Chapter 30
We don’t get to know the results of the show. Nobody does. Some independent technology company tallies and verifies the results.
Because there is a “last dance” for the girl who gets eliminated at the end of the next live show, we all practice a quiet, simple number with Blitz in addition to our “classic number” that we will be judged by.
I try to reason with Kendra and Amara about the pancake tutu for our ballet. It’s in the way, I explain, and it means Blitz and I can’t embrace, not even in the post-interview.
But they are stubborn about this. I wonder what is going on.
More footage is taken of us practicing. Giselle is often seen roaming the halls in nothing but a tiny satin robe, looking for cameras.
I tape a piece of paper over the oval mirror so the camera in my dressing room can’t get any footage I don’t want. I spotted a couple clips in the montages when we rewatched the show that looked a little hazy, like they were behind two-way mirrors in the other girls’ rooms. I didn’t see anything that would have been from the camera in mine.
While there was a definite emphasis on Giselle in the opening show, the live show was extremely evenhanded. We all had the same type of footage, interviews, dance rehearsals, and date footage.
But somebody up top wasn’t happy with the low-conflict nature of the show. So a session where all four girls get together to be chatty is scheduled. It will be held at a restaurant where we will all eat lunch together.
The luncheon is a fiasco. I’m not asked to say anything ahead of time, but the other girls pick fights that are obviously scripted. Mariah accuses Giselle of sleeping with Blitz just to get an in. Christy points out that Blitz doesn’t have a say anymore in who wins, so why would anybody sleep with him?
I wonder who gave them memos and left me out, or maybe they just talk to each other and not me.
For the most part, I stay quiet and wait between takes for the prop people to remove food from our plates so it looks like we’re actually eating.
But the next time the cameras roll, Giselle turns on me. “So the goody-two-shoes ballerina thinks she’s got a lock on Blitz.”
My face burns, and I pray it isn’t as red as it feels.
Mariah and Christy try to tell Giselle to back off, but she goes full drama queen, standing up and throwing her napkin on the table. “He was in love with ME!” she says, her eyes tearing up. “We have a connection.” She points her finger at all the other girls. “He quit sleeping with everybody to be with only me.”
She smooths the sides of her skintight coral dress. “Let me tell you all,” she says in a hiss, “that nobody gets Blitz Craven off like I do.” She leans in to me. “And no fresh-faced, naive teenager from podunk Texas can turn him on like I do.”
And that’s when I lose it. And I say something I shouldn’t. And I know they will air it, because that’s what reality TV shows do.
I sit up tall and say, in my most prim and naive voice, “He didn’t mention that when he was tying me up in aerial silks and making me come while suspended from a four-poster bed.”
Well, that shuts her up.
The assistant director, who is supervising for Devon, bites his hand in excitement over my outburst.
Giselle looks at him. “I think you got what you were looking for,” she says, and walks out.
I guess that was who was sending scripted ideas to the other girls.
Mariah and Christy look at me sympathetically. “That is going to go so viral,” Christy says. “Maybe even more than Blitz’s terrible Tweet about Giselle.”
I sit quietly and wait until both camera operators are packing their stuff before I say, “He can’t stand her, you know. He didn’t mean to Tweet that thing, but he was tired enough of her to say what he did.”
Jessie appears and hands me my bag. “Let’s get out of here,” she says. Even at sixteen, she knows when I should quit.
I don’t want to ride in the studio limo, where Giselle is probably sitting and stewing. Or maybe it was all faked. I don’t know. I feel sick about the whole thing.
I’m supposed to go back for a workout with my trainer, but for the first time since I joined the Dance Blitz cast, I go full diva.
“Jessie, go grab that taxi,” I say, pointing to a yellow cab dropping an elderly woman off at a shop a few doors down. She takes off to nab it.
When I get in, I tell the driver my home address and give Jessie cash to cover going back to the studio.
“I’m not feeling well enough to work out today,” I say.
Jessie nods her approval. “You need a break.”
I send a text to Blitz to let him know what I’ve done, blabbing about our aerial silk sex. I don’t think he’ll get it for a while since he’s flying back from a morning show in Seattle, but he surprises me by writing back immediately.
The pressure gets to all of us. I think it’s hilarious. Can I do it again?
This makes me smile. Just three more shows and we’re out.