The Enemy

by JJ Knight

  My face flushes hot. Do girls always do that? I glance at Blitz, but he’s not paying any attention to the crowd, staring out the opposite window.

  “Well, this is a lark,” Hannah says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Bad boys bring out the worst in them.”

  “He’s not a bad boy anymore,” I say.

  “Tell that to them,” Hannah says. “They’re binge-watching all his clips. The media he has built up will never die. They’ll still think he’s a hot, young womanizing heartbreaker when he’s sixty-five.”

  Blitz laughs. “That’s fine. They’re never going to see me get old.”

  Hannah smooths her skirt. “I’m sure you’ll do more television work.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Blitz says. He pulls me close. “I’m going to dance with this girl, teach wheelchair ballerinas, and enjoy my obscurity.”

  “Sounds like you’re putting me out of a job,” Hannah says.

  Blitz doesn’t answer as we pull up to the front of the store. Waist-high wooden barricades keep the fans back, and two security men with broad shoulders hold out their arms as the girls threaten to spill over the walls.

  A third man opens our car door. The screams are deafening.

  “Let’s do this,” Blitz says, although I see his lips move more than I actually hear him. The noise is intense.

  We duck as we cross the limo to the door. I’m not a drinker, but the sparkling decanter resting in the side bar looks rather inviting as we face this onslaught of fans.

  Blitz tucks my hand under his arm and steps out.

  I didn’t think it was possible for the noise to get louder, but it does.

  He turns and leads me out of the car. I expect everyone to go silent, upset at the evidence that Blitz is taken. But, unbelievably, the screams go up another notch.

  At first all the insanity seems to be about Blitz. They wear T-shirts with his face and hold hand-lettered signs, their cell phones all taking video.

  Then I spot four girls in pale blue dresses on the opposite side. They are all wearing black wigs. “Blitz!” I yell. “Are they dressed as me?”

  “Look at that!” he says. He walks right over to them, and they all start screaming.

  Blitz waves at me, still frozen by the limo. “Come here and take a picture!” he yells.

  I move toward them with hesitation. I’ve never had anything like this happen. I couldn’t even have imagined it.

  Blitz pulls out his own cell phone, and the screaming behind the blue-dress girls reaches a fever pitch.

  “Selfie mode!” Blitz says, holding the phone high and pulling me against him next to the girls. Once he’s taken the shot, he tells them, “I’ll post this to my Twitter feed later so you can have it. Love the dresses.”

  I think one of them is going to faint. As we head into the door of the DVD shop, two of the girls are crying and shouting, “We love you, Livia!” over and over again.

  I want to turn around and take it all in, really look at these fans. They are so passionate about Blitz, and I guess, some of them, about me. I catch sight of one more sign that says “Livia spells C-O-U-R-A-G-E.”

  The man who opened the car door stands by the entrance to the store. “This way,” he says.

  I follow Blitz in, feeling starstruck in reverse. How is this happening? They can’t be interested in me, a two-year ballet student who can barely hold en pointe.

  A small group of employees in red Wild Side shirts, plus a man in a horribly loud cherry suit, wait for us just inside. When the door closes, the quiet is bliss.

  “You have quite a lot of fans out there,” the man says. “I’m Lewis, owner of Wild Side Tunes and TV.” He reaches to shake Blitz’s hand. “We are delighted to have you here today.”

  Lewis reminds me of the used-car salesmen I used to see on TV ads. But he seems friendly. He introduces four employees who will be helping organize the line and keep things moving. We follow Lewis as we cut through shelves of movies and CDs to a set of stairs.

  “We’ll control access to you via the stairs,” Lewis says, pointing up. “Fans will go up these, cross to you at a table up there, and then come down the other side.”

  Hannah walks up from the back of the store as he’s finishing. “I assume you have an emergency exit in case of a rush?” she asks. “We need a safety plan.”

  “Freight elevator is directly to the right of the signing table,” Lewis says. “We have six security guards. My staff will brief you on the situation. Former presidents have held public events here. We have it covered.”

  Hannah nods.

  “There is a private room where you two can wait until we begin,” Lewis says. “About fifteen minutes until we open the doors.”

  I turn back to the windows. “Can we see outside from up there?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Lewis says. “It’s a nice view of the street. Would you rather wait there?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I want to see everything.”

  Blitz steps aside and gestures to the stairs. “Lead the way, my lady. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

  We head up, Lewis behind us. Hannah and the staff have moved elsewhere.

  The front of the store is all glass, so when we reach the second floor and look out, all the fans piled up outside can see us. Most are in an orderly row that snakes around the building, but others are clumped together on the sidewalk outside the doors.

  “We’ve given away three hundred wristbands to the ones we think you can get to during your allotted time. We estimate there are about eight hundred more who won’t get in,” Lewis says.

  “That’s terrible!” I say. “They wait all night and don’t even get in!” I turn to Blitz. “That isn’t fair!”

  “It’s part of the deal,” Blitz says. “We can only sign so fast.”

  “We’ll have to be faster!” I say.

  Blitz puts his arm around me. As we stand at the rail overlooking the store and the crowd outside, I start to actually feel a little like royalty. I lift my hand to wave at everyone, and the sudden increase in volume is audible even from inside.

  A girl in a red shirt approaches. “Ten minutes, sir. We have six media representatives downstairs asking to set up. What should I do with them?”

  “I’ll handle it,” Lewis says. He turns to us. “I’ll confer with your manager about the press. Enjoy your last quiet moments. Sharon, can you show them where the private bathroom is and what the plan will be should they need a break?”

  Sharon nods. “This way,” she says.

  I’m impressed by her laid-back manner around Blitz. She acts like he is any customer. Maybe that’s why she has this particular job. She isn’t impressed by fame.

  Sharon shows us the table, the path to the bathroom, and talks about the security that will be at the tables. Then another girl in a red shirt races up the stairs.

  “Don’t let them go to the bathroom alone!” she says, huffing from her dash. “His manager says to keep them apart.”

  Blitz and I look at each other for a second as Sharon’s face blooms red. Then he laughs, so hard and so long that I can’t help but join him.

  “Challenge accepted,” he says, and pulls on my hand to take me to the bathroom.

  The other girl panics, trying to block our way. “Your manager says you will destroy her hair and makeup.”

  “I like it when he does that,” I say.

  She looks horror stricken, as if she will be personally held responsible if I have an eyelash out of place.

  Blitz lets her off the hook. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t have any plans to deflower your private bathroom’s innocence.”

  “We don’t?” I ask, and both girls’ faces match their shirts.

  “Oh, now I’m tempted.” Blitz leans in to kiss me when Hannah’s sharp “Don’t you dare mess up her lipstick!” temporarily stops him.

  “Oh, but I will,” he whispers, and lightly brushes his lips against mine. It’s not enough to do any damage.

  Then he release
s me and says, “Hannah, you spoil all the fun at these things.”

  Hannah is indignant. “Blitz Craven, I’ve defended your manhandling of enough dancers to last a lifetime. But you’ll save it for the cameras and at least let us get some proper publicity shots before you muck everything up.” Hannah’s face is set, her posture in the green outfit like that of an angry schoolteacher.

  Feet thunder on the stairs. I half expect the fans to be invading, but it’s just an army of photographers, camera crews, and at least two reporters holding microphones. I feel my panic closing in. Nobody said we’d have to talk to the cameras! I thought this was just a signing, fans would come and go and snap pictures, and then we’d be done! I clutch at Blitz’s hand.

  “You have five until we open the doors,” Lewis says.

  “Nonsense,” Hannah cuts in. “We’ll get what we need before we let them in.”

  Lewis gives her a quick nod. “Whatever the lady wants.”

  “Blitz?” I whisper. “What is this?” I turn my back to the people setting up lights and camera stands.

  “It’ll be fine,” he says. “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “Nobody prepped me for interviews! Nobody told me what to say!”

  Blitz holds my cheeks with both palms and looks me straight in the eyes. “You are fine. Nobody coaches us. Just speak from your heart.”

  “What if my heart wants to set them on fire?”

  Blitz gives a throaty laugh and pulls me against him. “You’re too perfect, Princess,” he says. Flashes start to pop.

  Hannah walks by us and says in a low singsong voice, “Don’t muss her makeup!”

  Blitz twirls a curl of my hair. I want to hide in him, bury my face against his strong chest. But we’re not alone anymore. We’re in front of the people who can make or break us. And they’re probably already recording. For all I know, this is live on some online feed.

  “You can do it,” Blitz says.

  I take a deep breath. I was brave enough to walk unannounced on live TV, I can smile in front of a few cameras.

  One of the women is already recording in front of a giant sign that reads “Dance Blitz.”

  She says into the camera, “We’re here with Blitz Craven and his surprise contestant at the signing of the DVDs for Dance Blitz. The intense season ended with the dancing Romeo’s newest lover storming onstage to seize the title from the three finalists who had been working all season to woo the man of their dreams.”

  I spot the red light on the camera that is trained on her.

  And the panic starts to take over.

  I am so not up for this.

  Chapter Two

  “My parents might see this,” I whisper to Blitz as the reporter stops the recording and repeats it all again. She’s obviously not live.

  “And what will they do?” Blitz asks. “Ground you?” He walks us over to the table, a little farther from the cameramen setting up lights and tripods. “You’re with me now. They don’t control you.”

  “But if everyone finds out who they are, people might camp out at their house and ask them questions,” I say.

  He kisses my hand for the hundredth time that day. “Livia, nobody bothers my parents. Remember at the city jail a few weeks ago, picking up Baby Daddy? Nobody even recognized my dad.”

  He’s right. Maybe nobody really cares about my family.

  “Besides,” Blitz says, “we’ve given them a fake last name for you. With no social media footprint, and no connections to anyone, they can’t find you. Nobody knows where you came from.”

  He’s right. Hannah came up with Livia Mays, close enough to my real name that I wouldn’t screw it up if someone used it, but common enough to be generic. For the first time, I’m glad I was homeschooled. There is literally nothing on the Internet anywhere with my real name or picture. Nobody knows me. There’s no glib classmates to interview, no high school teachers to say what I was like.

  Although due to Gabriella, there are definitely secrets to dig up. Big ones.

  My confidence falters again.

  Hannah claps her hands. “Douglas,” she says, smiling at one of the reporters, “why don’t you place Livia and Blitz where you would like them, and we can start?”

  Blitz and I glance at each other. Hannah never gives up control of these things. She must think this guy is important.

  A friendly man in a shiny gray suit that looks like it came off a runway model, almost too short in the legs, pencil thin, and close fitted, hurries forward and extends his hand. “Blitz, Livia, delighted to be here today. I appreciate this opportunity to talk with you both.”

  I shake his hand weakly.

  “Hey, Doug,” Blitz says, “I hear you’re short-listed for the new entertainment hour.”

  “That I am,” Doug says. “Decision on that should be announced any day.”

  I can tell from Blitz’s subtle reluctance that he thinks this Doug guy is going to do something dramatic to increase his chances of getting whatever show this is. He’s wary, so of course I’m panicked. Even more than before.

  Hannah watches from a distance, a pleased expression on her face, like she’s a cat that just got the dog sent outside in the rain.

  My anxiety makes me feel hot. I touch my fingertips to my hairline, where I might be starting to sweat. I’m more likely to destroy my makeup than Blitz at this point.

  Doug gestures to a couple of armchairs situated at the end of the rows of books behind the tables where we’re signing. “Let’s head over here.”

  Without Doug saying a word, a girl in a black shirt shoves a third armchair over to the first pair. The other cameramen and reporters seem annoyed as Doug commandeers the situation. Another girl clips tiny silver microphones to my dress and Blitz’s shirt.

  “Is this an exclusive?” asks the female reporter who recorded her intro. “Because nobody told me this was exclusive.”

  “Of course not,” Doug says. “You guys can cut in anytime.”

  But his chair is close enough that it’s probably hard to keep him out of the shot. And I’m pretty sure the woman won’t want Doug’s voice in her recording.

  The tension between them is intense. Blitz leans forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. “Doug, maybe you can ask a few questions, and then we’ll move on to…” he hesitates, looking at the woman expectantly.

  “Geneva,” the woman says with an edge in her voice. “Geneva Farmington from the local affiliate.”

  “Thanks for being here, Geneva,” Blitz says. He flashes her one of his megawatt smiles and she melts a little.

  I’m not annoyed by this. I know it’s one of his tactics. He has them for men too. He’s very good at sizing up a person and delivering the right dose of attitude or charm.

  Doug nods knowingly. “Always good to keep the locals happy,” he says. “Of course, mine is a national broadcast.”

  “A cable broadcast,” Geneva fires back. “National networks will pick up mine.”

  Blitz doesn’t really seem up for moderating them. He glances at Hannah. Normally she would be all over this like she was with the store owner, but for some reason, she’s perfectly happy to sit back and let the situation unfold.

  “Let’s get going,” Blitz says. “I don’t really like making the fans wait.”

  The thick round arms of the upholstered chairs keep me and Blitz separate. We can’t easily reach each other to so much as hold hands.

  “So what are your plans for the three unfinished bonus episodes?” Doug asks. “Since this lovely lady took over the job of the contestants, will we be meeting her family and watching you two plan a wedding?”

  Blitz’s expression gets hard. “Livia is not part of the deal, Doug,” he says. “And as far as I’m concerned, those three episodes are digital smoke.”

  “What do you think, Livia?” Doug asks. “Are you ready for Blitz to meet your family?”

  I glance at Blitz. “Not on camera,” I say shakily. “I don’t think they’ve agreed to
that.”

  Doug laughs. “I doubt it. Were you ready for the load of fame that came with Blitz?”

  Blitz jumps in. “We’re working on our dancing together,” he says. “We’ve only just started to figure out our personal style.”

  Doug flashes a knowing grin. “You just said ‘our.’ Are there wedding plans on the horizon?”

  I can see when Blitz settles in and decides to pour out the charm. He sits back in the chair, lacing his fingers together behind his head. This is the Blitz I remember from watching talk show clips before I knew him.

  “I imagine Livia has a say in that,” he says. “I figure I better show her I’m not a carousing schmuck. Tall order.”

  The two men laugh. Blitz has Doug’s number. Now he’ll feed him what he needs to get this over and done.

  I hold my hands together tightly, sitting tall, mostly anxious that my skirt is short enough that I might give the cameras a crotch shot. My thighs ache from holding my knees together.

  “How about those three lovelies from the show?” Doug asks. “Have you heard from them? Did they seem upset about the outcome?”

  Blitz flashes a smile. “You’ll have to talk to my lawyers about that one, Doug. You know women.”

  My face flames a bit at this one. I glance over at Hannah to see if Blitz is behaving the way she wants. Her arms are crossed, a twisted smile on her face. She sees me looking at her, and moves her fingers to the corners of her mouth to remind me to smile.

  Uggh. I plaster one on and turn back to Blitz. When he sees me, his expression shifts, like he realizes he’s fallen into his old pattern. He sits forward again and reaches over the top of the two chair arms to find my hand.

  “Are you quite through, Doug?” Geneva stands just off camera, her microphone in her hand.

  Doug glances at Hannah, and I feel Blitz stiffen, his hand on mine painfully tight. I turn my attention to him, wondering what is going on.

  And that’s when I see them.

  All three of them, dressed in flashy dresses, tons of cleavage, model-perfect hair, strolling in like they are the horsemen from the apocalypse.