Authors: Ruby Preston
“You might want to see this,” Scarlett told the waiting press reps and photographers. She held the door open as they flooded in, cameras flashing and video cameras going. Scarlett was careful to stay out of their camera angle as she fled across the street.
Lawrence opened the car door and she slid into the back seat of the Escalade.
Lawrence greeted her with raised eyebrows. “Well?”
“Mission accomplished,” she said, sinking down into her seat with a satisfied but exhausted sigh.
Scene 52
It was 3:00 a.m., and Scarlett, Reilly, Lawrence, and the Jeremys were still celebrating their triumph. They’d decamped to Lawrence’s penthouse, where his extensive collection of multi-media devices were broadcasting the repercussions of their earlier evening exploits. They couldn’t get enough, endlessly replaying the events.
“I can’t believe Margolies saw you! Do you think he’ll hunt you down?”
“He has nothing to hunt her down
for
!” Lawrence said. “The white space interruption is untraceable. It was just a blip for a few seconds. Oops!” he said with a shrug and wide grin. “All Margolies knows is that she was there.”
“Too bad we can’t take credit for our videos,” Jersey Jeremy said. “That’s Oscar material, if ever I saw it.”
The Jeremys had gotten prime video of the whole thing as it played out. Considering the slight change in plan, things had gone extraordinarily well. They’d collected Reilly and the Jeremys into the waiting Escalade, after more chaos than even they could have predicted. Margolies had finally called off the performance after an hour of mayhem—all caught on video—and sent the star-studded crowd home.
They’d anonymously uploaded key portions of the video to YouTube, and the whole world was getting to experience the monumental disaster that had been
Olympus
. In fact, it was headlining news cycles worldwide, just as they’d hoped.
“What do you think will happen to Margolies?” Buff Jeremy asked.
“Well, there’s no way the show will go on,” Scarlett said. “If OSHA doesn’t shut him down for safety violations, the unions will.”
“And Cupid’s flown away on his little wings,” Reilly said, smugly.
“
Little
being the operative term,” Jersey Jeremy said, referring to the hundreds of pictures of the exposed anatomy of Cupid that had appeared on Facebook and Twitter almost instantly, once the wireless connection came back to the theater and the audience could use their phones.
An hour earlier, the news had covered Cupid,
sans
Psyche, boarding his jet to the UK. “No one can do this to me! Are you watching, Margolies?” Cupid spat into the camera. He was still in his toga. “My lawyers will have something to say to you. You are over.
Over!
”
“I think Cupid might be over, too. Not exactly the sexy rock-star image that he’s been so carefully cultivating,” Reilly said.
“Good riddance,” Scarlett said, with a knowing glance in Lawrence’s direction.
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I can think of a few reality TV shows with his name all over them,” Jersey Jeremy said. They all groaned, knowing he was right.
“So, it looks like a theater will be available in the near future.
Swan Song
,
anyone?” Lawrence asked.
“You make a good point,” Scarlett said. “But, if it’s up to me, let’s find another theater. The Jackman has too much bad karma right now.”
“Here, here!” Jersey Jeremy said. “I want Broadway more than anyone, but that has a seriously bad vibe, now that Margolies has slimed all over it.”
They fell silent as their headlines were picked up by the BBC morning news: “...a fluke signal interruption cut the wireless signal for just a few seconds at Broadway’s Jackman theater last night, causing catastrophic damage to the production and shuttering what sources are saying is the largest Broadway show ever attempted. Cupid, from the international sensation rock band Cupid and Psyche, will be in the studios later today with an exclusive interview, detailing the abuses he suffered under famed Broadway mogul, Margolies. Margolies was not available for comment. Also in the next hour, telecommunication and wireless experts will discuss America’s plans to address the pressing bandwidth and white space issues which threaten the uninterrupted wireless access not just of live theater but professional sports and religious organizations...”
Their Broadway debut, so to speak, was officially a success.
Scene 53
Candace poked her head into her editor’s office. It was Monday morning and she’d spent the weekend in bed. Despite the fever pitch of activity going on at the
Banner
, her editor had asked her not to come in over the weekend. But he requested her presence in his office first thing Monday morning.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, Candace, take a seat.” He indicated the chair across from his desk. “Close the door behind you.” She didn’t have a good feeling about that. The critic contest had been a disaster, and her editor had clearly taken the reins of her Arts and Culture section, at least for the weekend.
“Paper sales are through the roof, right?” she said, trying to start the conversation on a positive note. “I thought the editorial on the FCC and wireless issues was brilliant. That should be good for Broadway, and good for us. Puts it in the spotlight, so to speak…” She was babbling, trying to put off the inevitable she feared was coming.
He sat very still in his chair, a grim set to his mouth. “Candace—”
“Wow, I read the
Olympus
review. Or I guess I should say
reviews
. Was that your idea to open it up to reader reviews, rather than a traditional critic review?” Truthfully, she hated the idea.
“We’re trying something new for a while. So far, it looks like it’s going to be a success. Our critic gave just one person’s opinion, and readers weren’t always responding. Plus, critics are fallible, it turns out, and subject to political biases.” He gave her a pointed look. “This way, with peer reviews, people can get a more realistic picture.”
“You mean...” It didn’t compute. “You’re eliminating critics all together?”
“I like to think of it as expanding, actually. Based on the response for
Olympus
, it’s going to be a huge hit. It will just be something we’re going to try occasionally, but I think peer reviews are the wave of the future.”
“But what about my job?” Candace asked, in disbelief that the
Banner
of all places would be a trailblazer for reader-generated content.
“Ah, yes. Your job,” he said. He rested his arms on his desk and leaned forward. “I don’t think you’ve been entirely honest with me, Candace.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, though she could feel her face redden. Where was a drink when she needed one?
“I think you do. We searched your computer and recounted the public votes for the critic contest over the weekend. I must say I was very disappointed with what we found. You rigged the contest, rewrote a review, bribed a critic… and that’s just what we’ve found over the weekend.”
She stared at him stonily. She didn’t plan to admit a thing.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he prompted.
“I want a lawyer,” she said.
“I’m not the police,” he said. “And though it may surprise you, I’m not going to turn you in.”
“You’re not?” Her mind was spinning.
“Lucky for you, the
Banner
can’t afford this kind of scandal right now. However, your desk has been cleared out and your passwords have been changed.” He paused for her reaction, but hearing nothing, he continued. “Needless to say, you are fired as of this second, and if we hear so much as a peep out of you ever again, we will bring the full weight of the paper and the law down on your head. As far as the public knows, your position is simply being eliminated.” He spoke quietly but firmly. “Am I making myself clear?”
“I understand,” she said, feeling dizzy.
He buzzed his secretary on the intercom. “Please send in security.”
A burly security guard materialized in the doorway seconds later. She’d seen him waiting out there on her way in.
“Good bye, Candace,” her editor said, as the guard took her arm roughly and firmly led her toward the elevators.
She didn’t bother fighting. She knew she’d lost. The one small blessing was that at least her humiliation was relatively private. She couldn’t help but smile, even at that moment, at Margolies’ ultimate mortification. His disgrace and downfall was as publicized as his success had been.
She thought of the bottle of bourbon waiting on her kitchen counter. I am lucky, she thought, pleased with herself. My secrets are safe. This will all blow over.
Scene 54
Scarlett leaned back in her new desk chair and surveyed the scene at her new office. A bright, airy, two-office suite just off Times Square with windows overlooking street and sky, it was a vast improvement from her last digs. She couldn’t be more thrilled.
Setting up the office, she’d wondered more than a few times where Margolies was keeping himself. After the
Olympus
debacle, she had bravely gone to his office, only to find it crawling with IRS agents, tearing through files and trying to track down Margolies. In better circumstances and with lots of cash, a big show could try to weather a disastrous opening night. But with the theater shut down due to safety violations, the loss of the star actor, and an avalanche of law suits from everyone from the theater owner to the showbiz unions, Margolies had apparently cut his losses and skipped town.
Once the dust had settled, Lawrence and Scarlett had decided to start their own production company, Scarlett Productions, Inc. It was a big, terrifying step, but Scarlett knew it was now or never if she wanted to make a go at being a Broadway producer in her own right. Luckily, she had lots of support.
“Got any more calls for me, boss?” Lawrence shouted from the desk he had parked himself at in the front room. He’d been more than generous with his time, as well as substantial start-up funds, getting Scarlett Productions, Inc. up and running. He wasn’t willing to give up his jet-setting life for a day job, and would be around when she needed him, she knew.
She and Lawrence had pieced together a list of as many of Margolies’ regular investors as they could track down to let them know that, though Margolies was gone, they were invited to join
Swan Song
or other future musical-theater projects of Scarlett Productions, Inc.
Fortunately, most of Margolies’ investors knew both of them well and were only too happy to take their calls that week. While a few funders had run for the hills, in light of the massive
Olympus
losses and the IRS sniffing around, most were eager to back a winner and start making some of their money back.
“I just finished with my last call. That’s it for today,” Scarlett said, as she crossed the last name off her call list.
“I’m meeting some friends for a restaurant opening in Grammercy tonight. Care to join us?” Lawrence asked, pulling on his expensive-looking leather jacket.
“Would these ‘friends’ happen to be females of the fashion model variety?” Scarlett teased.
“Now, whatever would give you that idea?”
“Because I know you.”
“You might be right,” he admitted, with a barely concealed smile. “Please come. I hate eating alone.”