Showbiz, A Novel (32 page)

             
“
What good is sitting alone in your room
—
” Colin began to sing.

             
“I’m hanging up now, Sally Bowles,” cut in Scarlett.

             
“Just give me some dirt about
Olympus
that I can use in the dressing room later,” Colin said, unfazed by her urgency to get him off the phone. “Your ex-boss couldn’t possibly pull this off without you.”

             
“You have no idea,” Scarlett said cryptically. Her other line beeped. “Just... watch the news tomorrow, okay?”

             
“Two days in a row?” he whined. “Surely you jest.”

             
“Trust me. Just do it,” she said. “
Good night, my someone.
”

             
“
Goodnight, my love
,” he responded, per their show tune tradition.

             
Scarlett clicked over to Lawrence on the other line.

             
“Your chariot awaits!” Lawrence announced.

             
“I’ll be right down,” Scarlett said. She picked up her purse and her wrap.

             
As she reached her apartment door, she paused. Maybe her brother’s overdramatic sensibilities had rubbed off, but she was suddenly keenly aware of the gravity of what she was about to do. Up to that point in her career, she’d kept her head down and toed the line. She’d always worked hard toward her dreams and waited for a break. That night, however, was a uniquely pivotal moment.

             
She supposed it was somehow appropriate that, in the spirit of
Olympus
itself, she was tempting the fates. Next time she walked through the door, she’d be a different person, for better or for worse. Scarlett took a deep breath and strode out of her apartment with renewed determination.

Scene 49

             
Margolies stepped into his current
Actress’s
dressing room backstage at
Olympus
,
to check his tux and comb his hair. He could barely see himself amid all the opening-night notes and cards from her friends and fellow cast members, which were crammed around the edge of the mirror.

             
“You look hot,” she said, admiring him in the mirror. She was putting pin curls in her blonde hair and wearing only a lacy white bra and stockings.

             
And
you
look fifteen years old, he thought, not unfavorably. She was all the more appealing, after he had forced himself to make nice to Candace earlier in the week. It was just part of his job, but a particularly unpleasant part, as of late. That was over, since the contest was done. He was pleased that he hadn’t lost his touch, even on such an easy target as Candace.

             
“Break a leg tonight,” he said, kissing the top of her head as his hands brushed across her breasts.

             
“See you after?” she asked into the mirror as Margolies headed back into the hall.

             
“Yes. And bring a girl friend,” he replied. It would be a night to celebrate.

             
Olympus
had been running without a single technical glitch for a week. There had been more than a few personality glitches, thanks to his temperamental stars, but nothing he hadn’t been able to iron out. Just to make sure, he decided to make a quick visit to their very separate dressing rooms.

             
He knocked and then popped his head in Cupid’s dressing room.

             
“Come to wish me luck, love?” Cupid said, reclining on a ridiculous chaise lounge that he’d brought in. Two makeup artists applied special cover up to his arms, legs, and neck, to hide his extensive tattoos. That had been an expense that irked Margolies. But it had to be done. For all Margolies knew, Zeus may very well have had mermaids like Cupid’s peeking out from under his toga—but not in this production.

             
“How are you feeling tonight?” he asked. Talking to Cupid always gave him an instant headache.

             
“I feel like a million bucks,” he said, reaching around and squeezing the ass of the cuter of the two makeup artists. She glared at him.

             
A million bucks in sexual-harassment claims that I’ll have to deal with, he thought. But Margolies was confident that the show would make them all millions, at which point they could all sue away. It wouldn’t be the first time.

             
“Break a leg,” he said, escaping out the door. One down, one to go.

             
He knocked on Psyche’s door. No answer. When he tried to go in, he found it locked.

             
“Psyche?” he called through the door, feeling like an idiot having to do this in his own theater. “It’s Margolies.”

             
He heard the lock turn, and a mousy, wide-eyed costume assistant poked her head out.

             
“Sorry, sir. She’s...uh...busy.”

             
He could hear rustling and grunting through the open door. It didn’t take a genius to know what was going on. He was partly repulsed and partly tempted to go back to his new blonde starlet’s dressing room. Hadn’t he upgraded her to a much-coveted private dressing room entirely for that same purpose?

             
“Never mind,” he said to the red-faced costume girl. “Just tell her to break a leg.”

             
As he turned away, he marveled at the range of people who found their way into the business. In one dressing room, a makeup artists was offended at a pinch from a lecher, and in another, a costumer sat idly by while her subject went at it with the understudy. Fortunately, he was too old to be surprised by any of it.

             
Here, tonight, in that theater, Margolies felt perfectly in control—the real god of
Olympus
! He knew every second of the show, every detail of every effect, the strengths and flaws of every member of the cast.

             
He had already sent Candace his version of the
Olympus
review, since he hadn’t had time to deal with Reilly, yet. He couldn’t take any chances. His intern had gotten all the VIP tickets assigned with only minor complaints from a few folks. The big bosses from M______ Corp would finally see the immense and thrilling spectacle that their not-insignificant funds had paid for. On top of that, he was opening in perfect time to be fresh on people’s minds, heading into awards season. The Tony Award would be his for the taking.

             
He loved opening nights when he had a hit. He wondered how it must feel for other producers who didn’t know in advance how their shows would fare. How sad that must be, to have to wait and wonder about their opening-night fate. He, on the other hand, would be off with his little starlet, and hopefully one of her hot friends, while the world learned of his triumph.

             
He checked his watch. Red carpet time. He never brought a date to his shows, and not just because so often whoever she was was in the cast. He didn’t want anyone to infringe on his glory. He did it by himself and deserved all the credit.

             
As he came out of the stage door, the paparazzi were already lining the red carpet, which was surrounded by a network of velvet ropes, flash bulbs popping as the first celebrities arrived. He enjoyed hobnobbing with the celebrities, especially the women, but he never let them forget that they were on his turf. He was the real star tonight.

Scene 50

             
Scarlett could only barely see the Jeremys’ heads amid the star-studded crowd slowly entering the theater. The bright lights and flash bulbs were lighting up the block under the Olympic-sized
Olympus
marquee. Between the actual attendees and the hordes of onlookers, 44
th
Street was unofficially closed down.

             
“Testing, one two three,” Jersey Jeremy said. “People are going to think I’m a secret service agent.”

             
“Stop fiddling with your earpiece. People will see it if you keep putting your hand to your ear!” Scarlett chided. They had tested it a million times the night before. The pin-hole video cameras they were both wearing were also in working order.

             
She saw Buff Jeremy flinch as Lawrence adjusted the volume from the speakers that he’d rigged in the back seat of his Escalade. He’d been tricking out his car all week with listening devices, video feed, and computer systems. It looked like something out of Star Wars. His driver was only too thrilled to be given an unexpected night off.

             
“Too loud?” Lawrence asked.

             
“Better,” Buff Jeremy said. From behind the tinted windows of the Escalade, amid the town cars and limousines lining the streets and depositing guests, Scarlett, Lawrence, and Reilly were perfectly hidden, right under Margolies’ nose. The Jeremys had been elected to be the “men on the ground” inside the theater, since they were the only ones whom Margolies wouldn’t recognize on sight.

             
Scarlett watched as the Jeremys disappeared into the theater right behind Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick. From the way Jersey Jeremy was angling his body, she could tell he was trying to pick them up with his hidden camera.

             
“Thanks, guys, we can see them.” Scarlett laughed. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that she’d met SJP and Matthew on many occasions, since they had both done Margolies shows and were regulars at his opening nights. As were the line of other A-listers filing in past the gawkers and the press—Cameron Diaz, Robin Williams, Susan Sarandon, Whoopi Goldberg, Brad Pitt…the list went on.

             
For that particular opening, it appeared as though the celebrities outnumbered the normal audience members—if you could call the mega-wealthy investors “normal.”

             
“Any sign of the M______ Corp contingent?” Lawrence asked, still fiddling with one of the computers. “I’d hate for them to miss the action.”

             
“Hey, Jeremys, any sign of shady-looking goons in designer tuxes?” Scarlett said.

             
“Hang on, I’ll do a spin,” Jersey Jeremy said.

             
“Wait a sec,” Lawrence said, as he keyed in a few more codes on his laptop. The second laptop’s screen flashed on, and the camera feed was live. “The video’s up and running.”

             
“Thank god it wasn’t live five minutes ago. I forgot about the camera on my trip to the men’s room,” Buff Jeremy said, laughing.

             
With the video feed live, they could see what was happening in the theater, though at that point, the Jeremys were facing each other to appear as if they were talking to each other and not talking through surreptitious ear buds.

             
Jersey Jeremy started a slow, inconspicuous circle so that Lawrence, Scarlett, and Reilly could get a good look at the room. Scarlett recognized nearly everyone in the shot: investors, celebrities, and other VIPs. The room was awash in tuxes and twinkling gowns.

             
“Everything okay?” Reilly said, noticing the look on Scarlett’s face.

             
“I’m fine. It’s just a little weird to be watching all this from the outside,” Scarlett said. She’d felt a momentary pang of sadness. She’d played a big part in making the show happen and wasn’t even welcome at the opening.

             
“You’ll have plenty of opening nights in your future,” Lawrence said, reassuringly.

             
“I know, I know,” Scarlett said, looking down at her red cocktail dress, the same one she’d worn at
Swan Song
. Lawrence had shrewdly suggested that they all dress up, in case anyone gave them trouble about parking the SUV so close to the theater. If they were in formal wear, it would be easier to claim they were guests and belonged there.

             
“Do you wish you were in there, Lawrence?” she asked.

             
“And give up all this?” Lawrence said, indicating his makeshift techie wonderland. “Not on your life.”

             
Lawrence looked like he was born in a tux, Scarlett thought, and Reilly, since he’d gotten some sleep and was clean shaven, looked like something out of
GQ
. Too bad no one would see the attractive trio on that particular red carpet.

             
“The eagle has landed,” Reilly said.

             
Scarlett and Lawrence peered out the window. Sure enough, Margolies was making his way up the red carpet, kissing cheeks and shaking hands as the paparazzi took it all in, one click at a time. He was the epitome of a Broadway mogul.