by JJ Knight
Bennett is on the phone the moment we land on the ground in LA. Another Mercedes drives us off the tarmac and Juliet directs the driver to a shop on the way to the studios. She wants to pick up an outfit for me.
As we pull up to the doors, I know it’s not going to be like anything I’ve ever shopped in before. Huge glass doors surrounded with gold make it look like a jewelry store. Or a bank.
Bennett is still in the front seat talking to the people on the set of Dance Blitz. My heart is probably not going to stop hammering the rest of the day. I’m just having to adjust to the nerves. It’s like the excruciating moment before you go onstage for a recital, feeling like you might faint from the pressure.
Only instead of it being just a few seconds, I’m dealing with it all day.
The driver opens the door, and Juliet leads me out, leaving Bennett behind. “I told them to bring out everything they had in white,” she says.
A woman is expecting us and leads us to a back room where a rack of white outfits is already set aside for me. I run my fingers through them. Some of them sparkle, others have some shine. One is more sheer.
“We don’t have much time,” Juliet tells the woman. “Livia, do you see anything you like?”
“They are all beautiful,” I say. “But Blitz likes me in pale blue.”
Juliet nods and the woman says, “I’ll go pull some.”
She is back in a flash with three blue dresses. I choose the simplest and take it into a room with red velvet curtains.
I stare at the mirror as I change out of the red shirt and black skirt that I wore on our first date to the San José Mission. My family is so angry. I may never see any of my other clothes again. I’m glad I wore my favorite.
I slide the blue dress on. It fits perfectly, long sleeved and fitted at the top, then floating across my hips. A hint of sparkles begins on my belly and intensifies as the skirt begins, then it disappears again in the flow of the fabric.
I step outside.
“Turn for me,” Juliet says.
I make a quick circle, feeling the air rush against my legs as the skirt flies out.
“Yes,” she says. “This is good.” She feels along the shoulder and under the arm. “Fifth position,” she says.
I lift my arms. She checks everything again.
“All right,” she says. “Excellent quality all around.” She turns to the saleswoman. “Ring it up, and bring me a light cover or coat or wrap of some sort. She’ll wear this out.”
I head back to the fitting room and gather my clothes. Another young woman arrives and provides me a pretty satin bag to carry them in.
“Thank you,” I say. “Are the tags cut off?”
“Our dresses don’t have tags,” she says.
I guess in shops like this, you don’t care about the price.
When I make it out to the main part of the shop, Juliet has already paid the bill and takes the bag from me. “Put this on her,” she says, passing a thin silk cloak in pale gold to the woman who has been helping us. “I don’t want to give anything away.”
The woman wraps the cloak around my shoulders, fastening it at the throat with a loop around a rhinestone button. It floats around my body like a mist, but is opaque enough to hide my dress.
“Perfect,” Juliet says. “Now, hair and makeup.” She checks her watch. “And we’re heading straight into LA traffic. We should have taken the helicopter.”
Helicopter!
We hurry back out to the car. Bennett is finally off the phone.
“I don’t think we’re going to make it in time,” Juliet says as we settle in the backseat.
“We don’t have to make the beginning of the show,” he says. “Only the end.”
“True,” she says.
The drive is stressful and long. Traffic is jammed. Sometimes we don’t make any progress at a congested light. I check my watch. It’s 7:30 Texas time, so 5:30 here. The live show starts in half an hour.
It’s been a long day of testing, escaping, flying, shopping, and driving. Thankfully we had a nice meal on the plane, or I’d be dying.
I press my face to the window like a little kid when we finally make it to the gates of the studio. We’re stopped and then waved through. There’s a parking lot off to one side.
“This is as close as we get?” Juliet asks.
Bennett laughs. “I’m nobody here. Everyone is rich and the talent gets the perks.”
She leans forward to speak to the driver. “Don’t park yet, drive as far down as you can.”
He nods.
Bennett turns to look at me. “You ready for this, Livia?”
“I think so,” I say. We pass people pushing rolling racks, and clumps of others talking earnestly as they hurry from building to building.
“This is it,” Bennett says, and the car slows to a stop.
He opens his door, and I open mine, too anxious to wait for the driver. We step out into the cool air. Evening is about to fall and lights are starting to pop on overhead.
“This way,” Bennett says, taking my arm to lead me to a rather ordinary-looking building with a loading dock and a side door.
We enter a hallway and a young man standing nearby looks up from his iPad. “Hello, Mr. Claremont,” he says.
“We need to see Devon,” Bennett tells him.
“He’s probably on set.” The man glances at a big digital clock on the wall. “They are just about to go live.”
“We’ll find our way. Thanks,” Bennett says.
We follow him down a labyrinth of corridors. Signs along the way say “Dressing Room B” or “Caution: Live Shooting.” Some of them have red or green lights over them.
We turn down a hall and Bennett takes us inside a door. It’s a nice room with sofas and a buffet of food along one wall. Inside, several people are sitting and watching a large screen mounted in the corner.
“It just started,” says a blond woman in a gorgeous red dress.
I look at the screen. The Dance Blitz logo is lit up over a stage and a man who often narrates the show is talking. Everything else is black. No Blitz. I’m dying to see him, but anxious because this is his world, not ours.
“Thanks, Tina,” Bennett says. “Where is makeup stationed these days?”
A petite woman in black leggings and a tank covered in hundreds of little circle mirrors turns. “I can take you.”
We head back out in the hall and enter a room a few doors down. My nerves are jangling so badly, I can barely stand it.
Inside, a half-dozen dancers are getting hair and makeup done. I panic for a moment, then quickly realize none of them are the three finalists. I don’t think I could handle coming face-to-face with any of the women who have probably slept with Blitz, and certainly not Giselle, who definitely did.
A man steps in. “Chorus dancers, you are on in five!”
The movements get frantic as the makeup girls do their last touches, spritzing and tucking and sending them on their way.
When they are gone, the makeup artists all collectively lean against the long mirrored counter.
Juliet approaches them. “Which one of you can get this girl ready to go on?”
They all look at her. One of them asks, “Who is this? Those chorus dancers were supposed to be the last ones.”
“A surprise dancer,” Bennett says. “Trust me, you want her.”
They all look at each other. The woman says, “I don’t know if we can do this without Devon’s okay.”
The mirrored-shirt girl nudges one of them. “Do you know who this is? Bennett Claremont. He’s the producer. He’s Devon’s boss.”
The girls still look skeptical, but one of them, a tall Hispanic woman with deep blue eye shadow and spiky hair, steps forward. “What the hell. I’ll do it.”
Juliet gives Bennett a concerned look as she walks me over to the chair.
“So you’re a dancer?” the girl asks. “I’m Cecilia. What sort of look are we going for here?”
“I
nnocent and lovely,” Juliet says. “Nothing too dramatic. Just enough for the lighting and cameras.”
Cecilia turns my chair. “Got it.”
“Where is wardrobe?” Juliet says. She takes one of my shoes off. “We need something else. There should be spare dance shoes everywhere.”
“I have my toe shoes,” I say. “They are in my backpack in the car.”
Juliet turns to Bennett. “Go get them. Quickly.”
He hurries out.
The mirrored-shirt girl laughs. “I guess you’re the only one who gets to boss him around.”
“Probably so,” Juliet says and takes off my other shoe.
Cecilia works on my hair, and now one of the other girls comes up to tilt my chin to the light. Soon three of them are working, tweezing and powdering and doing who knows what to my face.
Juliet watches every move they make, ensuring she is getting what she wants. “Hollywood is so different from ballet,” she says. “We have to do all our own makeup.”
“You’re a ballerina?” Cecilia asks.
“I am,” Juliet says. Then to me, “When did you earn your toe shoes?”
My face heats up. “Just a week ago.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Do not be a hero in those, okay? Do not go en pointe other than maybe at the very end. If you even dance.”
I nod. We have no idea what’s going to happen out there. We have no idea how Blitz is going to react when he sees me.
One of the girls points up at the screen. I hadn’t noticed it with the sound off. “Here comes the first dance number,” she says and picks up a remote. Now we hear the announcer saying, “And in our first number of the night, Blitz Craven with finalist Giselle Andreas.”
The girls turn my chair so I can see. Cecilia is still doing something to my hair, but I guess my makeup is done.
Blitz comes onstage in all black and dances alone, circling a lamppost onstage. He tips the hat he’s wearing and looks down like he’s lost his last friend.
Giselle comes onstage, doing the same lonely sort of dance, until they bump into each other. They are surprised, then dance together. She’s wearing an old-fashioned brown dress and her hair looks like a pinup girl.
“Your hair work looks great, Marie,” Cecilia says.
Marie steps closer to the television. “They went conservative with her,” she says. “Trying to tone down the tramp.”
“Ain’t nobody can take the tramp out of that girl,” another girl says.
Juliet clasps her hands tightly. I can see she’s agitated. But I think it’s funny, and a break from my nerves.
They do dance well together. I can see why Blitz picked her, tramp or no tramp. I can’t do anything like what they are doing. Lifts and spins and sliding each other across the floor.
“Okay, see what you think of this,” Cecilia says, turning me back to the mirror.
The world whirls for a second, then I lock in on myself. I have to stand up and walk closer to be sure it is me. My face glows, cheeks lightly blushed, and my eyes are big and open, the lashes the only decadent thing about me, long and thick. My lips are pale pink to complement the dress.
My hair is very classic, up in a high bun, glossy and black, with a braid that encircles my head. It’s beautiful, almost regal. Like a princess.
I impulsively give her a hug. “It’s beautiful, thank you,” I say. I turn to Juliet. “Now what?”
“We wait,” she says. “We wait until it’s time for him to choose the winner.”
Chapter 32
We watch the three finalists dance separately with Blitz. There are cameras everywhere, following the girls as they head out, and the announcer sometimes talks with them as they go to their individual dressing rooms.
Bennett has brought my toe shoes, and the wardrobe woman sprayed them light blue to match the dress, adding sparkles to turn them into something new and beautiful. I swing my feet to make sure they dry in time, although she assures me it’s very fast.
The interviews give the stage people time to change out sets. We occasionally hear people rumbling out in the hall. Twice, dancers dash in to have a false eyelash fixed or a lipstick smear corrected.
“Five minutes until the finalists come in to be prepped for the selection,” Cecilia says.
“They’re coming in here?” I ask. I’ve felt safe and somewhat removed from the activity in the makeup room.
“Yes, they have a wardrobe change in their dressing rooms, but they will come here for makeup,” another girl says. “Plus Marie here has to totally redo Giselle’s hair.”
“I have a plan,” Marie says. “We practiced the quick change.”
“I can’t be in here,” I tell Juliet, hopping up from my chair. “I can’t face them.”
Bennett nods. “Probably not the best idea. They will send a camera to get shots of them preparing. We should be out.” He checks his phone. “And…legal has just insisted Livia sign some papers anyway.” He opens the door. “Let me make sure Blitz isn’t out there.”
He looks left and right and motions for us to go. We quickly duck back into the room we started in. There are more people now, some standing to watch the show. It’s in commercial at the moment.
A man in a suit sits at a table in the corner. Bennett leads me over.
The man doesn’t have any formalities but gets straight to the point.
“This document acknowledges that you do not hold the producers, television station, production company, or any of their subsidiaries liable for anything that happens onstage.” He flips the page. “And furthermore, that you agree to allow your likeness to be used as part of this production, and any derivative works that are created based on this production.”
I look up at Bennett. “Isn’t a contract what got us here in the first place?”
He nods. “It sort of is.” He taps his fingers on the table. “Liam, I know you are doing your job, but I’m going to take on the liability for this one.” Bennett leans over and signs his own name to the document. “I’m personally responsible for her actions and any actions taken on her behalf as a result of this production.”
Liam sighs. “This is not how the contract was drawn.”
Bennett shrugs. “Then call security to escort us out.”
Liam closes the folder and stands up to leave. “I was never here.”
A couple of the people in the room have noticed what we’re doing. The blond in the red dress asks, “Is this one of the chorus dancers?”
Bennett doesn’t answer. “Let’s go,” he says. He takes me by the arm, and we head to the door. Behind us, the show starts up again. Blitz is in a room where footage of the finalists dancing is playing on three separate screens. The announcer asks him if he’s ready to make his choice.
We head into the hall. There is a screen a ways down. I can see the flash of the light. I want to see what Blitz is doing, but my nerves are on red alert and I’m trying not to freak out.
We pause outside a set of double doors. Blitz glances up at the red light above it, then opens the door.
We’re in a very dark area with red lights low on the floor. Ahead, I can see a brighter light. We carefully walk across, avoiding thick bundles of wires and passing the shadows of people who are turned to a screen. This one is dim and surrounded by a black case so that the light leaks as little as possible.
I see that Blitz is still in the viewing room. The announcer is talking to him, but this monitor has no sound.
The show switches to montages of Blitz with the three girls. I’ve already seen all these moments, so I turn back to the bright light ahead. Now that we’re closer, I can see people moving equipment around.
It’s the stage.
My stomach twists. We’re here.
A man approaches Bennett. “Is this her?” he asks him.
“Yes,” Bennett says. “Livia, this is Devon, the director.”
“Hell of a thing to spring on me,” Devon says. “But this is gonna go viral tonight.” He seems rather gi
ddy. “Livia, I’m going to take you to the dance choreographer so we can talk about possible scenarios.”
We move closer to the light, and I spot more people standing together. Devon approaches a woman and points me out. The two of them come over.
“Why are we doing this?” the choreographer says. “We already know who he is going to choose and we already have the dance ready to go.”
“Because this girl’s the real deal,” Devon says. “And we’re gonna make reality television history.”
My stomach flips again. I have to believe I’m doing the right thing.
The choreographer looks me over, stopping at the toe shoes. “You’re a dancer?”
“I do ballet,” I say. “But if I danced with Blitz, it would be a waltz.”
“What have we got rights for?” Devon asks her. “What can we play if this goes her way?”
“I have several,” she says. “Slow or fast?”
“Definitely slow,” I say. I feel like throwing up. Am I really going to dance with Blitz in front of everybody? We haven’t practiced anything.
I gulp in air. I have to have faith. He said we danced well together. I always understood his communication and was able to follow. It doesn’t have to be fancy. It just has to be real.
The choreographer starts walking away. “This is nuts,” she says.
Devon takes me to the false wall that backs the stage. “So here is how it goes. Blitz is going to be over there at the podium in the center, the one with flowers on it.” He points. “And the girls will be standing to his left.”
“When should I go out?” I ask.
“Whenever it seems right,” he says. “This is unscripted.” He turns to face me. “And you don’t have to do this, you know. The show can run as planned.”
“I know,” I say. “I’ll only go out if I think he’s going to do something terrible.”
He pats my shoulder. “I knew something was different about him when he came back to rehearsals. I wasn’t surprised when Bennett called me about you.”
A guy in all black comes through, saying, “Back in three.” All around me, people move into new positions. Cameras roll around. Hushed commands are spoken into headsets.