Chapter 24
Blitz heads to LA after a couple days. He will catch up with me again when we get to our next city, Boston.
The weeks become a blur. Shows. A few rehearsals for adjustments to the choreography and to practice with the understudies.
Then on a plane to Boston. This time, the girl in charge of travel doesn’t bother attempting to put me in first class with the principals, but keeps me back in coach with the rest of the dancers. I’m perfectly fine with that.
A few romances are blooming among the cast members. Fiona gets a super crush on the man who plays Bluebird, which creates some friction with the Princess who dances with him. She’s been trying to snag him since auditions. Neither seem to be making big progress. He flirts with both of them, but also seems to have his eye on Andrew.
I’ve never been around people who are so fluid, liking girls or boys or both. I’ve just never been around so many people, period.
The stage in Boston is larger, and the extra room really draws out the extra passion and energy from the cast. Blitz comes up with Ted, and we do the limo stuff all over again, this time without a hot tub. Or the pink.
There’s a flare-up as we travel to Baltimore, just a bus this time, when Bluebird sits with Andrew. Fiona is devastated and insists she didn’t know Andrew OR Bluebird was gay. I don’t see how that is possible, as I’m the most sheltered homeschooled girl in the history of sheltered homeschooled girls, and I saw that coming.
So we three girls are hanging tight when we first arrive at rehearsals in the gorgeous facility. I’ve never been to Maryland. It’s August now, and Texas would be brutally hot. But Baltimore is pleasant. I need a sweater in the evenings.
Two days before opening night in the new city, Carla, Fiona, and I go to dinner in an Italian restaurant, risking some carbs since the next day will be mostly wardrobe and understudy rehearsals.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to find a man,” Fiona sighs, stabbing at her noodles like they are the enemy.
We’re all dressed up, since we’ve worn nothing but dance clothes for weeks. Carla glitters in a smoky gray sequined tank and black micro-mini. Her brown curls are like a halo around her head.
I’m in a simple ivory sheath but I’ve put on the tallest stiletto heels imaginable. The restaurant is only two doors down from the hotel, so it is easy enough to do it for one night.
Fiona is fiery in a red satin dress. With her blond hair in a tight chignon, she looks beyond classy.
People glance our way a lot, and I point this out to Fiona. “If you’re looking for someone,” I tell her, “I think that boy at the bar is working up the courage to send over a drink.”
Her head pops up to see who I’m talking about. I’ve learned to be wary in public, to scan the room for paparazzi or overly zealous fans. Since I’ve been on the ballet circuit and away from Blitz, the invasions have definitely dropped. Television audiences have short attention spans. I’m grateful.
“He looked at me!” Fiona hisses and ducks her head.
“You don’t like him?” Carla asks. She twists in her seat to take a look. “He’s cute!”
Fiona stabs another bit of food, but she has eaten hardly a bite. “I’m too terrified. And I’m only in town for ten days.”
Carla and I glance at each other and shrug. There’s no helping Fiona. She’s miserable wanting them, and terrified when she can have them. I’m guessing she has a story and a past, like all of us. Maybe she’ll tell it when she’s ready.
“What about you?” I ask Carla. “Do you have your eye on anybody?”
“The Prince is a dream,” she says. “But he’s married and has two kids.”
Fiona leans forward. “I heard he’s having an affair with Dominika.”
We press our heads together as if the rest of the diners are listening. “How do you know?” Carla whispers.
“I was in the understudy rehearsal when the girl for Aurora was dancing with the Prince. Dominika walked by and looked pretty dang angry when the two of them laughed.”
Carla sits back. “That doesn’t mean anything.” I can tell she doesn’t want anyone sullying her dreamy Prince, married or not.
A waiter arrives and sets a glass of wine in front of Fiona. “From the gentleman at the bar,” he says.
“Shit!” Fiona says, ducking forward again. “What do I do?”
“Smile at him!” Carla says.
Fiona sits up and gives the boy the cheesiest, fakest grin ever.
“Oh, that will win him over,” Carla says.
Fiona smacks her arm.
“Now he knows you’re violent,” Carla adds.
“I can’t take the pressure,” Fiona says, standing abruptly. “I’m going to powder my nose.”
“Check your snatch,” Carla says. “His face might be all up in your business before the night is over!”
Fiona whacks Carla with her evening bag and rushes to the bathroom. I glance over at the boy, who watches her walk, his head tilted in confusion.
“Poor boy,” Carla says. “He just wasted ten bucks.”
I’m not used to these situations, but they don’t make me uncomfortable anymore. Nothing is harder than having dance finalists going on dates with your boyfriend. I rather enjoy being a casual observer, secure that Blitz will be back tomorrow and my own relationship is steady.
“I guess we’ll be drunk limo-riding without Andrew,” Carla says. “Another friend bites the dust.”
“You never know,” I say. “Maybe Bluebird will come along.”
“His real name is Dusty,” Carla says. “But he makes them put Dominic in the program.”
We sit in silence for a moment, then Carla says, “I have family near here.”
“Really? Are they coming tomorrow?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I sent them my two comp tickets but I just don’t know.” She frowns into her bowl of soup.
“I’m in the same boat in Houston,” I tell her. “I have no idea if my best friend will be able to come. She’s only seventeen and living at home.”
“Are your parents back in Texas?” Carla asks.
“Yes, but I don’t expect them. I left home and they took it hard.”
Carla sets down her spoon and tugs at an errant curl over her ear. “It’s my ex’s family up here,” she says. “I haven’t seen them in two years.”
“You want to see him?” I ask.
“I don’t know. We’re not on good terms.” She pushes her bowl away. I can tell this conversation is upsetting her, so I don’t pry.
Fiona comes back. The boy sees his opportunity and steps out to greet her.
She pauses to talk.
“Look at that,” I say, glad for the distraction.
Fiona turns back to us, but we both wave her to the bar, mouthing, “Go!”
She sits next to him on one of the red velvet stools.
“Success!” Carla says. “Our evening is complete.”
We watch Fiona and the boy talk until we’re tired of sitting there. We remind her to call us if she needs us, sending the fresh-faced young man, probably twenty or so, a stern look, then head back to the hotel.
In my room, I call Blitz and update him on all the gossip.
“Sounds like you’re having fun,” he says. “Have you sent your parents the tickets yet?”
“Houston is still six weeks away,” I say.
“You should do it soon,” he says. “They might have a very busy social calendar.”
This makes me laugh. “I love you, Blitz,” I say.
“I aim to keep it that way,” he says.
“See you tomorrow before the show?” I ask.
“You bet on it,” he says.
As I curl up in my bed awaiting my third city’s opening night with the ballet, I think of Carla. Her frowns, her preoccupation with men she can’t have. And this interesting emotional connection with a mysterious ex.
I’m glad I have her. And that she has me. I have a feeling Baltimore might be a little tough on her.
Like Houston is going to be tough on me.