by JJ Knight
We take a bow and head to the side stage to meet Barry. My stomach flutters. A live interview. I almost trip on the hem of my dress, but Blitz squeezes my hand and keeps me steady.
“That was truly lovely,” Barry says, grinning broadly. His dark gray suit gleams as much as his dark hair. “How did it feel?”
“Amazing,” Blitz says. “I’m so happy to be back onstage with Livia.” He gazes down on me with utter fondness.
I lean into him automatically. “I would never want to dance with anyone else,” I say.
“Oh, ho!” Barry says. “That’s a lot to live up to, Blitz. Is the Texas ballerina trying to tie you down?”
“She already has, Barry,” Blitz says.
Barry looks out to the audience. “If you agree that Livia is the girl for Blitz, remember to cast your vote.”
We exit the stage and are plunged into the semidarkness of backstage.
“I must run, my love,” Blitz says with a quick kiss on my hair. “See you after the show.”
He heads to wardrobe to prepare for Mariah’s number. I hesitate a moment, watching the chaos of the set change, the new chorus dancers, and the crew shifting everyone around.
Mariah passes me.
“Good luck,” I say. “Your Paris number is beautiful.”
She looks back a moment, not sure what to say, it seems, then nods and moves on. The pattern begins again, commercial break and montage. I realize she’ll have to go out alone and wait for Blitz. I was lucky to be the first one, so he was dressed and ready for me. He’ll be increasingly harried as the show goes on.
Not that it will matter. He’s a professional. But it is only his second live show.
I lift my skirt to avoid tripping and head out into the hall. Only when I’m back in my dressing room, now full of flowers from all the producers and one from the girls at Dreamcatcher, do I relax and watch the rest of the broadcast.
Chapter 30
We don’t get to know the results of the show. Nobody does. Some independent technology company tallies and verifies the results.
Because there is a “last dance” for the girl who gets eliminated at the end of the next live show, we all practice a quiet, simple number with Blitz in addition to our “classic number” that we will be judged by.
I try to reason with Kendra and Amara about the pancake tutu for our ballet. It’s in the way, I explain, and it means Blitz and I can’t embrace, not even in the post-interview.
But they are stubborn about this. I wonder what is going on.
More footage is taken of us practicing. Giselle is often seen roaming the halls in nothing but a tiny satin robe, looking for cameras.
I tape a piece of paper over the oval mirror so the camera in my dressing room can’t get any footage I don’t want. I spotted a couple clips in the montages when we rewatched the show that looked a little hazy, like they were behind two-way mirrors in the other girls’ rooms. I didn’t see anything that would have been from the camera in mine.
While there was a definite emphasis on Giselle in the opening show, the live show was extremely evenhanded. We all had the same type of footage, interviews, dance rehearsals, and date footage.
But somebody up top wasn’t happy with the low-conflict nature of the show. So a session where all four girls get together to be chatty is scheduled. It will be held at a restaurant where we will all eat lunch together.
The luncheon is a fiasco. I’m not asked to say anything ahead of time, but the other girls pick fights that are obviously scripted. Mariah accuses Giselle of sleeping with Blitz just to get an in. Christy points out that Blitz doesn’t have a say anymore in who wins, so why would anybody sleep with him?
I wonder who gave them memos and left me out, or maybe they just talk to each other and not me.
For the most part, I stay quiet and wait between takes for the prop people to remove food from our plates so it looks like we’re actually eating.
But the next time the cameras roll, Giselle turns on me. “So the goody-two-shoes ballerina thinks she’s got a lock on Blitz.”
My face burns, and I pray it isn’t as red as it feels.
Mariah and Christy try to tell Giselle to back off, but she goes full drama queen, standing up and throwing her napkin on the table. “He was in love with ME!” she says, her eyes tearing up. “We have a connection.” She points her finger at all the other girls. “He quit sleeping with everybody to be with only me.”
She smooths the sides of her skintight coral dress. “Let me tell you all,” she says in a hiss, “that nobody gets Blitz Craven off like I do.” She leans in to me. “And no fresh-faced, naive teenager from podunk Texas can turn him on like I do.”
And that’s when I lose it. And I say something I shouldn’t. And I know they will air it, because that’s what reality TV shows do.
I sit up tall and say, in my most prim and naive voice, “He didn’t mention that when he was tying me up in aerial silks and making me come while suspended from a four-poster bed.”
Well, that shuts her up.
The assistant director, who is supervising for Devon, bites his hand in excitement over my outburst.
Giselle looks at him. “I think you got what you were looking for,” she says, and walks out.
I guess that was who was sending scripted ideas to the other girls.
Mariah and Christy look at me sympathetically. “That is going to go so viral,” Christy says. “Maybe even more than Blitz’s terrible Tweet about Giselle.”
I sit quietly and wait until both camera operators are packing their stuff before I say, “He can’t stand her, you know. He didn’t mean to Tweet that thing, but he was tired enough of her to say what he did.”
Jessie appears and hands me my bag. “Let’s get out of here,” she says. Even at sixteen, she knows when I should quit.
I don’t want to ride in the studio limo, where Giselle is probably sitting and stewing. Or maybe it was all faked. I don’t know. I feel sick about the whole thing.
I’m supposed to go back for a workout with my trainer, but for the first time since I joined the Dance Blitz cast, I go full diva.
“Jessie, go grab that taxi,” I say, pointing to a yellow cab dropping an elderly woman off at a shop a few doors down. She takes off to nab it.
When I get in, I tell the driver my home address and give Jessie cash to cover going back to the studio.
“I’m not feeling well enough to work out today,” I say.
Jessie nods her approval. “You need a break.”
I send a text to Blitz to let him know what I’ve done, blabbing about our aerial silk sex. I don’t think he’ll get it for a while since he’s flying back from a morning show in Seattle, but he surprises me by writing back immediately.
The pressure gets to all of us. I think it’s hilarious. Can I do it again?
This makes me smile. Just three more shows and we’re out.
Chapter 31
The second live show is similar to the first. There is a different feel to it, though, since we know someone has been eliminated, and her dance tonight will be for nothing, since the votes won’t count after she’s gone.
Someone will be going home.
I almost hope it’s me at this point. After the hidden camera, and the luncheon gaffe, I’m pretty sure I’m not cut out for this game.
But my pointe looks good. I’ve improved faster than I would have at home, motivated by the demands of the show.
Our set is very simple, just a few white pillars. My costume is extremely stiff, not just the pancake tutu, but the bodice. It doesn’t really move with me, but around me. I wonder if regular ballerinas have outfits like this and have to manage. I could have used pointers from a professional, but it’s too late now.
I dread the moment when my lunch comment goes live. Nobody’s seen the clips. No one’s talked about it. The public doesn’t know, since only staff and paid extras were in the cafe.
I feel sick to my stomach as I head through the
backstage to do my dance with Blitz. I’m later in the lineup this time, third instead of first, so I’ll have to go out alone and wait for him and his costume change.
I’ve kept my screen off in my room, hoping I miss seeing myself be vulgar, as my dad would call it. God, I hope now that they are avoiding the show. Have people at church seen it and asked how such a quiet sweet girl got here?
I feel like I can never talk to them again after this.
Blitz says I was baited to say it. That Giselle was probably instructed to get me to say something trampy to increase the raunch level of the show, because that was the expectation of the viewers. He’d done way worse.
But he is a man, and the fact is, he doesn’t feel the stab of being called a slut. Even Giselle seems to want that image and lets it roll right off her. But I don’t.
The show goes to commercial and I head out onstage. My dance starts as a solo with me on the ground, lost and alone until Blitz comes along. I like the music very much, and I think the story of the dance is beautiful and true.
But I’m full of anxiety about the clip. I pray they don’t play it while I’m out there waiting. They didn’t show anything during rehearsal, as one of the monitors wasn’t working, causing a tech panic.
I can really only listen, as my head is down. There’s a little clip from last week’s dance, I know that by the music. And Blitz’s princess line from our castle date.
Then Blitz saying, “You’ll captivate every viewer out there.”
I have to glance up at that. It’s the footage from the dressing room. It looks really good for being behind that two-way mirror. But it still makes me burn. At least they can’t use that camera anymore. It’s covered now.
The screen shifts to the dance background, and I drop my head again, relieved they didn’t run the lunch footage.
The music begins. I start the dance, unfolding like a flower around the difficult tutu. I go up on pointe, slowly, carefully, and the audience claps.
Then Blitz is there, taking my hand, and I turn uncertainly to him.
We dance gently, then with growing certainty, until I go into one heck of a dizzying spin. The studio audience is roaring with approval now.
Then our dramatic end pose, and freeze.
“Perfect,” Blitz whispers.
We head over to Barry. If the show goes on the way the first one did, a chit chat interview then on to the next contestant, I’m in the clear. Maybe they decided my quote was too bad for television. This makes me smile.
“Somebody looks happy about that performance!” Barry says.
“She was amazing, wasn’t she?” Blitz asks the crowd. They scream and cheer in response. “Are you voting yet?” More noise.
“Do you feel things are going well between you two?” Barry asks me.
“Perfectly,” I say. “He’s an amazing partner.”
“Well, you two looked great,” Barry says.
We exit to the back. I let out a long breath. No mention of the clip. Now there is just Giselle’s dance and the elimination. Then someone will slow dance as a farewell.
Rather than making us all change, which would be very hard for Giselle, since her dance and the elimination are back to back, we are to stay in our costumes for this one. I wait backstage with Jessie. Mariah and Christy, who have already danced, are also in the wings.
Giselle passes, wearing a red and black dress that looks like a rose. They must be doing a tango, which would make sense for them. That was always their dance.
Jessie comes up beside me. “You were great!” she whispers.
I nod and watch the stage. Our order isn’t as much about strategy on voting as Blitz’s outfits and how much change needs to happen. He rushes back by in black satin pants and a matching shirt. He carries a rose.
They are good. I wouldn’t call their dance extraordinary. But clearly it is a crowd pleaser, as the audience hoots and cheers for every dramatic turn. When it ends, Giselle and Blitz head over to Barry.
A girl motions to me, and I follow Christy and Mariah to the edge of the stage. We don’t go out until the commercial.
Barry announces the break and we three girls walk forward.
Blitz takes a long pull of water as he heads to center stage. I don’t know how he does so many dances in a row. He must run on pure adrenaline.
The crew rapidly removes the tango set.
The four girls line up together and hold hands like we were instructed during practice. I’m between Christy and Mariah.
It’s strange and intimate, holding their hands. I’m just glad I’m not near Giselle.
Blitz passes his water to a crew member and they rush off.
The lights come back up. Barry says, “And now it’s time for one of these lovely ladies to go home.”
The crowd makes a collective “awwww” sound.
“Your votes have been tallied from last week. First we are going to announce the two girls who led the numbers.” He opens an envelope. “These girls will definitely be back next week. Mariah and Giselle.”
My face burns a little. So I’m not a fan favorite after all. If what Barry says is even true. Who knows? This is television.
Mariah and Giselle hug each other and move closer to Blitz.
Barry looks over all of us with a dramatic pause. “And the third girl who gets to stay another week is…”
Another pause. A musical pulse plays in the silence, like a heartbeat.
“Livia Mays!”
I let out a breath and hug Christy. Then I step over next to Mariah and Giselle.
Christy starts crying. Blitz comes up to her and brushes a tear off her cheek.
Barry says, “That means Christy will not be back on Dance Blitz. She and Blitz Craven will do their final dance together tonight for all of her fans.”
Mariah, Giselle, and I head offstage. We’re done for the night.
I turn to watch Christy dance with Blitz. It’s nothing fancy, just a tight slow dance. She is crying hard. Blitz pats her back and pays close attention, murmuring things in her ear.
“Another week, another paycheck,” Giselle says as she passes by me to head to the hall. “Expect next week to get a lot crazier.”
Now that the show is over, I’m dying to know if they aired the lunch clip. I follow Mariah out into the hall.
“Did they show the lunch footage?” I ask her. “I couldn’t bear to watch.”
“Yeah,” she says. “They showed Giselle’s meltdown. It was all geared to make her look dramatic. She’s getting a lot of airtime.”
“She makes good Tweets,” I say, then bite my lip as I realize I’ve made a gaffe. Blitz’s Tweet is what got us in this whole mess.
Mariah shrugs. “I’m just glad they kept me in a good light. I’m not after a career in television. Just dance.”
“You were really great in rehearsal with that instructor. You two are an amazing fit.”
She pauses at that, looking thoughtful. “Yes, it does seem easier with him. But he’s not a career-maker. Blitz is.”
“So that’s all they did of the lunch?” I ask.
“If you’re worried about what you said, it’s probably too much for television. But I expect if ratings aren’t up this week, it will get leaked.”
This shocks me. “Who would leak it?”
“Oh, they have their ways,” Mariah says. “Have a good night.” She heads off for her dressing room.
Cast and crew start streaming out of the backstage, so I know the show is over. I head to my own room to get out of the makeup and this darned tutu.
Chapter 32
The sexy dance show scares the crap out of me, honestly. It’s three days away and Blitz hasn’t rehearsed with me yet, so the dance trainer standing in has to do all the moves, his hands all over my body, the near kisses. I’m not professional at all about it, uptight, anxious, and stiff.
Now that we’re so close to episode four, Amara comes to the rehearsals herself. “This is horrible,” she says. “We have t
o get Blitz in here.”
Apparently Mariah is having more trouble than I am, so he’s been practicing extra with her. But within a half hour, he’s in the studio.
“I finally get to be sexy with you,” he says. His hair is all over the place.
“Is part of your Mariah dance that she musses your hair?” I ask.
Blitz shakes his head. “Blame Giselle for that. They’re filming all sorts of stupidity in the dressing rooms between rehearsals.”
They aren’t doing that with me. I feel worse than ever, imagining what she is doing, and how little she is probably wearing when she does it.
“Don’t worry,” Blitz says. “She’s playing the tramp card for a reason. She’s got her sights on some upcoming TV drama that is being cast, and she wants as much airtime as she can scrounge.”
“All they have done with me is rehearsal footage and interviews,” I say.
“Oh, it’s coming,” he says. “Your assistant Jessie will get a new schedule today. Shelly told me you and I were going to be filmed at an aerial silk studio and it was supposed to get very friendly.”
Oh my God. My voice shakes as I ask, “They’re going to run the lunch clip, then?”
“Not sure if it will go on air,” he says. “They won’t tell me. But there will be something about it.”
The dance coach starts the music. “We’re going to show you the dance,” he tells Blitz. “You will pick it up very easily. Feel free to improvise.”
God, Blitz watching me do this thing with someone else is a thousand times worse. I stumble twice, miss a lift, and find myself squeezing my eyes shut when he runs his hands down my dance outfit.
Finally, it’s over.
“You really are only good with Blitz, aren’t you?” Amara observes.
Why can’t the cameras be here when she says stuff like that?
“I’ve got the idea,” Blitz says. “Let’s not torture her anymore. Just talk me through it.”
We work, movement by movement, through the number. As always, Blitz learns quickly, first getting the basics, then adding finesse and flair. By the end of an hour, we have a rough working dance.