Chapter 9
We succeed at getting to Dreamcatcher Tuesday morning without anyone following. Suze looks up from the front desk with a grim smile. “Y’all are trending again on Twitter,” she says. “Everybody wants a rematch.”
Danika catches us in the hall. “I’m keeping the security,” she says. “The mob at the dance shop made the news and I can’t have that here.”
Blitz and I glance at each other. We already caused enough trouble with my ex Denham showing up and requiring Danika to get a restraining order. His getting arrested out front cost the academy quite a few dancers.
“If we need to take a break, we will,” Blitz says.
I can’t imagine not getting to see Gabriella, but Danika just waves her hand. “We’ll work around it. Just do your part not to be followed. I’ll be on top of any mothers who think it will be fun to say you are here.”
We head back to the studios, where Janel has already begun to warm up the wheelchair ballerinas.
The girls love their sparkle sticks, ones we sent a courier to retrieve from a different shop, and we dance with them for the allotted hour. But what should have been an escape feels hollow and strained. The mothers send us sympathetic glances. More than one keeps checking the hall as if they expect a crowd to surge in at any moment.
“We can’t keep this up,” I say to Blitz as we get in the car after class. “We don’t have the setup to handle this level of privacy invasion.”
“Nobody does,” Blitz says. “But one good thing about the public is its short attention span. I really think this will die down in a few days.”
I hope he’s right. As we drive a circuitous route back to the hotel, I wonder what we’re even going to do for Valentine’s Day. I have a gift for Blitz, not much since I don’t really have money of my own right now, but I’m hoping we get to celebrate it somehow.
When we get back to our suite, I ask him, “Are we staying in tonight?”
He falls back on the sofa. “I have reservations at an amazing place, but I’m not sure they are going to be thrilled about dealing with our level of crazy at the moment.”
“Do they have celebrities often?” I ask.
“Probably, but San Antonio just isn’t that kind of town. It’s not like New York or LA or even DC, where lots of places have protocol in place. Here they rely on being expensive and having valet parking to keep the public at bay.”
“You just want to stay here?” I stand at the end of the white sofa, looking down at him. I’m filled with uncertainty.
“Come here,” he says, waving his arms at me.
He’s taking up the whole sofa, so I lie on top of him and tuck my head against his shoulder.
“I’m happy doing whatever,” I say.
“Me too,” he says, kissing my hair. “But I really don’t like three pain-in-the-ass women controlling our lives.”
“Technically, it’s their Twitter feed,” I say.
He goes still. “What did you say that Twitter account was called?”
“DanceBlitzRematch,” I say.
“Huh. Hold on.” He shifts us a little to pull his phone out of his pocket and taps a contact.
I listen to his heartbeat as it rings. Then someone picks up.
“Hey, it’s Blitz Craven. Is Larry around?”
He pauses. Larry is his lawyer.
“No, no, don’t bother him. Just tell him that we have a trademark violation on Twitter. The account is DanceBlitzRematch. I’d like it down as fast as he can make that happen. Thanks.”
He kills the call. “That will take care of that.”
“Assuming it’s not one of the producers who can lay claim to the trademark,” I say. “There was that one guy.”
Blitz lifts my chin so he can meet my eyes. “How did I get such a smart girl to look at me twice?” he asks.
I shrug. “I always assume the worst.”
“I say we go out anyway. I’ll have someone go in ahead and make sure the way is clear.”
“If the staff doesn’t turn you in themselves.”
“You really do assume the worst,” he says, kissing my hair again.
“It’s a gift.”
He sits up and shifts me next to him. “I have something that will cheer you up,” he says.
He heads over to the bar and opens a cabinet where one of the safes is hidden. When he turns back, he’s holding a small flat box in shiny red wrapping paper.
“For my Valentine,” he says. “If you don’t like it, we can get something else.”
I take the box. It’s light. Too small for a necklace. Too flat for a ring. I already have a cell phone, and besides, it jingles a little when I shake it. A bracelet, maybe?
I pull the ribbon loose and tear away the colored paper. I’ve never had a Valentine, actually. I knew boys in middle school, but I never had one as a boyfriend. High school was spent at home. Dad usually brought a box of chocolates home for the family to share.
The paper falls away and I lift the lid.
Inside is a set of car keys.
“Blitz?” I ask.
“All yours,” he says. “I really hope you like it.”
My heart hammers. A car?
“Can I see it?”
“It’s already waiting downstairs.”
I snatch up my sunglasses and scarf. “Let’s go!”
We race to the elevator. We’re halfway down when I realize something important.
“I can’t drive it!” I exclaim. “I still don’t even have my permit!”
“Nobody’s going to care,” Blitz says. “You’re getting good enough.”
“I should have gone to the DMV before all this stuff happened,” I say. “Now they’ll find us for sure if I show up someplace that public.”
We step onto the elevator and Blitz wraps his arms around me. “It’ll die down. Don’t worry. And I’ll see if we can’t arrange for you to go in before they open. Surely someone can be bribed.”
“It’s the DMV,” I say. “They live to laugh at people who think they can get special favors.”
“I hear I’m pretty charming.” Blitz flashes that megawatt smile that has gotten him two million Twitter followers. It works. If anybody could sweet-talk the DMV, it’s him.
The doors slide open for the lobby. We walk cautiously to the front doors.
“The concierge is aware of the situation,” Blitz says. “He knows to alert us if anyone figures out we’re here.”
But everything is normal, other than six pretty cars sitting outside.
“Which one is mine?” I ask, practically bouncing with excitement.
“Which one do you think?” Blitz asks. His smile is enormous.
I look around. “I’m guessing not the green SUV with an inch of mud on the tires.”
“Good observation,” he says.
“And I don’t think the black Mercedes is what you’d pick for me.”
“Nope.”
“I’m guessing the white Volkswagen convertible!”
“We have a winner!” Blitz says.
I rush over to the car. “I love it!” I say.
“Let’s go for a spin, then,” Blitz says.
I glance around. “I’ve never driven on an actual street, remember?” I say.
“It’s easy,” Blitz says. “And you were doing great in the parking lot last time.”
I walk around to the driver’s side. A uniformed man opens my door.
The new car smell wafts out. It’s all leather and something I can’t define.
I sit down as Blitz settles in on the passenger side. “I’ve never smelled a new car before. Yours always smelled like French fries.”
“Guilty as charged,” Blitz says. “But this one only has the mileage the sales guy drove it to get here.”
I glance at the dash. Eleven miles. Wow.
The bellman closes the door. I hold the keys but realize the key part isn’t showing to put in the ignition. “How do you work this thing?”
“It’s actually keyless,” Blitz says. “Just put your foot on the brake and push this button.”
I feel around for the gas and brake pedals and press the brake. When I push the big round button, the car’s quiet engine purrs lightly.
“It’s so cute!” I say.
“Ready to put it in drive?” he asks.
I look around me. There’s still several cars I have to navigate around. “Can I wait until they are all gone?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says. “You probably need to adjust your mirrors anyway.”
We fiddle around with the knobs and levers and get the seat the way I want it. By then, only the Mercedes is still in the circle drive, and it’s behind us.
“Okay,” I say. “Here goes.” I slide the gear shift into drive and release the brake. We glide forward.
My brain tries to panic but I calm it down and slowly putter away from the front doors of the hotel.
“I’d go left,” Blitz says. “You don’t want to get mixed up in the traffic beneath the freeway.”
I nod, concentrating, and turn on the signal.
This back street is quiet, and other than making sure I don’t get too close to cars parked along the curb, the drive is easy.
“You’re doing it!” Blitz says. He makes a big show of leaning his seat back and tucking his hands behind his head, as if he’s going to take a nap.
“So what happens if I get pulled over?” I ask.
“We call Larry back,” Blitz says.
Right, lawyers can handle anything.
We cruise around the neighborhood. I pass the academy, and the playground where I used to take my brother, and even my old house. Mom’s minivan is in the carport, but I don’t see any sign of them.
When Blitz notices where we are, he sits up. “You want to stop by? Your dad is probably at work.”
I shake my head. “Not today. I’m having a good day. I don’t want to wreck it.”
“Or the car,” Blitz says with a laugh.
I focus on the road. “Distract me and I will wreck it,” I say.
“I’ll be good,” he says.
I meander the streets, passing my old church and the movie theater where I had an early date with Blitz. I feel so free, able to go anywhere I want, do anything. I have to get my license!
The concentration gets tiring after a while, so I head back to the hotel. I pull into the circle easily.
The valet opens the door and I have to keep myself from hugging him, instead content to jump up and down. I have a car!
Blitz comes around to take my hand, laughing at my exuberance. “This might be the best reaction to a gift ever!” he says.
Suddenly my Valentine present for him seems woefully inadequate. “Where are we going tonight?” I ask.
“Milan’s,” he says.
“We went there with that executive once, right?” I ask.
“Yes, the one who wanted to do Blitz dance wear.”
We cross the lobby into the hotel. It’s busier now. Lots of couples are wandering around holding hands. They seem to be staying the night for the holiday.
We head up the elevator. I think about my gift for him and how I might spice it up. By the time we get to the top, I have an idea.