The Blitzed Series Boxed Set: Five Contemporary Romance Novels

by JJ Knight

  He pauses. I can’t summon the energy to respond to this, so I just listen.

  “They quit. They walk out. The show saves face by showing footage that leads viewers to think it was their singing or bad attitude or whatever. But often, it’s just nerves.”

  He kisses my hair just over my ear. The warmth of him is comforting.

  “Normally you would have gone through a vetting process. Auditions, interviews, screen tests. Your ability to hold up under pressure would have already been tested, and even if you made it through that on my show, any sign that you were cracking would have meant I got a blue card on you during early filming.”

  “Blue card?”

  “The first elimination round is big. I have to get rid of several girls at once to thin the field of contestants. If anyone on the crew, from the assistants to the cameramen to the wardrobe people, felt someone was caving in, they would tell their supervisor. Devon would get it, and issue me a blue card, which meant I had to eliminate them.”

  “Would I have gotten a blue card after last night?”

  Blitz wraps his arms around me. “I think you did fine. I know you felt like you were frozen and overwhelmed, but you didn’t show it. Have you looked at any of the commentary on the premiere?”

  I shake my head.

  He reaches over for his phone. “Let’s see. I’ll read you some.”

  I shift and snuggle up against him. I know he won’t read me anything I can’t handle.

  “Okay, here we go. ‘Livia kept her cool while Giselle played the fool. Let’s vote that ho off on the first episode.’”

  I smile. The public doesn’t mince words.

  “And another one. ‘Livia was like a calm queen among the reality TV attention whores, including Blitz. She can do better.’”

  This makes me laugh. “Who is better than you?”

  “Oh, you’ll get plenty of suggestions. In fact, I think there were at least five marriage proposals on Twitter last night. Duke was forwarding those.”

  “I like Duke.”

  “Yeah, he’s all right.”

  “I didn’t trust him after the Twitter thing. I thought he was involved.”

  Blitz shuts off his phone. “I admit to having my concerns too. But it wouldn’t really be any benefit to him to tank my career. He’d be out of a job.”

  “Where is this signing thing?”

  “At a bar one of the producers owns.”

  “Not the mean red-faced one.”

  “No, the quiet one, Drake Addler.”

  “His name sounds familiar. Not just as a producer. But something before.”

  Blitz plays with a loose curl that is falling down my cheek. “He was a child actor. Did a show where he was a Dennis the Menace type kid living with a rich family.”

  “I remember that!” I used to watch reruns of the show, in the time before my father took the television away.

  “He was smart with his money. Now he produces other shows.”

  “So we like him?”

  “He’ll be there. You can judge for yourself.” Then, realizing what he’s said, “If you want to go.”

  I realize I have no help. No wardrobe. No makeup. “When does it start?”

  He checks his watch. “About three hours.”

  “Is there any way I can get Cecilia here?”

  “I’ll call Shelly.”

  “Okay. I’ll go shower.”

  Blitz smiles. “That’s my princess.”

  I uncurl myself from the sofa. I’m better. I see how things are. And Giselle is good for us. She draws all the attention and takes all the negative hits. Of course Devon would capitalize on that.

  They are making Giselle into a cliché, the bad girl, the whore. And there’s one thing that tends to be true in Hollywood.

  The bad girl never wins.

  Chapter 28

  The intensity in the studio starts reaching a fever pitch as we enter the week of the first live elimination show.

  Rehearsals are brutal, especially for Blitz, who practices with all four of us and ususally has to go on talk shows each evening.

  When we more or less have the waltz and the ballet down, Amara leaves the supervision of work for the sexy dance to her assistant, who is a hundred times nicer. She has me wear very revealing body suits and work on getting comfortable with another male dancer standing in, his face pressing close to mine, his hands skimming me.

  I know this show is important. If I get that far, the sexy show is the last vote, the one that will determine who wins on the final episode. It’s intended to spike the ratings.

  We do other exercises I find strange but stirring, watching and mimicking sexy movie scenes, and reading aloud passages from romance novels and doing spontaneous dances to match. I think I’m pretty open to things, but some of them make me seriously blush.

  By the time I get home each night from these exercises, I’m more than a little hot for Blitz. Because of his publicity gigs, I always get home before him, and I’ve tackled him before he can even get something to eat.

  He doesn’t complain.

  The morning of the first live show feels a lot like the finale did, only I’m there for the entire process, not just the show itself. It airs at eight Eastern, so five our time, and preparations begin at six in the morning.

  The stage has been transformed since that last live show. Huge video screens flank the two sides. The upper stage, which has been roped off for days, has a new false floor with lights running beneath it.

  The bottom stage is lined with neon and is where we perform most of the dances, although some of them involve both sections. We have final rehearsals in costume now that both stages are integrated. The lights and sound will also be tested with us rather than our stand-ins.

  My first run-through is with the ballroom dance coach, as they are working not to overtax Blitz. Once Devon has made adjustments to my position as well as the chorus dancers, Blitz comes out.

  My heart hammers as he walks up in his dance costume. Our waltz is meant to continue my princess theme from the castle date. I have a deep blue dress with an enormous skirt that billows when I turn. He wears a soldier-inspired outfit with epaulets on the shoulders and frog fasteners down the front, his legs in heavy dark blue tights.

  “Places!” Devon shouts. Cameras shift into their locations. They are practicing their roles too. I realize now how much chaos my appearance at the finale created for the well-rehearsed production.

  We are bathed in darkness as Barry comes out to introduce our number. On the video screens, images from our castle date tell the story of who we are. A phone number and texting key shows up, with the reminder to download the app or go online.

  I wonder if Mindy will get to watch and use all her votes for me. I make a promise to myself to call her house from an unknown number and try to get through. Maybe I can get Jessie to do it, and once she’s on the line, switch to me.

  The lights come up and the music begins. Blitz smiles down at me, and I take courage in knowing that of all the dances, ours matters most to him. Everything else is just theatrics.

  We begin our path across the stage, which is set to look like a ballroom. Extras in fancy gowns wait on the edges as if entranced by our solo dance. The video screens are still images of windows in the walls of a castle.

  We dance and spin, flawless, graceful. My love for him surges. We are doing this. We are getting through it.

  The extras come out to fill the upper stage, so Blitz and I move to the lower one to finish out the dance. We twirl and he lifts me momentarily, then we turn out and back. The final notes arrive and we whirl into our final position and hold.

  All the lights come up. “Very nice. Blitz and Livia, walk to extreme stage left, where you’ll do your interview with Barry. Once you hit the mark, you can go. Dancers, we need to make a few more adjustments.”

  Blitz and I hold hands as we head to the far edge of the stage, where Barry will put us in the spotlight for a post-dance interview while
the set is changed.

  Once we’re in position, Barry tells us, “I’ll say, ‘How did that feel?’ and you’ll say, ‘We feel great, Barry,’” and if something happened I’ll bring it up, but otherwise we’ll hang here for about ninety seconds of chitchat, then you’ll exit that way.” Barry points behind us.

  “Got it,” Blitz says.

  Jessie walks up with a bottle of water and Shelly comes to put a towel around Blitz’s neck.

  “You guys change out with wardrobe,” Amara says. “We’re done with you. Livia, you’ll need to be in makeup in thirty. Blitz, we’ll do the next number as soon as you’re changed.”

  I nod. Blitz squeezes my hand, then takes off for his dressing room. I give the water back to Jessie and tell her I’m going to watch rehearsal and to come get me when it’s time for makeup.

  Then I hurry down the steps of the stage and sneak into the audience seating. I sit down in the highest, darkest corner.

  The number is run through again with the dance coach and a trainer standing in for me and Blitz. The trainer doesn’t know it perfectly, but the coach more or less leads her through all the positions.

  The chorus dancers in their big gowns are so beautiful, led by male dancers in outfits that mimic Blitz’s but in muted tones. Astounding. I can’t believe I’ll be dancing in it. It will be so exciting for everyone at Dreamcatcher to see back home.

  I wonder if my parents know. If they’ll look.

  My throat feels thick.

  The lights go up onstage and the extras for the ballroom scene exit. There’s several minutes where spots go on and off and the video screens flash random footage, blank out, and come back. Barry moves to various places on the upper and extreme side stages while they play with lights and colors.

  Then the crew removes the pedestals and flowers for the waltz and bring out an Eiffel Tower and several pillars of fake stone. A Paris scene. I wonder whose it is.

  I don’t have long to wait. Like with my rehearsal, Mariah comes out with the dance coach. She is in a long glittery black gown. Her hair is in a lovely tight chignon covered with black net.

  I watch the clips that precede her dance. A few are the same from the first episode, and others are different. Blitz kisses her on the Santa Monica pier, the Ferris wheel behind them, and my stomach twists a little. He has no choice. I know this. But I feel sick just the same.

  Their dance has more technical difficulty than mine, with lifts and spins while she’s held suspended by the coach. A twinge of jealousy flutters through me that I’m not as good as her. But she’s probably danced all her life. Her poise and training is evident. Every movement, arch, and position is perfect.

  When the lights come up, she gets back in place and waits. Blitz comes out again, still tugging on his cuffs. He wears a black and white tuxedo for this number, and my heart squeezes at how handsome he looks.

  They greet each other and wait for the darkness to go down. Barry runs through his part again, then the clips, and the cameras move.

  Blitz is different from the coach in subtle ways. His movements are not as precise or technically perfect, but he has a smoldering quality that makes the dance more emotional. He tugs at you, making you wish it were you he was dancing with.

  The lifts are good, and the quality is definitely there. But Mariah is not quite as on with Blitz, as if his style doesn’t really lead her to be the best she can be. I wish the voting audience could see this. It’s so clear that they are not perfect partners if you see her with another dancer back to back.

  I wonder if I’m allowed to vote.

  A door opens from above, creating a rectangle of light from the hall. It’s Jessie. I hurry to the hall to head to makeup, wishing I could see all the numbers. Just watching this one has definitely bolstered my confidence.

  Chapter 29

  The last half hour before we go live is incredibly intense. Everybody runs from place to place with wardrobe emergencies or lost shoes or wondering where the heck the hat boxes went.

  I’m dressed and made up and calm. I go on first, so I am in and out before any of the other finalists. Now I hole up in my dressing room, supremely glad I get this small space of my own.

  Jessie sits nervously on a chair near the door, checking her phone every ten seconds. “This is so exciting!” she says. “I’m so worried I’m going to screw up!”

  “You’ll do fine,” I say, finding comfort in calming her. I haven’t seen Blitz since we passed in the halls a few hours ago, him pulling off a necktie on what looked like a forties getup.

  There’s a knock at my door. Jessie opens it to a huge arrangement of flowers that hides the person coming in.

  “Oh!” Jessie says, propping the door wide. “Look at this!”

  I stand up. The arrangement is at least three feet wide, an explosion of roses and white lilies.

  “Who is it from?” I ask.

  The flowers move to the side and I see it’s Blitz!

  Jessie takes the flowers from him and sets them on the counter, then quickly exits the room.

  “You ready for this?” he asks.

  “Honestly, this isn’t nearly as bad as the last time I came,” I say. “I know what’s going to happen.”

  “True,” he says. He gathers me close. “Gigi will kill me if I wreck your makeup, but I just wanted to see you before it all starts.”

  “I’ll be here when it all ends.”

  He touches my shoulder, my cheek, my hair. “You look breathtakingly lovely. You’ll captivate every viewer out there.”

  “Let’s hope they agree when they vote,” I say.

  He laughs. “You’ve been turned to the TV dark side,” he says. He presses a light kiss on my forehead. “See you onstage. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  He’s headed for the door when I see a strange red light in the corner. As Jessie comes back in, talking excitedly about the flowers and the people outside, I step closer to it.

  It’s coming from an ornate mirror hanging on the side wall of the dressing room. Jessie stops talking as I peer closer at it. It winks out.

  There’s another knock and another delivery of flowers.

  “This one’s from Bennett Claremont,” Jessie says.

  But I’m still looking at the small oval mirror. I lift the edge to take it off the wall, but it won’t budge. I pull harder, and it finally swings open.

  There’s a camera inside.

  “Oh!” Jessie says. “Was it recording you?”

  I glance around, wondering how many times I’ve changed in here, what footage it would have. I close it back up.

  “There are cameras everywhere,” I say. “It’s in the contract.”

  “That’s so creepy,” Jessie says. “They should tell you where they are.”

  “They told us we’d sometimes be filmed in the dressing rooms. I just didn’t think about it being run without a person in here too.” I turn to the main mirror, wondering if there’s something behind it as well. “From now on, when I change, I think I’ll have you hold something up.”

  “Agreed,” Jessie says. “Wow, that’s invasive.”

  “Welcome to reality TV,” I say.

  ~*´`*~

  As we approach the time for the show to start, the TV screen in the top corner of my dressing room pops on and the live feed of the stage is piped in. Currently it glows blue from the Dance Blitz logo and the neon lights along the floor. In the corner beyond the stage, I can see a hint of the studio audience entering and taking their seats.

  My stomach flutters again.

  After a few minutes, the TV flashes and switches to the actual broadcast, a commercial and lead-in with the Dance Blitz theme.

  I watch as the lights go up onstage and Barry walks out. He’s just started talking when a girl in all black comes in the room. “Five minutes,” she says.

  I nod. Barry describes how to vote, and the website and app download flash on the screen. He explains that viewers have forty votes that can be
divided any way they like but they must be cast within two hours of the end of the show. Then he talks about each of the girls, and little interview clips and dance rehearsal footage are shown.

  I’m deeply engrossed, when the door opens again. “Places,” a girl says.

  I stand up and Jessie follows me into the hall.

  Kendra approaches and checks my dress and makeup and hair. “Break a leg,” she says.

  The dance coach rounds the corner and waves at me. “Remember to relax into that last turn,” he says.

  “Got it.”

  He pats me on the shoulder as he passes by.

  We enter the backstage area, completely black except for low red lights and the occasional rectangle of a viewing screen with a hood surround. When we get close, I see Barry out onstage, looking up at the video screen. They must still be running the montage.

  I feel a hand enclose mine and turn to see Blitz. His eyes shine as he looks down at me. “Love you,” he mouths.

  “Love you too,” I whisper.

  The lights go back on Barry, drawing our attention back to the stage. He walks to one side, saying, “We’ll be right back after this message.”

  This is our cue to carefully go out into the darkness and wait for our dance to start. The chorus dancers start to fill in around us.

  Then we’re back live. Barry talks about me a little, and the screens show the castle date footage just like in practice. I sense the cameras moving into position.

  Then Barry is back. “For our first number of the night, the couple you’ve been waiting to see again in person, the princess who stormed the castle to save her prince, Livia Mays, with our dance bachelor Blitz Craven.”

  I’m not quite ready for the applause and feel a little startled. But as the music starts up, I’m able to tune it out.

  The number runs exactly as planned, no stumbles, no big mistakes. I’m a little nervous, not quite as at ease as during the rehearsals, but I don’t think it’s anything too noticeable.