by JJ Knight
I haven’t seen Larry in a long time. I give him a little wave and he smiles.
Jessie hurries through the door and sets her bag in a corner.
“Who is this?” Taya asks. She pushes back a section of her carefully blown out blond hair. She looks ready to eat somebody.
“Our assistant,” Blake says. “Shelly is overseas.”
“I’m here,” Hannah says. “I can handle whatever goes on here.”
“Jessie stays,” Blitz says.
Poor Jessie isn’t used to this level of scrutiny or the laser-hard glare of Hannah. “I can go,” she says.
“I can make use of her,” Taya says, pushing a stack of papers toward the middle of the table. Pass these out.”
Jessie glances at us to see if we agree.
I stand up. “I’ll help.” I’m not going to have them make Jessie feel like a second-class citizen on my watch.
Everyone is quiet while Jessie and I pass around the packets. It looks like the treatment for the wedding episode. The cover reads, “Non-Season Special Drama.”
They got the drama part right.
I sit back down next to Blitz. He takes my hand.
Taya talks first. “Our counsel Liam has the pertinent part of Blitz’s contract available as we go into our first discussion of the treatment. We already have a crew on hand, and filming begins tomorrow. We didn’t want the engagement to get stale before we started promoting.”
I glance at Blitz. He’s grimaced at the word stale.
“How did a prime slot open so quickly?” Lance asks. He flips through the pages.
“The hundred-year birthday celebration of that comic got canceled,” Taya says. “He apparently isn’t well enough.”
Lance nods. “It’s good timing. Sweeps week. All of it.”
“Agreed,” Taya says. “That’s why we’re jumping.”
“What’s the legal details?” Blitz asks. “I’m not clear on whether we’re getting the marriage license and actually having official documents signed? I’m not for that. Livia and I have our own actual wedding planned.”
Taya flips through the document. “If you go to page six, you’ll see we have a segment planned where you apply for your marriage license. We’re still working on permits for that, so it might get nixed.”
“And if we do get permits,” Blitz says.
Larry speaks up, casual in his tan suit with an open throat. “I checked on this. Even if you file for the permit, it can be allowed to expire. It doesn’t mean anything unless you have an official sign the marriage document.”
Liam is next, a more strait-laced lawyer in a black suit and red tie. “We can fake that even if it’s part of the wedding filming. Use a false document and let the other one expire.” He looks around at Taya and the producers. “Were you even going to do a shot of them signing? It’s not wise to show the real document regardless.”
Devon waves his hand to shoo away the idea. “That’s boring. Nobody cares about documents.”
“But city hall,” Taya says. “That’s an expensive segment.”
“No, we’ll do that one if we can,” Devon says. “No close-up on documents. But I doubt we get the go ahead on our timeframe. They’re notoriously difficult in LA about government offices.”
“That’s a big budget item we can strike,” Lance says. “Might as well.”
“It’s good for the promo slots if we can do it, though,” Devon says. “Blitz and Livia will be more relatable if we show that they are like everyone else. Make them stand in line looking nervous.”
“But the cake tasting and tux fitting are much sexier promo ops,” Taya says. “Nobody skips past a commercial of people doing those things.”
“It’s as much the social media market as the television spots,” Drake says. “The media team can make a funny meme about the line at the license office.”
“True,” Lance says with a laugh. “Famous celebrity. Still impossible line.”
Devon nods. “Exactly. We’ll get a shot of some sour-faced official and it will go viral.”
“Let’s talk about the bridesmaids,” I say, forcing my voice not to quiver. “I don’t get to choose any of them?”
“We need the bridesmaids to be television worthy,” Taya says. “You can save your real friends for the ceremony you and Blitz plan yourselves.”
“And you left family out,” Blitz says.
Now there is a discomforting silence.
“My parents won’t be involved regardless,” I say quickly.
“Blitz, did you talk to your brother?” Taya asks. “He’s a handsome devil.”
“No,” Blitz says. “And my father is out.”
“You want your mother?” Drake asks. “It has to be good to have his mother, right?”
“We agreed that family wasn’t necessary. We want a spectacle, not a home movie,” Taya says.
“We would like a social cause attached to the event,” Blitz says smoothly. “I think it plays better if all this glittery celebrity has a heart.”
Taya frowns. “It’s a bit late to be adding a component of that nature.”
Liam leans forward. “We have to get a green light from the charity before we can mention them. What did you have in mind?”
Blitz looks over at me. “We think the wheelchair ballerinas will take the fans back to the early days when Livia and I were together. It was a moment that reconnected me with them too. We want them here for the wedding. All the girls and their families. And we want to fund some classes for wheelchair dancers here in LA.”
A mild uproar erupts. Everyone talks at once, as if we’ve just suggested bombing a third-world country.
Taya lifts her hands to shush everyone. “We appreciate your ideas,” she says. “And it sounds like a worthy cause. But that’s an undertaking we could never get through legal and finance in time.”
“You got this show through legal and finance,” Blitz counters.
Liam speaks up. “This episode was built in from the beginning,” he says. “With legal and finance. What you’re proposing is basically starting a new organization. The federal non-profit paperwork alone would take months.”
“Aren’t there any wheelchair dance programs here already?” I ask.
“Possibly,” Liam says. “But many of them wouldn’t have the infrastructure or personnel to handle an influx of money of this size. Plus manage the publicity we’d suddenly give them.”
“And I don’t think there’s a budget item for flying in a bunch of random people,” Taya says, her tone dismissive. “Plus, contracts. And liability for travel for these girls.”
The room goes quiet.
I’m the one who speaks up next. “Is there anything about this wedding that belongs to me and Blitz?” I ask quietly.
“It’s still you,” Drake says. “And Blitz.” He passes his hand over his forehead, like this is all too much. “This one is for the fans. They just want to see the couple they feel they brought together in pretty clothes they will never own, eating fancy food they will never taste. And having the fantasy wedding they could only dream up. They put you here, in their minds. So, this is their wedding too.”
I glance over at Blitz. I can see he’s softening on the matter. The wheelchair ballerinas were a long shot. And I can see it might be hard to get them to travel. Daisy for sure, who often has bad days. Flying is hard.
Maybe a local wedding is better than a cruise. Make it easy for the girls to come.
My mind is a whirl as the meeting goes on, budgets and schedules and filming days. We will be doing so little at the studio itself that they decide not even to open it to save the crew costs.
I only register that the meeting is over when chairs start scraping the floor and everyone begins to stand.
I get up, a little dazed.
“So we’re all set for wardrobe tomorrow and filming at the cake shop?” Taya asks.
“All set,” Devon says. “I’ll get the footage over and the first promo is set for a week fr
om now.”
“You can get it ready in time?” Lance asks.
“Not a problem,” Devon assures him.
Hands shake all around.
Blitz and I walk out with Larry and Jessie.
“I’m surprised you didn’t fight them on the bridesmaids,” Larry says. “Livia’s contract doesn’t specify that she loses the right to choose them.”
I shrug. “I don’t think Mindy’s parents would let her come, and everyone at the dance studio is so busy. We couldn’t have Danika shut it down while we film.”
Larry nods. “All right then. Good luck with that part.” He shakes Blitz’s hand. “Let me know if anything goes south.”
“I’m sure it will,” Blitz says.
“And if you want that charity set up in the future, just let us know. We can handle the paperwork.”
“Thanks,” Blitz says.
We walk ahead of the rest of the group, not really wanting to engage in random chit-chat. The sun is bright overhead. Perpetual summer in sunny southern California.
But I can’t help but feel like there’s a permanent cloud over my head.
Chapter 12
The cake shop is a cute little place in a restored Victorian house. I feel like I’ve seen it before, so maybe allowing film crews is a side business. That’s pretty common in LA.
I wear a white sundress with a blue belt. It’s light and pretty. They’ve dressed Blitz very classically in fitted khaki pants and a pale blue shirt. No leather and sexy. He’s a family man now, apparently.
A ridiculously long white limo takes us to the shop. We have to be filmed exiting it about six times before Devon lets us move on.
Inside, Amara speaks to a woman in a white apron. This other lady has a makeup person hovering around her like a bee, so I assume she’s the one who will be filming with us.
“Why is Amara here?” I ask Blitz. “Are we dancing?”
“It wasn’t in the script,” he says.
The woman looks up and shoos the makeup girl away. “You’re here!”
“Just an hour behind schedule,” Devon says. “That’s good for us.”
We do introductions. The woman is Marcy, and she owns the shop. Everything inside is picture perfect. Blitz pokes at a fully decorated cake sitting on a shelf nearby. “Fake,” he whispers to me and I giggle.
“We’re going to do five or six entrances and greetings,” Devon says, looking around. “Lighting has things well in hand.”
A half-dozen rigs are erected in various spots around the room.
“We’ll have them sit here,” Marcy says, gesturing to two fancy wire stools with heart-shaped backs. “Or we can do a low table over there.” She points to a marble-topped desk with three chairs.
“I like the bar,” Devon says. “We’ll see how it looks.”
The camera man sets up inside the door. “Ready for test shots.”
A young man sets down a coil of thick cords and elbows Jessie. She sets down her messenger bag, and the two of them go outside the door.
“And in three, two, one,” the camera operator says.
The two of them come in, and Devon steps behind the camera. As they reposition lights and move a couple items from shelves, Blitz and I wander the little shop.
Amara approaches. “So, after Devon scouted the place, he thought maybe you two could dance a little over there.” She gestures to an open area in front of the glass cake display, where customers would normally wait in line.
“What sort of dance?” Blitz asks.
“Nothing fancy. A waltz. Something that doesn’t take too much space.”
“Sure,” Blitz says. “Will we have music, or will it be added in post?”
“Both,” Amara says. “The idea is that you will start on your own, then the music will be slowly added. Sort of a cinema effect. We’ll play the piece, so you can get the tempo and steps roughly in time.”
Blitz takes my hand and leads me to the space. “Something like this?”
He draws me close, and we begin a slow dance, one-two-three, one-two-three.
“Sure,” she says. “Let’s not do classic head position, though. More like if you were at your wedding. So you can see each other.”
We pull apart slightly to give us room for noses as we look into each other’s eyes. My skirt flutters around as we move, Blitz careful to keep us from crashing into chairs or counters. The crew moves aside to give us space.
“Okay,” Devon says. “We’re good for the entrance. Places.”
Blitz and I break apart. Kendra pops up from a chair to fix my hair and give me another light dusting of powder. “No more dancing until it’s time to film,” she says. “It’s warm in here and you shine.”
“In a good way,” Blitz says, kissing my nose.
Kendra pushes him away with a half-annoyed snort. “Don’t be messing with the powder.” She brushes me again. “And no kissing or eating unless you’re told!”
“Aye, aye, captain!” Blitz says with a laugh.
We step back outside, and a crew member closes the door.
“She’s not watching,” Blitz says, leaning down to press a light kiss on my mouth.
“You’re terrible,” I say.
Behind us, an assistant speaks into her headset. “How far back?” she asks.
She motions us back a few more steps. “All right.”
Blitz and I wait for her instructions.
“Okay,” she says. “Hold hands and walk side by side. Blitz, open the door with your right hand. The door pushes in. Marcy will be just inside. On my command. Wait. And, go! Smile!”
Blitz and I walk forward. He opens the door. Marcy is in place.
“Blitz! Livia!” She walks forward and extends a hand.
“Cut!” Devon says. “Did we agree on a shake or a hug?”
“Livia’s dress is white,” Kendra says. “A hug might get makeup on either one of them.”
“Marcy, shake with both hands around one of theirs,” Devon says. “Make it warmer than a business shake.”
The crew opens the door and we go back outside again.
It takes twelve tries before Devon is happy. Finally, we take a seat at the counter.
“We have six types of cake for you to try,” Marcy says. Each tiny round cake is decorated with a different color flower on top. She points to the first one.
“Cut,” Devon says. “Blitz and Livia, back away a second so we can get a clear shot of the cakes. B roll!”
“I’m surprised they didn’t shoot that ahead,” Blitz says.
Kendra hurries forward to adjust my lipstick. “They were supposed to, but the original cakes didn’t look good enough,” she says. “Devon was super pissed. They had to go buy some from another bakery.”
“Oh, I bet Marcy loves that,” Blitz says.
We watch as Marcy repeatedly describes each small cake for the cameras. She’s not a true actress, and I can see the unhappiness in her eyes that these are someone else’s work. “Of course, your cake won’t be decorated like these samples in any way.”
That must be her little stab at whoever’s cakes these are.
“Okay, back to the counter!” Devon says.
Marcy cuts sections of cake from each flavor. We film various silly bits where Blitz and I feed each other. One of the cakes is some sort of herbal poppyseed wheat, and Blitz can’t hide his disgust.
Marcy barely holds it together for that one. She can probably already see the entertainment news going bonkers over footage of Blitz hating on a cake that isn’t even from her shop.
That’s show business.
After what seems like hours of cake footage, Marcy takes our “order.” Once that is done, it’s our moment to dance.
“Just keep rolling,” Devon says.
Blitz takes my hand and helps me off the stool. We wander the shop as if entranced by her designs, a small favor to her that will hopefully get used and make up for the switched-out cakes.
“I can’t believe our day is fina
lly coming,” Blitz says and takes my hand to turn me in a circle.
He draws me close. This is classic Blitz, dazzling and full of charm.
“Me either,” I say.
We begin a slow, lazy dance. Music fills the shop, and I must admit, I’m caught up in it. The lovely room. The smell of sugar and warm cake.
The floor creaks as we cross the wooden boards. They’ll definitely have to drop in their own music to get rid of that.
The door opens and closes. Odd they’d let the crew go in or out while they’re filming. That’s not just sound to filter out, but a flash of light that crossed us from the sun.
“Oh, isn’t this just charming,” I hear.
Oh my God. No way.
No.
Blitz lets my hand go, and I whip around to see her.
Giselle.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, about to look for Devon, when my face is suddenly wet and cold.
I touch my cheeks. They’re covered in red.
What is this? I panic for a moment, thinking it’s blood, and wipe it off as fast as I can. Slowly, I realize it’s something else, sweet smelling and sticky. I look up, red dripping onto my dress, and lock on Giselle.
She holds a can of spray frosting, the nozzle still aimed at me.
“Put THAT on your wedding cake,” she says.
“What the hell!” Blitz says. He pulls me in close, hands wiping at the frosting on my face. “Who the hell put her up to this?”
We look around, but nobody seems surprised but us. And Jessie. Her mouth is wide open in a shocked “o.”
“Get out of here,” Blitz roars at Giselle. “And shut off that damn camera.”
The main camera operator looks over a Devon. He signals to keep rolling. I glance over at the second camera man. He’s smiling, like he’s loving every minute of his job.
I look down at my pretty white dress. It’s ruined, deep red stains from the frosting all down the front. I don’t have any way to clean my hands or face.
“This is the last straw,” Blitz says to the room. “Don’t think I’m going to continue the contract if this is the type of bullshit you’re going to pull.”
Giselle laughs. “You should see yourself, Blitz,” she says. “So serious now. Have a little fun, like we used to.” She squirts a little more frosting in the air.
