by JJ Knight
Blitz and I are separated so I can be waxed, polished, manicured, and coiffed. The makeup girl is new. This team isn’t the Dance Blitz crew. Shelly helps supervise and coordinate since I don’t have a manager. I wish I had a way to get Jessie here, but I only ever see her on the set.
The blue crystal dress is delivered and I’m fitted into it six times with different undergarments. There’s talk about my hips being too bony, my boobs too flat. Some want more butt, others want more cleavage. I become an object rather than a person. They try push-up bras, stick-on bras, no bra. Then thong underwear, ruffly underwear, and some spandex thing that makes me feel stuck in a chute.
Apparently I have no say in any of it. My hair is curled into elaborate spirals. My makeup is the most dramatic I’ve ever seen it. Bright coral lipstick, winged eyeliner. My cheekbones have never been so prominent.
Almost no one talks directly to me. I’m like a mannequin or a doll. I long for Blitz. Jessie. Cecilia. Even Hannah would be an improvement. As soon as I think that, I know I’ve gone around a bend.
Blitz is whisked away well before I’m done. He comes in to kiss me and say he’ll see me at the premiere. I want to ask if he has to go see the other finalists, but I’m afraid of the answer, so I don’t.
The process is tedious, and embarrassing, having total strangers applying wax to places I don’t understand why they are messing with. My gown is full length with a train. I’m not exactly going to be flashing my bikini area.
But finally, as mid-afternoon comes around, they pronounce me ready.
I get my shoes last, deadly stilettos so high as to feel like I’m en pointe. The heels are tiny, like a spit for the barbecue. They are silver and gleam with sparkle, an exact match for my toes and fingers.
I stumble twice trying to cross the living room, and the woman in charge relents and carefully rolls my dress and fastens it with pins. I’m allowed to slip off the shoes and put on pretty silver ballet flats for the ride only.
The chef sends up a salad with thin crackers and a vitamin drink to get me through the evening. I suck it down greedily, not having eaten since this crew arrived, but halfway through the water, one of the women shakes her head and takes it from me. “Go pee out what you can,” she says. “Or we’ll have to put the spandex on you.”
I hurry for the bathroom, very much not thrilled when one of the women follows me in to ensure the safety of the dress while I pee. When I wash my hands, she holds a towel in front of my belly to avoid splashing it.
“Why is this such a big deal?” I ask.
“This dress is on loan,” she says. “You cannot damage it.”
“If I damage it, I’ll just buy it.” Money has started hitting my own account.
“One hundred and twenty thousand dollars?” she says.
Um, okay. Never mind. I look down at the dress. It is worth more than my parents’ house.
I realize for the first time I have zero jewelry to wear. I wonder if that will be noticed, and why none was borrowed if they were going to go to the trouble to get a dress on loan.
We walk back out to the living room. Most of the crew has packed up. Out front, a limo waits.
Now that all the prep is done, I feel very much alone. I have no one to talk to, and I imagine having to arrive in the limo by myself, facing the cameras and fans and reporters without anyone directing me. Panic flits through my body. What if Blitz is already there posing with Mariah or Christy or Giselle? Do I walk up and do the same?
A driver in a black suit and hat stands by the door. I nod at him as he opens it. I feel like I’m driving to my doom. This might as well be a hearse.
But when I lean in, I see him.
Blitz.
I let out a small cry and lunge for him. “You’re here!”
He wraps his arms around me, careful not to disturb my makeup or the dress. “Of course I am,” he says. “You didn’t think I was going to send you out there by yourself, did you?”
I settle beside him on the seat. “I wasn’t sure.”
The woman who had directed the crew of people comes inside the limo. Blitz nods at her. “Hey, Steena,” he says. “I figured you’d be doing Giselle.”
“Giselle brought her own staff for this event,” Steena says with a sniff. “No telling how she’ll turn out.”
Blitz turns to me. “You look devastatingly beautiful. Your picture is going to be everywhere tomorrow.”
“Our picture,” I say. I realize he’s holding a box in his lap. “What is that?”
“For you,” he says. “They were going to get something on loan, but I decided I wanted to buy you something special.”
I look around. There is no camera crew here. He’s not doing this for effect, for an audience. It’s just us.
He passes me the box.
I open it and suck in a breath. It’s a necklace, all diamonds, like little leaves in a perfect circle.
“I got it approved for your dress,” he says. “Kendra said it was fine.”
I can’t stop looking at it. “Blitz, this is crazy.”
“We should indulge in a thing or two before we settle down to ordinary life,” he says. “We probably won’t have much occasion to dress like this once the show is over.”
He lifts the necklace from the box and unclasps it. “May I?”
I nod and turn away from him.
His fingers slide across my skin and the diamonds lay cool and heavy against my collarbone. After he fastens it, he presses a kiss into the back of my neck. “Like it?”
“It’s breathtaking,” I say, touching it with my fingertips.
“Just like the ballerina who wears it.”
I turn back to him. “I’m so nervous,” I confess. “But I’m better now that you’re here.”
He tucks my arm inside his elbow. “This is great fun. The limo will pull up, we’ll get out, and there will be outrageous cheering, a lot like the DVD signing.”
“Will girls show their boobs?”
He laughs. “I doubt it. We’ll be in front of a big sign advertising the show, and they’ll want pictures of us together. Then probably apart.” He squeezes my arm. “That’s normal, even with married couples. They like to have individual shots for the fashion people.”
“Okay,” I say. “Then what?”
“We’ll walk down a ways, and there will be a reporter who interviews us. Again, together and possibly also separate.”
“What about the other girls?”
“Usually they spread us out,” he says. “But due to the competition and the drama, you never know.”
“We’re making our approach,” Steena says.
“Where are Devon and the rest?” I ask.
“Already there,” Blitz says. “We’ll be the last to arrive. The big finale.”
I take a deep breath.
Steena passes me the stilettos and I slip the ballet flats off and put the other shoes on. Then she comes behind me to release the dress from the pins. “Be careful in this,” she says. Her voice is kinder now. Maybe she was anxious earlier too. Maybe seeing how Blitz treats me changed her mind about who I was.
She scoots down the long seat to the very front near the driver so she isn’t accidentally caught by the cameras as they snap us coming out.
“I’ll get out first,” Blitz says. “Then I’ll turn and reach for you.”
“Got it,” I say. Another deep breath.
“This is easy,” Blitz says. “I actually have fun at these things.”
The limo rolls to a stop. I hear cheers as the door swings open. I can see bodyguards on either side of the carpet.
Then Duke peers in. He’s pretty cleaned up in a black suit. “Don’t fall on your face, bro,” he says.
Blitz shakes his head. “Don’t trip me.”
Duke steps aside and Blitz exits the car. The roar of the crowd is tremendous and flashes pop like crazy. He turns for me. “Ready?” he mouths.
I step carefully across the floor and bend down to emerge f
rom the car. When I appear, the cameras go crazy all over again.
Holy cow, I’m here.
Chapter 26
The walk up the red carpet takes a while. Every time we take a step, someone else calls out, “Blitz, Livia, look this way!” and we stop and smile again.
We’re separated, like Blitz said we would be. I try to look natural and smile, but I’m sure I appear to be a lost child in the images. I’ve had more photos taken of me in the past five minutes than in my entire nineteen years.
When we get to the first reporter, Blitz says a few words and then everyone asks if we will kiss for the camera. Blitz is more than happy to oblige, dipping me low as cheers and whoops carry on in the crowd.
I feel more than a little dizzy as he lifts me back up. This whole experience is heady. I can see why people would get addicted to it.
Finally we’re led into the theater itself. The lights are all up over the crowd. It isn’t as large as I thought it would be, only maybe twice the size of a typical movie theater. Devon is in front of the screen, talking into a microphone.
“And here is our star, Blitz Craven, with the lovely Livia Mays.”
I hesitate a second, then remember that I have a stage name now. We wave to the crowd. Devon gestures as if he wants Blitz to come up, but Blitz shakes his head and we move toward the front row. For the first time, I see the other finalists.
Giselle is ridiculously beautiful in a deep black gown, her pale red hair in an elegant chignon offset to one side. Mariah is queenly, her hair an elaborate braided updo, in a tawny gold sequined dress. Christy looks lovely in white again, almost bridal, her blond hair flowing in gentle waves across her shoulders.
Our chairs are marked. I’m to sit next to Christy, and Blitz is on my other side.
We settle in. Devon goes on a little longer about the history of Dance Blitz, making jokes. Barry Winston, the host of the show, comes out for a moment, saying a few disparaging remarks about Blitz, sending the crowd into titters more than once.
Blitz handles this all fine, draping his arm around me and crossing one ankle over his thigh. He seems relaxed, like this is his element.
Finally, they clear the microphone stand and the opening credits to Dance Blitz come on. There’s a cheer in the back, and I realize there must be fans here as well as cast members. I wonder how they get tickets. I wish I could have gotten my friend Mindy here somehow. She would have loved this.
When the show begins, I’m completely captivated, as if the characters onscreen are other people. The host recaps the last season that led to the three finalists. We see brief clips of some of their dance numbers, and at least one kiss with each girl.
I find myself gripping the armrest during this, and Giselle notices and smirks. I let go and try to appear more relaxed.
Then we see Blitz walking across the room where he always deliberates on the girls before he chooses. He looks at Giselle’s image, then Christy’s, then Mariah’s.
Then he opens a drawer and extracts a fourth matching frame. When he turns it around, it’s a photo of me.
He sets it closest to him.
The host is back. He says, “This season is extra special. In this episode, we’ll introduce you to Livia Mays, the new girl who surprised millions of viewers by storming onto the live finale last December.”
They play a clip of me coming onstage.
“Blitz will go on four dates, one with each girl, as we prepare for four live episodes. And this time, you get to choose who is eliminated each week.”
He quickly runs through how the show will work. Four elimination episodes, all with live voting. At the end of episodes three and four, a girl will be sent home.
My stomach flutters.
The rest of the show goes through our dates. Blitz dances with Christy and gives her a chaste peck at his condo. The pier with Mariah, and Duke was right, she seems stiff and unsure.
Then me, at the castle, coming down the steps, and dancing on the path. They don’t use any of the footage of us sitting on the ground, and I apologize to my unhappy legs that they went through all that pain and suffering for nothing.
The host comes out. “We know Livia has the advantage going into the live shows, but there is one wild card in the batch. The girl who has always gotten under Blitz’s skin. Giselle Andreas.”
There’s a flash of a nearly naked Giselle on Blitz’s lap in his dressing room. Then a montage of things that must be old, as Blitz’s hair is a little different and so is Giselle’s. Them kissing. Blitz pressing her against his Jaguar, his hand going up her skirt.
Now I’m having to force myself to stay calm. My heart is beating so hard that it hurts. I’ve never seen most of these moments, even though I watched both seasons. They must be outtakes they didn’t use before.
The two of them roll in sand at the beach, her untying her bikini top and flinging it away. Blitz hides her and waves the cameras away.
Barry comes back onscreen, the images shrinking to a small rectangle behind him. “It will be up to you who gets the final dance with Blitz Craven.” He glances back at an image of Blitz and Giselle gazing into each other’s eyes.
God, it looks like they were meant to be together, the way the clips are done. I’m just one of the other three. It’s completely opposite of real life.
Blitz reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
By the time the lights come back up, I can barely breathe. They want Giselle to win! They definitely want her to stay until the end.
We all stand, and people come up to Giselle and kiss her cheek. Mariah and Christy look over at me uncertainly. I know I must be pale. My face feels numb.
Blitz is easygoing and congenial, greeting people, shaking hands. I’m mute and shocked, like a statue beside him. But he sticks by me.
The time ticks on, never-ending, horrible. Giselle pops over, leaning on Blitz and kissing his cheek long enough for many pictures to be taken. I clutch his hand on the opposite side, unable to say or do anything about it.
Finally, at last, the gathering starts to break up. There’s talk of drinks, an after-party.
I can’t do it. I just can’t. The lights are so bright. The noise so loud. I feel like an explosion has just gone off and my ears are ringing, and I’m barely able to recognize what used to be familiar.
When we make it to the limo, Blitz is all smiles, bouncing with energy. I don’t know how he hasn’t noticed my distress. I don’t know how to explain to him why this is so horrible for me. I can’t explain it to myself.
He asks me what I’m up for, if I want to attend the after-party, and finally registers my expression, the stiffness in my arms and neck.
“Livia, hey, what’s wrong?” He pulls me close.
I can’t answer, my face going to his chest, the fancy hairdo coming undone, me coming undone. It’s like there’s a vise around my lungs, and I can’t take in enough air to say a word.
He instructs the driver to take us home and holds me close. I feel the energy and excitement drain out of him, and I wonder, am I right for him after all?
Chapter 27
I don’t feel much better even after sleeping. I don’t want to get up.
Blitz isn’t in bed with me. I peer at the tops of the bedroom curtains and realize the sun is blazing. We have the day off from rehearsal, thankfully, or I would clearly be late.
I check the clock. After ten.
My hair is a horrible disaster of pins and hairspray. This must be what a hangover is like, except I didn’t drink anything. I feel like the comic book drawings of someone recovering from a bender.
I manage to tame my hair into a crazy ponytail and pad into the living room. Blitz is on the sofa, surrounded by a laptop, iPad, and the episode schedule, while also talking on the phone. He winks when he sees me.
“Those are some really great numbers,” Blitz says. “What will it take to show me results before it airs?”
His face is serious. “I don’t get that. When did I get cut out of this
loop?” His expression gets darker and darker.
“I’ll talk to Devon about it.” Then he abruptly hangs up the phone and throws it on a cushion.
“Hey, Princess,” he says, shoving aside the laptop. “Come sit with me.”
I head over and curl up on his lap. My feet are freezing on the tile.
Blitz is completely put together, showered, dressed, looking much more formal than usual in a button-down shirt, vest, and black jeans.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Oh, I just wanted to see how the live results would be tallied. Normally I can twist someone’s arm to release the data early. It is my show.”
I breathe in the smell of him. Pine woods. Shampoo. I’m surprised he’s so presentable on our day off.
“You going somewhere?” I ask.
“There’s a publicity thing this afternoon,” he says. “Sort of spontaneous. Optional. I’m going. The other girls will be there. Signing stuff. Nothing official.”
I close my eyes. I don’t want to see them again. I don’t want to do this at all. I feel all my muscles contracting.
“This is a hard gig,” he says. “I’m not asking you to go. But I need to be there.”
I nod. I want to tell myself to shower, to pull on some clothes. Call in a makeup person. Be bold. Get in Giselle’s face. Do this.
But I can’t make myself. I slide away from Blitz and fold up in a ball against the arm of the sofa.
“What’s happening to you is really natural, Livia,” he says. His voice is soothing. “You want to escape all this. I get it. Tons of the contestants went through it. When you see yourself up there, it really hits home how vulnerable you are.” He scoots close to me again so we’re touching. His hand smooths my hair away from my forehead.
“You want to know a little reality TV secret?” His face is so close that I feel his breath on my cheek.
“Okay,” I say.
“On a lot of these shows, whether it’s singing or dancing or eating worms or just being bitchy housewives, most of the cast doesn’t leave the show over straight eliminations or judges or being voted off the island.”
