Showbiz, A Novel

by Preston, Ruby

  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.

  Pride cometh before a fall, thought Scarlett. She had been momentarily worried that she wouldn’t be able to go through with their plans that night. But seeing him, there, a puffed-up peacock reveling in glory that was built on the broken backs of everyone involved, she had no qualms.

  “Look behind him,” Reilly said. Sure enough, the goon squad was hot on his heels.

  “I bet he loves that,” Scarlett said sarcastically, knowing how much Margolies must hate having a trail of middle aged, corporate suits, tailing him. She noticed Margolies ushering them in front of him and into the theater so that they wouldn’t infringe on his red-carpet photo ops.

  “What’s going on in there, guys?” Lawrence said into the Jeremys’ earpieces.

  Scarlett looked at the video feed, currently focused on some guy's ass.

  “Sorry, just getting some footage for later,” Jersey Jeremy said as he adjusted position. The tight butt in question turned out to belong to Ashton Kutcher.

  “Avert your eyes,” Reilly said, jokingly putting his hands over the screen. “No girlfriend of mine should have to see that.”

  Scarlett knew he had meant to be funny, but the word girlfriend just hung in the air between them. She was still unwilling to discuss their relationship. The recent weeks had been exceedingly hard on their fledgling romance.

  Lawrence came to the rescue, as usual. “I hate to be a killjoy,” he said, talking to the Jeremys but eyeing the pair next to him in the car, “but it would be great if you could go to your seats, so we can make sure we have the camera angles right.”

  “If we must. I suppose our public can wait,” Jersey Jeremy said grandly.

  “Hey, look, there’s Candace,” Reilly said.

  “Ooh, I need to see this Cruella D’editor! Tell me which one she is,” Buff Jeremy said.

  “She hasn’t gone in yet, but you can’t miss her,” Reilly said. “Fifty going on eighty, blonde, tacky red dress, drunk as a skunk.”

  “Shouldn’t she be in jail or something?” Scarlett asked.

  “I’m sure they’re still digging up proof before they nail her for fraud. I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes a while,” Lawrence said.

  Candace had made it halfway up the block and then sagged against a wall. She looked really out of it.

  “And to think, she was supposed to be my date for the evening,” Reilly said.

  “She clearly needs someone to prop her up. Where’s her charming ex-husband?” Scarlett said, ungenerously.

  “I wonder if she still has the extra ticket that I would have used,” Reilly mused as if to himself.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Scarlett said with a warning look in his direction.

  “This is just too good to miss,” Reilly said with an impish grin.

  He leapt out of the car before Scarlett or Lawrence could stop him.

  He wove his way through the cars inching up the street dropping off bejeweled guests, and he put his arm out to Candace. Her white knight to the rescue.

  She looked confused initially, but after some sort of brief conversation she fished what appeared to be two tickets out of her tiny handbag, spilling various contents in the process, and allowed Reilly to escort her in. He tastefully steered her around the paparazzi and flashed a subtle thumbs up, along with a roll of his eyes, toward the Escalade, before disappearing into the theater.

  “That kid’s got balls,” Lawrence said.

  “Once a gossip columnist, always a gossip columnist,” said Scarlett, more than a little annoyed that he’d ditched them just like that. True, he wasn’t officially part of their plan, since he’d come into the process so late. But she’d wanted his moral support, at least. “But we aren’t clear what Margolies does or doesn’t know about Reilly’s Swan Song review and his job at the Banner. We don’t know what Candace has been telling him. What if Margolies confronts Reilly?”

  “Well, luckily for Reilly, Margolies would never cause a scene tonight. You know as well as I do that there’s too much at stake for him to risk overshadowing his masterpiece with a seedy showdown with Reilly in the lobby.”

  “You’re right. Guess that just leaves you and me to hold down the fort out here.”

  “You won’t hear me complaining. I haven’t had you all to myself in a while,” Lawrence said, taking a break from his electronics to give Scarlett a reassuring smile.

  “Sorry I haven’t been very fun recently. I really appreciate what you’ve done for me. All this...” She gestured to the high tech set up.

 
“Are you kidding? This is the most fun I’ve had in months!”

  “Sorry to interrupt this charming tête-à-tête,” Jersey Jeremy said, interrupting their moment, “but these are crappy seats.”

  “If you keep whining, I’m going to delete the Ashton footage right now,” Scarlett retorted.

  “Actually,” Lawrence said, “you guys are perfect where you are.” He winked at Scarlett. “Just do me a favor and sit up straight. Remember not to cross your arms or make any sudden moves.” He pointed to the screen and said to Scarlett, “Look, they’ll have a perfect vantage point.”

  From the Jeremys’ seats in the balcony, the video feed gave Scarlett and Lawrence an unobstructed view of the stage over the gilt railing of the first balcony. The theater was majestic all by itself, and Margolies had pulled out all the stops. All they could see on stage at the moment was a large scrim with a projection of Mount Olympus and occasional flashes of lightning in the background. A hazer was already going at full steam, adding to the atmosphere and emphasizing each beam of light dramatically. Scarlett had to admit it was a cool effect, even from where they were.

  They could hear the orchestra tuning up over the murmur of conversation picked up in the Jeremys’ earpieces.

  Scarlett glanced at the countdown computer. Lawrence hadn’t been kidding about how many laptops he had. Eight of them had been called into action that night. One was counting down until 8:00 p.m. even though they both knew that opening nights never started on time. That was why they needed the Jeremys on the inside.

  In order to precisely time their “attack,” they needed to be able to see what was happening in live time. Scarlett thought it was ironic that despite all the technology, their plan was so incredibly simple.

  “Let’s get this show on the road!” Buff Jeremy said.

  “It’s 8:00 p.m. The show should be starting sometime in the next ten minutes,” Lawrence laughed, sitting back to wait.

  The sidewalk was starting to clear out. The paparazzi were packing up, preparing to wait in the lobby until they were allowed in to the theater for curtain-call photos—though Scarlett had a feeling that opening night, they’d get in before that.

  The gawking tourists were shuffling away or heading into the Sardi’s and Angus bars across the street to wait for people-watching opportunities during intermission. A few brave onlookers tried to sneak past the velvet ropes and take photos of themselves on the now-vacant red carpet. The theater security guards shooed them away.

  Scarlett and Lawrence turned their attention back to the video monitor as the lights went down in the theater. The cameras took a second to re-focus then showed a crystal-clear picture of the scrim going up as the audience hushed and the opening number began.

  “We’re waiting for our cue,” Lawrence said into the microphone. “Enjoy the show.”

  Scarlett felt nervous all of sudden. She shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable in her stiff satin dress. “I can’t watch,” she said, turning to gaze out the window.

  “Opening-night jitters?” Lawrence asked, patting her hand.

  She gripped his hand back. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “But why does it have to be me?”

  “Because I need to monitor all this and make sure we’re using the right frequencies. The Jeremys are in the theater, and Reilly is...wherever he is. And, anyway, it’s only right that it’s you. Artistic justice.”

  “But the cast and crew...” she trailed off.

  “Will be just fine,” he reminded her. She sighed. He placed an iPad in her hand. “Your weapon, m’lady!”

  “Death by technology,” she said, unable to muster a smile.

  “Death by boredom,” Jersey Jeremy whispered into his microphone. Scarlett had forgotten that they were being overheard.

  “No one’s dying of anything! Shhh. I’m trying to watch the show!” Buff Jeremy said.

  Chastened, they all went silent and watched as Act One of Olympus proceeded. Margolies would be pleased, thought Scarlett. The show was beautiful. True, during the contrived scenes between the special effects, it dragged a bit. But a general audience wouldn’t care; they came to see the spectacle that wouldn’t disappoint. Well, maybe tonight it would.

  Just as the first technical sequence went into effect, the video feed went blank. Lawrence jumped to attention, fiddling with buttons and dials.

  Scarlett whispered into the mic, “Guys, are you there?”

  Radio silence.

  She looked at Lawrence in a panic. “What happened?”

  “Best guess?” he said, not looking up from his frantic clicking and typing. “The wireless equipment on the stage bumped us out of available bandwidth. Pretty ironic, considering. I’m trying to find an open frequency for ours.”

  Scarlett kept her mouth shut and let Lawrence focus. The Jeremys probably wouldn’t even realize they weren’t broadcasting.

  She checked the time, recalculating, prepared to guess at the right moment to put their plan in action in case the feed didn’t come back up. Not ideal, but she was thinking on her feet.

  “I’ve restarted the system, but it might be a good idea to talk about Plan B.”

  “Well, last I knew, Act One was a little over an hour. While they’ve probably made some changes, we could take a guess at when the finale will be in full swing.”

  “Too risky. If we miss our window, it all goes to hell. We need to know what’s happening inside.”

  “What are we going to do about getting the video?” Scarlett asked, suddenly remembering the footage they were after.

  “The cameras are still recording, so we should be fine on that front. It’s just that they just lost their wireless transmission.”

  The computers started up again, and Lawrence frantically tried to get the feed going. “I think you may need to go into the theater.”

  “Uh uh,” she said, shaking her head violently. “No way.”

  “We may not have any other choice.”

  “Why can’t you do it?” she said.

  “Because I need to get this up and running. And, anyway, theater security knows you and won’t question it if you go in. Especially looking like that.” He raked his eyes over her tight dress.

  “Don’t you think Margolies told them I was fired?”

  “Not likely. Why would he think you’d try to crash his party?”

  Lawrence has a point, thought Scarlett. Margolies was way too vain to think of Scarlett as a threat, once he’d cut her off from the office.

  “Okay, but only as a last resort.”

  “Well, the clock is ticking, and I’m not getting a signal. He’s eating up some crazy bandwidth in there. I have a whole new respect for the sound and tech guys on the show,” Lawrence said, in awe. “Well, at least they won’t have to worry about someone’s cell phone ringing during the show.”

  “Really, they’re using up that much signal?”

  “Not quite, but pretty darn close. Which, let me remind you, is the good news for us—present crisis notwithstanding. Are you ready for your close up?”

  “Please, please, please don’t make me do this.” Scarlett begged. “What if Margolies sees me? What if someone recognizes me?”

  “Margolies won’t see you. You know he always stays rooted in his box. He’ll be easy to avoid. And if anyone else sees you, so what? You look great.”

  “So what’s the plan? I just stick all this equipment down the front of my dress and wander inside?” Scarlett said, gesturing to the laptops.

  “The equipment can stay here. Once I reset the frequency, all you’ll need is this.” Lawrence was in the process of wrapping the iPad in her shawl, trying to make it look like a bag of some sort.

  “That’s hideous.”

 
“You have a better idea?”

  She looked down at her tight little red number.

  “Well...” She grabbed the iPad and slid it up the bottom of her short dress securing it against her stomach.

  “That was so hot!” Lawrence said.

  “Oh, please!” She turned awkwardly in her seat, giving him different angles to make sure the flat device wasn’t detectable. “Can you tell?”

  “I’m not sure. Can you wiggle a little more?”

  “You’re terrible,” she said, blushing. “Please tell me I don’t have to do this.”

  “This isn’t just about us, Scarlett. You know that. And you are going to pull this off,” he said, serious all of sudden. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  She took a deep breath, feeling the cold iPad against her stomach as he handed her wrap to her.

  “Here goes nothing,” she said as she opened the door and swung her feet out onto the sidewalk, flashing the security guards with her sexiest smile.

  Scene 51

  Getting past security had been a breeze. But now, standing in the shadows at the back of the theater, she felt her heart pounding wildly.

  Psyche was midway through her Act One ballad. It was one of the more emotional moments in the show that Scarlett had always thought would have been more effective with just Psyche, on stage alone, and some top-notch lighting. Instead, the pensive melody was lost within an overly intricate number involving a bevy of maidens singing backup around Psyche’s feet, attempting choreography in what was basically an insanely expensive on-stage wading pool.

  Despite her feelings about the show, Scarlett couldn’t help but get a thrill standing at the back of the audience and gazing over their heads at the shimmering stage. Even given the unthinkable circumstances, she still felt her best inside a Broadway theater.

  The iPad had started sliding down her stomach. Her nervous sweat dislodged it—a thought that grossed her out. She looked around. The only other people at the back were the ushers, whose attention was turned to the sexy Aphrodite scene now occurring on stage. She sidled behind the narrow lobby bar and ungracefully birthed the iPad from under her dress.