Showbiz, A Novel (7 page)

             
“You have the revised budgets in front of you. This is the one we’re going with. Non-negotiable. If you can’t stick to it, I’ll find someone else who will.” He paused as his eyes swept the table for signs of an argument. Most of the attendees were looking down at the budget. Though each of them had weighed in with their initial budget projections, a show that big was sure to have budget overruns. Scarlett knew it was a testament to Margolies’ power that these hugely accomplished creatives would allow him to talk to them that way.

             
“Moving on. Let’s go around the table. Cupid, let’s start with you. Where are we on the music?” Cupid was sitting to Scarlett’s immediate right.

             
“The score is done. And I think you’ll find that it’s absolute perfection,” he said arrogantly. Scarlett could tell he was preparing to wax poetic about the music, as he had on many occasions.

             
“Good. Next,” Margolies cut him off.

             
Next up was the sound designer. “I think we’ve resolved several of the issues that came up in the last meeting. The new costume adjustments should make it easier for the actor’s body microphones to come on and off for the storm scene.” He referred to a scene where real water and pyrotechnics would be used to represent Zeus’s anger. It would present a challenge for the sound and special-effects people, who had to make it work while allowing for the actors to be heard, and body mics weren’t made to get wet. Scarlett had seen amazing storm scenes done with lighting effects to simulate water and lightning, but that time, they were going for the real thing. It was probably unnecessary, but par for the course on the epic show. And Scarlett had to admit, if all went as planned, the effect would be truly spectacular.

             
They continued around the table. Scarlett was making notes as they went so that she could follow up with the various designers and schedule any additional conversations that needed to happen, based on technical challenges.

             
She felt a hand squeeze her upper thigh. It wasn’t the first time Cupid had tried something like that. Scarlett didn’t understand why a man with thousands of screaming fans who would welcome his advances was determined to hit on her, though she gave him zero encouragement. As he began to slide his hand up her thigh, all the while pretending to pay attention to the meeting, she discreetly crossed her legs and slid as far as she could to the edge of her chair away from him.

             
He glanced sideways at her with a look that said he wasn’t giving up that easily. But he took his hand back, like it was all a fun flirtatious game. Scarlett glanced at Margolies to see if he had noticed the interaction, but he was focused on the update from the flying designers. The distraction had taken her focus away from the meeting. They were talking about the first act finale flying sequence when she tuned back in.

             
“...innovative remote-control technology that requires fewer cables and pullies in the rigging.” The designer was gesturing to the tracks and cables that were being installed for the flying sequences that would occur over the audience. He held up a remote-control device. “We should be ready to test it next week.”

             
The stage manager jumped in. “Let me know when you start testing the flying effects. The actors union will need to come through to do their usual safety check, since this is new technology.”

             
Margolies cut in. “I’m counting on the fact that we won’t get any pushback from the unions, gentlemen. Do what you need to do to assure we pass the safety inspection.” Both men nodded. “I don’t want anything to hold up the rehearsal process. We start previews in a couple of weeks, as you well know, and a lot of eyes are on us. No delays. No mistakes.”

             
“Cupid,” asked the flight designer, “can you stick around after the meeting today to do a final fitting for the harness?”

             
“No can do, love,” Cupid
said
. “We’ve got the photo shoot for
Rolling Stone
this afternoon, I’m afraid. Can’t you have the understudy do it?”

             
Cupid still doesn’t get the concept of an understudy, thought Scarlett. He treats his understudy like a film stand-in who does the dirty work so the star can waltz in for the final take. Such was not the case for theater understudies, who usually stayed out of the way during rehearsals and observed, so the star could have the maximum time to settle into their role.

             
Psyche piped in: “Maybe the understudy should just do the role for you, Cupid.”

             
“He is certainly
doing
something of mine these days.”

             
“Shut your face. At least I haven’t heard him complain once about my lyrics, which is a nice change.”

             
“Well, now,” Cupid
said
, “I wonder why that would be.” He made a lewd sexual gesture with his hands.

             
Margolies cut them off. “Enough. We’ll meet again next week. Scarlett will be checking in with you in the meantime. ” He pushed back from the table, and the rest of the group began collecting their papers. He leaned over to Scarlett. “Go with them to the photo shoot. We can’t have them ripping each other’s heads off in front of the press.”

             
Scarlett had hoped to make a quick escape back to the office. Instead, she would be babysitting a grown man and his wife.

             
Cupid leered at her. “My driver’s out front. Care for a ride?” he said
ride
in a way that made it clear he wasn’t talking about carpooling.

             
“No, thanks,” she said quickly as she got up from the table. She checked her phone. She really didn’t have time for his rock-star antics.

             
A text had come in from the intern:
A delivery came in for you. You back in the office today?

             
She shot a text back:
Prob not. Can it wait?

             
The response:
Perishable
.

             
She couldn’t imagine what it could be, but she figured if she was quick, she could run back to her office and still get to the photo shoot. She glanced around to see where Margolies had gone. She saw him in the back of the house talking intently to someone. He didn’t look like one of the designers. In fact, he wasn’t anyone she recognized. Strange, since she knew everyone involved, and they didn’t let just anyone into the theater during rehearsals.

             
On her way out, she walked that way to get a better look. She caught only a second of their whispered conversation.

             
“...taking your word for it, Margolies,” the stranger was saying as he handed Margolies an envelope.

             
“You won’t be disappointed,” responded Margolies before Scarlett moved out of earshot.

             
She ran across the street and up to her office. On her desk was a single red rose and an envelope.

             
“Who delivered this?” Scarlett asked the intern.

             
“It was a courier. Looks like you have an admirer,” he teased.

             
She couldn’t imagine who it would be from. She opened the note and read its contents.

             
Headline: “Gossip columnist seen dining with beautiful up-and-coming producer this Friday night at 8:00 p.m.”

             
Scarlett felt her pulse quicken, and a smile played at her lips.

Scene 12

             
Scarlett didn’t have occasion to spend much time in the Murray Hill area of Manhattan. It was just a few blocks southeast of the theater district, and yet, like all Manhattan neighborhoods, it felt like a different world from the hive of theater activity. But maybe that’s why Reilly had suggested they meet there. She felt nervous, but not unpleasantly.

             
The taxi dropped her off at Artisanal Bistro. She had splurged on a cab since she wasn’t entirely sure where the restaurant was, and she was wearing new black heels. Though fashion wasn’t her forte, she felt good. It had been a while since she had been on a true date, and it was nice to get some
welcome
attention from a man for a change—even if it was a man she probably would be smart to avoid.

             
She was right on time but was pleased to see he was already waiting for her at the table.

             
“You look fantastic,” he said as he stood and kissed her cheek.

             
“Thanks.” She actually blushed. Why she had turned into a silly school girl that night, she didn’t know. She hardly knew him. His columns, though clever and witty, could also be so biting and heartless. They made it hard for her to believe he could really be a good guy. Nice looking, yes, but nice?

             
They exchanged pleasantries and got the initial ordering out of the way—two glasses of the house champagne and Artisanal’s signature cheese fondue.

             
“I must admit, I was surprised by your invitation,” said Scarlett.

             
“Really? I assumed a girl like you would be turning men away right and left.”

             
She waved off the compliment. “I mean, I sort of gave you a hard time when we met the other day.”

             
“I deserved it. It was nice to have an honest conversation,” he said sincerely. “You certainly weren’t easy to track down.”

             
“How did you find me, by the way?”

             
“I never reveal my sources,” he said with a wink and then continued, casually, “You didn’t mention when we met that you are Margolies’ associate producer. That’s a big job. I’m impressed.”

             
“I don’t like to broadcast my job around industry people. When I do, they either want to give me the script to their new un-produced musical or regale me with horror stories about Margolies. Believe me, I don’t need to hear them.”

             
“I’m sure you don’t. You probably know him better than anyone these days.”

             
“Unfortunately for me, that’s probably true,” she said as their champagne arrived.

             
“Cheers to the girl with the best and worst job on Broadway.” He raised his champagne flute.

             
“And to the columnist with all the dirt.” She raised hers in return.

             
She eyed Reilly over the rim of the glass as she sipped her champagne. It was nice to meet a guy who asked questions and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. She figured it was probably due to that fact that he was a journalist and made his living interviewing people for gossip column fodder. A thought suddenly occurred to her.

             
“Is it safe to assume this evening is strictly off the record?” she asked.

             
“I never kiss and tell.” He was nothing if not charming.

             
“Seriously, though,” she said, “I probably shouldn’t even be talking to you, much less having dinner.”

             
“Look—I like you. I’m not going to screw this up by betraying your trust after our first date.”

             
Just then their fondue arrived. It smelled amazing. This evening has the potential to be the perfect date, thought Scarlett.

             
She changed the subject. “So, did you always want to be a journalist when you grew up?”

             
“Something like that. I liked writing in school and have always been curious and interested in getting to the bottom of things.”

             
“Well, it’s impressive what you’ve managed to do with your career so far. Your own column. A name in the business.”

             
He seemed pleased by the compliment. “Thanks, but I don’t see myself being a ‘gossip columnist,’ as you say, forever.”

             
“It sounds like a pretty good gig. And you certainly keep the rest of us on our toes.”

             
“It’s been fun,” Reilly
said
.

             
That was an understatement, Scarlett figured. You didn’t land a job like his without some major effort and a lot of politics.

             
He turned the conversation back to her. “Do you see yourself producing with Margolies until he drives you into the ground?”

             
“Not a chance!” she said, a little too emphatically.