by JJ Knight
Ivana lets out a long annoyed breath.
Dmitri and Alexei smile and nod at each other.
“You’re forgetting a rather important point,” Evangeline says.
“I know,” Dmitri says. “I’ll handle it.”
Alexei grunts with annoyance.
Juliet looks back and forth at the two men. “Which is?”
Ivana puts on her first smile of the meeting. “Dominika has final approval on all casting. If she says Livia isn’t good enough, she’s not good enough.”
Great.
Chapter 11
I get surprise visitors at the condo that afternoon. Juliet and Bennett arrive to watch the talk show Blitz is on, dragging with them two of my instructor friends from Dreamcatcher Dance Academy.
Jacob comes in first, looking around our place with his eye for details. “Girl, you two have GOT to get a decorator in here,” he says. He looks perfectly put together in my admittedly drab living room, wearing shiny silver pants and a vivid purple shirt with a scarf tucked inside the open upper buttons.
“It’s just a rental,” I tell him. “We’ve been trying to find a house.”
“Have you?” Aurora says. She looks completely different without several toddlers in tutus hanging on her legs. Her flowery shirt is ruffled and off the shoulder, and her hair is down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her dark hair outside a tight dance bun.
Bennett and Juliet have brought a basket of cheese and grapes and wine. Bennett organizes it all on the coffee table while Jacob looks over the backyard. “It’s totally hot enough to go skinny-dipping later. That pool is delish.”
This makes Bennett pause and look over at Juliet with an expression that conveys “What have you gotten me into?”
Her laughter is bright. “You go right ahead, Jacob. Maybe Livia can publish a picture to Blitz’s Twitter feed and you can have your fifteen minutes of fame.”
Jacob turns to me. “Would you do that for me, Livia?” he asks, his voice all sincere, but his eyes dancing with amusement.
“It would just get all the women after you,” I say.
He waves his hand as if dismissing the idea. “Blitz has a gay demographic. I mean, look at moi.”
Bennett picks up a remote and looks around. “I assume you have a television tucked away somewhere,” he says. “I didn’t think to ask about that.”
The four of them glance around, as if just now realizing there isn’t a TV or a cabinet large enough to house one anywhere.
I let them wonder for a moment, then tell Bennett, “Push the auxiliary button at the bottom.”
He looks skeptical but pushes it.
A door swings down from the ceiling with a mechanical buzz, then a projector screen begins to descend. It’s broad and bright white, covering half the width of the wall behind it.
“Holy Mother of sweet technology,” Jacob breathes.
“You can power it all on now,” I say.
Bennett peers at the remote, then a blue rectangle of light flashes across the white screen.
“That is cool,” Aurora says. She plunks down on the brown leather sofa.
The system is in DVD mode, so I take the remote and switch it to pick up television stations.
“We have ten minutes,” Juliet says.
I whip through the channels until I find the right one. The evening news is still on.
“Steer me to the kitchen and I’ll find plates and glasses,” Bennett says.
I walk with him into the next room. It’s still funny to me to think of this billionaire businessman serving snacks to my friends. Maybe he was always this laid back. But I’m guessing Juliet has something to do with it.
We load up with plates and cloth napkins and wine glasses and return to the living room.
“They’re doing a teaser for the show!” Juliet says.
And there he is, Blitz himself, waving as the voice-over talks about the lineup for the evening.
“He looks amazing,” Jacob says.
And he does. He’s wearing slim black dance pants and a pale gray button-down with the sleeves rolled up, a black vest over it. He looks both Hollywood and Texas. I wonder who dressed him, if his manager Hannah got a say or if it was one of the stylists from Dance Blitz.
As far as I know, no one talks to Hannah other than Blitz’s assistant Shelly. Blitz won’t speak to her after she orchestrated the ambush by the three finalists that led to us doing five episodes of Dance Blitz together.
Although now that it’s over, I have to admit, I had fun working with him and seeing the inside of a reality show. I hope they aren’t going to surprise him with anything tonight.
Jacob must be having the same line of thought. “You don’t think they’ll bring on that Giselle girl again, do you?” he says. “She’s disappeared into the black hole of Hollywood has-beens.”
“It was super-short notice,” I say. “They couldn’t have practiced a dance number or planned something crazy.”
“Let’s hope not,” Juliet says. “You two have had enough of that.”
Bennett sits next to her on the love seat that angles away from the sofa where Jacob and Aurora have ensconced themselves.
“Has Blitz mentioned anything to you about what he’s doing on the show?” Bennett asks. “They should have had a rehearsal.”
I check my phone. “Not since he said they were about to meet to review the plan,” I say. “That was hours ago.”
“Busy getting prepped,” Juliet says. “It can be hectic.”
I settle onto the overstuffed cushion of an armchair as I try to relax. It will just be a chitchat show, nothing more.
I hope.
A text comes through, and the whole room turns to me as I pull my phone out of my pocket.
“Is it him?” Aurora asks.
It is. I read it quickly and say, “He just says that rehearsal went fine. He is doing a short dance number based on one we did last season, nothing fancy, just him so he can ad lib if he needs to, and that they are focusing on the changes to Dance Blitz and where he’s headed next.”
“Good,” Juliet says. “That’s exactly what it should be.”
The commercials end and the opening screen of the talk show comes on.
“Is he first billing?” Jacob asks. “He should be first billing.”
The host of the show steps out for a short monologue. Blitz isn’t first billing. An actress is up for the initial segment. Then Blitz will dance and talk.
When the show is back in commercial, Bennett passes out plates. “Eat, drink, and be merry,” he says. “For tomorrow is a workday.”
I accept the plate Jacob hands me, although I don’t feel particularly hungry. I’m glad they are here, though.
“How did negotiations go today?” Bennett asks.
“Negotiations?” Jacob pipes in. “What new thing is on Livia’s horizon?”
“A ballet,” I say, popping a sliver of cheese in my mouth. “Sleeping Beauty.”
“You would be a divine Aurora,” Jacob says. “It’s about time she wasn’t blond.”
I shake my head. “Oh, no, I’m not experienced enough for that.”
“I’ll say,” Aurora says. “Being Aurora is hard!”
We all laugh at the irony of her saying that.
“I know,” I tell her. “I’ve asked to be Carabosse.”
“Girlfriend, who is that?” Jacob asks.
“The evil fairy who curses Aurora,” Aurora says. “Haven’t you watched any classical ballet?”
“Only when you do it,” he says.
“You jazz dancers,” she teases. “Never learning anything classic.”
“Baby girl, you don’t even want to get me started on your gaps in dance knowledge,” he shoots back, but there is no meanness to it. I can tell it’s a conversation they have often.
I had forgotten they were such tight friends. Generally at the academy, I only see them separately, but now I remember people mentioning that sometimes Jacob and Aurora do contempor
ary dance together at a small theater on the Riverwalk.
I bet they’re amazing. I should ask around the academy and find out when they perform.
Except.
I can’t go there anymore to ask.
“How is Danika?” I ask. “Summer sign-ups good?”
Jacob and Aurora glance at each other.
“Lots of toddlers like always,” Aurora says carefully. “You know how it is after school is out. Fewer weekly classes, more weeklong camps.”
“How are the wheelchair ballerinas?” I hate to ask, but I am desperate to know if Gwen brought Gabriella back after I left.
Another glance between the two of them.
“I’m sure the class will come back in the fall,” Aurora says.
My chest tightens. “You mean it’s gone?” I can’t believe it. All the work to get it filled. For nothing.
“It was a small, specialized class,” Aurora says. “Those almost always go on hiatus during the summer.” She reaches over to squeeze my arm. “They’ll come back.”
But not Gabriella. I’m sure she’s gone for good.
“It’s on again!” Juliet calls out.
The host sits behind his desk. Behind him, scenes from Dance Blitz flash on a large screen. Blitz on a date with Giselle, then one of the big numbers from the live finale, and a brief glimpse of the sexy dance he and I did during the last season.
My face heats up to see myself, even if only for a few seconds, in that revealing getup. I have avoided watching the show since it aired earlier this year.
“Put your hands together for the man, the wild one, the dancing beast, Blitz Craven!” the host says, standing behind his desk.
The camera pans to the entertainment stage, and there is Blitz, smoke rising on either side of him, frozen in place, looking down, a roguish hat tugged low on his forehead.
The band behind him fires up and he spins, a crazy whirlwind, endlessly long, until it seems like there is no way anyone could come out of it without losing their balance.
The crowd screams as he stops in a dramatic freeze, then rushes into a high-energy number that is a mix of jazz and breakdancing.
“He’s killing it,” Jacob says. “I wish I had half his moves.”
It’s true. My heart surges watching him. Way too soon, the song smashes to a halt and Blitz freezes one last time. The audience goes crazy.
The host stands up to clap for him. So does the actress.
Blitz heads over to the sofa and desk. The actress moves down to give Blitz the spot closer to the host. He’s still breathing hard.
“Man! That was outrageous.” The host looks out. “Was that amazing or what?”
The audience volume reaches a fever pitch.
Blitz nods and waves them off. This is different from how he used to be, hamming it up, jumping around, sparking them into a frenzy.
He sits down, leaning forward, still catching his breath.
The talk settles in, the ending of the show, the new bachelor for Dance Blitz.
Bennett pours more wine and we all relax. It’s going the way it should. This isn’t some dramatic morning show where they have surprise visits by ex-girlfriends or startling confrontations.
Blitz gets up and dances with the actress, who stumbles a bit and makes fun of herself and her awkwardness. It’s charming and sweet.
When they sit down again, a new image flashes onscreen behind them, and I instantly go on alert.
“What are they gonna do?” Jacob says, sitting forward on the sofa.
It’s a picture of me and the three finalists from Dance Blitz. After a moment, everyone fades out except Giselle.
“You hearing from this girl much, Blitz?” the host asks.
“Not a word,” Blitz says. “Everyone has moved on to the next thing.”
“Giselle had a bit of a meltdown on her last episode, didn’t she?”
“She wasn’t expecting to be eliminated before the final two,” Blitz says. “I’m sure she’ll go on to have a great career.”
He looks wary, as if he expects them to spring Giselle on him. That girl is still a sore spot in his career. Giselle has a decent following, and they tried to get an audit of the votes when she was eliminated. That went nowhere, of course. Nobody said the show was a democracy.
“We have a little video for you,” he says.
Blitz doesn’t answer, and despite his easy expression, I can see the tension in his jaw, his arms crossed over the vest.
The screen behind them switches over to a video. It’s Giselle, in selfie mode, holding a phone camera.
“Hey, Blitz!” she says, as if it’s live. “I’m here on the set of Dancing with the Stars, and everyone thinks you and I should be contestants together!” She pans the camera a little, and the signature stage and logo light up behind her. “You haven’t answered my calls, so I’m here to ask you in front of everybody — are you willing to dance with me?”
The video freezes with Giselle’s plaintive expression.
The host turns to Blitz. “So what do you think?” he asks the audience. “You want to see Blitz and Giselle back together?”
There’s decent applause and a few cheers.
“Oh, no, he totally won’t do it,” Jacob says.
“That girl is desperate,” Aurora says. “And she put him on the spot.”
I see Blitz slip into his old demeanor, shifting down on the sofa, looking out over the audience. He finds the hot camera and stares right at us. The cameraman zooms in.
“I have a great life,” Blitz says. “And I’m spending it with Livia.”
The crowd claps louder for this. I watch Blitz, his expression earnest. He really knows how to work a camera. It’s how he charmed huge numbers of viewers on his show.
But right now, I can tell he’s thinking of me. He knows I’m looking. And he’s speaking right to me.
He’s really walked away from all that. No talk show host or silly video or audience reaction could change his mind.
He’s here for me.
Chapter 12
I’m on pins and needles as we wait to hear the final word from the ballet. I’m not sure I’ll even take it. Blitz has turned down gigs left and right to stay with me. Anything longer than a couple days for a talk show or a guest appearance is an automatic no.
We call off the search for a house here in San Antonio. He agrees that it’s not as necessary as it once was, when we were teaching Gabriella and planning our lives around her.
But I can’t stop thinking about the situation.
I have Gwen’s address. I’ve always had it, at least in the two years since I first found her. It’s the first thing I knew other than their names. I found it in an old-fashioned phone book.
When I was younger, I would sometimes call the number secretly from church, then hang up if Gwen or her husband answered. Once I heard a child singing in the background and it was literally the best day ever.
Until I got my license a few weeks ago, driving somewhere alone wasn’t an option. I couldn’t truly sneak around.
But now I can.
This is why, one afternoon after my private ballet workout, I sit alone in my car and pull out Google Maps. I tap in the address I’ve had memorized since I was seventeen.
It’s a bit of a drive, maybe half an hour from where I am right now. Blitz might wonder why I’m late, but he won’t question me. I’m not exactly the sort of girl who might be doing something wrong.
Is this wrong?
I guess so. Stalking.
My little white convertible pulls away from the curb. The Google voice tells me to get on the freeway, but I am too nervous for that still. When I stay on the frontage road and take a different artery through town, it adjusts.
It’s just a peek, right? I’ll see what sort of house my baby girl lives in. Maybe catch sight of a toy or two in the yard, and know a bit more about her other than her love of brightly colored tutus and ribbon sticks.
It strikes me how narrow my view of he
r has been. Gabriella has always seemed happy, but she loves dance. Maybe in other situations she cries, or whines, and maybe Gwen has to scold her.
I picture this and my stomach twists. No, I won’t think of it. Gabriella is cheerful, even when she has trouble. She once got a blister on her thumb from dancing in the wheelchair, before Gwen realized she would need gloves for dance.
Despite the bleeding painful sore, Gabriella didn’t cry over it more than the first few seconds after it popped. A Band-Aid and a hug cured her completely and she went on, adjusting by holding the wheel a different way.
And she had only been four years old.
No, I know her. I do. She’s tough and strong and sweet.
The best.
My eyes smart now. I shouldn’t do this. I should not invade her world or drown myself in what-ifs. I should turn my car around and go home.
But I don’t.
I cross through middle-class neighborhoods, cars parked on the street and bikes lying across driveways. In the cul-de-sacs, there are basketball hoops, sometimes with kids playing at them. It’s summer. Time for fun.
The voice guides me through turns and down streets. I pass restaurants, a bowling alley, two grocery stores. I wonder which of these places Gabriella has visited. I can see her rolling a heavy ball from the wheelchair, bouncing it off the guards until it finally makes it to the end.
I bowled in the time before my father shut down our family. Andy was too young, but some of the kids used a little ramp to send the ball down the lane.
I would do that with her. She would love it. Maybe Gwen has thought of it.
Does Gwen help her make the most of what she can do? She brought her to Dreamcatcher. The flier I mailed her with a stolen stamp worked. She looked for opportunities and took them. I have to believe Gabriella is the best she can be where she is.
I am close.
I turn down her street. My heart speeds up. What will I see? Gwen’s white SUV, if it isn’t in the garage. The front door. Maybe I will spot a neighbor or a friend.
I realize I’m not wearing sunglasses and fumble in the console to find them. They aren’t there. I left them at home.