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.
We take a bow and head to the side stage to meet Barry. My stomach flutters. A live interview. I almost trip on the hem of my dress, but Blitz squeezes my hand and keeps me steady.
“That was truly lovely,” Barry says, grinning broadly. His dark gray suit gleams as much as his dark hair. “How did it feel?”
“Amazing,” Blitz says. “I’m so happy to be back onstage with Livia.” He gazes down on me with utter fondness.
I lean into him automatically. “I would never want to dance with anyone else,” I say.
“Oh, ho!” Barry says. “That’s a lot to live up to, Blitz. Is the Texas ballerina trying to tie you down?”
“She already has, Barry,” Blitz says.
Barry looks out to the audience. “If you agree that Livia is the girl for Blitz, remember to cast your vote.”
We exit the stage and are plunged into the semidarkness of backstage.
“I must run, my love,” Blitz says with a quick kiss on my hair. “See you after the show.”
He heads to wardrobe to prepare for Mariah’s number. I hesitate a moment, watching the chaos of the set change, the new chorus dancers, and the crew shifting everyone around.
Mariah passes me.
“Good luck,” I say. “Your Paris number is beautiful.”
She looks back a moment, not sure what to say, it seems, then nods and moves on. The pattern begins again, commercial break and montage. I realize she’ll have to go out alone and wait for Blitz. I was lucky to be the first one, so he was dressed and ready for me. He’ll be increasingly harried as the show goes on.
Not that it will matter. He’s a professional. But it is only his second live show.
I lift my skirt to avoid tripping and head out into the hall. Only when I’m back in my dressing room, now full of flowers from all the producers and one from the girls at Dreamcatcher, do I relax and watch the rest of the broadcast.