumcised,” Mendel remarked with disgust.

Jacob looked at his drink intently and asked, “I was wondering, do we really have to send him to the island? I mean, ruining his career is pretty bad.”

“You have your idea of revenge, I have mine.”

“This woman wouldn’t know the difference between
Fiddler on the Roof
and a fiddler crab.” Mendel’s private conversation with himself continued.

“The man insulted my cat, and nobody insults Herman; isn’t that right, Herman?” Henry made kissing sounds at his adoring feline.

“I just thought.”

“Don’t think,” Mendel interrupted, now a part of the conversation, “It makes our schmekels itch.”

* * *

The dark clouds continued to move in over Jeffrey and everything he touched. After he realized that he had been robbed of one of his scripts, he looked through his entire library to see if anything else was missing and found that he had not lost anything else, but either Mendel or Jacob had vandalized certain scripts, leaving entire acts of the play illegible. Since Jeffrey did all of his work by hand, he was left without copies. It was infuriating to the point of numbness.

To add further insult to his professional injury, he had just received word that the Shlomo Theater that was housing
A Dreidel Spins in Yonkers
had been bought by an anonymous buyer, who insisted on closing the theater immediately for massive renovations, so the play would have to take a hiatus until they could find a suitable replacement. As luck would have it, no theater was available.

He knew that Heinrich Schultz had to be behind this, and undoubtedly Mendel Fujikawa had sunk his teeth into this perverse little game that they were playing. What he wasn’t sure of was how much, if any of this, was Jacob’s doing.

Try as he may, he just could not bring himself to accept that his former assistant’s betrayal could possibly run any deeper than simple theft. It just was not like the man whom he had gotten to know so closely over the last decade. But how well did he actually know him?

He thought about that for a minute and realized that he wasn’t even sure if Jacob’s parents were alive. He had no idea what his girlfriend’s name was, if he even had one, and knew next to nothing about the man’s personal interests. For all intents and purposes Jacob was a stranger, and that was Jeffrey’s fault and no one else’s.

This was definitely a hit to his system and the way he did business, but he figured that everyone went through bad times in their lives, everyone got knocked down from time to time, and when that happened, it was not how hard you got hit, but how often you kept getting up.

This was a phase, and Jeffrey knew that this too would eventually pass, but the real question was just how long this run of bad luck forced upon him by the vindictive Heinrich Schultz and Mendel Fujikawa would last. Jeffrey had no choice but to remain positive and work at getting his life back on the track that it had been on before he left for that fateful vacation.

But the problem with that was he had no idea what he was going to do next; he was suffering from an extreme case of writer’s block and was certain that the collection of plays in his library were not ready for Broadway yet. Each and every one of them demanded a certain level of tweaking that he just was incapable of giving them right now. He sat alone in his study at night and stared at page after page of the words that he himself had written and not a thing came to mind about what to add or take away. He was helpless in his own world.

He gritted his teeth at the thought of what was being done to him and searched for that determination that had always gotten him through every other crisis in his life, every long night of staring at a blank page, and the horrible, chopped-liver shortage of 1997.

Schultz, Fujikawa, and Jacob Stone may have thought they had beaten Jeffrey, that he was about to submit and beg for mercy, and that he was on the precipice of acknowledging defeat, but they were wrong. He would fight them with everything he had. He knew that he was a better man than the three of them combined and that his talent would win the day. The fans would come back and the accolades would once again ring out his name; he just wasn’t sure how long it was going to take for him to find those words, the momentum, and the fighter’s heart to retake what was his.

Broadway had been his kingdom for a long time, he had been the darling of the Great White Way since his early twenties, and now here, in his mid-forties and beginning to feel the stress of the years on his creative half, he was afraid that he no longer possessed the heart or the desire to fight back the way he thought he was capable of. The truth was that he had never really had to fight hard for anything in his life, and now that a fight was in front of him, staring him in the eye, it scared the hell out of him.

He looked at the contact list on his phone and thought that maybe he could find an old backer who could fight the wealth of Heinrich Schultz for Jeffrey and give the large kraut a taste of his own medicine, but quickly realized that the majority of his backers over the years were older people who mainly wanted to prove to their kids that you can’t take it with you. None of them had the killer spirit or the desire to fight somebody else’s battles. He knew that the first step in winning this war was to beat them at his own game, and that game was to write another play, even though
A Dreidel Spins in Yonkers
was still viable.

What he needed to do was write something that was so ear searing and distasteful that the audiences would be clamoring to be the first to see it. He needed to dig deep and find that man whom he thought had once resided in the depths of his soul, the one who was evil and vindictive, the one who could hurt another with his words and his work without batting an eye, the one whose only song in his heart was
Hail the Conquering King.

He stared at his blank page, and that man was nowhere to be found.